#Losing my transfiguration...

[viaphni]

the little doodles on my music notes go crazy

[llegato]

this drawing better turn out good bro ive spent almost 9 hours on this mediocre ass lineart

[agreeewrites]

A Weekend at the Weasley's | G.W.

feat. George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you and george become best friends after a poorly timed prank. george has been pestering you for weeks to stay with him at the Burrow for a weekend over the holidays, and you finally cave.

cw: smut (MDNI 18+), dead parents, pining, Percy being a weirdo, quidditch injury and bruising, george still has two ears and a twin, lots of dirty talk and petnames, equal parts fluff and smut

an: george and reader are over eighteen in this fic. timeline is def wrong. but who caaaaaaares bc it's not me!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ �� ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“C’mon, feathers,” George begged, shifting from his place on the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“George, I don’t—”

“Would I ever put you in harm’s way?”

You scoffed. “Well, there was the time you lit my potions homework on fire, and the time you transfigured my chocolate frog into an actual frog. Or the time you and Fred—”

“Besides that!” He huffed, resting his chin on your knees, blinking up at you with round eyes. “Pleeeeaaasssseee, y/n? Come to the Burrow with me.”

You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam. You couldn’t deny George was handsome, most girls at Hogwarts fawned over him or his twin, or both. But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.

“Bloody hell. Fine!” You shoved him off of you to escape his puppy-eyed trap.

“Yes!” He whooped, jumping to his feet. “It’s about time my mum meets my best girl—shit!”

You chucked your Potions books at his head. “Not your girl,” you huffed.

“Says you,” he teased, returning the book to you before flopping back down on the red couch, legs draped across your lap.

“Read the damn pages, Weasley.”

You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished. George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.

When George set his mind to something, he was stubborn as an ox.

And, despite yourself, you wanted to spend a few more days with him. You loved the Weasley siblings you’d met at school, and heard countless tales of Molly Weasley’s unbelievable Sunday roasts. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

You were reserved by a nature, a studious and creative Ravenclaw from a muggle household. All things that stood at odds with one, ginger-haired George Weasley. But when a prank in fourth year set for Professor Snape backfired on you, his top student, and ruined your robes, the twins felt so awful they’d taken you to the Three Broomsticks for what George dubbed a “Butterbeer of Forgiveness”.

An unexpected friendship bloomed, and you’d been close with the twin’s ever since, George in particular. You loved Fred, and had countless memories with him, but you and George connected on a deeper level. From the moment you’d met, it was as if you’d always known one another. You could read him almost as well as Fred could, and George could read you better than anyone.

It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.

And when he called you things like his ‘best girl’, it turned your knees to jelly, your mind inside out. There was no way you’d finish your work now.

“I’m going back to the Tower. I have no idea how you Gryffindor’s get any work done with all this gold.” You stuffed your books into you back and stood, adjusting your robes.

“I’ll walk you,” George said, tossing his book aside. It looked like he hadn’t made any progress either.

“No, no. Finish your work. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, bags packed.”

“It’s a date!” He called as you walk away, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“My darlings!” Molly cooed, collecting her youngest two children into a massive hug at the train station terminal. You hid behind George, hoping somehow that she’d overlook your presence entirely. But of course, George wasn’t having it.

“Mum, this is y/n!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and thrust you out in front.

“George,” you hissed, but Molly was already upon you.

“Oh, y/n! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We were absolutely delighted when George’s letter arrived telling us you’d be accompanying him,” she chirped, fussing with your h/c hair and blue and bronze scarf.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, smiling at her and her quieter husband, who was busy chatting with Harry and Ron.

George slung an arm over your shoulder, wafting his cinnamon-y cologne over you. “Shall we?”

You scowled up at him as he dragged you along behind his family, oblivious to your hesitation, or willfully ignoring it.

The crowded car ride home was chaotic, with everyone speaking loudly over one another, George and Fred the loudest of all in either ear, and by the time you arrived, you heart was thrumming loudly in your head, your chest tight with anxiety.

All you could think about was throwing yourself out of the car door and running back to Hogwarts on foot.

Everyone poured out of the car, bounding across the lawn and up to the slightly crooked, red-roofed home, smoke buffeting cheerfully from the many chimneys.

“Y/n?” George said, pausing when he realized you weren’t in step beside him. Something in your expression gave you away, and his smile fell. “Hey, what is it?” he asked, jogging back towards you and placing his hands on your arms.

“I, it’s…” words failed you as emotion pinched your throat.

“Too much?” he asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, shame scorching your cheeks as you looked down at your feet. The tips of his boots were touching yours, so much larger, a worn brown leather juxtaposing your shining black.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “It means a lot to me that you’re here, even if it’s a bit overwhelming. But, hey—” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at his handsome, wind-bitten face. “They love you already.”

“You told them about me?” You asked, your nerves alchemizing from wasps to butterflies.

“Of course I did.” He chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re probably sick to death of hearing about you, honestly.”

“Like how I’ve been tutoring you in Potions for two years?” you taunted.

“I’m sure they assumed after I told them your were the brightest witch in our year.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, ginger hair falling across his brow, and your heart gave a new sort of thump. One that made you a bit queasy with it’s intensity.

“I don’t know about brightest,” you argued as he tucked you under his arm once again, leading you toward the open front door.

“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Help me with these rolls.” She tugged you down the hall, leaving George to be ambushed by his brothers.

“Who’s the eagle?” You heard what you assumed it be the eldest ask before you were whisked into the hearth-like kitchen.

Twenty minutes later and you were back at George’s side, sandwiched between him and Ginny at the dinner table, while everyone fought for a foothold in the conversation.

George’s thigh was warm against your own, familiar and grounding, and you resisted the urge to lean into him fully for shelter. Dutifully, he started filling both of your plates as dishes went by, allowing you to sit and take it all in. He snagged the bowl of garlic potatoes from Ron and added a giant scoop to your plate, knowing they were your favorite.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to him, and he gave your shoulder a light bump in response.

“So, y/n. George mentioned you’re a Potions whiz?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of roll.

Heat crept up your neck as everyone’s attention swiveled to you. “It’s my favorite subject, yes sir,” you answered sheepishly.

“She passed her Potions O.W.L. in fourth year,” George said proudly, beaming down at you. “She’s onto custom lesson plans with Snivelus now.”

“George!” Molly corrected, but he only laughed.

“That’s impressive,” Percy said, nodding at you from across the table. “Brilliant and beautiful.”

“I, uh, thanks,” you stutter, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.

George stiffened, but his smile never wavered. “That she is.”

“So, what do your parents do? Were they in Ravenclaw as well?” Arthur asked.

The blood drained from your face. You had so hoped this wouldn’t come up.

George’s hand fell onto your leg, his long fingers looping around your pinky and twining your hand with his. “She lives with her grandparents. Muggles,” George said, the finality in his tone ensuring there would be no further questions.

Arthur stuttered an apology, and the rest of the table looked away nervously. But Molly smiled proudly at her son, a slightly flush to her round cheeks.

Again, your heart gave that brutal pang, and your hand squeezed his a little more tightly.

The meal continued on, and you blessedly fell into the background while the other’s talked about their work and the school year. Or, you at least thought you fell into the background, but every time you glanced up, you found Percy’s gaze lingering on you, hawkish.

You had met the third eldest brother on many occasions, as he often escorted you from the Gryffindor common room to the Tower when curfew struck. But he’d never looked at you like that. And frankly, it made your skin crawl.

You weren’t naive. You knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, all of the things that drew a wandering eye. But Percy was far from someone you’d be interested in. And you were here with George, after all, even if it was for purely platonic reasons.

You shifted a little when Percy’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, and accidentally alerted George to your discomfort. He leaned down towards you, his height ensuring your head barely reached his shoulder.

“Okay, feathers?” He murmured, but caught Percy flinching his gaze away at the same moment. “Percy bothering you?” he whispered, and you shook your head no. An obvious lie by the way you shifted marginally closer to George when Percy’s gaze returned. “I’ll handle it.” George straightened, slipping back into his ongoing conversation with Fred and Charlie, but you felt his hand skim past your leg, brushing against your calf as he reached for his wand.

The contact sent a tremor through your muscles, your nerves stretching towards every point of contact with him until it was all you could think about.

“George, what are you—”

He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.

Everyone but you and the twins scrambled up, Molly quickly tossing the cauldron of water at Percy’s pants.

“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”

You hide your snicker behind your hand, the last of your anxiety unraveling. George was with you, you were safe.

Once the fire was out, dinner was disbanded with the twins being sentenced to dishes duty, since it had to be one of them that set their brother’s trousers on fire. You were whisked off on a house tour by Ginny, who eagerly showed you the in’s and out’s of the Burrow until you were dragging your feet, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But you had to admit that you were feeling more at ease, the Burrow and it’s residents wrapping around you like a favorite blanket.

You collapsed into bed just after midnight, a flickering glow in your chest, and a red-haired trickster in your thoughts.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Two more days passed at the Weasley residence, filled with games, oversized meals, books, and antics. There was never a dull moment with the twins and Charlie around.

But the best part, by far, was watching George’s mischevious walls come down, and seeing the softer, more relaxed version of him step forth. He was a devoted brother and son, often forgoing his own needs to help his mother reach something in the kitchen, or offer Ron a bit of girl advice. He spent many hours in deep conversation with is father and older brothers, speaking to a wide breadth of subjects you had no idea he had any knowledge about.

George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.

You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.

He seemed older somehow, more mature than you’d ever given him credit for, and it was undoing the years of resolve you’d cultivated to preserve your friendship.

It didn’t help that he constantly referred to you as ‘his girl’, and any number of tooth-aching pet names. Could he really mean it? You always assumed it was part of some joke you were the butt of, but now…

“George and y/n!” Molly called across the dinner table, breaking you from your thoughts. “Dishes, please!”

Your heart skipped a beat. You and George hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived, and you were eager to soak up some undivided attention.

“Yes, ma’am,” George said cheerfully, rising to start collecting the plates. You hopped up to join him, and everyone else filtered out of the kitchen, arguing about what game to play that evening.

You scrapped while he scrubbed, and fell into easy conversation about the past few days.

“My mum really loves you, y’know,” he said, dunking a plate under the soapy water. “Dad too. He was raving about your thoughts on electric kettles yesterday.”

“I like them a lot too,” you replied, turning to hide your blush while tossing a half-eaten roll in the bin.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at you. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know I sort of forced you to come, and then you were so anxious. And I know the house is loud and drafty, and the meals are a bit chaotic, and fucking Percy can’t keep his damn eyes to himself—”

Not knowing how else to soothe his worries, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, derailing his rant into stunned silence.

“I’m really glad you brought me, Georgie,” you said, holding his wide-eyed expression for a moment before reaching for another dish.

He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Tell me if I’ve misread this,” he murmured, tilting your head up towards him, his lips close enough that you could feel his warm breath across your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

Your heart galloped away, your mind turning to goo as the full scope of his longing came into focus. Heat unspooled through you at the way he angled your head to accommodate his towering frame, in complete control, but giving you every opportunity to stop him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gave a small shake of your head. No, please don’t stop.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his nose brushing against yours as he drew you closer. You pressed your body to his, desperate for his solidity, his warmth, as you trembled with anticipation. He guided your hand to rest around his neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair.

“George,” you breathed, his name a plea, a desperate prayer.

He closed the last millimeter of distance, caressing your lips with his, a delicate, wishful kiss. More cautious than you’d ever seen him. You tightened your grip on his hair, rising onto your toes to kiss him back a bit harder.

You felt the tension in his body unwind and his hand grasped your waist, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, teasing, promising, and your bones turned to mush, your lower belly fluttering with excitement.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. “Father has requested that y/n joins him for a cuppa before the chess tourney begins. Something about doorbells?”

“Oh! Of course!” You replied, dropping the dish into the sink and drying your hands on the towel over the stove. “Thanks, Bill!” You hurry past the eldest Weasley son, cheeks absolutely flaming.

You could barely hold a conversation with Arthur, to fixated on the way your body hummed in the wake of his son’s touch. You were eager to finish what you’d started, but by the time you and Arthur emerged from his study, George was wrapped up in a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron.

George’s eyes tracked you as you moved into the room, perching on an armchair by the fireplace. Bill shook his head, elbowing Charlie, who chuckled into his whiskey.

“Y/n, want to play against me?” Fred asked from his spot on the floor, crisscross in front of a chessboard on the coffee table.

“Sure,” you said, happy for the distraction.

“Losers rotate out until the winners from each table play one another,” Fred explained as you sat across from him. “Percy always wins, but he’s sulking in his room.” Fred winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Quickly, you lose yourself in the game, and it doesn’t take long before you have Fred’s Queen cornered, a path to victory clear. In a final move, you take Fred’s Queen and win the game in ten minutes flat.

“Merlin, she kicked your ass!” Ron shouted, and the room bursts into laughter.

You flushed under the praise and start reorganizing the pieces. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked toward George, but found he was already looking at you, a warmth in his dark eyes that made your hands quit working, and you knocked over the piece you just arranged.

“My turn!” Ginny said, shoving Fred out of the way.

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” George asked, rising to his feet after swiftly defeating Harry.

A chorus of no’s rang out, but you’re already absorbed into the game, finding that Ginny was much better at chess than Fred. You started to make your third move, finding an opening, when you felt a calloused hand brush along the side of your neck, sliding beneath your hair to rest heavily against your skin.

“Need anything, love?” George whispered in your ear, and the blood rushed from your head, leaving you vaguely dizzy, eyes sparkling when you blinked up at him.

“N-no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you stuttered.

“A tea would be nice, darling brother!” Ginny said, jerking you back to the present, and the move you forgot entirely.

“Coming right up.” George’s hand squeezed your neck lightly before falling away, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

The rest of the night carried on like that, lingering glances and scalding touches, the heat between the two of you bordering on incendiary.

You were taking a small break from kicking Weasley ass when Percy emerged from his room, leveling a challenging glare at George. “I’ll take next round,” he said, fixing Charlie with a look.

“Fine.” George made his final move, knocking over Charlie’s queen. “Have a seat.”

Charlie vacated the spot, muttering something about ‘fucking dorks’, and Percy sat across from his younger brother. The energy shifted in the room, going from jovial and teasing to almost hostile. Weasley’s were competitive by nature, the twins in particular, but the tension heightened considerably beyond that as they sized each other up.

Piece by piece, they started moving around the board, an even match as far as you could tell. But based on the murmurings of the family, Percy was off his game a bit, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the way his eyes kept drifting back towards you.

Interesting, you thought, rising from your place on the couch to circle their table, feigning curiosity in the game. Percy visibly tensed, his eyes darting from you to the board and back again. George, however, relaxed, his typical cocky demeanor easing back into his body language.

Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.

You knew George noted it but he opted for a subtler move, then leaned back in his chair to watch Percy squirm, a slight smirk on his face. When Percy realized what he’d done, he flushed with irritation, his shoulders squared and tight.

And for my final move…

You leaned down to George, nearly resting your chin on his shoulder. His spiced cologne greeted you, tinged with the cinnamon punch of the firewhiskey he’d been sipping on throughout the games. “I didn’t know you were so good at Wizard’s Chess,” you murmured, close enough that your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

His smirk grew as Percy fidgeted, unable to pick a move, struggling to not stare down your sweater. “I have many talents you’ve yet to experience,” he replied, voice low enough that only you could hear him. A thrill rushed through you, so you bowed out before you took things too far, leaving George to deal the killing blow.

Shortly after, you won your final match against Bill, who you suspected threw the game in your favor, and suddenly it was you sitting across from George, the whole family crowded around the table, watching with bated breath.

“Hello, darling,” George cooed, smiling.

“Weasley,” you clipped, all business.

His eyes flashed at the challenge, and he took a slow sip of whiskey. “Ladies first,” he said, setting the glass down.

You started him off easy, confident that you had this in the bag. George was smart, but most of his skill came from his ability to disarm, not his ability to play chess. You, as it so happened, were skilled at both.

It didn’t take long for George’s cocky smirk to fall, his brow to knit together with focus as you guided him slowly into a trap of your own design.

His brow suddenly quirked up, the corner of his mouth lifting, you knew you’d been caught.

“Clever girl,” he purred, moving his Rook and collapsing the trap you’d spent ten rounds constructing. “Almost had me,” he taunted, leaning back in his chair. His legs reached all the way across to yours in his languid position, his sock feet tapping absently against the legs of your chair.

You only hummed in response, crossing your legs. While searching the board, you stretched your stocking-covered foot towards him, sliding it along the inside of his calf. His muscles tensed for a moment, his eyes widening a fraction, before he settled down, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.

You’d never seen your sweet, good-natured friend look so menacing.

“I should know better than to play chess with a Ravenclaw,” he said, making a weak play with a pawn. “Starting to feel like I don’t stand a chance.”

His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“I don’t know,” you said, stealing the pawn and trapping his King. “You’re doing better than I expected for a younger twin.”

A chorus off oooh’s met your dig, and George huffed a laugh before freeing his King. “You’ll regret that,” he warned with a devilish smile.

“And you’ll regret that.” George fell right into your trap. You skirted his King, stealing his Queen right out from under him. His jaw dropped, and the family erupted into cheers.

“We have a new champion!” Molly cheered, hauling you up to celebrate.

You grinned, allowing them to parade you around. George smiled up at you, a real, proud smile, and it made your stomach somersault. Then, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, rattling the house on it’s structure.

“Alright, enough excitement! Everyone off to bed!” Molly ordered. George’s eyes locked on you, gauging what you would do next. For the first time, you cursed sharing a room with Ginny, and cursed Fred for being born.

As everyone grabbed their things and scattered off to bed, George managed to catch you at the second stair landing before Ginny’s room, startling you.

“Well played, feathers,” he said, brushing his fingertips over your forearm as he looks up at you.

“You were a formiddable opponent.” You shivered under his touch, the heat from earlier instantly flaring back to life.

He stepped up a stair, bringing himself a head taller than you, close enough that you could smell the fire whiskey on his lips.

Could I taste it too?

“Goodnight, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breezing past you and bounding up the next set of steps to his shared room with Fred.

You leaned against the wall to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. This was not the turn you expected this trip to take, but you couldn’t pretend that a part of you hadn’t wished for it. That it wasn’t why you tried so hard to avoid the trip all together.

But now that you and George had crossed that line, you couldn’t imagine what you’d been so afraid of. You only wished you’d done it sooner.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The following morning, you’re one of the last to drift down to the kitchen, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, too worked up to sleep properly. You rounded the corner and come to a stop, surprised to find George alone in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Good morning.” You padded towards him, accepting the coffee cup from his outstretched hand. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, blowing gently on the steaming brew.

“Didn’t,” he said, shifting closer to you. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, or lackthereof, his expression soft and voice gravelly.

“Why not?” You asked, taking a tentative sip before setting the mug down on the counter.

“Couldn’t stop thinking...” He dipped his head towards you, his nose brushing your temple.

“About?” The word came out breathless, the coil of want you'd been battling all night tightening with a vengeance.

“What it would feel like to kiss you again,” he murmured, kicking your heart into overdrive.

“And why don’t you?” Your hand creeped along his t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his abdomen sculpted by years of Quiddtich.

“Gotta set up the pitch. We’re playing this afternoon.” His demeanor shifted, all playful and energetic innocence. “See you out there!” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then hurried outside, leaving you wet and bewildered in the overheated kitchen.

An hour later, you were perched precariously on an old broom, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Ginny rocketed past you with ease, nearly throwing you off balance.

“I think you need a new nickname,” George teased, steadying you. “Feathers may not be apt.”

You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.

Soon, the game was in full swing, with you, Ron, Fred, and Charlie against George, Ginny, Harry, and Bill. You had only ever ridden a broom in first year, so you were massively out of your depth.

You were given the role of Seeker, opposite Harry, and had no hope of accomplishing a damn thing. Harry was like lightning on his Firebolt, and you bobbed around like a lame pigeon.

Thankfully, none of them seemed to be taking the game very seriously. You were content to float around the property, occasionally remembering that you we're supposed to be looking for something small and golden.

After awhile the boys started to get rowdier, pushing and shoving and bludgeoning.. You tried to steer clear, watching George whack the hell out of any bludger that dare cross his airspace. You would not want to be on the other end of one of those.

“Y/n, watch out!” Ginny cried.

You looked back from where you were staring off into space, just in time to see George barreling towards you, a bludger about five feet in front of him.

You tried to move, to steer the broom literally anywhere, but it wouldn't cooperate. At the last second you managed to pull up, but not far enough. The bludger hit you square in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs and nearly forcing up your breakfast with the power of it. Stars danced behind your eyes, your grip began to slip from the handle as darkness raced towards you.

Something else slammed into you, wrapping itself around you—

“Y/n? Baby, are you alright?” George. You could tell you were moving, but couldn't seem to make your eyes focus, keep your body from trembling. Your cheeks were wet, the breeze frigid against your damp skin. Am I crying?

Then you were on the ground, blessed ground, and then you were up again, cradled against George's chest.

He was shouting at someone you couldn't see. “I swear on fucking Dumbledore, I'm going to beat you bloody with that fucking bat—”

“George!”

“Get her some ice,” he barked at someone else. “I'm right here, love, you're okay. Just try and breathe.”

You clung to his dampening shirt, the shock and pain keeping you teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You could hear other people talking, but your whole world narrowed to two points: George's heartbeat and the blinding pain radiating from your stomach.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, barely recognizing the pitiful sound of your own voice.

“I know, love. I know. I’ve got you, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. A moment later, he laid you on the couch, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.

Molly passed something into George's hands. “For the pain,” she whispered.

George crouched down next to you, holding the edge of the cup to your lips. “Take a sip, sweetheart.” You shook your head, your Potions safety training overpowering your reason. “Please, y/n. Let me take the pain away.”

You took a small sip, the tea pungent and floral, but immediately the edges of the pain began to soften. But the relief was short-lived. Exhaustion followed close behind it, dragging you down into a dreamless sleep.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you come to, the Weasley house was dark around you. The only light came from the moon spilling through window panes and the smoldering fire across from the couch.

A light snore drew your attention, and you looked up to see George above you, his head lolled onto the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. Your head was resting in his lap, his sweater piled under your head as pillow, and his large hand was stretched across your stomach, fingers splayed from your ribs to your hip bones.

God, your stomach. You moved to sit up, memories of earlier filtering through the fading grogginess of the Potion Molly gave you, but surprisingly, your stomach was only a little sore. More like an overexerted muscle than rearranged organs and cracked ribs.

George stirred, lifting his head to peer at your through half-closed lids.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, sweeping a strand of red hair from his brow.

He came fully awake then, straightening. “How do you feel?” He asked, caressing your cheek, then running his hands over your arms, your ribs, the swell of your hips.

“The Potion did its job, I feel mostly fine,” you said, catching his hands to stop their exploration, and the buzzy desire they coaxed to life.

“Are you sure?” His features softened with relief, his fingers twining with yours.

“I'm sure. Thank you for saving me.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the slight protest in your abdomen muscles.

“Always,” George said, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I'm sorry I wasn't close enough to stop it from hitting you in the first place. It happened so fast—”

“Love, it wasn't your fault,” you shushed, reaching out to cup his face and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone.

“I just…” he trailed off, leaning into your palm. “I always want to be there to protect you. Or for whatever you else you might need. Do you need anything now? Water, tea? Are you hungry? You missed dinner—”

“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”

Desire eclipsed the worry on his face, his eyes shading. “Are you sure you're not in pain? No fogginess or headaches—”

You leaned in and kissed him, a light, floaty peck, silencing his incessant questioning. You appreciated his concern, but there were other parts of you that needed his attention far more. He immediately took charge of the kiss, shifting his weight to lay you back onto the couch. His body rested heavily between your thighs, his mouth devouring yours in fervent, searing kisses.

His tongue lapped at your bottom lip and you opened for him, allowing him to take everything he sought. He kissed you like he didn't know if he'd get another chance, like he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment. It stole your breath, made your toes curl and your pussy pulse with excitement, slick already collecting between your thighs.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a soft grunt in appreciation. His hips canted forward a fraction, though it seemed he was holding himself back. His lips traveled along your jaw, down the valley of your throat with teasing licks and love bites and you arched into him, a moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.

“How long?” you asked, breathless, raking your fingers through his hair while he nursed a mark just under your right tit.

He looked up at you through is lashes, his lips leaving your skin with a pop. “Since that night at the Three Broomsticks,” he said, shifting upwards so he could look you in the eye.

“The ‘Butterbeer of Forgiveness’?” You mouth fell open, shock rocking through you.

He snickered. “Of course, why do you think I kept sending Fred to the bar?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against your skin.

“I—” his voice caught, his gaze averting from you. “I loved you too much to risk losing you.”

Elation soared through you, and you couldn’t stop the smile that split your face. “George,” you said, bumping your nose against his. His eyes flicked back to you, watery and rimmed with red. “I love you too.”

His smile was like the first sun after an endless winter, and he kissed you like the first torrential rain of spring. The heat of summer came quickly though, and soon you were gasping for him again, your hips pressing against the hard ridge in his pants.

“Need you,” you whined into his mouth.

“I’m here, love.” He kissed down your throat again, pausing for only a moment to nip at your taught nipples through your shirt before continuing his downward decent. “Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug down your jeans, exposing your sodden red panties to his greedy eyes. “Gryffindor red, huh?” he teased, and you threw your arms over your face to hide your blush. “All for me?”

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

“It’s a shame I’ll have to ruin them.’

“What—” Riiiip! The cold air lapped against your slick pussy, chased by the heat of George’s tongue as he dragged it through your folds. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shhh,” he warned, before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.

You bit down on the back of your wrist to keep from crying out when he switched from licking to sucking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing. He moved down, flattening his tongue against your entrance and collecting the wetness that pooled there. He gave a light hum of pleasure that had your eyes crossing, his tongue delving deeper in search of another taste.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

You very nearly cried out, having to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Pleasure shot through you, singeing your nerves and liquifying your muscles. So quickly you were unraveling for him, going stupid under his ministrations.

A long digit prodded at your entrance, collecting some wetness before easing inside of you. Your cunt welcomed him gladly, clamping down around his finger.

“Merlin, baby. You're so tight,” he panted, shifting to watch you take another one of his fingers, slick already running into his palm. “Relax, love. Shh, “ he soothed, curling his fingers to pet the inside of your walls, making your mind go blank as bliss washed through you. “That's it, darling. Just like that.”

The knot in your stomach began to wind tighter, burning through you as you fought to relax, to be good for him. But your orgasm was so fucking close, just a little more—

His lips found your clit again, sucking in time with your racing heart as his fingers coaxed you open, and the knot severed. Your peak slammed into you, stealing your breath so you couldn't even cry out to warn him, to sing his praises the way he deserved. Your muscles locked, your cunt bearing down as him as pleasure tore through you until you could do nothing but shiver beneath him.

“Shit, y/n. That was fucking beautiful,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and lapping up the release coating him to the wrist. “You alright?” He shifted upwards, kissing your bruised abdomen before pecking your lips, your eyes still glassy and unfocused.

“I've never come that hard,” you pant, throwing your arms around his neck and raining kisses over his slick-soaked face. “What the fuck.”

He chuckled, flushing under your attention. “Happy to oblige.”

You caught the last word in your mouth, kissing him deeply, desperately. Your body was already keying itself up again, and by the twitching length against your hip, he was desperate for you too.

He hooked an arm under your back and hauled you up to straddle his lap, his back pressed against the couch. “This okay?” He asked, sliding his rough hands under your shirt to skate along your skin.

You nodded, rolling your hips to drag your bare pussy along the bulge in his jeans, a skitter of pleasure making your breath hitch.

“Fuck, y/n,” he hissed, hips bucking up against you.

“Yes, please fuck me.” You kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear lobe, reaching between your bodies to find his zipper.

He did the same, helping you undo the button and tug down the zipper, his cock springing free from his boxers. The head nudged against your clit, hard and heated, and you whimpered.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he lifted you slightly, guiding the head to your dripping entrance. Slowly, he eased you down into him, your pussy more than ready to accommodate his length. A rough groan resounded from his chest, and you silenced it with another kiss. His cock stretched you open, hitting that spongy, sinful spot before sliding deeper until he bottomed out, the head nudging your cervix.

“So fucking tight, baby. Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice strained.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whine, grinding your hips against his.

George buried his face into your neck, stifling a moan. His grip loosened, allowing you to start lifting and lowering yourself, riding him slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it dragged through you.

“M’not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warned, mouthing at your neck with sloppy kisses.

You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.

His lifted up again only to snap his hips against yours, his hands a vice on your waist as he started pounding into you from below.

“Oh, fuck, Georgie—”

“Quiet, love. You don't want the whole house to hear how good I make you feel, do you?”

You nodded, a whine escaping through your teeth. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth, silencing the sound and infringing on your air supply, callouses rubbing against your kiss-swollen skin.

“I’d love nothing more than for Percy to hear you screaming for me, but this is just for us,” he whispered, breathless as he fucked into you. “Gonna come for me again?”

Your fingers dug into the couch, another peak racing towards you. You bounced with his movements, desperately chasing your high, the ache in your abdomen long forgotten.

“That's it, love. Fuck, m’gonna come.” He threw his head back, a strangled groan accompanying the kick of his cock inside you, stretching your further before pumping you full of his release.

The hot surge of his orgasm sent you flying over the edge, ecstasy pulling your under while your cunt milked him dry with vicious pulls. You muffled your cry into his shoulder as he fucked you through it, until you both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly spent and panting.

His lips found your forehead, your temple, his hands gliding along your spine, over your hips, soothing you as you trembled against him.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I can't believe you're here with me.”

You grazed the racing pulse under his jaw with your nose. “I love you, too.” It was exhilarating to say, almost as thrilling as the orgasm you just shared, a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.

“I suppose.” You giggled, pecking the corner of his smirk.

The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.

“Waiting for Ron,” Fred supplied from the kitchen.

“Who’s waiting for me—oh fuck.” Ron stopped dead at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his pajamas, staring wide eyed at George, or more specifically, the bat in his hand.

“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.

Ron took off up the stairs, their steps thundering through the house as George gave chase.

“George! Shit,” you huffed, glancing at the rest of the family who'd come to see what the fuss was about.

“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”

Your cheeks flamed, but they only met you with warm hugs and laughter, like they'd been expecting this from the beginning.

Crack!

“Ow!”

"That's for hurting my girl, you git."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (5) - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: If there are any specific scenarios you want me to explore, please let me know 🥰

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the fire casting flickering shadows as you slumped over a pile of parchment, feeling like your brain was going to melt. Your Ancient Runes essay looked like gibberish, your Potions notes were a disaster, and Transfiguration theory? Forget it.

And, of course, Mattheo was in detention, meaning your usual study distraction was nowhere to be found.

"You're gonna combust if you keep staring at that essay like that," Theo remarked, lazily watching you from across the room.

Enzo, stretched out on the couch, hummed in agreement. "Yeah, seriously. You need to relax."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "I can't. If I don’t finish this, McGonagall will murder me."

Theo twirled something between his fingers, smirking. "You need to chill."

You shot him a glare. "Brilliant advice, Theo. Got any actual suggestions?"

Instead of answering, he pulled out a cigarette. "Here. Always helps me."

You blinked. "Are you serious?"

Theo smirked. "Dead serious."

Before you could answer, Enzo snorted, shaking his head. "Mate, I give you ten seconds before Mattheo walks in and loses his absolute shit."

Theo chuckled. "Oh, come on. It's one cigarette. What’s the worst that could happen?"

You hesitated, glancing at Enzo, who just grinned like he already knew how this would end.

"...Fine," you muttered, taking it. Theo flicked his lighter, holding it up.

The first inhale was awful—your throat burned, and you immediately coughed.

"Merlin’s beard," you choked, waving the smoke away. "How do you do this?"

Theo just laughed. "You'll get used to it."

Before you could bring it back to your lips to try again, the common room door creaked open.

A wave of tense silence spread as Mattheo walked in, his uniform slightly rumpled from detention, tie hanging loose, sleeves rolled up.

His dark eyes landed on you immediately—and more specifically, on the cigarette between your fingers.

The room might as well have dropped ten degrees.

"The fuck is this?" His voice was low and dangerous.

Theo and Enzo froze, exchanging looks.

You slowly lowered the cigarette, feeling caught. "...Hi, Mattheo."

"Don't hi, Mattheo me princess,” he challenged, stalking over. His gaze flickered between you and Theo. "Since when does you smoke?"

Theo opened his mouth, but Enzo elbowed him. "Told you, mate," Enzo muttered. "Ten seconds."

Mattheo completely ignored them, eyes fixed on you. Before you could even react, he plucked the cigarette from your fingers—but instead of tossing it away like you expected, he brought it to his own lips and took a slow, deep drag.

You stared. Hard.

So did Theo and Enzo.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered.

Mattheo exhaled a stream of smoke, smirking. "What?"

You folded your arms, raising an eyebrow. "Double standards much?"

His smirk only grew as he tilted his head. "Angel, there’s no hope for my soul," he murmured, flicking some ash away. "But you?" He leaned in, his voice dropping lower, just for you. "I won’t let anyone corrupt you." His lips brushed your ear as he added, "Except me… when you ask really nicely."

Then he winked.

Your stomach flipped.

Theo gagged dramatically. "Merlin, I regret everything. Take the cigarette back, this is unbearable."

Enzo howled with laughter. "I told you, Theo!"

Mattheo shot them both an unimpressed look before turning back to you. He exhaled another puff of smoke, his free hand slipping around your waist. "Promise me, princess—next time you're stressed, you come to me. Not these two idiots."

You huffed. "You were in detention."

"Then you wait for me," he murmured, tapping the cigarette ash away before leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I'll always take care of you."

Theo groaned. "I'm actually going to be sick."

Mattheo ignored him, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your answer.

You sighed, giving in—because, really, how could you say no when he looked at you like that? "...Fine. I promise."

His smirk softened into something dangerously sweet. "Good girl."

Then, just to be an ass, he took another drag from the cigarette and kissed you slow enough that you could still taste the smoke on his lips.

Enzo whistled. "Oh, that's just evil."

Mattheo just grinned against your lips, clearly having the time of his life.

[smut-anarchy]

Crybaby

Soft!Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some mild swears, nothing spicy... for now.

Summary: Every time Mattheo sees you cry and falls in love with you for it.

A/N: This is my first fic EVER! I was too excited to get it proof read by my bestie so all mistakes are my own. Check the tags at the end for a funny surprise.

Word Count: 7,300+ (Sorry, I went crazy)

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Mattheo had never been one of those who could be influenced by tears. With who his father was he learned very quickly as a child that tears equated to weakness, and weakness was never allowed. 

Even at times where previous flings had sobbed after being tossed aside or cried for cuddles after sex, it didn’t move him. After all, he’d always made it clear that he wasn’t a romantic. He’d have his fun and move on, he never gave any indication that it would be more meaningful than that. Because of this he’d been called a “cold hearted bastard” more times than he could count. 

Which is why the first time he saw you cry he swore something was wrong with him. Seeing your puffy, red cheeks, your quivering, plump bottom limp and wide, watery eyes he felt like someone sent a stinging hex right to his gut. Your eyes were trained right on a laughing Enzo. 

Now it wasn’t completely uncommon for Enzo to make a girl cry. After all, he too would flirt his way into one of their classmates beds from time to time. Though Enzo prided himself on having a kind, prince-like persona publicly, so he kept all of his trysts and crying ex-lovers deeply hidden from public view. So it was unusual for Enzo to be seen with a crying girl in public, right in the middle of the hallway near the potions classroom. 

The closer Mattheo got the clearer he could see that you had not actually cried yet. Your eyes were full of unshed tears, and by the look of your puffed up cheeks and bitten bottom lip you were clearly attempting not to cry. Oddly to him, this didn’t lessen the weird sensation in his stomach. It only made him slightly angry at his friend for a reason he couldn’t even name. 

Your eyes flickered to him for a brief moment before settling back on a smiling Enzo. 

“Fine,” you said in a defeated tone, “You win. You can borrow my notes for Transfiguration. But this is the last time Enzo!”

Enzo’s smile widened as he picked you up in an embrace and spun you around. Immediately your face brightened and your giggles echoed in the empty hallway.

“That’s my favorite Hufflepuff!” Enzo teased, ruffling your hair, “Next time just agree before you lose another bet and turn into a little crybaby.” 

Your giggles turned into a playful pout, “Hey! You cheated! You have longer legs than I do! And the staircase moved on my way down! You’d cry too if you ran as much as I did and still lost.” 

Enzo let out a chuckle and shook his head, “Well maybe don’t propose a race next time. It was your idea after all. I play quidditch love, there isn’t a world in which you win against me.”  

“Whatever, I’ll win the next bet, you’ll see!” 

You stuck your tongue out at Enzo and turned around, walking away from Enzo much more cheerfully than Mattheo expected for a girl whose eyes were bursting with tears when he walked into this hallway. 

“In your dreams love!” Enzo called after you, earning a swift middle finger from behind your back. Mattheo stopped behind Enzo, pure confusion over witnessing the entire interaction between you two. The assumption that you were one of Enzo’s fangirls or jilted ex-lovers was clearly off the table, but he still couldn’t make sense of the welled up tears in your eyes.

“Girl trouble Enz?” Mattheo hummed, curiosity thoroughly peaked by you and the strange feelings you brought on. 

Enzo, now aware that Mattheo had witnessed the entire exchange smirked, “Nah, nothing like that. She’s just fun to tease, is all.” And with that Enzo ducked into the Potions classroom, leaving Mattheo not entirely satisfied with the answer. Nonetheless, he brushed off his gut feelings and whatever thoughts swirled in his head. He likely wouldn’t have an opportunity to interact with you again, he and his friends never kept one girl around too long, even if she was entertaining. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he followed after Enzo to their table in class. 

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When Mattheo entered the Slytherin common room after smoking in the Astronomy Tower he was not prepared to find you on the couch with Enzo, this time actually crying. Though you were also laughing hysterically because Enzo happened to be tickling your feet. 

“How dare you! How dare you say I’m not your favorite Slytherin!” Enzo chided, gleeful smile on his face as he tickled the sock covered soles of your feet. He slowed to a stop, holding your ankles in his lap to keep you from escaping. 

“I didn’t say you weren’t!” You giggled, voice breathless because of your laughter, “I said I don’t know the other Slytherins so I can’t pick a favorite!” 

Enzo smirked, “Not good enough!”, and with that he resumed tickling your feet. Your laughter and squeals bouncing around the common room. 

Mattheo couldn’t help but stare, he and the guys never brought girls to the dorms, and certainly never sat together in the common room. Your yellow skirt and robe were a beacon in the dark and cold that was the Slytherin common room, Salazar Slytherin himself would have a conniption if he saw a giggling Hufflepuff on the couch. And yet, there you were with Enzo, both laughing as if this was not peculiar at all. 

“Say it! Say I’m your favorite!” Enzo demanded, his fingers still torturing the pads of your feet. 

“Okay!” You laughed, “Enzo is my favorite Slytherin!” You were attempting to wiggle your ankles free from Enzo’s grasp and escape the tickling torture but Enzo kept an iron grip, not satisfied with your answer. 

“And?” 

“And I’ll always share my notes with him!” You squealed, completely out of breath from all the laughter. Enzo, seemingly satisfied with your answer finally released your feet, which you immediately tucked under your lap, still wheezing from laughter. 

“Enzo,” you huffed, “You’re a spoiled brat, you know that?” 

“You love it, crybaby.” Enzo winked. His head turned and noticed Mattheo staring at them, still trying to make sense of the scene before him. “Mattheo! Come here, meet my little Hufflepuff!” 

Mattheo strode over and sat on the chair opposite to them, eyes flickering between the two of them. The addition of his presence made you seem more shy now, as if you were embarrassed to be caught with Enzo like this, you refused to make eye contact with him and your cheeks were a little blushed. 

“Y/N this is Mattheo, Mattheo this is Y/N. She’s my transfiguration partner and the cutest girl in Hogwarts.” 

Your blush seemed to bloom even redder from the compliment. But your eyes shyly made contact with him and a soft smile graced your face. 

“Hi, ignore Enzo, he’s just trying to get into my good graces after tickle torturing me and making me tutor him for two hours.” 

Mattheo muttered a low ‘hello’ and quietly trudged to his room, door slamming with much more force than he intended. His heart was pounding and he felt surge of envy towards Enzo. 

Enzo was right, you were cute, and even though your face was streaked with laughter induced tears and wild hair from wiggling on the couch, Mattheo thought you looked adorable. He’d never thought that tears could be cute before, but there you were with a soft smile and bubbling laughter. These thoughts and feelings were all new to him, it made him feel suffocated and embarrassed, but he was Mattheo Riddle for Salazar’s Sake! Mattheo Riddle doesn’t run from anything, let alone cute girls. Yet he knew he couldn’t just sit there under your pretty gaze and risk making a fool of himself. Enzo would never let him live it down.

Outside in the common room he could hear you ask Enzo if you said something wrong. Now he felt like an asshole, of course you were too sweet to think he was the problem. Mattheo closed his eyes and flopped onto his bed. He could hear Enzo comfort you, saying ‘Mattheo’s just an ass’ and offering to walk you back to your dorm. 

For whatever reason, hearing that made him sort of agitated. He wanted to walk you to your dorm, and he’d be his usual charming self and make you laugh and blush, then you’d direct your smile at him and maybe that’d make him feel better. Maybe he’d even kiss you, and that thought warmed him in a different way. Mattheo groaned, just thinking of kissing you burned his mind with other ideas, less innocent things with you, where your sweet, shy smile turned into something sultry and pleading, he could feel his dick harden and more thoughts bloomed, each one more tantalizing than the last. 

Mattheo’s door opened and Enzo walked in with Theo following behind. Theo just looked at him, nodding casually before turning to his side of the room, but Enzo’s eyes were dancing with mischief, a Cheshire grin already etched into his face. 

“Very smooth, Matty-boy.” Enzo teased. 

Mattheo fixed him with a glare, he hated when anyone called him Matty. “Don’t call me that, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Enzo’s smile widened, eyes alight, “Oh no? You don’t want to talk about how cute, little Y/N said one sentence to you and you ran off?” 

Theo’s head shot up at that, looking between his two dorm mates with mild interest. Theo always had an uncanny way of reading Mattheo, which right now really irked him since Enzo was stirring the pot. 

“I didn’t run off, I’m tired.” Mattheo grumbled, “Why did you even bring her here? We don’t bring flings here.” He had a feeling there was no such relationship between you and Enzo, but he couldn’t help but try and fish for more information.

“You brought a girl here?” Theo asked incredulously, his interest now fully invested.

Enzo rolled his eyes, “She’s not a fling, we’re friends. We were doing homework together after we got kicked out of the library.” 

“Didn’t seem like homework when you were tickling her.” Mattheo grumbled, the memory flashing in his mind with a new wave of annoyance. 

“You were tickling a girl here?” Theo echoed. 

“Jealous?” Enzo directed at Mattheo before he turned to Theo, “Theo, she’s a Hufflepuff and so much fun to mess with. It’s not like that.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I flirted with her?” Theo drawled. Mattheo’s head snapped to Theo, he could feel acid in his throat thinking of Theo flirting with you. Theo’s eyes were already on him, eyebrow quirked, his expression knowing. Mattheo glared back at him and turned away, he knew he shouldn’t care what Theo or Enzo did with you, but he did, and that pissed him off more.

Enzo laughed wholeheartedly, “Sure, but if you’re not serious she’ll sniff out your bullshit. When I first met her I flirted with her for her notes and she stepped on my foot so hard I had to go to Madam Pomfrey!” 

Theo chuckled, “Alright, so she’s off limits then.”  

“You’re fucking right she is. I actually do want to be friends with her, I don’t need you assholes scarring her for life with your flirting. It’s already going to be an uphill battle with how hellish Draco and Pansy can be.”

“So we’ll be seeing more of her?” Theo questioned, and for once Mattheo was glad for Theo’s inquisitive nature, the same question burning in his mind. He wanted to see more of Y/N, his mind flickering back to those not so innocent thoughts. 

“Yeah, probably.” And with that, the conversation seemed to be over, Mattheo’s lack of talking not going unnoticed by his two friends. They shared a look, coming to the exact same seemingly impossible conclusion: Mattheo had a crush. 

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Enzo’s casual affirmation was an understatement, as the next day he invited his Hufflepuff to sit with them in the Great Hall at breakfast. She was smiling up at Enzo when he brought her over, then turning her smile to all of them at the table. She shot Mattheo a shy smile and wave before settling between Enzo and Blaise. 

Pansy and Draco both offering indifferent greetings before turning to each other and continuing their conversation. Theo, Blaise and you began an intense discussion about potions, Enzo offering a comment here and there while he ate breakfast. Mattheo could only look around at his friends in confusion, his group not known to be friendly with people outside of Slytherin, or even with others in Slytherin for that matter. Draco and Pansy being the worst of two but they barely even acknowledged you and continued what they were doing. Blaise and Theo were known to be standoffish and yet here they were joking with you about potions. 

“They know her, dumbass.” 

Mattheo’s eyes shot to Enzo across from him, his face looking smug. Everyone else was so wrapped up in their conversations they didn’t hear what Enzo had whispered. 

“What?” Mattheo asked.

“You look confused,” Enzo clarified, stopping to take a bite of his Apple, “They all know her, she’s been in all of our classes since second year.”

Mattheo nodded in understanding, eyes flickering back to the sweet Hufflepuff, who had now drawn Pansy and Draco into the conversation, the five of them debating whether or not Professor Snape used shampoo. Her face was glowing with happiness, every time she laughed he could see the flutter of her full lashes. His mind echoed the strange desire to count each lash. 

He liked her laughing. The two times he’d seen her teary he thought she’d been cute, the frustration tears from chasing Enzo and the tears from laughing too hard, it was easy to find her adorable, but seeing her carefree and laughing filled his chest with yearning, he wanted her light to shine on him, even just for a moment. Yes, he much preferred her like this, hopefully he wouldn’t have to see her cry for a long while. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mattheo didn’t know how many different ways someone could cry until he met you. 

Now fully adopted into his friend group he’s seen you cry over something with each of his friends and it confused him. He always assumed crying meant a person felt sad, that there were no other reasons to cry. The first time he saw tears in your eyes he added exhaustion as an acceptable reason to cry. Then he added laughter after the common room tickle incident. He figured that’d be it.

Until he found you and Pansy swaddled in blankets in her room listening to a muggle artist named Olivia Rodrigo and eating ice cream. He’d only stopped by to return a book he borrowed from Pansy the week before, he knocked and the door cracked open and he saw your tear streaked face and Pansy huddled on the floor, her face was turned away from him but he heard her sniffles. 

He fumbled out an explanation about the book and you accepted it from him with a small smile. After the door had closed he heard the music blast to full volume. 

He’d never thought Pansy would ever cry, she’d always felt like such expressions were beneath her. He was also very much confused on why you were crying, which made him worried something had happened to both of you. It wasn’t until later that Theo and Enzo told him that Pansy and Luna had broken up and you had decided some girl time was much needed to “feel your feelings” and listen to sad songs.

He’d never considered sympathy crying, but there you were with Pansy, sharing her pain. He admired you for it, your kindness knowing no limits.

The next day Pansy threatened to cut off his dick if he ever told anyone he’d seen her cry, though he was honest and said he actually hadn’t seen anything, and she seemed comforted by that fact. After Pansy seemed to be lighter almost, and she became as protective of you as Enzo, which became clear after Adrian Pucey cornered you in the hallway to harass you for a date. Enzo broke his nose and Pansy sent a hex that had Adrian vomiting hair clumps for a week. Mattheo would deny it but he also paid Adrian a visit after the hex had worn off and threatened a whole lot worse than a broken nose and a gross hex if Adrian so much as breathed in your direction.

The lust Mattheo felt for you still burned but there was something else, something new to him. Something that made him want to comfort you and protect you, to have you look for him for safety. Now, he didn’t just want your body, he wanted your undivided attention. 

Mattheo tried to brush off these thoughts. He was no romantic, you were too sweet and nice to get wrapped up in something with him. As soon as it ended, you’d be crushed and Pansy and Enzo would likely make him suffer for hurting you. He told himself he just felt this way because you were friends, and friends is what you’d have to stay to be safe from him. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Quidditch hardly interested you, Mattheo found out. Occasionally you volunteered with Madam Pomfrey and you’d seen enough quidditch injures to give you too much anxiety to watch the game. So whenever he and the boys played you’d skip up to them with boxes of baked goods to wish them luck and left on your merry way to watch the infirmary so Madam Pomfrey could supervise the game.

Surprisingly, Draco had been won over through his stomach. His indifference morphed into a kind of bland acknowledgement until he’d gotten the first good luck treats of the season, then he became outright friendly towards you. But when he’d caught the snitch the first time that year you’d made the whole team a whole fleet of chocolate lava cakes and candied fruit. Draco had sworn all of it was for him but after that he had taken on a kind of pseudo-brother relationship with you.

Conversely, you and Blaise bonded over your distinguished and varied adoration of books, often times swapping between yourselves. Blaise alleged that you were the only one he could read around because you weren’t “a distracting idiot” like Enzo and Draco or “an eternal gossip” like Pansy, but Mattheo could see that Blaise just had a soft spot for you like everyone in the group. Every time they went to Hogsmeade together you and Blaise would peel off to Flourish and Blotts, always coming back with more books. Of course, Blaise being chivalrous meant you never carried your own books despite your protests. The more time they spent in Hogsmeade the longer your books would get passed around to be carried until they always landed in Mattheo’s hands. Though he didn’t mind because you would smile sweetly at him when they returned to Hogwarts and thanked him for carrying your books. 

Yes, Draco and Blaise had become like brothers to you. So when Madam Pomfrey rushed them to the infirmary both bruised with multiple broken bones Mattheo had seen all the color drain from your face.

None of the team was allowed to be in the infirmary so the last thing he could see was your crushed expression and tears welling up in your eyes. Theo, Pansy, Enzo and him had paced outside the hallway until Madam Pomfrey had shooed them away to go rest, telling them they could visit in the morning. 

Mattheo had hardly slept the entire night. His two friends unconscious and battered and your crestfallen face had haunted him. As soon as he could reasonably leave the dorm he rushed to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips upon seeing him, knowing he had not rested but allowed him to visit anyway, despite it still being too early. 

Draco and Blaise laid in their beds, looking much better than when they’d arrived. Whatever Madam Pomfrey had given them was slowly repairing the bones and easing the bruising on their bodies, their sleeping faces looked peaceful so it was clear they weren’t in pain. In between the two of their beds was you, huddled into yourself on a chair. 

Hearing Mattheo approach had made you lift your head from the floor. Your eyes were puffy from exhaustion, your usual bright smile gone and replaced by a mournful frown. You were wearing the same clothes from yesterday so he knew you’d stayed by their side all night and likely not slept. 

He stood in front of you, not sure what to say and as he looked at you he saw fresh tears gather in your eyes and your lip was trembling. Before he could say anything you’d lept from the chair and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as silent sobs wracked your body. 

Mattheo had never been hugged like this. He was fairly certain he’d never been hugged ever. But here you were, clinging to him and crying into his chest. His heart ached feeling your tears soak into his shirt, you couldn’t keep your sobs silent anymore, now fully weeping on him. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on top of yours. 

He just held you as you bawled. Though this situation was less than ideal it felt good that he could be here for you, comforting you. Your body was enveloped in his and he was reminded how small you were, so fragile but so strong at the same time. He wondered how long you’d held yourself together before he got here. That thought made him embrace you tighter, at least he could be here for you now. He told himself he’d keep holding you until you were ready to let go.

Your sobs had turned into little whimpers and sniffles, but you didn’t let go of him. Your head stirred underneath him and he looked down at you, seeing you staring up at him. Your wide eyes glassy and cheeks red, dried tear tracks on your face. The word beautiful flashed through his mind, somehow no matter what you did you always managed to look perfect to him. 

“T-thanks Matty,” you voice quivered, “Er, I mean Mattheo.” Your cheeks were already red from crying, though Mattheo desperately wanted to believe they got a little bit pinker.

“You can call me Matty.” His voice was somewhat hoarse and raspy from fatigue. Her lips quirked up slightly and then she sighed and closed her eyes. 

She slowly unwrapped her arms from him and dropped them to her side, looking back at Draco and Blaise. His body felt empty and cold after you let go, he felt the urge to pull you back but stifled it, as exhaustion was currently winning over his body.

Mattheo looked around and saw a spare blanket and two pillows. He quickly grabbed them, dropping them on the floor between the two beds with his friends. He sat on the floor, with one pillow behind his head against the wall. He pat the spot next to him and down you came, sitting next to him with the other pillow behind your head. He spread the blanket over the two of you and your head came to rest against his shoulder. His eyes closed and then sleep claimed the both of you.

He woke up to a flick on his forehead. He was still propped up against the wall with you ully leaned against his body, still dozing. Draco stood in front of him, the obvious perpetrator of the flick against his head, he was changed out of the hospital clothing but had various bandages and wraps on his body. Blaise was next to him leaning against the hospital bed he’d been spent the night in in, displaying a similar number of bandages. Both of them wearing smirks on their faces aimed at Mattheo and the Hufflepuff curled against him.

“Cozy?” Draco teased. 

Mattheo rolled his eyes with a smile, clearly his friends were alright if they were feeling up to making fun of him. 

“She stayed here all night for you dopes and we were tired,” Mattheo grunted, “Clearly you’re both feeling better though.” 

His friend’s teasing smirks fell and they looked guiltily at the sleeping girl. 

“Y’know she’s going to fuss over us when she wakes up.” Blaise admitted, Draco nodded with a sigh.

“She’ll probably cry.” Draco sighed. Not one of the three boys were looking forward to seeing their friend cry.

“I’ve gotta start carrying around some tissues for her,” Mattheo blurted. Blaise and Draco laughed at that, nodding in agreement and joking the whole group should start carrying some.  

The boys’ laughter stirred the Hufflepuff and she blinked her tired eyes open. At seeing Blaise and Draco awake and standing in front of her she shot right up, discarding the blanket on the floor.

“Blaise! Draco! Oh thank Merlin! How are you feeling? Are you supposed to be standing up? Do you need water? I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey to clean your bandages!” You rattled off, mind clearly spinning off with things to help the two injured Quidditch players. Luckily Blaise grabbed your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

“We’re fine. Madam Pomfrey is letting us go today. We’re coming back everyday for the next week for the medicine and check ups.” Blaise seemed to sooth you with this, you nodded absentmindedly. Without your brain taking over you really looked at Draco and Blaise and, just as the boys predicted, you started shedding tears. You grabbed both boys and pulled them towards you, both giving you a half hug as you cried. Through your sobs you started babbling your relief about how they were both okay and making them promise to never have to come here half comatose they way they did. 

In the span of a couple of hours your waterworks had turned from fear to relief and Mattheo was glad to see his friends being fussed over by someone so sweet and caring. Your tears were short lived, as Blaise and Draco did their best to make you smile. Your sniffling turned to giggles when Draco’s stomach made a loud gurgle and he moaned about being starving, in typical dramatic Malfoy fashion. 

You had stepped away to thank Madam Pomfrey for allowing you to stay and taking care of your friends. Though the older woman swore it was her job to care for all students and softly chided you for sleeping on the floor even she seemed to fall victim to your charm, hurrying you out the infirmary and promising to see you next time you volunteered. 

“Mr. Riddle, a word please.” Madam Pomfrey said before he could follow you, Draco and Blaise out the door. He nodded to his friends that he’d catch up with them, trying not to think too hard about your worried look.

���I do try not to meddle in my student’s affairs,” Madam Pomfrey started, “But my dear apprentice has been here since midday yesterday and hasn’t eaten anything or slept, aside from your two hour nap on the floor,” the older woman gave a quick glare, “so if you’d please make sure your girlfriend eats and goes straight to bed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Mattheo nodded dumbstruck, a satisfied Madam Pomfrey led him out the door. 

Girlfriend. Madam Pomfrey thought you and Mattheo were dating. Mattheo once found dating any one repulsive, but he thought about your sweet smiles and angelic laughter and suddenly the idea of dating was inviting, so long as he was dating you. And that was terrifying thought, Mattheo didn’t think himself boyfriend material, but the idea of seeing you date anyone else, or Merlin forbid one of his friends, made him nauseous. He conceded that maybe these feelings would fade after some time, after all, you didn’t give him any indication that you wanted to be more.

Taking Madam Pomfrey’s words seriously he met up with you, Blaise and Draco. After all four of you were fed he suggested they all get rest, Draco and Blaise didn’t argue, their exhaustion kicking in from their injuries, but you pouted, not wanting to go back to your own dorm alone. Mattheo wasn’t immune to your puppy dog eyes so he offered his own bed so you could be with everyone. Draco and Blaise shared a knowing look, but you beamed up at him and happily trotted along with them to their dorms. 

Enzo and Theo were still sleeping, likely to be out until afternoon so as quietly as they could Blaise and Draco went to their own beds, passing out shortly after pulling their blankets around their bodies. 

You shed your large yellow knit sweater and yawned, smiling sleepily at Mattheo. He smiled and tilted his head to his bed, offering it to the kindly Hufflepuff. After removing her shoes she slipped under the covers, he could tell she was struggling to stay awake. 

“Are you coming to bed too?”

Her question made his neck feel hot, she looked at his innocently, eyes fluttering. If he got in that bed with her, he knew he’d never let go of whatever feelings were developing for her. He slowly shook his head, ready to lie to her and say he wasn’t tired, that he was going to go shower or study or literally anything other than get into his bed with her.

“Please Matty?” You pouted. Merlin, he was a goner. He sighed softly and slipped under the covers with you, trying to keep a respectful distance. This whole situation had his body burning and mind in overdrive. You smiled happily and let out a small giggle, wishing him goodnight and then allowing sleep to take you.

Truthfully, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. His mind and body kicked into chaos at the proximity of the beautiful Hufflepuff. But he was actually tired, and your soft snores helped him relax and he was able to fall asleep as well. 

That sleep was short-lived, as he only slept for about two hours. When he woke up you were completely tucked into his body, still snoring, with his arms wrapped around you. Luckily, everyone else was still completely knocked out. Against his urges he detached himself from your cuddling, thanking whatever higher power that no one witnessed the intimate moment, and slipped into the bathroom for a cold shower to cool his fevered skin. 

The next day, he went to Hogsmeade and picked up a single green handkerchief with a snake and his initials embroidered into the fabric. He’d never tell anyone but he always kept it in his pocket, just in case.

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Mattheo knew Theo didn’t care for his birthday, after his mother had passed his father became cruel and he never had another birthday. When Enzo had mentioned it in passing at dinner, Theo had told you himself he didn’t celebrate it. 

Mattheo, now attuned to your expressions, saw a glimmer of sadness flickering behind your eyes, followed by a flash of determination. You hadn’t said much after that, but he saw the gears in your head turning. 

A week later on Theo’s birthday Enzo had dashed into the common room, asking all of them to follow him to the Room of Requirement. The whole walk there was tense, Mattheo could tell by Theo’s expression that if it was a big party he was going to be pissed. You were mysteriously missing most of the week, or dashing away quickly so he assumed you had planned something, with Enzo’s help of course.

When they pushed into the room there was no party. Instead there were soft string lights hanging from the ceiling, a fire going in an intricate stone fireplace and a swirling emerald green carpet guiding them further into the room. Just a few steps further and there you were, covered in flour and wearing an apron with splashes of food stains. In front of you was a table with only seven seats set, a cacophony of steaming food on top.

Mattheo and his friends had their mouths agape, trying to take in the extravagance around them. They knew you loved to cook, having been on the receiving end of endless, delicious desserts. But never before had you cooked an actual feast for them. He looked to Theo, who was not looking at the lights or the fireplace or even the food, his deep gaze on you. 

Mattheo saw a nervous smile take hold of your face and watched your hands tug on each other, clearly nervous about Theo’s reaction.

“Um… I made it,” you pushed out, “I remembered you said once you missed your Mom’s cooking so I made a bunch of Italian dishes. Y-your Mom probably made them better but I did my best. I even made Mostaccioli! I remember you said it was your favorite…” Your nervousness getting the better of you. No one said anything, all looking at Theo for his reaction. 

Theo strode up to you, his face not showing anything, and he pulled you into a hug. Theo, who hated unnecessary touching, was hugging you. Mattheo even swore he heard Theo mumble “I love it.”

When your arms came around Theo’s broad back Mattheo got a glimpse of your face. Your eyes were closed, tears leaking out of the corners and a soft, peaceful smile on your face. 

Mattheo didn’t know what to call these types of tears. It felt bigger than the other ones he’d seen. These tears felt sweet and sad at the same time, like you and Theo had a secret understanding. Looking at you and Theo embrace felt like a private, raw moment, but he couldn’t look away. He decided to deem these: bittersweet tears. 

Theo let you go and you chuckled and wiped the sides of your eyes. You beamed at everyone and invited them to sit down and eat. 

And as Mattheo sat down next to you, with a messy apron, covered in flour and a cheery grin on your face, Mattheo couldn’t help but think you more radiant than he’s ever seen you. 

And even though Theo refused to share the Mostaccioli with any of them, it was easily the best meal of Mattheo’s life, love and attention baked into everything you made. His friends more carefree and happy than he’d ever seen them, laughing and joking. 

When you left to get the cake you made that was cooling by the room’s kitchen area Theo leaned over to him and whispered, “If you don’t make a move soon, I’m going to marry that girl.” Mattheo froze like a deer in headlights, but Theo just grinned at him and sipped his champagne. 

Mattheo tried to ignore Theo’s words but they sat heavy in his mind. Ever since he started carrying around a handkerchief for you, he barely even noticed other girls. He can’t even remember the last time he accepted a girl’s invite to her dorm. He only ever thought about you, and instead of fear and uncertainty now he only felt warmth and longing when he imagined you and him together. It surprised him how much he wanted all of it. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to have you laugh at his jokes, to smile at him, to worship you in any and every way you’d let him. The realization that he was completely smitten with you pierced through his whole body. Theo was right, you had to be his.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Finding you alone was damn near impossible, Mattheo found out. If it wasn’t his own friends it was literally everyone else in the entire castle. Apparently your light touched everyone at Hogwarts, as every time he tried to get a moment to ask you on a date someone would appear and ruined the moment. 

At first he didn’t mind. When the Weasley twins approached you with a new invention, something they called the Zinger Wing Giggle Ball you had been too excited to test it for them. Even Mattheo would admit a ball that flies around making teasing, sarcastic remarks and giggling was funny. Even more so when it scared the daylights out of Mrs. Norris and chased her all through the halls calling her “a dirty flobberworm with legs and a tail”. You, of course, had felt bad for Filch and his tattle-cat but even so, you couldn’t help but laugh along too.

Then there were the professors, Mattheo didn’t realize how much volunteering you did for everyone. Professor Sprout requesting your assistance with the odd plant in the greenhouse or Hagrid wanting you to come witness whatever mysterious beast he’d found that week and log their abilities. Even Snape, who never seemed to like any of his students, would approach you for helping him stock his precious ingredients closet. How you made time for anyone was beyond Mattheo, but he was determined still.

His friends seemed to be the worst of all, they seemed almost determined to not let him have a moment alone with you. No matter where he was with you at least one of them would appear. When he’d finally gotten tired of it he gathered them all and told them he was trying to ask you on a date, a real ’not Mattheo being a fuckboi’ date, by Pansy’s words, not his. Of course with who his friends were and how fiercely protective they were over you, they grilled him for over an hour about his intentions. When they were finally satisfied galleons passed around into Theo and Enzo’s hands. Those fuckers had placed bets amongst themselves on whether or not Mattheo would ever figure out his feelings and ask you out. If Mattheo wasn’t so annoyed he’d be a little touched that his two best friends had faith in him. 

And now, here he was. There were no classes today, and almost everyone in the castle was at Hogsmeade. He knew you were somewhere, his friends confirming you weren’t coming that day and had chosen to stay behind. He’d looked for you everywhere, he had even bribed a younger year Hufflepuff with chocolate frogs to check if you were in your room. It felt like another day of failure for him. It was two hours before everyone would come back, he knew that it would be impossible to get you alone after that. He dragged his feet up to the astronomy tower, hoping to take a quick smoke to clear his head. 

But he heard a familiar sniffle from the stairs. As quietly as he could he peaked out from the staircase and there he spotted your familiar tuft of hair and bright yellow knit sweater. He approached you, nerves bursting in his body until he felt his stomach drop. You were crying.

“What happened?” Mattheo questioned. His voice made you jump and when you looked at him, he saw your familiar puffy, red cheeks and watery wide eyes. 

“Hi Matty,” you said softly, “Its nothing. Just something stupid.” You sniffled, trying to wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. He pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to you. You looked at him gratefully and accepted it, wiping your face with the soft, expensive fabric.

“You’d never cry for something stupid.” He corrected. He could remember every instance he’d seen you cry, nothing had ever been stupid about them. He sat next to you on the floor. You sighed, twisting your fingers nervously.

“Someone called me a Slytherin whore.” 

Mattheo could have gotten whiplash with how fast his head snapped to you. Mattheo tried not to let his fury show. He really tried, knowing that his anger could potentially scare you. 

“Who?”

“…Does it matter?”

“Who?”

“It’s not worth it.”

“Who?”

He didn’t mean to take a tone with you, but he was trying to figure out what asshole he was going to beat the shit out of. Then he’d let his friends have their turn.

“Adrian Pucey.”

That son of a bitch. That idiot couldn’t learn the first time. Screw the quidditch team, they’d find another chaser. When Mattheo was finished with him Pucey wouldn’t be able to go near a broom for at least six months. 

“Is that what people think of me?” 

Mattheo was so focused on his rage he didn’t even see you deflating at his side. As he looked at you he realized you weren’t just hurt by Pucey’s words, you believed them.

“No, no one believes that. No one with a brain anyway.” Mattheo assured you. He would cast his anger aside for now, you needed him more.

“I just-“ you groaned, holding your face in your hands, “I know I can be… clingy and a crybaby and maybe I do spend too much time with you guys, but I feel like you guys are my best friends and I like being around you guys and I feel like you guys like me around or maybe you just tolerate me but I feel like that shouldn’t make me a whore and I-“ Mattheo had let you babble long enough. He held your face in his hands and turned your head so you could look at him head on. 

“Listen to me,” He demanded, “You are not a whore. Nothing you do or say could make you that. Understand?”

You nodded in his hands. 

“We do like you being around because we like you. You aren’t clingy or a crybaby. Do you cry? Yes. Is it a perfectly normal reaction? Yes. You’ve made all of our lives better. Pansy has someone she actually likes to do girl stuff with. Draco knows someone outside of our fucked up group and his Mom cares about him. Theo had one of the best fucking birthdays of his life since his Mom died. All because of you! Don’t let some asshole that I’m going to punch in the teeth make you feel like you’re anything less than a ray of sunshine of every single life you touch.”

Mattheo hadn’t realized your hands were cupping his own. You were smiling at him, eyes watery, he wiped a stray tear off your cheek. Your glassy orbs flashed with vulnerability.

“What about you, Matty? Have I made your life better?”

“Better doesn’t even begin to describe what you’ve done to my life.”

More tears were flowing from your eyes but before Mattheo could wipe them away with his hands you threw yourself into his arms, toppling him over and kissed him. 

Any thoughts in Mattheo’s head flew out the window as soon as your lips touched his. Your delicate fingers holding his face lovingly and your soft lips pressed against his own. He brought his hands up to your waist, lightly caressing the skin there that was exposed by your shirt and sweater riding up. The a flurry of peace flooded Mattheo’s body, it was as if his entire being was releasing a sigh of relief, a single thought echoed throughout his body: finally.

Unfortunately, youpulled away, your cheeks flushed. Mattheo was laying on the floor underneath you so you ended up right in his lap, which, looking from his point of view, was so fucking tempting. 

“I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.”

Mattheo meant it but blurting it out had not been his intention, his brain still reeling from the kiss. Nonetheless, you giggled, airy and light like a tinkling bell.

“How about a date first, Matty?” You teased. 

“It’s a start.” Mattheo sat up, pulling your legs tighter around his waist so he could pull you even closer to him. Your fingers started to entangle in his hair and he looked up at you, pure adoration in your eyes, “Do I get to call you mine now?”

“I’ve been yours Matty.”

He hummed happily, pulling your face down to kiss you again. 

[monserelates]

You’re Warm ; James Potter

⇨pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨summary: Y/N is stubborn, reckless, and totally not sick—no matter what her fever, cracked voice, and hallucinations suggest. James Potter would love to believe her, but unfortunately for her, he knows her better than anyone.

⇨cw: reader is a quidditch player but it’s not that revelant to the plot, mutual pining, crack, idk what else

⇨a/n: lowkey repeating tropes because I just love a good stubborn reader but yeah, hope u enjoy

The portrait hole slammed open with a bang so loud that three second-years nearly jumped out of their skin.

“—BLOODY HELL,” Sirius Black yelled from his perch by the fire. “Is that a banshee? Oh—never mind. It’s just you.”

You marched into the common room, dripping wet from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead, Quidditch uniform clinging to you like a second skin. Mud was streaked up the backs of your calves, and your broom—dangling in one hand—was trailing leaf bits like a soggy war prize.

“I told you she’d go out flying in that storm,” Lily said, not even looking up from her Transfiguration essay.

“I was hoping she wouldn’t be that dumb,” Marlene added, flipping a page in her notebook. “Clearly I was wrong.”

James looked up from the chess match he was losing to Remus. His eyes flicked over you—sopping uniform, red nose, triumphant grin like you’d just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup—and then he blinked. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“I was bored,” you said breezily, squelching your way across the rug and dropping your broom with a thud. “And it wasn’t even raining that hard when I started.”

“You look like you swam home.”

“I was training. You wouldn’t understand.” You tossed a look over your shoulder and winked. “Not all of us can be benchwarmers, Potter.”

James’s jaw dropped in fake offense. “Excuse me. I’ve scored more goals than—”

“Than Sirius’s body count?” Marlene quipped.

Sirius, sprawled dramatically across the couch, raised his arms in victory. “Thank you for noticing.”

“I was gonna say than Remus has corrected my essays, but that works too.” James shook his head at you, smiling in that maddeningly fond, exasperated way. “You’re mental.”

“Quidditch players are built different,” you said, peeling off your jersey, that read “L/N” and the number 7 and tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a wet slap.

Peter made a face. “That thing’s alive.”

“I feel alive,” you said, flopping down into the nearest seat and kicking your feet up on the table. “That was the best flying I’ve done all term. Wind’s wicked up there—good practice for winter matches.”

“You’re gonna die of pneumonia,” Remus said calmly, not looking up from his notes. “And then I’ll be stuck tutoring your ghost.”

“I won’t die,” you sniffed, rubbing at your nose. “I’ve got the immune system of a Hippogriff.”

“Really?” Lily drawled. “Because your nose is already turning red.”

You scowled. “It’s from the wind.”

James leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was softer now, teasing gone. “You’re sort of…shivering. And you look like you sneezed on a live wire.”

“I’m completely fine, Potter.” You crossed your arms. “Actually, I feel amazing. Invigorated. Glowing, even.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re literally steaming.”

True enough, there was a slight haze rising from your clothes as they began to dry unevenly by the fire. You were very pointedly not looking at James, because he was still watching you too closely and it made your stomach do a weird flipping thing.

“I’d rather drop dead than admit James Potter was right,” you muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing.”

Lily raised a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to meet with Slughorn for your potion redo?”

You blinked. “Oh…crap.” You glanced at the clock. “I’m already ten minutes late.”

“Go like that,” Marlene smirked. “Maybe he’ll pity you and give you full marks.”

“Yeah,” Sirius added, “tell him you survived a hurricane on a broomstick and your cauldron imploded from bravery.”

“You’re all terrible,” you mumbled, but you were smiling as you dragged yourself upright and trudged toward the dorms, squelching with every step. You paused by the stairs, turned back to face the common room—and met James’s eyes.

They were soft again, the way they sometimes got when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but didn’t dare yet.

“I’m fine,” you said again, to no one in particular.

James tilted his head. “Right. Completely fine.”

You gave him your most dramatic eyeroll and disappeared upstairs—ignoring the tiny tickle in your throat that had definitely not been there earlier.

..

You were not sick.

You were…slightly tired. A little flushed, maybe. But that was just from Slughorn’s dungeon being way too warm. Obviously.

“Here,” Lily said, shoving a steaming mug into your hands as you curled into the corner of the couch. “Chamomile with honey. Don’t argue, I already hexed Sirius for mocking your sneeze.”

“I wasn’t mocking,” Sirius said from the other armchair, where he was poking the fire with his wand. “I was imitating. For science.”

“Your science is garbage,” Marlene muttered, tossing a cushion at his head.

“Also,” Dorcas added, “if you sneeze again like that, I will record it. For future blackmail.”

“I’m not sick,” you croaked. Unfortunately, it came out slightly cracked and hoarse—like your voice had been run through a cheese grater.

James, who’d been pretending to read from the seat beside you, slowly lowered his book and looked over. “You sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of the mug. “Yes, Potter. I am.”

He held up both hands, mock-innocent. “Alright, alright. Just checking. You look…radiant. Like a freshly boiled tomato.”

“That’s from the blanket,” you sniffed, pulling it tighter around your shoulders. “Marlene made me sit on my hair so I’d stop dripping on the floor.”

“She was leaving a trail,” Marlene said. “Like an overachieving slug.”

“She got mud on the stairs,” Dorcas added. “Lily threatened to charm her socks to scream if she did it again.”

“Okay, rude,” you grumbled, tucking your knees under the blanket. “No one here appreciates a good training session.”

“Rain-soaked death wish,” Remus corrected. “That’s what it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius cut in, “but I have to ask—why in the name of Merlin’s soggy pants did you go flying in that weather?”

“Character building,” you said stubbornly.

“It built character into your lungs,” James muttered.

You ignored him, because acknowledging he might be right was not on the agenda. Instead, you turned to Marlene and nudged her with your sock-covered foot. “Tell them I’m fine.”

Marlene blinked at you. “Babe, your nose is redder than Gryffindor’s house colors.”

“I’m fine.” You dramatically took a sip of your tea. It burned your tongue. You tried not to flinch.

Lily, from her perch at the study table, didn’t even look up. “If you fall asleep in the common room tonight again, I swear to Godric I’m levitating you straight into the Hospital Wing myself.”

“I’m not—” You paused. Cough. Cough-cough. Double cough.

James slowly raised an eyebrow. Sirius made the world’s most annoying ah-ah-aaah? sound like a game show buzzer.

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him.

He raised his hands. “Just saying. You sound like a howler on its last breath.”

“Stop bullying her,” James said—but he was smirking. “She’s fragile.”

“I’m going to punch all of you,” you muttered, curling further into the blanket. “Except Lily. Lily made tea.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lily said, walking over to plop another cushion under your feet. She fluffed your hair like you were a pet owl. “Because I care. Even if you’re being a stubborn idiot.”

There was a pause.

“I also care,” James said a little too quickly.

All five girls turned to look at him.

Peter snorted. “Subtle.”

James flushed and shoved his face back into his book. “I care in a general Gryffindor-bravery-friends unity way. Shut up, all of you.”

Remus gave him a knowing look. Sirius made kissy noises. James threw a quill at both of them.

You were too tired to react to the chaos this time. The blanket was warm, your tea was working, and the ache in your limbs was…maybe a tiny bit worse than before. But you weren’t going to admit that. Yet.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch and sighed, half-content, half-defeated.

Dorcas grinned at you. “When you wake up dead tomorrow, can I have your broom?”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Joke’s on you. I’m immortal.”

Your voice cracked again. Everyone laughed.

And somewhere behind the noise, James was still watching you—quietly, from behind his book—his lips twitching into a soft smile every time you tried to pretend you weren’t falling apart.

..

You could not stay in the common room.

The fireplace was too hot, the sofa was too scratchy, and James was too there. Watching you like you were a time bomb in a hoodie.

You waited until everyone had finally drifted to their dorms, until even Sirius had run out of dumb things to say (and that took a while), and then you slipped out.

Slippers, blanket, mug in hand.

Because, yes, maybe your fever had climbed past “mildly dramatic” into “concerning,” but it wasn’t that bad. And you’d be damned if you let everyone keep mothering you like you were three seconds from spontaneous combustion.

You needed air. Space. Solitude. Possibly a quick death.

What you didn’t need was James Potter’s voice echoing after you the moment you opened the portrait hole:

“Oi—where the hell are you going?!”

You jumped, almost sloshed tea onto your foot. “Nowhere!”

James appeared in the archway in his pajama pants and a Gryffindor hoodie, squinting like a sleepy golden retriever who had absolutely not been waiting up.

“You’re sneaking out while sick?” he asked. “Are you…deranged?”

“I’m not sick,” you snapped, immediately following it with a coughing fit so violent it made the Fat Lady flinch in her frame.

James crossed his arms. “Right. Healthy as a Flobberworm.”

“I just need some air!” you said. “The common room was suffocating me.”

“Because you’ve got a fever. That’s what fevers do.”

You turned and started walking. Or…stumbling. Same thing.

James let out a long-suffering groan and followed, muttering to himself the whole way down the stairs: “Unbelievable. Absolutely unhinged. Should’ve just dragged her to Pomfrey. Should’ve let Lily tie her to the bed with a Sticking Charm—”

“I can hear you.”

“Good.”

You reached an empty classroom tucked off the Astronomy corridor, one the prefects usually used for late-night patrol breaks. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting a soft blue glow over the desks and your very dramatic blanket situation.

You flopped into the nearest chair. The motion made your head spin.

James hovered by the door, arms crossed again. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Then I’ll do it in peace.”

He sighed. Loudly. “You’re like a sick Victorian poet. What next, tuberculosis and a sad piano solo?”

You glared. “I am fine.”

“You are dying.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Sneezed violently into your blanket.

James sat down across from you, leaned forward on his elbows. “Just take the damn potion, Y/N.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re literally sweating in a room that’s colder than Sirius’s commitment issues.”

You sniffed. “I run hot.”

“You run dumb.”

That earned a middle finger. He grinned.

But when he leaned forward again, there was something gentler about it. Quieter. You were already looking away, staring out at the window like maybe the moonlight would save you from your own pride.

James softened. “Hey. Seriously.”

You blinked at him, eyelids heavy.

He hesitated, then said it low, like a secret: “Why won’t you just let me help?”

And that—that was the real problem.

Because if you let James Potter take care of you, it meant you weren’t invincible.

And if you weren’t invincible, you might…slip up. You might say something you couldn’t unsay.

Like how your heart sprinted every time he looked at you for longer than a second.

Like how you were afraid he only cared because he was nice, and not because he liked you back.

You pulled the blanket tighter. “Because I don’t need help.”

James looked at you for a long moment.

Then—“Okay.”

You blinked. “…Okay?”

He stood. Crossed the room. Sat on the floor next to you. His head leaned against your chair, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your legs.

“I won’t give you the potion,” he said lightly. “But if you faint, I’m stealing your broom.”

You laughed, hoarse and unexpected. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

There was a pause. Just soft moonlight, soft breathing, the stupid sound of your heart in your ears.

You leaned your head on the windowsill. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You smiled.

..

There was a shift in the atmosphere the moment you walked into the Great Hall.

You weren’t walking so much as…gliding. Floating? Stumbling slightly to the left. Wrapped in your robe like your life depended on it.

And yet—you looked pleased. Triumphant. As if this was a normal, healthy morning, and you weren’t absolutely radiating fever energy like a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

Sirius saw you first. He choked on his pumpkin juice and immediately slapped James on the shoulder.

“Mate,” he hissed, eyes wide. “Your disaster is here.”

James turned—and promptly dropped his toast.

You were standing there, blinking blearily at them like you’d emerged from a swamp, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly wild.

“Morning,” you rasped, attempting to sit down but completely missing the bench and half-sitting on Sirius’s lap instead.

He let out a squeak. “I didn’t consent to this.”

“Didn’t consent to your face either, but here we are,” you muttered.

James shot out of his seat and helped you off Sirius like you were a toddler learning how chairs worked. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating breakfast,” you said innocently, trying to stab a piece of toast. With a fork.

Marlene, across the table, whispered to Lily, “She’s hallucinating. She thinks she’s at brunch.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “She looks like she got hexed by a fever demon.”

“Guys,” Dorcas said, halfway between laughing and horrified. “She’s glowing.”

“I run warm,” you snapped, face flushed like a tomato in a sauna. You were, in fact, steaming slightly. Like the toast you were now buttering with what appeared to be…jam.

James sat down next to you slowly, like you were a magical creature that might explode.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said carefully. “Or out of Hogwarts. Or alive.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine. Just needed fresh air.”

“You climbed out a window,” Sirius pointed out. “We saw you.”

“Is that why there’s a Lily-shaped shoe print on the ledge outside the girls’ dorm?” Marlene asked.

Lily turned to her. “That’s how I got her back inside last night. She tried to duel the moon, Marlene.”

You scowled. “I wasn’t dueling it. I was politely threatening it.”

James dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. Nope. We’re done.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small vial—the potion. He’d clearly been carrying it around all night, just waiting for you to break.

“Here,” he said. “Drink this.”

You glared at it like it had insulted your mother. “I’m not taking your sketchy illegal moonshine.”

“It’s a Pepperup Potion,” he deadpanned. “Remus brewed it. You’ll stop hallucinating about seasonal pastries.”

“I’m not hallucinating.” You pointed a dramatic, trembling finger across the table. “Peter is literally talking to a pear.”

Everyone turned.

Peter paused mid-bite. “It’s a poached apple, actually.”

Sirius: “Why is it talking back?”

Peter: “Because I’m charming.”

“Enough,” James said, fully losing patience now. “Y/N. Drink the potion. Or I swear to Merlin’s soggy underpants, I will pin you to this bench and make Sirius do it for you.”

Sirius looked delighted. “Oh please let me.”

“Touch me and die,” you snapped, then turned back to James with narrowed eyes. “If I take it, do you shut up?”

James held up three fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

And then, finally, you snatched the vial, downed it in one furious gulp, and immediately started steaming like a kettle.

Everyone stared.

You blinked. “…That was kind of hot.”

“Do not pass out on me now—” James started, catching you just as you swayed dramatically sideways.

Your head thunked softly onto his shoulder. Your breath evened.

“…She’s asleep,” Peter whispered.

“Do you think she’s faking it?” Marlene asked.

“Nope,” James said, adjusting his arm to keep you from sliding. His voice was much softer now. “She just ran out of stubborn.”

Lily smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. She’ll wake up and deny all of this.”

“Already planning the narrative,” Dorcas said proudly.

James looked down at you—flushed, asleep, mouth slightly open. He shook his head fondly and muttered,

“You’re impossible.”

Sirius leaned in. “But, like…in a hot way, right?”

James threw a muffin at him.

..

You were back to your normal self.

Healthy, glowing (in a non-feverish way), and finally able to walk across the common room without someone offering you tea like a dying Victorian aunt.

Life was good.

Which is why you were smirking like a menace when James Potter flopped onto the couch beside you—hood up, nose red, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a grumpy toddler.

He sniffled loudly.

“You,” he croaked, “are a biohazard.”

You patted his knee, all sweetness. “Oh, poor baby. Feeling a bit warm?”

James turned his face into the couch cushion. “You infected me. You cursed me.”

“I told you I run hot.”

He groaned. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in glory. But in the common room. Surrounded by germs. Betrayed by the girl I—” He stopped. Sniffled. “Betrayed by you.”

You tried not to smile too hard. Failed miserably. “Sirius said you were still in denial this morning. About being sick.”

“I wasn’t sick this morning.” He sneezed violently. “I was in mourning.”

You snorted. “For what?”

“For my immune system. My dignity. My sense of smell.” He sniffled again and slumped into your side. “Also my will to live.”

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over both of you.

James blinked. “…Is this an act of mercy?”

“No,” you said, settling in next to him. “Just wanted to remind you what death feels like. Fair is fair.”

He gave a weak laugh, eyes closing as he leaned into your shoulder. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

“You’re literally breathing on me again.”

“Revenge,” he murmured. “Sweet, contagious revenge.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t move away.

..

Madam Pomfrey looked one second away from smacking James Potter with a bedpan.

“Mr. Potter,” she said through gritted teeth, “you are not dying. You have a mild fever and a sore throat.”

James lay dramatically across the infirmary bed like a Victorian child with consumption.

Blankets piled high. Pillow fluffed just right. His arm was flung over his eyes like he was auditioning for a wizard soap opera.

“Tell my mum I fought bravely,” he whispered.

Y/N, sitting at the end of his bed, burst out laughing. “You fought a cold, you absolute goblin.”

James peeked out from beneath his arm. “Don’t mock the weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Lily said flatly from a nearby chair. “You’re annoying.”

“He cried because the potion tasted spicy,” Marlene added.

“It was spicy,” James snapped. “It burned my soul.”

Across the room, the other Marauders were thriving.

Remus was reading calmly, pretending not to laugh.

Peter was drawing tally marks in his journal for every time James coughed dramatically.

Sirius had pulled up a chair like it was theatre night, grinning wide.

“This,” Sirius said, “is the most beautiful reversal of fate I’ve ever seen.”

Dorcas walked in carrying a bowl of soup from the kitchens. She took one look at James and turned right around. “Nope.”

“Dorcas!” James croaked. “Please! Feed me! I’m too weak to hold a spoon—”

“Use your wand, you baby.”

“I can’t!” he wailed. “The magic’s leaving my body—”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, nearly in tears from laughter. “I survived two near-death experiences, a fever-fueled moon duel, and a Peter-shaped hallucination. I earned my sick days.”

James opened one eye dramatically. “And I’m suffering in silence.”

“You’ve literally summoned me with the Marauder whistle four times today,” Remus said. “To pass you tissues.”

James sniffled. “Well I can’t be expected to get up, Remus. What if I fall and die?”

Sirius leaned forward. “Be honest, mate. Are you playing this up so Y/N will tuck you in like you did for her?”

James went still.

Everyone turned to Y/N.

Y/N raised one brow. “You wish.”

James flushed and pulled the blanket over his face. “…You’re all monsters.”

“No,” Lily said. “We’re just finally free of your fake moral superiority.”

Y/N smiled sweetly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest up, hero. Let me know if you start hallucinating pears.”

“Don’t leave,” James mumbled pitifully. “You make the pain bearable.”

Sirius gagged so hard he fell off his chair.

Marlene started clapping.

Remus didn’t even look up. “Two galleons say he tries to kiss her in the next twenty-four hours.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll double it if she punches him first.”

And as the chaos spiraled and James Potter sank deeper into his blanket nest of shame and melodrama, you stayed.

Grinning. Because now you were the one at his bedside.

And he?

He’d never been more whipped in his life.

[starryeyedwolves]

Acing It

“If I ace this exam, you have to go on a date with me.”

Remus didn’t look up from his notes. “Pads, you haven’t studied all term.”

“So that’s a no?”

Remus finally glanced up, eyes narrowed. Sirius was sprawled across the Gryffindor common room sofa like a bored cat, legs draped over the armrest, head tilted upside down off the edge. He looked ridiculous. And smug.

Remus snorted. “It’s not a no. It’s a statistical impossibility.”

Sirius grinned, rolling to his feet with the grace of someone who knew they looked good doing it. “Then what do you have to lose, Moony?”

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. What did he have to lose? If Sirius failed, nothing changed. If—by some divine intervention—he passed with flying colors, Remus would have to… what? Go on one date with him?

He could survive that. Probably.

“You ace it,” Remus said carefully, “and I’ll go on one date with you.”

Sirius’ eyes sparkled. “Deal.”

Sirius did not, in fact, begin studying.

He did, however, become increasingly annoying.

Two days before the Transfiguration final, Remus caught him charming his textbook to float in front of him while he napped.

“That’s not how osmosis works,” Remus said dryly.

“Shh,” Sirius mumbled from the couch, eyes closed. “I’m absorbing it through my skin.”

The night before the exam, he showed up at the library with James in tow, both of them looking like they were being marched to the gallows.

“I’m here to study,” Sirius announced proudly, flinging himself into the chair across from Remus.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “The night before the exam?”

“I work best under pressure,” Sirius said. “Also, Evans said I can’t copy her notes, and I have no idea what the difference is between human and rabbit transfiguration.”

Remus sighed. “Do you even want to be an Auror?”

“Desperately. But I want to date you more.”

Remus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm?” Sirius said innocently, flipping open his book. “Pass me that quill?”

He didn’t think Sirius would actually do it.

But when Professor McGonagall handed back their exam parchments a week later, Sirius didn’t say a word. Just stared at the glowing red O at the top of his page.

Remus watched the expression on his face shift—from disbelief to amusement to something dangerously close to triumph.

“No,” Remus said immediately.

“You promised,” Sirius said, positively glowing now.

“You cheated.”

“I did not.”

“You’ve failed every practice essay this year.”

“I studied,” Sirius said, and Remus hated that he couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. “Just because I didn’t do it the Remus Lupin way—color-coded notes and caffeine-fueled all-nighters—doesn’t mean I didn’t try.”

Remus scowled. “You only did this for the date.”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah. And I aced it.”

Remus stared at him, torn between admiration and sheer exasperation.

“Fine,” he muttered. “One date.”

Sirius beamed.

The date was… not what Remus expected.

He’d imagined Sirius dragging him to Hogsmeade, maybe to that café with the overpriced butterbeer and the velvet cushions. He thought it would be loud, and chaotic, and embarrassing.

Instead, Sirius brought him to the Astronomy Tower after curfew, a blanket tucked under one arm and a box of Honeydukes best chocolates in the other.

“This is technically a detention-worthy offense,” Remus said, looking around nervously.

Sirius grinned. “So live a little.”

They spread the blanket out and sat side by side, leaning against the stone wall as stars blinked into view overhead. The castle was quiet, and the sky was clear, and Remus kept sneaking glances at Sirius when he thought he wasn’t looking.

“So,” Sirius said, popping a chocolate in his mouth, “how am I doing?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“The date. I’ve never been on one before.”

That surprised him. “Really?”

Sirius shrugged. “Not a real one. Just snogging behind statues and getting hexed by jealous boyfriends.”

Remus laughed despite himself. “Charming.”

“You’re my first real one,” Sirius said, suddenly serious. “So I wanted it to be good.”

Remus stared at him. “You planned this?”

“Course I did. You don’t woo a Moony without a strategy.”

“You studied for the exam, didn’t you?” Remus said suddenly.

Sirius looked sheepish. “Maybe.”

“For how long?”

“A week.”

“A whole week? You?”

“It was brutal,” Sirius said dramatically. “I barely survived. But I figured if I wanted to impress you, I couldn’t half-arse it.”

Remus felt something warm bloom in his chest.

“That’s… surprisingly thoughtful.”

Sirius bumped his shoulder. “Don’t let it get around. I’ve got a reputation.”

They sat in silence for a while, the sky stretching endlessly above them. Remus felt oddly content, like something had clicked into place.

Sirius shifted closer, just enough that their knees brushed. “So… would you go on another one?”

“Date?”

“Yeah.”

Remus hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I think I would.”

Sirius grinned. “Next time, I’ll let you pick the spot.”

“Next time, I’m choosing the study method.”

Sirius groaned. “Noooo. Not the color-coded notes.”

Remus laughed. “Deal with it, Sirius”

“Merlin help me,” Sirius muttered. But he was smiling.

Sirius had done many stupid things in his seventeen years.

He’d turned McGonagall’s desk into a trampoline. He’d dared James to fly through the Great Hall on a broomstick (during breakfast). He’d nearly gotten expelled for sneaking into the Slytherin dungeons with an enchanted goat.

But nothing — nothing — was as terrifying as sitting beside Remus Lupin and wondering if he could kiss him without ruining everything.

Remus was quiet, leaning back against the tower wall, his fingers curled loosely around a half-eaten chocolate truffle. The star light silvered his hair, and Sirius was fairly certain his heart was trying to climb out of his chest.

They'd already survived the first date. No explosions, no hexes, no awkward silences. Just chocolate, stars, and the occasional deadpan insult from Remus that Sirius suspected was his version of flirting.

The whole thing had felt… weirdly perfect.

Which meant Sirius had no idea what to do next.

“Are you going to keep staring at me until sunrise, or do you plan to say something?” Remus asked without looking at him.

Sirius startled. “I wasn’t staring.”

“You were.”

“Was not.”

Remus glanced sideways, one eyebrow raised in that annoyingly perceptive way of his. “You’ve been making the same face you did when you realized you’d accidentally used hair gel instead of toothpaste.”

Sirius groaned. “Don’t bring that up.”

“It was last week.”

“I was sleep-deprived!”

“You had minty fresh bangs, Sirius.”

Sirius shoved him lightly. “You’re lucky I fancy you.”

Remus blinked.

Oh.

Oh.

Sirius felt the words hang between them, too soft, too vulnerable.

Remus tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Do you?”

“…Yeah,” Sirius said. Quietly. “A lot more than I expected.”

The silence stretched.

And then Remus reached over and laced their fingers together.

Sirius stared down at their hands, stupidly pleased. “So, is that a good sign?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m holding your hand. In public. At night. While breaking school rules. What do you think, genius?”

“I think I want to kiss you.”

Remus flushed. “You’re impossible.”

“Is that a no?”

Remus didn’t answer — not with words. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Sirius square on the mouth.

Sirius, unsurprisingly, forgot how to breathe.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind.

Sirius didn’t realize how much of his time he already spent orbiting Remus until they started dating. Now it just came with extra perks — like sharing a blanket in the common room without pretending it was platonic, or sneaking notes during class that weren’t just about pranking Filch.

Remus, of course, was still Remus.

Sarcastic. Brilliant. Perpetually exasperated.

But he also smiled more now. Smiled at Sirius. Sometimes just because. Like Sirius himself was the punchline to a joke he wasn’t in on.

And Sirius? Sirius was gone.

He found himself doing the most absurd things just to see that smile — like sitting through an entire Arithmancy lecture just to walk Remus to the library. Or organizing his Transfiguration notes into neat little folders.

(“You made a color-coded system,” Remus had said, astonished.

Sirius sniffed. “Only because I ran out of black ink.”)

And kissing. So much kissing. Behind bookshelves, under the bleachers, once even during a thunderstorm because of course that’s when Remus finally admitted he liked dramatic timing.

They hadn’t told anyone yet, though James definitely suspected.

“You’ve been humming,” James had said one morning at breakfast.

“So?”

“You don’t hum, Pads.”

“I’m in a good mood.”

“You’re in love,” James corrected, grinning. “It’s disgusting.”

Sirius had thrown toast at him.

The next test came during the full moon.

Sirius had always known about Remus’ condition. Had helped, supported, snuck into the Shrieking Shack for moral support. But dating someone who disappeared into a werewolf every month came with its own kind of fear.

He hated how pale Remus looked afterward. Hated the way his hands shook and how he downplayed the pain like it was a stubbed toe instead of broken ribs and torn skin.

When Remus was released from the Hospital Wing, Sirius was already waiting with a blanket and three stolen Honeydukes bars.

“You didn’t have to come,” Remus said, voice rough.

Sirius tucked the blanket tighter around him. “You kidding? I missed you.”

“I look like I lost a fight with a bear.”

“You look hot.”

Remus groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re my worst.”

And Remus exhausted, bandaged, achin still smiled.

A few nights later, curled up in the common room long after curfew, Sirius asked, “Why did you say yes?”

Remus blinked, bleary-eyed from reading.

“To the date,” Sirius clarified. “You didn’t have to. You always acted like I was a nuisance.”

“You are a nuisance.”

Sirius poked him in the side. “Rude.”

Remus sighed, then closed his book. “Because you surprised me.”

“How?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually try. For the exam.”

Sirius shrugged. “I wanted to prove you wrong.”

“No,” Remus said softly. “You wanted to prove you were serious.”

Sirius stared. “Was that a pun?”

“Maybe.”

“Remus.”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You love me.”

Remus paused. “I’m not saying it first.”

“But you do.”

Remus bit his lip. “Yeah,” he said, just loud enough for Sirius to hear. “I do.”

And Sirius, heart full to the brim, kissed him like a promise.

Of course, nothing ever stayed perfect at Hogwarts for long.

A week before NEWTs, someone saw them holding hands near the Quidditch stands. Rumors spread fast.

By dinner, half the school was whispering.

Sirius was ready to hex half the castle.

But Remus… he just rolled his eyes.

“Let them talk,” he said, calm as ever. “It’s not like we were hiding.”

Sirius looked at him. “You sure?”

Remus nodded. “I spent seventeen years being afraid of what people would say. I’m tired of it.”

Sirius felt something fierce rise in his chest. Pride. Love. Awe.

He took Remus’ hand in front of the whole Great Hall.

Let them stare.

On the day of their final exam, Remus caught Sirius chewing his quill like it had personally offended him.

“Still nervous?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

Sirius groaned. “It’s Charms. I don’t do Charms.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You said that last time.”

“And you aced it.”

“Only because I was trying to impress you!”

Remus smiled. “Then pretend I’m still unimpressed.”

“Harsh, Lupin.”

“You love me.”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah. I really, really do.”

[prythiansprincess]

darling, you look divine.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: eyes don't lie by isabel larosa.

author's note: screaming, crying, throwing up. if regulus looked at me like that, i'd be wetter than the black lake. please enjoy my darlings 🤎

The first symptom reared its ugly head early Monday morning. 

You were in the Great Hall eating breakfast with James, Remus, Sirius, and Peter when your skin suddenly felt like you were being engulfed by fiendfyre. The burning heat spread through your entire body, making you feel flushed and flustered. Your fork clattered against the table while you wiped the sweat off of your brow with clammy hands. 

“Are you feeling alright, love?” asked Sirius. 

You shook your head, fanning yourself. “Does anyone else feel hot all of a sudden? It feels like I’m getting burned alive.”

The boys shook their heads. Remus laid the back of his hand against your forehead. “You’re burning up, Y/N. I think you might be pitching a fever.” 

James pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and squinted. “Moony’s right. You’re sweating profusely and you look a bit peaked.” 

Peter nodded in agreement. “It might be that new dragon flu that’s going around. Maybe you should head back to the dorms, Y/N.” 

“I can’t miss class. There’s an assignment due in Transfiguration.” 

Just then, a violent cramp seized your lower abdomen. You gripped the edge of the dining table so hard that you felt the wood splinter underneath your palm. Padfoot’s eyes widened at the appearance of your claws. It had only been a month since Sirius helped you summon your Animagus form and while you still had much to learn, you’ve never lost control like this before. 

You needed to get out of there. Transforming into a giant snow leopard in the middle of the Great Hall would be very, very bad. 

“Don’t worry about McGonagall,” Sirius said in a stern voice. “We’ll cover for you. Now come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.” 

Fortunately, you managed to reach Gryffindor tower with no other incidents. After Sirius escorted you back to your dorm, he barred the door with magic and promised to check up on you after class. 

The cramps only worsened. It felt like someone had buried a dagger into your stomach and was now twisting and turning it as they pleased. You doubled over in pain and clutched the poster of your canopy bed before curling up into a ball in the middle of your mattress. Not even your period cramps compared to this torment. 

When you thought it couldn’t get any worse, an overwhelming ache blossomed between your thighs and made you groan with need. You twisted in your sheets and pressed your legs together to counteract the wave of lust coursing through your veins, but it only made it worse. You felt empty and hollow and the overwhelming desire to be filled was the only thing you could think about.

This was different from the surge of adolescent hormones that you had grown so familiar with. The desire was a living thing, sinking its claws into your very being. You felt feral, animalistic. 

You burrowed into your pillows, your breaths growing ragged as you tried to regain control. A demanding knock against your door broke your concentration. You sniffed the air, whining softly as the intoxicating scent of eucalyptus, bergamot, and sandalwood overpowered your heightened senses. A part of you recalled the warning Sirius left you with. You were not, under any circumstances, supposed to open the door unless it was him or one of the boys on the other side, but the temptation was too strong. 

As the knocks grew more insistent, the scent shifted into something sharper. You felt yourself drawn to it and before long, you were opening the door to satiate your curiosity. The person standing on the other side made your stomach lurch. 

“Regulus,” you said through gritted teeth. The very presence of the younger Black brother made your entire body shake as you contended against the urge to transform. It was a losing battle. You could feel your canines elongating, making your gums feel sore and achy. “Now is not a good time.” 

In fact, it was the worst bloody fucking time. On a normal day, you could barely tolerate Regulus. His surly attitude and cutting glare certainly left little to be desired. Then there was the matter of his falling out with Sirius, which only served to heighten the tension between you. When Professor McGonagall chose to make you partners, you at least attempted to keep things civil. Whatever was going on between your best friend and his younger brother was none of your business, but Regulus had practically made it impossible to stay impartial. 

You had never met a broodier, haughtier, snootier arsehole than Regulus Arcturus Black. The pureblood prick acted like he was a prince amongst peasants just because he happened to be born into the right bloodline. Yet a muggleborn like yourself had managed to take the top spot in every class. A spot that previously belonged to him. 

To be expected, Regulus wasn’t the least bit pleased about this. He was even less thrilled when McGonagall tasked him to drop off the latest lecture notes so that you wouldn’t fall behind in class. If she hadn’t threatened to deduct points from his house for refusing, Regulus would’ve never set foot in the godforsaken lion’s den.

He pushed his way inside, not bothering to wait for a proper invitation. “Here are the notes from class,” Regulus stated stiffly. “We’re required to transform a thimble into a thestral. I suggest you read up. I’ll not have you dragging me down just because you fancied playing hooky for the day.” 

“I’m not skipping for the bloody hell of it,” you snapped. “If I had a choice, I would be in class not doubled over in pain—” 

Regulus caught you just before you hit the ground. The dizzy spell had come out of nowhere, nearly knocking you to the floor from the sheer force of its effects. As Regulus snaked his arm around your waist, you almost wished it had. His scent hit you all at once. You whimpered as he tucked you against his side, feeling the heat of his touch even under all your layers of clothing. 

The ringing in your ears subsided enough for you to hear the panic in Regulus’ voice. “Y/N, can you hear me? Are you alright?” 

You pushed him off with what little strength remained in your body. “Thank you for the notes, but I’d appreciate it if you left.”

“No,” Regulus said. 

“What do you mean, no?

“I mean, no. Do you want to hear it in French? Non.” 

You frowned, clutching your stomach. The cramps were starting again, but it was different this time. The ache in your lower abdomen was excruciating and your current proximity to Regulus only seemed to make it worse. The slickness between your thighs certainly didn’t help the matter. It was humiliating, plain and simple. 

“Get the fuck out, Regulus!” 

Regulus caught your wrist. His fingers felt like ice against your overheated skin. “You don’t want that, darling. Not when I’m the only person who can help.”

“You know what’s wrong with me?” 

He sighed. “Of course my brother would convince you to turn without thinking about the side effects. Classic Sirius, honestly.” You glared at him to get on with it. “You’re in heat, Y/N.” 

You grimaced. There was no way in Godric’s green earth. “Like…a cat?” 

Regulus smirked. “Is that what you transform into, little kitten?” You pursed your lips, which caused him to roll his eyes. “Please, I know your merry band of misfits have all conjured an animagus form. There’s no use hiding it. So what are you? A fuzzy little Persian cat?” 

“No,” you said rather haughtily. Did he have to be so irritating? “My form is a snow leopard.” 

“Still a kitten,” he responded with a shit eating grin. “The same rules apply. You’ll be in heat for at least a week, mon chaton.” 

“You mean I have to suffer for seven whole days? This is hell. It feels like my uterus is being ripped apart. How am I supposed to endure this pain for an entire week?”

“Well, there are ways to find relief.” 

“What kind of ways?” 

Regulus gave you a knowing look. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out. What’s the purpose of heat?” 

“Reproduction,” you answered almost instantly. The realization left your mouth before your brain could even process it. Oh, you have got to be kidding. This was some sort of cruel joke. For Merlin’s fucking sake! This was horrifying. Downright humiliating. “You can’t possibly mean…” 

The grin on the stupid twat’s face was growing wider by the second. “You don’t necessarily have to have sex,” he said in an amused tone. “An orgasm will do. I’m sure you can manage that with your fingers, can’t you princess?”

You swallowed thickly. “I—I’ve never—“ 

Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Discussing the details of your sex life would’ve been humiliating under any circumstance, but this? Standing here, telling Regulus fucking Black what you were about to tell him, this was truly rock bottom.

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.” 

“No!” you snapped. You’ve had your fair share of experience in that department, no matter how awkward they might’ve been. “I’ve had sex, I just haven’t…”

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Regulus said, entirely perplexed. “Not even once?” 

You crossed your arms defensively, which turned out to be a big mistake. On top of everything else that you were already suffering through, your breasts now felt sore and sensitive. 

“No,” you conceded with a sigh. “I don’t need you judging me for it either, so if you’re quite done then please get the bloody hell out of my dorm.” 

It may have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn that Regulus softened just a little bit. He at least loosened his grip on your wrist, rubbing up your arm in a gesture that might’ve been soothing if it weren’t coming from him. 

“I’m not judging you. If anything, I’m judging whoever it is that failed to make you finish. It’s quite rude to leave a lady unsatisfied.” 

“What would you even know about satisfying a woman, Regulus?”

“Trust me, darling. I know plenty.” Your cheeks heated as he traced circles on your forearm. “Tell me, kitten. Have you ever touched yourself?” 

The conversation should have ended there. You should’ve put a stop to it. But this bloody fucking heat was doing strange things to your body. Your hormones were out of control and Regulus was standing way too close for comfort. So close that you could see the little golden flecks in his emerald eyes. So close that one of his curls was tickling your cheek. So close that those full, pillowy lips were mere inches away from your own. 

He smirked when your gaze dipped down to his mouth. “My eyes are up here, Y/N and I asked you a question. The polite thing to do is answer.” 

“Since when have you ever cared about being polite?” 

“I don’t, but I think you and I are playing a very dangerous game here and I quite enjoy sparring with you, ma cherie.” Regulus tilted your chin up and cradled your jaw. “So, have you or have you not touched yourself?” 

You glared up at him defiantly; a last ditch effort to keep your dignity intact. “No,” you said with your head held high. “I’ve never touched myself and I’ve never had an orgasm. Are you happy now, Regulus?” 

“Quite the opposite,” he murmured. Regulus caressed your bottom lip with his thumb and tilted his head back to study you. His eyes were almost black when they flickered back up to meet yours. “I could teach you.” 

“You want to teach me how to…” 

“Masturbate. Wank. Get yourself off?” Regulus listed matter-of-factly. “Yes. Yes, I do, ma chérie.”

It should’ve been a no-brainer. This was a terrible, horrible fucking idea. An absolute hot mess that would yield calamitous results, but the ache in your core was too painful to ignore and you were willing to try just about anything to find relief. Including trusting someone you absolutely loathed. 

“Fine. You can teach me, but that’s it. None of this goes any further than that.” 

Regulus smirked. “I won’t touch you, princess. Not until you beg me to.” 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “So?” 

He nodded behind you. “Get on the bed.” 

That was easy enough. You crawled into your mattress and sat cross legged on top of your sheets. “Not like that. Lie down on your back and take those ghastly pajamas off.” 

Arsehole. You happened to like your red and gold striped bottoms, but to be fair, they were in the way. The mattress dipped beneath him as Regulus positioned himself at the very edge of the bed. He leaned against the wooden poster, his gaze transfixed on the sight before him. 

“I wouldn’t have taken you as a red lace lingerie type of girl, mon chaton.” You frowned in response, which only made him chuckle. “As pretty as those panties are, you’ll need to take them off as well.” 

You hesitated, hooking your thumb over the waistband of your knickers. Regulus raised a brow as if he were challenging you to back out. Like he half-expected you to be too scared to continue. He seriously underestimated that infamous brashness that Gryffindors were so well known for. 

He inhaled sharply as you slipped out of your panties and tossed the discarded lace next to him. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.” 

For once, you kept silent and did what you were told. Regulus nodded tightly. “Wider. Yeah, just like that.” 

“What now?” you asked, trying to keep yourself from blushing at this totally undignified position. You were way past embarrassment now. 

“Run a finger through your folds,” Regulus said, his voice sounding huskier than it did a second ago. He watched with dark eyes as you stroked your core. “Fuck, you’re soaked. I can see it on your fingers.” 

You took a deep breath, feeling that tension coil in your lower abdomen. Every fiber of your being buzzed with lust. “Stroke yourself, kitten. Imagine that it’s someone else touching you.” 

With your eyes closed, you let his voice guide you through the steps. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this. “Use your own slick to make it easier, darling. Gather it before rubbing your clit. That’s it, just like that. There’s a good girl.” 

The words spurred you on, your fingers working that sensitive bundle of nerves to find release. You could feel the budding orgasm. It was spreading through you, setting your teeth on edge. You were close, so close. 

When the momentum dropped, you nearly cried out of frustration. If you thought you were in pain before, this was ten-fold of that. For some reason, there was some sort of mental block that you couldn’t get past. 

You looked up, your lower lip trembling. “I can’t do it. There’s this block and I freeze up and I just can’t do it on my own.” 

Regulus looked unhinged. Like he was going to jump out of his skin any second. You’ve never seen him like this. Anything other than calm and collected was out of character for the youngest Black. 

“Will you help me?” you whispered. To be honest, you weren’t above begging at this point. 

He looked utterly conflicted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N. You’re in heat. I don’t want to take advantage when you’re in such a vulnerable state.” 

You shook your head. “You wouldn’t be taking advantage. I know I’m hormonal, but oddly enough, I trust you. You know how to keep a secret. Just please, Regulus. I’m in so much pain.” 

Regulus was silent for a moment. He seemed to be in deep contemplation. “Are you absolutely sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re aware of what you’re asking for and who you’re asking it from?” 

“I am perfectly aware, thank you very much. Is this the most brilliant idea I’ve ever had? Fuck no. Do I still want to do it anyways? Fuck yes.” 

The two of you stared at one another. Regulus clenched his jaw and then unclenched it. Finally, he sighed in resignation. 

“C’mere then.” 

He positioned himself against the headboard, his back pressed up on the wood. Regulus bent his long legs and pulled you against him, your back resting against the solid plane of his chest. You sighed as he rubbed soothing circles upon your skin, his rings kissing your hips with their cold bite. He shuffled behind you, adjusting himself just as you caught a glimpse of the two of you in your vanity mirror. 

Regulus stuck his middle and pointer finger into his mouth, making sure they were nice and wet before he moved them lower. You whimpered as he caressed the inside of your thigh and clutched the sheets as he teased along your crease. When he stroked along your wetness, a choked moan escaped from your lips. 

“Gods, you’re fucking dripping.” His cold breath fanned over your neck just as he plunged his fingers deep within you. “Salazar fucking save me, you’re even tighter than I imagined.” 

His strokes were languid, small ministrations as he buried his fingers inside of you. The cold metal rings that adorned his slender fingers hit your pubic bone every time he thrusted inside of you, but it wasn’t painful. In fact, seeing the Black heirloom ring soaked in your wetness might’ve been the most erotic sight you’ve ever witnessed.

You whimpered as his other hand disappeared underneath your shirt. “Can I touch you here, princess?” 

The sound that came out of you barely sounded human. It was a purr more than anything. Regulus caressed your ribs with his knuckles. “I need words, kitten.” 

“You can touch me, Regulus.” 

Fire skittered along your skin as his hand traveled further up. He palmed you through your bra before he slipped under the fabric and squeezed your breast. Regulus paid equal attention to both of your breasts, admiring the curve and swell of them as he picked up the pace of his fingers. You moaned as he pinched your nipples, which only made you wetter still. 

You fisted his curls in one hand as he curved them inside of you. Regulus chuckled darkly, pleased by your reaction. “Right there? Does that feel good, princess?” 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, gods that’s perfect.” 

“You’re doing so well, ma cherie. That’s it. Ride my fingers just like that. Feels good, yeah?” 

You nodded, blinking at the image in the mirror. Regulus had his hands all over you, his lips pressed lightly against your neck as he watched his fingers slide in and out of your tight cunt. His eyes caught yours in the reflection, the green completely swallowed by dark pools of lust. 

“Look at you, all spread out for me. You’re fucking exquisite. The little moans you make are enough to drive me mad.” 

“Regulus, please,” you keened. He smirked against your neck and picked up the pace. Your head fell against his shoulder as that familiar tense built. “Oh gods. Oh fuck. Reggie—“

You felt him grip your chin, tilting it towards the mirror. “Don’t close your eyes,” Regulus growled into your ear. “Watch, kitten. Watch as I make you cum.”

When you dragged your gaze upwards, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You were in a state of disarray, cheeks flushed, hair matted, and lips parted as Regulus pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic and every stroke unraveled you, hips bucking, back arching, begging for more and more and more. The orgasm rippled through you like a monsoon, completely swallowing you whole. 

“That’s it, princess,” Regulus cooed. “Gods, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Darling, you look divine. Je suis raide dingue de toi.”

The comedown had you seeing stars. Behind your eyes was a whole galaxy, a cluster of constellations that you never would’ve reached without him. Regulus had made you cum so hard that your body felt like it was floating through outer space. 

When you finally regained awareness, you were surprised to find Regulus gently brushing your hair back. “How was that, kitten?” 

“That was—you were—fuck.”

“Well said, love. Shakespeare himself would envy your silver tongue.”

He slid his fingers out of you slowly and you tried and failed to suppress the little whine that escaped from the back of your throat. 

Regulus smirked, feeling the way you clenched around his digits in an attempt to keep him in place. He stared at his hand, mesmerized by the arousal dripping off his fingers. You stirred, having every intention to find something that he could clean himself off with. 

“Let me grab you a towel.” 

He gripped your hips in place and looked you straight in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his lips. “No need, princess.” 

Then he sucked, hard. The filthy image was enough to leave you gasping in shock. He lapped up every drop like you were the sweetest delicacy on this earth. Regulus groaned, his eyes rolling back as he savored the taste. The moan that rippled through him would forever be branded into your mind.

For Godric’s fucking sake, the man was downright obscene.

“That should hold you off for the rest of the day,” Regulus said. “You’ll still feel the effects of your heat, but it won’t be as bad. You might even be able to drag yourself down to dinner. If you can manage to walk on such shaky legs.” 

You rolled your eyes, but softened a bit. If it weren’t for him, you would still be in excruciating pain. “Would it be strange to say thank you?” 

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly as though you were merely discussing the weather. “Not strange at all. You’re very welcome, princess.” 

“You’re…” you took a deep breath, like your body was rejecting whatever compliment was forming in your mind. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah? You think so?” 

You quirked a brow. “Fishing for compliments, are we?” 

“The only compliment I need is the sound of you moaning my name,” he said with a smile as he hooked your bra back in place and pulled your shirt back down. “I assure you that I intend to hear plenty of that in the near future. This is just the start.” 

Regulus straightened, trailing his fingers along the sheets before snatching up the red lace underwear you’d thrown at him earlier. He pocketed the lingerie and smirked. 

"You said something earlier," you recalled. "Before I..."

"Before I made you come so hard you saw stars?"

Heat flooded your cheeks at his vulgar choice of words. "Yes. Something in French. That's your native tongue, isn't it?"

"Thinking a lot about my tongue, are you love?"

You ignored the salacious comment. "What did you say?"

A devious smirk tugged at his lips. Regulus pierced you with his gaze, those emerald eyes burning with so much lust that you felt choked with desire.

"It's a secret," he whispered, his voice a deep and rough caress. "If you're good, then maybe you'll find out what my tongue and I have to say."

You rolled your eyes. "You're a pain in the arse, Regulus."

"Find me when you want to play again, princess," Regulus said with a dark chuckle. "I'll be waiting for those claws to come out. See you soon, mon chaton.” 

[bradleysass]

look - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 384

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with post-Quidditch victory energy, red and gold banners draped across the walls, butterbeer bottles clinking, and the sound of jubilant laughter filling the space. James Potter, Gryffindor’s star Chaser, should have been reveling in the celebration. Instead, he was in agony.

“Bet you can’t do it,” Sirius had said, smirking like the menace he was. “Bet you can’t go the whole night without looking at my dear, darling little brother.”

James scoffed. “Please. I have self-control.”

Sirius just laughed. “Alright then, Potter. Prove it. If I catch you so much as glancing at Regulus, you have to do my Transfiguration homework for a month.”

And like an idiot, James had agreed.

Now, an hour into the party, James was realizing just how impossible this task was. Because, of course, Regulus Black was here, lounging in an armchair in the corner of the room, looking entirely out of place yet maddeningly perfect. He wasn’t even trying, but James knew—just knew—that if he dared to look over, he’d be caught in the depths of stormy grey eyes, the way Regulus’ fingers drummed absently against his glass, the way his lips curled ever so slightly when he was deep in thought.

Sirius was watching him like a hawk, gleeful and ready to pounce the moment James caved.

James clenched his jaw and threw back his drink. He could do this. He could absolutely do this. He turned to Marlene and started up a conversation about the match, feigning interest in her recounting of his best plays, but his mind was elsewhere. What was Regulus doing? Was he bored? Was he talking to someone else? Was he leaving?

His body moved on instinct, just the slightest tilt of his head to check—

“Caught you!” Sirius whooped, clapping him on the back. “Bloody hell, that didn’t even last an hour.”

James groaned, slamming his head against the table. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Sirius said smugly, before waggling his eyebrows. “But you know what’s worse than losing? You didn’t even get to enjoy the view.”

James grumbled under his breath, but Sirius wasn’t wrong. And as James snuck another glance—because the bet was lost anyway—he found Regulus looking right back at him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

[heyitstaylore]

Parseltongue Black brothers

september

Sirius: *hisses at Regulus in the Great Hall*

Regulus: *rolls his eyes and frowns*

Remus: “The fuck was that?”

Sirius: “Oh, nothing.”

november

Regulus: *face red, nostrils flared and hisses like a mad man at Sirius in the Transfiguration Courtyard*

Sirius: *laughs his brother in the face and walks away*

Barty: “Are you a kettle? What was that noise?”

Regulus: “Shut up, Barty.”

march

*Sirius and Regulus having a hissing match on the Quidditch pitch, Sirius throwing his hands around wildly while Regulus just looks like he might explode on the spot*

Remus: “Oi, Prongs, do you think it’s the inbreeding?”

James: “I have no idea, but this is scary. They look like they are talking or something.”

may

*Barty wakes up in the middle of the night to a strange sound*

*sees that Regulus is sitting on his bed, notes and books all around him, frantic look on his face, Lumos shines from his wand*

Barty: “Reg, you forgot to draw your curtains again, and for the love of Merlin, shut the fuck up, you are quite scary while doing that.”

Regulus: “Whatever.” *quickly draws the curtains around his bed and throws up a Muffliato*

june

*the Black brothers are standing in the middle of the corridor, yelling in English and French at each other and occasionally emitting strange hissing noises, the skittles and marauders just standing and looking at each other like ?!?!?!*

Peter: “Shouldn’t we like… do something?”

Barty: “No, I want to see who curses who first. My bet is on Regulus.” *fist bumps with Evan*

James: “Pads, don’t… just…”

*Dumbledore materialises from thin air*

Dumbledore: “Now, now, gentlemen…”

*the brothers freeze mid-hissing and the others are murmuring every variation of “thank Merlin”*

Dumbledore: “Ah, parseltongue, how rare of a skill! Delightful” *toodles away*

Evan: “…parseltongue?”

Lily: *sighing and rolling her eyes so hard they almost fall out of her head* “Yes, they are parselmouth. They can speak the language of snakes. It’s a rare ability; it leads back all the way to Salazar Slytherin. The legend says only his true descendants are able to speak Parseltongue.”

*everyone and their mother loses their shit and starts a screaming match with both of the brothers*

i got inspired by @noblehouseofgay

[chaaistained]

☕︎ my marauders dr; intro •°

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.

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🗝️ you’ve now unlocked the recipe to my marauders dr ≈

name : julia ephemeri potter

age (when i shift) : 15 — i’m experiencing the whole slow burn.. and i just know it’s gonna be torture . but we persevere

— (when i post about my script) : most of the time, i’ll be talking about me from the ages of 16-21 onwards

occupation : student of witchcraft at hogwarts

+ (eventually) some form of adult occupation . i’ll edit this later i genuinely don’t know and i don’t need to know for good few years at least so..

details :

— house : gryffindor

— wand : sandalwood with a mermaid hair core , 9.5”

+ wand breakdown

— patronus : brown bear / sable (undecided, i love both.. help)

— amortentia : ocean air , candle wax , musty books

+ amortentia breakdown

— fav subject : alchemy

— top subjects : (+ alchemy) ancient runes , charms , muggle studies

— pets : sadie / sadie sue (ginger tabby cat) , barnaby (brown barn owl , shared with james..)

side hobbies/hustles : gryffindor quidditch team seeker

+ (eventually) editorial team of the hogwarts herald

+ (eventually) prefect

s/o : regulus arcturus black ৻ꪆ

౨ৎ meet miss juju berry

an incandescence, forged of tart blood and a permeating sense of melancholy — she finds herself in a constant search, an unsolvable quest for meaning, latching onto anything that can define her identity and yet feeling irrevocably lost to herself — she is only the light, not the sun . she is only the shell, not the pearl . she is only the stain , not the blackberry

i unfurl into this reality with the kind of effervescence found in firewhiskey, a bubbling surprise of sorts, one that my own parents weren’t expecting. my mum calls me a gift, she calls my brother a blessing . i don’t know if the difference in term denotes a difference in how we’re perceived, and truth be told it drove me crazy as a kid and sometimes it still does but for whatever purpose or prosperity, the fates resolved that i was meant to be born and here i am

a toppling fire cracker of a girl, or so i’m told, i’m one of the rambunctious gryffindors that barrel down the marble hallways of hogwarts castle. i bunk with seven other girls, one of whom is my best friend — mary macdonald. along with the charming ravenclaw — emmeline vance — and a snark of a hufflepuff — hestia jones — the four of us can be found in various locations around the school campus; passed out in a heap on the softest patch of grass near the black lake , shooting pine cones over the whomping willow and keeping score of who gets the most over without the tree smacking them away , secluded in the third booth on the second floor of the library . our quills drying out while we distractedly ignore our transfiguration homework in favour of finding the right spell to conceal our carved names on the bottom of the booth’s oakwood table (the result of emmeline sneaking alcoholic butterbeer into the school, and a series of bad decisions later, we’d all drunkenly vandalised the furniture.. thankfully mcgonagall doesn’t know or i might lose my prefect badge)

with small flowers in my braid and golden earrings that shimmer as i shake my head, i slip between the sea of students with an ease that can only be spotted in the agile gait of a seeker. though, nothing about my speed on the ground can compare to that which i showcase when i’m hundreds of feet in the air, my broomstick being an extension of me, something i trust to a concerning degree, coming up with the sorts of tricks and techniques that would land me in the hospital wing if i wasn’t as good as i am. that attention to detail, the pedantic precision of my sight is also what makes me a renowned editor of the student body’s newsletter — a semi-professional scrapbook of a weekly issue, a holistic voice of all students from all houses . honestly it can be hard to maintain that harmony but perhaps that’s why dumbledore sanctioned the club, a forceful hand at coexisting

regardless, it’s the least of my worries, a pastime really, my main focus being the exceedingly irritating presence of a certain slytherin seeker, who grows more and more unbearable by the day, not to mention he’s constantly around, in almost all my classes, assigned to same hours of prefect patrol, not a moment of peace . and yet paired with that bothersome nuisance brews the burning desire to find out more

and if you want to know why, then i suppose you should keep reading

(merlin’s name, i can write intrigue splendidly, they should assign me as the journalist not just the bloody editor)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ my black bird

a rising tide in his own right, he is determined to maintain what is deemed to be perfection, unwilling to admit that no two waves ever look the same, no two stars ever shine alike, there is no apex . and yet he tries. haunted by ancestry, rippling currents that pull him into the ravine of his family’s legacy, it’s a future he wishes to inherit whilst believing it impossible. until his brother abandoned his birthright and that status, that title, that name he always wanted to earn yet never actually trained for, was now his

that unassuming final breath before striking a curse, the calm interwoven with calamity, that’s what regulus feels in every waking moment .

there is a blurry haze of memories when he tries to decipher where it all began — did envy bleed out of him every time sirius entered the room and commanded attention with his mere presence? or was it admiration? did he love his brother or loath him? maybe neither, maybe both, maybe everything in between and nothing at all, it never made sense and it probably never will.

so then leaves the question of his own significance — fostered from birth? or handed down simply because he is the spare to the heir? in this instance both made sense but neither option would ever be clarified.

and so regulus chooses to not feel anything, reserve all emotions to be shared with a few select friends — evan and barty had a way about them, his laughter was not something he could hold back in their presence . dorcas founded a semblance of solitude even though the space was shared, as if their silence was a mutual understanding, a shorthand of sorts . pandora had the gift of gracing their group with his smile, he considered it a curse that she had such a superpower, to bring out these genuine joys in other people, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way — those were his people

not his brother . who he shifted his eyes to look away from whenever they passed each other .. only to turn back and glance over his shoulder, observing the elder son’s movements, wishing he’d turn back too, and then hurriedly clenching his fist, squashing the thought before it even had the chance to breathe

not his parents . who stood tall yet hollow, ghosts of who they were before their family was “torn apart” according to them, holding metaphorical goal posts only to keep moving them higher and higher every time regulus attempted to score, before tutting as he slipped and fell, unable to maintain the impossible altitude of their expectations

no. his people were his friends, the people who could mellow out his misgivings, erode his stone walls

and yet, those stone walls remain intact, erosion takes time.

unless of course someone me shattered the very structure of his world view, erupting his life into firework flurries of emotions, clandestine nights, musty sunrises drenched in dew drops and fog, leaving a wafting air about the world, scented jasmine and blackberry, amber gold flecks embedded inside twin irises . the kind of beauty that haunts his dreams and burns fire in his heart

he really should not be giving in to such a tragically stupid connection, not when majority of the time is spent bickering amongst dusty textbooks, whispering shouts bouncing off cold castle walls in the middle of the night, hexes spewing back and forth before finally forfeiting from fear of being caught .. that isn’t what he should want

he shouldn’t want anything

and yet he does

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ candlelit hearts

sinking into an unknown abyss, falling from the sky with a smile on your face while the halo around your head crackles, wax dripping down the curve of your back, you were destined to fall, that’s what you are meant to do, that’s who you are meant to be — a tidal wave tore through your heart, engulfing you entirely and yet you let yourself descend deeper and deeper — for reasons unknown, you found a companion in the darkness, a fire in the flesh, a home between interlaced fingers, foreheads pressed together and a single flickering candle flame that burns bright from the magic of your shared love

it’s funny, when i look back at it. because i suppose we always knew the other existed, but i only really met him when i was 13..

whatever classes we shared before, whatever moments were missed where we walked past each other through hallways or on moving staircases, those never really registered.

i just remember the cold, the prickly sensation of snow on my bare fingertips, crunching under my feet, glittering from the shy slithers of sunlight that flitted through the bleak grey sky. the constant dinging bells, the sound of students exploring all that hogsmeade had to offer, and yet there we stood, facing each other in an alley between shops, frowning in a way that would become all too familiar in the years to come

for what it’s worth, it’s easy to dislike the guy — almost always beating me by a few marks, his facial expression was more than enough of a gloat in itself . creating nicknames for whatever trick i use in a quidditch match and always coming up with a counter move (he can’t ever let me win. personally speaking, of course, i win plenty of matches) . it’s always something with him, and whatever quick bursts of emotion i bring out are hurriedly buried under a blank expression and a tired, almost uninterested visage that boils my blood in a way i cannot possibly describe . and yet i find myself thinking about it, about him, in the ungodly hours of the night.. only to get back at him of course

and it isn’t as if i can speak for him, for the longest time i had no clue what he’d be thinking no matter how long i stared, trying to decipher his thoughts.. but i’d be an idiot to have not noticed a change — the way he would walk through life with a strive to prove himself and yet constantly controlling how much of that ambition he could show.. living each day almost half present, half minded, elsewhere entirely, focused on a far reaching future as if it was right around the corner

he wasn’t like that anymore, he seemed to flourish, to spark, to appear alive . but only when teetering on the tightrope of an improbable partnership, an impossible romance, a strange little love story written between the aged cushions of an abandoned couch, in a hidden lounge, behind an old potions classroom — we found it together . or, more so, we argued and raced to unlock the door first, but regardless, it was our space . a space in which the kindling fire of an unlikely friendship would blossom into something greater than i could ever hope for

and when the mysteries within the castle walls start to crack through, when the secrets between the students stir the cauldron of rumours, and the history of influential families begins to pull itself up from the grave .. i guess it’s not so surprising to admit, but someone as curious as me, paired with someone as persistent as regulus? it’s no big shock that we find ourselves in the middle of such a storm

one transmutation away from uncovering the truth, waking up old bones, and burying the new ones

don’t swallow the tea leaves ! for they leave you a message 🍂

the people have spoken (i’m referring to the poll) and so i post ^this .. it did take a while bcs of numerous reasons that i don’t want to go into but anyway, i adore this dr so so much and i’ve worked so hard on the fic version of it T^T however it is a bit too traumatic for me to actually live out so .. this dr is slightly more tame — i just want to relive high school in hogwarts with the people that helped me through a lot of the shit i faced when i was in high school and they were merely characters on a screen — although, i can’t help myself, there are a few mysteries and bouts of intrigue to keep me entertained, i just .need to figure out what.. i could leave it up to my subconscious but . i don’t wanna do that ≈

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

[malfoyscoffee]

blame the fire whiskey ౨ৎ theodore nott

pairing theodore nott x slytherin! reader about fluff | 1.7k words | best friends to lovers warnings mentions of alcohol consumption

this is based on my shorter writing here

"Oh, come on. You have to come to the game today!" 

One skill that your best friend had was being so convincing; I mean, who could say no to Theodore Nott's big brown eyes when he begs you to attend his quidditch game later against Gryffindor, or his signature grin when you finally agree to go after he persistently asked you all day.

"Fine," You're working on a Transfiguration paper while lying on Theodore's bed as you finally give in to his request. "I'll go to the quidditch game later." You raise your head to stare at him, seeing a smile on his lips when he gets up from his chair and walks over to his closet.

"Now, let's look a little excited now, please?" Theodore is busy rummaging through his closet when you place your quill down briefly, "Wait, are Pansy and Astoria going too?"

You watch the boy focus on moving his hanged clothes to the side, looking for something. His room was neat compared to the state of his closet, and you stared out the window to see the spring leaves blooming.

"Yeah," Theodore's head is now searching through the depths of his closet, "They told me earlier that they're going." You hum in delight, thanking Salazar that your friends will be there in the stands while your other friends will be on the field playing.

"Where did I place it?" You hear Theodore mumble but decide to continue working on your paper.

A few moments later, you feel a piece of clothing cover your face, "Theo! What is this?" You exclaim while removing the object to identify it.

Theodore laughs at your annoyed expression, walking over to you, "It's my jersey, of course." 

You observe the jersey clearly, seeing his name on the backside of the green clothing.

"Obviously, but why are you throwing this to me?" You ask again, wanting to hear the verbal explanation directly from his lips.

Theodore shrugs his shoulders, pulling the jersey out of your hands and making you sit up. He silently places the jersey on top of your current clothes before he looks satisfied.

"Theo," You look at him with a faint smile, "Answer me," 

"It's for good luck," Theodore stared at the clock and walked over to pick up his broomstick, as it was almost time for his practice. "Do you really want Slytherin to lose today?"

You were surprised when Pansy and Astoria didn't ask why you wore Theodore's jersey to the game. But you were even more surprised when you heard someone faintly calling your name from a distance.

"Turn around," Astoria shook your shoulders, breaking you out of your conversation with Pansy.

"Theo?" You question the obvious. A happy-looking Theodore was flying to the stands while calling your name. 

You laugh at his actions, not noticing the curious eyes from around you. Since the game ended, students had eventually noticed that you were wearing Theodore’s jersey, almost as if you were dating.

"I'll see you later when you get down," He waves before flying away, finally hearing the choruses of teasing around you.

"Theo!" You run up to him on the field, "Congrats on the win!" Theodore wraps his arm around you when you reach him, brushing some hair out of your face. 

"Thanks, it was because you wore my jersey today," He looks down at you when you pull away. Pansy and Mattheo hear the sound of your laughter when they approach the two of you.

"So," Pansy says to the three of you, "We're all going to the celebration party later, right?"

You felt Theodore snake a hand around your waist and use his other hand to brush through his hair.

Pansy spots Astoria, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise walking toward the four of you, "Yeah, I think so,” Mattheo answers her, looking at Theodore. "Draco said there's going to be Fire Whiskey tonight, so Theo’s drinking with me." 

When your other friends reach you, all of you walk back towards the castle, betting on who's getting wasted the most tonight.

It was Lorenzo.

The boy was wasted and fast asleep on one of the couches in the Slytherin common room. The loud music and conversations were not disrupting his sleep, with too much alcohol in his system.

Soon, Pansy and Astoria called it a night, ensuring they would take Lorenzo back to his dorm because they didn’t want to leave him sleeping outside any longer.

All of you bid them goodbye, relaxing back on the couch that your group spent parties on. 

Theodore remains to share the spacious couch with you, laughing and taking the bottle away from a drunk Mattheo when the boy spills out of the shot glasses.

"So, did you finish the Potions project yet?" You watch Draco take a slow sip from his cup, containing a punch that half the people at the party were drinking.

"How could I," Blaise answered your question with a sigh, "Enzo didn't even know how to brew the Forgetfulness Potion during first year; what makes you think he can brew Veritaserum?" 

You and Draco laugh when Blaise reaches over to grab one of the shots that Theodore had poured, a defeated look on his face when he drowns the alcohol. 

Blaise motioned a shot glass toward you, silently asking if you wanted a shot. 

"I'm not drinking tonight, but thanks." You then tilted your back to the couch, observing that you were the only one completely sober.

Draco looks at Blaise while rolling his eyes, "At least you're spending your summer in Italy," before he turns to you, "What are you doing during break?"

You noticed Theodore out of the corner of your eye, leaning back towards you and resting his head on your shoulder.

"I'm visiting my relative's manor for a week, but other than that, I'll be home," You start running your hands through Theodore's hair, "Oh, and I'm going over to Theo’s manor to visit. His father wanted to catch up with my parents, so we're staying over for a few days."

Blaise and Draco notice Theodore smile and lightly blush while his eyes remain closed, but they simply chose to look at each other with knowing eyes.

"That sounds fun," Blaise shakes his head before grabbing another shot from the table, too sober to be thinking about his single love life.

Theodore quietly yawns, catching all three of your attention, "Can we head back?" You hear his voice low, “The music is starting to give me a headache."

Your two friends hear Theodore's request, looking at Mattheo to find him passed out on his seat.

"Do you need help taking Theo back?" Draco asks, getting up from his seat and walking over to Mattheo.

You shake your head no, "Theo’s sleeping over at my dorm tonight, don't worry." Theodore rises, lacing his hand with yours to follow where you lead him. 

"Okay, you two head back first," Blaise suggests, “It’s going to take a while to get Mattheo to open his eyes."

You nod, tugging Theodore's arm so he will follow you, walking over to the staircase to your dorms.

The moment you open the door, Theodore beelines to your bed, lying on it faced down.

"Salazar, Theo," You laugh at his tired figure, deciding to leave him alone while you go in the bathroom. "I'll be right back, so stay in bed."

When you hear a mumble from Theodore, you assume he’s too sleepy to move around, so you start getting ready for bed.

"Hey," You shake Theodore's back when you finish, "Are you still awake?"

Theodore's eyes are half-opened when he moves to one side of your bed, giving you space to join him.

You can't help but smile at his peaceful state, finally going under your covers. Theodore reaches his arms out to pull you closer to him, always down to cuddle when he sleeps over.

When Theodore doesn't say a word, you close your eyes, assuming he would have fallen asleep by now.

That's when you felt a faint touch hovering over your face, causing you to open your eyes.

There was Theodore, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, staring intensely after waking you up.

"Sorry," He whispers, but he continues to trace his fingers over your facial features before resting his hand on your cheek.

"Are you alright?" You question him, wondering what was running through his mind.

Theodore closes his eyes for a brief moment, eventually opening it and swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Listen, I have to get something off my chest,” He can’t help but smile when your curious eyes bore into his, “I can’t tell you when I'm sober,"

"What do you need to tell me?" Now you're confused; was Theodore keeping something from you?

"I’m blaming this on the Fire Whiskey if it goes wrong, but I’ve fancied you for years—since I first met you when you approached me and Enzo on the train.”

Theodore started to sober up when it hit him, that he had finally confessed his feelings for you. It starts to eat him up inside when you remain silent, loss at words.

Theodore furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, afraid that he had read all the signs wrong and about to cry to your friends that their advice was useless.

He suddenly felt your hand hover over the one that he had resting on your face, intertwining the two. 

"Theo, I like you too. I have, for years now," You say with a smile, "I'm glad you confessed first because I was afraid to tell you first."

Theodore pulled your covers over his head with his free hand and let out a sigh of relief. 

"Theo," He peeked his head back out, "Are you sober enough to remember this tomorrow?" 

Theodore grins at you, "Of course, I'm going to remember this," He faces you this time, close enough to smell the alcohol lingering on his breath, "Now, can I have the honor of being your boyfriend?" 

You close your eyes and close the gap by pressing a kiss at his lips, pulling away with a starstruck Theodore staring back at you.

"I would like that, boyfriend."

Theodore wakes up because of the sunlight casting down on his face, and rubbing his eyes before realizing you were still fast asleep next to him. 

He gently places a kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir and yawn.

"Good morning, Amore Mio."

[devildom-moss]

Flowers for Them (Mammon)

Continuation of a request where MC returns the favor for the characters giving them roses. Kind of a sequel series for the Roses for You series (links here)

Mammon x gn!MC

Word Count: +1.2k

Yellow Sunflowers

“Hey, MC.” Mammon tried to act cool as he hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to you with an almost choreographed grace. “Ya busy tomorrow night?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, ya are now.” He pulled a laminated VIP pass from his pocket and held it out to you between two fingers like he was buying something expensive and telling you to put it on his card. Although, to Mammon, your time was worth more than he could ever afford. “Here. I’m modelin’ on a runway tomorrow evening. You should come watch me. The Great Mammon will even take ya out afterwards to reward ya for showin’ support. Besides, I’m eager to start spendin’ that modelin’ cash.”

“I’d love to watch you work the catwalk,” you admitted, taking the pass from him.

“Did you say something about cats?” Satan popped his head into the common room on his way from the library.

“Catwalk, ya nosy–” Mammon started.

“Never mind. Not interested.” Satan shrugged and continued on his way but quickly turned around and added, “Wait. Who’s going to be on the catwalk?”

“The Great Mammon, of course.”

“Yeah, definitely not interested.” Satan disappeared down the hall.

You could tell Mammon was annoyed, so you jumped in, “well, I am interested.”

“’Course ya are. I’ll send ya the details. I’d offer to walk ya there, but they’re havin’ me come in a few hours before the show. But all this work’s gonna be worth it.” Mammon pulled out his D.D.D. and forwarded you the time and location. When he looked up at you from his phone, he had a frown on his face. “Man, I’d love to hang out a while longer, but I gotta go to a rehearsal soon. Don’t lose that pass, got it?”

“I’ll keep it safe.” You smiled.

“Ya better.” Mammon stood up and ruffled your hair aggressively – as if you were too cute for him to be gentle with.

The thought of going to Mammon’s gig without some kind of present felt off – not wrong, necessarily, but you knew you’d be missing an opportunity to make him feel loved. You couldn’t bear the thought of it. So, you made a stop at a particularly friendly demon’s shop.

“Stolas,” you called out as you entered the flower shop. A gentle chirp from above brought your attention to the demon, standing atop a shelf with a watering can.

“Oh, so the sweet little human has learned my name,” he grinned wickedly – flirtatiously if flirting involved a degree of danger. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence today?”

Stolas hopped down from the shelf and landed gracefully in front of you. He looked so much taller without the counter separating you.

“Do you have any scorching sunflowers?”

“Afraid not. My next delivery isn’t until next week, and I don’t grow them here – too much of a hassle. Can I interest you in something else?”

“Oh.” You immediately looked disappointed, which threw Stolas off.

He scrambled for a solution, “I can save some for you when the delivery comes. Or I can get you something else. I have dozens of gorgeous flowers, and some have a similar warming effect if you need it for a spell.”

“No, that’s okay – it’s just – how much do you know about human world flowers?”

“A good deal more than you, I’d assume. Missing the flora of your realm?”

“I need something similar to a human world sunflower to do the transfiguration spell. I really wanted to give sunflowers to someone close to me today,” you admitted.

Stolas sighed, “is that all? Come with me to the green room.”

He walked towards the room near the back of the shop. You followed, only slightly cautious of him. When he reached the door, he held it open for you. Even without stepping in the room, the scent of greenery was particularly strong. A fountain could be heard and you could see plants filling the room from ceiling to floor. As you entered, it was a beautiful sanctuary for life – as if the walls of the room encouraged growth and abundance.

“Now, I wouldn’t normally do this, but there is a way to create the flowers you desire without a Devildom equivalent. It’s more advanced, and I may need to borrow some of your magic to do it.”

Stolas instructed you to grab a petal the same color you wanted the sunflowers to be – a vibrant golden yellow – and bury it in the magic pot he placed on the workbench. You both placed your hands on the pot as Stolas whispered ancient incantations. You felt your magic being drained from your hands, but before long, sunflowers sprouted up from the pot – nearly two dozen of them. Stolas trimmed them and wrapped them up for you. As you took your wallet out to pay, his hand gently pressed over yours.

“I can’t sell flowers made purely from magic to you. You can have them,” Stolas smiled weakly.

“Surely I can repay you somehow, right?”

A number of ideas bloomed in his mind, but he settled on this instead: “Bring me some flowers sometime and we’ll call it even.”

You nodded and held the sunflowers close to your chest. With that, you headed to Mammon’s show.

Mammon was such a handsome demon, especially when he was in his element. They put him in some flashy numbers that complemented his vibrant white hair and beautifully hued skin. You could tell that the stylist hadn’t wanted just any demon; they wanted him to be their model, and it showed. As focused as he was, Mammon spotted you in the crowd – right where he left your name card on the chair – and gave you a wink. He was a crowd favorite, and you were so proud of him.

When the show concluded, you pulled the bouquet out from under your chair. They still look beautiful, you sighed in relief. Mammon was impatiently waiting for you backstage, scanning every face that entered with a pass until a smile glowed on his lips.

“Hey~ There’s my human,” Mammon shouted at you the second you stepped through the door. You tucked the bouquet behind your back. “What’d ya think of the Great Mammon? Devilishly handsome, ay?”

“Cool as ever, Mammon! You looked amazing out there.” You grinned and pulled the sunflowers out as you spoke, “I got these for you to congratulate you on a job well done.”

Mammon’s cool grin dropped as he felt his face burn. He took the flowers from your hands, “Ya got me sunflowers? These don’t look like scorching sunflowers, but my skin feels warm. Did ya enchant these?”

“No, silly. Although, a little magic was involved. Do you like them?”

“Hell yeah! What made ya think to get me these?” Mammon admired their beautiful golden hues as he asked. No one had ever given him sunflowers before.

“I learned that sunflowers symbolize loyalty; they represent enduring bonds and commitments and can be given for happy relationships based on truth and longevity. How could I not think of you when I read that. You’re faithful, we adore each other, and you always brighten my mood. They’re perfect for you.”

Mammon’s eyes felt misty, and he blinked away the threatening tears with a smile. He pulled you into a tight hug. He was so warm.

“’Course ya’d choose sunflowers for the Great Mammon! After all, you’re the main source of light in my life, and I’ll always turn to face ya, sunshine.” Your heart melted.

Lucifer | Leviathan | Satan | Asmodeus | Beelzebub | Belphegor | the others

A/N: I'm going to try to slowly come back over the next few months. I hope you all will welcome me back after being gone for so long. And I hope you like my OC as he makes yet another appearance.

[whenlilyfallsinlove]

jolene

james potter x reader

this is not a good fic for james.. (love him tho) and my remus bias is SHOWING. i love lily. no lily hate.

jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene i'm begging of you please don't take my man jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene please don't take him just because you can

a small part of you knew that, although you were the one dating james potter, lily evans still held a place in his heart. i mean it was sad right? someone you were in love with, someone you were dating, was in love with someone else. but for some reason you had grown accustomed to it, was this stupid of you? yes, maybe. but you didn't want to lose james, as both a boyfriend and a friend. so it felt like a logical thing.

you knew lily evans didn't like james either, not even as a friend. she hated the boy. you thought back to the gossip you had had with her, marlene and dorcas when they found out you were dating him.

"merlin y/n, james?" lily had whispered-shouted the very night she found out that you were dating him.

"hey.. he's not that bad." you chuckle.

"that's not gonna convince her, it's a well known fact lils hates james." marlene laughs.

"that's true." you respond.

"and i thought you liked remus anyway." lily teases.

"that was in like 3rd year, i've been over that ages." you feel your face heat. sure you had liked moony once, but you had liked james for a while now.

"he's better than james though, seriously you can do better y/n." lily tells you.

you giggle, but then see dorcas with a confused look on her face.

"you alright dorcas?" marlene raises an eyebrow.

"yeah i just.. i have a question." dorcas speaks up.

you nod at her to speak.

"when did james get over lily? i'm not saying he doesn't like you of course y/n, but up until the other week, he was obsessed with her." dorcas thinks aloud, in all fairness, asking the question on everyones lips.

you sigh.

"i asked him that, he told me he was trying to deflect the fact that he really liked me, and he was too nervous to flirt with me so flirted with lily instead to hide his true feelings." you mutter, now realising that james' reasoning was.. maybe not the best.

"aww thats cute y/n.." marlene sees the look on your face and tries to comfort you.

"yeah." you smile, weakly.

"and don't worry y/n, i would never go anywhere near potter. and i think he does like you and not me." lily reassures you.

noticing your discomfort, the girls changed the subject, but you couldn't nudge the feeling of doubt in your chest. now that you thought about it, james' reasoning felt a bit.. excuse like? but no, he asked you out, not lily. so he must like you?! relationships were complicating; you guessed you'd have to wait to see how things played out.

your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green

"hello gorgeous." james grins at you cheekily, planting a kiss on your cheek as you take a seat next to him at the gryffindor table.

"guys do we really need to be doing this at eight o'clock in the morning." sirius fake gags. you stick your tongue out at him in response, causing him to laugh.

"just cos you're lonely padfoot." james chuckles.

sirius playfully rolls his eyes at him, and you see remus looking at you from the other side of the table. you smile at him which he returns but looks away quickly, feeling like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.

james wraps an arm around your waist, and starts telling you whatever new prank him and sirius were planning on snape.

"and then we were planning to turn his hair green." he smiles at you.

"poor snape." you tease.

"what? you planning on leaving me for snivellus?" james raises an eyebrow, playfully.

"of course." you respond chuckling.

your playful banter was interrupted by lily approaching you, carrying your transfiguration book. of course, you invited her to sit with yourself and the marauders but she didn't like to be near james for long periods of time.

"y/n, you left this in our dorm this morning." she smiles at you and hands you the book.

you smile back. she looked extra pretty today, her green eyes sparkling, her auburn hair shiny. it made you feel a little self-conscious.

"thanks lils, what would i do without you?" you laugh.

"you wouldn't be able to cope, that's for sure." lily smiles at you, giving you a wave, heading back to her own seaat.

"thank godric for that, mcgonagall would've been fuming-" you turn back to james, your words faltering seeing his face.

his face was bright red and he looked distracted as he gazed off into the distance. you followed his gaze to see what was wrong with him. then you realised. james was looking at lily. and he had a stupid goofy smile on his face. what a prick! he was YOUR boyfriend.

"james, are you okay?" you snap him out of his daze.

"yeah yeah, perfectly fine love." he turns back to you, his blush fading.

then it was as if everything was back to normal. sirius, james and peter engaging back into their normal conversation. you were quieter however. remus remained quiet as well, noticing the dejected look on your face. he gave you a comforting smile across the table and you gave him a weak one in return.

at that moment, you wished nothing more to be lily evans.

your smile is like a breath of spring your voice is soft like summer rain and i cannot compete with you jolene.

"i don't want to feel like a second choice to you james! i love you." you sighed. this was yours and james's first argument. and you HATED it.

"i love you too y/n, of course you're not my second choice!" james tries to comfort you.

"i just feel like you're just settling for me because lily doesn't like you!" you admitted.

"well that's not true y/n, i told you.. i was using lily to coverup my feelings for you." james lets out a exasperated sigh.

"sometimes it doesn't feel that way james, i don't want to be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her (iykyk)" you rub your forehead with your hand.

"y/n.." james puts his arm around you. "it's you i'm dating.. not evans. don't be jealous!"

you scoff. "of course i'm jealous, she's beautiful and you were obsessed with her long before dating me."

"and i'm not anymore. just drop it y/n. i love you not her." james frowns.

you sigh and cave in.

"i don't like arguing with you james." you say, as you rest your head on his shoulder.

"i don't like arguing with you either y/n" he sighs, and pulls you closer.

you couldn't stop thinking about lily though. you were friends with her, and she would never intentionally hurt you. you knew deep down james still liked her, feelings don't go away that easy.

he talks about you in his sleep and there's nothing i can do to keep from crying when he calls your name jolene

gryffindor house were infamous for throwing the best parties. and tonight was living proof. gryffindor had just won a quidditch match against slytherin which of course meant a big celebration. and of course, your boyfriend and captain of the team james potter was the main centre of attention.

"he's nuts." you shake your head at sirius, when you see james dancing and obnoxiously singing to dancing queen by abba in the middle of the common room.

"he's bloody brilliant." sirius takes a sip of firewhiskey, chuckling.

the man in question headed towards you.

"y/n, would you care to join me." he jokingly bows down, holding his hand out for you to take.

"indeed i would." you giggle and take his hand.

he pulls you to the middle of the common room, twirling you around/ you laugh and join in singing and dancing. you could tell he was a little drunk but you didn't mind.

as the party went on, you had somehow lost contact with james. he was a social butterfly of course, probably talking to his friends. you yourself were stood with marlene, dorcas and lily, sipping your drinks, giggling at the antics of some of your housemates.

the party eventually thinned out, at about 3 in the morning, when mcgonagall told them to quiet down. eventually it was just you and as you looked towards the jukebox (which was playing jolene by dolly parton) remus carrying a half unconscious james.

you walked up to the two.

"he's drunk too much." remus chuckles.

"unsurprising, i'm sure he had already had about 4 firewhiskeys in the first hours." you smile affectionately at james.

remus notices your smile, and smiles wider.

"you don't usually come to parties, do you remus?" your question catches remus off guard.

"n-no i don't. just wanted to support my friends." he responds, knowing that was probably a good answer judging by the smile on your face.

you turn back to look at james.

"let's get you to bed ay?" you say, trying to wake him.

"l-lily?" james whispers, seemingly in his sleep.

your heart dropped. of course he was dreaming about lily.

"i'm not lily." you grit your teeth. "would you rather have her take care of you?"

remus sees your face and is quick to comfort you.

"don't worry y/n, he's drunk, he probably doesn't know any better." he says.

you nod and sit down on one of the armchairs.

how could you ever compete with lily evans?

[himegureisu]

You

Summary: Your husband, Severus, finally introduces you to his colleagues. The Hogwarts staff.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Female Reader

A/N: I feel like I forgot some people.

In the previous and last staff meeting of the year, the headmaster announced the schedule for the Annual Staff dinner.

This commemorated the end of a successful school year and the hopes for more to come. They were always encouraged but not required to attend the festivities. Your husband, Severus, would often stay for an hour before leaving.

This year, however, he vaguely inquired about inviting a guest to the castle.

A phenomenon that didn’t happen quite often and one that Dumbledore wasn’t lenient to grant. This sparked their intrigue and excitement. They were quite eager to meet you. They hoped it was you. The one that puts a smile on their Potions’ Master’s face.

To no surprise, the headmaster stated that any guest of his was welcome to join in the festivities.

Especially if it would encourage him to interact longer than what was professionally deemed necessary in a setting that was not the Three Broomsticks, Hog’s Head, Grimmauld Place, his office, or the high table in the Great Hall.

That’s why you were home, in front of your mirrored wardrobe half naked, unable to decide on what to wear.

“How about this?” you turned, black robes at hand, “Yes? No?”

“You’ll look splendid in anything, darling, in fact,” Severus said, from the bed admiring the sight of you. “I quite like what I see at the moment,”

He smirked.

His eyes locked on you in a haze of desire. Your cheeks heat up as he slowly walks over. His hand reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Severus,” his lips dangerously close to yours, your heart racing, his scent enticing, your hand gently pushing him away, “We shouldn't,”

“Why don’t we put that away for a moment?” His warm breath against your cheek sends shivers down your spine, your defenses crumbling as he puts the clothes away, leaning toward you, "Hmm?"

His lips are tender on yours as he pulls you closer. His eyes searched yours in consent, and you surrendered to his heated touch. Your arms wrap around his neck as you lose yourself in his embrace. His robes were warm and soft against your bare skin. Your nose gently nudges his. Closer. More. You silently pleaded. His hands roamed every contour and curve of your exposed skin.

His clothes needed to go. Now.

——————————— 🪄———————————

In the end, you’d matched his outfit. In black robes, and shoes, except for your jewelry in platinum and a scarf in your house colors.

“You were of no help,” you said, after apparating outside Hogwarts grounds’, “No help at all,”

“You love me,” he laughed, you pouted as he showed you in, “Yes, I do,”

In the castle halls, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall caught the sound of his laughter. Their eyes turned to the bridge where their Potions’ Master walked side by side with a lovely woman.

“It’s time,”

In the spirit of celebration, their staff room was tastefully adorned in Hogwarts’ colors. Each color was distributed in a way that one was not as prominent as the other. His colleagues were absorbed in their own tasks as the two of you entered.

There were three women by the fire, punch at hand, talking. One you recognize as the Head of Gryffindor House and Transfiguration Professor, McGonagall. By the punch table, there was a small man you know from description as the Charms Professor, Flitwick, and a huge man, Hagrid. The remainder, however, were unfamiliar.

“Severus, so glad of you to join us, my boy,” the Headmaster entered from an office within, “Who is this lovely lady with you?”

“Someone you all wanted to meet for quite some time now,” Severus remarked, as he pulled you closer by his side, “My wife,”

“Oh, finally!” one small but lively woman, head full of curls, approached you, “You made quite an impression, dear,”

“We have never seen Severus so chastised,” Professor McGonagall joined the throng, “It was the highlight of our days,”

“Oh please,” Severus huffed, as you glanced at him and said, “I would’ve thought you’d open that Howler in a more private setting,”

“I was told Howlers shouldn’t be left waiting,” he justified, and sighed, “Imagine my guilt upon opening it,”

“You made up for it quite well, Sev,” you smile, his body relaxes, “Though, I hope outings like those wouldn’t need much incentive to be done,”

“I’ll do my best, my dear,” he sighed, and said, “Ah, apologies, formal introductions.”

His colleagues, Professor Hooch, Sprout, Pomfrey, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Trelawney greeted you in their way. They were very pleased to meet you and whisked you away once your husband was distracted by the headmaster for their short inquisition about your marriage.

To which you happily recanted for them because Severus was a private man and kept information about you to the chest.

It takes him an hour to escape the clutches of the Headmaster and return by your side. With the ladies by the fireplace, thoroughly exposing your husband’s romantic side to them.

“I simply cannot imagine Severus doing such,” Sprout chuckled, “Then again it is you, not us,”

“What are you talking about?” he menacingly came up behind you but no one was intimidated, “Darling?”

“Do you remember that trip to wizarding Paris?” you said. It takes him only moments to recall. His cheeks to the tips of his ears quickly flushed then he hid his face in your hair, “Dear god, please tell me you didn’t tell them that,”

“No, not exactly that,” you giggled. His arms securely wrapped around your waist, “But a more censored version,”

“We’re going now,” he insisted pulling you away from them as they laughed and you squealed, “Severus!”

“You are all menaces,” he pointed to the women as they stifled their laughter, turning to you, “And you are the worst of them all,”

“I love you,” you teasingly grinned, as he sighed happily taking your presence in, “And, I too,”

They briefly stared in awe at your husband’s admission. That’s how much you can get in public but in private he never hesitated to tell or show you his love. Their stares changed to smiles as he wrapped his arms around you. Your hands on top of each other’s above your stomach, rings twinkling in the firelight as you both warm up to them.

It was the first and only time he ever stayed the whole duration of the Annual Staff dinner.

[startanewdream]

A small Harry and Minerva moment, set after the final battle, in honour of Minerva's birthday.

*****

"I am not coming back," Harry blurts out. Next to him, Minerva's only reaction is a flicker on her spell: for a moment, the broken chairs of the Transfiguration classroom get extra pairs of legs that make them look like spiders.

When the chairs go back to normal, she turns to Harry with an impassive look.

"I imagined so."

Harry blinks. "You did? You never mentioned anything."

Minerva shares his surprise. "It was not my place to say anything. You are of age now."

"So all this time I've been helping here at Hogwarts, you just knew and went along with it?"

"Would it please you if I say I do not agree with your decision?"

"Yes, actually."

There's a hint of a smile on Minerva's lips. "I think you should come back to school."

"Oh." Harry looks down at his feet before moving to fix the bricks on the wall. Despite what he just told her, it's undeniable that this was not what Harry wanted to hear. "You think I am not ready?"

He sounds young. It's difficult to match this adult Harry — nearly eighteen-year-old, tall like his father, and spotting too many scars for his age — with the eleven-year-old who was sorted into her House, but that's the memory that resurfaces: Harry is eleven and he was caught out of his bed at night, losing 50 points to Gryffindor. He'd looked upset at the idea of being a disappointment.

That's how he looks now.

"You are of age," she repeats, her voice more tender than she allows herself around him, lest she betrays her soft spot for him. Harry's eyes are hungry as he turns to face her. "You faced more than any exam could measure — you faced things that cannot be measured." She thinks about the unconfirmed tales of a sacrifice and master of death, and it's not easy to match this with a boy worried about homework and deadlines. "From an educational point of view, I believe your time at Hogwarts has concluded."

Harry watches her. "But?" He guesses.

She allows herself a little smile. "But education is not all Hogwarts has to offer." She remembers seeing that scrawny kid laughing as he first took flight on a school broomstick; three friends sitting outside on a winter afternoon, bundling up next to a warm blue fire and sharing tales; a boy and his girlfriend, walking hand-in-hand through the halls, oblivious to any gossip. "I would be glad if you returned only to enjoy your Seventh Year as a common student. No threat. No drama. Just school."

"Just school," he repeats, his gaze far away now as if he could see it. Then Harry blinks. "Hermione and Ginny are coming back. Ron is not, though."

Minerva nods. She won't say it, but sometimes she wonders if the fact that Ron Weasley isn't returning isn't what's weighing most on Harry. Inseparable like brothers. Like father, like son.

"Do you think my parents would be okay with it?"

This time, the question baffles her; she's glad she wasn't transforming anything because it might have been disastrous.

"I do not believe I am qualified to answer this, Harry," she says.

"Ah, it's just —" He holds the back of his head, ruffling his hair, unaware that this was what James did when he was embarrassed. "You are one of the last people that knew them."

And this, as far as Minerva is concerned, is a terrible thing. James and Lily would be only thirty-eight if they were alive. She has lived now nearly four times what they did; how is it that there are now so few people that knew them?

Harry looks young once again. She knows he's made up his mind — and like Lily, he's adamant once he's decided something —, so this need for validation isn't what she associates with the young man she saw standing up to Voldemort one month ago.

But for all his deeds, Harry is just a boy who grew up longing for his parents — parents who had loved him fiercely, she knows. She doubts Harry might ever do anything that James and Lily wouldn't support — God knows Minerva supports him, and she isn't even his relative — but she also thinks they would insist that Harry return to his final year.

Seventh Year. That had been the year when James and Lily were Head Boy and Head Girl, and the future had looked promising to both. That had been the year when they had started dating; when the darkness of the war hadn't yet tinted their lives. When they had been the happiest. How could they not want the same for Harry?

But that's not what she tells him. "Yes," she lies calmly. "James and Lily would approve it."

Harry breathes easily. "Thanks." He moves to fix another desk, not noticing how, a long time ago, someone carved JP+LE in the wood.

Harry's spellwork is good. He might enjoy some refinement, but she doubts he will be fixing desks in his future job, so instead of commenting on it, she just lets it slide.

"Of course," she notes with a hint of humour, "if you came back, it would not have been all fun. I would have high expectations for you."

"Quidditch?" Harry guesses. "I'd say that Gryffindor is safe in Ginny's hands."

"I enjoy the Quidditch trophy in my office," she agrees. "But alas I was thinking about another responsibility. A Head Boy badge would suit you." Harry's eyes widen; she is once more sorry for not insisting harder with Albus that Harry should have been made prefect. "As it did your parents."

Harry smiles. "I would enjoy that."

"There are tons of paperwork, I might warn you — though not unlike being an Auror." Harry chuckles. "But either way, Harry, your parents would have been proud."

As I am proud of you, she thinks.