#muggle-born slytherin

[riddlesbunny]

P✩rnstar

summary: After break, you bring a video camera back to Hogwarts from the muggle world and teach Mattheo how to use it.

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Muggleborn!Reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: Explicit smut, recording sexual acts, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, hair pulling, creampie 18+ MDNI

note: Inspo for this was the song by nessa barrett and idk how good this is bc I’ve gone like a month without writing!! 🙈

Mattheo is just lounging in bed twirling his wand between his fingers as you enter. He’s expecting you, already dressed for bed, cozy in his pajamas. His brows furrow as he catches sight of the device in your hands.

“What in Merlin’s name is that?” he asks, straightening up.

“A video camera, I brought it from home, I forgot to show you,” you say, plopping down beside him on the bed. “It records things—moving images, but more intricate than our photos, sounds. Like a memory, but without needing a Pensieve.”

His interest piques and reaches for it, turning it over in his hands, “Muggle invention?”

You nod, “I thought it’d be fun to bring back from break. I can show you how it works.”

Mattheo smirks,  “so, I can capture you talking about how stunning I am and replay it whenever I like?”

Rolling your eyes, you flip open the screen and power it on, “something like that.”

You show him the record button, how to zoom, how to frame a shot. He watches, fascinated, as the lens captures your surroundings, the tiny screen displaying everything in real-time.

“Alright,” you say, leaning back. “Your turn.”

Mattheo lifts the camera, hesitating for only a second before pointing it at you. 

“What do I do?”

“Just… record me, all you have to do is point the camera at me.”

The red light blinks on, and suddenly, you are under his gaze in a way you’d never been before. His attention was always intense, but now it was focused through the lens, tracing your every movement.

“Say something,” he prompts, his voice softer than before.

“Hiii, Matty,” you drawl, tossing your hair seductively before Mattheo adjusts the camera towards you and you drop down to your knees, cozying up to him. You rub your face on his inner thigh and gaze into the lens through your lashes.

Your run your palms over the light bulge in front of you, feeling him grow harder.

You press your lips to his inner thigh, leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way up until you reach his cock that now strains against his pajama shorts.

Your eyes never leave the camera as you run your tongue along the length of his shaft through the thin fabric. He shifts slightly, granting you easier access as he murmurs in encouragement.

With a wicked grin, you hook your fingers under the waistband of Mattheo's pyjamas and slide them down, freeing his now rock-hard cock. It bobs heavily in front of your face, already glistening with pre-cum.

The camera whirs softly, recording every salacious moment. You look right into its unblinking eye as you lean forward and circle the head of your boyfriend’s cock.

Your tongue swirls around the tip, as you taste the saltiness of his arousal. You glance up at him then back at the camera, lips parted, so inviting.

His thick cock throbs between your lips, filling your mouth slowly as you ease yourself onto it.

A low groan rumbles in his chest as he watches you sink deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you suck him greedily. Your pace quickens, alternating between long, languid sucks and flicking your tongue across his most sensitive spots.

With a sultry smile, you pop Mattheo's cock out of your mouth and slowly start jerking him off while meeting the camera with your lust-filled eyes.

"Mmm," you purr, "doesn’t that feel good?" Your hand pumps faster now, working Mattheo's slicked-up length, while your other hand massages his swollen balls. His hips twitch in response, fighting the urge to thrust into your grip.

"Y-yes, but I need to be inside you," Mattheo moans, and you release your grasp, his cock standing tall, still glistening.

"Gotta be patient, baby," you say, waiting a few moments before you untie your own pyjama pants, kicking them off of you.  Your panties follow suit, revealing your pussy already soaked with anticipation. You crawl forward onto the bed, presenting yourself to the camera, ass high in the air.  On hands and knees, you position yourself perfectly for Mattheo, giving him– and the camera— a full view of your drenched pussy. You look over your shoulder at him, as you bite down on your lower lip. 

“God,” Mattheo moans, “you’re perfect, the prettiest pussy in all of Hogwarts, I’d wager. Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” 

You blush furiously at his words but do as he says.

It is not long before his index finger is tracing your thick folds, sliding up and down your slit, teasing you mercilessly. Your cheeks burn red at the thought of being so exposed on camera, but the naughtiness of it all turns you on.

Mattheo maneuvers behind you, rubbing the tip of his rigid cock against your cunt. 

You can feel your heartbeat in your pussy and your toes threaten to curl as you beg, "Please Matty... don't tease me."

With one fluid movement, he slides into you, claiming you completely. He fists your hair, using it to tilt your head back farther so the camera can capture your expression as he begins to move inside you.

A deep, guttural moan escapes you as Mattheo’s thick length stretches your tightness deliciously. He pulls back, almost sliding completely out before slamming home again and you gasp, your walls clamping down around him.

His balls slap against your ass as he picks up speed, fucking you wildly, hitting the spongey spot deep within you perfectly.

You moan shamelessly, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the empty dorm room.

“That’s it, Matty. Yes, fuck me!"

Mattheo's grip tightens in your hair as his strokes become more insistent, drawing hoarse cries from deep within you. You feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you, stretching you open.

His thumb finds it’s way to your clit, circling it in time with each powerful thrust, making you squirm and buck against him, that familiar coil of pleasure winding inside you. 

Your breathing becomes ragged as Mattheo's steady rhythm quickens, your pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock. He groans appreciatively, loving the feeling of being so utterly enveloped by your tight warmth.

"Fuck, Matty," you hiss as his pace becomes increasingly relentless, your body pinned by his weight,  “so... close.."

You cry out loudly as Mattheo hits your deepest spot, sending shivers coursing through your entire being, and the heat building inside you reaches a crescendo— the tight winding coil threatening to snap.

"I’m close too, cum with me, baby," Mattheo grunts, leaning forward to plant a rough kiss on the sensitive spot where your jaw meets your neck. His breath comes hot against your ear as he whispers, 'I'm gonna fill you up, pretty girl."

The sensation is too much, hitting you like a thunderclap. Spasms wrack your body uncontrollably as you erupt into an explosive orgasm, pulsing and squeezing Mattheo's cock.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being filled up with my cum?”

Your vision blurs momentarily, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids.

The ache in your core only intensifies, that familiar tremble gripping you tight.

Mattheo's pace never falters as he feels your walls pulsating around him. He growls into your ear, "that’s my good little slut, milk my dick with that tight cunt."

Your release triggers his own as Mattheo keeps driving into you, his cock swelling further before a rush of warmth spills into you, filling you completely.

Mattheo collapses onto you, spent yet still hard inside you. His hands caress your sides, tracing lines on your heated skin as he catches his breath.

You can feel his heart pounding against your back. You let out a satisfied sigh, reveling in the warm feeling of Mattheo's cum dripping out of your pussy and trickling onto the sheets.

You roll onto your back and in an instant Mattheo is between your legs with the camera directed straight at your swollen cunt. Instinctively you try to clamp your legs shut, but he rips them open with his free hand.

“Now’s not the time to shy away from me, baby. C’mon, let’s see that pretty pussy.”

You do as Mattheo instructs, parting your legs wider, fully exposing yourself once more. His gaze is intense, taking all of you in. He moves even closer, still filming, until his face is inches away from your wet slit.

He places a quick kiss to your cunt before he quickly shuts the camera off, fumbling around and shoving it into his bedside drawer, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“Yeaaah, I’m gonna be watching that everyday for the rest of my life.”

[dreamcubed]

you need to calm down | theodore nott x reader

song; you need to calm down [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!muggle-born!reader genre; e2l, smut, angst word count; 5,9k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption, implied drug consumption, hook-up, drunk sex, piv, oral sex (male and female receiving), discrimination (muggle-borns), smoking, violence, blood, mentions of the war, arguments, yelling summary; after returning to hogwarts for a subsidiary 8th year to make up for the loss of 7th year due to the war, you are a completely different person, and muggle-born-hating theo finds himself obsessed with you

masterlist

"stressing and obsessing about somebody else is no fun."

MINORS DNI!!! 18+ content.

————————————————

In the time that the Second Wizarding War had been going on, you had been absent from Hogwarts, attending a muggle school under a fake name. Also in that time, you had changed significantly, partially to help your cover, but also because you had made muggle friends with similar styles and decided that you loved it. There were no uniforms at muggle college, so you were able to explore. These days you loved having black hair, having both your septum and nose pierced, and dressing almost entirely in black.

Your witch friends hadn't recognised you when you showed up at the Summer party you had received an invite to, after Voldemort was defeated and you were able to come out of hiding. The party you were attending was for seventh and eighth years— eighth year being introduced as a subsidiary for the education lost last year. Even most of those who had attended seventh year elected to return, as the final exams had never taken place, and what they had learned had been heavily rooted in the dark arts.

The party was booming, the walls of the massive house shaking with the sound of the music. You had consumed your fair share of alcohol, amongst other things, and had enjoyed catching up with everyone you had missed so dearly.

And that was when you saw him watching you.

Theodore Nott, a Slytherin boy in your year, who was from a wealthy pure-blooded family. A cigarette hung from his lips, and the smoke billowing around him sent a shiver up your spine. He was a sexy man, personality aside, and intoxicated you conveniently forgot about his attitude towards muggle-borns. Fuck, maybe he had changed?

He started approaching you, eyes raking up and down your accentuated figure, and he lingered a while on your fishnets. When he was close enough to talk, he said a simple statement, "I've never seen you before."

Theodore Nott hadn't changed. Not one bit. While he had never wished death upon muggle-borns like Voldemort, he had despised them— viewed them as lesser than he. He had seen you, laughing with your friends and seductively moving your hips, and assumed you were from the year below. You knew in that moment that he didn't recognise muggle-born goody-two-shoes Y/N L/N.

But, you were too drunk to ignore the red flags.

"No?" you murmured, "What are your first thoughts?"

He smirked, "I think I'm in for a very interesting night."

You chuckled, "I'll say."

His hands found your hips, and he began swaying with you to the music, which made you move your body closer to his. Even in the warmth of the room, the heat of his body hit you like an electric spark, coursing through you— straight to your core.

He moved even closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as his hands moved round to your back. Then he lifted his head, his lips close to yours, and you let your eyes flutter shut as the kiss began. It was passionate: a hazy, powerful passion that had every hair on your body standing on end. His hands lowered to your ass, and squeezed, bringing a gasp from your lips, which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

All of a sudden, he pulled away, only to whisper in your ear, "Wanna find somewhere more private?"

"Lead the way," you said breathlessly, and he took your hand in his.

Neither of you knew whose bedroom you had ended up in, but it was empty and had a lock on the door, so it was ideal. Sure, a little unlocking charm could get someone in, but hopefully they would realise what was going on inside if the door was locked.

Theo wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours again, pushing you back until you fell on to the bed, pulling him with you. He moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking in a manner that would definitely leave hickeys, before he returned to your lips. You tugged at his shirt, and he let you pull it over his head, revealing a toned chest and arms that had you drooling.

He smirked at your loss of composure and beckoned towards your shirt, "Your turn, miss."

This time, you smirked, and held up your arms to allow him to remove your upper body clothing. First your tight black mesh top, and then your bra, freeing your boobs for him to gaze at. "Look who's drooling now."

Your statement made him snap out of his shock: clearly the sight of your nipple piercings had been a new experience for him. He attacked your lips with a new fervour, then moved down to suck on your nipple and its barbell. Gasps escaped you at the sensation, and you arched your back up instinctively.

"You're so sexy," he stopped for breath, complimenting you, "How have I never seen you before?"

Your breath hitched, and for a moment the reality of the situation came back to you. Just as quickly, though, it left again, as he began work on your other nipple. It was a wonderful feeling, but you needed more, so you pushed him over until you were on top and began unbuckling his trousers.

His dick was big and thick, and you could tell by the glint in his eyes as he looked down at you that he knew and was proud. You shook your head, bringing your lips to the tip and pressing a gentle kiss. Your teasing didn't last for long, however, as you soon gave into the urge to take it into your mouth. He groaned deliciously in response, and you took that as your cue to lick a strip up the side as you began fondling his balls.

"Just like that, baby," he moaned, making you realise he hadn't even asked for your name.

You took him in your mouth again, this time going as far down as your throat would allow, feeling the urge to gag building up in you. His louder groans made the effort worth it, though, as you deepthroated him. Pulling away for breath, you looked up at him with doe eyes and said, "If I'm sucking your dick, you might as well eat me out." And with that, you pulled your tights and panties down, leaving only your skirt on, before sitting on his face assertively.

The action made him groan more, and you leaned down to continue work on his dick as you felt him find your clit almost immediately. His tongue ministrations had you moaning around his dick, making you begin grinding on his face out of reflex. If you weren't drunk, you wouldn't be nearly this shameless and forward.

To his credit, he ate you out like a man starved, and it wasn't long before the pleasure became so much you had to give up on his dick and give in to the sensation.

"Fuck, Theo, I'm gonna come," you moaned, and his movements only got quicker, until you felt your core tighten and then release. Your body convulsed as he rode you through the high.

Eventually, you got off his face.

"D'you have condoms?" you asked, knowing he hadn't yet finished and also that you weren't yet satisfied.

"Always." He reached for his trousers over the side of the bed and pulled a condom out of his wallet.

You took it from him, tearing the packet with your teeth whilst making eye contact, and carefully sheathing his dick. His breath hitched once you were done: the only warning you got before he got up and pushed you down on to all fours, lining himself up behind you. The push in wasn't difficult, since you were quite well prepared, but it was still sensationally tight for him.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, pushing in the last couple inches, "You feel so fuckin' good. So wet for me."

In reply, you moaned, and he took that as his cue to begin moving.

He pushed up your skirt to slap your ass, leaving a red imprint on your cheek, before gripping your hips and picking up the pace. You became a mess beneath him, even more so when one of his hands snuck around to begin rubbing circles on your clit. The bedsheets were crumpled in your hands with how tight you were gripping them, but Theo didn't stop.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna-" he cut himself off with a grunt.

"Me too," you squeaked out.

"Come with me." The assertive way in which he said it had you falling apart yet again, and by the way his movements were becoming sloppy, you could guess that he was too. When he then collapsed next to you, you knew that your guess had been correct.

Turning to lay on your back, you let out a content sigh.

"You know my name," he said.

You chuckled breathlessly.

"Who are you?"

You shrugged, deciding that you had given yourself enough time to regain your composure and getting up off the bed to clothe yourself. "You'll see," you said as you pulled your final clothing item back on.

And, with that concluding comment, you left Theo speechless on a random bed of the host's house.

***

You told no one of that night, deciding that you didn't need to hear your friends say what a stupid idea it was for you as a muggle-born to fuck a pure-blood supremacist. You already knew that yourself, but that didn't stop you from dreaming about how his tongue felt against your pussy, or how his hands felt on your body. Merlin, it was the best sex that you had ever had, and it just had to be with someone who would never want you again after finding out the truth.

It was on the train to Hogwarts that you saw him next. Despite how excited you were to return to the castle after over a year, the anxiety of your next meeting with Theo had been consuming you. And, in a lit up train in your classic school uniform, you were a lot more recognisable than in the dark in your own clothes. Especially considering you were with your friend group.

You stared at him as he stood in the doorway of you and your friends' compartment, with Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire stood behind him. They were likely on the hunt for some younger years to belittle.

"Well, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has certainly changed a lot, hasn't she?" Riddle chuckled from behind Theo, who was simply staring at you with widened eyes and a clenched jaw.

"Theo? Mate? You alright?" Berkshire asked, snapping his friend out of his daze.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he said dismissively, "Let's go."

His friends appeared confused, but didn't question it.

Your friends, however, did.

"What the fuck was up with that?" your best friend, Elena, asked, "Is the man scared of a couple piercings or something?"

She didn't even know what she was saying when she said that, you thought to yourself, thinking back to his reaction to your nipple piercings. You simply shrugged at her, "He just hates to see a muggle-born succeed."

Everyone agreed with hums, and the conversation shifted to other subjects.

***

Theodore Nott had spent the last two weeks of Summer wondering what the fuck the mysterious girl he fucked at a party meant by, "You'll see," and then following that up with a wank using memories of you. But, in that moment, stood in front of you on the Hogwarts Express, where you were in better lighting and more recognisable attire, he felt the world crash down around him.

How had he fucked a mudblood? The one thing that was ingrained into his brain since childhood to never do? Ever? The worst part is, he hadn't just liked the sex, he had loved it. He had already had numerous wet dreams about your lips and your boobs and your ass. And now? Now he had to push all of that aside because he couldn't ever fuck you again.

He just couldn't.

"Theo- Earth to Theo," the voice of Lorenzo next to him brought him from his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped back.

"What's got you so worked up?"

Mattheo chuckled, "Can't you see him staring at mudblood L/N? I can't tell if you wanna kill her or fuck her."

That statement earned Mattheo a glare from Theo.

"Maybe both?" Lorenzo suggested, making them both laugh.

"Who was it again that you hooked up with at the party?" Mattheo asked before shovelling food into his mouth.

"He didn't say, remember? Said she never told him her name."

"It doesn't matter," Theo spat.

Lorenzo and Mattheo exchanged looks as realisation dawned on them, and they both slowly turned to Theo who was still glaring daggers in your direction.

"No, you didn't..." Mattheo said first.

Theo said nothing.

"You fucked a mudblood," Lorenzo stated, finishing Mattheo's thought.

"You didn't realise it was L/N," Mattheo continued.

"She'd changed a lot, okay?" Theo said angrily, "I thought she was from the year below or something."

His two friends began howling with laughter, meanwhile Theo sat brooding in silence at the Slytherin table.

***

Saturday rolled around, and you were relieved to be able to shed the school uniform and tug on your clothes that had become an important part of you. Thankfully, Hogwarts hadn't been too strict about your piercings, in fact you had even received compliments from some professors. But, honestly, the rules weren't all that strict since it was still a sensitive time with many grieving from the war.

The Summer weather was still lingering, and you basked in the sunlight as you walked down one of the open hallways, watching first years giggling amongst themselves as they played with their new magic skills. It brought a smile to your face, to see things returning to normal; you had missed Hogwarts dearly while you had been away, not knowing how long you would have to remain in hiding. You had even begun applications for muggle university— because, really, how could you have known whether it would be one year or ten before you could freely be a witch again?

You turned a corner, and in your drifted thoughts, didn't notice the person walking around the other way until it was too late and your shoulders had shoved against each other.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, realising all too late that it was Theo. He was glaring at you, just like he had at every meal and every class you shared all week.

"Watch where you're going, mudblood," he snapped.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled, "Wasn't a problem three weeks ago."

"Never speak of that," he said lowly, his voice threatening.

"Why? Annoyed sex with a mudblood was good?" you retorted, and then you found yourself pinned up against the wall.

"Watch your mouth, miss."

"Don't you mean 'baby'?" you smirked, relishing in the way his eyes darkened.

You almost missed the way his gaze flicked to your lips, but then he pulled away, refusing to look at you.

"Fuck you, L/N," he spat, storming off, and you watched in amusement with your back still against the wall.

***

Theodore Nott was livid. Absolutely livid. You wound him up in the worst way possible, only for him to try and scare you- fail- and then find himself wanting nothing more than to smash his lips on to yours. When you reminded him of the pet name he used while you were fucking, the blood in his body rushed straight to his dick: the feeling of his arms gripping yours and the close proximity had felt electric. Your very presence set him on fire in every single way possible.

He hated every second.

With previous hook-ups, he had hooked up a few more times with them until he had gotten bored and moved on to the next. Before he found out who you were, he had been planning on doing the same, and now the fact he couldn't was driving him crazy. He thought about you every minute of the day, every minute of the night, and- unfortunately- whenever his hand was wrapped around his dick. And, after his interaction with you in the hallway, he knew that he needed a good fuck from at least a half-blood, if not a pure-blood.

Yes, that was all it was, his body was desperate for sex and as you were the last person he fucked, his thoughts simply went to you first. That was all it was.

Definitely.

***

Potions lesson on Monday rolled around quicker than you would have liked, but it wasn't all bad, as Slughorn was a nice enough professor. You sequestered yourself next to your best friend, ready to begin the lesson. He had promised you all your first practical lesson today, and you were excited to use a cauldron again after so long.

The only real downside of the class was that Theo was in it, and he seemed even angrier (if that was possible) than he was last week. His eyes were pinned on to you like you had murdered his family. You shrugged it off, setting up the work station while Elena went to fetch the various ingredients that you required.

Meanwhile, Theo sat across the class from you, feeling incredibly frustrated. Saturday night, he had tried to fuck another girl, but he couldn't get himself hard until he imagined that she was you. And, even then, he couldn't finish. His imagination couldn't go as far as making her feel and act like you, after all. Now, all he knew, was that you were his enemy, and his remedy. And you had the audacity to act so calm and unbothered all the fucking time.

"Your obsession isn't healthy," Mattheo spoke from next to him, dumping the potion ingredients on the table.

"It's not an obsession."

"What is it, then?" his friend scoffed, "Love?"

Theo furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Mattheo watched as Theo rose to his feet and began haphazardly chopping ingredients, the tiny knife taking the brunt of his anger.

"If it's affecting you so bad, just fuck her again."

"She's mudblood."

"It's not like you're impregnating her," Mattheo reasoned.

Theo sighed deeply, "It's not that simple. I've had it trained into me since birth that we don't associate with mudbloods."

"Well," Mattheo shifted on his feet, "Parents aren't always right."

"Since when did you sympathise with them?"

"I don't- I just," Mattheo muttered something inaudible to himself, and then said, "I don't want people to think I'm my father."

Theo said nothing.

"I'm just saying, mate, your mother's dead and your father's in prison for life— who gives a fuck what they think?"

"It's the principle."

"What even is the principle?"

"What would Draco think? Lorenzo? All of our friends?"

"Draco's not the man he was before the war," Mattheo said quietly. He knew better than anyone, being Draco's cousin, he had grown up with him due to his parents' absence. "I'm just saying. Maybe we should leave some beliefs in the past."

"You've gotten soft," Theo grumbled, "Just last week you were shitting on me for fucking her."

Mattheo shrugged, "Force of habit, I guess. I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately."

"That's rare."

"Shut up."

***

Truth was, despite all of Theo's dick behaviour and discrimination of your kind, you still found yourself waking up in a sweat thinking about his hands roaming your body. That goddamned Slytherin was the bane of your existence and the reason for your catharsis. He had diseased you, plagued you. He was a parasite that you couldn't get rid of, that was eating away at your sanity. What happened to your self respect? To your pride? You got fucked into heaven, that's what. And now your sexual urges were spreading like fire all throughout your bloodstream.

Wanking didn't feel the same anymore— your fingers didn't hold the electricity and passion that Theo's did. You craved him like a drug: and that's exactly what he was. He was something you shouldn't do, something that was bad for your health, but something that could have you seeing stars. Why did he have to be a blood supremacist?

But would it feel this intense if he wasn't? Maybe you two being forbidden, being star-crossed, was the reason that it made you feel so alive. You loved the fact he stared at you, even if it was with fury so powerful it made his whole body shake. It made you feel as if you had gotten to him the way he had gotten to you.

Just one taste of heaven had left you wanting to experience it a thousand times over.

"Get your shit together, Y/N," you cursed to yourself, forcing yourself out of bed.

"What was that?" one of your dorm mates asked.

"Nothing," you replied, "Just going crazy."

"Aren't we all?" she agreed.

***

"Party in the Slytherin dungeons tonight," Pansy stated to you one hellish week later.

You blinked at her, "And I'm invited?"

The girl nodded, evidently feeling awkward, "A lot of us are trying to- uh- make amends with mud- muggle-borns."

You raised an eyebrow at her near slip-up.

"Look- I'm- I'm sorry for how I treated you in the past," she said, actually appearing genuine, "It wasn't right."

"Um, thank you," you replied hesitantly.

"I know I don't speak for all the Slytherins, but a lot of us have done some thinking over the Summer," she continued, "We've lived in an echo chamber for too long."

That you agreed with.

"And, honestly, I think you're really cool- and I hope we can be friends."

You were taken aback by her words, never imagining that a pure-blood like Pansy Parkinson would be saying such words to you. But, maybe, forgiving her wouldn't be such a bad thing. "I... forgive you, I think," you said slowly, "I hope we can be friends too."

She gave you a small but warm smile, "Thank you. Will I see you there?"

You nodded cautiously, "Yeah, I think so."

"Great, uh, come say hi when you get there."

And with that, she disappeared, leaving you in a state of shock and confusion.

***

"Why are there so many mudbloods here?" Lorenzo asked irritatedly, sitting down on the sofa next to his friend group.

"Be civil, Enzo," Pansy gently scolded, "They're witches and wizards just like us."

"But they're not, though. Right, Matt?"

Mattheo shrugged slightly, "I'm with Pansy on this one, I think."

"See, Enzo? Even the Dark Lord's son agrees with me."

Mattheo grimaced at being reminded of who his father was.

"What about you, Theo?" Lorenzo asked.

But Theo wasn't listening, too busy glaring at you with his jaw clenched as you entered the common room, dressed up in an annoyingly similar way that you were back at the Summer party. Lorenzo followed his gaze, but he already knew where it would be leading to.

"Theo is not the person to ask," Blaise chuckled, appearing out of nowhere and sitting next to Theo, "I reckon he's about two interactions with L/N away from saying 'fuck it' and accepting his fate."

"What fate?" Theo snapped.

"The fate of falling in love with a muggle-born," Pansy said with a giggle.

"I'm not falling for her."

"Yeah, you just think and talk about her all the time," Draco, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke.

"Do you not have a problem with it?" Lorenzo asked Draco.

The blond boy shrugged, "I have a lot of regrets regarding muggle-borns. I don't want anymore."

Lorenzo groaned.

"Times are changing, Enzo," Pansy said gently, "I think you should change with them."

The man scowled and stormed off.

Meanwhile, you had finally spotted Pansy across the room, surrounded by the Slytherin boys— including Theo. You took a deep breath, deciding for the sake of a potential friendship you would have to bear it and fulfil her request of saying hi. You arrived at their group moments after you had seen Berkshire leave angrily.

"Uh, hi," you said to Pansy.

"Hi," her face lit up, "Have you got a drink? I'll get you one."

"Oh, thank you."

"It's no worries— make yourself comfortable," she then turned to the boys, "Play nice."

Mattheo raised his hands in mock surrender, but all Theo did was keep his eyes glued on to you.

Zabini shifted along the sofa, gesturing for you to sit in between him and Theo, which you cautiously accepted. The second you felt the warmth of Theo's thigh brush against yours, sparks jolted through your body, and you nearly jumped. You could have sworn you heard his breath hitch, too. This was the first time in two weeks that he wasn't looking at you, instead his eyes were trained ahead like he was retaining every ounce of self control within him.

"The sexual tension is suffocating," Mattheo remarked, standing up to go after Pansy.

His statement seemed to fuel the flame that you had desperately been trying to keep dim inside of you, and suddenly staying sat next to Theo seemed like an entirely impossible task. You were not nearly drunk enough for this. Thankfully, Pansy returned quickly with Mattheo lingering behind her, and she handed you a glass.

"Firewhiskey and coke," she said simply.

"Thanks," you accepted the glass, and downed the entire thing, "I'll get another one."

You left them all, hearing Pansy scold Theo for scaring you off, but you could still feel his eyes burning holes into your back. Just a couple more drinks and then you would join the dance floor, you decided.

And there you soon were, grinding up against a Hufflepuff boy with liquid courage flooding through your veins. You had just about managed to push Theodore Nott to the back of your mind, but you knew that it was only a temporary fix. This Hufflepuff boy was attractive, but he didn't set you alight.

"Someone's jealous," Blaise chuckled, watching as Theo glared daggers at the boy you were dancing with. Ever since you had joined the dance floor, he had been necking back drinks like his soul depended on it, and it just might. With every gulp, he was feeling more reckless and dangerous. "Accept it, mate, you're in deep."

Theo let out a sound that bordered on a growl.

"The only thing stopping you is yourself."

And as Blaise's words sank in, and the Hufflepuff boy appeared to be going in to kiss you, something snapped within Theo. In a flash, he was on his feet and taking large purposeful strides in your direction. Then, the Hufflepuff boy was torn from your side and being punched directly on the nose with such a force he toppled over. He didn't even get a chance to fight back as Theo continued to hit him, merciless in his moves.

You stood in shock watching the scene unfold before you. After what felt like forever, Mattheo and Lorenzo showed up, pulling Theo off the poor boy who had done nothing wrong.

"What the fuck was that for?" the boy yelled, blood pouring down his face.

Theo said nothing, glaring at him as he finally stopped fighting his friends' grip.

"You need to calm down, mate," Mattheo said sternly, digging his fingers into his friend's bicep.

"Theo." You said, unaware what your intentions were when the name slipped out of your mouth. Regardless, his eyes snapped to yours, appearing to soften slightly as he observed your fearful stance.

What was stopping him, really? Did the purity of his bloodline really matter to him that much?

"I think you two need to talk," Mattheo said firmly, "And I think one of you in particular- not naming any names- needs to get over his own bullshit excuses and give into what he wants."

Theo's bloodied hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories. You didn't fight him, strangely feeling your fear slip away despite what you had just witnessed Theo be capable of. When you were stood in his empty dormitory, face to face, you knew that you would have to be the first to say something.

"You were jealous," you said it as delicately as you could.

He said nothing, not even looking at you. This made you angry— enraged, even.

"Fucking look at me, Theo!" you screamed, "You haven't had any difficulty with it all week— staring at me like I'm the shit on your fucking shoe!"

His eyes locked on to yours.

"If you regret fucking me, just say it!"

"I don't regret it," he said, his volume low but tone dangerous, "Everything I've been raised to believe wants me to regret it but I can't."

You stood, stunned at his confession.

"I need you like I need water, you're an itch I can't scratch," he was stepping closer to you, making you step back, "You make me feel fucking ecstasy and misery all at once."

Your back hit the wall, and he grabbed your wrist again, bringing it to press against his crotch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he said darkly, "I've never been so hard in my life."

You gulped, "I'm not just gonna be another of your bitches, Theo, so forget it." Even though you wanted it so bad, and you were dripping from your core.

"That's the thing, L/N," he chuckled sinisterly, "I don't think I could ever get enough. I don't think anyone else will be able to satiate me ever again."

You jaw dropped.

"I think..." he continued, "...that you're a drug I got addicted to after only one hit."

You closed your mouth, looking up at him expectantly.

"And I don't think I ever want to be sober from you."

"But, I'm a muggle-born-"

He cut you off by slamming his lips on to yours with such furious passion your mind became hazy as you eagerly returned the kiss, lifting up your arms to wrap them around your neck. For a moment, he pulled away, just to whisper, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't think I care. I think I just want you in every humanly possible way."

"Then have me," you murmured.

It became a blur as his lips crashed on to yours yet again, and he picked you up by your thighs with his blood stained hands, leaving imprints on your bare skin through your fishnets. He moved you over to his bed, kissing down your neck while he blindly reached for the hem of your top. He wasted no time in pulling it off, along with your bra, so he could continue kissing down your body.

You relished the sensation— savouring it— feeling like you were the only girl in the world. Theo was treating you with such roughness and yet such care, like he had tunnel vision for you and only you.

He pulled off his shirt, before moving down to pull down your skirt, fishnets, and panties all at once. You watched breathlessly as he dived into your leaking pussy and ate you out like a man starved. He groaned, murmuring, "I've missed this taste so fucking much," before continuing his ministrations, eliciting the filthiest moans from you that had ever been produced. This felt even better than the last time.

"You are my goddess," he licked up your pussy, "And my devil."

He began sucking on your clit, and your body felt as if it was lifting from the bed as your orgasm hit you like a shockwave, coursing through your body and sending you to places you had only brushed against before.

"Fuck, Theo," you moaned, "Please fuck me."

The man didn't need telling twice, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his trousers. He didn't waste any time going to his bedside table to grab a condom out of the drawer, tearing it open and pulling it on in record speed. You would have helped him, but your orgasm had you borderline paralysed.

And, then, he was lining up in front of you— for the first time in his life, all he wanted was to fuck missionary. He wanted to see your face (and your nipple piercings that had him drooling) and he wanted to see your expressions as you came undone below him. To him, this was the most intimate that you could get in sex, and he only wanted that with you.

He groaned louder than he had ever groaned when he let himself push inside you, knowing that no other pussy would ever feel as magical as yours. Knowing that he should never have even considered depriving himself of this for some stupid blood purity reasons.

"Fuck, baby, you feel fucking amazing," he breathed out. You reached your arms up, gesturing for him to come down closer to you.

Theo obeyed, kissing you as he began thrusting, while his bloodied hands explored every inch of you, leaving a trail as they went.

"I'd rub your clit, but I don't want to get blood there," he said through heavy pants. You couldn't help but let out a small giggle, moving your own hand down to aid yourself along.

Your moans increased tenfold, as did his pace, and it wasn't long before he was biting down on to your neck in order to contain the groans that were fighting their way out of him. Who would have thought that such plain love making could make him feel so on top of the world?

"Theo- I'm gonna come," you choked out, and the way his teeth sank deeper told you that he was going to as well. As you both reached heaven in unity, he gave up suppressing his moans, and gave you the most melodious earful that you had ever heard as his movements became sloppy and tingles spread through your veins.

Eventually, he collapsed on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his hair gently as you lay in a post-sex haze.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, making your brain short circuit.

"You what?"

"I'm sorry for being a pretentious asshole."

A smile creeped on to your face, "So, is this just a sex thing, or...?"

"Fuck no," he snapped, "I need you all the time. You're mine."

"So, it's a girlfriend boyfriend thing?"

He froze, but then relaxed, and said into your neck, "Yeah, I guess it is."

"You guess?"

He sighed, "Well, you've ruined me for anyone else."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 07/04/2024 —> 08/04/2024 published; 10/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

[miryum]

In the Dealings of Luck (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

In which you and Mattheo are reading the same book in the library and start writing notes to each other. What happens when Mattheo realises the reader's identity?

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Reader is Hufflepuff and muggleborn and has a fear of ending up alone :)

September 22nd, 1997

Professor Snape had just assigned a project to all of his unfortunate sixth year students. Not even his precious Slytherins were exempt from this. Each student would pick a potion to research for a month. The students would randomly choose their potion from a small selection and as Snape warned, since he had two sixth year classes, another student would have the same potion. 

After having picked the famed Felix Felicis, you went to the library to find a book that referenced it. Luckily (which you found ironic), there was an entire book on the Liquid Luck. You practically skipped to Madam Pince’s desk, thinking the assignment would be a breeze. Everything came to a screeching halt when she informed you that you could not check out the book.

“What? Why?” you asked, staring at her and still holding the book close to you. 

“I’m afraid that since there are two students working on each potion, Professor Snape has asked that all books on the topic be kept in the library so each student has access to all resources.”

Unfortunately, her reasoning made sense, so you grumped back to a table. Cracking open the book and mentally subjecting yourself to evenings now spent in the library, you began to read.

September 26th, 1997

It seemed as if you and your co-reader to All Things Lucky: the Full Composition of Felix Felicis had come to a silent agreement. You would sit in the library on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and they would alternatively pour over the book on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and weekends. 

You had heard from some other friends that they had met up with the person in Snape’s other class that had the same potion as them. The pair would swap notes and run ideas past each other, but for some reason, you weren’t inclined to. With your luck, it would turn out to be a Slytherin. 

The Slytherins in your year were horrid. Years older and younger than you didn’t seem bad at all. In fact, your younger sister was best friends with a Slytherin. The house seemed to get an unwarranted bad reputation. It was just the Slytherins in your year that seemed the worst. Perhaps it was yin and yang. Because Harry Potter and the Golden Trio were in your year, the universe needed to even it out with a Malfoy, Zabini, Nott, Berkshire, and even a Riddle.

Mattheo Riddle had been an enigma to you. You were aware of his presence, as you were sure he was yours, but the both of you kept it at that. He was around. And that was that. Other than the smoking, swearing, and blatant show of girls that paraded by to get his attention, he didn’t seem like a Riddle. He didn’t seem like Voldemort’s son. He was just another Slytherin; nothing atrocious set him apart. 

It was getting late in the library, so with your last bit of time, you circled some key words in the book and shoved a discarded piece of paper into the page to act as a bookmark.

And you left it at that.

October 1st, 1997

You hadn’t managed to get to the library on Monday. Hagrid had just found a new branch of bowtruckles, and knowing your odd affiliation to the current bowtruckles, had asked you to help. It took until dusk to coax the bowtruckles down, even with the reassurance of the old bowtruckles. However, even with your newly acquired bowtruckle friends, that meant you hadn’t been able to do any studying. 

The book thunked down on the table and you flipped it open to the bookmarked page. Silently cursing Snape, you forced your attention onto the typed words, eyes already drooping. It wasn’t until halfway through your study session that you noticed the scribbles on the bookmark you were fiddling with. 

Don’t you think it’s unorthodox to write in a book?

It seemed as if your co-reader was finally reaching out. 

You couldn’t help the small smile that lifted your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be a horrid project after all. 

September 30th, 1997

Mattheo had thought himself very unlucky when he got the elusive potion of Felix Felicis. He had put off doing any work on the project until the last day of September when Blaise finally began nagging him. The Slytherin was planning to just take the book to his dorm and use a Self-Writing Quill to paraphrase the entire essay until Madam Pince informed him, quite rudely, that the book was not to be taken out of the library. Apparently, there was another unlucky soul who had the same potion as him. 

Almost immediately, he noticed the small piece of paper used as a haphazard bookmark. He flipped to the page to see some sentences underlined. Flipping back a couple pages, he found some notes scribbled in the margins as well. 

Maybe he could use the same passages his co-reader was using. It would save him a lot of time searching for quotes to use. He quickly wrote down the page numbers where the scribbles were.

Mattheo knew the smart thing to do would be to leave the underlined words alone so he could continue copying off of his unfortunate co-reader. But something in him, just before he closed the book, having decided that he had done enough work today, made him flick his pen over the impromptu bookmark.

Don’t you think it’s unorthodox to write in a book?

October 2nd, 1997

Blaise was surprisingly pleased when Mattheo announced he was going to the library for some studying on Felix Felicis. He was relieved he didn’t need to berate the son of the Dark Lord anymore, but when Blasie’s eyes met Enzo’s, they both knew something else was at play. When was the last time Mattheo went to the library on his own free will? 

But Mattheo missed their exchanged glance, already out the door. Even if he was a Riddle, he was still a teenager, and the prospect of exchanging secretive notes with a stranger intrigued him. 

His co-reader had left him a reply on the bookmark, which said, They’re important. And I plan on erasing them once the project is done.

A bookworm, Mattheo realised. And a smartass. Who did he know in his year that was a bookworm? Of course, he could rule out anyone in his potions class, so that left the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaw’s were notoriously smart-alecks and readers, but they also didn’t start their projects right away. They were procrastinators, wanting to study their own niche interests before their school work. However, that was a gross overgeneralization, so maybe his co-reader was a Ravenclaw. 

Mattheo went to grab a pack of cigarettes, for those always helped him think, but then he saw Madame Pince’s watchful eye. Obviously, the librarian didn’t trust him. He didn’t blame her, but just once he wished someone would wait to judge him until they knew him better. With a scoff, he abandoned his search for cigarettes and instead tore off a bit of parchment. Instead of writing any of his essay, however, he ran through the mental list of the other sixth years and wrote down those who were in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein, Amanda Goldstein, Leanne Walters, Emily Xiao, Larry O’Donnel, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Y/n L/n…

Padma Patil, Susan Bones, and Leanne Walters all hated him, mostly because he had either slept with them or one of their friends and then didn’t pursue them any further. Anthony Goldstein and Justin Finch-Fletchley were just downright afraid of him, as was Ernie Macmillan, though the kid at least had some spine to pretend to have some bite, when in reality, he was all bark. Amanda Goldstein had a fat crush on him ever since third year, but she really was unappealing in his eyes. Much too meek and weak-willed, though probably someone his father would like. Zacharias Smith was an alright bloke. Hannah Abbott was quiet and the only reason Mattheo knew of her was because she had been his herbology partner once. He thought her much too naive and gullible, but a nice girl nonetheless. 

Was it wrong that he wished his penpal to be you? He was sure his co-reader didn’t know who he was, so it could be any one of the Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws. But god, how he wanted it to be you. You were the first name that popped into his mind, but he had waited to write it down until the end; he wanted to be the only one to see it. 

The son of the Dark Lord had first met you during the sorting ceremony of Year One. You had found Hagrid immediately once exiting the train and clung to his coat. Mattheo immediately clocked you as a muggleborn. His father would not be pleased with the way his eyes scanned over your features. When you got sorted into Hufflepuff, and he Slytherin, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment, but no surprise. You didn’t seem like a Slytherin. 

So, do you have any notes for this assignment I can use? he wrote on a new sheet of parchment and stuck it in the book. Mattheo decided that was enough studying and left.

October 3rd, 1997

I don’t make it a habit of giving out my hard-earned notes when I don’t know if the other person has done any work or not. 

It seemed as if anonymity was making you more bold.

October 4th, 1997

Oh, you’re fun. Mattheo grinned as he wrote back. Anyway I could change your mind? Or do you make it a habit of being a smartass? What house are you in?

October 6th, 1997

I just don’t see why you’re asking for my notes. We’re reading from the same book. You should be getting the same information I am. Have you not started writing your essay yet? And I’m not being a smartass. I’m just being smart. You paused, quill poised over the parchment. After a moment, you slowly lowered it to the paper and wrote, Hufflepuff. 

For some reason, revealing that piece of information seemed earth-shaking. You quickly packed up and left after that.

October 7th, 1997

Mattheo thought about trying to catch his penpal in the act, but where would the fun be in that? His lips parted in that coy little smirk of his when he read that they were from Hufflepuff. That narrowed down his list perfectly. 

Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith, Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, and Y/n L/n.

He had his suspicions, of course, but that might’ve also been his delusion and hopes of grandeur. He had learned early on to not get his hopes up about anything – not birthdays, test scores, or love. And especially not about trying to break out of the iron-cast mold of being the Slytherin heir.

Contrary to what you may have thought, ever since that first day of First Year, Mattheo had kept you in his peripheral. You were like a song stuck in his head that wouldn’t go away. And the music just kept getting louder and louder. In Second Year, he had noticed all the muggleborns and even half-bloods avoiding him after the first bloody message on the walls. At just twelve, it had cemented what he had known his entire life: he was to be feared. 

But then you had given him the smallest wave in the hallway and the new music had made his heart flutter. He still remembered the relief he felt whenever you weren’t the muggleborn to be petrified. 

The music had gotten louder in Third Year when the Defense Against the Dark Arts class had worked with Professor Lupin (of whom Mattheo had totally known to be a werewolf) on Boggarts. Professor Lupin was wise and didn’t ask Mattheo to stand in front of the cabinet, for they both knew Voldemort wouldn’t be a pleasant sight to see for the other students

Then you stepped up. The Boggart emerged and Mattheo immediately saw the resemblance. The Boggart was an older you, perhaps mid-fifties. The Boggart, poised as you, looked around and, in drab clothing, then shook its head. Mattheo’s eyes flickered down to its hand. No ring lay on its finger. Human you stood, silent, for a while, a crease between your brows. And you muttered the spell and stepped back.

Oh, how Mattheo had wanted to tell you that as long as he lived, he would do everything in his power to ensure that future didn’t become a reality.

In Fourth Year, the music grew into a crescendo. He didn’t have the guts to ask you to the Yule Ball. You were the lovely little Hufflepuff and he had a reputation to uphold. But you were radiant. You hadn’t meant to wear a gown that was green; it was a coincidence. You were wearing the colours of the snake and Mattheo’s little fourteen year old heart was beating hard enough to cause a stroke. He should’ve taken Astoria Greengrass to the dance – that would’ve been the thing his father would’ve wanted – but he couldn’t. Not when you danced so freely and laughed so lovely. Perhaps though, instead of watching hypnotic you, he should have focused on forcing the blood back up to his brain.

The music practically made it hard to hear in Fifth Year. When everyone else was torn between believing Dumbledore and fearing Mattheo’s father or believing their government, you still gave him a little nod in the hallways.

In Sixth Year, the music was all he could hear. Even though he arrived at Hogwarts with a brand-new Dark Mark burned into his forearm, your smile at the opening feast made it all seem worth it.

Hufflepuff, huh? So, are you, like, loyal and kind and stuff? Do you like badgers? Maybe I should call you a little badger.

October 8th, 1997

Your penpal was a part of your life now. It was an expectation that they would have a note ready for you whenever you went into the library. You were sure this essay about Felix Felicis was going to be the best damn paper you’d ever written with how much time you had been spending in the library. Honestly, you should thank your penpal because they gave you incentive to study.

You sound like a Slytherin, you wrote back. And I don’t know. Hufflepuffs are all different, you know? I don’t want it to sound like I’m bragging if I say “I’m kind and amazing and patient.” But don’t call me a little badger.

October 9th, 1997

Do I need to add ‘humble’ onto the Hufflepuff roster, little badger? And you’re spot on. I am of the great house of Slytherin and I am not ashamed to say it. Do you like Quidditch?

October 10th, 1997

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the question. If your penpal hadn’t admitted to being a Slytherin and if Oliver Wood hadn’t graduated a couple years before, you were certain it would be the old Gryffindor. 

I admit, I do like Quidditch. It was really fascinating to me when I first came into the wizarding world, as were most things. I like flying, but never tried out for the team. It was too much physical contact and I don’t want to fall off a broom from fifty feet up. But I still enjoy flying. By your question, I assume you play? And don’t call me little badger.

Maybe you liked communicating with this mystery person more than you let on.

October 11th, 1997

Mattheo was smiling at a piece of paper. He was grinning at a scrap of parchment. He was practically beaming just because his penpal was a muggleborn. And you were a muggleborn. You were one of two muggleborns left on his list: Justin Finch-Fletchley and you.

Mattheo was certain that Justin Finch-Fletchley would’ve stopped communicating with a penpal as soon as he learned they were a Slytherin. So it had to be you. You had to be his penpal.

For once in his life, Mattheo was getting his hopes up.

October 18th, 1997

Mattheo had been collecting a plethora of information on his pen pal – which he was certain was you. The problem was, the project was ending in two days and then where would he be? Without his little badger? Should he say something or let sleeping dogs lie?

With a good conscience, could he even bring you into his life? Who would want to be with the son of the Dark Lord? Certainly not you, who he had come to adore and pine after.

Sweet Salazar, what was he going to do?

October 20th, 1997

“Professor Snape?” You stood in front of his desk after the lesson, bag slung over your shoulder as you clutched the strap. “May I ask you a question?”

“What is it?” the professor drawled, looking over the papers he had received about the unique potions.

You shifted your weight from one foot to another. “Um, I was wondering who was the person in the other class that was studying Felix Felicis.”

Professor Snape’s eyes bored into yours. “Why do you wish to know?”

It took you a minute to reply. “We conversed a bit via notes and I think we would make good friends.”

If you hadn’t known Professor Snape for six years, you could have sworn there was some amusement in Snape’s stare. “Perhaps you should write one last letter to your unofficial partner. If they do not respond, Miss L/n, then I will be amenable to responding.”

With a cautious nod and frustration brewing in your chest at the ambiguous answer, you turned and left.

Your feet took you to the library, where the book on Felix Felicis was waiting for you on its shelf. When you pulled it out, it was like the book opened to the exact page where a new note sat. You flipped through the adjoining pages, a bit desperately, looking for the old messages you and your penpal had written. But the parchment wasn’t there.

Defeated, you took the newer note and unfolded it.

If you’re reading this, you’re realising that I took our correspondence, little badger. I apologise, for I’m sure you wanted it, but I couldn’t bear to part with it. Though perhaps we can reach an agreement. Meet me at the astronomy tower?

Was it a coincidence that you had gotten the Potion of Lucky for your project?

October 20th, 1997

Mattheo stood at the top of the astronomy tower, calves deliciously burning with the exhaustion of climbing all the way up there. It was a pleasurable pain, one that reminded him he was alive.

The cool bite of the wind did nothing against the Warming Charm he had cast, though he was sure that even if he hadn’t thought to perform the spell, the adrenaline in his veins would still keep his heart beating erratically. He stared out at the grounds of Hogwarts, mind silent.

Of course he heard the door creak open and your footsteps on the stone. Of course he could feel the silence between the both of you as you stared at the back of his head.

“Mattheo?” Your voice cut through the silence.

He turned around.

“Hey, little badger.”

[velvet4510]

It’s a small, easy to forget but incredibly important detail that Draco befriended Moaning Myrtle.

Think about it. Draco Malfoy - Slytherin pureblood raised to be a blood supremacist Death Eater who threw the “Mudblood” slur around left and right as a child - grew so close with the ghost of a Muggle-born witch who was killed by his master that they exchanged all their secrets and she was his only true confidant in sixth year. He let her see a side of him that nobody else saw; he let her see that he is sensitive, and people bully him too, and he allowed himself to cry in front of her multiple times.

All of this is canon.

That unlikely friendship alone almost certainly contributed to his change in loyalties and loss of faith in Voldemort’s cause. Her being a ghost forced him to look past her blood status and - quite literally - see her soul. She helped open his eyes to how little a person’s blood status actually matters.

It’s absolutely ridiculous that JKR introduced this crucial, in many ways groundbreaking detail … and then totally brushed it off. A huge basis for a full redemption for Draco in Deathly Hallows was already established by this unlikely friendship, but of course, it went nowhere, because she just wouldn’t dwell on any positive plot point or character development for Draco that she herself came up with and put into canon.

[moominlovely]

Nobody's supposed to be here

Summary: Things were meant to be different here, yet in her fourth year at Hogwarts, she finds that no one knows her name. Perhaps one day she will carve out a place for herself, or perhaps she will remain invisible.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first post, and I’m using it to improve my creative writing skills. If you have any feedback, please let me know! The reader is fem and has no background or parents, but that may change later. Thx for reading!

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How to speak to people.

This was not how she thought her life would be. And just at the ripe old age of 14, she was already tired of it. It was like she was invisible; her roommate looked through her. Her housemate sneered at her, and even the beast didn't notice her, and she knew it was especially bad when Peeves doesn't bother bothering her ( though she suspected he does it on purpose) and when she is seen it that one word that one word that suck to her 'mudblood'.

"Potions." That's all Professor Slughorn said, his eyebrows raised, "You're not very good at it, are you, miss ..." He seemed to think for a second, looking for her name.

"L/N, sir." I remind him.

He smiled and nodded knowingly, as though he knew it all along. "Yes, Miss L/N, I’m aware. That’s precisely why I’m assigning you a tutor. He’s a boy from the year above you in Slytherin, and I believe his expertise will be helpful .Mr. Snape."

She had seen Snape before in the common rooms, he almost always had his head in a book and was part of the SlugClub. She always thought that they were alike. He didn't talk to many people. He also seemed not to subscribe to blood supremacy as he followed that Grifindor muggleborn around like a lost puppy.

Just as she was about to rejet the offer, Snape strode through the door, his head down and his inky black hair obscuring his eyes, while the tips of his ears poked out. He was all limbs, long arms, and even longer legs. But now he seemed so short all hunched over and tucked away.

"You called for me, Professor," he said, low and shy. He just sounded so small.

But at the sight of one of his star pupils, Professor Slughorn grew excited. " Ah, yes, Severus! I was just telling Miss um... " he had forgotten again.

Right as she was about to remine him he interrupted her, "Well I was saying that she needs a tutor, and well, l you're one of my best, and I know you can get it done." he shifted, not really paying attention anymore, being ready to go any second. "So, yes!" he was inching closer and closer to the door, squeezing past Severus. "Well,l that's all I believe in you, miss. Yess!" Then he was gone.

Severus and Y/N found themselves alone, tension hanging in the air, not knowing how to talk to each other “So…” she began, her voice hesitating as she lifted her arms slightly. “I’m Y/N L/N.” He offered no reply, simply turned on his heel and walked away. Feeling a surge of determination, she followed him.

How do you speak to people?

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A.N: It's short I know, but if you want the next part, just say so. Maybe make some suggestions and feedback is always welcome.

[nevereverthem]

HP one-shot : partners / friends

🫱 [Mattheo Riddle × Draco Malfoy] 🫲

Warnings : none.

Length : 2k

We need to talk...

It's your decision

Imagine if Mattheo Riddle, the son of Voldemort, was studying at Hogwarts as a young ‘spy’. Nobody knew about his real identity, except from the insiders. Draco, being a newbie death-eater, was now aware of his classmate’s status. He already respected the guy, but it got ‘worse’ when he learned who he was.

Today, Mattheo sent him a note to meet in an abandoned part of the castle. When the clock ticked, Draco was exactly where he was asked to be, anxiety crippling in his chest. He knew the dark lord had a mission waiting for him, and he feared the time had come, that he had sent his son to deliver the message.

Mattheo was standing right next to a window, gazing outside, observing the night sky. “You came.”

Draco kept a fair distance from him. “Of course I did!” He sounded way too scared for his own liking. He cleared his throat. “I mean… Why am I here?”

“I would like you to help me.” His monotone voice prevented the blonde from guessing his intention.

“Anything!” Again, a bit too loud. “Hum… whatever he wants me to do.” Deep down, he wished it was just some stupid teenager drama that he honestly missed. It was all so trivial and comforting compared to the shit tone of terror it was to live with a mad man creeping around in his house.

Mattheo continued. “The request is not from my father. It’s from me.”

Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion. He hesitated a second. “I… what’s the matter?”

“I’m in a relationship.”

The blond let out a slight huff, relieved and intrigued by his declaration. “And..?” When Mattheo revealed the name of his lover, Draco could not believe it. His eyes grew wide. “But she’s-”

“Muggle-born?” His eyes finally met Draco’s. They were dark, filled with a dozen feelings that the blonde couldn't distinguish. “Don't you dare give me the mud-blood speech, or I'll rip your tongue out!”

Draco pressed his lips together, shutting his mouth. He gulped loudly, freezing in place.

“You’re not allowed to judge me for something you don't even believe in yourself.”

Draco tried to argue but he was cut short. “Oh please, quit your shit! I noticed how you look at Granger when you think no one's watching. You’re like a child fighting the urge to eat the snack his parents forbade him to.”

The boy looked utterly offended, a false expression of disgust tore his face “I don't like HER! She’s-”

“What!? Smart, pretty, sassy and powerful? The last time I checked, it sounded like your type of girl!” Draco was silent. “She’s also reasonably wealthy for a muggle. If her parents were born with magic you would already be dating her.” The blond opened his mouth to intervene. “Maybe not… but you’d be a bit nicer to her.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s easier to destroy the things you want, rather than admit it hurts to know you can never have them, right?”

Draco held his gaze but he just couldn't speak. Memories of the few past years appeared in his mind. He saw the day Potter refused his handshake. When he first mocked Weasley, and picked on Granger… He felt powerful. That got him allies to mess with other students, laughing at them and causing trouble. Now that he was in all this… he couldn't even tell them… It wasn't fun, it wasn't what he wanted anymore… Did he ever want it? Yes, he did… but it didn't feel right anymore…

As if Mattheo could hear his thoughts, he continued. “I ignore people. It doesn't mean I do them wrong. You, on the other hand, did a pretty great job at being a jackass. I heard bullies are just bastards who want attention. That may be the case for you. Although, I’m sure witnessing a bunch of murders cured you. Am I right? It doesn't feel as right to pick on the weaker as it did before?”

Draco looked away. His body itself refused the discussion.

The dark-haired continued his monologue as if he was by himself. “Muggles aren't that bad. You may think I'm crazy or brainwashed by ‘love’, but don't get mistaken. It's not because you’ve been told to hate some kind of people your whole life that it’s right to do so. They're okay. Some are kind, others are egotistical assholes. It’s just like our own world! I must say, you wonder how they manage to live this old without magic, knowing how clumsy they can be. It's pretty impressive.” He seemed lost in his thoughts, info-dumping about an interesting subject of his. “You’re one of the best students here, right? You enjoy learning.” The blonde looked back at him, frowning in confusion. “If you just took the time to learn a few things about them, you’d realise how mistaken we all are…”

Draco huffed, faking exasperation. “Are you trying to recruit me on Potter’s side, or is it a way to test my loyalty? If that’s the case I-”

“Maybe I'm like him. I’m hateful and cruel… but I won't fight for the same shit as my father does!” Draco was lost at this point, lost between fear, disbelief and incredulity. “You think I enjoy watching him kill innocent people? Never have, never will.” Draco’s nails digged in his palm. “I know you don't either. I saw the expression on your face. You tried hard to be a total jerk. You definitely succeeded, no problem with that. But I know you're not a murderer.”

Draco tried to remain composed. “If I have to-”

“Could you kill her? The muggle-born you supposedly hate!”

Picturing Hermione, badly injured, struggling in a pool of her own blood… He felt his throat close on itself, restricting the oxygen’s entry…

Mattheo didn't stop. He had to make his point, had to make him understand. “Could you even kill Potter, or the Weasley? Could you look them in the eyes and tear the life out of them? Could you actually cast the spell and end their life with your own wand?”

That sole idea made panic increase his breathing. A strangled sound slipped out of his lips “I-”

“It’s no use lying to me. I'm not asking you if you have to, or if you sometimes want to. Could you actually do it?” He needed an answer.

Draco held his gaze again. He didn’t want to be perceived as weak. He was not. But he knew Matt was right. As much as he grew to hate the trio and their little lot… he couldn't go that far… he probably went already too far… but there was a line he would be incapable of crossing… mur- just the thought of the word made him sick to his stomach. Tears gathered in his eyes when images of professor Burbage being executed right before his face passed in his mind… He shook his head the slightest that he could, a subtle movement that Mattheo caught.

He nodded in return, noticing the reflection in the boy’s shining eyes. “You can call me weak if you please, but I do think the girl I'm with makes me stronger every day. She makes me so strong that I'm ready to turn against my own father for the first time…” Draco was thoroughly listening. “We’ve shared a whole lot of things, but she's never seen me cry.” At that remark, the blonde tried his best to blink his own tears away. “I can tell or hear the most heart-wrenching thing in the wizarding world, and I wouldn’t shed a single tear. I physically can't.” Draco wished he had the same ability. It would have saved him a lot of sleepless nights. “I know you do. You’re not as discreet as you think when you sneak into the bathroom at night. Some may think you’re going for a midnight wank or something, but we both know that what we’re in suppresses this kind of fancy from our body.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, nodding in agreement.

“So, please do. Do cry all you can. You're feeling something important and I don't want you to push it away.”

Draco received the advice and didn't add anything. No response. No comment. He wasn't planning on crying more than he already was, but maybe this would help him feel a little less ashamed the next time he did. Strangely enough, Mattheo also went mute. Maybe his mouth felt dry from all the talking. The boy just went on a full monologue about rights and wrongs…

After a moment, it was Draco who broke the silence. “You… your girl, she doesn't fear for her life?”

Mattheo was pulled out of his thoughts. “About?”

The blonde sighed heavily. “I’m sorry to remind you but… you're the dark lord’s son.”

Mattheo looked away. “She doesn't know…”

“But-”

“I know. I’ll have to tell her. She's gonna know anyway. It’d be better if I'm the one breaking the info…”

“I wouldn't say ‘better’. It’s a shock when you find out.” Draco reminisced about the day he first saw Mattheo at a death-eater meeting. He was across the table, sitting right next to his father, Volde-...

“Yes… I just hope not to sound like a manipulative muggle-hunter traitor if I tell her myself…”

The mutual understanding floated in the air…

“What will you do if she… rejects you when she knows?” Draco asked.

The boy responded with no hesitation. “I’ll leave her alone.” Draco felt the need to object but Mattheo was faster. “Wouldn't you have doubts about your partner if you just learned they were actually related to a dangerous association led by a genocidal monster who’s actually their own father?”

The blonde’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He couldn't deny it. Then he asked. “...What are you gonna do?”

“I don't know. I’ll prove myself to her. I’ll stop him. Whatever I have to do…” He sounded determined and sure of himself. He had nothing planned for now, but the sheer resolution that emanated from him was enough to believe he would never go back. “Will you help me?”

Draco was shocked when he heard the question. That was his request then… the reason they were standing in a dark corridor in the middle of the night…. Was he ready to switch sides? Was Matt asking him to join Potter’s little group or what? Absolutely not! The implications were making him nauseous, but… Was he actually gonna make it on this side? Would he be able to do whatever the dark lord was to ask him?... He already knew the answer… His parents? His dad was far long lost when Draco was just a child… When he learned about all of this… he remembered conversations he eavesdropped that didn't make any sense at the time… now everything was perfectly clear. His mom… She was sucked into the same beliefs and probably was doomed to the same path… though he was certain he had noticed something… He wished he could know… know what to do… know they were all gonna make it safe and sound… One particular moment lit up in his mind. It was a Christmas Eve night, when he was only 9. He remembered it perfectly as if it was yesterday. His mom was actually baking, the muggle way, now that he thought about it, while his dad was casting spells away to decorate the manor… He knew things could never be this way again… but he would do anything to feel this relaxed and carefree just for one second. He had to try… He would also prove stupid Potter that he was no better than Draco Malfoy! And that detail was non-negligible.

Mattheo was waiting for his answer. They were not going to dethrone his father, just the two of them, that was for sure. However, he knew that Draco could have sensitive information. The boy was the embodiment of ‘walls have ears’. Plus, obsessed with Potter as he was, he would be able to gather information on the other side’s intentions.

Draco lifted his head, staring into Mattheo's eyes with the same determination he displayed a moment ago, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Where do we start?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi,

This is a little idea that I had and wanted to share. ~

I never expected it to be this long, but here I am with a 2k random idea. 😌

I hope you enjoyed it. ~

Feel free to drop likes and comments. ~

XO

Update : Do you want a sequel?

Harry Potter Masterlist

[biggukuma]

Pure-blood Slytherin Thomas Edison & Muggle-born Hufflepuff Newt Isaacs

Aka

( Do I think I'm hilarious? Yes, absolutely. No, actually, I'm not but it's okay.)

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Cassie and her muggleborn time-turner stranded ass on her way to single-handedly cost Slytherin the house cup 7 years in a row:

[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.)

[bellatrixscurls]

group activities

pairing : fem reader x slytherin gang x golden trio.

warnings : SMUT (in the next chapter), tom can read minds, female reader, reader is a virgin, they’re all infatuated with her, ron and draco are really touchy with each other, reader is a pureblood and a rosier, but no physical characteristics are included.

a/n : please let me know if you enjoyed this, it motivates me to write more and faster. also, i really wanted to include smut in this part, but i didn’t want to rush it and make it bad. love 🤍

────── ☾ ──────

“you don’t look too good” a deep, low voice said from behind you, and you immediately turned to see its owner. not that it was needed.

you hummed, incredulous. “nice to see you too, draco.”

he only laughed at your dismissive attitude and sat down next to you. his eyes scanned the paper you were almost ripping into, and he searched for your gaze, silently asking you to let him look at it. “what kind of idiot would even take muggle studies? it’s optional” he nodded slowly, making you feel even dumber. “you don’t have to take it.”

huffing, you took the paper back and tried your best to ignore him, as if that would make him go away.

“okay, sorry” he mumbled, scratching the tip of his pen against a plain piece of paper, his eyes avoiding yours. “i just. i would’ve never taken it. ever. and take that from someone who’s good at every subject.”

and that made you finally snap. “okay, you’re so good at everything! congrats on that, dimwit!” you spat at him, rolling your eyes as you felt your blood boil. “you think i’d actually take this class on my own accord?! think again.”

draco fell silent at that. you were right, you were a pureblood after all. and your family would go crazy if they found out about you taking this class. so that only left him one option - his eyes lit up. “you like a mudblood” he said with disgust, making a face that you were so familiar with already.

and you wanted to lie to him and tell him it’s not true, but your cheeks reddened and you tried to hide it with your hair, but it was no use. draco knew you like the back of his hand. “oh, merlin!” he stood up from the chair, mouth open wide, but instinctively curling into a scowl when madam pince shushed him.

“which one is it? is it riddle, please say no” “no, draco… why would i even take muggle studies for him? he despises muggle-borns. he doesn’t even like his own grandmother since she’s the reason he’s a halfblood.”

draco made a realisation sound, but his eyebrows furrowed. “you know an awful lot about this guy.”

“i only spend like half of my time with you lot. and mind you, the other half i’m sleeping.”

your words didn’t do anything to him, though. only made him fall deeper into thoughts. why was he comfortable enough with you so that he could be himself, yet you weren’t?

you looked up at him curiously, noticing his nails tugging at the thin skin on his knuckles, and you couldn’t help but place your hand over his, that causing draco to look up at you as well. “what?”

he was visibly more relaxed under your touch, but you could tell that he didn’t expect it. you were not too touchy, especially with him. “do you wanna go back to the common room? you look tired.”

but he shook his head, dragging his chair even closer to yours. “no. no, i’m just fine” he whispered whilst trying his best not to yawn.

you smiled to yourself. he was a cutie when he wanted to be. or when he wasn’t trying so hard to make other people feel bad. “i’ll go with you. i’m done here anyway. i think i’ll try to get help from an actual muggle-born.”

he didn’t really let it show, but he was grateful. either you did it because you were tired too, or for him, he was more than content when you took his hand and dragged him behind you back to the common room.

🤍

yet when you arrived to the common room, with draco basically glued to your side, you almost prayed that it would be quiet. it was anything but that.

loud chatter could be heard all the way down the hallway, and as you whispered the password, you could even distinguish the voices.

“oh, look who’s here!” lorenzo basically threw himself at you two, kissing your cheek and squeezing draco closer to him. yet, he only let go of you, keeping the younger boy wrapped around his body.

you took the opportunity and plopped down on the sofa next to a visibly tired theo. he shot you a lazy smile which you returned, your hands resting on the back of the sofa. “i’m fucking tired.”

“poor baby. you stayed late studying again?” blaise cooed at you and your brows shot up hearing his voice, not even aware of his presence until then.

you whined quietly, your eyes closing for a mere moment. “yeah. i think i might need hermione’s help though. i don’t think i’ll be able to do it on my own anytime soon.”

“granger’s help?” theo seemed more awake now, and your words made even tom put his book away. “what for? i’m sure it’s nothing draco couldn’t help you with.”

draco hummed softly from beside you, head resting against enzo’s chest as he looked just about three seconds away from falling asleep. “she’s taking muggle studies.”

you gave him a dirty look that you’re not sure he even caught, judging by his eyes being more than 80% closed by then.

though, around you, strings of questions followed. “oh, dolcezza, what for?” theo was the first one to ask, a gentle smile on his face.

to be fair, you weren’t sure why. you just found yourself wanting to know more about muggle-borns. you were concerned about their abilities. of course, other reasons ensued.

you sighed. “i’m just really curious. how can a muggle do magic? how can some of them be even better at it than us?” you paused, opening your eyes to look at them. “do you ever think about that?”

“i always thought that they’re not really muggle-borns. just adopted by clueless muggles” mattheo shrugged, taking a drag from his joint.

tom looked at his brother with something that you could only call disdain, before he looked at you, your eyes locking. “distant ancestors is my humble guess” his tone had a bite to it, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

maintaining eye contact, you felt as if he was eating you alive with just his eyes, gaze so intense that it made your knees give out. “that’s what the books say” you agreed, slightly startled when theo’s head dropped on your lap, your fingers almost instinctively going to play with his soft curls, the boy humming with appreciation.

you smiled down at him. “what do you say, teddy?”

“whatever you wanna do is fine by me, amorina” he replied a bit too quickly, his long, slender fingers rubbing at your knee.

that made you snicker, and you relax against the sofa, closing your eyes again. you didn’t hear much after that as you drifted off. but you surely remembered someone’s arms wrapping around you and carrying you to your prefect dorm.

🤍

you woke up with a headache the next day, and your owl delivered a letter - oh no. you wanted to postpone opening it, but you had no chance as it opened on its own, your mother’s high pitched, obnoxious voice ringing in your ears.

“y/n rosier! how dare you embarrass us this way??! taking muggle studies?! might as well put a knife in my heart. i don’t care about extra points, as long as you’re risking all of our lives - if the dark lord is made aware of this nonsense, he’ll have our throats! if you put another toe out of line, we’ll bring you STRAIGHT HOME!”

sighing, you ripped the parchment into pieces and threw your bag over your shoulder. you knew it was coming, you just didn’t know who told them.

walking down the stairs, you were met with a pair of curious eyes - they probably heard it all. how could they not?

“what was that about?” a confused blaise came to stand beside you, placing a hand at the small of your back as he walked with you out of the common room.

“my mother” you looked straight ahead as you walked, an unreadable expression on your face. “I have to drop muggle studies or the dark lord will have our throats.”

blaise chuckled lowly and squeezed you closer to his side, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “didn’t you expect that? i mean, we’re friends with his sons, of course they’d tell him.”

“you think so? i thought matt hated him” you said confusedly. mattheo did hate him, but his evil twin was a spitting image of his father.

your mouth opened in realisation. that bastard.

“listen… i love tom, but i don’t always trust him” he explained quietly, his face inching closer to yours as if he was afraid tom would actually hear him. “he’s a lot smarter than i think possible. and we all know that he’s always trying to please his father.”

that left you deep in thought. you had known tom for years, but you never thought he’d turn you in.

arriving to your first class of the day, potions, blaise left your side and went to sit at the table in front of you. funnily enough? tom was sitting just behind you.

“you’ll be paired up today as this is quite a difficult task and i’m not sure all of you can manage” professor slughorn eyed adrian pucey and you giggled quietly, blaise turning to you to shoot you a devilish grin.

dismissing you both with a hand waving in the air, slughorn continued. “alright, if miss rosier and mister zabini will allow me, i’ll start reading” he eyed you rather playfully and you gave a curt nod.

“mister zabini and mister pucey,” you could see blaise’s fall even from the side, as he gathered his things and went to sit with adrian, but not before shaking his head at you. “mister weasley and mister malfoy,” and your head snapped, your eyes widening when you finally heard your name, “mister riddle and miss rosier.”

you froze on the spot, unable to move as you heard shuffling from behind you, and soon after, tom was neatly placing his cauldrons on your table. “morning” his voice was soft but firm.

“morning” unlike your own, which was rather shaky. “did you hear what kind of potion we have to make? i-i wasn’t paying attention.”

he could see the blush creeping up your neck, his eyes observing every little detail - as always. “I didn’t tell father about you.”

you choked on air, tom having to pat you on the back, a foreign glint in his eyes. and once you finally relaxed, your throat rough, you asked. “how do you know that?”

“i read blaise’s mind” he shrugged as if it was nothing.

mouth agape, you stared at him like he’d grown two heads. and when you didn’t speak, he continued. “see weasley and malfoy there” he pointed to them and you nodded. “he’s thinking about screwing him. malfoy.”

“draco?!” you almost yelled and half of the class turned to look at you, which earned you a disappointing head shake from tom.

“yes, draco” he whispered nonchalantly, and his face fell. “they’re screwing more than any of us. they even do it in broom closets and if you catch draco drinking more than two butterbeers, he’ll tell you all about it.”

you nodded once, twice… and your brows furrowed. “any of you? who are you screwing?”

“our group. plus the golden trio, but i’m not big on that. it’s casual, not to them apparently” he nodded toward ron and draco again, and you sighed, still very much confused.

“why… why am i not a part of that?”

tom looked down and you could swear it was the first time he actually hesitated. “draco started all of this. i’m not… i’m not sure why.”

“bullshit” you spat, turning your face away from him. it actually made you feel bad. why did they not include you?

just as tom was about to speak again, probably come up with some lame excuse, you raised your hand, feigning stomach ache. “may i please be excused, professor? i don’t feel so good.”

and obviously, crazy scared about these things, slughorn let you go, and you felt tom’s burning gaze on your back as you left.

you decided that you didn’t want to see any of them that day. maybe the next day too. and the days after that.

you felt deeply hurt. not just because of the physical things you were missing on, but because they were your friends, and you were the only one being excluded from their activities.

sitting alone on the great hall, your mind started to wander. it wandered to all those times theo would disappear right before dinner and come back disheveled, when hermione would leave your study sessions early, when enzo and mattheo would feign being sick whilst the rest of you went to hogsmeade.

and your conclusion? none of them found you attractive. not a single person. you had had problems with the way you looked, as one does, but they were never this serious.

never to the point that you could physically feel the hole in your heart.

putting an end to your thoughts, the bell rang and students started making their way to the great hall. it was already lunch time.

you contemplated leaving, as you could already hear some of your friends nearby, but instead, you sat a few seats down from your usual spot, adrian pucey claiming the sit next to you.

“i must say i didn’t expect this, but i’m not mad” he chuckled as he started cutting into his meat, eyeing you curiously.

you tried to put on a smile, as insincere as it was due to your state. “i could use a change of scenery… what about your match against gryffindor on saturday? tell me about that.”

his eyes lit up instantly, and you thanked merlin for it. he would blabber and never shut up about it, so he couldn’t ask any more questions about your unusual behaviour. “so, we’re gonna beat those dimwits up. i don’t care what it takes-”

“yeah, shut up, pucey” you were startled and pulled out of your daydreaming by mattheo’s rough voice. looking up at him, you could see his eyes turning red with anger, and he took your hand in his.

he was so gentle even though he looked about ready to jump adrian. you stood up and held him close to you. without another word, he shot adrian a dirty look and led you out of the great hall and back to the slytherin common room.

the walk there was quiet, yet you could feel how tense he was. his hand on yours, even if gentle, was stiff. his shoulders were tense and it almost looked like he refused to blink.

you didn’t dare speak a word to him as he led you inside, the common room much too crowded at this time - dinner time, more specifically.

but the people there were not just random people.

“what is this?” you asked meekly, feeling too exposed as all of their eyes were on you.

they all looked at you with different kinds of expressions. draco looked angry, whilst ron, leaning back against his chest, was more excited than ever. blaise had a stern look on his face, and theo, enzo, tom, hermione and harry just looked thrilled to be there.

when none of them answered, mattheo spoke up. “my brother here is an idiot.”

“say something new” draco scoffed and blaise elbowed him in the ribs, the blond looking down as mattheo glared at him.

he turned back to you, his thumbs rubbing your knuckles as he looked down at you. “sweetheart, we didn’t include you because…” he sighed and you gulped, not feeling ready for the refusal. “because we know that you’re a virgin.”

you gasped, trying to push him away with your hands, but he tugged you closer to him, his hands wrapping around your smaller frame. “this is bullshit, i don’t care-!”

“okay, okay!” theo interrupted you and all of you looked at him, your brows rising. “we thought that even if you agreed to it… we didn’t- fuck! we couldn’t accept that, when you had to pick one of us to be your first, the others would just have to- live with it.”

you froze for what felt like the hundredth time today - they didn’t find you unattractive. they wanted you more than you could begin to think of.

────── ☾ ──────

[cutehoons02]

A sweet poison

Special 1000 followers!!!

Harry Potter series Jake pt

*pairing: pervy ravenclaw Sunghoon x popular slytherin Girl

*trope: opposites attract

*synopsis: Y/n, a cunning, spoiled, and provocative Slytherin, constantly clashes with Sunghoon, a brilliant and cynical Ravenclaw, who is irresistibly drawn to his complex personality. Despite the tension between them and their mutual attitude of defiance, an intense chemistry emerges beneath their banter. Their relationship evolves into a game of power and attraction, where provocations become a battleground, fueled by passions that are never fully expressed. Y/n, always in control, challenges Sunghoon to push past his limits, while he struggles to maintain his cool, but fails to do so completely.

*tags: A lot of tension, Hoon is slightly shy and the protagonist a bit spoiled, a lot of kisses, make couple as prefects of the castle at night, power games, degradation, masturbation (m. hidden room of the castle) unprotected sex (don’t horny) (f. masturbation) suckers, fingering, dirty talk, obsession, pet names (vipers,princess) (hoon,hoonie) +18, confession of their feelings

(English is not my native language)

Being a Slytherin in 2025 had become, for many, almost a trend—a label to flaunt with pride — all smug smirks and loosened ties around stiff collars but you weren’t like them. Your name carried weight.

Your surname whispered in the corridors of Hogwarts, came with a heavy legacy. Daughter of one of the last Pureblood families still loyal to the old magical aristocracy. Not the polished, flashy kind fit for magazine covers, but the real kind — the kind that had shed blood and cast spells to protect their name... and that of others.

Your father was in Azkaban. He had protected the Malfoy family — and not only them. He made forbidden deals, hid evidence, and buried names.

He wasn’t a Death Eater, but… he’d come damn close. And you?

You wore that burden like an emerald choker: heavy, uncomfortable, but devastatingly beautiful.

You couldn’t care less about people’s blood status — if someone studied at Hogwarts, they deserved to be there. Period but you'd never stoop so low as to say it out loud.

Not when your Slytherin aura — cold, elegant, untouchable — was such a convenient way to keep people at bay… and keep eyes on you from those too scared to get close.

The boys wanted you. The girls… either feared you or desperately tried to be near you. Real friends? You could count them on one hand. Maybe half.

And then there was him.

Park Sunghoon. Ravenclaw. Muggle-born. One of the brightest — most dangerously intelligent — wizards of his generation. Hoon didn’t believe in Houses. He didn’t care for appearances — he believed in results, merit, and reason over instinct. He looked at you the way someone looks at a particularly annoying problem — an equation that refused to make logical sense. You were brilliant, sure. But too… theatrical. Too seductive. Too moody. Too everything.

And yet, he couldn’t look at you. There were days when he’d stare from across the room, thinking you wouldn’t notice. But you did. You always did. Because he hated you — or at least, that’s what he told himself.

The truth?

He wanted you. Worse — he couldn’t get you out of his head.

And you knew it. Oh, you knew.

Every time you walked past him, you left behind a trail of perfume and poison. Every time you sat near him in the library, just to throw him off.

Every time you dropped a razor-sharp comment in class, and caught that twitch of a smile on his lips — the one that said only one thing:

This girl is driving me insane.

He hated how perfectly dramatic you were. You loved how hard he tried not to notice and while everyone at Hogwarts kept on with their lives — botched potions, flying brooms, half-cast spells — the two of you were there two opposite poles. Two Houses at War and yet, all it took was a look, a silence held a second too long, a whispered fight in a forgotten tower and the world stopped making sense.

The magic hall was one of the oldest in the castle. Tall, gothic, with faded tapestries on the walls, embroidered with the entwined symbols of the four Houses: the lion, the snake, the badger, and the raven.

Floating candles flickered in the air, casting a warm golden light that spilled across faces, neatly pressed uniforms, and the excited murmurs of the students.

You walked in as you always did — with that graceful step that wasn’t trying to draw attention… but always did.

The muffled sound of your shoes on the ancient floor almost seemed to set the rhythm of everyone’s breathing.

You sat in the Slytherin section, back straight, gaze sharp.

Everyone was talking — about Quidditch, the ever-trashier Muggle Ball, or checking if the Headmaster had arrived yet.

But your eyes, went straight where they shouldn’t have. There they were:

Heeseung — all lion pride and cocky grin. Next to him, T/L — his sister, a textbook Hufflepuff, kindness written across her face and sunshine in her voice. Sunoo, beaming as always and then… him.

Park Sunghoon.

Blue and black uniform, perfectly crisp.

Broad shoulders under his cloak. Long legs folded with that obsessive precision. His hair, thick and styled, always looked just a little tousled — like he’d fought a storm and come out victorious on purpose. You leaned against the desk with poised elegance, fingers laced.

T/L caught your eye and smiled warmly. You returned a faint nod — your rare, sincere way of saying “Yeah, I see you.”

And that’s when you noticed it — Hoon’s flushed cheeks.

The moment he saw you'd seen him, he looked away with a clumsy shift and pretended to adjust his tie. And you? You laughed — quietly, inwardly. Every time, the same story… those cheeks. That boyish flush. He always said it was the cold… sure. Cold ears, cold wrists, cold neck.

If you caught him jerking off thinking about you, he’d say he was “training against chronic irritation.”

Pathetic.…Adorable. But pathetic.

You didn’t even have time to tease him properly — you already had a few sharp lines ready on your tongue — When the great doors opened.

The Headmaster entered, and silence fell like a spell.

His voice, as every year, was slow, deliberate, and heavy with the solemnity only Hogwarts could conjure.

-Prefects, students, welcome to the next stage of the Conjunction Project- he began, hands clasped behind his back. -As you know, this exercise is meant to encourage inter-house collaboration…-

The speech went on, but the hall felt like it was holding its breath.

The duets. Mixed-House pairs, assigned for missions, studies, and exercises.

Two whole months and unless someone was hospitalized with dragon fever, the partners wouldn’t change.

-No exceptions,- the Headmaster added. -Except magical impossibility or illness. I trust that’s clear.-

He looked down at the parchment and began reading names. Each pair sparked groans, giggles, or sighs of resignation.

Until— Park Sunghoon… and Y/n L/n.-

Silence cracked the room for a second too long. Then came the whispers.

The stifled laughter, you turned your head toward him. He rolled his eyes in slow, theatrical disbelief and you smiled — that slow, sharp, challenging smile of yours, with just a touch of venom.

Of course.

Of course, this had to happen. As if it wasn’t enough having her voice in my dreams and her legs in my head. Two months. Two fucking months with her. With that tongue that only knows how to provoke, and that smile that makes me want to shut her up… and not with a spell,

Sunghoon thought.

It was 8:50 PM when you stepped out of the pool. Your hair is still damp, your skin carrying the scent of lavender salts and calming spells. You’d indulged a little too much in the prefects’ private sauna — one of the very few privileges in the castle that made you feel treated the way you deserved.

By 8:57 PM, you were still on the other side of the castle. At exactly 9:00, the astronomical clock in the heart of the tower struck with a solemn, echoing dong. At 9:02, you were running — cloak fluttering behind you, your shoes still a little wet in your rush. And by 9:06, you saw him.

Hoon was already there, standing at the entrance of the North corridor in the East Tower, bathed in the flickering light of an enchanted torch. His blue-and-black cloak perfectly in place, tie tight, expression unreadable… and his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Living cliché, you thought. You approached with a confident step, a smirk playing on your lips. “Already checked the ghosts of the tower, or just practicing your patience on me?” Your voice was smooth, with just the right dose of poison. Hoon looked up at you with a huff. “You’re late.” His tone was sharp, precise — almost surgical. “Your first patrol. Congratulations, Y/n. You managed to turn duty into a spa-diva drama performance.” You let out a soft laugh and stepped even closer — your cloak parting just enough to reveal your bare legs under the uniform, your wand tucked into a garter you wore purely for vanity. “Oh, Hoonie…” you whispered, tilting your head. “Don’t tell me you’re flushed with rage again.” You reached out and theatrically brushed your fingers along his warm, blushing cheek. “You know, if you want to join me in the sauna, you just have to ask. No need to fake the fury.” Hoon clenched his jaw and took half a step back, throwing you a dark look. “It was the cold. You know, that thing that exists outside your cloud of perfume and narcissism.” His tone was sarcastic, biting but behind that stiff mask, you saw it. You always saw it — the red in his cheeks, the slightly quicker breath, the way he couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without turning away. You followed as he started walking, those long legs moving quickly down the corridor. “What’s wrong, Ravenclaw? Running away from me?” You teased, following at a slower, more deliberate pace — a graceful glide. “Or are you afraid that if you slow down, you’ll, I don’t know… notice the sound of my footsteps behind you a little too much?” He lit the path with his wand, snapping out a curt “Lumos,” and without turning around, shot back: “The only sound I notice is your ego entering every room three minutes before you do.” You laughed. Quietly. Seductively. You walked behind him like a shadow — but with the elegance of an ancient charm.

What a challenge. What a damn walking riddle. He wants me. I see it. I feel it. But every time, he hides behind his bookish logic — and I love every second of this war. He’s playing. As always. And every time — every damn time — I catch myself thinking about that mouth… even while fending off Dementors during training.

Two months. Two. Whole. Months. What the hell did I do to deserve this divine punishment wrapped in a school uniform?

--

You walked up to him as you continued down the dark corridor.

“Hoon?”

“Mhm?”

“You forgot to check behind that statue. There could be a Boggart… or worse… a student breaking curfew.”

He half turned.

You were too close — eyes locked on his, your breath brushing against his skin, and you bit your lip.

“You should check, you know. It’s your duty… Prefect Park.”

And you walked ahead, this time without another word but his ears were still red.

How is it even possible that someone who looks like he was sculpted by a god is too boring to give him a single flaw?

That straight, sharp nose — so unlike your own. You had a slight bump, and that difference annoyed you… and excited you at the same time.

His moles, scattered across his face like secret little constellations. You knew exactly where they were, by heart.

Thin lips, but slightly full, like they were always about to tell you something he’d never say.

Or kiss you — but only if you deserved it.

His hair was thick, dark, just messy enough from the November wind.

And those shoulders. Those damn broad, straight shoulders.

Lean, defined body — nothing flashy… but you knew what was under that uniform.

That image was still burned into your mind — him in the prefects' pool. Shirtless, water dripping from his neck, running down his chest, and stopping where eyes weren’t supposed to look.

But you had looked. Oh, you’d looked perfectly.

That’s exactly when he turned abruptly and pointed his wand at you — not threateningly, but just enough to make you raise an eyebrow.

“You should be checking the corridors, not counting my moles.”

His tone was cynical. Tired. Irritated.

You smiled. Slowly. Poisonously. Your signature move.

“Honestly, I find your constellations much more interesting. It’s November, after all. No sane person’s out at night in this cold… except for the two of us.

One because he’s a control freak, and the other because… well. Just look at this luck.”

Hoon clenched his jaw.

“Being a prefect isn’t a privilege to strut down corridors like it’s a fashion show. You have duties, Y/n.”

“Oh, Hoonie… such seriousness. Are you saying you don’t like it when I look at you?”

You stepped a little closer.

“Because you can pretend all you want… but your cheeks, sweetheart, are literally screaming ‘look at me again.’”

“It’s because of the cold.”

“Of course it is. And I’m a Hufflepuff with a heart of gold.”

The bickering went on like that the whole patrol.

You teasing him, him snapping back — sharp responses, always with that barely-contained nervousness that betrayed everything he refused to admit. Pure tension. Loaded silences. Steps were taken too close. Glances that lasted one second too long. Until the shift ended.

You walked together toward the common rooms, and when you reached the entrance to Slytherin, you turned for one last jab.

“So chivalrous. Walking me right to the serpent’s lair. Should I be moved?”

Hoon looked at you with steady eyes and a flat voice.

“I do this for everyone. You’re not special, Y/n. You’re just like the others.”

You stared at him for a second. Silence. Then, with a half-smile:

“Ah. Then it must be a real problem… that none of those other girls make you lose your mind like I do, right?”

He clenched his jaw. His eyes — for a second — lit up with something that wasn’t just sarcasm anymore.

Something darker. Something far more wanting. But he said nothing. Just a cold: “Goodnight.”

And turned away, his cloak brushing against his ankles as he walked off — with that damn perfect stride.

It had been two weeks since patrols with Hoon started, and every single night had been its kind of chaos — all silent steps and poisonous words.

One night, you’d found him in the middle of a corridor with his shirt open, locked in a duel with a fleeing wizard (spoiler: he took him down in one move).

Another time, you two ended up hiding behind a statue to avoid Peeves, and you fell on top of him — hands on his chest, heart in your throat.

Other nights, it was just silence, and you found yourself walking too close, breathing him in, imagining things that had nothing to do with patrolling.

But that night, you were on time.

You’d spent hours in the Common Room, hunched over scrolls, books, and vials.

Amortentia had almost melted your brain — not just because of how complex the potion was, but because of what it meant.

The love potion. The one that smelled like your deepest desire.

You stretched slightly as the evening cold sliced through the air like a thin blade. Fingers frozen, lips chapped but your eyes were all on him.

Hoon was there, leaning against a stone wall, with that usual Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around his neck.

Tired eyes, messy hair, pale skin kissed by the cold.

How do you always look so annoyed… and so fucking gorgeous at the same time? you thought.

He noticed you looking. Again. He shot you a sharp look.

“Can you not stare like you’re trying to read my mind?”

“Aww, are you nervous tonight?” you giggled. “Afraid I’ll find out that beneath all that Ravenclaw perfection, you’ve got a soft heart?”

He scoffed, gripping his wand tightly.

“No. I’m afraid you’ll freeze me solid with your gaze. You’ve got a Basilisk effect.”

You walked for a few minutes, stairs creaking beneath your steps, until your voice broke the silence:

“Have you studied Amortentia?”

“Obviously yes. Not all of us spend our time staring at people or brewing random potions.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you heard mine didn’t turn out right, huh?”

“Oh, word got around.” He turned with a half-smile.

“I’d bet your beloved would smell like… let’s see… mist, moldy moss, and maybe even a hint of aromatic agony.”

You stopped.

No laughter. No teasing. Your gaze went ice-cold.

“Real funny, Park. He didn’t answer right away. He looked at you.

Then took a step forward — but you turned and started walking again, ignoring him. The silence grew thick. Almost solid.

Hoon followed you, but said nothing.

“Y/n—”

“Don’t.”

“It was just a joke. Don’t be childish.” You stopped dead in your tracks.

“You know what all of you are?” Your voice trembled — but not from the cold. “You all think you’re so clever. So superior. But you don’t know shit about me.”

He said nothing.

“To you, I’m just the daughter of the guy in prison. The pretty Slytherin — spoiled, easy to hate. But have you ever wondered what it’s like to carry that crap with you every single day? At Hogwarts, people talk. Always. They never forget. And they think they know you just because of your last name.”

Hoon looked at you. His expression had changed. No more sarcasm. No more coldness. Just something more human. More real.

“I…”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

“If you want to make fun of me, go ahead. But at least do it properly.

Not with that cheap sarcasm. And next time you bring up Amortentia, remember: Not everyone gets to smell something beautiful. For some of us… it just smells like loneliness.” And you walked away.

Leaving him there — alone, confused… and with a strangely heavy heart.

The Potions classroom was wrapped in a pulsing dimness, lit only by the flickering flames beneath the cauldrons and the pearly shimmer of the potions in progress.

Professor Slughorn, as enthusiastic as ever, clapped his hands and announced,

<Well, everyone, today we’ll test your true skills: each of you will brew Amortentia without the aid of books. Rely on your memory and your talent.>

After an hour of careful focus, mixing rose petals, Ashwinder eggs, and Moonwater, most of the students had completed their brews.

Professor Slughorn moved through the classroom, scrutinizing each cauldron with a practiced eye.

Next to you, T/L — Heeseung’s sister and your friend — leaned over her cauldron to smell her potion. A sudden flush bloomed across her cheeks.

“So?” you asked in a teasing whisper, smiling mischievously. "What do you smell?”

-N-nothing in particular,- she replied, trying to sound casual.

“Liar,” you grinned. “You turned red like an apple.”

T/L lowered her gaze, flustered.

-Alright, alright… I smell vanilla, rain, Quidditch field grass, and… freshly baked bread.-

You burst into laughter.

“Those scents only remind me of one person in this class — Jake Sim, Gryffindor’s top flirt. His list of conquests is longer than Fantastic Beasts.”

-Shh! Shut up!- she hissed, shooting you a glare while trying not to smile.

Professor Slughorn approached your station, inspecting your potion with interest.

<Excellent, Y/N,> he said with a pleased nod. <Your Amortentia has the perfect mother-of-pearl sheen, and the vapor spirals beautifully. Flawless work.>

He smiled and added,

<Now, lean in and tell me what you smell.>

You bent over the cauldron and inhaled deeply.

But… nothing. No scent reached you. No familiar fragrance. No unfamiliar one. Just… olfactory silence.

Professor Slughorn looked at you, puzzled.

<You don’t smell anything?>

You shook your head, confused. “No, Professor. Nothing at all.”

He furrowed his brow, thoughtful. <Interesting… Very interesting. Perhaps your mind is too focused to let the emotions flow. Try again, Y/N,> he said gently, though his eyes already held that shade of pity that made your blood boil.

<Close your eyes. Think of a person. A happy moment. Let the potion speak.>

You took a deep breath and leaned in again, eyes closed, letting your thoughts drift.

You searched for something happy.

A moment. A face. Summer at the lake, with your grandmother teaching you the charm to keep water cool in jars.

Your first successful spell.

A quiet evening in the Slytherin common room, with rain tapping on the windows and green light pulsing on the walls. But still… nothing. You inhaled deeply. Still nothing. You opened your eyes and gave a small shake of your head.

The classroom was filled with whispers.

“Maybe she’s too bitter to feel love.”

“Of course — look at that snake face.”

“She needs a potion to feel something, not just smell it.”

“Love can’t be bought — not even with that last name.”

You backed away from the cauldron. For the first time, you lowered your gaze. Not out of shame. Out of rage. That strange stab in your chest hit harder than you expected. You felt T/L’s warm hand lightly brush your back, followed by the gentler touch of Sunoo.

And then—

'Well, no surprise,' came a fake-cheerful voice. It was Jace Roswell — a boy you’d dated for a couple of weeks.

'I mean… you’re the daughter of a convict. You don’t just inherit the blood, right? You inherit the emptiness too.'

Total silence. Your hand closed around your wand. Your eyes — two green blades, ready to curse him where he stood but before you could speak, another voice cut through.

Cold. Sharp. Poisoned like a dagger dipped in bitterness.

“Stupefy!”

Jace was hit full force, tongue paralyzed and body jolting backward like he’d been shocked. His notes scattered across the floor — along with his pride.

Hoon lowered his wand slowly, his eyes locked on Jace.

“Funny,” he said, voice calm and deadly. “For someone so mediocre at Potions, you sure have a big mouth.”

Professor Slughorn turned in alarm — but it was the look in Sunghoon’s eyes that silenced everyone. And then he looked at you. Really looked at you. Not with the usual scorn or exasperation. This time, he looked at you like someone seeing something fragile… or something powerful that had just cracked. But you stood up tall. You left the classroom without a word.

And Sunghoon remained there, wand still in hand, staring at the door you had just closed behind you.

You fled the classroom like you could outrun that burning emptiness inside you. It wasn’t just anger. It was frustration. It was that cursed fear — the fear that maybe you were like that: unfeeling. Empty. Forever the daughter of a man they whispered about — a ruined legend. No one wanted to see you. Only the mask. The bloodline. The shadow and that damned scent of Amortentia you no longer even wanted to find.

You climbed up, to the Astronomy Tower. No one dared set foot in that place, especially not in the forgotten side classroom — too ancient, too cold for the faint-hearted. But you weren’t faint-hearted.Casting the spell to unlock the door was a reflex. The portal creaked open and shut behind you with a sharp snap. The stone was cold beneath your palms. The broken windows let in the light like a knife, slicing through the darkness.And yet, you weren’t alone. A sound behind you — soft but deliberate — made your jaw clench.

“You have no right to follow me,” you hissed, not turning around. “And certainly not to defend me in front of everyone. You’re the first who thinks I’m incapable of loving anyone.” Your voice came out acidic. Sharp. Poisoned. But Sunghoon didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Why does it bother you so much that someone treats you like a human being?” You spun around and stormed toward him, shoving him hard against the wall. The stone echoed from the impact his expression was ice but his eyes… his eyes said something entirely different.

“You’re pathetic,” you spat, face close to his. “You act like some perfect little Ravenclaw, but the moment I raise my voice, you come running after me like a puppy. It’s almost cute.” His jaw tensed. “And you act like a wounded child who lashes out just to avoid feeling exposed.” You let out a laugh. Low. Disbelieving. “See? You’re a walking contradiction, Sunghoon. Rational, perfect, distant — and yet here you are, chasing me up here just because you can’t stand the thought that someone said something to me… something you might’ve thought yourself.”

He stared at you for a long moment. His gaze dropped — briefly — to your lips, then came back up. “This loser, as you call him, is the only one today who had the guts to tell you you’re not alone. Even when you’re too proud to realize it.” And in that moment, something snapped. As if every word, every insult, every stolen glance in the corridors or during late-night patrols had finally reached its breaking point.

You kissed him.

It was impulsive. Rough. Angry. Your hands gripped the collar of his uniform and your lips crashed against his in a kiss that held nothing sweet. It was fire and defiance. It was revenge and hunger.

It was confusion — and… he responded with the same raw intensity.

His hands found your waist — but it wasn’t domination.

It was needed. A need so pure it made you tremble and yet, when you finally pulled apart, his eyes were cold again as if he’d just realized what had happened.

“Careful, Y/N,” he whispered, voice low and edged. “You might find out Ravenclaws can burn too.”

And you, with a bold, wicked smirk, shot back: “And you might find out Slytherins have a heart but only for those who earn it.”

As you kissed again, his hands gripped you with urgency, and you pushed him back onto the old, worn-out settee wedged between the walls and the dark windows of the tower. The floorboards creaked beneath you — but you didn’t care.

You straddled him, with the venomous elegance of someone who knows exactly how much control they hold.

Your hands took his face as you kissed him again — hungry as if that touch could wash away the bitterness in your mouth.

You bit his lower lip — intentionally.

He let out a low groan. You smiled. Fierce. Dangerous. “Really? You whimper at that, Hoon? I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be good at enduring… pain.” His pupils dilated as he stared at you.

“You’re a damn viper.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” You traced a nail along his throat — following the rhythm of his breath.

“Much better than sweetheart, darling, or princess. I’m not sweet, Hoon. I’m poison.”

“I’m starting to notice,” he murmured, voice low — with a crooked, defiant little smile, somewhere between awestruck and undone. You grabbed his cloak and yanked it off with purpose.

Then your fingers closed around the zipper of his hoodie.

With one firm pull, the heavy blue-and-black fabric slipped off his broad shoulders, revealing a fitted black tank top underneath.

Your gaze dropped to his chest — the sculpted lines of a lean, toned body beneath all that Ravenclaw rigidity.

“Well, well… who would’ve thought? Underneath all that top-of-the-class tension, there’s a body built for sin.”

He opened his mouth to reply — but you didn’t let him. You leaned in, kissing his neck — slow, deliberate — leaving behind small, growing marks.

Your teeth grazed his pale skin, your mouth sucking just enough to leave proof, one kiss at a time and every time you bit, you saw his skin bloom red like temptation, and inside, you felt something like pride.

Because tomorrow… tomorrow, he’d wear your marks — the marks of a Slytherin’s sin. Sunghoon held his breath, then whispered near your ear:

“They… might hear us…” You lifted your head just enough, your eyes locked onto his.

“What’s the matter, little Raven? Afraid someone might find out the golden boy moans while a Slytherin is marking him like he’s hers?”

He shut his eyes for a second, gritting his teeth.

“Merlin, you’re unmanageable.”

“No,” you whispered against his skin. “I’m irresistible. And you… you’ve fallen.”

You kissed him again — slower this time, deeper — while his hands slid up along your thighs beneath your uniform. It was a power game.

A battle of breath, of tension, of who would give in first. But neither of you wanted to surrender. Neither of you could. Not yet.

His hands trembled slightly beneath your lifted skirt, fingers hesitant — like he still thought he could stop this.

Adorable.

“What’s wrong, golden boy? Top of the class go mute the second he brushes against a wet pair of panties?”

He didn’t answer. His cheeks flushed, and that usual air of superiority vanished — replaced by something far more interesting:

Confused submission.

Without waiting, you took his hand and carried it exactly where you needed it. "You have studied forbidden spells, ancient formulas, and advanced potions… and yet you tremble at the thought of making me enjoy. How ridiculous you are." He inhaled slowly but did not back down. His fingers moved under the lace of your now-soaked panties and your horny, slow, hesitant cunt. When he touches you, moan loudly. Wet. Hot. Open. Just for him. "Look what you're doing to me, Ravenclaw…" he whispered against his mouth. He stuttered, kneaded with shame and desire.

"You like it, don't you? Make me like this. Feel my thighs tremble under your fingers. You want it as much as I do." His finger slipped into it, and your body reacted with a visceral tremor. You huddled over him, enjoying the way his control crumbled. "Shut up … please…" he muttered. "If they hear us…" You stopped for a moment just to smile. "That would be perfect, my love. Imagine someone coming in and finding you like this: with two fingers inside a Slytherin and your flap ready to explode." He gasped, almost moaning. And he sank another finger.

"Oh, fuck…" hissed, squeezing your thighs around his hand. "You're good, you know? A perfect guy who knows where to touch me. Who would have thought." "Y / n … you … you're fucking my hand…" he stammered with his eyes half-closed, his breath short. "Yes. And I will until you make me come so hard that I can't walk to the Common Room." His thumb moved-accurate, damn perfect. He began to tease your clit as you felt bloated with pleasure like a storm about to explode. Every time he pumped his fingers inside your poor cunt you would moan and he would bite his lips so as not to moan at the sight of you getting his fingers fucked and riding on them like it was your favorite thing.

"Faster," hissing through his teeth. "Let me enjoy it, Ravenclaw. Do something useful in your perfect life." His fingers sank, his thumb turned, and you couldn't take it anymore. You grabbed His hair, forced him to look at you as your body stretched. "I'm coming…" you said, but it was already too late. Pleasure swept you into a warm, slimy, pulsating wave. And he stood there beneath you, his fingers inside, his face upset, confused … excited like I've never seen him before. "Look how small you are," you told him while still breathing hard. "You made me enjoy with your fingers as if it were your mission. Maybe you should write it in your thesis." "Y/n… I…" he stammered, still with wet fingers. "Shhh," You put a finger on his lips. "Don't talk," you said as you kissed again.

That night, you weren't looking at him. For the past month, it had become almost a reflex: your eyes shifting to Hoon as soon as he entered the room, his flawless gestures, that voice always too calm, too sharp. But not this time. This time, you kept your gaze fixed ahead, your elbows at a distance from him, your mind elsewhere. And he felt it. He sensed it. It was like a sting to his pride. "Strange, Slytherin…" he whispered as you walked through the castle. "Tonight, you're not trying to seduce me with your gaze. What's going on? Don’t you notice your knight who defended you in front of everyone?" He said it with that half-irritating, sarcastic smile of his, the one only a Ravenclaw too clever for their own good could have. But you didn’t laugh. You slowly turned to him, your eyes as hard as marble.

"Funny. Still on about that? Even though you defended me, everyone thinks I’m incapable of loving anyone. And you know what? Maybe they’re right." He stiffened. He didn’t expect that. Not from you. He tried to say something, but you didn’t give him space. "And maybe you think so too, Hoon. No matter how much you pretend to be above it all… you let what they say about me influence you. You’re cynical. Fucking cynical." Hoon’s eyes darkened. He didn’t say anything. He took a step. Then another. And suddenly, his hands were on your hips. He shoved you against the wall with enough force to take your breath away. His face was very close.

"You don’t know anything about me." "Oh, I know far too well," you retorted, lifting your chin in defiance. "Your face is an open book, especially when you play the know-it-all. You know what people say, Hoon? That you’ve got a crush on me." He snarled through gritted teeth. "You’re arrogant. Superficial. And spoiled. You think you’re invincible just because people are afraid of you. But you’re just a broken little girl, hiding the emptiness behind lipstick and that bitchy attitude." You felt your heartbeat quicken. Not with anger. With something far more dangerous. "Go on, Ravenclaw. Tell me again how much I disgust you. Let me show you how much I get under your skin, while you're the first to chase me and want my body, maybe even my mind." "Under my skin?" he hissed. "You're a fucking toxin. You get inside me and ruin me. And yet here I am. Still on top of you."

He was about to kiss you. Maybe to yell at you. Maybe to implode. But it didn’t happen. The sound of footsteps broke the tension. Three prefects from other houses rushed toward you, visibly agitated. -Hey! Stop it right now, what the hell—" 'It’s not the time!' one of them intervened, worried. 'Three first-year kids are missing. We need to find them immediately. They might have gone into the Forbidden Forest.' You and Hoon exchanged a glance, still heavy breaths, the wall still warm against your back, his hands still firm on your hips. No one spoke. But something had changed and suddenly, the night had grown much darker.

The wind blew harshly against your cloaks, wet with snow, slicing at your cheeks like icy blades as you all moved in silence, wands raised, along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Detection spells floated through the air, one after another: Homenum Revelio, Point Me, Lumos Maxima… but nothing. No response. No trace. There were ten of you, and the professor split everyone into pairs. Naturally, you got paired with Hoon.

He walked ahead, stiff, silent, as if the cold didn’t touch him. You followed a few steps behind, wand clenched in your fist, steps careful, mind crowded. Every time a branch snapped or the snow rustled oddly, you instinctively moved closer to him. Until, without even noticing, you were practically pressed against his back.

“Using me as a human shield, Y/n?” he said without turning around, his voice as cold and sharp as ever.

Then, the scream. Shrill. Agonizing. It didn’t even sound human.

You grabbed his wrist without thinking. Hard. Your frozen fingers on his warm skin.

“Now’s not the time to be a smartass,” you growled. “There’s a child out there screaming.”

He looked down at your hand gripping his wrist like it was the only real thing in the middle of that blizzard. He swallowed hard. His jaw clenched violently. It was below freezing. But you… you were too close. Too warm. Too much.

“Your touch makes less sense than a Muggle in a Charms class,” he muttered, trying to hide the fact that he was practically burning up under his cloak.

Then you both screamed. At the top of your lungs.

No response. Just the storm. And then… a red light in the dark.

You ran. Fast. Brooms forgotten behind you. The light pulsed through the trees, flickering like an alarm.

And when you reached it— A young Gryffindor boy. Trapped. And in front of him… a five-headed beast. Towering. Twisted. Screaming. Its jaws gaping, drooling, circling the boy like a trap from hell.

“Minus 200 points to Gryffindor for being a monumental idiot,” Hoon said, unflinching.

“Are you insane?” you snapped. “Who gives a damn about points?! He’s in danger—we have to save him!”

Hoon scoffed. “Of course. Let’s reward stupidity, as usual.”

But despite the words, he raised his wand. “Fulgari!”

The spell’s glowing tendrils wrapped around one of the heads… but the creature reacted by tightening its body around the boy, who screamed, voice cracking: 'I don’t want to die! Help! Please!'

One of the heads lunged at you both, growling. You raised your wand, ready to fight. But Hoon stopped you with a hand against your chest.

“Go. Now. I’ll distract it.”

“Not a chance,” you growled back. But he didn’t listen.

“Expulso!” he shouted.

The creature staggered, and for a moment, it looked like it might retreat. But then… another head burst from the black mass of its back, snarling with rage, its red eyes locked solely on the two of you.

The snow seemed to freeze in midair.

You and Hoon exchanged a look. He was tense, sweating despite the cold, but his voice was steady.

"Hope you studied, Slytherin. Because this time… we need real magic.”

'Use a Patronus!' the boy cried out, tears streaking his face, voice broken.

You and Hoon exchanged a quick, tense look. The monster’s heads screeched and writhed around each other like frenzied snakes. The snow was falling heavier now, mixed with hail. The cold clung to your eyelashes.

“It’s too dangerous for you! We wouldn’t even manage a moth,” Hoon hissed, eyes locked on the creature.

But without thinking, you stepped forward, raising your wand with both hands. “Expecto Patronum!” … Nothing. Just wind. Your voice vanished into the void.

Panic tightened in your throat. But you shut your eyes. You searched for something. A thought. An emotion. And there it was—Hoon, back in class, defending you in front of everyone, unafraid of judgment. That moment when you realized that behind all the sarcasm and coldness, there was something more. He didn’t just see you as the loud, brazen Slytherin. He saw a girl who felt things. Who had her own fragilities.

“Expecto Patronum!” you shouted again, heart pounding like a drum.

A light ignited. Green and blue. It pulsed. Boiled. And then it burst.

From the snow and the glow, a shining, majestic serpent and a proud-eyed raven rose into the dark sky, spiraling together in a whirl of colored snow. They danced around the monster, striking. Its roar faded into a high-pitched screech—then silence. Gone. Only the ragged breathing of the boy remained.

You turned. Hoon was staring at you, mouth slightly open, eyes wide in disbelief, his lips caught between sarcasm and admiration.

“Don’t comment,” you panted, throwing him a look. And for once—he didn’t.

You rushed to the boy and wrapped him in your arms, trying to give him all the warmth you no longer had.

'I’m cold… but… your Patronus was beautiful,' he whispered, wide-eyed. “Thank you, little Gryffindor,” you murmured. “You made it too.”

A second later, a flash of light— And the Headmaster appeared before you with a sharp snap, his cloak rippling from residual magic.

-Incredible,- he said, looking at you and Hoon. -A joint Patronus. Haven’t seen one in… decades. Well done, both of you.- Then, turning to the boy with a sterner tone: -You risked your life tonight. From now on, you stay away from any path with trees. Understood?-

When you tried to Side-Apparate with the others, your wand trembled in your hand. Nothing. No effect.

“Perfect,” you muttered.

“You burned through too much energy,” Hoon said—without sarcasm, for once. “You’re insane. Don’t bother. Come with us.”

“No, you go with the Headmaster. I’ll… take a broom. Or walk. I’ll be fine.”

“Walk? With that thing still out there?” he growled. “Do you have blood in your brain or just snow?”

The Headmaster, calm as ever, raised a hand. -You’ll rest here. The Forest owes you something, tonight.-

And from the white trees, a small wooden cottage appeared—steep roof, chimney already smoking. A soft, golden light glowed from its windows.

You and Hoon looked at each other for a moment, then— You ran. Side by side. No words. Just warmth. Into that safe little pause in the world.

As soon as the door shut behind you, the sound of the storm vanished. The little cottage felt suspended in time: warm wooden walls, a thick rug laid out before a crackling fireplace, a bench stacked with folded blankets, and a faint scent of tea and oak in the air.

You pulled off your cloak, hands slightly trembling. Hoon did the same, silent, shaking the snow from his hair. He glanced at you and ran a hand down his face, like he still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Then he burst out: “Are you completely insane? You just… cast a Patronus. A joint one, at that.”

“Yeah, and I also saved your ass, the kid’s, and mine. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you,” you shot back, crossing your arms, challenging glare locked on him.

He laughed—short, sharp, but not cruel. “You know that trying to cast it without being sure it would work could’ve knocked you out—or worse, right? But of course, the Slytherin princess had to shine.”

“Shine?” you scoffed. “Right, sorry—next time I’ll let you play the misunderstood hero while I blend into the damn wallpaper.”

Hoon eyed you, dark gaze narrowing with that look you knew all too well. He was about to pounce. And he did.

“That Patronus though. Green and blue? A serpent and a raven?” He paused, then added with that pointed tone: “So… what are we saying? A blend of you and me? Tragic. Romantic. Arrogant.”

“It wasn’t a blend,” you huffed. “It was just… powerful. You had nothing to do with it.”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling in that infuriating way only he could—sharp, precise, lethal. “Oh really? Shame. It looked… kind of intimate. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell me something?”

“Yeah. That you’re a loser,” you muttered, stepping toward him with venom in your voice.

“Says the girl who grabbed my wrist in the snow like I was her favorite comfort blanket.”

“That was so you wouldn’t die, you idiot.”

“Admit it. You like making me worry.”

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but didn’t notice he’d already closed the gap between you. In a second, he pushed you—gently but firmly—against the wall, one hand at your waist, the other brushing your cheek, caught between provocation and something rawer.

Your heart slammed in your chest. The fireplace’s heat. His breath on your skin.

“You’re unbearable,” you whispered.

“Right back at you,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

And without giving you time to reply—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was a collision. All teeth, shallow breath, and desperate hands.

His body pressed hard against yours, your back against the wall, the world outside drowned out by everything you’d never said.

Sunghoon kissed you like he’d been waiting forever.

It wasn’t sweet. It was real. Raw.

You responded instantly, hands gripping the fabric of his cloak, pulling him closer with a force you didn’t even know you had.

He moved you back—toward the cottage’s small kitchen table. In a flash, you were sitting on top of it, the surface cold beneath you, his body warm and solid between your legs. He tugged at your lower lip with his teeth, and you let out a soft, broken moan, stolen right from your lungs.

His hands were everywhere—warm, certain—and when he gently bit your lower lip, a moan escaped you, more a hoarse whisper than an actual sound.

“Oh, look who’s moaning now,” he murmured against your mouth, wearing that arrogant smirk you knew all too well.

“Shut up, Park,” you shot back in a low, loaded voice. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

You grabbed his thick cloak and tossed it to the floor, your lips finding his again—hungry, desperate. There was no space for anything else. Just hands, bodies, breath.

Your fingers slipped beneath his heavy sweater, brushing over his warm, flawless skin. “This needs to go,” you whispered, voice low and shameless.

“You can,” he replied, but his eyes held that familiar flicker—somewhere between surrender and craving.

You pulled it up by the hem, slowly, savoring every inch you uncovered. And as you did, your eyes dared him. “How many times have you dreamed of this, huh?”

He let out a low growl. “Shut up.”

You chuckled, pleased. You peeled off his second layer too, leaving him in nothing but a fitted black tank top that clung to his pale skin and highlighted the sculpted shape of his arms.

“Spread your legs,” he said, in that deep, rough voice that made your insides tremble.

You obeyed. And he moved in, closer, more real. His body pressed against yours, the difference in height only adding to the tension, thrilling and undeniable. You tilted him toward you slightly, your hands locking around the back of his neck with quiet insistence.

You started kissing him there, just below his ear, then down along his jawline. Your lips found the curve of his neck—hot, eager—and you sucked, leaving a mark.

Sunghoon let out a soft moan, low and involuntary. “Merlin... Y/n...”

“What?” you whispered against his skin, with a wicked smile. “Can’t handle a little real human contact?”

He opened his eyes, trying to stay composed. But you could see it, feel it—every word, every touch, you were pulling him apart piece by piece.

“I hate you,” he murmured again, but his voice shook.

“Oh yeah? Then come and prove it.”

His hands dove into the edges of your coat, and with one swift movement, he slipped it off your shoulders. His eyes stayed locked on yours, but when his hands slid under your Slytherin sweatshirt, his gaze darkened—sharpened. He yanked it off with a single pull, leaving you in nothing but that fitted emerald-green tank top… the one that seemed designed to tempt him.

"Slytherin to the last layer?"he provoked you, a raised eyebrow and dangerously low tone. "Even panties?" "Maybe," you replied with a sassy smile. "But if you want to know, you'll have to find out for yourself." He looked at you as if you were playing with fire — and maybe it was true. But he did not back down. "You really are a little nightmare dressed in silk," he hissed, still approaching. He leaned over you and his lips came back to your neck, this time slower, hungrier. He sucked it, nibbled it, as if he wanted to brand you. And when a groan escaped from your lips and your fingers caught in his hair, he came off for a moment, his eyes lit with a brazen desire.

"Tomorrow you will have purple marks everywhere, princess," he whispered, her voice hoarse. "We are magicians, Park. I'll hide them in two seconds."

"Don't you dare even think about it," he retorted in a darker, more possessive tone. "I want them to see each other. I want everyone to know exactly where I kissed you and that you are mine, my little viper." And he returned to your neck, sinking with a new determination, as if thirsty. He sucked your skin as if it were nectar, as if every inch had a spell just for him. Your groans filled the room, broken only by the sound of your heavy breaths.

Then he lowered himself, slowly, and his eyes rested on your chest. The tank top had lifted, allowing a glimpse of the soft curves that the bra, a little too tight, was trying to contain. His lips rested light above the cups, and he kissed you with an unexpected, almost adoring sweetness.

"Can I take it off?" he murmured, his forehead against your chest. "You can," he whispered, his voice broken with desire. His hands barely shook as he grabbed the hem of his tank top. He slowly took off your tank top, and his eyes darkened as he looked at you. His hands, still cold from the frost outside, slipped under your bra. He unfastened it with precision, and the moment he fell, your breasts were free, sensitive skin stretched by the air and attention of his eyes.

"Sensitive, huh?"he teased you, with a half-smile on his lips. You grabbed him by the collar of the tank top. "Bow down, Park. And suck.» He gave you a look that promised chaos. "You can just give me orders, huh?» Yet he obeyed. He leaned over, his hot lips touching one of your strained buds, then his tongue began to rub him flat. You felt yourself melt, a groan rolled out of you, broken. Then he just used his teeth, and your body strained.

"Hoon!"you screamed, his name rolled out of his lips like an escaped spell. "Always so responsive?"he teased you, his voice hoarse while with his other hand he drew you to himself even more. His hand closed on the other breast, with firm, hungry movements. "You're meant to be touched like that, you know?"he muttered, kissing and nibbling. "So soft. So ... mine."

"Don't say these things," you admonished him, trying to control you, but it was useless. His lips, his hands, were erasing all logic.

It came to you instinctively — you stuck a hand under his black tank top and pulled it up. He just came off your breast, a trickle of spittle shining on his lips. Your eyes rested on his toned, pale, almost unrealistically defined chest. You bit your lip, unable to hold back that little gesture. "You haven't seen anything yet, witch," he whispered, before stooping back, your bodies now closer together, your breasts brushing against his bare chest. They both groaned softly upon contact. "When I saw you in the prefects pool..." you whispered, " I wanted to jump on you." He looked up at you, surprised but amused. "And why didn't you?" You shrugged your shoulders with feigned innocence. "Maybe I wanted to make you suffer a little." "Cursed..." he growled quietly, and returned to kiss your breasts with even more desire, as if the confession had ignited something in him.

He continued to tease you, his mouth soft and careful on your breasts, until his lips began to descend slowly along your belly. Every kiss was like a spark that ignited you all, and you moaned, unable to hold back. "So receptive..." he muttered with a grin, his voice deep and hoarse. "Typical spoiled little princess."

"Don't let a Ravenclaw command me," you replied, lifting yourself up and looking him straight in the eye. "Not even if he has a language like yours." He laughed slowly, but in his eyes there was a new hunger. And you, with an instinctive move, unfastened his belt. His eyes just smiled as you did it. The pants slid down with a rustle, and you whistled softly at the sight of the black boer

"I thought you were more shy," he whispered. "And I thought you were less ... gifted," he retorted, touching it through the fabric. You felt him tense, hard. And you looked at him with a satisfied smile. "It's a pity that he always remains a poor Ravenclaw loser." He clenched his jaw, his eyes turned on.

"Watch how you speak, Y/n" But you still approached, his hands on yours even as yours drew him more forcefully to you. His forehead leaned against yours, and for a moment there was only silence, only breath. Then, slowly, with curious and determined fingers, you stuck your hand under the edge of his boxer. You felt his erection, the way his body reacted, the warm and alive skin under your hand.

"You're really ruined, Park." He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched, holding back a groan. "And I bet you're bad, too. It would take a hand of mine in your jeans you’d be wet" You admonished him with a smirk, but you tightened your grip a little, enough to make him moan — a deep, almost broken sound. "... little viper..." he muttered, his voice a thin thread between pleasure and torment. You giggled, dropping his boxer

"I don't think I'll last long..." he confessed with a restrained growl. You got even closer, your voice a whisper in your ear. "Then do it. Show me how much I ruin you." sunghoon was literally ruined. What he had dreamed of for months-perhaps since you launched your first poisonous joke in the Prefects ' corridor-was now real. And with your hand moving slowly against his cock, he could no longer think.

He slightly grabbed your shoulder, looking for an anchor point to reality. Hi voice trembled. "Y/n....i'm coming.."

"I know," you whispered with a devilish grin, accelerating the pace and barely squeezing. He sprinted forward, a restrained groan that became a growl. "You're a little viper."

"And this viper is making you look like a loser, Park." It was the end. One last, hoarse moan and yelled your name, your head bent back, your body contracted. His forehead leaned against your shoulder as he barely trembled, his breath broken.

His abdomen, the clear line of the V, was marked by the pleasure you had just caused, little pearly and slimy filaments ripped through his shiny abs and then he bent over, still panting, and whispered something in your ear — sweet words, but laden with desire, broken by his own astonishment. They made you vibrate inside. You, without saying anything, picked up with a finger the most noticeable trace of his sperm and, looking straight into his eyes, slowly brought it to your mouth. You sucked it with malice. "You are sweet, "you said," but slightly salty."

"You're sick," he muttered, halfway between the amused and the ruined. "And you're in love," you replied, laughing, gracefully stepping down from the table. You took him by the wrist, with your usual Slytherin confidence, and dragged him to the bed in the middle of the little house in the woods. "The principal really created a work of art. Ideal for couples to do smutty things."

He chuckled, but upon hearing the word couples, his heart skipped a beat. You didn't realize it — or maybe you did, but you didn't say it. You let yourself fall between the pillows with a naturalness that would make even a Veela pale. Your breasts moved slightly as you settled down. You looked at him with feigned impatience. "And you? What are you doing standing there?" Sunghoon shook his head, a smirk on his lips, still stunned by you. "You are impossible."

"And yet you are still here." He moved, climbed over you, with almost reverent slowness, and for a moment there was no more bickering, no game, no war. Just him and you, skin to skin. Sunghoon's dark tufts fell untidy on his forehead, damp with sweat and desire. You extended a hand, touching his cheek with your fingers, soft and slow, as if you were trying to memorize every line of his face. Your eyes were half-closed, loaded with something beyond provocation: a shred of vulnerability that you almost never showed.

He paused for a moment to look at you-as if he could not believe that you were really there, under him. Then, with that cheeky half-smile you knew all too well, he began to descend again, kissing every inch of your skin. When he got to the edge of your pants, he said nothing. Only the metallic sound of the zipper sliding down spoke for him. He whistled softly. "Fiery red panties, huh?"he said, raising an eyebrow. "And then you accuse me of being a pervert."

"Shut your mouth, Park," you admonished him, trying to sound superior. But your tone trembled a little.

"Open your legs."

"No."

His eyes became darker. "Stubborn to the last. Classic from Slytherin." And without waiting, with glacial calm and strong fingers, he opened them to you. His big hands wrapped around your thighs, slowly pushing them outward as you cast a poisonous glance at him. "I knew," he muttered.

"The whole scene." Then he lowered his head and began to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. Soft, quick bites marked his path, igniting every nerve beneath the surface. Every now and then he would stop and look at you from under his eyelashes, as if studying your reactions like an ancient spell. And when he got to the center of you, he said nothing. Just one kiss, one, full, slow. A groan escaped from your lips before you could stop it, and your back involuntarily arched. Sunghoon stopped, satisfied.

"And tell me now," he whispered against your skin, in a hoarse voice, "who is the loser, princess?" His fingers grazed the thin cloth, finding you exactly as he expected. He looked at you defiantly and triumphantly.

"Completely wet. For me." Then he bent over again, and your eyes lost all focus — you could only see his dark hair, his head between your thighs, and you could only feel the slow, firm pace with which he was tasting you like you were the only thing in the world. Your breath broke, a groan rose from your bowels, and his name escaped you like a prayer and a curse. "Hoon…" His tongue was a forbidden temptation. Every movement, precise and darn slow, made you falter as if a spell ran under your skin. He drew little eights with his tip, as if he wanted to draw your name on him-and you, with your lips ajar, groaned quietly, babbling his name like a supplication.

"H-Hoon ... what... what are you—"

"Shut up, viper," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and sharp. "I've never heard you so... true." And without warning, he slid a finger into you. A slow, exploratory motion that made you arch your back against the pillows. Your body reacted before you could even fight back.

"Park, I -" you tried to admonish him, but it was useless. He smiled, looking up just a second, his eyes lit up by something wild. And then, with a bold gesture, he brushed your center with his teeth. A light bite, calibrated. But it was enough to make you completely lose control. You screamed his name, fingers intertwined in his hair, looking for a foothold in reality.

"I bet you can get another one, right?"he whispered with a mischievous note. "Show me how good you really are."

"Yes..." you answered, in a broken voice. The second finger joined the first, and began to move with increasing pace. His eyes peered at you, hungry, and when you moaned louder, lips ajar and body trembling, he giggled. "Who is more beautiful, princess? Me ... or my fingers ruining you?» You bit your lip, not wanting to answer. Slytherin pride was hard to bend, even now. And he stopped. He left you there, suspended, a moment from the abyss. "No ... continue, Park!" He degraded you, in a low, provocative tone, but his gaze barely trembled. And when you gasped: "You are beautiful. And ... good at everything,"

he smiled for real, with a flash of triumph and a shadow of sweetness in his eyes. "I know," he replied. But his tone, this time, was less cold. More sincere. Almost amazed. "And you ... are my worst spell." His touch was fire. Every movement of his fingers inside you sent you into orbit, and despite the severed breath, you could not hold back the words. You yelled his name like it was the only spell that could keep you alive. Your hands were now lost in her hair, pulling them with force with every wave of pleasure that passed through you. He didn't stop. In fact, he seemed hungrier, more determined. He looked at you with those icy eyes that were now burning, and his voice, hoarse and confident, stuck in you.

"Come for me, Y / n ... I want to see you collapse. I want to know that no one can make you feel that way. Nobody but me." His words were the spark. Your body strained, the pleasure exploded like a liberated curse, and you let yourself go completely — trembling against his mouth and fingers. He did not look away even a moment, as if he wanted to stamp that moment in focus in the mind. When he stood up, he had the look of someone who has just won a war. He kissed you slowly, forcefully.

He gnawed at your lip as if he still wanted to taste you. "You know too much good," he muttered against your mouth, and the tone had something dangerously sweet. You barely moved, rubbing against him — your body still shaken, but eager for more. You felt his cock against you, still encased in his boer Your eyes rested on him and, in a bold and mischievous tone, you teased him: "All this ... because of a Slytherin." Sunghoon threw a fierce look at you, jaws clenched.

"Shut up." But you laughed slowly, enjoying the tension you had ignited. You pushed your hips against him and his breath broke. His body reacted instinctively, as if it had been enchanted by you all along. "Do you really want it?"he whispered, in a voice so low that it almost sounded like a threat. "Because if I sink into you now... there will be nothing left to hide. I'll take everything."

You looked at him, his pupils dilated, his heart in his throat. "Then do it, Ravenclaw. Take."

The only thing you really felt was him. Hoon. Every inch of his body pressed against yours, and every slow but deep push made you gasp, scratch, seek more contact, more friction. More than him. "Look how you take me..."he hissed at your throat, biting your skin as if he wanted to leave his signature there, indelible. "So tight, so wet. Is that what you want? To be used by me as a good, dirty Slytherin?"

"Yes..." you moaned, your voice almost broken with pleasure. "Yes, Hoon, please..." He lifted your leg, bending it against his side with controlled force, and sank back into you with a jerk that made you scream, your head falling backwards against the wall.

"Well" Another push, deeper.

"Do you feel how full your fucking pussy is?" Another one.

"You like it, don't you? Being fucked by one who treats you like a spoiled princess."

"I am..." you stammered, unable to lie. "My Slytherin princess version slut," he growled, grabbing your chin to make you look him in the eye. Cold eyes, precise. Calculator. But now, they were just burning for you.

"I bet you dream of being bent over a bench in empty classrooms. To enjoy me in the aisles while you're still wearing that damn green tie." Every word was a slap to your pride, but instead of breaking you, it made you shiver more. "Do you like it when I tell you that you are worth nothing but to be fucked? That behind that queen face of yours is only you, hot, trembling, hungry for me?"

"Yes ... Yes, Merlin, Hoon ... make me yours..." He pushed you even harder, making you moan louder and louder. One hand on your throat, to squeeze slightly, while the other crept between your bodies to touch you. Two experienced, cruel fingers brushed the spot where you were most sensitive, and you screamed without restraint. "Hear how you scream..." he hissed, excitedly. "I bet the owls in the woods are wondering who is the little slut who is taking me so well."

"Only you ..." you moaned. "Only you make me like this..."

"Damn, Y/n, you're made for this," he grunted, his thrusts faster and faster. "To be taken like this. Destroyed so. From me. From a Ravenclaw who never believed in anything but control. Look what you got me to do." Hoon's blows became fiercer, his breath more labored, and you could no longer hold back. The pleasure mounted inside you like a storm, and the scream escaped from your lips before you could even control it. "Hoon-I'm ... I'm going to—"

"Come for me." His voice was a hoarse order, full of lust and domination. "Make a mess. Dirty all this bed, so the headmaster is an idiot if he thought that leaving us alone in this little house would not lead to this." He smiled, kissing you hard as he continued to push into you with measured brutality.

"A bed, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen..." he laughed, panting ,"...like I didn't want to fuck you on all surfaces." It was at that moment that you screamed his name, trembling as the orgasm overwhelmed you with a power that emptied your breath. Your body clasped around his, and your legs snapped like traps around his waist. But he did not stop. Not yet.

"Look how tight you are ... still," he hissed, his voice now broken by the pleasure that approached even for him. "I make you mine, for real now. I want you full. Full of my cock and cum, you little snake."

"Hoon... no - not inside..."

"Shut up." His voice became dark, dirty with desire. "You are mine. And I want to fill you. Until you drip on everything you touch." He took you with deep, raw blows, until his breath broke against your skin. And then, he came. Hot, heavy, inside you. You felt his body shake against yours, his fingers clasping your hips as if he wanted to carve you into the flesh. His cum trickled slowly down your thighs, as you both gasped in the dark load of moans and sweat. He came off slowly, with his last breath still against your chest, then dragged you with him to the bed still disheveled. He grabbed you by the side and pulled you against his chest, sinking his face into your neck, as if that contact held him anchored to reality.

One of his hands lazily moved towards your face, long thin fingers caressing your cheek still reddened. You, still half distraught with pleasure, let yourself go on his chest, setting your head against his. "Little viper..."he whispered with a tired smile. "I don't know if I want to strangle you or marry you."

"I hate you..." you murmured at him, a smirk on his lips.

"Mmh. Lie. You're obsessed with me." He gave you a slow kiss behind the ear.

"And you from me."

The next morning, the world outside the little house felt muffled. Snow was falling slowly, silently, and the crackling of the fireplace was the only sound filling the room. You woke up to the lingering scent of burning wood in the air and Hoon’s warm body wrapped around yours.

His bare skin against yours was a silent reminder of everything that had happened just a few hours earlier. His slow, steady breathing made his chest rise and fall gently, and you nestled against him a bit more, as if that simple movement could somehow let you stay there forever.

You lifted yourself slightly, carefully, trying not to wake him. You looked at him—really looked at him.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, allowing you to take in every detail: the long lashes, the slightly parted lips, the faint crease between his brows. And then, his moles. The ones you had memorized long ago, like a secret map meant only for you.

Your hand moved on its own, without thinking. Your fingers brushed lightly over the small mole beneath his left eye. Then the one on the bridge of his nose, just above the curve. The tiny one on his cheek. And finally, the one beneath his ear, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

“Mmh…” he murmured sleepily, a half-groan in his throat. “Still tracing my moles? Haven’t you gotten tired of mapping my face like you’re trying to decode some ancient script?”

You smiled softly, not stopping your touch, and your eyes met his—still a bit drowsy, hazy from sleep.

“I’m just cataloging you, Ravenclaw… Don’t they serve some kind of purpose? Like little stars placed just right to be studied.”

“Studied, huh?” he chuckled, his voice rough and deep. “Or worshipped?”

“Don’t get cocky.” You rolled your eyes, but your gaze had softened more than you intended.

He stretched lazily, then moved closer, fingers tracing idle lines across your back.

“My viper’s going soft… should I be worried?”

“She’s just sleepy,” you murmured.

He gave a half-smile—the one he saved only for you. The one that said nice try, I see right through you. Then his voice dropped, a bit more serious now:

“Do you think that from now on, when you smell Amortentia, you’ll catch my scent?”

Your heart skipped a beat—subtle and sudden. You looked at him, your fingers drifting back to the mole beneath his eye.

“If I start smelling old books, wet moss, and… mint tea? Then I’ll know who to blame.”

He smiled again, this time more softly.

“And I’ll always smell that scent your skin carries after you’ve spent hours teasing me. The one that reeks of trouble.”

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[hyuckiefluff]

The Wicked Game of Love| Lee Haechan

pairing: slytherin! haechan x ravenclaw! fem.reader genre: rivals to lovers, smut, angst wc: 21k+ (full fic) content warning: explicit sexual content, public sex, oral (fem. receiving), rough sex (hair-pulling, light spanking), marking (hickeys, bruises), forced proximity, toxic family dynamics, blood status discrimination, mean haechan, usage of wizard ver. of a slur, canon divergence (post-hogwarts /ministry setting), their relationship gives whiplash i apologize in advance, hurt/comfort. summary: Lee Haechan was a pure-blood heir raised to hate everything you are. You, a half-blood girl who knew better than to let your guard down around someone like him. You were never supposed to want each other—until one disastrous kiss shatters everything you’ve worked to protect. a/n: AT LAST it is here!! my blood, sweat, and tears went into this u guys. i hope it was worth the wait. also i somehow ended up with a very dramione-coded fic (yes, this is me coming out as a dramione enjoyer). it’s so long i had to split it into two parts because apparently i don’t know when to stop. part two should be up right after this one (unless i passed out from exhaustion). pls enjoy and scream at me about it in the comments <3 ps: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABYGIRL HAECHAN!!! ILYSM!!!

READ PART 2 HERE

“I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so? I do not know, but I feel it, and I am tormented.” — Catullus, poem 85

What you and Lee Haechan had could only be described as pure, unadulterated rivalry. Or it started that way, at least.

Your mother and his father had been political opponents for as long as you could remember—two towering figures in the wizarding world, constantly at odds in public and behind closed doors. While your mother built her career on progressive reform and transparency, his father operated in shadows, pulling strings and building alliances that made him one of the most quietly feared men in wizard politics. When your mother was named Minister of Magic, it was only by a thin margin, one that turned their rivalry into something closer to open war.

Because of your parents’ standing, and their closely intertwined conflict, you were often forced to share space. Too much of it. Not just at Hogwarts, but everywhere. Ministry galas, private events, summer functions.

Haechan was like a buzzing fly in your ear, a little gremlin who made it his life’s mission to drive you up the wall. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like his voice, or his slouchy posture, or the way he looked at you with those half-lidded eyes. You didn’t like the stupid pattern of moles on his face or the way he always knew exactly which button to press. 

Everyone who knew you, knew you couldn’t stand him. If anything, the daily verbal sparring made it pretty damn clear. But what no one could’ve ever predicted was how quickly this would change.

A change that started when your mother was officially sworn in as Minister.

The announcement made headlines across every wizarding publication, and for a brief moment, your name was something people said with admiration. Students congratulated you in the corridors, professors gave you subtle nods of approval, and even the portraits seemed more polite than usual.

Your mother had been a respected Ministry official long before taking office, a well-known pureblood figure who shocked everyone by marrying a Muggle-born wizard, a choice that set tongues wagging long before you were born. Eventually, your father cracked under the pressure of a world he never fully belonged in, leaving your mother in favor of a simpler life with a Muggle woman.

Because your mother was so busy with her political career, you grew up with your father in the Muggle world, isolated from magic entirely until the age of ten, when strange incidents like your hair changing colors overnight, glass shattering during arguments started happening and forced your mother to intervene.

She brought you into a world you didn’t know then. Hogwarts became your fresh start, your chance to prove you belonged in the magical world despite whispers about your blood status, your father’s scandalous departure, and your upbringing.

Which was exactly why, when you walked into the Great Hall a few days after your mother was sworn in and saw the headline The Daily Prophet had run, it hit so viciously.

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N. Have you seen this?”

Hannah Parkinson’s voice stopped you on your way to the Ravenclaw table. She unfolded her copy with a dramatic flair and shoved it into your face. Your stomach dropped as you read the words.

“THE MINISTER’S HALF-BLOOD HEIRESS: RAISED BY MUGGLES, GROOMED FOR POWER?”

Under the headline was a moving photo of you walking through a Muggle market wearing jeans, scuffed trainers, and a second-hand T-shirt. You hadn’t even noticed the photographer.

Rita Skeeter’s quill did its best to flay you alive.

“Young Miss Y/L/N may carry a famous surname, but does she carry the polish befitting the office? Sources say the new heiress spent most of her childhood in a Muggle household, blissfully ignorant of wizarding custom until age ten—hardly the upbringing our world expects from a Minister’s child.

Classmates describe her as ‘aggressive on a broom, and foul-mouthed in the hallways’.  One wonders whether this half-blood Seeker has the temperament to represent us on the international stage.”

And it continued into the next page, because Skeeter never knew when to stop.

“Her fashion sense appears equally questionable as she’s seen in the picture wearing Muggle denim and a shirt bearing a ‘Misfits’ logo (whatever that means). One hopes Madam Malkin can work miracles.”

The tears welled in your eyes before you could blink them back. Skeeter had somehow managed to hit all of your insecurities with one article—your parents separation, the years spent as the weird kid, the endless fight to prove you belonged in the wizarding world—and splashed them across the breakfast tables of the entire wizarding world.

“Aww, is the Minister’s little charity case going to cry?” Hannah cooed mockingly.

Before you could even find the words or grab your wand to shut her up, there was a loud crack behind you. The paper in her hands tore clean in half, as if slashed by an invisible blade. Hannah stumbled back in shock.

Next thing you knew, Lee Haechan was walking past you, his wand still glowing faintly. Dark hair fell in soft waves over his eyes, his uniform tie was crooked as always, his expression flat with boredom.

“Parkinson,” he drawls “I’d ask if the Prophet’s paying you for distribution, but just like your father you clearly enjoy handing out trash for free.”

A collective ooh rippled across the Hall. Hannah’s face turned an impressively blotchy shade of red before she turned around and stalked off, tripping over the hem of her robes.

Haechan turned then, catching your eye before his gaze dipped to your jeans and the battered trainers peeking out beneath your open robes.

“And you.” His mouth curved into a half-snarl. “If you insist on dressing like a stray Muggle, don’t act shocked when the rats sniff you out.”

You flinched at his words, feeling even more self-conscious than when Hannah was insulting you.

He nudged the ruined paper with his shoe, his voice low so only you’d hear it. “Never bleed where they can smell it.” Then, louder in a mocking tone “Try to keep up, you’re the Minister’s pet now.”

He turned on his heels and strolled back to the Slytherin table, his friends thumping him in the back in glee.

You stood frozen, not knowing how to react. He humiliated you, which wasn’t a new thing in your relationship. But this time, it felt as if he’d thrown the punch so no one else could.

After that day, Haechan was still a nuisance to you. Still the boy whose father would do anything to see your mother fail. But now his teasing felt different. It wasn’t sharp the way it used to be. His taunts started landing just shy of cruelty, aimed to sting you into strength instead of out of it. No one noticed the difference except you.

Bit by bit, you found yourself almost looking forward to it. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

In the days following the article, you did your best to become invisible—but Hogwarts was not a place that allowed anonymity when your name was constantly on the front page of newspapers. Rita Skeeter’s words spread fast, and soon every corridor was filled with whispers about your family. The attention made you retreat into solitude, often spending your free periods hiding among the furthest library stacks.

One afternoon, as you sat hunched over your Charms textbook, the chair across from you scraped loudly against the stone floor. You looked up, startled and already annoyed.

"Did you lose your way?" you asked coldly, glaring at Haechan as he settled carelessly into the chair opposite.

"Unfortunately not.” He replied with a yawn, dropping his textbooks onto the table with a thud that made you flinch. 

"What do you want, Haechan?”

He raised a brow. “Wow, no ‘hello’? No ‘thank you for publicly humiliating a pureblood princess on my behalf’?”

​​"Right, I almost forgot chivalry’s alive and well in Slytherin.” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Only when it comes with entertainment value." He leaned back, arms behind his head. "And you're a surprisingly decent show these days."

"Glad I could provide," you muttered. “Did you come here just to annoy me?”

"Nah, I just figured you were desperate enough to tolerate my presence," he retorted, flashing a shit eating grin. "Since your fellow Ravenclaws aren't exactly lining up to spend time with you these days."

You narrowed your eyes. "If you're looking to have a laugh, go bother someone else."

"Believe me, watching you sulk around like a kicked puppy isn’t that fun anymore."

"Then leave," you hissed.

“Can't. I need your notes."

You scoffed loudly. "You're delusional if you think I'd help you."

"Am I?" he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Cause you still haven’t hexed me, which means you're at least considering it."

Your wand hand twitched under the table, and he noticed immediately, mouth quirking upward in amusement. The two of you were used to swapping harmless hexes for years. Silly stuff like changing each other’s hair color, gluing quills to fingers, turning the other’s pumpkin juice to green sludge during breakfast. Nothing scarring, but enough for you to flinch when the other’s temper flared. Haechan’s smirk said he remembered every jinx.

The nature of your relationship is exactly why you weren’t used to having him on your side all of a sudden, and you couldn’t be judged for holding him at a safe distance when you had no idea what his intentions were. 

Especially now that his father was capable of doing anything to ruin you and your mother’s reputation with the purpose of hindering her future reelection. Not to mention, you hated feeling like you owed him anything.

"You didn't have to interfere the other day," you muttered bitterly, unable to meet his gaze. "I could’ve handled Hannah myself."

He didn't respond at first. The quiet stretched long enough that you glanced up just in time to catch a strange expression crossing his features. He masked it quickly with indifference.

"Parkinson annoys me," he shrugged.

"Since when?" you raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

He leaned forward, voice dropping into a velvety murmur. "Since she started messing with what's mine."

"Excuse me?" you stammered. 

"Mine to torment, I mean," he corrected, rolling his eyes. "Merlin, don't get ahead of yourself."

"I wasn't," you snapped, embarrassment twisting sharply in your stomach.

"I know." His smirk returned. "Your pride wouldn't allow it."

You huffed, returning your gaze to your textbook, pretending to read despite the words blurring uselessly in front of you.

He flipped open his own book, pretending to skim through pages in bored silence. After about twenty minutes of silent “studying”, he stood up without looking at you.

"I’ll come back tomorrow for those notes.

You hesitated, feeling the inexplicable urge to humor him, despite every reason not to. "Fine. Whatever."

"And stop hiding in the library every day. It's depressing."

"Fuck off," you shot back sharply.

His answering laugh echoed as he walked away and you sat there for the next few minutes trying to summon any sense of concentration to no avail.

A week later you were back in the library, this time sequestered at a corner table piled with parchment and potion vials. Professor Slughorn had paired the two of you for an extra-credit antidote project—“my favorite students working together!” he’d said with a wink—and neither of you had managed to wriggle out of it.

Haechan wasn’t really doing any work, he just kept  twirling his quill and splattering ink blots across your carefully labeled ingredient chart.

“Could you not?” you snapped, blotting at the stains.

“Relax,” he said, slouching until his knees bumped yours under the table. “Don’t you know that chaos is the mother of invention?”

“That mentality is how you melted the cauldron earlier in class”

He grinned. “That was funny, though.”

You rolled your eyes and bent back over your parchment, quill scratching furiously across the page. You could feel him watching you, but you refused to look up.

The quiet of the library was broken by a burst of loud whispers from a nearby table.

“…I bet he only keeps the half-blood around because he feels bad for her—”

“—heard they sneak off after curfew. Wonder what she’s giving him in return…”

You didn’t even need to guess who they were talking about. It was obvious what people thought when they saw you with the Slytherin golden boy, the heir of one of the most ancient pureblood families. They probably thought you were his charity case as well. That you were stupid enough to want him around after all he said to you.  

Your pulse pounded too hard in your ears to hear Haechan’s chair scraping back. A second later, the gossipers’ table went silent, punctuated only by the unmistakable snap of someone’s quill being broken in half.

He walked back to your table and dropped into his seat, jaw tight. “Idiots.”

You shoved your notes into a messy stack. “I’m done for tonight.”

“Y/N—” he reached across the table, but you were already on your feet.

You didn’t stop until you reached an unused classroom three corridors away. It was cold and dusty, with cobwebs in the corners and desks scattered around.

The ghost of a bride hovered near the corner, sobbing quietly into her translucent veil. You ignored her as you braced both hands on the windowsill, trying to steady your breathing, willing the sting behind your eyes to fade. 

After a few minutes, the ghost floated silently through the wall, giving you a mournful look—as if accepting that you had more reason to cry tonight.

The door clicked open after a few seconds.

“Thought I told you I was done,” you said without turning.

“And since when do I listen?” Haechan closed the door behind him.

You didn’t reply, only sound that could be heard was your quiet sniffles and his slow steps getting near.

“They’re not worth it.” His voice was careful. “A new article will come out tomorrow and everyone will move on. You know people need a new chew toy every week.”

You huffed a shaky laugh. “Easy for you to say. Your family’s never been headline fodder.”

“Sure we have. Just with less sensational adjectives.” He stepped closer until your shoulders brushed lightly. “Besides, if they’re going to talk, we might as well give them something good to gossip about.”

You glanced up at him, puzzled. “Like what?”

Haechan hesitated for a quick second, before his mouth quirked into that half-smile you recognized as the one he gave before saying something ridiculous. “We could pretend to date.”

A surprised laugh burst out of you, louder than you’d intended. “Fake dating? Seriously?”

“Why not?” His expression was deceptively casual, but his eyes stayed serious on yours. “It’s the quickest way to control the narrative. People eat that shit up.”

You shook your head, smiling, expecting him to crack up and admit he was joking any second now. But his expression didn't waver, and you faltered slightly.

“You’re not serious.”

His gaze didn’t shift. “What if I am?”

You stared at him, waiting for the joke, the laughter—but it didn’t come. Still, the idea was too absurd. Fake dating Lee Haechan? Impossible.

You shook your head again, forcing another laugh as you quickly dismissed the notion. “Nice try, Lee. But I think I’ll stick to something easier to manage like maybe getting top marks in our Potions assignment?”

He chuckled, finally relenting. “Suit yourself.”

Another tear escaped as you laughed softly, embarrassed. You swiped at your cheek. “God, I hate crying.”

“Yeah, you’re an ugly crier.” He nudged your shoulder gently

You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm, but he caught your hand mid-motion. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, making your breath catch. For a moment you both stood there quietly, until finally, you let out a slow exhale and allowed your head to rest carefully against his shoulder.

He stiffened for barely a second, then relaxed, leaning gently into your weight.

Neither of you spoke again until the clock tower chimed curfew. Reluctantly, you straightened, feeling calmer but oddly reluctant to move away from him.

“We should finish that antidote tomorrow,” you murmured.

He nodded, eyes searching your face as if confirming you really were okay. “All right.”

When he left, his suggestion lingered in your thoughts, stuck there like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Fake dating Lee Haechan. You snorted softly to yourself, shaking your head as you walked back to the common room. The idea was not only ridiculousbut completely impossible.

Yet your brain, traitorous as always, circled back stubbornly to it. The thought of Haechan holding your hand in the corridors, leaning closer at dinner, brushing a casual kiss to your forehead in front of everyone...

Heat rose sharply in your cheeks.

Ridiculous, yes… but not completely unappealing, if you were honest. He was handsome and smart, plus he wasn’t as irritating as you originally thought.

You shook your head again firmly, as if to physically dislodge the thought. No. You couldn’t afford to indulge this. It was crazy. Dangerous, even.

But as you walked up to the Gold Eagle Knocker at the entrance of the Ravenclaw common room and answered the riddle, you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up at the thought of everyone believing you belonged to each other.

You spent more and more days studying with Haechan after that. Or rather, you studying while he studied you. It was a comfortable escape from judgmental whispers and the scrutiny of everyone else’s eyes. Somehow, he’d become your calm in the midst of chaos.

To your surprise, Haechan was actually a good listener, offering better advice than anyone else you'd ever met. It was unexpected for someone who seemed born to antagonize, but behind his cutting remarks was someone who noticed more than he let on.

He was even helping you improve your flying form, despite technically being your biggest rival since both of you played Seeker. But he’d started noticing small flaws in your technique, quietly pointing them out during your private drills. You only learned to fly at eleven, which made you less experienced compared to Haechan who’d practically grown up on a broom.

“You’re still dropping your shoulder every time you dive for the Snitch,” he called over one afternoon, a playful grin on his face as you landed and sat on the grass.

“I do not,” you shot back, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead.

“Yes, you do.” He snorted lightly, tossing himself onto the grass beside you. “It’s why I keep beating you in dives.”

“Whatever.” You sighed, picking at blades of grass. Admitting your weakness felt uncomfortable, but the words slipped out anyway. “It’s just...dives still freak me out a bit.”

His teasing expression softened immediately. Quietly, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to fix it.”

You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. The warmth of his fingers sent a small flutter through your chest.

“Mount your broom,” he instructed gently, letting go once you were steady. “But don’t kick off yet.”

You did as told, gripping the handle tight enough to hide the slight tremble in your fingers. He moved behind you, his presence too close. You felt your breath catch sharply when one of his hands gently settled on your lower back, steadying you. His palm felt impossibly warm through your Quidditch robes.

“You’re way too tense,” he murmured, amused. You jumped slightly when his other hand rested firmly on your shoulder. “Relax a bit, yeah?”

“How am I supposed to relax when you’re—”

“Just trust me.”

You tried to turn your head but he gently redirected your chin with his fingertips, guiding your gaze straight ahead. 

“Eyes forward. If you were flying, you'd have crashed already.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the soft rasp of his voice near your ear and the firm grip of his hands. You swallowed thickly. “It’s hard to concentrate with you right there.”

“I’m just correcting your form,” his fingers moved softly along your spine, and every nerve in your body seemed to spark under his touch.

His grip tightened slightly on your shoulder, pressing it into a more relaxed position. “Keep it down like this. Shift your weight forward without leaning into your broom too hard.” His breath was warm in your ear. “Trust your broom, and trust yourself. And stop tensing every muscle just because you’re afraid you’ll fall.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumbled, frowning. “You were born with a broom attached to your hand.”

“Just try the dive.”  he chuckled.

You hovered mid-air and bent forward, shoulders steady this time as the broom descended. The dive went smoother and your stomach didn’t feel like a bottomless pit. 

“That…felt better.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

You dismounted, heart still thumping. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said, grabbing his own broom. Then, with a teasing smile, “Just remember who helped you when you finally beat me to the Snitch.”

The following week The Great Hall hummed with the usual breakfast chatter. It had been an awkward morning, people seemed more on edge than usual and you didn’t even know why until commotion started by the Slytherin table.

Haechan’s voice rose sharply with anger, breaking through the murmurs. “Mind your own business, will you?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him glaring down a small cluster of Hufflepuffs who immediately ducked their heads, faces flushed and eyes darting nervously. He snatched a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet from one boy’s trembling fingers. He looked up and his eyes locked onto yours.

“Enjoying this?” he stalked toward you, paper clenched in one fist.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, defensive under the weight of everyone’s stares.

He threw the Prophet down onto the Ravenclaw table. The headline screamed out in black lettering “MINISTRY SCANDAL—LEE FAMILY FACING INQUIRY OVER ILLEGAL DARK ARTEFACTS”

“You happy now?” Haechan hissed. “Your mother’s finally getting rid of the bad press. Congratulations, Minister’s pet.”

“What… I—We had nothing to do with this!”

“Oh, really?” he sneered bitterly, leaning in closer. “Funny how these stories started coming out right after the articles about you. Maybe Skeeter wasn’t so wrong… hanging around Muggles didn’t teach your family much about fair play.”

A few gasps echoed softly around you. You wanted to scream, to hex him right then and there, but your hands shook too badly under the table to even grip your wand.

You lifted your chin, staring back. “What are you really so upset about? That your father’s finally being exposed, or that people might think you’re just like him?”

His expression faltered enough to let you know your barb had landed. Of anything you could’ve said that was probably the worst for him.

Haechan didn’t just resent his father. He was terrified of becoming him. Every cruel instinct he buried, every smirk that masked something darker, every time he played the game too well—he wondered if he was already halfway there. So hearing it from your mouth, that disgust, that echo of everything he feared he might become? It was too much and it shook something in him loose. 

“You’re right,” he said with a cruel laugh. “My father’s not a good man. But at least he never pretended to be. Your mother clawed her way to the top on the back of others and you’re just her dirty little project. Filthy blood dressed in silk. And no matter how high you climb, you’ll always reek of where you came from.”

The air drained from your lungs. It wasn’t just the insult — it was how easy it came to him. As if it had always been there, lurking under his tongue. You stared numbly at the crumpled headline on the table. 

He was clearly deflecting. Protecting himself and his family’s name. But you never expected him to use words you’d only ever heard whispered by the worst kind of witches and wizards.

Haechan stormed out of the Great Hall, past the whispers and stares, past the first-years who scrambled aside in fear, past the professors who pretended they didn’t see anything. He didn’t slow down until he reached the abandoned courtyard behind the greenhouses, his breaths coming short and shallow.

He braced a hand against the cold stone wall, his pulse pounding sickeningly in his ears.

“Filthy blood dressed in silk”

The echo of his own voice made bile rise in his throat. He’d said it so easily, so effortlessly cruel, exactly like his father would have.

He could still see the way your expression had shattered. Not in anger—that would have been easier to stomach—but stunned disbelief, pain etched deep into your features, your chin held high even as your eyes welled with tears. He’d torn you open, hit you exactly where he knew it would cut deepest, and he’d done it because he couldn’t face feeling vulnerable himself.

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly, sliding down onto the nearest bench and burying his face in his hands. He felt like a coward. No, he felt worse.  He felt exactly like the kind of person he’d sworn he would never become.

He’d watched you go through this already, helped you pick up the pieces, telling you people would forget, that it wouldn’t matter in the end. But he’d never imagined his family would become the next target. He’d never expected the anger, the embarrassment, to burn so personally.

He swallowed thickly, head tilting back against the wall, gaze fixed unseeingly on the darkening sky. He needed to fix this. Needed you to understand that he’d meant none of it, that he wasn’t like his father, even if today he’d failed spectacularly at proving it.

But how could you possibly forgive him after what he'd said?

He wasn’t even sure if he could forgive himself.

The courtyard incident never reached the Headmaster, but the castle carried gossip faster than owls. By the next morning everyone knew Lee Haechan had called the Minister’s daughter “filthy blood” to her face. Ravenclaws pitched him glares sharp enough to cut skin. Half the Slytherins avoided eye contact, the rest wore smirks that said at least one of us finally said it out loud.

You refused to be in the same corridor with him, let alone speak. At meals you sat with your team while he took the far end of the Slytherin table and toyed with food he never finished. Whenever you entered the library, he left. Wordlessly. Every time.

The distance should have made things easier, instead it thrummed like a headache behind your eyes.

Thing’s should’ve calmed down after that, but the Prophet ran a follow-up column on the Lee investigation, calling Haechan directly a liability to the family reputation. Skeeter framed his words against you in the Great Hall as proof of the “volatile Lee temper,” the perfect angle to question whether the family’s dark artefact inquiry hinted at deeper corruption. 

She quoted unnamed “allies” of the Lee family who feared the heir’s public outbursts were undermining decades of carefully polished prestige. In Skeeter’s telling, Haechan wasn’t just an embarrassed teenager but a wobbling pillar threatening to topple the entire Lee dynasty.

You closed the paper before anyone could see your hands shaking. Whatever anger you still felt, seeing him reduced to a scandalous article—no less than you had been—left a sour taste in your mouth that lasted throughout breakfast.

By the time you slid into Charms class, your stomach was in knots. Professor Flitwick’s flickering quill skated across the blackboard, dividing your Charms class into pairs for the upcoming Presentation on Non-Verbal Counter Charms.

The moment your name appeared next to Lee, H., the knots pulled so tight you thought you might throw up.

Across the room, Haechan twirled his wand between two fingers, deliberately avoiding your gaze. You’d managed to avoid him so well you were half-convinced the castle had sprouted secret passages just to keep you apart, so being forced into proximity again felt deeply unpleasant. 

“Partners will demonstrate in two weeks,” Flitwick announced, clapping his tiny hands. “Research and practice outside class is essential!”

Reluctantly, you gathered your things and walked stiffly to the empty seat next to Haechan. He didn’t bother moving his books to make room for you.

“I wrote down a few options,” you said, dropping your notes onto the corner of the desk. “I’ll handle wand movement notation, you can do the theory.”

Haechan barely cracked one eye open. “Pass. Last time I trusted your wand work, I nearly lost my eyebrows.”

“That was in Defense class, and you deserved it,” you snap, voice sharp enough that two Gryffindors glancd over. “Just do the theory, Haechan. It’s not that hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—did I miss the part where we decided you’re in charge?” He straightened slowly, finally meeting your glare. “If Flitwick’s grading us on performance, I’m not gonna let you take all the spotlight.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then what’s your brilliant idea?”

“We can meet in the library tonight,” he said evenly. “Let’s practice first, figure out who does what later.”

“Fine,” you snapped.

“Fine.” He leaned back again. “And let’s do something advanced. Your choice, if that makes you feel better.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering a resigned “Whatever”

When you arrived at the library a few hours later, it was mostly empty aside from a Ravenclaw girl who was crying into her Potion notes and Madam Pince who was judging from her desk at the front. Haechan was sitting at a back table, posture so straight it seemed unnatural for him. His eyes flicked up only when you dropped your bag across from him.

“Non-verbal Disillusionment,” you said by way of greeting. “It’s a simple figure eight motion. If you botch it, I’m not explaining to Flitwick why you’re half-invisible in class.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Let’s try partial disillusionment first, just my hand."

He raised his wand, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Stay still," he murmured. His wand flicked in a tight spiral. At first nothing happened, then slowly your fingertips began to shimmer into the tabletop, camouflaging perfectly with the wood.

“Not bad,” you admitted, slightly impressed.

He lowered his wand, the illusion fading quickly. "Your turn."

You focused carefully, tracing a precise spiral in the air. His hand flickered briefly before returning fully visible.

He gave you a faint smirk. "Looks like you need some pointers."

“Just be quiet for two seconds, will you?"

"Maybe try easing up on the wrist movement," he suggested anyway. "Less stiff."

You tried again and his fingertips vanished almost completely. He flexed them experimentally.

"Better," he said quietly.

Halfway through the wand practice he paused. "About the other day, in the Great Hall—"

You tensed immediately, eyes snapping up to meet his. “I’m not really here for an encore performance,” you muttered. 

Your counterspell fizzled again, causing reddish brown to bleed through the fading illusion on his arm. He didn’t mock you this time. Instead, he silently recast the charm, patiently waiting for you to try again

“I was a dick,” he said quietly. “And not in my usual charming way. I mean… a proper, full-scale dick.”

“I’m aware.” You said, though you wanted to laugh at the way he described that.

“I crossed a line," he finished, holding your gaze steadily. "I shouldn't have lashed out like that or called you a—”

“A filthy half-blood?” you finished, swallowing around the tightness in your throat.

His jaw tightened. “Yeah. My father always taught me the fastest way to look strong was to punch down. It’s taken me this long to realize how pathetic that is.”

"You didn't have to throw me to the wolves to save yourself."

He exhaled slowly, looking tired and ashamed. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

His sincerity softened some of the tension that had lodged itself inside your chest. After a pause, you gave him a small nod. “Apology acknowledged.”

He tilted his head cautiously. “But not accepted?”

"Still pending," you offered quietly. "But no more low blows and no more humiliating me publicly."

He almost smiled, relaxing slightly. "Fair, truce?"

You hesitated, then held out your hand. "Truce."

He took it firmly, and you felt warmth linger briefly even after he let go. You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of your wand. 

“How are you doing, by the way? With... everything. The Prophet. The investigation on your father.”

Haechan looked down at the table, then exhaled a laugh that had no humor in it. “It’s weird. Part of me’s pissed they’re dragging his name through the dirt. The other part…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “The other part thinks maybe it’s what he deserves.”

You stayed quiet, but your hand crept across the table, resting just near his.

“I keep thinking,” he said softly, “if they tear him down, does that mean they’re tearing down part of me, too?”

You bit your lip. “No. You’re not him.”

“Don’t sound so sure.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I sounded exactly like him that day in the Great Hall.

“But that’s not who you are.” You reassured him softly.

His hand moved then, his pinky brushing yours.

“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a breath.

“Ready to try the full-body charm?”

He leaned back with a teasing smirk. "Try not to make me disappear permanently. I know you'd miss me."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't entirely suppress your smile. "Don't tempt me."

For the next hour you traded spells and counter-spells. He still rolled his eyes and mocked your notes, but the comments landed softer every time, the edge dulled by something like mutual respect or at least mutual exhaustion. When Madam Pince finally shooed you out of the library, you’re silently looking forward to the next practice.

After that truce in the library, nothing between you and Haechan got any easier.

In private, he still showed up to practice and study. In public, he kept his distance, afraid that more articles would come out. The more time you spent around him, the riskier everything felt.

If anyone had asked, you would have denied thinking about Lee Haechan at all—denied the way your pulse lurched when his broom skimmed too close during matches, denied how your gaze drifted to his mouth when he argued with you in class, denied the fierce stab of protectiveness that flared whenever someone else insulted him.

But your parents were still political adversaries, and it was the middle of the elections which meant everything was so much more fragile. You were starting to think that The Prophet had spies in Hogwarts. The rumor that Rita Skeeter could transform into a fly and that’s how she heard so many private conversations was starting to seem more believable every day. 

Because of the complexity of all these things, you hand no choice but to roll your eyes at Haechan in the corridors, call him insufferable beside your friends, and let the castle believe you hated him without exception.

Mostly you stuck with your own Quidditch team since it was easier to pretend around them. Venting about the Slytherin Seeker was practically a bonding ritual.

“He’s such an asshole!” Mika spat after a Saturday match, pushing her dark hair off her forehead.

“I can’t believe Madam Hooch let that shoulder check slide,” Renjun grumbled, ripping off his gloves. “He nearly sent you into the stands.”

“Typical Slytherin, they only know how to play dirty,” you agreed breathlessly, bruised, and secretly exhilarated.

But you weren’t totally innocent either.

That morning at breakfast, right before the match, you’d gotten into one of your usual arguments with him over something silly like who’d scored more points this season or who had better broom control.

“Keep dreaming, Lee,” you said, smirking across the table. “You’ll fumble the second the Snitch shows up.”

He scoffed, chin propped on his hand. “If I win today, I want a reward.”

“A reward?”

“Yeah. Something worthy of beating you.”

You pretended to think, tapping your fork to your lip. “Fine. If you catch the Snitch, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The words left your mouth with a casual shrug, but the second you said them, his expression darkened with interest.

“Anything?” He asked, lowering his voice enough so only you could hear. “You might not like what I want though.”

You blinked, suddenly very aware of how close his knee was to yours under the table.

His gaze flicked briefly down to your mouth, then back up. “See you on the pitch, then.”  he said softly, pulling away with a smirk that left your cheeks burning.

You’d said it as a joke. Obviously. But now, after the match, with bruises blooming on your ribs and your teammates fuming about missed fouls, you couldn’t stop replaying that look on his face. And to top it all off…

He’d caught the damn Snitch.

You waited until your teammates were gone and the Slytherin tent was empty to walk in. Haechan was sitting on a bench there, shirt half-off and hair damp with sweat. 

“Took you long enough,” he sighed, leaning back in his arms.

“You’re lucky the wind was on your side today.” 

“Aht! Aht! Don’t come at me with that now, you were still confident enough to bet.’

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, you’re not even going to cash that in.”

“Oh, but I am.” He pushed off the bench slowly, stepping closer. “You can’t offer something like that and expect me to just forget.” 

You crossed your arms. “What do you want, then? A box of Fizzing Whizbees? A foot massage?”

“Tempting. But no.” His fingers reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before letting his hand drop. 

“I want you to admit I’m the better Seeker.” 

“Come off it.” you laughed.

He leaned in a fraction, his voice lower now. “Alright then. I want you to ask nicely.”

“What?”

“Please, Haechan, what do you want from me?” he said, mocking your voice. “Say it.”

He was getting too close. Your eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second, and you knew he caught it.

“Is this the part where you make me kiss your boots or something?” you scoffed, looking at a point behind him instead of his eyes.

“I have a better idea of what you can kiss.”

An annoying flush crept up your neck, lips parting in disbelief at the implication.

“Excuse me?” you asked, with a laugh that came out shakier than intended.

“You heard me.” He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. 

This wasn’t your usual banter anymore. The kind you could dismiss with a scoff and a snide remark. This felt infinitely more charged.

“Oh, you’re disgusting.”  You muttered.

“We made a deal,” he said, stepping even more into your space. “And I won.”

You backed up slightly, only to hit the wooden lockers behind you.

“What exactly do you want from me, Haechan?”

“That,” he started, his voice lower and raspier now “is a great question.”

He moved slowly as if he was offering a chance to run but you didn’t. Maybe you should have.

His hand came up, knuckles brushing your jaw. “You want to know what I want?”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“I want to know what happens when you stop pretending you hate me.”

“I don't pr—”

“Don’t lie. I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching, you’re so obvious.”

You tilted your head, defiant even now. “Fine, let’s say you're right. What then?”

He gasped so slightly you barely caught it before his smirk came back in full force.

“Then we need to do something about it.”

You stared up at him, close enough to count every damn mole on his stupid, perfect face.

He leaned in until his  lips brushed your ear. “Unless,” he whispered, “you’re scared you’ll like it.”

Your hands twitched at your sides.

“As if.”

You kissed him so hard you knew it would bruise later. And for a second it wasn’t about politics or Quidditch or the Prophet or who hated who first. It was just his mouth on yours, insistent and warm, and the way his hands gripped your waist possessively.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back, breathless. 

“That was definitely better than a foot massage.”

He barely finished the words before your mouth crashed onto his again, hungrier this time, any shred of dignity gone. Your fingers slid up his neck, tugging him down by the collar of his robes.

Haechan chuckled into your mouth, and you felt him press you harder into the wood, his body trapping you there.

“So much for hating me,” he murmured, breaking just far enough away to speak, his breath hot against your lips.

“Shut up,” you hissed, fingers tightening in his hair as you pulled him back down to you, kissing him roughly to silence that stupid mouth. 

He groaned against your lips, slightly annoyed at how good you were at this. Your hands caressed his jaw where stubble was growing. His hands found your hips and squeezed firmly.

You gasped, lips parting to give him an opening, and he took it immediately, deepening the kiss with the kind of reckless arrogance that made your knees tremble. One of his hands slid lower, slipping under your Quidditch shirt to brush bare skin.

“Fuck—” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut when his mouth pulled away to trail along your jaw. “Haechan.”

He hummed, pleased at the way his name sounded from your lips. “Say that again.”

You shook your head stubbornly, pulling his mouth back to yours, swallowing the cocky smirk you could feel forming. You needed him silent, you needed to stop thinking, stop remembering that this was Lee Fucking Haechan.

His thigh pressed between your legs, and suddenly it was harder to pretend you didn’t want this with every fiber of your being. Especially when you were arching against him, hips chasing the friction shamefully. He noticed and pressed harder, savoring the breathless sound you made.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he teased, nipping your lower lip.

“Just—god—stop talking,” you breathed, dragging your nails down the back of his neck, earning a rough groan that vibrated through you. 

Your head spun from how quickly this was happening, how eagerly your body surrendered to him.

He smirked against your lips. “But I like watching you argue.”

You grabbed his jaw firmly, forcing his gaze down to yours, reveling in the way his breath stuttered at your sudden boldness. “Haechan, I swear—”

“What?” His voice was challenging, eyes glittering with excitement. “What are you gonna do?”

The answer came in the form of your hand sliding down to palm him through the fabric of his quidditch trousers, smiling sharply when his confident expression fell, eyes squeezing shut as he bit out a moan.

“That.” You murmured, stroking him again, slowly.

He recovered quickly and was kissing you again with a hand tangling in your hair, tugging firmly enough to make you gasp.

“Two can play dirty, princess.”  He growled softly, hips pressing forward into your hand.

“Then fucking play,” you challenged, breathless.

His fingers swiftly undid the buttons of your trousers. Nothing but heat flushed your skin as he slipped his hand lower and under your panties, fingers finding exactly where you needed him.

You cried out sharply, hips bucking into his touch.

“So sensitive,” he teased, voice shaking just slightly as his fingers circled your clit gently, then pressed inside you. “I wonder if your team knows their perfect little seeker gets this wet for a Slytherin.”

“Shut—ah—” your retort melted into a moan, hips grinding shamelessly against his hand.

Your head fell back against the locker, lips parted in a silent gasp as Haechan’s fingers worked you over. Your legs were already trembling, breath hitching in time with every curl of his fingers.

The need to to wipe off the fucking look on his face of pure cocky satisfaction was overcoming. He was watching you unravel like this was the victory he really wanted—not the snitch, not the match, this is what he’d been craving the most.

“Who knew,” he murmured. “That you’d look this pretty falling apart all over my fingers.” 

You couldn’t even glare at him, all your strength focused on moving your hips against his hand, chasing that high, chasing him. Until the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching froze you both on the spot.

His hand stilled immediately, and you slapped it away in a a panic. Your pants were unbuttoned, his shirt was still half-off, your lips were swollen, and you could feel your pulse between your thighs, desperate and unfinished. This was not exactly how you wanted to be caught dead.

“Shit,” you hissed, shoving him back as quickly as your wobbly knees allowed.

Haechan grabbed his wand and muttered a cleaning charm under his breath, wiping any visible evidence from his hands and your legs. Then, he schooled his expression into that bored and slightly annoyed mask he wore in class.

You barely had time to fix your clothes before a voice rang out from outside.

“Haechan? You in here?”

The Slytherin beater, Na Jaemin.

Haechan stepped out of the tent as if he hadn’t just been knuckle-deep inside you. “Just grabbing my wand,” he lied smoothly. “I didn't know I needed a hall pass to change.”

Jaemin laughed. “Hey, was someone else in there?”

You forced yourself to step out, tucking your shirt in with trembling fingers and praying to every god in the castle that your face didn’t look as wrecked as it felt..

Jaemin blinked at you, confused. “Oh.”

Then he looked between the two, and you could see the pieces falling in place.

“Right…” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just  figured you’d want to see the scoreboard. They’ve posted top players.”

Haechan raised a brow. “Top players?”

Jaemin gave a pointed look. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

Then he turned and walked out, leaving behind a thick silence in his wake. You let out a breath, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“That was a close call.” He said, still looking way too proud for someone who’d just been caught mid-debauchery.

You glared. “I'm going to kill you.”

He smirked. “Only if you say please.”

The Ministry’s Galas always felt like a battlefield in ball gowns, but this year it was worse. Your mother moved through the ballroom with effortless grace, every nod and handshake a subtle show of dominance. You followed half a step behind, champagne flute untouched in your hand.

“Y/N, darling, try to look engaged,” she murmured, looping her arm through yours as she guided you toward yet another tedious cluster of political allies. “This is the perfect opportunity to make connections before graduation.”

“Can I at least enjoy dessert before I get offered a job I don’t want?” you said under your breath.

She laughed lightly as if you’d said something charming. “You have options, dear. The International Magical Cooperation office is always interested in young minds, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has already reached out. You could even apprentice under Councilwoman Fairbairn, she’s been watching you.”

You blinked, trying to summon enthusiasm. “That sounds... overwhelming.”

“It sounds like a future,” she corrected, smiling at a passing Wizengamot elder. “We can’t all be Quidditch captains forever.”

You clenched your teeth behind a tight smile. This entire night was curated around your mother’s standards. From your dress, your hairstyle, to your perfectly timed laugh. And you were so bored you could scream.

So when she paused to speak to a pair of visiting diplomats, you used the opportunity to escape toward the dessert table. You stuffed a sugared pumpkin tart into your mouth just to have an excuse not to answer questions about your “career trajectory.” If anyone asked again about your post-Hogwarts plans, you were going to throw yourself into the enchanted punch fountain.

The peace lasted until you felt that familiar prickle between your shoulder blades. You turned just as Haechan bowed to a council witch, and walked straight toward you.

“Enjoying the pastries, princess?” he asked, stopping close enough that the chandelier lights caught a storm of gold in his eyes.

“You should focus on your father’s damage control, not my dessert plate,” you replied, forcing a smile that hurt your cheeks.

“Trust me, he’s better at politics without me. Besides, I’m here to make sure you don’t die of boredom.” he said with a crooked grin. 

Then as if it was the most common thing, he wiped a bit of powdered sugar from the corner of your lip. The action shocked the reply out of your mind, and you had to look around to make sure nobody saw that. A passing journalist drifted too near so you stepped back on instinct and lifted your chin to reply.

“I would rather be bored than babysat by you.” The reporter’s quill twitched happily and moved on.

Haechan’s eyes cooled, but a corner of his mouth lifted. “If you keep insulting me that sweetly, people might think you mean the opposite.”

“Are you ever serious about anything?” you rolled your eyes, yet your pulse thudded hard enough to blur the string quartet.

He offered his hand. “One dance. You can call me names the whole time.”

“Not a chance,” you hissed but a council member brushed past and mistook your glare for a smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N, would you lead the next waltz?”

Before you could refuse, Haechan’s hand slid to your back. “She’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, steering you onto the glassy floor.

You settled your palm against his shoulder, felt muscle tense under velvet, and tried to count the steps. But his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist and the numbers scattered.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“It’s the tempo,” you lied.

The waltz spun you through three agonizing minutes of perfect posture and silent arguments fought with eyes alone. When the final note faded, applause burst around you, and you let go as if burned.

You escaped to a side corridor lined with stained-glass portraits. Halfway down, you heard his footsteps. You spun, skirt whipping.

“You had no right—”

“No right to what? Save you from making a scene?” He stopped an arm’s length away, breathing hard. “I’m pretty sure we’re here to keep appearances.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you snapped. “But I can fight my own battles.”

“I’m aware.”

A flickering wall sconce threw silver across his cheekbone, your eyes followed the droplets of melted snow that still clung to his hair from the ride here. He looked beautiful, and you hated it.

“Why do you always do this,” you said, softer now, “You always make everything harder than it needs to—”

He stepped closer. “Do you really not know why?”

Your breath caught, his gaze dipped to your lips.

“Haechan… this isn’t right,” you whispered.

“I know,” he answered, not moving back. “But tell me you don’t want it too.”

A voice rounded the corridor corner—two aides chatting about the banquet. Without thinking, you grabbed Haechan’s collar and dragged him into a narrow alcove behind a velvet drape. The aides passed but you still held onto him.

“You’re truly such a pain,” you breathed.

“You’re one to talk.” He said and kissed you before you could come up with another retort.

His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking away shock. Yours fisted in the silk of his robe as you kissed him back, matching every demand. The gala’s distant music thumped through the walls, but inside the alcove everything narrowed to the press of mouth on mouth, the soft catch of your breath, the relief of finally, finally shutting each other up.

When you broke apart, you were both trembling. He rested his forehead against yours.

“This is so dumb,” you breathed.

“I have to disagree.” 

Another set of footsteps came from outside and you pulled away smoothing your hair. He straightened his lapels with a tiny smirk on his lips.

“Lose the grin, Lee.” you said, slipping out first into the hall, masking swollen lips behind a polite smile. He followed a minute later, expression schooled into neutrality again.

Across the hall, your mother caught your gaze. You forced yourself to move toward her, while behind you his fingers brushed across the back of your hand before letting go

A week went by without much thought. The bruises from the gala’s waltz, the little half-moon marks his fingers left on your wrist, had faded. But the memory of that alcove kiss refused to. Unfortunately, life went on, and in your household that meant tea with the Minister at precisely eight in the morning.

Your mother was already seated in the glass-roofed conservatory, steam curling from a delicate china pot. She greeted you with the smile she reserved for diplomats.

“Sit, darling.”

You obeyed quietly but anxiety bubbled in your chest.  She only used this much ceremony when she was about to drop a bomb.

“I’ve been thinking about your future,” she began, pouring. “You’ve always excelled in Defense, but I know how fond you are of languages as well. So I called in a favor.”

Your stomach dipped. “Mom…”

She set a parchment envelope on the table. “A summer internship in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, right after NEWTs. You’ll shadow the Trade Accords division, they might even pay if you impress them.”

“I didn’t apply for this,” you said tightly.

“I applied on your behalf. They accepted instantly, obviously. One look at your marks, your pedigree—”

“Exactly,” you cut in. “My pedigree. When do I get to make a choice that isn’t pre-selected for political optics?”

Her expression cooled by a few hard degrees. “Opportunities like this don’t wait. You’d be foolish to refuse.”

The conversation spiraled quickly with her measured reasoning, your rising temper, and the clink of china as you set your cup down too sharply. In the end she dismissed you with a gentle but immovable, “We’ll speak once you’ve calmed down.”

You left the conservatory shaking, the parchment still unopened in your fist.

You considered skipping but pride shoved you into the Ministry lift at 8:59am. You wore sensible robes you hated, hair pulled back into a ponytail that was giving you a headache, and your heart was still hammering with resentment. But if you had to do this, you would do it well… and spitefully prove you didn’t need your mother to pull strings.

The lift grill rattled open onto a marble corridor lined with signage that said Level Five, International Cooperation. You approached the reception desk, rehearsing a polite introduction. Then you heard a laugh that froze you on the spot.

Haechan was leaning against the counter, chatting easily with the receptionist. He was wearing dark robes, and his hair was slicked back. The receptionist pointed toward a stack of orientation folders, he thanked her with a wink, and turned towards you.

His eyebrows shot up in shock when he saw you, then his mouth curved into a slow smile.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here on a Monday morning.”

You gave him a flat look. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, I’m guessing. Interning because my father thinks letting me rot on a beach all summer would reflect poorly on the family name.”

You raised a brow. “Was this the only department desperate enough to take you?”

“Actually,” he drawled, stepping closer, “Magical Law Enforcement was my father’s first pick but it was too much work so I requested this department specifically.” He tilted his head. “Imagine my surprise when I saw your name on the roster last night. Made this whole endeavor infinitely more entertaining.”

Heat crept up your neck, equal parts anger and something far less convenient. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Lee. Stay out of my way.”

“That might be difficult,” he said, tapping the crest on his folder. “Trade Accords division, same as you.”

Of course. Your mother couldn’t have orchestrated a more ironic punishment if she’d tried. But grateful relief pooled in your stomach anyways. At least you wouldn’t be alone in a sea of strangers, at least the one person who could keep up with you (and rile you up) would be right there. But you couldn’t show that. The whole structure of whatever twisted thing existed between the two of you depended on pretending you’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

The program coordinator, Ms. Thatch approached you, beaming at you both. “Wonderful! Our Hogwarts pair. Minister Y/L/N spoke highly of you, and Mr. Lee comes with stellar references. You’ll be working together on our project about Portkey Tariff revisions.”

You swallowed a groan, Haechan’s grin only widened.

“Looking forward to our collaboration,” he said sweetly, extending his hand. Ms. Thatch watched, expectant.

You shook it, pretending your pulse didn’t spike when his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist in a silent echo of the waltz from the gala. His eyes flickered with the same memory.

“I hope you can keep up,” you murmured under your breath.

“When have I ever disappointed you?” he answered, squeezing slightly before releasing your hand.

The morning of your first official group session, you found Haechan sitting on the arm of a leather sofa in the Ministry atrium, twirling his wand mindlessly and balancing a croissant on his knee. You approached slowly, arms full of color-coded folders of all the research you’d done already. He looked up, eyes dragging over your thoroughly professional appearance before raising a brow.

“Someone’s ready to storm the Wizengamot.”

“I can’t say the same about you.”

He popped the last bit of croissant into his mouth and spoke through the crumbs. “Relax, this thing’s just a formality. They don’t expect us to have actual solutions yet.”

“I’m not here to coast,” you huffed. “I’m not going to let anyone say I got this internship because of my mother.”

“Of course not. You’ve got enough pressure breathing down your neck without adding my laziness to it.” he replied with a dramatic sigh.

 “So you admit you’re lazy.”

“Ah, I'd call it strategic,” he corrected with a grin. “Why waste effort on a rigged game?”

You stared at him, genuinely annoyed now. “Why even be here if you’re not going to try?”

“Because I was told to be,” he said, still smiling but something behind his eyes hardened.

You opened your mouth to press, but Ms. Thatch appeared, waving the two of you over to the briefing room where interns settled around the long mahogany table. Ms. Thatch stood at the front, adjusting her elegant tortoiseshell glasses.

“Welcome back, everyone. Today we’ll outline initial proposals for the Portkey Tariff Revision project,” she said briskly. “I trust you all reviewed the necessary documents in preparation for this.”

You glanced quickly at Haechan, who was leaning back  and looking bored in the chair opposite you.

When Ms. Thatch’s gaze landed on you, she smiled encouragingly. “Miss Y/L/N, let’s hear your proposal first.”

You straightened, ignoring the faint twitch at Haechan’s lips, and began clearly, “The current tariffs favor Western European trade. I think we should revise the rates using updated data from underrepresented regions, especially in Eastern Europe and Asia. It would make things fairer across the board.”

Ms. Thatch nodded appreciatively. “Very good, any thoughts?”

Haechan leaned forward, eyes glinting as they locked onto yours. “That sounds good on paper but it ignores our current diplomatic priorities. Adjusting tariffs too quickly risks alienating our key European allies. I’d suggest a phased approach, start with targeted reductions for certain regions while giving our main trade partners time to adjust.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, feeling irritation rise at the implication that your idea was naïve. “So we just let the imbalance drag on for years while everyone tiptoes around it?”

He tilted his head, annoyingly calm. “No, we just need to be smart about timing. If we push too hard and too fast, we could lose cooperation completely. It’s not just about fairness, it’s about what’s actually doable.”

“Diplomacy requires action,” you shot back, voice sharpening despite your efforts to remain composed.

“When has rushing things ever gotten us anywhere?” he asked with a raised brow.

The other interns glanced between you two with barely hidden fascination. Ms. Thatch cleared her throat delicately. “Passionate debate, but perhaps we can find a middle ground?”

You flushed slightly, biting your lip. Beside you, another intern whispered something like awkward, but you ignored it.

“Well,” Haechan started, “we could try a hybrid approach. Immediate adjustments where the gaps are the worst, but phase in the rest over time. We could also offer incentives like better magical goods regulations for countries willing to work with the new model early on.”

You blinked. It wasn’t a terrible suggestion. It was annoyingly logical. Worse, you’d briefly considered something similar before dismissing it because it felt too cautious. You glanced at Ms. Thatch, whose expression was encouraging.

“…That could work,” you said reluctantly. “As long as we set clear timelines for change and don’t let it get buried in process.”

Haechan gave you a satisfied smile. “Look at that teamwork.”

Ms. Thatch clapped once, pleased. “Wonderful! A joint proposal from Mr. Lee and Miss Y/L/N. Excellent demonstration of cooperation.”

Your face warmed up at her compliments, but you were still annoyed because you'd unintentionally made Haechan look good too. He reclined in his chair again, twirling his quill lazily, with a little smirk on his face.

When the meeting ended, you gathered your parchments quickly, eager to escape the lingering awkwardness. But as you stood, Haechan slipped smoothly into step beside you.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, leaning slightly toward you.

“For what? Pointing out flaws in my idea?”

“For saving your impulsive approach from alienating half of Europe,” he corrected.

“Why do you act like you care about the outcome now?” you snapped softly.

“You’d be surprised.”

The lift chimed before you could answer. You stepped in first, forcing a slow breath. Haechan followed, positioning himself at a polite distance but still close enough that his body heat seeped through your robes.

The enchanted car lurched upward, then swerved left, then right in its usual nauseating zig-zag. Your boots slid and you lost your balance. Haechan’s hand shot out, pulling you against the solid plane of his chest.

“Careful…” he murmured.

“Thanks,” you managed, the word thin and embarrassingly high.

He released you the moment you steadied, but the imprint of his fingers stayed on your skin. When the doors finally opened on the Atrium, your pulse was thudding so hard you could hear it.

“See you tomorrow, partner,” he murmured, throwing a knowing glance over his shoulder as he exited.

You watched him disappear through the bustling floor realizing it was going to be a very long internship.

The next few days consisted of nothing but research. Haechan seemed more interested in the project after your argument. He claimed he was committed to helping but you suspected he just enjoyed contradicting your findings.

“Page six,” he announced, flipping your draft around. “Your import tariff curve is off by half a point.”

“It is not.” You muttered without looking up.

He leaned forward. “Wanna bet?”

You rubbed your temples, eyes throbbing from going through three decades worth of parchments. “Fine. Show me.”

Haechan stood and bent over your chair, his cologne wrapping around you. He pointed to a neat column of figures, far closer to your face than necessary.

“See?” he murmured. “You adjusted by seven percent, but the 1903 clause moved the baseline to eight.”

“Good catch,” you conceded through gritted teeth.

He straightened, grinning. “Say it louder, the ghosts in the basement might’ve missed it.”

You rolled your eyes, then pressed two fingers to the side of your neck and winced. All those hours of hunching had finally caught up with you.

Haechan’s smirk faded. “You okay?”

“Just sore,” you muttered, rotating your shoulder. “Thanks to someone who insisted we cross-reference three languages and thirty years of footnotes.”

“That same someone happens to give excellent massages,” he said, sliding behind your chair before you could protest. “Turn.”

You opened your mouth to refuse but then another sharp twinge shot down your spine. So with a reluctant sigh, you let his hands settle lightly on your shoulders.

“Don’t break me,” you mumbled, cheeks heating.

He chuckled, low. “You’ve survived Bludgers to the ribs. I think you’ll live.”

His thumbs worked slow circles into the knotted muscles at the base of your neck. Heat unfurled under your skin; the room seemed to narrow to the quiet rasp of parchment and the steady press of his hands.

“Better?” he asked, voice a breath from your ear.

“A little,” you managed, pulse thudding far too fast for mere relief.

He kneaded deeper, tracing careful circles. Your breath caught as his thumbs slid higher toward your neck. He paused, and you didn’t realize he was leaning in until you felt the faintest ghost of a kiss graze your bare shoulder where your robes had slipped. Your entire body stiffened in surprise.

“Haechan—” The name broke on a gasp as he kissed you again.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he murmured but his lips only drifted higher. Another kiss landed below your ear, teeth grazing a spot that made your breath hitch. He nudged your hair aside, mapping the exposed skin with his mouth.

“What are you doing…” you breathed.

“Just helping you relax,” he whispered, mouth warm on your neck.

You turned without thinking, and his mouth met yours, stealing the rest of your question. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer. 

He stood from his chair and eased you back until you bumped the table. His tongue brushed yours; a low sound caught in his throat when you arched into him. Your hands found the loosened knot of his tie and pulled. He broke the kiss just long enough to trace your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Feeling better?”

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm, we gotta keep going then.” He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands sliding down to your waist and gripping tightly. His hips pressed forward, drawing a sharp gasp from you as you felt the heated line of his body. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, clinging as he kissed along your jaw, teeth gently scraping your skin.

“We shouldn’t—” you breathed, though you tilted your head to grant him better access.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. But neither of you stopped.

His hands slid down to explore the curves of your body through your robes. You felt dizzy, entirely consumed by him. He lifted you slightly onto the table, knocking scrolls and parchment to the floor, but you hardly cared. There was no one around in the Archives at this hour and all you could focus on was him—the fierce heat of his mouth, the soft catch of his breath when you bit his lip.

Your robes shifted upward, exposing bare thighs. His palms skimmed your skin, rough fingertips igniting sparks along your nerves. He kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours as you parted your knees instinctively, drawing him in closer.

“Lie back.” He murmured.

Your heart kicked up as you leaned onto your elbows, breath already shallow. His eyes didn’t leave yours, not even as he dropped to his knees, hands sliding up your thighs and pushing them apart with slow pressure. With his other hand he bunched your robes higher, the cool air hitting your skin in sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him.

“Haechan—” you gasped, tensing when his mouth brushed the inside of your thigh. 

You hadn’t expected how soft he’d be. How careful. He kissed higher, lips dragging up inch by inch until his breath was warming your core. You squirmed closer, needing him closer, needing somethinv to relieve the pressure building low in your stomach. His eyes flicked up to yours with a silent question in them. You nodded without hesitation.

His mouth was on you in a second. A sharp main escaped before you could stop it, echoing off the dusty shelves. His tongue moved slowly at first, learning you, and then with more purpose. Your hands fumbled for the edge of the table, gripping tight as your breath caught again and again. The sensations were overwhelming, so much better than anything you’d let yourself imagine.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Haechan—”

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he said between strokes. “Tastes better than I thought.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, voice cracking. “Please—”

“Not planning to.” His fingers dug into your thighs as he dragged his tongue in tight circles. “Gonna make you fall apart on my mouth.”

He groaned low against you, and the vibration nearly sent you over. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging, desperate, but he didn’t slow. His tongue worked you relentlessly, fingers digging into your thighs as you twitched.

“Haechan—fuck—” you choked, voice high and strangled as you came hard. Your thighs clenched around him but he still didn’t stop until you started to shudder.

You slumped back, breathing fast. Haechan rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You reached for him without thinking, pulling him into a kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care. You just needed to feel him.

“Less tense now?” he murmured, his smirk returning, but softer this time.

You exhaled, dazed. “Yeah. But—”

“I know,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes slipped closed. “This doesn’t leave the room.”

You nodded, even though everything in you hated the idea. He pulled back just a little, smoothing your robes down, then reached for his fallen notes without meeting your eyes. You fixed your hair with trembling hands, still trying to get your breathing and your thoughts under control.

But you knew the truth, even if you weren’t ready to admit it. This wasn’t just something that happened and pretending otherwise wasn’t going to make it go away.

[marauder-misprint]

'You were important'

additional content

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

9.5k words

cw: Minor use of y/n, fluff, swearing, mentions of Walburga’s great parenting, hurt/comfort, swearing 

You’re not exactly sure when you first met Sirius. You both came from unhappy homes. His was just empty of love in general; his parents, cold and disconnected, held impossible expectations of him. Yours was a broken love; parents that had onced loved each other but only stayed together out of obligation to you. You knew your parents tried to hide their growing distaste for each other from you, but they were bad at it. Their arguments filled the house almost nightly.

Your friendship with Sirius was born out of literal escapism. You had taken to going to the park near your house whenever you couldn’t take being in the house anymore. At one point, the curly haired boy started showing up and you’d sit on the swings together. It wasn’t until a while later that you actually talked to him. And the two of you became friends, disparaging your parents together. 

“Some people just shouldn’t be parents,” you had said to him once. 

He agreed. The two of you made your own fun as two unsupervised kids did: he liked to break things and you liked to set things on fire. You weren’t always causing trouble, sometimes opting to go exploring down every alley within the surrounding neighborhoods. But at the end of the day, you’d always go back to your own homes. You could easily be described as best friends, despite not knowing his last name and he yours. 

Your friendship hit what you thought would be a minor bump at the end of the summer after you both turned eleven. You were hanging out at your usual park, chatting at the swings like you always did. He told you that he had been enrolled in a boarding school. You stared at him, silent for a beat, but then you told him that you had been too. 

“So… I’ll see you at Christmas?” he asked.

“Yeah. Don’t go forgetting about me.”

“It’s just school. I won’t forget you.”

Little did you know that you would be going to the same school as him. You had managed to not see him on the platform, on the train nor on the boats. You didn’t see him at all prior to the sorting ceremony. 

“Sirius Black.”

The dark curls you were all too familiar with walked up the steps to the tri-legged stool and the sorting hat was placed on his head. 

After a few moments, it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The table of crimson and gold erupted into the cheers while the rest of the hall seemed to fill with whispers of uncertainty. You understood their whispers. You would have to have been a muggle to not know about the Black family. As you waited for your turn to be sorted, your mind spun with questions to ask him when you had the chance. How had he never mentioned his last name? How had there been no accidental magic between the two of you? Was everything he said about his parents true? What about the rumors about him? How come you had never seen his brother?

You were ripped out of your thoughts at the call of your name. You climbed the steps and took a seat on the stool for your sorting. You glanced over at him. He was staring at you with a white face. You were only given a singular moment of eye contact before the hat made its decision.

“SLYTHERIN!”

As you made your way to the green and silver table, you tried to find his eyes again, but he wouldn’t look your way. And it stayed that way. For the whole first week, he wouldn’t look at you and always made a point to not be near you, which wasn’t difficult as he surrounded himself with his fellow Gryffindors. You didn’t speak until he approached you in the library. 

“How are you here?” he whispered, pretending to look for a book in the same section as you. His voice made you jump.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you hissed back at him. “Never mentioned you’re a wizard.”

“You didn’t either.”

“Technically, I’m a witch. You never said your last name.”

“Some muggles know my family.”

Silence. 

“We’re going to pretend we don’t know each other,” he said. 

“What?” you asked, turning to face him despite him still not looking at you. 

“You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

Then he grabbed a random book from the shelf and walked away. You watched him walk away in utter shock. How were you supposed to pretend you didn’t know him?

Sirius took what he said to you very seriously. You were just another Slytherin to him, someone as bad as the rest of his pure-blood-obsessed family. You weren’t friends anymore. Despite making your own friends, the semester felt lonely.

You had hope that over Christmas break he’d come to the park. The promise of seeing each other at Christmas was a spark of hope that lingered in your chest. A spark that was extinguished when he didn’t appear at the park; you were there almost every day for several hours. It was then that you gave up on those years of friendship. You’d have to learn to survive your parents without his company. 

---

You wonder if he thought about you as much as you thought about him. You weren’t friends anymore. You hadn’t spoken in years except for minor interactions.

“Excuse me.”

“Can you pass the frog warts?”

“Here.” 

“Can I get through?”

“Thanks.”

Yet Sirius still haunted your mind. You weren’t friends. But you cared for him. And caring for him was a distraction from your own home life. You just couldn’t show how much you cared for him in the normal ways, but it seemed as if fate knew that and gave you Regulus. Another boy who lived in the same house as Sirius with the same parents. You made it your mission to befriend him, letting him tell you details about his life and hiding how much you knew from Sirius. He didn’t tell you much, nor did he ask much about you. You had a quiet mutual understanding with Regulus, and that was enough for you. It was that understanding that made you two best friends. His walls slowly came down when he was around you. You were easily the one he trusted the most at Hogwarts and he became yours. It was an easy friendship. You treasured that, even if it sometimes reminded you of what you had had with Sirius. 

---

You had gotten used to being at the park by yourself. Sirius was never there anymore. You did a double take when you saw a boy with dark curly hair sitting on the swing. For a moment, you thought it was Sirius, but the hair was too short and not curly enough. His frame was thinner. Then it hit you. Regulus. 

You sprinted up to him and stood in front of him. He was silently crying. You had known him long enough to recognize the signs without actually seeing his face; he was an expert at hiding it. You knew he’d rather die than have anyone see him cry. 

“Regulus,” you breathe, kneeling down in front of him.

You hear his breath hitch and he looks up from his lap. The expression on his face makes you want to cry. It makes you want to hold him, using your grip to put his broken pieces back together. It hurts your soul to see him like this. The look changes from extreme hurt and sadness to confusion.

“How are… how are you here?” he asks.

You reach out to hold his hands. He doesn’t pull them away.

“Doesn’t matter right now. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Sirius,” Regulus says, his voice tight. “He ran away. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

You press your lips into a thin line. Even based on what Regulus has told you, which didn’t measure up to everything Sirius had ever told you, you know that him being alone in that house wasn’t a good thing. You give his hands a squeeze, hoping it offers some kind of comfort.

“You’re going to be okay.” Maybe if you speak it into existence, it will be true. “You’re strong. You’re resilient. You’ve done all you can to make your parents proud. They can’t…”

He shakes his head before cutting you off. “They don’t have to be upset with me to be upset at me.”

“Do… do you know where he went?”

“I’m assuming the Potters.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

He blinks at you, emotion slowly draining from his face.

“I can’t leave.” It’s a firm statement.

“Regulus,” you say, almost pleading, but he just shakes his head again.

“I have to stay. I can’t leave. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Regulus.” Your voice is softer, but your grip on his hands is stronger. “What if you had somewhere to go?”

He shakes his head again. “I told you. I have to stay… I should be getting back soon. Mother won’t be happy I’ve been gone so long…”

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” you say, trying to hold his attention. He looks into your eyes and you can see all the pain he’s holding in. “I don’t live far from here. My home’s not much, but it’s better. Safer.”

“Better? Safer?” he scoffs. 

“I come here often. I’ll be here if you change your mind,” you say, knowing he won’t. He was too proud and too determined to survive without Sirius. 

“I’ll see you at school.”

You watch as he walks away and you just know that you’re going to have to piece him back together when the fall comes. From what you know Sirius endured, you know he’ll need a careful hand. 

---

Come the fall, you find you were right. Regulus was numb to the world. He was silent and emotionless as the rest of his friends greeted him, pulling him into the compartment where you were. 

“Regulus,” you say as he sits next to you.

His back is pin-straight, like he couldn’t even think about slouching. You reach out to touch his arm when he doesn’t acknowledge you. When your hand touches his bicep, he turns to look at you and you see the sadness creep up into his face. You adjust how you’re sitting so you can pull him into you. He falls into your chest, not bothering to say anything and certainly not attempting to resist your touch. 

“I should have listened,” he mumbles into your arm that’s wrapped tightly around him.

“I know,” you whisper. 

He stays in your arms for most of the ride to Hogwarts, getting more comfortable as time passes and he shifts to periodically participate in the conversation with Dorcas, Pandora, Evan and Barty. The more time he spends with the group, the more life gets breathed back into him. It’s not much, but it’s something. By the time the train pulls into Hogsmeade Station, he’s laughed once and there’s a hint of a small spark of life in his eyes again. He throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side as you walk toward the carriages.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his breath hot on your ear.

You turn to look up at him. “Don’t be thanking me just yet, Reg.”

He chuckles softly.

“Love, you were somehow there when he left. That in itself is enough for me to be showering you in gratitude.”

“Going soft on me, are you?” you laugh, leaning more into his side. 

He rolls his eyes, a sign his old self is still there. 

“I care for you. And I’ll be damned if I ever let you forget that.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Good.” 

You stay by his side all through dinner and all evening in the common room. You didn’t let the boy out of your sight until you walked him to his dorm and he bid you goodnight. Once the door closes between you, you let your cheerful mask fall. You had tried to catch Sirius’ eyes during dinner but he seemed to look everywhere but the Slytherin table. It soured your mood, but you wouldn’t let Regulus see that. You had to be strong and gentle for Regulus. For the Black that wouldn’t fully push you out of his life. Not that you would give Regulus the option to do that. 

You could feel Dorcas and Pandora’s eyes on you as you stalk across the common room towards your dorm. You had been positively beaming when you walked away with Regulus and now, without him, you were scowling. They corner you in your dorm as you brush your hair, preparing for bed.

“So, you and Black?” Pandora asks, her tone light.

“What do you mean, Dory?” you respond, looking at her in the mirror’s reflection. 

“Seemed cozy. Close. Almost like Evan and Junior,” Dorcas says. 

You snort a laugh. “God forbid a girl has a male friend. He had a rough summer and you know he trusts me.” 

“He put his arm around you after you held him the entire way here,” Dorcas points out and Pandora nods in agreement. “That’s something.”

“I assure you, it’s not.” 

---

With each passing day, you and Regulus spend every spare second together, as you had in previous years. Only this time, you’re making sure that he is okay and present. It’s  obvious to you every time he disappears into his mind. His eyes gloss over and any expression on his face dissipates into the numb expression he had when his parents dropped him off at Kings Cross. When you see him in passing, he has the look on his face and he’s more rigid than you had ever seen him previously. You know he’s just getting through the day and will relax once he’s back in the common room or library with you. 

When he’s with you, you see his old self coming back, but there are still the effects of the summer without Sirius. He’s more jumpy and paranoid. You catch him glancing over his shoulder, and your shoulder, periodically, like someone is going to walk up and attack them. He flinches when people raise their voices or a room gets too loud. You do your best to tell people to quiet down or find a believable excuse for you and Regulus to leave. It works well enough and Regulus always gives you a grateful smile. 

You’re not sure what possesses to check on Regulus a month or so into the term. You put on your robe before heading down to the common room. A hunched-over form scribbling away at one of the tables tells you that you don’t need to go to the dorms to find Regulus. He’s already up. You walk over to him, ensuring your steps make noise and going to sit across from him.

“What are you working on?” you whisper.

He still jumps at the sound of your voice. 

“Reworking a Charms essay.”

“Didn’t I already proofread that for you? I thought it was done,” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the parchment. 

“Uh, yeah. It was finished. But it can be better. It needs to be better. I don’t want to settle for an E. I want an O. Mother wants an O.” 

He looks back down at his essay and continues to write until you reach over the table to put your hand on his wrist.

“Regulus, you’re supposed to be sleeping. And the essay you already wrote was O material.”

“I won’t be able to sleep until it’s perfect.”

“It is perfect.”

“Then more than perfect. It has to be better.”

“Regulus, look at me.”

He raises his eyes to look into yours. His grey eyes are bloodshot and his face pale. 

“You need to sleep. It’s three in the morning.”

He shakes his head. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“The essay is-” you start to say.

“It’s not the essay,” he cuts you off and then sighs. “I dream of home when I sleep.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence, except for the occasional crack or pop from the dying fire. Regulus stopped working on his essay. You try to think of a solution.

“What if… I stayed with you until you fell asleep?”

“You should be sleeping too, though.”

“I’ve gotten a few hours already,” you remind him. 

“What if I dream of there again?” You can hear the fear in his voice and it breaks your heart.

“I can stay until morning, if you think your dormmates won’t mind,” you suggest. “I don’t think Junior would mind, but I don’t know about the others.”

At your offer, his eyes start pleading for you to do so.

“Please stay.”

You nod, stand up and hold out your hand to him.

“Come on then. Let’s get you to bed.”

He quickly collects his items from the table and takes your hand. You lead him back to his own dorm. Regulus lights a small light before he gets ready for bed. The curtains of the other beds in the room are pulled closed, giving the boys their own privacy. You sat on the edge of the only empty bed, obviously Regulus’ with all of the House of Black monogrammed items. You didn’t crawl under the covers until Regulus did. You let him get comfortable first before wrapping yourself around him. 

“Just focus on my breathing, yeah?”

“And you won’t leave?”

“I’m not leaving until morning.”

Your presence in Regulus’ dorm becomes more common. He would let you know when he needed you there. Enchanted notes would fly into your dorm and wake you up if he woke up from a particularly horrid dream. You would be there in an instant, helping lull him back to sleep. Dorcas and Pandora said “I told you so” when rumors of you and Regulus dating circled briefly. You shut them down quickly. Whether anyone actually believed you wasn’t the point; it was that no one was talking about it. You did take pride in being scary when you needed to. You knew you had to split your focus between Regulus and lessons, not silly rumors. 

Some days were better than others for Regulus. You knew it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and roses, but it was nice when those days came along. And you made sure to be there when a day just went to shit. Things had been trending upward the further you got into the semester. You had been able to become less attached at the hip with Regulus. He had spent some evenings with Junior and Evan and some others that you didn’t particularly care for. But he was opening up again to his other friends and that was good. 

Then one of his enchanted notes flutters into your Potions class. Luckily, you are working in the back near the door so Slughorn doesn’t notice the parchment fly in and land in front of you. You quickly read over the note and raise your hand. 

“Professor, may I use the loo?”

Slughorn looks a bit shocked at your interruption.

“Yes. Go. Be quick if you can.”

You nod and hurry out of the room. You find Regulus in the alcove he had described. He’s hugging his knees to his chest and visibility shaking. His face is hidden, but you know he’s been crying. You crouch next to him.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He flinches but then lifts his head. You were right; tears were streaming down his face. 

“What happened?” 

“I-I don’t kn-know. There was a n-noise a-a-and something hit me. I c-couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I-I just ran.”

You wrap your arms around him. You hold him for a few minutes in silence, except for his ragged breathing and sniffles. You rub circles on his back and arm where your hands rest. 

“Thank you for the note,” you whisper. 

He nods. He doesn’t know why you’re thanking him for it, but who else was he supposed to send for? Sirius? 

After the rest of classes, you decide to skip dinner. While you’re sure that Regulus would’ve benefitted from your presence, you needed to clear your head. You pace around the castle, corridor after corridor, floor after floor. You come across a door you’re unfamiliar with and you peer inside the room. Your face lights up at the piles of old broken crates. The room looked abandoned and you’re fairly certain you’ve never come across this room before. You crack your neck and launch spells at the crates, making them explode and catch fire. There must be some sort of enchantment on the room because the piles of crates never end. You are able to go through what must’ve been hundreds of crates until you are tired. Your system feels momentarily cleared. 

---

Regulus sending for you during class set something off in you. While you had been mad at Sirius for leaving Regulus alone, now you are furious. You know part of your anger is fueled by what Sirius did to you, just casually ending a years-old friendship and never truly acknowledging you again. You waited for the right time, rage boiling inside of you. You hid it from Regulus and the girls, but it was there. You knew it was there. 

When the moment presented itself, you approached Sirius and his friends. They had claimed a shady area by the Black Lake and were lounging around. It was secluded enough that you felt no shame in the scene you knew you were about to throw. You had decided that Sirius’ decision that you weren’t to acknowledge each other was done. 

“What do you want?” Peter asks with a sharp tone. He is the first one to notice you.

At his question, the rest of the boys look up to see who was walking up to them. You notice a brief look of warning cross Sirius’ face. 

“You left him alone,” you say, trying to be firm and steady but it comes out accusingly. You’re only looking at Sirius. You don’t care for the rest of them right now. 

Sirius blinks at you. His expression is unreadable, not giving you anything to go off of.

“You two know each other?” Remus asks, sensing the tension you’re giving off. 

“How could you leave him alone? In that house with them?”

“Padfoot, what’s she on about?” Peter asks. He’s giving you a wary look. 

You know Sirius understands exactly what you’re getting at. 

“This isn’t the place,” he says coolly. 

“You left him behind and went to hide at the Potters,” you continue. You look at James briefly. “Full offense by the way.”

“Oi, what?” James gasps. 

“Padfoot, is she talking about-?” Remus starts to ask.

“Regulus? Yeah, I am.” You shoot Remus a soft smile before turning back to Sirius with the anger bubbling up within you. “After everything, I know they were horrible to you, but how could you leave him there alone? Did you see him when they dropped him off?” A dry laugh escapes your lips and your voice rises. “Wait, of course not! You weren’t there for him. I know you stood between them and him for years but suddenly disappearing? That’s so fucking cowardly, you dipshit. He wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t ready.”

“Regulus is an open book, isn’t he?” Peter mumbles. “Airing the Blacks’ dirty laundry?”

You turn to Peter with a much more harsh look on your face. “I forgot that you all don’t know.” You don’t need to see Sirius’ face to know he’s giving you his own furious look of warning. One that says ‘Don’t you dare.’ “Sirius and I go way back. At least we did until he became the family disgrace and I wasn’t in the same house.”

“Sod. Off,” Sirius says. All calmness that had been in his voice previously was gone. “This isn’t about you.”

“It’s fucking about me when I’m the one putting him back together. When I was the one who found him. When I was the one who offered him somewhere safe. All because you left him.” 

“He’s their golden boy. How bad could it be?” Peter asks, leaning back on his elbows as he stretches out.

“Wormtail, you stay out of it,” Sirius warns. 

“You called him that.”

“Black, you could learn a thing or two about loyalty. You got a wicked case of abandoning people who care for you. Boys,” you cast a glance around the group, “just know it’s only a matter of time before he leaves you for dead because something better for him came up. Consider yourself warned.”

The boys watch as you stalk off toward the castle. You leave a thick silence in your wake. Once you are a safe distance away, the boys turn their glances to Sirius, who is fuming. 

“So Sirius?” Remus asks, his words cutting through the silence. 

He didn’t say anything, still staring in the direction you had gone.

“Padfoot,” James tries, “care to explain what that was? Or even, who?”

When Sirius still doesn’t say anything, Remus answers part of James’ question. “Y/N. She’s one of Regulus’ friends, I think. I see them around each other a lot. Slytherin, obviously.” 

“Okay, but she said she goes ‘way back’ with Pads, not Regulus,” Peter points out.

“Yeah, because we do and they don’t,” Sirius finally speaks up. “We live… lived near each other. Met at a park when we were small. When being at home was too much.”

The others wait for him to say more. He doesn’t, at least not willingly. 

“And?” Remus pries. “What was all of that?” He gestures to the space where you had berated him. 

“Suppose the result of mixing my moving in with James and her friendship with my brother.”

“Okay, and the bit of about loyalty?” James asks. “Like, what was that?” He lets out an awkward laugh. 

“I may or may not have told her we weren’t friends like a week into first year,” Sirius mumbles, not meeting any of their eyes. 

The boys exchange confused looks with each other, not fully understanding.

“Why?” James follows up. 

“I… don’t know. Some mix of betrayal of not knowing she was going to be here and her being a Slytherin, I guess. It felt like a connection to my family that I was able to separate myself from by being a Gryffindor, you know?”

Remus shakes his head. “But, mate, if you were friends before Hogwarts-”

Sirius cuts him off. “Try my closest confidant.”

“That’s even worse,” Remus continues. “I’d imagine she was pretty pissed when you left her. Coming here and you see a familiar face that tells you to fuck off?”

“I mean, I was pleasant to her. We just aren’t friends anymore! And we didn’t see each other at home anymore either.”

“I’m willing to bet that’s your doing though,” Peter says. 

Sirius sighs and nods. 

“Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot…” Remus breathes. 

“Should you be concerned about Regulus though?” Peter asks, his voice small as he knows talking about his family isn’t Sirius’ favorite thing. “She seemed pretty stressed ‘bout it.”

“Mildly,” Sirius says shortly. “He’s stronger than she knows.” 

Remus gives Sirius an unsure look. Remus has seen how often you hang around Regulus and assumes you two were probably as close as the Marauders were. Only differences being you didn’t share a dorm and were in different years. Sirius didn’t see Remus’ look. He didn’t want to feel the judgment of his friends right now. Not when he had been yelled at by his oldest friends, one who knew of his home life better than the Marauders did. You had been there when he was subjected to his parents’ moods and opinions year round as compared to only having to survive a few months with them. 

Sirius didn’t sleep well that night. He kept tossing and turning but ultimately failed at becoming comfortable and falling asleep. He tried to just rest with his eyes closed. It didn’t help that his mind was endlessly spinning and replaying your words, your concern for Regulus and fury at him for leaving Regulus behind, rather than being happy for him finally escaping his tormentors. 

The next day, he makes a point to find you after class. Being exhausted in class wasn’t conducive to paying attention, nor was still having you on his mind. His friends could tell he wasn’t in it; they mostly left him alone and tried to keep the professor’s attention off of him. Remus had made comments to James and Peter about thinking your intrusion had affected Sirius more than he would admit to them. Afterall, Sirius liked to keep his personal emotions close to his chest. 

He finds you in the library with Pandora and Dorcas. He looks around nervously for Regulus, or Barty and Evan. He was more nervous about Regulus, but seeing Barty and  Evan wasn’t my favorite scenario either. Luckily for him, it was just the girls. Dorcas and Pandora noticed him right away as he started to approach the table. You had continued working, not looking up. 

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” he says awkwardly. 

Dorcas and Pandora give him annoyed glares. You look up slowly.

“What, Black?” you all but spit at him. Had he not gotten enough of an earful yesterday?

“Can, uh, can we talk?”

Pandora cocks her head to the side as Dorcas glances quickly from Sirius to you and back. You blink at Sirius, as if bored. The girls next to you have never seen Sirius so unsure of himself, except maybe when he was walking up to be sorted, when the possibility of being a Slytherin still hung in the air. 

“I guess,” you say with a sigh. “I’ll be back shortly,” you assure the girls as you follow Sirius into the depth of the shelves. 

“How bad is he?” Sirius asks once you’re out of earshot of the girls. 

You scoff. “Oh, so now you care.”

“I always cared. It’s just not something I talk about with the guys. He’s my brother.”

“He was wrecked when you left. Rightfully so, if you ask me. And he was ruined when he came back to school. You left him alone with them.” You were trying to keep your voice steady and low, not wanting to start a shouting match with him in the library. 

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Is that all you needed?” you ask. “Pretty sure I told you that yesterday.”

“How is he… now?”

You bite the inside of your cheek before answering. “He’s not the same, if that’s what you’re asking. Barely okay some days. It’s hit and miss, but overall, better the longer he isn’t there, I think. I’m worried about when he inevitably goes back. Christmas? Summer? All of our work this semester is going to go down the drain.”

“Our work?”

You roll your eyes. “Me, Dory, Dorcas, Evan, Junior. You know, the people that care about him.”

“I care about him.”

“The people that care about him enough to be around.”

“Being in that house was killing me. You know that. I had to get out.”

“It never would’ve killed you, Sirius. Drive you mad, yes. But not kill. Even on the worst days, you were never as bad as he is.”

“It’s not my fault he doesn’t have the common sense to get out.”

“He feels like he has to stay. I offered-”

“I know. You said yesterday. So he didn’t take you up on it and you still feel the responsibility to fix him?”

“It’s not a responsibility. It’s because he’s important to me. That’s why I helped fix you. You were important to me.”

Were echoes in his brain. Sirius shakes his head in slight disbelief.

“Still. He turned you away and you’re doing more than he’s asking of you. Why?”

You blink at him slowly and take a deep breath. What you wouldn’t give for it to be appropriate to smack him upside the head, but you needed to keep your composure.

“He came back to me. He’s opened up to me. He didn’t lock me out forever. Like you did.”

You feel like you need to scream.

“Excuse me.”

You turn and leave Sirius alone in the shelves. Pandora and Dorcas give you concerned looks as you take your seat again. They only look away from you when Sirius emerges from the shelves where you had left him. Their eyes follow him all the way out of the library before looking back at you and then refocusing on their own homework. You know they want to ask you what Sirius wanted but your demeanor says you aren’t talking about it now, and maybe never. 

---

“What did you yell at my brother about?” Regulus asks you as you sit down next to him at dinner. 

“Hm?” 

“People are saying you yelled at Sirius and his friends yesterday. I think you scared a first year.”

“Reminded him that he’s a piece of shit.”

“What did he do this time?” 

You give Regulus an intrigued look. “Why are you so interested?”

“My best friend chewing my own flesh and blood a new one? You’re kidding, right?”

“He came and talked to her in the library earlier,” Pandora adds, leaning forward.

Regulus turns fully toward you. 

“First you yell at him and now he’s coming to talk to you? Darling?”

“Toldhimoffforleavingyou.” You have never spoken more quickly and quietly in your life. 

“You did what?” Regulus gasps. Of course he understood you. 

“He shouldn’t’ve and you know it,” you say, pointing your fork at Regulus before going to stab another piece of food. “Someone had to let him know and you obviously weren’t going to do it.”

“Because it was his choice.” 

“Exactly. He chose to leave. He didn’t have to. He should’ve known better.”

“So you told him off. For me.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t have to…” You see Regulus’ gaze drift over to where Sirius was sitting at the Gryffindor table and he frowns. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. It was easy to hide behind Regulus being your best friend as the sole reason, but yelling at Sirius had been cathartic. You finally got some sense of revenge for him abandoning you in first year. It felt so good to get that off your chest, at least in front of Sirius’ friends. 

“It wasn’t just for you,” you mumble, half hoping that Regulus didn’t hear you.

“Then for who else?” Pandora asks.

Regulus turns back to you. He waits for your answer.

“For me.”

“For you?” Regulus repeats.

“I, uh, I was his friend before I was yours.”

Dorcas snorts from next to Pandora. “Bitch, when? You could barely look at him in first year and then Regulus was here.”

“Before Hogwarts. We live near each other.”

“He never mentioned a friend,” Regulus says softly.

“Okay, but then what happened? You’ve talked more in the past twenty four hours than the past six years,” Dorcas says.

“He said we weren’t friends anymore and yeah, that was that.”

Your friends all stare at you, each with a different expression on their face. 

“Excuse me, what?” Dorcas asks. 

You shrug. There wasn’t anything more to say; you could’ve mentioned that Sirius told you all about life at home, but you felt that was implied enough for Regulus. 

“And you never talk?” Pandora adds.

“Huh,” is all Regulus says. 

“So yelling at him was a little for me too. But the purpose was for you, Reg. He knows he shouldn’t’ve left.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Regulus asks.

“I didn’t think it really mattered. The Sirius I was friends with wasn’t Sirius Black. He was just Sirius and I was just Y/N. We weren’t wizards. We were just kids at a park. And then everything changed and the past was the past.”

“Kids at a park…” Regulus mutters, putting two and two together. “The one you said you visit often?”

You nod. 

“I suppose… that makes sense…” He’s speaking slowly as he is still processing the fact that you knew Sirius and were friends before he had even met you. “And he was the one who left you?”

You nod again. He hums and puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“That’s his loss and my gain, I guess.”

You sigh in relief. Some part of you had thought Regulus would be furious that you hadn’t disclosed your previous friendship with his brother. Although, in your defense, like you had said, the Sirius you knew wasn’t Regulus’ brother. That Sirius had been an only child and a muggle. And if you could have had your way six years ago, you would’ve had both Black brothers as your friends. 

---

Once again, what you had said kept Sirius up at night. 

Were. Were. Were.

You were important to me.

He knew he was the reason he no longer was important to you. He had been the one to push you away. He had never found himself regretting it until now. As he goes through the next day’s classes, he wonders how he managed six years of ignoring you. You’re in almost every class he has. Your voice and laughter draw his attention. He never realized how much he missed hearing both, and even more so, being the cause of the laugh. 

The rest of the Marauders aren’t oblivious to Sirius watching you, but they don’t say anything to him. They don’t understand how close the two of you had been before he ruined it. And they don’t understand that your yelling had really got in his head. That you coming to him, instead of listening to his command, forced him to realize how much he missed you and your friendship. He missed you and needed to fix it. He saw that he made a dire mistake pushing you away. 

It takes him time to wrap his head around everything. After a week of trying to dissect your words in his head on his own, he swallows his pride and asks for help.

“What does it mean if someone says you were important to them?” Sirius asks, laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. 

“You need a grammar lesson? Okay.” Remus says. “Were. Used to be. Past tense. No longer important.”

“Is it a lost cause though?”

“Is what a lost cause?”

“Can you re-become important to someone?”

“I suppose it depends on what happened to make you unimportant to them.” Remus pauses, looking over Sirius. “Is this about Y/N?” 

Sirius nods. He knows that Remus would be looking at him to see it.

“‘Fraid I don’t know enough about that to really say, Pads. She sounded beyond pissed at you.”

“How do I get her to see that I had to leave and taking Regulus with me wasn’t really an option?”

“You think James’ parents wouldn’t have taken him in too?”

“No, they would have. I don’t think Reg would have come with. Certainly not easily.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No. What if he told Mum what I was going to do? I was able to get out because I had surprise on my side.”

Remus thinks for a moment before responding. “When did y/n say that?”

“Last week, after she yelled at me. I went back to ask about Reg.”

Remus doesn’t say anything. Once again, he needs more information. 

“She said Regulus is important to her. And I was.”

“And you want to change that?”

“The part about me, yes. I don’t mind that she cares for Reg. It’s… good he has someone. That he has her, of all people.”

Remus shakes his head and tries to stifle a laugh. Sirius looks over at him when he hears. 

“What?”

“Padfoot, it’s really quite simple. I think you need to talk to her. Apologize for being an idiot. Maybe a bit of groveling. See if she has ideas on how you can help Regulus,” he says. “Girls like it when guys admit they were wrong. And you were wrong. Very. Extremely.”

“Shut up, Moony. I know. I know I was wrong.” He takes a breath. “And it’s hit me how much I miss her. I don’t know how I managed six years without her.”

“Tell her that. While you’re groveling on your knees. Begging.”

“Don’t make it sound so pathetic.”

“Can I come with to watch? I think it is going to be pathetic and that’s something I need to witness.”

“So you can tell everyone?”

“So I can tell everyone.”

---

Sirius corners you in the library. Well, not quite corners you. He finds you at a table alone. He sits next to you and turns your chair so you’re facing him.

“I was working,” you hiss at him. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again.”

“You only have a few minutes. Regulus is meeting me here after Quidditch practice. You need to be gone when he gets here.”

“Actually, I need to talk to him too. But you’re first.”

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms. You wait for him to talk. 

“Okay. This is long overdue. I’m sorry.”

You scoff. “Sorry for what?”

“I wasn’t finished,” he says. “I’m sorry for pushing you away when we were first years. And for never talking to you. Never going back to the park. I was selfish and stupid. I still am stupid. The biggest idiot you’ve ever met.”

“I could’ve told you that, Black.”

He briefly purses his lips together at his last name.

“Continuing my idiocy, this is going to sound even more stupid. I didn’t realize how much I actually missed you until you yelled at me. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I don’t know how I survived the last six years without you. I need you in my life.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “You missed me? Bit too late to be confessing that, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I know it is. That’s how stupid I am! Six years and being called a dipshit to get my head out of my arse.”

Your glare softens ever so slightly.

“So I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“Okay.” 

“Can I try to explain something? Do I have time?”

You sigh and lean backwards to see the clock. 

“You have time.”

He smiles before his expression becomes serious again.

“I thought the only way to escape them was to leave on my own. To disappear out of the blue. If they had an inkling that I would actually leave, they might’ve stopped me. That’s why I didn’t say anything to Regulus. I wasn’t sure he’d want to come with, especially to the Potters’. I know I need to talk to Regulus on my own. But I want to try to fix it. I need to work on fixing my relationships with the Slytherins I never should’ve let leave my life.”

“I don’t think he would’ve said anything. Probably wouldn’t’ve gone with you, but he wouldn’t’ve been so goddamn blindsided.” You pause. “I don’t know if you can fix these relationships.”

“I need to try. Please. Let me try.” He got out of his chair and on his knees, as Remus suggested. “Please, Y/N. You were my first friend. The best friend I’ve ever had and I ruined it. Please, let me try to fix it.”

You’re looking down at him with wide eyes as Regulus approaches the table.

“What the actual fuck?” he asks. 

Sirius immediately stands up, turning towards his brother.

“Regulus.”

“Sirius.”

“I’m sorry.”

Regulus put his bag down on the table, not breaking eye contact with his brother. 

“Are you now?”

“I should have told you.”

“You should have stayed.”

“I couldn’t.”

Regulus sits down and looks away from his brother and at you. 

“Regulus, I had to leave. I think for the same reasons you feel you need to stay. I know I was the one who left, but I don’t want to lose my brother.”

“You have James.”

“He’s not blood.” You knew it was hard for Sirius to say that. “You always have a place at the Potters’ if you want to leave. It’s okay to leave.”

“My invitation still stands too,” you say, speaking for the first time since Regulus joined you. 

Regulus looks back at his brother and then to you again. He shakes his head.

“What is this?”

“I, uh, I am trying to start mending the bridges I burned with my idiocy,” Sirius says as he slowly sinks back into his chair. He looks at you. “Does he know about us?”

“About what?” Regulus spits. 

“We were friends before Hogwarts. When I would disappear, I was usually with Y/N,” Sirius clarifies and Regulus’ face relaxes.

“Oh, that. Yes, I’m aware.”

You laugh, earning a sharp look from the librarian.

“Reg! Do you really think I’d be dating him without telling you?”

You were important. Sirius feels his face grow hot. 

“Anyways!” Sirius says. “I want a second chance, even though I probably don’t deserve one from either of you.”

You look at Regulus, trying to read his expression. Sirius’ apology to you certainly felt more heartfelt than his to his own brother. Maybe there was a dynamic you weren’t familiar with between them, but you wanted Regulus to answer first. Your loyalty would be to him first. His face is stoney as he looks his brother up and down.

“Will you be better?” Regulus asks after a few seconds.

“I’m going to try. Whatever you need of me, except moving back in.”

“Of course there’s a caveat,” you sigh.

“No, no,” Regulus says, giving you a soft smile. “I wouldn’t ask you to move back in. But write? Keep me in the loop? Don’t prank me?”

“What about a friendly prank? Like something I would do to James, Peter, them.”

“Maybe.”

“And I will write. Daily, if you want. And even if you don’t stay, you’re welcome to visit the Potters’ or we can spend a day in the city or whatever.”

There is so much desperation in Sirius’ voice as he talks to Regulus that you almost feel bad for him. His apology could have used work, but he seems genuinely wanting to reconnect with Regulus outside of their parents’ grasp. 

“And for you?” Sirius asks, turning his attention to you once Regulus seemed satisfied with him.

“What?”

“What will it take for a second chance?”

You look at Regulus, only to find him actively watching you. You can’t tell if he’s encouraging you to give him one or if he’s curious at what you’d require from him. You look back at Sirius with a grim face.

“I don’t know. I was never friends with Sirius Black.”

Sirius gives you a confused and hurt look. “But the park…”

“I was friends with a young boy named Sirius. He didn’t have a last name. He didn’t have a brother at home.” You sigh before continuing. “I suppose if Sirius Black wants to try to be friends, he can try and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you. Thank you both. I promise I won’t blow it.” A wide smile is adorning his face as he stands up. “I’ll let you two study, but thank you.”

You both watch Sirius leave the library in silence. 

“You think you’ll be able to forgive him?” Regulus asks you as he opens his bag and takes out his homework. 

“We’ll see. That first year was hard. Guess we’ll see how much effort he really puts in. You?”

“If he keeps his word. We can be pleasant then, I think.”

You smile across the table at the younger boy. “You’re kinder to him than I am.”

“Family, you know.”

You roll your eyes. “You damn well know you don’t have to love family.”

“Then I’m choosing to. He’s Sirius. Something about him is loveable.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he was right.

---

It’s the little things. Sirius started making a point to say hi to you, and to Regulus. Pranks seemed to avoid you. He would approach you in the corridors and the library to chat. You could tell Sirius watched and cheered Regulus on the Quidditch pitch, when Slytherin wasn’t playing Gryffindor. He was taking the baby steps he needed to. 

As much as you tried to hang onto your anger, you couldn’t. It didn’t wash away in one go, but it melted like an ice sculpture without a permafrost enchantment. It probably helped that over Christmas Regulus received the letters he was promised. Both Regulus and Sirius wrote to you, which the latter was more unexpected. They both told you about an adventure into the city that went well, only a few minor tense moments that passed almost as quickly as they appeared. You spent time with Regulus at the park, apparently at Sirius’ suggestion. So when the spring term was starting up and Regulus wasn’t a shell of himself as he had been at the start of the fall term, you really noticed how much effort Sirius had been putting in. He was really trying to not mess up his second chances. 

Sirius finds you sitting in a window seat, reading a book you had gotten for Christmas. He leans against the wall and watches you for a moment. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing you so focused and lost in the pages. 

“Hey,” he says finally,

You look up. The shock of seeing him evident on your face, but you mark your spot and put the book down. 

“Hi.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah. What’s up, Sirius?”

You cross your legs so Sirius can sit at the other end of the window seat. 

“If I had invited you to the Potters for a day over break, would you have come?”

You’re taken back by the question. It was unexpected and it felt loaded. 

“I just… I almost invited you. I need to know if I should be kicking myself for chickening out,” he adds when you don’t respond. 

“Honestly, probably not. I don’t know your friends, especially not the Potters. I don’t think James is too fond of me.”

“He’s come around a bit,” Sirius says. You can tell he’s trying to not look too hurt at your denial. “And how will they learn to love you if you don’t come around?”

“Love? Let’s work on simple friends, or acquaintances at school first.”

“Then Hogsmeade? Next weekend? Would you consider coming with us?”

You hesitate. A full day with Sirius and his friends is daunting. You were just beginning to be friends with Sirius. Jumping into his friend group felt like too much. Again, Sirius talks more when you don’t say anything.

“What if it was just me?”

“I’d consider just you.”

“Then I’ll tell the boys I won’t be going with them!” Sirius exclaims happily, jumping up from the seat.

“I said consider!” you call after him, but he’s sprinting down the corridor. 

You did consider it. You thought about it during class and meals. You even talked about it with Regulus, who supported your reformed friendship with Sirius. He said something about the day in London with Sirius was more fun than he’d admit to Sirius so if he has a London day with him, you need a Hogsmeade day. And then you considered it and thought about it more. 

You kept doing so until you hadn’t said no and were waiting for Sirius by the ground gates to walk to Hogsmeade. It was cold and snowing and Sirius was a little late. You pull your cloak tighter around your body. You can’t help but smile when you catch a glimpse of Sirius running toward you while attempting to tie his scarf.

“I’m late, I know! Please don’t hold it against me!”

You laugh at him as he huffs.

“Oh, just let me,” you say, grabbing his scarf that wasn’t remotely tied in a way to keep him warm. 

You tie it for him and tuck the ends into his cloak so they won’t fly in the wind. 

“There. Now let’s go! I’m thinking you owe me a butterbeer for making me wait.”

“If that’s the cost of being late, I can handle that. As much butterbeer as you want.”

Your day with Sirius goes smoothly. Conversations don’t run dry. The camaraderie is just like when you were younger. It’s fun and relaxing. After the Three Broomsticks, he follows you around a bookstore and then you follow him around Zonkos. You end up back in the pub for more butterbeer to warm you up before your walk back to Hogwarts. 

“Did your friends even come to Hogsmeade today? I’m surprised we didn’t run into them,” you say, pulling on your coat. 

“No. Said something about giving us privacy?”

“Do we need privacy?”

“I mean, I did explain that you weren’t ready to be thrown into a day with the Marauders?” 

“Which is true. You have to admit, your group can be a bit much.”

Sirius laughs and holds open the pub door for you as you exit into the cold.

“We can be. I think Zonkos both cringes and celebrates when all four of us walk in. They make sales, but at what cost?”

“That’s the bookstore when I go in with Reg!” you say with a laugh. 

“You know his book collection well?”

You nod. “We’re our own little book club, the two of us. And possibly edging on a library. If you ever take up reading, we got you.”

You lightly run into Sirius with your shoulder. 

“Maybe I’ll have to. Sure would make Remus’ day to see a book in my hands.”

“If you need recommendations, you know where to find me and Regulus.”

You walk for a little bit without talking. Snow is still falling, flakes getting caught in your hair and on your eyelashes. You’re too busy watching where you’re walking to see Sirius sending sideways glances your way every few steps. You’re about halfway back to the castle when he puts his arm out in front of you to stop you.

“Why we stopping?” you ask, a shiver running up your spine as a gust of wind chills you. 

“I’m going to risk my second chance with you.”

It happens before you can process anything. Sirius grabs your face and pulls it closer to his. He presses his lips to yours. He couldn’t help himself. In rekindling your friendship, he realized that something else was caught on fire inside of him. With each letter he sent you, he could only anticipate your response. He had hoped you wouldn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with all of his friends but would accept going with just him. He had been so nervous this morning that it made him late, but you had laughed and fixed his scarf. And then you just looked so beautiful with the white snowflakes in your hair. He couldn’t help himself. 

His eyes search yours for a reaction when he pulls away. You don’t seem angry or upset. 

“Darling?” he asks softly.

“How long?” you ask.

“A few seconds, maybe?”

“Not the kiss. How long have you liked me?”

“Oh. Sometime after you said you’d give Sirius Black a chance. But I think it would’ve been longer if I had never pushed you away.”

You nod, suddenly unable to form words. Your thoughts are running a hundred miles an hour. Sirius had been one of your first and best friends. Today had been a testament to how easy it was to fall back into the friendship with him. It wasn’t like you had ever truly stopped caring for him, nor that you have never imagined what might’ve happened between you if he had stayed. For Regulus’ sake, you always kept your thoughts about Sirius to yourself. You didn’t dare mention anything to Dorcas or Pandora in case someone overheard or they didn’t keep their mouths shut. Now, here you are, with Sirius in front of you, searching for a proper response after he kissed you. A Sirius who begged for forgiveness after being an idiot for six years. A Sirius who said he was going to risk his second chance.

You lean up and give him a quick peck on the lips. He stares at you. 

“We’re lucky I gave you that second chance,” you say with a smile.

“We?” he breathes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.

“We.” 

Sirius kisses you again and is smiling so widely that you think his jaw must hurt.

“I guess I need to tell Reg,” you sigh as you reach to hold Sirius’ hand. 

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ a whisper of serpents

tom riddle’s hissed parseltongue isn’t just words—it’s a spell, coiling around your throat, your thighs, and your will.

warnings: smut, parseltongue, slight enemies to ??, public sex.

more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

cool air in the slytherin common room whispered along stone walls, and the green light of the magic lamp flickered. you sat in your usual place in the corner by the fire, scratching your quill on your potions paper. the air was filled with the smell of black and sand, a smell that reminded you of tom riddle struggling with essays and exams.

tom riddle. a name that evoked both ire and admiration in equal measure. the boy was brilliant—too brilliant, you thought, the instant his black eyes darted across the room to you over the desk. he sat at his desk, posture precisely straight, lips curving in triumph, as though he knew he would best you in tomorrow's potions.

“enjoying the thrill of inevitable defeat?” he breathed, his voice cutting as effectively through the silent room like a knife.

you looked up, decided not to let him bug you. “i’ll let you know after i see the marks. should i save a seat for you in second place, riddle?”

a dark light glittered in his dark eyes, and his smirk deepened. “confidence suits you. shame it’s misplaced.” the rivalry had always been this way—sharp, laced with an undeniable tension that neither of you acknowledged. still, tonight you noticed a difference. the second time tom spoke, his voice was softer and his rhythm was more even. he muttered something very quiet and soft that you couldn't really hear.

you froze.

it wasn't english. it was something ancient, something primal.

your eyes narrowed as you leaned forward. “what was that?”

“hmm?” he looked up, feigning innocence, though the curl of his lips betrayed him.

“that. just now. what did you say?”

he shrugged, turning back to his parchment. “nothing you'd understand.”

it clicked then, the penny dropping in your brain—you'd heard rumours, of course, among quiet whispers, huddled as your classmates were on hushed subjects. tom riddle spoke parseltongue, a gift said to be rare enough that not only did they not live alongside muggle-born witches or wizards, they would think those with parseltongue came from gods. of course, you didn't, though: a tingle down the back of the spine was left as well, it seemed.

in the following weeks you became increasingly aware of him. it wasn’t just his flawless academic credentials or the ruthless intellect he wielded as a weapon. it was also the way he moved, the way his voice slithered into that serpentine language when he thought no one was listening.

finally, one night, you stepped up your game and decided to confront him late at the library. the two of you were all alone in the room, and the silence was often broken by just the sound of a flipping page.

“you know, i’ve been meaning to ask,” you said, doing your best to sound casual, “how does it feel to be a walking myth?”

tom didn’t even look up. “you’ll need to be more specific.”

you rolled your eyes and moved to stand beside his table. “don’t play coy. parseltongue.”

this time his head cocked, slight but a glimmer of interest on his face. “what about it?”

“i’ve been listening to you,” you said, your voice lower now. “in the common room. during herbology, when you thought no one was listening. you do that on purpose, don’t you?”

"maybe,” he said slickly, leaning back in his chair. your eyes met his dark eyes, and for a single moment, you forgot how to breathe. “does it bother you?”

“no.” words came out a little too fast. you cleared your throat. “well, it's unusual, but no…”

suddenly his gaze became sharp.“unusual,” he repeated, his voice lowered a shade. “that's one way to put it.”

something seemed to shift in the air between the two of you. it was slight, so fine as to be almost imperceptible; but the weight of his attention pressed against your skin, and you found yourself unable to look away.

“you like it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

from then on, tom appeared to seize every opportunity to taunt you, slipping into parseltongue during your arguments or mumbling it just close enough that only you could hear. every time, your pulse raced, your cheeks flushed, and you hated how easily he unravelled you.

one evening, you’d reached your limit.

you knew you’d find him alone in the common room. and there he was, his long fingers expertly flipping through the pages of the thick, ancient tome. he didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew he sensed you there.

“do you enjoy torturing people, or just me?” you demanded.

a corner of his mouth lifted. “you make it so entertaining.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are.”

you were about to shoot back a retort, but the words failed you when he spoke again.

“come closer,” he said, in parseltongue, the words coiling around you like a corporeal touch.

your knees weakened. you hated him. you hated how much you needed him.

“what did you say?” you said, though you knew perfectly well.

tom stood, the motion smooth, predatory. he moved closer enough that there was hardly space between you, breath ghosting against your cheek.

“do you really want to know?” he said, reverting to english.

“yes.”

a certain tension crackled between you, thick and unrelenting. tom’s dark eyes were locked onto yours, the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smirk. his presence was magnetic as if he had a gravitational pull, and while all logic and reason screamed at you to step back, your feet remained rooted in place.

“tell me what you said,” you ordered, but your voice didn’t follow you with the tone.

tom cocked his head and examined you as though you were some especially intriguing puzzle. “why?” he wondered, his voice silky smooth.

“because—” your words abandoned you as he closed the distance, the faint scent of parchment and dark spice encircling you. “because i want to know.”

he smiled a little wider, a little deeper, and he tilted his head down just enough that his lips almost brushed against your ear. “do you?” he said in parseltongue, the syllables curling through you like a forbidden spell.

a shiver surged through your body, involuntary and ungovernable. heat rushed to your cheeks, and your breath caught. the language was intoxicating, the sound of it vibrating in a place you didn’t know existed.

“stop,” you gasped, although your hands betrayed you, the fingers curling into the edge of the table behind you for support.

“stop?” tom echoed, half mockingly, half in wonder. his hand lifted, lightly sweeping a single lock of hair away from your face, deliberately slowly. his touch was cold, his fingers grazing your cheek before retreating. “you don’t want me to stop.”

you opened your mouth, but you couldn't deny it: the words died on your tongue; and before you could think of anything to say, he spoke again, soft and low.

“do you know what i’m saying?” he asked, his tone nearly tender now. “do you feel it?”

“i can’t understand it,” you confessed, voice barely at a whisper.

“but you like it,” he whispered, his lips brushing so close to your ear you could sense the warmth of his breath. “you like how it feels.”

your knees buckled a bit, tom’s hand flying out, gripping your waist, steadying you. his grip was solid and his fingers sprawled over the curve of your hip as though staking a claim.

“you’re flushed,” he observed, his voice nearly clinical. “your breathing is uneven. your pupils are dilated. all from a few words.”

“shut up,” you said, not without heat, but there was a tremor running through you.

“why should i?” he dared, the grip tightening just enough to get your adrenaline-fuelled. “you’re mine to unravel, aren’t you?”

the audacity of his words sent a surge of defiance through you. you threw your hands up and pushed against his chest, though it was a half-hearted attempt at best.

“you’re insufferable,” you hissed.

“and yet,” he drawled, his lips twisting as he leaned in closer, “here you are, trembling in my arms.” 

he didn't waste any time; it was almost startling intense when his hand caught your chin before his lips crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting. the kiss was searing and desperate, like a starved man. his other hand found its place at your waist, tugging you closer until even the air dared not to linger between your bodies.

his lips were demanding, his movements precise but passionate. the hand on your chin moved in your hair and tangled in such a possessive way while tilting your head to kiss deeper. an involuntary sound came out of your mouth; it was a soft whisper surrender, which tom devoured greedily. his tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing, commanding, until you parted them to let him inside.

he was dark and heavy, sweet and dangerous like stolen wine tempered with poison. his body pressed against your own—firm and unforgiving. his hands moved with unerring confidence, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your back, as if he had memorised every contour. it was a heady contradiction between precision and raw need, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

the next you know, the edges of the common room table were cutting into your thighs as he turned you with a masterful grip while manoeuvring effortlessly; books and parchment flew in a frenzy, pages whispering against the stone floor, but it seemed like tom had no time nor paid any attention to it. the dark glint in his eyes promised that he was completely absorbed in you.

he bent you over the table, leaving you no time to protest or think. the cold surface was nothing like your flushed skin. you gasped when he started to push your skirt up with deliberate, unhurried hands. the sound of impact between his palm and your skin broke the weighty silence, leaving a swift sting and warmth behind with it.

the sensation sent a jolt through you, heat pooling, making your folds wet and insistent as his touch lingered. tom’s presence was overwhelming, his control absolute, but there was something in his movements—some barely contained intensity—that betrayed just how deeply you unravelled him.

“t-tom… what are you doing?” your voice trembles, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation slipping through as the words escape your lips. your body betrays you, shivering under the chill of the room’s air, your bare skin prickling with goosebumps. the vulnerable position you're in only heightens your awareness, thoughts swirling chaotically in your mind. tom noticed. of course, after all he’s very skilled at legilimens.

tom’s breath brushes against you, sending an electric charge down your spine. “so eager for me,” he murmurs, his voice dark and laced with something primal. the unfamiliar hiss of parseltongue wraps around the words, a forbidden melody that makes your body react instinctively. your core tightens in response, a flutter of sensation you can’t suppress.

“what… what does that mean?” you stammer, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of him. your breath hitches as your eyes meet his—a smouldering gaze fixed on you, devouring the sight of your exposed pussy. his tongue darts across his lips, slow and deliberate, his expression one of barely-contained hunger.

tom doesn’t falter. every movement is deliberate, exuding raw confidence. in one swift motion, his trousers fall to the floor, pooling at his ankles. his eyes stay locked on yours, dark and smouldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. the air between you is electric, charged with unspoken tension.

his hands find yours, firm but not harsh as he guides your wrists behind your back. his grip is unyielding yet measured, a silent promise that he’s in control, but not without care. there’s no cruelty, only purpose.

with a sharp, deliberate tug, the material of your tights gives way, the sound of tearing loud in the charged silence. he doesn’t flinch at the destruction; it doesn’t matter. he can just get you new ones later.

the other hand grips his cock, his hard cock at the sight of you like this. with deliberate slowness, he rubs it along your wet folds, blending his precum with the heat of your arousal. his lips curve into a dangerous smirk as he leans close, the whisper of his breath ghosting over your ear.

"be quiet for me, sweetheart," he murmurs, the words curling like silk, dark and intoxicating as they spill from his lips—in parseltongue.

a shiver courses through you, a mix of the forbidden magic in his voice and the wickedly possessive way he moves. your moans escape, unbidden, half driven by the sinful pleasure of his thrust, half by the raw power that drips from every syllable of the serpentine language.

he thrusts into you, rough and unrelenting, his desire consuming him like wildfire. pain and pleasure blur together, and you feel the force of his need—not just a craving, but a deep, primal hunger that won't be denied. his movements claim you completely, leaving no room for anything but him.

a low moan escaped your lips as the sharp mix of pleasure and pain surged through you, his thick cock stretching you in ways you never imagined. the absurdity of it all struck you briefly—getting off to tom riddle speaking parseltongue, of all things, while he fucked you so thoroughly. this felt like a fever dream, surreal and all-consuming. you turned your head to look at him, needing to see the man unravelling you so completely.

tom reached for the hem of his crisp white shirt, tucking it between his teeth as he pulled it over his stomach. the fabric bunched at his chest, revealing the sharp ridges of his abs and the defined cut of his v-line. the sight alone made you clench involuntarily around him. his piercing gaze snapped to yours, and the subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth set your pulse racing. you hated that smirk—hated how smug he always looked. but merlin, he looked devastatingly good right now.

a muffled groan left his lips, raw and unrestrained. "f-fuck, yes. just like that," he rasped, his voice breaking as the shirt slipped from his teeth, falling to obscure his torso again. his tone dipped, sliding into parseltongue as his hips began to piston into you with relentless precision. "you take me so well," he hissed in that serpentine tongue, each word coiling around you like a spell.

your cheek pressed against the cool, unyielding wood of the table, a faint sheen of drool escaping from the corner of your mouth as you lost yourself in him. "tom, please," you begged, voice trembling with need, arching your back in a desperate bid for more.

his response came swiftly, cutting through the haze of your mind. "such a filthy little whore," he growled, the final word spilling from his lips in parseltongue, each syllable dripping with sinful allure. "so greedy for me." his hands gripped your hips firmly as he withdrew his cock, leaving you unbearably empty.

a whimper fell from your lips at the sudden loss, only to be silenced as tom flipped you effortlessly, laying you back across the desk. his dark eyes bored into yours, a dangerous glint of control and desire reflected in their depths. he didn’t waste a second, shoving his cock into you with a maddening slowness.

it was torturous—the deliberate pace, the teasing stretch that left you gasping and clawing for more. "tom," you whined, the word escaping as a desperate plea. he chuckled lowly, a sound rich with amusement and wicked satisfaction. "shhh, darling," he murmured in parseltongue, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

you didn’t understand the words, but they set your nerves alight nonetheless. the cadence alone sent a shiver racing down your spine. unable to resist, you reached up, cupping his face gently with trembling hands and pulling him closer. your lips met his in a searing kiss, your desperation pouring into it. tom responded in kind, his hips snapping forward with sudden force, tearing a moan from your throat. 

tom seized the moment, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. his kiss was relentless, consuming, leaving no room for thought. one of his hands snaked up to your neck, his fingers curling around it. he felt the heat of your pulse, the rhythmic throb against his fingertips igniting something dark and primal within him. his grip tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch—a perfect blend of restraint and domination.

it was all you needed. tom riddle, his hand firm on your throat, his lips devouring yours, sent your mind spiralling. a delicious haze clouded your thoughts, a mix of the airlessness and the intoxicating way he kissed you. he pulled back briefly, his piercing gaze sweeping over you, satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. then, he leaned in, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth.

the sharp sting of his bite made you gasp. you tasted blood, metallic and warm, as his tongue swept over your lip, soothing the pain while claiming every part of you. the sensation of him inside you was overwhelming, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body. his free hand drifted from your neck, trailing lower with purpose. when his fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, the pressure made you cry out.

“tom…” you moaned his name, the sound drawing a deep groan from him. his lips curled into a smirk as he watched you writhe beneath him.

“i’m close,” you gasped, your body trembling. the way his fingers moved, the rhythm of his hips driving into you, was pushing you to the edge.

“do it, whore,” he commanded, his voice low and laced with parseltongue. “come on my cock.”

the forbidden, guttural language sent you over the brink. ecstasy ripped through you, your muscles tightening around him as waves of pleasure crashed down. you cried his name, your legs wrapping around his waist, trembling as the aftershocks hit you.

tom’s control faltered, a guttural growl escaping his lips as he drove himself deep, holding your waist tightly as he cums inside of you. his hips moved in slow, deliberate motions as he rode out his climax, his weight pressing into you.

when it was over, he collapsed onto you, his breath ragged, his forehead damp with sweat. for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your shared breathing. slowly, your hand drifted to his back, tracing soft circles until the rhythm of your breaths aligned.

after a while, tom pushed himself up, his expression unreadable. he muttered a spell, cleaning himself with a flick of his wand. without a word, he dressed with practiced precision, his movements calm and calculated. then, with another spell, he tidied you up, fixing your dishevelled appearance as if nothing had happened.

you adjusted your skirt, tossing your ruined tights onto the chair nearby before running your fingers through your hair. when you glanced at him, he was already watching you, his intense gaze locked on yours.

with a surprising tenderness, tom reached out, his hand resting on your cheek, thumb rubbing against it slowly. the simple gesture sent warmth rushing to your cheeks. you blinked, startled—not by his touch, but by the realisation that tom riddle, of all people, had just done something so unexpectedly intimate.

“i suppose i should speak parseltongue in front of you more often,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

you couldn’t stop the blush that deepened as he stepped back, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

with a flick of his wand, he summoned your discarded tights into his hand. “a souvenir,” he said smoothly, tucking them into his pocket before striding out, leaving you stunned.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated. 

[nevereverthem]

HP fanfiction :

Hi!

I finally posted the second part of my fic'.

This was originally intended as a One Shot but I got carried away and tried writing more. ~

A little reminder : it's a story about the friendship between Mattheo Riddle & Draco Malfoy, with a romance between Mattheo & OC, and some Dramione insert. ~

Here is the link to the second part :

[ribbonflame]

Breaking Boundaries

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Brother’s Best Friend Trope

Summary: You're Enzo's little sister who he's very protective of. His best friend Mattheo Riddle can't help but be attracted to you.

Warnings: smoking, drinking, curse words, mentions of y/n, frat boy theo lol

all characters aged up.

It was your second to last year attending Hogwarts and Enzo’s final year. The two of you were attached at the hip since you were born; knowing he wouldn’t be there with you at your final year, you were somber. He assured you that you’d be fine and he’d apparate at an owl’s notice if he found out you were in trouble.

“Don’t be gloomy, y/n,” Enzo encouraged. He looked out the door, seated comfortably in front of you. The train had yet to depart. He glanced at you again, noticing your crossed arms, “We’ll spend a lot of time together this year, there’ll be loads to do… I’m excited for the party this weekend.”

You looked at Enzo, feeling a little better. “Enz you know you’re only looking forward to that because you haven’t touched a drink this entire holiday.” He looked at you with a smirk, he knew you were right. He argued that it would help with his tolerance: drink less and still get wasted.

The sliding door opened and Enzo’s friends entered one by one.

“Oi! Is that really you Enzo? Quite a tan you’ve got there!” Theo exclaimed. You noted the tight polo and the cap he wore sideways.

Each of them dropped their luggage to exchange hugs and handshakes. The only one who seemed to notice you was Mattheo.

“Hi y/n… You’re gonna hang with us this time?” he asked as he lifted his luggage and packed it into the overhead bin. Mattheo spent the most time with your brother this summer while everyone else traveled.

Usually, you’d be with your friends who were in the room next to Enzo and his group, but you decided to be with your brother since it was his last train ride to Hogwarts.

You looked at Mattheo and answered, “Yes, just ‘cause it’s Enzo’s final year. Hope you don’t mind.” The banging of luggage filled the silence and the roomette began to smell of various colognes.

Theo cockily butted in the conversation, “Don’t forget it’s also our final year.” as he proudly banged his chest. Everyone was settling in, Enzo moving to sit next to you so you wouldn’t feel awkward.

The train ride back to Hogwarts was nothing short of deafening. Everybody was chatting about their summer holiday and if not about their summer holiday, then quidditch, and if not quidditch then girls, and if not girls, it would be about the parties they planned on throwing. You tuned in to the conversation about the Slytherin Welcome Back Party. You’ve attended them since your third year and have always looked forward to it when school started.

~

Once the train arrived to Hogwarts, your brother and his friends started to pick up their luggage. Their height was an advantage for them to swiftly gather their bags and exit the roomette. The night sky made it difficult to look for your belongings above, but a hand reached out and picked it up for you. Behind you, you saw Mattheo holding your trunk with one hand and his belongings in the other; the veins on his arms paired well with his muscles.

He moved his hand towards you, ushering you to pick up your stuff. Your eyes never left his as he made sure you didn’t drop anything. After all these years of knowing him, why did it take you so long to realize how attractive he is?

You didn’t seem so different than your brother at that moment.

“Er- you’re welcome?” Mattheo broke the silence.

You were grateful for the darkness since it hid the obvious blush on your face. All you could muster up was a rushed ‘thank you’ before speed walking past him and catching up to Enzo.

~

Hours before the party, everyone in Enzo's and your group helped set up. Each person had their own task in preparing for the party: Draco and Blaise getting the drinks, Theo and Mattheo charming a muggle herb ‘marijuana’, and Pansy decorating. The group always left you and Enzo for anything involving transfiguration.

“Geminio.” you incanted, pointing at the few shot glasses that instantly turned to hundreds. Enzo was turning a studying desk into a wet bar while Pansy dimmed the candle lights and enchanted the light bulbs green. Mattheo and Theo sat by one of the tall windows, attempting to pronounce the correct charm for the weed.

While the two of them were goofing off, you couldn’t help but notice how attractive Mattheo was. His sharp jawline and curly hair that framed his intense eyes were like magnets to your eyes. You knew it was wrong to find your brother’s friend attractive. But he was just so captivating.

He caught you staring, then smiled and waved at you. You waved back then quickly turned back around, trying to hide your embarrassment. You could have sworn you also saw him wink at you.

“I finally got this stupid thing to grow,” Mattheo announced. “If anyone wants any just let me know.” he said, holding the pot up like a trophy.

Enzo glanced then went back to turning a coffee table into a pool table, “Save me one mate, I’m just about done.” he replied. The Slytherin common room looked like a club, nothing like the ominous dungeon that everyone knew it as.

Before the party officially started, everyone drank a few shots to pregame.

“So who is going to do all of this work next year?” you asked Enzo, the burning sensation from the liquor affected your voice.

“You and Tori..?” Enzo barely responded while his throat felt ablaze.

“Oh, and Crabbe and Goyle! I’m sure with their low marks on their N.E.W.T.s Dumbledore would want to keep them for another year.” Draco replied dryly. There was an eruption of laughter while the blonde man rolled his eyes.

After, Theo and Blaise went up to the entrance of the common room to start letting people in while Enzo started playing music.

~

As the night progressed, everyone was drinking and their inhibitions were nowhere in sight. You danced with Tori, Daph, and Pansy by the fireplace while the boys were sprawled around the common room. The bass from the music was vibrating through everyone’s chest. The mysterious, hot, ‘Dark Lord’s son’ would keep exchanging glances with you throughout the party.

Your slightly revealing outfit helped you move freely while you moved your hips.

Pansy leaned into your side, "You know, if you two keep going at it, I'm afraid your brother's not gonna like it." She inhaled a puff of smoke, dancing carelessly next to you. The dark-haired girl glanced over your brother, who was unaware of anything.

"Mmm, we're allowed to look right? It's not like it's illegal." you slurred, grinding against Pansy.

~

After a few hours of dancing and drinking, you wanted to check up on your brother. You knew he’d be wasted as he never failed to do so at these parties. He was by the wet bar along with Mattheo and Blaise. Before you could say a word, Enzo proudly slurred, “Am I that drunk or am I seeing double, Carrow?” You looked over to where he was looking, the Carrow twins were there, wearing the same outfit. Flora rolled her eyes while Hestia giggled. “Say, if you want, my dorm is available after this party.” he slurred, his head turning them as they walked past him.

You quickly went in front of him and grabbed his cup, “Enz, you know that the Carrows are twins right? Are you alright?” you asked, while taking a good look at him. His eyelids were lowered and his cheeks were flushed. You pulled out your wand and incanted aguamente into the cup and gave it to him.

“Y/n, I’m fine really, I’m having such a good time.” He hiccuped before drinking the cup full of water. Enzo’s head was spinning and his speech was incredibly slurred. Mattheo moved closer to Enzo, his height towering over you. He laughed at the sight of Enzo and put his arm over his shoulder in a brotherly way. You turned your head in Blaise’s direction and saw him pouring shots of firewhiskey and a dose of an alternate pepperup potion (that Draco liked to call soberup potion).

Blaise announced, “Alright blokes let’s take this next one.” while he handed them their glasses. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him before drinking the fiery elixir. He raised his glass in response.

Half an hour passed and Mattheo was as crossed as ever. In comparison, Enzo had sobered up with the help of the potion and some throwing up. You guys decided to regroup with everyone near the fireplace. That’s where Enzo noticed that Mattheo was looking at you more often. He paid no attention to it until he saw him eyeing you up and down.

“Something on your mind?” Enzo asked, trying not to seem overprotective over you. Enzo took a quick look at his sister, who was swaying vivaciously to the rhythm of the music. You paused to take a shot that Pansy lifted with her wand. Your brother knew you were wasted.

“Your sister is fit.”

“I will gouge your eyes out.”

Mattheo stopped drinking from his red solo cup and looked at your brother. He hadn’t realized what he said until he was met with Enzo’s dark, threatening glare. He cleared his throat and laughed at an attempt to smooth the issue. If it was any other guy, Mattheo would not be threatened; his usual way of resolving issues of beating someone up would not work with his friend.

“Allow it Enzo, I’m just joking!” Mattheo said light-heartedly, hiding his fear of what Enzo would do “Besides, I’ve been looking at Tori this whole night.” the curly haired man tried to fixate on the wild, brunette girl but he was so damn distracted by the way your hips were moving.

He blinked, then noticed you weren’t in your usual spot. He looked to his left and Enzo wasn’t there either.

Enzo guided you to the opposite side of the room, far from Mattheo. He didn’t want to ruin your mood by making you stay in your dorm the whole night, so this was the best solution he could come up with. “Enzz, why here? Everyone is over thereee.” you whined, pointing at your girl friends.

“I’ll bring them over here, I just noticed you were a little too close to the fireplace. I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He lied, ushering your friends to move to where you were. You sat on a stool, kicking your feet and giggling.

You were drunk but you weren’t stupid. “Wait I know why you moved me!” your body became hunched as you pointed your finger at him, “It’s because me and Mattheo have been eyeing each other this whole night!” you laughed.

Enzo pulled his head back, with a disgusted look on his face. “Wait, you’ve been looking at him too? Y/n, he’s my mate, that’s rank.” He looked to the fireplace and noticed Mattheo wasn’t there. “Do not move from that stool, got it?” your brother commanded, his arms slightly squeezing your shoulders.

He looked for Mattheo, then went to Theo and Blaise to ask if they’d seen him. They shrugged, not knowing where he’d went. His last resort was their dorm, and he spotted Mattheo on his bed.

“Have you lost the plot? She’s my sister!” Enzo exclaimed, looking at Mattheo. He avoided his gaze, feeling scared and guilty. “You know you have a reputation of sleeping with any girl that glances at you, so why the fuck would I be okay with you looking at her? She's off limits.” he spat.

Mattheo finally lifted his head to look at Enzo, “You’re one to talk Enz. That black book you’ve hid under your bed since year 5? Don’t think you’re innocent.”

“Oh, as if you haven’t written in that book either? Seriously, back off from y/n. Consider yourself lucky that you're getting away with this because I care for y/n and because you're my friend.” Enzo swiftly picks up his wand as he walks out of their dorm, slamming the door as hard as he can. The room shook, slightly scaring Mattheo.

Mattheo put his head in his hands and sighed. He really tried to be subtle, but it was rather unfortunate timing that Enzo caught him in the act.

Meanwhile, y/n trucked her way to the nearest trash bin to empty her guts. Unfortunately, she was so drunk out of her mind that she ended up puking in a pot. Pansy and Daphne rushed to hold her hair up and take care of her.

Theo and Blaise spotted Mattheo outside of their dorm and walked up to him to ask what happened. Mattheo paid no attention to them as he noticed you in your sickly state.

He moved past everybody, not caring if he spilled their drinks, he needed to get to you. "Y/n how much did you drink?" he asked, grabbing the nearest cup to fill it with water.

"Eughh, Mattheo don't even look at me, it's not a pretty sight." you managed to say between gags. You took a break, trying to catch your breath and calm yourself down. Your heart was beating at a rapid pace and there was small chunks of puke in your hair. Your neck was down while your hands found comfort in the cold, stone floor. The sight of you made him sober up.

"Here drink this, where is your brother? Isn't he supposed to take care of you?" he asked, anger searing through his voice. He was worried about you, he could care less if Enzo saw him with you again.

You didn't have the capacity to speak, only nodding and accepting the drink. You swished the water in your mouth and spat in the same pot to clean your mouth. You were taking deep, shaky breaths. The bass from the music playing was ringing in your ears. He ordered your friends to find Enzo while he took care of you.

Mattheo unzipped his hoodie and wrapped it over you to keep you warm. You could barely keep your eyes open. He guided you to a nearby couch, and you slumped over his shoulder. Daphne followed you guys and casted a cleaning charm on you, ridding you of any remnants of throw up.

He was in an uncomfortable position. After his argument with his best friend, he didn't want to further disrespect him. But, he couldn't just leave you like this alone or with your friends who were as drunk as you. He reluctantly put his arm over you, rubbing your back as you fell asleep in his arms.

As time went on, the party slowed down. People from different houses began to move back to their respective common room. Enzo was nowhere to be found. Mattheo was fighting sleep to watch over you but ultimately failed. He rested his head on top of yours and drifted to sleep.

~

The sunlight danced through the Black Lake, making the common room look peaceful. Enzo woke up from a hot flash in his bed. He scanned his dorm thoughtlessly, looking for any more soberup potions. He accounted for his roommates, except for his best friend.

Enzo sluggishly put on his oversized hoodie and sunglasses to find him. He didn’t think he overreacted last night, agreed that he could have done more. But he just wanted to make sure that Mattheo was safe. He exited his dorm and noted the lingering smell of alcohol and smoke. Enzo winced as the sound of his slippers made contact with the sticky floor. He looked around, saw a handful of students fast asleep and some waking up with a hangover.

Enzo walked to the left wing of the dorm and saw two figures passed out on a couch. He could easily recognize Mattheo, but he didn’t know the girl he was with as her hoodie covered her face. Enzo was relieved to find his friend safe and didn’t want to disturb his sleep. But curiosity got the better of him and he removed the girl’s hoodie only to identify you. Your brother was completely vexed. You were off limits and Mattheo knew that.

"It's like you don't listen." Enzo said, waking Mattheo up. You were knocked out. His eyes adjusted to Enzo, his heart sinking immediately. Enzo stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head in disappointment. "What the fuck did I say about leaving her alone?"

a/n: omg hi guys this is my first post!! i was way too shy to upload this because I was seriously doubting my writing skills. but the more you write, the more you improve. i hope you guys enjoyed the story, stay tuned for part two ♡