#hogwarts house politics

[fannedandflawless]

Master of the Mind: What it Took for Severus Snape to Survive

Let us speak plainly—Severus Snape did not survive because he was lucky, or gifted, or helped. He survived because he trained his mind into steel, and paid for it with every breath. And we have not talked about that enough.

From Spinner’s End to the dungeons of Hogwarts, Snape’s life was not a tale of triumph—it was a study in endurance. Born into neglect and raised in an environment of hostility, he learned early on that the world would not protect him. So he became his own shield.

But how does a boy who was starved of safety and affection become the man who fools both Voldemort and Dumbledore? How does someone so chronically unloved become the most crucial double agent in a war that demanded perfection?

The answer: He mastered his mind.

🩸 Occlumency and the Fortress of the Self

Occlumency is not simply the art of resisting Legilimency. It is the discipline of burying your entire emotional landscape beneath a layer of calculated silence. To succeed at it means not only shielding your thoughts from intrusion—it means silencing your own mind, even in solitude. Especially in solitude.

Snape lived in Occlumency. He wore it like a second skin. There was no room for error when both Voldemort and Dumbledore were looking directly at him, always. He had to be unreadable, unbreakable. One misstep and everything he fought for—everyone he tried to protect—would vanish.

He didn’t rest. He didn’t flinch. He stayed quiet even when screaming would’ve been easier. And he was just a man. Not a god. Not some emotionless machine. Just… so very disciplined, even when it hurt.

🔍 Legilimency: The Curse of Knowing

If Occlumency was armour, Legilimency was the weapon he wielded—but not without cost. Snape didn’t use Legilimency for pleasure or power. He used it to navigate a war he could never afford to lose.

He read his enemies. He read his allies. He read students—because even they could be conduits for danger. He read the people he loathed and the ones who reminded him of everything he lost. And every time he reached into someone else’s mind, he had to leave his own unguarded for a moment.

It was agony. And he did it anyway.

💔 Exhaustion Hidden in Robes

Snape’s legendary snappishness was never about cruelty. It was the exhaustion of a man running on vigilance and grief. While others wore night robes, he wore full teaching attire in the middle of the night. Always patrolling. Always ready.

Why?

Because he couldn’t afford to sleep deeply. Because he couldn’t afford to be unprepared. Because when the war lives in your skull, there is no such thing as rest.

It wasn’t just trauma. It was strategy. It was survival.

🧪 He Could Heal, But Nothing Held

With his talent as a Potions Master, there’s no doubt Snape could have brewed elixirs to counteract his own exhaustion, his malnourishment, the physical wreckage of childhood neglect.

But when your days are spent wearing down your soul with lies, grief, and unrelenting mental shielding—what good is a potion? He could heal the wound, but the world would rip it open again the next day.

It became something like penance. Like someone dependent on medication just to function who, one day, stops—not because the medicine doesn’t work, but because life has worn them down to the point where even temporary relief feels futile. Because he knew the healing wouldn't last. Because it never reached the root—only hovered at the surface, delaying the inevitable.

And there’s another weight we rarely account for: ingredients. While his financial state remains ambiguous, I’ve made some assumptions about this in [a previous post]—and it stands to reason that brewing consistent restorative potions would be costly. Not just in coin, but in time, privacy, and rare materials. Even with access, it may have felt indulgent—wasteful, even—to use them on himself when the war demanded he ration everything.

You cannot pour rest into a man who lives as a dam. And if he ever tried to help himself—truly—what chance did it have against the weight he carried? Relief may have flickered, but it could never root itself. Not when every hour of vigilance, every silent war fought in his mind, drained the effect before it could take hold. It was easier, perhaps even more just, to stop trying.

🛡 Forbearance, Not Just Patience

Snape’s survival didn’t hinge on mere patience. It demanded forbearance—a rarer, deeper discipline: the ability to endure provocation, injustice, and suffering without retaliation. Without complaint.

He didn’t strike back when students mocked him in his own classroom. He didn’t defend himself when the world misunderstood him, again and again. He didn’t lash out when Lupin returned to Hogwarts. He didn’t scream when Harry looked at him with Lily’s eyes and saw only hatred.

He suffered with dignity. He let the world misread him rather than betray the truth he carried. Forbearance is not weakness—it is strength restrained for the sake of others.

His life required so much just to be alive. To remain standing meant resisting every urge to collapse, retaliate, or justify himself. And still, he stayed upright.

🗡 And Still, He Endured

He endured Lily’s death—the one he tried to prevent. He endured serving Voldemort—the very monster who killed her, and the one he once begged for her life. He endured looking into the eyes of her child every day—eyes that mirrored Lily’s exactly, set into a face that resembled James Potter's like a copy from a cruel spell. The double torment of seeing the one he loved and the one who took her, every single day, demanded not just strength—but restraint beyond comprehension. And he bore it, knowing the boy would never understand. He endured watching students suffer under the Carrows' cruelty—hexed, tortured, humiliated—and was forced to do nothing visible to stop it. He endured seeing a colleague—Charity Burbage—killed before his eyes at Malfoy Manor, unable to intervene without destroying everything he'd risked. And still, he carried on.

He made an Unbreakable Vow. He killed the only man who ever trusted him—not with warmth, but with the strategic confidence one places in a pawn they believe will reach the end of the board. Dumbledore's trust was not affection. It was calculation. And Severus bore the weight of it like it was honour. He protected the school when Death Eaters took control. He guided Harry to the sword. He died with the trio present—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—but no comfort, no hand held in return. His final act was not to reach out for salvation, but to offer truth through a memory. Even at the end, he gave more than he received.

And through all of it? Not a single soul asked him how he was holding up.

🖤 He Didn’t Go Mad. He Just Went Silent.

In the end, what’s most terrifying is not that he died. It’s that he lived that long.

He lived through things that would have broken anyone else. He walked through war with no banner. He bore betrayal and brutality with no promise of redemption.

He didn’t survive because he was loved. He survived because he refused to shatter.

And that, above all, is what made Severus Snape the strongest mind in the story. A mind we should honour. A man we should have seen sooner. Someone who didn’t need the world’s forgiveness—just one person to see the ruin, and say: “You stayed. You suffered. And I see you.”

And in the end, it wasn’t just death that found him—it was something quieter. Something that finally let go. Nagini didn’t simply kill him—she may have released him. From burden. From despair. From agony. Her bite ended his service, yes… but perhaps, it ended his suffering too.

[soupexpertt]

I hate how you can trollify anyone. I’ve seen various fanarts in completely different fandoms that got their characters turned into homestuck trolls and I hate how everytime time I see a troll version of Vash the Stampede or Saul Goodman it makes my brain do an excited backflip. After the US elections my friend told me that Trump would probably be a cerulean blooded troll (like a Vriskaesque character) and I immediately said that Kamala Harris would probably be a teal blood. I have no idea where it came from. I’m not even into us-politics but I immediately recognized the vibe and it’s scary

[cj-ghostemoji-destielpie]

Arvid's Pack:

I've read a lot of runaway Harry Potter gets adopted by Snape fics but what about a story where the muggle raised kid isn't Harry Potter? how about a different abused runaway wixen?

Summary:

Severus Snape had just been walking through an alley in Diagon Alley to avoid the many people shopping last minute for the school year when he comes across a half feral boy, two dogs, and a cat.

The animals are friendly, the boy though growls at him. Severus of course doesn’t let that deter him. He continues on his journey through the alley and returns half an hour later with food, water, and coin for the kid.  

Snape never thought he’d be a father, but he knew he’d never be the type of person to allow an innocent child to be harmed. Just like Snape when he was a boy: Arvid hasn’t had anyone. And Snape’s going to do his best to make up for that. Because no kid should have to suffer and if Snape can be the hero that he always wished for as a kid, then he's going to do exactly that. Even if he's not 100% sure of what he's doing the entire time.

Arvid’s mother killed herself when he was five and there to witness it. She’d tried taking Arvid with her in a twisted attempt to save him. Arvid runs away from home at eight years old.

At almost 11 years old (his birthday isn’t until April), he’s suddenly safe but he’s still unsure of how long Mr/Professor Snape will continue to have patience for him. He’s broken and messed up; why would Snape ever want to deal with him? Or his crazy pack; which is slowly growing because Arvid can’t say no to an animal that likes him and Snape can’t seem to say no when Arvid looks at him with puppy eyes while hugging an animal in his arms adorably.

There will be a few original characters that will be fellow Hogwarts students including a black werewolf muggleborn who has a half sister that was raised as his twin despite them having different mothers (drama in that family for sure), a trans fem witch who was kicked out of her pureblood family and raised by Lovegood as Luna treats her as her sister, a wheelchair bound witch who manages to get to her classes thanks to kind House Elves since the school isn't wheelchair accessible and no one bothered to help her find a way to her classes, an ofc Malfroy who's Draco's sister and very rebellious against her family/parents and refuses to stay quiet or support their views just because they're her parents and is slowly encouraging Draco to have his own path and stop falling into the path their parents want.

This fic basically will touch on many subjects from child abuse of many types, attempted murder, wars, racism, classism, basically a bunch of isms, homophobia, transphobia, a bunch of phobias, disabilities and how narrow-minded or unaware some folks can be, werewolves and house elves and other "sub humans" and their struggles for equality; I don't know about you but being called "sub humans" sounds awful.

Basically my fanfic is going to be "woke as f*ck" or whatever the folks be sayin' these days lol. When I actually post it on AO3 I'll post a link on here too. For now, enjoy the summary/idea and maybe I'll finish chapter one through three and feel confident enough to actually post it lol.

(ps: thought about shipping Severus with someone in the background, not like the main focus of the fic, any ideas? I was thinking Remus but I kinda wanted to have a background Remus and Sirius thing going on. Lily is dead in this fic but James is alive but crippled and half blind. So Harry lives with his father and has never met his cousin and muggle family. Voldemort is dead and isn't a problem anymore but his old followers still lurk in the shadows and occasionally still stir shit up.)

[a-fuked-up-mess]

oi y'all who're saying "other?" please clarify

[marauroon]

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑. (𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧)

lily forces her help on james after discovering an unsent letter he wrote to you at the end of last year. it doesn’t exactly go as planned.

CW | characters are 17-18, lily is the best wingman, banter on banter, MDNI AFTER A CERTAIN POINT (there is a separate warning before it begins)

james potter x fem!reader | 18.7k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

AN | and so, 1-100 comes to an end, thank you so much to everyone who’s kept up with reading and supporting this series, i love you guys sm !! 🫶

There’s something about stepping back into the Great Hall after a summer away that always makes your stomach twist.

Maybe it’s the grandeur of it—four long house tables glittering under a sky enchanted to mirror the fading twilight—or maybe it’s the realisation that this is it. Seventh year. Your last first feast at Hogwarts. You glance around at the familiar faces, older now, and think how quickly everything’s changed, and how much it hasn't at all.

The Gryffindor table is buzzing, voices overlapping as friends greet each other, chatter about summer holidays, and sneak wary glances at the staff table where the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is already under intense scrutiny. You sit between Lily and Dorcas, with Marlene just opposite, her chin in her hand as she eyes the new teacher with suspicious intensity.

“I’m giving him a two weeks before he loses his temper,” Marlene says, not even blinking. “One, if he’s already had a mental breakdown before arriving,”

“You’re just bitter because Professor Lome never liked your essays,” Dorcas points out, stealing a bread roll from the centre plate before anyone else can. “He gave me full marks on that piece about curse detection,”

You’re half-listening, mostly looking around the room. It’s the same as ever, and yet not. Everyone’s taller. Slightly leaner. Tired in that way only seventeen-year-olds on the cusp of adulthood can be. The weight of NEWTs, of future plans, of knowing this is your last go at all of it.

The buzz of the hall dies down as Professor McGonagall stands at the staff table. The sorting ceremony has already taken place—little first-years blinking up at the ceiling, clutching their house badges like lifelines—and now it’s time for the usual announcements.

“Welcome back, students, to another year at Hogwarts. A particular welcome to our first-years, who I hope will find these halls as challenging and rewarding as the generations before them,”

You tune out a bit as she goes through the basics: forbidden forest is still forbidden, Zonko’s products are still banned, and any students caught brewing illegal potions will be given detention and a strongly worded letter home.

Then, she straightens, and there's a tiny spark in her eye that sets everyone leaning forward.

“And now, I’m pleased to announce this year’s Head Boy and Head Girl of Gryffindor. A pair who will, I trust, represent the house and the student body with diligence and pride. Please join me in congratulating Lily Evans and James Potter.”

Silence.

Then—

“What?” Dorcas shrieks before she can stop herself, hand flying to cover her mouth.

Lily’s face is a perfect blend of composed and internally screaming. You can see it in the way she holds her posture just a touch too rigidly, in the slight widening of her eyes.

A few seats down, James has frozen. Mid-sip of pumpkin juice. You think he might choke on it.

The hall erupts in applause, mostly polite, some genuine. The Gryffindor table is particularly vocal—Sirius is cheering obnoxiously loud, Remus is clapping with amused restraint, and Peter looks like someone just told him Christmas has come early.

“Head Boy?” Marlene mouths, turning to stare at you and Lily like you’ve both gone mad. “Him?”

You glance at Lily, who is clearly experiencing an existential crisis in real-time.

James slowly sets his goblet down. “I—what?” he says weakly. “Me?”

“I… wasn’t told,” Lily says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I knew I got Head Girl, McGonagall owled me over the summer, but—him?”

You smother a laugh. “You okay, Lils?”

She glares at you. “No.”

James, for his part, finally seems to have processed the information. He sits a little straighter, shoulders back, trying for composed but mostly looking like he might be sick.

“I’m already Quidditch Captain,” he mutters to Sirius, who slaps him on the back with far too much enthusiasm.

“You’ll be brilliant,” Sirius grins. “Just think—power, responsibility, and even more excuses to boss people around.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You do realise it’s actual work, right? Prefect meetings, patrols, schedules…”

James pales slightly. “Bloody hell,”

You and the girls settle back into your seats as the feast begins properly. Food appears across the tables in a shimmer of golden light, and the scent of roast chicken and buttered potatoes fills the air. For a while, everyone’s distracted—eating, catching up, stealing sips of pumpkin juice between bites. The announcement lingers in the air though, rippling down the table in whispered disbelief and mild chaos.

You poke at your roasties, thoughts elsewhere. You’re happy for Lily—Head Girl is so her. She’s meticulous, clever, endlessly fair. But James? It’s not that he’s a bad student—he’s clever when he applies himself—but his reputation precedes him. Pranks. Detentions. A casual disregard for rules that somehow charmed most of the school and irritated the rest. You look down the table to where he’s now loudly panicking about his term planner.

“He’s actually worried about having too much to do,” Marlene says, eyebrows raised. “Is this a new personality shift or did he hit his head over the summer?”

“He’ll be fine,” Dorcas says through a mouthful of carrots. “Maybe this’ll actually knock the arrogance out of him. Or at least make him too busy to be annoying,”

Lily just stabs a pea with unnecessary force. “I’m going to murder Dumbledore.”

You snort, covering it with a cough. “Think of it this way—you get to boss him around,”

“Please,” she says dryly, “he’ll talk about the Marauders and Quidditch and I’ll be asleep by the third sentence,”

You laugh properly at that, and the sound feels good. Light. Familiar.

Marlene leans closer, dropping her voice. “Anyway, more important question—have you had any more letters?”

You blink. It takes you a second to realise what she’s referring to.

“Oh,” you say, slowly. “No. Not since the last one. You know, the one I got right before term ended,”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that means they’re all about to jump in.

“You’ve still got them, don’t you?” Dorcas says, eyes narrowing.

“Of course she does,” Lily says before you can speak. “She practically laminated the bloody things,”

You shove her shoulder with yours. “I did not. I just… kept them. They were nice,”

“Nice?” Marlene repeats. “They were poetry. Like, actual effort. Not ‘fancy you, meet me in the broom cupboard’—actual, personal, stupidly romantic letters,”

Dorcas sighs dreamily. “Still can’t believe we never figured out who it was. No hints? Nothing?”

You shake your head, and try not to let your disappointment show too much. “They just… stopped. That last one before summer hols—it was like a goodbye. Like they didn’t know what else to add,”

“Bit tragic,” Lily says softly, and despite her sarcasm earlier, you hear the real sympathy in it.

You shrug, reaching for a second helping of Yorkshire pudding to hide the sudden ache in your chest. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. I didn’t even know who they were,”

“But they knew you,” Dorcas says. “Really well, apparently,”

The words make something twist inside you. Because she’s right.

Whoever they were, they did know you. The letters had come at your lowest points last year—when the pressure of coursework, the drama with Severus, and everything else felt like too much. Each letter had felt like a lifeline, like someone reaching across the void just to remind you that you weren’t invisible.

You miss that. You miss them.

“I just thought maybe,” you say quietly, “there’d be another one waiting. When we got back,”

The silence around your little corner of the table grows thick with understanding. No one says anything for a moment. Then Lily bumps your knee under the table.

“Well,” she says, with the kind of finality only she can manage, “maybe they’re just waiting for the right time,”

You nod, but you don’t believe it. Not really.

The conversation moves on. Marlene brings up the new Hogsmeade permission rules (apparently no more ‘mysterious illnesses’ to get out of going—thanks to a Slytherin who faked being poisoned last year). Dorcas starts planning the best window seat in the common room for her study spot, and Lily starts stress-talking about her NEWT timetable.

But your thoughts don’t quite leave the letters.

You wonder where they are now—your mystery writer. If they’re even still thinking about you. If they’re watching you across the Great Hall, debating whether or not to start again.

You hope so.

Even if you don’t say it out loud, not even to Lily.

Even if you’re pretending not to look toward the other end of the table for who it might be.

—

It becomes a weekly ritual. Every Wednesday night, Lily Evans storms back into the Gryffindor common room around ten-thirty, throws herself onto the armchair closest to the fire, and launches into a detailed monologue about the trials and tribulations of patrolling the corridors with James Potter.

And every Wednesday night, you, Marlene, and Dorcas do your best not to laugh too obviously.

“He just won’t shut up,” Lily declares one evening, halfway through untangling her scarf from her hair. “Every corridor, every stairwell, it’s Quidditch this, Marauders that—and not even mildly interesting Marauder tales. No, no. Apparently Sirius once managed to transfigure a Slytherin’s tie into a snake and got away with it by pretending it was a defence demonstration. That’s what I have to listen to for two hours,”

Dorcas, stretched out on the rug with a textbook balanced on her stomach, snorts. “Honestly, sounds like quality entertainment,”

“You do realise he’s trying to impress you, right?” Marlene adds, not looking up from her Ancient Runes homework.

Lily looks personally offended. “By telling me about how many nosebleeds they’ve collectively caused in the name of house pride?”

“Maybe he thinks violence is your love language,” Dorcas offers with a shrug.

You laugh softly but say nothing. Lily rolls her eyes and turns to you, as she often does.

“You would die. Honestly. You should swap with me sometime just to understand the suffering.”

“I’m not a prefect,” you remind her, amused.

She huffs. “Tragic. You’d actually hold a decent conversation. Meanwhile, I’ve learnt the entire 1974 Quidditch Cup roster twice, and I don’t even like Quidditch,”

Still, she doesn’t ask for a trade from any of the actual prefects. And despite the complaints, she never actually seems to loathe their time together—frustrated, yes. Exhausted, absolutely. But somewhere beneath it all is a sort of resigned affection she doesn’t quite admit to.

You often sit by the fire after she’s done ranting, book in your lap, mind somewhere else entirely.

Because while Lily battles James's endless rambling about goal strategies and prank logistics, your thoughts drift to the letters again and again.

You miss them.

More than you like to admit.

Even now, months after the last one, you still half-expect to find something tucked inside your Transfiguration book. Or a note slid under your pillow. That hopeful little ache has never quite gone away. You know it’s silly—it’s been so long, it’s probably over—but that connection, however brief and anonymous, was something you’d never really had before.

Whoever wrote those letters saw parts of you you didn’t think anyone noticed. They wrote like they knew what you needed to hear before you even knew it yourself.

And now… it’s just silence.

—

It’s late December when Lily finds it. Just a few days shy of the Christmas Holidays, when the castle starts to shift into that enchanted, warm glow of the holidays. Wreaths bloom along the walls, garlands wrap the banisters, and the air smells faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke.

It’s snowing outside, but the halls are still humming with end-of-term energy—homework, holiday plans, and whispered excitement about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

Lily’s rifling through James Potter’s satchel.

To be fair, she asked him where the patrol rota was, and he told her—somewhere in his bag. He’s halfway through an apple and elbow-deep in a discussion with Remus about whether or not the Gryffindor team needs a strategy change after Christmas.

She pulls out quills, broken Sugar Quill sticks, crumpled bits of paper, at least two spare ties, and—at the very bottom—a small, folded piece of parchment.

Gold foil.

Your name on the front.

She freezes.

It’s unmistakable. The handwriting is the same elegant, slanted script you used to show them, the same ink, the same careful fold. But this letter has never reached you.

Her eyes widen. Her breath catches.

She looks up at James.

Still talking.

Still completely unaware that in one careless second, he’s just given everything away.

Lily takes the letter. Quietly. Carefully. She tucks it into her robe pocket and says nothing. Not yet.

But she watches him all night. She watches the way his gaze flickers towards you sometimes across the common room. The way he gets unusually quiet when your name comes up.

Later that night, in the corridor outside the common room, she pounces.

“James.”

He jumps. “Bloody—Evans, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She crosses her arms. “I need to ask you something,”

“Okay…?”

She pulls the letter from her pocket.

He stops breathing.

“Is this yours?”

He tries—tries—to play dumb.

“I—uh—never seen that before in my life.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“No? Oh well, guess i’ll deliver it myself then,”

The way James snatches the letter from her hands you’d think it was his lifeline. It kind of was. “Don’t you dare—”

She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then:

“It was you.”

He nods, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“You were writing the letters all last year. All that time. While she was agonising over who it was.”

Another nod.

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I—” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I panicked, alright? I was going to. I really was. The last letter—I wrote it to finally tell her. Then I just… I bottled it. It felt too big. Too serious. I didn’t think she’d… you know. Want me.”

Lily stares at him.

“You absolute moron.”

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“She’s been miserable for months. She kept waiting for another letter, hoping you’d write again. Do you have any idea how much she—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“I didn’t think she liked me,” James mutters. “I mean, properly. Not just the letters. And not after everything—after how I was in fifth year—”

“You’ve changed.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if that matters.”

Lily looks at him, and something softens.

“It does. And for what it’s worth, I think she would want to know. But—” She holds up a finger before he can respond. “—If you want to be a coward, I won’t say a word. But if you want my silence, you’re going to have to make it worth it.”

James straightens. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll keep your secret—for now. But only if you actually do something about it. No more hiding. No more waiting. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to let me.”

James looks like someone’s just told him he has a shot at the World Cup.

“You’ll help me?”

She nods. “But only because I’m tired of watching her mope around like a ghost every time she checks her pillow for a letter that never comes.”

His expression shifts—hope blooming like a star behind his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, determined now. “Deal.”

Lily smiles.

—

The Christmas holidays was an odd time for both Lily and James. While a welcome respite from the usual whirlwind of school activities, they brought their own pressures. For Lily, it was the mounting anticipation of how to pull off her bold plan, and for James, it was the dawning realisation that he might just have a chance with you—but only if he didn’t screw it up.

It started innocently enough: a stack of parchment and a quill. The first few letters between them were brief and clumsy, full of the usual banter that you’d expect from James Potter. But with Lily’s encouragement and careful advice, his words began to take shape. She steered him, nudging him in the right direction.

There were moments of frustration—James was a disaster with anything that wasn’t a Quidditch strategy or prank, and this was, in his mind, far too serious to be a joke. But Lily stuck by him, offering a steady hand when his confidence faltered, teaching him how to make the words meaningful.

The tone of the letters shifted as they continued. At first, James wrote about what he thought you would want to hear—grand gestures, over-the-top declarations that, in hindsight, seemed ridiculous. But Lily patiently worked through them with him, showing him that it wasn’t about showiness—it was about connection. The real connection. The sort of connection that wasn’t about impressing you with his charm, but letting you see who he really was. She made him laugh, made him reflect on his own growth, and made him understand that this wasn’t just some passing fancy.

Their letters became a sort of symbiotic process. James would write something a bit too much, and Lily would dial it back with a comment about being too self-deprecating or too dramatic. He’d write again, taking into account her feedback. Then, Lily would send him back something that was genuinely thoughtful about what he could say to you—subtle things like, “She likes someone who listens, not just talks,” and “Remember, be genuine. It’s okay to be nervous.”

They’d find themselves exchanging letters, not just for the sake of figuring out what to say to you, but out of a shared sense of friendship, a bond that neither of them had expected to form.

They started to know each other better—not just as the Head Girl and the Head Boy, but as two people who were learning to be better versions of themselves. James began to appreciate Lily in a way that went beyond admiration—he respected her, her intelligence, her patience. She had a depth to her that he hadn’t quite realised before.

And Lily, for her part, couldn’t deny that James was more than just the loud, arrogant Quidditch star he used to be. He was thoughtful. He was kind. And beneath that cocky exterior, he was actually a lot more humble than anyone gave him credit for.

—

When the holidays ended and the students returned to Hogwarts, the air was thick with a sort of nervous energy. It was a fresh start after weeks away, and the school had a distinct feeling of a new term—new opportunities, new resolutions. It was also, for Lily, the moment when the plan she had been quietly constructing would need to unfold in full force.

As they returned to their regular routines, Lily began her work behind the scenes. It started innocently enough—casual conversations in the corridors, the library, and the common room. She would slip in little details about James—never overtly, but just enough to plant the seed in your mind.

“Did you hear about James helping that first-year with their transfiguration homework? I swear, he’s actually really good at it when he puts his mind to it,”

You had glanced up from your own work at the mention of James's name, frowning a little, because honestly, you hadn’t thought about him much. Not lately. He’d been busy with Quidditch, as usual. You couldn’t deny, though, that the idea of him being helpful—genuinely helpful—sounded out of character, even for him.

Over the next few days, Lily casually dropped more snippets into conversations. “James, honestly, I’m impressed with how he’s handled being Head Boy. He really seems to be taking it seriously. Even with Quidditch on his plate, he always makes time to help out,” She’d speak with genuine admiration, her voice unconsciously laced with warmth whenever she spoke of him.

At first, you dismissed it. It was all so subtle—so carefully orchestrated—that you barely noticed it happening. But the more Lily spoke, the more you began to pay attention.

One afternoon, you were walking down the corridor to the library when you spotted James on the far side of the hall, surrounded by first-years. You were about to look away when you saw him gently helping one of them with a stack of books, his hands steady, his voice low and encouraging. A completely different side to the usual cocky, mischief-driven James Potter. You’d never seen him like this before. You’d never seen anyone so engaged in something so simple.

That night, when you sat with the girls, Lily mentioned it casually. “James was really great today, helping the first years carry their books. He’s definitely grown up. It’s funny, isn’t it? We always think of him as the prankster, but there’s so much more to him than that. Honestly, I’m starting to see him in a new light,”

You were about to say something dismissive—something that would push the conversation away. But then, you stopped. There was something in the way she said it, so earnestly, that made you pause.

“Why do you keep talking about him like that?” Dorcas asked, raising an eyebrow at Lily.

Lily didn’t even bat an eyelash. She was smooth. “Why? What do you mean? He’s really changed, that’s all,”

“She has a bit of a point,” You immediately regret backing Lily. Why did you say that?

You weren’t sure what was happening to you. Why, when you closed your eyes that night, did your thoughts drift to James? Why, when you caught his smile in the corridor, did your heart feel like it skipped a beat? Why did you feel the need to brush your hair just right every time you passed him?

What was Lily doing to your head?

—

Lily Evans was a lot of things. Bright. Commanding. Intimidating when she wanted to be. But above all else, she was strategic. And once she caught on to the fact that you had—finally—developed something resembling a real, actual crush on James Potter, it was game over. For you.

You just didn’t know it yet.

“You need a break,” she said, as if that weren’t a suspicious statement from someone who had spent the last week stress-annotating every page of her Arithmancy textbook.

You glanced at her warily. “A break from what?”

“Studying. The common room. Yourself.” She sipped her tea primly. “We’re going to the library,”

“You think the library is a break?”

“Yes, because you’re not going alone this time,” she said. “We’ll revise together,”

You narrowed your eyes. “You hate revising with other people,”

“I don’t hate it,”

“You said—and I quote—‘group studying is a punishment for introverts who can’t read in silence.’”

Lily gave you her best innocent expression. “Wow. That doesn’t sound like me at all,”

Still, she wore you down. As she often did. And twenty minutes later you were being marched into the library under the pretense of productivity.

You weren’t entirely sure when you’d clocked it. Maybe it was the faint hum of nerves in Lily’s step, or the way she seemed to be leading you rather than walking beside you. But then you turned the corner near the back tables, and there he was.

James Potter. Sat alone at a table by the window, sunlight catching on his hair like it was doing it on purpose. His head was bowed, pencil tapping rhythmically against his lip as he read, and for once he looked almost serene. Normal. Thoughtful.

“Oh,” Lily said, not even bothering to feign surprise. “James. Didn’t see you there,”

He looked up, blinking at the both of you, then smiled—wide and easy. “Hey. Fancy running into you two,”

You turned to Lily with a look. She smiled sweetly and gestured to the empty chairs. “Plenty of room. Come on,”

You gave her a long-suffering sigh, but joined them. You didn’t miss the way James straightened up a little when you sat down. Or how he nudged his textbook closer to make space.

“We’re reviewing Potions,” Lily said, as if that was the plan all along. “James, you’re good at Potions, right?”

He gave a modest shrug. “Decent. Do you need help?”

She said nothing. Just looked at you. Pointedly.

“…Sure,” you mumbled, flipping open your book. “Why not.”

—

Later that week, it happened again.

You and Lily were walking down toward Herbology, cutting across the greenhouses when a burst of motion caught your eye near the Quidditch pitch.

James was there. Not flying, not showing off—but hovering gently just above the grass, alongside a very nervous-looking first year. The kid was wobbling on their broom, fists clenched white around the handle.

“Easy now,” James called, encouraging but calm. “Keep your knees loose. You’re thinking too hard. Let the broom do the work,”

“Is that Potter?” you asked, squinting.

Lily followed your gaze and made a noise like she’d just noticed. “Oh, yeah. I think he’s mentoring first years this term. Sweet, right?”

You turned back toward him. The wind ruffled his hair, and he reached out to steady the kid’s broom with a gentle hand, his voice low and kind and patient. It was… not a side of him you saw often. Or ever.

Your stomach did a thing.

Lily nudged you. “You’re staring,” she sang under her breath.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m observing,” you said flatly. “For science.”

“Sure. For science,”

—

By the third encounter, you were onto her.

This time, Lily “forgot” her notes in the Divination tower and asked you to come with her to get them. But when you reached the corridor, who was leaning against the wall chatting with Professor Sinistra?

That’s right.

James bloody Potter.

“…Hi?” he said, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Lily acted delighted. “Oh! James! What’re you doing up here?”

“Dropping off the star charts for Astronomy club,” he replied.

Lily gasped. “Look at you. Responsible and helpful,”

You turned your head slowly, muttering under your breath. “You planned this,”

“I absolutely did not,” Lily said, far too brightly.

You stared.

She smiled wider.

James, to his credit, just looked confused.

And maybe—maybe—a little hopeful.

—

Later, in the common room, you finally snapped.

“You’re setting me up,” you accused.

Lily beamed, completely unbothered. “Yes. And you’re welcome,”

“I didn’t ask for your interference,”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the sofa. “No, but I got tired of watching you pretend not to like him every time he breathed in your direction. So I decided to help you skip to the part where you realise he’s more than just a pretty face with Quidditch shoulders,”

You covered your face with a groan.

“Oh come on,” she said. “You like him,”

“No.”

“You do,”

You peeked between your fingers. “He was really sweet with that first year,”

Lily smirked. “I know,”

You slumped further into the cushions. “I hate how well this is working,”

“I’m a genius,” she said modestly.

And honestly? She kind of was.

—

It wasn’t long before Lily noticed that she didn’t have to nudge you in James's direction anymore. You started coming to her with your own observations. It started innocently enough.

“Did you see James helping that second-year with her Transfiguration homework today?” you asked, as you sat in the Gryffindor common room one chilly evening. “It was kind of… sweet,”

Lily's lips twitched in a knowing smile, but she hid it behind the book she was pretending to read. “Oh, really?” she asked casually, though her voice was laced with an almost imperceptible hint of amusement. “That sounds like him,”

And then, the more you noticed these things, the more you found yourself noticing him. The way his hair always fell in that messy way, no matter how much he tried to push it back. The way his eyes seemed to light up when he was talking about something he loved—Quidditch, of course, but also the way he spoke about his friends, his teammates. His honesty, unpolished but real. How, after all these years, you hadn’t truly seen him for what he was—someone who, despite his flaws, actually tried to do the right thing, even when he didn’t have to.

The realisation hit you slowly, like a wave creeping up the shore. You liked James Potter. You were attracted to him.

And that made you feel insane.

—

It was a Tuesday, and the usual hustle and bustle of Potions class filled the air as students shuffled into the dimly lit dungeon. You were seated next to Lily as usual, one row behind the Marauders, but that day, for some reason, your focus was nowhere near the task at hand. You were supposed to be preparing a Draught of Living Death, but your eyes kept straying to James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who were across the room, clearly engaged in some kind of prank plan.

It wasn’t even subtle. They were making faces at each other, stifling laughs, and it was so obvious that Professor Slughorn wasn’t even pretending to ignore them. You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips as you watched James pass something to Sirius behind his cauldron, a quick handoff of some joke ingredient that was almost certainly going to explode in someone’s face.

“You’re staring again,” Lily pointed out with a grin, her voice low enough so that no one else could hear.

You blinked, realising that she had caught you, yet again. “What? No I’m not, I’m paying attention!” You quickly turned your focus back to your potion, though it was already too late—the glint in Lily’s eyes told you that she knew the truth.

She raised an eyebrow, still looking amused, and shook her head. “It’s okay. I mean, I did call it though,”

You groaned, slumping in your seat, feeling your cheeks flush. “I’m insane,” you muttered to yourself, so quietly that only Lily could hear. “What am I supposed to do? He’s been a complete arse to me for years, and now I’m falling for him? I’m a lunatic. Someone, take me away to Mungo’s. Commit me now. I’m beyond saving,”

Lily’s laughter bubbled up, and she didn’t even try to hide it. “Oh, come on, you’re not insane. You just like him. It’s not the end of the world,”

You shot her a glare. “Lils, I hate him. I have hated him for six years. Six years! He’s loud, he’s cocky, he’s arrogant. And now I want to—what? Be all gooey-eyed at him?”

She shrugged, the smile still dancing on her lips. “You’re allowed to change your mind, you know,”

“About him?” you said, pointing dramatically toward James, who was still engaging in some prank or another, his laugh unmistakable even from across the room. “What is wrong with me? Maybe I need a head examination. Maybe I just need to stop thinking about it altogether. Because this? This is crazy,”

Lily laughed again, a sound that was half sympathetic, half mocking. “I think you're being a little dramatic, don't you?”

“Drama's my middle name, Lils,” you muttered, sinking further into your seat, your face growing hot as you tried to ignore the fact that, even now, you could feel the pull of James Potter’s presence across the room. “Ugh. What do I even do? I can’t just talk to him. He’s so annoying. I can’t believe this is happening,”

Lily's tone turned more serious as she leaned a little closer, her voice softening. “Maybe… maybe you should start by just talking to him. Like, really talking. Not about Quidditch or anything that’s just… surface stuff. Maybe actually get to know him, without the whole cocky idiot routine he’s always doing,”

You frowned, looking over at James again, who had just leaned back in his chair, grinning at something Sirius had said. You shook your head, resisting the pull. “I don’t know, Lils. This whole thing is just… confusing,”

Lily sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, I get that. But you know, I think he’s just a little misunderstood. He’s not perfect—he never has been. But… I think he’s worth getting to know. And I don’t think you’d regret it, if you gave him a chance,”

You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you… are you implying something here?”

Lily raised her hands in mock surrender, her eyes twinkling. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying… you should give him a chance to surprise you,”

You let out a long, dramatic groan. “What is wrong with me? I need help,”

—

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting in the Gryffindor common room, trying to ignore the noise around you. You were perched on the edge of the couch, pretending to study, but your mind was elsewhere entirely. Not on the anonymous love letters, but on James.

How had it happened? How had the most annoying person you’d ever met—someone who had spent years making fun of you, pranking you, and generally being an all-around nuisance—suddenly become someone you were seriously thinking about? It didn’t make sense. And yet, here you were, sighing over him like some lovesick fool.

“Everything okay?” Lily asked, sliding into the seat next to you. She had that familiar, knowing smile on her face—the one that made you feel like she could see straight through you. “You seem distracted,”

You let out a frustrated breath. “I’m an idiot,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “I’m an absolute, utter idiot,”

Lily laughed, clearly enjoying your inner turmoil. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just human,”

“Human, my arse,” you grumbled. “I’m supposed to be in control of my emotions. I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. And instead, I’m obsessing over James Potter. I mean, James Potter. What is wrong with me?”

Lily’s laugh was warm and understanding. She didn’t press you for more, though she did, at the back of your mind, know something you didn’t. She knew that you were slowly starting to see James for who he really was. And she knew that, when the time was right, it wouldn’t take much for him to see you for who you truly were, either.

But for now, all she had to do was sit back and watch the inevitable unfold.

—

By March, the weight of the upcoming mock NEWTs had hit Hogwarts like a bludger to the ribs. The once-lively Gryffindor common room was now filled with students hunched over parchment, quills scratching like beetles in the quiet, anxious air.

Even the usual chaos of the Marauders had simmered into a tense sort of focus—less pranks, more sighing, and an abundance of sugar quills chewed to bits while everyone tried to pretend they weren’t on the verge of collective academic collapse.

You’d taken to escaping the chaos by spending more time in the library, where the silence was less oppressive and the chances of being interrupted were, blessedly, low. There was something grounding about the musty scent of old books, the feel of parchment under your fingers, and the soft rustling of pages turning around you. Here, at least, you could pretend to have control over the mounting panic.

You didn’t expect to see him there.

It was a Thursday afternoon. The sky outside was grey and moody, a typical March sulk, and you’d made your way to the far side of the library looking for a quiet corner. Your bag was heavy on your shoulder, the strap digging into your collarbone, and your fingers were already ink-stained from a particularly ambitious essay you'd abandoned halfway through breakfast.

You turned down one of the aisles and paused.

James Potter sat alone at a study table, bent over a thick Potions textbook, hair sticking up in that ridiculous, familiar way, glasses slightly askew, brows furrowed in concentration. His quill tapped thoughtfully against his lips as he scanned a particularly long paragraph, completely unaware of your presence.

There were no Marauders in sight. No Sirius lolling about with a smirk, no Peter sneaking sweets, no Remus patiently annotating with colour-coded inks. Just James. Quiet. Focused. Normal.

It was weird.

You hovered there, unsure for a moment. James Potter was not someone you’d ever associated with solitude. He belonged in groups. In crowds. Loud, chaotic ones. He was a whirlwind of motion and noise and cheeky grins. But now—

Now, he just looked… Tired. Still. Almost soft.

You blinked. Once. Twice. And then, before your brain could talk your body out of it, you approached.

“Mind if I join you?”

James startled, looking up as though you’d just Apparated beside him. His expression shifted rapidly—surprise, confusion, and then something else entirely. Something warmer.

“Oh. Er—yeah! Yes, absolutely, yeah, course you can,” he stammered, quickly moving his things to make space for you, nearly knocking over his inkpot in the process. “Didn’t expect company,”

“I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you replied, sliding into the seat beside him and placing your books on the table. “Alone, I mean. No gaggle of mischief-makers in tow,”

He gave a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, I figured I’d actually try to… I don’t know, pass transfiguration this year. Trying this whole ‘focus’ thing,”

You arched an eyebrow. “Look at you. All grown up and responsible,”

He mock-scowled at you. “Don’t make it weird,”

You smiled despite yourself. “I’m stressed about the Potions exam,” you admitted after a moment. “I feel like Slughorn could hand me a list of ingredients and I’d still forget what a bezoar does,”

James gave you a surprised, almost earnest look. “Do you want to revise together? I mean—I’m decent at Potions. Got a weird knack for it. I could help,”

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “You? Helping me revise?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, grinning now. “I can be serious when I want to be,”

“Can you?”

James snorted. “Okay, I try to be,”

You laughed, and somehow that broke the tension. The two of you slipped into an easy rhythm. You started with Potions, him explaining the nuances of antidotes and the precise slicing technique needed for Sopophorous beans.

His explanations were animated—hands gesturing as he talked, voice fluctuating with a kind of earnestness you’d never quite noticed before. It made sense why he was such a good Quidditch captain; there was something undeniably compelling about the way he communicated, even when it was just about brewing Draught of Peace.

He didn't mock you when you forgot something obvious. He didn't interrupt. He listened.

And when your hands brushed across the table, reaching for the same note at the same time, he didn't flinch away. He just smiled.

Then the subject drifted. From Potions to Charms. From Charms to Transfiguration. From school to House gossip to whether centaurs secretly judged the students during Care of Magical Creatures.

Somewhere along the way, the edges between awkward and easy blurred.

There were pauses, of course—comfortable silences where you simply worked, and longer ones filled with light teasing or surprising bursts of genuine conversation. Like when he told you about his mum’s obsession with over-feeding the stray street cat, or how Sirius once bewitched his bed curtains to play harp music every time someone said his name.

It was weird, how easy it was.

It was weirder, still, when you realised you’d lost track of time.

“Blimey,” James muttered, glancing at the high windows. “It’s practically dark out,”

You blinked, checking your watch. “We’re late for dinner,”

“I was supposed to meet the team for a strategy review,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.

As if summoned, Peter popped his head around the shelf with a harried expression. “There you are!” he said to James, and then looked at you, visibly surprised. “We thought you’d fallen in a cauldron or something,”

James gave an apologetic shrug. “Lost track of time,”

Peter eyed the two of you, then turned his gaze back on James and raised his eyebrows very pointedly. “Riiight,”

You and James exchanged a glance, and then you both gathered your things and followed Peter out.

—

When you entered the Great Hall late, your friends were all over you.

“Where were you?” Dorcas asked, half-standing.

“Don’t say the library,” Marlene warned. “We know you left for the library, but you didn’t come back for hours,”

“And with James Potter?” Dorcas added, now openly gaping.

You groaned, sliding into the seat beside Lily. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“It sounds like you two met up for a shag,” Marlene suggested, delighted.

“Absolutely not,” you said, head thunking dramatically onto the table. “He was helping me with potions. That’s all.”

Lily grinned, rubbing your back. “So you finally cracked, then?”

You peeked up at her with a groan. “I can’t stand how smug you look right now,”

Dorcas leaned in eagerly. “Wait—you like him?”

You sighed and sat up. “I begrudgingly have a crush on James Potter. There. I said it. I hate myself. I hate him. I hate everything. Kill me now.”

The table burst into laughter. Marlene actually clutched her chest. “I knew it. You’ve been making heart eyes for weeks,”

Lily looked positively radiant. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly. “It’s only taken you, what? Seven years?”

You scowled. “This is the worst timeline.”

Still, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

—

Meanwhile, James was in the middle of a complete overshare.

“I panicked,” he said, flopping dramatically onto Sirius’ bed. “She just walked over and sat down. And then we actually talked. Like properly talked. And she laughed, Sirius. She laughed. At my jokes,”

Sirius grinned from where he was perched at the edge of Remus’s bed. “So you didn’t ruin it. Colour me shocked,”

James threw a pillow at him. “I’m being serious.”

“I’m being Sirius,” Sirius deadpanned.

Remus groaned. “Not this again,”

Peter snorted, settling at the foot of his own bed. “So what now? You two just revise together like it’s no big deal?”

“She asked to join me,” James said, like it was still unbelievable. “And I didn’t mess it up. I even helped her with Potions,”

Sirius gave him a sly look. “You like her,”

“Yes,” James said, no hesitation. “Obviously. I’ve liked her for ages. And now she’s actually… noticing me. And it’s terrifying,”

“What happened to cool, confident James Potter?” Remus asked with a faint smile.

“He’s dead.” James exclaimed. “He doesn’t exist,”

Sirius cracked up laughing.

James groaned, grabbing another pillow. “Promise me you lot won’t screw this up for me,”

“Course not,” Remus said. “We want you to be happy,”

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius muttered. “I liked it better when he was hopeless,”

But he smiled anyway.

—

From that point on, library sessions became a thing.

At first, it was casual. A few times a week, whenever you happened to run into each other. Then Lily started suggesting you go together—“oh, James said he’d be in the library after dinner, you should head down,”—and it became routine.

You tried to tell yourself it was just studying. That was all.

But it wasn’t.

You and James talked about everything—from exam stress and professors to more personal things. Like how he hated how he used to treat people, especially you and Lily. How he couldn’t believe he’d wasted so much time being a prat. How he’d let his ego make choices he still regretted.

“I was a total wanker,” he said one evening, sitting across from you, fiddling with the end of his quill. “Back when you and Lily were still friends with Snape. I was just… angry all the time. Jealous, maybe. I don’t know. But I was awful. And I’m sorry,”

You blinked. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “That actually means a lot,”

He gave you a small smile. “I just—I want you to know I’m trying. Not just for you. For me, too,”

And you believed him.

Which was maybe the scariest part.

Because this—whatever this was—wasn’t just a passing crush anymore.

You were really starting to fall for James Potter.

—

It was a Friday afternoon, the eve of the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch final, and James Potter was, predictably, in full strategising mode. You’d barely sat down at your usual table in the library before he launched into a spirited rant about formations, wind direction, and something called “chaser rotation efficiency” like he hadn’t just spent the past two hours at practice already barking the same things at his team.

You, meanwhile, were fighting a losing battle against a headache and the slow, creeping guilt of having left your Potions essay untouched for two full days.

“—and I swear if McLaggen swerves left again when I signal right, I’m going to charm his broomstick to fly backwards—”

“I forgot my quill,” you interrupted, sighing dramatically and digging fruitlessly through your satchel. “Great. That’s perfect. That’s exactly what I needed today,”

“Oh—here,” James said, gesturing vaguely to his bag without pausing his train of thought. “There’s loads in there, probably. Knock yourself out,”

You slid his satchel toward you, still only half-listening as he rambled on, now something about wind tunnels and Ravenclaw’s new Keeper. You unzipped the bag and fished around, fingers grazing parchment, a broken sugar quill, and several unidentifiable sticky objects before landing on a whole bundle of rogue writing utensils.

And then—your fingers brushed something else.

Smooth. Firm. Familiar.

You pulled it out.

Gold-foiled parchment.

Your breath hitched.

It was folded and refolded a dozen times over, edges fraying, the once-glossy surface dulled and creased. There were small ink stains on the back. A faint smudge of what might have been chocolate. You didn’t even need to open it to know what it was.

But you did anyway.

You shouldn’t have. You knew that. But your hands acted faster than your brain, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes were scanning the page.

Your name was there, in that now-unmistakable handwriting. The curves and flicks that had haunted your thoughts for nearly a year. And the words—oh, the words. Soft and intimate and so completely James that you were stunned you hadn’t pieced it together before.

I know I said I wouldn’t write you anymore, but I’m afraid I can’t help myself. The truth is, I’ve been terrified of saying it out loud, of giving you something you don’t need or want. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve loved you for so long, in ways that I can’t even put into words. I’ve watched you, really watched you, every day, and I’ve noticed things about you that—

You were halfway through reading it when James looked up from his notes, mid-smirk.

“I know my bag’s a bit of a disaster zone, but come on—it can’t be that hard to find a—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

His smile dropped.

You slowly looked up, the letter still in your hands, your fingers clenched tight around the gold paper. Your voice, when it came, was a whisper. Distant.

“…It was you?”

Silence.

James stared at you.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

You saw it—the flicker of panic, the rapid calculations behind his eyes, the moment he considered denying it.

But he didn’t.

He just nodded. Once. Barely perceptible.

You rose from your seat with a quiet scrape of your chair.

“I— I need to go.”

“Wait—” James started, standing as if to follow you, but you were already gone.

You didn’t look back.

—

James slumped back into his seat like the air had been knocked out of him.

He felt like he might be sick.

He'd known it was a risk. He’d always known. That’s why he never sent that final letter. That’s why he buried it in the bottom of his bag with the other forgotten things. Because if you ever found out…

And now you had.

He ran both hands through his hair and groaned into the table.

Lily found him twenty minutes later, still in the library, head buried in his arms.

“James we need to— What happened?” she asked immediately, sliding into the seat beside him. “You look like someone hexed your soul out,”

James didn’t lift his head.

“She found the letter,”

“…What?”

James groaned again. “I had it in my bag and she went in for a quill and she found it. Read it. Said ‘It was you?’ and then just—left.”

Lily’s eyes widened.

“What? James, that wasn’t the plan—!”

“I know,” he said miserably. “Trust me.”

Lily didn’t wait for more. She stood, grabbed her bag, and strode from the library like a woman on a mission.

—

She found you in the girls’ dormitory, door slightly ajar, the room quiet except for the faint rustle of parchment and the erratic, uneven sounds of your breathing.

The gold-letter lay open on your duvet, surrounded by all the other ones you’d carefully saved. The edges were frayed and thumbed from how often you’d reread them, but now they were scattered like fallen leaves, forming a halo around your crossed legs.

You didn’t look up when Lily entered.

She sat beside you quietly.

For a while, there was only the sound of your sniffles and the occasional tear hitting paper.

“I feel insane,” you said eventually, voice shaking. “I— I didn’t think— I never imagined it would be him,”

Lily reached out gently, plucking a letter from the bedspread. “You mean to tell me you never noticed the handwriting?”

“I never thought to look,” you mumbled. “Why would I? It was James Potter. He was—he was awful for so long,”

“But he isn’t now,”

You looked at her then, eyes red, lips trembling. “No. He’s not,”

There was a long pause.

Lily tilted her head. “You really like him, don’t you?”

You groaned, flopping backwards onto your pillow with a dramatic sigh. “I guess! I don’t—I didn’t think I did, not like that, not really, not until recently, and now—now I don’t know what to do, Lily,”

Lily smiled gently. “It’s okay. It’s… a lot. I know that,”

“It’s so much,” you moaned. “It’s like my brain is having a meltdown. All the letters—I loved the letters, and now they’re his letters and it’s like this huge secret just blew up in my face and I think I want to cry but also yell but also maybe kiss him and I don’t know what order those things go in!”

Lily laughed softly. “That’s the grief talking,”

You sniffled. “Grief?”

“Yeah,” she said solemnly. “The five stages of realising you’ve been in love with James Potter,”

You gave her a look.

“I’m serious. Denial—you definitely had that one early. Anger? You stormed out of the library. Bargaining—we’re doing that now. Depression is when you go quiet and start rereading all his letters while questioning your entire existence. And acceptance—well,”

“I’m not at acceptance yet,” you insisted, even as your voice wobbled. “I’m still in a very dramatic spiral,”

“You’ll get there,” Lily said kindly. “Just… breathe, okay? You’re allowed to freak out. But this—this doesn’t have to be bad,”

“He lied to me,”

“He didn’t lie,” Lily said gently. “He just… couldn’t find the courage to tell you the truth,”

You fell quiet, chewing your lip. “Was this your plan all along?”

Lily hesitated. “Not this exact ending, but… I knew. For a while. And I may have nudged things along,”

You groaned again, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. “You kept it from me?”

“It wasn’t mine to tell,”

You peeked out. “He’s really upset, isn’t he?”

“Like a kicked puppy,”

—

James was falling apart.

The Marauders tried their best to be supportive.

Which, unfortunately, amounted to Sirius offering him chocolate, Remus recommending deep breathing exercises, and Peter saying things like, “Well, at least it’s out now?”

“Out?” James choked. “It’s out like a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a greenhouse! She’s going to hate me,”

“You’re being dramatic,” Sirius said. “She likes you. Even I can see that,”

“She liked the version of me who wrote the letters,” James said. “Not the idiot who shoved them in a bag and hoped they never saw the light of day,”

“She liked you, mate,” Remus corrected. “You were being yourself in those letters. You just… didn’t know how to show it in person,”

James rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s over, isn’t it?”

“No,” Sirius said, surprisingly firm. “Not unless you give up now,”

James looked at him.

“You’ve come this far. She knows now. You can’t back down. Not unless you’re okay with always wondering what would’ve happened if you tried,”

James took a deep breath.

“I want to try,”

“Then try,” Remus said, clapping him on the shoulder.

—

You stayed up most of the night rereading the letters.

Every word hit differently now.

The soft musings. The little jokes. The genuine awe in the way he’d described you.

James Potter had written them all.

And somehow, that made your heart hurt in the most complicated, overwhelming, real way.

By morning, your mind was no clearer—but you knew one thing.

You needed to talk to him.

—

James didn’t wake up until nearly noon.

He jolted upright in bed with a strangled noise, heart racing, hair a chaotic mess of pillow creases and stress, the realisation slamming into his chest like a Bludger—he’d missed practice.

He’d missed practice.

On the day of the finals.

There was a beat of stunned silence in the common room, broken only by Peter’s stifled gasp as James scrambled down the stairs, knocking over a chair, his wand, and nearly himself in his blind panic.

“Shit—shit—shit—”

“James, mate, calm down,” came Sirius’s voice, too calm, too amused for the situation.

“I missed practice, Sirius! Finals practice! I'm the captain! I was supposed to run drills, go over the formations—McLaggen was probably leading it, and now the team’s going to think I don’t give a damn—”

“Breathe,” Remus added, flicking his wand to fix James’ mess of a hairdo mid-spiral.

“I can’t—breathe! I should be—kicked off the team, I should sub myself out—”

At that, Sirius sat up properly, ruffling a hand through his dark hair. “Okay, whoa, no. What are you on about?”

James didn’t answer. He was halfway dressed, chest still heaving, hands shaking so badly he couldn’t even fasten the buttons.

“I mean it,” he muttered, voice lower now, harsher. “Maybe I shouldn’t play,”

“You’re literally the best Chaser in the school,” Peter said, face scrunched in confusion.

“I’m also a disaster. You didn’t see her face yesterday. She looked—like I’d broken her, or something. I can’t concentrate, I can’t think—I can’t lead the team if my brain’s stuck on whether or not I’ve ruined the only real shot I had with her,”

“James,” Sirius said carefully, sitting on the edge of one of the sofas. “You don’t have to ruin everything just because your crush found out you have feelings,”

James shot him a look. “It’s more than that and you know it,”

Sirius shrugged. “I do. I also know you’re being an idiot,”

“I panicked. I didn’t mean for her to find the letter—”

“No one thinks you did,” Remus said gently.

“Then why did she run?”

Sirius gave him a flat look. “I dunno, maybe because she’s been falling for you and just found out the sweet, romantic mystery boy she’s been dreaming about for a year is the same idiot who hexed her potions cauldron in fourth year? Maybe it was a lot?”

James dropped heavily into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

He muttered something into his palms that sounded suspiciously like, “I hate everything,”

Sirius stood. “You can’t sit this match out, Prongs,”

“I might make things worse,”

“You won’t,” Remus said.

“You’re just scared,” Sirius added. “And you should be. Feelings are terrifying. But you either play today and show her you’re still you, or you hide away and let her think she was right to walk away,”

James didn’t answer.

—

You were pacing the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room like a lunatic.

You’d spent half the night re-reading the letters again, still overwhelmed, still processing, but ultimately—and maybe most importantly—feeling guilty.

You hadn’t meant to run out on him like that. You did still care. A lot. Too much.

So you needed to say something. Maybe not everything. Maybe not a confession, not yet. But something.

You asked a third year if they’d seen James. They hadn’t.

You tried the Quidditch pitch. Empty.

Eventually, you made your way to the prefects dorms, hesitating at the door before quietly pushing it open.

“…sub myself out…”

You froze.

James was sitting on his bed, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, looking like the ghost of himself. Sirius was pacing. Remus and Peter were quiet. And then—

“Oh,” you blurted.

All four heads turned.

You immediately wanted to melt into the floor. “I—uh—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I was just—um—I came to wish you luck. For the match. Lily and I are gonna watch for Marlene, obviously, and I know you were really going on about it yesterday so… yeah.”

Your cheeks were burning. You tugged at the sleeve of your jumper and avoided eye contact like it would save you from death by embarrassment. “Anyway. Yeah. Good luck,”

You turned and practically sprinted out the door, pressing both palms to your face the moment it closed behind you.

Inside, there was a beat of silence.

Then Sirius’s slow, satisfied, “She so likes you,”

James didn’t believe it. But still—he sat up straighter. There was a faint flush in his cheeks, a tiny, hopeful ember reigniting.

He wasn’t going to sub himself out.

Not now he knew you were watching.

—

The match that afternoon was nothing short of brutal.

Ravenclaw had a reputation for smart plays and clever feints, and they came in swinging with strategy and speed. But James was a force. It was like someone had lit a fire under him—every pass was clean, every dodge intentional. He was focused. Sharp. Alive in a way he hadn’t been in days.

The crowd in the stands was on fire.

You’d never really been the biggest Quidditch enthusiast—not like Marlene or even Dorcas, who pretended to be bored most games but secretly had a very complex internal fantasy league ranking system. But today? You were completely, helplessly, entirely invested.

Your throat was raw from shouting. You didn’t even care that Lily kept elbowing you in the ribs every time you shrieked James’s name louder than was probably acceptable for someone not dating him. (Yet.)

“I’m sorry,” you rasped after the sixth time, cupping your hands over your mouth as James executed an absolutely outrageous dive to steal the Quaffle from a Ravenclaw Chaser. “But that was hot. That was so—Lily, did you see that—?”

Lily didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t grinning. “I saw it. The whole pitch saw it. You are so painfully gone for this boy it’s almost tragic,”

You shoved her shoulder, cheeks on fire, unable to wipe the dopey grin off your face. James was glowing—wind-swept, flushed, every movement clean and confident and completely alive. It was unfair how good he looked flying. Like it was something stitched into his DNA.

Gryffindor was ahead. Barely. And the entire stadium was one collective heartbeat waiting for the final move.

It came with a streak of red and gold as the Seeker bolted upward—Marlene’s signature move—and then a roar from the crowd when she clutched the Snitch in her hand, grinning like a maniac.

“Yes!” you and Lily screamed in unison, nearly falling over the bench in front of you.

Below, the team rushed to meet her midair, swarming in a tangle of hugs and back pats, and James—James looked up toward the stands, searching, scanning, finding you.

Your breath caught. He grinned, absolutely beaming, and you—without thinking—grinned back.

—

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing. It looked like every single student in the house had packed themselves in to celebrate the win. There were butterbeers flying, someone had enchanted the couches to bounce like trampolines, and music blasted from one corner where Sirius had commandeered the record player.

You tried to stay off to the side with Lily and the other girls, laughing and pretending to be just another teammate’s supporter, not the girl who had maybe-sort-of-definitely admitted feelings for the captain.

But they were not having it.

“Go talk to him,” Dorcas demanded, poking you hard in the ribs.

“He just won the Cup, obviously you have to congratulate him,” Mary added, dragging you a few steps forward.

“I will! Just—” You resisted, flustered. “I need a second. Or ten.”

You didn’t get ten.

Because moments later, James appeared near the fireplace, sweaty and still in uniform, laughing at something Sirius said, absolutely radiant. And the girls all but shoved you in his direction.

You stumbled a bit, clutching your butterbeer like a life raft. He noticed you instantly.

His smile faltered. Just slightly.

You walked the rest of the way on your own, heart hammering like a snitch in your chest.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey,” James replied, voice quieter than usual.

You stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Sirius, bless his idiotic timing, called from across the room. “Oi! If you’re gonna stare at each other all night, at least do it while snogging! Save us all the agony!”

You blinked. James blinked. Your face caught fire.

You coughed, trying to rally. “Congratulatio—”

“I like you.”

You blinked again. He was staring at you now, so intently, like you were the only person in the room. The words spilled out of him like they’d been waiting on his tongue for weeks.

“A lot. It might not even be liking anymore—I think I might actually be in love with you. Which is terrifying, obviously. I mean, do you know how scary that is? I didn’t mean to say that just now but it’s true and now it’s out there and I can’t take it back and I am so definitely panicking right now what am I doing—”

“James.”

He stopped.

You took a step closer.

“I like you too.”

Silence.

Then James let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh and maybe a choke. “You do?”

“I do,”

“Like, like-like me?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning now. “Do you want me to write it in a letter that I’ll never send to you?”

“Okay, wow,” James let out a short laugh, one your grateful breaks the tension a little. “Too soon, too soon,”

He looks at you with unbridled affection as you return the laugh with an unapologic “Sorry,”, and he can’t seem to help himself.

“We should kiss now, right? Wait—should I have asked that? That sounded stupid—so stupid—oh my God, what is wrong with me, I’m gonna go cry in a corner—”

You interrupted him the only way that made sense.

You kissed him.

He froze for half a second—just long enough to register that it was actually happening—and then he melted into it like he’d been waiting forever. His hands hovered for a moment before settling, warm and firm, at your waist. His mouth was soft, gentle, hesitant in the best way, like he was afraid he’d wake up and realise this was all a dream.

But it wasn’t. It was very, very real.

And, unfortunately, also very public.

“Oi! You’re in public, you know!” came Marlene’s unmistakable cackle from across the room.

You broke the kiss, face flaming as you realised—oh no—everyone had seen.

Like… everyone.

James looked equally shellshocked. You both stared at the cheering, whooping, laughing room of Gryffindors, then at each other.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

James laughed, looping his arms around your shoulders and holding you tight, radiating smug glee.

“No can do,” he said into your hair. “I’ve been waiting years for this,”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he grinned, “you like me anyway.”

You looked up at him. “Unfortunately.”

And yeah, okay—maybe it was chaotic, and soft, and totally unplanned—but your first kiss with James Potter was exactly as ridiculous and wonderful as it should’ve been.

Lily caught your eye across the common room after the commotion of the kiss settled into a hundred knowing glances and too-loud whispers. She made a very obvious, very exaggerated “go!” motion with both hands, then shoved her way across the crowd to reach you.

“We are not doing this in front of thirty nosy Gryffindors,” she said under her breath, looping her arm through yours and all but dragging you toward the dorms.

“Wait, what’s happening—”

“Privacy, darling. Trust me,”

She glanced back at James, who was still slightly dazed, and jerked her head at him. “Potter. Move,”

He blinked. “Yeah—yep—coming.”

“Also,” she added over her shoulder to the room at large, “if anyone so much as breathes near the Head Boy’s dorm in the next hour, I will personally hex your toes off,”

There was a smattering of laughter, but everyone—whether out of respect or fear—gave a collective nod of understanding.

You didn’t even fight her on it. You let her guide you through the winding corridors until James was unlocking the door to his private dorm, a quiet space tucked away on the top floor of Gryffindor Tower.

He stepped aside to let you in first. You walked in slowly, half-expecting something chaotic, like prank supplies or an entire wall of Quidditch posters—but the room was surprisingly clean. A little messy around the edges, sure—a few rogue socks, a quill left in an ink bottle too long—but warm. Lived in. His.

“Your curtains don’t match,” you said, for lack of anything better.

He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Peter charmed them once to be the colours of the Weird Sisters and I’ve never managed to get them back properly,”

You nodded slowly. “Cool,”

A pause.

Then—

“You’ve liked me since fourth year?”

It slipped out without warning. You hadn’t meant to say it, not so quickly, but the words burned in your chest. That letter, the gold-foiled parchment, the confession—it was still vibrating through you.

James looked startled, but only for a second. He nodded once, soft and certain.

“Yeah,”

You swallowed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He smiled faintly, stepping closer. “Because I was a little idiot. Arrogant. Immature. A menace, honestly. You hated me,”

“I didn’t—hate you,”

“You did,”

“…Okay, a little, maybe,”

That made him laugh.

“But honestly— I didn’t think I deserved to like you back then,” he said. “You were smart. And kind. And so real. You were always thinking about things, you saw people. I was just the loud idiot on a broom,”

You were quiet, because hearing it like that—laid out so plainly—made your heart ache.

He was in front of you now, barely a foot away. You thought he was going to kiss you again, but he didn’t.

Instead, James reached up and gently cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs grazing the apple of your cheeks like you were made of glass and starlight. And then he just looked at you. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper, “how much you make me feel.”

You couldn’t speak.

So instead, you leaned up and kissed him.

This time, there was no chaos. No crowd. No interruptions. Just you, and James, and the warmth of something blooming between your ribs.

It was slow—achingly so—your lips brushing his like a question. He exhaled into you, a soft, broken sound, and kissed you back like you were the answer.

It was… everything.

The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove itself. One that said: I see you. I’m here. I want this.

Somewhere between one kiss and the next, you murmured, “Thank you,”

He pulled back just slightly, brow furrowing. “For what?”

You looked up at him, heart thundering.

“You didn’t make this some huge thing. You didn’t… turn it into a game, or a bet, or something loud and performative. You liked me. And you didn’t hide it, but you didn’t push me either. You just… were. You were you.” You blinked. “Thank you for being you,”

James’s face crumpled just a little, like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or cry. One of his hands dropped to your waist, the other curling behind your neck like he needed the anchor.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“I don’t think you know,” he said hoarsely, “how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,”

You smiled, dizzy with it all. “Well. Get used to it,”

His lips brushed yours again, so soft it was almost nothing. “I’m really, really in love with you,”

Your breath caught.

“I know,” you whispered.

And then you kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

-MDNI FROM THIS POINT ONWARD.-

It started soft—careful, like you were both still testing the weight of the moment. His hands cradled your face like you were something fragile, something precious, something he’d been terrified of holding wrong for years. But each time your mouths met again, the kiss deepened. Grew bolder. A little less hesitant. A little more sure.

Your fingers tangled in his hair—so soft, so stupidly soft—and James let out a noise against your mouth that had your heart stuttering in your chest. The hand cupping your cheek slid down, fingers grazing your jaw, your neck, until it found the curve of your waist and settled there, grounding you.

He was warm. Too warm. Like every inch of him was heat and adrenaline and the barely-contained relief of finally, finally having this.

You tugged him closer.

He didn’t hesitate.

Your back met the edge of the desk behind you, his chest flush with yours, and suddenly there was no air left between your bodies. Just the solid, real weight of him—every inch as solid and strong as you’d imagined when he walked through the halls like the sun had chosen him to orbit around. But here, like this, he was just James. And he was looking at you like he could drown in the sight of you.

His thumb brushed along your hipbone, under the hem of your shirt, and your whole body lit up like you’d been cursed—like every nerve ending had just remembered it was alive.

“Are we—?” he started to ask, breathless.

You kissed him again before he could finish. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “But don’t stop,”

James definitely didn’t stop.

His hands wandered with a careful hunger—like he wanted to memorise the shape of you, not just with touch but with reverence. His mouth followed the same path, trailing kisses from the corner of your lips down the line of your jaw to the soft skin beneath your ear. When he whispered your name there, barely audible, your knees buckled.

You gripped his shirt, fisting the fabric at his chest to stay steady. “God, you’re—” You stopped yourself before the rest could fall out, but the look in his eyes said he’d heard the whole thing anyway.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something—maybe something funny, maybe something devastating—but you kissed him before he had the chance. This time slower, more deliberate, your mouths fitting together like puzzle pieces that had always been waiting for the right alignment.

And it worked. Somehow, it just worked.

The kind of kiss that felt like you’d been chasing it your whole life.

James groaned softly into your mouth, and that noise did something catastrophic to your brain. One of his hands slid up your back, fingers spread wide like he was trying to anchor himself to you, and when you opened your eyes for half a second to look at him, you found him already watching you—eyes blown wide with want, with feeling, with everything.

“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your skin. “For so long,”

James kissed you like a man starved after that—still gentle, always careful, but no longer pulling back.

It was clumsy in places, breathless in others. Too many teeth in one kiss, your shoulder knocking into a stack of textbooks in another. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

You were on fire.

And James was the match, the spark, the sun itself.

At some point, his forehead pressed to yours. You both just breathed. Hard. Laughing softly between gasps, because of course it was James who made kissing this addictive and this stupid.

You were lost in him.

In the feel of every inch of him pressed against you—his hips pinning you to the edge of the desk, his body surrounding you like a forcefield of lean muscle and freckled skin.

Heat was unfurling like liquid fire in your veins, but his mouth still traced over your jawline and across your cheek like he couldn’t stop. Like you were precious.

You gripped the fabric of his shirt, tugging hard enough to bring his gaze back to yours and then holding it, your breath hitching when you caught that look in his eyes, and his hips moved—just once, and just a little—and god, what that did to you. How it sent desire flashing like a lightning bolt down your spine to pool low in your stomach, and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from gasping out loud.

His fingers curled around your hips, digging into the soft flesh through your jeans, and then he pulled you closer like he couldn’t get enough. Closer still, until you were practically draped over the desk, your thighs parted and hips flush with his, and he was devouring you—his touch, his kiss, with no sign of being full.

God, he wanted everything.

His hands mapped out the line of your waist, your ribs, your spine, and everywhere you could feel the warm, rough slide of his touch you burned for more. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could feel it pulsing through your skin, and when you rolled your hips up towards his you were just as surprised by the noise you made as James was.

He inhaled sharply, swearing softly, and there would have been time to be embarrassed if you weren’t too busy being turned to mush.

“God that was hot,” James practically breathes out the words, hungry eyes half hidden behind fog-covered lenses as they drag down your body.

He looked utterly ruined already. Hair a mess from you running your fingers through it, shirt rumpled from when you couldn’t keep yourself from touching him. Wanting him.

You reached up to cup his face on impulse, your fingers tracing the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, before sliding your fingers across the arms of his glasses, delicately pulling them from his face. “D’you need these?”

The smirk that spreads across his face is just a little bit smug, but it still does things to you. “Depends,” he said, still breathless. “Are we planning on doing anything that would necessitate me being able to see?”

You laugh, dropping both your voices, and it comes out sounding rough. “Maybe not,” you say, slipping the specs into the front pocket of his shirt. “Do you need to be able to see to kiss me?”

His eyes are half-lidded, and you could count each of his eyelashes from the way he’s looking at you, lips still swollen from a few minutes ago. “No,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his mouth over yours again, “but it does help with the view.”

He took your chin with his finger, tilting your face up so he could take in the sight of you properly. A slow-burning warmth unfurled in your stomach—no, lower than that, and for a few seconds you were both just looking, and it felt almost more intimate than the last few minutes.

“God, you’re… blurry,” he whispered, and you can’t help the sharp laugh that echoes out of your throat.

“Bugger off,” you said, without any real intent behind it. You weren’t even sure why you were acting so shy—maybe you were just overwhelmed by the situation, the feelings, or the way being with James just felt. Whatever the reason, he seemed to find your nervousness amusing.

He chuckled, dipping his head to press a kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear, right there at the edge of your jaw where you were softest. “I’m kidding,” he murmured. “I’m nearsighted. And you’re definitely close enough for me to see,”

He pulled back just enough for the smirk to return, the tips of his fingers grazing over the strip of exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the waist of your jeans and sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth was still curved in that maddeningly smug smile, but his voice was so low when he continued to talk. “I’m gonna take your shirt off now, okay?”

The question comes out quiet and gentle, but there’s a heat to it too. Asking what you want, asking what you’ll let him have.

You manage a breathless, “okay,” and his gaze is still fixed on you when he lets his hands slide up under your shirt, calloused fingers dancing over the bare skin of your waist.

Every point of contact seemed to sizzle, nerve endings you didn’t even know you had sparking alive beneath his touch. You felt like you were trembling, like every breath hit was a jolt of pure, liquid feeling.

His eyes were still trained on your face as he drew your shirt over your head, gaze drifting across your exposed chest with an unabashed—and kind of feral—kind of reverence. “God, you’re perfect—”

He pressed a kiss to the spot just below your collarbone, and you could feel the rasp of a day’s worth of stubble against your skin, burning down to your very bones. Both his hands splayed across your ribcage, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your body by touch.

You can hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when his fingers catch the edge of your bra, and he’s already murmuring again, his voice a low, wrecked sound against your bare skin. “Can I take this off too?”

You answer by helping him fumble with the hooks, the heat from his skin and his gaze almost too much to bear. By the time it hits the floor somewhere behind you, his mouth has found the delicate, thrumming hollow of your neck, and his hands are wandering lower. Across your stomach, tracing over your curves to slide across your hipbone and dip under the waist of your jeans.

Any coherent thoughts you’d been clinging on to up until this point were gone, lost in a haze of heat and want. Every touch was electric, his mouth searing a path down your neck, across your shoulder, across the bare skin of your collarbone, until he’d left a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along the apex of your breasts.

“You sound so good,” he whispered, the words catching against your skin. “Taste so good.”

He was everywhere, surrounding you, all his attention on the body under his touch. His nose grazed the sensitive skin just above your nipple, just a gentle brush at first, and then he flicked the tip of his tongue across the peak of your breast and every nerve in your body went white hot.

“God—” the single syllable comes out as a broken gasp. A plea, maybe, a wordless begging for more.

He chuckled softly, a dangerous, wicked sound, and then he closed his mouth over your nipple and sucked. It felt like he’d lit a fire in the pit of your stomach, like it was all you could do to breathe, and he wasn’t even finished. One of his hands was still holding your hip—steadying you as he switched his attention to the other, teeth scraping just enough to make the heat in your belly flare brighter, deeper, all of your muscles tensing at once.

Every part of you felt like it was on fire, and you were so empty. The ache between your thighs was insistent, demanding attention you couldn’t give it. You let out a breathless whine, shifting to try and get some friction, and when he raised his head to look at you, eyes all half-lidded and mouth still slightly slick, you thought you might actually go insane.

You were so caught up in the moment that it took a second longer than it should’ve to notice the cocky smile plastered across his face. He was watching you writhe under his touch like it was the best show he’d ever seen.

“You good up there?” he said teasingly. “Look like you’re about to combust.”

“Bastard,” you managed, and it sounded as breathless as you felt. You reached up to bury a hand in his hair, tugging on handfuls of messy waves and relishing in the way he cursed softly under his breath. “You’re a goddamn tease.”

He gave the underside of your breast one last wet kiss, then started pressing a line of kisses up your body towards your mouth. “A tease, am I?” He said between kisses, his voice still low and rough. “I don’t know, sounds more like I’m trying my best to be a gentleman instead of rushing into the action,”

“Some gentleman,” you laughed, and that time it came out more of a gasp than anything else. He’d drawn himself up to full height, looking down at you with a smirk that was half amused and half smug, and god, he was handsome. “You’ve got me half naked on your desk, I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of gentlemanly,”

“That’s not my fault,” he said, mock-offended, and you let out a bark of laughter. “You’re the one who started it. With the shirt, and the kissing. All my good intentions went right out the window,”

You were still giggling—his hand was now tracing idle circles on your hip, gentle and tender—but his touch was driving you insane. He was everywhere, burning through your skin, and all it did was make the heat beneath your ribs worse. You took a deep, shaking breath, trying to slow down your heart.

Your voice came out much more timid than you expected. “You’d probably better finish what you started, then.”

His eyes caught yours, and the smile that spread across his face sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Are you asking me to take your pants off, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes at the endearment, but it was impossible to stay irritated with the way your heart was jumping into your throat. “I’m asking you to take your pants off, actually,”

He raised an eyebrow, expression still cocky but edged with a touch of surprise. He looked so good like that—glasses missing, mouth pink and kiss-swollen, eyes fixed on your every move. “Consider it done,”

He took your chin in one hand, his touch almost teasing, tilting your head back to give himself full access to the line of your neck. His other hand drifted to rest on your side, pulling you away from the desk to push you over to his four-poster instead.

It was a bit undignified, stumbling backwards while he was still glued to your neck, but somehow you both managed to land in a heap on the mattress, with him on top. The sheets rustled in protest, and god, you could just feel his weight on top of you, pinning you to the mattress and setting fire to every point of contact.

You barely even noticed him pulling off his own shirt and pants, your mind too clouded with desire to pay attention. You just watched, taking in the sight of his bare chest and the sharp planes of his muscles, his lean and strong and all you could do was reach up to run your hands down across his shoulders—over the freckles and moles and scars that covered his skin.

He let out a strangled sound when your hands slid over the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fixed on your face, his whole body rigid under your touch as the fabric drags down his thighs. He was breathless, his breathing coming fast and shallow, but he still managed to speak.

“You seem to be missing a few things, if you haven’t noticed.” His voice was still that same, annoyingly smooth, but there was a rasp to it too. Like talking was suddenly more difficult than it should have been.

And yeah, okay, he had a point. You hadn’t even realised you were still wearing jeans until now, but it was quickly becoming an issue. He was still pinning you to the mattress, but you managed to lift your hips up under him enough to reach the zipper on your pants.

He sat back on his heels, watching you struggle out of your jeans—he reached down to help when your legs got tangled, and you swore the smirk on his face when he got the second leg off was almost wolfish. “Careful, there, you almost kneed me in the bollocks.”

“Too bad, I was aiming for them.”

He laughed, running a hand up your bare thigh, fingers tracing across the edge of your underwear and making your whole body burn. “Nice knickers.”

“Shut up,” you said, but your voice was already hoarse, half from the effort of talking and half from the way every little touch seemed to send lightning straight to the pit of your stomach. “You literally have snitches on your boxers, you’re not allowed to make fun of me,”

“For your information, they’re my lucky boxers,” he said, as if it was the most logical thing in the entire world. “And they seem to be working,”

You were about to comment on the ridiculousness of that statement, but then he let his hand brush over the damp patch in your panties and every thought in your head evaporated in about ten seconds flat. “Oh, fuck—”

His touch was agonising. Just a single, gentle stroke traced across the edge of your underwear, but it felt like being set on fire. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, still watching your face like the world’s most beautiful train wreck, and the way he’s smirking is just a little bit cruel. “Is this all because of me?”

You should’ve found the teasing infuriating—maybe even patronising, but your head was spinning and you were so turned on you couldn’t think straight. “You know it is,” you managed to gasp out, arching your hips up into his touch and desperately trying to find more friction.

His thumb pressed across your clit through your underwear and the gasp that came out of your mouth was practically obscene. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”

He was shifting back on top of you, and his mouth was on your neck, hot and wet and distracting, and you’d almost forgotten about his thumb until it moved again—a slow, torturous circle that had you whining. “God, you sound so good,” he murmured against your skin. “Can I take these off? Please?”

If you’d had even a second of self-control left, you probably would’ve found the way he was almost begging for it adorable, but as it was all you could manage to do was nod.

You felt more than heard him swear, and the next thing you know he’s hooking his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, pulling them down your legs with a speed that says he’s having trouble keeping his own eagerness in check.

He sat back once you were completely naked—just you, sprawled out on his four-poster, bare and trembling and wanting. Every part of you felt like it was on edge, like you’d fall apart as soon as he touched you again.

He was looking at you like he was starving, eyes wandering across every inch of your body. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, “Merlin, look at you,”

You couldn’t help but shiver under his gaze, the feeling of helplessness sending another jolt of heat down your spine. You’d almost gotten used to seeing that cocky smirk of his, but now it was gone—replaced by a look you couldn’t place, like he was in awe of you.

You watched helplessly as he shifted, his body covering yours again, bare skin against bare skin. His cock was already hard against your thigh and you were so empty that you knew nothing except the urge to have him as close to you as possible. “Please,” you managed to say, words a gasp as he traced a finger over your hip.

He groaned softly at the desperation in your voice, and then he was reaching down, his fingers finding your opening and sliding in. All you could do was moan out loud, clenching around him and aching for more. “God—” His voice was ragged, rough, like he was using all his willpower just to keep himself from going too fast. “That’s it. That’s it,” he murmured, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re so tight.”

“You’re gonna destroy me,” you gasped out, as he slowly started to pump his fingers in and out. “I—” Whatever you’d been about to say dissolved into another moan. “Please, just—”

“I’ve got you,” he said, and another kiss, against your collarbone. “I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you,” And then he added a third finger, and you were certain you wouldn’t even be able to string words together anymore.

“Oh god—oh, god—” Your back arched again, hips lifting off the bed, and he curled his fingers again and the pleasure of it was so sharp it almost hurt.

“Just like that? You like that?” He murmured softly against your skin.

You weren’t even sure how to answer that, your brain so overwhelmed by heat and pleasure that all you could do was let out a helpless whine.

He kept pumping his fingers, working you open, and you were trembling with the effort of trying not to let go just yet. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, and god, he was so cocky like this. “Just be patient—”

You gasped out something between a laugh and a moan. “Patient? You have some nerve—”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of nerve,” he said, and then he pulled his fingers out with another sound from your throat. You were about to complain, but he kissed you before you could—a brief brush of his mouth on yours that was so distracting you almost didn’t notice him moving until he was between your thighs.

He had one hand on your hip and the other wrapped around himself, and the way he’s looking at you makes your whole body ache.

“You ready?” He asked, and his voice is still rough and a little breathy. You nodded, words failing you, and the sound he made was almost desperate.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, and then the tip of his cock was right at your entrance and you were trembling so badly you were almost whimpering.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, and then he started to press in. It was a torturously slow stretch, every inch of him filling you like you were made for him. You’re still too full of him—you clench around him without meaning to, and all of him shudders.

“Oh my god,” he says, and it comes out like a gasp, and when he’s finally in all the way you feel like you might cry, like he’s touching all of those parts of you you’ve been waiting for him to find.

“Oh, god,” you moan, and it’s all you can manage. It’s just too much—the feeling of him, the stretch of your body, the heat in your ribs that you can’t seem to breathe around. It’s like he’s everywhere, and you’re not sure you want it to ever stop.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and he’s starting to move, “that’s it, breathe. Just feel me.” He leans down to kiss you, messy and sloppy, just a brush of open mouths before you’re arching off the bed and his lips are on your neck.

“You look so god damn good like this,” his thrusts are slow, deep, and they’re already driving you mad. “All spread out for me.” You can’t even answer him in words anymore, every sound slipping out of your mouth a high, breathy whine.

He keeps up his torturously slow pace for what feels like a small eternity, and every time he pushes in you can feel him against the inside of you, like your body was made to take him in. “You feel so good,” he’s murmuring, “God, why haven’t we done this before?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been a coward for the last three years—” Your response is humorous, lighthearted, and falls almost completely flat as it comes out more desperate than goading.

But everything feels so good—he feels so good, the slow drag of his cock filling you over and over, his hands on your thighs holding you open just for him, his teeth and mouth everywhere they can reach.

He laughs, the sound coming out as half-moan, and it’s incredible how he’s somehow still acting cheeky when he’s like this—like the whole world has shrunk down to the two of you and there’s still room for playfulness. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so blind you would’ve noticed me sooner,” he says, and he’s still teasing, like he isn’t literally inside you, and you’d hit him if you had the brainpower. “You could’ve had this the whole time.”

Your face is so flushed it feels like you’re on fire, every muscle in your body tense and trembling. You dig your nails into his shoulders, trying to find some kind of anchor. “You’re still a cocky bastard, you know that?” But it’s hard to keep up the banter, and all it comes out sounding like is a soft whine.

“I know,” he grins, and he’s so smug you’d almost hate him if you weren’t so desperate for him. “God why didn’t I know sex felt this good-?” He leans down again, his mouth hovering over yours, the heat of him so close that you can feel it and it burns.

“Maybe I’m just that good,” you manage to say—and yes, okay, your voice is half a gasp and the words are broken, breathless by the way he’s still moving inside you, but you still manage.

He laughs again, sharp and ragged at the edge, and you feel like you’re being unwound like some old toy, your whole body vibrating like a live wire. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear.

He’s still smirking when he says, “And you call me cocky,”

He’s picking up the pace, but only just enough to make you whine again, his head dipped to mouth at your throat again.

You’re so tight around him it’s like he’s trying to make you come apart one piece at a time, his breath warm against your skin as he keeps whispering. “But you’re right, you feel so damn good—”

He’s losing control, losing his smugness, because despite what he said about patience he looks like he’s ready to go over the edge already. But he’s still got that smirk on his face, like even now, when he’s all ragged breaths and desperate thrusts, he’s still teasing. “I should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve taken you back here back in fourth year. Should’ve had you like this when I first started thinking about you,”

His hands are on your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones like he’s trying to hold himself back from just snapping and going wild on you.

“Should’ve had every day in fifth year," he’s panting now, and he’s still going just as slow, making it feel like you’re being taken apart, piece by piece. “Would’ve been better than those stupid pranks.”

You can’t even laugh—you just can’t, every nerve in your body is set off like a firework. You manage, “You’re- you’re terrible,” but then you’re arching your hips up into him, your body taking over despite yourself.

“I’m terrible,” he agrees, but he’s grinning, he’s breathless and there’s a sweat on his forehead and he still looks infuriatingly gorgeous. “Doesn’t change the fact that I want you so bad I can’t think straight. Couldn’t, back then. Just followed you around like an idiot.”

“You were an idiot,” you manage, and he’s moving faster now, his arms shaking on either side of you. “You-ah—” You’re falling apart—you can feel it happening—“you were an arrogant bastard—”

He’s kissing your neck and it just makes you louder, your words coming out in ragged gasps. “I know,” he says, like he’s laughing, and you would want to smack him if he didn’t feel so good. “I was an arrogant bastard who was in love with you,”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning. You open your mouth to respond, but right at that moment he thrusts in a way that hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, and the sound that comes out of you is so indecent.

“You—oh, god—” You’re trembling, you’re coming undone underneath him, and he’s doing his best to keep up the pace but you can tell there’s something desperate taking over. “I’m- god, I can’t, I’m so-“

He’s losing more and more control, his breathing ragged and his own body shaking as like he’s just barely holding himself together.

“Please,” it comes out like a gasp, “just come for me, please, come on-” And he’s begging, now, like he couldn’t stand it another minute more, “I just want you to come, please, you’re so perfect—”

He’s pressing right against that spot, over and over, and you’re so on edge you think you might be dreaming. “I’m gonna— oh, god-”

His hand has snuck down between you, fingers moving in tight, fast circles on you clit, and everything is so close and so hot you could die— “God, you look perfect, come on, that’s it, you’re so good—“

The tension in you is snapping, and you’re on the edge, you’re so close you can’t see straight. “Please, I— I-“ you’re there, you’re there, you’re going to fall but he’s falling too.

“Come on, you’re so close, just come-“ He’s begging again, and you’re shaking so hard you feel like you might fall apart—and then you do, and the pleasure hits like a lightning bolt, and you’re crying out loud, the sound breaking like a whimper, and you feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“Oh, god-” His body’s shaking, the breath leaving his chest in ragged gasps, and you’re just clinging to him, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm and shaking so hard you think you might go insane. “Oh, god, oh, god-”

It didn’t really help that James was still going.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he’s saying, “God, you’re so beautiful, you’re so good, you’re so-“

Another wave comes over you like a shockwave, and it’s almost too much, you’re so sensitive and over-whelmed you feel like it’ll break you, but he’s still going, still moving inside you, still driving you straight through the edge of pleasure and over it into something bright-hot and almost frantic. “God, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—“ He’s falling apart, and he’s never looked better. “I’ll pull out I promise—”

You can’t find the words to answer him, but you manage a nod, your whole body trembling as you cling to him.

He swore, and he’d almost be swearing with that same cocky smirk if it weren’t for the fact that he’s falling apart completely, gasping out “You’re gonna kill me, you’re gonna-”

His whole body trembles, and then he’s pulling out, just in time, his body going rigid, his mouth finding yours in a messy, desperate sort of kiss. And he’s still shaking, still panting against your skin, his forehead pressed against yours like he’s never going to let go, watery ropes of his come left decorating your pussy and your torso.

“Fuck,” he’s panting, and he’s still shaking but there’s a smile on his face, like he’s drunk and blissed out and just happy. “Just- give me a minute, just a minute-”

You just lie there, feeling like you’ve just been set on fire and left to burn, and he’s pressing kisses wherever he can reach, on your neck, your temple, the corner of your mouth, until both of you are finally still, just lying wrapped up in each other.

He’s wrapped himself around you like he’ll never move again, his face buried in your neck, and your whole body feels like it’s come unglued.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head to look at you, and that smirk is back, the bastard. “So,” he says, and there’s a sly look in his eyes. “Did I live up to the hype?”

“There was no hype, James, you were a virgin,” You laugh shortly with a roll of your eyes, shifting your legs a little wider open to accommodate for the stickiness between them.

“Ouch.” He winces dramatically. “You’re gonna ruin my ego.”

He’s looking at you with so much heat you’re half-convinced he’s about to go for round two, but then he shifts, pulling away to lie down next to you, your legs tangled together. He’s still grinning, a smug sort of half-smile on his face.

“Don’t look so damn pleased with yourself,” you grumble, but you’re still so buzzed up and he’s looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

He’s looking at you with a kind of reverence you’ve never seen before, but he covers it up with the same stupid smirk he always wears. “So,” he says, like he’s casually mentioning the weather. “You, uh… had fun?”

You laugh—that’s a severe understatement of the year—and you can’t help but smile at the boyish enthusiasm in his expression. “Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “I did.”

He grins at that, and then he’s rolling on top of you again, covering you with his body like a blanket. “I’m assuming that means we can do this again sometime.”

The words come out as the same obnoxious cockiness, still cocky and self-assured, but there’s something almost… nervous underneath it, like he’s not really being blasé at all. You hum, tilting your chin back enough that he can bury his face in your neck. “Yeah,” you say, and you wrap your arms around his back, tracing the knobs of his spine with your fingers. “Yeah, we can probably do this again. But maybe take me on a date first next time,” You laugh.

He grins against your neck, his mouth still leaving lazy kisses on every part of your skin it can reach. “That’s fair,” he murmurs, and his breath on your neck sends a shiver through you. “I have to romance you first. I can do that.” His teeth nip at your earlobe, and you can feel the sharp edge of of a grin. “I could even be a gentleman about it, if you wanted.”

“You? Be a gentleman?” You fake gasp, like it’s the most ridiculous suggestion you’ve ever heard. “Absolutely unheard of.”

He snorts, and you can feel the smile on his mouth, hot and wet against your skin. “You’re laughing, but I could be incredibly charming if I wanted to,” He’s still just mouthing at you, running his teeth over the soft underside of your jaw. “You read my letters,”

“Yeah,” you admit, almost against your will. “I did.”

He pulls back to look at you with a lazy, smug half-smile. “And they were charming?”

You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling. “They were… acceptable.”

“Acceptable,” he sighs sadly, mock-disappointed. “I don’t know how I feel about being reduced to ‘acceptable’. I put a lot of work into those letters, you know.”

But he’s grinning, his chin propped up on your chest with his chin, like he’s waiting to get a response. “Come on. I’m at least worth ‘good,’ right?”

“Yeah, alright,” you give in, even though ‘good’ isn’t nearly enough to describe his letters. “They were good. They were… nice.”

He pouts, like a kid who did a drawing and didn’t get a gold star. “Nice? Jesus, you do not understand the concept of positive reinforcement.”

“Sorry,” you say, with your best attempt at earnestness, “how about this? They were fantastic. World class even. You should be writing love letters professionally.”

It takes him a moment of studying you to realise you’re joking, but then he sighs in mock-agony, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I’ve fallen for a girl who’s mean to me,”

“Yeah,” you say, and you’re laughing, now, your whole body shaking with gales of laughter. “You’re really just… the world’s biggest loser.”

He huffs good-naturedly, his face still hidden in your neck. “Says the girl whose been attracted to me for years,”

“Says the boy who wrote me sappy-ass love letters like a Victorian maiden,” you retort.

He laughs at that, but it’s not mean or mocking. “It’s a wonder you didn’t catch on, honestly,” he mutters jokingly, “I laid it on so thick I thought even you would see me pining tragically through all the ink I used to write about how obsessed with you I was.”

You bite back a smile at that, rolling your eyes at his mock-exasperation. “God, you’re dramatic.”

His mouth presses a soft, wet kiss under your jaw, and he murmurs against your skin—“You like it, though.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

And he’s right, because you do—you do like him, when he’s all bluster and bravado and bullshit, and you like him like this too, when he’s gentle and reverent and a tad bit vulnerable. “Yeah,” you say, and it’s soft. “I do.”

[ghostedgwen]

under that attitude | j.potter

note : I'll have you know it was very funny to take breaks from writing this to create rollercoasters on my roblox theme park tycoon that I managed on the side, I cannot just do one thing lately - at least it was productive

warnings : some angst and a lot of overthinking, pining, misunderstandings (only a bit), two dumb idiots avoiding their feelings, idiots in love, a whole lot of fluff despite the denial

You were always good at keeping secrets - especially the one about your Legilimency. No one could know, because you didn’t have a solid prediction of how the wizarding world would react to that information. But everything changes the day you hear the truth behind his insults - the way his heart stutters when you argue, the desperate, half-terrified way he wants you. 4.9k words

. . . Like, I want you, bless my soul, and I ain't gotta tell him. I think he knows.

Like how most depressing things are, it was worse at night.

The castle breathed in the dark - long, slow sighs that rattled through stone and bone alike - and it was then, in the hush between curfew and dawn, that the voices were loudest. Not aloud. Never aloud. In your head. Flickering, always uninvited.

You leaned against the cold wall outside the Slytherin common room, your head tipped back, eyes closed. The torches burned low, sputtering against damp stone. Somewhere down the passage, you could hear the slow drip of water, the groan of ancient pipes. Familiar sounds.

The other ones - the ones that weren't supposed to exist - you kept locked tight behind your ribs.

You hadn't meant to become a Legilimens. Hadn't studied it, hadn't even known the word when it first happened. It had just. . . started. It started as barely audible whispers at first. At eleven years old, you'd thought everyone heard them - snatches of feeling, flickers of thought that didn't belong to you.

It wasn't until second year, during a Charms duel, that you'd understood: when your opponent raised her wand and spat a hex - and you had already known she was going to - because you had heard her panicked mind scream "Left - aim for her left!" before she ever moved.

You’d dodged without thinking. You won without even expecting an upper-hand thanks to hearing her thoughts and you’d walked back to the Slytherin huddle under curious eyes, your skin cold with the realization that something was wrong.

There were rules about things like this, from everything you have read so far.

Legilimency was dark magic in most people's eyes - an invasion, a violation - a talent reserved for those who couldn't be trusted. Monsters wore polite faces. Mind readers didn't get second chances.

So you told no one. Not even your dormmates, whose secrets you could taste sometimes when they laughed too hard.

And most days, it was fine. Manageable. If you stayed guarded. If you didn't look too closely. It only slipped when people were loud inside - when their feelings boiled over and the world around you blurred at the edges and suddenly their thoughts weren’t behind their teeth anymore, but bleeding out into yours.

You hadn't meant to overhear anyone.

But here, in the long velvet dark of Hogwarts, the mind had no walls.

Potions was a war zone on a good day. On a bad day, when the Gryffindors shared the clasroom with Slytherins, it was mutually assured destruction. Why the professors allow for this inter-house collaboration was beyond you, if there was a house the snakes mildly respect other than themselves - it would be the Ravenclaws.

You sat at your usual table near the back, carefully slicing a bundle of valerian roots, pretending not to notice James Potter throwing glances your way like hexes. He was always known to prank Slytherins, and you were not straying his radar with how you competed on the pitch often.

You anticipated it but still braced yourself for impact.

"Careful, ____," he drawled loud enough for half the room to hear. "Wouldn’t want you brewing up something - oh, I don't know - illegal."

You didn't even flinch, you saw the insult coming a mile away and barely rolled your eyes at how lame it was.

"Touching concern, Potter," you murmured, not looking up. "Planning to report me to the authorities or just desperate for my attention again?"

A few Gryffindors snickered. Lily Evans shot James a warning glare over her cauldron. He ignored it with practiced ease, an amused smile playing at his lips.

He strode closer, arms folded, the portrait of a boy who’d never been told no. Which is funny given how he's very much like a spoiled pureblood heir, only his robe colours were different. 

You neglected to point out how great he would be in your house, he’d thrive alongside the other snot-nosed pureblood brats.

"Just making sure the dark wizard training program’s running on schedule," he said, smirking. "Be a shame if someone as - what's the term? Frighteningly competent - wasn't putting in the hours."

You looked up then, meeting his gaze coolly and that was when it happened.

The world shifted - not outwardly, not visibly - but inside your head, the way it always did when someone's emotions rose too high and their mind got too loud. And James Potter, his mind was practically screaming at you, demanding to be invaded.

James's smirk stayed fixed on his face, not faltering even when your sharp gaze held his - full of mockery and bravado.

But beneath it, like a crack in the ice, you heard:

"Look at her. Smug. Brilliant. Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating."

Your knife slipped, slicing too hard through the root. You caught yourself enough for anyone to not notice the stumble - steady hands with no visible flinch - but your heart jumped painfully against your ribs.

Stay calm.

Stay normal.

Outwardly, you quirked a brow. "If you spent half as much time on your coursework as you do worrying about me, Potter, you might actually pass your exams."

More laughter. A few Gryffindors - Sirius Black among them - hooted loud enough to make Slughorn look up from his desk.

James flushed slightly, his smirk faltering before he masked it with exaggerated affront.

You went back to your valerian root, slicing with vicious precision, pretending your ears weren’t ringing with the echo of his mind’s betrayal.

He hated you, he said. You were rivals, he said.

And yet.

"Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating."

You didn't even want to think about what else he might be shouting inside that head of his.

You just had to survive the rest of class without cracking first.

The library was supposed to be a safe place - for you. Just you and the books and the quietness, somehow people's thoughts are quieter here. They get too focused that your abilities were not being demanded by their thoughts.

Low voices, scratching quills, sound of parchment - no loud Gryffindor boys itching for a fight. No accidental mind-reading incidents. Just quiet.

Or it should have been.

You hunched over a thick tome on advanced defensive charms, trying and pathetically failing to focus. The words blurred, your mind replaying Potions over and over.

'Look at her. Smug. Brilliant. Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating.'

You shook your head sharply.

"No," you muttered under your breath. "No way."

Maybe you'd misheard. There was absolutely no way, the lack of sleep from slaving over N.E.W.T.s and the nearing Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match was getting to you, taking its toll. You convince yourself that was all.

Maybe James Potter didn't actually think you were. . . that.

You sank lower in your seat, dragging a hand across your face. 

You had rules about this. You never took strong flashes from someone and assumed they were true. Minds were messy, complicated things. Thoughts didn't always mean anything.

Still. You started noticing it.

The next day in Charms, you caught James looking at you across the room, chin propped on his hand, staring. When you met his gaze, he immediately dropped a book on the floor and made a big show of retrieving it.

Later, walking down the corridor between classes, you heard him before you saw him - laughing too loudly with Sirius, knocking shoulders with Peter Pettigrew, and the second he spotted you, his whole posture changed. Straighter. And then, predictably, he opened his mouth.

"Watch it, snake," he called, as you passed.

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, but your fingers twitched at your sides. Because even though his words were full of spite, his mind had been humming loud enough to burn:

"There she is. Merlin, she’s - "

You cut yourself off before the thought fully formed. You didn't want to know.

James Potter was many things - loud, insufferable, reckless - but he couldn't actually like you.

Could he?

You buried yourself deeper into your books, trying to drown out the noise - both outside and inside your head.

But the thing about secrets was: they had a way of refusing to stay quiet for long.

The air still smelled like grass and almost-rain when you cut across the pitch, broom slung lazily over one shoulder.

You’d only come to watch - Slytherin practice had ended hours ago - but somehow you’d found yourself lingering, pretending to study the Gryffindor formations. Pretending not to watch a certain messy-haired idiot loop the sky like he owned it.

You should have left.

You should have.

Boots scuffed behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

"Well, well, well," James Potter's voice drawled, closer than you expected. "Didn't realize Slytherins were so obsessed with Gryffindor athleticism."

You snorted, not bothering to face him yet. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I was studying your mistakes."

He caught up easily, falling into step beside you as you made for the gates. His hair was still damp from flying, sticking to his forehead. There was a smudge of mud across his cheek, and he grinned like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Sure you were, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt - but your heart stuttered.

Because even before it hit you fully, you could feel it - the swell of emotion, bright and reckless, practically leaking out of him.

And then you heard it:

"If she knew what I really thought of her, I'd die. I'd let her hex me if it meant she'd touch me."

You stumbled.

Just a little. Just enough that you hoped he thought you tripped on the uneven ground.

But inside? There is absolute chaos brewing in you.

You recovered quickly, shooting him a scathing look, but James only laughed - like you were the most amusing thing he'd seen all day. Given the track record of his thoughts, there might be some weight to that.

He ruffled his already-ruined hair and gave you a wink that nearly made you want to hex him on principle.

"Careful, snake. Wouldn't want you falling for me."

You scoffed. "As if."

But your mind was spinning.

Because it was real. All of it - the glances, the smirks, the insults that were less venom and more cover.

James Potter didn’t hate you. He hated how much he wanted you.

The night was unbearably still, the only sound the quiet ripple of the Black Lake against the shore. You sat by the water, your knees drawn up to your chest, staring at the moonlight dancing on the surface. Your breath came in slow, measured patterns, but inside, it was chaos.

You liked coming here to help calm yourself - the sound of the soft ripples of water, the loneliness of it all as the moon shone brightly. Finally, it's quiet - truly quiet.

No person around whose privacy you could invade.

You had never wanted to know what others were thinking. You had never asked for this. But it had happened. You were a Legilimens.

And now, you knew too much.

James Potter likes you. He wants you.

The thought shouldn’t have had the power it did. It shouldn’t have twisted inside you like this, leaving you cold and unsettled. But it did. And you hated yourself for it.

You could still hear his voice, taunting you in Potions, the insults he threw your way. "Dark wizard in training," he'd called you, his words sharp and cruel. But it wasn’t his words that hurt, was it? It was the thoughts beneath them.

"Bloody hell, she's gorgeous when she's angry."

You froze, the echo of those words still too fresh, too sharp.

But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t let anyone know as it would open a pandora’s box of undesirables you dared not explore outside the wee hours when your head feels like it might cave in on itself.

Legilimency was a curse. It was rare, dangerous, and feared. Wizards who had been caught using it had been cast out, exiled to live on the fringes of society. Families had been ruined, careers destroyed.

And worse - those who could read minds were feared. There were whispers about what those with the power could do with it. How easily they could manipulate people. Control them.

Or perhaps the articles and books you have read were just laying it on very thick, making a spectacle out of something that was out of what society considered ordinary but you couldn’t risk it.

As a Slytherin, it was in your nature to always preserve yourself. Your well-being came first, so every action is well thought-out for your benefit - including hiding your ability away in shame.

People don't take kindly to having their minds read, the mind is one very powerful thing - a vast vault of secrets. You could very well weaponize people’s thoughts and secrets against them.

You’d keep quiet. Keep pretending you didn’t know. Even if it gnawed at you from the inside. Even if every part of you screamed to just tell him, to confront him, to understand what the hell was going on in that arrogant Gryffindor head of his.

You swallowed hard, standing up and brushing your hands off on your robes. The weight of your secret settled like lead in your chest.

You’ll pretend. You’ll keep it secret. And maybe - just maybe - you’ll survive.

Because that is why the hat sorted you to wear green robes, because you were not the type to grab James Potter by his tie to confront him and demand some explanation for the things he thought about you.

You walked back toward the castle, the darkness wrapping around you like a cloak. The sound of your footsteps on the cobblestone echoed in the quiet night.

The cauldron before you is bubbling with that familiar greenish glow, steam rising like smoke. Your fingers are quick, precise - just the right amount of crushed powdered moonstone, stirred counterclockwise, steady, controlled.

James Potter is sitting across from you, as always, only this time he's making a show of it. His elbows are planted on the table, chin in his palm, eyes fixed on you. And that smug expression. The one that makes your insides twist.

"Look at her. She’s so - "

You shut the thought out. It is your absolute misfortune that he settled on sharing a table with you when the Professor demanded some inter-house collaboration for today’s class due to Dumbledore’s insistence.

It doesn’t matter. You have a potion to finish.

But, of course, James never misses an opportunity to make you hate him just a little bit more - if hate is truly what you have been feeling.

“You’re stealing looks at me, _____. Thinking of what unforgivable to use, eh?”

You barely hear the words, your mind too focused on the process in front of you. But you hear the tone. You always hear the tone. And that’s enough.

You don’t look up from your potion, but the words slide out of your mouth like a reflex, sharp as ever. “What’s your problem, Potter? Can’t keep your mouth shut for one class?”

The words are meant to sting, meant to remind him that this rivalry isn’t just one-sided. But as you snap at him, the air thick with the tension of old wounds, your own mind is buzzing with something far worse.

"Merlin, she smells amazing."

The thought - completely out of nowhere slams into your mind like a train. Your hands falter for a second, a stray drop of essence splashing over the edge of your cauldron. You curse under your breath.

But that’s nothing compared to the way your heart jumps in your chest.

"Stop thinking about her like that, Potter. Just focus."

It’s like his voice is in your head - no, not just his voice. It’s his thoughts. His internal struggle, raw and unfiltered. And it’s all about you, as if all the time spent learning at Hogwarts were useless when all he could think about was you, you, you.

You almost choke. Almost spill the entire potion.

But you don’t. You manage to keep your face cool, eyes fixed on your cauldron. You won’t let him see the effect he’s having on you.

James doesn’t see the way you flinch, the way you want to scream and laugh all at once. He doesn’t know that you can hear every stupid, misguided thought racing through his head.

He’s still talking, probably making fun of you, probably insulting your potion-making technique. But inside, it’s all just a blur of "please don’t notice", how good you smell and "how is she this good at everything?"

You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you hate him, when his equally-annoying voice spouted compliments and confessions in your head. Like he was right by your ear screaming them.

But you have to. Because you know. You know what he’s thinking. What he really thinks about you. And it’s driving you mad - as much as he is driving himself mad.

"She’s making it look so easy. Stop it, James."

You don’t flinch this time. You just keep your hands steady, your face calm, pretending like none of it’s happening. Pretending like the weight of his thoughts isn’t burning through your skin, making you want to dunk your head into the boiling cauldron.

It’s maddening. And you’re beginning to wonder how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t know.

The Quidditch pitch was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd drowning out all other sounds. Gryffindor versus Slytherin - the match everyone was waiting for, one that had your Quidditch captain on everyone’s rears all semester.

The teams soared high, the Quaffle exchanged between players as they raced towards the goalposts. It was fast, furious, and wildly competitive.

You gripped your broom tightly, eyes locked on the Quaffle as you swerved past a Bludger. You were focused, focused enough that you could almost tune out everything else - everything, except for him.

Merlin, despite the heat and chaos of the match, you could still hear him through them with how absolutely loud he was as if he was projecting his thoughts to you on purpose.

James Potter, the Gryffindor starchaser, was on the opposite team. The moment you locked eyes, he flashed that insufferable grin, like he’d already won. He was always cocky, always loud. But this time, it felt different. There was something in the way he was watching you.

"Watch out, snake!" he shouted, a taunt just loud enough for everyone to hear as you flew past him.

You didn't flinch, too used to the hostility. Instead, you focused on the Quaffle, your eyes scanning for an opening. You threw it, perfect precision, straight through the left hoop. Score. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the sound felt distant compared to the pounding in your ears.

But there it was again. His voice. Not in the air, but inside your head.

"She’s so good at this. Bloody hell, how does she do that?" James’ thoughts interrupted everything, like a crashing wave. "She moves like - like she was born to fly. Makes me want to just - "

You clenched your jaw, trying to force the thoughts out of your head. This was bad. So bad. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t block out the next wave of thoughts that flooded your mind.

"I want to snog her senseless."

It hit you like a jolt to the chest. You had to swallow the sudden rush of heat in your throat. You didn’t dare look at him, not with the intensity of what was going on in his head.

The game was still raging on, but your focus was slipping. You were just trying to keep it together, trying to pretend this was normal - that it didn’t matter that James Potter, the James Potter, was thinking about you like that.

He wasn’t just mocking you any more. His admiration was clear, cutting through every insult and joke. It made everything ultimately worse.

You caught another pass - biting the insides of your cheeks, dodging a Bludger, and went for another shot. But now it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t about scoring or winning.

It was about trying to control your emotions - when everything in you wanted to break the rules. To reach out. To tell him what you were hearing.

But you couldn’t.

Because the last thing you needed was for him to find out just how much you felt the same.

You were unsure how to process the realization that not only is James Potter besotted with you, but you liked him back. You, the Slytherin chaser who he exchanged insults with on a daily every Potions class was just as besotted.

It is truly a doomed plot written out for some sick god’s entertainment watching you run around like a headless Hippogriff.

So here you are, ending up yet again in the black lake during wee hours, escaping the castle undetected yet again. It is the only place that could truly calm you down when even your own ehad gets too loud.

Unbeknownst to you was the Gryffindor hiding under an invisibility cloak, watching you. His eyes studied your face that seemed much more softer in the dead of night, how all the frown left you and all that remained was your features all bare.

He felt the strong urge to reach out, but that would reveal the fact he followed you. He noticed you leaving the castle on the map, and out of concern snuck out to follow you under the cloak. He knew the dangers outside the castle walls, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

He did not expect to invade your privacy as you looked out into the lake like a person who had the entire weight of the world. He wonders just what could be going on inside your mind, wishing he could peer into it and maybe, maybe he could take some of that weight off.

He gripped his wand, feeling defeated. 

He can’t even let you know how much he worries about you, how much he wonders about you - because that would be confronting the fact he has fallen for the enemy. That he would be going against his beliefs.

James Potter is an idiot. And he wanted nothing more than to snog you but instead he always resorts to insults, failing to do right by the bravery prided by his house.

You couldn’t hear his thoughts under the cloak, so you remained unaware of the boy watching you with so much love in his eyes that you were two hopeless idiots dancing around it.

“Merlin,” you breathed out exasperatedly. James Potter is not someone to lose sleep over, you knew that much should be true but nothing is working. No essay on Ancient Runes could distract you enough.

The school year was nearing its end. Despite yourself, you still managed to dodge out of confronting your feelings for one annoyingly-persistent Gryffindor and made it through passing your N.E.W.T.s with flying colours.

You had a decent set of “O” and “E” from your results, not getting anything less than Exceeding Expectations. Your parents are satisfied, not that you have ever failed them. Being a Slytherin is basically being bred for perfection.

Your academics and pureblood duties were already weighing on you but then - 

“Oi, snake!” right.

James Potter is that one itch you can’t quite scratch enough to get rid of. A very handsome itch with a perfect set of teeth, that is. 

“Sod off, Potter,” you roll your eyes as if following a perfected script by now, “I have better shit to do than deal with your childish antics.”

He frowned, something about the way you said it alerted him. There was no bite from that, all he heard was the exhaust from your voice as if you had forced those words out of you. He wanted to ask if you were okay, he thought it.

Before he could ask, you already gave an answer.

“I’m bloody fine,” you scoff. “Since when did you care?”

His frown deepened, impossibly so. He hadn’t asked it yet. You heard his confused pool of thoughts and your mistake began to dawn on you, you look at him, panicked and backed away before he could get another word out.

He must have called out your name, you weren’t sure. So you just made a run for it to avoid whatever he was about to say. 

He ran after you, not bothering to entertain Sirius’ confused inquiry as he watched his best mate chase after a Slytherin. He didn’t think it was anything James needed backup with so he only watched, nudging Remus next to him who also watched.

“What do you think that’s about?” Sirius asked, face unreadable.

Remus let out an amused chuckle. “That, mate, is young love blossoming.”

Sirius gagged, which was the reaction Remus anticipated, wording his phrase that way. “Prongs and that snake?”

“Blimey, you are bloody clueless.”

James had managed to catch up to you before you could turn and see the dungeons common room. Grabbing you by your wrist and pulling you back so you could face him, he called out your name again but your heart was too loud.

“Can you stop running away?” he asked, barely raising his voice. “What’s wrong?”

You turn at him, glaring. Tugging at your wrist to free it but he was not letting you go, you let out an exhausted groan and you only paused when a look of worry painted itself over his features as he watch you struggle out of his grasp.

“____?” he called out, his voice impossibly soft when saying your name that it almost made your knees buckle.

You blink at me. “Say you hate me,” you tell him and you wanted so badly for it to also be echoed in his head.

“What?” he couldn’t explain your actions and it was worrying him beyond belief. You could almost feel your eye twitch at him.

“Say you hate me,” you tug at your wrist, “and mean it, Potter. Fucking say you hate my guts, and also think it in that thick skull of yours.”

“Merlin, ____,” James sounded desperate. “What is going on with you? Lost your wits after N.E.W.T.s?”

You felt unbelievably angry at this moment but it was more directed at yourself than him. Though he thought it was aimed at him, so he threaded carefully. Slowly letting go of your wrist and it dropped limply at your side.

“Yeah, Potter, totally went nuts after the exams so I’m demanding you express your hatred for me,” you remark sarcastically, he did not appreciate it one bit. “Just say it.”

“No,” James replied right away sternly. “You are losing it.”

“How can I not?” You point angrily at him.

“____ - “

“You say one thing and you think another,” there was no going back now as the tears welled up in your eyes, all his confusion left him and all that was left was worry. “I can hear you, your thoughts.”

All the words he knew left him. Jaw slackened, he remained standing in front of you, unable to say anything. All this time, you heard him - how? That doesn’t really matter, his head is now replaying every thought he had of you.

Fucking hell.

Fucking mumbling, bloody hell.

“I didn’t mean to, I know it’s your privacy and I wasn’t going to - “ you cast your eyes down, afraid to see how disgusted he’d look when he realizes what you were confessing. “I couldn’t control it.”

James allowed a beat to pass, just a pregnant pause between you two as the hall remained empty, much to both of your delights. Then finally, he found his voice. He cleared his throat, afraid his voice would crack.

“You mean - you’ve heard all my thoughts about you.”

You managed to smile despite the tension, “Yes, including wanting to snog me senseless,” you saw the smile tug at his lips. You still refused to meet his eyes, “Your mind is very loud. I couldn’t shut it out even if I wanted to.”

James surprised you by what he did next - crossing the gap between you two which you had expected to keep growing until he was impossibly out of reach. Instead he closed in on you, capturing your lips in his and he did right by his words - 

You felt like he was stealing every breath away with how he kissed you like it could explain everything away. You kissed him back, finally allowing yourself to do one brave thing and confront your feelings instead of swallowing it all down.

His arm wrapped around your middle to pull you impossibly closer as he continued making your head lighter and lighter and only when you tapped in surrender did he pull away. You were heaving, breathless as you eyed him all bewildered.

“You -”

James Potter managed a smirk with swollen lips. “Snogged you senseless, didn’t I?”

“You twat.”

end. masterlist

[marauder-misprint]

Little Corvid

Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

13.2k words

cw: lil angst, fluff, pining, minor uses of Y/N, reluctantly accepting feelings

There were a few things that came with being James’ little sister at Hogwarts. 

You discovered the first one within the first month of your first year. You weren’t Potter. You were a Potter, but it rarely meant you. 

A professor hollered, “POTTER!” down a corridor full of students. You stopped and looked at the professor with terror in your eyes. You had no clue what you did wrong, not seeing James weaving through the crowd to get away from said professor. “Sorry, not you, Miss Potter. JAMES!” 

You trained yourself not to respond to Potter. ‘Miss Potter’ was still a stretch. “It’s too similar to Mister Potter,” you told several professors when you didn’t respond right away. Eventually, the professors learned to call you by your first name and save Potter for James. 

You also learned that your brother had set quite the precedent in his one year at Hogwarts without you. Despite being in a different house than James, professors took one look at your surname and assumed you’d be trouble. You were sat in the front of every class. You noticed that another boy was also sat in the front in every class but always on the opposite side of the row than you. Regulus Black, brother of your brother’s best friend. 

At least you weren’t alone in being immediately compared to your sibling. 

The third thing that came with being related to James developed the older you got: hearing everyone’s opinions about your brother and his friends. It felt like most people could only feel one of two things about them: love or hate. The first time you heard someone describe James as a ‘dreamboat,’ you gagged. Even worse, it was one of your roommates. You thought she’d have the decency to talk about James when you weren’t in the room, but you were wrong. It only got worse for you as you got to know James’ friends. It became nauseating. 

The hate they received was easier to ignore. It almost felt refreshing to hear compared to the unearned compliments sent their way. You sometimes felt the need to defend the boys, but that was only when something truly heinous was said. If they could handle the adoring fans they somehow accrued, they could handle the haters that came with them. 

You managed to find a handful of students who were more neutral to the boys. They didn’t praise the ground they walked on nor did they wish them immediate, painful deaths. Just disinterest. It was easier to ignore your brother, his friends and everything related to them when you were with your friends. 

That didn’t mean you completely avoided your brother and his friends. They were everywhere after all. You could chuckle at the occasional harmless prank. You cheered for James when he dominated quidditch match after quidditch match. On the rare occurrence that none of your friends could help, you went to James and his friends for help on homework. You’d try to bum a galleon or two off James before Hogsmeade weekend. And you’d sometimes have to seek James out when writing or receiving a letter from home. 

As much as you tried to stay out of the Marauders’ way, you still liked them. Your brother could’ve chosen much worse people for his friends. The other three found their way to Potter Manor during the holidays, sometimes all together and other times separately. You tried to keep out of their way more or less when they were around. But you could hold a conversation with them. You didn’t feel weirded out if one of them struck a conversation with you when James wasn’t around. You knew that you were James’ little sister and they were being polite. 

---

The summer before your fifth year, Sirius came to live with your family. No one would tell you the whole story, but your parents treated the situation with utmost caution. You could remember the way Sirius practically passed out into James’ arms the moment he answered the door. You couldn’t unhear the panic in your brother’s voice as he yelled for your parents and told you to get the healing potions from the bathroom.

You didn’t have time to process the sight in front of you. You ran to grab the collection of vials, not knowing which ones Sirius might need nor how much. You grabbed it all. The rest of the night went by in a blur with your parents fussing over Sirius and asking you and James to grab things or to clean up the guest room for Sirius. 

Sirius never left after that night. He stayed with your family for the rest of the summer and you knew he’d be staying and he and James graduated from Hogwarts and got a place of their own. A week or so after he arrived, Peter and Remus came to visit. Their visit felt strategically planned, just enough time for Sirius to get settled but not too long after. It was the perfect time for Sirius to be surrounded by the people who loved him the most.

“Hey, Little Corvid! Where’s your brother at?” Remus asked as soon as he arrived.

Little Corvid was a nickname reserved solely for Remus. He gave it to you during your first year, having been freshly sorted into Ravenclaw. You had sought James out to see if he wanted to say anything in your letter home. 

Remus had said, “Fun fact, ravens are corvids. Same family as crows and jackdaws.”

You had given him a confused look and said, “The Ravenclaw mascot is an eagle.”

He had laughed, “I see why she’s a Ravenclaw.”

And from then on, you were Little Corvid to him. He was one of the few people who had a nickname for you. 

You looked up from your spot on the couch. Remus was smiling at you from just inside the front door. It wasn’t unusual for the boys to let themselves in when they arrived. 

“Upstairs. Maybe Sirius’ room?” you said before returning your attention to your book.

“Thanks!” 

You heard his bags hit the ground and then the thundering of his footsteps up the stairs. You rolled your eyes. He was going to be sleeping in either James or Sirius’ room, so why didn’t he just bring his bags up now? Peter had shown up earlier that morning and his things were already upstairs. You knew it was going to be hectic with all four of them here; it always was, but now that Sirius was living here, you assumed it would be worse. Like always, you planned on not imposing too much on them. But if you got bored, you might tag along. 

“Corvid!” Remus called up the stairs later in the week. “We’re going to the shore. Need anything?”

“Yeah, give me a sec!” you hollered back. 

You adjusted your hair tie and hurried down the stairs. James groaned and rolled his eyes as you slid on your shoes.

“We were offering to grab it for you, not for you to come along,” James mumbled.

“Oh…” You began to peel your shoes back off, trying to not look disheartened. 

“Shove off, Prongs. She can come,” Sirius said, giving you a smile. “We don’t mind.”

Sirius had been extra polite to you since he arrived. He constantly worried that he was intruding on your life, suddenly being at your house for the rest of summer and he was James’ friend and only sort of yours. Remus nodded along with Sirius’ statement. He didn’t mind that you were coming.

“Looks like she’s coming,” Peter said. He was simply indifferent and led the group out of the front door. 

James grabbed the back of your shirt and hissed, “Don’t embarrass me.”

“Not trying to,” you replied.

You didn’t say much as you walked with the boys to the store. You figured that was the least embarrassing thing you could do. Can’t say anything wrong if you don’t say anything at all, but you still laughed at their stupid jokes. At some point, Remus ended up walking next to you with Peter on his other side while James and Sirius tried to do some kind of stunts ahead of the group. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’d need a bone put back together before you got home. 

“What d’you need from the store?” Remus asked you casually. 

“Just some snacks and a book. I’m on the last chapter of my current one.” 

“They sell books in the corner store?” Remus asked.

You shook your head. “No. There’s a muggle bookstore just a block over. Figured I’d nip over there while you lot get whatever you need from the store. If you leave without me, you leave without me.” 

Peter laughed, earning himself confused looks from you and Remus.

“What? You just told Moony there’s a bookstore nearby. He’s going with you. Ain’t no way we’re leaving without you.”

“I mean, if you don’t mind me coming with you,” Remus said with a chuckle.

“I don’t mind.”

James gave Remus a curious look as he followed you down the block to the bookstore. He hadn’t heard the discussion as he and Sirius were attempting to do flips. Peter explained as the remaining three entered the cornershop. 

Inside the bookstore, Remus continued to follow you as you browsed the titles. You didn’t expect him to stay glued to your side the whole time you were in that store, but he did. You ended up getting three books – it was a series, you couldn’t help yourself – and Remus got a book himself. What shocked you even more was when he offered to pay.

“No, Remus. I can afford my books. Thank you though.” 

He shrugged and let you pay for yourself. You had half a mind to pay for Remus’ book; you had quite the book allowance for the summer. Remus asked you about the book you were finishing up as you walked back to the corner store. The rest of the boys were still inside, debating how many bags of crisps they wanted, when you arrived. You grabbed your usual snacks and then lingered in the crisp aisle as Remus tried to get the boys to make a decision. 

When you got back to the house, the boys dropped their snacks in the kitchen before going back outside. You heard them say something about getting the brooms out. You planned on following them out, but you would not be getting on a broom. Instead, you grabbed a glass of lemonade, your almost finished book and the first of your new series. You reclined on a sunchair near the house. The boys had started a game of ‘monkey in the middle’ with a quaffle. James was currently in the middle. You smirked to yourself, knowing that he wouldn’t be for long. 

You were right. It only took two more throws before James caught it and Sirius was sent into the middle. The boys were rotating fairly often, not that you were keeping track. They were just loud. 

“Oi! Heads up!” Sirius yelled as the quaffle he’d just thrown soared through Peter’s outstretched hands. 

You shrieked as the ball hit you. You bolted up out of the chair. You lost your spot in your book, but frankly, you were more concerned about keeping it dry as the ricocheted ball knocked over your cup and drenched your shirt with lemonade. You swore under your breath. The boys slowly descended from their positions in the sky. You kicked the quaffle toward them, still holding your arms up. You left the book on the small table your cup had been on as you went inside to clean up. 

You completely missed how Peter elbowed Remus, who had gone slack jawed at the sight of your shirt clinging to your body. It took Remus a minute to regain his composure, staring at the door you disappeared behind. It was impressive that James didn’t notice. The boys, minus James, would be lying if they said they didn’t notice how you’d grown up. Sirius and Peter were just more discreet when they checked you out. 

The rest of the week goes by without incident. You give the boys their space, opting to spend your time by yourself or with your mother. You helped bake desserts and cook dinner. You read your books and worked on your summer crochet project. And when it was nice, you’d lay out in the sun, without a book and with your drink at a small distance to avoid another mishap. 

One of the evenings you’re sitting on the couch with Remus. You’ve got your back propped up with a pillow on the armrest with your legs bent so that your feet rested just before Remus’ thigh. You were both reading. It was the night before the full moon so Remus was taking it easy while the rest of the boys were messing around elsewhere in the house. 

You laughed softly at your book and Remus looked up from his. A smile tugged at his lips when he saw the happy look on your face and the soft smile that adorned your lips. He watched you read for a few minutes before turning back to his own book. You somehow didn’t notice him staring. You were too deep into your book. 

You were a little sad to see Remus leave a few days later. He was your favorite out of James’ friends. Without him and Peter, the house did become a little quieter. James and Sirius were still rowdy, but it was on a lesser level. The end of summer was approaching and the three of you remember that you did have some summer homework to finish before you went back to Hogwarts. That took up a decent amount of your time. 

---

You separated from your parents and the boys the moment you were through the barrier at King’s Cross Station. Yes, you’d miss your parents, but you felt that you would explode if you spent one more second with James and Sirius. They had been talking nonstop since breakfast. It was driving you mad. 

“Love you, see you in a few months!” you called as you bolted away. 

You scanned the crowd as you moved toward the train, trying to spot your friends. 

“There she is!” Marissa, one of your friends, said with a grin when you spotted her. 

Marissa was standing with some of your roommates and friends from other houses. The rest of the group greeted you as well. It didn’t take long for you to move onto the train and find a compartment. Turns out the group was just waiting for you.

“Right, so anything happen over the summer?” Elias, another friend, asked you once everyone was settled.

“The usual Marauders gathering,” you answered with disinterest. “Sirius moved in so we’re stuck with him more than usual.”

Lindsey, one of your roommates, perked up. “Sirius Black moved into your house?”

You nodded.

“Oh. My. Merlin. What’s it like?” she asked eagerly, leaning forward. “Did you get any? You know, since you have easy access?” 

You made a disgusted face, drawing laughter from your better friends. They knew how you felt about Sirius – platonic if you could even call it that. 

“I most certainly did not get any. Bloody hell. I will never get any from him.” You shuttered. “But overall, a bit chaotic. I thought living with one James was a lot and now there’s two.”

“Wait, why has Sirius moved into your house?” Marissa asked.

“I’m… not exactly sure? He just showed up and never left.”

“Odd,” she muttered, giving you a confused look. 

You shrugged. You had nothing else to say. It seemed insensitive to tell them how horrible he looked when you arrived. It wasn’t their business especially if your parents wouldn’t tell even you why he was staying. 

“Elias, did you have a good summer?” you asked, trying to get the conversation off of your summer.

You got comfortable in your seat as Elias started recounting his summer. His family traveled a lot so he had stories. You listened to the conversation as it shifted from Elias’ summer to Martin’s new quidditch broom to the latest gossip that Lucy heard. It was relaxing to be in the company of your friends again. And as long as the conversation didn’t drift to the Marauders, Lindsey and Alison were tolerable. 

Soon enough, you were back at Hogwarts. You fell back into the rhythm of school fairly quickly. With O.W.L.s looming at the end of the year, the professors took no mercy on you. Homework was ramped up with ungodly expectations. You knew it was coming, everyone did. Fifth year was notoriously hell and now you were living it. This meant spending plenty of time in the library because as great as the Ravenclaw Common Room was, it wasn’t the library.

Your increased time in the library brought something to your attention: Remus was often there. Sometimes he was alone, others with the Marauders or other Gryffindors. You make eye contact a few times as you look for an open table. He’d give you a warm smile that you’d return. You’d tell yourself that the flip your stomach did when Remus smiled at you meant nothing. He was just your favorite of James’ friends, that’s all, and he was just being polite. 

A few weeks passed and you were in the library just after sunrise on a Saturday. There was no quidditch and no scheduled visits to Hogsmeade, so you decided you would crank out as much work as you could. You piled up a collection of books on your table and got to work. Students slowly drifted into the library as the morning progressed. Among those students was Remus. You didn’t notice him until he was standing right next to your table.

“Mind if I sit here, Little Corvid?” he asked, gesturing to the seat across from you.

“Feel free.” 

He gave you that warm smile and sat down, getting straight to work. Before returning to your work, you look around the library. There are still plenty of tables open and Remus asked if he could sit at your table. You bite your lip, sending him a quick glance before bringing your attention back to your essay. Maybe Remus saw you as more than James’ little sister. You can’t imagine Sirius or Peter, or James even, choosing to sit next to you when there were open tables. 

Your thinking is only reinforced. It felt like every time you were in the library before him and he was alone, he’d sit with you. You took that as an invitation to sit with him when he got there first. If he was with someone else or one of your friends came with you, the two of you would still exchange smiles, but that would be it. 

You didn’t mind this increased friendship with Remus. It grew to waving to each other in the corridors and talking a bit more. Alison saw you talking with Remus outside of the History of Magic classroom in between classes and she whined about you getting close with “the wrong Marauder.” You rolled your eyes at her. You didn’t see why you couldn’t have a friendship of your own with Remus without it being tied to James. Well, you did know why but you liked to think that even if you weren’t a Potter or if Remus hadn’t been friends with James, you still would’ve become friends at some point.

“Hey Potter!” a male voice called down the corridor a few days later. 

You were standing with Lucy, but neither of you looked up, carrying on with your conversation. Everything about it screamed that Potter was referring to James.

“Potterrrrr,” the voice said again, drawing out your surname. 

You still gave no acknowledgement.

“Potter, hi.”

The speaker was now standing in front of you. Connor Darby, a Hufflepuff and roommate of Elias. 

“Oh, hi Connor,” you said.

“Did you get a surname change or something?”

“No,” you sighed, giving Lucy a sideways glance. “But Potter being yelled down the corridor usually means James.” 

“Right, right. Erm, could we talk in private?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Lucy, I’ll see you later.” Lucy walked away and then Connor reached out for your elbow to guide you into an ever-so-slightly more secluded area of the corridor. “What’s up?”

“I was… Ahem, I was wondering if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” 

“Oh,” you said, a bit startled. You hadn’t been expecting that; you didn’t really know Connor all that well. “Okay, sure. I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you.”

Connor’s face lit up. “That’s brilliant! I’ll meet you around 11 outside the Great Hall!”

Connor gave your arm a gentle squeeze before leaving you to go to his friends. You smiled to yourself as you watched his friends clap him on the back. You headed to your next class, where you sat next to Elias.

“Did Connor talk to you?” you asked after sitting down. 

Elias grinned at you. “Possibly. Did he finally grow a pair and talk to you?”

“Finally? What do you all know about this?”

“He’s my roommate, of course I know about this. He’s had an eye on you since the start of term. I’ve been telling him you’d give him a chance.”

“Yeah? What gives you that impression?” 

“I mean, I was right, wasn’t I?” 

You rolled your eyes. He was.

“Come on, Darby’s not bad looking. He’s an alright bloke. You’re single and fit and are too nice to turn someone down.” 

“You think I’m fit?” you laughed.

Elias put his hands up in front of him in defense. “Just stating a fact.”

For the rest of the week, your roommates and female friends talked about your upcoming date. They teased you about it. It was your first real date. It was like they were more excited about it than you were, but in your defense, you were nervous. You weren’t close with Connor; you had no clue what to expect. 

By the end of Saturday, you learned that your nervousness wasn’t warranted. The date was fine. You met Connor outside the Great Hall, walked to Hogsmeade and spent some time in the enchanted garden there. You talked, basic stuff. You were going to get butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, but you caught a glimpse of your brother inside and steered Connor away. He seemed a little disappointed that you were ending the date early, but you were not going to parade your first date in front of your brother, especially when you weren’t sure if you wanted a second.

“What do you mean you don’t want a second date? Connor’s a cutie!” Lindsey said when you got back to your dorm. “What kind of guy are you looking for? You don’t like Sirius Black. You don’t like Connor Darby. Do you need younger? Older?”

“I’ll know him when I see him,” you said, sounding a bit more testy than you meant to. 

“You’re a Potter. You could have any bloke in this bloody school. You do know that, right?” Alison asked. 

“I said I’ll know when I see him.” 

The girls exchanged disbelieving looks. You never talked boys with them, unless you were telling them how you weren’t interested in a particular one. You always had the same excuse of knowing him when you see him. The girls joked that you must be blind. A whole school of boys and you were simply disinterested. 

You had talked about it more with Marissa. Sure, boys were pretty and sometimes funny, but you needed to feel something. You had yet to feel something substantial. You certainly didn’t feel enough for Connor to justify another date. The date itself hadn’t been exceptionally riveting. Elias ended up talking to you about Connor later. Connor told him that he had a good time but wasn’t sure if you felt the same. You told Elias that it was fine, but there wouldn’t be a second date. 

There was a plus side to not knowing Connor all that well: avoiding him was easy. A downside to being you: your brother heard all gossip about you.

“You had a date?” James asked, sitting down next to you at lunch. 

You hummed, stabbing your fork at some food on your plate.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m your brother. I need to know these things.”

“Do you?”

“What about you, James?” Lindsey asked from across the table with a saccharine smile. “You go on any dates recently?”

“Erm, no…” James answered, barely sparing her a glance. “I need to know when you go on dates.”

“Well, you can relax. I’m not going on a second one with him.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “Not my type.” 

“Next time, tell me before you go off with some sketchy bloke, yeah?”

“Whatever,” you said dryly with absolutely no intention of telling James about your next date, whenever that would be.

James looked from you to Lindsey. He gave her a polite nod before getting up from the table and leaving you alone. You rolled your eyes. From across the hall you could feel the eyes of the Marauders, and various others since James didn’t visit you at the Ravenclaw table all that often – it was usually you visiting the Gryffindor table. You didn’t expect James to be the “protective” older brother type, given how little he seemed to want to associate with you. 

As the rest of the week passed, you swore that eyes seemed to follow you more than usual. You didn’t understand why. The only thing that changed is you had now gone on a date. Was that really enough to bring attention to you? Or was it because the date was enough to bring James to your table? 

You tried your best to ignore it. But it wasn’t long until James’ next visit to the Ravenclaw table. Saturday morning, already dressed in his quidditch uniform, James strolled over to you and placed a generic Gryffindor jersey in front of you.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“What’s that? That’s what you’re wearing to the match.”

“Did you hit your head or something during practice? I’ve never worn Gryffindor stuff.” You moved the jersey away from your plate. 

“If you’re going on dates now, you’re wearing Gryffindor to my matches. Remind people that you’re my sister.” 

“Right, because that’s so important?”

“You know that if someone breaks your heart, I’m breaking their face.” He put the jersey back in front of you again. “Wear it.”

As he walked away, you mocked, “Wear it.”

You did change into the jersey, which caught eyes as you walked to the pitch with your friends. Elias gave you a scandalized look. (“They’re playing Hufflepuff!”) You called it ‘all good fun.’ Elias knew you cheered for your brother, rather than Gryffindor as a whole, and the only time you didn’t cheer for him was when he was facing Ravenclaw. Still, your new jersey stuck out among your friends’ more generic outfits. 

The match was intense as always. James dominated the sky. The Hufflepuff team didn’t bother him as he flew circles around them. Elias was exceptionally vocal with every foul and point scored. Marissa, also in Hufflepuff, wasn’t quite as loud, but then again, no one in your group was as loud as Elias. He was passionate about the sport. Before long, Elias was slamming his hands down on the railing with anguished shouts as the Gryffindor team took a victory lap before descending. 

You left your friends to find James to congratulate him, as you always do when he wins. It takes a little bit of effort to actually get to him. Both friends and fans have flocked to his side to tell him how well he played. You managed to get up to James and offer him a quick ‘good job’ before someone puts their body between you and your brother. You take a few steps back. You flinched as an arm was slung over your shoulder.

“Jus’ me,” Remus said, leaning a little more weight on you as you relaxed at the sound of his voice. “They sure do like attention…”

Peter, Sirius and James had started a Gryffindor chant as the Hufflepuff players were still leaving the pitch. All of Gryffindor’s fans were getting louder and rowdier. Remus pulled you another step back. 

“You should come to the party later, Little Corvid,” Remus said with a casual tone.

You snorted. “A Gryffindor party? Because that’s so my scene.”

“They’re not all that bad. You can hang out with me.”

You met his eyes and saw the kind and hopeful smile he was giving you; your stomach did that flip you’ve started to ignore. Hanging out with Remus didn’t sound too bad, even if you were going to be surrounded by obnoxious Gryffindors. 

“I’ll think about it. What’s the password?” 

You didn’t bother to tell your roommates where you were going. They might’ve begged you to come along. A party with the Marauders? Lindsey and Alison would’ve loved to be there. Instead, only your footsteps echoed in the corridor as you made your way to the portrait of the Fat Lady. 

From the moment you stepped into the common room, you were met with the heat of bodies, the pounding music and the stench of sweat and alcohol. Within seconds, someone handed you a cup filled with something. You held it close to your chest as you scanned the room. Where was Remus? You spotted him leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

You started heading his way when someone stepped in front of you and placed their hands on both your shoulders. You look up with a shocked expression. Sirius. 

“Baby Potter showed up!” he said louder than necessary. “Oi! Prongs, you see this?”

You cringed internally at his immediate bringing your presence up to James. First you wore a Gryffindor jersey to the match and now you were at their party. Yes, James had insisted that you wear the jersey, but he might see your coming to the party as an intrusion. It wasn’t like you had spent excessive time with them ever. 

James, looking over at you and Sirius, now with his arm over your shoulder, just waved at you and turned back to the girl he was talking to. 

“How much has he had to drink?” you asked Sirius.

“What convinced you to join the fun crowd?” Sirius asked, completely ignoring your question.

“That’d be me,” Remus said, walking up to you and Sirius and moving to remove Sirius’ arm. “Figured it’s about time Little Corvid experiences a real party.” 

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Make good choices, you two.”

Remus gave Sirius an annoyed look, which he responded with wiggling his eyebrows. Still, you let Remus guide you back to where he had been standing before.

“What makes you think I haven’t been to a real party?” you asked Remus.

“Ah, Little Corvid, you’re a fifth year Ravenclaw. You haven’t been to something like this.” 

“Certainly never smelled anything like this.” 

You and Remus chuckled. From the side of the room, you’re able to see the room better. Drinks were being passed around, students were dancing together, a few students gathered near an open window passing around a cigarette. Sirius was with that last group. James was still talking to that girl and Peter was dancing with someone else. Students from your year were mainly dancing or lounging on the sofas scattered across the room. You weren’t sure where the music was coming from. 

“It’s not too far off from Ravenclaw parties,” you told Remus, tilting your head up to look at him. 

You were a bit shocked to see that he was already looking at you with a slight smirk on his face. 

“What?” you asked.

“You said this wouldn’t be your scene.” 

You turned your gaze back to the room, but Remus kept looking at you.

“Because it’s here,” you said, waving your hand in front of you. “And James is over there looking like he’s about to start snogging that girl.”

“Oh, he won’t. She’s not Lily.”

“He’s still trying to win her over? How many times does the poor girl have to say no?” 

“Three million four hundred twenty seven and counting.” 

You laughed softly before taking a sip from your cup. You gagged. 

“Merlin, this is awful!” 

“What? Don’t they serve jungle juice at your corvid parties?” 

You shook your head with a grimace. “‘M usually handed a bottle.”

“Ah, because you’re a Potter.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a smart bird, Little Corvid. You get a little something-something for being James’ sister.”

“Great. He’ll think I owe him,” you said dryly. You braced yourself before taking another sip. You gagged again and handed Remus the cup. “Nope. I can’t. That isn’t drinkable.” 

Remus immediately downed the rest of your cup and stacked it inside of his. 

“And you can drink that?” 

“I’ve drank worse,” he said casually. “This one makes me feel good though.” 

“Merlin… How many have you had?”

‘Not enough to give me the courage I need,’ Remus thought before saying out loud, “A few.”

“So, I’ll be the sober one in the room. Didn’t think I was being invited to be a chaperone.”

“Eh, I’m usually alright. It’s the other three you may have to worry about.”

“I’d rather not think about what James does when he drinks.”

“You did come to a Gryffindor party after a quidditch game. Did you expect him to be sober?” 

“I’m not sure what I expected…” 

“If it gets to be too much, we can go upstairs. I have plenty of books or cards or whatever.” 

You laughed and nudged Remus with your shoulder. “Inviting me up to your dorm? How scandalous,” you teased. 

Remus blushed and looked away from you. He hadn’t meant to imply that, but it wasn’t like he had never imagined it. It was one of the things the boys never discussed; James was always involved in those types of conversations and to mention his sister would’ve been suicide. 

“Figured it smells nicer and is quieter than down here,” he mumbled. 

You chuckled and leaned back against the wall. You stood there in silence for maybe a minute as you watched the party. Then you slid down the wall until you were sitting on the ground with crossed legs. Remus looked down at you. 

“Alright, love?” he asked, blushing again when he realized he called you ‘love’ rather than his usual ‘Little Corvid.’

“Yeah, yeah. Jus’ don’t want to stand the whole night.”

Remus nodded and sat down as well. He stretched his legs out in front of him, creating a tripping hazard for his peers. He took a sip of his drink. If he could, he would’ve willed his heart to stop pounding in his chest and for his hands to feel less clammy. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous as he sat next to you; he’d been next to you before, held conversations with you, studied with you for hours in the library. 

You thought Remus looked a little stiff next to you. Stiff but pretty as ever. You couldn’t explain the urge you had to touch Remus. Just be in physical contact with him, not grope. You could lean your shoulder up against his or rest your head on his shoulder. If you were feeling exceptionally bold, you could drop your hand from your knee to the ground next to you and then slowly move it over until you reached his hand. You, however, were not bold. Being in Gryffindor Tower was a bold enough act for you right now. 

You wouldn’t admit it outloud but Remus’ invitation to read in his dorm was slowly beginning to sound more tempting as the night went on. The smell, the sound, the constant movement of people around you – it was a lot. Every once in a while someone stopped by and refilled Remus’ cup. Once he grabbed one of their forearms and said something to them in a low voice. You couldn’t hear what he said, but within a minute, you had a bottle of butterbeer in your hand.

“Your doing?” you asked, clinking your bottle against his cup.

“You looked a bit parched.”

You snorted as you took a sip and immediately started coughing. Remus hit your back in an attempt to help. 

“I… I looked parched?” you managed to gasp out in between coughs. 

“It’s a party and you had no drink. Can’t be having that now, can we?” 

You took another sip and swallowed before saying, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my Little Corvid.”

‘My.’

“You ever dance?” you asked Remus, tilting your bottle to where students were dancing and pressing their bodies against each other. You spotted a few students from your year. 

“James ‘n’ Sirius dragged me out during third year. I fear I’m more suited for the couch… or floor.” 

“Maybe you just need a better dance partner,” you said with a soft laugh. “If that, what’d you call it? Juicy juice wasn’t so bloody awful, I’d be game.” 

“Jungle juice…” Remus said, trying not to look at you. 

You just said you’d dance with him if you had a better drink in your hand. Remus knew that it was more for getting you to dance rather than for dancing with him. The more time that Remus spent with you, the more he thought he might have a chance with you. He was beginning to think that getting James to not murder him for asking you out would be a bigger challenge than you saying yes. 

The rest of the night passed like that. Small bits of conversation littered with thickly-veiled flirting. Neither of you were confident enough to make a move. The most that happened was Remus used your shoulder as a pillow after a few more drinks. 

“Comfortable?” you asked him.

He hummed in response, letting his eyelids flutter shut. You chuckled softly. It was a sweet moment that made your heart beat faster. He was close enough now that you could barely smell his cologne over the room’s stench. And there was the flipping in your stomach. That didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. This was one of James’ best friends. 

As it got later, Remus eventually started to nod off. He sat up, stretched and said it was probably time for him to turn in. You watched him get up and head to the dorms. You stayed seated until you finished your current bottle of butterbeer before leaving the party yourself. You took the longer route back to Ravenclaw Tower. You needed the coolness of the stone corridor to settle yourself and think. 

There was a little gossip about you going to the Gryffindor party, but apparently James’ nonchalance about it at the party extended to after as he didn’t confront you about it. Because you only sat with Remus for the entire night and you left alone, the gossip cycle spit you out pretty quickly. Suddenly your entrance into the more social scene was old news. You faded back into being the younger Potter. Just the way you liked it. 

You still studied with Remus in the library. Things more or less felt the same; the main difference was now you stole more glances at him. He still gave you those warm, kind smiles that did things to your stomach. You still had small conversations, although they usually pertained to your assignments. Your favorite conversations were the ones that drifted. Talking with Remus about life was easy and titillating. 

---

You were sitting in study hall, working on an assignment for Defense Against the Dark Art. There was a low murmur around you as you worked. The professor supervising wasn’t too strict as they graded assignments at the front of the room. 

“Potter.”

You flipped a page in your textbook. 

“Oi – pretty Potter?” 

You retraced over the last word you wrote, making the ink darker and continuous. You sighed and scanned the open page of your book with your quill hovering over your parchment. You had no idea what to write next. Then a wad of parchment hit you in the face and fell in front of you. You slowly reached for it and uncrumpled it. There was nothing written on it. You frowned. What’s the point of throwing parchment at someone without a nate? You looked up and immediately locked eyes with Sirius. 

“What?” you hissed at him.

“About time. You going to the dance?” he whispered.

You made a face and shook your head, turning back to your assignment. The upcoming winter ball was for sixth and seventh years and their dates. You’re a fifth year. You were able form half a sentence in your brain before Sirius scooted down on the bench until he was right across from you. He reached his arms across the table and blocked your paper with his hands. 

“What?” you repeated yourself.

“Do you want to go?”

“What?” This time you asked it in shock rather than irritation. 

“Is there an echo in here or something? Do you want to go to the dance, Potter?”

“Uh, are you asking me to go with you? As your date?” you replied in disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. “Duh. You wanna go or not?”

“Don’t you have a list of girls who’d die to go with you?”

“Probably,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m not asking them. I’m asking you.”

“Why?”

“You know Prongs managed to get Lily to go with him.”

You nodded. You had heard that from the whispers around Hogwarts. And James’ ecstatic declarations throughout multiple corridors various times a day for the past week since she said yes.

“And he’s been so… so… so ugh?” he said with a disgruntled flourish of his hands.

“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘over the moon’ or even, happy?” you laughed before sending a glance toward the professor at the front of the room. They were still engrossed in their grading. 

“Whatever. He’ll be with her. So I figured I’d ask my second favorite Potter to help me survive the night.”

Your amused smile twisted into something more wicked. “I’m your second favorite? I rank above Mum? I’m so telling!”

Sirius gasped. He took his hands off your assignment to grab your wrists. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Calling me your second favorite above the woman who oh-so-graciously let you into her home, into her family,” you teased with a subtle shake of your head. “It’s a disgrace, Sirius.”

“Let me backtrack and correct myself.”

“Okay.”

“Would my second favorite Potter who is currently attending Hogwarts like to go to the dance with me?”

You chuckled and pulled your hands from his grip. “Nice save.”

He sat there, staring at you. You gave him a curious look. 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“Godric, Potter, the dance. Will you go with me?”

“Oh, you’re being serious.”

“I’m always Sirius.”

You slapped his arm, which was still ersting halfway across the table. There was a beat of silence where he stared at you again. It’s clear that he’s not leaving you alone until he got an answer. 

“Sure. I’ll go with your sorry arse.” Sirius smiled at your answer. “Who are the others with?”

“Wormtail’s asked Mary. Marlene got asked by Dorcas. Pandora Rosier’s going with Lovegood. Oh, um, Junior in your year is going with her brother. Stebbins is going with Vance… Uh, that’s all I know.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Remus?”

Sirius matched your head tilt. “Hasn’t asked anyone yet.”

“Yet?”

“Prongs is insistenting that we all ask someone. If he has a date, apparently we all need one.”

You hummed, looking down at your assignment. You don’t want Sirius to see the slight disappointment on your face as you considered what he said. Was it actually nice to get asked to the dance when you weren’t expecting to go? Yes. Was Sirius an attractive bloke? Also yes, but he wasn’t your type and was bordering on being a brother to you. The latter was heightened with his moving in over the summer. You would’ve much rather said yes to going with Remus. Then Sirius could’ve gone with one of the girls who drooled over him.

“So, you’re a definite yes?” Sirius asked, bringing your attention back to you.

“Yes, Black. Now, leave me alone. I gotta finish this for Professor Ceriffine.”

Sirius nodded and slid back down to where he had been sitting with Peter, Mary and Dorcas.

“Padfoot! Got a date yet?” James called across the common room after study hall.

“Asked her in study,” Sirius answered, walking toward him with Peter in tow.

“Who’d you ask?” Remus asked, briefly looking up from his book. 

“Little Corvid,” he said with a lazy grin. 

“What?” James and Remus gasped at the same time. 

“You asked my sister without asking me first?” James continued as Remus fell silent, gripping his book more intensely. 

Remus didn’t listen to Sirius’ defense or James’ continued berating. Remus hadn’t told anyone but he had planned on asking you himself once he plucked up the courage. For the briefest of moments, he’s glad he didn’t because of the look on James’ face, but the feeling passed as quickly as it arrived. Remus tried to swallow the sudden resentment he was feeling for Sirius. Sirius had tens of girls who’d be more than happy to go with him. Hell, more than half of them would ask Sirius themselves if they heard Sirius was actively searching for a date. Remus on the other hand, well, he wasn’t sure who else to ask. Peter had already asked Mary and Emmeline got asked too. Remus made a mental note to compare the moon cycle to the dance; maybe it would be too close to a full moon and he could get out of it.

“So that just leaves our Moony!” James said, clamping a hand on Remus’ shoulder, causing him to jump in his seat. “Got your sights set on anyone?”

“No,” he grumbled as he trained his eyes on the pages.

“Well, you got to ask someone. You’re the only one with a date now,” James said, although his tone said he wasn’t okay with Sirius’ date being you, but he would tolerate it.

At dinner, you told Marissa, Lucy, Elias and Martin what happened during study hall. They all seemed surprised. 

“I would’ve bet on Remus asking you,” Lucy said. “Given how much time you’ve been spending together.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked. 

“Oh, please. You spend more time in the library studying with him than you spend doing anything with us,” Marissa said with a smile. “Like you say, you’ll know it when you see him.”

“What does she know?” Martin asked.

“Nothing. I know absolutely nothing,” you said with a warning tone and look toward Lucy and Marissa. 

Yes, you had talked to Elias about Connor, but that was only because they were close. Martin and Elias didn’t need to know much about your potential relationships. The two boys watched as you had a silent conversation with the girls. Lucy and Marissa were fairly certain that you finally had a substantial crush, but you were still coming to terms with it.

“Anyways, I’ll need help deciding on a dress. Boys, you’re welcome to come with if you want,” you said.

Martin snorted a laugh. “Right, because that’s how I want to spend an evening.”

“You don’t want them there. They’d be no help whatsoever,” Marissa said pointedly, reaching for her cup. “You’ve seen what they wear on the weekends.”

You and the girls laughed while the boys attempted to defend their fashion choices. 

Remus now had the problem of finding a new girl to ask and working up the courage to ask her. He had checked the moon cycle and the dance was too far away from a full moon to use his furry little problem as an excuse not to go. As Remus went through his day, he’d decide a girl might be alright, ask one of the boys if said girl had a date already and then sigh when they said yes. He debated telling James that he would just go stag – all the girls he’d tolerate an evening with already had dates. 

Then he went to Herbology with Peter, their last lesson of the day. Remus scanned the room, almost certain they had already had a class with everyone in the room. Then Remus nudged Peter.

“Tara McMahon. She have a date?” he muttered, trying not to get his hopes up over the Hufflepuff. 

Peter pursed his lips and tilted his head as he thought about it. Then he shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Right. Cool. Yeah.” Remus told himself that he needed to use class to prepare himself and just ask Tara after the lesson ended. 

The worst she could do is say no, right? No. The worst she could do is laugh in Remus’ face, but he didn’t think she would do that. If she already had a date, she’d let Remus down easy. She was a nice girl. He would’ve rather gone on James or Sirius’ word that Tara didn’t have a date yet, but alas, they dropped Herbology the first chance they got. 

As soon as the class ended, Remus hurriedly packed up his things and made his way to Tara. If he hesitated, he’d lose all his nerve. 

“Hey, Tara! Got a second?” 

She looked up from putting her things away. “Remus, hi.”

“Would you like to go to the dance with me?” 

Blunt. Straight to the point. Very romantic. Just how every girl dreams of being asked.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” she said with a sweet smile. She appeared to mean it.

“Great. Thanks.”

There, he’d done it. He got himself a date, even if it wasn’t his first choice. He hated that you were going with Sirius instead of him. He was the one you sat with in the library. He was the one who invited you to the Gryffindor party and then sat with you all night. He was the one who called you Little Corvid. But it was one night. Remus could survive one night with you on Sirius’ arm, even if it killed him inside. 

---

As you walked down the corridor toward the Great Hall, you pulled uncomfortably at your dress. You don’t remember picking it out or even trying it on. If you liked it in the store, you certainly hated it now. It’s uncomfortable. It’s itchy. It’s too tight. Something poking you in the side. You saw Sirius waiting for you outside the hall. He smiled when he saw you, taking your hand to lead you inside. You don’t even recognize the Great Hall or half the people around you. As if the dress wasn’t enough, the music is too, the bass vibrating your brain and bones. Suddenly, you’re chest to chest with Sirius in the middle of the dance floor. The music shifted into something intense with strings. Your arms were around his neck with his hands on your waist. You were swaying in time to the slow song. Then Sirius started to lean in. He pressed his lips to yours. You wanted to move, to back up, to get away from it, but you’re frozen. You can’t even scream. All you could do was wait for it to end, but his lips picked up speed and ferocity. You wished you could bring your hands down from around his neck to push his chest away from you. Just as he began to pull back-

You sat up in your bed in a cold sweat. It was the middle of the night. You couldn’t catch your breath. It wasn’t real. You tried to slow your breathing, or at least make it quieter so you don’t wake your roommates. When you’ve calmed yourself, you relaxed a bit more; it had only been a dream. A weird and uncomfortable dream.

As much as you tried, you couldn’t fall back asleep. You tossed and turned and eventually settled for staring at the canopy above your bed until morning. You knew you were going to be a zombie all day. From barely eating anything at breakfast to nearly falling asleep in Transfiguration, you’re so out of it. The few times a professor called on you during class, you answered their questions wrong, even if you knew the correct answer in your bones. Focusing and being present weren’t things you could do. Getting through the day was tough enough without professors expecting you to learn.

You went to the library after classes like usual. Maybe some quiet was what you needed. Then you spotted Remus. You’ve never been quite so glad that he was alone. His presence could be what you needed to focus. You approached his table and took the spot across from him, like you’ve done many times before. Except you realize, before you even take out your things, that you need to talk. That dream really struck a nerve. You didn’t bother bringing it up to any of your friends. Even if they didn’t care too much about the Marauders, Marissa and Lucy would tell you that they were wrong about Remus and that you actually liked Sirius. Lucy was already coming around to that idea – because why else would you have said yes to him?

Remus looked up from his book and gave you a warm smile. Your stomach most definitely did not flip. Nope, that would be silly. Why would a smile make you feel weak in the knees? That wasn’t rational. 

“Remus, do you know how to interpret dreams?” you asked, voice sounding more weak than you had expected. 

He chuckled softly. “Don’t take Divination, but I can try if something’s bugging you, Little Corvid. How hard can it be?”

You rubbed your temples gently. It was really, really bugging you.

“It was about the winter ball. There was a slow dance and Sirius kissed me-”

“Maybe you should ask one of your friends ‘bout it?” Remus interrupted you. “One of them must take Divination, right?”

“Oh, um, I mean they do but…”

Great, you thought, Remus can’t help. Remus felt miserable as he watched you. He didn’t understand your expression. You had said yes to Sirius and were now dreaming about kissing him. Were you expecting Remus to be a wingman for you? You already had the date. 

“I’ll, uh, see you later, Lupin,” you muttered, standing up and hurrying away from him.

That hadn’t gone how you wanted it to. You really thought Remus would’ve listened to you longer and given some advice. Your breathing was uneven as you returned to Ravenclaw Tower. Your roommates watched you move through the common room and head straight to your dorm; they swore you had just left for the library and didn’t expect you back until late, like usual. Did they say or do anything? No. Their trivial gossip was more important to them. 

Remus didn’t stay much longer in the library after you left. Your expression was burned into his brain. It baffled him. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and your dream. He knew he probably didn’t handle it the best, but what was he supposed to say? He was sitting in his dorm alone, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, when Sirius entered. Remus regretted asking Sirius about it before he even did.

“You know much ‘bout dream?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Probably as much as you. Why?” Sirius responded, loosening his tie and tossing it in his trunk. 

“What does it mean if you have a dream about kissing someone?”

Sirius snorted a laugh as he undid his shirt buttons. “Usually means you want to kiss that person.”

Remus’ stomach twisted but he tried not to show his reaction on his face. Sirius had gotten to you first and now you wanted to kiss him. Remus lost his chance. 

“So,” Sirius started to say with a grin on his face, “who do you want to kiss?”

“Wasn’t my dream.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. Now Remus really had his attention. Sirius moved to lean against Remus’ bedpost. 

“Whose was it?”

Remus didn’t answer right away. He knew he shouldn’t tell Sirius since it was about him. 

“Y/N,” he said quietly, staring at the floor. 

That got Sirius invested. He watched Remus with a curious expression.

“Who does she want to kiss?”

Remus knew he’d ask that.

“You,” he said with an eye roll. All girls want to kiss Sirius. “I guess she had a dream about the dance. Real romantic, eh?”

“Yeah… Romantic…” Sirius muttered, more to himself than Remus. 

Sirius was silent as he moved to his bed, collapsing on top of it. He ran a hand through his hair. His mind was spinning. He had asked you platonically to the dance. He meant it when he said that he wanted a Potter to hang out with at the dance. If James was going to be distracted by Lily all night, he wanted a girl he could joke around with. But you wanted to kiss him. He hadn’t been expecting that. 

---

Marissa and Lucy went with you to find a dress. The dresses you picked out looked better on the mannequins than they did on you. It was a bit disheartening. But that’s why you brought the girls with. You knew they’d be able to help you. You gave them your minimum requirements and set them loose. Within minutes, they had more dresses for you to try on. And you tried them on until you were happy. 

It fit right. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t itchy. There was nothing to poke you in the side. 

Were you trying to avoid the situation from your dream? Maybe. But the girls said you looked gorgeous in the dress and that Sirius’ jaw was going to drop when he saw you. You reminded them that that wasn’t the intention, but you still wanted to look good. They assured you even more that you did. 

Then the evening of the winter ball, the girls helped you get ready. Once again, you offered Martin and Elias to come hang out while the girls did your hair and you did your makeup, but they said they’d take a shower in gobstone goo. You thought they were being a tad dramatic. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed. 

The night started to feel like deja vu. Walking down the corridor toward the Great Hall, except the corridor wasn’t eerily empty. Sirius waiting for you outside the hall and smiling when he sees you. At least you felt confident and comfortable in your dress. Sirius took your hand in his and lifted it to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look lovely,” he said with a smile.

“And you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“There’s the energy I need for tonight,” he replied with a cheeky smile. 

It was already better than the dream. He led you inside the hall, which was more recognizable than in your dream. It was decorated with extravagant ice sculptures, gigantic icicles hanging from the buttresses and false snow falling from the ceiling without actually reaching the ground. The entire room seemed to shimmer. It was beautiful. 

Also unlike your dream, you recognized the people around you. Seventh years you never talked to, sixth years who barely spared you a second glance most of the time, a handful of fifth years who got invited like you, and the Marauders, their friends and dates. Lily, Marlene, Mary and Dorcas were having a lively conversation while James and Peter stood near them. You didn’t see Remus. 

“Oh my Merlin!” Marlene exclaimed when you and Sirius approached the group. “Y/N, you look beautiful!”

You blushed. “Thank you. You look fantastic!”

Sirius let you talk with the girls, going to stand with James and Peter. You wanted to ask the girls if they’d seen Remus, but you didn’t know if it was your place to ask. Surely he had gotten a date for himself and was off with her somewhere. You just wanted to see him. For him to see you all dressed. You wouldn’t let yourself linger too long on why you wanted him to see you all dressed up. 

The girls take your hands and drag you out onto the dance floor. The boys followed, not wanting to stray too far from their dates. Especially James who placed himself right next to Lily. You were grateful the other girls were there; they made it feel less like imposing on the Marauders. After a few songs, Remus appeared with a girl you didn’t know. You thought she maybe was a Hufflepuff? Maybe you’d seen Lucy or Elias talking to her, or you’ve sat near her when you’ve been at their table? 

When you made eye contact with Remus, you exchanged your usual smiles, but Remus’ didn’t feel as warm as they did in the library. It pained your heart slightly, but you knew better than to dwell on that right now. You were at a dance. You were supposed to have fun at dances. 

The song shifted to something slower, romantic with strings. The feeling of deja vu returned. The group split into couples, and Sirius pulled you close. Chest to chest. It hit you that you’ve never actually been this close to Sirius. His hands rested on your waist and your arms were around his neck – just like your dream, except you felt more relaxed. You knew this was real. Plus, you knew that Sirius wouldn’t actually kiss you. You were James’ little sister. Certainly James would’ve had a talk with Sirius and told him that he was dead if tried anything. Right?

Then it happened all too quickly. Sirius was gazing down at you with a soft expression. Your chest tightened with panic as you realized he’s leaning in. Unlike your dream, you aren’t frozen. Your arms came down from his neck and gently pushed his chest as you took a step back. Then another step back. You weren’t focused on what your face was saying, but you’re sure it’s something akin to surprise and astonishment and freaking out. Sirius looked utterly confused. You didn’t know what to do so you did the only thing that felt right: you ran.

You turned and ran out of the Great Hall. You knew that you must’ve attracted a ton of eyes in doing so, but you needed to get out of there. You ran until you made it outside, breathing in the cold winter air. Each breath you took felt like a lifeline, but you were still freaking out.

As soon as you left the hall, Sirius, with his mouth gaping, gave Remus an accusatory look. Sirius thought that Remus told him about a fake dream so that he would make a fool of himself. Remus wasn't looking at Sirius though; he was turned toward the door before deciding to leave his date and follow you out. 

That left Peter, and the girls, to wrangle James, keeping him off of Sirius.

As Remus left the hall, he could hear echoes of “That’s my goddamn sister, you git!” and “What the bloody hell were you thinking?” and “Stay away from her!” There were also “I thought she wanted it!” and “Prongs/James, calm down!” SIrius tried to not feel bad about using Peter as a human shield, but he knew that James wouldn’t murder Peter. He couldn’t say the same about himself right now. 

Remus looked in various closets and empty classrooms as he passed them in his search for you. Luckily for him, the door you slipped out of didn’t close fully behind you. 

“Corvid?” he called as he stepped outside. 

He scanned the area immediately beyond the door. He didn’t see you right away. You had stepped off to the side, sitting on the wall ledge with your head in your hands. You weren’t crying, but you still felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was reeling from your dream essentially coming true. 

“Corvid!” Remus repeated when he spotted you.

He ran up to you. He didn’t touch you when he realized the state you were in. Instead, he crouched down and tentatively rested his hands on your knees to help balance himself. You gave a shuttered breath and looked at him. He couldn’t help but think about how beautiful you looked with your cheeks rosied up from the cold.

“It happened, Remus. Like my dream…” you said with a weak voice. “Except this time, I could move… Thank Merlin…”

He furrowed his brows and tilted his head.

“You ran away before he could kiss you, darling,” he reminded you, obviously confused at your state. Wasn’t that what you wanted? “That’s the, um, ‘thank Merlin’ part?” you said slowly, appearing just as confused as the boy in front of you. “I… I don’t want to kiss him.”

The color drained from Remus’ face despite the hope now building inside of him. So, Sirius might murder him, but you didn’t like Sirius like that.

“You don’t? But… your dream?” He tried to put as much emphasis on the last word as he could. Dreams were good things, right?

You shook your head. “No, Remus… Perhaps it’s better phrased as a nightmare? I mean, it wasn’t scary, but certainly not something I wanted to happen. The whole dream was uncomfortable… As was that, but at least I could move. I could stop it from actually happening.”

Yes, Sirius was going to kill Remus.

You took another shaky breath and immediately followed it with a groan.

“The whole school’s going to be talking about this, aren’t they?” you whined. “Baby Potter gets asked by the Sirius Black to the dance and then she runs away when he tries to kiss her? Godric, it’s so much drama…”

Remus chuckled as he stood up and offered you his hand. You took it. As soon as you were up, he pulled you into a hug. You don’t think you’ve ever been hugged by Remus before. His body warmed you instantly and his smell flooded your nostrils. Your breath got caught in your throat. The feeling of his arms around you sent butterflies to your stomach, taking you by surprise. The butterflies were more intense than the simple flipping of your stomach. 

“If it’s any comfort, you didn’t get a choice in the drama…” Remus muttered.

You pulled back ever so slightly from the hug.

“If I had said no to coming-” you started to say.

“Then the whole castle would be talking about how James’ sister turned his best friend down.”

‘And then I would’ve asked you,’ Remus finished in his head.

You sighed, understanding what Remus meant. “I didn’t choose the drama… James did.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to point fingers, but… yeah. James, Sirius, Peter and me. Big ol’ dramatic bunch that you’re related to.”

“Damned by association and blood,” you said louder than Remus expected but there’s a smile on your face again.

“Let’s get you inside. It’s damn cold. … And we can see if there’s a bit of your date remaining since you left with James with only Peter as protection.”

You laughed. “Black can handle himself against James. Certainly more than Pete can.”

By the time you got back to the Great Hall, James was over by the drink table with Lily, still looking heated. Sirius, Peter and the rest of the girls were on the other side of the hall. You and Remus approached the latter group first. 

“Erm, I’m sorry,” Sirius said as soon as he saw you. “I thought-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. You glanced toward James. “We good to have it not happen again?”

“Yes. Heard. Won’t be trying to kiss you as long as I value my life.”

You nodded and headed over to James. Remus watched you walk away until Sirius hit his shoulder aggressively.

“What the fuck, Moony?” he hissed.

“Apparently, Little Corvid didn’t tell me everything.”

“Really?” Sirius asked in mock disbelief. 

“She called it a dream the first time and now she’s telling me it was a nightmare.”

Sirius hit his shoulder again. “A fucking nightmare? I’m going to end you.”

Marlene moved in between the two boys.

“Nope. We already stopped one homicide tonight. We don’t need to stop a second.”

“James,” you said, bringing his attention from Lily to you. 

“Y/N,” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

He put his hands on both of your shoulders, looking you in the eyes.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Sirius and I, we’re good.” You paused. “Are you good?”

“The wanker tried to kiss you!” 

“James.”

“First he asks you out without talking to me first and then he tries to make a move on you? I-”

“James,” you said more forcefully. “He’s already promised to never try to kiss me again. We’re good. And if it’s worth anything, he’s not my type.”

“Who is your type then?” Lily asked, moving to stand right next to James.

You flushed. “Unimportant. Just tell me you’ll forgive Sirius.”

James stared at you with a hardened expression. “Fine,” he grumbled out after a few seconds. 

“Good. I think we can still enjoy the rest of tonight, yeah?” 

“Yes!” Lily exclaimed, grabbing your hand and pulling you from James’ hands. 

She brought you to the dance floor with the rest of the group following close behind. James was still giving Sirius warning glances while Sirius sent glares toward Remus. Peter was the only boy in the circle able to relax and have a good time. He had done nothing wrong. 

You were right that running away from Sirius’ kiss attempt would spread like wildfire in the world of gossip, but you were more or less saved from it by the incoming Christmas holiday. Before you knew it, you were on the train heading home. And you were more than ready to leave your dorm. Lindsey and Alison were unbearable in the aftermath of the dance. They didn’t understand why you ran and they reminded you of their bafflement every second they could. 

You had your own bafflement when you found your parents at the station. James, Sirius and Remus flanked them. And then all three of them went through the barrier with you and your parents following. No one mentioned to you that Remus would be joining you for Christmas. He would later tell you that his parents decided to go to the States for Christmas and his mother insisted on traveling muggle-style, which for some reason meant he couldn’t go with. And, of course, the Potters were always happy to host their children’s friends. You asked about Peter and apparently he begged his parents to visit one of his sisters for Christmas so he could join the party, but no success. 

There seemed to be a silent agreement among the four of you that no one would bring up the incident to your parents. Some things they didn’t need to know. Just like over the summer, you tried your best to give the boys space. You didn’t want to mess up their dynamic anymore than you already had. You spent as much time with your mother as you could, which meant spending endless hours in the kitchen baking Christmas desserts. 

“We expect to come back to an intact house,” your father said, looking at the boys. “I do not want to find the fire department outside. Do you hear me?”

The boys nodded.

“Great. Then we’re off. Be good.”

Your parents stepped into the fireplace and used floo powder to go to a Christmas party. It was going to be just you and the boys in the house until like 2 a.m. Your plans involved “borrowing” a bottle of elvish wine and settling on the couch with your latest book. You didn’t really care what the boys got up to as long as they left you alone. 

You relit the fire and sat down on the couch. The atmosphere in the room was perfect, relaxing, calm. Christmas-y. The tree in the corner of the room seemed to glitter with the dancing light from the fire. You weren’t sure where the boys had gone while you prepared for your evening, but then James and Sirius bounded down the stairs with an ungodly amount of noise. 

“Fancy a snowball fight?” James offered as he pulled on his boots.

You made a face and gestured to the fire. “No.”

“Ah, you and Moony… bunch of flobberworms,” Sirius said before pushing James out the front door.

So Remus wasn’t going to join their snowball fight. You wondered if he was going to sit upstairs all night. You wouldn’t mind if he decided he wanted to hang out with you on the couch, maybe reading his own book and enjoying the warm atmosphere you had created. You had barely uncorked the wine bottle and opened your book when Remus appeared at the stop of the stairs. 

“Do, erm, do you mind if I sit with you?” he asked. You could see that he did have a book with him. 

“Only if you drink with me,” you said with a cheeky smile as you raised the bottle for him to see. 

He chuckled and came down the stairs. He sat down next to you and got comfortable, draping a blanket over his legs. He reached over to grab the bottle and took a swig. 

“Your mum let you have this?” he asked.

“Guess we’ll find out if she throws a fit tomorrow or not.”

Remus smirked at you and took another swig before handing you the bottle back. You read in a comfortable silence for a while, handing the bottle back and forth. The only noise was the crackle of the fire and muffled yells from James and Sirius. You peered at Remus over the top of your book, appreciating how the fire accentuated his features in the best ways. He wasn’t even doing anything and yet your heart started to race. 

“Can I tell you something?” Remus asked after taking a swig of the bottle and handing it to you.

“Yeah.” You placed a bookmark to save your spot and closed your book, giving Remus your full attention.

“I was going to ask you to the dance.”

You stared at Remus with wide eyes and now your heart was most definitely pounding. You had wished it was Remus who asked you. That was only increased by the incident. 

“Why didn’t you?” you asked in a soft voice, your throat feeling tight.

“Sirius got to you first,” Remus said, throwing his head against the back of the couch. “I was working up the courage to ask you and he comes back to the common room announcing that he’s already asked you.”

You pressed your lips together, taking in Remus. “I wish you had asked me.”

Remus sat up straighter and turned his body to face you. 

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

You stared at each other in a thick silence for a few moments. You were both trying to figure out what the other meant.

“Wouldn’t’ve had that awkward almost-kissing incident,” you said with an awkward chuckle. You immediately regretted saying it, because why on earth would you say that?

“What if… what if I had tried to kiss you?” Remus asked in a low voice, looking toward the fire so he didn’t have to see your reaction, as if rejection would sting less if he only had to hear it.

“It wouldn’t have been an almost.”

His gaze snapped back to you. “It wouldn’t have been an almost?” 

You put the bottle of wine on the side table along with your book and scooted closer to Remus so you could move his book from his lap. You could barely think with your heart beating as loud as it was; Remus could barely breathe with what you said and what you just did. 

“I wouldn’t have ran away,” you said, not breaking eye contact with Remus. 

“You wouldn’t have…” Remus’ voice died in this throat. 

He frantically patted his pants and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He gave it a quick wave. A sprig of mistletoe suddenly appeared above you, floating precariously. You looked up at it in awe and let out a small giggle. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” you said in a soft voice that was laced with mirth.

“It’s tradition, you know,” he said, matching your volume and leaning just slightly forward. 

“It’d be a shame to ignore tradition.” 

“Right.”

A beat passed. Neither of you moved, yet you continued to stare at each other.

“Just kiss me already, Remus,” you said. You honestly felt that you might combust if he waited any longer.

Remus swallowed, wet his lips and leaned forward, meeting you halfway. It was soft and tentative, barely a brush of lips, but it was enough to send fireworks through you. You both pulled back, feeling shaky and blushing like crazy. Remus looked at you nervously until you broke into a wide smile. You shifted so you were sitting even closer to him. You looked up again at the mistletoe. 

“Huh, it’s still there,” you mused. “Must mean we need to try again.”

Remus let out a shaky chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. Try again.”

This time you leaned into him. The second kiss was more confident. It was lips slotted together and movement. You were each applying pressure to the kiss, like you were fueled by a hunger for the other. Remus brought a hand up to cup your face as the other rested comfortably on your waist. You had one hand supporting yourself on the couch and the other on his chest. It was only a hair short of being considered a snog. 

For your first and second kisses, you were quite pleased. When you inevitably told Marissa and Lucy about it when you got back to school, you would describe it as magical. Cheesy, but, Merlin, it was. Remus made you feel something. All those times you said you’d know him when you saw him, you didn’t realize that you just needed to see him in a new light. 

And then the front door opened. 

“Moony, what the actual fuck?” James’ voice boomed through the room. 

You and Remus broke apart. You were both bright red, panting and wearing matching grins. James looked furious. Behind him, Sirius had an unreadable expression on his face. This would explain why you didn’t want to kiss him at the ball; he was the wrong Marauder. 

You pointed to the green plant still floating above you and Remus.

“Mistletoe,” you said casually, as if your brother hadn’t just walked in on one of his best friends making out with his little sister. 

tags: @navs-bhat

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Of Duty and Desire | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Extra Long One-Shot

This is my first Ominis fic, I hope I do all you Ominis lovers proud :') The plot was heavily inspired by these (1, 2, 3) artworks by @tamayula-hl !!! (they literally create such gorgeous work, I fuckin swoon every time I see them ;.;)

Summary: After years apart, you are forced into a marriage with Ominis Gaunt, someone you once considered a close friend but who pushed you away after Sebastian's breakdown in fifth year. The rift between you has left years of unresolved tension, and on your wedding night, the two of you are forced to confront the fallout.

Words: ~15,700

Tags: Explicit Smut, Pureblood Politics, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The Gaunt family estate loomed like a mausoleum under the pale light of the crescent moon. Its dark stone walls seemed to absorb the light, and the air inside carried a suffocating chill that no roaring fire could banish. Ominis sat alone in his room, the only illumination coming from a single flickering candle perched on his desk. The Gaunt family ring, heavy and ornate, turned slowly between his fingers.

Tomorrow, it would sit on your finger.

His chest tightened at the thought of the ceremony, the vows, the look he imagined you’d give him as you forced to say, I do.

He wished you still saw him the way you did all those years ago, back when you’d shared tentative smiles across the library table, before fifth year shattered everything between you. He’d thought you were remarkable then—fierce, clever, and endlessly loyal to the people you cared about. He still thought so, though the years had placed a wall between you.

A wall he had built.

His hands clenched into fists, the metal of the ring biting into his palm. He could still hear the echo of your argument, that fateful day when Sebastian’s descent into darkness had reached its breaking point. You had wanted to help him, to pull him back, while Ominis had been determined to stop him at any cost. The two of you had stood on opposite sides of a chasm, and in his frustration, his fear, Ominis had pushed you away.

But now? Now, you were to be his bride.

The marriage contract had been delivered two months ago, the parchment sealed with the Gaunt crest and bearing the oppressive weight of their expectations. You had no grand family name, no wealth or influence to rival the Gaunts, but you had something far more valuable: ancient magic.

Your family had no power to refuse the offer—not when the Gaunts were known for their ruthlessness. You’d been given no choice, and neither had he.

Ominis exhaled a shaky breath, setting the ring down on the desk with a soft clink.

The bitter irony was that you had been right about Sebastian all along, and Ominis had destroyed what you had years ago for nothing.

Ominis had doubted Sebastian—had believed that his obsession with dark magic would destroy everything and everyone in its path. But eventually, with time and a painful amount of humility, Sebastian had begun to heal. He had come back to them. He had proven himself capable of change, of redemption.

And you’d seen it all along.

Ominis swallowed hard, the guilt twisting his stomach. You’d begged him to give Sebastian a chance, to believe in the person he could be. But Ominis had been too blinded by his own fears to listen. His distrust had cost him Sebastian’s friendship for years. And worse, it had cost him you ever since.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows braced on the desk. The weight of it all was suffocating.

The memory of your expression when you’d arrived at the Gaunt manor two days ago lingered in his mind.

Even without the clarity of sight, he could feel the weight you carried. He’d “seen” the stiffness in your shoulders, the faint tremor in your hands as you’d clasped them in front of you, your head turning ever so slightly toward him as his parents greeted you. For a fleeting second, he’d felt your attention, a thin, aching tether between you.

But you hadn’t spoken to him. Not then, and not since.

What could he possibly say to make this better? “I’m sorry” was laughable at this point. He was sorry, of course—sorry for every cruel word spoken in the heat of fifth year, sorry for not trusting you, sorry for not preventing you from falling into the Gaunt nightmare—but no apology could undo the damage.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He straightened, smoothing his hair as if that would make any difference. “Come in,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and one of the Gaunt family’s house-elves stepped hesitantly into the room. “Master Ominis,” the elf began, its voice trembling, “your bride-to-be is in the garden, sir.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” he asked, his throat dry.

“She—she is pacing, sir. She looks… upset.“

Ominis nodded, rising from his chair. “Thank you,” he said, though the elf was already retreating, bowing its way out of the room.

You were upset. Of course, you were. Why wouldn’t you be? Tomorrow, you were being forced to marry him and tie yourself to a family that cared only about what they could take from you. And worse, tied to him—a man who had pushed you away when you’d needed him most, who had no right to ask anything of you, least of all forgiveness.

But the thought of you pacing alone in the gardens, trapped in your own swirling emotions, was unbearable. Ominis didn’t know if he could say anything to help, but he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

He moved swiftly through the dark corridors, and when he reached the door to the garden, he paused, letting his wand hum faintly to map the space before him. He sensed the vast openness of the ahead, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and dying roses.

And there you were.

Your silhouette materialized in his mind like a shadow against the darkness. You were pacing, just as the house-elf had said, your movements quick and restless. It was a knife to Ominis’s chest, seeing the person he cared for so deeply reduced to this.

Care.

No, he thought bitterly, that wasn’t the right word. He loved you. He had loved you since before he even understood what love truly was. And that made it all so much worse.

Because you would never love him.

Ominis stood stiffly in the doorway. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too consumed by your thoughts and frantic steps that sent gravel crunching underfoot. But when he shifted his weight, the faint sound of his movement caught your attention. You stopped abruptly, your head turning toward him, your posture instantly stiffening.

“Ominis,” you said, your voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade. “…Couldn’t sleep?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He recognized the tension in your tone, the way you carefully shielded yourself with polite indifference. It was the same tone you’d used with his parents when you arrived, the one where he’d sensed every ounce of resentment you’d tucked away beneath a mask of cordiality.

“No,” he said softly, stepping further into the garden. “I was told you were out here.”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice carrying a detached sort of humor. "Not allowed a moment of solitude, hm?"

Ominis flinched inwardly, his wand picking up on the subtle tremor in your hands as you folded your arms across your chest.

“I thought… perhaps you might want to talk,” he said carefully, his voice low.

“With you? No,” you replied quickly, brushing off the suggestion as though it didn’t matter. You turned your back to him. “Talking to you won’t help.”

Ominis winced but didn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, the night air growing heavier with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth.

You laughed, soft and humorless, as you turned back toward the fountain. “Sorry,” you echoed. “Of course. And that makes it all better, does it?”

He took a hesitant step closer, his wand pulsing faintly to track the distance between you. “I mean it,” he said. “I wish things were different.”

“Do you?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. ““Because last time I checked, you’re the one who pushed me away."

Ominis froze, the accusation cutting through him like a blade. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

You turned fully to face him now, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Do you think I don’t remember?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of unspoken emotion. “The things you said to me? The way you looked at me, like I was… like I was the problem?”

“That’s not what I—” Ominis started, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, one that lacked any real humor.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Nothing either of us says now will change anything. And tomorrow, we’ll stand in front of your family and say the words they want to hear."

You turned abruptly, your footsteps crunching against the gravel as you moved past him. “Goodnight, Ominis,” you said, your tone clipped and distant as you made your way back toward the manor.

He turned slightly, his wand picking up the blur of your retreating figure as you disappeared into the cold, sterile halls of the estate. The faint trace of your magic lingered in the air, turbulent and raw, and he hated himself for not being able to ease it.

~~~

Morning came like a thief, stealing away the fragile moments of sleep Ominis had clung to in the restless hours of the night. The Gaunt manor, usually oppressive in its quiet, was unnaturally alive with activity. House-elves scurried through the halls, their frantic movements punctuated by the clinking of silver trays and hurried whispers. His parents had spared no effort to make the day grand, though their motives were far from sentimental.

Even worse, his extended family had descended like vultures, eager to witness the union that would bind your ancient magic to the Gaunt bloodline. Even Ominis’s older brother, Marvolo, had returned from his work abroad for the occasion, his mere presence enough to sour the air. Ominis had always loathed Marvolo—arrogant, cruel, and every bit the model Gaunt heir their parents had hoped for. The rest of the family wasn’t much better. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins he resented filled the halls, their haughty laughter echoing off the cold stone walls.

Ominis moved through the chaos like a ghost, his mind as numb as his steps. He had imagined marrying you a hundred—no, a thousand—times, but never like this.

In his dreams, you loved him back. Your smiles were soft and unguarded, your laughter warm, your hand reaching for his not out of duty, but out of choice. But those dreams had always been fragile, built on a shaky foundation of what-ifs and hope he’d never dared voice aloud.

You wedding band weighed heavily in his pocket, a cruel reminder of the vows he would unwittingly force you to take. He told himself he was doing this to protect you—that he was backed into a corner with no way out. It wasn’t a lie. His parents had made their expectations clear: defy them, and Ominis would pay the price. The Gaunts had always been dangerous, even to their own blood. He’d seen it with his older cousins, the ones who had been disowned or “disappeared” for daring to cross the family.

And that didn’t even encompass what they might do to you.

The sharp knock on his door startled him. Ominis straightened instinctively, brushing a hand over his hair as if readying himself for battle.

“It’s me,” Sebastian’s voice called through the heavy wood, rough but familiar.

“Come in,” Ominis replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. He was dressed sharply, though his tie was slightly crooked—a detail Ominis would have pointed out if he’d had the energy to notice.

“You look like hell,” Sebastian said, crossing the room and leaning against the desk.

“I feel worse,” Ominis admitted, lowering himself into the chair by the window.

Sebastian tilted his head, scrutinizing Ominis with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore.

“…You love her, don’t you?” Sebastian asked suddenly, his voice blunt and cutting straight to the point. He had never been one to dance around difficult questions.

Ominis let out a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,” Sebastian said, standing straighter, arms crossed. “Do. You. Love. Her?”

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back as though seeking answers from the cracked ceiling above. “You already know the answer to that, Sebastian,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “You’ve always known.”

“Humor me,” Sebastian pressed.

Ominis’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Of course I love her. I’ve always loved her. Since before I even understood what that meant. And you know that. So why ask?”

Sebastian scoffed, fixing Ominis with an unrelenting stare. “Because you’re acting like this is the end of the world. You love her. And now you’re marrying her. She’s about to be your wife.”

Ominis turned his head sharply, his sightless gaze narrowing slightly. “My wife?” His voice rose, edged with frustration. “This isn’t a marriage, Sebastian. It’s a transaction. A cage.” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant hum of laughter and footsteps filled the courtyard. “She doesn’t want this. And she certainly doesn’t want me.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his calmness almost maddening. “But you love her,” he pointed out again. “That means you can make something of this. You can try.”

Ominis let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Try what? To pretend that she doesn’t hate me?” He shook his head, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with anguish. “She does hate me, Sebastian. And why wouldn’t she?”

Sebastian frowned, his expression flickering with guilt. “You were scared. We all were. What happened back then…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t easy for any of us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ominis snapped. “I made my choices. And now, she thinks I’m no better than my parents.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. “She thinks I’m just like them, putting her through this. And maybe she’s right.”

“She doesn’t think that. You’re nothing like your parents,” Sebastian said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for half a second, you might see that she doesn’t actually hate you.”

Ominis scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Sebastian said, beginning to pace the room with his usual restless energy. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Ominis. She’s hurt, sure. Angry. But hate? No.”

Ominis leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

“Am I?” Sebastian challenged, stopping in his tracks to face him. “You’ve spent years convincing yourself she hates you, but did you ever stop to actually talk to her about it? Or did you just decide she hated you because it was easier than dealing with the mess you made?”

The words hit their mark, and Ominis flinched. He couldn’t deny it. He had avoided you for years, too ashamed of his actions to face you properly. He had assumed the worst because it was safer than hoping for anything else.

Sebastian sighed heavily, glancing over at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. The ticking sound, once faint, now seemed to echo in the room like a countdown to inevitability. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking back to Ominis.

“We’re out of time,” he said flatly. “They’re going to be expecting us downstairs.”

Ominis didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair. He looked like a man on the edge of breaking, and for a moment, Sebastian considered calling the whole thing off himself. But he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. This wasn’t a fight they could win—not here, not now.

“Come on,” Sebastian urged, his voice softer. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ominis exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. He stood, his movements stiff and reluctant, his fingers brushing down the front of his suit as though trying to compose himself. His family had ensured every detail of his appearance was perfect—he looked every bit the polished Gaunt heir, the image they demanded. But inside, he felt hollow.

Sebastian gave him a faint nod, adjusting his own crooked tie. “You’ll survive this,” he said with a slight smile. “Everything will work out.”

Ominis didn’t respond, his throat too tight to form words. Instead, he followed Sebastian out of the room, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of activity that filled the manor. Every step felt heavier than the last, the anticipation building in his chest like a storm.

The courtyard garden had been transformed into a grand display of pure-blood prestige. Rows of white chairs lined the manicured lawn, and a narrow aisle flanked by enchanted, softly glowing flowers led to an altar at the far end. Ivy climbed the stone arch that framed the altar, its dark green tendrils twisting delicately around clusters of pale blossoms.

Ominis stood at the altar, his back straight and his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his wand tucked away in his sleeve. The suit he wore was immaculate, tailored perfectly to his tall, lean frame. But even as he stood there, a picture of composure, his mind churned with unease.

Beyond him, countless guests sat in waiting—pure-bloods from every corner of their miserable society, their presence a suffocating reminder of the world he had tried—and failed—to escape.

His extended family dominated the seats closest to the altar, their self-satisfied smirks and sharp whispers grating against his already frayed nerves. The Gaunts had arrived in full force, a parade of arrogance and entitlement, each one more intolerable than the last.

Ominis’s parents sat in the front row, their expressions masks of triumph. His mother, draped in rich emerald, surveyed the scene with quiet pride, while his father sat like a statue, his posture rigid, his face a cold, unyielding mask. And then there was Marvolo, lounging casually in his seat beside them, his smirk a permanent fixture as though the entire event were for his personal amusement.

Across the aisle sat the members of your family, their expressions far less composed. Your mother’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn as she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, eyes flicking nervously between the guests and the altar.

The contrast between them and the Gaunts couldn’t have been starker. Ominis’s family were predators, their confidence unshakable, while yours looked like cornered prey. And you… you were the sacrificial offering, the tether between their worlds.

The low hum of chatter faded as the first notes of music filled the courtyard, soft and lilting yet as heavy as a tolling bell. Ominis stiffened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. This was it. The beginning of the end. The melody floated through the air, a cruel, elegant herald of what was to come.

He couldn’t breathe.

The sound of footsteps against the stone aisle cut through the music, and Ominis’s wand pulsed faintly in his sleeve, mapping the space before him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them—two figures approaching the altar. Anne and Sebastian. The only two friends he had managed to invite to this sham of a wedding. His parents had objected, of course, but for once, Ominis had refused to yield. If they were going to strip away every ounce of choice from this union, he would at least ensure that two people who truly cared about either of you would stand witness.

Anne walked with quiet grace beside her brother, her head held high and her movements calm, even as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She had always been your rock, and now, she looked every bit the part.

Sebastian, meanwhile, walked with his usual subtle defiance, his jaw clenched as though he were biting back a dozen remarks that would surely have caused a scene.

As the Sallow twins joined Ominis at the altar, the music softened, a momentary pause that signaled what came next.

And then, you appeared.

The air in the courtyard seemed to shift as the music swelled once more, drawing every gaze to the entrance. Ominis’s wand hummed, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could truly see.

Shapes and shadows sharpened in his mind, the lines of the archway and the glow of the enchanted lanterns framing you like a painting. Your figure materialized with unprecedented clarity, every detail irreversibly etching itself into his memory.

You were breathtaking.

The soft glow of the lanterns seemed to chase after you down the aisle, casting a warm, ethereal light as you stepped forward, arm looped through your father’s. Your gown was simple yet striking, its flowing fabric a cascade of soft ivory that hugged your figure just enough to suggest elegance without excess.

Your hair was swept into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face and neck, accentuating the graceful curve of your collarbone. The tasteful touch of makeup enhanced your features without overpowering them, the faint flush of color on your cheeks and lips lending you an almost otherworldly glow. You looked every bit the part of a bride—refined, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully. Despite everything, despite knowing how wrong this was, he allowed himself a single moment of cruel, fleeting hope. He imagined that this was real. That you had chosen this. That the soft shimmer of your gown, the elegance of your updo, the deliberate grace with which you moved—all of it was for him.

For a heartbeat, he believed it. That you had taken your father’s arm and walked toward him because you loved him. That your choice to stand before this crowd, to become his wife, was born of something true, not forced by the iron will of his family.

But reality was cruel.

He could feel it in the tremor of your hand as you reached the altar, in the absence of warmth in your fleeting glance as your eyes locked with his. There was no joy in your expression, no affection, only quiet resolve and resignation. You weren’t here for him. You were here because you had no other choice.

Your father released your arm hesitantly, his hand lingering for a brief moment as though reluctant to let go. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight as he gave you a faint nod. You stepped forward alone, taking your place across from Ominis.

He caught the slight hitch in your breath as the officiant spoke. It was subtle—so subtle that no one else would have noticed—but to him, it felt like a scream. He wanted to reach for you, to close the distance, to bridge the gap he had created all those years ago. But his hands remained at his sides, his palms clammy against the cool fabric of his trousers.

The officiant’s words droned on, his low, measured tone a blur in Ominis’s ears. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his chest, the heavy thud of his heartbeat as he focused entirely on you.

And then the moment came.

“Do you, Ominis Gaunt, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The words cut through the fog in his mind like a knife. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated, his throat tightening painfully. He could feel his parents’ gaze burning into him, his father’s unyielding authority pressing down like a lead weight. The crowd’s silence was deafening, expectant, suffocating.

His lips parted, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, heavy and hollow.

“I do.”

The officiant turned to you, repeating the same question.

“And do you take Ominis Gaunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Ominis held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for your response. The pause that followed felt endless, each second stretching into an eternity. For a moment, he thought you might refuse.

But when you spoke, your voice was quiet and steady, though devoid of any joy.

“I do.”

The words hung in the air, final and irreversible. The officiant’s voice rose again, completing the ritual with the formal pronouncement that sealed your fates.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Gaunt, you may now kiss your bride.”

Ominis froze.

How had he forgotten about this part? He’d imagined this twisted mockery of a wedding day a thousand times, and yet this moment—the one he had once dreamed of with such hope—had slipped through the cracks of his planning. The girl of his dreams was standing right there, so close he could feel the warmth of you, and now he was meant to kiss you.

His hands twitched at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as he forced himself to move. The crowd was watching, their silence heavy with expectation. His parents’ satisfaction was palpable, his extended family practically giddy at the spectacle. But all Ominis could focus on was you—the tension radiating from your frame, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened as you waited.

He stepped closer, his wand mapping the space between you. His hand hovered near your waist, uncertain, before finally settling there lightly. He could feel the delicate fabric of your gown beneath his palm, the warmth of your body through the material.

Ominis leaned in slowly, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this, not with the weight of obligation hanging between you like a curse.

With his eyes fluttering closed, his lips brushed yours in the faintest, most hesitant of kisses. As he expected, you were still—frozen, unmoving, your lips soft but lifeless against his. The kiss was chaste, obligatory, and for a moment, it felt like a dagger to his heart.

And then something expected happened.

You kissed him back.

Ominis’s mind went blank, his senses overwhelmed. It was subtle at first—a gentle press, a shift in the way your lips moved against his. But then it deepened, and the world seemed to explode around him. Fireworks erupted in his mind, a kaleidoscope of sensation, your warmth spreading through him like wildfire.

The taste of your lips, soft and slightly sweet, was unlike anything he had ever known. It was perfect. You were perfect. In that moment, everything else faded away—the oppressive weight of the crowd’s gaze, the suffocating expectations of his family, the years of distance and resentment between you.

His hands tightened instinctively at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, and he revelled in the curve of you beneath his fingers. It was everything, you were everything, he had ever dreamed of and infinitely more.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

You pulled away slowly, your movements deliberate, as though reminding both of you that the moment had passed. Ominis’s hands lingered at your waist for a fraction of a second before he let them drop to his sides, his fingers curling slightly as though trying to hold on to the ghost of your touch.

His breath was unsteady as he straightened, his mind reeling. You’d kissed him back.

Why?

Had it been part of the performance? A calculated move to play the part of the perfect bride? Or had it been something else entirely?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The officiant’s voice rose again, announcing the end of the ceremony and you were slipping your hand into his. Swallowing hard, Ominis led you back down the aisle.

The crowd rose to their feet, their clapping a dull roar in his ears as he walked with you at his side. Every step felt surreal, the moment between you still crackling like static in his chest.

He didn’t dare look at you. Not now. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever answer your expression might hold.

But as the two of you passed beneath the ivy-draped arch, stepping into the unknown future that awaited you both, Ominis couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, that kiss had been real after all.

~~~

The reception had been nothing short of torturous for Ominis.

If the kiss at the altar had left him confused, the evening that followed only deepened the storm in his mind. Because from the moment you both entered the grand hall where the reception was held, you played the part of the happy bride.

You’d smile at Ominis, soft and convincing, allow him to hold your hand, to rest his palm lightly against the small of your back as the two of you made the rounds, greeting the guests who had gathered to witness your union.

You spoke to guests with grace and poise, weaving stories of your Hogwarts days into the conversation with ease. Tales of late-night library study sessions, Quidditch matches, and the occasional mischievous escapade were all recounted with a fondness that left Ominis reeling.

You spoke of those moments as though they had been golden—untarnished by the years of bitterness and distance that had followed. And for the guests, it was a perfect performance, a portrait of a couple deeply in love, bound not just by obligation but by shared memories and affection.

The guests were relentless in their attention, each one more insistent than the last in prying into your lives. How you met, what your future plans as a couple might be, when you fell in love, was it love at first sight.

Ominis had been stunned at how quickly you answered the last question. You didn’t miss a beat, your lips curling into a soft, polite smile. “Oh, absolutely not,” you said, your voice light with humor. “Our first meeting was… let’s say, less than ideal.”

His stomach twisted at your words, but you pressed on, the ease in your tone disarming the nosy crowd.

“He found me in his personal study spot,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis with a glimmer of something in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “I’ll never forget how furious he was.”

There were a few chuckles from the guests, and Ominis forced himself to smile faintly, though his mind was racing. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The Undercroft. But you’d never betray that secret, not even after all he'd done to you.

You went on, your tone growing softer, more reflective. “I thought I’d made a terrible first impression. And, well, I had.” A few more chuckles rippled through the group. “But a few days later, he apologized. He didn’t have to—he could’ve just ignored me forever—but he did. And...we became friends after that. It wasn’t easy at first. We’re both… stubborn.” You laughed lightly, the sound so genuine it felt like a blade cutting through the air. “But we figured it out.”

Ominis felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. These weren’t just pretty words spun to entertain the guests or to appease his family. This memory was real. Every moment you described was real.

In fact, he probably knew these memories better than you did, because he had held onto them as tightly as a drowning man clutches a piece of driftwood. They were the only part of you he’d been allowed to keep, and now, here you were, bringing them to life as though the years of distance and pain hadn’t fractured them beyond recognition.

“The moment I realized it was more than just friendship was not long after, right before Christmas,” you continued, your gaze growing distant as though you were looking back into the past. “We’d spent the day shopping in Hogsmeade. The three of us—Ominis, Sebastian, and me.”

Ominis’s heart twisted at the mention of that day. He remembered it vividly, every detail coming to life in his mind as you spoke.

“It had started snowing that afternoon,” you continued, a soft smile curling at your lips. “We’d bought sweets at Honeydukes, browsed the shop windows, even picked up a few last-minute gifts. By the time we made it to the Three Broomsticks, we were freezing.”

The guests chuckled, and Ominis’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite himself. He could almost feel the icy wind again, the way your cheeks had flushed red from the cold.

“And then,” you said, your smile widening slightly, “Sebastian—being Sebastian—managed to spill an entire mug of butterbeer all over me. It was awful, I was absolutely soaked, sticky, and cold.”

More laughter rippled through the group, and Ominis felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered the way you’d looked—your expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement as you tried to wring out your sleeves.

“But then,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis, “he gave me his coat.”

That was true. He had. Though Ominis hadn’t thought much of it at the time—he’d just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and warm. But now, hearing you speak of it, he realized maybe it had meant more than he’d ever understood.

“And not just that,” you said, your voice softening. “He left the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the snowstorm, and went to Gladrags to buy me a clean set of clothes. He didn’t have to, but he did. And when he came back, he handed me the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.”

Ominis’s throat felt tight, his hands clenching at his sides as he remembered the look on your face when he’d handed you that bag. You had been startled at first, your eyes widening as you glanced between him and the neatly wrapped parcel. Then you’d smiled—a small, genuine smile that had left him momentarily speechless.

“That was the moment,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability that struck Ominis to his core. “The moment I realized he wasn’t just my friend. That he was… more. That I loved him.”

Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession wrapped in the guise of a story for the guests’ entertainment. Ominis could feel every gaze in the room turn toward him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of them. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your voice had softened, the way your smile lingered just a fraction longer than it needed to.

Were you simply using a real memory to bolster your performance? Was this a carefully chosen story to charm the crowd? Or was there a flicker of truth buried beneath the polished delivery?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Ominis. The guests continued to press you both with questions, and you answered them all with the same ease and grace. He played his part, too. Smiled when he needed to, laughed when it was expected, but his mind was elsewhere, racing with memories of that day in Hogsmeade so long ago, of the way you’d looked at him then, and the way you’d spoken of it now.

By the time the reception finally came to an end, Ominis was exhausted—not from the physical effort of the evening, but from the mental and emotional toll it had taken.

And now, as the two of you walked through the opulent halls of the hotel where you would be spending your first night as husband and wife, the weight of it all was beginning to crush him.

The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, mingling with the faint hum of distant conversation and the soft rustle of your gown. The hotel was grand, each detail designed to impress, but Ominis barely noticed any of it. His focus was entirely on you—the way you walked beside him, close but not quite touching, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Finally, the two of you reached the door to your suite. Ominis hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the ornate handle as he inserted the key.

Exhaling slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. The suite beyond was as opulent as the rest of the hotel—richly furnished, with soft, glowing light and an enormous bed draped in luxurious fabrics. A chilled bottle of champagne sat waiting on a nearby table, two crystal flutes beside it.

The two of you stepped inside, and Ominis’s chest tightened as he shut the door behind you, the finality of the moment settling over him like a weight. Here you were. Alone with him, no audience, no expectations—just the two of you and the silence that neither of you seemed to know how to break.

You moved toward the corner of the room where the house-elves had neatly arranged your bags, the contents folded with meticulous care.

Without a word, you pulled a set of pajamas and your toothbrush from the bag, your movements quick and purposeful. Without meeting his gaze, you turned on your heel and headed straight for the bathroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed through the stillness of the suite, louder than it had any right to be, and Ominis exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

For a moment, he stood there, motionless, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Then, with a quiet sigh, he began to loosen his tie, the fabric slipping easily from his collar. He tugged it free and let it drop onto the nearest chair before running a hand through his hair. The day’s events replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape—your words, your smile, the warmth of your laughter, and the kiss at the altar that had left him reeling.

It was too much.

Ominis moved to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat heavily on the edge. He toed off his shoes, one after the other, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, fingers pressing lightly against his temples as he tried to push the chaos in his mind into some semblance of order.

But there was no clarity to be found. Only questions he was too afraid to ask and doubts he couldn’t shake.

The sound of water running in the bathroom was faint but constant, a reminder that you were just on the other side of the door. He wondered what you were thinking, whether the evening had left you as drained as it had left him. He wondered if you’d meant the things you’d said during the reception, if there was truth hidden in the warmth of your words, or if it had all been part of the carefully orchestrated performance.

More than anything, he wondered what would happen when you came out of that bathroom—if the silence would continue to stretch between you, or if one of you would finally be brave enough to break it.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, his movements mechanical as he made his way toward his own bag to prepare for bed. He crouched down, his fingers brushing over the neatly packed contents until he found his sleepwear.

He stood, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushing against his skin as he worked to unbutton it. His fingers moved methodically, one button at a time, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, still behind the closed door, and the way everything about this night felt wrong.

This wasn’t how a wedding night was supposed to feel.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so strained, so heavy. There should have been laughter, warmth, the giddy sort of nervousness that came with embarking on a new chapter together. Instead, there was unrelenting tension. A chasm of unspoken words and unanswered questions that neither of you seemed ready to bridge.

Ominis shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him as he reached for the waistband of his dress pants. He unclasped them, the fabric loosening around his waist.

And then the bathroom door opened.

The quiet click of the handle made him freeze, his hands stilling as he turned his head slightly toward the sound.

You stepped out, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Without his wand, Ominis couldn’t sense the details of your expression, couldn’t see the way your eyes might have widened or the way your lips might have parted slightly in surprise. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking, how you were reacting, and it left him feeling unmoored.

The air between you felt charged, the silence stretching out like a thread pulled taut. He was acutely aware of his state—bare-chested, his dress pants undone and hanging low on his hips. He wondered what you thought of him—what you saw when you looked at him now.

He had an idea of his appearance, of course. His wand’s mapping magic had given him a sense of his own features over the years, an understanding of the angles and planes of his face, the height and shape of his frame. He had been told, more than once, that he was conventionally attractive—sharp, aristocratic features that bore the unmistakable stamp of his bloodline.

But those compliments had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. His pale skin, high cheekbones, and long, slicked-back blonde hair—all of it tied him far too clearly to the Gaunt family, to a legacy he resented with every fiber of his being. Even his tall, lithe frame, lean from years of discipline and sparring practice, seemed more like a reminder of his upbringing than something to take pride in.

And now, standing here in this charged silence, he couldn’t help but wonder what you thought when you looked at him. Did you find him attractive? Or did you see only the Gaunt heir—a pawn in the endless, suffocating game of pure-blood politics?

He had no way of knowing. And for a moment, he almost reached for his wand, desperate for the faint hum of its magic to ground him. But he resisted, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice breaking the silence. It wasn’t sharp or cold—just quiet, almost tentative.

“N-no,” Ominis said quickly, his voice low and uneven. He straightened slightly, his hands falling to his sides. “I—I should be the one apologizing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric as you shifted, likely clutching your wedding dress tighter against you. “I’m finished in the bathroom, if you want to change in there,” you offered, your tone polite, carefully neutral. “Or… I can just turn around, if that’s easier.”

Ominis’s fingers twitched at his sides, his throat tightening. The absurdity of the situation struck him. You were married, bound by the vows you’d exchanged earlier that day, and yet you could barely manage to exist in the same space without this unbearable awkwardness.

“No, I’ll—I’ll use the bathroom,” he said, his voice tight. “Thank you.”

His toothbrush and pajamas in hand, Ominis disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He set his things down on the counter and leaned heavily against the sink, exhaling a shaky breath.

The mirror above the sink offered no reflection, but he didn’t need to see his face to know what he’d find there—a pale, drawn expression, tension etched into every line. He let his fingers trail over the cool porcelain of the sink before reaching to splash cold water on his face, hoping it might clear his mind, if only for a moment.

He quickly changed into his sleepwear and brushed his teeth, though the routine didn’t do much to ease the tightness in his chest.

When he finally emerged, his hair slightly damp from the water he’d splashed on his face, he reached for his wand then stopped in his tracks. The bed, massive and draped in luxurious fabrics, was untouched. Instead, you had set up a makeshift bed on the floor using a collection of spare blankets and pillows.

You were kneeling beside it, smoothing out a blanket, and when you noticed him, you straightened, brushing your hands against the fabric of your pajamas.

“I thought…” you began, your voice trailing off as though you were unsure how to explain yourself. “You should take the bed.”

Ominis blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. “You… you don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like guilt. “The bed is yours too.”

You shook your head, the motion subtle but certain. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll be more comfortable here.”

Ominis stiffened, watching you adjust the blankets and pillows as though you could somehow make the situation less absurd. It struck him all at once just how wrong this was. It was your wedding night—a night meant for intimacy and closeness—and yet here you were, offering to sleep on the floor.

Did you hate him that much? That the idea of sharing a bed with him, even in the most innocent sense, was so unbearable?

He couldn't keep quiet.

“I’ll take the floor,” Ominis said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around his wand. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You looked up at him, startled for a moment, before shaking your head. “Ominis, it’s fine,” you said, your tone polite but insistent. “I’ll be more comfortable here. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he replied quickly. “It’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—especially not tonight.”

“It’s not wrong if I’m choosing to,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “The bed is yours. I don’t mind.”

Ominis’s frustration began to bubble beneath the surface, his composure slipping. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with this,” he insisted, his tone growing sharper despite his efforts to keep it even.

“I’m not pretending,” you shot back. “I said I don’t mind, and I meant it.”

“Why?” Ominis asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why are we doing this? All this… politeness and decorum?”

Your expression shifted, your jaw tightening as you glanced away. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Ominis said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The careful words, the pretending that any of this is normal. Why are we bothering? Why are we talking to each other like strangers? There’s no one here to see it. No one to keep up appearances for. It’s just us.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “Maybe because we are strangers, Ominis. We have been for years, haven’t we?”

Ominis froze, your words striking him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You didn’t look away, your expression steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place—resignation, perhaps, or maybe sadness.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” you pressed, your voice quieter now but no less pointed. “After fifth year, you made it perfectly clear how you felt.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. “I was trying to protect you,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “From Sebastian.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put this on Sebastian. This isn’t about him. This is about you.”

Ominis turned his head slightly, his throat tightening as the weight of your accusation settled over him. He couldn’t argue with it—not entirely. You were right. It was his choice to push you away, though at the time he’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do.

“So no, you weren’t protecting me,” you continued sharply, your voice rising. “You were punishing me.”

He flinched as though you’d struck him, his sightless eyes widening. “Punishing you?” he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pain. “Why would I—”

“Because you didn’t trust me,” you cut in, your voice breaking slightly. “You thought I was wrong. You thought I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t on your side. So you pushed me away and you’ve done it ever since.”

“No,” Ominis said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, taking a step closer, your anger and pain spilling out in equal measure. “Because that’s what it felt like. That’s what it’s always felt like. And now—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. “And now, you’re stuck with me.” You lifted your left hand, the Gaunt family ring reflecting the lamplight. “And trust me, I know this isn’t what you want.”

Ominis froze, the weight of your words taking a moment to settle. And then, he almost laughed. The absurdity of the idea that he wouldn’t want you—you of all people—was almost too much to bear.

He’d imagined it—dreamed of it, hoped for it in the quiet, unguarded moments of his life. For years, he had spent his nights picturing you by his side, your hand in his, your voice soft and full of laughter as you spoke his name. He had clung to the idea of a future with you like a lifeline, even though, due to his own stupidity, it was impossible.

“If anyone doesn’t want this,” Ominis said finally, his voice trembling as he spoke, “it’s you.”

You blinked, your expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What?”

“You’re right,” he said, his grip tightening on his wand as he forced the words out. “You’re right about everything. About what I did, about why I pushed you away.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Even if I didn’t realize it, I did punish you.”

You stared at him, your anger softening into something more complicated, though you didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve given you every reason to hate me,” Ominis continued, his voice breaking slightly, “For what I did to you then, and for what my family has done to you now.” He gestured vaguely at the room around you, at the bands on your fingers, at everything that bound you to him against your will. “I… I know you hate me, and I accept that. I know you hate this—hate us—and I accept that too. But if you think for one second that I didn’t want this—that I didn’t want you—you’re wrong.”

You rose slowly from where you’d been kneeling, your movements deliberate, your frame tense. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, and your gaze settled on him, unreadable. Ominis didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy and unbearable, his breath shallow as he waited, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

Then, finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “So… you... don’t hate me?”

“No,” he said immediately, the word escaping before you’d even finished. “Never.”

You blinked at him, as though startled by his vehemence. For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it—that you would leave it at that. But then you took a step closer, your voice trembling slightly as you asked, “Then why did you…?”

You trailed off, but he knew exactly what you meant. Why did you push me away for years?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Ominis said, the words escaping him sharper than he intended. His voice cracked slightly as he exhaled shakily, lowering his head in a mixture of frustration and shame. “Because I let fear and pride cloud my judgment. And Merlin, it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Ominis's throat tightened painfully, the words he’d held back for years clawing their way up to the surface. They pressed against his chest, demanding release, and for once, he didn’t push them down. What was the point? You were already married, bound by vows neither of you could escape—trapped in this twisted arrangement orchestrated by his family. There was no undoing it, no going back.

“Because... because I’ve always loved you,” he stammered, his voice faltering but steady enough to carry the truth. He lifted his head slightly, his sightless eyes turned toward you as though he could see the effect of his words. “Always.”

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. The room felt suffocatingly still, every sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. He could hear the faint rush of blood in his ears, a relentless pounding that seemed to echo his racing thoughts. Even the soft cadence of his own uneven breathing felt deafening, filling the space as though to taunt him with the vulnerability he couldn’t take back.

“I…” you began, your voice unsteady, but you trailed off again, clearly struggling to find the words. “You… loved me?”

“Love,” he corrected softly. “Present tense.”

Your breath hitched, and he could hear the faint tremor in it. “Why... why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid you didn’t feel the same. Afraid of what it would mean if you did. I didn’t want you getting tied up with my family—with the Gaunts. I didn’t want you dragged into… into this.”

He gestured vaguely around the room, his frustration with himself evident in the sharpness of his movements. “Not that it ended up mattering,” he added bitterly.

You were silent again, and Ominis felt the weight of your hesitation like a physical thing pressing down on his chest. He’d said too much. He’d gone too far. And now—

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you said softly.

"...Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t have cared about your family,” you said again, your voice a little steadier now. “I never cared about any of that.”

Ominis's heart twisted painfully at your words, the faint flicker of hope they ignited almost too much to bear. “You…” He stopped, his voice faltering as he tried to process what you’d said. "You didn't?"

“No. In fact, I don’t care,” you continued, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “Present tense.”

Ominis felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, his entire world tilting on its axis as his mind scattered, his carefully constructed thoughts unraveling at the edges. Present tense.

The implications swirled in his mind, overwhelming and impossible to fully grasp. If you didn’t care—if you truly didn’t care—then what did that mean? What did it say about the way you felt about him now?

“You mean…” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the question that had lodged itself in his throat. “You mean you still…”

You looked away, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as you clasped your hands in front of you. “What I mean,” you began quietly, your voice barely audible. “Is that I... I love you too.”

Ominis thought he might collapse under the weight of your words. His head swam, his legs trembling as if they could no longer hold him upright. It was too much—too good to be true.

Surely, he’d imagined it.

This had to be some cruel trick of his mind, conjured from the depths of years of longing and guilt. Perhaps he was dreaming, caught in that fragile space between sleep and waking where impossible things felt real. Any moment now, he’d wake in his cold, oppressive bed at the Gaunt manor, the warmth of your voice nothing more than a fleeting echo in the dark.

But the longer he stood there, frozen and breathless, the clearer it became that this was no dream. You were still there, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the silence.

“You…” His voice cracked, his grip on his wand tightening as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

Ominis shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake loose the fog clouding his mind. “You… are you sure?”

“Yes, Ominis,” you said again, this time with a small, amused smile. The warmth in your voice should have soothed him, but instead, it sent his heart racing even faster.

“You’re serious. You… you lo—”

The words caught in his throat as you stepped closer, your movements soft but deliberate. The sudden proximity sent a shockwave through him, and what he was about to say dissolved on his tongue. The world narrowed until there was only you—the warmth of your presence, the faint rustle of fabric as you drew near, the soft sound of your breath mingling with his.

And then you kissed him.

The contact was gentle at first, tentative, as though testing the boundaries of a moment that neither of you could take back. But the moment his mind registered what was happening, something inside him snapped. Ominis dropped his wand, the dull thud barely registering in the haze of sensation that overtook him. His hands found your waist instinctively, trembling as they settled against you, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go.

It was everything—more than he had ever dared to imagine. The taste of you, the softness of your lips against his, the faint sigh you let out as you pressed closer. You were all he could feel, all he could think about, and the overwhelming reality of it, of you, left him breathless.

When you finally pulled away, his chest heaved, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to find his breath.

“That story…” he murmured, his voice low and uneven. “The one you told at the reception. About Hogsmeade. Was it… was it true?”

You pulled back slightly, just enough for him to sense the shift in your posture. He couldn’t see your expression, but he could feel the heat rising from you, could hear the faint hitch in your breath.

“Yes,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “It was true.”

Ominis felt his knees nearly give out at the confirmation, his grip on your waist tightening reflexively. “Merlin,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “All this time…”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the weight of everything settled over him. The years he’d spent aching for you, the nights he’d lain awake tormenting himself with what-ifs—it all seemed so absurd now.

“You really…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “You realized then?”

“At Hogsmeade?” you asked softly, your voice still tinged with shyness. You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes... I did."

Ominis let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his breath hitching as he shook his head slightly. “Because of some clothes?” he asked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Because I gave you my coat and bought you something dry to wear?”

"Sounds a lot less romantic when you say it like that," you mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring your voice. You glanced away, fidgeting slightly as though unsure how to explain yourself. “It wasn't just the clothes. I’d been falling you for some time, but I hadn’t really let myself acknowledge it. And then that day, it all just… clicked.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Clicked,” he repeated.

You swallowed hard as you cast your gaze downward. “You’ve always been… well, you, Ominis,” you began softly, your voice carrying a hesitant edge, as though you weren’t sure how much to say. “You, with your calm, your steadiness. Even when you’re angry, it’s controlled, measured, refined. It’s like you always know exactly what to do, like you were born knowing how to handle everything.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond to the quiet admiration in your voice. He’d spent so much of his life rejecting the parts of himself tied to his family’s legacy—the refinement, the composure, the quiet dignity that others associated with the Gaunt name. To hear you speak of it now, as though it were a part of him you valued, left him unsteady.

“And me?” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve... I've never been like that. I’m messy. Emotional. I act too quickly and think too slowly. I’m… I don’t know. Chaotic, I guess.” You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just a quiet vulnerability that made Ominis’s chest ache.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his brow furrowing. “You’re—”

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always been my perfect opposite,” you continued gently, your voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “My foil. You’re steady, and quiet, and level, and I’ve always felt like… like you even me out.”

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully at your words, the depth of your confession leaving him breathless. “You don’t need evening out,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re brilliant just as you are.”

You gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Well... that doesn’t change how I’ve always felt around you. Like you make me better. Like I can stand still and actually think when you're near.”

He was too overwhelmed to trust his voice, too unsure of how to put everything he felt into words. So instead, Ominis reached for you, his hand settling gently at the nape of your neck. And he held you there, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to your forehead.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his voice quiet and raw as he asked, “Well, I’m here now. So… what are you thinking?”

You hesitated for a moment, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I’m thinking…” You glanced toward the untouched bed before meeting his gaze again. “Maybe we can share the bed after all.”

"Is that so?" He murmured.

You nodded, your smile widening slightly. “Well, it’s a big bed. Plenty of room. And besides…” You reached for his left hand, spinning the wedding band around his finger. “You are my husband, after all.”

The words were light, teasing, but they sent a rush of warmth through Ominis that left him almost dizzy. He’d spent the entire day dreading what being your husband would mean, burdened by the weight of your resentment and his own guilt. But now, standing here with you, knowing you loved him, hearing you call him that—husband—filled him with an overwhelming, almost unbearable mixture of relief, joy, and hope.

Wordlessly, Ominis gently guided you toward the bed, his hand ghosted along your back. When you reached the edge of the mattress, he paused, his fingers brushing yours as he coaxed you to sit.

“Wait here,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and steady, though his chest was still tight with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Retrieving his wand from the floor, Ominis turned toward the small table where the champagne sat waiting, the chilled bottle glinting faintly in the soft lamplight. He reached for it with steady hands, though his heart was anything but calm. He needed the drink—something to take the edge off, to dull the sharp, almost unbearable clarity of this moment—the knowledge that you loved him, that he was about to share a bed with you not as strangers bound by duty, but as something far more significant.

Pouring the champagne into two crystal flutes, he turned back to you, carrying both glasses with a surprising steadiness for someone whose mind was in complete turmoil. Handing you one, he sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, closer than he’d dared to in years.

“To... new beginnings?” he offered softly, his voice carrying a tentative edge as he raised his glass slightly.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze meeting his, before a small smile curved your lips. “To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

The crystal chime of the glasses meeting seemed to echo in the quiet room, a sound that felt impossibly delicate in the stillness between you. Ominis brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip as his mind raced, the taste of the champagne crisp and cool against the tension still thrumming in his chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking. “You looked…” His voice caught in his throat, hoarse and unsteady, and he cleared it softly before trying again. “You looked beautiful today.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could sense the faint blush that rose to your cheeks. “Ominis…” you began, but he shook his head, stopping you.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. “You were… you are, the most stunning thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I mean, um. Not that I can…” He trailed off, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But I didn’t need to see you the way others do. I could feel it."

Your cheeks flushed faintly, and you glanced down at your own glass, swirling the champagne slightly as if to distract yourself. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft but genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You have always been beautiful. And today, seeing you in that dress… it felt like I was dreaming. I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

A deep flush spread across your cheeks, the warmth creeping down your neck as his words lingered in the air. You didn’t respond right away, instead lifting your glass in a swift motion and draining the champagne in one determined gulp. Ominis raised a brow at your boldness, his expression hovering between amusement and surprise. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward, stretching across his lap to place your empty glass on the bedside table.

The unexpected contact sent a jolt through him. His entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at him as you sat back.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he stammered, a rush of warmth crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks. He gripped his champagne flute more tightly than necessary, the coolness of the glass a poor counterbalance to the fire you’d ignited in his veins.

“You seem… tense,” you remarked, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tense?” he repeated, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his grip on the flute tightened. “I’m not tense.”

“You’re holding that glass like it’s about to leap out of your hand,” you pointed out with a soft laugh, leaning in just slightly, your shoulder brushing his. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly on the word.

You hummed softly in response, your amusement now evident. “If you say so."

Ominis turned his sightless gaze in your direction, his throat tightening as he tried to summon a reply that wouldn’t betray the chaos now swirling inside him. But you spoke again before he could, your tone as casual as if you were discussing the weather.

“By the way,” you said with deliberate slowness, “did I ever tell you that you clean up very well?”

He froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You,” you said simply, your gaze flicking over him again in a way that made his skin prickle with awareness. “In your suit earlier. You looked very handsome.”

Ominis’s face burned. He gripped his glass tightly, taking another long sip to buy himself a moment to think. “Th-thank you,” he managed.

“You’re welcome,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. You leaned back onto your hands, the bed giving under your weight. "You really are very attractive, Ominis," you added softly, the undercurrent of sincerity that making his heart ache.

You’d never complimented him like that before, never indicated whether you found him attractive or not, and the revelation was dizzying.

“Why are you—why are you saying this?” he asked, his throat tight.

“Because it’s true,” you said simply. “And because I can.”

Ominis exhaled shakily. “You’re... you're very bold."

“And you are shy,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you tilted your head toward him. “I told you it’s a good thing we balance each other out.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be flustered or comforted by the ease in your voice. The warmth radiating from you, the teasing lilt in your tone, and the sincerity beneath it all—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“You’re relentless,” he muttered.

"Because you make it so easy." You explained smoothly.

Ominis cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about."

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Oh, I think you do."

Before he could respond, you leaned forward again, reaching past him toward the small table beside the bed. But this time, your free hand rested on his thigh for balance, the contact sending heat through his veins and a gasp threatening to pass his lips.

“Let’s see…” you murmured thoughtfully, your fingers brushing against a book as you pulled it toward you. “Huh. A bible. Why do hotels always have these?”

Ominis barely heard your question, his attention consumed by the weight of your hand on his leg, the warmth of your palm seeping through the thin fabric of his pants. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he tried—and failed—to focus on anything other than the proximity of your body to his.

“I suppose it’s tradition,” he managed weakly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you mused, flipping the book closed with an air of exaggerated disappointment. “Though you’d think they’d leave something more interesting. A mystery novel, maybe.”

You shifted slightly to flip open the pages of the book, humming thoughtfully, but your elbow caught Ominis’s arm, sending champagne spilling directly into his lap, the cool liquid soaking through the fabric and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, sitting up quickly, your hand flying to your mouth. “I’m so sorry. Let me—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice strained as he tried to wave you off. “Really, I can—”

But you were already on your feet, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. Before he could protest further, you were kneeling in front of him on the floor.

“Let me help,” you insisted, your tone sweet but tinged with a something else that Ominis couldn’t quite place.

He stiffened further, his entire body locking up as your hand brushed dangerously close to the center of his lap.

“I-it’s fine, truly,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “You don’t need to—”

“Nonsense," you said lightly, shaking your head as you continued to blot the fabric. “It’s my fault.”

Ominis held in a groan, fighting to maintain even a shred of composure. Heat had already been pooling in his abdomen, a slow, insistent burn that now threatened to spiral out of control, but with your hands so dangerously close, with you kneeling before him, he felt as though his very sanity was slipping through his fingers.

His mind raced with a flood of thoughts—improper, indecent thoughts that he told himself he was far too much of a gentleman to entertain. And yet, he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to give in, to let go of the rigid self-control that had defined so much of his life.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Y-you really don’t need to,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted, trying in vain to create some distance between you. “I can handle it.”

“No, no," you murmured, your dabbing movements now turning into wiping motions. "Let me help.”

Help. The irony of the word wasn’t lost on him. If anything, your proximity, your touch, was undoing him entirely. And what was worse—what truly horrified him—was the knowledge that the evidence of his attraction would soon become blatantly, inescapably obvious.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed closer—too close—and he couldn't handle another moment.

Ominis shot to his feet so suddenly that it startled you, his wand clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The movement sent the towel slipping from your fingers as you instinctively leaned back, your wide eyes snapping up to meet his.

The image that his wand painted in his mind was delicious and utterly disastrous: you, on your knees before him, your hair slightly mussed, your lips slightly parted, and those impossibly wide eyes staring up at him.

He clenched his jaw, quickly lowering his wand, but no matter how hard he tried, the image wouldn’t leave him. It was burned into his mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Ominis opened his mouth, but his words came out as a jumble of incoherent stammers. “I—I’m sure the house elves packed… something—uh—extra pants.” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the corner of the room where their bags were stacked. “I should—probably just—”

He moved to take a step, desperate to escape, but then your hands were on his thighs, stopping him mid-motion.

"Running off on me, are you?"

"I—I just thought—"

You tutted and gave him a gentle push, coaxing Ominis to sit back down on the edge of the bed. He resisted for a moment, but your persistence, combined with his legs trembling beneath him, left him with little choice. Slowly, he sank back down, his hands gripping at the sheets.

“There,” you said softly, your tone soothing yet carrying a playful undercurrent that made his pulse quicken. “That’s better.”

Better? Hardly. Ominis was certain he’d never been in a worse predicament in his life. You were now kneeling right between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs, the heat of your palms searing through the thin fabric of his sleepwear.

He was painfully, achingly hard now, pressed uncomfortably against the fabric, and he knew—he knew—you must have noticed.

How could you not? You were so close, on your knees before him, your face dangerously near to the source of his torment. He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists as he tried to will his body into submission, but it was no use. The evidence of his desire was blatant, inescapable.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t unbearable enough, you tilted your head slightly, feigning an expression of concern.

“You can’t be very comfortable like that,” you said softly, your voice laced with innocence. “Your pants, I mean. All damp and cold.” The corners of your mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “Maybe you should just take them off.”

Ominis stiffened. He knew exactly what you were doing—knew you weren’t nearly as innocent as you were pretending to be. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call you out. Couldn’t bring himself to break the fragile thread of tension strung taut between you. Because some part of him—some reckless, desperate part of him—wanted to see how far you were willing to push him.

“I—I think I’ll just wait until—”

You leaned in slightly, your expression soft and oh-so-kind. “Until what?”

Ominis exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into fists. “Until I’m alone.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Alone?” you repeated, tilting your head as though the concept genuinely puzzled you. “Why? It's just me... and I'm your wife now, aren't I?"

His wife.

He swallowed hard. “You… you are,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted, trailing your hands further up his thighs. “That you can’t be comfortable around me? That you can’t let me take care of you?”

“Take care of me,” he repeated hoarsely, the word catching in his throat as his mind spiraled. He knew exactly what you were insinuating, and it was driving him to the brink of madness.

“Isn’t that what a good wife does?” you asked softly, your voice lilting as though you were enjoying this far too much.

Ominis swallowed hard, muttering your name. “…This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your gaze never leaving his. “Is it?”

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, teasing and entirely too confident for his fragile composure. “And what happens,” you asked, “if I keep playing?”

Your hands trailed upwards and his entire body went rigid, his fists tightening so hard that his knuckles ached.

And then you did it.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his pants, your touch light as you began to tug. And Ominis's composure shattered, the remainder of his control finally giving way.

He reached out, his hands catching your wrists and stilling your movements as he leaned down, his sightless gaze locked on you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, your playful smile faltering for the first time, though your eyes still held a glint of challenge. “Ominis—”

“Enough,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time. “You wanted to play a game, did you? Let me show you what it feels like to lose."

Ominis stood slowly, bringing your hands with him, guiding them back to the waistband of his pants. His breath was heavy, his voice low and rough when he spoke. “You started this,” he murmured, his tone carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Now finish it.”

Your eyes widened, your earlier confidence faltering as you stared up at him. “Ominis, I—” you began, but he cut you off, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrists.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me?” he muttered. “Congratulations. You found out. Now take them off."

You hesitated, your playful bravado faltering. This wasn’t the careful, reserved Ominis you were used to. This was someone raw, unguarded, and utterly unyielding.

But you had pushed him to this point, hadn’t you? Teased and taunted, knowing full well what you were doing. And now, you would face the consequences.

Your fingers trembled as they hooked under the waistband of his pants, tugging at the fabric. The damp material clung stubbornly to his skin, and the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but Ominis revelled in it, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

After a moment, the damp fabric finally gave way, sliding down his hips and pooling at his ankles, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “No teasing comments, hm? Not so bold now, are you?"

“I…” You hesitated, your breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted smoothly, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Tease me? Push me? Make me want you until I could barely think straight?”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in shock at his bluntness. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he took in your reaction.

“Because if that’s the case,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “then you failed. Now... where were you?"

He reached for your hands again, skimming them along his legs before hooking them into the fabric of his underwear. Your lips parted, a soft, unsteady exhale escaping as you gazed up at him.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, you complied with his demand, the fabric yielding beneath your touch as you began to tug it down past his hips and over the hard length of him.

Ominis’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. His one hand found your shoulder, the other tangling in your hair as you freed him from the confines of his underwear, the cool air of the room brushing against his heated skin.

He could feel your gaze moving over him, taking in every inch of his body. He didn't need to see her to know exactly what you were looking at. He could feel her hesitation, the quickening pace of your breathing, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Like what you see?" His voice was low and rough. It wasn't a question so much as a challenge, a dare for her to speak the truth he already knew.

There was a pause, a moment where he could feel her nerves battling with her desire. Then her voice came, soft and trembling, yet unmistakably honest. "Yes. I… Ominis, you're... fuck, you're so big.”

Her words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire he could barely contain. A slow, wicked smile curled his lips as his confidence swelled at the admission. He let his thumb trace the curve of your jaw, the movement gentle even as his grip on your neck tightened slightly, coaxing you closer.

Your hands trembled against his thighs, and he felt you hesitate again. That flicker of uncertainty was intoxicating, drawing out the predator in him that wanted to take his time unraveling you.

"I don't even know if I can..." you whispered,

"Oh, you can," he said, his voice a mix of promise and challenge. "And you will. Open your mouth."

Your lips parted without hesitation, your trust in him making something primal surge within his chest. Ominis let out a low, satisfied chuckle as he guided you toward him with deliberate care. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

He could feel your breath ghosting over him, the slight tremor in your shoulders betraying her nervousness. But when your lips finally made contact, wrapping around him with warmth and softness, a sharp groan tore from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth was intoxicating, your tongue brushing against the sensitive underside of him sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his core.

He groaned, his voice low and gravelly, unrestrained. "God, you feel so good... yes, just like that."

His grip in your hair tightened, controlling your movements as he adjusted the angle with a firm but gentle tug. Each movement was controlled, his hips rocking forward slightly before pulling back just enough to keep you comfortable.

A low moan escaped him as your tongue flicked against the head of his cock, every slight drag of your lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through him like fire. His head tipped back briefly, a ragged exhale slipping from his lips.

"Relax your throat," he ordered breathlessly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "Let me in. Let me feel you take all of me."

You responded instantly, a muffled moan escaping as you took him deeper, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through Ominis that left him teetering on the edge. His control slipped, and his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself further into the warmth of your mouth. The way your throat tightened around him, the way you surrendered so completely to his lead—it was undoing him, igniting a raw, primal need he couldn't restrain.

"I’m close," he breathed, his thumb brushing against your chin. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

Your kept pace, and every sensation sharpened, from the slick slide of your lips to the pressure of your tongue and the slight resistance of your throat.

Ominis's body shuddered violently when the tension coiled tight within him finally snapped, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hips pressed forward, forcing you to take his release. He groaned your name, his voice raw and broken, the sound laced with unrestrained pleasure as waves of his release surged through him. He felt you swallow, the rhythmic pull of your throat around him drawing out every last bit of his pleasure and leaving him utterly wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven as he brushed his thumb gently against your chin, a subtle caress full of approval. “So perfect.”

His breaths came in uneven gasps as the intensity began to ebb, though the memory of your mouth on him lingered, searing itself into his mind. The slick warmth of you, your complete submission to him, was something he knew he'd spend his life chasing.

Finally, his grip loosened in your hair, and with a soft, wet pop, he pulled himself from your mouth, the absence of your warmth almost jarring. His legs trembled as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still buzzing. Yet, even in his post-climactic haze, his hands remained steady, tracing the curve of your jaw with a reverence that felt entirely at odds with the raw dominance he'd displayed moments before.

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly, tilting your chin up to brush his thumb over your swollen lips.

Your breath was shallow, quick, and he could feel the faint tremor in your body under his hands. When you didn’t immediately answer, his brow furrowed. He withdrew his hand and reached for his wand.

The image of you that materialized made his breath catch—your breathing ragged, your cheeks flushed a deep, fiery red, your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath, your eyes glassy.

He breathed your name, his voice tinged with worry as he cupped your face again. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” His fingers brushed your hair back, searching for any sign of discomfort, his unseeing eyes filled with an almost frantic need for reassurance.

You blinked slowly, as if coming out of a haze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. Your breath hitched, and when you finally spoke, your voice was rough and shaky. “No,” you managed,“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Are you sure you’re alright? Please tell me the truth.”

You nodded, your unsteady, watery smile sending a wave of relief coursing through Ominis, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But that smile—soft, trembling, and paired with the glassiness in your eyes—made his heart falter for an entirely different reason. He had pushed you close to your limit; that much was undeniable. The sheen in your gaze spoke of intensity, perhaps even moments of overwhelming vulnerability. And yet, the faint curve of your lips said it all—you’d liked it.

You had trusted him so completely, surrendered so fully, giving yourself over to him for his pleasure, even when it stretched the boundaries of your comfort.

It was a realization that hit him hard, an almost overwhelming surge of emotion he wasn’t prepared for.

But Ominis couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it now. There was something far more important to focus on—taking care of you.

Ominis inhaled deeply, centering himself as he rose from the edge of the bed. He pulled back the covers with a smooth motion and turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “Come here,” he said gently.

Reaching down, his arms slid around you, steady and secure, as he helped you up from where you knelt on the floor. One hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, the other brushing against your arm as he guided you onto the bed.

Once you were settled, he tucked the covers around you, his hands lingering for a moment, brushing along your arm before moving to your face.

“There we are,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re alright,” he assured, though it felt as much for him as it was for you. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, cut through the quiet. “Ominis, you can stop fussing. I’m alright.”

He froze for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile as a soft chuckle escaped him. “You’re alright, are you?” he asked, his tone a blend of teasing and disbelief. “You can barely speak. Forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced.”

You rolled your eyes weakly, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips. “I mean it,” you said, your voice still raspy. “I’m okay."

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed as he adjusted the covers once more, making sure they were snug around you. “You need water," he decided, his brow furrowing slightly.

Before you could protest, he was already moving, locating a glass and filling it at the bathroom sink. He returned swiftly, slipping one hand beneath the back of your neck to help you sit up just enough. The other hand brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink,” he murmured softly.

You sipped obediently and he smiled softly, chest rising and falling with a quiet steadiness now that he knew you were truly alright.

"You were so good," he murmured, as his fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. "Do you have any idea how amazing you felt?"

He leaned closer, his lips finding the flushed heat of your cheek, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, each one accompanied by a murmured word of praise. “So perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and reverent. "So well behaved."

His lips trailed to your other cheek, brushing against the soft skin as he continued. “It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The way you felt, the way you took me—it was more than I could have ever imagined.”

You hummed softly, the sound a mixture of contentment and satisfaction as his lips trailed across your flushed skin. A shaky hand lifted from beneath the covers, reaching out to find his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you guided his lips to yours.

The kiss was a whisper, soft and delicate, barely more than a brush of your lips against his. Ominis exhaled against your mouth, his breath warm and steady, a low hum of contentment escaping him as he leaned into you. His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, cradling you as his lips moved against yours.

Your lips barely parted from his as you whispered against them, your voice still raspy but filled with quiet conviction, “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Ominis stilled, as though trying to convince himself they were real. Then, his breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you, too,” he murmured in return, his voice trembling with emotion. “Merlin, I love you so much. I always have.” He paused, his unseeing eyes searching for something he couldn’t quite articulate. “After everything, after all this time… I never dared to hope we’d find each other again like this.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb stroking his cheek as you closed the small distance between you for another kiss, your lips speaking what words couldn’t.

Ominis pulled back slowly, his fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he adjusted the covers around you. He slipped into bed beside you, his movements careful, his body naturally finding yours as his arms slid around you, drawing you close. Your head nestled against his chest, your breath warm against his neck, and he felt your heartbeat, steady and sure, beneath his hand.

As he held you, Ominis let his mind wander, reflecting on everything that had brought you both to this moment. The pain, the distance, the longing—it had all been worth it for this, for you. A soft, contented sigh escaped him as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

As he closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening slightly in an unconscious promise to never let you go again, a single thought echoed in his mind: This is where I’m meant to be. With you. Always.

Divider Credit

[malfoysanctuary]

as much as I love writing...sometimes I get an itch for a good read myself. here are the stories I ALWAYS reach for, please check them out and give the authors some love ❤️‍🔥

*updated as I find good reads*

───────────────────────────────

✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | 🔞 smut | ✪ g's star reads

Draco Malfoy

✧.* The Alchemy by (@lqveharrington) ✪ ⤷ Although Draco promised that he would keep your relationship a secret just for you, he can’t contain himself after winning the Hogwarts quidditch cup. ✧.* Someday by (@lqveharrington) ⤷ you and draco are from opposing houses, and you were terrified how your friends were going to react when they found out. ⚠︎ sweet disaster by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ you and draco are inseparable friends, but deeper feelings come to light when you're asked on a date with someone who is determined to take advantage of you. ✧.* Deck the Halls by (@writingsbychlo) ⤷ Narcissa has big plans for her son's girlfriend this time of year, and you're determined to live up to her expectations. 🔞 Flutterby Baby by (@agreeewrites) ✪ ⤷ Draco finds out another student sabotaged your Herbology project. 🔞 Bad Santa by (@agreeewrites) ⤷ Your boyfriend Draco has thrown the Christmas party of the year, and wears a Santa hat to make you smile. But jealousy quickly throws a wrench into your festive evening.

Theodore Nott

✧.* Words Unspoken by (@girllblogging777) ⤷ in a moment of loneliness and feeling misunderstood, theo finds out you also speak Italian. ✧.* careful, cara by (@iris-qt) ⤷ an oblivious Y/n misinterprets Theodore's flirtatious Italian nicknames and suave demeanor as mere politeness, while Theo grows increasingly perplexed by her indifference to his romantic overtures. 🔞 spoiled by (@dracosprettygirl) ⤷ Theo was convinced you'd never look his way—until a Hogsmeade date leaves your heart bruised and angry. Now, Theo's done hiding his feelings... And ready to ruin every man who ever made you feel unworthy. THE BEST LOVE STORIES by (@@writingsbychlo) ⤷ theo is in love and doesn’t want to have to hide it.

Mattheo Riddle

✧.* veritaserum by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ when mattheo drinks veritaserum on a bet, he's confident he doesn't have anything to hide… until you show up. ✧.* cold comfort by (@redeemingvillains) ✪ ⤷ mattheo has one rule: any girl can share his bed (and there's been plenty) but none can stay the night. when the unexpected happens, and you're begging to be the first, you find out why he had the rule in the first place. ⚠︎ the black lake by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ mattheo is hogwarts' triwizard tournament champion, and he's proven that he can crush the competition. but when the stakes are raised, and you're involved, nothing will get in his way. ✧.* the playlist by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ enzo overhears something about you he shouldn't have and when he tells his friends, all hell breaks loose. ⚠︎ riddle's girl by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ mattheo has...feelings about you wearing his quidditch jersey. ˚꩜｡ the new girl by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ despite their best and most ardent efforts, each of the slytherin boys gets rejected by you, and can't figure out why, not knowing that one of them holds a secret that explains it all. ⚠︎ Dove by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ fed up with the way the slytherin boys create chaos without consequence, someone seeks to bring them down a notch by going after the one thing their strongest loves most: you. ✧.* His Soft Spot by (@ravenclaw-for-all-seasons) ⤷ Mattheo Riddle's icy demeanor melts away in the presence of you, revealing a side of him that even his closest friends didn't expect. charmed, i'm sure by (@iris-qt) ⤷ feat. accidental truth serum, public chaos, and one very flustered reader)

Remus Lupin

🔞 Waiting by (@dismalflo) ✪ ⤷ you and Remus have been dancing around your feelings for each other for a while. Both too stubborn for your own good, but what happens when that stubbornness helps you both out?

Sirius Black

˚꩜｡ Hardass by (@ellecdc) ⤷ Sirius Black is all sharp edges and heat in the kitchen, until a quick-witted bartender strolls in, and leaves him completely undone.

Fred Weasley

✧.* through the seasons by (@kyber-crystal ) ⤷ he would love you till the end of time. everyone can see it, and they can only hope that you’ll come to your senses and realize that too. 🔞 Another Man's Treasure by (@spencersmopbucket) ⤷ You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste. 🔞 Wicked by (@andy-15-07) ⤷

Lorenzo Berkshire

⚠︎ closed and locked by (@redeemingvillains) ⤷ you are overwhelming smitten with lorenzo berkshire. fact: you think he’s smitten with you too. but when you and pansy hear something you shouldn’t have, it has you questioning everything you thought you knew about hogwarts’ biggest flirt.

Why choose? (Poly)

✧.* emergency contact by (@cosmal) ⤷ james gets called when you faint at work. and then sirius. then remus. you feel awful. ✧.* The Boy is Mine by (@colouredbyd) ⤷ you’re quiet by nature, content in the background—until someone pushes too far. When a girl flirts with Remus, something shifts. With one kiss and a quiet claim, you remind everyone exactly who he ( and Sirius) belong to.

[fannedandflawless]

Part III – The Rise of Severus Snape

The Years Unspoken; Finances & Survival

By the end of Hogwarts, Severus Snape had already transformed. The quiet, sharp-edged boy had vanished—replaced by someone colder, calculated, and undeniably capable.

But what happened next?

He disappears from the public story for a time. There’s no grand announcement. No headlines. Just the eventual fact: at twenty-one, he returns to Hogwarts, not as a student—but as a professor.

And not just any professor. The youngest in the school’s modern history.

We know from canon that he returned under Voldemort’s orders, placed there to spy on Dumbledore. But this post isn’t about why he returned. It’s about how.

Because when someone disappears for a year and returns with control, position, and a personal storeroom stocked with rare ingredients—it leaves you wondering.

How did Severus Snape survive? And what, exactly, did he have?

💰 What Was Severus Snape’s Financial Reality?

There’s no vault entry in the story. No Gringotts ledger. No monologue about mortgages or inheritance. But if you look closely, the clues are there.

Let’s explore the three most plausible scenarios—because if there’s one thing Severus Snape would never allow, it’s being vulnerable again.

1.) Still Not Wealthy—but Controlled and Strategic

The most grounded theory? He wasn’t rich—but he planned for survival.

Slughorn once scoffed at the “meagre salary” of a Potions Master. So no, Hogwarts wasn’t lucrative. And if you need proof—remember when Harry caught him clipping a leaf off the Venomous Tentacula in the greenhouse? Ten Galleons per leaf, Slughorn said. With a wink, of course. But he didn’t put it back—as seen in the book.

That’s the financial climate. Even a former Head of Slytherin, with Ministry connections and a cushy retirement, was casually supplementing his income with magical botany.

But Severus?

He’s not the type to steal—or flatter—or rely on anyone. He wouldn’t be flashy. He wouldn’t need comfort—he’d need control.

He could have lived modestly. Quiet lodgings. Rare indulgences, if any. But the more intimately you know poverty, the less you romanticise it. And Severus? He would never let himself be poor again. And as for that narrow brick house on Spinner’s End? We’ll break down the cost of keeping it—taxes, maintenance, and whether a Hogwarts salary could truly cover it—all in the next post. Still, even with careful planning, it’s hard to believe he lived off his teaching salary alone.

This is Severus Snape, after all. Why tether that kind of brilliance to a classroom timetable?

It’s entirely plausible he brewed on contract—quietly, discreetly—for apothecaries or private clients. Perhaps even under another name.

And that leads us to our next possibility.

2.) Comfortable, Upper-Middle Class Status via Career and Craft

This one holds weight—perhaps the most.

By the time he returns as Potions Master, he clearly has access to rare and expensive ingredients—and guards them like a dragon with a sealed inventory list (see: Book Four, when Harry’s mere presence sparks suspicion).

Because Potions? They’re not just art. They’re business.

Severus could very well have brewed on the side—quiet commissions, private clients, discreet apothecaries. Think Wolfsbane. Veritaserum. Rare antidotes. Custom elixirs for Ministry types who preferred not to ask questions.

His mind alone was capital. His precision? A luxury most couldn’t afford.

Even without the Death Eater entanglement, he would’ve had to survive somehow. And with his skillset? He could’ve set up privately—Knockturn Alley, perhaps. Where ingredients are rare, questions are rarer, and prices are whispered, not posted.

But instead, he returned to Hogwarts. Perhaps for espionage. Perhaps for redemption. Perhaps because Dumbledore offered him the only path forward—and the one place where he could be both watched and weaponised.

3.) Actually Inherited the Prince Family Fortune

Now this one? Entirely plausible—and rarely discussed.

Yes, his mother Eileen Prince was disowned. But the real question is: what happens when there’s no one left to claim the vaults?

If the Prince line ended with Severus—as it appears to have—inheritance law might have defaulted to him by blood alone. Especially in a world ruled by old magic, ancient names, and silent agreements no longer written down.

Consider Sirius Black. Disowned and exiled—and yet, everything reverted to him when the rest of the family tree fell away. And after his death? It all passed to Harry.

So what if the same quiet rule applied to Severus?

No celebration. No estate. Just funds that appeared. Vaults that opened when the bloodline sealed itself shut.

And what did he do with it?

He hid it.

He lived plainly, because he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. But it would explain how he maintained such precision, control, and resources without ever looking… needy.

— Whether by inheritance, side-work, or sheer survivalism, one thing is clear:

Severus Snape did not stumble back to Hogwarts. He arrived prepared—financially, emotionally, strategically.

He didn’t chase status. He became someone essential. Not liked. Not trusted. But necessary.

And in a world like his? That’s worth more than gold.

—

As explored in Part III of ‘The Rise of Severus Snape,’ his return to Hogwarts was no accident. But if you want to understand the quiet control he maintained outside its walls… you have to look at Spinner’s End.

—

Next: Spinner’s End Wasn’t Poverty—It Was Privacy.And yes, we’re talking taxes—A Breakdown of Severus Snape’s Finances, Property, and Survival Strategy.

Related posts: Part I: Resentment Was the Flame, Not Rage Part II: The Door Wasn’t Opened—It Was Unlocked Quietly

[montuak-project]

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ — # ❝ i put a spell on you❞| mattheo riddle PAIRINGS — any house! reader x mattheo riddle GENRE — fluff/angst WARNINGS — mild cursing and violence WC — 5.7k masterlist.  authors note- this is purely fiction is not to be taken seriously

this is late, but Happy Valentine's Day to everyone ᡣ𐭩 -------------------------------------------------------

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts. It was the craziest day at Hogwarts. That and finals week. 

The hospital wing was usually filled with people who were under a love potion or people who thought they were under a love potion. 

You thought it was a good idea to volunteer to help Madam Pomfrey. 

She has been known to use only when she is frustrated and stressed out to slip up and use some choice words no matter the age of the student. 

Things were going well. She had given you the girls to deal with. They had plenty of antidote for the love potion. And something that tastes just as similar to it for those who believed they were under as well. 

“Merlin’s Beard! Mr. Riddle, I thought I told you-“

“Pomfrey I swear I didn’t start this one. He did.” Mattheo said gripping the boy next to him. The boy he was gripping had his head looking up pinching his nose with his tie. “Didn’t know he was a bleeder. Anyways this one thought I was hitting on his girlfriend.” 

The boy tilted his head forward, “You were. Ah!” 

“Mate tilt.” Mattheo pushed his head back. “I was just asking her a question, can’t ask girls questions anymore.” 

“Mr. Riddle please go to Miss.____. She will clean you up.”

Mattheo smirked walking over to you. As Pomfrey took the over boy to one of her beds. 

“Hi pretty.” 

“Riddle.” 

“Come on ___ you have cleaned my face enough to call me by my first name.” Mattheo sat on one of the beds. 

You positioned yourself in front of him gently tilting his face up. You pulled his tie out of its knot putting it to the side of him. 

Mattheo smirked, before wincing a little. “I like it when pretty girls undress me.” 

“Mattheo…” 

“Alright, I’m sorry Miss.___ please continue.” 

“I just need you to keep your face straight and your mouth shut. Why do you have so much blood on you? Look at it, it’sall over your button-down. And why were we flirting with his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day?”

He huffed, “For the up-teenth time I was not flirting. I was asking her a question. We had just gotten out of class. I was asking if her brother was able to still get us fire whiskey for a party. Next thing I know he’s grabbing me by the collar andI’m getting punched.”

“Hmm. If he attacked you, why does he have a broken nose and you have a few scraps.”

“I’m scrappy.” He knew you were unsatisfied with the answer. “He punched me first but I punched him back. Not that hard. All of a sudden crack, and blood and he fainted on my chest. Bleeding out. I don’t know why he freaked out.”

You snorted. 

“What?”

“Mattheo it’s Valentine’s Day. Of course, he is going to have his guard up.”

“So every boyfriend is a jerk to everyone but his girlfriend.”

You shook your head no. He hissed as you went over a scrap. “They are just jerks to you. Mattheo Riddle one of Slytherins top playboys.” 

Mattheo audibly gasped, the stretch of skin caused more blood to come off the cut. 

“Mattheo stop twitching.” 

“I am not a playboy.”

You politely tucked your lips in not saying anything finishing up cleaning the blood off of his undeniably gorgeous face. 

“You think I’m a playboy?”

“When you call every girl pretty, sweetheart, or love it’s kind of hard not to. Plus there’s the long list of lovers you had.”

“Please don’t say lovers. The word gives me the heebie-jeebies. And I haven’t slept with that many girls.” He said innocently giving her puppy dog eyes and looking up at her. 

“That’s a lie. And you are usually a pretty good liar Riddle.”

“You wound me.” He gripped his chest. 

“Hopefully it’s just internal bleeding then. I can’t keep cleaning your wounds for you Mattheo. I mean your pretty face is all scarred. These fights are just not worth this trouble.”

Pretty. He repeated in his head. “Some of them are from Quidditch.”

“I assume so when you are fighting with Gryffindors over practice time or after the game when someone can’t keep their mouth shut.”

“Well, it’s good to know that my personal nurse knows my proclivities. She can always be prepared for the job.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. You hated that a little bit. How easily you gave into his little flirtatious remarks and kind words. But that’s what they were words. Mattheo Riddle is not someone to put trust in. Not with your heart. Boys like him break it and let it roll off their backs. 

“Oh, would you look at that someone got cookies?” Mattheo smirked picking up the cellophane bag and seeing the vanilla round biscuits with a heart cutout in the middle filled with jam. 

Mattheo's fingers played with the parchment paper tied to it with a white satin ribbon. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Enjoy the sweets from your secret admirer.” Mattheo grimaced at the idea of someone else catching her eye. 

“Riddle stop with the face.” 

“Who is the secret admirer?” 

You decided not to answer him instead laying a band-aid across the bridge of his nose. 

“___?”

“I don’t know. That is the whole point of a secret admirer. To not know who they are,” You shrugged in return. 

Mattheo pouted, he ripped open the bag and ate two of the cookies inside.

“Mattheo what the hell those were for me.” 

“So what like you were going to eat all of them? There was a full batch in this thing. Here you go if you want one so bad.” Mattheo took one of the cookies and tried to put it in your open mouth. 

You smacked the cookie right out of his hand, “I don’t like strawberry jam.” 

“Quite uncivilized of you, m’lady.” Mattheo joked. “So I can have them all?” 

“Yes.” 

He nodded stuffing his face full of the small cookies. 

“You better be listening to me Mattheo.” You instructed him with a finger in his face

He shook your pointer finger, “Of course.” He mumbled getting crumbs all over himself. 

“Oh, dear lord. I’ll find Theo and tell him myself because you can’t take care of yourself properly. Now look me in the eye.” 

Mattheo looked up at her watching her talk. 

“First off I used glue on the cut across the bridge of your nose and small sutures. That means do not have another fight for a whole week. It will just bust open again. The others apply this cream on them in the morning and at night. They should be healed in a day or two.” You handed him a jar. 

“Right apply daily.” 

You gave him a look of disapproval. 

“I know mornings and nights. And when I apply to myself I will only think of you.” 

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious nature, “do not say things like that. I’m writing a note for Nott. That boy has more common sense for these things than you do.” 

“What does that mean?!” 

“Shh.” You pinched his lips together. “Dear god we are in the hospital wing. It means Theo has more of a handle on medicines and things of that nature. And better handle on you. For the most part. Unless he wants you to act like a dog off-leash.”You laughed at him. 

“You are lucky you are very cute ____ otherwise I would have to make you pay for that one.” 

You felt a bit flushed.

“Alright, I see you around ____. You should definitely come to the party tonight.” Mattheo said pointing at you pickingup his things. 

You gave him a short wave, “Bye Mattheo.” You said with a quiet voice. You ripped off the note for Theodore stuffing it in your pocket when you saw him in your next class.

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A couple of hours later Madam Pomfrey had let you leave after a couple more people came in. But thankfully people came to their senses about the day. 

You sat next to Theo in transfiguration. “Mattheo mentioned a party tonight?” 

“Him and his big mouth. Inviting every pretty girl that gives him attention.” 

“I…- I am not like those girls, Nott.” You made a disgusted face at the accusation. “I believe it's just another thank invite for fixing his face again, this morning.” 

“Son of a witch.” He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give me the instructions, that damn asshole. He just adds to my workload. He isn’t even my cousin. Malfoy should have to take care of him.”

You laughed at Theo’s frustration as you passed him the note. 

He read it over whispering to himself as he read. “Can’t get into fights for a week?” 

“Yeah, the cut above the bridge of his nose was deep. The guy that punched him had a house ring on, nasty cut.”

“We have a quidditch match on Monday.” 

“Tell Mattheo to control his impulses then.” 

“Easier said than done.” 

You ignored his attitude opening your book to the last chapter Mcgonagall covered in class. 

A paper ball hit the back of Theo’s head, when he turned around Enzo was pointing at the ball on the floor. Nott rolled his eyes picking it up and reading Enzo’s sloppy script. 

‘hey! You agreed to the plan! You are just as tired as all of us hearing Riddle go on and on about her! Get in there and flirt!’ 

Theo groaned crumpling the paper shoving it into his robes pocket turning to you. “So are you going to come?” 

“Huh?” 

Theo smirked, poking at your side, “You know the party.” 

“Oh. I thought you didn’t want me to come.” You squinted at him as you joked. 

“What? Of course, I want a..pretty girl like you to come.” Dear lord in heaven this better be worth it. 

“Hmm. Y’know, I always thought you didn’t like me for the longest time.” 

“Crazy. Did you like the cookies?” 

You dropped your quill. Theodore Nott was your secret admirer. And he bakes?! 

“Um? What?” 

“The vanilla and strawberry jam heart-shaped cookies. I left them with Madam Pomfrey and she said she would give them to you.” 

“Oh yeah, those.” ‘No, I didn’t like them. Also, your best friend ate them all.’ “I have to be honest Theo…” 

Theo nodded turning towards her, tilted his head. Maybe this go over better if they were not aquatinted. “Yes tell me.” 

“The cookies were delicious. I am however not a big fan of strawberry jam.” 

“Oh ok. You can blame Pansy for that one. I will remember that for next time.” He smiled at her softly nudging you. “But you’ll come to the party tonight?” 

Your burrows furrowed together, “Sure. definitely.” 

“Good. Great. We should probably pay attention to class now.” He said to you. 

You hummed trying not he completely petrified of the idea of Theodore Nott having a crush on you. 

Theo turned slightly on his stool looking at Enzo and Pansy giving them a thumbs up with a smirk. It did not go unbeknownst to him that Mattheo was staring at him. 

Mattheo was boiling, getting hot underneath the collar, “Blaise do you know anything about Nott and ____.” 

“Just that they are transfiguration partners, I think he said something about inviting her to the party. When Enzo was helping him in the kitchen last night.” 

“Why were they in the kitchen last night?” 

“I could have sworn you were there with them.” 

“Blaise, why were they in the kitchen last night?” 

Blaise put his quill down looking at him, “Enzo was helping him bake cookies. They both burnt the first batch. Thank godEnzo can read Parkinson’s handwriting. It is just so girly.”

Mattheo cleared his throat, sitting there stewing in his emotions. He could not get over the fact that someone else, let alone his best friend, had a crush on ____. Not when he was in love with her. 

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You waited patiently outside at the end of class, Pansy helped him with those cookies. And she is the biggest blabber mouth you have ever known. Exactly why you never told her that you had a slight crush on the Dark Lord's son. 

You grabbed Pansy’s shoulder away from her gaggle friends. “Sorry need to borrow her for a minute.” 

“Excuse me for a second.” She said as she bowed away from her Slytherin friends. You pulled her away down into a side hallway. “What can I help you with ___?” She asked innocently. 

“Oh drop the act. You knew Theodore Faustus Nott fancied me and you didn’t tell me?!” 

“I guess I didn’t think about it.” 

“You are a horrible liar. You knew this entire time and you didn’t say a thing.” 

“It was not my secret to tell.” She mentioned. 

“Bullshit. You are such a blabbermouth. You blabber everyone's secrets. Everyone here knows it.” 

“Well, Theodore begged me to keep a secret, threaten me if I told.” Pansy reasoned with her. “Did you enjoy the cookies?” 

“I would have if they were any other flavored, except the jam. I hate jams. And I believe you knew that. Since I avoid them like the plague.” You pointed out to her.

“So you did not eat them?” 

“No. Mattheo saw them and ate them all.” 

“Mattheo?” She questioned with a tiniest smirk resting on her face.  

“I am not telling this story again. Ask Theo or Mattheo what happened to his face. Now I have to figure out a way to let Theo down easy on Valentine's Day. Of all days Pansy.” You sighed frustrated leaving her in the cut-out of the hallway. 

Once you were out of sight she silently chuckled to herself, quickly running over to Enzo and Theodore. “The plan is working! Even if she is mad at me. Slight problem though he ate all of them.” 

“All of them? There were like 10 cookies in there. Is he going to be ok?” 

Theo nodded his head clearing his throat, “Yes he will be fine, it was just a light coating I put the jam on. As long as you grabbed the right antidote when you went to the hospital wing today for your headache.” Theo said looking at him. 

“Yes! Of course, I did. You all doubt me so much.” Enzo defended himself. 

Theo and Pansy at the same time crossed their arms, tilting their heads. 

“I should not have to defend myself.” 

“Right, so as soon as he confesses his love for her, you give him the drink with the antidote in it. And everything will be fine.” Pansy went over the plan again. 

“As long as he doesn’t kill Theo first,” Enzo mumbled as he looked at Mattheo. 

Who was slumped against the wall across from them with Blaise and Draco at either of his sides, spinning his Slytherin house ring between his fingers, and boring wholes into Theo. 

“Maybe I should talk to him.” Theo reasoned. 

“I think you if want to get strangled here and now please do.” Enzo countered. 

Theo ignored him, walking over to Mattheo anyway. “Riddle, come have a smoke with me I have to finish off this pack before the end of the day. Snape has been checking bags again. Apparently, someone broke into his cupboards and stole ingredients again.” 

Mattheo nodded following him outside to the courtyard. Theo handed him the cigarette as they stood on the other side of the tree facing away from the windows. 

“So the fuck happened to your face?” Theo asked with a smirk. 

Mattheo laughed heartily, as smoke came out from his mouth, “A prick came at me with his fist. But I was a little faster. These are just a few scraps.” 

“Right. Remember not to fight. ____ does not want to see you hurt again.” 

Mattheo's smile was still on his face but his eyes were devoid of emotion, “Is that what you two were talking about? Laughing about? About my constant fighting?”

“Mattheo let’s not-” 

Mattheo took a long drag, “No we are going to discuss it. Because you cannot just come flouncing in and think you can just fuck with her.” 

Theo cleared his throat to speak. 

“Not fucking finished.” He shoved the cigarette between his lips, turned on his heel grabbed Theo by his robes shoving him up against the tree. “I love her. Can you say the same? Now I do not wish to upset ____ by getting into another fight. Today. But stay the fuck away from her.” The words jumbled out as smoke flowed into Theo’s face

Theo challenged him pushing his best friend off of him, “Why should I when you are too much of a pussy to admit your feelings?”

Mattheo nodded his head, “ok.” Mattheo punched him across the face. 

Theo put his hand to his face. As much as he wanted to hit back he knew deep down, that Mattheo was not in his right mind. 

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Mattheo warned again. 

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You were in your next class, sitting down trying to pay attention to Snape’s lecture. This proved to be mighty difficult as Mattheo decided with McLaggen to switch seats with him. And Mattheo was just sitting there, face sitting on his hand giving her love-dove eyes. 

“Mattheo please stop staring at me, pay attention to the lecture. I doubt your cousin is going to want to give you this lesson again.” 

Mattheo reached over brushing hair out of your face. It was not a completely strange gesture, he had touched you without permission before not that it bothered you. It was just how Mattheo was with people he was comfortable with. But this felt more intimate. 

You looked over at him staring him down to be a little more serious. 

“Couldn’t you give me this lesson then?” He said with a loving smile. Mattheo grabbed her hand as it was writing more notes, “please.” 

Your eyes darted to his knuckles and how they were bruised. “Mattheo is that from earlier today?” 

“What?” He looked at his hand. Not to upset her and to bring up Theo he quickly agreed, “Yes.” 

“Why did you not say anything to me? I would’ve had some ice for it and had some ginger root tea to stop the inflammation. I should have noticed it.” 

“Miss._____? Is conversation with Mr. Riddle more interesting than the lesson?” Snape came over interrupting the conversation. 

“Sorry Professor, it was my fault. My hand was bothering me and usually Miss. ____ has some ginger root with her. She has learned a lot from your lessons in potions and Professor Sprout in Herbology to know what plants help people.” Mattheo smiled brightly at his Professor. 

“5 points from each of your houses. Do pay attention in class, Mr. Riddle.” 

“Of course, Sir.” Mattheo smiled smugly at him. Snape continued his droning on with the lecture.

Whereas Mattheo resumed his activity of just staring at you. You decided no amount of pleading and telling him to focus was going to work. Maybe by helping him later on with the homework assignment, he would learn something. 

At the end of the class, you were gathering your things and Mattheo waited for you. 

“Mattheo you can go.” 

“No I can’t, ___ I wanted to walk you to your next class. You have Advanced Herbology.” He held out his hand for you to take. 

You nodded. He was acting weird. You took his hand and felt his pulse pounding through his veins. 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

“Never better. I promise. I have this amazing nurse who always takes care of me. Ever since my third year I fell into poison oak leaves during Hagrid’s class. She is just amazing.” 

“Well, you tell her I am very concerned about you. You are acting strange today.” 

Mattheo shrugged, “Or I am acting like a true version of myself.”

You snorted, “Nope. Trust me, Matt, I know you pretty well to know what your true self is. And it is not this fairy tale book Prince Charming.”

“Well, then I am sorry you don’t feel that way about me. Hopefully, by the end of the day, you will change your mind about me.” 

You were in front of the classroom. “I will be here when we have astronomy together.”

“Matt you don’t have to do that-”

“You’re right I don’t have to. I want to. Anything for my girl.” He said kissing your cheek quickly before walking away cooly.  

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For the rest of the day, Mattheo followed you around. And not like a lost puppy more like a rottweiler. If anyone looked at you funny or looked in your direction you were sure he was going to bite their heads off or worse. 

While if he looked at you it was like you had a halo surrounding you. It was strange. But it was also very Mattheo if was looking to start a relationship. Funny how he was making fun of it this morning and then here you were. 

You were finishing up notes from DADA and eating lunch when Mattheo kept tapping the table in front of your book. 

“What is it, Matt?” 

“Nothing just wanted to see your pretty face.” He smiled at her as he rested his head in his palm. 

He looked goofy to you but it was a sweet gesture as you smiled fondly at him. “Thank you, Mattheo, but I do have to finish these notes.  We have a test on Monday.” 

“DADA tests are easy you just have to remember the spells and the right movements. Thats all you need to know.” 

“And when to use them. When it's appropriate to use the spell. If it's an offense or defense. There are a lot of factors you have to know.” You jested back to him. 

“You better finish all these notes and plan to do homework tomorrow because this evening you are going to the Slytherin party.” 

Shit. The party. That was tonight. The party Mattheo got punched in the face for. The party Theodore Nott invited you to on his behalf because he wanted to be your Valentine.

“Must I?” 

Mattheo nodded his head, “Of fucking course you do! And you get to be accompanied by yours truly. You know they say I am the Prince of Slytherin house.” 

“I don’t think they say that. I don’t think that is something to be proud of. And wouldn’t you be the heir I have heard a lot of girls call Draco the Prince. Because he is handsome.” 

“You think my cousin is handsome?” He asked with a little bit of disgust on his face and a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“I guess. But he is not as handsome as you Matty.” 

Mattheo half chuckled with a playful grin on his face. “But you not so much now, cute across your face is really off-putting.” 

Mattheo pinched the apple of your cheek, “Again you are lucky you are cute. And that I like you.” 

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You were refiling your cup with the spiked juice that was set up when someone grabbed your arm pulling you away from the table and behind a curtain. 

When you slapped the handoff of you and looked to see who it was, you stopped thrashing about in his grasp. “Nott what the hell?!” 

“Sorry, but I had to talk to you quickly.” 

“Well, I have been meaning to actually talk to you. While I am flattered that you like me and that you put thought into the little gift you made me. I just do not find you attractive. If I am completely honest I kind of have feelings for Mattheo. Well for a long time and I think he might actually like me back. Now please excuse me I want to finish filling my cup, not that Mattheo would let me get away from him to do it myself can you believe it..” You stop mid-rambling looking at Theo’s eye, “Theo what happened to your face? You should really…drink ginger tea….wait did Mattheo do this to you? I knew his knuckles were not that bruised earlier.” 

“Yeah about that…so you know those cookies I made you?’ 

“Yes. Listen, Theo…” 

Theo clamped his hand over your mouth, “No you listen see I let a bunch of idiots minus Blaise and Malfoy convince me to make them love potion to gloss over the jam section of the cookie.”

Your burrows scrunched together in anger as you mumbled against his hand, “What?!” 

“Now the love potion was not for you from me. Because I do not like you that way at all.” Theo shook his head in almost disgust.

Bit of a blow to the ego there. 

“Please like you are my type. Or I’m yours. The cookie was for Mattheo, and I was told that I should flirt with you so he would just confess how he feels about you. And I have the antidote for him so afterward once he does so everything will go back to normal. I completely forgot how much of a monster he could be when challenged.” 

You pried Theo’s hand off your mouth, “And you thought this was a good idea?”

“To be fair I was pretty high when I agreed to it. And it was the best idea Pansy and Enzo could come up with. Normally a jealous Mattheo would say mean comments, sudden bursts of anger, and bury his feelings about the matter. Mattheo on love potion though…well he is violent more than usual.” 

“I could have told you that. You should have come to your senses when you were sober.” You pushed the top of his shoulder blades. 

“I know. I know. But Pansy said this was the only way to make him confess to you.” 

“You are all idiots. And a love potion?! Of all things? That is not real love and to do that to him?”

“Again I wasn’t thinking straight and they said I couldn’t back out of the plan. They are blackmailing me with…things.” 

“Things.” 

“I don’t want to repeat it in case you plan to blackmail me as well,” Theo said. 

“That is your concern right now not the fact that you drugged your best friend because he is too chicken to-” You were cut off by a punch coming through the curtain hitting Theo square in the nose. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from her?” 

“Trust me mate I know. I have come to my senses and my guilt on the matter.” Theo said holding his nose. Thank god his nose did not break but blood was pouring down his face. 

“Mattheo what the hell?!” You screamed in horror putting your hands over your mouth and dropping your cup onto the floor. 

“____ don’t listen to him, he is just going to use you and leave you. That is what he does. He doesn’t care about anyone other than himself.” Mattheo seethed in Theo’s direction.  

“Oh for Salazar’s Sake!” Theo grumbled. “Draco! Enzo! Blaise! Pansy! Get over here!” He yelled over to his friends 

The three boys joined them inside the small out-cove of the Slytherin common room, everyone still watching as Mattheo had a blowout and crazed look in his eyes. Blaise turned around everyone, “Please don’t mind us, go back to the par.

“Malfoy and Blaise hold him. Enzo give me the damn antidote I won’t be taking any more hits from him not anymore.” Theo ordered. 

“I am not holding my cousin like a toddler for no reason,” Draco said. 

“I don’t know mate, look at him he looks like an animal and not in the usual way,” Blaise said to Malfoy in a whisper. “I think we should hold him.” 

Malfoy and Blaise came around Mattheo grabbing his shoulders and arms keeping him in place. 

“I am fine just no one here is allowed near ____.” 

“Mattheo please just listen to them. Just drink the antidote and everything will be fine. I promise.” You started to say to him holding his face so he would have to look at you.  

“Ok, whatever you say, love.” He said as he softened like pudding in your hands. 

“You have got to be kidding me right now.” Theo gagged hard on air trying to keep his stomach contents down. “Give here now.” 

Enzo handed him the vile he took from Madam Pomfrey’s trolley this morning. As Theo was going to add it to a fresh cup of pumpkin juice, you noticed the color of the vile. 

“Hold on. This is an orange antidote. Enzo are you kidding me this was your half-baked plan and you couldn’t even grab the right vile. Orange is the placebo pink is the real antidote.” 

“Pansy helped me too. And she was my guard when Pomfrey came back around.” 

“You liar. I was busy leaving the cookies by ____’s station. Theo and I told you a million times pink. Did you get distracted by that Ravenclaw girl again?” Pansy accused as they started to be a long fight back and forth. 

“Stop!” They quickly quieted down at the suddenness of your raised voice. “Fighting isn’t helping Mattheo. You are all lucky Pomfrey gave me an antidote just in case I did ingest any love potion today. It is in my bag.” 

You walked away quickly, up into the dormitories. You looked around Pansy's room for the bag finding it just where you stored it. Right underneath her pillow. Coming down the marble flight of stairs, vile in hand with flared nostrils and anger in her eyes, poured the baby pink substance into the cup of pumpkin juice. 

“Matty just drink this and you will be fine. Angry. But fine.” You told him. 

“Ok.” Malfoy and Blaise held on to him as you poured the drink down his throat. 

He swallowed all of the cure to the love potion, and soon after he started to feel better. He looked around a little drowsy but came too, and went to lung at Enzo and Theo. 

“I’m going to kill the both of you.” 

“It was his stupid idea.” Theo pointed to Enzo. 

“Hey! You agreed to it.” Enzo agreed back. “All because he didn’t want you to whine anymore. What a great best friend you have.” 

“I did not whine.” 

“… You did mate,” Theo muttered. 

“A lot,” Blaise added on. 

“Bloody hell it bled into summer vacations. I think my mother wanted to drown you in the fountain.” Draco chuckled a little at his remark. 

“Well, I guess cats out of the bag now.” Mattheo groaned as his head lobbed back before popping back forward again. “Listen, ____…_____?” 

Mattheo looked around the the small room for you, when Pansy pointed through the curtain. You had walked away from the party and the group. Is this how Mattheo had to be, had to be under a love potion to admit his feelings to you? It was hurtful. Was it so embarrassing to be with you? No, what was embarrassing was that now everyone and their mother knew he was under the spell, and worse his friends did to him. 

You were half up the stairs out of the dungeon with hot tears flowing slowly down the curve of your cheeks. When you heard Mattheo calling for you. You didn’t stop no you kept going.

He managed to catch up grabbing your arm, “____? I called your name like a hundred times. Please stop running away— You’re crying? Why are you crying.” Mattheo pulled your forearm into his chest slightly embracing you. 

“Why am I crying? Because your embarrassed to be with me!” You whispered-shouted, shoving yourself away from him curling into yourself. “And now everyone knows that. If Mattheo Riddle doesn’t like her then who will.” You mocked. 

“What? No, ___ I do like you. I have always liked you. Now…more than just friends. I wasn’t embarrassed about liking you.” 

“You weren’t?” 

“No.” Mattheo fidgeted with the ring on his finger looking away from you, “I was embarrassed of myself. Worried that if we were together how would people react and well…I was scared of how they would treat you because of me.” 

“Matty…” You reached out to him and hugged him tightly. When you were letting go of him and pulling away, you were staring into his big brown chocolate eyes. Even when they had dark circles around them and littered with scars from all the scraps and bruises they were still so beautiful. Mattheo had the faintest grin on his lips, as he lightly pushed the hair out of your face. It was then you knew, lips touching as he softly kissed you. Most would think with a boy like him he would be fierce and controlling which you had no doubt, in the near future he probably would be. But now he wanted to be sweet and gentle. 

Stopping and looking at you one last time, his hands held your face wiping any remaining tears streaks on your face. 

“This isn’t going to be a one-time thing.” He said. 

“I would hope not.” 

“And I won’t ever need a love potion ever again with you.” 

You punched his shoulder with a smile, “And if anyone says anything about me being with you, you can always just fight them.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course, I’m always here to clean you up.” You told him pinching his cheek. Mattheo winced from the bruise that was there earlier. “After you heal from your other wounds first. Doctors orders.” 

“At least my doctor isn’t Theo anymore. He is so rough with me. He doesn’t have smooth hands like yours.” Mattheo said kissing your cheeks. “Do you want to go back to the party?” 

“I was thinking of your dorm room.” 

“Have I mentioned I love you?” He said as he quickly picked you up and threw you over his shoulders as you giggled happily. Mattheo Riddle was all yours. 

[thatdesigirl17]

all i need is you I part one

series masterlist. masterlist.

a/n: so the first part is up! it’s short and not that interesting as it just like sets the scene but I promise interesting things are coming ahead, hope you like the series, I’ll try to put the parts up asap and maybe even a playlist, there are no warnings I think except the curse words

It all started in the third year when Y/N had lost her baby fat and had a glow-up, making her stand out in Hogwarts. So when Adrian Pucey asked her out she agreed to go on a date with him. Adrian was sweet until they reached back to the castle, he started getting a bit too comfortable which bothered Y/N. She politely declined all his advances and wouldn’t put out, which damaged Adrian’s fragile ego. He left her stranded in a courtyard and stormed to his dorm. She returned to her dorm, alone. 

Over the next few weeks, people started looking at her differently, judging her, whispering about her. Adrian and his friend group had spread rumours about Y/N having a one-night stand with all of them, earning her the reputation of being the Hogwarts’ in-house slut. No matter how much she tried to deny it and save her image, the damage was done and all her efforts reaped nothing. Instead, she decided the best option for her was to lay low and live with it. That’s when she decided she would never even talk to another Slytherin again. 

Being in Hogwarts was a blessing and a curse, since the whole incident Y/N had been on a few more dates but all of them ended badly with the boys wanting nothing more than to sleep with her. 

This had what happened with Cormac McLaggen and this was the reason Y/N was currently storming towards the Black Lake, late at night, after curfew with her clothes slightly dishevelled.

She reached the edge of the lake and slipped out of her shoes setting them aside and letting her bare feet dangle in the cold water. Her tears spilled and the voice of her sniffling filled the air. 

‘Waiting for your date, Y/L/N? What did you already use all the rooms inside the castle?’, a taunting voice came from behind. She didn’t even have to turn to recognise that voice. ‘Fuck off, Nott.’, she spat. She turned her head around looking at the beautiful Italian, standing behind her. Theodore Nott, the infamous pure blood who fit into every Slytherin stereotype, or so most thought. This was the reason that had made Y/N have a strong resolve against pursuing her crush on the boy. 

Theodore took in the tears that shined on her face in the moonlight as his gaze softened. ‘What happened?’, he asked as he fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in her direction. ‘Aren’t you a gentleman?’, she said sarcastically catching the piece of cloth. He rolled his eyes and his dead eyes stared into hers still waiting for an answer. ‘Don’t act like you care, Nott. I’m not going to fall for whatever sympathy act you might do, I’m not gonna sleep with you.’, she said, dabbing the soft cloth under her eyes drying her tears. 

‘As if I’m dying to sleep with you.’, he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes again, ‘I don’t need you to sleep with me, love, I’ve plenty of girls ready for that.’ He leaned on one of the trees and lit up a cigarette.

She sighed and got up from the edge, turning over to face him, ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ ‘You didn’t answer me, what happened? Found no guy to sleep with for the night? Want me to change that?’, he smirked taking a drag of his cigarette. 

‘For fuck’s sake.’, she murmured under her breath as she ignored him and started walking towards the castle. Theodore grabbed her wrist, turning her around to face him again. ‘You are so rude, Y/L/N. I ask you something and you just ignore me?’, he smirked, a playful hint to his voice that seemed to annoy Y/N further. ‘Come on, Y/L/N, please. Maybe I could help you.’, he pressed, stepping closer. ‘Yeah right.’, she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She held his gaze and his determination did not seem to waver. 

‘You won’t understand, you’re just like everyone else.’, she sighed. ‘You wound me, let me assure you I’m not just like everyone.’, he said, feigning an injury on his chest. ‘You are. Even you believe those stupid rumours.’, she said, crossing her arms around her chest. ‘What rumours?’, Theodore asked, searching her eyes that seemed to well up at the mention. ‘Oh’, he sighed, ‘You did not sleep with them, did you? Adrian and his little friend group.’ She shook her head, gulping, trying to stop herself from tearing down. ‘Those fuckers.’, he scoffed. ‘What happened today?’, he pressed the matter further. Y/N couldn’t avoid his question anymore.

‘Nothing really. Just what always happens. Went on a date, he tried to sleep with me and got mad when I said I won't.’, she said, avoiding his gaze. ‘Who?’, he asked, the briefest hint of protectiveness in his voice. ‘McLaggen.’, she answered, her voice breaking. ‘You really know how to choose them, don’t you?’, he smirked, trying to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Y/N let out a shuddered breath, hugging herself tighter, trying to blink away her tears. ‘Hey, hey, hey, I was kidding, love.’, Theodore said, throwing his cigarette away and as he pulled her in, hugging her. ‘You aren’t wrong.’, she mumbled against his chest, breaking down. He comforted her, soothing her back. 

After a moment, the gravity of the situation settled into Y/N’s brain, registering what was happening as she stepped out of his embrace, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what got over me.’, she sniffled, wiping her tears from the back of her hand. ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’, he said quickly, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging. 

The awkward silence surrounded them as she broke it, ‘I better get going.’ She gave him a short smile and turned walking back towards the castle. ‘Let me help you.’, he blurted out, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Help me? Help me how exactly?’, she said, turning to face him, confusion showcasing on her face. He pondered for a moment, ‘Be my girlfriend.’ ‘What?’, she scoffed in disbelief. ‘My fake girlfriend.’, he quickly corrected himself. ‘Fake girlfriend? What do you mean to say, Theo?’, she asked. ‘Let’s pretend that we’re dating. It’ll be a good thing for your reputation and if you do this, I can help you by making Adrian Pucey come clean about the rumours he started.’, he explained, shrugging and shoving his hands in his pocket. ‘Why help me? What’s in it for you?’, she asked, crossing her hands. ‘Let’s just say, I have someone to make jealous and doing this would accomplish that.’, he explained nonchalantly. ‘Who?’, she pressed. ‘None of your business’, he smirked as she glared at him, ‘Alright, Daphne.’ She chuckled hollowly but before she could speak, he interrupted, stepping closer, ‘Don’t make any rash decisions, sleep on it. Meet me tomorrow morning, near the quidditch fields with your answer.’ He tucked a strand of her stray hair behind her ear, winked and walked past her back to the castle. Y/N stood there dumbfounded her mind processing all of what had happened and the lingering question that Theodore had proposed.

[heaven4lostgirls]

forbidden love! Junior x Fem!gryffindor reader where Barty hates that you have to hide. PLOT TWIST (cus I need drama lols) Barty gets in a fight with another guy who said rude crap about reader/y/n and bartys getting hurt when reader steps in with magic and threats.

Ppl don't mess with Barty any more.

pairing: barty crouch jr x fem!gryffindor!reader

summary: request above!

warnings: mentions of blood purity, barty crouch sr. voldemort, slytherin hate, not proofread, graphic descriptions of blood + violence

word count: 1.4K

“No” Barty whines as you disentangle your limbs from his. As you leave the warmth of the blankets laid over his bed, you’re met with a breeze that has you shiver slightly.

Barty tugs at your arm as you swing your legs over the bed and lean to grasp your wand, “Come back to bed” he mumbles as he tries to pull you back under his green bedsheets.

It’s earlier than you would normally wake up, around 4AM you’d assume, given the dark sky you can see from the window to the left of Barty’s bed.

Barty and yourself both knew that the consequence of spending the night in his dorm meant that you’d have to sneak out the following morning before anyone else woke up.

It was one of the worst parts of keeping your relationship a secret. Barty hated sneaking around, not being able to tell anyone how much he adored you or having to reign in his possessive and jealous nature.

He had to grit his teeth and stand by as some brave – or rather stupid – Gryffindors tried their luck with you in hopes of asking you to Hogsmeade. Barty however found relief in being able to hex them in the corridors which was expected from students in Slytherin.

“You know I can’t stay” You whisper into the quiet of the room and Barty only gives a grumbled response, his dark hair framed across his pillow as he blinks open his eyes to pout at you.

“I’ll hex anyone that says anything, just come back to bed” he says again and although you roll your eyes, you can’t help the little flutter within your heart at the sentiment.

“You also know it’s not about the Hogwarts student body” you say pointedly as you reach for an old long sleeve quidditch jersey of Barty’s  to lay over your pyjamas to shield you from the cold.

Barty’s irritated groan is louder than it needs to be for this early in the morning, though you can’t help the small laugh that leaves you as he throws what can only be described as a small tantrum.

“I’m going to kill my father one day” Barty swears, and you snort before gathering the rest of your clothes, kissing Barty sweetly before hurriedly making your way to your own common room.

Interhouse relationships within Hogwarts weren’t necessarily looked down upon, It often fostered unity within the Hogwarts community and was sometimes even encouraged.

Although, with that knowledge also came the understanding of house rivalries. Gryffindor and Slytherin’s house rivalry was one of the most well known rivalries within the school.

Tensions only grew  higher as house loyalties filtered into external loyalties, as pureblood Slytherin students’  families affiliated themselves with Voldemort and the dark arts and as Gryffindor families chose to walk the line of the light.

Therefore, it was only reasonable to assume that your relationship with Barty, if public knowledge, would cause somewhat of a hysteria among students.

Not only that, considering that Barty Crouch Sr. was known to be intolerant politically of any support of Voldemort and his little cult, he was also equally intolerable of his own son.

One was more publicly known than the other however Barty knew full well, should news of his relationship with you reach the media, Barty would soon be associated with Voldemort and his fathers campaign would be in jeopardy.

So, therefore. A secret relationship between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin bloomed under moonlit skies and abandoned corridor kisses.

As you reached your common room, you made quick work of sneaking into your dorm as the rest of your roommates laid sleeping. Under the covers you close your eyes to allow yourself a couple hours of more sleep.

The following morning, as you sit at the Gryffindor table, slowly eating your breakfast as you try to rub the sleep out of your eyes, you can hear the loud chatter of the marauders to your left and Marlene’s grumbling to your right.

Your seat allows you to view the Slytherin table and you can make out the figures of Barty, Evan and Regulus all sitting huddled together. Barty meets your eyes over the tables and gives you a slight wink which has your cheeks warming.

You look down and continue to eat your breakfast as you converse with Lily about your classes for the day.

You’re disrupted by the sound of glasses shattering and gasps, a small wail cuts through the air and before you know it, you’re on your feet looking frantically at the Slytherin table.

Barty has his hands on Mulciber’s robes, his gaze angry and his form trembling. You can see Evan trying to talk him down and Regulus watching curiously. Barty seems to be yelling and you bring yourself out of your shocked daze to hear his voice.

“-SAY THAT AGAIN ABOUT HER, I DARE YOU!, I’LL CURSE YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING BLOODLINE, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING TWAT!” Barty yells and gasps filter around the dining hall as Barty shakes Mulciber mercilessly.

Mulciber smirks menacingly before whispering something to Barty that has his nostrils flaring, he pulls back one of his arms to punch the living daylights out of the other Slytherin, however before he can he’s met with a curse from Avery that has his flying back into a wall.

Your heart stops as Barty’s head thuds against the wall, his form laying limp against the concrete. Your eyesight blurs at your tears but you can see the figures of Evan and Regulus standing up, wands at the ready as they throw spell after spell at Mulciber and Avery.

You hear commotion as Sirius and James both call out worried as a stray spell hits Regulus which has him down for a count before he stands up again, his gaze cold and unflinching.

You’re moving before you know it, running across the dining hall, away from Lily’s worried “Y/N don’t!-”, as you watch as Snape’s disgusted expression looks at Barty’s still slumped over figure.

Barty has a trail of blood running down his forehead, he stirs a bit as he looks up to be met with the end of Snape’s wand.

Snape stares at him boredly before he starts, “Sectum-”

“Don’t you fucking touch him” you hiss as you grasp your wand, hissing out a powerful ‘Expelliarmus’ that has Snape being thrown back towards Mulciber and Avery.

They both look at Snape in shock before they turn to your blazing form, your eyes manic as you stand protectively in front of Barty. Evan and Regulus both walk to stand at your sides as the three of you look towards Mulciber and Avery.

“Walk away Mulciber” you say coldly as the Slytherin’s eyes light up before he smirks lazily, “And the little bitch returns to her owner” Avery drawls.

Before you can reply, a strong stinging hex hits Avery that has him cursing as tears rise in his eyes.

“Watch your mouth Avery.” Evan says with his wand being held out in front of him. You look at him in shock and he only shrugs and gives you a small smirk, “You’re one of us.”

You nod softly, you catch the glimpse of a red light heading your way before Regulus moves in front of you to defend you. You hear James and Sirius cursing him out as they also run towards you three as Peter and Remus are instructed to call a professor.

“It’s ill etiquette to curse someone behind their back Mulciber, did your whore of a mother teach you nothing?” Regulus hisses as he hexes Mulciber with a body-binding spell.

Barty’s groaning distracts you from everything as he opens his eyes, confused as he looks around to see you, Evan and Regulus duelling Avery, Mulciber and what looks like Snape’s hunched over form.

“What?” he asks confused as he lifts his hand to touch the top of his head where his wound lies.

You quickly look at Barty’s form before throwing another body bind to Avery as you stomp towards their limp forms.

The first punch has Mulciber howling in pain as blood gushes from his nose, “You come anywhere near my boyfriend again, I will kill you.” You say, gaze unflinching.

Avery struggles under the spell before you kick him in his ribs, “Stop fucking squirming. It’s good to know when one has been bested, yes?” you say with a cold smile as you meet both of their angry yet scared gazes.

“If I see either of you near him again, I will hold true to my promise” you hiss, turning around to the amused yet proud looks of Evan and Regulus who have Barty between them, his form slighting leaning on Evan’s taller figure.

You walk a couple steps before you lift your leg to stomp it down into the middle of Mulciber’s legs which has Evan, Regulus and Barty wincing.

You nod and smile at the pained groan before walking swiftly to Barty, “You okay Bee?” you whisper softly as you look worriedly into his eyes before lifting your hand to lift his hair to get a better look at his wound.

You hiss at the blood before looking at Barty with worry, “We need to get you to the infirmary-”

“You’re so fucking hot” Barty says with a wicked smile.

You splutter and Evan groans to your left, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Regulus says disgusted from your right.

He’s distracted by  Sirius and James sprinting towards him with worry in their eyes. You drown out the sound of what sounds like Regulus being looked over and cursed for being idiotic for just blindly jumping into a fight.

Barty just smirks and looks at you, “Cat’s out of the bag then?” he asks with a hopeful look. You’re confused for a second before you bite your bottom lip with a small shrug, embarrassed.

“Yeah, sorry” you mumble before Barty tsks and pulls you into him, kissing you deeply. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this” he says against your lips.

You only smile and kiss him back

[jadeshifting]

★⋆. — HOGWARTS ELECTIVE CLASSES TO SCRIPT

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED ARTIFACTS

ever wanted to know how cursed rings, bewitched mirrors, and sentient diaries work? this course teaches you how to identify, dismantle, and (if you’re brave) create magical relics—you never know when you’ll need an enchanted necklace or a vanishing cabinet, i suppose

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING FASHION HISTORY

from the enchanted silks of the 1500s to robes that literally spark joy (or flames) in the 1900s, this elective dives into the who, what, and why tho of wizarding couture. you’ll learn how clothing reflected magical politics (hello, anti-Muggle fabrics), the most popular clothing charms over the centuries, and why Merlin’s pointy hat was such a massive deal at the time

𓆩♡𓆪 — CURSE REVERSAL

sometimes, magic backfires—this class teaches you how to undo everything from jinxed cauldrons to full-on blood curses. it’s half science, half art, and fully life-saving

𓆩♡𓆪 — HEALING

for the bleeding hearts (and bloody injuries). this elective teaches advanced healing charms, restorative potions, and how to fix the most catastrophic accidents without having to Floo to St. Mungo’s. class is split 50/50 between the healers of the next generation, and mischief makers that are so unhinged they have to heal themselves. this class sees all the good, the bad and the ugly

𓆩♡𓆪 — DRAGON STUDIES

learn all about the physicality, variety, and history of these dynamically unique creatures, and perhaps learn how to not get torched while studying them along the way. the course includes field trips (waivers from home and insurance spells VERY much required)

𓆩♡𓆪 — CHARMED CULINARY ARTS

enchanted cooking utensils will be your best friend as you navigate this course, learning to do everything in the kitchen from baking bread that sings to brewing drinks that bubble with magic. (house elves are assistants in this class, and you can always convince them to slip you an extra treat or two)

𓆩♡𓆪 — ADVANCED DIVINATION

tea leaves and crystal balls don’t even begin to scratch the surface of everything divination has to offer—if you’re a believer, and grounded enough to put up with the kooky professor. this course dives into obscure methods of divining the future: dream walking, cloud reading, rune casting, and much more. perfect for the more spiritually inclined students (or those who just enjoy the professor’s cryptic drama)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL FORESICS

got a Sherlock streak, or always wondered how the aurors do it? learn how to dissect magical crime scenes, trace hex signatures, and untangle the threads of a cursed crime

𓆩♡𓆪 — MINISTRY POLITICS & MAGICAL LAW

in this course that’s absolutely not for the academically faint, you’ll find yourself taking part in debates more than any other course. debate the ethics of using Veritaserum in court, or why house-elf labor laws are a mess. these students are likely future members of the Wizengamot

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED HOMEKEEPING

from self-sweeping brooms to magical security systems, think Martha Stewart meets The Standard Book of Spells. this course covers everything you need to know about using magic to run the most efficient household ever (you get a headache when you think about how Muggles do all of this without magic)

𓆩♡𓆪 — ALCHEMY: THE ART OF TRANSFORMARION

arguably the ultimate nerdy class—i’ve yet to meet a single person who wanted to handle the theories and coursework of this class. learn the secrets of transmutation, potion refinement, and (the whole thing’s pretty mysterious) all about the quest for immortality

𓆩♡𓆪 — SPELL CREATION THEORY

an elective created as the direct remedy for students making overeager and academically misguided attempts to make their own spells (some spells don’t exist for a reason, Fred and George.) learn the theory of how to craft spells from scratch and fine-tune them to your exact needs—perfect for the creatively chaotic. though, of course, you don’t actually make spells in class (that’s a direct ticket to St. Mungo’s)

𓆩♡𓆪 — THEORY & ETHICS OF NECROMANCY

strictly theoretical, of course (for legal reasons), this class dives into the magical theory of spirits’ existence, resurrection spells, and the history of necromancy. it also manages to cram most of one of the longest-standing debates in magical history into a year-long course (we can raise the dead, but should we? HM, i wonder)

𓆩♡𓆪 — WANDLESS MAGIC

if you’re someone who thinks ‘why bother with a wand when you are the magic?’ this course is for you—it trains you in wandless spellcasting, so you can cast even when you’ve “misplaced” your primary weapon

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING FOLKLORE

from ghostly greenhouses to the allegedly haunted halls of Hogwarts, from ancient fairy tales to horror stories that keep even the bravest wizards awake at night, this course covers all of the folklore and tall tales from centuries of wizarding history and storytelling

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED CARTOGRAPHY

i’m sure you already know that making an enchanted map is a skill that never goes out of style (cough, Marauder’s.) in this course, learn to create enchanted maps that move, update themselves, and accurately portray secret rooms and passageways (though they might not cover the more mischievous aspects in the course, i’m sure you can figure those out on your own time)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL ETHICS & PHILOSOPHY

all the way from time turners and truth serums to love potions and dementors, this course holds a magnifying glass to all the moral dilemmas of using magic in gray areas—just because you can hex someone doesn’t mean you should, and if you need a love potion, maybe you should reexamine some things first

𓆩♡𓆪 — QUIDDITCH ANALYTICS

a course all about the stats, spells, and tactics behind the wizarding worlds’ favorite sport. think of it as sabermetrics, but with broomsticks. students are an even split of quidditch players, and those who love quidditch without wanting to zoom hundreds of feet above the ground (understandable)

𓆩♡𓆪 — WANDLORE & CRAFTING

take your first step towards becoming the next Ollivander by studying wand woods, cores, and how to match them with their perfect witch or wizard. careful, your own wand might be open to more scrutiny than you’re accustomed to. warning: NOT a class for people with butterfingers

𓆩♡𓆪 — MOVING PHOTOGRAPHY

learn how to properly snap a good photo and develop moving pictures, charm them with special effects, and create photo albums that are magically cohesive enough to tell their own stories. with moving photos holding entire memories, someone always needs a good magical photographer

𓆩♡𓆪 — GRIMOIRE WRITING & SPELL JOURNALING

every great wizard of the past and present had a grimoire to keep track of their endless magical escapades. learn how to create your own spellbooks, safely document your findings, and make them impossible for dark wizards (or just nosy siblings) to read

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL LINGUISTICS

communication is key, whether it’s haggling with goblins, charming house-elves, or negotiating with dragons. this course helps you break through the language barrier—literally—to the entire wizarding world and all its species

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL JOURNALISM

for aspiring Rita Skeeters (hopefully no one, let’s make it ethical), this course covers investigative reporting, spell-resistant quills, following the honor code of interviewing and writing, and even some tips on how to charm the Daily Prophet editors with your work and score a job in the journalism field. NO Quick-Quotes Quills allowed, ever !!

𓆩♡𓆪 — TIME MANIPULATION THEORY

absolutely no time-turners allowed, despite learning all about them. learn the ethical and practical implications of bending time, including nearly every historical horror story of witches and wizards who got a little spin-happy with the power. (does the course only exist as a big fat warning for the students who are granted use of a time turner? we’ll never know—but yes, probably)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MUSIC & ENCHANTED COMPOSITION

a course taken by many of the choir members, which allows you to delve deep into the magic behind musical spells, how to ethically enchant instruments for killer performances, and both writing and performing magical compositions. don’t mind the frogs in class, they’re brushing up on their technique, too

𓆩♡𓆪 — SPELL COMBAT TACTICS

this course covers a mix of strategic dueling with battlefield planning, as it covers pretty much every notable magical duel and battle in history. perfect for those angling to join the Aurors, or those who are just looking to win every wizarding duel

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING THEATER

this course involves combining drama with charms to bring stories literally to life on stage. props are enchanted and can interact with the actors, the weather matches each set, and actors might just float mid-scene. students can sharpen their acting and set enchantment skills to hopefully be on one of the great wizarding stages one day (or working behind the scenes of one)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MUGGLE STUDIES: ADVANCED INTEGRATION

forget the “what’s a toaster?” training-wheels shit—this course is about truly blending wizarding ingenuity with Muggle innovation. a popular course among muggleborn students, who have the opportunity to actually use their heritage in their favor to explore a whole world of social and magical possibilities

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[elikajinnie]

Crossing The Line - Y.J

P: Hufflepuff!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Trope: Friends To Lovers

Warnings: Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Synopsis: When you receive your Hogwarts letter and meet Yang Jungwon on the Hogwarts Express, an innocent friendship blossoms into something deeper over the years.

a/n: oh boy.. here we go!! more angst!!! fun fact! i actually reinstalled hogwarts mystery again.. heh. and i love the fact that you guys keep calling the series immersive!!

masterlist

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

The platform was bustling with excited chatter and the hiss of steam as you stood with your parents at King's Cross Station, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. Platform 9¾ stretched out before you, the scarlet train waiting to take you to a place you'd only heard about—Hogwarts. With a final hug and well wishes from your parents, you stepped through the barrier and made your way toward the train.

You found an empty compartment, pushing open the door with a quiet creak. Hefting your suitcase, you placed it in the overhead compartment before sinking into the plush seat by the window. Your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the edge of your sweater, trying to calm your racing heart. The door slid open, and you looked up to see a boy standing there, his sharp, cat-like eyes watching you curiously.

"Excuse me, can I sit here? Everywhere else is full," he asked, his voice warm and polite.

You nodded, offering a small smile. His face lit up as he smiled back, revealing dimples that deepened his expression. You widened your eyes slightly, finding the sight unexpectedly cute.

He quickly stashed his suitcase overhead before taking the seat across from you. His attention shifted to the scenery, eyes wide with wonder as he gazed out the window. The train rumbled to life, beginning its journey, and you decided to pull out your book about Hogwarts, hoping to absorb some last-minute knowledge before arriving.

But it seemed your quiet moment of reading was the perfect cue for him to strike up a conversation. "My name is Yang Jungwon! What's yours?" His smile was wide and friendly, and you couldn't help but return it.

You introduced yourself softly, and his grin only grew wider. "Nice to meet you!" he beamed, the excitement in his voice contagious.

"Nice to meet you too," you replied, feeling your nerves ease as the two of you began to talk about anything and everything—family, Hogwarts, what house you thought you'd end up in.

Before long, a voice interrupted your conversation. "Anything from the trolley, dears?"

You both turned to see the trolley lady, her cart brimming with an assortment of magical sweets. Your face brightened as you dug into your pocket, pulling out a few coins your mother had given you. "I'll take some chocolate frogs, please," you said, and Jungwon chimed in quickly.

"Add on some Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans!" He handed over his coins with a grin.

Back in your seats, you and Jungwon tore open the packages, sharing the sweets between you. You tried to keep hold of your chocolate frog, but it leapt out of your grip and hopped right out the door, leaving you with just the card. A smile tugged at your lips when you saw a witch you hadn't collected yet.

Beside you, Jungwon popped a jelly bean into his mouth and immediately made a face. "Soap…" he groaned, looking at you in dismay.

You giggled, intrigued, and picked one up for yourself. You grinned after tasting it. "Marshmallow," you said with a laugh, earning a playful groan from Jungwon as he slumped back in his seat, defeated by the beans.

As the Hogwarts Express began to slow, the familiar buzz of excitement filled the air. You and Jungwon exchanged glances, knowing it was time to change into your robes, the thick fabric a comforting weight on your shoulders.

When the train finally came to a stop, you struggled a bit with the overhead compartment, trying to reach your suitcase.

“Here, let me help,” Jungwon offered, his voice gentle as he stood up beside you. He reached up, effortlessly pulling your suitcase down and handing it to you with a bright smile. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you said, a warmth spreading through your chest as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

Stepping off the train, you were immediately greeted by the cool night air and the sound of a deep voice calling, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over here!” Hagrid stood, towering over the sea of students, ushering the first-years toward the boats.

You and Jungwon hurried over to the shore, where the small, enchanted boats awaited. Without needing to say anything, the two of you naturally climbed into one together. As the boat gently glided over the glassy surface of the Black Lake, the towering silhouette of Hogwarts Castle appeared in the distance, glowing softly against the dark sky. You felt a flutter of nerves, but beside you, Jungwon was staring wide-eyed at the castle, his mouth slightly open in awe.

“This is amazing,” he whispered, his breath visible in the cool air.

You smiled, nodding in agreement, though your stomach was now a tight knot of anticipation. The boat journey felt like it lasted both a second and a lifetime, and before you knew it, you were stepping onto the shore. The grand castle doors loomed ahead as you joined the group of students making their way toward the Great Hall.

Inside, the ceiling glittered with stars, a sea of floating candles lighting the massive room. As you walked, your hand brushed against Jungwon's, and at some point, without even realizing it, you found your fingers laced together. The warmth of his hand in yours kept your nerves at bay as you both took in the majesty of the hall.

Suddenly, the Sorting Hat was brought out, and one by one, students were called forward. The tension built as you watched each name get sorted into a house, and before long, you heard your name.

Your heart raced as you stepped forward, hands trembling slightly as you sat on the stool and the Sorting Hat was placed on your head. The brim fell over your eyes, and for a moment, everything went quiet.

"Hmm… tricky. You've got bravery, no doubt, but there’s also a thirst for knowledge. A good heart, too… I know just where to put you," the Sorting Hat murmured.

When it called out your house, the hall erupted into cheers from the table. You stood up, catching Jungwon’s eye as he grinned widely, giving you a thumbs up from where he stood in line.

Not long after, it was his turn. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it cried, “Hufflepuff!”

The Hufflepuff table roared with excitement as Jungwon made his way over, flashing you a smile that seemed even brighter under the candlelight.

A few weeks later, you and Jungwon sat outside the Herbology classroom, basking in the warm afternoon sun. You had developed a habit of meeting before classes, sneaking moments together between your different schedules. Today, the atmosphere felt especially peaceful, the school grounds quiet except for the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Jungwon had been oddly quiet for a while, focused on something in his hands. When you glanced over, you noticed he had woven a ring out of small flowers and grass. His fingers moved with care, and soon, he held up the delicate creation with a satisfied smile.

“For you,” he said softly, reaching over and gently slipping the flower ring onto your finger.

You stared at it for a moment, touched by the gesture. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

Jungwon leaned back, grinning. “I made it because… well, I wanted us to make a promise.” His tone was softer now, more serious. “Let’s always be friends, no matter what happens, okay?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you looked at the flower ring on your finger before meeting his eyes. Without hesitation, you nodded, smiling at him with a sense of certainty. “Always.”

The two of you sat there, hands linked again, the flower ring resting between your fingers as a quiet symbol of a bond that neither time nor magic could ever break.

The years passed swiftly, and through it all, you and Jungwon remained inseparable. From attending classes to studying in the library late into the night, to sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest on dares, there was rarely a moment where you weren’t by each other’s side.

By the time you reached your fourth year, Hogwarts had become your home in every sense. The once-imposing castle corridors now felt familiar, but even after years of wandering, there were still hidden places that remained a mystery to most students.

It was on one of these afternoons, when you were distracted by a muggle novel one of your friends had lent you, that you stumbled upon a new discovery. Lost in the pages of the book, you absentmindedly wandered down unfamiliar corridors, barely paying attention to where your feet were leading you. By the time you looked up from the words, you realized you were somewhere entirely new.

The hallway was dimly lit, the paintings on the walls peering down at you with curiosity. Their whispered voices echoed faintly as they observed you, as if intrigued by the rare visitor. You hadn’t seen anyone else around for what felt like ages.

You glanced around, taking in the quiet, shadowy atmosphere and wondering how you’d ended up here. It wasn’t a place you’d passed by before, but it didn’t feel threatening—just secluded, like a pocket of Hogwarts forgotten by most. After a few minutes of cautious exploring, you managed to retrace your steps, finding your way back to the grand staircase.

The discovery had intrigued you, and your first thought was to share it with Jungwon. The next day, you brought him back to the hallway, excitement bubbling in your chest as you led him behind a griffin statue, down the winding path near the kitchens. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw the hidden space.

“Woah… How did you even find this?” Jungwon asked, his cat-like eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I was just wandering around, not paying attention,” you admitted sheepishly. “But look—no one ever comes here! It’s like our own secret place.”

From that day on, the hallway became your private hideaway. Whenever you wanted a break from the busy castle or just needed a quiet moment, you and Jungwon would slip away, sharing sweets and laughing over small things. The portraits on the walls had grown fond of you both, sometimes chatting with you or simply observing in silent approval. Even the house-elves in the nearby kitchen grew used to your visits, bringing you snacks or drinks whenever they saw you lounging in your little corner.

It was nice—no, it was perfect. But as time went on, something began to change, at least for you.

At first, it was subtle. Maybe it was the way Jungwon’s laughter seemed to linger in your ears longer than it used to, or how you found yourself noticing little details about him more and more—the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his dimple appeared every time he laughed, how he absentmindedly played with the hem of his sleeves when he was nervous. Little things that, in years past, you would have brushed off as normal.

But now, they made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand.

You would sit together, sharing sweets or reading quietly, and you’d catch yourself watching him. Your thoughts would drift, wondering what it would be like to hold his hand not just out of comfort, but because you wanted to. What it would feel like to be closer to him, in a way that wasn’t just friendship.

It was confusing at first—how could you start to see Jungwon in this new light after being best friends for so long? You didn’t know if it was something that had slowly grown over time or if it was just hitting you all at once now, but the more time you spent with him, the harder it was to ignore the feelings stirring inside you.

One day, as you both sat in the hidden hallway, Jungwon was weaving another ring out of flowers, something he had taken to doing often since that first time years ago. He looked so focused, his fingers nimble as they twisted the stems into delicate shapes, and your heart ached as you watched him.

“I made this one for you,” he said, holding up the ring with a bright smile, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside you.

You took the flower ring from him, sliding it onto your finger just like you had done countless times before. But this time, it felt different. Your chest tightened, and you wondered if Jungwon could ever see you in the same way you were starting to see him.

“It’s perfect,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked at the ring, then back at him. He beamed at you, that same dimpled smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

You started noticing all the little things Jungwon did for you—the small gestures that had once been background noise now stood out, each one making your heart race in ways you weren’t quite ready to admit.

It began with the smallest moments.

One evening in the library, you were hunched over your books, trying to finish an essay on Transfiguration. The stress had built up, and your mind felt like it was going in circles. Jungwon was sitting across from you, focused on his own homework, but he must have noticed your frustration. Without a word, he reached across the table and slid a piece of chocolate toward you.

"Thought you could use a break," he said, flashing you his signature dimpled smile.

You stared at the chocolate for a moment, your heart doing an odd little flip. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like this, but now, it felt different. There was a warmth in your chest that hadn’t been there before, a growing awareness of how thoughtful he was, how much he paid attention to the smallest details about you.

You took the chocolate, feeling your face flush as you mumbled a quiet, "Thanks."

Then there were the times when he'd wait for you outside your classroom, his smile lighting up the corridor when you appeared. Even on days when you were running late or had been too busy to tell him your plans, somehow, Jungwon always seemed to know where you’d be.

It wasn’t just the small things, though. There were bigger moments that made your heart skip in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Like when he defended you during a particularly tense Quidditch match. The Slytherin team had been throwing jabs your way, trying to get under your skin. You had shrugged it off, not wanting to make a scene, but Jungwon had noticed immediately.

After the game, when one of the players made a snide comment as they walked past, Jungwon had stepped in without hesitation.

"Hey, back off," he said, his usually soft voice firm and unwavering. His eyes were sharp, protective. The Slytherin player backed down with a smirk, muttering something under their breath, but you had barely noticed. You were too busy watching Jungwon, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, the way he stood up for you so naturally.

"Thanks," you had whispered, feeling a rush of something more than gratitude. He turned to you, his expression softening immediately as he shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"Of course," he said, smiling at you again. "No one messes with my best friend."

Those words—best friend—should have reassured you, but instead, they only made your heart ache more. Because now, every time he smiled at you like that, all you could think about was how much you wished he could see you as something more.

Then came the day when you were both back in your secret hallway, hidden behind the griffin statue like always. You had shared sweets, talking about nothing and everything, the same way you had since your first year. Jungwon had pulled out his wand and was absentmindedly casting small charms on the sweets, making them float or change colors as you both laughed.

At some point, you had leaned against his shoulder without thinking, the proximity between you feeling so natural. His warmth seeped through the fabric of his robe, and you felt a sense of comfort that was almost intoxicating. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of his steady breathing, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

Until you realized your heart was pounding in your chest, and it wasn’t because of the magic or the laughter—it was because of him.

You sat up suddenly, your face heating up as you put some space between you. Jungwon looked at you, confused by your sudden movement. "You okay?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes filled with concern.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, avoiding his gaze as you fidgeted with the sleeve of your robe. "Just... lost in thought."

He gave you a soft smile, not pushing the subject, and went back to practicing his charms. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed inside you. This wasn’t just a crush—it was more than that. The realization hit you like a wave: you were falling for him, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

From the way his smile made your stomach flip, to the sound of his laugh that made your day instantly brighter, it was becoming harder and harder to deny your feelings. Every moment with Jungwon felt like a blessing and a curse—because while you cherished every second by his side, you couldn’t help but wish for more.

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

It was a quiet evening in the common room, the soft crackling of the fireplace filling the space as you sat with a group of your friends, sprawled out on one of the couches.

One of your friends, Alice, was seated next to you, idly flipping through a textbook. She glanced up, noticing the distant look in your eyes. “You’ve been pretty distracted lately,” she said with a smirk. “Anything on your mind?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “What? No, nothing!” you replied quickly, a bit too quickly, which only made Alice’s smirk grow wider.

“Oh, really?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been daydreaming for the past ten minutes. Who’s the lucky person?”

Your other friends, Ben and Amelia, perked up at the conversation, their attention now fully on you. “Yeah, come on,” Ben teased, leaning forward. “What’s got you so spaced out?”

You could feel your face starting to heat up, and you quickly looked back down at your homework, trying to brush it off. “I’m not daydreaming! I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking about Jungwon?” Amelia chimed in with a grin, her voice lilting in that sing-songy way that made your stomach drop.

At the mention of his name, you felt your cheeks flush even more. You tried to play it cool, but the way your hand fumbled over the quill you were holding gave you away. “W-What? No!” you stammered, suddenly feeling the heat of all their gazes on you.

“Oh my Merlin, it is Jungwon!” Alice exclaimed, her eyes wide with realization. “I knew it! You’ve been acting all weird around him lately.”

“No, I haven’t!” you protested, your heart pounding now, but your friends weren’t buying it. They exchanged knowing looks, grins spreading across their faces as if they had just uncovered the greatest secret of the century.

Amelia giggled, leaning in closer. “You totally have a crush on him, don’t you?”

Your face was now practically on fire. “I do not!” you said, a little too defensively, which only made them laugh harder.

“Oh, you so do!” Ben said, laughing as he nudged Alice. “Look at how red she is!”

Your friends’ laughter echoed in the common room, and you felt a surge of embarrassment wash over you. “I don’t have a crush!” you repeated, but the more you tried to deny it, the more they teased you, their laughter growing louder.

Alice leaned back on the couch, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Come on, just admit it! You’re totally into him!”

“I’m not!” you shot back, but you could hear the desperation in your own voice now, and you knew it was useless.

“Look at her blush!” Amelia teased, poking your arm. “She’s so smitten!”

That was it. You slammed your book shut and jumped to your feet. “I’m not smitten!” you cried, but your friends were already laughing hysterically, darting off the couch and scattering around the common room as you stood there, flustered and red-faced.

Alice was the first to make a break for it, running toward the stairs, but you were quicker. “Get back here!” you shouted, chasing after her as she squealed in delight.

“Admit it, and I’ll stop teasing you!” Alice called over her shoulder, laughing as she dodged around a chair.

“Never!” you yelled back, lunging at her, but she was too fast, slipping away as Ben and Amelia joined in the laughter, clapping and cheering from the sidelines.

“You’ll never catch me!” Alice teased, dancing just out of your reach, her laughter infectious.

You chased her around the common room, your face still burning with embarrassment but now mixed with a strange sense of relief. Your friends’ teasing, though relentless, wasn’t mean-spirited. They had noticed something you weren’t quite ready to admit, and as much as it flustered you, there was something almost comforting in knowing that they had your back.

Finally, after several more failed attempts to grab Alice, you collapsed back onto the couch, out of breath and laughing despite yourself. Your friends joined you, all of them still grinning.

“You know we’re just teasing,” Ben said, his tone softening slightly as he gave you a playful nudge. “But seriously, you should tell him.”

You bit your lip, your heart racing at the thought. “Tell him what?” you asked, still trying to play innocent, though you knew exactly what he meant.

“That you like him, obviously,” Amelia chimed in, her voice gentle now. “You never know, he might feel the same way.”

You fell silent for a moment, staring at your hands as your heart fluttered at the possibility. The thought of telling Jungwon how you felt terrified you, but at the same time, the idea that he might feel the same way filled you with a strange sense of hope.

“Well,” you said softly, glancing up at your friends, “maybe one day…”

They all exchanged knowing smiles, and though the teasing wasn’t over, there was a new understanding between you all. They knew how much Jungwon meant to you, and now, so did you.

Despite your friends’ teasing and their insistence that you tell Jungwon how you felt, you kept your feelings to yourself. You thought that, maybe over time, they would fade, that you’d eventually stop seeing him in this new light and things would go back to normal.

But that didn’t happen.

The years continued to pass, and your crush on Jungwon only deepened. It was impossible not to fall harder with every kind gesture, every shared laugh, every late-night conversation. He was always there, by your side, his familiar smile brightening even the dullest of days.

But to Jungwon, you were just friends. Best friends, yes—but still just friends.

Right?

That thought echoed in your mind constantly. He had never treated you differently, never given any indication that he felt something more. You tried to convince yourself that maybe it was better this way. It was safer to stay in the comfort of friendship than to risk everything by confessing your feelings.

Even though each time he smiled at you, your heart felt like it might burst.

It was fifth year when you really started to notice the ache in your chest, the one that came with being so close to someone you cared about but knowing they could never see you the way you saw them. Every time Jungwon would sit next to you in class, casually slinging his arm over your chair, you’d feel a jolt of excitement—only to remind yourself that to him, it meant nothing more than friendship.

And that hurt more than you cared to admit.

One evening, the two of you were sitting by the lake, your secret spot for late-night talks and quiet moments away from the bustle of the castle. The moon reflected off the surface of the water, casting a soft glow over everything. Jungwon was lying on the grass beside you, arms behind his head, his eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of the night.

You sat beside him, knees pulled to your chest, staring out at the peaceful scene in front of you. But your mind wasn’t on the lake. It was on the boy next to you, the boy who had no idea how much space he took up in your heart.

He suddenly turned his head to look at you, his cat-like eyes catching the moonlight. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said softly. “Is everything okay?”

Your heart clenched at the concern in his voice. Of course, he would notice. He always noticed when something was bothering you. You forced a smile, trying to push away the ache in your chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

He nodded, his gaze returning to the sky. “You think too much sometimes,” he said with a small smile. “You should relax more.”

Relax. How could you possibly relax when every time you looked at him, you felt like your heart was about to explode? How could you relax when he was so close, yet so far from seeing what you really wanted?

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “maybe I should.”

Sixth year came, and with it, a whirlwind of OWL exams and the pressure of preparing for your future careers. But no matter how busy things got, Jungwon was always there, a constant presence in your life. You spent nearly every free moment together, studying in the library, practicing spells by the lake, sneaking down to the kitchens for midnight snacks.

You told yourself that this was enough—that being his best friend was enough. But every time his hand brushed against yours, or he leaned in a little too close during a whispered conversation, your heart betrayed you, and you longed for something more.

It was one afternoon in the library, while you were both cramming for a Potions test, that it hit you harder than ever.

Jungwon had been going over notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. You watched him from across the table, the way he absentmindedly play with the end of his quill, the way his dimple appeared when he smiled at a particularly clever comment in his notes. He looked up suddenly, catching your gaze, and grinned.

“What?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Do I have something on my face?”

You quickly averted your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “No, nothing,” you muttered, focusing intently on your own notes, though you could barely read the words.

He laughed softly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re acting weird again. Are you sure you’re not hiding something?”

Your heart raced at the question, and for a split second, you thought about telling him. Telling him everything that had been weighing on your heart for years now. But the fear of losing him as a friend, of ruining the closeness you had, kept you silent.

“Just stressed about Potions,” you lied, forcing a laugh to cover up the tightness in your chest.

He seemed to accept that answer, nodding and returning to his notes. But as you watched him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding on to something that might never happen—that Jungwon, as kind and caring as he was, could never see you as anything more than his best friend.

By the end of sixth year, you had reached your breaking point. The weight of your feelings for Jungwon, the constant ache of wanting more than just friendship, had become too much to bear. You couldn't keep pining after him, pretending that things were fine when they weren't. Something had to change.

So you made a decision: you were going to stop. You had to pull yourself together, push these feelings down, and distance yourself from him. It was the only way to protect your heart. You told yourself that it was the right thing to do—that pushing Jungwon away was the solution. After all, seeing him less would surely make your feelings fade, wouldn’t it?

During the summer vacation, you began to put your plan into action. You kept your letters to Jungwon short, barely replying to his longer, enthusiastic ones. Where you used to share every little detail of your day with him, now you wrote only the essentials. When he suggested meeting up, you always had an excuse ready—something to do, someone else to meet, or simply that you were too tired.

The first time you met up that summer, you barely stayed an hour before making up a reason to leave. Jungwon had looked confused but didn’t question it, smiling and waving you off with a casual "See you later." You ignored the pang in your chest as you walked away from him, fighting the urge to turn around and stay with him like you always had before.

But each time you cut your outings short, it became a little easier to ignore the pain. You convinced yourself that this was the right thing to do—that it was better to let your feelings fade quietly than to risk ruining everything by holding on.

When seventh year started, you kept your distance. You made a point to sit with other friends in the Great Hall, pretending you didn’t notice the way Jungwon would search for you before sitting down at the Hufflepuff table. During classes, you were careful to position yourself far enough away that you wouldn’t have to talk to him too much. Even when you did cross paths, you kept your conversations short and casual, never letting them stray into the deep, personal talks you used to have.

At first, Jungwon didn’t seem to notice. He was still his usual cheerful self, flashing you his dimpled smile whenever he saw you in the corridors, waving as if nothing had changed. But as the weeks went on, he started to look at you with something like confusion in his eyes. He’d ask if you wanted to go to the library together or sneak down to the kitchens like you used to, but you’d always make an excuse—too much homework, too tired, plans with other friends.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever done, pushing him away like this. Every time you saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes when you turned him down, it made your heart ache even more. But you reminded yourself that this was for the best. The more distance you put between you, the more your feelings would fade. That was the only way to stop hurting, right?

But you were so focused on your own despair, on trying to suppress your feelings, that you didn’t notice how much this was hurting him.

It was nearing the end of October when the first cracks in your plan started to show.

You had just finished dinner in the Great Hall and were about to head back to your common room when you saw Jungwon waiting by the entrance, his usual bright expression dimmed. He caught your eye, and before you could slip away, he called out to you, "Hey, can we talk?"

There was something different in his voice—quieter, more serious. You hesitated but nodded, following him out into the corridor where it was quieter.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Jungwon seemed to be searching for the right words, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he avoided your gaze.

"Have I… done something wrong?" he finally asked, his voice soft, but there was a vulnerability in his tone that sent a sharp pang through your chest.

You blinked, caught off guard. "What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

He looked at you then, his cat-like eyes filled with confusion and hurt. "It’s just… you’ve been different lately. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore, and when we do, it feels like you’re always trying to leave." He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "I don’t know if I did something, but if I did, I’m sorry. I just… I miss you."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the guilt crashing down on you all at once. You hadn’t realized how much your attempts at distancing yourself had hurt him. You had been so wrapped up in your own heartache, in trying to protect yourself, that you hadn’t seen how much it had affected Jungwon.

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?” he asked, his voice breaking a little. “I thought we were best friends. But it feels like you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

The words "best friends" echoed in your mind, reverberating painfully in your chest. The way Jungwon said it, so full of hurt and confusion, made your heart twist in ways you couldn’t describe. He didn’t know, didn’t understand the battle raging inside you—the struggle of wanting to stay close, but feeling like you had to let go for your own sanity.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything to make things right, but before the words could form, it was like a lifeline appeared from nowhere.

“Hey, I need your he—” Ben’s voice cut through the heavy silence between you and Jungwon as he approached from down the hall. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes flicking between the two of you. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

The tension between you and Jungwon was palpable, and for a brief second, you saw Jungwon’s hopeful expression falter, his eyes still locked on yours. Part of you wanted to stay, to explain, but the weight of the moment was too much to handle. You latched onto Ben’s interruption like it was heaven-sent.

“No, no. What do you need?” you asked, your voice shakier than you intended, already shifting away from Jungwon.

Ben blinked, clearly picking up on the tension but choosing not to comment on it. “Oh! Right. Come!” he said hurriedly, grabbing your arm with a light tug. “Just gotta borrow her for a bit!” he called over his shoulder as he steered you away from Jungwon.

You cast one last glance at Jungwon over your shoulder, your heart sinking at the sight of him standing alone in the hallway. His face had fallen, his eyes filled with a sadness you’d never seen before. He looked like he’d just been told something devastating, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders.

It felt like you’d ripped something vital away from him.

You turned back to Ben, feeling the guilt churn inside you as he led you down the corridor. Your chest tightened, but you kept walking, even though a part of you wanted to run back to Jungwon, to take it all back.

“Thanks for the save,” you muttered under your breath once you were out of earshot.

Ben glanced at you, brow furrowed in concern. “That looked intense. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, though the knot in your stomach told a different story.

But you weren’t fine, and neither was Jungwon. You could feel the weight of his sadness following you, even as you tried to convince yourself that this distance was for the best. Yet, as you walked away, all you could think about was the look on his face—the look of someone who had just realized they might be losing their best friend.

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

As the days turned into weeks, Jungwon's efforts to stay close to you became increasingly apparent. He would seek you out in the hallways, casually falling into step beside you, his bright smile a beacon of warmth amidst the growing distance you’d tried to create. No matter how many times you made excuses to keep him at arm’s length, he always seemed to find a way back into your orbit, his determination unwavering.

You’d see him at the library, buried in a book, and he’d look up to greet you with that familiar grin, the one that melted your resolve. “Hey! Want to join me? I could use a study buddy,” he’d say, and just like that, your heart would flutter. Each time you locked eyes with him, the excuse that lay on the tip of your tongue would die before it could escape your lips. You found yourself nodding, feeling weak for saying yes, but unable to resist his infectious enthusiasm.

During meals, he would slide into the seat beside you, making casual conversation with a bright-eyed eagerness that made your stomach twist. “Did you finish that Potions essay yet? I need to compare notes,” he’d say, leaning in a little too close, his cat-like eyes sparkling with mischief. You’d find it hard to focus on anything else but the way he always seemed so effortless, so effortlessly perfect, in that moment.

And then there were the times you’d walk to class together. Jungwon would nudge your shoulder with his, playfully teasing you about your latest mishaps or bringing up an inside joke that made you laugh despite yourself. Every time you tried to pull away, tried to create a little space, he would find a way to draw you back in with a charming smile or a lighthearted comment.

“Come on, don’t be like that!” he’d say when you tried to sidestep him after class. “We’re best friends, right? I miss hanging out like we used to.” His earnestness cut through your defenses like a hot knife through butter.

You’d feel that familiar ache in your chest at his words, the weight of longing and guilt crashing down on you. Because deep down, you knew the truth: You wanted to be close to him too. The distance you’d tried to create only made you miss him more, and no amount of pretending could erase the truth of how you felt.

But the more he tried to bridge the gap, the harder you found it to keep him at bay. Each time he would smile at you, it was like the universe was reminding you how weak you were against his charm, how you couldn’t bear to see that flicker of hurt in his eyes when you turned away.

It all came to a head one afternoon when Jungwon approached you as you were leaving Herbology class. He was waiting by the door, leaning casually against the wall, looking effortlessly charming with the sunlight filtering through the leaves behind him.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice bright. “Want to go grab some pumpkin pasties? I heard the house elves made a fresh batch, and you know they’re the best!”

Your heart raced at the suggestion. You wanted nothing more than to say yes, to spend time with him and enjoy those little moments that felt so comfortable. But a surge of guilt rushed through you, and the memory of your earlier resolution came flooding back. You opened your mouth to protest, to make some excuse, but then you saw his face—innocent, hopeful, and full of life.

In that moment, all the walls you had built came crashing down. The excuse died on your lips as his expression melted your defenses. You found yourself nodding, a soft smile breaking through your internal struggle. “Okay, pumpkin pasties sound great,” you finally said, your heart racing.

A grin spread across his face, and you felt your resolve weaken even further. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, you thought, trying to convince yourself that spending time with him wouldn’t be a mistake. After all, you could just enjoy his company, right? Just as friends.

But deep down, you knew it was never just that. As he fell into step beside you, a wave of warmth washed over you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were only delaying the inevitable.

The more you were together, the harder it would be to keep your feelings hidden, and the deeper you would fall. But as you walked side by side, laughing and talking as if nothing had changed, you realized that resisting him felt like fighting against the tide. And for now, you were too weak to say no.

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

You had finally convinced yourself that things were going back to normal. Jungwon was still the bright, carefree boy who always found a way to make you smile despite your internal turmoil. You had managed to keep your growing feelings buried under layers of friendship, convincing yourself that this was how it would always be.

It was winter vacation now, and you had packed your things to leave for home and spend Christmas with your family. You had one last thing to do before heading to the station: give Jungwon his Christmas present. You hadn’t seen him all morning, so after a quick check of the grounds, you decided to stop by the Great Hall, hoping to catch him before you left.

The hall was quieter than usual, a few students lingering at the long tables. You spotted one of your friends sitting near the Slytherin table, engaged in a heated game of wizard chess with a Slytherin boy.

“Hey, I’m leaving soon, how’s it going?” you asked, sitting beside her as she commanded her knight to move forward, knocking out a tower piece with a loud crash.

"Okay so far,” she muttered, clearly frustrated by the game. “Knight to B4."

You watched the game with mild interest but your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers nervously played with the gift you had for Jungwon. You’d picked it out weeks ago, wrapping it in a small red and gold package. You hadn’t worked up the nerve to give it to him earlier, but now, with the looming holiday, you couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Have you seen Jungwon?” you mumbled, glancing around the hall.

Your friend shook her head, eyes still focused on the board. “No, sorry. Haven’t seen him all morning.”

“Bloody hell!” she cursed as the Slytherin boy made a move that seemed to catch her off guard, sending one of her knights tumbling. You couldn’t help but smile at her frustration, though your thoughts were still preoccupied with finding Jungwon before you left.

“Have you told him yet?” your friend suddenly asked, turning her attention to you with a raised brow.

You stiffened immediately, your eyes darting to the Slytherin boy sitting across from her, trying to gauge if he was paying attention. He had a reputation for being a bit of a troublemaker, and you didn’t want anyone knowing about your secret crush on Jungwon—least of all some nosy Slytherin.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I haven’t said anything, and I’m not going to.”

Your friend groaned. “Come on! The year is almost over! You can’t live the rest of your life without confessing to him!”

“I think that’s exactly how I’m going to live, thank you very much,” you muttered, glancing down at the present in your hands.

"You can't just resolve to that! Think about Jungwon—"

Before you could respond, the Slytherin boy, clearly more aware of the conversation than you’d realized, suddenly blurted out in a loud voice, “Wait—you have a crush on Ju—?!”

Panic shot through you like lightning. Without thinking, you whipped out your wand, pointing it directly at him. “Silencio!”

The boy’s mouth instantly sealed shut, his eyes widening as he frantically touched his lips, trying to speak but failing.

You sighed in relief, lowering your wand as the embarrassment burned hot under your skin. You could hear your heart thundering in your ears, praying that no one else had heard him.

But then, like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured over you, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“What was that?”

Your blood ran cold as you turned around to see Jungwon standing just a few feet away, an amused yet confused expression on his face. His eyes flickered between you, your friend, and the Slytherin boy with the silenced mouth.

“Oh! Nothing! Nothing!” you blurted out, your voice coming out much too high-pitched. Desperation clawed at you as you tried to think of an escape.

Without thinking, you thrust the present into Jungwon’s hands, your face burning with a mix of panic and embarrassment. “Here! Merry Christmas!” you said in a rush, not even giving him a chance to respond before you turned on your heel.

“See ya!” you called over your shoulder, barely hearing his confused response as you quickly made your way to the door.

Before he could ask any more questions, or worse—before you could see the realization in his eyes—you apparated, leaving the Great Hall, Jungwon, and your mortifying secret behind.

But even as you vanished, the feeling of dread remained, sinking deep into your chest. You had a sinking suspicion that this was far from over.

Jungwon stood there, completely baffled, his eyes darting between where you had just disappeared and the sight of your friend, now dragging the silenced Slytherin boy away.

“Merry Christmas, Jungwon!” your friend called out, giving him a sheepish wave, while struggling to keep the Slytherin from escaping her grip. The Slytherin boy looked desperate, his mouth still magically sealed, gesturing wildly like he had something extremely important to say.

Jungwon frowned, even more confused now. “Uh, yeah… Merry Christmas…” he mumbled back, though his voice trailed off as he watched them disappear out of the Great Hall.

Once again, he found himself standing there, alone, confusion swirling in his mind. His heart sank a little, a feeling that had been happening far too often recently. Why had you rushed off so suddenly? You’d barely said a word to him, and now you were gone, just like that. And that Slytherin boy—what had he been trying to say?

Jungwon let out a sigh, feeling a strange ache in his chest as he looked down at the gift in his hands. It was small but carefully wrapped, the red and gold paper neatly folded with a ribbon tied around it. He could see the care you’d put into wrapping it, and for a moment, his heart warmed. He ran his fingers over the smooth wrapping paper, caressing it gently, lost in thought.

The gift felt personal—intimate, even—and that made the confusion gnaw at him even more. Why had you been acting so distant lately? He thought everything between you two was fine, but in recent weeks, there had been this unspoken tension hanging in the air, and he didn’t understand why. Every time he tried to get close to you, you’d pull away, always with some excuse or sudden distraction. Yet here you were, giving him a Christmas present with a sense of urgency that left him reeling.

Jungwon sighed again, holding the present tightly in his hands. He was used to spending time with you—best friends, you’d always said—but this year had been different. Something had shifted, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He glanced back at the empty space where you’d stood moments before, your rushed goodbye still echoing in his ears. A frown tugged at the corners of his lips as the confusion settled deeper inside him.

What is going on with you? he wondered.

With a heavy heart, Jungwon turned and left the Great Hall, the neatly wrapped present still clutched in his hands. As he walked back to the Hufflepuff common room, the only sound accompanying him was the soft crinkle of the gift’s wrapping beneath his fingers.

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

Christmas morning was filled with the warmth of your family’s laughter and the soft glow of the tree lights. You sat with your family, unwrapping presents one by one. The room was filled with the scent of pine and hot chocolate, and the crackling fire provided a cozy backdrop to the happy chatter. As you opened your presents, your fingers brushed against one package in particular—Jungwon’s gift.

Your heart skipped a beat as you carefully peeled back the wrapping paper. Inside was a collection of small items, thoughtful things that you had mentioned to him over the years—like a special bookmark you had once admired, a cute keychain shaped like a cat, and even a few snacks you loved. You couldn’t help but smile softly, touched by how much attention he had paid to every little detail.

But then, nestled in the middle of the box, something else caught your attention—a flower ring. Your breath hitched, and memories flooded back instantly. It was just like the ones he used to make for you, back when you two would sit outside the Herbology classroom, weaving together daisies or wildflowers. You carefully picked up the delicate ring, holding it between your fingers as a bittersweet warmth spread through your chest.

Excusing yourself quietly from the festive atmosphere, you slipped away to your room, clutching the flower ring in your hand. Once inside, you went to your suitcase, still sitting by the foot of your bed, untouched since you arrived home. You unzipped it and pulled out a small wooden chest from the bottom of your clothes. With a deep breath, you took out a tiny key you kept on a chain and unlocked the chest.

Inside were all the flower rings Jungwon had made for you over the years. Each one carefully preserved, kept fresh and vibrant thanks to a charm you had created. The flowers hadn’t withered or faded at all—they looked as alive as the day he gave them to you. You stared at them for a moment, your heart heavy with the weight of the memories they carried.

You gently placed the new ring inside, its delicate petals fitting perfectly with the others. For a moment, you just sat there, looking at the collection of flower rings.

You had tried so hard to push him away, yet here you were, still treasuring every little thing he gave you. Your heart ached, and you knew that no matter how much distance you tried to put between you and Jungwon, he would always be a part of you.

Meanwhile, back at his home, Jungwon was sitting by his family’s Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and the sound of his siblings playing nearby. He had just finished opening presents from his family when he finally reached yours. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he carefully unwrapped it.

Inside, he found a selection of sweets—pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans—the same treats you two had shared over the years. He chuckled softly, remembering all the times you had sat together, laughing at the strange flavors and chasing after runaway chocolate frogs.

But what caught his attention most was a small box tucked underneath the sweets. He opened it to find a silver necklace with a delicate latch. Curiously, he opened the locket, and his heart swelled when he saw the tiny moving picture inside. It was a magical photograph of the two of you as kids, hugging each other and laughing.

Jungwon’s mind flashed back to that moment. Your faces were flushed from eating too much candy, and you had been too hyper for his grandmother to get a proper picture. You had kept bouncing around, giggling uncontrollably, but somehow she had managed to capture this one perfect moment—a snapshot of pure joy and innocence.

A soft smile spread across his face as he closed the locket and put the necklace on, letting it hang around his neck. The weight of the memory pressed gently against his heart. You had always been there for him, through every laugh and every quiet moment. Even now, despite the distance that had grown between you recently, you were still his best friend, and this gift was a reminder of that bond.

But as he sat there, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the locket, a flicker of something deeper tugged at his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between you two, even if he couldn’t quite put it into words.

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

After Christmas break, you threw yourself into your studies, determined to keep your mind off everything. Spending time with your friends became a welcome distraction, and although you and Jungwon still talked, it was nothing like it used to be. The effortless conversations and shared moments now felt strained and few. You told yourself it was for the best.

You were also relieved to see that your friend had seemingly handled the Slytherin boy who had nearly spilled your secret before the break. You had no idea how she’d managed it, but he had kept his mouth shut, and for that, you were grateful. Maybe, just maybe, this would all blow over.

But deep down, you knew you were never that lucky.

It was during Potions class when it all started to unravel. A flying note fluttered towards you, landing on your desk with a light thud. You frowned, glancing around before snatching it from the air. Your heart sank as soon as you opened it.

“Have a little crush now, do we?”

You stiffened, panic creeping in as you turned your head to see two Slytherins smirking at you from across the room. Their smug faces made your stomach churn. You glared at them, trying to look unfazed, but the anxiety bubbling inside you was impossible to ignore.

Great, you thought bitterly, just when I thought life couldn’t get any worse.

The Slytherin boy had obviously snitched, despite whatever threats your friend had used to keep him quiet. Of course, it wasn’t enough. It never was.

After class, you didn’t waste time. You stormed up to the two Slytherins, heart pounding. “You two better keep your mouths shut,” you snapped, voice low and threatening.

One of them, a tall boy with a smug grin, raised an eyebrow. “And why should we do that? What’s in it for us?”

“Because he can’t know!” you hissed, your voice breaking with a hint of desperation.

“Fine, fine,” the other boy said with a dismissive wave, but you didn’t trust it for a second. Their smirks said it all—they were playing a game, and you were at their mercy.

Your worst fears came true sooner than you’d imagined.

You were sitting in the courtyard with a few friends, enjoying the afternoon. You had almost forgotten about the note, about the smirking Slytherins. That is, until Jungwon approached.

“Hey…” His voice was soft but unsure, and immediately, your stomach twisted. “Do you… do you have a crush on me?” he asked, his voice hesitant but piercing.

The words hit you like a thunderclap, and you froze, your heart thudding in your chest.

No. No, no, no.

“What!? Where did you hear that?” you asked, feigning confusion, but your voice wavered.

Jungwon looked down, fidgeting awkwardly. “Somewhere… but is it true?”

You could feel your friends’ eyes on you, their silent encouragement hanging in the air. But all you felt was dread. You swallowed hard, your palms sweaty as you avoided Jungwon’s gaze.

“I…” you started, barely above a whisper. The weight of the truth was suffocating. You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “Yes. I do. I’ve liked you since fourth year,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

“Oh…” Jungwon began, and the moment you heard his tone, your heart shattered. You already knew what he was going to say next. You braced yourself for the rejection that was bound to come, a lump forming in your throat.

“I’m sorry…” Jungwon continued, but you cut him off, panic rising.

“No, no, it’s okay! You don’t have to say anything!” you rushed out, your voice frantic. “I get it. I mean, who would like me back, right?” You forced a laugh, but it came out strangled, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

Jungwon looked shocked, his eyes wide as if he didn’t know what to say. But you couldn’t bear to hear it. You couldn’t stand the pity in his eyes, the inevitable words of rejection that would follow.

“Would you look at the time! I—I have to go!” you stammered, scrambling to gather your things. You didn’t even give him a chance to respond. You just ran.

You ran, ignoring the calls of your friends, ignoring Jungwon’s shouts for you to wait. Your vision blurred with tears, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

You needed to get away. Away from him. Away from the truth. Away from everything.

You stopped running when you reached the hallway, the familiar space bringing a wave of nostalgia mixed with sorrow. It had been months since you’d last set foot here, and the darkness felt heavy, almost suffocating.

With trembling hands, you pulled out your wand, your fingers shaking as you whispered, “Lumos.” The tip lit up, illuminating the dim corridor. As you made your way behind the statue, you slid down to the floor, feeling the cool stone against your back. The light flickered softly, creating shadows that danced around you, and you finally allowed yourself to cry.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, a mix of frustration and sadness flooding your heart. You sat there, surrounded by darkness, the only source of light your wand as you let your emotions pour out. It felt like an eternity, lost in your thoughts, until the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, breaking the stillness.

You quickly wiped your eyes, hastily muttering, “Nox,” extinguishing your wand’s light and plunging yourself into darkness. You sat there in silence, heart racing, unsure if you wanted to be seen.

“I know you’re there,” a familiar voice broke through the gloom, and your heart sank. Jungwon’s voice was unmistakable. You had hoped to escape him, but now he was here, and the reality of that made your heart ache even more.

“Lumos,” Jungwon said, and the hallway brightened again. You shielded your eyes from the sudden light, but there was no hiding from him. Jungwon stood before you, concern etched across his features.

“What are you doing here…” you managed, trying to sound indifferent, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“I… was looking for you,” he answered, his expression softening. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside you.

You shrugged, but he sat down anyway, crossing his legs in front of you. You could see the worry in his eyes, and it made your stomach twist. With a quiet sigh, you pulled out your wand again, muttering “Lumos” to brighten the area further.

“What do you want?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral, but a hint of sadness seeped through.

Jungwon reached under his robes and pulled out a familiar chest, the sight of it causing your heart to skip a beat. “Alohomora,” he said, and the chest clicked open, revealing the flower rings you had once cherished.

“You kept them…” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Of course I did…” you mumbled, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. “They mean a lot to me…”

“How are they…?” Jungwon asked softly, and you knew he was referring to the charm you had created.

“I made a charm so they would stay fresh…” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but your heart was racing.

“Wow…” Jungwon breathed, staring at the rings as if they were treasures.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. “How did you find it?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Amelia…” Jungwon replied, and you couldn’t help but groan.

“Ah, I’m gonna kill her,” you muttered, frustration lacing your words.

“Can I please…” Jungwon hesitated, searching for the right words. “You ran before I could finish,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Finish what? Your rejection? No thanks,” you shot back, the hurt from earlier surfacing again.

“No, listen,” he insisted, his tone earnest. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for letting you keep your feelings away from me for so many years.”

You blinked, taken aback by his admission. The confession hung in the air between you like a fragile thread, stretching taut with unspoken emotions. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“I—” you started but faltered. The weight of his words settled heavily on your heart. “You don’t understand…” you whispered, finally looking into his eyes.

“I do,” Jungwon interrupted gently. “I know it must’ve been hard for you, hiding how you felt. But I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. I care about you, and I always have.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart race. The walls you’d built up around your feelings began to tremble. “Then why did you let me run away?” you asked, a hint of desperation creeping into your tone.

“Because I didn’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, looking down at the floor between you. “I was scared of ruining what we had. But running away isn’t the answer.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing as the silence stretched between you two. “Jungwon… I can’t keep pretending I’m okay when I’m not,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungwon reached out, placing a comforting hand over yours. “Then don’t. Let’s figure this out together.”

The warmth of his touch sent a rush of emotions through you. You wanted to believe him, to let down your guard and embrace the possibility of something more. But doubt lingered, and the fear of losing him loomed large.

“Together…” you echoed, feeling the weight of his words.

“Together,” Jungwon affirmed, his eyes steady and sincere.

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

A few weeks had passed since that moment of truth in the hallway, and things had settled into a new rhythm between you and Jungwon. Your friendship blossomed into something deeper, and though you felt the lingering awkwardness at times, you both navigated it.

One afternoon, you found yourself wandering back to that familiar hallway, drawn by nostalgia and a craving for a sweet treat. You pulled out a small stash of candy from your bag and popped a piece into your mouth, savoring the sugary goodness. The corridor was quiet, just as you remembered it, the shadows casting a cozy ambiance around you.

“Mind if I join?” Jungwon’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see him standing there, a hopeful smile gracing his lips.

“Of course not,” you said, gesturing for him to sit beside you. He settled down, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. You felt a flutter of happiness at his presence, even as you focused on your candy, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

Without warning, Jungwon reached for your hand. Your heart raced as he took your fingers and carefully placed a ring on your finger. You looked down, shock washing over you as you saw the delicate flower design at its center. “Wha—?” you started, staring at him in disbelief.

“Guess it was time to give you a real promise ring,” he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. Your breath hitched as he took both your hands in his, urging you to face him.

“I promise to stay by your side and love you forever,” he said, sincerity radiating from his every word. The weight of his declaration settled in your chest, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

Before you could respond, Jungwon gently wiped away the tears that had escaped. The tender gesture ignited a swell of emotions within you, and as he leaned in, your heart raced. His lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, and you blinked your tears away, finally kissing him back.

When you both pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, you searched his gaze, looking for something to say. “Jungwon?” you whispered, feeling a mix of disbelief and joy.

“I’m sorry it took me so many years to realize how much I love you,” he confessed, his voice steady yet filled with emotion.

With that, a surge of happiness bubbled up inside you, and you couldn’t hold back. You threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly, your heart soaring.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungwon had fought a silent battle of his own. Every night, he wrestled with nightmares about losing you, dreams fueled by the realization of his feelings that had blossomed too late. He had watched you through the years, oblivious to the depth of his own care, often drowning in the fears of letting you slip away.

You both sat together after that when suddenly Jungwon leaned over, eyeing the colorful Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll take one,” he said, grabbing a bright red bean. He popped it into his mouth, but as he chewed, his face twisted into a comical grimace. “Soap…” he exclaimed, scrunching his nose in disgust.

You burst into laughter, the sound ringing through the hallway like music. “Oh no! What a horrible choice!” you teased, leaning closer to him.

With a playful grin, you grabbed a bean for yourself, picking a pastel pink one from the pile. You tossed it into your mouth and chewed, your eyes lighting up as the sweet, fluffy flavor of marshmallow burst across your tongue. “Marshmallow!” you declared triumphantly, your face beaming with delight.

“Unfair…” Jungwon pouted, crossing his arms over his chest in mock indignation. His playful expression only made you laugh harder.

“Maybe you should be more adventurous!” you shot back, sticking your tongue out teasingly. The action made Jungwon chuckle, his pout turning into an amused grin.

“Adventurous? I think I’ll stick to chocolate thank you very much,” he replied, shaking his head with exaggerated seriousness.

“You’re missing out on all the fun!” you exclaimed, reaching for another handful of beans. “You never know what kind of delicious flavor you might discover!”

“Or what kind of disgusting one,” he replied, still trying to maintain his pout but failing miserably as laughter bubbled up inside him.

“Alright, fine! Let’s make a deal. For every bean you try, I’ll try one too!” you proposed, feeling the thrill of the challenge.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, considering the offer. “Okay, but if I end up with soap again, I’m blaming you!”

“Deal!” You both laughed as you rummaged through the beans, the air filled with a sense of lighthearted competition.

As the two of you began to taste the different flavors, the laughter continued, with both of you grimacing at the awful ones and cheering for the good ones.

Jungwon looked at you, his eyes shining with mirth. “Okay, okay, how about this: if I try one more, you have to promise to give me a kiss after,” he said, a playful challenge lacing his words.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, is that the only way to get a kiss from you now?” you teased.

“Maybe!” he replied, shrugging dramatically.

“Fine, you’ve got yourself a deal!” you said, determination flooding through you.

With a flourish, Jungwon picked out a bean, his eyes narrowing as he studied it like it was a potion ingredient. He took a deep breath and popped it into his mouth, chewing with a nervous expression. After a few seconds, his eyes widened in shock. “Uh-oh….”

You leaned forward, unable to contain your curiosity. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Ear wax!” he exclaimed, his face scrunching up in disgust as you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach.

“That was a bold choice!” you teased. You leaned over to peck Jungwon's cheek, but just as your lips were about to make contact, he turned his head, and your lips landed on his instead. You pulled back in shock, "Jungwon!" you exclaimed, your cheeks flushed with surprise. He only laughed, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Before you could think twice, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands, determined this time, and kissed him fully. Jungwon’s laughter faded as he wrapped his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. The kiss deepened, both of you lost in the moment.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted, "I always knew they would end up together!" one of the portraits on the wall exclaimed with excitement.

"You owe me 10 sickles!" another portrait chimed in.

"You blithering idiot, how can I pay you for something I never agreed on!" the first portrait argued.

You both pulled back, laughing breathlessly, resting your foreheads against each other as the portraits continued bickering. Jungwon smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, "I guess everyone knew before we did."

"Maybe," you whispered back, "but I think we’re making up for lost time."

Jungwon chuckled softly, holding you close, the warmth of the moment wrapping around the two of you like a spell.

End

[leaderwonim]

MR. FUCKING BRIGHTSIDE

pairing. slytherin!jake x hufflepuff!fem!reader

summary. although sim jaeyun constantly surrounds himself with douchebags and looks like he could stomp all over a girl’s heart; you knew the real him that was deep inside. but did you really?

genre. hogwarts!au, ANGST, bits of fluff, right person wrong circumstances, forbidden/secret love

warnings. jake can be a bit of an asshole, the insult “mudblood” is used, slytherin gets shitted on as a house (dw, i’m a slytherin 😭)

Sim Jaeyun, or everybody knew him as Jake, the sixth year Slytherin, seeker of his house’s Quidditch team, and nevertheless, charming to every girl that has stepped foot in his proximity.

Half of your friends would disagree—that he was not charming but rather just another slithering snake in the worst possible house at Hogwarts.

Jake’s friend group consisted of three people: Draco Malfoy, Blaise, and Pansy Parkinson. They just so happen to be an insufferable lot, maybe except Blaise who minded his own business half of the time.

“Today you will be working in pairs.” Professor McGonagall states, fixing her glasses as she holds a stroll of paper. “I’ve already decided them, absolutely no changes.”

There’s groans that fill the room, one of whom you recognize as no other than Jake.

“Seriously? I wanted to pair up with Blaise!” He whines, earning a glare from Draco. “What? C’mon Dray, we both know you and I don’t get anything done.”

“Alright,” Professor McGonagall clears her throat. “Blaise Zabini with Nancy Drumswell, Aidan Callaghan with Hermione Granger, Harry Potter with Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy with Pansy Parkinson, and finally, Jaeyun Sim with Y/N L/N.”

You don’t blink when you realize who your partner is. Rather, you just sigh a bit in defeat, coming to the conclusion that you cannot do anything to convince McGonagall to change partners.

“Hey.” Jake plops himself down on the seat next to you, laughing as Draco gives him a shove on the way to his own table.

“Hi.” You murmur, suddenly finding your yellow robe more interesting than him.

“I’ve never been paired with a Hufflepuff before.” He grins, the shit eating grin that weirdly captives your senses. “Are you guys as nice as you claim to be?”

“I don’t know Jaeyun, you tell me.”

Jake’s eyes widen before he lets out a giggle. “Jaeyun? No one ever calls me that anymore.”

You shrug, sliding him the piece of paper with the instructions to your project. “You can stop by the Hufflepuff dormitories at 8, I’ll be done with dinner by then and I’ll open it for you.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart.”

You cringe at his words, the obvious disdain on your face makes him laugh even harder.

“I’ll see you then.” He whispers, and just like a movie, stands up as soon as McGonagall dismisses the class, merging into one with his friends.

♡;

Just as the clock struck eight, you heard a knock. Your books, pens, and parchment were spread out in front of you, eagerly waiting to be used.

As you slowly get up to open the door, you’re met face to face with Jake, who entered the room with a confident stride

"Hey there, Y/N," Jake greeted, flashing you a charming smile as he took a seat across from your side of the table.

"Hey," you politely turn his smile. "Ready to tackle this project?"

"Absolutely," he affirmed, pulling out his own notes and spreading them out on the table. "I've got some ideas already. How about you?"

You nodded, slightly impressed by Jake's readiness to dive into the work. "I've been brainstorming as well. Maybe we can combine our ideas and come up with something great."

As the two of you began discussing your approaches to the project, youcouldn't help but notice how articulate and intelligent Jake was when he wasn't surrounded by his usual group of friends. His confidence shone through, but it was paired with a genuine interest in the subject matter that caught you off guard.

"You sure sound different when you’re not around Draco," You remarked.

Jake only chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "Yeah, well, I guess I don't always show this side of me around my friends. They have a different idea of what's cool."

You can only nod in understanding, realizing that Jake was more complex than you had initially assumed.

As you continued working, you couldn’t help but find yourself paying closer attention to the small details about him—the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the soft lilt in his voice when he explained a concept, the way his eyes sparkled with passion for the project.

"Thanks for coming, Jake," you say, offering him a genuine smile. "I really enjoyed working with you."

Jake returned your smile, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a sudden flutter through your heart. "Anytime, Y/N. I had a great time too."

As you bid each other goodnight, you couldn’t help but suddenly miss his presence, something you didn’t expect to happen with just one session with him.

♡;

In your second studying session, you and Jake found yourselves engrossed in their project once again. This time, you two decided to move to a quiet corner of the library, away from prying eyes and distractions. The Hufflepuff dorms were too crowded, and you knew you’d rather die than step into the Slytherin dormitory as a Hufflepuff.

As you discussed your research findings, you couldn't help but notice how Jake's demeanor had softened since your last meeting. He seemed more relaxed, more open, as if he felt comfortable letting his guard down around you.

Jake suddenly reached across the table to grab a book, his hand brushing against yours in the process. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, leaving you quite literally breathless for a moment. “Here Y/N, I heard this book was good for this particular topic.”

Your eyes met briefly, and you felt your cheeks flush with warmth.

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking down slightly.

Jake smiled back at you, seemingly oblivious to the effect his touch had on you. For a person who charms so much girls, you’d think he know how much his advances affected others.

“No problem, seems like we got a lot done within these 2 days huh?”

"Yeah, it seems so," you reply softly.

Even though it had only been 2 nights, in those quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of their classmates, you had realized just how much you actually enjoyed Jake's company. He wasn't just the annoying Slytherin she had initially pegged him to be—he was kind, intelligent, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

"I guess that's it for tonight," Jake said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Can’t believe they only allow Prefects in the library past ten.”

"Yeah," you groan, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of saying goodbye. "But we'll see each other again soon, right?"

Jake nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Definitely. Let’s just hope Malfoy doesn’t ruin it.”

♡;

As you made your way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Hermione, you spotted Jake surrounded by his Slytherin friends, including Draco and Pansy. Suddenly feeling the wave of confidence at the sight of him, you decided to muster up the courage to approach him.

But as you drew nearer, you noticed a subtle shift in Jake's demeanor. His usual friendly expression hardened, and a smirk spread across his lips as he turned to face you and Hermione.

"Look who it is, boys," Draco says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Little Miss Hufflepuff herself."

Jake and Pansy chuckled, exchanging knowing glances with Draco as if they were in on some inside joke. Your smile faltered, confusion and hurt swirling in your chest as you struggled to make sense of Jake's sudden change in attitude.

"Um, hi, Jaeyun," you replied, voice barely above a whisper as you fought to keep her composure.

"Seriously? Jaeyun? That’s hysterical.” Pansy laughs, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

“What's the matter, Y/N? Can't find anyone from your own house so you bother our Jake here?” Draco continues to taunt you, his words like daggers aimed straight at your heart. “Or should I say Jaeyun?”

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment as the laughter of Jake's friends echoed in your ears. You had never felt so small, so insignificant to the group in front of you.

“I was hoping to discuss our project.” You say quietly, looking at anyone but Jake.

Hermione could sense your hostility, pulling you close to her side as she gave Draco a snarl.

“Listen Y/N,” Jake says, “all that crap you Hufflepuffs preach about loving each other and expressing feelings is a lie. No one really cares about what you have to say.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hermione says, shielding you by putting herself in front of your frame. “What has gotten into you?”

But Jake just shrugged her off, his smirk widening into a sneer. "Mind your own business, mudblood. This doesn't concern you."

Feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you quickly turn on your heel and fled down the corridor, desperate to escape the humiliation of Jake's cruel words.

Had you really been so stupid to place your trust in Sim Jaeyun knowing full well his reputation? By the looks of it, all answers pointed to yes.

♡;

By 7pm, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the surface of the Black Lake just in front of the Slytherin Common Rooms.

“Y/N?” Almost as if he knew exactly where you were, Jake shows up in front of you, making you give him a glare.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice tinged with remorse as he avoided your gaze. He takes a seat next to you on the grass, his fingers tracing patterns across them in nervousness. "I messed up back there. I let my pride get the best of me, and I hurt you in the process. I should have stood up for you."

You sighed, your heart heavy with disappointment but softened by Jake's sincerity.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “One moment you’re all kind and sincere around me, and the next, you say all these things like I’m worth nothing.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the air filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds. Then, Jake spoke again, his voice hesitant but earnest. "I guess my friends just have an influence on me that I can’t control. I’m sorry for what I said earlier, you’re one of the kindest people I've ever met, Y/N. I admire that about you."

You slightly smiled, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. "Thank you, Jake. That means a lot to me."

As the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle overhead, the two of you continued to talk, laughter mingling with the night air.

♡;

The next night was one of the more important nights at Hogwarts. Everybody had finished their exams—and the Ravenclaws decided to throw a party at their Commons.

The music throbbed as you entered with Ron Weasley, who, at the sight of his twin brothers, ran towards them. You roll your eyes at his behavior, and start pulsing through the crowded room, a plastic smile plastered on your face.

You notice Jake in the corner, sipping on what looked like a bottle of beer. He exchanged nods and greetings with those around him, his eyes scanning the room for something—someone.

But before you could gawk at him any longer, Draco cut in smoothly, his tone laced with mockery. "Oh, look who decided to show up. Did you bring your Hufflepuff friend to the party, Jake? How charming."

Pansy giggled, her eyes glittering with malice as she looked at you up and down. "I didn't know us Slytherins were into charity work."

“Guys, seriously? Cut it out,” Jake gulps, eyes directly meeting yours.

“He’s right,” Blaise says, and you swear it’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him. “Don’t ruin the party.”

“Whatever.” Pansy throws her hand in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t want to make the Hufflepuff cry.”

Hermione comes to your rescue right after Pansy throws you a glare.

“Piss off.” She says, interlocking her arms with yours.

“Thanks ‘Mione.” You thank her softly as you’re lead away from the lot. “For saving me back there.”

“Always,” she smiles. “Now cmon, I heard Ron’s already drunk!”

You two giggle at that, you letting Hermione lead the way into the crowd of people.

♡;

It’s about 2 hours later and the Ravenclaw party is still loud as ever, filled with with laughter and music.

Despite the Weasley twins making a full ruckus of themselves, your eyes were drawn to a figure slumped in a corner. It was Jake, only this time, he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, his face pale and contorted with some type of emotion you hadn’t seen before.

Concern etched onto your features, and your body felt itself navigating through the crowd of people until you’re knelt beside him. "Jake? Are you alright? Where’s Draco?”

He lifted his head, and you swore you felt your heart clenched at the sight of his glassy eyes and trembling lips. "I'm fine," he mumbled, but his voice betrayed the lie.

"No, you're not," you reply softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Jake swallowed hard, his gaze flickering with a mix of emotions. "It's... it's nothing," he slurred, but his words lacked conviction.

You stayed silent, sensing he needed to unburden himself. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice raw with emotion. "Do you think I’m good for nothing?”

"What?" You asked gently, your heart sinking as you watched him struggle to form his thoughts.

"I mean look at this, look at me," Jake gestured vaguely, gesturing to the party around the two of you. "This charade I constantly put on. Pretending to be someone I'm not."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Jake trailed off, his breath hitching. "Was it all worth the six years of be pretending to be who I wasn’t? Pretending to be the egoistic charming Slytherin everyone claims to know so well?”

Jake pauses before looking up at you, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You know I care about you a lot, right? I like you, a lot.”

“You do?” You say quietly, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes.

“But we just can’t.”

“What?”

“Why not?”

"Because,” Jake's voice cracked, and he looked away. "Because I wish you were in Slytherin."

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces at his words. You almost knew it then, with a painful realization that you could never compete with the loyalty he felt towards his house and the expectations placed upon him by his housemates.

Tears stung your eyes as you realized there was nothing she could do to change his mind. With a heavy heart, you rose to your feet.

“Well I’m sorry then, Jake.” You say, turning around so he wouldn’t see your tears.

And as you walked away, the echoes of his confession lingered in your mind, haunting your thoughts with the bitter realization that sometimes, love simply wasn't enough.