#professor Lucius

[cryptoriawebb]

So like two months or so ago I went down this YouTube rabbit hole and watched a bunch of SCP animations from various channels. One of them had reoccurring characters and background lore that ended up being a lot more engaging than I expected. Anyway Doctor Kloss and Agent Chen should kiss and get married so here’s this thing I drew💕

Anyone else watch Professor Lucius’ channel? I know I’m late to the party but I was looking for something short to binge at night after work.

[ivmaruva]

Professor Malfoy 🧪

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter One. Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: Sub/Dom, Toxic Behaviour, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Begging, DubCon, CNC.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

You were a good girl, and an exemplary student. One who consistently demonstrated exceptional discipline and commitment. Your dedication to academics was unwavering, as you diligently followed the rules and guidelines, never straying from the prescribed path.

Your singular focus was on nurturing your intellectual curiosity, and you showed no interest in indulging in activities that might distract you from your educational pursuits. Your life was calm, quiet, and focused.

Until, one day everything fucking changed.

———

In the enchanted realm of Hogwarts, there resided a studious and exceptionally bright seventh-year Ravenclaw witch, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and her steadfast commitment to the noble pursuit of knowledge. This young sorceress, a paragon of virtue, refrained from the temptations that often lured her peers, steering clear of parties, alcohol, and the haze of smoke that veiled the Ravenclaw common room during clandestine gatherings.

Her life was meticulously ordered, her goals sharply defined. But the universe had a curious sense of humor, for it threw her into an unexpected affiliation with the most notorious bad boy in Slytherin:

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He, the embodiment of rebellion, was a stark contrast to her pristine existence. Mattheo's reputation preceded him: a Slytherin troublemaker, one who was almost always found in the midst of chaos. His devil-may-care attitude was a challenge to authority, and there was not one singular individual that could tie him down.

Yet, fate had woven their paths together, forcing the astute young witch to confront the complexity of human nature, unraveling layers of his defiance while simultaneously testing the boundaries of her own steadfast resolve.

And that witch; that poor fucking witch--well, that was you.

———

"Please, Riddle...if you'd take a seat," you ran your tongue along the backside of your teeth, straightening your posture in your chair as you tried to contain your irritation. "...I must express my desire to commence our endeavors prior to the conclusion of the academic term."

"Eager, are we?" Mattheo sneered, sauntering toward the desk painfully fucking slow. "You know, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is mastery. I'll sit when I'm fuckin' ready to sit."

His voice was low, the sadistic drawl of his tone making your bones ignite with fury. Gods, he certainly fucking loved testing you.

"And I won't tell you again...call me Mattheo."

You inhaled a sharp breath, flattening out your blue uniform skirt against your thighs as you bit your tongue hard enough to make it bleed.

"Rome may not have been built in a day, but it certainly collapsed in one--now, I won't ask again, Riddle..." you looked up, meeting his dark obsidian eyes, fighting back a sadistic smirk of your own as he narrowed his gaze in challenge. "Take. A. Seat."

The words were clipped behind your teeth with an obvious urgency that shut Mattheo up for a few seconds, the gears turning inside his head as he contemplated how he could one up your little jab--a constant occurrence that seemed to happen every single fucking time you met with him.

At this point, your tutor sessions were an easy seventy percent bickering with the remaining thirty being a half-assed session of one-sided discussion where he mostly offers you fleeting blank stares while zoning you out. You hated that you'd agreed to this, but you knew you needed to get on (and remain on) Professor Dumbledores good side if you wanted a career here at the school after you graduated--and you were so fucking hungry for it you'd do almost anything to solidify your fate.

Even if it meant surrendering your sanity to the hands of Mattheo fucking Riddle.

You chose not to let him, of all individuals, tarnish your path. Your reputation, fragile as it may have been, resembled a tinderbox, and he was the combustible element, ready to erupt at any given moment. This resolve became your steadfast anchor, shaping the direction of your choices.

"You know," Mattheo said as he finally slumped down into the chair across from you, his tousled brown hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. "I was under the impression that the brilliant Ravenclaws such as yourself valued intellect over impulsive haste..." he tilted his head, his gaze scanning every movement of your body as you stared at him. "It was my understanding that impatience was more of a Gryffindor trait."

Your fingers trembled with palpable irritation, yet you understood the imperative need to suppress it. You couldn't afford to reveal just how deeply he affected you, realizing that acknowledging it would subject you to endless taunts and jibes, a fate you were determined to avoid at any cost. This restraint became your shield in moments such as these.

"You wish to discuss house values, Riddle?" You tilted your head, straightening out your posture once again. "Because I, in complete honesty, was under the impression that Slytherins were known for their resourcefulness...your reluctance to cooperate suggests a rather curious lack of ambition."

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, his expression growing icier. "Resourcefulness doesn't mean blindly following every stupid instruction thrown at you, and ambition means choosing the battles worth fighting, not wasting time on pathetic, trivial matters."

With a subtle smirk, he leaned back, hooking his arm on the back of his chair as he eyed your discomfort--seemingly undisturbed by your challenge--and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, somehow knowing he wasn't finished.

And of course, he wasn't. "If you really believe this seemingly-stubborn insistence on when or if I sit reflects a lack of ambition, you clearly misunderstand the depths of Slytherin cunning. We pick our battles wisely, and right now, this isn't one of them."

Your blood pressure surged, the crimson currents in your veins reaching their boiling point. Months of enduring relentless bickering and one-upmanship had pushed you to the edge--this man may be an utter degenerate but he certainly knows how to use his mouth when it matters. You could no longer bear the weight of this incessant game, and in a fleeting moment of frustration, you finally succumbed to the pressure.

You knew this was your breaking point.

"I'm just trying to fucking help you." You said, before you even realized you had. You hardly ever cussed, never out loud--that is. "If you don't want to be here, then get out. I promise you, you won't be hurting my feelings if you do."

He huffed, leaning forward and crossing his hands together on top of the desk as he wet his stupidly plush lips, a devilish grin swallowing his cheeks while he revelled in the fact he'd so clearly fucking won. Yet again.

"No," he said. "I don't think I will."

You clucked your tongue, irritated even further at his response, gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly before you rolled your eyes--brushing off his suffocating arrogance and pulling your textbook out of your bag, slamming it down on top of the desk between your bodies.

"The Grimoire of Arcane Relics?" Mattheo read the title out loud, voice laced with a confused, almost offended undertone. "We don't cover this until the middle of second term..."

You cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Seems a bit...hasty, to shove this down my throat so early on," his voice carried a sadistic drawl that nearly made you leap across the desk and choke him unconscious. This man knew how to fucking test you. "Would it not be far more beneficial to proceed in the order the books are taught?"

You drew in another swift breath, the fabric of your navy robes clinging to your form, trembling fingers smoothing out any wrinkles on your button-up blouse as you adjusted it.

"I was unaware..." you said, not bothering to look up. "...that the individual I'd be tutoring this term was in fact a professor, and not a seventh year student..." you glimpsed him now, offering him merely but a slight tilt of your head as you watched his jaw tense. "...I must have been ill-informed, do pardon my ignorance."

"A moment of self-awareness? What a fucking breakthrough for you, Raven...pity it took you so long." He was clasping his hands together on top of the desk with enough force to involuntarily crack his knuckles. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, though I wouldn't hold my fucking breath."

"Please don't," you said, teeth gritting. "We wouldn't want to deprive your already-oxygen-starved brain of any more, now would we? It needs all the help it can get."

Mattheo's gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a teasing smirk, highlighting the scars that adorned them. The effect he had on you was undeniable, a sensation you longed to dismiss more than anything. However, with every passing moment in his presence, resisting the pull of attraction became an increasingly futile endeavour--yes, he was suffocatingly arrogant, but Gods, he was fucking attractive.

And he knew it.

"Quite the fucking mouth on you, I'll admit..." he dropped his voice to a low whisper, so deep it practically rattled your bones as it vibrated through you. "Never met a Ravenclaw with such an attitude problem...maybe I could tutor you on how to fix that issue, once we're done here, of course."

Your stomach twisted, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire. Curse him and his painstakingly arrogant charm. Curse him to bloody hell.

"It'd be a cold day in hell before I take any sort of guidance from you, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice accidentally reverberating as a seductive pitch. "And even then, I'd probably still refrain."

"You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?..." his eyes darkened, an evil mischief crawling its way through his irises. "What would daddy Dumbledore think about the way you're speaking to me, huh?"

Your heart stalled. "I-"

Your words faltered as Mattheo stood up, moving leisurely like a predatory creature circling its prey, until he was right beside you. His eyes, sharp as daggers, bored into your skull, and he loomed over you, a sadistic smirk twisting his lips into a cruel curve. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, knotting your stomach with an unsettling mix of fear and desire.

He placed a singular hand on your desk, leaning down closer to your level. "Perhaps I pay him a little visit...perhaps I tell him that you've been missing lessons, that you've been extremely unprofessional...perhaps I somehow fail my next exam...perhaps-"

"Okay, okay!" You panicked, cutting him off. "You've made your point, Riddle...I'm sorry, okay?" The words were fucking painful as you forced them past your teeth, and you swallowed your ego, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Let's just get this over with, please?"

Mattheo huffed, gratified by how effortlessly his threats appeared to compel your submission. The gears turned in his head as he grasped the extent of the power he truly wielded over you. He fully understood that your entire post-graduate career almost certainly depended on his decisions, and he was eagerly anticipating taking action.

"I like the way you say please..." his voice was breathless, his dark eyes consumed by something you couldn't really identify as he slumped down in the chair directly next to you, his sight never once leaving yours. "Do it again."

Your body tensed, immobilized as he inched closer, his penetrating eyes scrutinizing your features with intense focus. It was no secret that Mattheo had been oblivious to your existence until he was placed under your guidance--despite being the most popular Slytherin student in the school, you, a practically invisible Ravenclaw, were easy to overlook. It had taken him over three weeks to even remember your name, a fact he never bothered to acknowledge, let alone use.

But within that time frame, within the time you'd been tutoring him; as much as he drove you mentally fucking insane, you couldn't deny that every time he'd show up for lessons with torn knuckles, cut lips and alcohol radiating from his breath--you couldn't help but to feel something in the pit of your stomach.

Whether that sensation was disgust, arousal, or sheer terror, you couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a feeling that whispered in your veins, urging you to surrender to the dominance he held over you. It screamed for you to let him have his way without resistance, because just as he commanded your obedience, he wielded the same control over the entire damn school. The prospect of defying him felt like a dangerous game you weren't willing to play.

"Riddle-"

He tilted his head, his face dangerously close to yours now, his eyes peering into your soul as he stared. As he wet his lips, his breath turning shallow, you felt a feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, and one between your thighs as well.

"I said, do it again." His voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his eyes studying you as though you were a page of a textbook. Not that he'd ever read one of those. "Go on, Raven...beg for me..."

Your breath hitched, and you involuntarily clutched the edges of the wooden chair between your fingers with an indescribable force. You didn't want to admit it--not to Mattheo, not to anyone really--but you were a virgin. You'd never even kissed a boy; your entire life was devoted to your studies...so this...this was extremely fucking new to you.

When you remained silent, Mattheo's eyes darkened even further, turning a shade of obsidian so intense they put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame.

"You want me to keep your perfect little reputation intact, hm?" He breathed, leaning closer. "You want me to help you stay on Dumbledores good side?"

Your throat was more arid than the desert, and you nodded, unable to blink--unable to peel your fucking eyes off of him.

"Then do as I say..." he murmured, a large battered hand finding purchase on your thigh, your entire body involuntarily flinching at the foreign contact. "I want to hear you, Raven."

You stared down at his hand resting lazily over the fabric of your blue uniform skirt--it's massive size swallowing up almost the entirety of your thigh, calloused palm catching on the pleats as it slid upwards, agonizingly slowly--and when he paused, stretching his fingers around the diameter of your thigh the best he could, fingers digging into your flesh as he squeezed; you gasped, involuntarily, and he huffed--bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"One more chance..." he purred, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "You won't like what'll happen-"

"Please!" You snapped, squeezing your thighs together out of pure desperation. "Please, Mattheo...please, let's just get this over with..."

"Mm." He hummed in satisfaction, slowly pulling his hand off of you. "That's fucking right..." he murmured, warm breath tickling your ear. "Nothing is sweeter than your submission, Raven."

You swallowed, not daring to look at him, nodding your head frantically in response as he pulled away, slumping back in the chair--not once peeling his eyes off of you, spreading his legs way-too-fucking wide as he made himself comfortable--he was silent, now, watching your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, watching the way you squirmed in your chair at his sudden dominance--a dominance that had an effect on you that you couldn't even begin to describe.

And then, before you could even realize what was happening, Mattheo leaned back in, his fingers gripping your jaw and tilting your face towards his--and as you meet his dark, intoxicating eyes, your lungs stalled, entire body shrinking in your seat as he stared at you with such intensity that you felt like he could see right through you.

"From now on, I'm in charge here," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Understand?"

You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat, and watched his darkened amber eyes as they glanced over your lips, lingering there for far too long, before returning back up to meet your gaze--something swimming in his irises that made your stomach twist.

When you were silent, he tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow. "Use your words, Raven..."

"Yes." You squeaked, voice barely audible. "I understand."

He hummed, a devilish smirk crawling across his lips, fingers digging into your jaw with added pressure as he pulled you closer, lips so close you'd touch with a deep enough breath.

"Understand, what?" He breathed, eyes dipping over your lips yet again. "Say my fucking name."

"Mattheo..." you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only obey his words as though he was controlling you like a puppet on strings. "I understand, Mattheo."

He huffed, smirking. "Good girl, Raven..." his voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his full lashes fluttering as he blinked, meeting your eyes. "You learn so quickly...I should have done this months ago..."

When he pulled back, slowly releasing you, air slowly returned to your lungs; not enough to rid the dizziness from your brain but just enough to keep you conscious. Mattheo turned toward the desk now, as though nothing even happened, gesturing for you to start the lesson.

And somehow, you did.

—————-

Chapter two->

[exhaustedcatte]

You’re a Wizard.

Remus bit his cheek, the juvenile words “Detention, Prewett” died on the tip of his tongue.

No, he reminded himself harshly. That’s Fred and George Weasley. Not Fabian and Gideon.

I’m not a Prefect, I’m the bloody Professor, Remus grit his teeth.

Luna Lovegood floated into the room and Remus saw unwelcome visions, the present melting away to accommodate the past. Regulus Black was there, guiding Pandora when she was batting her lashes at Xenophilius Lovegood.

Draco Malfoy was an amusing mixture of Lucius and Narcissa. He stuck his nose up and raised one manicured brow like his mother, but his ugly words and prideful manners were all his father.

Remus laughed guilelessly, what was wrong with him. Fraternising with the enemy, Moony? A very familiar voice chirped in his head.

It hurt so bad.

Every time Hermione Granger raised her hand, to the chagrin of the rest of the class, Remus saw Lily Evans. Her fierce intelligence and determination a weapon to dismantle the prejudice faced by Muggleborns. Lily would’ve loved her.

He wiped his face with tired hands.

Honestly, Remus was never meant to survive this. He was simply unfortunate, unlucky. An anomaly.

Hah, now suffer.

There was Neville Longbottom, with ears that stuck out like his father and a shy smile to match his mother’s. I’ll watch over him now, Remus promised the smiling Alice and Frank in his memories, apologising for the years gone by.

Then there were the little things.

Snape always caused a spark of his old Marauder spirit to overtake his senses. It also brought forth very vivid sounds of two devils whispering into his ears. Potter and Black, always at the crime scene.

No, no. He batted that thought away before he could spiral.

Remus found himself shocked by the streaks of white in Minerva McGonagall’s hair, which 15 years ago that would’ve caused an uproar. Not even his own greying roots had caused him so much sadness.

His heart ached when he saw Madam Pomfrey pressing her knuckles into her strained back. How much had he missed while hiding from this wretched world?

But what struck a raw nerve was Harry Potter, of course.

The toad green of his eyes and the bird’s nest of his hair. It had been so long but all he could see in the young Potter boy was his friend. A friend who had betrayed him, but his friend nonetheless.

I know you, he pursed his lips to prevent screaming that when he was addressed as Professor Lupin and not Unc’e Moo’y. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t the one who could get Prongslet to burp or take a nap anymore. He was the weird, mismatched man for a teacher.

You know Harry doesn’t think of you like that. Ah, Lily, wise as always.

The James in Harry Potter stuck out like a sore thumb, much like his hair, when he whizzed across the quidditch pitch with innate talent, when he couldn’t hold back his tongue while talking to Snape, when he faffed about in lessons. But it pained more to see Harry stand up for his friends, like his father had always done, and when he went searching for trouble despite being explicitly warned against it.

Oh, how I miss you Prongs.

He sat back in his chair, creaky and hard as it was. There was only one person he hadn’t found in his students.

Remus closed his eyes.

Sirius Black grinned at him from behind his eyelids. Miss me, Moony?

[thatsillything]

A little sunday sketchdump with Severus.

[elleldoe]

dude got me giggling and kicking my feet (dude is a fictional character and doesn't even exist)

[horcrux-sketches]

Maybe a small Snape and Lucius?? <33

[deerlydreadful]

Baby sev and Lucius

[sneppu]

The thing is, attraction and beauty are extremely subjective things in the end. For me personally, a memorable appearance with odd features is extremely attractive, in ways that a conventionally attractive appearance just isnt. Because these features stand out, they stick around in my brain and I become fond of them and fixated on them. Someone who stands out aesthetically in some way is just simply more hot to me. The perfect faces tend to kinda blur together if you see enough of them all the time. Which is why I will forever maintain that Severus Snape is the Best Boy actually, and that this is exactly why all those rich fancy beautiful people are all obsessed with him in some way. He stands out he's imperfect and that should be, in theory, ugly. But all these snooty little beautiful people are baffled because he has the audacity to attract them anyway. it confuses and scares them and so they INSIST that he must be ugly, and that what they're feeling is actually disgust (James Potter, Sirius Black) or just begrudging appreciation (Slytherin Housemates) but unfortunately for them all, they are actually hopelessly attracted to Severus Snape in ways that their feeble little minds can never fully comprehend, and it is so deep and visceral and their boners are so obnoxious and confusing that they sob themselves to sleep at night wondering what the fuck is going on, and why their gorgeous supermodel arranged marriage matches can't affect them the way Snape can. it rankles them, it scrunches their delicate sensibilities.

Severus Snape continues to exist nonetheless.

in the end, only Lucius Malfoy, as a true connoisseur of taste, was smart enough to see all this for what it is and immediately make his move to secure himself the treasure that is The Sugar Baby Sneep that everyone else was too foolish to appreciate and understand. But were the world to play out all over again 50000 times, any one of those other people could be the ones to realize it any one of those times as well. Competition for The Sneep has the potential to be a bloodbath, really. A Helen of troy situation, That Sneep.

[maddexfox]

[jmwdoesthings]

(Lucius in Hogwarts on one of his school governor visits, talking to Snape)

Lucius: So, Severus... why did you give my son a detention?

Snape: He was behaving in an unacceptable manner.

Lucius: More precisely?

Snape: He threw half an eel across my classroom and it ended up setting half of it on fire. I believe he was aiming it at another student.

Lucius: ...Even so, I would appreciate it if he didn't have to attend one in the near future. He needs to focus on his studies and homework, not spend it on writing lines.

Snape:

Snape: Does Narcissa know that you opened the Chamber of Secrets and released an incontrollable, blood-thirsty basilisk which petrified both ghosts and students on sight, Lucius?

Lucius:

Snape: Whilst your son was living in the castle and, hm... focusing on his studies and homework, if I may add.

Lucius:

Lucius: *slowly clapping a hand on his shoulder* We have always been friends, haven't we, Severus

[cryptoriawebb]

Aaaand one last drawing from me for a bit!

This is Pythia, another of Professor Lucius’ characters. The immortal Oracle of Delphi who chooses to remain in containment and help the Foundation, lest the world suffer from her unstable powers.

She’s a fun character and you all know I love when folks incorporate Greek Mythology into their lore✨

I for sure did not anatomy correctly here, but I do like how my shadows look—sometimes I forget they need to correspond with any lighting I use😅🤣

[ivmaruva]

Professor Malfoy Version 2.0 😮‍💨

This one for sure is a DADA (daddy?) professor.

[slytherinslut0]

Fred & George Weasley- Ours

Word count: 5k

Info: your friends with benefits, Fred and George Weasley, see some guy getting a little too close to you at a party; and decide they need to show you exactly who you belong to.

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Threesome, Praise Kink, Degredation Kink, Oral (f receiving), Double Penetration, Anal, Good Sex, Forced Orgasm, Begging, Teasing.

"Who the hell was that guy?" Fred huffed, slamming the door shut to the quaint little study room he and George had just dragged you into not ten seconds prior. "I mean, he had his fucking hands all over you!"

George nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant against the desk. "All over you...in places only our hands should go..."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your tight black dress against your thighs. You'd been sleeping with the twins for a few months now, mostly a fun, friends-with-benefits type of deal; but lately they'd become far more possessive, far more protective than usual. Sometimes it could be a little much, but you couldn't deny that their passion for your body made the sex other-fucking-worldly.

Sometimes it was fun to purposefully get them going, just to see how far they'd take it.

"What's the matter with you two?" You said, your innocent eyes darting back and fourth between the fiery haired twins, trying not to get distracted by the power of their strong, athletic builds; each of them towering over you as they waited your response. "Last time I checked, this wasn't a relationship. Not sure why you guys are getting so jealous."

Fred cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we made it clear last time that you were ours...."

"...and only ours." George finished, the two of them drawing closer.

You swallowed, your heart racing with excitement at the direction you knew this little conversation was going in. You pulled your lip between your teeth, trying to hide your smirk as you backed up from them, attempting to keep space between your bodies as to not give in so quickly.

Pissing them off more only added to the fun.

"I don't belong to anyone," you whispered, voice a low murmur; cunt clenching as you watched a mischievous grin spread across Fred's lips; George's eyes narrowing in challenge. "And certainly not you two."

"Hm," Fred hummed, eyeing your body from head to toe, smirking as he snuck George a brief glance, the two of them circling around you now; like predators stalking their prey. "Sounds like she needs to be reminded of her place, doesn't she George?"

George smirked, wetting his lips. "She sure fucking does, Fred..."

Fred nodded. He'd had enough of the playing. "We're leaving."

Without hesitation, Fred and George each grabbed one of your wrists, George's warm breath washing over your ear as he whispered, "and don't try to fight it, princess..." his teeth grazed your earlobe. "You want us to make you feel good, don't you? You know we never fail to take care of you..."

Your head spun, oxygen missing you. Gods, of course you did. "Y-yes... you're right..."

"There's our good girl," Fred hummed, his lips ghosting over your other ear, lids fluttering shut at the collective sensations. "We're going to fucking worship you...make you feel things that no one else could ever, ever match."

Your breath hitched. "Oh..."

"That's it," George murmured, "you're ours, and tonight, we're going to make sure you know it."

Sensing that your defiance had now entirely crumbled, the twins shared a quick glance before they released your wrists, and moved toward the door without another word. Fred walked first, you in the middle with George trailing behind you, everyone in the corridors shooting you acknowledging glances as they eyed the three of you suspiciously, even though it was well over midnight and the party was coming to a close anyway.

As soon as Fred pushed open the door to his dorm room and ushered you inside, he locked it behind him--not wasting even a single fucking second before he looped his arm around your waist and tugged you against him; his back hitting the door as he held you snug to his frame, gripping your hips as he pressed your ass tight to his crotch. George stood in front of you, taking a moment to worship your body, taking a moment to watch your face as Fred's lips attacked your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh with relentless urgency.

Unable to hold off any longer, George stepped forward, running his hands over your curves, eyes stark with lust. "You look so fucking beautiful tonight..." he murmured, softly pressing his lips to yours. "We couldn't wait to get you alone."

Fred hummed, nipping your earlobe. "And now that we have..."

"...we're going to make the most of it." George whispered, breaking the kiss.

Your lungs stalled as you watched him slowly drop to his knees before you, his hands gently urging your feet wider as he gazed up at you with an intense desire, watching you lose yourself as Fred tilted your chin to the side and crashed his lips to yours, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as his tongue fought with yours to be the one in control.

George hummed, one hand exploring your thighs and hips, eyes intently watching the small ministrations of your face as he slipped his other hand under your dress and teased your clit through your panties; sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through your veins.

"You deserve to be worshipped, pretty girl...to have every inch of you adored..." George whispered as he slipped his fingers under your panties, teasing your throbbing core. "Look how fucking wet you are for us already..."

You gasped into the kiss, fighting to pull away and catch your breath but Fred's lips were relentless, working your mouth as though he wanted to map your taste into memory; to devour every single inch. Your eyes rolled as George slowly pushed a finger inside you, carefully stretching you open, his lips grazing and teasing the sensitive crevice of your inner thigh.

"Mmm, does that feel good, princess?" Fred purred, breaking the kiss, panting mouth falling to your jawline.

You nodded, unable to find words, head falling back onto his shoulder as he looped a hand under your thigh, pulling it up toward your chest and holding it there as to give George better access to your pussy--a smirk crawling across his lips as he watched you pant and squirm in pleasure from his ministrations, pausing only briefly to tug your panties down your thighs and toss them off to the side.

"So beautiful...so needy..." George murmured. "We're going to make you feel so good, love..."

Fred groaned, nodding in agreement. "Pleasure you until you can't take it anymore,"

Fred pressed his lips back to your neck, his free hand roaming up your stomach and groping your tits over the fabric of your dress--he groaned against your neck as you pulsed against him, feeling George's warm breath caress your folds as he brought his lips to the crease of your inner thigh again, teasing you.

"George..." you breathed, desperate for connection, your hands weaving through his hair in attempt to coax his lips to your pussy. "Please..."

With a mischievous smirk, he met your eyes, holding your stare as he pressed his lips to your swollen clit, his skilled tongue lapping at your juices and mixing them with his spit. You moaned, body lost in overwhelming pleasure, back arching and eyes rolling, but Fred held you firm against him; one hand still holding your leg up while the other held your chest--lips working your neck, teeth peppering it with purple possessions marks.

"Fuck, you taste so good, princess..." George purred, voice muffled against your pussy. "So fucking sweet."

You moaned, head falling back, and Fred's hand slithered up from your tits and tightened around your throat, ridding your oxygen supply and inflicting a delicious, intoxicating buzz on your lips. Your mouth fell wide in an open pant, George's lips sealing around your clit and driving you directly toward the brink of an explosive, earth shattering orgasm.

Fred groaned, lips grazing your ear. "That's it...we love hearing you make those pretty noises for us.."

George's tongue delved deep into your wetness, flicking, swirling, and teasing with calculated expertise. He offered no respite, driving you closer to the edge with each skillful lick--your legs shaking, one hand gripping his hair while the other was latched onto Fred's wrist for dear life, your body utterly at their mercy as the two of them inflicted their usual intoxicating dominance over you.

"Look at you, so helpless and eager to please..." Fred's voice was a mere breath in your ear, his hand leaving your throat and trailing down your body, slipping behind your back and down past your ass, bringing it to your dripping heat. You moaned before he'd even sunk in, but when he did, your entire body convulsed, the pleasure of their collective movements driving you dangerously close to exploding. "Fuck, you're so tight and wet..."

Fred curled his fingers inside you, their long length driving you utterly insane, scissoring and curling against your tight walls while George continued his oral assault on your clit, humming as your trembling grip on his hair tightened.

Your eyes squeezed shut. You were dangerously close. "Oh...Oh, Gods-"

Fred growled, low in his chest. "That's it, little slut...take it. Take it all. We want to hear you scream for us."

"Cum for us, princess." George murmured against your pussy, only seconds before he latched onto your clit again, swirling his tongue in a way that sent you tumbling straight over the edge.

"Oh, yes...fuck-fuck!"

"That's right. Give in to us, baby," Fred growled, his voice darker than the midnight sky "...surrender to the pleasure we're giving you."

Your sight blanked, ears ringing and head falling back as you came around Fred's fingers, George's skilled tongue working expertly to swallow your orgasm as best as he could, neither of them stopping until they were completely certain you were past your high. Your entire body was on fire, liquid magma coursing through your veins, heating every square inch of your bloodstream as you fought to catch your breath.

George hummed, placing soft kisses along your slit and up toward your mound. "Are you going to admit your ours now? Or do we need to show you more of what we do to you?"

You huffed, fighting through the sensations as he teasingly licked at your pussy, softly enough to make your head spin and your body squirm. "I-I'm not...I'm not yours..." you said, purposefully trying to escalate them. "I'll never be."

George halted his movements, cocking an eyebrow as he met Fred's eyes. "How about that, huh Fred?"

Fred huffed, amused, and you felt his hot breath wash over your neck. "Entirely humorous, I'd say."

George stood up to his full height, peering down at you with a dark, predatory glint in his eyes, one that made your stomach twist with arousal.

"If you're not ours...then you're just some slut for us to use then, yeah?" He whispered, smirking, sneaking another glance at Fred; the two of them basically communicating with their eyes.

You swallowed, and Fred's teeth grazed your ear. "So you wouldn't mind if we just took control, used your sexy little body for our own pleasure, right?"

Your lips parted, your pussy clenching with need. Gods, this is exactly what you fucking wanted--you were so excited you couldn't even hide it if you tried.

"I..." you couldn't find words as Fred released your thigh, pulling your hips against his throbbing bulge, George's hands roaming your curves--tugging on your dress and bunching it up your hips, up your stomach, gesturing for you to raise your hands as he tugged it up  and off your trembling body.

Your mouth was drier than cotton, and George smirked, wetting his lips as he eyed your newly exposed body, his pupils dilating when he realized your lacy, dark red bra was a matching piece to your panties that had previously been discarded to the floor at your feet.

"Look at you..." he murmured, running a hand up your hip and toward your breasts. "Such a filthy little thing...wearing this under your dress..." he grazed your nipple, twirling his thumb until he felt it harden under the fabric of your bra. "Who were you wearing this for, if not us? Hm?"

The arrogance in his tone drove you crazy, and as Fred trailed his hand along your other hip, moving toward your pussy again, your lungs stalled, breath hitching.

"You've been aching for this, haven't you love?" Fred purred, teasing your clit with a brief swirl. "Don't worry, we're going to show you exactly who you belong to..."

George grabbed your wrist, "that's right...you're nothing but our little fucktoy, and we're going to prove it."

Your lips parted, but you didn't even have time to think as George tugged you over toward the bed, Fred trailing behind you. You could hear him fumbling with his belt, and your stomach leapt up into your throat as George released your wrist to do the same. In practically no time at all, the twins had rid themselves of all their clothing--their hard, throbbing cocks making your mouth water and your pussy clench as you stared, unable to peel your eyes away. They were fucking hung. You always managed to forget just how big they were.

George smirked, and you moved toward him, wrapping your small hand around his thick length, his head falling back as you softly pumped him, reaching beside you to do the same to Fred. Each of them stood there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut and chests heaving as you stroked them; twisting your fist and smearing their pre-cum around the heads of their cocks--your entire body screaming with fucking need at the display.

After a moment, George gathered himself, and brought his lips toward your ear. "Are you going to be a good girl for us?"

Fred's lips found your other ear, your hands still slowly pumping their lengths. "Are you going to let us have our way with you? Hm? Give yourself over to us completely?"

As George smacked your ass, leaving your cheek burning and tingling, you yelped; mischievous smirks crawling across both of their lips. Gods, you wanted them inside you. You couldn't take even a second more of waiting.

"Yes..." you whispered, increasing your motions, head falling back as they each attacked a side of your neck. "Please...take me..."

"Mm." Fred hummed, smacking your other cheek now. "That's what we like to hear, princess..."

George moved toward the bed, laying down on his back on the edge, legs dangling off the side. He motioned for you to climb on top of him, and without hesitation, you did--his big hands finding your hips and holding you firm against his chest, your thighs straddling his waist as you rolled your slick cunt against his length, his jaw tensing and throat bobbing as he swallowed, lips finding your neck.

Fred came up behind you, his long fingers ghosting down your back, caressing the smooth curve of your ass. George brought his lips to your ear. "You want us? Hm?"

You didn't even need to think. "Yes!"

"Beg for it..." Fred cooed from behind you. "Beg for us to claim your perfect little body, to use every one of your delicious fucking holes..."

Your breath hitched, your stomach leapt with excitement. "Please-fuck-please, fuck me..."

"That's it," George groaned, angling the head of his dick so it was pressing at your dripping core, his voice a dangerously deep growl in your ear. "That's our good little toy...fuck-"

His words were cut short by his groan of pleasure as he sunk into your tight wet heat, thrusting up into you in one slow, sensual thrust; stretching your walls open slowly and cautiously--for as dominant as the twins were, they never took it too far. They were always careful with you, gentle when they needed to be, and it drove you fucking insane; in the best way possible.

"Oh...fuck-George..." as he sunk in to the hilt, he paused for a second before he slowly pulled out, Fred's hands running all over your body, adding to the already overwhelming sensations flowing through you.

You moaned, eyes rolling back as George began to increase his pace, fucking up into you as his arms held you tight to his chest, his breath growly and husky in your ear. You felt Fred's hands leave your body, only for a brief moment, until he returned one to your hip, followed by a warm liquid sensation dripping down your back and sliding over your ass.

Fred massaged the sensual liquid into your skin, moving down toward your ass, grazing the tight rim with one of his fingers, the sensations making you clench around George.

"Shit-you're so fucking tight..." George breathed, slowing his pace to an agonizingly slow speed. "You need to slop clenching around me like that, princess...or else..."

As Fred pushed his finger inside you, pressing against your inner walls, and you moaned, entire body overwhelmed by the fullness--you'd done anal before, but never at the same time as being fucked, and so far, it was an incomprehensible experience--entirely fucking mind-numbing.

"I-I can't help it-oh, Fred-fuck!" Fred snuck another finger inside your ass, and he continued to twist and scissor you open, your entire body tensing, an overwhelming fullness washing over you. George groaned as you clenched around him again.

"Shh, relax..." Fred cooed, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your ass, matching the slow ministrations of George's cock. "Breathe...feel your tight little ass stretch open for me..."

As he pressed in a third finger, your vision blanked, and you were so encompassed by pleasure you couldn't even comprehend it--if three of his fingers felt this fucking intense, you couldn't even begin to imagine what his cock would feel like. His fingers curled inside you, stretching you wider, your face washed with crimson, body glistening with sweat--you'd never felt more defenceless and dominated, your entire body succumbed to their primal power.

George, however, was struggling. "Fred, any day now..." he groaned, hissing the words through barred teeth. "She's got me strung out on the gallows here.."

Fred huffed, slowly pulling his fingers out of you. "I think she's ready for me...aren't you, princess?"

As George paused his movements, you could finally take a second to think, to breathe. Admittedly, you were nervous, but you knew the twins would never hurt you, would never do something to cause you unwanted pain. You knew you could trust them to take care of you.

With a small whimper, you nodded. "Yes...I am."

"Good girl...we're going to claim every one of your pretty fucking holes..." Fred groaned, pressing the sticky head of his cock against your ass. "Our perfect little plaything..."

He squeezed more warm liquid over your ass, trapping a deep breath in his lungs as he worked in the head of his dick. With a deep breath, you allowed your body to surrender, allowed yourself to relax into the moment. The intensity of their touch was all-consuming, and as Fred finally worked his thick length inside your ass, all three of you groaned in pleasure, Fred and George hissing through their teeth as you squeezed and clenched around them, your tight walls pulling them deeper inside of you.

"Oh, fuck..." Fred groaned, "tight...so fucking tight..."

Fred clung to your hips, George's arms still wrapped tight around your shoulders, hugging you to his chest as he slowly resumed fucking up into you. When Fred had fully sheathed himself in your ass, he held himself there, grip rough enough to bruise, drawing in another hissing breath through his teeth. He was massive, reaching places in your body you didn't know were possible--and between him and George, you felt overwhelmed, overtaken, your head dizzy with pleasure.

George brought his lips to your ear, his pace quickening. "You like that, princess? You like taking us both like this?"

Fred smacked your ass, leaving it stinging. "She does...she loves being our toy...dirty little slut..."

Your breath hiccuped in your lungs. "Oh-"

Was the only thing you could even attempt to say, the intensity and the pressure building in your core with every thrust, their movements becoming more forceful and insistent--mercilessly dragging you dangerously fast toward the soaring heights of ecstasy.

"Shit-" Fred's voice was a breathless pant, smacking your ass again as he slammed his hips against you. "That's it, take it...our little slut can handle it, can't she?..."

Every word from their lips drove you further into the oblivion, and by this point, you were only halfway cognizant of the sounds and words leaving your mouth. You were gone, vanished, transported from this reality and floating off somewhere in another--the level of surrender and submission you were experiencing was like nothing you've ever felt before, being used solely for their pleasure; used as their fucktoy for their carnal desires was something that you only imagined happening in your fantasy. You were so encompassed by pleasure you were certain you were going to explode without needing any clit stimulation, which was something that almost never happened to you.

"Fuck-you feel so good..." George groaned, his fingers digging into your shoulders as though he was trying to shatter your bones. "So tight and wet and eager for us..."

"Shit-" Fred moaned, his hands bruising your hips. "You feel so good wrapped around us like this...you love it, don't you whore?"

Your body felt like it was being pushed to its limits, your ears ringing as the twins increased their paces even further, slamming into you with a primal force, the sounds of their strained grunts mixed in with your wanton moans and the sounds of smacking skin being the only thing filling the thick, steamy air.

"Yes-yes!" You practically screamed, voice shaking. "I-I love it.."

Fred groaned, slamming into you. "That's right...our little whore likes it rough...fuck-"

Pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being as they dominated you in the most primal and exhilarating way. With each thrust, you were pushed closer to the edge, the pleasure mingling with the degradation in a deliciously sinful cocktail. George let loose a low moan in your ear, a sound so deliciously satisfying it pushed you dangerously close to your edge--holy fucking shit you wanted to cum. You needed to cum.

"Shit-I feel you...I feel how bad you need to cum, isn't that right, princess?" George's voice was a mere breath in your ear, his pitch strained with desire. "Tell us how bad you want it..."

Fred's hands left your hips, exploring every inch of your body, one of them snaking around in between you and George and caressing the front of your thighs. You knew he was going to tease you, you knew they'd never let you get there that easily. Your clit was throbbing, screaming, wailing in need--and although you felt so fucking good you could probably get there without it, you knew it would feel so fucking good if you did.

"P-please..." it was a pathetic cry of desperation, hardly loud enough to hear over the sound of their skin slamming against yours.

George whimpered in your ear as you clenched around him, Fred groaning as you squeezed. You moaned, far too fucking loud, and George brought a hand to your lips, shoving two of his fingers past your teeth as he growled his words into your eardrum.

"You're so close baby...but you’ll have to do better than that if you want us to help you get there..."

Fred's hand inched closer to your clit, teasing over your mound. "Tell us that you're ours, tell us that no one else could make you feel like this...no one else could ever take all of you like this..."

The ache within your core was intensifying by the second, the desperate longing for release almost unbearable. George shoved his fingers deeper into your mouth, eliciting a gag from you and he smirked, growling through his teeth.

"Look at you, princess...we've taken everyone of your holes...every part of you has been claimed by us..." he breathed, jaw tensed as he spoke. "Show us who you belong to."

When he slipped his fingers from your mouth, Fred's own fingers found your clit, grazing it, and your entire body flinched; desperate for connection.

"Please! Please, I'm yours...I belong to you guys, please!" Words left your lips in nothing more than babbling desperation, you fucking needed this; so, so bad. "Gods, let me cum...let me cum for you..."

Fred's free hand smacked your ass again, his fingers continuing to tease your clit. "Looks like she's finally begging for it, George..."

George hummed, gripping the back of your neck and holding your eyes to his. "That's what you want princess? To cum on my cock, hm?"

You flinched as Fred swirled over your clit again, the two of them fucking you deep, filling you full, their pace relentless and their arrogance suffocating as they relished in the clear power they held over you in this moment. They got you right where they wanted you, and they weren't scared to hold you there; making you wait, holding you hostage over the edge of pure ecstasy until you utterly shattered in their hands.

"Yes!" You wailed, meeting his dark, primal eyes, sweat glistening his forehead; his reddened locks sticking to his skin. "I want to cum on your cock, please!"

Another smack on your ass, another deep thrust from Fred. "Music to my ears..." he purred, breathless. "Should we grant her wish, George?"

"I think so, now that she's admitted her place," George grinned, brushing his lips over yours, fingers squeezing the back of your neck with enough force to bruise as he fucked deep into you. "I'd say she's earned it, Fred..."

With a satisfied groan, Fred's fingers connected, twirling over your clit with a relentless pace, shutting down any brain power dedicated to speech. Instead, your body was vibrating with pleasure, liquid diamond coursing through your vessels, making you moan and drool and babble their names. You were at the fucking brink, ready to pour out, bones ready to break from your skin as they drove deep into your holes.

Your back arched and your fingers found George's hair, gripping the tendrils as though you were trying to rip them from his scalp. "Oh-yes! Fuck-yes!"

Fred's fingers swirled with insistence, George nipping your jaw as you were right there-so close- "go on whore, cum for your fucking owners."

Your body flatlined. "Oh! Fuck!"

The two of them tipped you into euphoria, pleasure overriding your self-control as you shook and convulsed on their cocks, every muscle between your legs pulsing and clamping down while your vision turned to a black sea of stars. Your ears rang and you were sure you fell unconscious as the most powerful orgasm you've ever experienced ripped through you, shredding every single shred of nerve you had inside you.

"Fuck-you're squeezing me so fucking hard..." George groaned, so loud it shook your ribcage as it reverberated through you. "You're going to make me fucking cum, princess..."

"Fuck," you muttered, head spinning as you came down from your high; not getting very far before the pleasure started to build again, their relentless pace utterly consuming your existence. "Fuck..."

When Fred's fingers didn't pull away from your clit, you wailed, trembling and shaking from overstimulation, but Georges hold around your waist held you firm in place against him, their cocks slamming you deep as you wailed, brain entirely unable to function.

"Oh-fuck-I can't...Fred..." you said, reaching back to try and pry his hand from your clit, but George caught your wrist, collecting them both and pinning them behind your back.

"Oh, yes you can," Fred breathed, slamming you deep. "We're so close...you can cum again, alongside us, little slut.."

Your eyes locked on George, his pupils so large they swallowed up well over half of his irises entirely; a dark, primal lust encompassing his gaze. You could tell he was close, his lips parted and brows furrowed in concentration, you could tell he was holding himself back for whatever fucking reason. He was lost in pleasure, lost in the heat of your tight pussy clenching around him as Fred worked you toward your third climax of the night, fucking deep in your ass and hissing through his teeth.

"Shit-" Fred hissed. He was close too.

George's lids fluttered, "cant...hold on...much..longer.."

Without much cognitive warning, your third orgasm built quick and fast, slamming into you like a hard shot to the gut, and you screamed--unable to silence yourself even if you fucking tried. Your high washed through you like a tidal wave, rippling through your body with uncontainable force, your entire corpse shaking violently against George's chest as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled over you, swears and sounds and drool pouring from your lips without consciousness.

"Fuck-fuck-" George groaned, head falling back against the mattress, grip tightening on your wrists. "I'm-gonna-fuck-"

Fred's fingers remained on your clit, working you through your high as the two of them collectively shattered against you, their bodies tensing and breath sputtering in their lungs as they spilled their hot cum inside of you, fucking you through the remnants of their highs until they were utterly spent.

For a moment, no one moved, everyone fighting to catch their breath, to return back to earth. When Fred pulled out, all that you could do was whimper, your body a collection of sweat and cum and fluids; every nerve ending in your system tingling with lingering pleasure.

"Look at you..." Fred whispered, slumping down onto the mattress beside you, helping you get yourself off of George. "Completely filled and claimed by us."

As you rolled off George and collapsed down onto the mattress between them, they each wrapped their arms around you, holding you tightly between them as you all laid there panting, bodies awash and glistening with sweat.

"All ours..." George murmured against your neck, lids fluttering. "Isn't that right, princess?"

You sighed in satisfaction, nodding softly as you melted into their collective grasp. "All yours, boys...all yours."

[unconventional-lawnchair]

In The Wake of Us {Chapter Two}

Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

WC: 4461

Masterlist

Summary: The reader, Draco, Luna, and Hermione attempt to steal ingredients for the memory draught potion. An interesting conversation with Snape only lends to infuriate you further.

<--Prev/Next-->

The start of the next day was drastically easier than before. The smell of toast and eggs wafted through the air of the Great Hall, mingling with the distant rustle of owls delivering the daily post. You sat at the Gryffindor table, hunched over with Hermione, Luna, and Draco, the four of you tucked into a cozy cluster as you picked at your plates, murmuring in low voices.

“Alright.” Hermione said softly, her quill scratching against a piece of parchment as she jotted down notes. “We’ll need powdered asphodel root, crushed florafolimor, and fresh belladonna for the base of the potion. Those are all in the potions storage cabinet.”

Draco thinned his lips, leaning back lazily as he speared a piece of toast with his fork. “Snape’s cabinet, you mean. You do realize he probably has it warded to high heaven after what happened with the Weasley twins?”

Hermione grimaced. “That’s why we’re making a plan, Malfoy. We can’t just waltz in there and expect it to be easy.”

“Relax, Granger,” Draco chuckled, waving his hands up in defense. “I’ll handle the wards. You just worry about grabbing the ingredients before we get caught.”

Luna, seated across from you, was idly twirling her spoon in a cup of tea. “I think the belladonna will be the trickiest,” she mused. “It’s very temperamental, you know. It likes to hide in the shadows.”

Hermione paused mid-scribble, giving Luna an incredulous look. “What are you talking about? It’s an ingredient, not a sentient plant.”

Luna smiled serenely. “Oh, it’s very sentient. You just have to approach it with kindness.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “Right. I’ll be sure to say ‘please’ while I’m nicking it.”

You couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, the sound drawing the attention of a few nearby students. Leaning closer to the table, you gestured to Hermione’s notes, “Okay, so Draco handles the wards, Hermione gets the ingredients, and Luna… charms the belladonna, I suppose. What’s my job?”

Draco raised a brow, his smirk turning sly. “Distraction, obviously. You’re the golden girl- no one’s going to suspect you.”

You groaned, resting your forehead on your hand. “Perfect. I’ll just bat my eyelashes at Snape and hope for the best.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted answers,” Hermione sighed, her tone softening as she nudged your arm. “This is our best shot. We can’t brew the memory draught without those ingredients.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright. After Potions, we’ll slip back in and get what we need. Quick and quiet.”

As the four of you continued hashing out the details, you didn’t notice Harry approaching until he was right beside the table.

“Morning,” Harry said lightly, his tone cheerful but tinged with curiosity as he glanced at the parchment spread across the table. “What are you lot whispering about?”

The group stiffened almost imperceptibly. Hermione quickly flipped the parchment over, pretending it was nothing more than notes for class. “Oh, just going over Potions for today,” she said smoothly, her voice light and casual. “You know Snape- he’ll tear us apart if we’re not prepared. And after the success from her last class,” Hermione gestured vaguely in your direction. “We are seeing what else she might know.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on the parchment for a moment longer before shifting to you. His smile softened as he sidled up beside you, effortlessly squeezing between you and the other students beside you. His shoulder brushed yours, and the warmth of his presence made your heart warm. You couldn't remember the last time you spent true time alone with Harry. “You alright? You seemed… off yesterday. Not like you to go total zombie on us.”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting with guilt. “I’m fine, Harry. Just tired. Our N.E.W.T.s are coming up, and I guess I’ve been pushing myself too hard.”

His brow furrowed, skepticism flickering across his face. “Are you sure? You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

Across the table, Draco shifted in his seat, his expression tightening with barely veiled irritation, like he was begging you to just be honest. Luna continued stirring her tea as if she hadn’t noticed the tension, while Hermione darted a nervous glance between you and Harry, clearly calculating the best way to diffuse the situation.

“I’m sure,” you reassured him quickly, your voice firmer than you intended. “It’s nothing, really.”

Harry’s concern didn’t waver. He glanced at the flipped parchment beside Hermione, then back to you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing,” he whispered, his tone gentle but insistent. “If something’s bothering you, I want to help.”

You hesitated, the knot in your stomach tightening. Harry’s green eyes held yours prisoner as he insisted, his hands folding together. “It’s just… I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all,” you insisted again, this time placing your hand on his arm and giving him your best, albeit small, smile. “I promise I’ll talk to you if it’s something serious.”

Harry studied you for a moment, his gaze softening but not entirely free of doubt. “Alright,” he relented, though his voice held the weight of worry. “But you know I’m here, yeah? Always.”

Your smile wavered for a moment before you nodded. “I know, Harry. And I appreciate it.”

He leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he gave you one of his rare, genuine smiles. “Good. Because you’re rubbish at hiding things from me, you know.”

“I’m not that bad,” you countered, your voice tinged with forced levity, though the guilt gnawed at you.

“Oh, you are.” He teased, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “Don’t think I don’t notice. Just because I’m busy doesn’t mean I don’t see things.” He exaggerated as he pulled down his lower eyelids, earning an amused laugh from you.

Draco cleared his throat pointedly, his silver eyes narrowing slightly as he interrupted. “Speaking of distractions, Potter, shouldn’t you be focusing on Quidditch practice? I hear the Gryffindor team could use all the help they can get.”

Harry turned to Draco with a mock glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “I’ll see you on the field then, Malfoy. Let’s hope you can keep up.”

Draco smirked lazily, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh, I’ll do more than keep up. You might even learn something.”

Harry turned back to you, his smile softening again. His green eyes lingered on yours, and the playful banter faded from his tone. “Let me know if you want to talk,” he said softly. “I mean it.”

“I will,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper. Lying to him felt heavier than ever.

As Harry straightened up, he cast one last glance at the group before heading off toward the end of the table. The moment he was out of earshot, Draco let out a low whistle.

“Well, that was subtle,” he drawled, his tone thick with sarcasm. “Practically bleeding concern, isn’t he?”

You glared at him, though there was no real malice in it. “Lay off, Draco. He’s just worried.”

“Worried or suspicious?” Draco quipped, leaning back in his seat with a smirk.

“Both,” Hermione muttered, her gaze still fixed on the parchment she’d been furiously scribbling on. “And he’s not wrong. You were acting strange yesterday. Now we’re acting strange today.”

Luna, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally spoke, her voice as airy as ever. “He’s worried because he loves you. It’s a different kind of love than the one you’re searching for, but it’s real all the same.”

Her words hit you like a wave, leaving you momentarily breathless. Draco and Hermione both looked at her, their brows furrowing in unison.

“Luna,” Hermione began carefully. “What are you talking about?”

Luna didn’t answer, instead tilting her head and gazing at you with a quiet intensity. Her eyes seemed to see through you. It made your chest tighten, the weight of her words settling deep inside you. It made your throat dry.

“Can we focus, please?” you asked softly, your voice cracking slightly. “We don’t have much time to figure this out.”

Hermione nodded, her expression softening as she returned to the parchment. Draco watched you for a moment longer, his smirk fading into something quieter as he finally leaned forward.

“Fine. But you’d better be ready to pull off this little heist of yours, Golden Girl.” He quipped, his tone lighter than before. “I don’t fancy getting detention for your little mystery.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll try not to get us caught.”

“Good,” Draco smiled. “Because if Snape catches us, I’m blaming you.”

The four of you laughed quietly, the tension easing as you returned to your whispered planning. But as you went over the details, you couldn’t shake the lingering weight of Harry’s concern or the echo of Luna’s words in your mind.

None of you noticed how Harry glanced at you all from across the hall. Or how he lingered there, even as the rest of his teammates rose to leave for practice.

~~~

The hum of activity in the hallways served as a backdrop to your group as you made your way to Potions class. The weight of the plan hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You glanced at Hermione, who clutched her notes tightly, her brow furrowed in concentration. Draco walked slightly ahead, hands tucked into his robes, exuding a nonchalance that didn’t fool you in the slightest. Luna drifted alongside you, her steps light as if she were gliding, her gaze occasionally flicking to the shadows with that dreamy but knowing expression.

By the time you reached the dungeons, the chill of the stone walls seeped through your robes. The familiar scent of brewed ingredients hit you as you stepped inside the classroom, the low murmur of students settling into their seats filling the space. Snape was already at the front, his dark eyes sweeping over the class with his usual scowl.

You slipped into a seat next to Hermione, Draco directly behind you, and Luna to the side. Despite the anxieties, you couldn’t help but glance at where Luna sat. Harry's seat. Looking up at the door, you caught sight of Harry entering with Ron and Ginny. His eyes flickered over to you, his lips twitching slightly as he noted the change, but he said nothing, allowing Ginny to pull him toward seats at the far side of the room.

Snape began his lecture on advanced Draughts of Living Death, his voice low and commanding, but your mind was elsewhere. Every now and then, you risked a glance at the others. Hermione scribbled notes with obsessive precision, Draco twirled his quill with a smug, casual air, and Luna’s quill moved in lazy loops over her parchment, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the jars on Snape’s desk.

The class dragged on. Seconds felt like minutes as Snape’s sharp gaze swept the room, each pass landing momentarily on you. Though it was routine, every glance sent your heart skipping. You knew he had no reason to suspect anything- not yet- but it did little to calm your nerves.

Finally, the lesson ended. Snape assigned the class an essay on potion clarity, and as students began filing out, your group lingered, exchanging subtle glances.

“Now,” Hermione whispered as the last student exited.

Draco straightened, his smirk sharpening into a look of determination. “You sure about this, Granger?”

“Positive,” Hermione muttered, glancing toward the door to ensure it had fully shut behind Snape. “He usually checks his office during each class, but we can’t risk him coming back early.”

Luna moved toward the storage cabinet without a word, her movements so natural it almost looked like she belonged there. You followed, your heart pounding as Draco pulled out his wand and began muttering a series of counter-charms. The faint shimmer of wards dissipated with a soft hum, and Hermione smiled faintly, impressed despite herself.

“Impressive,” she murmured, stepping forward to open the cabinet. Inside, shelves upon shelves of neatly labeled jars gleamed in the dim light.

Hermione scanned the labels, muttering under her breath as she located the powdered asphodel and florafolimor. “Luna, the belladonna-”

“I’ve got it,” Luna said softly, her hand hovering over a small glass jar tucked in the shadows. She smiled at it, her fingers brushing the surface lightly before lifting it out with care.

“And you-”

“Distraction, yeah…” You muttered, biting your cheek.

You squared your shoulders and walked with feigned confidence toward Snape’s office. If there was one thing you could count on, it was his need to assert his superiority through sharp remarks. It would give Hermione, Draco, and Luna the time they needed- hopefully.

Reaching the door, you gave it a light knock. Snape’s gruff voice called out from inside.

“Enter.”

Pushing the door open, you found him seated at his desk, his quill scratching against parchment. He didn’t look up at first, his dark eyes fixed on the paper before him, though the weight of his attention was unmistakable.

“Miss {L/N}. To what do I owe the pleasure of your intrusion?” His voice was as dry as ever.

You hesitated for half a beat before forcing yourself to adopt your most polite tone. “Professor, I had a few questions about the Draught of Living Death. I didn’t want to leave class earlier without asking.”

Snape finally looked up, his expression unreadable but his gaze piercing. “How unlike you to seek clarification. I was under the impression you preferred to muddle through and hope for the best.”

You forced a sheepish smile. “I just want to make sure I understand the finer points of the brewing process. It seems… delicate.”

“Delicate,” Snape echoed, his voice heavy with skepticism. He set his quill down, folding his hands as he studied you. “Hardly the word I’d use. Continue.”

You launched into a carefully prepared line of questioning about ingredient preparation, doing your best to sound genuinely curious. “I was wondering.” You began hesitantly, “about the timing of adding asphodel root to the base. Does it need to steep for the full eight minutes, or would seven suffice to maintain the balance?”

Snape’s quill stilled mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the parchment, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Seven minutes,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate. “And what, pray tell, leads you to believe that deviating from the established procedure would yield acceptable results?”

You hesitated, feigning a sheepish laugh. “I didn’t mean to imply deviation, Professor. I just thought… perhaps the reaction might stabilize sooner if the ingredients are particularly fresh.”

Snape’s lips curled into a faint sneer, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “Fresh ingredients are no excuse for shortcuts, Miss {L/N}. The idea that potioneering can be improved by clever guesswork is-”

He stopped abruptly, his expression tightening as though catching himself. You saw a faint shift in his features, a shadow of something; regret, perhaps? Before his voice turned cold again. “...a notion better left to amateurs.”

You felt your palms grow clammy under his gaze, but you pressed on. “It wasn’t guesswork, Professor. I may have read about a similar adjustment in an old potions journal- something about reducing reaction time in draught bases.”

Snape’s brow arched, his dark eyes narrowing further. “A potions journal, you say. And this mysterious author, whose work you have so diligently failed to cite?”

“I… don’t recall the name.” You lied, trying to keep your voice even. “It was tucked away in the restricted section, and the notes were... incomplete.”

“The restricted section,” Snape repeated, his tone sharp and cutting. “Convenient. Tell me, Miss {L/N}, why would a student of your… abilities suddenly develop an interest in obscure texts on potioneering? It’s hardly the kind of endeavor that suits your usual inclinations. I suspected your first few months of your sixth year would be spent on something closer to practical magics.”

Jerk.

Your jaw tightened at his words, the weight of his insinuation pressing down on you. “I just wanted to understand more.” You spoke carefully. “Potions are precise, and I thought learning a little extra wouldn’t hurt.”

Snape leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he regarded you with a mix of scrutiny and something far deeper. “Precision,” he murmured, his tone softer but no less sharp. “A rare quality in most students, and yet you claim it as your newfound aspiration. Tell me, what exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

The question hung in the air like a blade. His voice carried an undertone you couldn’t place, a weight that seemed to stretch beyond the walls of this room. “I’m not trying to accomplish anything, Professor,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I just don’t want to make mistakes.”

Snape exhaled slowly, his expression darkening. For a moment, his gaze flickered to the cauldron on his desk, and you swore you saw the faintest trace of something in his eyes- an old, unspoken memory.

“‘Mistakes,’” He repeated softly, almost to himself. “It is a noble goal to avoid them. But tell me, Miss {L/N}, what do you know of the consequences of precision?”

You hesitated, unsure of where he was leading. “I know that even small errors can be disastrous.”

Snape’s lips twitched, a faint and bitter smile ghosting across his face. “True. But precision,” he continued, his voice quieter now, “can also trap you. It demands exactness, inflexibility. One wrong step, one second too late… and even the most careful efforts can lead to ruin.”

His words struck a chord in you, though you couldn’t quite understand why. He leaned forward, his sharp gaze softening for a fraction of a second. “Does it ever strike you as curious, Miss {L/N}, how much of a person can be revealed by their interest in a cauldron?”

You frowned slightly. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Snape’s expression flickered again, and this time, his voice carried a weight of old grief. Like you could feel his tone deep within your own chest. “There was a student I knew once- an irritating perfectionist who thought he could master the world through potions. He believed precision could solve anything, that each ingredient had a purpose, and that purpose could always be controlled.” His eyes darkened further. “He learned, eventually, that some things cannot be bottled, no matter how carefully one tries.”

A chill ran through you as he continued, his gaze boring into yours like he was searching for something just beyond your reach. “And you,” he said softly, “have that same look about you. The same restlessness. The same hunger for answers.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. There was something in his voice, something raw and vulnerable, that caught you off guard. You almost felt sympathetic for your scheme now. “Who was he?”

Snape’s eyes flickered with a mix of anger and sadness, as though the memory pained him more than he would admit. “Someone you would do good to leave behind,” he said curtly, leaning back in his chair. “Now, if you’re finished with your charade of curiosity, I suggest you leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

The dismissal was sharp, but there was a tremor in his voice that lingered. As you turned to go, he spoke again, his tone quieter. “Miss {L/N}. Do you-”

Before he could finish, a faint crash echoed from the classroom. Your blood ran cold as Snape’s expression darkened, his head snapping toward the sound.

“What was that?” He demanded, rising from his chair in a single, fluid motion.

You scrambled for an excuse, stepping forward as if to block his path. “Probably Peeves, Professor. He’s been causing trouble in the dungeons all week.”

Snape’s gaze bored into you, skepticism radiating from him. “Peeves does not tamper with my storage cabinets,” he said coldly, brushing past you with a swish of his robes.

The sight that greeted you in the classroom froze you in place. Hermione clutched a jar of florafolimor, her face pale. Draco stood by the open cabinet, wand raised defensively, and Luna held the jar of belladonna like it was a fragile treasure. And there before them, a scattered jar of moonstone dust coating the floors in their pearlescent hue.

“What,” Snape hissed, his voice venomous, “Do you think you are doing?”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Hermione stammered, “P-Professor Snape, we-”

“Spare me your excuses, Miss Granger,” Snape snapped, his gaze sweeping over the group before settling on you. “And you, Miss {L/N}, how very typical of you to involve yourself in foolishness.”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for an answer. But before you could speak, Snape dismissed the others with a flick of his hand, eyeing the ingredients as if they had personally offended him.

“Go. Now.”

Hermione hesitated, but Draco nudged her toward the door. Luna lingered for a moment, giving you a small, reassuring smile before following the others out.

As the door clicked shut, Snape turned back to you, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze heavy.

“You’re a good kid, Miss {L/N},” He started at last, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. You'd never expect a compliment from Snape of all people. “Too good to be meddling with things you don’t understand.”

The words hit you, the unexpected gentleness catching you off guard. You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.

“Tell me. Are you familiar with the myth of Pleiades?” He asked suddenly, his tone almost casual. His dark eyes watched you intently, searching for something in your reaction.

You hesitated at the unexpected question, furrowing your brow as you searched your memory. “The Pleiades? The star cluster, right? Seven sisters… something about them being chased by a hunter? Orion?”

Snape’s lips twitched, a shadow of what might have been a smirk. “Adequate, though simplified. The Pleiades were the daughters of Atlas, their fates bound by their father’s eternal burden. Each of them immortalized as stars, forever out of reach, yet always visible.” He stepped closer, his tone taking on a peculiar weight, as though the words themselves were more than just a myth. “Does that story resonate with you at all?”

You blinked, feeling a strange pang of familiarity at his words, though you couldn’t quite place why. “Not really,” you admitted softly. “Why?”

Snape studied you carefully, his dark gaze unwavering, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed almost... uncertain. “No reason,” he said, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him. He turned away, pacing toward the cabinet with deliberate slowness. “I find it curious,” he continued, his tone back to its usual cutting sharpness, “that one might be drawn to something so distant. Something they can never touch.”

Your chest tightened at his words, though you couldn’t explain why. “Are we still talking about the stars?” you asked hesitantly.

Snape stopped in his tracks, his back to you, his hands clasped behind him. “Perhaps.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and you thought you caught the faintest hint of melancholy in it. “Or perhaps we’re talking about memories. About the weight of knowing something once and losing it.”

You swallowed hard, the knot in your stomach tightening. “You… you know, don’t you?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “About me. About what’s missing.”

Snape turned to face you, his expression carefully controlled, but his eyes held a depth you’d never seen before. “What I know, Miss {L/N}, is irrelevant. What matters is that you understand the dangers of meddling with forces beyond your grasp.”

“That’s not an answer,” You countered, your voice trembling. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Snape’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “You are not entitled to answers,” he said firmly. “Not yet. But I will say this: there are reasons some memories remain buried. Reasons beyond your comprehension.”

The words stung, but they only fueled your determination. “Then why bring up the Pleiades? Why ask me if it resonates if you didn’t want me to think about it?”

For a moment, Snape looked as though he might argue, but then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and he let out a quiet sigh. “Because,” he said softly, his voice almost gentle, “sometimes the stars remind us of what we’ve lost. And sometimes, if we look closely enough, they remind us of what we still have.”

The cryptic answer left you reeling, your mind racing with half-formed questions and fragmented memories. But before you could press him further, Snape straightened, his usual cold mask snapping back into place.

“That will be all, Miss {L/N}. Leave. And if you value the fleeting trust I’ve shown, stay out of my cabinet.”

“That's not fair, Professor.” You snapped, tears gathering in your eyes. Frustration seeping through every part of your being. “I deserve to-”

“I have been nothing if not fair tonight, Vix!”

You both stared at each other in shock, just blinking at each other as your breath quickened.

“Who-”

“I could have you expelled. Attempting to steal from me, especially such expensive ingredients? I am sending you back to your dorms. Asking you, now, to leave it to lay.”

You hesitated, searching his face for any hint of vulnerability, but he had already turned away, his attention fixed on his desk. With a heavy heart, you nodded and made your way to the door.

Just as your hand touched the handle, Snape’s voice stopped you. “Miss {L/N}.”

You turned back, finding him watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. Almost sorry for raising his voice. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “Choices you don't remember making.. they have the best possible outcome.”

His words followed you as you stepped into the corridor, the weight of the conversation pressing down on your chest like a stone. You didn’t know what he was hiding, but you were certain of one thing: whatever it was, it was tied to the stars, to the past, and to something he wasn’t ready to share.

And somehow, deep down, you knew the Pleiades were more than just a story. They were a clue.

You did your best not to be overwhelmed. But there was an anger- bubbling in your chest as you made it back to the Gryffindor commons. Not caring to go to your next classes, not now. Even if Professor Remus was your favorite lesson of the day, you needed air. You needed a breath.

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[willwediejustalittle]

These three are extremely meme-able