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julietsf1 · 5 days ago

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The Potion Project - Charles Leclerc x Reader (Harry Potter inspired)

summary: When a week-long potions project pairs two opposites, something starts brewing between them as well (12k words)

content: sweet Charles, cold reader, set at Hogwarts, who hired Gunther as a teacher? enemies to lovers

A/N: I'm entering my winter groove again and every year around this time I rewatch the HP movies & it got me feeling nostalgic guys!! with Charles being a big fan I just had to write something heehee :) I know he says he's Ravenclaw but I choose to ignore that

Franco fics soon! just doing some last proofreading

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The dungeons were colder than necessary. Not that it was unusual—I’d spent enough time in the Slytherin common room to acclimate—but there was something distinctly unpleasant about Potions. The damp air clung to the walls, steeped with the scent of overbrewed concoctions, the occasional waft of singed hair, and faint notes of despair.

Professor Steiner loomed at the front of the classroom like a storm cloud, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to breathe too loudly.

“Quiet!” he barked, his voice reverberating off the walls. Several students flinched, though Steiner’s theatrics were nothing new. “This is not a place for your idle chatter. This is my domain. You will respect it—or you will suffer!”

I stifled a sigh, adjusting my quill and parchment. Steiner was infamous for his dramatic speeches, though they were often more effective at frightening first-years than inspiring actual respect.

“Today,” he continued, his sharp accent cutting through the air, “we embark on a very special project. One that will test your patience, skill, and—most importantly—your ability to cooperate.”

I straightened slightly in my seat. It was never a good sign when Steiner emphasized words like patience or cooperate.

“This term,” he went on, “we will be brewing Amortentia.”

A ripple of excitement spread through the room. Amortentia: the most powerful love potion in existence. It was infamous for revealing one’s innermost desires through scent alone—a potion that required equal parts skill and trust to perfect.

“However,” Steiner added, silencing the murmurs with a sharp glare, “this is not merely an exercise in potion-making. This is an exercise in unity. You will be working with a partner from a different house.”

The murmurs returned, louder this time.

“Oh, Merlin,” Lando muttered beside me, leaning back in his chair with a theatrical groan. He was leaning so far back in his chair he might as well have been horizontal.

My usual partner in crime was a typical Slytherin: confident, smug, and disliked for the dumbest reasons. Although Lando himself had claimed his house allocation to be the result from ‘Slithering in every girl’s pants’. A remark I mocked him for at every chance I got, of course. Not that he was wrong, though.

“The potion is delicate,” Steiner continued, glaring at Max Verstappen, who was whispering something to Daniel Ricciardo across the aisle. “It requires precision. Focus. And most importantly—trust. Without these, it will fail spectacularly. Ja, you will fail spectacularly.”

“Now,” he said, pacing the front of the room, “I will announce your partners. Listen carefully—there will be no changes.”

The roll call began, each pairing met with a mixture of groans, laughter, and resigned sighs.

“Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar, a soft-spoken Ravenclaw, looked visibly distressed. Lando grinned, clearly planning some sort of mischief.

“Carlos Sainz and Alex Albon.”

Carlos, the ever strategising Ravenclaw, gave Alex a polite nod. Alex, the friendly Hufflepuff that he is, returned it with a vibrant smile.

“Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen.”

Max’s expression remained stoic, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Daniel, on the other hand, clapped Max on the back, loudly declaring, “This is going to be fantastic!”

“Fernando Alonso and Lance Stroll.”

The room collectively groaned. Of course. Two Slytherins working together defeated the entire point of inter-house cooperation, but neither Alonso nor Lance seemed remotely apologetic.

Lance’s dad was also a professor, but he always denied that having anything to do with his seemingly never-ending luck.

“George Russell and Ollie Bearman.”

Ollie, the youngest of the Hufflepuffs, looked ready to bolt. George, a Ravenclaw with an air of calm superiority, gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Lewis Hamilton and Franco Colapinto.”

Franco, ever the optimist, grinned at Lewis. The Gryffindor Seeker offered a polite nod in return, his demeanor radiating quiet dignity.

“Pierre Gasly and Valtteri Bottas.”

Valtteri, the epitome of Hufflepuff steadiness, seemed unfazed. Pierre, a flamboyant Gryffindor, raised an eyebrow as if already calculating the odds of success.

“And finally,” Steiner said, his gaze landing on me, “Y/N and Charles Leclerc.”

I froze.

Charles Leclerc—the golden boy of Hufflepuff. Cheerful, clumsy, and infuriatingly optimistic.

He turned around from his seat in the front of the class, flashing me a grin that made my blood boil.

I glared at him, already regretting every decision that had led me to this moment.

...

By the time class ended, the room had descended into controlled chaos. The sound of chairs scraping, glass clinking, and voices clashing filled the air as everyone began gathering their supplies and—predictably—arguing with their partners.

Charles, bless his Hufflepuff heart, had already made a mess. He reached for a jar of billywig stings on the shelf, fumbled it like it was a Quaffle, and sent it tumbling to the floor.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, bending down to pick it up—only to bump his head on the desk on the way up.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to be a disaster.

Across the room, Franco was chatting animatedly with Lewis, waving his hands so much I half-expected him to take off like a billywig himself.

“...and then there was this time during the Quidditch match when I nearly got hit by a Bludger, but I dodged it like—” Franco made an exaggerated dive motion, knocking a vial off the table. Lewis caught it effortlessly, his Gryffindor poise still intact.

“Focus,” Lewis said mildly, setting the vial back in place.

“Right, focus,” Franco said, clearly not planning to focus at all.

At the front of the room, Max and Daniel were already plotting, their voices carrying easily over the din.

“We’ll finish first,” Max declared confidently, his Slytherin arrogance practically radiating off him.

“Obviously,” Daniel replied, grinning. “We’re the dream team.”

“Be realistic, hermanos,” Carlos interjected as he passed, his Ravenclaw sensibilities clearly offended by their lack of a plan. “You haven’t even read the instructions.”

“We don’t need instructions,” Max said.

“That’s the motto of people who fail,” Carlos shot back, but Daniel just laughed and gave him a thumbs-up.

Beside me, Lando was enjoying himself far too much. He was leaning back in his chair, looking between me and Charles like he was watching the first act of a play.

“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” he said with a grin.

“I hate you,” I replied flatly.

“Don’t worry,” he added, clapping me on the shoulder like he was offering genuine comfort. “If you get desperate, just tell him the potion needs ‘a dash of love’ or something. Hufflepuffs eat that stuff up.”

“Don’t you have a Ravenclaw to terrorize?” I shot back, nodding toward Oscar, who was nervously rearranging his supplies like his life depended on it.

“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with him,” Lando said, his smirk widening. “He already looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. All I have to do is mislabel one ingredient and—poof—chaos.”

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

“Because you love me,” Lando said simply, leaning back again.

Meanwhile, Charles, who had managed to gather most of his spilled supplies, was now trying to stack several jars precariously on top of each other. The top one teetered dangerously, and I opened my mouth to stop him—but it was too late.

The jar crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

“Sorry!” Charles yelped again, looking genuinely distressed.

Lando snorted. “Seven nights,” he said, shaking his head. “Seven nights of this. How are you going to survive?”

“I’m not,” I muttered. “Just make sure the epitaph on my grave says Death by Hufflepuff.”

By the time we reached the Slytherin common room, my frustration had only deepened. The thought of spending seven nights with Charles Leclerc—cheerful, clumsy, maddening Charles—was enough to make my head ache.

Lando lounged on the sofa nearest the fireplace, looking every bit the self-assured Slytherin that he was. His legs were draped over the armrest, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and his smirk firmly in place.

“Well?” he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers. “How does it feel to be paired with Charles ‘Sunshine and Smiles’ Leclerc?”

“About as thrilling as you’d expect,” I replied, sinking into the armchair opposite him. “Can’t wait to spend my evenings watching him trip over cauldrons while giving me a lecture on the power of friendship.”

Lando snorted, clearly amused. “At least he’s nice.”

“That’s part of the problem,” I said, slumping further into the chair. “He’s too nice. It’s unsettling. Nobody is that cheerful without some ulterior motive.”

“Maybe his ulterior motive is making you less of a cynic,” Lando said with a grin.

“Maybe my ulterior motive is not hexing him before the week is over,” I shot back.

Lando chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “Come on, he can’t be that bad.”

“He dropped a jar twice before we even started,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Twice, Lando. That’s not just clumsiness—that’s a cry for help.”

“Maybe he was nervous,” Lando offered, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Why? Because I terrify him?”

“Because you terrify everyone,” he replied, laughing.

I grabbed one of the decorative cushions and threw it at him. Lando ducked, cackling as the cushion sailed harmlessly past him.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “If Charles is as hopeless as you say, what do you think his Amortentia will smell like?”

“Sunshine and sincerity,” I said instantly.

Lando blinked. “Sunshine? Sincerity?”

“Yes,” I replied, leaning forward in mock seriousness. “The man practically radiates it. He probably spends his free time rescuing injured animals and helping old witches cross the street. Honestly, he probably smells like freshly baked bread, lavender fields, and the satisfaction of knowing he’s a better person than the rest of us.”

Lando howled with laughter, clutching his stomach. “Lavender fields? Satisfaction? You’re killing me.”

“Am I wrong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Lando admitted, still chuckling. “But now I’m picturing him cradling a three-legged puppy while giving an inspirational speech.”

“Exactly,” I said, smirking. “The boy is too sweet and soft. It’s suspicious.”

“And here I thought you were being unfair,” Lando teased, shaking his head.

“Oh, I’m completely unfair,” I said lightly. “But you can’t tell me you don’t see it. He’s practically glowing.”

“Fair enough,” Lando said, still grinning. “What about Franco? What’s his going to smell like?”

“An older woman,” I replied without hesitation.

Lando froze for a second before dissolving into laughter. “Merlin’s beard, you’re right. Max and Franco, both of them. Older women everywhere, beware.”

I leaned back, considering. “Although, your potion might not be much better. Portuguese pastries, for sure.”

“What?” Lando exclaimed, sitting up slightly. “Pastel de nata?”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, nodding. “Which, let’s be honest, doesn’t narrow down your soulmate pool at all.”

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, covering his face with a cushion.

“Thank you,” I said sweetly.

Once Lando had recovered from his pastry-induced existential crisis, his expression turned mischievous again. “Alright, back to Charles. Do you think he’s already figured out what yours will smell like?”

I frowned. “Why would he care?”

“Oh, come on,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “It’s practically inevitable. You, with your sharp tongue and overwhelming perfection. Him, with his golden retriever energy and clumsy charm. By the end of the week, he’s going to be hopelessly in love with you.”

“If you don’t shut up,” I cut in, “I will hex you into next week.”

Lando grinned. “You won’t do it.”

“Try me,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“You’re just mad because I’m right,” he said smugly, leaning back again.

“I’m mad because you’re insufferable,” I shot back.

“Sure, sure,” he said, waving me off. “But when you’re proven wrong, I’ll be here. Ready to say ‘I told you so.’”

I reached for another cushion, but Lando had already leapt to his feet, laughing as he dodged out of range. “Goodnight, Y/N. Enjoy your sunshine and sincerity!”

“Goodnight, Lando,” I called after him, shaking my head.

The common room fell quiet after he left, save for the crackling fire and the occasional drip of water from the enchanted windows. I sank deeper into the armchair, letting my head fall back against the cushion.

Seven nights with Charles Leclerc. Seven nights of clumsiness, cheerful optimism, and broom polish.

This was going to be a long week.

…

The Potions classroom at night felt different. Quieter, somehow, but not in a peaceful way. The torches burned low, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls, and the faint scent of old ingredients hung in the air. I’d arrived early—not out of enthusiasm, but because I refused to let Charles Leclerc think I was the kind of person who was ever late.

The workspace I claimed was one of the better ones: a sturdy wooden table near the center of the room, far enough from the cauldron fumes of other students but close enough to Steiner’s desk to appear studious.

I began unpacking my supplies with the precision of someone who needed to keep their hands busy. Dried billywig stings, crushed moonstone, powdered asphodel—each vial was placed carefully in its designated spot.

“Y/N?”

I nearly dropped my stirring rod at the sound of his voice. Turning, I saw Charles standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light. He was holding a cauldron that seemed far too large for one person to manage, and the cheerful grin on his face was the exact opposite of how I felt about this entire situation.

“You’re early,” he said brightly, walking toward me with the kind of enthusiasm that could only come from a Hufflepuff.

“So are you,” I replied, already turning back to my supplies.

“Thought I’d get a head start,” he said, setting the cauldron down with a loud thud that made the glass jars on the table rattle.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to stay calm. “Great idea,” I muttered, rearranging the jars he’d displaced.

If Charles noticed my tone, he didn’t comment. Instead, he began unpacking his own supplies, humming softly to himself as he worked.

“What’s that?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“What’s what?”

“The humming,” I said, glancing at him.

“Oh,” he said, looking sheepish. “It’s a song my brother used to sing when he studied. Helps me focus.”

“Right,” I said flatly, returning to my vials.

There was a beat of silence, and then: “So, Y/N, what made you want to study Potions?”

I sighed, setting down my pestle. “Charles, do you think we can skip the small talk and just get to work?”

His expression faltered for a moment before he nodded. “Of course,” he said, his smile dimming slightly.

Good, I thought. This wasn’t a social event.

We’d been working for nearly twenty minutes when the first argument broke out.

“You’re stirring too fast,” I said, frowning at the potion as it bubbled furiously.

“I’m following the instructions,” Charles replied, his tone calm but tinged with exasperation.

“Clearly not,” I said, reaching for the spoon in his hand. “Here, let me—”

“Let me,” he interrupted, holding the spoon just out of my reach.

I glared at him. “Charles, the potion is about to curdle.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued, glancing at the cauldron. “It’s perfectly fine. You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” I repeated, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what happens when Amortentia curdles? Because I can assure you it’s not ‘perfectly fine.’”

Charles sighed, his shoulders sagging as he set the spoon down. “Why do you always assume I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Because you just spent the last five minutes stirring like you’re whisking pancake batter,” I snapped, gesturing at the cauldron.

“That’s rich coming from someone who spent half the session rearranging the ingredients instead of actually brewing the potion,” he shot back, his tone sharper than I’d expected.

I froze, narrowing my eyes at him. “I was organizing.”

“You were stalling,” he corrected, crossing his arms.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t trust me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less certain. “You’d rather do everything yourself than let me try.”

“That’s not true,” I said, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve been micromanaging me since the moment we started. At least give me a chance before you decide I’m hopeless.”

I stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Before I could respond, the potion hissed loudly, a plume of steam rising from the surface.

“What do we do now?” Charles asked, breaking the silence.

I sighed, grabbing the stirring rod. “We stabilize it. Slowly. Carefully. Without stirring like a maniac.”

The rest of the session passed in tense silence. Charles, to his credit, followed my instructions without complaint, though his earlier comment still grated on me.

By the time the potion had settled into a murky but manageable state, my patience was wearing thin.

“Well,” Charles said, stepping back from the cauldron, “it’s not perfect, but it’s not exploding either.”

“High praise,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a cloth.

He smiled faintly, his earlier cheerfulness tempered by caution. “Thanks for... guiding me,” he said, his voice careful.

I glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, I felt a flicker of guilt for being so curt with him earlier.

“Just... read the instructions more carefully next time,” I said, my voice softer than before.

“Got it,” he said, his grin returning in full force.

I rolled my eyes, but there was no real malice behind it.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” he said, gathering his supplies.

“Yeah,” I replied, watching as he left the room.

As the door closed behind him, I let out a long sigh. One night down, six to go.

The Potions classroom felt less eerie the second night, though it still carried the same oppressive silence that made the sound of footsteps echo louder than necessary. I arrived slightly later this time—not late enough to seem unprofessional, but enough to make it clear I wasn’t in a rush to be here.

Charles was already at the table when I walked in, his cauldron set up and his supplies meticulously organized. He looked up as I approached, offering a polite smile that I didn’t return.

“Evening,” he said, his voice cheerful as always.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I replied, pulling out my notes and setting them down with a bit more force than necessary.

Charles blinked at me but said nothing, turning his attention back to his cauldron. For a few blessed moments, the only sounds were the clinking of vials and the rustle of parchment as we prepared our workspace.

“What do you like most about Potions?” Charles asked after a beat, his tone light, as though he were trying to bridge a gap I hadn’t invited him to cross.

I didn’t look up from measuring the powdered asphodel. “I’m good at it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“It’s what you’re getting,” I replied curtly.

He chuckled softly, which only annoyed me further. “Alright, fair enough. I like Potions, too.”

“Congratulations,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“I think it’s interesting,” he continued, completely unfazed by my lack of enthusiasm. “How you can take things that seem ordinary on their own—like herbs or minerals—and combine them to make something extraordinary. It’s like magic within magic, you know?”

I didn’t bother responding.

“I’ve always been curious about how things work,” he went on, oblivious to my silence. “That’s part of why I like Quidditch, too. There’s so much strategy involved—reading the game, anticipating moves. It’s not just about flying fast.”

I hummed vaguely, hoping he’d take the hint and stop talking. He didn’t.

“I started playing when I was seven,” he said, his voice taking on a more personal tone. “My dad taught me. He wasn’t a professional or anything, but he loved the game. Growing up by the sea especially, my brothers and I lost so many snitches and Quaffles in the waves. But he would never be upset about it.”

I accidentally spilled a pinch of asphodel, gritting my teeth as I cleaned it up.

“Y/N?”

“What?” I snapped, looking up at him for the first time.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even listening.”

“I’m listening,” I said defensively.

“No, you’re pretending to listen,” he countered. “There’s a difference.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped short when I saw the look on his face. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Look,” I said finally, sighing. “I’m not here to make friends, okay? I’m here to get this potion done.”

Charles’s expression hardened. “Good,” he said sharply. “Because I’m not here to make friends either.”

The words caught me off guard, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Great,” I said, recovering quickly. “Then let’s focus on the potion and skip the personal anecdotes.”

“Fine by me,” he said, his tone colder than I’d ever heard it.

For a while, the only sound between us was the bubbling of the cauldron. The tension in the air was almost palpable, thick and suffocating.

We worked in silence for most of the session, our movements stiff and deliberate. Despite the awkwardness, there was something oddly productive about the lack of conversation. Without distractions, we managed to complete the first phase of the potion without any major disasters.

As I stirred the mixture carefully, I caught a glimpse of Charles out of the corner of my eye. He was focused, his brows furrowed in concentration as he measured out the powdered moonstone.

“You’re doing it wrong,” I said automatically, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Charles looked up, his expression blank. “Am I?”

“Yes,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re supposed to add it gradually, not all at once.”

“Right,” he said, adjusting his technique without argument.

The ease with which he accepted my criticism surprised me. I’d expected more resistance, another round of bickering. Instead, he just nodded and kept working, his movements precise and deliberate.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

“For what?” I asked, frowning.

“For correcting me,” he said simply. “I’d rather get it right than mess it up.”

I didn’t respond, turning my attention back to the cauldron. There was something disarming about the way he said it, his sincerity catching me off guard.

We finished the session without any further mishaps, the potion a shimmering shade of lilac by the end of it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step in the right direction.

As we cleaned up, the tension between us felt slightly less suffocating, though it wasn’t exactly gone.

“See you tomorrow,” Charles said as he packed up his supplies, his tone polite but distant.

“Yeah,” I replied, watching as he walked toward the door.

For a moment, I considered saying something—an apology, maybe, or a thank you. But the words caught in my throat, and by the time I found the courage to speak, the door had already closed behind him.

I sighed, turning back to simmering cauldron. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

By the time I arrived at the Potions classroom for the third night, I had resigned myself to another evening of tense silence and forced cooperation. The heavy wooden door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, the familiar smell of ingredients and old stone greeting me as I stepped inside.

Charles was already there, of course. Punctuality seemed to be his specialty, along with a perpetual optimism that bordered on exhausting. But tonight, something was different.

“Evening,” he said, looking up from the table with a smile. In front of him sat not just the usual arrangement of potion supplies but two steaming cups of tea.

I hesitated in the doorway, frowning. “What’s that?”

“Tea,” he said simply, gesturing to the cups. “I thought it might make things... less awful.”

“Less awful,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I figured if we’re going to be stuck working together all week, we might as well try to make it tolerable,” he explained, pushing one of the cups toward me.

I stared at him for a moment, torn between suspicion and reluctant appreciation. Finally, I sighed and took the cup, the warmth spreading through my hands as I wrapped my fingers around it.

“Thanks,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice soft but sincere.

I took a cautious sip, the rich, slightly floral flavor surprising me. It was good—annoyingly good.

“Didn’t peg you as a tea enthusiast,” I said, setting the cup down.

Charles shrugged, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m full of surprises.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and turned my attention to the cauldron instead.

The session started smoother than the previous two, the tea serving as an unspoken truce between us. Charles seemed more at ease, his movements less tentative as he worked beside me.

“You’re adding too much powdered asphodel,” I said, glancing at his measuring spoon.

Charles paused, holding the spoon over the cauldron. “How much should I add, then?”

“Three pinches, not four,” I replied, my tone less sharp than usual.

He adjusted the amount without complaint, carefully sprinkling the powder into the potion.

“Better?” he asked, looking at me for confirmation.

“Better,” I admitted grudgingly.

Charles smiled, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed how his green eyes caught the torchlight, the flecks of gold in them almost shimmering. I quickly looked away, focusing on the potion.

We worked in relative harmony for the next hour, the bubbling of the cauldron filling the silence between us. It was almost... pleasant. Not that I’d admit it out loud.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Charles said after a while, breaking the silence.

“Is that a complaint?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” he replied, his grin returning. “Just an observation. You’re usually telling me everything I’m doing wrong by now.”

“I’m trying something new,” I said dryly. “It’s called patience.”

“Impressive,” he said, laughing softly.

“Don’t get used to it,” I warned, though my tone lacked its usual bite.

Charles chuckled again, the sound warm and unassuming.

As the session continued, I found myself watching him more closely—not in judgment, but in curiosity. There was a quiet determination to the way he worked, his focus unwavering as he carefully measured ingredients and stirred the potion with practiced precision.

His hair, dark and slightly tousled, fell into his eyes as he leaned over the cauldron, and he brushed it back absentmindedly with his fingers. There was something almost... endearing about the way he frowned in concentration, his brow furrowed just enough to give him a boyish charm.

“Y/N?”

I blinked, realizing he’d caught me staring. “What?”

“You’re doing it again,” he said, smirking.

“Doing what?”

“Hovering,” he said, his tone teasing.

“I’m supervising,” I corrected, crossing my arms.

“Right,” he said, his smirk widening. “Supervising.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

By the time we finished, the potion was a shimmering, pearly white—a marked improvement from the murky disaster of the first night.

“Not bad,” Charles said, stepping back to admire our work.

“Could be better,” I replied, though there was no real venom in my words.

“We’ll get there,” he said confidently, wiping his hands on a cloth.

His optimism was still maddening, but I had to admit it was slightly less grating than before.

As we packed up, the tension between us felt noticeably lighter.

“See you tomorrow,” Charles said, offering me another one of his infuriatingly sincere smiles.

“Yeah,” I replied, picking up my bag.

I paused in the doorway, glancing back at him one last time. There was something about the way he stood there—his posture relaxed but attentive, his green eyes bright with that unrelenting earnestness—that made me hesitate.

“Thanks for the tea,” I said quietly.

Charles’s smile widened, and for a moment, I almost felt like smiling back. Almost.

“Anytime,” he said.

I turned and walked out before he could say anything else, the warmth of the tea lingering in my hands—and, annoyingly, in my thoughts.

…

Breakfast in the Great Hall was one of my favorite parts of the day. It wasn’t just the food—though the enchanted platters that replenished themselves with warm toast, flaky pastries, and perfectly brewed coffee certainly didn’t hurt. It was the calm before the chaos, a brief window where the day hadn’t yet demanded anything of you.

This morning, however, I found myself unusually distracted.

“Earth to Y/N.”

I blinked, realizing Lando was waving a piece of bacon in front of my face.

“What?” I snapped, swatting his hand away.

“You’ve been staring into space for the last five minutes,” he said, smirking. “What’s got you so lost in thought? Don’t tell me it’s Leclerc.”

“Of course not,” I said quickly, a little too quickly.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, sure. So you weren’t just thinking about how you two are best friends now?”

“We are not best friends,” I said firmly, stabbing a piece of sausage with my fork for emphasis.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve stopped complaining about him, for one thing.”

“That’s because we’ve figured out how to work together,” I said, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

“Oh, you’ve ‘figured out’ how to work together,” Lando said, grinning. “That’s code for you’re warming up to him.”

“I am not warming up to him,” I insisted, though my cheeks felt uncomfortably warm.

“Denial is a powerful thing,” Lando said, taking a sip of his coffee with the kind of exaggerated smugness that made me want to throw something at him.

Further down the table, a lively conversation among our friends caught my attention.

“So, Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor today,” Carlos said, his Ravenclaw demeanor calm but his tone betraying a flicker of curiosity.

“Easy win for Gryffindor,” Franco chimed in, his Hufflepuff scarf loosely draped over his neck. “Leclerc might be good, but the rest of the team’s a mess.”

“Oh, come on,” Alex said, his loyalty as a Hufflepuff evident. “We’re not that bad.”

Max, seated beside Daniel, leaned back with a wicked grin. “I can’t wait to see Gryffindor lose to the worst sports team in the castle.”

Daniel snorted, nudging Max with his elbow. “You’re just bitter because we won last week.”

“I’m not bitter,” Max said, feigning innocence. “I’m just realistic. Hufflepuff’s overdue for a win, and what better team to beat than Gryffindor?”

George, always the voice of reason, raised an eyebrow. “You’re placing your bets on Hufflepuff? You have considered their statistics?”

“Not a bet,” Max said smugly. “It’s more of a prediction. Just wait—you’ll see.”

Daniel shook his head, laughing. “You’re lucky I don’t take offense, Maximilian.”

“Lucky,” Max said, grinning.

The banter continued, but I tuned out as I turned back to Lando, who was watching me with an annoyingly knowing expression.

“What now?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, smirking. “Just wondering if you’re going to make it through the match without swooning.”

I glared at him. “I am not going to swoon.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, grinning.

By the time we reached the Quidditch pitch, the stands were already buzzing with excitement. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff banners waved proudly in the breeze, their house colors painting the crowd in shades of red and gold, yellow and black.

Lando led the way to a spot near the middle of the stands, his Slytherin scarf draped loosely around his neck.

“You’re unusually enthusiastic about this,” I said as we sat down.

“I’m here for the drama,” he said, grinning. “And to watch you squirm every time Leclerc does something impressive.”

“I’m not going to squirm,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Sure, sure,” he said, smirking.

The match began with a sharp whistle from Madam Hooch, the players taking to the air in a blur of motion. The Gryffindor team, as expected, played aggressively, their Chasers weaving through the Hufflepuff defense with practiced ease.

But Hufflepuff held their ground, their Keeper deflecting shot after shot with remarkable precision.

Then there was Charles.

As Seeker, his role was less flashy but no less crucial. He moved with a quiet confidence, his sharp green eyes scanning the pitch as he hovered above the chaos. His dark hair was windswept from the speed, and there was a focus in his expression that I hadn’t noticed before—not the cheerful optimism I’d grown accustomed to, but something sharper, more intense.

“He’s good,” Lando said, nudging me with his elbow.

I ignored him, though I couldn’t deny the truth of his statement.

The game dragged on, neither team managing to pull too far ahead. The score was tight, and the tension in the air was palpable as the Snitch finally appeared, darting across the pitch in a blur of gold.

Charles spotted it immediately.

He shot forward like a bolt of lightning, his broom slicing through the air with precision. The Gryffindor Seeker, hot on his heels, was faster, but Charles was smarter, his movements calculated as he anticipated the Snitch’s erratic flight path.

I found myself leaning forward in my seat, my heart pounding as the two Seekers closed in.

Then, in a move so daring it made the crowd gasp, Charles dove.

It was reckless, almost suicidal, the kind of dive that could end in disaster if his timing was even a fraction off. But he didn’t hesitate.

His fingers closed around the Snitch just inches from the ground, and the stadium erupted into cheers as the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match.

Lando turned to me, his smirk practically splitting his face. “And there it is.”

“There what is?” I asked, tearing my gaze away from the pitch.

“You,” he said, pointing at me. “Blushing.”

“I am not blushing,” I said, though my cheeks betrayed me.

“Sure, sure,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Just admit it—you’re impressed.”

I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the way my heart was still racing. “He’s fine, I guess.”

“Fine,” Lando repeated, laughing. “You were practically holding your breath during that dive.”

“Was not,” I muttered, though the words sounded unconvincing even to me.

“Whatever you say,” Lando said, grinning.

As the crowd began to disperse, I caught one last glimpse of Charles on the pitch, his teammates surrounding him in celebration. There was a faint smile on his face, not the broad, toothy grin I’d expected, but something quieter, more satisfied.

I shook my head, tearing my gaze away.

It was just Quidditch. Nothing more.

…

I arrived at the Potions classroom that evening with a small package tucked under my arm. It wasn’t like me to make peace offerings, especially not for something as trivial as a strained group project, but the nagging sense of guilt from Charles bringing tea the previous night had finally gotten to me.

If I was being honest, it wasn’t just guilt. It was the faint, begrudging realization that maybe Charles deserved a little credit for his effort. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he was trying.

The classroom was quiet when I walked in, the soft flicker of torchlight illuminating Charles already at our table. His head was bent over his cauldron, his dark hair slightly tousled, and the flicker of concentration on his face gave him an uncharacteristic air of seriousness.

“Evening,” I said, setting my bag down with a thud.

Charles looked up, his green eyes brightening when he saw me. “Evening,” he replied, his usual cheerfulness returning instantly. His gaze flickered to the package in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Cookies,” I said, sliding the package across the table toward him. “Consider it a peace offering.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and a grin spread across his face. “A peace offering? From you? Should I be worried?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate them,” I said, smirking.

He chuckled, opening the package and examining the contents. “These look incredible. Did you make them?”

“Obviously,” I replied. “Do you think I’d trust the house-elves to get the seasoning right?”

Charles laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the quiet space. “Well, thank you. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said, trying not to let his sincerity catch me off guard. “Literally. Don’t mention it. To anyone.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As the potion bubbled steadily, we found ourselves settling into an unexpectedly smooth rhythm, each of us quietly handling our assigned tasks.

“You know,” Charles said after a while, glancing at the shimmering surface of the potion, “this is almost... peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I think you mean tolerable.”

He laughed softly, adding a careful pinch of powdered moonstone to the cauldron. “Fine, tolerable. But admit it—you’re not having the worst time.”

“That’s a low bar,” I shot back, though my tone was more teasing than sharp.

Charles grinned, glancing at me as he stirred. “You’ve got a pretty high standard for everything, don’t you?”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Not at all,” he said quickly. “It’s just... intense.”

“Intense?” I repeated, mock-offended. “Says the guy who just called potion-making ‘peaceful.’”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Okay, fair point. But don’t you ever just... let things go?”

I stared at him. “Let things go? During a project? Absolutely not. That’s how you end up with an exploding cauldron.”

“Exploding cauldrons aside,” he said, still smiling, “I’m serious. Do you always approach life like it’s a competition?”

“Only when I feel like winning,” I said with a smirk.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “And you always feel like winning, I suppose?”

“See, you get it,” I said, gesturing to the potion.

He snickered, his green eyes bright with amusement. “You know, for someone so competitive, you’re surprisingly good company.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said quickly. “It’s just, you’re a bit... sharp at first.”

“Sharp,” I repeated, my tone flat.

“Sharp in a good way,” he added hastily. “Like a really good knife. Useful but intimidating.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “That’s the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Well, it’s true,” he said, grinning. “You’re efficient, you know what you’re doing, and you don’t tolerate nonsense. It’s... refreshing.”

“Refreshing,” I said, my voice tinged with disbelief. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when I’m trying to make someone smile,” he said, his tone surprisingly genuine.

I glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

The conversation continued in that vein, shifting from light teasing to random topics.

By the end of the session, the potion was a shimmering, pearly white, its consistency smooth and flawless.

“Well,” Charles said, stepping back to admire the cauldron, “we didn’t blow anything up. I’d call that a win.”

“Low standards,” I said, though there was no real bite to my words.

He smiled at me, his green eyes softening. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

I didn’t respond immediately, my gaze flickering to the potion. “I guess we’re... okay,” I said finally, smirking.

“High praise,” he said, laughing.

…

I pushed open the heavy door to the Potions classroom, my steps measured but deliberate. My bag hung loosely from my shoulder, the weight of the day pulling at me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I wasn’t stomping or slamming things, but the tension in my posture probably gave me away.

Charles was already at the table, as usual, his supplies perfectly laid out. He glanced up as I approached, his face brightening briefly before his brows knitted together.

“Evening,” he said carefully. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” I replied, setting my bag down a little too heavily.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push the matter.

The silence stretched between us as we began to unpack our supplies. I tried to focus on the potion, the familiar rhythm of measuring and stirring usually soothing. But tonight, it wasn’t enough to drown out Lance’s voice echoing in my head.

“Slytherin girls are all the same—good at charming their way to the top but not much else.”

The comment had been thrown so casually, like it wasn’t meant to sting. But it had, even though I hated admitting it.

I grabbed a vial of powdered moonstone, twisting the lid off with more force than necessary.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Charles asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, though the sharpness in my tone betrayed me.

“Y/N,” he said gently, setting down his stirring rod. “Talk to me.”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “It’s nothing important.”

“If it’s bothering you, it’s important,” he said, his tone softer now.

I glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

Finally, I sighed. “Lance said something stupid. That’s all.”

Charles frowned, his easygoing demeanor shifting slightly. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, focusing on the potion.

“Y/N,” he said again, his tone firmer now.

I glanced at him, surprised by the intensity in his green eyes. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“He made some stupid comment about Slytherin girls,” I admitted finally, setting down the vial. “Said we only get ahead because we know how to ‘charm’ people.”

Charles’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening slightly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” I asked, forcing a laugh that sounded more bitter than amused. “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.”

“Then they’re all idiots,” Charles said firmly, his voice low but steady.

I blinked, caught off guard by the heat in his words.

“You work harder than anyone I know,” he continued, his green eyes locking onto mine. “If Lance or anyone else can’t see that, that’s their problem—not yours.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Charles nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You shouldn’t let people like him get to you. They’re not worth it.”

I managed a small smile, though the knot in my chest hadn’t entirely unraveled.

“Come on,” he said, straightening. “Let’s get out of here.”

I frowned. “What?”

“The potion’s fine,” he said, gesturing to the cauldron. “You need a break. Let’s go for a walk.”

I hesitated, glancing between him and the table. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his green eyes meeting mine.

Something about the quiet conviction in his voice made it impossible to argue.

The Astronomy Tower was quiet and still, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we stepped onto the open platform. The stars stretched endlessly above us, their light reflecting off the grounds below in a soft, silvery glow.

Charles leaned against the stone railing, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Better?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, my voice softer now.

He turned to look at me, his expression warm but serious. “Lance doesn’t define you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

I blinked, startled by the conviction in his voice.

“You’re one of the smartest, most capable people I’ve met,” he continued, his green eyes steady. “If he can’t see that, that’s his loss.”

There was a sincerity in his words that caught me off guard, making my chest feel uncomfortably tight.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, leaning against the railing beside him.

Charles smiled, the kind of smile that was small but genuine, like he didn’t need to say anything else.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward but peaceful, the kind that made you feel like words weren’t necessary.

As I glanced at Charles, I found myself noticing things I hadn’t before. The way his dark hair caught the moonlight, the soft curls brushing against his forehead. The faint dimple in his cheek when he smiled, even slightly. His green eyes, so vibrant in the dim light, seemed to reflect the stars above us.

He looked... different up here. Softer, somehow, but steady in a way that made me feel grounded.

I quickly looked away, focusing on the stars instead.

“You like stargazing?” he asked after a while, his voice low.

“Sometimes,” I admitted, my gaze still on the sky.

“It’s calming, isn’t it?” he said, leaning back slightly. “Makes everything else seem... smaller.”

I nodded, surprised by how much I agreed.

“I used to come up here all the time,” he said, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “Whenever I felt overwhelmed, this was my escape.”

“Overwhelmed?” I asked, glancing at him.

He smiled faintly, his gaze still on the stars. “Everyone expects you to be a certain way, you know? Happy, perfect, always doing the right thing. Sometimes it’s... a lot.”

I watched him quietly, his words hitting closer to home than I’d expected.

“But then I’d come up here, bring my favorite pizza,” he continued, his voice softer now. “And none of it mattered. It was just me and the stars.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

“That’s... nice,” I said finally, my voice quieter than before.

Charles turned to look at me, his expression thoughtful. “It is.”

The way he looked at me then, steady and unwavering, made something twist in my chest. It wasn’t the usual irritation I felt around him—this was something quieter, harder to define.

We stayed on the Astronomy Tower longer than I’d expected, our conversation drifting to lighter topics as the tension from earlier melted away.

When we finally made our way back to the dungeons, I felt... a little happy?

“Thanks for the walk,” I said as we reached the door to the common areas.

Charles smiled, his green eyes warm. “Anytime.”

As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something unfamiliar in my stomach, as a sheepish smile appeared on my face.

��

When I walked into the Potions classroom, Charles was already there, hunched over the cauldron with his usual air of concentration. The dim torchlight flickered across his face, casting shadows along the sharp line of his jaw. He looked up as I entered, his green eyes catching the light in a way that was unfairly distracting.

“Right on time,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Were you waiting outside, counting down the minutes to see me?”

I dropped my bag onto the table with a soft thud, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Leclerc. I was contemplating skipping entirely.”

Charles chuckled, standing upright and brushing his hands together. “And miss our bonding time? That would’ve been tragic.”

“Bonding time?” I repeated, crossing my arms. “Is that what you call this?”

“Absolutely,” he said, grinning.

“Sure it is,” I said, smirking as I pulled out my notes. “Don’t mess up my grade, Leclerc.”

“I can do both,” he shot back, leaning casually against the table. “You’re just jealous because I make this look easy.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Easy? You’re the only person I’ve seen spill powdered moonstone twice in one session.”

“I prefer to call that... experimental flair,” he said giving me a wink.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I said, rolling my eyes, grinning wide.

We settled into a rhythm as we worked, the potion bubbling steadily between us. Charles had a way of working that was simultaneously precise and frustrating, his movements deliberate but occasionally overthought.

“You know,” I said, watching him carefully measure out the Essence of Belladonna, “you don’t have to treat every ingredient like it’s a baby bird. You can be a little faster.”

“Fast doesn’t always mean better,” he replied, glancing at me with a pointed look. “Sometimes patience pays off.”

“Or sometimes you’re just stalling because you don’t know what you’re doing,” I countered, smirking.

He laughed, shaking his head. “And here I thought you were finally being nicer to me.”

“Nice?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Who said anything about that?”

“Come on,” he said, grinning. “You’re not nearly as mean to me as you used to be. Admit it—you’re starting to like me.”

I pretended to think for a moment. “I wouldn’t go that far. Tolerate, maybe.”

Charles laughed, the sound low and warm. “Admit it—I’m growing on you.”

“Like a particularly stubborn weed,” I said, smirking.

“Hey, weeds are resilient,” he said, grinning. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

By the time we finished, the potion shimmered with a pearly brilliance, the final stage completed without a single mishap.

“Not bad,” I said, leaning back slightly to admire our work.

“You mean brilliant,” Charles corrected, his tone light.

“Fine,” I said, smirking. “Brilliant. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, his green eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled.

We packed up in companionable silence, the tension that had once defined our sessions now replaced by something easier, almost... comfortable.

As I reached for my bag, I caught Charles watching me, his expression unreadable.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his grin returning. “Just wondering if you’ve always been this stubborn or if it’s just me.”

“Definitely just you,” I said, smirking as I slung my bag over my shoulder.

“Good to know,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing.

I lingered for a moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between us.

“Goodnight, Leclerc,” I said finally, breaking the silence.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied, his voice steady.

…

Charles and I were among the first to arrive, our cauldron resting on the designated table in front of Professor Steiner’s desk.

“Everything set?” Charles asked, glancing at me.

“Of course,” I replied, crossing my arms. “We’re the first ones here, aren’t we?”

“Just making sure,” he said, his grin soft and easy. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the chance to impress Steiner with your flawless execution.”

“Our flawless execution,” I corrected, smirking. “Try to keep up, Leclerc.”

“Glad to see you’re giving me credit now,” he replied, laughing softly.

As the classroom began to fill, familiar voices drifted through the air, weaving a tapestry of conversations.

“Alex, you’re going to spill that—”

“Relax, Carlos,” Alex replied, balancing their cauldron precariously as they set it down. “It’s fine. Look—steady as a broomstick.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Carlos muttered, shaking his head.

“You think Steiner’s going to notice?” Max asked, eyeing their potion skeptically.

“Notice what?” Daniel replied innocently.

“The fact that it looks like swamp water,” Max said, smirking.

“Swamp chic,” Daniel said with a grin. “It’s ahead of its time.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Lando and Oscar setting up their station, Lando leaning lazily against the table while Oscar meticulously checked their notes.

“You’re doing great, mate,” Lando said, smirking. “Really carrying the team here.”

“You could at least pretend to help,” Oscar replied, shooting him a look.

“I’m supporting from the sidelines,” Lando said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes at their antics, turning my attention back to our potion.

“Alright,” Steiner began, his gravelly voice carrying over the room. “Let’s see how many of you managed to brew something that won’t explode.”

One by one, the pairs presented their potions, each receiving varying degrees of praise and critique.

Finally, it was our turn. Charles and I carefully carried our cauldron to the front, the pearly potion shimmering under the torchlight.

“Ah,” Steiner said, leaning closer to inspect it. “Now this... this is promising.”

Charles glanced at me, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

“Beautiful consistency,” Steiner continued. “No residue, perfect color, no burns on the cauldron. Very good work.”

I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride as Steiner turned to us expectantly. “And the scent?”

Charles stepped forward first, leaning over the cauldron to inhale deeply. His expression shifted slightly, his brows furrowing as if he was processing something unexpected.

“It’s... interesting,” he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful.

Steiner raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

Charles straightened, a faint, almost playful smile on his lips. “No. I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

The room stirred with quiet amusement, a few pairs exchanging curious glances.

Steiner turned to me. “And you, Miss Y/N?”

I hesitated before stepping forward, leaning over the cauldron. The scent was immediate, wrapping around me like a memory I couldn’t quite place. Saltwater, crisp and sharp, like standing at the edge of a windswept cliff. Beneath it, there was the faint, warm aroma of polished wood, something sturdy and grounding. And finally, a subtle hint of... pizza margherita?

I straightened, my heart thudding softly in my chest.

“Well?” Steiner asked, his tone expectant.

“It’s... balanced,” I said carefully, keeping my voice steady. “Very harmonious.”

Steiner nodded, looking satisfied. “As it should be. Well done, both of you.”

Charles gave me a small nudge as we carried the cauldron back to our table. “Balanced and harmonious, huh?” he whispered.

“What can I say?” I replied, smirking. “I’m good with words.”

As we sat down, the other pairs finished their presentations.

“I’m just saying, it could’ve been worse,” Daniel said as he and Max returned to their seats.

“How?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow. “How could it possibly be worse?”

“Could’ve caught fire,” Daniel replied with a grin.

Lando and Oscar were next, their cauldron emitting a faint but odd scent as Steiner leaned over it.

“Well,” Steiner said after a moment, “it’s certainly... unique.”

“See?” Lando said, clapping Oscar on the back. “Unique. Told you it was brilliant.”

Oscar sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath.

As the session ended and students began to leave, Charles lingered at our table, packing up his supplies with his usual care.

“What did you smell?” I asked suddenly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Charles glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Why? Curious?”

“Just wondering,” I said, trying to sound casual.

He smiled faintly, his green eyes catching the torchlight. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

I hesitated, quickly looking away. “Never mind.”

Charles laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “Suit yourself.”

As we walked out of the classroom, his words lingered in my mind, mingling with the memory of the scent I couldn’t quite shake.

Ocean. Polished wood. Pizza margherita.

It was unmistakable. It was him.

…

The Slytherin common room was quiet, the kind of rare silence that felt stolen rather than earned. I sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the fire, letting the green-tinted flames flicker patterns across the walls. The day had been long, but I was finally alone with my thoughts—unfortunately, those thoughts had been annoyingly preoccupied with one person.

I should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

The door slammed open, and I didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Lando’s footsteps were as distinctive as his personality—loud, unapologetic, and just the right amount of chaotic.

“Well, if it isn’t Madame Amortentia herself,” he announced, throwing himself into the chair across from me.

I sighed, not even bothering to look up. “Do you ever knock?”

“On a common room?” he replied, feigning shock. “What do you think I am? A bloody Hufflepuff?”

“Don’t let Charles hear you say that,” I muttered.

“Oh, so we’re talking about Charles now,” Lando said, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.

I immediately regretted opening my mouth. “What do you want, Lando?”

“To know what you smelled, darling! Can’t believe you haven’t told me yet,” he said, grinning.

I blinked at him. “What?”

“The potion,” he said, his grin widening. “The Amortentia. What did you smell?”

“I thought you were in the room,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“I was,” he replied, shrugging. “But Steiner didn’t exactly announce your deepest secrets to the class, did he? So, what was it?”

I hesitated, knowing full well that any answer would only add fuel to the fire.

“Nothing important,” I said finally, turning my gaze back to the flames.

“Nothing important?” Lando repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Y/N, it’s Amortentia. It’s literally the most important thing.”

“Not to me,” I said firmly.

“You’re such a liar,” he said, laughing. “Come on, tell me. I won’t judge.”

“You will absolutely judge,” I replied, glaring at him.

“Fair,” he said, smirking. “But I’ll keep it to myself. Scout’s honor.”

“You’ve never been a Scout,” I muttered.

“Semantics,” he said, waving a hand. “Now, spill.”

I sighed, knowing there was no escaping him. “Fine. It was... saltwater. And wood. And pizza margherita.”

Lando stared at me for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Pizza margherita?” he repeated, clutching his sides. “Are you serious?”

I rolled my eyes. “You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“I lied,” he said between fits of laughter. “That is the most ridiculous combination I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“But wait,” he said, sitting up suddenly, his grin turning wicked. “Saltwater? Wood? Pizza? That’s Leclerc, isn’t it?”

My stomach twisted, but I kept my face neutral. “It could mean anything.”

“Sure,” Lando said, smirking. “Anything like... broomsticks, the ocean, and the one guy who eats pizza at every Hogsmeade visit?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I insisted, my voice rising slightly.

“Oh, it means everything,” Lando said, leaning forward. “You’re done for. Absolutely smitten.”

“I am not smitten,” I snapped.

“You’re blushing,” he pointed out gleefully.

“I am not blushing,” I said, though my cheeks betrayed me.

“Y/N,” he said, grinning. “This is amazing. You, the untouchable, too-cool-for-anyone Slytherin, has a crush on a Hufflepuff.”

“Say that louder,” I said sarcastically, glaring at him. “I don’t think the first-years in the dungeon heard you.”

“Admit it,” he said, crossing his arms. “You like him.”

I stared at him for a long moment, the words forming on my tongue before I could stop them. “Fine,” I said quietly. “Maybe I do.”

Lando’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was actually speechless.

“Wait, really?” he said finally, his grin returning. “This is even better than I thought.”

“Lando, I swear—”

“No, no, this is great,” he said, cutting me off. “You’ve got to tell him.”

“Absolutely not,” I said quickly.

“Why not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Because it’s ridiculous,” I said. “And it’s none of his business.”

“It’s literally all of his business,” Lando said, grinning. “You smelled him in a love potion. That’s fate.”

“Fate doesn’t smell like pizza,” I muttered.

Lando laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. “Oh, this is too good.”

I buried my face in my hands, groaning. “Why are we friends?”

“Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth,” he said, his voice still tinged with laughter.

“And what’s the truth, then?” I asked, glaring at him through my fingers.

“That you like Charles,” he said simply. “And he probably likes you, too.”

My stomach did a little flip. The words hung in the air, heavier than I’d expected. I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the silence.

“You should do something about it,” Lando said after a moment, his tone softer now.

“Like what?” I asked, my voice quieter.

“We need a party,” he said, grinning again. “And we invite him.”

…

The Slytherin common room was a cacophony of sound and motion, transformed into a celebration only Lando could orchestrate. The green-tinted lanterns overhead flickered in rhythm with the enchanted music, casting shimmering shadows across the stone walls. Snacks, drinks, and laughter filled the room, the air thick with the smoky tang of firewhiskey and the faint warmth of burning candles.

I stood near the snack table, nursing a glass of firewhiskey that burned pleasantly as it went down. The heat steadied me—something I desperately needed tonight.

Lando, of course, was everywhere. He flitted between groups like the chaos incarnate he was, occasionally pausing to throw me an annoyingly knowing look. I ignored him, focusing instead on the flickering green flames of the fireplace.

“This is your party, you know,” Lando said suddenly, appearing at my side as if summoned by my irritation.

“It’s not my party,” I replied, not looking up from my drink.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he said, smirking. “Top marks in Potions, the best Amortentia the class has ever seen, and the most interesting guest list Slytherin’s hosted in years? You should be thanking me.”

“For what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Making my life harder?”

“For making it interesting,” he replied smoothly.

I sighed, taking another sip. Before I could respond, the crowd stirred, and I glanced up instinctively.

Charles had arrived.

He stood in the doorway, scanning the room with a tentative smile. He wasn’t in his uniform tonight, and the change hit me harder than I expected. A dark sweater clung to his frame, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms, and his hair—perfectly messy—framed his face in a way that made his green eyes seem even brighter.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, looking away quickly.

Lando, of course, noticed immediately. “Well, well, well,” he said, his grin practically glowing. “If it isn’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—”

Lando cut me off with a dramatic wave. “Oi, Charles! Over here!”

I barely resisted the urge to throttle him as Charles’s gaze landed on us. His smile widened slightly, and he began making his way over.

“Stop it,” I hissed, glaring at Lando.

“I’m just helping,” he said, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

Charles reached the snack table, his easy grin lighting up the space. “Y/N,” he said warmly. “This is... impressive.”

“Lando’s idea,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes on my glass.

“Well, he did a good job,” Charles said, his voice light.

I nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

Charles tilted his head, his brows knitting slightly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, the words escaping too quickly to sound believable.

“You sure?” he asked, his tone softening.

“Positive,” I said, finally forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but nodded. “Alright, if you say so.”

As he turned to join Alex and Carlos near the fireplace, I exhaled sharply and took another sip of firewhiskey.

“That,” Lando said, appearing at my side like a smug apparition, “was embarrassing.”

I glared at him. “Go away.”

“Not a chance,” he said, grinning. “You’re making this too fun.”

Charles didn’t stay in one place for long. He moved through the room with a quiet ease, pausing to chat with everyone he passed. I tried to focus on anything else, but my eyes kept drifting toward him—his laugh, his smile, the way he leaned casually against the fireplace like he belonged there.

“You know,” Lando said, sidling up to me again, “you could just talk to him.”

“I talk to him all the time,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“Not like that,” Lando said, smirking. “I mean really talk to him. You know, like a human.”

“I am human,” I snapped.

“Debatable,” he said, stealing a sip from my glass.

I snatched it back, glaring at him. “Lando, leave it alone.”

“Never,” he said cheerfully. “Especially not when it’s this obvious.”

“It’s not obvious,” I said, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

“Oh, it is,” he said, smirking. “And honestly? You’re lucky he hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured what out?” Max asked, appearing out of nowhere with a plate of biscuits.

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

“Y/N’s tragic love story,” Lando replied smoothly.

I shot him a murderous look. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, grinning.

The night wore on, the common room growing louder as the firewhiskey flowed more freely. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t avoid Charles forever. Every time I turned around, he was there—talking with Alex, laughing with Daniel, or glancing in my direction when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Lando, of course, continued to stir the pot.

“Y/N, Charles is looking for you,” he said loudly as I passed him on the way to the snack table.

“He is not,” I hissed, my cheeks flushing.

“Oh, but he is,” Lando said, smirking. “And you should probably do something about it before he gives up.”

“I’ll do something about you,” I muttered, grabbing another glass of firewhiskey.

Finally, as the night began to wind down, Charles approached me again.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice warm.

I nodded, swirling the firewhiskey in my glass. “You?”

“It’s been nice,” he said, leaning casually against the table. “Good company.”

I smiled faintly, the warmth of the drink loosening my nerves. “Lando’s idea of a party is always... chaotic.”

“Chaotic, but fun,” he said, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “Kind of like him.”

I laughed softly. “That’s one way to put it.”

He studied me for a moment, his expression shifting. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

I hesitated, the weight of his gaze making my chest tighten. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem... different tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Distracted.”

I forced a laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe it’s the firewhiskey.”

“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes held mine, steady and searching, and I felt the familiar nerves in my stomach.

“Well,” I said finally, breaking the silence, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

Charles didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on me, his green eyes warm and with a light twinkle. The noise of the room seemed to blur into the background, leaving just the quiet weight of his presence.

His expression softened, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. The air felt heavier, charged in a way that made my chest tighten.

“I should go to bed,” I said abruptly, the words tumbling out faster than I meant. I stepped back, breaking the spell as I clutched my empty glass for something to focus on.

Charles blinked, seeming to come back to reality himself. “Yeah,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Yeah, uhm, I should probably head out too.”

There was a pause, something neither of us filled right away.

“Well, goodnight,” I said, glancing at him briefly before turning toward the stairs leading to the dorms.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft and steady, following me even as I walked away.

I climbed the stairs quickly, my heart thudding harder than I cared to admit.

…

The dormitory was suffocating. My thoughts churned endlessly, replaying every look, every laugh, every moment from the party with Charles. His steady gaze, the faint smirk on his lips, the warmth in his green eyes—all of it had etched itself into my mind.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Throwing on my cloak, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed past the rows of sleeping Slytherins. The common room was empty now, its usual flickering green light dimmed to a soft glow. Even the fire was just a faint ember, its warmth fading. The silence was a relief, but I needed more than that.

I needed space.

The halls were eerily quiet as I wandered, my footsteps soft against the stone. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but my feet carried me to the Astronomy Tower, as they so often did when I needed to think.

The moment I stepped onto the open platform, the cool night air hit me, sharp and bracing. The stars above stretched endlessly, their faint light illuminating the grounds below. I leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply and letting the quiet settle around me.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of his voice. Turning quickly, I saw Charles leaning casually against the opposite railing, his cloak draped loosely over his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, smiling faintly. “But if you must know, I was taking a walk.”

“Taking a walk?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

He shrugged, his green eyes glinting faintly in the moonlight. “Couldn’t sleep.”

I hesitated, gripping the railing tighter. “And you thought the Astronomy Tower was the best place to fix that?”

“Maybe,” he said, stepping closer. “Or maybe I thought I’d find you here.”

My heart stumbled at his words, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. “Why would you think that?”

Charles tilted his head, his gaze softening. “You’ve been... different lately.”

“Different?” I repeated, my voice wary.

“You’ve been distracted,” he said simply.

My chest tightened, and I looked away, focusing on the stars instead of him. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But I don’t believe you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavier than the quiet night should’ve allowed. Charles leaned against the railing beside me, his shoulder brushing mine lightly.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked eventually, his voice low and steady.

“It’s nothing,” I replied quickly, though even I didn’t believe the words.

“You’re lying,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

I turned to glare at him, though there was no real anger behind it. “Why do you care?”

Charles smirked faintly, his green eyes catching the starlight. “Because you’re usually better at hiding whatever’s on your mind. This must be serious.”

I huffed, looking away again. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said lightly.

His calm, teasing tone grated against my nerves, and yet... it also made the tightness in my chest ease just slightly.

“Is this about the potion?” he asked suddenly, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse jump.

I froze, my fingers tightening around the railing. “What makes you think that?”

Charles shrugged, his smirk widening. “Call it a hunch. You’ve been weird ever since we smelled it.”

“I haven’t been weird,” I said quickly, too quickly.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone filled with amusement, “you’ve been avoiding me, stumbling over your words, and blushing more than usual. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as weird.”

“I don’t blush,” I muttered, though my cheeks were already warming.

“You do now,” he said, laughing softly. “It’s cute.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt charged. Charles turned slightly, his body angled toward me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze.

“What did you smell?” he asked, his voice soft.

My heart raced, every muscle in my body screaming at me to say something, anything but the truth. But the longer I stayed silent, the more his gaze lingered, steady and unrelenting.

“Nothing important,” I said finally, though the words sounded weak even to me.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping closer. “Come on.”

“Are you done?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Not even close,” he said, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because if I had to guess, I’d say it smelled like someone you know.”

I hesitated, my pulse quickening. “What makes you think that?”

Charles smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Because you can’t look me in the eye right now. That’s usually a giveaway.”

I exhaled sharply, the tension in my chest building with every passing second.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I looked away, my grip on the railing tightening. “It smelled like... saltwater. And wood. And... pizza margherita.” I said finally, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Charles blinked, his expression shifting. “What?”

“I smelled you,” I admitted finally, the words barely above a whisper.

His green eyes softened, his smile fading into something more genuine. “Me?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” I muttered, looking away.

He was quiet for a moment, the weight of my confession hanging between us. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a teasing smile. “So, what you’re saying is... you think I’m handsome?”

I groaned, my cheeks burning. “That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant,” he said, grinning now.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Ridiculously charming,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening. ”At least, according to you apparently.”

His bright eyes met mine, the teasing glint fading as his gaze turned serious. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because,” I said, my voice trembling slightly, “it’s complicated.”

“Nothing’s complicated,” he said gently, his fingers brushing against mine. “Not if we don’t let it be.”

I swallowed hard, the warmth of his touch grounding me. “I didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Charles smiled, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Y/N, I’ve liked you for a long time.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “You have?”

He nodded, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I smelled the cookies you baked for us.”

Before I could respond, Charles closed the distance between us, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. His lips met mine with a warmth that sent a shiver through me, like stepping into sunlight after a long, cold winter. The kiss was gentle, not hesitant but full of a quiet certainty that left no room for doubt.

His hand slid up to cup my cheek, the roughness of his fingertips against my skin grounding me, steadying the wild, racing thoughts that had consumed me for days. I felt the weight of his presence in that touch—calm and sure, like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than I’d realized.

I leaned into him instinctively, my hands grasping the edges of his cloak, the thick, familiar fabric anchoring me. His other hand settled lightly against my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried yet somehow desperate, as if we were trying to say all the things we hadn’t dared to speak.

The scent of him—something crisp and clean, faintly woodsy—mixed with the cool night air, and my heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. My chest ached, not from fear or nerves, but from the overwhelming realization that this felt right.

When we finally parted, his lips lingered a moment longer, as though neither of us wanted the spell to break. His green eyes searched mine, earnest and unwavering, his breath mingling with mine in the stillness of the tower.

“I told you I never wanted to be friends,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips, the words carrying a weight that felt familiar.

“Good,” I replied softly, my heart racing as I echoed his earlier words. “Because I don’t think I could ever settle for just friends.”

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 one shot #charles leclerc one shot #harry potter imagine

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