#ministry galas

[realitybitesyouknowit]

“Do you like it?” Voldemort asks before he can embarrass himself further.

Harry stills. “What?”

“My new face,” Voldemort says, tilting his head with an odd look on said face. If he were just a bit more buzzed, Harry might call it coquettish. “Do you like it?”

In which Harry creates an opportunity, and Voldemort takes it.

[triptomarss]

Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger, spotted arriving together at the Ministry Gala.

[gravehags]

brb putting natalie in all of these

[med1rigby]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level one, the atrium. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for ezekiel burke ( @hoggleswart )

gracefully making her way over to the minister's advisor, there is a clear tension in her exposed shoulders as she forces a smile onto her lips - she can hear the distant crow of her mother's high-pitched remarks ( how she could remember it after twenty-six years away from her was beyond gwen ). "mister burke." the mediwitch offers a bow of her head to the other, the framing pieces of her hair falling with her movement before she looks back to him. "i am in need of escape once more, if you so wish in being my knight that would be much appreciated." gwendolyn. her name is called in the banshee cry, her smile never faltering as eyes hold the begging of her request, "please."

[hcldmybroom]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: i'm just saying, murder is an option 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level 8, the atrium 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for millicent bulstrode ( @hoggleswart )

an incredulous laugh spills from her lips as she leans back in her seat at the table, her gaze flitting between millicent and the crowd of uppity snobs trying, and failing, to avoid looking at minnie. "you're funny, bulstrode. you should be a comedian!" her laughter dies down as she returns her focus to her friend, manicured fingers reaching for her flute of champagne. if the keeper continued on this path then she would be a bottle of champagne by the morning. "you are joking, aren't you?"

[bemyhcro]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level eight, the atrium. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for roshana cresswell ( @hoggleswart )

he dragged a chair from somewhere a while ago now, perching himself behind the drinks table - close enough to continuously reach for flute after flute of champagne, but far enough to avoid the questions and stares. pax tips back another drink as the echoes of forced laughter and friendship hum around him, knowing full well the extent of some peoples loyalties. as he goes to reach for another drink his eyes land on one of the aurors, a woman he had seen here-and-there around the ministry and once in a bookshop - shana? roshana. "i can stop whenever i want to." pax slurs his words.

[ggathena]

[petriichvrs]

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃  :  sometimes the only thing a bully understands is a punch in the mouth. 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈   :  @hoggleswart / seamus finnigan  !𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  :  the ministry of magic ( atrium level ), london  !

" piss off, seamus, " and honestly, she doesn't MEAN to sound so abrasive - she's aiming for the sort of lighthearted banter that they're both used to right up until the words actually leave her painted lips & come to hang heavy between them. there is something defensive about her to be found, now, where previously there was not. a straightening of her spine / the slight jut of her chin / even the downturn to the corners of her mouth where moments before was a friendly smile. ginny isn't SURPRISED by his words, but she thought they'd come much later. in her experience, people were always braver after a few glasses of the expensive alcohol served at these things & while she had expected to field curious questions in that easy way she always did ( oh, no, it's purely platonic- if even. no one else could stick it & i wanted to be here, so...- ), she had figured it would take awhile before anyone really got into it. seamus, of course, catches her OFF GUARD. ginny responds to that in kind, but a brief moment of reflection is enough to have her tack on, half heartedly, " if you're going to take a swing at my date, would you mind waiting until after the prophet pictures ? it'd suck if a fresh shiner distracted the people from my gatecrashing. "

[hoggleswart]

LOCATION:    the  ninth  annual  ministry  gala. STATUS:    closed  to  @kxbellem

"    wanna  play  a  drinking  game  with  me?    "    slightly  wide  eyes  and  the  uncharacteristically  bright  smile  softening  usually  -  sullen  features  suggests  it’s  a  game  lavender  has  been  playing  for  a  while  now,  drink  hugged  close  to  chest  like  it  provided  some  comfort.      ⸺      or  perhaps  in  case  someone  tried  to  confiscate  it.  either  were  both  possible  options.  at  least  the  girl  was  having  fun,  something  she  personally  felt  she’d  earned  after  having  to  bribe  her  way  into  somebody’s  plus  one.  turns  out,  that  pesky  fear  of  missing  out  won  every  time.    "    the  rules  are;    you  have  to  take  a  swig  every  time  a  worker  says  but,  um  during  their  talks.  it  happens  a  surprisingly  large  amount.    "

[taciiturns]

"weasley." surname with all lack of warmth is as much of a greeting as any member of the brood of redheads is ever going to get from mikaela karkaroff. she must then remind herself to at least twist her features into a facade of friendliness- she's poking the rabid rabbit ( kaela's new nickname for her LEAST favorite ) for good reason, afterall. "i've been meaning to talk to you about something."

she glances over, looking for a tell-tale sign from ginny to go on, but she would press onwards even without the affirmation. "what is the deal with your uncle ? single ? married, still ?" lips press together in very surface level contemplation. "he's very handsome despite how glum he seems. you think that's something that can be fixed ?" @petriichvrs

[hopcflowered]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: have a drink with me. 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level three, department of magical accidents and catastrophes. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for alfred cattermole ( @hoggleswart )

her body jumps from the shock of hearing his voice, delicately manicured fingers coming to calm the heavy beating against her ribcage as her other hand places the documents back onto her desk. "merlin in a cream cracker!" a soft laugh pushes passed her lips as she moves to fully face alfred, a flush of pink creeping along her cheeks and up to the tips of her ears. "you should really warn a girl before you go all silent ninja on her, alfred." the hand at her chest lowers and rests on the edge of her desk, bottom perching alongside painted nails as the poofy skirts of her dress rustle and fold around her. moira had gone for the fairy princess look, of course. "do you not have all the pretty ladies out there absolutely begging to have your attention?"

[unconventional-lawnchair]

King's Gambit

Mattheo Riddle x Potter!Reader

Summary: You go to a Ministry gala with your family, meeting and dancing with Mattheo Riddle, who is just looking to cause some trouble,

WC: 4.5k

CW: Potters Live Au, reader is a bit naive, uhm... a bit of an over protective family moment. Possible part one idk yet

The grandeur of the Ministry of Magic was on full display as you crossed the threshold of the ballroom with your parents. You were instantly struck by the magic of the scene before you. The high, enchanted ceiling shimmered with starlight, mimicking the night sky, while hundreds of floating candles illuminated the room with a warm, golden glow. The walls were draped with deep emerald and gold silks that shimmered as if enchanted, and charmed violins played a soft, elegant waltz in the background.

Couples were already spinning gracefully on the polished marble floor, their robes a dazzling array of colors. The scent of fresh roses and honeyed champagne filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and laughter. It was all so intoxicatingly beautiful, the kind of scene you had only read about in fairytales.

James muttered beside you, his voice low as he leaned towards Lily’s ears. “All this extravagance, and they still haven’t managed to give half my team a decent raise in years.”

Lily gave him a pointed look, tugging slightly at his lapel to straighten it. “James,” She huffed softly, though there was no real bite to her tone. “Play nice tonight. It’s not the time to start a crusade. I did not marry a martyr.”

Her words earned a small chuckle- even a smile from him, and he shook his head with a quiet hum. “I'll play nice.” His hazel eyes softening as they met hers.

“It's all I ask.” Lily smiled with a teasing lift of her brow. For a moment, the two of them seemed lost in their own world, the years of love and trust between them clear in their shared gaze.

But the moment was short-lived. A procession of wizards and witches began to approach, eager to greet the famous Potters- the main reason your father hated these events. Lily straightened and fixed a pleasant smile on her face, while James sighed and reluctantly did the same, running his thumb along the small of your mother’s back.

You stood quietly beside your parents, watching as they navigated the growing crowd of well-dressed witches and wizards with a practiced ease you could only admire. As handshakes and polite greetings were exchanged, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander to them.

Your parents were obsessed with one another- there was no other word for it. The way your father leaned ever so slightly toward your mother, as if her presence grounded him in a room he clearly loathed. The way your mother’s smile lit up her face, genuine and kind, even as she endured endless small talk with people you both knew she’d rather avoid. It was more than impressive; it was love, the kind of love you’d always dreamed of.

You stole a glance at Harry beside you. He rolled his eyes when yet another Ministry official complimented your family, calling your parents “an inspiration to the wizarding world.”

“An inspiration, huh?” Harry muttered under his breath, leaning toward you. “Guess that makes us company.”

You bit back a laugh, your lips twitching as you murmured back, “Company? Speak for yourself, I'm plenty charming.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at you. “Is that so? I think you're far too much of a hopeless romantic for that. Please note the hopeless.”

Your mouth opened in mock offense, but before you could retort, your mother’s voice cut in smoothly.

“Children, behave,” Her tone was warm but firm as her eyes flicked between the two of you. She didn’t miss the smirk on James’s face, though. He always loved your playful banter, even if Lily pretended not to. As if you four hadn't come up with fifteen new flavors of insults for the obsequious little bootlickers on the ride over.

“Yes, Mum,” You and Harry chimed in unison, barely suppressing your laughter.

Despite the formality of the evening, moments like these reminded you that no matter how many people admired your family from afar, it was the love and humor between you all that made it so special. It wasn’t just about being “The Potters,” the golden family everyone seemed to look up to. It was about being your family- perfectly imperfect, brimming with laughter and love.

Still, as the line of greetings seemed endless, you couldn’t help but steal glances around the room, your attention drifting.

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing near the edge of the ballroom, casually leaning against one of the ornately carved marble pillars. His dark curls framed his sharp features, and the flickering candlelight seemed to make his stormy brown eyes gleam. Unlike most of the wizards here, dressed in stiff, perfectly pressed robes, he had an air of effortless rebellion. His tie was slightly loosened- okay, no it was definally falling off-, his robes were tailored but not overly formal, as if to say he couldn’t be bothered to fully conform to the expectations of the evening.

You couldn’t help but stare. He was impossible to ignore. Taller than you, but not too tall- just enough to crane your neck but not enough to make you ache from it- hair perfectly imperfect, as if he had charmed it that way, to capture the fractures of light that defined it’s mockery of shape. He looked entirely out of place among the glittering gowns and polished smiles, and yet, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who owned the room. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as though he knew exactly the effect he had on the people around him.

Merlin, a smirk to match his eyes, eyes to match his hair, hair to frame his neck- like his features were crafted just for him. Carved from marble and stone with crackles of imperfections you'd have to dream up later. Even the crooked tug of his lips seemed intentional to tug at everyone of your poor heart strings.

There was a brilliant symphony in your chest that resonated in your stomach.

He was speaking to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, who stood rigid and composed as always, their platinum blonde hair shining in the golden light. Draco Malfoy stood beside them, his usual smug expression in place, though his posture was noticeably more subdued in the presence of the dark-haired boy.

“Who’s that?” You asked quietly, leaning toward Harry. Doing your best not to betray your throbbing heart.

He followed your gaze, and his expression soured immediately. “Mattheo Riddle,” He muttered. “Lucius’s nephew. Have you not seen him at school?”

Your stomach turned at the name. Riddle. As in that Riddle. You should have looked away right then, should have reminded yourself who he was and what his family represented. But something about him kept your gaze locked. He turned his head slightly, and for one brief, heart-stopping moment, his eyes met yours.

It was as if he could see straight through you. His smirk deepened, as though he were amused by the fact that you’d been caught staring. Slowly, deliberately, he inclined his head in a faint, mocking gesture of acknowledgment.

You felt your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on a nearby couple twirling across the dance floor. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes lingering on you, nor the strange pull in your chest that urged you to look back.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said sharply, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “He’s trouble. Worse than Malfoy. Worse than Sirius.”

You shrugged, forcing a nonchalant tone. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Good. Because if Mum and Dad catch you looking at him, they’ll lose their minds. And so will I.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, your thoughts already wandering back to the boy across the room. For all of Harry’s warnings, you couldn’t deny the strange pull you felt. There was something about Mattheo Riddle that demanded attention, something dangerous and intriguing- and you weren’t sure if you wanted to run away from it or dive straight in.

No, you knew what you wanted.

But you knew that you shouldnt.

Your family exchanged more greetings, handshakes, and forced smiles, but you were distant, your thoughts circling the boy whose smirk had left an imprint on your mind. It wasn’t just his confidence or his looks- it was the way he seemed to take up space without effort, as though the world around him was merely a stage set for his amusement. Oh, and is he really as bad as your uncle?

Scratch that, considering their shared blood you didn't want to know.

Then, as if sensing your turmoil, he moved. Oh, you had been staring. Slowly, deliberately, Mattheo stepped away from the Malfoys, his movements unhurried but purposeful, like a predator approaching its prey. You felt a shiver run down your spine, though whether it was fear or anticipation, you couldn’t quite tell.

"He's walking over here," Harry muttered beside you, his tone dripping with irritation.

"Relax," You whispered, though your heart was racing.

"Relax? With him here? I don't think so."

But you barely heard your brother. Your attention was fixed on Mattheo as he stopped just a few paces away, his brown eyes meeting yours again, this time with a look of pure challenge.

"Potter," He said smoothly, nodding first to Harry before letting his gaze slide to you. His voice was low, rich, and laced with just enough amusement to make your cheeks warm. "I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been standing here with..." He paused and took an exaggerated swoop of his eyes across the crowd. The one slowly growing to stare at him. And you. "... no one taking you to the dance floor. It's a right shame, really."

Harry bristled beside you, his jaw tightening. "Maybe because we’ve been busy avoiding people like you."

Mattheo’s smirk widened as if Harry’s hostility only entertained him. Ignoring your brother, he extended a hand toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Care to join me for a dance? It seems a waste for someone like you to stay off to the side all night.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. You could feel Harry tense beside you, his protest hanging in the air, unspoken but palpable. You knew what this was- a game. A deliberate move to provoke Harry, your parents, and everyone else in the room who cared about the politics of family names and allegiances.

But as you looked at Mattheo, you couldn’t deny the spark of temptation. The air around him seemed to hum with electricity, pulling you in despite the warning bells ringing loudly in your mind.

The implications were crystal clear: a single dance with him would be enough to set tongues wagging for weeks. It would stir unrest, fuel speculation, and undoubtedly ruffle the feathers of both your family and the Malfoys. James Potter’s daughter, sharing a dance with Voldemort’s son? It was practically a scandal waiting to happen.

For a fleeting moment, you thought about the optics, about how this would play into the political games you despised so much. Mattheo, no doubt, was using you to create chaos, and you would be giving him exactly what he wanted if you accepted.

But then… you caught his eyes again, stormy and confident, daring you to say yes. They held none of the coldness or cruelty you expected- just a flicker of intrigue and something else you couldn’t quite place but you were dying to know. There was an electricity to his presence that left you breathless, like he was daring you to step into the unknown with him.

Merlin, those eyes. The longer you stared, the more you realized you cared far less about what people thought or the scandal it might cause. Politics were meaningless to you, but he- he felt dangerous, exhilarating, and impossible to ignore. What was one more Potter scandal? Merlin bless your parents.

“I-” You began, your voice catching slightly.

Harry tensed beside you, muttering low, “Don’t you dare-”

You turned your head, offering your brother a small, apologetic smile before slipping your hand into Mattheo’s. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, and you swore you caught the flicker of something softer in his smirk- oh- satisfaction, yes.

“Don’t wait up, Harry,” You muttered lightly, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

Mattheo’s smirk grew as he led you onto the dance floor, every movement deliberate and self-assured. The whispers started almost immediately, a ripple of murmurs spreading across the room as heads turned to watch. You didn’t care. All you could focus on was the warmth of his hand in yours and the way his gaze seemed to darken with every step.

“Brave choice,” Mattheo murmured as he pulled you into position, his voice low and velvety. “Or foolish. I haven’t decided yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a small, teasing smile. “Bravery and foolishness are often the same thing, don’t you think?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he placed a hand lightly on your waist, drawing you closer. “Perhaps. Though I doubt anyone’s ever called you foolish before.”

“Maybe they should,” You quipped, the playful edge to your voice masking the way your heart raced.

He chuckled softly, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Not tonight. Tonight, you’re the most captivating person in this room.”

You blinked away the sudden shock that rocked your shoulders. Oh, he's good. “You have a quick tongue. Familiar with making woman's hearts flutter or is that a side effect, Riddle?”

Mattheo's smirk deepened, his hand tightening just slightly on your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing close enough to your ear that his breath tickled your skin. “I’d say it’s a bit of both, Potter,” he murmured, his voice rich and low, laced with amusement. “Though I’m surprised you’d think I need to try.”

Your cheeks burned, and you hated how easily he could make your heart race with just a few words. You arched an eyebrow, determined not to let him see the effect he had on you. “Confident, aren’t you? That arrogance must be exhausting.”

“Not at all,” He said smoothly, twirling you expertly as the music swelled around you. “Confidence comes naturally when you’re good at what you do.”

“And what exactly are you good at, Riddle? Charming unsuspecting girls into regrettable decisions?” Your words were sharp, but your tone was teasing, and you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you as his eyes flickered with something darker.

He grinned, his stormy gaze locking onto yours as he pulled you just a fraction closer. “Regrettable? Now, that’s a strong word. But tell me, do you regret this, Potter?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat as he dipped you suddenly, the world tilting for a brief, breathless moment. When he pulled you back up, his face was so close to yours that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, could feel the warmth radiating off him. He didn’t look away, didn’t falter, as if daring you to answer honestly.

Your lips twitched into a small smile, and you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a boldness you didn’t quite feel. “I’ll let you know when the dance is over.”

Mattheo laughed softly, a low, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He guided you into another turn, his movements as smooth and calculated as his words. When you settled back into the rhythm of the dance, he let his gaze drop briefly to the necklace resting against your collarbone.

“Moonstone,” he remarked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. “That’s what Muggles call it, isn’t it?”

You blinked, slightly surprised by his observation. His eyes flicked back to yours, glinting with a quiet amusement as though he enjoyed catching you off guard.

“It is,” you replied, your fingers brushing the pendant absentmindedly. “Why? You have a sudden interest in jewelry, Riddle?”

He tilted his head, his smirk returning as if he knew something you didn’t. “Not sudden, no,” he said, his voice smooth. “But moonstone is… interesting. It’s traditionally given as a gift for younger girls, is it not? Or perhaps you’re just sentimental?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though there was no real heat behind it. “I got it when I was younger,” you admitted, lifting your chin slightly. “My mum gave it to me. And what about you, Riddle? How does someone like you know so much about jewelry?”

Mattheo’s smirk deepened, his hand tightening slightly on your waist as he leaned in. “Let’s just say I have a talent for noticing things most people overlook,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to the pendant once more before flicking back to yours. “Though I’ll admit, it looks best on you tonight of all nights. I am perhaps bias.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. Instead, you raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “And here I thought you only noticed trouble, Riddle. Didn’t expect you to have an eye for fashion.”

He laughed again, the sound light and unrestrained. “I’m full of surprises, Potter,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly. “Though if you’d like, I can stop noticing. I doubt anyone else would’ve caught the moonstone detail.”

You shook your head, amused despite yourself. “You’re an enigma, Riddle.”

“As I've been told.” He leaned closer with a wink that sent a ripple of hissing through the onlookers you had forgotten about.

The music drew to a close, and Mattheo slowed the dance, his hand still resting lightly at your waist. The smirk on his lips never wavered as he stepped back, his stormy gaze holding yours for a moment that felt much too long. Then, without releasing your hand, he turned toward where your parents stood, his expression shifting into one of perfect, calculated poise.

Your heart sank as realization dawned. “Mattheo,” you hissed under your breath, but he merely cast you a sideways glance, one brow quirked in amused defiance.

He led you toward James and Lily with deliberate grace, his every movement purposeful and commanding. The whispers in the room seemed to grow louder as the crowd parted for him, all eyes fixed on the Riddle boy escorting the daughter of James Potter across the polished ballroom floor.

James, who had been watching the dance unfold with growing tension, straightened immediately as the two of you approached. His hazel eyes flicked to where Mattheo’s hand still clasped yours, his expression darkening. Lily, by his side, wore a polite but cautious smile, though her gaze was sharp and assessing.

When you reached them, Mattheo finally released your hand but bowed his head slightly in a gesture of formal respect. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter,” he began smoothly, his voice rich and confident, “thank you for the honor of allowing me a dance with your daughter. It was, without question, the highlight of my evening.”

James’s jaw tightened visibly, his posture stiffening, but before he could respond, Mattheo turned his attention to you. His eyes softened just enough to make your breath hitch as he lifted your hand once more, his grip gentle but firm.

“And to you,” he said, his tone dropping to something more intimate, “thank you for indulging me, Miss Potter. You were exquisite.”

Before you could react, he bent down and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, lingering just long enough to send your heart into a wild frenzy. The warmth of his lips against your skin and the way his eyes held yours as he straightened left you speechless- and painfully aware of the sharp intake of breath from your father.

Mattheo’s smirk returned, subtle but unmistakable, as he inclined his head once more toward James and Lily. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said smoothly, stepping back with practiced elegance. “I look forward to seeing you all again.”

With that, he turned and strode away, his movements calm and self-assured as if he hadn’t just ignited a firestorm of whispers and tension. The room seemed to buzz in his wake, but you could barely hear it over the pounding of your heart.

James cleared his throat, breaking the silence, though his tone came sharp and restrained. “Care to explain what that was?” His hazel eyes flicked to you, his voice low enough not to attract attention, but every word carried the weight of his disapproval.

You hesitated, glancing at Lily, hoping for support. She was watching you carefully, her expression softer than James’s but no less concerned. Harry, on the other hand, stood beside her with his arms crossed, his face set in a scowl that mirrored your father’s.

“It was just a dance,” You placated, trying to sound calm, though your pulse was still racing. “He asked. I said yes. That’s it. If I had said no, you know what the tabloids would say by morning.”

James’s jaw clenched visibly, his hazel eyes darkening as he processed your words. “You think this is about the tabloids?” He hissed, his voice low but taut with tension. “I don’t give a damn about the papers. This is about him. About what he represents and the fact that he knows exactly how to manipulate situations like this.”

“He’s right,” Harry interjected sharply, his arms still crossed as he glared at you. “Mattheo Riddle doesn’t do anything without a reason. You think he asked you to dance just because he wanted to? He’s playing a game, and you’re letting him win.”

You squared your shoulders, refusing to shrink under their disapproval. “I didn’t let him win anything. I made a choice, and I handled myself perfectly fine. Do you have any idea what it would’ve looked like if I turned him down in front of everyone? Half the room would’ve spun it as a Potter snubbing a diplomatic gesture, and the other half would’ve accused us of holding old grudges.”

James’s lips pressed into a thin line, but Lily placed a calming hand on his arm before he could respond. “She’s not wrong,” she said softly, though her expression remained serious. “If she’d refused, it would’ve caused a scene, and not the kind we could easily recover from. But that doesn’t mean we can ignore what just happened.”

You turned to her, your voice quieter now. “I know who he is. I know what his name means. But for Merlin’s sake, it was a dance. That’s all.”

James exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as if trying to rein in his frustration. “It wasn’t just a dance,” he muttered, his gaze flicking toward where Mattheo had disappeared into the crowd. “Not to him. Not to anyone who saw it.”

Lily’s eyes softened as she looked at you. “Your father’s right. Whatever Mattheo’s intentions are, they’re not simple. He’s too calculated for that.”

“Or maybe,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended, “he’s not as much of a villain as everyone thinks he is.”

Harry let out a derisive snort. “You can’t be serious.”

You turned to him, your jaw tightening. “I didn’t say he was a saint, Harry. I’m just saying maybe he’s not the monster you’re all making him out to be.”

James stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less intense. “You don’t know him, and you don’t know what he’s capable of. People like him don’t do anything without a reason, and whatever his reason was tonight, it wasn’t good.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of doubt. But then you remembered the way Mattheo had looked at you- not with malice or cruelty, but with a curiosity that had felt startlingly genuine.

“I can handle it,” you said firmly, meeting your father’s gaze. “I’m not a child, Dad. I know what I’m doing.”

James stared at you for a long moment, his expression a mix of frustration, concern.

Then, James’s hard gaze softened slightly as your words hung in the air, the tension between you crackling like static. He ran a hand through his unruly hair again, a telltale sign of his inner turmoil. For all his frustration, for all his protective instincts screaming at him to put a stop to whatever this was, he couldn’t stay angry with you for long. He never could.

He let out a slow, resigned breath, the stern lines of his face easing just enough to remind you of the man who had always been your safe haven. “You’re not a child,” he admitted finally, though the words seemed to cost him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you. It’s my job, whether you like it or not.”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in his tone. His hazel eyes met yours, and though they still carried a flicker of disapproval, there was something else there now- something softer, more vulnerable. “You’re my daughter,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m always going to want to protect you. Even if that means protecting you from yourself.”

Lily stepped in then, her hand resting gently on James’s arm as she gave you a small, understanding smile. “Your father’s trying, love,” she said softly. “He just… doesn’t want to see you hurt. Neither of us do.”

Harry, however, was less inclined to soften. “You’re making a mistake,” he muttered, his arms still crossed tightly. “And when it backfires, don’t come running to me.”

Lily shot him a sharp look, her tone firm but even. “Harry.”

He huffed but said nothing more, his scowl firmly in place.

James exhaled again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look,” he said, his tone gentler now, “if you’re so sure you can handle this… fine. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I swear to Merlin, if he so much as looks at you again- ”

“Dad,” you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “I can handle it. I promise.”

He studied you for a long moment, his hazel eyes searching yours for something- reassurance, perhaps, or a sign that he could need to fight this battle for you- like he always had. Eventually, he nodded, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “But just… be careful. Please.”

Lily squeezed his arm, her own expression a mix of concern and quiet pride. “We trust you,” she said softly, her green eyes meeting yours. “Just… don’t give us a reason to regret it, okay?”

You nodded, the tension in your chest easing slightly at her words. “I won’t.”

James muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like we’ll see, but he didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he stepped back, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he gave you a weary but affectionate look.

“Go on,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctant humor. “Enjoy the rest of the ball. Just… maybe avoid any more dances with Riddle.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, the sound lightening the mood just enough to ease some of the lingering tension. “I’ll do my best.”

As you turned to rejoin the crowd, you felt a surge of gratitude for your family- for their love, their concern, and even their overprotectiveness. They didn’t always make things easy, but you knew their hearts were always in the right place.

Even if Harry could be a prat about it.

[rebuildeds]

the  burning  warmth  from  his  hands  on  the  jacket  is  placebo,  they're  sure,  given  how  fleeting  the  touch  had  been.  it  feels  like  a  brand  through  the  fabric,  nonetheless,  and  they  can't  help  but  drape  a  hand  over  the  spot  on  their  shoulder  thoughtlessly.  tempest  snorts  when  he  calls  himself  a  spooky  guy,  and  it's  not  enough  to  dispel  the  thick  atmosphere  between  them  but  she  can  feel  it  lightening  somewhat.      “  you're  already  a  bad  stalker.  ”     she  points  out,  gesturing  to  the  space  between  them  with  a  small  smile.      “  shouldn't  have  let  me  see  you.  ”         the  vulnerability  she  feels  starts  to  ease  with  the  way  he  rambles,  each  word  loosening  the  tenseness  in  her  muscles,  her  lean  starting  to  feel  less  like  a  cowarding,  less  like  she  needs  the  balcony  to  hold  herself  up.  it's  not  quite  normal,  they  still  don't  feel  quite  like  themself,  but  they  notice  with  relief  that  there's  less  thought  to  it  all.  it's  hard  to  take  anything  too  seriously  when  he  lets  the  words  roll  off  his  tongue  so  easily,  making  it  feel  like  there's  barely  any  pause  between  the  thought  occurring  and  it  being  converted  into  speech.  their  fingers  wiggle  under  the  sleeves  of  his  jacket,  as  if  forcing  feeling  back  into  them  after  they've  gone  numb.         “  you're  lucky  i  don't  bite.  ”        they  tap  the  bar  of  the  balcony  next  to  her  in  what  is  hopefully  a  clear  invitation.  they're  hyper-aware  that  they're  playing  a  dangerous  game,  here,  letting  him  get  close  when  he's  seen  her  vulnerable.  but  they  can  regret  it  properly  later.

he  withdraws  the  moment  his  jacket  falls  around  tempest’s  shoulders,  three  careful  steps  taken  backwards  to  put  some  distance  between  them.  the  air  around  them  felt  fragile  somehow;  as  if  one  wrong  movement  might  shatter  everything  and  justin  didn’t  dare  risk  that  happening.  better  to  be  safe,  he  told  himself.  ＂  i’ve  heard  that  before.  i’m  a  spooky  guy,  especially  with  halloween  coming  around  the  corner.  my  season  is  finally  here.  ＂  he’s  rambling  nonsense  and  the  worst  part  is,  he  knows.  he  can  hear  himself,  but  the  acknowledgement  isn’t  enough  to  silence  him.  the  boy  was  born  a  chronic  babbler,  even  more  so  when  nervous.  they’ve  always  had  that  kinda  power  over  him,  but  it  feels  different  tonight.  like  treading  on  eggshells,  as  opposed  to  the  light  -  hearted  jitters  that  used  to  simply  exist  just  because  they  smiled  at  him.  ＂  i  mean    …    i  wouldn’t  be  a  very  good  stalker  if  i  just  admitted  it,  would  i?  ＂  it’s  meant  to  be  playful.  some  bad  humour  thrown  around  in  an  attempt  to  break  the  tension  and  the  hufflepuff  even  manages  a  laugh  that  only  a  hint  of  hesitance  exists  in.  ＂  it’s  the  latter,  i  promise.  i  ran  out  of  presentations  to  listen  to  and  i’ve  never  been  great  at  mingling.  it  usually  results  in  me  saying  something  stupid,  or  stepping  on  somebody’s  foot,  and  that  crowd  doesn’t  look  like  the  most  forgiving.  figured  i  might  be  safer  out  here  with  you.  at  least  you  already  know  i’m  an  idiot,  so  it  doesn’t  come  as  big  as  a  surprise.  ＂

[karinagiada]

At the Ministry Gala 💫

[med1rigby]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: you look like you just saw a ghost. 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level 8, the atrium 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for oskar catchlove ( @hoggleswart )

"more like a banshee and her pet ghoul." eyes roll as she finds solace away from the centre of the room, slender fingers wrapped around the neck of her champagne flute tightly. it hasn't been long since she arrived in the atrium and she had already spotted the forbidding features of her mother barking orders at her poor-postured father - it was one of the few times in her life that she could confidently say she felt sorry for him. gwen knew the wrath of her mother, the stinging of flesh almost too familiar, even after all of these years. "my parents," offering a tight-lipped smile, gwen sips at her bubbly drink. "haven't seen them since i was eighteen. how unfortunate to meet them now."

[hcldmybroom]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: level seven, department of magical games and sports. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: closed for seamus finnigan ( @hoggleswart )

perhaps she was hoping of seeking some sort of recognition by looking around level seven, to be as recognised as her peers ( ginevera weasley, marcus flint, tempest clearwater ). slender fingers inspect the various team displays along the office before her ears prick up, lips pursing before peering into the waiting area of the level - only to see a certain partner in various crimes. "finnigan??" her voice is hushed as she resists the grin that wishes to break out on her lips, instead opting to gesture to her friend, "what in the world are you doing here? who did you trick into bringing you?"