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generalmoonpolice · 2 months ago

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MAEVE 😭 🥹

now they need a grumpy cat that loves sunshine the most 😂

The Best Thing - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This was so much fun for me. I love writing the chapters where they're just livin' life. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mine by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary/Warnings: Sorta-Request from @myladyship! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat. Takes place ten months post-series.

That thing hadn’t been there, when Ben left the house this morning.

He was pretty goddamn certain it hadn’t.

But, as the mangy little creature stared at him from the couch, Ben ran back through the day in his head. Just in case.

He’d gotten up, fucked Her until she burst into flames, then made breakfast while She got ready for work. Normal morning. Perfect morning. Ryan had gotten on the bus—She’d be hesitant about him using that thing, worried about bullying, but it was working out pretty damn fine—and She’d come downstairs in a skirt that Ben had wasted no time in ripping off Her body. He’d buried himself between her thighs and tongue-fucked Her until she squirted all over his face, then he’d pulled out his cock and bent Her over the counter until she was screaming his name.

Normal morning.

He needed to buy Her a new skirt. She’d liked that one, and She liked Ben more, but he should still make sure She was a happy as fucking possible, all the damn time, because She was perfect and he fucking loved Her and there was nothing better in the world than taking care of Her and-

The creature yowled at him, and Ben scowled. It was looking at Ben like he was intruder, when this was his goddamn house, that had been bought with his fucking money—technically Her money, but as She frequently reminded him, the thing about marriage was that it was Ben’s money as well—and this thing didn’t have a single fucking say about where Ben did and didn’t go.

It hadn’t been here when he’d left this morning. He was fucking positive. After the kitchen sex, he’d made Her eat, then driven Her to work. She’d given him a blowjob in the car—Christ, he was the luckiest man alive—and he’d had to go back to the house to change his pants, because of what Frenchie was calling the No Cum near the Chemicals rule. Apparently it was dangerous, and not the fun kind of dangerous. The that’s how Homelander happened kind of dangerous.

So he’d changed his pants.

Everything had been good. She’d been humming and peaceful in Ben’s body, Ryan’s turtle had been in its tank, and when he’d left the house, that had been it. Nothing else.

This place was supposed to be fucking secure. More secure than the fucking White House, because Singer was replaceable, and She and Ryan weren’t. Hughie had promised this place was fucking secure, and She’d pointed out that even if it wasn’t, none of them could be killed, and there wasn’t a single place in the world someone could take Her that Ben couldn’t find, but She shouldn’t have to be taken. She should get to fucking rest, and if this place could be broken into, even by an animal, Ben was going to brutally maul a lot of people.

He couldn’t even be sure it was an animal. It might be a supe. Or a supes pet, sent to do something to them, and-

What’s wrong with you.

He scowled into the air. I’m fine, Sunshine, go-

I can feel you, Benjamin. Your throat is getting tight, and it feels like the world is spinning. There was a brief pause. You’re home for the day, right? I know Butcher’s been trying to put together that clean-up mission for some of the stray Vought scientists, but he promised to give me a week heads up before you left-

I’m home. Ben needed to cut Her off there. She’d hurt herself. And Butcher’s still flailing around like a fucking pussy with that mission, cuckfuck can’t do paperwork to save his life.

Then what’s wrong.

Nothing’s- He let out a long breath, glaring at the cat. He couldn’t lie to Her. Don’t lose your damn mind, beautiful. I’m going to handle it.

He could hear Her frown. Handle what?

Intruder. In the house. Ben’s fists curled, and the creature yawned. Like Ben was fucking nothing. Calling him a coward, in his goddamn house, sitting of his fucking couch-

Ben, there are no intruders, I was home an hour- There was another second of silence, then She snorted. You’re talking about Maeve, aren’t you.

Ben frowned. I thought you said that lady went to fucking Florida or some shit-

California. And she did. I’m talking about the cat.

It stretched, then curled into a tiny ball in the pillows.

Ben-

Ben grunted Her name down the connection. When the fuck did we get a cat.

Um, about two hours ago. And before you get mad-

His eyes narrowed at the air. He had to shut that shit down, now. I’m not mad. I don’t get fucking mad at you, I just didn’t expect a goddamn cat.

But-

No. I love you, and I’m not mad.

She sighed in the silence. I know. I love you, too.

Good. Explain.

Remember last month, when I said that I wanted a cat, and you said I could have ‘whatever the fuck I wanted’, and I said that I love you, and that’s very sweet, but if you don’t want a cat, you could just tell me?

Ben didn’t remember that. When did-

After Parent night, at school. Another Dad was talking about how hard it was to get gifts for his wife, and you got, um- She swallowed down the silent line, and Ben smirked. Her tone was growing softer, the way it only ever did for him. She was flushing, probably tapping Her fingers on her desk, and thinking about Ben with an infinite love he could feel, through his whole body.

Sunshine-

You told everyone that gift giving wasn’t hard at all, when your wife made you harder than anything else.

Ben remembered that. He specifically remembered how She’d wrinkled Her pretty nose and whacked his chest, and how all the dumbfuck parents had looked mortified—good word, maybe MM was onto something with this word of the week shit—at his words, like they hadn’t already all fucked at least once to get their stupid fucking kids.

She sighed in Ben’s ear. After that, when that bitch of a mom-

Fake Face-

Yeah. She asked you exactly how you were such a perfect husband, you told her that I was a perfect wife, and after she left I asked you the same thing, and you said that it was what I deserved, and you’d shoot yourself before you didn’t take care of me right, and taking care of me right meant fucking me right and getting me whatever I wanted and-

I ate you out in a supply closet. Ben grinned into the air, and the cat gave him an odd look. You nearly made the damn building burn down-

Yeah, because you decided that three orgasms ‘wasn’t enough’-

And I was right, brat. I remember you begging to cum for me one more time, saying please and taking it like a good girl-

Fucking- I’m at work, Ben-

Lock the door.

I can’t, I’m in a meeting-

Then why the fuck are you talking to me-

Because I’m trying to explain the cat, you horny old cunt.

Smartass.

You love it. The point I was trying to make is that, after the, um, supply closet sex, I made a joke that you’d never need to get me anything at all, as long I had you and your, um- She coughed between their heads, Her voice suddenly a little breathy, and Ben could really see that flush over Her cheeks. Cock. And you took that very seriously and told me that I’d always have your cock, but you’d also give me the goddamn moon, if I asked. And I said that I’d settle for a cat, and, yeah.

Right. Ben grunted down the connection. That tracked, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. If She wanted the cat, the thing could stay. Are you wet, Sunshine?

Benjamin- She sighed in his head. Meeting. We can’t have mind sex during another meeting.

Nobody fucking caught you last time-

Yeah, but I have to stand up and talk this time- She cut Herself off, and Ben could almost see Her pretty frown. Is that it? About Maeve?

Ben shrugged. You want to keep the thing?

Yes, but-

Then that’s it. He shot the animal another glare. It was really fucking ugly. Why the fuck did you name it Maeve-

I don’t know, it looked like a Maeve-

It looks like a fucking Frankenstein-

That’s rude, Ben. Apologize to her.

No.

Benjamin-

It’s a fucking cat. It can’t even hear our conversation-

Yeah, but you’re probably glaring at her and making her feel nervous. Calm down and apologize.

Ben let out a long, slow breath. For Her, he’d apologize to the fucking cat, because She wasn’t doing it to make fun of him. She was just perfect and kind and good, and genuinely wanted Ben to get along with this ugly creature on his couch.

“Sorry.” He grunted to the thing, and it just blinked at him. I apologized.

Thank you, my love. There’s food for her in the kitchen-

I’ll handle it, darling. Have a good meeting. Kick all their fucking asses up their heads.

She giggled down the connection. Gross.

You love it.

I do. I love you.

She did. And Ben could always feel it.

I love you too, Sunshine.

She hummed, and faded back into only love, deep and permanent in Ben’s body.

He’d feed the cat. For Her.

But he’d also do fucking anything for Her, so a cat really wasn’t that bad at all.

——————

“Where did you find her?”

Ben didn’t have to look up to the wonder in Ryan’s voice. The kid loved the damn cat. He’d come home and his jaw had dropped, his eyes lighting up the moment he’d seen the ugly thing sitting in the middle of the fucking hallway.

She’d shot Ben a smug grin, and he’d rolled his eyes, planting firm kiss on the top of Her head before stomping into the kitchen.

They could fawn over the damn thing all they fucking wanted. Ben would not fall into line like a fucking pussy for an animal. Over the weekend it had eaten all its damn food in a second, jumped up on their bed twice, and—worst of all—managed to distract Her from sex.

And after She’d let the fucker out into the yard, She’d come right back. Returned to their bed and crawled over Ben’s chest with a sweet, happy smile, laughing when he’d flipped Her over and pinned Her between his body and the mattress, then moaned his name when he’d fucked Her stupid.

“You’re jealous of the cat.” She’d whispered onto his lips, when he was still buried deep in Her cunt, and he’d scowled.

“Shut up.”

She’d laughed, holding Ben’s face between Her hands and looking perfect and beautiful and thoroughly, properly wrecked below him, and Ben had shut Her up with a long, deep kiss.

“I love you.” He’d muttered against Her still-parted lips. “Next time, let the damn cat out before you suck my cock.”

“Jealous-“

“I’m not jealous of the fucking cat,” he’d drawled Her name, pushing up on his elbows to give her a pointed look. “I just don’t want our fucking neighbors to see all my cum on your face, beautiful.”

She’d flushed, Ben had laughed and hauled Her up into his arms, and they’d taken a long, warm, uninterrupted shower.

But now the cat was back. She’d said it was an outdoor cat, and that it would do that, but still.

Now Ben had to listen to Her and Ryan fawn over it for doing nothing, while he cooked their fucking dinner.

“She was in the alley, outside my office.” Ben glanced over to see Her scratching the cat’s ear, and tried not to let it knock the breath out of his fucking chest. How beautiful She was. How fucking perfect She was.

He didn’t succeed.

He didn’t really fucking care, either.

“We’d all been feeding her, for a few months. And Ben and I had been talking about getting a cat-“

Ryan looked over to Ben with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Yes.” Ben grunted. “Listen to your mother talk.”

There was a brief moment of silence that Ben didn’t understand, and then—like nothing had happened at all—She continued. Explaining to Ryan how rescues were always better than breeders, and She’d been able to feel the cat’s joy when She’d held it, so she figured giving it a good home with them was the best possible option.

Ryan was asking a lot of questions about cat care, and the apparent fact that She could feel animal’s emotions—She’d explained that one before, something about them being slightly muted, but mostly through a barrier that was about biology or some shit—when the reason for the silence hit him.

He’d called Her Ryan’s mom.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that in his head, or at school meetings or senate hearings. But he’d never done it at home.

He wasn’t fucking wrong. She was, in every fucking sense but biological, Ryan’s mother. And the kid’s biological mother was long fucking dead, so as long as Ryan didn’t hate it, he’d keep doing it.

“You made Ryan really happy.” She told him later that night, and Ben frowned at Her from the dresser.

She was wearing one of his shirts, sitting cross legged on their bed. After they had this conversation, Ben needed to rip it off Her perfect body.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.”

“You accepted Maeve.” She hummed, smiling at him as he got changed. “And you called me his mom.”

Ben pauses, scanning over Her carefully. Her heart was at its normal rhythm, and she was happy and easy in his body but-

“I don’t mind that you called me that, Ben.” She whispered, tapping Her fingers on her knee. “I- It’s nice. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing a good job with him, and I’ve been really worried that Ryan’s going to think we’ll love him less, now that we’re thinking of having another kid-“

“That’s fucking insane-“

She shook Her head. “It happens a lot, when someone gets a divorce and remarries, then has kids in the new marriage. And this isn’t that, but it’s adjacent, and I know he still worries about us waking up one day and deciding he’s too much like-“

She swallowed, Her heart picked up slightly, and Ben didn’t need Her to finish the sentence. There was only one pussy fuck in the universe who was able to make Her fearful and quiet like that, even when he was long gone.

So Ben moved to kneel before Her, brushing her hair out of Her face and muttering Her name until she met his gaze.

“I’ll talk to Ryan.” He muttered. “Make sure he knows we’re never fucking replacing him, get that just like his father shit out of his head. And you are doing the best fucking job. You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, and Ryan fucking knows it.”

She nodded, leaning down to press Her brow to Ben’s, soft tears falling from Her eyes.

Ben had long learned that he couldn’t stop it. That these were the storms that She just needed him to be there for, to ride out at Her side and then hold Her for as long as She asked after.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to bring Homelander back to life, punch the fuckhead into the goddamn sun, then chop him up and feed him to sharks.

“He’s dead.” Ben muttered. “Gone. Ryan’s safe, because you fucking killed him-“

“Technically Butcher killed him-“

“Technically Butcher can gargle my balls. You did all the damn work.” Ben wiped Her tears off her cheeks, holding her gaze as he continued. “Ryan wouldn’t want another mom. You’re fucking perfect, Sunshine, so stop losing your damn mind.”

She gave him a soft smile, nodded, and kissed Ben gently. Like they had time.

And they really fucking did. This was going to be forever, so Ben could unravel Her slowly when she started to almost fall over him and scratch at his back, ripping his shirt off Her body just like he’d promised, taking Her nipple into her mouth until she was moaning his name-

The cat yowled. Outside the door.

It wanted to go outside again. And there wasn’t a fucking chance Ben was letting Her leave the bed, so pressed on last kiss to her brow, stomped outside, and opened the back door.

The cat trotted up behind him, looked between Ben and the yard, and sat down.

“Go.” Ben grunted, and it didn’t. It started licking its ass.

He gave up fast. His wife was waiting for him in bed, and She was far more important than the fickle animal—fickle, another good word, he was going to shove that one in MM’s face—so Ben slammed the door closed and returned to his bedroom with a scowl.

She slept easy that night. Wrapped in Ben’s arms, breathing even and heartbeat in perfect time with his.

When he woke up, he peeled Her off his body with a kiss to the top of Her head, gave himself plenty of time to admire how fucking beautiful she looked—happy, peaceful, almost glowing in the morning light—and forced himself out of bed.

She needed coffee. And Ben could give that Her, easily.

But he opened the door, and the fucking cat was waiting for him. Circled up outside their bedroom door, so comfortably settled that Ben would bet a lot of damn money it had been there all night.

“Fucking pervert.” He grumbled, stepping over its tail and walking to the stairs.

The cat only stretched, yawned, and followed Ben down the hall.

—————

Ben had the house to himself for the night. She was out with Annie and Kimiko doing whatever women did to have fun—crime? probably crime—and Ryan was back at Butcher’s, so Ben had the whole fucking house to himself.

He hated it.

It was empty. Quiet. Too damn much like life before the Russian’s got him—when the world had been boring and flat and he’d hated every single fucking pussy he had to talk to—and Ben fucking despised it. He’d agreed to a nice, big house in the suburbs because that’s what She wanted. Something simple, and normal, because the rest of their lives would always remain in pure fucking chaos. Ben would’ve lived anywhere She told him to, as long as She was there.

And She’d be back tonight. Ben knew She’d be back tonight, and he could feel Her halfway across the city—and there was no danger or distress down the connection, so everything was good—but he still fucking missed Her.

He should’ve damned the custody agreement and taken Ryan back for the night. It wasn’t even a legal thing, it was just Her being too kind, too good, and giving Butcher alternate weekends. Ben could’ve told Butcher to suck his fucking dick, because he wanted to take Ryan to an arcade, or watch a movie, or just go out in the yard and do some baseball-

But Ryan liked going to Butcher’s.

And Ben was a grown fucking man. He’d fought in a war. Two, if he counted all the shit with Homelander. He could survive for a goddamn night while his son and wife were gone, and then they’d come home, and everything would be good again.

Bonus, when he tackled Her to the floor and fucked Her dumb in the hallway, then on the stairs, then anywhere in their bedroom that She asked, Ben be able to grumble all the praise and teasing comments he wanted, and She’d be twice as perfect and needy for him than usual. Which was fucking saying something, because She’d already been an hour late to Her dinner, after a hand job, Ben ruining Her first outfit to fuck Her against the door, and fingering in the shower.

He fucking loved Her.

He could survive the night.

Dinner was steak, but he made too much and put some in the fridge for Her later. He did some training, and showered, and ended up on the couch, flipping through the shows to try and find something that he could watch alone.

Everything was better when She watched it with him. When they watched documentaries, She’d make little smart mouthed jokes that were funnier than the program, and when they watched dramas, She’d curl right up into his side, where She fucking belonged. If it was something She loved, She’d spend half the time talking over it—telling Ben a million little facts and opinions—and he didn’t care that he couldn’t hear the show, because She was more fucking important by a mile.

The best was when Ben would watch baseball and She’d pretend to know what the hell was happening. She was fucking adorable—trying to act like She understood the rules—and She’d get all damn riled up on his behalf when the ref made a shit call. Then Ben would explain it to Her, she’d stare up at him with parted lips and a slack, wanting expression, and he’d just chuckle, pull Her further into his lap, and kiss Her until she was writhing in his hold-

Ben started with a grunt as the cat jumped up onto his lap. A month living with them instead of the alley had done it well—smoother, cleaner fur, a lighter step, a proper stomach—but it had also seemed to grow, annoyingly, fond of Ben.

Fucking Ben.

He fed it the most. It was the only explanation. Ben was usually up first, so he fed the thing more than She or Ryan did, and that’s why it liked him.

He also let it outside the most, but that was just so She wouldn’t flash the neighbors. She cleaned its litterbox, and pet it more, and it should fucking love Her because everything should love Her, and Ben was not the one who had rescued it from a damn alley.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy.” She’d smiled at him yesterday, when he’d grumbled about this over dinner. “I think you’re very lovable.”

“You’re fucking bias, Sunshine, you don’t count-“

She’d shrugged. “Agree to disagree. If I was a cat, I’d follow you around all the time.”

“Because you goddamn love me-“

“Maybe Maeve loves you.”

“It’s a fucking cat,” He’d grumbled Her name, and the cat walked into the kitchen, rubbing against Ben’s ankles and looking up at his like it fucking expected something. “See, it just wants my food-“

“I’m eating the same thing.” She’d hummed, giving him an amused look. “Why isn’t she trying to get my attention?”

That had been a good point. She was so fucking beautiful and smart—Her wedding ring shining on Her finger and all of Ben’s love radiant in his chest—and that had been a damn good point.

So Ben had just rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“This a fucking calamity,” He’d grumbled Her name, and Her smile had widened.

“Word of the week?”

He’d grunted, and She’d giggled, leaning Her head on his shoulder. “You used it wrong, my love.”

“The website-“

“The website was wrong. I sent MM a new one to use a few days ago. Calamity is for disasters, it’s not intangible with just a bad thing. Like- A hurricane, or a war. Those are calamities. Not our cat loving you.”

“It doesn’t love me.”

“Yes, it does.”

She’d smiled up at him, pressed a kiss right over his beard, and Ben had let it go.

But now the cat was on his fucking lap.

Looking at him with big, shining eyes in the dark, starting to kneed on his leg like it was going to-

Christ on a fucking cross, the thing sat down.

He should shove it off. Stand up. Get it away.

But it was Her fucking cat. She adored this thing, and harming it would be, in a way, harming Her-

Ben narrowed his eyes at it. “One-time thing, you fucking pussy, got it?”

The cat blinked at him. Ben decided it understood.

It fell asleep on his lap. Ben fell asleep on the couch. And when he woke up in the morning they’d been joined by Her, tucked into Ben’s side with her arms wrapped around his torso. Still in Her dress from last night.

Ben grinned, running his fingers through Her hair until she let out a soft, happy sound, and still didn’t move.

There were much fucking worse places to be trapped.

———

Butcher’s days were fucking numbered.

The cuckass had said four days. This mission would take four days. They’d fly out, finish it in two, clean up whatever mess they left behind, then fly back home. The pussy scientists wouldn’t know something was wrong until Ben was punching them square in the face, they might catch a rogue supe or two in the process, and then Ben could go the fuck home.

But then the FSAB agents got fucking cocky, and tried to join in, and they’d had to spend a whole fucking day reworking the plan. Then they’d gotten into the lab, but one of the head scientists had seen them coming—none of the team had said it aloud, but they’d exchanged sharp looks of we did our damn jobs, this is the government’s fault—so they needed to track the pussy down. And the scientist had hid all his research, so they had to fucking find that as well, and if one more pussy suit from the FBAA asked Ben about a single goddamn thing, he was going to start throwing nukes out and crushing fucking skulls-

“That’s not very nice, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring at Her pretty face on the tiny screen of his phone. “I’m not trying to be fucking nice, I’m trying to come home-“

“I know, but I’d still appreciate not having to visit you in prison.”

“Prisons can’t fucking hold me-“

She sighed, giving him a flat look. “Ben, you know they’ve been developing things to hold all of us down if they need to, right?”

He sat taller in his chair, and the radiance in his chest growing white-hot, because nobody was allowed to fucking touch Her, not a single fucking pussy in the universe, Ben didn’t give a shit about them trying to put him back under, but She’d been held and broken too many fucking times, and Ben would be damned if he let it happen again-

“I’m fine, now, Ben.” She gave him a soft smile through the screen, and Ben really wished he could touch Her. Hold Her. Kiss Her and let Her melt into his arms, where She was fucking safe. “You’d feel it if I wasn’t.”

He would. That was true.

It didn’t make him relax, though.

“What the fuck do you mean, hold us down.”

“I-“ She let out a long breath, and Ben could see Her fingers tapping on the table. “We’re the most dangerous group of people on the planet, Ben. And we’re all friends and co-workers and it’s been established based on previous patterns that we’d do anything for each other. To the government, that’s a threat, especially because we haven’t exactly played nice with them historically.”

“We would’ve played nice if they weren’t fucking idiots.” Ben grumbled, and it got an adoring smile and easy laugh, so now he was mostly sitting tall with a glowing pride in his chest.

She continued, Her voice a little lighter than before. “Yeah, but to them it’s just not playing nice. It’s the threat thing. Butcher’s a known loose cannon, and now he can shoot laser out of his eyes. Annie’s sweet, but she can still fly and create electrical storms, and she killed the Deep. Kimiko can’t be killed, and she does have a terrorist background, and they-“ She cut Herself off with a long sigh. “I know for a fact that a lot of top officials in Singer’s cabinet are still trying to get Ryan taken away from us and locked up.”

“I won’t fucking let that happen, Sunshine.” Ben muttered, his hands moving forward on a useless fucking instinct to touch Her, but She was just an image in a screen. He did the second-best thing instead. I’ll fucking kill them, all of them, before they lay a single goddamn finger on you or Ryan-

I know. She gave him a small, sad smile. But they know that. We’re the biggest threat, Ben. They know what you’ll do for Ryan and I, they know Ryan’s attached to us and won’t voluntarily leave, and they- I’m the problem. The big one.

Ben scowled. She could be a problem, but only in the way where She’d get on Her knees and beg Ben to suck his cock, or become a pleading, needy mess below him. She gave him a million fucking problems every goddamn day, and he fucking loved it, but the goddamn government didn’t know that, so-

They haven’t gotten anything for me. She sighed. There’s literally no way to incapacitate me.

Good.

No, Ben, it’s- They’re well aware that if they knocked you down, I’d come get you in ten fucking seconds, and all bets would be off.

He grinned at Her. You’d break me out of prison, darling?

Of course I would, you smug ass-

You love me.

I do, but-

Ben said Her name, firm and strong down the bond, and She blinked at him through the screen. Nothing’s going to fucking hurt us again. Ever. Or Ryan, or any of our other kids.

She raised Her brows. Other kids?

He rolled his eyes. I fucked you full of my cum last week, smartass.

Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.

What, that I’m going to fuck you so good you’re never going to empty of me? Ben smirked, leaning a little closer to the phone so he could see Her flush. That I’m going to make you so cockdrunk you never come down, that I’m going to take such good fucking care of you while you’re carrying our kid that they’ll come out fucking glowing-

Babies don’t glow. She mumbled, but Ben knew that voice. And that flush.

He’d won. She was distracted from thoughts of the government, and looking at him with dazed, adoring eyes through the phone, and nothing was wrong in the entire world. Our babies could glow. Frenchie said they’d be supes-

Yeah, but- Actually, that’s a good point. This would be the first completely supe baby in history, and the first one with our V-

So it would glow.

We don’t know that it wouldn’t, but I doubt-

It’ll glow. Ben grinned at Her. It’s your baby, beautiful. It’ll glow.

She rolled Her eyes, the flush deepening. Kiss ass.

Brat. I’m going to fuck you so good when I get home, He drawled Her name between their heads, and could fucking feel Her want for him through his whole goddamn body. Make you fucking stupid on my cock-

Ben, please-

Save it, Sunshine. He winked at Her in the phone. Need to hear it when I’m buried in that perfect fucking pussy-

Ryan’s home, you asshole-

He laughed. Kid’s used to it.

Yeah, but- She cut Herself off, her gaze dropping away from the phone to something on the floor. “Hi, baby, do you wanna say hi?”

Ben frowned. “I didn’t give you a baby yet-“

She laughed, shooting Ben an amused look. “It’s Maeve. She heard your voice.”

“I was talking on the- How the fuck did she hear me.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy, you were talking on the what?”

“The Ben’o’phone.” He grunted, leaning forward in his chair to see what she was looking at, Her attention remaining on the floor. The movement wasn’t helping. The image wasn’t moving. “Answer my damn question-“

“We were talking aloud earlier,” She shrugged. “And I’m wearing one of your shirts, so maybe she can just smell you.”

“Why the fuck would that matter-“

“Because she loves you. I get it.” She smiled down at the floor. “Come here, you can talk to him as well.”

Ben grunted Her name, and half a second later he was staring at a cat ass instead of his wife.

Then Maeve turned and started head-butting the camera, and Ben would be pissed if he couldn’t also hear Her laughing in the background.

The point of the call had been to fucking see Her. And, because She was perfect, she did pull Maeve into Her lap after a few seconds, continuing as if nothing had happened.

It kept looking at him, the whole call. She was petting Maeve’s ears as they talked, and it kept fucking staring at him-

“She misses you, Ben.”

He shook his head. “It’s a fucking cat, Sunshine, it’s forgotten I exist-“

“No, she misses you. Yesterday she was yowling at the door, and then she was disappointed when I opened it instead of you.”

“How the fuck-“

“I can feel it. She misses you.” She paused, and gave him a small smile. “I miss you. Tell Butcher to hurry up, or I’ll punch him.”

Ben snorted. “I don’t think he’s going to be that perturbed by that, beautiful.”

“Then let’s fucking test the theory-“ She paused, Her smile growing. “Perturbed. That’s good. Do you want me to tell you if MM uses it?”

“He fucking has to, that’s how word of the week works-“

She laughed. “It’s Thursday, my love, have you used it multiple times?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her smile could build new universes, and the love in Ben’s chest was so fucking powerful, he was convinced it might.

“I love you, Benjamin.” She whispered, and Maeve made a little sound on Her lap. “We both do.”

Ben grunted. “I love you too, Sunshine. Just you.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, dropping Her voice to a mocking, fake whisper. “He loves you, Maeve, he’s just grumpy.”

He didn’t.

But he did love how fucking happy She was, wearing his shirt and being beautiful and sitting, safe and easy in their home.

If he didn’t get home soon, Butcher was going to have to die.

———

The flight had been too fucking long. Too many goddamn hours stuck on a plane sitting next to fucking Butcher, because the pussy was somehow the only person on the whole goddamn plane that wasn’t either talking shit about how dumb those scientists had been—Frenchie and Kimiko had holed up in the corner, and Ben wasn’t good enough at that sign language shit to keep up, so he couldn’t participate in the conversation if he wanted to—or trying to hit on him.

All these dumbfuck BSFA agents kept hitting on him.

“You look like you got a stick up your fuckin’ ass, gov-“

“Shut up.” Ben grunted, shooting Butcher a glare. “I want to get the fuck home, not have a conversation.”

Butcher just shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to talk to you either, but it’s lookin’ like it’s either that or leavin’ you to the bloody wolves over there.”

Ben didn’t have to follow Butcher’s gaze to know that he was talking about the giggly FSSB agents in the corner of the jet. He could fucking hear them, hear them talking about him like he was fucking meat, and he missed Her-

“Don’t know why they’re botherin’.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Half the shit you’ve said the whole mission is about how fuckin’ perfect your girl is-“

“Because she is perfect-“

“I know that, Gov, but I ain’t tryin’ to ride your dick, either-“

“Nobody rides my dick but-“

Butcher cut him off with Her name, giving Ben a flat look. “I told you. I know. We all fuckin’ know.”

Ben scowled, jerking his head to the agents. “They don’t.”

“Well, that’s their fuckin’ heads, ain’t it. She’d kill ‘em if she heard.”

It was impossible to stop the grin on Ben’s face. She would kill them. She was a lot more fucking possessive than people gave Her credit for, and She’d burn them all to ash, looking fucking beautiful doing it, then jump into Ben’s arms and ride him until She was moaning his name and cumming all over his cock-

“Bloody Christ, Mate.” Butcher grumbled. “I can see your fuckin’ hard-on.”

Ben didn’t really give a fuck. The conversation moved on to Ryan, and some book the kid was reading, and he got boners about Her around the team all the damn time. This was a lot better than when they had brain sex in front of everyone, so Butcher could fucking deal.

It only became a problem when one of the FFAA agents got real fucking bold, stood up, walked in front of Ben and Butcher, and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Soldier Boy-“

Ben grunted, shooting her a glare. “What.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you were really brave out in the field today.” The agent batted her lashes at him, and Ben almost felt fucking bad for her. She wasn’t ugly, but compared to his wife—more beautiful than all the fucking stars and planets and works of art in the universe, holy and sacred and fucking perfect—she was nothing.

“Well, I’m good at my fucking job.” He muttered, turning back to Butcher, and the asshat looked like he was going to start laughing.

The woman didn’t give up. “Yeah, you- you really are. I was just wondering, if you have any post-mission rituals to help us-“

“Gov’s gonna go home, ain’t he. Gettin’ his dick wet.” Butcher was grinning as the agent blushed, and the pussy was looking far too fucking amused for Ben’s liking. “Or he’s just knockin’ right out to bloody hell-“

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher.”

“Sorry, agent.” Butcher winked at the woman, and Ben was going to throw him out of the plane. “Old men ain’t good to sleep well when they don’t got their own bed.”

The woman sighed, giving Ben a look of fucking pity. “I’m so sorry, is it-“ She looked around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Nightmares?”

It was. Without Her there, the nightmares about Homelander rising up from the dead, locking Ben in a box, and fucking hurting Her always returned.

“I miss my wife.” He grumbled, and Butcher snorted.

“Your-“ The woman’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry, I just heard that your marriage was a front for, um, for the-“

“Sweetheart.” Butcher cut the woman off with a bored, amused tone. “I’m tellin’ you from firsthand experience, they’re the two horniest cunts alive, that marriage is a sham just as much as my tits ain’t real.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and the woman swallowed.

“But- I’ve heard the Anomaly’s story, with Homelan-“

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Ben snapped. “And you don’t know goddamn shit about her. I fucking-“

“You love her, Gov. We’ve heard.”

Ben scowled. “I do. I’m fucking rife with it. Love.”

Butcher raised his brows. “Word of the week?”

Ben nodded, and he was only vaguely aware of the agent, shuffling back to her friends with loud whisper about how, apparently, Soldier Boy and the Anomaly were really married.

Butcher hummed. “That’s a good one. You beatin’ MM?”

“It’s not a fucking competition-“

“Not with that shit attitude, it ain’t.”

Ben snorted, and he was almost home. So fucking close, Her presence over his skull calling him closer, because he was almost fucking home, and it didn’t goddamn matter what some pussy agents thought, nothing in the world was fucking better than going home, to Her.

Although he might have to start fucking Her in public more. Or at least kissing Her stupid and dizzy where the world could see it. That agent wasn’t the first to doubt, for some stupid fucking reason, that She and Ben weren’t really together. It was one of the hundred reasons why he never took his ring off, so everyone fucking knew, just a little more, that Ben was Her’s. That the tabloids and useless fucking gossip websites could talk all they fucking wanted about how She and Ben were just a front marriage, and Ryan was actually Her biological son with Homelander—that timeline didn’t fucking add up at all, but none of the damn idiots seemed to care—or that Ben was Homelander, in fucking disguise or some shit, but the truth was pretty damn plain and obvious.

She was perfect. Ben loved Her. And he’d launch himself into the fucking sun before he even thought about looking away from Her for a fucking second.

And when he got home, Ben knew She was already asleep. Ryan was as well, when Ben poked his head in the kid’s room, and Ben was a little fucking thankful about it. He’d hug Ryan and make him breakfast in the morning, but it was late. They needed sleep.

Ben needed sleep. He needed to sleep next to his wife, in his bed, and never fucking let Butcher take him on one of those mission again,

But when he got to their room, half tearing off his clothing as he walked to the mattress, his spot was fucking taken.

The cat was on his side of the bed, sitting tall and vigilant over Her body, eyeing Ben carefully as he glared at it.

“Move.” He grunted.

Maeve looked back to Her, stood up, and walked over to Ben, rubbing his hand with sudden purrs.

She rolled over in Her sleep, and Ben grinned. Christ, She was beautiful. A little drool falling out of Her pretty mouth, wearing his fucking shirt, a little makeup still on Her face that told Ben she’d been waiting for him. To come home.

Back to Her.

Something nipped at his hand. The cat.

He’d started petting the cat without thought, and it had fucking bit him-

Because he was staring at Her.

Maeve had been watching over Her, while Ben was gone.

And he could deal with that. Work with it.

When Ben crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Her, Maeve was still letting out soft hisses. Right up until She rolled over and buried her perfect face in Ben’s chest with a small, happy sigh.

And Maeve backed off, stretching and laying back down near Her legs, tangled in with Ben’s.

The thing was obviously damn smart, and it was still fucking ugly, but so was a lot of Ben’s life.

The best, most beautiful thing was Her. The most important thing was protecting Her, caring for Her, making sure She was happy all the fucking time.

So as long as the cat got that She was the whole fucking world, Ben was good.

End Note: Btw the cat is names Maeve because I miss her. Shoutout Maeve, none of this would've happened if she didn't tip Butcher off about Sunshine's existence. Our unsung hero.

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generalmoonpolice · 2 months ago

Text

The Best Thing - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This was so much fun for me. I love writing the chapters where they're just livin' life. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mine by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary/Warnings: Sorta-Request from @myladyship! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat. Takes place ten months post-series.

That thing hadn’t been there, when Ben left the house this morning.

He was pretty goddamn certain it hadn’t.

But, as the mangy little creature stared at him from the couch, Ben ran back through the day in his head. Just in case.

Normal morning.

So he’d changed his pants.

Everything had been good. She’d been humming and peaceful in Ben’s body, Ryan’s turtle had been in its tank, and when he’d left the house, that had been it. Nothing else.

He couldn’t even be sure it was an animal. It might be a supe. Or a supes pet, sent to do something to them, and-

What’s wrong with you.

He scowled into the air. I’m fine, Sunshine, go-

I’m home. Ben needed to cut Her off there. She’d hurt herself. And Butcher’s still flailing around like a fucking pussy with that mission, cuckfuck can’t do paperwork to save his life.

Then what’s wrong.

Nothing’s- He let out a long breath, glaring at the cat. He couldn’t lie to Her. Don’t lose your damn mind, beautiful. I’m going to handle it.

He could hear Her frown. Handle what?

Intruder. In the house. Ben’s fists curled, and the creature yawned. Like Ben was fucking nothing. Calling him a coward, in his goddamn house, sitting of his fucking couch-

Ben, there are no intruders, I was home an hour- There was another second of silence, then She snorted. You’re talking about Maeve, aren’t you.

Ben frowned. I thought you said that lady went to fucking Florida or some shit-

California. And she did. I’m talking about the cat.

It stretched, then curled into a tiny ball in the pillows.

Ben-

Ben grunted Her name down the connection. When the fuck did we get a cat.

Um, about two hours ago. And before you get mad-

His eyes narrowed at the air. He had to shut that shit down, now. I’m not mad. I don’t get fucking mad at you, I just didn’t expect a goddamn cat.

But-

No. I love you, and I’m not mad.

She sighed in the silence. I know. I love you, too.

Good. Explain.

Ben didn’t remember that. When did-

Sunshine-

You told everyone that gift giving wasn’t hard at all, when your wife made you harder than anything else.

She sighed in Ben’s ear. After that, when that bitch of a mom-

Fake Face-

I ate you out in a supply closet. Ben grinned into the air, and the cat gave him an odd look. You nearly made the damn building burn down-

Yeah, because you decided that three orgasms ‘wasn’t enough’-

And I was right, brat. I remember you begging to cum for me one more time, saying please and taking it like a good girl-

Fucking- I’m at work, Ben-

Lock the door.

I can’t, I’m in a meeting-

Then why the fuck are you talking to me-

Because I’m trying to explain the cat, you horny old cunt.

Smartass.

Right. Ben grunted down the connection. That tracked, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. If She wanted the cat, the thing could stay. Are you wet, Sunshine?

Benjamin- She sighed in his head. Meeting. We can’t have mind sex during another meeting.

Nobody fucking caught you last time-

Yeah, but I have to stand up and talk this time- She cut Herself off, and Ben could almost see Her pretty frown. Is that it? About Maeve?

Ben shrugged. You want to keep the thing?

Yes, but-

Then that’s it. He shot the animal another glare. It was really fucking ugly. Why the fuck did you name it Maeve-

I don’t know, it looked like a Maeve-

It looks like a fucking Frankenstein-

That’s rude, Ben. Apologize to her.

No.

Benjamin-

It’s a fucking cat. It can’t even hear our conversation-

Yeah, but you’re probably glaring at her and making her feel nervous. Calm down and apologize.

“Sorry.” He grunted to the thing, and it just blinked at him. I apologized.

Thank you, my love. There’s food for her in the kitchen-

I’ll handle it, darling. Have a good meeting. Kick all their fucking asses up their heads.

She giggled down the connection. Gross.

You love it.

I do. I love you.

She did. And Ben could always feel it.

I love you too, Sunshine.

She hummed, and faded back into only love, deep and permanent in Ben’s body.

He’d feed the cat. For Her.

But he’d also do fucking anything for Her, so a cat really wasn’t that bad at all.

——————

“Where did you find her?”

She’d shot Ben a smug grin, and he’d rolled his eyes, planting firm kiss on the top of Her head before stomping into the kitchen.

“You’re jealous of the cat.” She’d whispered onto his lips, when he was still buried deep in Her cunt, and he’d scowled.

“Shut up.”

She’d laughed, holding Ben’s face between Her hands and looking perfect and beautiful and thoroughly, properly wrecked below him, and Ben had shut Her up with a long, deep kiss.

“I love you.” He’d muttered against Her still-parted lips. “Next time, let the damn cat out before you suck my cock.”

“Jealous-“

She’d flushed, Ben had laughed and hauled Her up into his arms, and they’d taken a long, warm, uninterrupted shower.

But now the cat was back. She’d said it was an outdoor cat, and that it would do that, but still.

Now Ben had to listen to Her and Ryan fawn over it for doing nothing, while he cooked their fucking dinner.

He didn’t succeed.

He didn’t really fucking care, either.

“We’d all been feeding her, for a few months. And Ben and I had been talking about getting a cat-“

Ryan looked over to Ben with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Yes.” Ben grunted. “Listen to your mother talk.”

He’d called Her Ryan’s mom.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that in his head, or at school meetings or senate hearings. But he’d never done it at home.

“You made Ryan really happy.” She told him later that night, and Ben frowned at Her from the dresser.

She was wearing one of his shirts, sitting cross legged on their bed. After they had this conversation, Ben needed to rip it off Her perfect body.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.”

“You accepted Maeve.” She hummed, smiling at him as he got changed. “And you called me his mom.”

Ben pauses, scanning over Her carefully. Her heart was at its normal rhythm, and she was happy and easy in his body but-

“That’s fucking insane-“

So Ben moved to kneel before Her, brushing her hair out of Her face and muttering Her name until she met his gaze.

She nodded, leaning down to press Her brow to Ben’s, soft tears falling from Her eyes.

Ben had long learned that he couldn’t stop it. That these were the storms that She just needed him to be there for, to ride out at Her side and then hold Her for as long as She asked after.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to bring Homelander back to life, punch the fuckhead into the goddamn sun, then chop him up and feed him to sharks.

“He’s dead.” Ben muttered. “Gone. Ryan’s safe, because you fucking killed him-“

“Technically Butcher killed him-“

She gave him a soft smile, nodded, and kissed Ben gently. Like they had time.

The cat yowled. Outside the door.

It wanted to go outside again. And there wasn’t a fucking chance Ben was letting Her leave the bed, so pressed on last kiss to her brow, stomped outside, and opened the back door.

The cat trotted up behind him, looked between Ben and the yard, and sat down.

“Go.” Ben grunted, and it didn’t. It started licking its ass.

She slept easy that night. Wrapped in Ben’s arms, breathing even and heartbeat in perfect time with his.

She needed coffee. And Ben could give that Her, easily.

But he opened the door, and the fucking cat was waiting for him. Circled up outside their bedroom door, so comfortably settled that Ben would bet a lot of damn money it had been there all night.

“Fucking pervert.” He grumbled, stepping over its tail and walking to the stairs.

The cat only stretched, yawned, and followed Ben down the hall.

—————

He hated it.

But Ryan liked going to Butcher’s.

He fucking loved Her.

He could survive the night.

Fucking Ben.

He fed it the most. It was the only explanation. Ben was usually up first, so he fed the thing more than She or Ryan did, and that’s why it liked him.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy.” She’d smiled at him yesterday, when he’d grumbled about this over dinner. “I think you’re very lovable.”

“You’re fucking bias, Sunshine, you don’t count-“

She’d shrugged. “Agree to disagree. If I was a cat, I’d follow you around all the time.”

“Because you goddamn love me-“

“Maybe Maeve loves you.”

“I’m eating the same thing.” She’d hummed, giving him an amused look. “Why isn’t she trying to get my attention?”

That had been a good point. She was so fucking beautiful and smart—Her wedding ring shining on Her finger and all of Ben’s love radiant in his chest—and that had been a damn good point.

So Ben had just rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“This a fucking calamity,” He’d grumbled Her name, and Her smile had widened.

“Word of the week?”

He’d grunted, and She’d giggled, leaning Her head on his shoulder. “You used it wrong, my love.”

“The website-“

“It doesn’t love me.”

“Yes, it does.”

She’d smiled up at him, pressed a kiss right over his beard, and Ben had let it go.

But now the cat was on his fucking lap.

Looking at him with big, shining eyes in the dark, starting to kneed on his leg like it was going to-

Christ on a fucking cross, the thing sat down.

He should shove it off. Stand up. Get it away.

But it was Her fucking cat. She adored this thing, and harming it would be, in a way, harming Her-

Ben narrowed his eyes at it. “One-time thing, you fucking pussy, got it?”

The cat blinked at him. Ben decided it understood.

Ben grinned, running his fingers through Her hair until she let out a soft, happy sound, and still didn’t move.

There were much fucking worse places to be trapped.

———

Butcher’s days were fucking numbered.

“That’s not very nice, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring at Her pretty face on the tiny screen of his phone. “I’m not trying to be fucking nice, I’m trying to come home-“

“I know, but I’d still appreciate not having to visit you in prison.”

“Prisons can’t fucking hold me-“

She sighed, giving him a flat look. “Ben, you know they’ve been developing things to hold all of us down if they need to, right?”

He would. That was true.

It didn’t make him relax, though.

“What the fuck do you mean, hold us down.”

“We would’ve played nice if they weren’t fucking idiots.” Ben grumbled, and it got an adoring smile and easy laugh, so now he was mostly sitting tall with a glowing pride in his chest.

They haven’t gotten anything for me. She sighed. There’s literally no way to incapacitate me.

Good.

No, Ben, it’s- They’re well aware that if they knocked you down, I’d come get you in ten fucking seconds, and all bets would be off.

He grinned at Her. You’d break me out of prison, darling?

Of course I would, you smug ass-

You love me.

I do, but-

Ben said Her name, firm and strong down the bond, and She blinked at him through the screen. Nothing’s going to fucking hurt us again. Ever. Or Ryan, or any of our other kids.

She raised Her brows. Other kids?

He rolled his eyes. I fucked you full of my cum last week, smartass.

Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.

Babies don’t glow. She mumbled, but Ben knew that voice. And that flush.

Yeah, but- Actually, that’s a good point. This would be the first completely supe baby in history, and the first one with our V-

So it would glow.

We don’t know that it wouldn’t, but I doubt-

It’ll glow. Ben grinned at Her. It’s your baby, beautiful. It’ll glow.

She rolled Her eyes, the flush deepening. Kiss ass.

Ben, please-

Save it, Sunshine. He winked at Her in the phone. Need to hear it when I’m buried in that perfect fucking pussy-

Ryan’s home, you asshole-

He laughed. Kid’s used to it.

Yeah, but- She cut Herself off, her gaze dropping away from the phone to something on the floor. “Hi, baby, do you wanna say hi?”

Ben frowned. “I didn’t give you a baby yet-“

She laughed, shooting Ben an amused look. “It’s Maeve. She heard your voice.”

“I was talking on the- How the fuck did she hear me.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy, you were talking on the what?”

“We were talking aloud earlier,” She shrugged. “And I’m wearing one of your shirts, so maybe she can just smell you.”

“Why the fuck would that matter-“

“Because she loves you. I get it.” She smiled down at the floor. “Come here, you can talk to him as well.”

Ben grunted Her name, and half a second later he was staring at a cat ass instead of his wife.

Then Maeve turned and started head-butting the camera, and Ben would be pissed if he couldn’t also hear Her laughing in the background.

The point of the call had been to fucking see Her. And, because She was perfect, she did pull Maeve into Her lap after a few seconds, continuing as if nothing had happened.

It kept looking at him, the whole call. She was petting Maeve’s ears as they talked, and it kept fucking staring at him-

“She misses you, Ben.”

He shook his head. “It’s a fucking cat, Sunshine, it’s forgotten I exist-“

“No, she misses you. Yesterday she was yowling at the door, and then she was disappointed when I opened it instead of you.”

“How the fuck-“

“I can feel it. She misses you.” She paused, and gave him a small smile. “I miss you. Tell Butcher to hurry up, or I’ll punch him.”

Ben snorted. “I don’t think he’s going to be that perturbed by that, beautiful.”

“Then let’s fucking test the theory-“ She paused, Her smile growing. “Perturbed. That’s good. Do you want me to tell you if MM uses it?”

“He fucking has to, that’s how word of the week works-“

She laughed. “It’s Thursday, my love, have you used it multiple times?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her smile could build new universes, and the love in Ben’s chest was so fucking powerful, he was convinced it might.

“I love you, Benjamin.” She whispered, and Maeve made a little sound on Her lap. “We both do.”

Ben grunted. “I love you too, Sunshine. Just you.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, dropping Her voice to a mocking, fake whisper. “He loves you, Maeve, he’s just grumpy.”

He didn’t.

But he did love how fucking happy She was, wearing his shirt and being beautiful and sitting, safe and easy in their home.

If he didn’t get home soon, Butcher was going to have to die.

———

All these dumbfuck BSFA agents kept hitting on him.

“You look like you got a stick up your fuckin’ ass, gov-“

“Shut up.” Ben grunted, shooting Butcher a glare. “I want to get the fuck home, not have a conversation.”

Butcher just shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to talk to you either, but it’s lookin’ like it’s either that or leavin’ you to the bloody wolves over there.”

“Don’t know why they’re botherin’.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Half the shit you’ve said the whole mission is about how fuckin’ perfect your girl is-“

“Because she is perfect-“

“I know that, Gov, but I ain’t tryin’ to ride your dick, either-“

“Nobody rides my dick but-“

Butcher cut him off with Her name, giving Ben a flat look. “I told you. I know. We all fuckin’ know.”

Ben scowled, jerking his head to the agents. “They don’t.”

“Well, that’s their fuckin’ heads, ain’t it. She’d kill ‘em if she heard.”

“Bloody Christ, Mate.” Butcher grumbled. “I can see your fuckin’ hard-on.”

It only became a problem when one of the FFAA agents got real fucking bold, stood up, walked in front of Ben and Butcher, and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Soldier Boy-“

Ben grunted, shooting her a glare. “What.”

“Well, I’m good at my fucking job.” He muttered, turning back to Butcher, and the asshat looked like he was going to start laughing.

The woman didn’t give up. “Yeah, you- you really are. I was just wondering, if you have any post-mission rituals to help us-“

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher.”

“Sorry, agent.” Butcher winked at the woman, and Ben was going to throw him out of the plane. “Old men ain’t good to sleep well when they don’t got their own bed.”

The woman sighed, giving Ben a look of fucking pity. “I’m so sorry, is it-“ She looked around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Nightmares?”

It was. Without Her there, the nightmares about Homelander rising up from the dead, locking Ben in a box, and fucking hurting Her always returned.

“I miss my wife.” He grumbled, and Butcher snorted.

“Your-“ The woman’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry, I just heard that your marriage was a front for, um, for the-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and the woman swallowed.

“But- I’ve heard the Anomaly’s story, with Homelan-“

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Ben snapped. “And you don’t know goddamn shit about her. I fucking-“

“You love her, Gov. We’ve heard.”

Ben scowled. “I do. I’m fucking rife with it. Love.”

Butcher raised his brows. “Word of the week?”

Ben nodded, and he was only vaguely aware of the agent, shuffling back to her friends with loud whisper about how, apparently, Soldier Boy and the Anomaly were really married.

Butcher hummed. “That’s a good one. You beatin’ MM?”

“It’s not a fucking competition-“

“Not with that shit attitude, it ain’t.”

She was perfect. Ben loved Her. And he’d launch himself into the fucking sun before he even thought about looking away from Her for a fucking second.

Ben needed sleep. He needed to sleep next to his wife, in his bed, and never fucking let Butcher take him on one of those mission again,

But when he got to their room, half tearing off his clothing as he walked to the mattress, his spot was fucking taken.

The cat was on his side of the bed, sitting tall and vigilant over Her body, eyeing Ben carefully as he glared at it.

“Move.” He grunted.

Maeve looked back to Her, stood up, and walked over to Ben, rubbing his hand with sudden purrs.

Back to Her.

Something nipped at his hand. The cat.

He’d started petting the cat without thought, and it had fucking bit him-

Because he was staring at Her.

Maeve had been watching over Her, while Ben was gone.

And he could deal with that. Work with it.

And Maeve backed off, stretching and laying back down near Her legs, tangled in with Ben’s.

The thing was obviously damn smart, and it was still fucking ugly, but so was a lot of Ben’s life.

The best, most beautiful thing was Her. The most important thing was protecting Her, caring for Her, making sure She was happy all the fucking time.

So as long as the cat got that She was the whole fucking world, Ben was good.

End Note: Btw the cat is names Maeve because I miss her. Shoutout Maeve, none of this would've happened if she didn't tip Butcher off about Sunshine's existence. Our unsung hero.

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generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

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I swear! the interactions of these slugs and other little guys are freakin killing meee!!! THEY"RE ADORABLE AAAAHHHHH

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generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

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𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

series masterlist

word count: 5.8k

summary: On the day of your trial, threats are thrown left and right, plans are set and dark secrets are revealed. Now you’re left behind to pick up the remaining pieces of yourself and your heart.

tags: fem!reader, crouch!reader. vague scars and blood mentions, abusive parents as well as hinted sexual assault but no fully detailed descriptions. lots of angst. threw in some miscommunication arcs because why not.

a/n: oh wow. buckle up everyone cos this is a big one. so much is happening so many things are being revealed today and soooo many dynamics are changing after this chapter. as always, likes and comments are greatly appreciated, enjoy!! xx

Remus woke up to a faint, tickling sensation over his face, tracing the highest point of his cheekbones to the slope of his nose. A blissful sigh unabashedly left his lips at the gentle touches all over his face, when a kiss was pressed to his eyebrow, he opened his eyes to find Sirius looking down at him with a faraway look on his face.

“Have you been awake for too long?” He croaked, slowly blinking himself awake.

Sirius nodded, finger still absentmindedly tracing his features, “For a bit, yeah.” He laid his body back on the mattress, head turned to the other side of the bed where you had been sleeping with them not so long ago. “I can’t stop thinking about what Barty said, the things that bastard did to them… ”

Remus hummed, “When she told me about the calming draught, I assumed but… I didn’t think— I didn’t want to think it was true.”

A silence lingered between them, and Remus reached over to intertwine their fingers together. Sirius sighed, turning his face away from the sad empty space on the side of the bed that could be yours if you wanted it, if you even returned. When he turned to Remus, he quickly noticed the similar frown on his face as he, too, stared hard at the same spot on the bed.

“You reckon she’ll be alright?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He nodded, reassuringly squeezing their interlaced fingers. “If the brawl thing Kingsley said was true, the guards are the ones that should be worried.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself if the trial goes wrong today.” Sirius mumbled. “Especially at the hands of that… that–”

“That monster.” Remus said with an edge to his voice, eyes staring hard at the ceiling. “A person that is capable of such horrors cannot be called anything other than that.”

“I want him to rot in Azkaban.” Sirius spat then, his hold to Remus’ hand hardened as he grew momentum. “All of them. That man, Riddle, my cousins, everyone. As for my wicked mother I hope she’s suffering in hell or wherever she’s in right now.”

Remus exhaled deeply, and pulled him closer with furrowed eyebrows. With closed eyes, he pressed a kiss to Sirius’ newer scar across his eyebrow and tried hard to not think about you and your playful banter and gorgeous eyebrow piercing that, despite of it being a shared trait with your brother, gave you a sense of uniqueness that they felt enthralled to. Sirius closed his own eyes and circled his free arm around Remus, both coming to terms that whatever would happen later at the trial, they still had each other.

“I’m sorry.” Remus whispered, and Sirius pulled away to look up at him. “I didn’t mean to… to attack you last night. I know you did try to help, it wasn’t fair for me to put you on the spot like that.”

Sirius nodded shortly, grey eyes tracing the scars on Remus’ face, “I’m sorry, too. I was harsh, and–”

“And nothing. You did nothing wrong, love. You were coping in your own way, and I assumed wrong.”

“I still should’ve considered that you were hurting, the full moon had just happened.”

A beat.

“Not really, no… The wolfsbane helped a lot.”

“It did?” Sirius searched for his gaze, Remus simply nodded with a small smile.

“I don’t even want to know how she managed to get such a strong dose.” He mused out loud, and Sirius let out a small chuckle. “I can’t believe she put herself at risk just to get it. She could’ve been caught.”

“She’s gone soft for you, Moons.”

Remus let out a startled laugh, “That’s rich coming from you. Is there still some dittany left in that little pouch of hers?”

“Sod off.” Sirius quipped, cheeks taking a crimson color as he rolled out of bed. He turned around and pulled Remus up with one swift motion. “I knew you’d use that one against me, you wanker.”

When they both stepped out of the room with a more positive attitude to face the day, it was quickly shattered at the ghost of your presence all over their flat in the form of your jacket laid out messily on the couch. Your boots sat sadly by the door between their own shoes, and the cup of tea you had been drinking sat cold and empty where you left it. Remus squeezed Sirius’ hand once again as they both came to terms with the idea that your absence had left an empty space not only in their hearts but their home as well.

—

You bit your lip hard, fingers anxiously pressed under your thighs against the icy chair as you followed each movement your father made around you. He sneered as he walked to sit back behind his desk, eyes studying your hard in return.

“You do realize you have severely compromised your chance at a trial?”

You scoffed, “Was I even going to get one in the first place?”

“I was feeling rather generous, so I was open to the possibility.” He shrugged, laying back on his leather chair. “Now I’m not so sure you deserve one.”

”Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “If you wanted to send me to Azkaban you could’ve done that already.”

“It appears you have friends in higher ranks, so your case will be discussed in front of the Wizengamot.”

You desperately suppressed the hope slowly lighting up inside your chest, lest your father used it as a tactic to get you to talk. But by the way his lips tugged to the side with an angry scowl, you suspected Dumbledore had already gotten in the case to interfere with your father’s plans.

You smirked, “And it appears I’ve got better connections than you, father. Why, I’m almost positive I could run for Minister and win.”

“You insolent bitch.” He stood, chair pushed back so harshly it almost hit the wall. You watched with a small smile as his face twisted in anger. “You’ll see if you keep joking when–”

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You tsked, but your eyes still warily followed the movement of his wand. “Still at the Ministry, remember? If you use your silly machiavellian spells the alert would surely go off. You wouldn’t want that to be known, do you?”

Your father simply raised an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me, y/n?”

“Imagine how’d that go for you. Head of Magical Law Enforcement goes rogue and invents own spells to torture his children.” You continued, taking your tied hands out from under your thighs to make a point. “What picture of yours you reckon they’ll use? Surely they won’t have it difficult with Barty and I, seeing we’ve got plenty.”

“If this is how you want to handle this.” He nodded, placing his wand down on the desk. “I have some threats of my own for you.”

You closed your mouth so harshly your teeth clattered, you felt a vine of dread recoiling around your ribcage. He smirked, evidently enjoying the look of pure fear on your face at his words.

“One would think I don’t take interest in your filthy life but I know things, y/n. I know of your involvement with a certain disowned heir and lycanthrope… Oh, I knew you’d turn up just like your mother, whoring around with the likes of dark creatures and blood traitors.” You looked away, headset on schooling your face to avoid giving him a glimpse of your feelings for Sirius and Remus. “So tell me, how do you think it would look when I accuse them of aiding you, hiding you from aurors in their home? I’m sure that Lupin boy will get the worst of the punishments because of his, well.. condition.”

“They’ve got nothing to do with this.” You shook your head, “It was just an Order mission, that’s all.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Surely I don’t need to remind you of the state we found you in with those two.” He leaned back on his desk, eyes glistening with evilness as you visibly hesitated. “And that Sirius boy? I’m sure we can make up some crimes to get him a direct pass to the Dementor’s Kiss. Wouldn’t be hard, knowing the family he was raised into.”

You looked down, biting your lip hard to keep your tears at bay. After a silence, you finally spoke, “What do you want?”

“Smart girl.” Your father nodded, not having the decency of hiding his satisfaction. “I want you to declare yourself guilty. And your brother as well.”

“What? What do you mean? You found him?”

“Oh, don’t get too excited. Word spread he turned up at one Order meeting, Dumbledore pulled some strings and the Minister himself allowed him to get a trial, along with his bloody friends, too.”

You did not try to keep your smile at bay, a relieved sigh leaving your lips at the news that Barty was alive and sane, with Evan and Regulus ready to attend their own trials. But your father was quick to ruin your hopefulness.

“Fail to do this and it’ll be your brother who meets that fate, you hear me?” He reached over, harshly holding onto your face to meet his glare. You scowled but nodded your head. “Use your words, y/n. Do you hear me?”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, “I hear you.”

Your father stepped back and waved his hand off at you, seemingly losing interest in you now that he got his way. An auror walked to you, and harshly pulled you up and out of the office, you clumsily followed him as he dragged you throughout the Detention area. When he passed by your cell, an anxious feeling overtook your body.

“Where are you taking me?” The man remained silent, eyes staring straight ahead as he guided you through a narrow corridor. “Oi!”

He stopped in front of a door, and pushed you in as soon as it was open. You frowned at him and watched as he slammed it close without an answer to your questions. Before you could yell at him, a body slammed onto you in a tight hug.

“Treasure!” Barty cried out, long arms hugging you tightly against him. You blinked in surprise.

“Barty?” You asked, voice wobbly and low in case you were at that point of dehydration that your brain started tricking you with cruel visions. “You’re here... You– you’re alive.”

Your brother nodded, a wonky movement as he rested his chin over your shoulder. His tears fell fast but silent over your jumper as you clung onto each other. When you pulled away, both quickly spotted the blood surrounding each of your piercings, twin effects of your anxieties at being apart for so long.

“What happened? Why were you hiding for so long? And why the fuck didn’t you send me a sign or something to know you’re alive?” You said, voice strained with unresolved anger as you pointed harshly at his chest with each question. “You’re a bloody selfish twat, you know that? I was starting to think you were dead.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, “It wasn’t safe. I didn’t want you to get caught up in my mess.”

“And how did that work for you? Hm?” You snapped, but still pulled him closer for another hug. Barty readily accepted it, knowing it was more for your sake than his.

“That’s why I’m here.” He whispered, in case the Auror was listening intently from the other side of the door. “We’re getting you out, Treasure. And it’ll all be over.”

“What?” You frowned, lips trembling slightly as you recalled your father’s threats. “But– how? How do you plan to do that?”

He sent you a look that you really couldn’t decipher, one almost similar to that morning at Remus and Sirius’ flat. You let the dread take up most of your body as the silence prolonged between you.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, but–” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But why are you asking me this?”

“I’m just asking you to trust me. Please.” He begged, holding onto you once again. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”

“Barty–”

He walked backwards to the door, hands busy cleaning his tears with a small smile. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

“But I have to tell you something.”

But your brother couldn’t be deterred as he kissed your temple quickly before opening the door. You let your hope crumble down as he resisted listening to you.

“You can tell me after we win!”

You slumped back on the wall, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you stared hard at the door. Your mind desperately holding onto the last memory of Barty before your trial and putting your own plan to work, and your heart dejectedly accepting the fate that in order for your brother, Remus and Sirius to be alright, you had to make a few sacrifices of your own.

—

Remus sighed, clammy hand holding hard onto Sirius’ as they sat anxiously at the courtroom waiting for the session to begin. He watched each member of the Order share a similar sentiment, but the anxiety radiating off Barty’s body almost put him to shame.

“Court in session.”

They all watched in a tense silence as your father sat on his high chair with an air of superiority that made him swallow down his anger. By the tense movement of Sirius’ shoulders, he seemed to share the same sentiment at the sight. When the Minister stepped in, both felt their hearts up their throats when they knew what was coming.

“Trial for suspected Death-eaters Regulus Black, Evan Rosier, Bartemius Crouch Jr and y/n Crouch is now in session.” The minister said, promptly sitting down at his high chair with a certain air of boredom. “Shall we bring in the missing accused?”

The aurors nodded, and pulled at the levels that could bring up your cell to present you to the Wizengamot. When you reached the top, Sirius’ heart cracked in a million pieces at the sight of you still clad in his jumper and having not been given a proper change of clothes, despite your lack of long pants and shoes. Your father’s doing to give you a lesson, no doubt.

You schooled your face immediately, “Bit much, don’t you think?” You raised your hands magically tied together to scratch at your eyebrow. Skin red by your anxious pulling. “Couldn’t you lot find a bigger cell? This one’s running a little tight.”

“Silence. You will have your moment to speak.” Your father spat, hands busy arranging your paperwork.

You rolled your eyes in response, and both Remus and Sirius felt slightly relieved at your nonchalant attitude. Though they had learned not so long ago that it was all your form of coping when faced with a difficult situation.

“What are the crimes that these young people have been accused of?” The chief warlock asked.

Dumbledore stood from his own seat. “It appears to be a misunderstanding with them, Minister. They have been falsely accused of serving to Tom Riddle–”

“If I may, Minister. These… people possess the Dark Mark, one of the highest forms of power within Riddle’s ranks.” Your father interrupted, and you threw your head back in frustration.

The minister nodded, and turned again to Dumbledore, “Please continue, Professor.” You snorted as you watched your father sit back with a scowl.

“Right,” Dumbledore sent you a look before clearing his throat. “As I was saying, these boys were sent to serve as spies for the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the importance of said order in this war.”

“Then you should know their intentions were honest, and were sent on a very special mission to protect the wizarding community by providing intel about Riddle’s plans.”

“That we know, and the Wizengamot has agreed to grant them a special absolution in those specific crimes. Ms Crouch included, having taken into consideration Alastor Moody’s report in her training.” The minister said, pointedly scribbling down on your paperworks and looking at your father as he stamped each parchment. “What we are discussing in this trial is their use of Unforgivables throughout the war without any evidence of having acted out in self defense.”

“Well, you see,” Dumbledore continued, “In the Order meeting where the mission was appointed to them, I personally granted them permission to do what was possible to stop Riddle from accomplishing his sinister plans.”

“Which,” Kingsley spoke, standing up from his spot by Dumbledore’s side. “As you all know, said plans included the murder of three notable wizarding families, all because of a prophecy he couldn’t exactly prove that it could happen.”

“Yes, I know about the prophecy.” The minister nodded. Then turned to Barty, Evan and Regulus who sat eerily silent by the center of the room, awfully close to your cell. “What do you say about this, young men?”

It seemed they had come to an agreement to let Regulus do all the talking, and for that you were greatly thankful when he stood and politely nodded his head at the higher members of the council.

“This is true.” He said, voice monotone and lacking any emotion that could give away his anxiety. “Professor Dumbledore explained to us that it was imperative we needed to do whatever was in our power to stop Riddle.”

“When Regulus and I went to kill the snake, which was the remaining horcrux, he sent some other death-eaters after us.” Evan explained, “Then he started throwing curses left and right, some of his own soldiers got the worst of them.”

You swallowed nervously at the reenactment of that fateful night.

“He went mad, knowing he had turned mortal once again with the last piece of his soul gone. So he tried throwing a curse at me,” Regulus continued, frowning with a far away look as he recalled the moment, “Barty intercepted it before it could hit me.”

Your brother looked down, and you pressed a hand to your sternum to tame down the loud beating of your heart. How could you not have noticed earlier when he went to see you? The faint trembling of his hands, hollowed bags under his eyes and the twitching of his leg… It was all there, all the signs of the curse still lingering inside his body.

“But, as Moody himself has said millions of times, Barty has a very quick wand work, so before he could get hit by the curse, he managed to throw the killing curse at Riddle.” Evan finished explaining, “So, if I dare be so bold, the idea that it wasn’t in self-defense is completely wrong.”

Murmurs echoed around the room, slowly increasing in volume as the weight of their testimony lingered in the air. You sucked in a breath as your father glared at Barty with a scowl on his face, your brother didn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering down as he glared harder in return.

The minister stood, silencing the courtroom in the process, “Taking all of this into consideration, in addition to the separate testimonies by the rest of the members from the Order of the Phoenix, the Wizengamont has agreed to absolve Bartemius Crouch Jr., Regulus Black and Evan Rosier from all their chargers, along with presenting them with a pardon for their work inside the enemy’s base to put an end to this war. But, they will have an Auror assigned to each of them that will make sure they’re not in plans of engaging in the dark arts or possession of dark objects. Are we clear?”

“No!” Your father stood immediately, face livid as he pointed at your brother. “He! He is a spawn of the devil himself! Has been using dark magic for his personal gain since his younger years! You can’t just grant him a pardon over a silly little act of good nature!”

“Mr. Crouch please refrain from raising your voice and making a spectacle.” The minister sighed, not at all surprised by your father’s outburst. “The decision has been made, there is nothing you can say to change it.”

To your utter horror, your father turned to you. “Tell them what you told me!”

You straightened your posture as all eyes fell on you.

“Hm? What did I tell you exactly?” You drawled, looking, for all intent and purposes, bored by his outburst as well. “My part of the trial hasn’t even started yet.”

“Don’t play with me, child!” Your father seethed and stepped down his chair to walk to your cell. You watched from your periphery as Barty stood from his own chair as a reflex. “You will tell them right this second or–”

“Or what?” Barty spat, “You already got her in that bloody cell. What’s the worst you could do?”

“Why you little–”

“Mr. Crouch, it appears you misheard me.” The minister spoke up, “Stop making a spectacle of yourself and go back to your seat. As your daughter has pointed out, we still have another trial to attend to.”

Your father stared hard at you, and slowly lowered himself back to his seat. You looked away from him, fingers sizzling with anxiety as you fiddled with the hem of your jumper.

“Right.” The minister nodded, taking the parchment handed to him as he scanned you over the rim of his glasses, “Moving on to Ms. Crouch, I’m afraid this trial won’t be easy to resolve.” You shrunk into yourself as he moved to read your record. “It appears you are quite fond of using Unforgivables.”

“Just like these young men, Ms. Crouch has opted to use them as a last resort of self defense.” Said Dumbledore. “I can guarantee you she did not have in mind harming anyone.”

He looked up to meet your gaze, “Is this true?” You nodded, “Even when you threw the Cruciatus curse at Peter Pettigrew last night?”

The commotion increased in volume inside the courtroom. Remus felt his lungs desperately seeking for air, Sirius squeezed their hands together to give him some sort of grounding pressure.

“Can I just say,” You began, voice tentative despite your nonchalant attitude. “He tried to come for me too, and he did turn over my friend, who’s pregnant, mind you, to the hands of Riddle. All because of a bloody prophecy.”

“So it was revenge?”

“Not really, no. For it to be revenge I needed to feel betrayed by that rat.” You shrugged one shoulder. “I’d say it was more like a payback.”

Remus watched as Regulus screwed his eyes shut with frustration. The situation getting out of their hands in a way it’ll be difficult to put their plan into action.

“What I’m hearing is that you declare yourself guilty.” The minister frowned.

“Of that specific charge.” You quipped. “I did throw the Cruciatus curse at Pettigrew.”

Sirius let out a breath. “For fuck’s sake.”

“What about running away from Aurors? Remaining hidden away instead of coming forward if you were innocent?”

“I could’ve turned myself in but there’s certain people here that wanted my head on a silver platter. I won’t say names.” You said, but still turned to your father with a raised eyebrow.

“Mr. Crouch you mean?”

“It appears Sirius Black and Remus Lupin aided you for this.” One of the councils read from your parchment, and your blood went cold at your father’s growing smirk. “What do you have to say about that?”

You swallowed nervously, and very pointedly kept your gaze away from Remus or Sirius, lest your heart could ruin your plan to keep them out of your mess.

“What? About those two?” You chanced a quick glance at them, heart breaking at their anxious postures and hands glued together for support. You cleared your throat, “They’ve got nothing to do with me.”

“You were arrested in their home, Ms. Crouch.”

“That I know. Very rudely, may I add.”

“Just answer the bloody question.” Your father snapped.

“Fine. What do you want me to say here? They were just spawns, poor sods didn’t even know what was going on when the Aurors stormed in.”

“You’re saying there’s no romantic involvement, then?” Your father frowned. Remus had to harden his hold on Sirius’ hand before the boy could jump over him. “That’s not what I saw.”

“Not my fault you jumped to conclusions without basis.” You rolled your eyes at him, then turned to the Minister. “I know how it might’ve looked but that was nothing. I was feeling rather bored so I worked a bit of my charm with them, that’s all. They mean nothing to me.”

“What?” Sirius breathed out, heart breaking a million pieces and more. He turned to look at Remus, who remained stoic looking at your cell with a confused frown.

“Don’t lie!” Your father yelled and you flinched slightly, but recovered quickly.

“I’m not lying. You said it yourself, didn’t you? I like whoring around and things of the sort.” You wet your lips nervously, racking your brain to come up with more ways to convince them. “This is what happened here. Not my fault they caught feelings, I can be quite charming… Not that you would know, seeing how you just enjoy pointing out my flaws.”

Your father inhaled sharply, but it was the Minister who spoke first, “Right. So you’re saying they are innocent?” You nodded, watching with hopefulness as he scribbled down. “Very well, the Wizengamot will not take them into questioning, we accept your claims of their innocence.”

You let out a relieved sigh, and tried to ignore their intense glances all over you. It didn’t matter if they hated you, you would do anything in order to protect them from getting tangled up in your life and bad decisions.

“As for use of–”

“Minister, if I may,” Dumbledore stood up again, eyes staring hard at your brother. You followed his gaze with a frown and watched as Barty nervously fiddled with the sleeve of his suit. “I’ve been given some information that could put this trial into investigation.”

“Investigation? What are you on about now, Professor?” The minister took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, seemingly tired of the trial taking more unexpected turns. “Can’t this wait until the end?”

“I’m afraid it’s imperative we discuss this right now.”

“Alright,” He waved him off, laying back on his high chair. “You may continue.”

“We have reason to believe this trial was appointed by Mr. Crouch with intentions to harm his daughter's well-being and reputation. I have willing witnesses to back this claim.” Your head snapped up at this, eyes searching for Barty who continued avoiding your gaze. “I’m sure you’re aware of the terrible rumors about Bartemius Crouch Snr and his cruel punishments to his children.”

“What is this?” Your father yelled, once again standing up from his chair with his face twisted in pure unadulterated rage. “I will not accept you throwing accusations at me!”

“Said rumors have been proved to me as true as of recently.” Dumbledore continued. When he turned to your brother, you felt your heart brutally skipping a beat. “Mister Crouch?”

Barty cleared his throat, hands shaky as he raised the hem of his dress shirt. Certain members of the council gasped at the sight of a cruel scar taking up most of his ribcage, you looked away to avoid revisiting that night in your head.

“I was thirteen.” He wet his lips nervously, eyes downcast to not meet the sympathetic looks of everyone in the room. “My father came into my room and told me I had to look presentable for certain visitors. I was so excited because I foolishly thought he would give me my place as the heir, and present me in front of his notable friends from the ministry.”

You pressed your lips together, realizing with a growing anger what he was using as his testimony. What it meant for you and the secret you so deeply tried to keep buried.

Your father stood up again, hands holding onto his desk so harshly his knuckles turned white. “You little–”

“Mr. Crouch, I will not ask you again to remain silent.” The minister raised his voice, having lost his patience, “If you interrupt the witnesses again I will have you escorted out.”

“You can’t escort me out! I am a member of this council!”

“Then don’t tempt me, Bartemius.” He threatened, and you watched as your father angrily murmured to himself before sitting back down. The minister turned once again to your brother. “Please continue.”

“Of course.” Your brother nodded, seemingly gaining courage after your father’s breakdown. “Well. I don’t really have to get into full detail about what exactly went down at those meetings, do I? I was hoping my father would fill the gaps for me now, seeing he quite literally drugged me with a calming draught the entire night. This kept happening time and time again until one day I tried to fight back… therefore this scar.”

A tense silence blanketed the room. Murmurs echoed louder as judgement now fell to your father. You looked down, eerily silent to not catch anyone’s attention and allow them to jump into conclusions, but it was useless, you knew they all thought it. They all could almost imagine it, if your father was capable of giving away his own son for his dirty deeds to jump up to higher positions, it was only a matter of time before the same would happen to his daughter. You clenched your fists so hardly your own knuckles turned white.

You watched in panic as the minister nodded pensively, and turned to you, “What do you have to say about this, Ms. Crouch? Where were you when this was happening?”

Barty immediately looked away at this question, knowing he was brave enough to confront your father but cowardly enough to not look at you and your evident anger and indignation.

“What do you think?” You snapped, lips wobbly as you glared at your brother’s downturned head. When he didn’t look up to meet your eyes, you turned to look at the Minister with a scowl, having come to terms that there was no other choice but to let out your secret. “Of course something quite similar was happening on the other side of the manor. Inside my room, especifically.”

A collective gasp took over the room, protests flew left and right as fingers pointed with disgust at your father. You shrunk into yourself, desperately trying to enjoy the downfall of your father at the hands of the same people he tried to appease to, but your humiliation won over. Despite the logical part of your brain knowing no one was technically judging you, you still felt strong eyes all over you as voices raised with every passing second.

“Silence!” The minister yelled. His own face a shade paler as he looked at your father with a mix of surprise and disgust. “Bartemius, what do you have to say about these accusations?”

“They’re mad! Those two are conspiring against me, can’t you see?” He pointed at your brother then you, you scoffed in return. “These accusations are based on lies!”

The man simply turned to your brother in response, “Is there a way you could recall some of the names of people in said meetings?”

“Not sure if I can remember all the names, but I do know their faces.” Barty nodded, fingers once again anxiously fiddling with his studs. He sighed, “I know that my reputation precedes me, Minister, but I would never joke about something like this.”

“Honestly, I think so too, Mr. Crouch.” He nodded studying him over before looking down to scribble in on parchment. Then turned to you, “I can see how Bartemius would try to bury this secret by sending his children to Azkaban to protect his own reputation.”

You chewed on your lower lip, knowing that speaking up would surely ruin your chances of getting out. At that point, all you wanted was to leave that courtroom and hide from sympathetic eyes staring down at you, whether it was to go home or back to your cell.

“Ms. Crouch I declare you innocent of these accusations, and, just like your brother and fellow colleagues, I have a few conditions to grant you your freedom.” You nodded, pointedly ignoring your father’s indignant screams somewhere in the room. “You must report back to the Auror that will be assigned to you, who will check on your wand for any dark spells during every meeting, every two weeks. And, you and your brother must come back in a month to recite your testimonies against Bartemius Crouch Snr.”

At this, your father sprung from his chair, wand readily pointing at you and yelling incoherently. The aurors acted quickly by jumping to keep him in place, throwing special spells to stop him from casting any curse and wand getting snatched away.

“This is a mistake!” He screamed, voice strained as he angrily fought against the spells around his wrists. “Those two are conspiring against me!”

“Take him to the Detention Area.” The minister ordered, and you looked down, hearing his screams fading out as he was dragged out of the room. “And please release Miss Crouch from her cell, along with her wand from the inspection room. Without any more interference, I declare this session finished.”

You let out a ragged exhale at this, eyes slowly welling up in tears as the same auror that brought you opened your cell and freed your hands from the tie-up spell. As soon as you were free, you stepped out with tentative steps, goosebumps taking over your skin as your feet touched the icy ground of the courtroom.

No sooner than you were out of your cell, a bunch of arms circled you in a hug, pressing hard against you as your friends celebrated the end of your shared suffering at the hands of Riddle and your father. When you opened your eyes, your heart cracked painfully at the sight of both Remus and Sirius stepping down their places to walk to your huddled bunch.

You inhaled deeply, and pulled away from the hug to promptly make your way out of the courtroom, skin itching to get away from everything and everyone that witnessed the revelations in your trial. Sirius frowned as you passed by them, Remus tried to reach for you, but you were fast as you quite literally ran out the room and away from them.

As soon as you apparated away from the Ministry and into the safety of your own room at Grimmauld Place, you finally let the strong walls you had fought tooth and nail to put up crumble down. Hands absurdly fisting at Sirius’ jumper, seeking for the comfort you knew deep down you would never receive ever again.

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generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Text

evil twin !

regulus black x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.2k

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus!!, slytherin!reader, fluff, friends to lovers

summary: the potter twins, a marvelous duo split by the sorting hat. just like your brother you presence was addictive, drawing in the attentions of a particularly brooding black brother.

a/n: THIS IS THE FIRST OF HOPEFULLY MANY PARTS HEHEHE I HOPE YOU ENJOY MWAH!!! not proofread x

Dumbledore was convinced that both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had carried out a divide and conquer tactic apon your arrival in the castle.

Individually, you and James were a force to be reckoned with—both incredibly charismatic, intelligent and hard-headed, with a knack for mischief. So together, Dumbledore’s head only spun at the thought of the havoc the pair of you would cause.

Luckily, on the fateful day of your arrival, you were placed in Slytherin and your beloved twin brother was placed in Gryffindor—separated for the first time ever. The moment still vivid in your mind, the second the sorting hat was on you, the way you flinched when it hummed, pondering—voice ringing loud in your ears as it announced—Slytherin.

James had frozen at the Gryffindor table, half out of his seat, hand still twitching against the bench where he’d been saving your spot—watching as your lip trembled, walking glossy-eyed to the Slytherin table.

That first night, the castle felt too big, dungeon walls suffocating, too many corridors between you and your brother.

Of course it was hard, for the both of you.

James had always been protective over you—infuriatingly so. Always reinforcing the fact that he needs to take care of his little sister. Like those three minutes made any difference at all.

It had been a slow shift—painful, even. You and James had always been a unit, bound by childhood games, matching jumpers, and the unspoken certainty that wherever one of you went, the other wasn’t far behind. But Hogwarts had changed that. The Sorting Hat had done more than divide you; it had distilled you. Pulled apart the blended pieces of your personalities and exposed them for what they truly were.

It gave you both room to grow.

Individually. Distinctively.

Earning names for yourselves outside of ‘the Potter twins’.

You’d both carved your names into the stone walls of Hogwarts in your own distinct ways—loud and clear, unmistakable.

James Potter was sunlight. A walking, talking explosion of brightness. He lit up corridors with that crooked grin and wind-mussed hair, bounding through the castle like he owned every inch of it. Gryffindor Quidditch captain, chaotic and loud and brilliant in all the ways that made people want to follow him into a duel or disaster.

He was the kind of boy who laughed with his whole chest, who spoke like everything he said mattered, arms slung around friends like they were lifelines. Always in motion. Always burning. A golden retriever in human form, all reckless energy and genuine joy.

And then there was you.

Cool where James was burning. Still water to his wildfire. But no less dangerous.

No less alluring.

They called you the evil twin—never to your face, and never with confidence. Not seriously. Not really. But the name clung to you like smoke. It suited you in the way all the best lies do: close enough to truth to be dangerous.

There was a calm to you, deliberate and composed, but it was the kind of calm that made people lean in too close, not noticing that they were slipping under the surface until it was far too late. You moved with the kind of grace that made people watch without realising they were watching, your smile soft, voice smoother still, and eyes always gleaming with something slightly wild.

They whispered about you long after you left a room.

Head Girl before your quill ever touched the application parchment. A perfect record—at least on paper.

Your charm was quieter than James’, more calculated, more disarming. Beautiful, brilliant, and just a little terrifying. You made people nervous, even when you were smiling. Especially when you were smiling.

There was a glint in your eyes that made hearts skip and stomachs drop, that whispered of games and secrets and consequences. A wicked sort of glimmer, like you knew every thought in their head and were already deciding what to do with it. Like the sea right before a storm.

Yin and yang, Dumbledore had once said, half in jest. Opposing forces in perfect balance.

You enter the Great Hall like a secret unfurling—quiet and unannounced, not so much walking as gliding between tables, untouched by the noise that fills the air.

Steps silent across the stone floor, a slip of motion through the chaos of breakfast—chatter and cutlery and laughter clanging off the walls. You pass the Gryffindor table without so much as a murmur trailing behind you, and still, not one person notices.

Not until your hand touches James’ shoulder.

He jerks so violently he nearly knocks his goblet over, a string of startled swears tumbling from his mouth as his fork clatters against the plate. Pumpkin mash splatters. Someone at the table yelped. Sirius choked on his toast, and Remus actually gasped as if someone’s just hexed him.

Every head turned.

And James was clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“Bloody—! Merlin’s sake, you can’t just—!”

You tilt your head at him, ever so slightly, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lips—eyes glinting with amusement. “Jamie,” you say in a sing-song lilt, sweet and syrupy, “You wouldn’t happen to still have the History of Magic textbook you borrowed from me, would you?”

A hush falls over the table—just long enough to make you notice.

“Er. About that,” he says, eyes darting like he’s working out whether to lie or apologise. “I might still have it. Might. Can’t say what condition it’s in, though.”

Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.

“James,” you say flatly, eyes narrowing. “Did you ruin my book?”

He winces. “Define ruin—”

“James.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” he insists quickly, shoulders raising like you’re about to hex him in the middle of the Great Hall. “There was this—uh—Sirius spilled ink on the table and then Remus knocked it over and there was just a lot going on.”

You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.

“I’ll get you a new copy,” he says, guilt creeping into his voice. “Later today. You’ll have to stop by the common room, though.”

You sigh like it physically pains you. “Fine. I’ll try to come by around seven.”

He grins, pleased with himself. “Sorry, Poppet*.*”

You roll your eyes, but the edge of your mouth twitches. Straightening, with a roll of your shoulders as you draw your hand away from him, letting it fall to your side. And when you glace up again, the stares hadn’t stopped.

Like they’d forgotten to look away, the silence hung in the air for barely a second, scanning the table momentarily—before offering a small smile—slow, sweet, almost smug.

The kind of smile that ruins people.

“M’kay, see you later, Jamie,” you murmur, then turn and slip back into motion.

Eyes follow you as you go—every turn of your heel, every soft shift of fabric, every second you exist within their line of sight. James barely registers it at first—too busy spearing his toast again, already halfway back into conversation. But then he pauses.

His eyes flick to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then to Marlene.

All three of them are still staring across the hall. Still tracking your path back to your table.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” James groans loudly, glaring. “Stop gawking at my sister.”

Marlene blinks, caught. “She’s terrifying,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“In a really…good way,” Remus adds, dazed.

Sirius only grins.

James lets out a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands.

The portrait swings open without hesitation, at exactly seven o’clock sharp, you’d been there enough times that even the Fat Lady doesn’t bother asking questions anymore.

James is already waiting on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, textbook in hand. You barely slowed as you approached. He tossed it up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and you caught it one-handed.

“New copy,” he says proudly. “Didn’t even steal it. Aren’t you proud?”

You hum in approval, flipping it open to scan the pages. “No ink stains. No food crumbs. No smell of dungbombs.” You close it with a satisfied snap. “Miracles do happen.”

Before he can retort, you’ve already turned toward the couch, where Lily is perched cross-legged with a steaming mug of something floral and her usual tower of parchment. She smiles when she sees you, shifting over to make space without being asked.

Tucking the textbook under your arm as you lower yourself beside her.

James raises a suspicious brow, but you and Lily are already whispering to each other, heads tilted close and expressions conspiratorial. It’s nothing terribly sinister—something to do with Hogsmeade, and getting Slughorn to move a test back a week—but it’s enough to draw curious glances from the far side of the room.

You feel them. The eyes.

But you don’t look. Don’t need to.

Sirius was pretending not to stare. Which is laughable, really, because his entire body was angled toward you, elbow propped on the back of the couch, fingers tangled in his hair in that careless way he probably thinks is charming.

And Remus was worse. He’s trying to read, bless him, book in his lap and everything—but his eyes haven’t moved from you since you sat down. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, chewing the inside of his cheek. You think you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

You say nothing. Keep your voice low as you murmur something into Lily’s ear that makes her snort softly behind her hand.

After ten minutes of easy conversation, you rise without ceremony, slipping the textbook fully under your arm and smoothing your skirt.

“Well,” you say lightly, brushing a hand over your robes. “This was fun.”

Lily smirks. “We’ll finalise tomorrow?”

“Perfect” You glance to James. “Thanks for the book, Jamie.”

“No problem, Pop.”

You turn, finally acknowledging the two boys across the room with a glint of something wicked in your eye.

“Goodnight, boys,” you said sweetly—voice soft as silk, almost melodic. The slightest edge of a smile curves your lips as you roll your eyes, and then you’re already walking toward the exit, the hem of your robes trailing behind you like smoke.

You don’t look back.

But if you had, you would’ve seen Sirius run a hand through his hair and lean back with a low whistle.

“Merlin,” he mutters. “I’d swear she’s half siren if it weren’t for you, Prongs”

James, who’s still watching the portrait door swing shut, scoffs. “Oh, come off it.”

“What?” Sirius grins, unashamed. “It’s not my fault your sister is—” he gestures vaguely toward the door, “—whatever that is.”

Remus doesn’t say a word. His book is still open in his lap—he’s not reading it.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius continues, “if she weren’t your sister…”

“But she is my sister.” James rebutted, slouching back in his seat—swiftly ending the conversation.

The corridor curved with quiet shadows, lit only by the flicker of distant torches. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the dungeons. It was late, you’d spent more time in the Gryffindor common room than you’d realised—most of the castle already asleep, save for the odd prefect or wandering ghost.

You turned a corner near the potions classroom and nearly walked straight into Regulus Black.

He stopped short, posture already impeccable, as if even in surprise he couldn't be caught off guard. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—recognition, hesitation—and then he stepped slightly aside, giving you room without a word.

“Burning the midnight oil, Black?” you asked, voice soft with the sort of casual familiarity that made his name sound like something you owned.

He glanced at you, dark eyes catching in the torchlight. “Prefect rounds. Took longer than expected.”

You fell into step beside him as naturally as breathing, and he adjusted his pace to match yours without needing to be asked.

“What was it this time?” you mused. “More Gryffindors smuggling sweets from the kitchens?”

“Fourth-years,” he said with a small exhale—amusement undercutting his otherwise smooth tone. “Said they were practicing for a future in espionage.”

“Ambitious,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Almost enough to make me proud.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but you felt the brief flick of his eyes on your profile, like he was trying not to look too long. Like he was trying not to seem too interested.

You didn’t comment, but you noticed.

By the time you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely mumbling the password before the metal hinges whined, door opening slowly. Inside, the green-glass lamps glowed low, casting dreamy reflections against the water-like ceiling. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, golden against the dark velvet furniture.

Dorcas sat half-curled on the rug, absently flipping through a magazine; Evan was draped across a couch like he owned it, cards floating above his face; Pandora leaned near him, humming as she threaded a strand of starlight-colored ribbon through her hair. It was a tableau of sleepy elegance.

Without hesitation, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the center rug near the fire. Your hand stretched toward the flames without thought. A spark rose up, obedient and curious, dancing into your open palm.

Twirling it between your fingers like silk, the heat never burning you, the flame curling comfortably around your touch. Pandora’s fingers stilled in her braid, watching.

Wandless magic.

Dorcas tilted her head, eyes bright. “You really have to teach me how to do that one day.”

You didn’t look away from the fire. “Of course,” you said lightly. “But there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

“Like what kind of curve?” Evan asked, not looking up. “Burn-your-dormitory-down levels?”

“More like third-degree-if-you’re-clumsy,” you replied with a grin.

“I could do it,” a voice said behind you, full of loud confidence.

Barty stepped forward from where he’d been balanced on the arm of the sofa, his hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. “Could you now?”

“First try,” he goaded, brows arched in light challenge. “Swear on my father's boring haircut.”

Regulus snorted, not even looking up from his book. “You’ll burn yourself stupid.”

“I’ll be fine,” Barty said, already striding forward. “How hard can it be?”

He reached toward the fire, trying to mimic the smooth gesture you’d used, fingers tense with focus and impatience.

A small spark leapt up—and immediately sputtered, flaring far too quickly. The flame caught his skin with a sharp sizzle before he could react, and he yelped, flinging his hand back with a curse.

“Bloody hell!”

The room erupted with laughter.

Pandora’s hand clamped over her mouth as if to shove the laugh back in, both Evan and Dorcas threw their heads back in sync, barking out a laugh—sound mixing with yours, loud and delighted, as Barty glared at the fire like it had personally betrayed him.

“Under control, was it?” you teased.

He cradled his palm like it was a war wound. “Minor setback. I didn’t even flinch.”

“You flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.”

“Semantics,” Barty grumbled.

“Let me see,” you said, standing and stepping closer.

He hesitated only a beat before holding out his hand, palm-up. A faint red welt bloomed across his skin, angry and hot. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and you felt the brief hitch in his breath. You didn’t comment.

A whisper of magic curled from your palm, cool and quiet, threading over the burn like mist. The redness faded almost instantly, leaving only smooth skin and the faintest echo of heat.

Barty stared down at your work like it was a trick he couldn’t quite understand.

From the couch, Evan leaned forward, smirking. “You just wanted an excuse to hold her hand.”

“Shove off,” Barty muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though not too quickly.

You shook your head, half-exasperated half-amused, and turned toward the hall. “I’m going to wash up.”

As you stepped away from the firelight, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. Regulus was still in his usual spot—half reclined in the reading chair by the window, a book open but forgotten on his lap.

His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

You held it for just a moment, a soft smirk just barely twitching at the corners of your lips, before disappearing down the hall.

Unsurpisingly, both you and Regulus had more in common than you’d care to admit.

Both the less outlandish sibling, the ‘quieter’ ones—not necessarily in sound, but in presence. While James and Sirius blazed like bonfires, reckless and radiant, you and Regulus were something else entirely.

Subtle, magnetic.

You didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d both entered a room and the air seemed to still slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do.

Both of you understood what it meant to watch. To study a room before deciding what piece you wanted to play in it. You weren’t loud, nor silent just quietly unnerving. Regal, even.

There was a stillness about Regulus, an almost surgical precision to his movements and his clipped tone, like everything he did was measured twice before execution. He was painfully composed, almost uptight, his dry wit tucked behind an unimpressed brow and unimpeachable posture.

And where you differed—you were made of wild starlight and strange tides, chaos in your blood even if it rarely cracked your veneer, eventhough you rarely indulged. And where Regulus pulled inward, you leaned out. You loved a little disorder, havoc—a challenge; your eyes shining when something didn’t go to plan, smirking like you were always in on a secret.

There was a certain wickedness in your stillness—one that made Regulus look twice. Then three times. Then constantly.

Each thing he learned about you surprised him more than the last.

So he decided, quietly and with a calm sort of resolve, that he’d had enough of watching you from afar. He wanted a closer look.

The first time was in the library.

You were tucked into the corner of a row, arms full of books, hair falling across your face as you read the spine of a heavy tome. You didn’t notice him at first—or maybe that’s just what he told himself, though he should’ve known better. Regulus moved with the silence of a shadow, but when he was only inches away and just about to speak, your voice floated out, lightly entertained:

“Planning to sneak up on me, Black?”

He blinked, lips parting in the barest hint of surprise. “I wasn’t—”

Without sparing him a glance you handed him the book at the top, and he took it instinctively—letting his fingers linger on yours just that bit longer than necessary. And you held in a quirk of your brows, the squint of your eyes—making a mental note.

Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.

He didn’t say anything else at first, only helped, taking the weight from you and beginning to shelve them wordlessly. There was a moment—just before he reached for the last one—where his fingers paused. The cover was worn, clearly read many times.

Icarus.

A Muggle myth. One of his favourites, though no one knew that.

His hand hovered just a little too long, thumb brushing over the faded title.

“What did you think of the ending?” you asked suddenly, your tone soft but cutting through the quiet like a quill to parchment.

He almost stammered, nearly asking how did you know? But caught himself, clearing his throat before replying. “Tragic. I liked it.”

You tilted your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip—scanning his face—something glinting behind your eyes that he couldn’t quiet put his finger on.

The way the corners of your lips threatening to curve into a smile, had him struggling to swallow, voice honeyed in his ears—“Of course you did.”

And you were gone, just like that, leaving him standing—ears hot, brain playing your voice, your smile on loop.

Regulus prided himself in his ability to read a person, and yet with you—every interaction left him more confused, more intrigued, more captivated. There was some sort of riddle about you, something flickering in the depths of your eyes that made him want to unravel it—you.

The next time he saw you, you’d agreed to meet after his Quidditch practice to finish a joint assignment for Potions. Waiting just outside the changing rooms, arms crossed loosely over your chest, leaning against the cool stone wall with your bag slung over one shoulder.

The first person out wasn’t Regulus, but Barty—lips splitting into a wide smirk like he’d been expecting to see you there.

“Well, well,” he drawled, striding over with no shame, his hair a windswept mess and his jersey clinging to his frame. Immediately he closed in on you, arm slinging lazily over your shoulders, a light scent of cigarettes and oak filling your nose.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, pretty?”

Groaning, your nose crinkling at the contact, you didn’t push him off though—”You’re sweaty, Junior,”

He only leaned in closer, grin wolfish, letting his breath fan over your jaw. “You love it.”

“I love showers, actually. You should try one.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes flickered across you face, the corners of your lips fighting to stay down—eyes glimmering with that twinge of defiance that had him only smirk even wider—“Only if you come with.”

Your brow cocked up slightly, narrowing your eyes as your plucked his arm off of you, placing gently back by his side—palms still wrapped around his wrist. He watched your movement eagerly, the smirk that was already etched onto his lips, adopting a positively wolfish quality when you leaned up into him—lips almost brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes, Junior,”

Pulling away just as quickly as you came in, leaning back against the wall leisurely, rolling your eyes at the way Barty scanned your figure—adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.

“Evan,” you called sweetly, “come collect your lost dog before he starts shedding on me.”

“C’mon, Crouch” Evan replied with a snort, catching him by the collar and dragging him off. “Leave her alone before you melt her into the floor.”

Barty turned just before they were out of sight, voice loud despite the distance—playful, “Miss you already, Treasure!”

For a few more minutes you waited, the corridor quiet now except for the flickering of enchanted sconces and the distant echo of voices. When Regulus finally emerged, his tie half-undone and hair damp around the edges, cheeks still reddened from the bite of the air—adjusting his uniform.

“Did you wait long?”

He’d already began the walk out, following after him, you hummed a small no—slipping through the hallways in the East Wing to find an empty classroom. It wasn’t hard task at all, settling in with the low scrap of the stool against the stone floor and opening your textbooks.

As he flicked through the pages of the book, your gaze dropped instinctively to his hands—his knuckles bruised and bloodied, red blooming like petals across pale skin.

Without hesitation, you scooted forward in your seat and took his hand in yours.

“We could’ve stopped by Pomfrey,” you said, brows knitting slightly as you examined the scrapes.

He didn’t pull away. Just kept his gaze fixed on your hand, the way you held his delicately, and your fingers, the way they moved so gently across his skin.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll heal.”

A frown had etched itself onto your lips as you continued to inspect his hand, if you weren’t so engrossed in your assessment, you would have noticed the faint flush of his ears, or how his eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hand.

Your motions were slow and attentive, pressing your palm along the bumps of his knuckles—the heat of your skin ghosting over his—the simmer of magic was so soft he almost didn’t notice it.

There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as the wounds healed, but he didn’t flinch away.

And as your palm crossed over the edge of his hand, the final gash closed before his eyes, the skin was almost perfectly anew, as if nothing had happened—the only indication being a fading pink hue.

You continued to trace over the now-faint marks, fingertips ghosting along the healed bone, the tenderness of your touch leaving him slightly breathless.

“Better,” you whispered, half to yourself.

Regulus just stared at his hand when you let go, still feeling the echo of your touch, the whisps of your warmth. “Thank you,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual, lips still parted—stretching and rolling his fingers, watching the bones move comfortably under the skin, free of the light burning sensation.

When he looked up, you were already watching him—head tilted, expression cool—neutral.

Sighing out a breath his lips were moving before he could stop them, “I—how?”

A quiet hum escaped your lips, hands crossing over your lap as you leaned into the wood of your chair, “Well, James and I were really clumsy—more James than me, obviously,”

Recollecting, your lips curled into a smile, shrugging slightly as you continued, “Our mum got tired of us walking around bruised and battered when she was busy, so she taught me how to heal without a wand,”

The ghost of a smile almost twitched at the corners of his lips. Almost.

A short silence veiled the room as you fell into a working rhythm, mindlessly highlighting and note taking before the clattering of Regulus’ quill against the table broke your concentration. Eyes immediately shifting up to him—his lips pursed into a tightline but the words were already out. Blurted abruptly, cracking the silence just as his quill did.

“Teach me,”

Your brows raised into a suprised arch, confusion flickering across your face for brief moment, lips parting to respond. When he shrunk into himself slightly, shocked by his own outburst, muttering a small, “…please?” under his breath.

The response fell heavy on your tongue, lips stretching into an amused smirk and huffed chuckle bubbled low in your chest.

The wood of the chair scrapped and screeched loud against the stone as you stood, wordlessly making your way around the table. His eyes tracked your movements, just barely becoming frantic in their flickering when you sat beside him—knees brushing, so close.

Regulus breath caught when your gazes met, heat prickling at the base of his neck, hands curling into half-fists on the table, and you kept your eyes on him. Even as you leaned over closing his books, making space on the desk—warmth of your body vaguely gracing him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away, tear his gaze from yours—as much as it made his stomach flip from its quiet intensity—the confidence that swam in your eyes. It sucked him in, making his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

All-consuming.

At the sound of a single galleon, lazily spinning on the table, you broke your stare—letting your sights fall onto the coin as it clattered to a halt. “Have you done wandless magic before?”

He sucked in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill completely—using that time to regulate his heart that threatened to beat out of his chest—before pushing all the air back out, forcibly rubbing his palms into the fabric of his robes.

“Once—accidentally,”

With a nod, you hummed at his words, waiting for him to continue, eyes back on him—boring into the side of his head. “I—uh, got the lights to turn on when i couldn’t find my wand,”

His eyes shift between you and the coin as you picked it up, rolling it between your fingers as your spoke, “Okay, lets start with something simple, shall we?” The way you watched him made his mouth painfully dry, he couldn’t even trust his voice to answer, silently nodding at you words.

“Try move the coin.”

When he whipped his head towards to, lips parted in slight disbelief, protests creeping up his throat—Regulus clamped his mouth shut at the smile on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners swimming with mischief as you leaned in. Placing the coin back onto the table with a soft clink, instinctively he held his breath, short-circuiting at the sudden proximity—so close he could smell you, a light vanilla scent with a twinge of maple and freshly burnt fire-wood.

You made him so nervous, he found himself a bit pathetic.

And the honeyed cadance of your voice did nothing but make his heart race faster than it already was, “Just breathe, Regulus. Focus on the coin and where you want it to move—relax,”

Easier said than done.

Gods, even the way you said his name—he almost lost the rest of your sentence, letting it echo in his mind over and over again.

When you reclined, leaning back into your chair, he felt the urge to mourn the loss of warmth—rolling his shoulders back, focusing his gaze. Or at least, he tried to.

The coin sat quietly on the table, unmoved, unbothered by the sheer force of his will alone. His jaw tensed, brows pinched together, fingers twitching slightly as if the movement alone might spark the magic into life.

Nothing.

With a breath that was equal parts frustration and surrender, Regulus leaned back and exhaled sharply.

“Can you—” he muttered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, —can you not watch me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Then a quiet chuckle slipped from your lips as you raised your hands in surrender, the teasing edge of your smile tugging at the corners. “Alright, alright,” you murmured, “Sorry.” Voice light and easy, but your eyes still sparkled with that same mischief that made his stomach clench. “Didn’t realise I was that distracting.”

“You are,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, leaning in again—slowly, gently—and placed your hand on his shoulder, the heat of you palm instantly radiating through his robes, hairs raising down his spine. His eyes flicked to the contact, then to your face again. You were closer than before.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you murmured, your thumb brushing once over the fabric of his robes. “And you’re not breathing.”

“I am breathing,” he argued weakly.

“Barely.”

You didn’t move your hand as you spoke again, your voice quieter now, velvet-soft and steady. “Close your eyes. Envision it. Just you and the coin. No pressure.” Regulus hesitated for a beat, then followed your instruction, lids fluttering shut.

A few moments pass before your voice reaches his ears again, “Can you see it?” and he nodded slowly, jaw tightening in focus.

“Alright,” you continued, tone low almost hypnotic now, “imagine it moving. Just a bit. Like there’s an invisible string tugging it toward you.”

He sucked in another deep breath, picturing it. The cool glint of the galleon. The subtle shine under the tinted light of the classroom. The gentle tug, like a current.

And then—scrape.

The softest sound of metal shifting against wood reached both your ears. His eyes shot open. It had moved—just barely a few centimeters, but undeniably there. His breath caught, disbelief flashing across his face.

When he turned to you, a bright beam had already split across your face, the sort of proud, delighted smile that hit him harder than the adrenaline from the magic—your hand finally slipped from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake—fingers grazing the fabric of his robes. “You did it!” you said, eyes bright. “See? Easy.”

He let out a stunned breath, caught between awe and the bloom of success, heartbeat still rapid beneath his ribs. The warmth of accomplishment mingling with the quiet thrum of your presence, you. He was still processing when you reset the coin with a smooth sweep of your hand.

“Again,” you urged, nudging it into place. “Try further this time.”

He nodded, more focused now—confident. When he closed his eyes again, he could still hear the echo of your voice in his head. Could still imagine your hand on his shoulder, steading—warm.

And this time, it slid farther—too far.

The coin zipped forward, clattered off the edge, and hit the floor with a metallic clink that echoed around the empty classroom. You let out a short burst of laughter, delighted, as his head dropped, a sheepish huff escaping him. But the tension had melted from his shoulders, replaced with slow blossoming of something lighter. Pride.

He bent down to retrieve it, fingers brushing the cool metal before placing it back on the table. You were already settling beside him again, the warmth of your presence sparking something just under his skin. “This is the next step,” you said, tapping the surface of the table.

Regulus was still watching you.

Then you extended your hand, with a single finger, you hovered just above the coin—twirling it in a slow, controlled motion—and like it had a will of its own, the coin lifted.

Spinning, following the gentle twirl of your finger. A slow spiral, then faster, gathering speed until it hovered in the air, dancing in place.

He was entranced, gaze stuck on the coin even as it settled down, coming to a graceful halt—landing perfectly in the center of the table. He’d known magic, of course he did—but it felt different, raw and effortless. The same way the flame had danced between your fingers in the common room the other night—mindlessly intuitive, captivating. The coin spun like it wanted to please you. Everything did, it seemed.

He was still staring at the coin, hesitating—doubt creeping in through the back of his mind, like an unwanted invasive parasite—it barely flickered across his face. An almost imperceivable break in his expression, but you saw it.

Taking the coin again, you reached for his hand—laying your palm flat under his, eyes flickering to his face for permission before continuing. When he didn’t pull away, you placed the coin in the center of his hand, the warmth of your skin on his made the sharp bite of the metal feel that bit colder against his hand.

It lifted and spun confidently against his skin, puppeteered by the twist of your finger.

“Feel that?” Voice just above a whisper.

And he could feel it, a steady thrumming faintly circling in his palm, the buzzing with your magic. Swallowing before he spoke, a small “Yeah,” passing into the air between you.

“Now,” you spoke quietly, catching his other hand and bringing it to hover above the coin. “Picture that same feeling at your fingertips. Like it’s moving from your hand into the air—let it flow through you.”

He concentrated. You stayed close. Hand still gently cradling his from below, a silent encouragement, he started mimicking the slow twirling motion in the space above the coin.

For a few long moment—nothing.

Then, it happened. The coin jerked, slightly. Then again, shakily dragging to a stand. A tremble, stuttering before a spin. Jerky at first, but then it righted itself—smoothly gaining speed, falling into step with the command of his finger.

And your laughter, it rung through the room—soft, radiant—spilling from your chest with that same pride from before. He was too stunned to say anything. Blinking down at the coin with wide eyes, then looking to you, breathless, like he wasn’t quite sure it had actually happened. A smile—an actual, full smile—slowly curved onto his lips.

Rare and quiet, it lingered like a secret only the two of you shared.

The low buzz still resonating in his palm, the echo of your magic mingled with his own. The feeling of your hands—warm, steady, coaxing power out of him with nothing more than your voice and a bit of stubborn charm.

And even as the coin fell suddenly into his hand, all he could do was look at you.

Relish in the way your eyes shone with a glimmer of excitement, how your hands curved around his, jogging them slightly in enthusiastic joy of his accomplishment.

The coin was stagnant in his palm, Regulus flipped your hands, surrendering the cold metal into yours—and yet his hands lingering in your hold. He knew he probably should have moved his hands, the second he resigned the coin back into your possession; that was his cue. But he felt stuck, frozen under your sights.

Bewitched.

Even as your lips moved before him, the words almost fell deaf on his ears—taking a few seconds to let them echo in his mind, how did it feel? He responded with a sighing breath, as if relinquishing all remaining tension in his body, “…Good,” nodding his head as his continued, “really good actually,”

His small confession has your lips stretching even further along your face, and acknowledging hum rumbling in your throat as your touch slowly slipped away from his. Quietly tucking the coin into your bag before you started to pack up.

Just when you closed your notebook Regulus’ voice glided across the air, just above a faint murmur—if the room had any other sounds than the quiet rustling of papers, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“You’re a really good teacher,”

A small huff of laugh passed through your nose, tucking your notebook under your arm as you stood and offered a small, warm smile. “It’s easy,” you said lightly, “when you have a good student.”

Regulus shook his head faintly, a huff of something like disbelief leaving his lips—but the curve of pride hadn’t quite left his mouth.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the halls, your steps in sync. His hands tucked in his pockets, your bag slung over your shoulder. The dungeons were dim, washed in the dull blue of lantern light, shadows stretching along the stone. He kept glancing sideways at you, like there was something still lingering on his tongue he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to say.

Just as you reached the bottom of the girls’ dorm staircase, your hand curling loosely around the bannister, Regulus spoke.

“Wait—” His voice was low, tentative. Pausing, you turned slightly. “Hm?”

He stood a few steps back, one hand curled around the strap of his satchel, the other still shoved in his pocket. “Would you…” he paused, gaze dipping before finding yours again, more certain now. “Will you show me more?”

There was a beat of silence.

You tilted your head, watching him closely, fingers curled loosely around the railing. Blinking once, twice, reading the sincerity in his face, the open want—not desperation, harmless interest. He could see the cogs turning in your head just for a moment, before you murmured with a shrug, “Yeah.”

Descending the stairs again, you fell into step beside him as he led the way up the other staircase. The boys’ dorm was quiet when you reached it, the door creaking softly open under his hand. The warm scent of parchment, cologne, and something distinctly him met you in the space.

You paused at the threshold.

It wasn’t unfamiliar—you’d lounged across Barty’s bed enough times, lazily flipping through books while he tore the room apart looking for a missing assignment. You’d perched at Evan’s desk, rifled through his scribbled notes, borrowed a quill Barty’s nightstand. But never while Regulus was there. You’d never stepped into his space, not when he was in it.

He didn’t seem to notice your stillness. He moved through the room with ease, like you weren’t watching—dropping his books in a stack by the desk, slipping his robe off one shoulder, then tugging his jumper over his head. His shirt was rumpled beneath, sleeves already rolled up, collar slightly askew. You caught yourself staring.

He looked over his shoulder.

“You coming in?” he asked, voice a little lower now, pitched in that way it sometimes got when it was just you.

Without a word, you stepped in, toeing the door shut behind you and dropping your bag just beside the frame. You mimicked his motions easily, slipping off your jumper and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, fingers brushing absently along the edge of his desk as you walked further in.

It was a clean room. Structured, but not stiff. His bed was neat, the desk organised, quills and books perfectly aligned. But there were touches—human ones. A framed photo of the Quidditch pitch mid-game, a green ribbon pinned to the wall—a burnished Slytherin scarf neatly folded at the end of his bed, and a single piece of parchment stuck to the wall above his workspace.

With a soft exhale, you flopped onto his bed, letting your arms stretch out as you gazed up at the canopy. The hangings were dark, almost velvet black, and they made the whole space feel smaller, quieter. Private.

Regulus glanced over, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his desk, potion book in hand, eyebrows arched in mild disbelief.

“You make yourself comfortable wherever you go, don’t you?” he said dryly, a smirk threatening at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t reply—just smirked smugly, twisting your head into the sheets below, stretching your limbs out, still gazing up at the dark, heavy curtains draped above the bed. The movement made your shirt shift, riding up slightly—just a touch above your waistband, exposing a sliver of skin, soft and warm under the low lamplight—the stretch of your abdomen and the small indent of your navel.

He was staring.

He didn’t realise how long until you sat up, balancing your weight on one arm, eyes still wandering lazily over the ceiling.

“You’d think your parents taught you it’s rude to stare,” you said lightly. “But you and your brother are just the same.”

Regulus cleared his throat, heat blooming high on his cheekbones, but he said nothing.

Your attention drifted to the stack of books on his desk—and the singular piece of parchment, handwritten in a precise script, pinned above it.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward it.

He followed your gaze. “A line from a poem.”

You hummed, intrigued. “What’s it say?”

He crossed the room, settling a book on his night stand before he sat on the bed beside you.

You didn’t meet his gaze right away—still reclined, your hair spilling over the edge of the bed like ink, one hand absentmindedly twirling the galleon between your fingers.

Stretching out onto his stomach, bringing his chin on his forearm to look at you properly. He watched you for a moment. The way the gold shimmered in your grip, the way your mouth twitched with unspoken thought. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t mention it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—gentle and low as he recited the line, something breathy and melodic in French. His accent was quiet but careful.

The coin fell still in your lap as you turned your head toward him.

“It sounds pretty,” you murmured. Your eyes traced his face, steady and curious. “What does it mean?” His gaze didn’t leave yours, sucking in a breath through his nose, the mattress beside you dipped as he promped himself up onto his elbows, words slow and hypnotising in your ears.

“Let night come on bells end the day, the days go by me still I stay”

You blinked at him, for a long moment, just letting the words rest heavy in the air between you, and his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when you spoke, voice barely above a whisper, more breath than words—as if anything louder would crack the air as it stilled around you.

“It sounds extra pretty in your voice.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. You were too close. Not close enough. The lamp behind you casted golden shadows across your face and your lips were slightly parted, just barely.

Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out.

“I think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him—blinks slowly as you took in each feature.

And then he was leaning in. Slowly, but not hesitantly—fingertips skimming along your jaw, guiding your face toward his with reverence more than boldness. He tilted your face toward him like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, and as he got closer, you hummed, tone somewhere between amusement and a quiet gentleness, “Such high praise,” Gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips one last time before his mouth was on yours.

Regulus’ lips brushed yours with a delicate sort of caution, like he was afraid to startle the moment. His hand stayed warm at your jaw, thumb ghosting along the edge of your cheekbone, grounding himself in the quiet thrill of the contact.

When you kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, and it was like you lit a fuse under his skin. He moved closer, shoulders angling toward you, the hand on your jaw trailing down—fingers curling gently around your neck, not possessive, but fervored.

There was nothing rushed about it. Only the press of mouths and the occasional, breathless hitch of air as your noses brushed and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slightly—still cautious, still a little hesitant.

But then then he heard it—just barely there, a small breath of contentment through your nose as your fingers slid up the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric.

That did it.

His lips moved with more intent now, more certainty, like he’d been holding back and couldn’t anymore. He tasted like peppermint and something you couldn’t quite place, and every time he pulled away even a fraction, he came right back—drawn to you like the pull of gravity.

Somewhere in the flurry of warmth and movement, the air around you shifted.

The curtains.

The ones above his bed rustled faintly, and then, slowly, they began to close—not all the way, but just enough to wrap the two of you in the hush of privacy. The dark velvet swept inward in a lazy draw, like someone had tugged gently at invisible strings. The air around you seemed to slow, thick with suspended magic and the soft scent of something like cedar and parchment.

Pulling back from the kiss, just barely, your lips brushing his as a breath of laughter escaped you. The kind of soft, genuine giggle that bloomed right in your chest and spilled out in surprise. Your forehead dropped back lightly against the pillow as you whispered, voice honeyed with delight, “Did you just—?”

He didn’t say anything at first. But there was the faintest flush at the tips of his ears, even as the corners of his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. You cupped his jaw gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek as you teased with a squint of your eye, voice low and fond, “Already showing off.”

He just huffed a laugh, dipping his head slightly—forehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His hand found your waist again, sliding over your hip to pull you closer, until your bodies were all but tangled together in the middle of his bed.

Then he paused.

Looked at you.

Really looked at you—eyes searching your face, the softness of your features in the low dorm light, the flush on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips, still flushed lightly from his kiss. His thumb brushed your waist absently, reverently, like he was trying to memorise the moment through touch alone.

You blinked up at him, slightly breathless, lips curving into that small smile—that quiet, knowing one—that had his pulse quickening.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Voice just above a whisper.

A beat.

His answer was just as quiet.

“…Too long.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to.

Because then his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time—hungry but still careful, still delicate. Like he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth with his own. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling to bring you even closer, your chest brushing his with every inhale.

Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.

Body sprawled across the bed, head in Regulus’ lap, legs stretched out and one arm flopped over your middle lazily. His hand drifted idly through your hair, almost absentminded in its rhythm, as he spoke—quiet and thoughtful, voice lilting into stories you never expected him to share.

He told you about how he hated summer, because his skin burned too easily—how the Black family manor always smelled like dust and old magic. How he and Barty used to sneak wine from the cellar and sit on the roof, trying to name constellations. How his favourite book growing up wasn’t even magical—it was a Muggle text he smuggled in and read by candlelight.

You blinked up at him with a soft smile, utterly content, not interrupting—just listening.

For a man you’d once believed was of few words, he sure had a lot to say.

Not that you weren’t complaining.

There was something soft about him now—looser. Less controlled. Like the tightly wound strings he kept knotted around himself had started to loosen just enough to let you in, like he’d been waiting for the the chance to bare himself. And Merlin, he was affectionate. Not in the loud, boisterous way others might’ve been. But with soft hands and stolen glances. A touch at your hip, the gentle brush of knuckles down your arm. Aching for contact in any form, so careful about how he was gave and received it, like it could be torn away at any given moement—still so foreign, even in his own mind.

Your thumb traced slow circles into his knee as you murmured, “Can you read the line again? From the poem?”

Regulus looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead before turning toward the parchment pinned above his desk. He recited it again in that soft voice—low and smooth, almost like a lullaby.

You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.

When he finished, you whispered, “Lemme show you something.”

And before he could ask, your hand curled into a fist. You held it up between you both. His brows furrowed slightly, watching with interest.

Then, you slowly unfurled your fingers—and from the centre of your palm, a small bluebell flower sprouted, delicate and glowing faintly with the magic that coaxed it into being.

“This,” you whispered, eyes flickering with warmth and voice like a secret, “is what I think of when I hear your voice.”

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak.

Just stared.

The shock in his eyes wasn’t loud. It was quiet and still, like everything else about him. But it was there. Etched into the way he looked at you—not just at the flower, but at your face. Your expression, the tenderness written across it with no ulterior motive, no mischief behind your eyes. No teasing lilt in your tone.

Just you.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

His fingers reached out gently, brushing the fragile petals like they might dissolve under his touch. And when he looked back at you, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You really are something,” he said, with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Covering the sudden flutter of your chest with a scoff and biteless roll of your eyes. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more, before you sat up abruptly, hair whipping slightly at your speed—movements fluid and unbothered as the mattress dipped under the concentrated weight of your knees.

Regulus frozen against the headboard, wide-eyed when your leg swung over his middle—settling on his lap in a straddle that was far too flippant. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to settle—eventually, they found your hips, fingers curling there hesitantly.

The small smirk on lips only widened—at his obvious flush, relishing in the way the blush crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks.

“Relax,” you teased, brushing your fingers through his dark curls, tucking and retucking the strands behind his ear like you were sculpting something. And then, you nestled the bluebell flower in the space you’d created—right behind his ear.

“There,” you said with a proud grin, leaning back slightly to admire your work. Your hands slid down his neck, wrists resting lazily on his shoulders as you laced your fingers behind him, just barely hovering over his surely goosebump ridden skin. Tilting you head, you let your gaze rake over him like you were evaluating an art piece.

“I think blue might be your colour, Reg.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you subtly shifted in his lap—closer, pressing into him with purpose. Regulus huffed a small scoff, finally finding a bit of his footing again, though his voice was still slightly strained. “Must you always be this brazen?”

You shrugged innocently. “It’s fun having people on edge.”

He hummed lowly, eyes flickering with something darker now—his grip tightening slightly on your hips. “Really?”

You leaned forward with a smirk, lips brushing his as you replied in a hushed, mocking whisper, “Reaaaally.”

That was all the prompting he needed.

His mouth met yours with vigor, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d been waiting to. Desperate, yet controlled. His hands squeezing at the flesh of your waist as he pulled you closer, chest pressing flush to his, heat blooming between you, smiling into the kiss.

Pulled back slightly, lips still grazing his, and whispered against his mouth, “You must like brazen then.”

And that made him grin.

Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.

His hands gripped your waist more firmly as he kissed you again, feverish now, all slow control forgotten in favour of something more frantic and yearning. The kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made time slip sideways.

So engrossed in each other, you didn’t hear the door creak open.

Didn’t notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.

But the moment the familiar sound of Barty’s voice filled the room, everything stopped.

“I brought teacakes,” he called out lazily from the other side of the dorm, “because you missed supper. I figured you were sulking or something—”

You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.

Legs still straddled across his lap. His hands halfway up your back. The flower still behind his ear.

Regulus’ eyes flew open. Your hand slapped over your mouth to muffle a curse.

“I left extra lemon ones, since—wait.”

Barty’s voice was closer now. Suspicious—”…Why are your curtains closed?”

Regulus was already looking at you, panicked. You swatted his arm sharply when he didn’t say anything, eyes wide and insistent. “Was Potter here?” Barty asked, a little louder this time.

“She—uh—” Regulus stammered. “She was here. Earlier.”

Stammered.

You physically winced.

He never stammered. And now Barty definitely knew something was off. There was the unmistakable sound of someone standing up. Then footsteps. Getting closer.

Barty’s voice was cool and skeptical. “So…she was here earlier…”

He paused just outside the curtain.

“…and just left her bag behind?”

Your eyes widened in horror. Your bag. You could envision where you’d left it—sitting in plain view.

A pained expression split across your face as Regulus turned to you with a look that screamed, what do we do??

But there was no time.

Because the curtain was already being drawn back.

Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.

Time seemed to stall between one breath and the next, and there was Barty—standing there with a half-eaten lemon teacake in one hand, his brows slowly climbing higher and higher as he took in the sight before him.

You, still straddling Regulus.

Regulus, pink-faced and looking about two seconds from imploding.

And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.

A beat of silence.

He gasped—actually, audibly gasped, clutching his chest as if you'd physically wounded him. “Treasure,” he breathed, eyes wide and betrayed, “I cannot believe you traded me in for Black.”

You groaned. “Junior.”

“No—don’t you Junior me,” he said, stepping back like your words had scorched him, pressing a hand against the curtains pillar for support.

You slid off Regulus’ lap in a single, painful motion, trying to maintain any shred of dignity, which was difficult with your hair mussed and your shirt slightly rumpled from where Regulus had been clutching at the back of it.

Regulus didn’t even try to salvage anything. He just stared at the ceiling like he was mentally calculating how fast he could die and be buried—red down to the collar of his shirt.

“I thought we had something, Treasure,” Barty continued with a theatrical sniff, flopping onto his bed. “A shared love of mild chaos, midnight escapades, and morally ambiguous hexes.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He stared at the ceiling, hand still on his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

“You’re eating a teacake.”

“I’m grieving, let me be.”

And then, his voice softened a little, still dramatic but now with an edge of sincerity. “I mean… obviously everyone’s had a crush on you, but I didn’t think he’d be the one to do something about it.”

You blinked, head whipping to Regulus, eyes narrowing. “You’re not denying it.”

He just shrugged lightly, like he didn’t see the point.

Barty’s laughter was smug as hell. “See?” he said, sitting up.

Regulus groaned softly beside you. “Is this going to end soon?”

Barty glanced between you both, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So tell me,” he said, casually now, propping himself up on one elbow, “is this a new study method? Because I must’ve missed this chapter in Advanced Charms.”

“Jun—”

“No, no—really, I’m curious,” he said, waving his teacake for emphasis. “Do you rate each other’s technique? Is snogging now a core requirement for N.E.W.T. preparation?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. It didn’t help that Regulus looked like he was actively contemplating vanishing spells, dropping his head into his hands.

Then he softened again, leaning his chin into his palm as he watched the two of you. “For what it’s worth, Reg… you look good like this. Like an actual person instead of a walking anxiety spell.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, hands slipping from his face to reveal a withering look.

Barty beamed. “That’s more like it.”

With a smug little wave, Barty finally stood, sauntering backwards toward the door with his usual flair.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, to be fair, is a very short list. Night, lovebirds.”

2K notes · View notes

generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Note

They have to end together🥹🥺🥹 but not without Theo literally begging for Reader's forgiveness and Reader being super mean to him 🥹🥺🥹

A Sky without You

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!reader

Summary ; You’re no longer the sweet, shining boy everyone knew. You shut down—silent, cold, and distant. The entire Gryffindor house and even professors worry as you isolate yourself, always disappearing to the Astronomy Tower with no light left in your eyes. Meanwhile, Theodore falls apart. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, and can’t pretend anymore. After a Transfiguration exam, he snaps—confronting his so-called friends for the cruel bet and finally admitting he loved you. To his shock, they feel the guilt too. All of them apologize, deeply, knowing they’ve broken something they can never fully fix.

A/N ; this is OFFICIALLY my longest fic yet.. ENJOY THOUGH :3 (if this flops I'm going back to writing 200 word fics.) I'll upload the continuation of this fic tomorrow because I'm actually so burnt out.

Warnings ; Emotional distress, guilt, lingering heartbreak, depression, isolation, emotional breakdowns, emotional confrontation, unresolved tension, lingering trauma, grief, guilt

Word count ; 7.3k+

It’s been weeks.

And not a single day passes where your name isn’t whispered like a fading ghost through the halls of Hogwarts. Once the boy everyone turned to—bright-eyed, always smiling, the sun in a red and gold tie—you’ve become a haunting. A memory people are too afraid to speak of too loudly.

You were the kind of person who remembered birthdays, even when others forgot their own. The kind who carried extra quills because “someone might need one,” who stayed up helping classmates study, who sat with crying first-years during meals and listened to them like their little fears mattered. You offered kindness like it cost you nothing. Because to you, it didn’t.

Now you walk the same corridors, but it’s like your footsteps don’t make a sound anymore.

You show up. You sit down. You leave.

That’s it.

No greeting.

No grin.

No helping hand when someone drops a quill or trips in the hallway.

You, who once walked slower just to keep a first-year company.

You, who once stayed behind after class to help erase the board for a tired professor.

You, who once twirled around in the snow just to see how many snowflakes you could catch on your lashes.

The portraits have stopped trying to greet you. The ones that used to cheer when you passed now fall quiet as you go by, like even they feel the weight pressing against your shoulders. The ghosts don't float near you anymore—not even the friendly ones. You don’t light up when you see friends. You don’t wave from across the library. You don’t laugh at Neville’s clumsy spills or Ginny’s sarcastic jokes.

You’re a shell. A hollow echo of the boy you used to be.

The castle feels colder.

Students murmur behind their hands, not with gossip but worry. “He hasn’t eaten in days,” someone whispers. “I saw him in the common room at four in the morning—just staring at the fire.”

Your name is now spoken with a frown. With hesitation.

“He used to help me with Herbology every Tuesday...”

“He gave me chocolate frogs once because I was homesick."

“He called the stars his best friends, remember that?”

“He hasn’t even looked at the sky.”

And it’s true. You haven’t.

You don’t go to the Astronomy Tower anymore. You don’t look up when the night sky reveals itself. You draw your curtains early and press your face into the pillow until it stops hurting—until it starts again the next morning.

Every smile you wore was carefully crafted, stitched from sincerity and softness. And it shattered so completely, no one even remembers what it looked like now.

You don’t cry. That’s the part that scares them the most. You don’t scream, don’t lash out, don’t even flinch.

You just exist.

Barely.

And the whole school feels the absence of your warmth like a cold draft no one can shut out.

You showed up to class, yes. Sat in your usual seat. Gave the right answers. Nodded at professors. But there was no life behind your eyes.

No spark.

No joy.

You didn’t greet anyone in the halls.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t wave.

You didn’t exist—not in the way you used to.

Even Peeves, who used to adore pranking you because of how dramatically you’d react, had stopped. He floated quietly past you now, expression unreadable.

Because whatever happened to you,

It silenced even him.

“Have you eaten?” Draco asked, sharp but quiet, sitting on the armrest of the common room sofa.

Theodore didn’t respond.

He sat slumped into the far end of the couch like he was trying to disappear into it. His cheek rested against the back cushion, eyes fixed on the fireplace but unfocused—glassy and hollow, as if he weren’t really there. The room flickered with golden firelight, shadows dancing across his pale face, but he didn’t even blink. His jumper was rumpled and too thin for the cold, sleeves stretched and chewed from anxious fingers. The collar sagged. His hair was a mess. He looked like a memory wearing itself thin.

Draco frowned. “Seriously, Theo, you look like hell.”

No answer.

Blaise groaned, walking behind the couch to toss a blanket over him. “You can’t mope around like this forever—”

“Yes, I can,” Theodore rasped.

That made them all stop.

Pansy looked up from her book. Astoria stilled mid-sip of her tea. Mattheo straightened where he sat by the window.

It was the first thing he’d said in days.

“You—what?” Lorenzo asked, like he hadn’t heard him right.

“Yes,” Theodore repeated, barely above a whisper, “I can.”

His voice cracked on the second word. Not with emotion, not yet—but with disuse. Like it had been tucked away somewhere dark and cold and forgotten.

“I can rot here,” he continued, sinking deeper into the couch. “And I will.”

“Theo,” Blaise said, quieter now, gentler, “this isn’t—come on, you need to eat something. Or sleep. You’re barely human right now—”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve been missing classes.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve been skipping meals.”

“I don’t care, Blaise!” Theodore snapped suddenly, sitting upright.

The outburst startled them all.

Pansy jumped. Astoria’s cup clinked against its saucer. Mattheo looked alarmed.

“I don’t care if I’m failing, I don't care if I look like a goddamn zombie, I don’t care if I die in this fucking room,” Theodore snarled, breathing hard. “Because at least if I die here, it won’t be out there, where he can see me.”

His voice cracked for real this time.

The room was silent. No one moved. No one dared.

He dragged a hand down his face. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I can’t even walk past the Astronomy Tower anymore without wanting to scream. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face when I—when I said those words. That moment. That exact second he realized…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

“He trusted me,” he said instead, voice shaking, “and I broke him. And for what? Six hundred fucking galleons? A laugh?”

The guilt rolled off him in waves, suffocating and bitter. He curled forward like he couldn’t hold the weight anymore.

“I haven’t seen him smile in weeks,” he croaked. “Not once. Not a flicker. I took the brightest thing in this school and I dimmed it. I killed it.”

Pansy covered her mouth. Astoria looked close to tears. Mattheo dropped his gaze.

“You should’ve seen him,” Theodore whispered. “Before me. Before the bet. He was like—like something out of a fairytale. He helped everyone. He’d stay up until four in the morning studying just so he could help a first-year through a test the next day. He knew the names of every constellation, every planet. He’d talk about the universe like it was magic. Like it was alive. And I…”

He finally broke.

The first tear slipped down his cheek silently.

“I told him I loved him under a sky full of stars and I lied.”

No one spoke.

Not even Draco.

Not even Mattheo, who was usually the first to crack a joke when things got too heavy.

“I haven’t been able to sleep since,” Theodore whispered, tears streaming down his face now. “Not when I know he probably cries alone every night and I—I did that. With my words. My mouth. My heartless—”

His voice choked off, and he slammed a fist into the arm of the sofa.

“I wish I’d never taken that fucking bet.”

Mattheo shifted uncomfortably, guilt etched into every line of his face. “We didn’t think it would… go this far. We thought you’d laugh it off. That he’d figure it out.”

“He loved me,” Theodore said, voice flat. “He loved me more than I’ve ever been loved in my life. And I crushed him. For all of you.”

None of them had anything to say to that.

Because he was right.

And they were just starting to realize how much it cost.

Across the castle, in Gryffindor Tower, things were just as broken—if not more.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls like memories refusing to fade. The chairs around the common room were half-occupied—students whispering quietly, watching you from the corners of their eyes but saying nothing. Not anymore.

You sat curled into your usual spot by the window, the one with the draft you used to complain about but secretly liked because it made the stars feel closer. You didn’t complain anymore. You didn’t speak. You barely moved. A blanket was draped around your shoulders, though you hadn’t pulled it there yourself. It was always there, every night—someone’s silent attempt to bring you comfort you couldn’t ask for.

“Please,” Hermione’s voice cracked. She knelt beside you, her hand hovering, not quite touching your knee. “Just one spoonful, love. Just one. You have to eat something. You haven’t even touched breakfast, and it’s nearly dinner.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t blink.

You hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of toast in days. And even those were forced down, dry and tasteless, with shaking hands and an empty stomach that didn’t growl anymore. It was as if even your body had stopped trying.

Ron sat on the floor behind Hermione, his brows drawn together, lips pressed in a tight line. “He’s not gonna answer, Hermione. He hasn’t said anything in days.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, and then immediately softened, her gaze flickering back to you. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

No one did.

Harry stood further back, near the stairs, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He hadn’t said much since that day. He was angry—but not at you. Never at you. Just at the situation. At the pain carved into your face. At himself, maybe, for not stopping it. For not being able to fix it. For not noticing that you were falling in love with someone who had only ever meant to break you.

You didn’t look at them.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, you’d see the way their eyes shimmered. You’d see the way they looked at you like you were something fragile, something precious and cracked, and it would all become too real again.

So you kept your gaze on the sky, even though you didn’t see it anymore. Not really.

The stars—once your solace, your home, your peace—now felt like strangers. Cold and distant and cruel. You used to sit here for hours, naming constellations, tracing galaxies with your fingertip on the glass, yapping on about black holes and nebulae and planetary alignments until someone dragged you away.

Now your fingers were still.

Your mouth silent.

Your soul, lost.

It wasn’t just the heartbreak. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the humiliation. The cruelty of it all. The laughter that had echoed through the Great Hall still haunted your ears. The way his voice, the same voice that once whispered “I love you” under starlit skies, had gone sharp, cold, hollow as he dumped you in front of everyone like you were some failed potion.

A joke.

A bet.

Just a name on a list.

And somehow, despite all of that, you still missed him.

You missed him.

Not the version that had laughed with Mattheo and Draco while you fell apart.

Not the version that walked away without even flinching.

But the version that had held you close under blankets in the Astronomy Tower. The one who whispered stories about the stars with you. The one who let you talk for hours and never told you to stop. The one who kissed you like he meant it.

You missed the Theodore who ran his fingers through your hair just to watch you fall asleep in his lap.

You missed the feeling of his arms around you, strong and warm and protective in ways you didn’t know you needed. You missed the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles when you were anxious. The way he’d press his lips to your temple like a promise, so soft and lingering it felt like he was memorizing you.

You missed his touch.

But you never said it out loud.

Not even to yourself.

You couldn’t.

Because that would mean admitting you still wanted him.

That you still loved him.

And after everything, how could you?

You hated yourself for it. For the way your skin still itched with phantom memories. For the way your body leaned just slightly to the left sometimes, as if expecting him to be there. For the way you still dreamed about him, still woke up with his name on your lips and tears on your cheeks.

And yet, every night, without fail, you curled into that windowsill. You watched the sky. You waited for something—anything—to bring you peace.

But it never came.

Your dorm mates stopped asking if you were okay. Seamus had tried to make you laugh with one of his awful impressions of Snape, but when you didn’t even blink, he sat down and said nothing else. Dean left a chocolate frog on your bed one morning. You didn’t touch it.

Neville looked like he was going to cry every time you passed him.

Even Lavender, who usually only cared about gossip, had stopped talking about boys and started leaving little notes of encouragement near your books. You read them. You appreciated them. But they didn’t help.

Nothing did.

You moved through the castle like a ghost—quiet, present, but not alive.

The professors noticed too. McGonagall, strict as she was, gave you extra time on essays. Flitwick excused you from practicals. Even Snape, of all people, narrowed his eyes when you walked into Potions late one morning and just stared at you before silently returning to the board without his usual cruel remarks.

They all knew.

Because you weren’t you anymore.

You were the boy who used to light up when someone mentioned a meteor shower. The boy who believed in soulmates and kissed like love was the only thing keeping the world spinning. The boy who gave everything—and got nothing back.

Now you were the boy who sat in silence.

The boy who flinched when someone got too close.

The boy who hadn’t smiled in twenty-nine days.

The boy who whispered names of stars under his breath at night, not because he wanted to share them, but because he was afraid he’d forget.

Because the only time you still felt anything at all,

Was when you closed your eyes and pretended his hand was still wrapped in yours.

Professor McGonagall nearly lost her composure in the middle of the staff meeting.

“He’s failing Astronomy,” she whispered to Flitwick, her voice thin and frayed at the edges. “He adored that subject. He breathed it. He stayed after every class, even when he didn’t have to, just to help clean up the telescopes or talk about star formations no one else remembered. He used to smile so brightly when he pointed at the constellations—smile, Filius.”

Flitwick’s ears drooped slightly as he folded his hands in front of him. “I know,” he murmured. “He used to come to my classroom during breaks and ask questions about star-related charms. Said he wanted to see if stardust could be replicated magically. His curiosity was… infectious.”

Professor Sinistra, normally so composed, rubbed her arms and shook her head. “He was the only student who’d ask to stay after class just to keep looking at the sky. He told me once that the stars made him feel safe. That no matter what happened, the sky stayed the same, and that gave him hope.” Her voice broke slightly. “Now he doesn’t even look up.”

“I tried to give him an extension on the recent charting project,” she added, voice quieter. “He just left the parchment blank. When I asked if he needed help, he told me, ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ Then he walked out.”

McGonagall’s hands trembled on the table. “That boy has never—never—spoken to a professor like that before. Not even during his worst days. He apologized once for being late when he was ill. And now he’s failing?”

There was silence for a moment—thick, heavy silence.

Then Slughorn spoke, eyes sad behind his spectacles. “I had him in third year for Potions Club,” he said quietly. “Brilliant young man. Polite, thoughtful. He used to make these beautiful little memory vials with constellations etched into them—gave one to me after a particularly long week. Said it reminded him of his mother. Always thinking of others. And now…” His voice cracked. “He didn’t even show up for the last two club meetings.”

Snape sat across the table, arms crossed, face blank. But his eyes were hard and sharp. “He’s late to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every day. I don’t deduct points anymore,” he said coolly, but the slightest furrow in his brow betrayed more than his tone. “He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t raise his hand. He simply exists.”

“You said he gave the correct counter-curse last week,” Flitwick offered gently, as if trying to find something good.

“Yes,” Snape replied slowly, “but he didn’t look at me once. Didn’t even react when the others applauded. It was like… it meant nothing.”

McGonagall leaned forward. “He doesn’t sit with anyone anymore. Not at meals, not in the common room. I found him asleep on a bench near the astronomy tower two nights ago. It was freezing. He’d been out there for hours.”

“That poor boy,” Professor Sprout murmured, dabbing her eyes. “He always helped my Hufflepuffs with Herbology, even when they didn’t ask. Always smiling, always kind.”

“I saw him in the corridor yesterday,” Hagrid added softly, his massive hands folded tightly on the table. “He didn’t even notice me. Just walked by like a ghost. I said his name—twice. Not even a flinch.”

Dumbledore had been silent this entire time, his hands steepled beneath his chin, expression unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, voice low but heavy with weight. “I spoke with Harry last evening. He’s tried everything. So has Miss Granger. So has Mr. Weasley. They said he doesn’t respond anymore. That he simply nods and walks away.”

There was a pause.

“Do you think… we should intervene more directly?” McGonagall asked, hesitant, as though even saying it was invasive.

Dumbledore’s gaze drifted toward the high window, where stars were just beginning to appear in the dusky sky. “There is a grief that burrows itself so deep into a person that no spell, no potion, and no lecture can reach it,” he said gently. “This is not just heartbreak. This is… loss of self.”

The staff exchanged solemn glances.

“Do we know what caused it?” Slughorn asked finally.

Snape’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Theodore Nott,” he said plainly. “It was him.”

“He broke up with Y/N in the Great Hall,” McGonagall said bitterly. “In front of everyone.”

“And it was part of a bet,” Snape added coldly. “Made by him and the other Slytherins.”

The room erupted in quiet gasps and soft curses.

Hagrid’s face turned red with anger. “A bet?! That poor lad gave that boy his heart—he was over the moon for him!”

“I believe,” Dumbledore said gently, “he still is.”

That silence came again—heavier this time. More suffocating.

“I should speak with Mr. Nott,” McGonagall said finally, standing.

Dumbledore raised a hand.

“No,” he said, voice grave. “He already knows what he’s done. He’s suffering in his own way.”

“So we just wait?” Flitwick asked softly.

“We wait,” Dumbledore said, “and hope the stars he once trusted so deeply… guide him back.”

Theodore stood outside the Astronomy Tower again that night.

Just like every night since the day he broke your heart.

Same hour. Same silence. Same ache that never dulled. He didn’t go inside—not anymore. He stood just outside the archway, where the wind howled through the corridor and the shadows swallowed him whole. The tower didn’t feel like his place anymore. It never truly had.

It was yours.

Yours, with your star charts and wide eyes. Yours, with your laughter that echoed like music between stone walls. Yours, with the way you’d twirl in the moonlight, pointing at constellations like you were introducing him to friends. The tower had felt warm once, enchanted even. Now it felt hollow. Like a tomb.

And yet, he came back.

Every. Damn. Night.

Maybe it was punishment. Maybe it was hope. Maybe he was chasing ghosts.

Maybe he just wanted to be close to you, even if only in memory.

The chill wind bit at his skin as he pulled your old star chart from his pocket. It was frayed at the edges, creased from his constant unfolding, but it still smelled faintly of you—like ink, old parchment, and peppermint. He clutched it like it was sacred.

He unfolded it slowly, fingers trembling.

The little doodles you'd drawn along the corners still made his heart twist. Tiny constellations with smiley faces, a stick figure labeled “Y/N,” one beside it labeled “Theo,” both lying under a cartoon sky filled with glittery stars. Your annotations were messy in places, but charming.

Beside the comet sketch, you had written:

“We’ll see this one together next winter. Promise me you’ll be there.”

He hadn’t even remembered the comet until now. It was due to pass overhead in December.

He wasn’t sure if he’d live to see it.

Not like this.

Every night he stayed in this spot, cold and hollow, his thoughts looping back to the same image:

Your face in the Great Hall.

When he’d said it. When he’d laughed. When he told you it was all a joke.

He saw it in every nightmare now—

Your bright smile faltering.

Your eyes going glassy.

The color draining from your face.

The way you didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even argue.

You just… looked at him like he’d killed something inside you.

Because he had.

And the others? His so-called friends? Mattheo, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Astoria, Lorenzo… They’d laughed like it was nothing. Tossed their galleons on the table. Cheered like it was a victory.

But even they had stopped laughing now.

Because it was affecting him, too.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t joke. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t feel like himself.

He wasn’t.

He was just a shell—full of regret, sick with guilt, and haunted by the sound of your voice whispering star facts to him in the dark.

And even they were starting to see it.

Even Snape had given him a strange look in class, as if recognizing something deeper—something broken.

But Theodore didn’t care what they saw anymore.

He only cared about the one person who no longer looked at him at all.

He held the chart tighter to his chest, his breath shaky as he glanced up at the stars above the tower. They sparkled like they always had—but somehow felt dimmer. Distant. Cold.

You used to make them feel close. Like they could be touched.

Now, they were just reminders.

Of what he had.

And what he lost.

His lips parted as he whispered into the night, voice raw, shaking.

“I miss you.”

It cracked through the silence like thunder.

“I miss your voice… I miss how you talked about Mars like it was your best friend. I miss how you held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. I miss how you looked at me like I mattered. Like I was someone worth loving.”

He stared down at the parchment again, eyes burning.

“You loved me like I was the stars, Y/N. And I loved you too. I was just too much of a coward to say it.”

A beat.

The wind whistled through the corridor.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall, letting his head fall against the stone.

“I ruined everything.”

His voice cracked.

“You gave me the universe… and I shattered it like it meant nothing.”

He paused—waiting. Hoping. Begging for a sign.

But there was nothing.

No sound.

No footsteps.

No familiar giggle from the stairway.

Just the cold, and the empty ache that he feared might never go away.

And the knowledge that he’d broken the only thing in his life that had ever truly been beautiful.

The Astronomy Tower stood the same, and that hurt more than anything.

Because everything else had changed.

You walked slowly, your hand brushing the familiar stone wall. You could feel the ghosts of what had once been—his hand clasping yours, your laughter echoing into the sky, the way the stars looked brighter just because he was beside you.

And now?

Now it felt like a tomb.

Your chest ached with every step. You hadn’t been back since that night. Since the night everything inside you died and turned to something quiet, cold, and bitter. It had taken every ounce of your remaining will to drag yourself up here again.

But something called to you.

Maybe it was foolish hope. Maybe it was grief.

Maybe it was the part of you that still whispered his name in the dark.

When you pushed open the heavy door, the wind hit you first—chilly, but familiar—and then the stars, blinking quietly, as if waiting for you to return.

You took a deep breath, stepping onto the balcony. The stone railing was cold under your fingertips, but grounding.

It was just you and the sky again.

You closed your eyes, lifting your face to the stars.

“Cassiopeia’s crooked again,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You always hated that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I told you the stars didn’t care about symmetry. You told me I talked too much. But you never stopped listening.”

Your voice cracked. “Why didn’t you stop listening when it mattered?”

Silence answered you.

At least for a moment.

Because then—footsteps.

Soft. Careful. Familiar.

Your heart sank, and you didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

He always walked like that around you—like he was trying not to wake you from a dream.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“…Y/N?”

His voice hadn’t changed.

But you had.

You turned, slowly.

Your eyes met his—and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

He looked…

“God,” you whispered without meaning to, “you look…”

You couldn’t finish.

Because he looked awful.

Theodore Nott had always been pale, sharp, elegant—but now he looked fragile. Like a single gust of wind would knock him over. His cheekbones were sharper, his eyes rimmed red. There were dark circles under them, the kind that didn’t come from lack of sleep alone. His robes hung looser on him. His hands were shaking, even though he tried to hide it.

And his eyes—those haunting, sea-glass eyes you used to love so much—looked empty.

“I didn’t think you’d come back here,” he said, voice rough.

“I didn’t mean to,” you replied softly, still shocked. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

He took a step closer, cautious.

You didn’t move away—but you didn’t get closer, either.

You couldn’t.

“Why do you look like that?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “What happened to you?”

He swallowed, eyes flicking away. “You.”

You flinched.

“Don’t say that,” you said harshly.

But it was too late.

You both knew it was true.

“You haven’t been eating,” you murmured, eyeing him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

You stared at him for a long time. “Why?”

“Because I miss you,” he admitted, barely a whisper. “Because I hate myself. Because I keep hearing your voice in my head and it hurts more than anything else ever has.”

He took another step closer.

You let him. Barely.

The wind swirled around you both, tugging at your robes.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be looking at you. I shouldn’t care.”

“But you do,” he said quietly.

And gods help you—you did.

“Why are you here, Theodore?” you asked, voice shaking. “Why now?”

He blinked slowly, as if every word he was about to say was a struggle.

“Because I’m sorry.”

Your hands curled into fists.

“Too late.”

“I know.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because I never got to say it before,” he whispered. “Not when it mattered. Not when you were breaking. Not when I should’ve thrown the bet away and fallen to my knees in front of you.”

You stared at him, lips trembling.

“You want to say sorry now?” you asked, voice brittle. “After you made me a joke? After you humiliated me in front of the whole school? After you laughed with them like I was a fucking—toy?”

“I didn’t laugh,” he said, voice cracking. “I never laughed.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t stop them.”

“I should have,” he admitted. “I should’ve grabbed your hand and told them all to go to hell.”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

“Because I was stupid. And scared. And weak. I cared more about what they thought of me than I did about how I was hurting you.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I told you about my parents,” you said, voice soft. “I told you about being alone. I told you how scared I was of being someone’s pity project. And you—you used that against me.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.”

The silence between you grew sharp.

You took another step forward, now inches away.

“You killed something inside me, Theodore.”

He looked ready to break.

“And you know what’s worse?” you whispered. “I still love you. Even now. Even after everything. Even when I don’t want to.”

His lips parted, eyes wide.

You laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that pathetic?”

“No,” he said, voice urgent. “It’s not. It’s not pathetic, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And I—I ruined you.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “You did.”

He reached for you—slowly.

But you stepped back.

“I can’t forgive you,” you said, choking on the words. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”

He froze.

“I need you to understand something, Theo,” you said, voice breaking. “I would have given you everything. I did. I would’ve walked through fire for you.”

You looked up, eyes glassy.

“But you set the fire yourself.”

Then, quietly, “And you watched me burn.”

His breath hitched.

You stepped past him.

He didn’t stop you.

But this time, he turned too. He watched you walk away.

And when you looked back—just once—you saw it.

Tears. Real ones.

He collapsed against the balcony the second you disappeared down the stairs, shoulders trembling.

The stars above both of you blinked down in sorrow.

And neither of you noticed that the brightest one flickered out.

Theodore Nott was a haunted boy now.

There were nights he couldn’t sleep, so he just laid on his back in the cold green haze of the Slytherin dorms, watching the shadows from the Black Lake dance along the stone ceiling. His hands trembled. His thoughts did not.

Because every single thought was you.

Your voice. Your laugh. The way your eyes shimmered when you looked up at the sky and started yapping about Sirius or Mars or that little cluster of stars that supposedly looked like a cat you always insisted that one existed.

He would’ve laughed at you once. Thought you were ridiculous. Too bright for your own good.

But then you had kissed him.

And suddenly, stars had felt real.

────────────────

You weren’t laughing anymore.

You weren’t talking about constellations.

You weren’t… you.

Everyone noticed.

Gryffindor tower had turned somber. The usual energy was gone. No more jokes. No more harmless explosions from Fred and George. No more friendly morning bickering with Ron, or walking with Hermione to breakfast, or teasing Harry for being the “chosen one” with a crooked grin that made people smile just watching it.

Now?

Now you barely left your bed.

You stopped eating unless someone forced you to.

You didn’t go to Astronomy class anymore—your favorite class. Professor Sinistra even visited McGonagall personally to let her feelings out of her chest.

And she wasn’t the only one worried.

Even Snape asked.

He called on you once during Potions, something he rarely did, and when you didn’t respond—just stared blankly at the board with bloodshot eyes—he paused for a moment.

His voice wasn’t sharp. Not like usual.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” he said, quieter. “You’re excused for today. Leave your things. Go back to your common room.”

You didn’t argue. You just left.

The whole class went silent.

Because everyone had heard the rumors by now.

The whole school knew what Theodore had done. The bet. The humiliation. The way your face had cracked in front of every house like a mirror shattering in slow motion. You hadn’t said a single word to Theodore since that day.

But he hadn’t stopped looking for you.

────────────────

“Where is he? I haven't seen him all fucking day.” Theodore snapped, slamming his hands on the table in the Slytherin common room.

The others flinched.

Blaise glanced up from his book. “Still being dramatic in Gryffindor tower, I imagine.”

“Don’t,” Theodore warned. His tone was darker than they’d heard in weeks. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

Mattheo exchanged a glance with Draco. “Mate,” he said slowly, “we didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” Theodore snarled. “You didn’t think. None of us did.”

The common room went quiet again.

Theodore raked a hand through his hair, pacing.

“I—I thought he’d bounce back,” Lorenzo offered weakly. “He’s Gryffindor’s golden boy. Always so… cheerful.”

“He’s not,” Theodore said, voice hollow. “Not anymore.”

Astoria finally spoke, soft but sharp. “We did this.”

No one argued.

Because it was true.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just you that had changed.

Theodore was unraveling right alongside you.

He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He skipped more classes than he attended. He carried your astronomy notebook around like a damn talisman, flipping through it every night like it would summon you back.

There were notes in the margins about him. Tiny doodles. Scribbled hearts. One page even had his name next to a constellation you made up—Theodon, the “prickly lion star.”

He had laughed when he saw that. Now it made his eyes burn.

He missed you so much it hurt to breathe.

────────────────

Back in Gryffindor tower, you sat curled in a blanket on the windowsill, journal unopened in your lap.

Harry watched you from across the room, arms folded.

“Talk to me,” he tried again. “Just a word. Anything.”

You blinked slowly, like you were underwater.

“Y/N,” Hermione whispered from behind you. “You’re scaring us.”

And you were.

Your hands didn’t tremble anymore.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t throw things.

You just… stared.

And that silence was worse.

Because you had never been silent.

You had always been the one to talk through your feelings, ramble about them. Even when things were hard, you lit up the room with useless facts about constellations or reminded people to breathe, smile, take care of themselves. You were light.

Now you were fading.

Hermione knelt beside your seat, placing a wrapped chocolate frog on your lap. “I saved this for you.”

You didn’t take it.

Ron shifted uncomfortably near the fireplace, staring at the floor. “He doesn’t deserve you, you know,” he mumbled. “Not after what he did.”

You flinched.

“He doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

“I know,” you finally whispered.

The three of them froze.

It was the first time you had spoken in two days.

You set the chocolate frog aside gently.

“Then why does it still hurt?” you asked, voice hollow. “Why does it feel like the stars stopped shining?”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.

Harry reached for your hand and squeezed. “Because you loved him.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I really did.”

────────────────

That night, you returned to the Astronomy Tower for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t tell anyone. You just climbed the steps quietly, hands shaking, heart aching. The door creaked open. The wind whispered like a ghost, cold and biting.

You stepped out into the night.

The stars greeted you like old friends.

You stood there for a long moment, just breathing, letting the wind whip through your robes. You remembered where you’d sat with him. Where he kissed you. Where he looked at you like you were the only thing he could see.

You knelt down and opened your journal.

Your quill trembled.

But you wrote.

You drew every star you could see. Every one you remembered. Every one he made you forget.

And for the first time in weeks…

You cried.

Not from heartbreak, but from relief.

You were still here.

The stars hadn’t gone anywhere.

And maybe—just maybe—you could find your way back to them.

────────────────

Far below, Theodore sat in the courtyard, your notebook pressed to his chest like a shield.

He stared up at the tower window, wondering if you were there. Wondering if the stars had taken you back.

Wondering if he’d ever be enough to stand beside you again.

And for the first time in his life, Theodore Nott felt like the loneliest boy in the universe.

The halls had grown quieter when you passed.

Not out of awkwardness. Out of worry.

Professors had stopped asking you questions directly. Neville tried to sit next to you in Herbology, but you barely acknowledged him. Even Lavender and Parvati, who once couldn’t stop teasing you about “your moody Slytherin boyfriend,” had learned to keep their distance. You were polite. Distant. Untouchable.

But slowly, you were reclaiming little pieces of yourself.

You returned to Astronomy class regularly, always sitting near the back. You still never spoke, but you were there. Present. Listening.

And you were writing again.

A few Gryffindors had noticed. Hermione peeked at your parchment once and saw it—pages and pages of stars, sky maps, invented constellations. She cried about it later in the common room, but didn’t let you see.

Even Professor Sinistra took notice.

She left you small things after class. A note. A paper star folded from map pages. A diagram of lunar phases that included your birthday marked with a tiny, golden moon. Her way of saying, I see you. You’re still here.

────────────────

Theodore had grown pale.

He still walked the halls with that same cool expression, that perfect posture, that quiet air—but he was hollow now. Glass-eyed. Slower. The shadows under his eyes had turned permanent.

He avoided his friends, the Slytherin common room, the Quidditch pitch.

He was grieving, even if he couldn’t admit it at first.

But guilt was a loud, living thing.

And it clawed at him every day.

────────────────

It all happened after a Transfiguration exam.

Theodore was the last to leave the classroom, trailing behind with his hands buried in his pockets and his head low. He hadn’t slept. Again. He was lingering behind while others rushed out into the corridor, buzzing about how hard the written section was or how McGonagall’s stern gaze could petrify you harder than any spell.

His footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, the usual hum of students long since faded. But then he heard them. Laughter. Familiar voices that made his stomach twist with guilt.

Mattheo. Draco. Blaise. Pansy. Astoria. Lorenzo.

They were leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t shattered something unfixable. The laughter stopped when they noticed him. Mattheo's grin faltered and pushed off the wall.

“Theodore,” he called, catching his sleeve. “Oi—what’s got you in a mood? We haven’t seen you in weeks. Did the Gryffindor go all dramatic on you again?”

Theodore yanked his arm away, eyes flashing with something colder than anger.

And for once, he didn’t walk away.

He turned on his heel, slow and deliberate.

His voice was razor-sharp when it came. “What the fuck do you want?”

They stared at him.

Draco raised a brow, amused. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Theodore snapped. “Or has all that hair gel finally seeped into your ears?”

Mattheo laughed again, but it sounded forced this time. “Holy shit, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Theodore took a step forward, his voice a bitter cocktail of fury and heartbreak. “You’re all what’s wrong with me. You, this stupid bet, and every single time I let you make fun of him.”

Pansy blinked. “It was just a joke—”

“No, it wasn’t.” His voice cracked. “It was him. It was someone who trusted me. Someone who smiled like sunlight and helped every person he met—including you. And I let you turn him into a fucking punchline.”

The silence was crushing.

He was shaking now—shoulders tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into trembling fists.

“I loved him,” Theodore whispered, barely holding himself together. “And I destroyed him because I was too much of a coward to say no. You think I’m upset because the bet ended? No. I’m upset because I wake up every night wishing I’d never taken it. Because now he won’t even look at me. And he shouldn’t.”

His voice dropped even lower. “Because I don’t deserve it.”

None of them spoke.

And for the first time since the bet started, Theodore saw it—guilt. Real guilt. The kind that sinks into bone and never lets go.

“I can’t sleep,” Theodore said hoarsely. “I can’t breathe in our dorm because I hear him laugh. I walk through this school, and I can’t go ten fucking feet without remembering him. And you think this is funny?”

Mattheo’s smirk wavered. His usual bravado slipped away, bit by bit, as Theodore’s words hung in the air like poison.

No one had ever seen him like this. Broken. Raw. Honest.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his shoes. Blaise’s arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression had gone pale. Pansy’s lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say. Not yet.

Finally, Astoria stepped forward.

“Theodore…” Her voice was soft. Guilty. “We didn’t think it would end like this.”

He scoffed bitterly. “What? That I’d actually care? That I’d fall in love with him?”

“We thought it was a crush,” Blaise muttered. “A laugh. A way to get under the Gryffindors’ skin.”

“You used him.”

Silence again.

Pansy cleared her throat, voice shaking now. “He used to help me in Potions. Every week, even when he had his own homework. He brought me Pepper-Up Potion when I was sick last winter.”

Theodore’s jaw clenched. “And you still watched me break him.”

“We didn’t know,” Mattheo said, quieter than he’d ever spoken before. “We didn’t know you were serious.”

“I wasn’t at first!” Theodore shouted. “That’s the worst part. I wasn’t. I was just like you. Laughing. Lying. Pretending it meant nothing. But then… then he started showing me stars. Telling me about the universe like it was a love letter. And I—” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I started seeing myself in the sky.”

No one spoke.

Until Pansy stepped forward, tears prickling at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We’re all sorry. We didn’t just hurt him. We hurt you. We made you into someone you're not.”

Lorenzo nodded, voice hoarse. “We were cruel. And we deserve whatever comes from it.”

Draco’s lips pressed together tightly. He gave a single, solemn nod. “We were wrong, Theodore.”

Theodore stared at them, throat tight, chest aching.

“You don’t deserve forgiveness,” he said coldly. “But you can start by never mocking his name again. Ever. And if you really want to make it right… start by remembering the kind of person he is. Not the one we turned him into.”

Mattheo ran a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath. “You’re right.”

“We’re sorry,” Astoria repeated, voice almost too soft to hear.

Theodore didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Because the damage was already done.

But at least now, they knew it.

440 notes · View notes

generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Note

....it's too early in the morning to be heartbroken over this 😭

more theo angst!! please!!

The Once Brightest Star

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!Reader

Summary ; You, the kindest Gryffindor at Hogwarts, fall for Theodore Nott—unaware that he’s only dating you because of a cruel Slytherin bet. After four sweet, star-filled months, he breaks your heart in front of everyone. The smile that once lit up the castle fades, and as you fall apart, Theodore realizes too late that he truly loves you.

A/N ; try not to cry 😉. I swear to fucking merlin if this flops I'm killing myself, THIS FANFIC IS LITERALLY THE MOST CHAOTIC ONE. My Tumblr kept crashing, my shit wasn't saving and oh my god it was war.

Warnings ; Heavy angst, betrayal, public humiliation, emotional manipulation, mental health themes, and regret.

Word count; 6.1k+

Theodore Nott had always been a mystery. Quiet, observant, charming when he wanted to be, but cruel when it suited him. And right now, he was seated in the Slytherin common room, legs crossed on a leather armchair as the firelight danced across his sharp features. Around him lounged the usual suspects—Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Pansy Parkinson, and Astoria Greengass. They sat in a semicircle, all eyes focused on Theo, the air thick with amusement and cruel curiosity.

They were bored. And when the Slytherin elite were bored, it meant trouble for someone else.

“You know,” Mattheo began, twirling a silver coin between his fingers, “we haven’t had a proper laugh since Halloween. I’m starting to forget what entertainment feels like.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pansy said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I laughed so hard when that Hufflepuff girl tripped over her own robes last week.”

“That wasn’t entertainment, Pans,” Blaise drawled, his voice like silk and sin. “That was just sad.”

“We need something juicy,” Astoria said, glancing at her manicured nails. “Something cruel.”

Lorenzo smirked. “How about Gryffindor’s sweetheart?”

All heads turned.

“You mean Y/N?” Draco asked, arching a brow. “The one who helped you clean up after you accidentally hexed yourself in Transfiguration?”

“Exactly,” Lorenzo said, grinning. “He’s so bloody kind it makes me sick.”

“He helped me too,” Blaise admitted with a smirk. “Carried my books to the infirmary when I got hit by a rogue Bludger. Didn’t even ask for anything in return.”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “That’s it then. We ruin him.”

“Subtly,” Pansy added, smiling cruelly. “We’re Slytherins. Not brutes.”

“What do you have in mind?” Theodore asked, though his voice held more interest than caution.

Mattheo grinned like the devil himself. “A bet. You, Theo. You’re going to date him.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because he already looks at you like you hung the stars,” Blaise said, chuckling. “You’re halfway there.”

“And you’ve got the charm,” Astoria added. “When you want to, anyway.”

Theodore stayed quiet for a moment, letting the idea settle.

“A hundred galleons from each of us,” Mattheo said smoothly. “All you have to do is date him. Four months. Then dump him—publicly.”

“In front of everyone,” Draco emphasized, voice tinged with excitement. “Make sure the whole school sees it.”

“That’ll break him,” Pansy said, practically purring.

“His friends will try to put him back together,” Astoria added, “but we’ll know he’s never going to be the same.”

Theodore looked into the fire, jaw tightening. One hundred galleons from each of them. That was six hundred galleons. Enough to make anyone pause. Enough to make even him consider it.

He thought of your smile—the way it made you look like you didn’t belong in the same world as the rest of them. Of how you always had something kind to say, even to those who sneered at you. Of how you held the door open for professors, offered help to Hufflepuffs with their potions, even greeted Slytherins with a gentle nod instead of fear or judgment.

“Four months?” Theodore asked.

“Four,” Mattheo confirmed.

“Then I’ll do it,” Theodore said, the words leaving his mouth cold and smooth.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Draco said, grinning wide.

And just like that, the countdown began.

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower when it happened. Late evening, starlight dusting your skin as you scribbled notes in your parchment. A breeze blew through your robes, and you tilted your head back to admire the sky. The cold stone beneath you was oddly comforting, grounding you as your eyes scanned the stars like they were old friends.

“There you are,” a voice said behind you.

You turned, startled but quickly relaxing. “Theodore?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but gaze soft. “Mind if I join you?”

You smiled without hesitation. “Of course not.”

He walked over and sat beside you, his cloak brushing yours as he settled on the ledge. For a moment, the two of you said nothing. The only sounds were the distant hooting of an owl and the wind howling gently through the gaps in the stone.

Then you pointed toward the sky, eyes sparkling. “See that one? That’s Orion. He’s my favorite.”

Theodore tilted his head slightly, following your finger. “Why?”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and spoke like you’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Because no matter where you are in the world, Orion’s always there. It doesn’t matter if you’re in England or the other side of the planet. He’s a constant.” Your voice softened. “I think that’s beautiful.”

He watched you, not the stars. The way your eyes reflected the constellations, the way your words carried a weight most people overlooked. You weren’t just looking at the sky. You were connected to it.

“You’re into all this space stuff, huh?” he said with a small smirk.

You grinned. “I love it. The stars, the planets, galaxies—do you know how long it takes for light from some of these stars to reach us?”

“No,” he replied truthfully.

“Hundreds of years,” you said. “Some of the stars we see? They’ve already died. We’re looking at ghosts in the sky.”

Theodore looked up, suddenly seeing it all a bit differently. “That’s… kind of haunting.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t it? But I think it’s comforting, too. Like, even after they’re gone, they still leave something behind. A trace of who they were. They don’t just disappear.”

He glanced sideways at you. “You talk about stars like they’re people.”

You shrugged. “Maybe they are. Maybe we all are. Bright for a while, then gone… but if we’re lucky, we leave something behind.”

A silence settled over you both again, this time warm.

Peaceful.

You turned your body to face him more. “What about you? Do you have a favorite constellation?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I stare at the sky often?”

You laughed. “Not really. But you should. It’s a good reminder that we’re small. And that some things are bigger than our problems.”

He hummed in response. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if you were teaching me.”

That made your cheeks burn. You looked down at your hands, fiddling with the corner of your parchment. “Really?”

He leaned in a little closer. “Yeah. You're… interesting.”

You bit your bottom lip, then smiled, shyly. “I’d be happy to teach you. The stars have a lot to say if you just listen.”

As you returned your gaze to the sky, pointing out Cassiopeia with soft enthusiasm, Theodore only half-listened. The other half of him was watching you again—how your lips moved, how your hands danced in the air as you explained, how your eyes never lost that wonder.

And for just a second… he forgot about the bet.

You started waiting for him outside his classes, always with a soft smile and something sweet tucked in your hand—sometimes a chocolate frog, other times a sugar quill you’d saved from Honeydukes. You’d greet him like he was the only person in the corridor, eyes lighting up every time he met your gaze.

You shared your pumpkin pasties with him in the library, giggling when Madam Pince shushed you both for laughing too loud. You’d lean close as you showed him the notes you'd made for Astronomy, doodles of constellations dancing in the margins. He'd pretend not to notice how your hand always lingered near his, how your shoulder brushed his when you got excited explaining the moons of Jupiter.

You invited him to your late-night Astronomy sessions more and more, always at the top of the tower where the stars were clearest. And every time, he showed up. No matter how cold the wind was, no matter how tired he claimed to be, Theodore would appear with his hands shoved into his pockets and that unreadable look on his face—like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there… but he stayed anyway.

And slowly, your hand began brushing against his. At first accidental. Then deliberate. You started laughing softer around him, voice a little breathier, eyes a little shinier. You bit your lip when he stared too long, cheeks dusted pink whenever he complimented you—rare as it was.

You started hoping.

You introduced him to your friends when he passed by your table, and though Hermione watched him suspiciously and Ron narrowed his eyes, you always waved it off. “He’s not like the others,” you said more than once. “He’s… different.”

You even helped a few Slytherins who sneered at you in the halls, offered your hand when one tripped, walked another to the Hospital Wing when he’d gotten hexed during practice. You greeted Blaise when you passed him in the corridor, waved at Astoria during breakfast even if she never waved back, and offered Mattheo a chocolate frog once—which he took without a thank you, but you still smiled anyway.

And Theodore noticed.

He noticed everything.

“You’re too kind,” he told you one night, as you sat beside the lake. The moonlight shimmered on the surface, and your reflection glowed faintly beside his.

You looked up, confused. “Like what?”

“Good,” he said, quieter this time. “Even to people who don’t deserve it.”

You gave him that warm, unshakeable smile. “Because… no one deserves to be treated like they’re nothing. Not even the meanest ones. Everyone’s got something good inside them. Sometimes it just takes longer to show.”

Theodore stared at you, jaw tense. Something in his chest tightened—foreign and unwelcome. This wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to fall for him, not the other way around. You were supposed to be just another naive Gryffindor. Not someone he actually looked forward to seeing every night. Not someone who made his heart feel like it was on fire.

But your laugh stayed with him long after you left. So did the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the stars. So did the way you always remembered the tiniest things about him—even things he didn’t think mattered.

This was still just a game. Right?

Wasn’t it?

It was late—well past curfew—but that never stopped you. Especially not when the stars were this clear. You were already seated on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs swinging slightly over the edge, a thick wool scarf wrapped loosely around your neck. The wind was cold, but your heart was warm—because he was here. Just like always.

Theodore leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed and silent as usual. You didn’t mind. He rarely talked up here. That was your job.

“And that one right there,” you said, pointing upward with gloved fingers, “is Sirius. It’s the brightest star in the night sky—not a planet, not a reflection, an actual star. It’s about twenty-five times more luminous than the sun. Isn’t that insane?”

You looked at him, expecting a smirk, maybe a raised brow or some teasing comment. But instead, you were met with eyes so unreadable, they made your chest tighten.

Undeterred, you smiled and turned your attention back to the sky. “Stars are so dramatic, honestly. They burn themselves out just to shine. And when they die, they explode. Huge, fiery tantrums in space. Makes you wonder if the universe is just full of drama queens.”

That got a faint exhale of amusement from Theodore. You grinned at the sound and kept going.

“I think that’s why I love them so much. They’re loud in their silence. You look up and it’s peaceful, but the science behind them? It’s chaos. Energy and gas and gravity ripping them apart.” You leaned your head back until your hair brushed the stone. “It’s kind of beautiful, really. How something so far away can make you feel like you’re not alone.”

You went quiet then, eyes searching the constellations. Theodore watched you. Watched the way your smile softened when you looked at the sky, the way you hugged your knees in the cold, the way your breath curled in the night air like clouds.

He had come here tonight to play the part. Listen to you ramble about planets and stars like you always did. Maybe hold your hand. Maybe lean just a little closer so you’d fall a little harder.

But when you turned to him with that pure, trusting light in your eyes—the one that made him feel seen without even trying—his resolve crumbled.

You were still speaking, something about Orion’s Belt, when Theodore took a step forward. Then another.

You trailed off mid-sentence, confused, your brows knitting. “Theo?”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you—really looked at you—like the stars weren’t even worth glancing at when you were here. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out.

His hand was cool against your skin as he gently cupped your cheek.

You froze.

His thumb brushed your jaw, and for once, you were the quiet one. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him.

And then—without warning, without fanfare—he kissed you.

His lips were soft and slow, like he was trying to memorize the moment. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart thundering in your chest as you kissed him back. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was gentle.

The kind of kiss that says I see you. I hear you. I’m here.

When he pulled away, your eyes were wide and dazed. “W-What was that?” you whispered.

Theodore hesitated. He was supposed to lie. Say it was for fun, for practice, a joke, a dare. But none of those things left his mouth.

“I like you,” he said instead, his voice low, but honest.

You stared at him, eyes shining like the stars above. “You do?”

He nodded, brushing his thumb beneath your eye. “More than I expected to.”

And just like that, your world shifted.

You smiled—so big and bright and beautiful. “I’ve liked you for ages,” you admitted, cheeks flushed. “I just didn’t think you’d ever—”

“I do,” he interrupted softly. “I see you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched. “Then… will you be mine?”

He leaned in again, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah. I’m yours.”

And in your chest, a supernova of joy bloomed.

You didn’t know, of course, that the clock was already ticking. That the countdown had begun the moment he shook Mattheo’s hand.

All you knew was that Theodore Nott—cool, quiet, untouchable—was kissing you beneath the stars.

And for the first time in your life, you felt infinite.

It was strange, the way Theodore made everything feel like magic without ever casting a single spell.

You never expected it, really. You were the sweet Gryffindor who brought extra quills for your classmates, helped first-years find their classes, and got detention once because you refused to leave a Hufflepuff behind after they’d twisted their ankle on the moving staircase. You were the soft-spoken stargazer who waved to portraits and always left the Astronomy Tower a little warmer than you found it.

And Theodore Nott? Cold, composed, distant. A Slytherin with a stare so sharp it could cut glass, and a mouth that rarely moved unless it was to cast sarcasm or smoke. If anyone had told you a few months ago that he of all people would be watching the stars with you, you'd have laughed. But now?

Now he was the one tugging your scarf tighter when the wind bit too sharply. The one saving a seat for you at lunch—even at the Gryffindor table, when he thought no one was looking. The one who said your name like it was something secret.

Your dates weren’t grand or loud. They weren’t meant for show. They were quiet things—hidden smiles, fingers brushing beneath library tables, the sound of his laugh when you made some ridiculous astronomy pun that no one else would understand.

Like that late afternoon in the library.

You were supposed to be revising for Herbology, but you’d started doodling constellations in the margins of your notes. Theodore watched, lounging in the chair beside you, one hand resting beneath his chin.

“That one looks like a rat,” he said lazily.

You gasped. “That’s not a rat! That’s Scorpius! It’s one of the oldest constellations in the sky!”

He smirked. “Looks like a rodent with extra limbs.”

“You’re a menace,” you huffed, swatting his arm with your parchment.

He grabbed your wrist mid-swat and pulled your hand to his lips, pressing a lazy kiss to your knuckles. “Mm. You’re dramatic when you're passionate. It’s kind of cute.”

You froze.

“I—I'm not dramatic!” you blurted.

Theodore only grinned, smug and soft all at once, and leaned back like he hadn’t just melted your brain with a single sentence.

────────────────

There was also that snowy Saturday in Hogsmeade. It had started out innocent—you just wanted to get a new astronomy journal and maybe a few peppermint candies. But somehow Theodore ended up holding your mittened hand, leading you through snow-covered cobblestones like he actually knew what he was doing.

“I swear the tea shop is this way,” he said, tugging you down a narrow alley that looked suspiciously abandoned.

“You said that three turns ago,” you teased, breath clouding in the cold air.

“Maybe I just want more time alone with you.”

That shut you up.

The shop, when you finally reached it, was small and tucked behind a row of bakeries. The inside was all fogged windows and velvet chairs, the scent of cinnamon and clove clinging to the air. The shopkeeper—a kind-eyed older woman—beamed when she saw Theodore.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, dear,” she said, passing him two steaming mugs. “This must be someone special.”

Theodore didn’t look at you. “He is.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

────────────────

Back in the castle, the sweetness didn’t stop. If anything, it bloomed.

He’d wait for you after class, leaning against the wall like some kind of gothic statue, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded—but when you appeared, his gaze softened.

He started showing up to Astronomy Club. He never answered a single question, never even looked at the night sky. He just sat beside you, letting his knee press against yours under the desk, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve.

“I like it when you talk about the stars,” he murmured once, just loud enough for you to hear. “You get this look. Like you’ve been touched by something ancient.”

You blinked. “That’s… oddly poetic for you.”

“I have layers,” he said dryly. “Don’t get used to it.”

You did get used to it, though. The way he’d look at you when you were excited. The way he’d tug your scarf over your mouth and say it was 'so you’d shut up,' but his eyes always lingered a little too long. The way his thumb would brush your hand like he needed to remember how you felt.

And at night—always at night—you returned to your tower.

The Astronomy Tower had become yours. The castle was huge, full of secrets and dungeons and ghosts, but that little piece of sky belonged to just the two of you.

You’d bring blankets and stolen sweets from the kitchens. He’d bring silence and something steadier than starlight.

You’d talk for hours, your voice dancing through the night air.

“And those tiny dots in Orion’s Belt?” you said one night, pointing up at the cluster of stars. “Those are actually part of a nebula—the birthplace of stars. Literal nurseries in the cosmos.”

Theodore hummed, laying on his back with your head on his chest. “Nurseries in the sky… Sounds like a fairytale.”

“Maybe the universe is one big story.”

He didn’t answer right away.

You tilted your head. “What are you thinking about?”

He looked down at you, eyes tired and soft. “That I’m scared.”

Your brows furrowed. “Of what?”

“Of ruining this. Of being the reason that light in your eyes goes out.”

Your heart cracked open like a geode, glittering and aching all at once. You sat up slowly, cupping his face with your hands.

“You won’t ruin it, Theo.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to know that. I just… I trust you.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

You kissed him then—slow and sure, your thumb brushing along his cheek.

“I trust you,” you whispered again, as if it could protect you both.

And Theodore? He held you tighter.

Even though something inside him whispered that he didn’t deserve it.

────────────────

There were so many perfect moments that winter.

Like the time you were sitting on the Quidditch stands long after practice had ended. Snow was falling, light and gentle, and you were tucked under his cloak, sharing body heat.

You were talking about Saturn’s rings—how they weren’t solid, just ice and rock suspended in orbit.

“They only look solid from far away,” you said, tracing lines on his palm. “Up close, they’re just chaos. Fragments. Debris.”

“Sounds like me,” Theodore murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“I look fine from far away,” he said. “But I’m a mess when you get close.”

You frowned and pressed your forehead to his. “You’re not a mess. You’re just… layered.”

He chuckled. “You always see the best in people.”

“Only the ones worth seeing.”

And that time, when he kissed you, it was with both hands cradling your face, like he was trying to memorize it. Like maybe he already knew he’d have to let go someday.

────────────────

He was falling in love with you.

And maybe… maybe you were already there.

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on you when you walked away. You didn’t know he’d stopped counting the galleons in his head weeks ago. That the whispers from his so-called friends were starting to grate, not amuse.

That the bet—the stupid, cruel bet—felt like a chain around his throat now.

But you loved him. Fully, fiercely, like a shooting star that refused to burn out.

And for a while, he let himself believe he could love you back forever.

Even if time was running out.

You woke up that morning with a smile on your face.

There was still a shimmer of stardust in your thoughts from the night before—wrapped in Theodore’s arms in the Astronomy Tower, your head on his shoulder, the constellations above whispering secrets only you could understand. You'd traced his knuckles with your thumb, whispering about the Kissing Stars and how they only align once every few years. He hadn’t said much, but he’d looked at you like you mattered.

Like you were his.

So you’d walked to the Great Hall with your chest light and your cheeks warm, clutching a folded piece of parchment with a scribbled drawing of the stars. You’d written his name in them. You were going to give it to him today—your little way of saying I love you, even if you hadn’t said it out loud yet.

When you stepped inside, the usual noise greeted you—students laughing, talking, eating. But something felt… off.

The Slytherin table was watching you.

No, waiting for you.

Blaise leaned into Draco’s ear, whispering something that made him choke on his pumpkin juice. Pansy was already giggling. Mattheo didn’t even pretend to hide his shit-eating grin. And Theodore—

Theodore sat there with his arms folded, cold eyes fixed on you like you were something disposable. Unrecognizable. The warmth was gone.

Still, you smiled and made your way over, ignoring the tension. “Theo, hey,” you said sweetly, gently bumping his arm as you sat beside him. “Guess what? I found another constellation last night—it looked like a fox! I named it after you—clever and charming and—”

“Stop talking.”

The words were quiet. Sharp.

You blinked, your smile faltering. “What?”

“I said stop talking.” He turned to you fully, face devoid of anything tender. “Merlin, do you ever fucking shut up?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

A hush began to fall over the Great Hall.

Students slowed their chewing. Conversations dulled. Even the teachers seemed to sense something was about to happen.

“I—I was just telling you about the stars—”

“I don’t care about the stars,” he snapped. “Or your stupid constellations. I never did.”

Your face paled.

“Theo… what are you saying?”

He stood then, loud and deliberate, pushing back from the bench like you’d said something disgusting. “I’m saying I’m done pretending.”

Every table went silent.

He stepped in front of you, towering. Cold. Cruel.

“The only reason I ever gave you the time of day was because of a bet.” His voice was clear. Loud. Unapologetic. “Four months. That’s all you were. Four months, 600 galleons, and a joke.”

You couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t even breathe.

Your whole body froze as the Slytherins behind him burst out laughing.

“Fucking finally!” Mattheo crowed. “I thought you were gonna crack and kiss his forehead again, lover boy.”

Draco howled. “Can you believe the idiot fell for it? I mean—stars? Really?”

“Oh, the way he blushed whenever Theo held his hand,” Astoria cooed mockingly. “He was practically wagging his tail.”

Theodore kept his eyes on you.

There was a flicker of regret. A shadow of guilt.

But it wasn’t enough to stop him from saying:

“You’re pathetic, Y/N.”

The words hit harder than any hex.

You flinched, visibly, the parchment slipping from your hand. It fluttered to the floor—your sketch of the stars and his name shining in them—forgotten.

Theodore kept going.

“You followed me around like a stray mutt. Always smiling. Always fucking talking about your precious constellations like I gave a damn. You thought I actually cared? That we were real?”

Your lips trembled. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To ask him why.

Why?

Why he kissed you. Why he held you in the dark and let you dream. Why he made you believe you were enough.

Instead, all you whispered was, “I loved you.”

The laughter died.

Even the Slytherins blinked, some shifting uncomfortably.

Theodore faltered—but only for a moment. And that was the worst part.

He hesitated.

He had the chance to stop this. To take it back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked you dead in the eyes and said, “Well, I never did.”

And just like that—your heart shattered.

Not like glass. Not like something quick or clean.

It broke slowly.

Painfully.

You felt it crack, piece by piece, like the universe was pulling every star you ever loved from the sky and crushing it in front of you.

Hermione was the first to stand.

“That’s enough!” she snapped, voice shaking with fury. “You—you monster!”

Ron and Harry were already moving, storming toward the Slytherin table, wands halfway drawn.

But you didn’t move.

You sat there, shaking, broken, and humiliated. The bright Gryffindor everyone adored—now just a ghost.

And then you stood.

Not because you wanted to.

Because you had to.

You walked away slowly, footsteps heavy, heart in ruins. You didn’t even look at him as you passed. You couldn’t. You were afraid if you saw his face again, you'd crumble completely.

You reached the doors just as Harry called out, “Y/N! Please—wait!”

Ron's voice cracked. “He’s not worth it! Please, come back!”

But you kept walking.

And when you were gone—truly gone—the Great Hall stayed quiet.

Theodore sat back down, but he didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. He looked at the parchment still lying on the floor.

His name.

In the stars.

And for the first time in years, he felt truly, utterly, alone.

Meanwhile, you ran.

Up the stairs. Past portraits that whispered in concern. Past a group of Hufflepuffs who stepped aside, mouths agape at the wreckage written on your face.

You didn’t stop until you reached the Astronomy Tower.

And there, with the cold wind biting your skin and your knees giving out beneath you, you finally collapsed.

Your cries echoed against the stone. The sky above, once your favorite comfort, felt like a cruel reminder. You looked up through blurry eyes, searching for the stars you loved so dearly.

But they didn’t shine the same anymore.

Not now.

Not after him.

It started with silence.

And not the peaceful kind—the kind that swells and settles like a storm cloud just before it breaks. You didn’t speak the next day. Or the day after that. You barely looked at anyone.

The once-bright boy who used to laugh at breakfast, pass out candy during study groups, and wave excitedly at professors even when he was late—was gone.

You weren’t you anymore.

And everyone noticed.

────────────────

Gryffindor Tower was tense.

Hermione watched you carefully from across the common room, her eyes darting every time you so much as moved. She tried to talk to you gently at first.

“Y/N, do you want to go over Charms together? You always help me with the incantation rhythm—”

You shook your head once.

“I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

Ron offered his last two Chocolate Frogs that night. The same boy who wouldn’t share with his own brothers.

“Mate,” he said softly, “come sit with us, yeah? We’ll throw on some music, Hermione’ll start arguing about Runes again, and we’ll forget the Slytherin git ever existed.”

But you just smiled.

That awful, empty, polite smile.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

You didn’t mean it.

And Harry—Harry sat with you in the common room one night, past midnight. He didn’t say much. Just sat nearby, watching you stare into the fire, unmoving.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

“He never deserved you.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t cry.

You just blinked and whispered, “I should’ve known.”

That’s what broke Harry.

────────────────

It spread to the classrooms.

You, who once raised your hand for every question, who used to help the younger students find their assigned partners, who made Professor Sprout smile with your enthusiastic herbology notes—you stopped trying.

You still showed up. Still did your homework. Still got top marks.

But it was lifeless.

Mechanical.

Professor McGonagall asked you to stay after Transfiguration one morning. The room emptied around you, but you remained at your desk, eyes staring ahead.

She walked toward you slowly, her hands folded in front of her.

“Mr. L/N,” she said softly. “You’ve always been one of my brightest. One of Hogwarts’ brightest.”

You didn’t respond.

“I know heartbreak,” she continued, her voice a gentle tremble. “It leaves its mark. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You blinked up at her then. For a brief second, she swore she saw that old light flicker back in your eyes.

“I’m fine, Professor,” you said quietly.

And it shattered her.

She didn’t believe you. No one did.

But you were convincing.

Too convincing.

────────────────

The next day, Professor Sinistra stopped you after Astronomy class.

“Y/N,” she said softly, frowning, “you haven’t turned in your celestial chart. Are you… alright?”

You blinked.

"Oh,” you said. “I forgot.”

She stared at you for a long moment. “You’ve never forgotten before. Is everything okay?”

You nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

But it was a lie. And she knew it.

She watched you leave the classroom, your shoulders hunched, the usual bounce in your step gone. Her heart ached for you.

She remembered you staying behind after class, excitedly rambling about star clusters and constellations, asking her questions she hadn’t even thought of. You were one of her brightest students.

Now, you didn’t even look at the sky.

────────────────

Even the portraits whispered.

They talked among themselves when you passed. That you were too quiet. That the cheerful Gryffindor had changed. One old witch in the Charms corridor even told her neighbor, “That one’s heartbroken, through and through. You can see it in the way he walks.”

And they were right.

You didn’t walk the same. You didn’t look the same.

No longer bouncing on your heels, waving at friends, or pointing excitedly to the sky. Now, you walked like your chest carried weights no one could see.

And at night?

You didn’t sleep.

You just laid there, eyes wide, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering how many stars had died since he said he never loved you.

────────────────

Theodore noticed.

Everywhere.

He noticed when you passed by without looking at him.

He noticed the way you no longer tucked that curl behind your ear nervously.

He noticed how your hands never fluttered when you talked—because you didn’t talk.

He noticed how Hermione flanked you in every class like a shield, and how Ron glared daggers at him from across every hallway. How Harry went from silently watching to outright refusing to let Theodore near you.

But the worst part?

Theodore didn’t fight it.

Because what could he say?

I was scared. I panicked. I really do love you now.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

He used to watch you from the other side of the Great Hall, hoping—wishing—you’d look up. That your eyes would find his like they always used to.

But they never did.

Even when the sun poured through the windows and caught your hair in that same golden glow it used to, you looked empty.

He’d broken you.

And you didn’t even hate him for it.

You just… erased him.

────────────────

The professors spoke behind closed doors.

Dumbledore watched you closely from his high table. He saw the way your smile never reached your eyes anymore. How you spoke in quiet syllables and barely touched your food.

Flitwick tried to lift your spirits with praise.

Sprout gave you extra cuttings to tend to in case it helped.

Hooch offered to teach you a new Quidditch maneuver—even though you weren’t on the team.

Even Snape, of all people, said your potion was “adequate” one day—because the look on your face when he used to insult your brewing was more alive than the one you wore now.

And McGonagall?

She pulled you aside again.

This time, she didn’t speak.

She just pulled you into a hug.

You didn’t hug her back.

But you didn’t pull away, either.

That was enough for her to cry once you left.

────────────────

And then came the first Hogsmeade trip.

You were invited by nearly every Gryffindor in the common room.

Neville asked gently. Dean said they’d buy your favorite sweets. Seamus promised a distraction, a new joke every minute. Hermione packed you a scarf, “just in case it’s cold.”

You said no.

You stayed behind.

Alone in the common room, watching the flames dance like stars falling from the sky. You didn’t need chocolate frogs. Or butterbeer. Or another attempt to feel something you couldn’t anymore.

You just needed to not exist for a little while.

────────────────

That night, long after curfew, long after the castle had gone quiet, you slipped out of the portrait hole like a ghost.

No one stopped you.

No one even saw you.

Not even the Fat Lady tried to ask where you were going.

You walked the halls slowly, your feet dragging slightly with every step, like gravity clung heavier to your bones these days. The flickering torches cast shadows on the stone walls, but you barely registered them. Your mind was somewhere else.

Somewhere four months ago.

Somewhere under the stars with his hand in yours.

The staircase to the Astronomy Tower groaned beneath your steps. Each echo bounced back at you, louder than expected, like the castle was trying to say something—Don’t go. Don’t break again.

But you kept climbing.

And then, finally, the door creaked open.

The cold hit you first. Sharp, biting wind brushing through your robes like needles. You shivered. You didn’t bring your scarf. You didn’t care.

You stepped out onto the platform, and the stars were… blinding.

Too many. Too bright.

They looked like glittering lies now.

You used to name them all.

You used to point to the constellations and tug on Theodore’s sleeve, whispering things like, “That one’s Cassiopeia. She was a queen, but vain. Got cursed for her pride.”

Or, “Orion always follows Artemis in the sky, like he’s still chasing her even after death.”

He used to smile at you when you talked like that. Sometimes he’d kiss your temple mid-ramble, just because he could.

You hated how easily you remembered that.

You stared up at the sky now, jaw tight, fists curled into your sleeves.

And then you whispered to no one—

“I don’t want to love you anymore.”

The words caught in the wind. Got carried off into the sky like a secret, like a curse.

But they weren’t true.

Because you did.

Even after everything.

Even now.

Your throat clenched.

And for the first time since that day in the Great Hall—

You cried.

Quiet, trembling sobs that echoed off the tower walls and dissolved into the night air. You sank to the floor, your face in your hands as if begging to the stars to take the ache away.

But they didn’t.

They just watched.

Silent.

Unforgiving.

And utterly, heartbreakingly distant.

721 notes · View notes

generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Text

This part was stunning! The writing for this whole series is amazing 🤩

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

series masterlist

word count: 5.9k

summary: In the wake of your arrest, the Order must scramble to come up with a plan to free you from the claws of your father. Meanwhile, chaos ensues at the Ministry.

tags: fem!reader, crouch!reader. mentions of blood and some violence descriptions, abusive parent talk as well as hinted sexual assault but no detailed descriptions. smoking as plot points. lots of angst.

a/n: not really sure if i like this, so i’ll let y’all be the judges of the chapter. as you can see from the tags, so much happens today. oh poor barty… enjoy!! xx

Regulus watched with pinched eyebrows as Barty slept peacefully, inked arms curled up around Evan. He chewed on his lower lip, fingers anxiously fidgeting with the tea cup on his hand as the faint light of the moon peeked from the curtains, indicating that any time now Dumbledore would send over his patronus to signal the official call to meet for the Order.

His grey eyes then turned to the parchment in front of him on the coffee table. He stared hard at Sirius’ unusually messy handwriting with the news of your detainment, and how they needed to form a plan before your father could get his hands dirty to sentence you to a life in Azkaban. Or worse, Barty finding out you were taken from him.

Regulus reached for the parchment and stood up, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of Barty and Evan shuffling on the couch, and he hastily threw it at the fire going at the chimney. When neither of them showed signs of waking up anytime soon, a relieved exhale left his lips.

“Still nothing?”

“Fuck.” He jumped, hand at his chest as he turned to meet Pandora’s heterochromic eyes. “Would you stop doing that, please?”

“‘M sorry, Reg.” She mumbled, not at all sorry by the little mischievous glint in his eyes. “Want me to heat up your tea? I suspect it’s a bit cold now.”

Regulus then looked at the poor cup sitting sadly on the coffee table. He shook his head and passed a hand over his curls, the blonde girl sighed and reached over to wrap her arms around his middle.

“He’ll go mad.” Pandora whispered then, temple resting against Regulus’ sternum as they both stared at the flames.

“I know.”

“You think he’ll go after him? When he finds out?”

Regulus screwed his eyes shut, “Probably. But hopefully we’ll already have a plan by then.”

“Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He frowned, but his arms tightened a little around Pandora. “We did it, the war is over.”

“It’s okay if you feel a little weird. Or anxious.” Pandora said, pulling away to meet his eyes. “You can feel both relieved that the war is over and worried for y/n.”

Regulus sighed dejectedly, “That’s the thing. I can’t really allow myself to feel happy that it’s over when I know she’s somewhere suffering.”

“I’m sure she’s alright. You know how stubborn she can be sometimes.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

A ghost of a smile passed over Pandora’s face, “She visited me the other night.” Regulus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Spent the entire time trying to convince herself she didn’t fancy those two boys.”

He felt his heart skipping a beat. “Why did she visit you? Did something happen?”

“Not really, no.” She waved him off, “I just think it was rather amusing how she swore she didn’t have any feelings for them but still left with her bag full of wolfsbane and dittany.”

“Wolfsbane? Why would she–” Regulus frowned, but realization struck him when his eyes flickered to the window. “Oh… You told her about the visions, didn’t you?”

Pandora’s answer came in the form of a playful chuckle.

The cadence of her giggles was interrupted by a blue light emerging from the window, when it took form a phoenix, Regulus stood to attention and swat several times at Evan’s sleeping form. The blonde boy blinked his own heterochromic eyes open with a frown, but his hold around Barty tightened when he met the worried gaze staring down at him.

“Think you can keep him here a bit before the meeting?” Regulus whispered in his ear. Evan blinked again to fully wake himself up.

He nodded wordlessly, then turned to his sister. “What’re you doing here, bug?”

“Came to babysit you two. It’s good practice.” She whispered equally low and Evan dropped his head back on the cushion with a sigh.

Regulus wet his lips nervously and looked down at Barty with a troubled expression, when Pandora squeezed his hand reassuringly, he snapped into action and walked out of Grimmauld Place to the closest apparition site with a hollow feeling inside his chest. The idea of hearing whatever news Dumbledore could give them about your whereabouts had him feeling like he could throw up, even when he had mastered apparition before he could graduate.

When he opened his eyes, a pair of identical ones to his stared back at him with a certain intensity only a Black could possess. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but Sirius was quick to wrap his arms around Regulus in a tight embrace. The boy gasped, his heart beating loudly inside his chest as he slightly pulled away to meet Sirius’ gaze, who held onto his shoulders like he feared someone would take his little brother away.

“I’m sorry,” Mumbled Regulus, resting the crown of his head against his brother’s sternum.

Sirius frowned, “What’re you sorry for?” He passed a hand over Regulus’ unusually messy curls. “I’m just glad you’re alright, Reggie. It’s all over, hm?”

Something glum passed over his face as he looked up, “But it really isn’t over, right? We still need to bring y/n back.”

Sirius let out a startled breath at his admission, his grey eyes quickly met Remus’ gaze from over Regulus’ shoulder. The tawny haired boy looked away, lighting up his cigarette with slightly trembling fingers.

“Right.” Sirius nodded, sobering up and dropping his arms to his sides. Regulus momentarily regretted bringing you up at his brother’s reaction. “You’re right, sorry.”

Remus watched them with a contemplative look on his face, nimble fingers anxiously bringing the cigarette from his lips to calm the turmoil in his head. When he watched McGonagall’s animagus form stepping into the Weasley home, he put it out with a heavy heart and barely three puffs in. He met Sirius’ eyes as they followed Regulus in, his hand unconsciously reaching for him in a desperate seek for support as they sat in the living room around Dumbledore.

“Welcome.” The man nodded, scanning the small group surrounding him. “As you all know, Riddle is dead. This monumental event will mark the end of the war, along with the imprisonment of several of his most notable followers, all thanks to the bravery of Mr. Crouch and the help of Mr. Rosier and Black– Where are they, may I ask?” He turned to Regulus with a raised eyebrow.

Said boy swallowed nervously, “They should be here soon. I don’t think it’s sensible for Barty to hear about his sister yet.”

“Very smart.” Dumbledore nodded again, “I’m terribly sorry about Ms. Crouch, I’m sure that once we clear the misunderstanding, she will be freed with no further explanation needed.”

“As of now, Professor Dumbledore has already managed to grant you three a fair trial with the Wizengamot.” McGonagall stepped in, her eyebrows furrowed behind her glasses with worry. “Mr. Shacklebolt is currently at the Ministry trying to negotiate and let Ms. Crouch be considered in it as well.”

“But y/n didn’t do anything.” Sirius stood up, voice stern and eyes full of unresolved questions in the form of a cold glare. “How could they follow through without evidence?”

“It’s not very hard, Sirius.” Remus snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Even Muggles do it, so I doubt it could be less hard with magic.”

The long-haired boy slumped back on his chair, his previously fiery eyes lacking all emotion, and any hope he had to bring you back vanished from his chest. Remus sighed dejectedly and passed a hand over his shoulders as his boyfriend hid his face with his hands. A tense silence blanketed the room.

“Shacklebolt is a rather good negotiator, I’m sure he will find a way to absolve her from her charges.”

As the words slipped past Dumbledore’s lips, a bright light interrupted them and soon appeared Kingsley in the middle of the living room with a troubled expression in his usually calm features. Sirius felt his insides filling with dread.

“Ah, Mr. Shacklebolt, we were just discussing your work at the Ministry. I assume you’ve come to enlighten us with your findings?”

But Kingsley simply shook his head solemnly. Remus felt Sirius’ muscles tensing under his touch.

“I wouldn’t say enlightenment, really.” The young man sighed, nervously fixing his robes as he very pointedly tried to not meet anyone’s eyes. “The Ministry agreed for the trials but, um, for Junior’s sister… things have taken a complicated turn.”

“Complicated?” Regulus echoed, quite literally feeling his heart up his throat. “Did something happen to her? Is she alright?”

“Well… Apparently a fight broke out at the Detention Area, the full information has not been disclosed but we have reason to believe she was involved.”

Regulus passed a hand over his face with frustration, not at all surprised at the news.

“Several alleged Death-Eaters were involved, too.” He continued, “This could go both ways in her trial if they allow her to have one, but we can use this to her advantage if we’re smart enough.”

“How, exactly?” Remus snapped again. “I don’t think it will be well received that she got caught up in the middle of it. Especially with her reputation.”

“Do we know who else was involved?”

“Peter Pettigrew, mostly. Other separate duels broke out between the rest. Mulciber and Malfoy, the Lestranges as well. It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact names.”

Another tense silence filled up the room, one that was interrupted by the door suddenly bursting open to reveal Evan and Barty on their way in, both looking positively relaxed compared to the rest of the Order. Remus threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut in preparation for whatever was about to happen.

“Well, hello.” Barty drawled with a wicked grin, “Why the long faces? I’ve quite literally saved your arses from eternal damnation.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Evan asked with a roll of his eyes. But then, ever the perceptive one between the pair, watched with furrowed eyebrows at the silent group. “What’s gotten into you lot? Who died?”

“Surely you’re not all serious because you miss dear ol’ Voldy?” Barty turned a chair around to sit facing them. His eyes fell on Regulus’ tense form, and frowned when he looked away. “Oi, what’s with the secrecy?”

“It appears there has been a small change of plans, Mr. Crouch.” Dumbledore spoke finally. Barty’s frown deepened.

At the lack of answers from neither Dumbledore nor Regulus, Barty turned to Sirius, “Where’s my sister, Black?”

“She’s at the Ministry.” He spat, grey eyes once again lighting up in anger. “Your father came storming into our flat and arrested her. Some shit about withholding information about your whereabouts.”

Barty stood in such speed the chair fell, “What?”

“We are currently in the middle of discussing our plan to get the Minister to grant her a trial along with you three.” Kingsley explained, foolishly thinking it would appease Barty, who scoffed in return.

“That will never happen, Shacklebolt. I can wager everything I own that my father is currently preparing her cell in Azkaban as we speak.”

“With the duel rumor going around at the Ministry?” Regulus asked, Barty’s head snapped at him. “All the possibilities of a trial have gone down the drain.”

“Oh, so now you speak.” He snapped at him, Evan stood as a reflex. “But you knew this already, didn’t you? Traitorous snake.”

“Barty.” Evan chided. “We all knew this already.”

The boy’s glare softened as he looked at Evan, who sighed deeply. “You knew too?”

“I’m sorry, love.”

Barty’s shoulders dropped sadly as he lowered himself down to his chair again, he passed a hand over his already messy hair, his anxious fingers stopped at the studs on his eyebrow and began pulling at them much like you did during your own dissociative states. The rest of the Order looked at each other and him with a certain level of sympathy. Regulus, for his part, was just glad he hadn’t stormed into the Ministry with an Unforgivable at the tip of his tongue. There was so much loss his heart could take.

Kingsley cleared his throat and turned to Sirius, “What exactly were the charges Mr. Crouch mentioned when he arrested her?”

“Doesn’t matter, they’re all lies.” Sirius replied instantly, fingers anxiously itching for a cigarette to calm his own head.

Remus scoffed, “Would it hurt you to answer a question, Sirius? You’re not the only one affected by this, you know.”

“Seriously, Remus?” The boy fully turned to him with a scowl.

“Well, I didn’t exactly see you try to stop the Aurors, so I can’t say I’m entirely surprised.” Remus continued, as if Sirius hadn’t spoken.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The lovers’ quarrel seemed to snap Barty out of his spiraling thoughts, who furiously blinked back the tears forming in his eyes to look up at the pair.

“Right, so what I’m hearing is that all this happened because of you two.” Barty nodded, “So what? You just played a little with her and turned her over once you got bored?”

“Oh, fuck you, Junior.” Remus spat, not at all turning to meet his gaze, one very similar to yours whenever you riled him up. “You left her, you’re no one to talk.”

“Left her? Oh, you’ve completely lost the plot, Lupin. Actually, all of you.” He snapped. “Bunch of good-for-nothings, you lot. Couldn’t handle a tyrant manchild and asked us for help, but when we asked for protection in return none of you could do the same. So, yeah, I left her but because none of you could’ve done what I did to end this fucking war, and because of that she’s at the Ministry paying for your incompetence.”

“Now, Mr. Crouch, we all have agreed to help your sister. I don’t see the reasoning behind this tantrum.” McGonagall interrupted, but her eyes reflected a sympathy that made Barty’s skin burn with rage.

“And how could you possibly help, Minerva? Don’t try to be condescending with me when you all damn well know there’s nothing to do here.”

“Barty, stop.” Evan reached over, but Barty swat his hand away. “Hey, calm down, it’s not their fault.”

“No.” Barty turned to him, bony finger poking harshly at his boyfriend’s chest with glossy eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down when your own sister is safe and far away from this mess. Don’t you fucking dare, Evan.”

“Junior, stop.” Sirius said, hand at his shoulder when he noticed the wand already in Barty’s hand. The boy pushed him away angrily.

“Oh, don’t even get me started with you.” Barty growled, glaring hard at Sirius. “I took care of your brother when we were away, I even took an Unforgivable for him and this is what you give me in return? You ungrateful little shit!”

Regulus sighed, hand very slowly reaching for the vial on his pocket. He uncovered the calming draught and poured it on the cup closest to him, eyes never leaving Barty’s hysteric form as he continued screaming his lungs off to whoever tried to calm him down. When, apparently, it was his turn to meet the end of his friend’s wrath, Regulus simply handed him the cup without a word.

“Don’t coddle me.” Barty scoffed, waving him off with a roll of his eyes. He roughly passed a sleeve over his cheeks. “And you don’t fool me, I know damn well what you poured in that thing.”

Regulus leveled him with a look, “You want to hear how we’ll get her out, or not?”

“Another of your useless master plans?” He asked, voice hoarse as he dropped his arm to his side. “Have you not done enough?”

“Please.”

The pair shared a look, causing the room to fall in a tense silence as the rest of the group tried to decipher the understanding passing between them. At last, the fight seemed to leave Barty’s body as he reached for the cup in Regulus’ hand.

“Right.” Regulus said, watching with pinched eyebrows as Barty downed the draught without a second thought. He did not miss the way his hand trembled. “Feel better now?”

Barty put the cup down with slightly furrowed eyebrows, and nodded wordlessly. His hand once again reached up to fiddle with the studs on his eyebrows.

“I have an idea, but I don’t think you’ll like it.” Regulus continued, voice tentative in case the calming draught hadn’t fully kicked in yet.

To his surprise, Barty simply nodded. Regulus searched for Evan’s gaze, who reached over and placed his hands over his boyfriend’s shoulders. Hurtful words seemingly forgotten in order to provide a grounding support to the boy. It couldn’t be said the same about Remus and Sirius, both standing at separate ends of the room still trying to shake off the anger and guilt in their chests, the hurtful words exchanged between them still lingering in the room.

“You need to testify against your father.” Finally said Regulus, who tensed his shoulders in anticipation.

But no cantankerous reaction happened, not even a scoff. He momentarily wondered if the calming draught Pandora concocted was stronger than what was normally recommended.

“That won’t work.” Barty mumbled then, eyes lost in nothing as he continued fiddling with his piercing. “He’s got that part covered at the Ministry. Believe me, we tried it before.”

“Was it before or after what he did to y/n? …And the parties?” Evan asked in a low voice, Barty simply frowned. “It could be an argument hard to ignore, love. Especially if you’re willing to provide evidence.”

Barty’s hand unconsciously moved to his ribcage, and both Sirius and Remus had a realization. The echo of your words simultaneously played in their heads, explaining the different ways your father would torture you and your brother to get what he wanted. How he’d “lend” you two to his most trusted Ministry workers in order to get his way with a particular case. A lump formed in Sirius’ throat as he scanned the boy and the obvious turmoil happening inside his head.

“She’ll hate us if we air that out.” He finally said. “And I don’t think I could do that to her, it’s not fair.”

“What exactly happened at these parties, Mr. Crouch?” Asked Dumbledore. Barty shook his head mutely. “In order for the defense to work, we must know beforehand.”

“I can’t do that to her.” He repeated, eyes meeting Regulus with a rare look of dread. “I could tell them from my own experience, but not hers.”

Regulus sighed, but nodded. “That could work, right?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but it’s a good start.” Kingsley said, pensively scratching at his jaw. “Why don’t we continue this tomorrow, hm?”

“Good idea.” Dumbledore nodded, and turned to Barty’s slumped form with sadness. “Meanwhile I’ll personally talk to the Minister to appoint a joint trial.”

Barty nodded, “Thank you.” He mumbled very lowly, but it seemed to appease Dumbledore as the man nodded with a tight smile.

As the rest of the Order emptied the home and a silence lingered in the room, Barty pressed his face against his hands and finally allowed the repressed sobs in his chest to escape his lips. Evan sighed, and pressed a kiss to the crown of his shaking head.

“Let’s go, love.” He pulled at Barty’s jacket, who remained still on his chair and face hidden in his hands. “Come on.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“She’s not gone, Junior.” Sirius said, but no one missed the anxious way he played with the hem of his jumper.

Barty tried swallowing the lump in his throat, “If she’s not gone, why do I have this feeling in my chest?”

“I think you’re having an anxiety attack, Junior.” Remus supplied, his own eyes devoid of all the fire and anger he previously showcased. He absentmindedly fidgeted with his own box of cigarettes.

Barty wordlessly extended his arm with waiting fingers. Remus took a cigarette out and placed it in his waiting hand, a silent comfort passing between them. Sirius watched with pinched eyebrows as they each lit up their cigarettes, his lips parted in surprise when Remus handed him his. A silent apology.

“She told us about the calming draught and the punishments.” Sirius said between exhales. Barty’s eyes snapped up in surprise.

“She did?” He shared a look with both Evan and Regulus, who sported a similar surprise in their faces. “She’s never told anyone other than us.”

A realization passed between them. Barty tsked, and Evan bit his lip to stop the smirk trying to take up most of his features.

“Pandora wasn’t joking, then.” Barty commented with a dry chuckle, smoke coming out of his lips. “Oh, it seems she’s fallen hard.”

“What does Pandora have to do with anything?”

“She’s had some… interesting visions lately.” Regulus explained, taking mercy on them. “About you three.”

“Oh…” Remus furrowed his eyebrows, then his cheeks flushed furiously. “Oh.”

“No wonder why she was acting so strange yesterday.” Sirius commented, passing the cig back to Remus who seemed to need it more upon the revelation of said visions.

Evan chuckled. “Knowing how she gets when she's in love, I pity the poor sod that gets to share a cell with her.”

“Especially if she’s angry.” Barty added.

They all shared a look, seemingly thinking the same thing about you and your vicious reputation.

—

“Oi, watch it!”

“You’re not in any position to bark orders, Crouch.”

You rolled your eyes, channeling all your strength to not pounce at the Auror. The man strengthened the spell around your wrists in response as the elevator stopped right on the Detention Area floor.

“Hiya, Tim.” You smirked as you stepped out, or, well, the Auror pushed you much like a rag doll. “How’ve you been?”

Said man sighed as he raised his head, “Again?”

“Well,” You shrugged one shoulder, “Was starting to miss you, so I decided to pay a visit. How’s your gorgeous daughter?”

Tim, the guard, scowled at you before looking up at the Auror, a question in the way of furrowed eyebrows.

“Shagged his daughter back in fifth year, poor girl couldn’t leave me alone for the whole term. Women, eh?” You turned to the Auror, who blatantly ignored you in favor of turning to the man.

“Mr. Crouch appointed her to have temporary confinement until a trial is assigned.”

Tim looked between you and the Auror, who took a large folder from inside his pocket to hand over the guard. You bit your lip, one foot stepping over the other to avoid touching the icy floor.

“Oh, Crouch. Now you’ve done it.” Tim sighed as he scanned the folder, you rolled your eyes to avoid giving into your dread, or worse, to make it obvious.

He nodded at the Auror, face schooled in a stern glare and lips in a thin line. You did not miss the way he avoided your gaze when you tried to look for answers in his eyes. The man simply returned the nod and turned to walk away, not at all concerned if you were processed or not. The guard sighed deeply as he opened your case folder once again.

“No Barty today?”

“Sadly, no.” You shook your head, “Would you like to pass a message? A love letter perhaps?”

He rolled his eyes, “You’re quite literally on the road to get the Dementor’s Kiss, you do realize that?” He leveled you with a look. “I wouldn’t go around making jokes if I were you.”

You swallowed nervously, leaning away from the desk. The fight left the guard’s body as he leaned back on his chair, his eyes scanned you over pensively and grabbed his quill to begin the process of your detainment. The familiarity of the moment brought a certain calmness to your chest, the sound of the quill scribbling down on the parchment and the sound of muffled voices and screams from the cells in the back. In a messed up way, the idea of this being another small dent in your precious record relaxed you to the point of dissociation.

You held your elbows with trembling hands, trying to bring warmth to yourself with the help of Sirius’ soft jumper clung over your form, the faint smell of his shampoo was still imprinted on the fabric and grounding you before you could snap once again. The ghost of his hand holding onto yours, and his lips kissing your temple so softly you almost thought it was all a figment of your imagination. Just like Remus and his hold around you while you slept peacefully, how he managed to stand his ground and try to reach for you to avoid getting taken away even in his painful state, or the way they both looked at you as you were dragged out their home. You wondered how or when the lifelines and destiny read to you in Divination had changed so drastically to deserve them in this lifetime.

You looked up, furiously blinking back the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. As the guard continued writing down on the report for the Ministry, you exhaled deeply and allowed yourself to scan the other wizards imprisoned waiting for their trial. When your eyes landed on a rather familiar face inside one of the cells, an idea popped into your head.

“Um, Tim?”

“What?”

“Is Peter Pettigrew still being processed here?”

At your question, he looked up, “How could you possibly know that?”

“Well, I did help turning him in, for starters.” You shrugged. The man rolled his eyes and continued writing on the parchment, “Can I ask for a favor?”

“Some nerve you have,” He laughed dryly.

“Just humor me.”

“Fine. What is it that you want?”

“Can you put me in the same area as him?” You asked in a whisper, leaning closer to ensure he could hear you. “We left some unfinished business, you see.”

The guard hesitated, his gaze flickering from the cell to you, and swallowed as he recognized the faint mischievous glint in your eyes.

“I don’t know, Crouch. Sounds to me like you’re planning something vicious.”

“Not vicious, really. I sort of want to send a message.” He crossed his arms and let out a sigh, eyes studying your face. “Oi, just think of it as my death wish, yeah? You said it yourself, it’s likely I’ll be sentenced to a Dementor’s kiss. Just let me have this.”

This seemed to sell the idea to him, his features morphing into sadness as he looked down at your record. When he nodded, the smile that took up most of your face couldn’t be contained. Tim nodded his head to the cell area and you rounded the desk to allow him to take you to yours.

“I thought you had straightened out, Crouch.” He mumbled as he pointed his wand to your wrist, ending the spell that had them tied together. “You stopped coming for almost a year, you realize that? I genuinely thought you and Barty had finally figured it out.”

His words brought a small crack to your heart, and you secretly agreed with him. After the weeks you’ve had, you, too, had thought life was finally smiling down at you and your brother. So foolish of you to think your father would ever allow that to happen.

You tsked, “Ow, Tim. You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

“Forget it, can’t have a serious conversation with you.” He opened the cell, and you walked in with a smirk, hand masterfully reaching for the wand in his back pocket with the skills only a Crouch twin could possess. Before turning to him, you slipped it under your sleeve. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“I give you my word.” You nodded, watching as he unsuspectingly closed and secured the cell. Tim returned the nod and walked away, “Tell Millie I said hi!”

The guard flipped you off and walked out the room, leaving you alone in the sea of muffled screams from fellow prisoners, all except one. You turned around, your face adorned with your characteristic wicked smirk as you stared down at Peter Pettigrew from your spot.

“Why, isn’t it the traitorous rat in the flesh?”

Peter seemed to snap out of his trance as his eyes disgustingly roved over your form. “Crouch? They got you too?”

“I wouldn’t be so happy, if I were you.”

“Oh, but why wouldn’t I be? Seeing they granted me one last meal?” He grinned and you rolled your eyes. “Especially when said meal specifically requested to share a cell with me?”

“Don’t get your knickers all tight for that, wanker. I only have one thing to do with you.” You reached for the wand hidden in your sleeve. “By the way, recognize this lovely jumper?”

Peter blinked, his eyes moving up to your jumper with a raised eyebrow. “Uh… No?”

“Oh, don’t be daft, Wormy.” You spat, but secretly enjoyed as his face turned stony at the nickname. “Lovely bed manners those friends of yours have, by the way. Sadly Potter is already taken by that gorgeous redhead or I would’ve bedded them as well. So fit and smart, that marauders bunch— What exactly did you bring to the table?”

“Fuck off.” He growled. A pathetic attempt really, you chuckled. “You’re no one to talk, Crouch. You shagged every living thing in that bloody castle just because your daddy hit you. Bit stereotypical, don’t you think?”

“And what does that say about you, Pettigrew? That I got with everyone except your sorry arse?” You watched with a growing smirk as he jumped to his feet in a rage. “So what? Felt sorry for yourself and went begging for a wank with Riddle? Just because everyone paid more attention to your friends than you? Utterly pathetic.”

When Peter tried launching himself over you, the tip of the wand in your hand dug deep on the side of his neck, awfully close to the jugular. The boy stilled and took a step back, but you had already fisted the side of his greasy hair to keep him in place against the wall.

You leveled him with a glare, “I’d like to say this is all child play to keep me entertained while I’m here, but I do have certain matters to discuss with you, Pettigrew.” He reached for your wrist, but the hold around the wand and your fiery eyes stopped him from fully acting on his idea to run away. “You not only gained an enemy in your friends when you ratted about the prophecy to your master.”

“But— The Potters, they were the only ones–”

“The Potters, the Longbottoms and, for your bad luck, the Lovegoods as well, my dear Wormy.” You scanned his face, hand eagerly digging deeper in his flesh to the point of harming his skin. “The rest may be more benevolent than me to have their revenge in the form of your imprisonment. But sadly I am really, really thirsty for blood. Yours specifically.”

“I didn’t know, I–”

You reached for his jaw, nails digging cruelly over his round cheeks as you pushed his head hard against the wall. A pathetic whimper left his lips, and your eyes followed the trail of blood down his neck at the wand now puncturing his skin.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, Pettigrew, which means I won’t rest until you suffer, and the last moments of your life will be filled with nothing but excruciating pain all because you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut.” You pushed his head one last time before pulling back slightly, the wand changing directions from his neck to his stomach. Peter followed the movement with dread in his eyes. “Three innocent families could’ve died because of you, and I want you to think of them when you die, you hear me? I want you to think about James and Lily and how kind they were to ask you to be one of the best men in their wedding. I want you to think about the Longbottoms and how Alice helped you an entire term when you failed Charms, and I want you to think about Pandora and how you tried to hurt an innocent girl that was nothing but kind to you throughout your school years.”

“I’m sorry– I’m so sorry, please don’t do anything to me, I don’t want to die here.” He pleaded, hands around your wrist trying to push you away from his form.

But you had enough fire in your veins and a heart broken enough to move a muscle at his pleas, “And I want you to think about your best friends, remember them? Sirius and Remus? Who opened their arms to you and accepted you into their little group? Tell me, Peter, when did you realize you hated their guts? Before or after turning into an Animagus to help Remus for the full moons?”

At the mention of Sirius and Remus, something seemed to change on his stance. His eyes morphed from dread to cynicism in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, I see now. You’ve already caught feelings, haven’t you?” He nodded eagerly, but his hold around your wrists loosened. “How foolish of you to fall for the two people who would never love a frail little whore like you, don’t you think? Was it because Junior had Regulus and Evan? Or to show your father you were the better half between you two? Have you not realized it yet? No one will love a good-for-nothing adrenaline junkie like you, Crouch. Especially not Remus and Sirius, they already got enough on their plates with each other. And knowing you? You could end up just like your daddy, killing off your partners just because you’re a vicious bitch.”

You inhaled sharply, eyes searching for his gaze with yours completely devoid of emotion. You leaned closer with all the color drained off your face, the wand pressed against his stomach pulled back slightly as you pointed directly at him with a slight hint of a smile on your face and quietly casted the Cruciatus curse at him. His agonizing scream was almost ear-piercing, just like the Dark Arts that alert went off throughout the Ministry, including the Detention Area. You heard with a smirk as the other prisoners chanted and yelled at you, and the steps of the guards running towards your cell.

When they held you back and snatched the wand away from your hands, you did not try to fight against them, and only watched with a smile as Peter continued writhing on the floor with the curse still torturing his body. You let them drag you to your own cell and watched from between the bars as the healers pathetically attempted to help finding a counter-curse to stop his pain.

“Be thankful it wasn’t my own wand, Wormy.” You said from your cell, “And pray to Merlin and Morgana you don’t have to encounter me ever again.”

“You– you’re fucking crazy.” He muttered, blood spitting from his mouth as he spoke. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Oh, this was nothing.” You replied nonchalantly, sliding off to the ground as you watched your father storm into the room with his eyes fixated on you. “Just a small warm up for the bigger fish I have in mind.”

318 notes · View notes

generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

series masterlist

word count: 5.2k

summary: The full-moon brings a change of heart for you, Remus and Sirius. But not every realization comes with happy endings.

tags: fem!reader, crouch!reader. mentions of scars and blood expected from remus’ lycanthropy.

a/n: ooooh my god. i know i said the last part would be the longest one.. i lied. buckle up friends cos so much is happening in both the angst and fluff department, this is your warning. enjoy!! xx

You frowned at the featherweight touch of something tickling your ear, eyes still shut and mind just barely awakened. With a cheek pressed against a hard, yet slightly soft surface, and a warm arm around your body, you jerked awake with your heart on your throat. Your eyes followed the arm looped around your middle, the traces of ink peeking from the sleeve of the jumper, the faint smell of cigarettes and the earthy notes of sandalwood. Before you could fully raise your head, you already knew it was Sirius.

With a short inhale, you reached for his sleeve and very gently lifted his arm away from you. A faint snore left his lips at the movement, he took this new freedom in stride as he rolled to the other side of the bed. You closed your eyes as you, very slowly, sat on the edge of the bed, eyes adjusting to the dimmed lights of the room and stood with equally slow movements to walk out your room.

A relieved sigh left your lips as you quietly closed the door in front of you, then turned around towards the coffee maker, that is, until you collided with a tall torso centimeters close to you.

“Fuck.” You yelped, closing your eyes to try and bring down the frantic rhythm of your heart.

Remus smiled a bit sheepishly, “Sorry. I was about to check if you were awake.” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before walking to the stove. “Morning, love. Would you like some tea?”

“Um, I’d like some coffee, actually.”

“I don’t think it’s sensible of me to give you coffee right now.” He said in a quiet tone, putting the kettle over the stove. “How did you sleep?”

Your eyebrows pinched slightly at his question, your face evidently showed you weren’t really sure on how to answer his question. Truthfully, you really didn’t know what exactly happened after your oh so mortifying breakdown, dizzy bits and pieces you remembered. You had the general idea that something else happened, the cozy predicament you woke up to was a dead giveaway. Remus let out a sigh at your silence, the questions almost evident in your face as you fixated on a spot behind his shoulder, the door to your room where Sirius was sleeping peacefully.

“After, um, you fell asleep, we decided to let you rest. But at some point you woke up in a worse state, I didn’t know what else to do so I gave you some calming draught.” He explained, eyes down as he prepared your tea with nimble fingers. “Not sure what exactly went down when Sirius took you to your room but whatever happened, it worked.”

You had enough wits about yourself to immediately look away and hide your blush. Remus passed you your tea with a small, tentative smile, his own cup in his other hand as he rested his hip over the counter.

“I just asked if he could stay a while.”

“It’s alright. We all have nights we don’t want to face alone.” His eyes fell on the calendar hanging on the refrigerator, the full moon circled around the day’s date.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered over the rim of your cup. “I’m sure tonight will be hard enough, I shouldn’t go adding more burden.”

Remus frowned at the sad tone in your voice, “You’re not a burden. We like having you here, and after… you know,” He watched as you shrunk into yourself with a frown. “I’m just glad you get to have some company, and… well, it’s for your safety.”

Something passed over your face, a look of raw grief that made his own heart crack slightly. “Thank you.”

He watched as you unconsciously reached to fiddle with the studs on your eyebrow, the blood from your previous fidgeting had dried at some point of the night. As much as they had tried to stop your hand from touching them, it seemed the action was something that brought a kind of calm to your anxiety. Remus was almost sure that wherever Barty was, he probably was doing the same thing to calm his own nerves.

Remus placed his cup down, the action barely registered in your brain until his hand cupped yours over your eyebrow, silently guiding it down before you could harm your skin even more. You snapped out of your trance, your breath stilled when you noticed his touch. He gave you a small smile in response.

“If you want,” He began, voice quiet and tentative in case he was overstepping, “I could brew more calming draught for later. So you don’t have to wait alone.”

You shook your head, eyes focused on the pattern of his jumper. “No, thank you.” You swallowed loudly as you gathered your thoughts, “Um, I don’t really like it. Father used to constantly give it to us before… you know, punishing us.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. There was no way you could know that.”

“I still think you shouldn’t stay here alone, though.”

Finally, you met his gaze with a sort of shy look in your eyes. “I could go visit Pandora. See if she has some wolfsbane left.”

“Oh.” Remus’ lips parted at your admission, taken by surprise at your generosity. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrugged, your eyes now fixated on his chest with something akin to longing. When you looked up to meet his gaze, he had to stop himself from quite literally caging you in his arms. “It’s the least I could do, you know, for your troubles.”

When you put your cup down tentatively, he momentarily thought you had read his mind.

“Thank you,” He swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly when your arm brushed his. “But, you don’t have to give me anything in return. This isn’t an exchange of goods.”

You seemed to channel all your energy to appear nonchalant as you waved him off, your smile a tiny thing that really didn’t belong in your usual playful face. Remus’ heart weighed on his chest as he studied you over, silently yearning for the mischievous, devil-may-care version of you he and Sirius had grown to love.

Remus wet his lips before speaking, “He’s going to come back.”

It sounded weak to his own ears, but he was desperate to calm the nervous pounding of your heart that his full-moon sensitive ears picked up. You pressed your lips together and looked straight ahead to avoid his gaze, eyebrows pinched with a rage he didn’t expect.

“He’s always been a selfish git.” You griped, eyes far away as you tried to calm the turmoil in your head. “He could stay in Azkaban for all I care.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

“I do, I don’t want to see him ever again.”

“Love…”

As fast as it came, the fight left your body with a drop of your shoulders and a dejected sigh. Remus frowned at the glossiness in your eyes. He placed an arm around you with a silent question, and inhaled sharply in surprise when you wordlessly turned to slowly wrap your arms around his torso. You nuzzled deeper in the comfort of his chest, and he readily circled his arms around you like he had been longing to do for days now. For a moment, your heartbeats synchronized in a quiet thump as he pressed a hand to the back of your head, his lips granting him a personal indulgence to kiss the crown of your head.

“We got you, you know that, right?” Remus whispered, voice so low he didn’t mind if you couldn’t hear him.

Silence.

Remus wondered if he overstepped. But then you pulled away, your glossy eyes meeting his with a fond look that he suspected mirrored his own.

“I know.” You nodded, pursing your lips faintly before adding, “I think I’ve known it for a while.”

The smile he had tried to suppress won over, and happily savoured the way you closed your eyes blissfully when he kissed your forehead. A comfortable silence fell over the kitchen as you held onto each other.

—

“Oh, don’t you live up to your name, lovely?” Asked Pandora happily when she opened the door. “Look at this pretty jacket… Come, come! Wouldn’t want lightning to strike you down.”

You looked down at your jacket with a faint blush and stepped into the warm home, the comfort of their chimney embraced you immediately. Pandora let out a quiet grunt as she waddled towards the living room, her hand over her bump indicating that the baby was once again giving her a bit of trouble.

“How’s married life?”

“Pretty boring if I dare say so myself.”

You laughed, making yourself comfortable next to her. Her platinum blonde locks tickled your cheek in a way that brought you back to that same morning with Sirius’ arms around you and then Remus lovingly trying to comfort you– You shook your head to cease those thoughts, and slowly put your head against hers where she rested it on your shoulder, her fingers idly toying with your hair.

“And little Lovegood?”

Pandora smiled, taking your wrist to guide your hand to her bump. As soon as you pressed your palm, the baby kicked animatedly and you gasped.

“She’s just as excited as me to meet her.” She mused breezily, a giggle left her lips when she met your wide eyes.

“She?”

“She.” She echoed with a smile. “Had a vision the other day. Oh, she’s going to be so loved.”

“That she will.” You nodded readily, accepting her hand and interlaced your fingers together much like when you were little. “Have you thought about names?”

“A couple. But the only one Xeno and I agree on is Luna.”

“Luna Lovegood.” You said quietly, tasting the words in your mouth. “I love it.”

“Like I knew you would.”

A silence fell between you where the only sound to be heard was the occasional crackling of the fire in the chimney and Pandora’s quiet grunts when the baby kicked slightly harder than usual. You scanned their home, a quaint little cottage that had several protective spells around it but managed to keep its homely aura intact. When your eyes landed on her heterochromic ones, Pandora’s face cracked in a knowing smile.

“Um, do you, per any chance, have any wolfsbane?”

Pandora’s smile widened, “Why, yes, I do. Whatever you need it for?”

“Come on, don’t be purposely daft.”

“Is it, perchance,” You rolled your eyes at the joking tone in her voice, “for one handsome boy by the name of Remus?”

“You know it is, Dora. Do you have it?”

She nodded, giving your interlaced hands a single squeeze. “How are they, by the way? Are they still giving your little heart a bit of trouble?”

“What? No. And they’re alright, or well, they will be after the full moon.”

“Now you’re the one being purposely daft, lovely.” She sent you a deadpan look, “Is it true Sirius gives the best cuddles?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quipped, but she laughed at the pink tint taking up most of your face.

“You know my visions don’t always have to be about my little girl, right?”

“Oh, come off it.” You laughed nervously, “You’re reading too much into it.”

“If you say so,” Pandora shrugged, her free hand tenderly rubbing her bump. “I do have to say, you’ve had a soft glow around you ever since you moved in with them.”

You shook your head, “I did not move in, I was forced to. I feel like it’s imperative for me to clear that up for your silly brain before it concots another wrong idea.”

“They’re lovely, too. I see how they would fall for you.”

“They’re not falling for me, Dora. They just feel bad, or something. You should see them, the way they look at me… Like I’m something they need to fix.” You mumbled, your eyebrows pinched slightly at your admission, like it hurt you to accept it. Pandora tsked. “‘Sides, once the war is over and I go back to Grimmauld Place we’ll all go back to our normal lives. I have no reason to believe they’d want me in theirs.”

“Have you thought that they probably do?” You sighed. “And, saying they look at you like something broken? Lovely, please tell me you haven’t been feeding these lies to yourself.”

You shrugged, seemingly not in the mood to argue about it. But Pandora couldn’t be deterred.

“You know what one of my visions was?”

“You’ll tell me even if I say no anyway.”

“It was you, actually. I have never seen you so free and happy.” You frowned, looking away from her knowing gaze. “At first I didn’t recognize the place, but you looked very at home. You were in the kitchen, preparing something… You wore a pretty brown jumper.”

“That doesn’t explain anything–”

“Would you let me finish?” She frowned, and you rolled your eyes but nodded. “Right. Then… someone hugged you, the picture of cozy with your pretty jumper almost similar to the one they wore. At first I didn’t know who it was, but then I thought I knew only one person to have long curly hair and kiss their partners every chance they get.”

You blushed furiously and quickly looked away to hide it. Pandora smiled, even though she had her eyes closed, she could almost picture your reaction. Your hand suddenly felt clammy against hers.

“You looked very happy, and Sirius as well, by the amount of kisses he gave you, and given the early morning.” You shrunk deeper into the couch, she laughed. “Remus came in focus a bit later, he kissed you both and cuddled up around you. It was a very lovely vision.”

“Right.” You nodded, dragging your free hand over your pants to clean off the nervous sweat. “A vision that doesn’t mean anything.”

Pandora rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but allowed the moment to pass. She knew, deep down, that the vision was real, and that it was closer to happen than she hoped.

You swallowed loudly, “Have you… have you had visions about them? If they succeed?”

She sighed, “Not really, no. Visions are tricky like that, but I know they will.” Pandora gave your hands a reassuring squeeze. “Regulus did promise to bring them back in one piece.”

“I know. And he always keeps his word.” You repeated with a sour taste in your mouth. “But I have a bad feeling, Dora. And it simply won’t leave me alone.”

“Me too.” She whispered, almost like a secret between you. “It makes me feel better that we still have each other, though.”

“That we do.” You nodded, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Another wave of silence fell upon the room. One that gave you a moment to bask on each other’s hold. You felt your eyes heavy, a common occurrence when you were around Pandora and her calming aura, and watched as her own breaths evened softly.

“Can I stay over?” You whispered after a while. “I don't think I want to be alone right now.”

“‘Course, lovely. You know you don’t even have to ask.” She whispered equally low. Then, “Would you like to hear another vision of you and your handsome boyfriends?”

“No.”

A beat.

“Fine. But just one, alright?”

—

The flat was eerily silent when you stepped out the chimney. There were traces of Remus’ full-moon fueled pain scattered around the living room, you picked up the little pieces of rumpled chocolate packaging as you made your way to the kitchen. When you passed by their shared room, the door ajar, you caught a peek of Sirius crouched by the bed, whispering something as Remus listened intently.

You swallowed with a frown and walked past their room to yours to change into more comfortable clothes. Sirius’ jumper laid neatly folded over your haphazardly folded bedding, an olive branch for you when you returned. Before you could overthink your actions, you quickly changed and put it on over your vest top, nose immediately attacked with the strong remains of his handsome smell.

A few muffling sounds interrupted your thoughts and you took out the wolfsbane jar from your bag before walking out. Sirius jumped slightly when you left your room, but his features softened upon realizing you had gotten home and in one piece.

“Hi.” You mumbled, eyes downcast to avoid seeing his reaction at you wearing his jumper. “Got the wolfsbane.”

“Oh,” Sirius breathed out, his eyebrows twinged faintly as he scanned you over. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” You nodded and placed the jar over the counter, eyes still headset on not meeting his gaze.

But Sirius was quick and took hold of your hand before you could make a run back to your room. You gasped quietly, but allowed him to pull gently at your arm to turn to him again. When you were face to face, you let him take a proper inventory of you with his worried eyes. He had a few cuts on his arms, not very deep but noticeable, and a particularly cruel one that crossed over his eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” You whispered, fearful that a loud tone would hurt Remus’ delicate hearing.

Sirius nodded, his eyes snapped up to meet yours when he deemed you physically alright. “There have been worse ones.” He replied with an equal whisper.

“Is he hurting too terribly?”

“A little, but he’ll be alright, I reckon. Especially with the wolfsbane.”

You turned a little sheepish at his admission, and Sirius smiled faintly, causing the cut on his eyebrow to stretch cruelly over his skin.

“That’s going to scar.” You mumbled as you raised a hand, fingers gently caressing the skin around it so it wouldn’t get infected. Sirius closed his eyes at your touch. “Do you have any dittany?”

He shook his head. “Used all of it on his new scars.“

“I have some.” You said, but he pulled at your hand again before you could turn to leave.

“No need, we always stock up a few days after the moon.”

“But, your–”

“Don’t worry, lovely.” His face cracked in a smile when you visibly flushed at the nickname, “Now we’ll match, eh?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly at his antics, feeling positively better after spending the night at Pandora’s.

Sirius’ eyebrows furrowed slightly, “I want to tell you something.” You nodded. “Riddle is dead. They did it. Or, well, Junior did it I suppose. But…”

“But?”

“No one knows where they are.”

Dread recoiled around your ribcage, your shock coming out in a sharp exhale. Sirius’ hand came around you and you let him hug you, the pressure of his hand on your lower back helped ground you before your mind could fully jump to doomful scenarios.

“Hey.” You pulled back, eyes closed and mind still trying to calm your breathing. “This is good, means the Ministry hasn’t gotten hold of them either. They are going to be alright.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, your voice strained like your throat had closed up. “You’re right.”

“I’m sure they’re laying low right now. I know Regulus, this is probably all part of his plan. And Junior is a smart bloke, especially if Rosier is there to keep him in check.”

This seemed to snap you out of your spiraling in order to meet his gaze, something incredulous passed over your face that made Sirius’ tight shoulders relax slightly.

“Why, I didn’t know you had such high opinions about Barty.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “If you bring it up again, I’ll deny it.”

“Oh, please. No need, I can just use Legilimency to plant the memory in any person I want.” You pointed at your temple with a raised eyebrow, he mirrored your expression with surprise.

“Well aren’t you full of surprises, gorgeous?”

You shrugged one shoulder, “Some of us did go to school to learn, you know.”

When a startled laugh left his lips, sharp canines at full display, you were surprised at the fondness that took up most of your chest. Sirius squeezed your hand one last time before pulling away to prepare the wolfsbane for Remus. You stood close, hands nervously fiddling with the hem of your jumper as you watched him go around the kitchen with all the familiarity of the world and eyes eagerly following his movements.

To say you felt useless was an understatement. Sirius seemed to sense this because he paused to look at you.

“Would you retrieve the cloth from Remus? I think it dried already.”

You swallowed but nodded mutely and walked into their room with tentative steps, holding your breath to not make any noise that could perturb Remus’ sleep. When you crouched to pick it up from the floor along with the empty bowl, you startled when your eyes met Remus’ amber eyes.

“Hi,” You whispered really low. Remus screwed his eyes shut painfully and you silenced yourself immediately. “Just… picking up this.”

He nodded, eyes opening to study you over.

“Sirius is preparing your wolfsbane.”

“Thank you.”

Something passed over his eyes and you slumped your shoulders at the sight of a tear rolling down his cheek. You sighed and thumbed it away with tender movements, his skin was scorching hot.

“No need.” You sent him a small smile and stood up with the bowl in your hand. “Do you want me to cool this down again?”

Remus nodded, and you walked out the room in silence. You almost crashed against Sirius, who was on his way in, the lukewarm water left in the bowl splashed with your surprise.

“Oh, wow. Be careful, lovely.” He held onto the crook of your elbow, balancing you before you could step on the small puddle and slip. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…” You frowned, racking your brain to appear unaffected by Remus’ visible pain. “I wish I could help more.”

“You’ve helped plenty, look at all this.” He raised the cup in his hand, you turned a bit shy. “And the jar still feels full.”

At the faint blush on your cheeks, Sirius had the sudden urge to kiss them silly, he knew your skin was probably as warm as the cloth in your hand. He smiled, and settled for a quick kiss on your temple before moving you away from the puddle.

“I put a brand new cloth in the freezer a while ago, why don’t you bring it over while I give him the potion, hm?” He asked, wand distractedly pointing a cleaning spell at the puddle.

You nodded, and watched him enter the room in the same manner you did moments before. A few whispers interrupted the silence, and you prompted yourself to walk to the freezer and replace the warm cloth with the colder one. An idea came to you before you could join them, and slipped back to your room to rummage inside your trunk.

When you entered their room, Remus looked far better after having drank the wolfsbane potion.

“Hi,” You smiled faintly, taking small steps to the bed.

When you raised the bowl for them to see, Remus nodded with a little smile, and scooted slightly to the side to make room for you. You bit your lip anxiously as you, very slowly, sat on the edge of the bed by his side. Remus shared a fond look with Sirius, who sat by his other side in silence, both endeared by your nervousness.

“Here,” You placed the bowl in your lap and handed your small healing potions pouch to Sirius, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. “There might be some dittany left, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh… Thank you.”

You smiled at him and turned to Remus with a raised eyebrow, hands busy squeezing the extra water from the cloth. The boy nodded and laid back, you brought a hand to his forehead and very gently pushed his overgrown hair away from his face. He closed his eyes and relaxed deeper into the pillow when you placed the cloth over his forehead. Sirius watched the moment pass with his heart thumping in his ribcage, a lovestruck look on his face that he didn’t try to hide this time.

“I used to have lots of regrets for killing Greyback… even if it was an accident,” You murmured after a moment, Remus opened his eyes to meet your gaze, “Now I can’t even bring myself to feel bad.”

“You shouldn’t.” Sirius answered sourly, hands busy applying the dittany on his eyebrow.

“I’m just glad he got what he deserved.” Said Remus then in a quiet tone, you sent him a sad smile. “I can’t imagine it was a peaceful death.”

“It really wasn’t.”

For a moment, your brain cruelly replayed Greyback’s painful screams from inside the burning building, moments before his agonizing death. You looked down and busied yourself dampening the cloth again, a hand came into your view, Remus’ scarred hand reached for your forearm, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over the Dark Mark.

Sirius placed the dittany container back in your pouch and laid back next to Remus, you looked away and stood up ready to retreat back to your own room and give them space, but Remus’ hold in your arm pulled you back.

“Stay?”

You watched a memory pass over Sirius’ face, his own gaze turning to you with something akin to yearning. Remus wet his lips nervously, his hand loosened around you as he watched you hesitate to answer.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, shoulders slumped in disappointment, but then you gave them a very faint nod that if he hadn’t fixated on your face waiting for your answer, he probably would’ve missed it. His heart almost melted right then and there at the smile that took up most of Remus’ face, one you returned somehow more relaxed while you placed the bowl down.

“Um…”

But before you could say anything else, Remus had already pulled you down to lay next to him by the edge of the bed. The idea of having you cuddling up to him and Sirius was a far better medicine to his post-moon aches. You cautiously circled an arm around his middle, Sirius hand immediately reached to hold yours over Remus’ middle and interlaced your fingers together.

Before you could stop yourself, a contented sigh left your lips as you settled with your cheek pressed over Remus’ chest and Sirius’ hand holding onto yours. It was not at all surprising when you three fell asleep in the same position throughout the whole day to late at night when a loud banging at the door jerked Sirius awake.

He blinked several times to adjust his eyes to the low lighting of the room, but he managed to make out the forms of Remus and you snuggled together and the empty space he vacated when he left the bed. You frowned at the lack of warmth from him when he left the bed, and Sirius bit back a smile at your adorable pouty lips against Remus‘ sternum.

Another bang at the door snapped him out of his trance, and he walked out the room—not before grabbing his wand, to open the door and yell out to the person making such a spectacle in the middle of the night.

“Oi, what do you think you’re–” In an instant he was pushed to the side by what he immediately registered as Aurors.

When Bartemius Crouch Sr. stepped into the flat after said men, his blood ran cold and the rhythm of his heart picked up its pace.

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here and how bad this looks for you, Mr. Black.” The man leveled him with a stern look, and Sirius mustered all his strength to not pounce at your father, muggle style. “I will ask you again, where is she?”

Sirius gave him a cold glare in return, and your father tsked before snapping his fingers at the Aurors, much like dogs waiting for command. The men stormed deep into the flat.

“What the fuck–” He heard Remus say from the room, followed by some harsh whispers that no doubtedly belonged to you as you fought against being taken into custody. “Don’t touch her– Oi!”

Soon you came into Sirius’ view, quite literally dragged away by the Aurors. His throat closed up at the paleness of your face and the way you froze up as soon as you were face to face with your father. Remus came out a few seconds later in a much calmer pace, his tall figure and scarred appearance giving him the impression that whoever tried to manhandle him would surely end up regretting it. When he tried to reach for you, Sirius had to bite back a string of profanities upon seeing the Auror harshly pulling you away like you were a rag doll.

“You have no reason to storm here.” You said with a frown.

Mr. Crouch leveled you with a look that you couldn’t quite meet and reached over to hold onto your jaw, his pudgy fingers digging cruelly over your cheeks. Remus inhaled sharply, containing his anger.

“Where is your brother?”

You shook your head, the movement wonky with his hand still holding onto your face, but your father couldn’t be deterred.

“You will tell me where he is right this second or–”

“I don’t know.” You finally snapped at him.

The man laughed dryly, “You expect me to believe that? When just the other day he was seen coming into this building?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine, be like that.” He let go of your face and nodded to the Aurors. “Miss y/n Crouch you are under arrest for being a member of Tom Riddle’s pureblood society known as Death Eaters, aiding on the escape of the well known criminals Bartemius Crouch Jr and Evan Rosier, and participating in the use of Dark Arts without permission of a legal authority. You are to be taken to the Ministry where a trial will be appointed to you in the following days.”

“She told you she doesn’t know!” Remus yelled, the anger in his tone barely contained.

Your father waved him off and looked back at you with a wicked smile, awfully similar to yours. “Be glad I’m giving you the grace of having a trial. If it were for me, I’d throw you to Azkaban right this second.” You closed your eyes, desperately biting your lip to avoid letting the tears trail down your cheeks. “Take her.”

“Don’t you dare.” Sirius stepped in immediately, but you shook your head frantically, a look of pure dread in your eyes. “What…?”

“Come on now. We still have more Riddle followers to detain.” Mr. Crouch clapped twice, and the Auror holding you down dragged you to the door.

“You can’t take her outside like that, she’ll freeze to death.” Remus frowned, eyes roving over your pajama shorts that barely covered your legs and bare feet. The only clothing item that could protect you from the cold weather outside was Sirius’ jumper.

Your father waved him off as he walked out the flat, “Her punishment for dressing like a proper whore.”

You sent them a last look as the Aurors dragged you out their flat, and Remus had to put a hand over Sirius’ shoulder to stop him from jumping over the men that surely would hurt him without a second thought. The door slammed shut behind them, sucking the air of the room as Sirius and Remus realized they probably had lost you for good.

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generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Note

I've been thinking about your mattheo and potter!reader series and I think it would be very funny if his and Harry's roles were reversed. Maybe Mattheo needs Harry's help with something (buying a present for reader) and Harry can't resist crowing. Maybe Harry gets the chance to mess with him a little, idk.

If this gives you any ideas, feel free to use it. If it doesn't just delete this. Have a great day 💜💜

I NEED YOUR HELP.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ M. RIDDLE

SUMMARY ৎ୭ mattheo riddle asking harry potter for help is something you never thought you’d hear, but apparently, when it comes to your birthday, he’s willing to suffer. now harry’s dragging him all over hogsmeade, milking the moment for all it’s worth, and mattheo’s just trying to survive

WARNINGS ಇ. harry being insufferably smug, mattheo suffering (but for you, so it’s fine), fluff & birthday sweetness, twice use of y/n, hufflepuff!reader mentioned once MORE OF THESE THREE ￫ ୨ৎ A/N ಇ. funny enough, i actually had a similar idea ages ago, but it was more angsty—mattheo and you had a fight, and harry ended up helping him fix it. but i wasn’t totally happy with it, so this idea??? absolute gold. thank you sm for this and for loving this series ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,332

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Mattheo Riddle had done a lot of questionable things in his life. He had charmed teachers to get out of detentions, sweet-talked his way into secret passageways, and once even talked a first-year into sneaking into the kitchens just to grab him a midnight snack. But never—not once—had he stooped as low as asking Harry bloody Potter for help.

And yet, here he was, standing outside the Gryffindor common room like a man about to walk to his execution.

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, this is unusual. A Slytherin at the lion’s den? What’s the world coming to?"

Mattheo ignored her, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the stone floor. “Potter,” he called, resisting the urge to bang on the portrait like some kind of desperate idiot. “Open the damn door.”

The portrait swung open, and there stood Harry, looking half-curious, half-annoyed—until he registered exactly who was knocking. Then his entire face morphed into one of disbelief, quickly followed by a smirk so smug it made Mattheo’s fingers twitch toward his wand.

“Well, well, well,” Harry drawled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “If it isn’t my favorite Slytherin.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Potter.”

Harry tilted his head, his grin widening. “What’s the matter? Lost? Need directions back to your snake pit?”

Mattheo inhaled deeply, reminding himself that killing Harry would probably ruin his chances with you. “I need your help.”

The words tasted like poison, and by the way Harry’s entire face lit up, Mattheo instantly regretted saying them.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, as if the universe had finally blessed him. “Oh, this is fantastic. This—this is the best day of my life.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “Shut up, Potter.”

“No, no, I won’t shut up,” Harry said, grinning like Christmas had come early. “You—you need me? Me? Merlin, someone pinch me.”

“I swear—”

“This is history. I should write it down.” Harry put a thoughtful hand to his chin, then turned toward the common room. “Oi! Ron!”

“I swear,” Mattheo said through gritted teeth, “if you keep running your mouth, I’ll hex you into next week.”

Harry clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Riddle. Now, what could possibly make you come to me of all people?”

Mattheo exhaled sharply, glaring at the floor like it had personally offended him. “It’s for Y/N.”

That wiped the smirk right off Harry’s face.

He straightened slightly. “Wait. Y/N?”

Mattheo nodded, jaw tightening. “Her birthday is coming up, and I want to get her something special. But I don’t know what.” His scowl deepened, loathing every second of this. “And apparently, you do.”

Harry blinked once. Twice. Then—

“Oh, this is amazing.”

Mattheo groaned. “I hate you.”

“You’re asking me how to impress my own sister?” Harry repeated, letting the words roll off his tongue like the finest honey. “You’re admitting that I know her better than you do?”

Mattheo’s eye twitched. “I will leave you here to die, Potter.”

Harry was practically glowing with amusement. “Relax, Riddle. I’ll help.” He stepped aside, motioning for Mattheo to follow. “But I’m never letting you live this down.”

Mattheo groaned. This was going to be absolute hell.

Harry just laughed, already grabbing his coat. “Let’s go, lover boy. We’ve got shopping to do.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

An hour later, Mattheo knew one thing for certain: shopping with Harry Potter was a nightmare.

Diagon Alley was bustling with people, the air crisp, and the storefronts glowing with flickering signs. Mattheo had been here countless times, usually to lurk around Knockturn Alley or to not shop with purpose. But today? Today, he was walking through it with Harry Potter, of all people, trailing beside him with the smuggest expression known to wizardkind.

“So, what’s the plan?” Harry asked, hands in his pockets as they strode down the cobbled streets.

Mattheo exhaled. “I don’t know. Jewellery? A book? I just—” He hesitated, running a hand through his curls. “It has to be perfect.”

Harry shot him a sideways glance before smirking. “Wow. You’re really in deep, huh?”

Mattheo glared at him. “Shut up.”

Harry chuckled but didn’t push. Instead, he steered them into a small boutique that seemed to have everything. Accessories, trinkets, books, clothing—if there was a good gift to be found, it would be here.

Harry suddenly gasped. Loudly.

Mattheo turned, brows furrowed. “What?”

Harry held up a hideous yellow hat with a massive feather sticking out of it. “This. This is the one.”

Mattheo stared at him, unimpressed. “Are you trying to get me hexed?”

Harry bit back a grin. “What? It’s yellow. She’s a Hufflepuff. Makes sense.”

Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are actually insufferable.”

Harry, completely unbothered, plopped the hat onto Mattheo’s head and grinned. “Perfect. You match.”

Mattheo ripped it off immediately. “I hate you.”

Harry snickered, setting it back down before leading them toward another section. “Alright, Riddle. Let’s see if you actually know my sister.” He gestured to a selection of gifts. “What would she like?”

Mattheo frowned, scanning the shelves. Jewellery? No, she wasn’t into overly expensive things. Books? She liked them, but it didn’t feel personal enough. He ran a hand through his hair, growing frustrated.

Harry, meanwhile, was watching him with amusement. “Wow. You really don’t know, do you?”

Mattheo turned to glare at him. “Shut up, Potter.”

“I mean, this is kind of sad,” Harry continued, tapping his chin in mock pity. “Here I was thinking you were this smooth Slytherin, and you can’t even pick out a birthday present.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes and kept walking, ignoring him. He needed something perfect. Something that would make you light up the way you always did when you got excited.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A delicate, enchanted necklace—simple, with a small charm that shifted between your favorite colors. It wasn’t loud or flashy, but it was elegant. Yes, it was jewellery but more importantly, it was you.

Mattheo reached for it, turning it over in his fingers. He could already picture you wearing it, already imagine your smile.

Mattheo stared at it for a long moment before muttering, “She’ll like this.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s surprisingly thoughtful for you.”

Mattheo smirked. “Told you.”

“Still,” Harry said, grinning, “I think you should’ve gone with the hat.”

Mattheo punched him in the arm, pulling out his money.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The night of your birthday, Mattheo watched nervously as you opened his gift.

He had never been nervous before. Not in fights, not in duels, not even when facing detention with Snape. But watching you—the girl who had somehow taken over his heart—unwrap his present?

Merlin, it was terrifying.

Your fingers carefully lifted the lid of the box, and as soon as you saw what was inside, your whole face lit up.

“Oh,” you breathed, eyes wide as you lifted the necklace from its velvet cushion. The charm shimmered, shifting from a soft gold to a warm shade of your favorite color.

Mattheo held his breath.

“This is—” You looked up at him, a bright smile on your lips. “It’s beautiful.”

Mattheo exhaled, relief washing over him. “Yeah?”

You nodded, fastening it around your neck before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. “I love it.”

His usual smugness returned, but there was something softer in his eyes. “Yeah, well. Had to make sure it was perfect.”

Harry, sitting nearby, loudly cleared his throat. “And who helped you pick it out?”

Mattheo’s eye twitched. “No one.”

Harry smirked. “That’s not what I remember.”

You blinked between them, amused. “Wait. You two went shopping together?”

Mattheo groaned. “It was awful.”

Harry grinned. “It was the best day of my life.”

You laughed leaning up to kiss Mattheo’s cheek. “Well, I love it.”

Mattheo smirked, draping an arm around you, while Harry made gagging noises in the background.

Somehow, this was the best birthday ever.

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generalmoonpolice · 3 months ago

Note

hi! not sure if soulmates counts as a weird au, but if you’re willing: would you write mattheodore + m!reader where matt and theo are in an established relationship as soulmates then discover you are also their soulmate? maybe people are like how tf do you have two soulmates???

fluff/smut/angst/whatever is good. if not, no problem! thanks

Three Threads of Love

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x m!reader x Theodore Nott

Summary ; You wake up with a dark green streak in your hair—proof that you’re soulmates with Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. You try hiding, running, and even dyeing your hair, but they figure it out. After a dramatic meltdown (and an attempted escape), Mattheo and Theodore kidnap you with love—because, like it or not, you’re theirs now.

A/n ; this was so funny in my head while I was imagining this, enjoy!!

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 5.8k+

Soulmates.

The word alone was enough to make your stomach churn—not in disgust, but in reluctant acceptance of a fate that had never been yours.

Everyone at Hogwarts had some kind of soulmate mark. It wasn’t always instant, but by the time you reached your fifth year, you were bound to see at least something. A change in eye color, a faint tattoo-like symbol on the wrist, a string that tied you to another person, or the most dramatic of all—your hair turning the same shade as your soulmate’s.

You had seen it happen all around you.

It was beautiful. It was poetic. It was tragic.

And yet, it had never happened to you.

No colors. No scars. No strings. Nothing.

You were simply you, Y/N L/N, the single yet handsome and endearingly adorable Hufflepuff. The boy who didn’t have a soulmate mark.

At first, people assumed it would come later, that maybe you were a late bloomer. But when seventh year rolled around and you were still untouched by fate, the whispers started.

"What if he doesn’t have one?"

"Does the universe even allow that?"

"Oh, Merlin, imagine being born single. That’s actually tragic."

Even your friends—Cedric, Susan, and the rest of the Hufflepuff gang—joked about it. Not cruelly, but in a way that made you feel like some kind of rare specimen.

"Maybe you’re the universe’s loophole," Cedric had said once, slapping your back in amusement. "The one person meant to roam free."

You had laughed it off. Smiled. Accepted it. Because what else were you supposed to do?

There was no mark.

No connection.

No destined love waiting for you at the other end of a thread.

You were simply alone.

And you had made your peace with that.

Until, of course, fate decided to fuck you over.

─────────

You had always been a heavy sleeper.

So, naturally, it took something extraordinary to wake you up before the sun was even fully up.

This morning, that extraordinary thing was your own shriek.

You had barely cracked your eyes open when something felt off. Like, in-your-bones, gut-wrenching off. It wasn’t a feeling you could pinpoint, but there was a strange tingling in your scalp that made you sit up, groggy and disoriented.

And then you saw it.

A single lock of hair—once your usual shade—was now a deep, almost velvety dark green.

You stared.

It stared back.

And that was when the panic hit.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

Cedric shot up from his own bed like he’d been hexed. “What the fuck?!”

“MY HAIR! MY FUCKING HAIR, CEDRIC!” You grabbed a strand and shoved it in his barely-awake face, eyes wild. “LOOK AT IT!”

Cedric blinked at you, then at your hair, then back at you. “…What am I looking at?”

“It’s green!” You nearly hyperventilated, clutching at your head like you could somehow shake the color out. “It’s not supposed to be green!”

Cedric squinted at the strand, realization dawning on his half-conscious face. “Wait. Wait. Oh, shit.”

You flopped back onto your bed, groaning dramatically. “Oh shit is right! I went my whole life thinking I didn’t have a soulmate, and now I wake up in seventh year with a bloody green streak in my hair?! Who the hell even has green hair?!”

Cedric was still staring at you, now fully awake and fully bewildered. “That—That means something, doesn’t it?”

“No, Cedric, it means nothing—I just suddenly decided to cosplay as a Slytherin overnight.”

“I knew you were hiding a Malfoy obsession.”

“Not the time.”

Cedric bit back a grin before running a hand through his own hair. “Okay. Alright. Breathe. Let’s think about this logically.”

You sat up again, dragging your hands down your face. “Logically? Logically, the only people in this damn school with this specific color of green hair are—”

And then it hit you.

Like an actual bludger to the skull.

Your entire body went stiff. Your brain blanked out.

Because there were only two people you had ever seen with this exact shade of dark green in their hair.

Mattheo Riddle.

Theodore Nott.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Cedric, ever the genius, saw the look on your face and immediately put two and two together. His jaw dropped. “Ohhhhhh.”

Your hands started shaking. “No. No way. That—That can’t be right.”

Cedric was already grinning like a madman. “It is right.”

“I—I don’t have a soulmate!”

“Well, you do now.”

You felt lightheaded. “No. No, this is a mistake. They’re already soulmates. Everyone knows they’re soulmates. You can’t have two. That’s not a thing!”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to your hair.”

You threw a pillow at him.

─────────

Meanwhile…

Across the castle, in the depths of the Slytherin dorms, Mattheo sat up so fast he nearly knocked Theodore off the bed.

“What the fuck—”

Theodore groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Mattheo, if you woke me up to tell me about your dream where you hexed Potter’s eyebrows off again—”

Mattheo wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring at the faint golden shimmer across Theo’s knuckles.

The same shimmer was now visible on his own wrist.

And they both knew what it meant.

Someone else had just been tethered to them.

“…Oh, fuck,” Theodore whispered.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were not panicking.

You were perfectly calm.

If anyone asked, you were just casually wearing a hoodie with the hood up in the middle of breakfast, in a warm castle, surrounded by friends who knew you never wore a hood indoors.

Absolutely nothing suspicious about that.

…Except, of course, that you were suspicious. Very suspicious.

Which was why, when you slid into your usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, hands tucked into the sleeves of your oversized sweater, you were grinning a little too wide.

"Morning," Cedric greeted, shooting you a knowing glance as he buttered his toast.

"Morning!" you chirped back, voice an octave higher than normal.

Immediately, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott—who had been talking about some Charms essay—turned to look at you.

Both of them frowned.

"You’re being weird," Susan said flatly.

Your grin widened unnaturally, almost manic. "Me? Weird? Noooo."

Hannah squinted at you. "Why are you wearing a hood?"

"Oh! This?" You tugged at the fabric like you had just remembered it was on your head. "Uh—new fashion statement."

Susan exchanged a glance with Hannah before looking back at you. "Fashion statement?"

"Yup!" You nodded way too fast. "I decided to—uh, embrace the mystery, you know? Keep people on their toes! Make ‘em wonder what’s under here. It’s all the rage in—uh, France."

"France," Hannah repeated, deadpan.

"Yup!"

Susan folded her arms. "Y/N."

You laughed. "Yes, dear friend of mine?"

"You hate having anything on your head. You complain about hats. You threw a fit last winter when we made you wear a beanie to Hogsmeade."

"Ah! Yes, well, character development! Growth! The arc of my maturity—"

"Y/N."

You flinched at the tone.

Damn Hufflepuffs and their terrifying ability to detect bullshit.

Hannah narrowed her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table. "Did Peeves glue something to your head again?"

"No!"

"Did you fail a spell and accidentally dye your hair pink?"

"Of course not!"

"Did a bird poop on your head?"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you hiding your hair?"

Your eyes darted across the Great Hall, looking anywhere but at them. "Oh! Look! Porridge!" You grabbed a spoon, stuffing a massive bite into your mouth, barely even tasting it.

Susan and Hannah exchanged another look, suspicion written all over their faces.

Cedric, the only one who actually knew what was going on, simply took a sip of his pumpkin juice, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"You’re lying," Susan declared.

Your spoon froze halfway to your mouth. "I—"

"You are lying!" Hannah gasped.

"I am NOT—!"

"You are literally grinning like someone who just got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section!"

"That is absurd!" You let out a completely unnatural laugh, shifting in your seat. "I am merely a man who enjoys the simple pleasures of life, such as porridge and— OH LOOK, A WINDOW."

You twisted your body to face the stained glass like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Unfortunately, this only made you look even more suspicious.

"Y/N," Susan started, voice low and accusing. "What did you do?"

"NOTHING!"

"Then why do you look like you’re about to bolt out of the room?"

"I just have a lot of energy this morning!" You were still grinning, voice high and unnatural. "You know, good sleep, nice weather—"

"You slept terribly and it’s raining outside."

"A fine drizzle!"

"You hate the rain!"

"I have learned to love it!"

"Y/N."

You shoved another spoonful of porridge into your mouth, avoiding eye contact.

────────────

At the Slytherin Table

"Alright, spill," Pansy Parkinson demanded the second Mattheo and Theodore sat down.

Astoria Greengrass, seated beside her, gave a more subtle approach, raising a perfectly shaped brow. "Something happened. I can feel it."

Draco Malfoy, sipping his tea, barely looked up. "They probably got into a fight. Again."

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, leaned in with genuine curiosity. "No, they look… weird. Like, different weird. You two aren’t possessed, are you?"

Lorenzo Berkshire, who had been half-asleep against Draco’s shoulder, finally stirred. "If they are, can we exorcise them after breakfast?"

Mattheo rolled his eyes. "We’re not possessed, Lorenzo."

"Could’ve fooled me."

Theodore, who had been staring at the shimmering mark on his knuckles all morning, finally spoke. "Someone’s been tethered to us."

Silence.

Then—

"I’m sorry, what?" Pansy practically screeched.

Draco choked on his tea.

Blaise blinked in pure disbelief. "How?"

"That’s not possible," Astoria added, looking at them like they had both grown second heads. "You two are already bonded."

Mattheo tapped the golden shimmer across his wrist, the mark still faint but very real. "Yeah, well. Tell that to fate."

"This is insane," Pansy said, eyes wide. "People don’t get two soulmates. That’s—That’s like—"

"Unheard of," Astoria finished, still staring at their marks.

Draco, for once, looked genuinely intrigued. "Have you figured out who it is?"

"Not yet," Theodore muttered, though his gaze flickered across the Great Hall.

"Whoever it is," Mattheo said, smirking slightly, "they’re probably freaking out right now."

Theodore huffed. "You would find this amusing."

"Oh, come on, Theo. Think about it." Mattheo propped his chin on his hand, eyes glinting with amusement. "Some poor bastard woke up this morning with a soulmate mark linking them to us. That’s gotta be terrifying."

"You are terrifying," Blaise agreed.

Mattheo winked. "Why, thank you."

As the conversation continued, Theodore let his gaze wander again, scanning the room.

And then—

There.

At the Hufflepuff table.

A figure slouched in their seat, hood pulled up, looking like they were actively trying to disappear.

Theodore’s lips parted slightly.

Mattheo noticed, following his line of sight—

And promptly grinned.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh."

Draco noticed too, and his brows shot up. "Wait. L/N?"

Pansy nearly dropped her goblet. "You’re joking."

Astoria let out a soft, surprised laugh. "Oh, this is going to be interesting."

Blaise, meanwhile, was just staring at you in utter disbelief. "Him? The guy who’s never had a soulmate mark? The one everyone thought was doomed to be single forever?"

Lorenzo yawned, rubbing his eyes. "I bet he’s panicking."

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, definitely."

Theodore, watching you sink lower into your hoodie, exhaled deeply. "We should talk to him."

Mattheo cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming. "Absolutely."

────────────

Back at the Hufflepuff Table

You had a bad feeling.

A very bad feeling.

Because the moment you dared to glance up, you found two pairs of eyes locked onto you from across the hall—one dark and intense, the other sharp and calculating.

Mattheo and Theodore.

Staring at you like they had just figured out exactly who their third soulmate was.

You gulped.

Cedric, noticing your expression, leaned in. "They know, don’t they?"

You swallowed thickly. "They definitely know."

Susan, still confused, followed your gaze—only to see two of the most dangerous Slytherins in the school actively plotting your demise with their eyes.

"...Y/N," she said slowly. "What did you do?"

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. "I think I got soulmated."

Cedric grinned. "Told you fate wasn’t done with you yet."

"Shut up, Diggory."

But deep down, as panic turned into something dangerously close to excitement, you couldn't help but wonder

What the hell were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott going to do about this?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Everything was fine.

You were fine.

You were totally fine.

Which was why you were currently walking through the courtyard with your friends, laughing along to one of Cedric’s stories while keeping a firm grip on the hood of your oversized sweater.

Just in case.

Because if anyone so much as glimpsed your hair—if anyone saw that stupidly obvious green streak that had appeared overnight—your life would be over.

Dead. Gone. Vanished.

The headlines would read: Y/N L/N, Hufflepuff Extraordinaire, Found Dead Due to Pure, Unfiltered Embarrassment.

Susan and Hannah still hadn’t stopped being suspicious, but you had managed to redirect most of their attention onto a very detailed discussion about which professor was the scariest.

"McGonagall."

"No way, Snape."

"Flitwick."

"…Flitwick?"

"You’ve never seen him angry. I have. It was horrifying."

You were just starting to think you’d actually get through the day undetected when the absolute worst thing possible happened.

Flint.

Marcus fucking Flint.

One of the dumbest, most obnoxious Slytherins in existence.

You didn’t even see him coming.

One second, you were minding your business, strolling along, successfully avoiding any and all suspicious activity.

The next?

A rough hand yanked the hood off your head.

"Oi, L/N, what are you hiding—"

Silence.

The courtyard froze.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

Oh, no.

Your friends stared.

The Hufflepuffs around you stared.

The entire courtyard stared.

Because right there, in broad daylight, your previously normal hair was now a very, very noticeable shade of blonde—except for the bold dark green streak running through it.

Your soulmark.

That exact shade of dark green.

Slytherin green.

Mattheo-and-Theodore green.

Susan's jaw dropped.

Hannah gasped.

Cedric, to his credit, didn’t look that surprised—just vaguely amused.

But Flint?

Flint howled with laughter. "OH, THIS IS RICH! L/N’S BEEN SOULMATED TO A SLYTHERIN—"

You did not let him finish.

Nope.

Absolutely NOT.

Instead, fueled by pure, raw panic, you pulled out your wand, muttered something under your breath—

And disapparated.

One second, you were in the courtyard, standing in front of way too many people.

The next, you were gone.

Vanished.

Just poof.

─────────

Hufflepuff Dormitory, Five Minutes Later

You were not hyperventilating.

Okay, you were, but no one needed to know that.

You were pacing back and forth in your dorm, hands buried in your traitorous hair, breathing way too fast.

"This is bad. This is so bad. This is—FUCK—this is really bad—"

Cedric walked in, looking entirely unsurprised to find you in full meltdown mode. "You vanished in front of half the school."

"Yes, Cedric, I am aware."

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "So, what’s your plan?"

"My plan?" You let out a deranged laugh, spinning to face him. "My plan is to fake my death, move to a small cottage in the woods, and never be seen again."

"That’s not a plan," he pointed out, far too calmly.

"It is if you commit."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"You could just talk to them."

You stopped pacing to glare at him. "Oh, wow, what an idea, Cedric. Talking. Genius. Brilliant. Too bad I have crippling anxiety and would rather gouge my eyes out."

Cedric sighed. "Okay, so what are you going to do?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then—

An idea.

A glorious, absolutely stupid idea.

You turned to your trunk, rummaging through it until you found your wand and one of your old spellbooks.

Cedric raised a brow. "Y/N…?"

You flipped through the pages frantically. "There’s a hair-dyeing spell in here somewhere—I know there is—aha!"

Your finger landed on the page.

"Here! This! Temporary. Quick. Lasts about a day. Perfect."

Cedric blinked. "You’re going to—what? Hide it?"

"Yes."

"With a spell that lasts one day?"

"YES."

He stared at you.

Then sighed. "I don’t know why I expected anything else."

─────────

Back in the Great Hall

While you were busy spiraling, the entire school was losing its collective shit.

The moment you vanished, the courtyard had erupted.

The whispers spread fast.

And within minutes, the whole castle knew:

You, the beloved Hufflepuff, notorious single person, widely believed to be soulmate-less—was actually tethered to two of Slytherin’s most infamous students.

"You have got to be joking."

Pansy, still sitting at the Slytherin table, was staring at Mattheo and Theodore.

"He literally teleported away," Draco said, sipping his tea. "That’s how panicked he was."

Lorenzo whistled. "Damn. That’s impressive."

"We need to talk to him," Theodore said, his normally calm demeanor just slightly off-kilter.

Mattheo was already grinning. "Oh, definitely."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, I hope you two have a good plan, because Y/N is probably halfway to Albania by now."

Mattheo just cracked his knuckles. "Don’t worry, Pans. We’ll find him."

And when they did?

You were not getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You woke up the next morning with a single, hopeful thought:

Maybe it was all a dream.

Maybe your hair was still normal. Maybe you hadn’t accidentally revealed your soulmark to half the school. Maybe you hadn’t literally disapparated in front of everyone like a fucking lunatic.

Maybe.

You slowly reached for your wand on your nightstand, hesitated, then conjured a mirror in your shaking hand.

Then, you looked.

Your heart sank.

The spell had worn off.

The bright green streak was back, glaringly obvious against your blonde hair.

You let out a slow, defeated sigh.

"Fuck."

"Still there?"

You flinched so hard you nearly fell out of bed. "CEDRIC—"

"Sorry," he said, entirely not sorry as he leaned against the doorway. "But considering you screamed like a banshee yesterday, I figured I should check in before you self-combust."

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. "This is so bad."

"Oh, definitely."

"Cedric."

"What? You want me to lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he said, deadpan. "It’s completely fine. No one noticed. The entire school is not talking about it. Also, you definitely didn’t magically vanish in front of fifty people."

You glared at him through your fingers. "You’re the worst."

"I am the best. Now get dressed."

"Why?"

"Because if you hide in here forever, Mattheo and Theodore will find you eventually, and you don’t want to know what their reaction will be if you avoid them all day."

You blanched. "Oh, fuck, you’re right."

"Obviously."

"I need to hide."

"No, you need to face them."

"Or I could hide."

"Y/N."

"Cedric."

"I swear to Merlin, if you don’t—"

But you were already flipping through your spellbook again.

"There! Temporary hair-color alteration! Lasts three hours—"

Cedric sighed so hard it sounded like he aged five years. "You’re stalling."

"I like stalling."

"It’s only going to get worse if you don’t talk to them."

"Maybe I want it to get worse."

"You don’t."

You ignored him, casting the spell and watching with relief as the streak disappeared, replaced with your natural hair color.

Cedric just shook his head. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet, a smart idiot, because no one will know—"

─────────

The Great Hall

You walked into breakfast with false confidence.

You were fine.

Your hair looked normal.

Everything was fine.

You sat down at the Hufflepuff table, flashing an overly large grin at your friends. "Morning, everyone!"

"Morning—"

"Why are you so chipper?" Susan asked immediately.

You blinked. "What? No reason."

Hannah squinted. "You’re acting weird."

"Weird? Me? That’s crazy talk!" You laughed, but it was too high-pitched, too forced. "I’m totally normal! Nothing to see here!"

Cedric, sitting beside you, sighed.

Susan’s eyes narrowed. "And why are you still wearing that huge hoodie?"

"Because I like it."

"It’s eighty degrees outside."

"I really like it."

"Y/N."

"What?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!" You shot her another wild grin, your eyes darting across the room.

Unfortunately, your eyes immediately locked onto the Slytherin table.

More unfortunately?

Mattheo and Theodore were already staring at you.

Your breath hitched.

They knew.

You didn’t know how they knew, but they definitely knew.

Mattheo was grinning, sharp and predatory, like he was waiting for you to run.

Theodore was watching you with his usual unreadable expression—calm, controlled, but his gaze felt heavy, like he could see right through you.

You snapped your head back around, facing your plate with great intensity.

Don’t panic. Stay calm. They’re just people. They’re just—

"Oh, my Gods, you’re definitely hiding something."

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice. "NO, I’M NOT."

"You so are," Susan said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Your eyes are darting all over the place and you’re grinning like an absolute maniac—"

"That’s just my face—"

"You’ve got that ‘I just committed arson’ look again."

"I do not—"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell us already—"

And then—

A horrible, terrible, awful voice spoke up from behind you.

"What’s wrong, L/N? Something you don’t want people to see?"

Your stomach dropped.

Flint.

Again.

And before you could even react.

He yanked your hood down.

Again.

Your heart stopped.

Because this time?

Your fucking hair wasn’t hidden.

The room fell silent.

And just like yesterday—

Every single person in the Great Hall stared.

Your brain completely short-circuited.

"Oh," Blaise said from the Slytherin table, his eyes widening. "Holy shit."

"Well," Pansy muttered, staring. "That explains a lot."

"Oh, wow," Lorenzo added, blinking. "That’s…kind of hilarious."

Draco just sipped his tea, unbothered. "Knew it."

Your breathing turned shallow.

"Welp," you said, voice higher than normal. "Guess that’s my cue to—"

You didn’t even finish your sentence before casting another disillusionment spell—

And disappearing.

Again.

Leaving the entire Great Hall in absolute chaos.

And at the Slytherin table, Mattheo and Theodore just exchanged a look.

Then, simultaneously, they stood up.

It was time to find you.

And this time?

You weren’t getting away.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ───

You had exactly two thoughts as you sprinted back to your dorm at breakneck speed:

1. Flint is a dead man walking.

2. I am so, so, so utterly, catastrophically fucked.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you practically threw yourself through the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, ignoring the confused stares of your housemates. You raced up the dormitory stairs, slammed the door behind you, and immediately started hyperventilating.

Think. Think. THINK.

Your cover was blown. Your very obvious, very incriminating soulmate mark had been exposed to the entire school. And, worst of all—

Mattheo and Theodore had seen it.

And they were going to find you.

"Shit, shit, shit," you muttered, pacing like a panicked rodent caught in a trap. "Okay. Okay, Y/N, you can fix this. You just need to—"

You didn’t even know what you needed to do. Hide? Run? Fake your own death?

"Mate."

You whipped around to see Cedric leaning against the doorframe with the most done expression you’d ever seen on his face.

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, I am so serious," you hissed, wild-eyed. "This is life and death, Diggory!"

"No," he corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is you being insanely dramatic about the inevitable."

"There is nothing inevitable about this," you shot back. "I still have time to flee the country—"

"You do not have time to flee the country," he groaned. "And even if you did, Mattheo and Theodore would just hunt you down."

You flinched. "That’s exactly what I’m afraid of."

Cedric just sighed and crossed his arms. "You do realize that the whole point of soulmates is that you’re meant to be together, right?"

"Yes, well, maybe fate should have consulted me first, because I was not prepared for this," you muttered, gripping your hair. "I mean—two? Who the fuck gets two soulmates?!"

"Apparently, you."

"That’s not helpful, Diggory."

"It wasn’t meant to be helpful," he deadpanned.

You groaned again, throwing yourself onto your bed and burying your face in a pillow. "This is a nightmare."

"This is hilarious," Cedric corrected. "And I would kill to see Mattheo and Theodore’s reaction right now."

At that exact moment—

Someone knocked on the dormitory door.

Your entire body went rigid.

Cedric’s eyebrows raised. "That was fast."

You slowly lifted your head from your pillow. "No. No, no, no, no. That is not them. That could be anyone."

Another knock.

This time, louder.

Your soul left your body.

Cedric smirked. "You gonna answer that, or should I?"

"Neither," you whispered in abject horror. "We ignore it. We pretend we’re dead."

"Pretty sure they won’t buy that."

"Well, I’m willing to test that theory—"

"Y/N."

You froze.

Because this time, it wasn’t a knock.

It was a voice.

A deep, smooth, terrifyingly familiar voice.

"Open the door."

Mattheo.

You squeaked.

"We know you’re in there," another voice added, calm and even.

Theodore.

Cedric grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

You whipped around, eyes wild. "CEDRIC, DO NOT OPEN THAT—"

But the bastard had already swung the door open.

You felt your soul exit your body.

Because standing in the doorway, looking directly at you, were Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

And they looked very, very determined.

"Hi, boys," Cedric greeted cheerfully. "Come to collect your runaway soulmate?"

Mattheo smirked. "Oh, absolutely."

Theodore just tilted his head, eyes locked onto you. "You have nowhere to run now, Y/N."

You laughed nervously, scooting backward on your bed. "Okay, okay, let’s just—relax, yeah? Let’s be rational about this—"

Mattheo took a single step forward.

You yelped and scrambled off the bed. "I’m very flattered—honored, even—but I think there’s been a terrible mistake—"

"Oh, there’s no mistake," Theodore interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "You are ours."

Your breath hitched.

Mattheo grinned, dangerous and amused. "And we’re not letting you run anymore, sweetheart."

You felt your entire nervous system short-circuit.

And Cedric?

He just sat back, crossed his arms, and grinned like the smug asshole he was.

"Oh, this is so much better than I imagined."

You were pretty sure your entire nervous system had just crashed and rebooted.

Because Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were standing right there—inside your dormitory—blocking the only exit—and looking at you like you were a cornered rabbit.

Which, to be fair, you were.

You were already mentally preparing your last words, calculating how long it would take to jump out the window and debating whether or not you could survive the fall.

"Y/N," Theodore said calmly, taking a slow step forward. "We just want to talk."

"Do you?" you squeaked, pressing yourself against the nearest desk as if it would swallow you whole and save you from this nightmare. "Because I feel like this is less of a talking situation and more of a trapping me in my own dormitory situation."

Mattheo grinned, dark eyes glittering with amusement. "You say ‘trapping’ like we’re holding you at wandpoint, sweetheart."

"Emotionally, you are!"

Theodore sighed. "Why are you running from us?"

"Uh—self-preservation?"

Mattheo snorted. "Dramatic much?"

"YOU SAY THAT LIKE THIS ISN’T A VERY SERIOUS SITUATION!" You flailed your arms wildly, your breathing coming out erratic as your brain scrambled for an escape plan. "I WOKE UP WITH A SOULMATE MARK! NOT ONE! BUT TWO! THAT’S NOT NORMAL! I’M NOT NORMAL! MY LIFE IS OVER!"

"You’re being a little theatrical," Theodore muttered.

"THEATRICAL?" you shrieked, gesturing at your hair like it had personally betrayed you. "I—LOOK AT THIS! I LOOK LIKE A REJECTED HOUSE ELF!"

Mattheo cackled. "Merlin, I love this guy."

"NO YOU DON’T!" You spun on your heel, calculating your chances of breaking through the door and making a run for it. Spoiler alert: Not good.

Theodore sighed, rubbing his temples. "Y/N, we are literally standing here trying to talk to you. You are making this way harder than it needs to be."

"I’M MAKING IT HARDER?" You gasped, putting a hand to your chest like you were about to have a Victorian-era fainting spell. "Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize waking up with my entire destiny rewritten required a casual conversation over tea and biscuits!"

Mattheo smirked. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It is a terrifying thing!" you corrected. "You two have been together for years! And now—now I just suddenly appear in the equation?!"

"You didn’t just appear," Theodore said, calm and steady as ever. "You were always meant to be a part of this, Y/N."

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LOAD OF COSMIC BULLSHIT!"

You twisted your body, suddenly darting to the left—

—only for strong arms to wrap around your waist and yank you backwards before you even got the chance to move three feet.

"Oh you little shit—" Mattheo laughed, tightening his grip as you kicked and flailed like a deranged cat. "Did you just try to run?"

"CEDRIC DIGGORY, YOU HELP ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" you bellowed, desperately reaching out toward your dormmate, who was watching the entire scene unfold from his bed with an expression of sheer amusement.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Nah, I think I’ll sit this one out."

"TRAITOR!"

"Oh, calm down, sweetheart," Mattheo grinned, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "You act like we’re about to kidnap you."

"YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE!"

"You are so dramatic," Theodore muttered.

"THIS IS A JUSTIFIED REACTION!"

"You’re flailing like a fish," Mattheo added. "It’s kinda adorable."

"STOP CALLING ME ADORABLE, I AM STRUGGLING FOR MY LIFE!"

"Oh my god," Theodore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, just breathe. You’re not dying. You’re not being held hostage. You’re just ours now. That’s all."

"THAT’S ALL?!" You gaped, struggling even harder. "‘That’s all’?! You’re acting like you just told me my schedule has changed, not that my entire FATE HAS BEEN TIED TO TWO OF THE MOST TERRIFYING SLYTHERINS IN EXISTENCE!"

Mattheo smirked. "Terrifying, huh? I like that."

"SHUT UP, RIDDLE!"

"You know," Cedric interrupted, tilting his head thoughtfully, "for someone who’s been single his whole life, you’re really bad at handling affection."

"I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED AFFECTION BEFORE, CEDRIC! THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED TERRITORY!"

"So what I’m hearing is," Mattheo grinned, "we just need to get you used to it."

"NO—"

Before you could scream in protest, Mattheo spun you around, forcing you to face them as Theodore took a step closer, his gaze softer now.

"Y/N," he said, firm yet gentle, "you are ours. Whether you accept it now or later, that fact won’t change. You belong with us."

"That sounds dangerously like a threat," you muttered.

Mattheo chuckled, tilting his head. "More like a promise."

Your stupid, traitorous heart stuttered at the way they were both looking at you.

You took a deep breath.

Then promptly threw yourself onto the floor.

Mattheo blinked. "Did he just—?"

Theodore sighed deeply. "Yes. He did."

Cedric snorted. "Oh, this is gold."

"I’M DEAD!" you announced from the floor, sprawled out dramatically. "You cannot claim me if I'm dead!"

Mattheo just laughed. "Oh, darling, you have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were still on the floor, arms spread out like a tragic hero, contemplating your life choices as Mattheo and Theodore stared down at you.

Mattheo was smirking, his arms crossed, while Theodore looked half-amused, half-exhausted, like he had already aged ten years dealing with your antics.

"Y/N," Theodore sighed. "You cannot just lay there and pretend you’re dead."

"Watch me," you muttered.

"You are so painfully dramatic," Mattheo cackled, nudging your leg with his foot. "C’mon, sweetheart. Get up before someone steps on you."

"I am the floor now. The floor and I are one. I have embraced my fate."

Cedric, still sitting comfortably on his bed, chuckled. "So, is this just how you’re planning to handle your entire soulmate situation? Just...playing dead?"

"YES!"

"That’s not a bad plan," Mattheo mused, stroking his chin. "Bit flawed though. ‘Cause y’know, we’re not leaving you alone, sweetheart."

"You say that like it’s a good thing!"

"It is," Theodore said, deadpan. "And you’re going to have to accept it eventually."

You made a pained noise, covering your face with your hands. "I don’t know how to be a soulmate! I’ve been single my whole life! I was mentally prepared to be a lone wolf forever! The universe did not prepare me for two soulmates, let alone you two!"

"So what you’re saying is," Mattheo grinned, "you were ready to be miserable forever, but now that you actually have soulmates, you’re just freaking out instead."

"YES!"

Theodore let out a long, suffering sigh, like he was praying for patience. "Y/N, you’re acting like we’re asking you to perform some kind of ancient ritual. You’re our soulmate. That’s it. You don’t have to ‘be’ anything except yourself."

You peeked at him between your fingers. "But you two already have each other. What if I just—mess everything up?"

At that, Mattheo’s smirk softened, and Theodore’s eyes turned gentler.

"You won’t," Theodore said, calm and steady, like he was stating a fact rather than a hope.

"We wouldn’t be bonded to you if you weren’t meant to be ours," Mattheo added. "The universe is a bitch, but it’s not wrong."

You groaned, kicking your legs against the floor like a toddler. "You guys are making this too real! Let me have my panic, dammit!"

Mattheo laughed, and before you could protest, he scooped you up off the ground, hauling you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"WHAT THE HELL, RIDDLE? PUT ME DOWN!"

"Nah," Mattheo grinned. "You had your fun. Now it’s our turn."

"THIS IS LITERAL KIDNAPPING!"

"Nope, just soulmate bonding," Theodore said smoothly, walking beside Mattheo as if this was completely normal. "And considering how much you’ve avoided us, we have a lot to catch up on."

"CEDRIC, CALL THE MINISTRY! I’M BEING TAKEN!"

Cedric just grinned, waving lazily. "Have fun, Y/N."

"YOU’RE THE WORST, DIGGORY!"

"Love you too, mate!"

You screamed dramatically, kicking your feet, but Mattheo just laughed, tightening his hold on you like he was never letting go.

And the worst part?

Despite all your protests—despite your chaotic, overdramatic panic—

There was a small, traitorous part of you that didn’t want him to.

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