#Quidditch Tryouts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 1 year ago

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❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts.

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all.

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch.

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day.

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come.

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin.

“Watch out!”

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face.

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria.

“Move!”

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion.

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues.

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you.

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing. “Oh, good heavens, what happened?”

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.”

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls.

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant.

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back.

THE STORY GOES like this:

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.)

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.)

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world.

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that.

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.”

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.”

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus.

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.”

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?”

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.”

With that, she slams the door in their faces.

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.)

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing.

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!”

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration.

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?”

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!”

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.”

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?”

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.”

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.”

Lily glares at him.

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself.

Everything is starting to change.

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot.

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library.

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.”

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger.

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.”

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?”

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.”

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?”

“All of them.”

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?”

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.”

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.”

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.)

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!”

Remus hisses his name in warning.

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!”

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?”

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach.

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?”

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently.

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library.

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes.

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence.

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?”

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.”

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.”

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup.

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives.

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.”

You snort.

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”)

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you. Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep.

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people.

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you.

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.”

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.”

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously.

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds.

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut.

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!”

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.)

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough.

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings.

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly.

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.)

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.”

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin.

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw.

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge.

It’s Lily Evans.

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!”

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath.

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified.

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House.

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.

And so, the story ends just like that.

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position.

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds.

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.”

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.”

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.”

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.)

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.”

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and cross.)

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.”

“Thanks.” Remus coughs.

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere.

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed.

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly.

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright.

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.”

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.”

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks. “So. . . uh. . . are we okay?”

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation.

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.”

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often.

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave.

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid.

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?)

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!”

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—”

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!”

“Pads, shut up.”

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck.

Lily chortles.

Oh.

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business.

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.”

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them.

Which happens to be right beside you.

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you.

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.”

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air.

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.”

He lowers his arm with a bright blush.

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you.

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.”

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.”

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook.

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!”

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest.

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too.

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather.

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?”

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders.

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak.

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side.

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.”

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest.

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.”

“Oh.”

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away.

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .”

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.”

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—”

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line.

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly.

You let out a deep sigh.

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness.

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.”

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.)

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his.

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch.

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead.

“For what?” You ask in disbelief.

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.”

“What exactly are you going to prove?”

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.”

Merlin’s saggy balls.

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want.

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you.

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls.

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about.

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.”

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name.

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.”

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears.

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place.

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face.

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—”

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words.

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.)

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.”

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight. Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.”

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower.

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.”

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.”

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room.

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed.

“You came,” He says huskily.

“I did.”

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes.

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.”

“I know.”

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace.

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows.

But no sign of Sirius Black.

“Miss me, did you, love?”

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright.

“Merlin’s tits—!”

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.”

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.”

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!”

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—”

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.”

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.”

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.”

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.”

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!”

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.)

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again.

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him.

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet.

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss.

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.”

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.”

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—”

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.”

Sirius snickers. “How charming.”

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.”

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear.

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.)

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.”

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?”

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?”

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.”

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!”

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch.

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone.

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!”

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch.

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear.

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime.

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side.

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now.

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—”

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him.

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck.

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.”

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost.

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul.

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice.

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly.

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.”

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.)

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!”

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders.

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.”

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.”

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.”

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband.

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.”

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.”

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?”

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.”

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss.

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.”

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.”

BONUS:

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side.

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip.

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!”

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter.

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse.

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?”

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?”

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.”

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!”

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department.

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.”

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.”

Harry blinks. “Thanks.”

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words.

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?”

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

#poly!marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #lily evans x reader #hp imagine #hp fluff #hp angst #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders angst #marauders fanfiction #sunny's hp fics #poly marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x reader

4K notes · View notes

illbegottenfaith · 7 months ago

Text

handwritten - theo nott x reader

yours and theo’s story as told through notes passed in class

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n - came up with this quick idea to release some pent up creative energy while mulling over lucky pt 3. will prob make this an ongoing series for small ideas I can’t get fully fledged fics out of. easy to write, easy to read, enjoy!

tropes/warnings - fluff, a minor hinting at angst, newstudent!theo, estranged friends to lovers

word count - 1.5k

Monday, 10.07 am, Charms

Hey. You might want to pull your nose out of that disgusting textbook for once.

We’ve been over this. Just because you don’t understand something it doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. It’s very disrespectful.

What is disrespectful is you not paying attention to our year’s hottest new commodity - emphasis on the hot. I must say, he fills out that uniform quite nicely.

I’m sure he does.

C’mon, you’re not even a little bit curious? Just a peek?

Y/N? Hellooooooo?

Oh my god. I know the guy.

???

What is he doing here? Last I heard he was being homeschooled.

Know him how??

We went to the same primary school. We were…friends.

Riiiight.

Don’t get any ideas. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. And he looked very, very different back then. Had a ratty sort of face. I can still kind of see it, actually.

Oh, Y/N, how could you say such awful things about his beautiful face! Oh dear, that bone structure…

Quiet, you. He’s really…grown. He’s so much taller now.

You know what you should do? You should offer to help him catch up.

On five years of school?

Oh, please, he was homeschooled. He had to have learnt some things. Who is he, anyway?

Theodore Nott.

Now that’s an Old Money name if I ever heard one.

Ivy. Be nice.

So? Is he? Old money, that is.

I…suppose so.

Are you sure you two were friends?

Yes. It’s been a while, that’s all. I just…wow. I can’t believe he’s here. Like, right there. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

What happened?

He moved. I was starting at Hogwarts. We lost touch, it happens.

But now he’s back! Yay! Did you see those sinfully blue eyes of his?

Ivy, you have a boyfriend.

I know. Ivan agrees, by the way.

That he’s hot?

Yes.

He’s sitting on the other side of the room. When did you have time to discuss this??

Just now. Right in front of you. What did you think all that eyebrow-waggling was about?

I thought you were having a stroke. Merlin, the two of you are perfect for each other.

Don’t change the subject. He’s not gay, is he? Your friend? All the hot ones usually are.

I wouldn’t know, now, would I? I haven’t heard anything about him in years. Ivy, leave him alone. Please don’t harass the poor guy, sexually or otherwise. And quit it with the notes. He’ll notice.

How??? Has he got eyes on the back of his very nicely shaped head? He’s busy with Flitwick anyway.

Trust me, he’ll see. Nothing gets past Theodore Nott.

Monday, 2.15 pm, Potions

Well?????

Well, what?

The chat!!! Your chat!!!!!! With Mr. Theodore Nott!!!!!!!!

You have to quit it with the caffeine. You’re far too excitable after lunch.

The chat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was fine. It was…nice.

Uh-huh.

He goes by Theo now.

Okay. I’ll pretend I care about that.

It was all very casual, very superficial. It was really just us exchanging pleasantries. Oh, right. He asked me to accompany him to Quidditch tryouts.

You??? But you hate Quidditch.

I know.

Please tell me you didn’t say that.

I didn't. I just said I didn’t know much about it.

And?

He said that didn’t matter. He just wanted me there for moral support.

Then what was with all the turning red halfway through? You looked like you were going to combust.

Was it that obvious?

Ivan had some pumpkin juice ready, just in case.

It was nothing. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. He called me his good luck charm.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’re going to rip a hole through the parchment.

AWWWWW

So?? Did you say yes??

I said I’d think about it.

BOOOOOOOO

Come on, Vee. He’s been flying since before he could walk. He always talked about joining the big leagues, you know. He knows everything there is to know about Quidditch, so of course he’ll make the team. And it’ll have nothing to do with me.

But he doesn’t even have any friends yet :(

That’s because he hasn’t talked to anyone yet.

Y’know, Romilda Vane wanted to know why he was talking to you of all people.

What’s that supposed to mean??

Eh, you know. You can be a little…snippy.

I am NOT snippy.

There it is. The snippiness.

Whatever. It’s all so pointless. Come Thursday evening, he’ll have joined the Quidditch team and he’ll be hanging out with, y’know, those people, and we’ll be ancient history. He’ll make plenty of friends. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Okay. If you say so. Also, at lunch, I finally tried that thing you’re always talking about, “applying myself,” and I found this article on his dad in the library. From 6 years ago.

Don’t you want to know what the article said?

You could have mentioned he was a death eater, you know.

I don’t care about that, by the way. You used to be friends and that’s good enough for me. But, Y/N, he was arrested six years ago. And you haven’t talked to Theo in six years. But there isn’t any kind of connection between those, is there?

Y/N?

Do not make me throw this at you. I know how you feel about paper cuts.

Tuesday, 3.03 pm, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Where’s your friend?

You know. Who you’re always passing notes with in class?

You noticed?

Hard not to. It makes you all fidgety and annoyed.

Yeah, well, Ivy’s an annoying person.

I’ll take your word for it. What do you have after this?

Transfiguration.

Wow. That’s one of the harder ones, isn’t it?

Er, depends on who you ask, I think.

Still brilliant as ever, then.

Shut up. I’m not half the swot I was in primary school.

I never thought you were a swot. You were just…enthusiastic.

That’s sweet of you to say, Theo.

Huh. I thought I’d always be Teddy to you.

We’re not ten anymore, Theo. I can say your name perfectly now.

That’s good. So, have you thought about it?

Thought about what?

The Quidditch tryouts. You’re the only person I know here so you have to say yes.

I don’t know. Some of the girls look pretty interested in getting to know you.

What?

Nothing. I guess I could swing by for a short while.

That’s my girl.

Thursday, 8.37 pm, Common Room

SO?????

He got in. Obviously. Was there ever any doubt?

Did he run up to you? Did he hug you? Did he pick you up and spin you around???

Witch Weekly is a bad influence on you.

Details, please.

He hugged me. Kind of. Nearly tackled me, he was so excited.

you are SO his good luck charm!!!!!!

Friday, 11.17 am, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Witch Weekly?

It’s not mine. I’m holding it for a friend.

Right.

Really, I am. Ivy’s a fiend for these but she has this Charms test coming up that she absolutely cannot fail.

I believe you. ‘Top 6 Magical Contraceptives for the Modern Witch’ doesn’t sound like your kind of reading material.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was only having a little fun.

I’m not embarrassed. Are you embarrassed?

Erm, no, but you’re very red. Do you need to see the Healer?

I’m fine. It’s just hot. And no one calls Madam Pomfrey ‘the Healer,’ by the way.

Ah. I see.

Is there a point to all this? Did you need to ask something?

Oh, right. What are you up to on Saturday night?

Saturday? Dunno…wanted to take a crack at that Transfiguration essay.

Excellent. I’ll pick you up at 8.

Oh?

It’s nothing. A couple of the guys on the team wanted to celebrate with drinks at Hogsmeade. Everyone’s bringing someone, and I thought it would be nice if you came. Being my good luck charm, and all.

Oh, Theo, you probably don’t know this since you’re new and all, but going down to Hogsmeade is only permissible on certain weekends. And only start a couple of weeks into the term, so not yet.

Did you just -? Oh my god, you did. You laughed at me. You laughed at my note. Out loud. You’re lucky you’re in Slytherin, you know. Snape usually goes absolutely ballistic if anyone interrupts his lesson.

I’m sorry, I forgot what a stickler you were. I just - I didn’t think I’d miss it.

Please, Theo, forget the drinks. I cannot in good conscience stand by and let you break so many rules. You’ve been here less than a week!

Guess you’ll have to keep an eye on me. Make sure I stay out of trouble.

Exactly.

Great. See you Saturday at 8.

Part 2

#theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff

322 notes · View notes

authortelevision · 3 months ago

Text

george, the hockey player: chapter one ₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,747 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ george clarke slow burn, university au, hockey george

you start university in bristol as a film student and meet a hockey player who will change your life completely

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The train ride to Bristol had been a mix of nervous excitement and mild existential dread. The city, with its hilly streets and graffiti-covered underpasses, felt like a place where something big could happen. But right now, all that mattered was getting through move-in day without looking like a complete disaster.

You haul your suitcase up the stairs of your new flat, already regretting bringing so many decorations. The shared kitchen is a mess of half-opened suitcases, stacked IKEA crockery, and the awkward small talk of strangers who will, apparently, be your new best friends.

A girl with pink-streaked hair and round glasses glances up from where she’s struggling to assemble a drying rack. “Oh, thank God. Someone else who looks just as lost as I feel.”

You laugh, setting your bags down. “Completely lost. Do you need help with that?”

“Please. It’s like IKEA’s playing a cruel joke on me.” She grins. “I’m Lily, by the way. I do history, unfortunately.”

You introduce yourself just as the front door swings open and two more people walk in, dragging boxes. One of them, a guy with messy brown hair, lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is it. Our prison for the next year.”

“I hope not.” says a voice from behind him.

The four of you quickly exchange introductions, and you learn that the negative voice is Matt who is studying Economics, and the other is Sam, taking Biology. Within ten minutes, you’re all gathered in the kitchen, swapping stories about where you’re from and who packed the weirdest thing (Matt wins with his five-kilo bag of protein powder). It’s surprisingly easy, the awkwardness fading fast.

Then, Lily claps her hands together. “Okay, so Freshers’ Fair is happening today. We need to go.”

Sam frowns. “That’s the one where all the societies try to recruit you, right?”

“Exactly. It’s essential. Free stuff, maybe a few weird clubs, and we can all pretend we’re super well-rounded people.”

You weren’t sure if you had the energy after lugging all your stuff around, but the idea of seeing what Bristol Uni had to offer was tempting. Plus, it beat sitting in your empty room.

“Alright,” you say, standing up. “Let’s go get bombarded by enthusiastic second-years.”

————

The Student Union building is packed, a sea of students weaving between booths with banners ranging from “Join the Debate Society” to “Quidditch Team Tryouts This Weekend!” Every few steps, someone shoves a flyer into your hands, promising everything from cheap cocktails to life-changing friendships.

Lily gets dragged away almost immediately by a group advertising a Feminist Reading Club. Sam disappears in the direction of the Rugby stall, while Matt, despite his initial complaints, is deep in conversation with a Chess Society rep.

That leaves you wandering alone for a bit, taking it all in. The Hockey Society booth catches your eye, but only cause there’s a crowd gathered around it, and a bunch of sporty-looking guys are chatting with possible members. You consider stopping, but hockey isn’t really your thing.

Instead, you find yourself drawn to a quieter stall tucked between the Art Society and the Drama Club. A banner reads “Photography Society – Capture the Moment”, and a student with a camera slung around their neck waves at you.

“Hey! You interested in photography?”

“I mean… kinda?” You glance at the sign-up sheet. “I do film, so I guess I already mess around with cameras.”

The student grins. “That’s basically half of it. We do sports photography, exhibitions, and the occasional trip. No pressure, though.”

It sounds like exactly the kind of thing to make friends you need. Before you can overthink it, you pick up a pen and sign your name.

By the time you regroup with your flatmates, your bag is full of leaflets and your group decides to escape the chaos and grab something to eat. The campus cafés are packed, so you settle for the Student Union bar, where the tables are sticky, the nachos are cheap, and the music is just a little too loud for a casual conversation.

Matt dumps his bag of free society merch onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

He pulls out a ridiculous amount of random freebies like stress balls, lanyards, a frisbee, and even a reusable coffee cup with Bristol Uni Quidditch Team printed on the side. Sam snorts. “Did you even sign up for Quidditch?”

“No, but they were giving out free stuff, and I’m not an idiot.”

Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She turns to you, seeing your tote bag. “So, what made you go for Photography Society?”

You take a sip of your drink, considering. “I think I just wanted something creative that wasn’t coursework, you know? Something fun, no pressure.”

She nods. “Good call. I was considering the Creative Writing Society, but then I overheard a guy saying they only discuss ‘serious literary work,’ and I feel like I’d get kicked out for writing fanfiction.”

“That sounds insufferable,” you say with a laugh.

“What about you, Sam?” Matt asks. “You looked way too invested in that rugby stall for someone who claimed they definitely weren’t joining a sports team.

Sam shrugs, looking vaguely guilty. “Okay, maybe I’ll go to tryouts. I haven’t played since school, but it might be fun.��

“You just want an excuse to go to the sports socials,” Lily teases.

He smirks. “And what if I do?”

The conversation drifts into plans for the rest of Freshers’ Week—pub crawls, club nights, and the dreaded 9am introductory lectures no one is ready for. It’s strange how quickly everything is falling into place, like the awkwardness of earlier has already faded into something more natural.

Eventually, you all decide to head back to the flat, the evening air crisp as you make your way across campus. Bristol feels alive at night, students spilling out of bars, the hum of conversation echoing down cobbled streets. The streetlights cast long shadows, and for a brief moment, you pause to take it all in.

Lily nudges you. “You alright?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I think I am.”

————

The next morning, you wake to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the faint clatter of someone making something in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you forget where you are, then the unfamiliar ceiling and the plain white walls bring you back to reality. Your new life at university has officially begun.

After forcing yourself out of bed, you shuffle into the kitchen, where Lily is perched on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie, her pink-streaked hair all over the place. “Morning,” she says between bites.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug and searching for the kettle.

Matt wanders in next, still in his pajamas. He blinks at you both. “We should’ve made a pact never to speak before noon.”

Lily laughs. “Good luck with that. We’ve all got a welcome meeting at ten, I’m not sure where yours is but mine is in the Oliver building.”

Right. The dreaded introductory stuff. You groan internally but force yourself to stay optimistic. First years always say it’s useless, but there could always be something important about the university you wouldn’t know about.

After breakfast, you grab your bag and head out with Lily, who insists on walking with you even though the history department is in a completely different building. “Moral support,” she says dramatically as you weave through the crowds of students trying to find their way around.

The film department is tucked inside a modern glass building that looks sleek and intimidating. Inside, the lecture hall is already filling up, the hum of conversation blending with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. You slide into a seat near the middle and pull out your laptop, trying not to look as awkward as you feel.

A few minutes later, a girl with short curly hair and a nose ring drops into the seat next to you. “Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m Ava,” she says, setting her laptop down. “Film Studies?”

You nod. “Yeah, first year.”

“Same! What kind of films are you into?”

That kicks off an easy conversation, by the time the lecturer finally arrives and starts their speech about “the power of storytelling in visual media,” you and Ava have already bonded over your mutual love of indie films and your shared distaste for pretentious film bros who only talk about Pulp Fiction.

The lecture itself is mostly introductions—professors explaining what to expect, a few awkward icebreakers with the people sitting nearby, and a long-winded speech about academic integrity. By the time it’s over, your brain is buzzing, and you’re more than ready to escape.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Ava asks as you head out of the building.

“Definitely.”

The two of you make your way to the campus café, where you spot Sam and Matt sitting by the window, deep in conversation. When they see you, Sam waves you over.

“How was your lecture?” Matt asks as you slide into the seat across from him.

“Long.” You take a sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“Boring. I already regret choosing Economics.”

Ava laughs. “Wow, you’re all so motivated.”

“Oh! This is Ava, by the way, we both do film studies.”

As the conversation continues, it starts to hit you, this is your new life. New friends, new routines, new experiences waiting just around the corner.

————

By the time the sun sets, the nerves of the first day have been replaced with something else entirely: anticipation, excitement, and the lingering feeling from the vodka shots you definitely shouldn’t have taken so quickly.

Your flat has changed into pre-drinks. The tiny kitchen table is covered in half-empty bottles, discarded mixers, and the remnants of an intense game of Ring of Fire. Someone’s put on a ridiculous throwback playlist, and now everyone is shouting the words to Mr. Brightside like it’s a national anthem.

You’re sat on the counter, legs swinging, cradling a drink you don’t need but don’t want to put down. “Okay,” you announce to no one in particular, “I think I might be a tiny bit drunk.”

Lily cackles from where she’s trying to apply eyeliner on a very uncooperative Matt. “No shit. You’ve been swaying for, like, ten minutes.”

You blink, realizing that the floor does seem to be moving slightly. “That’s just because I’m—” You wave your hand in the air, trying to find a reason. “—graceful.”

Sam laughs, throwing an arm around you dramatically. “You’re gone.”

But the night is young, and there’s only one destination in mind—Lola Lo’s. Everyone has been hyping it up since you arrived, promising neon lights, questionable cocktails, and the kind of night you’ll only half remember.

After one final shot (a terrible idea in hindsight), you all spill onto the street, voices loud and laughter echoing down the road. The walk to the club is only fifteen minutes, but your brain seems to have abandoned all sense of coordination.

Somewhere along the way, you trip over nothing and stumble into Lily. “Okay,” she says, catching you, “I think we need a pause.”

You find yourself plopping down onto the curb, the cold pavement grounding you slightly. Sam sits next to you, amused. “You know they’re not gonna let you in like this, right?”

You groan, resting your head on his shoulder dramatically. “I know.”

Matt crouches in front of you, squinting like a concerned doctor. “Alright, what’s the game plan? We can’t have you getting turned away at the door.”

Lily laughs. “We could walk in first and pretend we don’t know them.”

You gasp, offended. “Betrayal.”

Ava, who has been quiet up until now, holds up a bottle of water she somehow smuggled out of the flat. “Here, drink this. Try to look less… like this.” She gestures vaguely at you, which is fair.

You take a sip then make a face. “This isn’t gonna work in time.”

Matt nudges your shoulder. “Alright, let’s problem-solve. How do we make you look sober?”

“Serious face,” you declare, straightening up and attempting your most responsible expression. It lasts about three seconds before Sam bursts out laughing.

Lily wipes away fake tears. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna fool the bouncers.”

You groan, dramatically falling back onto the pavement. “Okay, new plan. I’ll just live here now. The curb is my home.”

Ava rolls her eyes but helps you up anyway. “Nope. We’re getting in that club. You’re gonna drink water, act normal, and stop being a liability.”

You let them half-drag, half-walk you down the street, still giggling. Maybe you won’t get into the club. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow with no recollection of this conversation.

Somehow—somehow—you make it past the bouncers.

Lily had given you a very serious pep talk before you reached the front of the queue: “No swaying. No giggling. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything stupid.” You had nodded along, doing your absolute best to channel the energy of someone who had only had one sensible drink and definitely wasn’t clinging to Sam for balance.

Miraculously, the bouncers barely look at you before waving you inside, and suddenly, you’re in.

Lola Lo’s is everything people hyped it up to be, neon lights glow under bamboo decor, the music vibrates in your chest, and the air smells like a mix of fruity cocktails, sweat, and regret. Your flatmates disappear into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of the dance floor, still slightly overwhelmed.

But there’s one thing you do know, you need another drink.

Stumbling your way to the bar, you lean against the counter, blinking up at the bartender like focusing really hard will make you seem more sober. “Can I get a—” You pause. What did you want? A cocktail? A vodka and coke? You squint at the menu, as if the words will rearrange themselves into the perfect choice.

Eventually, you just blurt out, “A rum and coke, please,” and slap some cash onto the bar, feeling very responsible.

The bartender hands you your drink, and you turn around. Too fast.

Because the next thing you know, your arm collides with someone, and suddenly, your entire very full drink sloshes forward, spilling straight onto them.

“Oh shit—”

The guy flinches, looking down at his now-soaked shirt. “Oh, for fu—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply before looking up at you.

And that’s when you see him properly.

Tall, messy brown hair, sharp features softened by the kind of face that probably gets away with way too much just by smiling. But right now, he’s not smiling, he’s staring at you, stunned, as cold rum and coke drips down his front.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hands flying to your mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, no, it’s not fine!” You grab a handful of napkins from the bar and start patting at his chest, which is definitely not helping, because now you’re basically rubbing the mess into his already ruined shirt. “I didn’t mean to—oh my God, I’m such an idiot—”

He lets out a breathy laugh, finally grabbing your wrist gently to stop your attempts at fixing the situation. “Hey—hey, it’s fine. Seriously.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly, your brain catches up with what’s happening. You just spilled an entire drink on a very attractive guy and are now borderline manhandling him in a drunken panic.

This is not how the night was supposed to go.

“I’ll buy you a new drink,” you blurt out.

He smirks. “What, for me or for you?”

You open your mouth, then shut it. That was a fair question.

Before you can respond, Lily appears out of nowhere, looking between the two of you with sharp amusement. “What the hell did I miss?”

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “Your friend just redecorated my shirt.”

Lily glances at you, then at the napkins still clutched in your hand. Then she grins. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

But when you peek up, the guy is still looking at you, not annoyed, not pissed off, but amused. Like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all night.

“I’m George” he says, still smiling.

George. You’ll keep that in mind.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

author notes:

hello everyone !! sorry i’ve been gone for so long !! i’ve been very busy with uni life and have kind of abandoned this account !! but i’m back and i’ve decided to bring my uni life into this new slow burn i have !!

I KNOW THAT GEORGE DIDNT GO TO BRISTOL BUT I DIDNT KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT HIS UNI TO WRITE ABOUT THAT ONE !!

much love x

#george clarkey #george clarke #italianbach #arthur hill #chrismd #arthur tv #georgeclarkey #george clarke fics #university

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pretty-little-mind33 · 11 months ago

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chaser!James Potter x chaser!fem!reader

Summary: James is threatened by how good you are at Quidditch which means he hates you. And what emotion is closer to hate than love?

Genre: Angsty Fluff, 'rivals' to lovers <3

Warnings: James is seriously a dick in the beginning, teasing, slight bullying, swearing, fighting, social class differences, reader is an only child, didn't really understand how Quidditch Captains are appointed but bare with me <3

~ finally finished this! loved this ask anon! thank you, my lovely! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James Potter is sprawled across the large, maroon, couch in the center of the Gryffindor Common room, his arms draped over the cushions as his legs lay across Sirius Black's lap.

Sirius, who would probably mind more if he wasn't as drunk as his best friend.

"I mean, fuck me, she wasn't even that good and McGonagall saw her and still looked at her like she'd just hung the moon in the sky!" James exclaims, his ears burning as he recalls Quidditch tryouts that morning.

He's pissed.

"You're just annoyed that she just started and now has a chance at Captain because Mini liked her so much," Sirius points out, which earns him a harsh swat on the top of his head.

James's face sours and he restrains himself from whining like a petulant child. Sirius was right, he was mad because you gave him a run for his money and no one has done that until now.

This was supposed to be his year. McGonagall loved him (mostly)! The Captain position was basically promised to him since his second year and now you've come around and ruined this for him!

"She's seriously not even that good, it's infuriating," James lies and looks around the small gathering they're having. He knows everyone can hear him but he doesn't care. "And she's so fucking annoying," he sounds bitter, "she's always talking everyone's ears off— and have you seen her stupid hair? She wore those fucking space buns just to make herself look cute, I swear!" He lifts himself off the couch for a moment, his arms raising in exasperation, and then lets out a sigh.

"That is usually the reason girls do their hair, James, yes," Remus interrupts from the floor where he's reading his book, his back leaning against the couch.

"Shut up," James grumbles and slumps back down. "I don't want her on the team. She's a nuisance already."

"Speaking of," Peter adds, his voice smaller as he glances towards the stairs to the girls' dorms. James whips his head around and his eyes narrow. You're walking towards the small gathering with some friends.

You're dressed in a Quidditch sweater that is only slightly oversized as the sleeves cover your hands. You're blissfully unaware of how much James Potter hates you so when you see him staring, you assume he wants to talk to you. You liked his company during tryouts. He was funny.

You'd always found him funny.

So, you walk over with a smile and James struggles to sit up. He's very obviously sloshed.

"Hello, Potter," you say and your smile widens. "This is Jane and that's Gabrielle," you introduce your friends. "I enjoyed try-outs, you were amazing. If I'm honest, I've always admired you during games. You're so talented," you feel yourself rambling but you're smiling too much to stop yourself, "I'm so happy we're gonna be on the same team now! I think we should–"

James cuts you off, a mean smirk on his lips as he looks at his friends and the students around you, "What did I say? A little chatterbox this one is," he quips, not completely unaware of how harsh his words are even in his drunken state.

Your hands fall at your sides, and the wind feels like it's been knocked from your lungs at his words when you realize he's making fun of you. You look at your friends and they stare at James with pronounced frowns.

"Oh," you whisper, but then you add, "That's not very nice, Potter."

A little surprised you'd had the guts to stand up to him, James retorts instantly. "Yeah? Is it now, Y/l/n?" He sounds mocking again and you don't understand why.

Your friends pull on your sleeve. "C'mon, Y/n, he's a prick," they turn you around, feeling how hurt you are as they walk away from James and his friends.

"Classy, James, real classy," Remus mutters under his breath.

And as awful as sober James might admit it is, he feels like he'd won something against you.

* * *

You can't understand why James seems to hate you as much as he does.

You've never been mean to him or done anything to harm him— on the contrary, you've only ever spoken highly of him and you know you've made a point of showing him that you trust him as a player when you're practicing. You want him to trust you too.

And still, James hates you and he makes that very clear.

He turns anything into a competition when it comes to you and it's obvious he takes pleasure in making you feel like shit.

As the days turn into weeks, you feel hopeless and even now you find yourself sitting alone on the grass during breaks, adjusting your uniform so you look busy as you hold in your tears.

You can hear James's cruel whispers about you to your teammates, purposefully creating rifts between you and them so you'll feel even more alone.

"She's so desperate," James's mockery causes another ache in your stomach and you chew on your lip so hard you're afraid you'll draw blood. You try not to listen to him as the whistle blows and the practice game starts again.

You're not on James's team this time–which means he either ignores you completely or targets you over anyone. As he hovers near you, you realize this morning it's the latter.

Maria Baker throws you the Quaffle and just as she does, you can sense James coming. You avoid his shoulder just in time and, with a huff, you score into the nearest hoop.

This just infuriates James even more and ups his game—which means the next time you have the Quaffle, he flies up to your shoulder again and pushes you hard to the side. He jabs his elbow into your ribs, purposefully playing dirty.

You wince. "O-ow, James, that hurts," you hiss, focusing on staying in the air as James rough-houses with you.

Your anger builds now and you shove him back, almost slipping from your broom as you try and defend yourself.

The Quaffle falls from your arms as James hits your shoulder with his again and you gasp. You expect him to rush to the ball and continue the game but he's furious from you shoving him so he grabs one of your braids and pulls.

You feel yourself fall from your broom as you cry in pain and you turn your body, clutching the end of James's uniform and, with a grunt from him, you're suddenly both plummeting to the ground.

You roll onto your stomach, falling onto James's chest as his arms automatically wrap around your back and he groans, looking up at you as you practically straddle his lap. Your head is throbbing from where he'd pulled your hair, your left braid messier than your right, and pure fury flashes in your eyes.

You lean over James, grabbing a handful of his curls and you pull. "What the bloody hell is your problem? How do you like it, hm?! You insufferable jerk!"

James doesn't take too kindly to this and he grabs your wrists, flipping you over so you're the one under him. His mum had told him never to hit a girl but oh does he want to hit you right now. You're staring up at him with that look he hates—the one that makes him feel all fluttery in his stomach.

You're struggling against his grip, grass in your hair. James's cheeks must be just as covered in dirt as yours are and his shoulder aches from the way he'd fallen.

"Potter! Y/l/n!" The whistle blows and the current Captain, Ines Clarke, runs up with McGonagall behind her. She'd seen the commotion from inside and seemed more than furious as she rushed over.

Some of your teammates follow, including Sirius Black who grips James's collar and pulls him off you. You hear Sirius hiss, "Prongs!! What in Godric's name is wrong with you?!" and then McGonagall pulls your attention to her.

Ines helps you up, looking concerned but then turns her attention to James. McGonagall walks over and when she sees the mess James has made of you, she frowns. "Are you alright, Miss Y/l/n?"

You nod, your lips pressed tightly as you see a bunch of your teammates have gathered around James as he rolls his shoulder. You look at your broom, which lies broken on the grass, and your eyes water. McGonagall senses your distress and she glances at James.

"James Potter!" She suddenly snaps her dainty fingers and James is next to her in seconds, both hands gripping his only slightly damaged broom.

It had been better quality than yours anyway.

His nervous eyes dart from McGonagall to you as he takes you in. You stare at him, unable to look away from how messy you've made his naturally tousled hair and you wonder if grass and dirt stick to your cheeks just as they do to James'.

"This," McGonagall points in between you both, "isn't how we do things here—you know this better than anyone, Mr. Potter. Your behavior is unacceptable." she reprimands him sternly and then looks at you, "and Miss Y/l/n, no matter how other teammates provoke you, you don't have the right to lay your hands on them either."

"But–"

"No. No more buts." McGonagall ignores both your protests as she looks down at your broom. "You need to learn how to behave like a team."

She thinks for a moment. "Tomorrow morning, you'll travel to Hogsmeade so Miss Y/l/n can replace her broom. Mr. Potter, you'll help her without any complaints, and neither of you better step foot on the pitch again until you've worked out whatever this feud is."

Your eyes widen. You want to tell McGonagall you cannot buy a new broom right now, but she clearly doesn't have anyexcuses about her new team bonding exercise. This means, much to your dismay, you end up waiting for James early the next morning, hugging your arms around you as you pick at the wool on your sweater.

James is ten minutes late. You want to kill him.

"Oi," his voice calls from behind you, irritatingly nonchalant. You turn and see he's also wearing his Quidditch sweater—which means you're now unintentionally matching—and a pair of casual trousers. James sends you a lopsided smirk, pushing his hands into his pockets as he sways on his feet almost awkwardly. "Why so gloomy, newb?" he mocks, the nickname rolling cruelly from his tongue.

You scrunch up your nose and spin around, walking in front of him as you clutch your purse. You don't want to give him a reaction and have him mock you the entire way into town. Instead, you both walk in silence, taking in the morning air and the sound of the birds.

Occasionally your purse will hit James's hip and he'll frown, opening to say another snarky comment until he sees a keychain; the one you have of Olive Gnats, a famous chaser from the Montrose Magpies.

"Oh, Gnats, I like her too—" he finds himself admitting before he can remind himself he hates you.

You startle and clutch your keychain, wanting to hide it from him but then you look down and then back up at James. "O-oh, yeah, she's my favorite player. Her technique is incomparable."

"Seen her match last year?"

"'Course," you say, your tone less on edge now that you're talking about something you clearly love, and the rambling you do so much kicks in, "I would watch her every game ever since I was six years old. Have around ten posters in my room at home, some are old now but—I- I studied her moves when I would play around with my mum and dad—they also played in school—that's how they met—" You cut yourself off, James's earlier taunts ringing in your head.

Your rambling is ignored as curiously overpowers him and James asks, "You have no siblings to play with?"

You shake your head. "Nope. Only child."

James's hazel eyes soften and he feels a funny feeling in his chest. "Oh, m-me too. Has its perks and its downfalls, y'know?" he whispers as he looks at you from the corner of his eye. His heart pounds.

The sun hits your skin just perfectly and your hair smells like cinnamon shampoo. James feels drawn to you again—just like he had in the beginning—and he wants to stop himself but when you laugh at his comment, he feels like an arrow has just shot his heart.

"Oh yeah, it certainly does," you sound guarded again and James can't even be upset.

It's his fault you're like this around him.

He opens the door for you when you enter Quality Quidditch Supplies and the little bell rings. Instantly, you're drawn to the newest broom—displayed with polished wood and improved flying qualities—but you turn your head, knowing instantly you can't pay for a broom like that—

"Hey, look at this one," James's excitement tugs at your heart and you walk over, standing beside him as you can't help but admire the broom up close. "It feels amazing," James says as he runs his hand over the smooth wood. He's grinning. "This is the one, isn't it?"

You bite your cheek. You want it to be.

"I don't know, I–haven't seen the others," you whisper, avoiding James's eyes.

"What? What are you talking about? This one is the best by far, you aren't gonna find a better broom."

"I want to look around," you whisper, looking at the price of this broom, and your heart sinks.

"Y/n, this is ridiculous—"

"James, stop," you snap, very clearly annoyed. You can't tell if he means well by being persistent since he's only just now started to show you any form of kindness and this still feels like some cruel joke he's playing on you.

"I can't pay for this one—and the truth is I can't pay for any of these so—I- I think—" you pause, clutching at your purse desperately as you hold in tears of embarrassment. "I should tell McGonagall I couldn't find a broom I liked and I'll borrow an older one from my parents—

—plus, if I buy this one you'll just have another reason to hate me," you finish.

Your words hit James hard as he takes in what you mean. Shame sneaks up on him instantly as he knows exactly why you would think that. It suddenly hits him just how threatened he's been and as silly as it sounds the only image in James's head is the disappointed look of his mother if she knew he had taken out his own insecurities on you.

If Euphemia Potter knew how much of a dick he's been to you, she'd be horrified.

He looks at you closely, taking in how embarrassed you look. During tense moments with his friends, Remus had sometimes told him he was a spoiled rich boy—unaware of real struggles — and he'd always brushed him off.

Only this time, he can't unhear Remus's jab as he realizes how foolish he had been to assume anything about you.

"Oh," he whispers.

You look away at the other brooms. "I- I honestly didn't realize how expensive new brooms are. My mum and dad had gotten the other one for my eleventh birthday—I should have been more careful—" You sound sad and James's heart sinks.

"Hey, listen, it's my fault your broom is broken. I- shouldn't have been so rough on you like I was. I'm sorry," he speaks up, sounding sincere and you look up at him, expecting a better explanation than that.

"It's no excuse but, the truth is, I was incredibly threatened by you. You're so good, better than me even, and I really want Captain so—"

"I don't want Captain," you say instantly. "I just wanted to be on the team—"

At that point, James remembers what you'd said that night when he was piss-drunk in the Common Room. 'I've always admired you during games.' It dawns on him that you just wanted him to like you and, instead, he'd gone and seen you as an enemy. His chest hurts.

He has never felt more like an ass than now.

"Okay, well, um," he whispers, rubbing his nape, "Let me make it up to you then. I'll buy you the broom." James means well, he truly does, but it only makes you feel more embarrassed and you shake your head.

"No. I don't need your pity," you say instantly as you stare at him, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not pitying you! I'm fixing my mistake," he exclaims, his voice strained.

You open your mouth to protest when he adds, "Please."

James looks determined as he rummages through his robes for any spare change he can use and then he curses. "Shit, I didn't bring enough money," he mumbles and lifts his head, looking up at you with his puppy-like brown eyes. "I promise I'll buy it for you, Y/n. Okay? I'll make this right," he adds again and your expression softens.

"Sure, James," you whisper, not entirely sure if you believe him.

* * *

He did buy you the broom.

James had it wrapped neatly with a small letter signed J.P accompanied with the words, "I'm sorry," scribbled onto the parchment.

Since that morning, he didn't ignore you anymore, he included you with the other teammates, and he played fair with you—even complimenting you sometimes. McGonagall had seen the change in dynamic and so had Ines, which she'd praised you both for.

"Good job, Y/l/n," Ines grins as she packs up her bags, "you and Potter seem to be getting on much better now." She winks and her comment passes over you as you focus on untying your ponytail, rubbing your scalp.

The rest of the team has fallen in front of you, laughing and chatting as they walk back to the dorm. You're lost in the moment, struggling with holding your bag as you run your hand in your hair, the tightness of the ponytail was causing you a headache.

Suddenly, you suddenly squeal when you almost trip over James—who had bent down to tie his shoes and had been separated from the group.

He grunts and stands up, turning around and catching your arm as he steadies you.

"Oh hey, Y/n," he grins, and then he glances at your poor bag hanging from your arm. Swiftly, he takes your bag and holds it over his other shoulder, not even commenting on the gesture.

"Want some company walking back to the Common Room?" he asks casually.

You blow some strands away from your eyes as you look up at him, grateful for the momentary relief from your bag as the pain in your scalp subsides.

"Sure," you say, reaching for your bag but James holds it up and away from you.

"Let me be a gentleman here," he teases.

You roll your eyes with no malice. "Hero complex much, Potter?"

He chuckles as you walk inside the school, side by side. James winks at you. "On the contrary, Y/l/n, I am the hero. Don't need a complex when you are one, y'know?"

You laugh, hearing the joking infliction in his voice as your heart feels lighter. Much to your better judgment, you've actually been enjoying James's company these last weeks, and talking to him alone like this has been even more fun. "I think you think much too highly of yourself, James." you tease him back.

"I am wounded, Y/n." He fakes hurt as he puts a hand over his heart.

"It's true is it not?" you say with a smirk and James narrows his eyes as you turn a corner, getting closer to the Common Room. You shrug, catching yourself. "Nothing wrong with some confidence."

James grins, his eyes sparkling playfully as he gently nudges your side with his elbow. "You could learn a few things from me, eh?"

You frown. "Are you saying I'm not confident?"

James hums, smirking, "'M just giving you some advice, love. You have the skills now, you gotta trust yourself." You both approach the entrance and you mutter the secret word to the Fat Lady Painting and the door cracks open. You push it further with your palm.

"Since when are you giving me Quidditch advice to make me better?"

James turns around once he's inside and hands you your bag. "Since I realized if you can't beat them, join them," he jokes with a smile, "We're a team now, Y/n. I know I was a real dick in the beginning, but I look out for my teammates. You're my teammate, so now I look after you."

Your shoulders relax and a small smile tugs your lips. "Thanks, James," you say honestly and rest your bag higher on your shoulder, tucking some hair behind your ear as you smooth the knots a little. "I really appreciate that."

"Anytime," James whispers as you walk up the stairs to the girl's dorm. Sirius whistles from where he's sitting on one of the couches, his head leaning against the armrest as he watches you and James. Once you disappear from view, James spins around, his eyes narrowing at his best friend.

Sirius winks and looks at James's sneakers. "This is the third time this week you've used that stupid shoelace excuse, Prongs. At this point, just stay back and ask her to walk with you, you chicken."

James's cheeks turn crimson and he walks over to shove Sirius, "Shut up."

Sirius just laughs loudly.

* * *

You've never felt so nervous in your life as you clutch the wood of your new, expensive, broom. The wind has picked up and everyone can tell the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor seekers are having a hard time finding the snitch. You're breathing heavily as you look around, seeing Maria—the third chaser—throw James the Quaffle.

James easily catches the Quaffle, avoiding the Ravenclaws on his right as he swoops lower. Your adrenaline is pumping and you think you know what he's doing. You hope. You fly closer and higher to the hoops, letting James know you're open.

Your memory flashes to the beginning when he wouldn't pass you the Quaffle under any circumstances, even if it cost the team the point. He can be so headstrong and your body is buzzing as you watch him closely.

What if he doesn't throw it to you? You have the perfect shot.

James looks at you from the corner of his eye, shoving a Ravenclaw with his shoulder to disorient them.

He could want the score for himself—but he's surrounded, he could miss.

The sound of the crowd is drowned out when you see his arm raise and he's communicating with his eyes. You nod, jumping into action as you fly closer and avoid the Ravenclaws as you catch the Quaffle and throw your arm back, throwing the Quaffle directly into the middle hoop.

Just as you score, Oliver—Ravenclaw's seeker—catches the snitch and the whistle blows. Gryffindor was leading already and you glance at the board. It didn't matter that Oliver caught the snitch, your goal had helped secure Gryffindor the win. Cheers erupt around you and you find yourself in a trance as your feet hit the ground and you clutch your broom.

"Y/n!" Someone calls your name as the ringing in your ears dies and you feel hands wrap around your waist, hoisting you up in the air as you twirl around. A gasp escapes your lips as you clutch onto the culprit's shoulder, the cheers continuing to echo around the pitch.

"You did so amazingly," James's excitement shines as he slowly lowers you back onto the ground, your chest brushing against his as your hands find themselves wrapped around his neck. You stare into his eyes, feeling his proximity and you suddenly feel warm and dizzy.

Has he always been this handsome?

"James." His name is the only thing your brain can think to say as he refuses to let you go. He also looks breathless and his cheeks have turned a faint shade of pink as his eyes roam over your features.

You want to tell him a thousand things. How good he was, how you're so happy the team won, how honored you are he trusted you enough to throw you the Quaffle to make the score. You want to ask if you were more confident this time and if he's noticed your effort—but instead, any attempt at words is drowned by his lips meeting yours.

You don't kiss him back for a moment, your hand faltering behind his neck as your fingers find the baby hairs on his nape. He feels so close and your lips part a little, kissing him back carefully as your eyes shut.

James's hands squeeze your waist and for a moment the crowd and the team are completely forgotten until James pulls away, and the sound of cheering returns as the realization of what happened dawns on you both.

"I'm sorry," James mutters, stepping away but he keeps a hand on you.

"You're sorry?" you ask, your voice small.

James hesitates, looking at you seriously and then he shakes his head. "No. I'm not sorry."

Your lips curl upwards and, still ignoring everyone around you, you pull him down by the collar of his shirt and kiss his lips again. James grins against your mouth, his heart thumps in his chest as all he can think about is you.

"Oi, no PDA on the pitch, you pervs!" Sirius's teasing voice suddenly shouts out from somewhere beside you but you're almost positive no one else is worried about you and James considering everyone's celebrating on their own.

James must feel the same because he throws up a middle finger with the hand that leaves your waist and you laugh into his mouth, reaching for his arm to stop him.

"Prick," James mutters to Sirius, "You're annoying," he adds with some playful bite.

He turns to you and his gaze softens. "But you're lovely," he whispers, earning him the prettiest smile he's ever seen and he's never been more proud.

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese

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aur0ral1ghts · 4 months ago

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ᴀᴍᴏʀᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀ ❧

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴄᴏɴғᴇssᴇs ʜɪs ʟᴏᴠᴇ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ..

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs; sᴏғᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ, ғʟᴜғғ, ᴋɪssɪɴɢ, ᴛᴇᴀsɪɴɢ, ғʀɪᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇs.

Me and Mattheo Riddle have never gotten along. We are what you call frienemies, we are not exactly friends, but we aren't enemies. We just like to tease and pick on each other. Me and him are in the same friend group, so that's when we kinda get along. Maybe once or twice a month, we would actually have a normal conversation without insulting each other. Another reason why we don't get along is his personality. He flirts with even damn girl in this school, it's annoying honestly. He's also the schools playboy, every week he brings a new girl to his dorm, and fucks her then kicks the girl out of his dormitory like she meant nothing to him.

But we do have a few things in common, like to my surprise, we both like to read. I found this out because one day I was heading to the library to find a new book to read, and I saw him. I saw Mattheo sitting down, reading a book that wasn't a textbook made for studying. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as he flipped the page, his eyes tracing over the words written among the page.

I couldn't help but admire him for a quick moment. He looked so cute and focused, and, wait, what am I talking about..?

I walked up behind him. He turned around, his breath hitched.

"Who knew I'll see the day to find Mattheo Riddle reading a book and enjoying it?" I chuckle. He scoffs as he closes the book. "Well, I do infact read, and I enjoy it." He mutters, blinking up at me.

"Shocking." I say, exaggerating my tone. "Why are you here?" He asks, standing up, leaning on a bookshelf infront of me.

"Choosing out a new book to read." I shurg. "Not surprised." He chuckles under his breath. "Also, I've read that book you're reading right now." I say. "Spoilers; I cried at the end." I exclaim, running my finger along the spine of a book. "Don't spoil it for me, dumbass." He says, nudging me. I giggle to myself as I find a book I like, I pull it out and examine the corver. "Anyways, bye Riddle." I say, walking away to check the book out. "Right, uh, later." He mutters clearing his throat.

But that's pretty much the only thing we have common, besides having the same group of friends and both being in Slytherin.

[Mattheo]

I heard some footsteps enter the libary, I knew it was Y/ns, I could tell by her shoes, she wears these loud black shoes they have a certain sound. You just know it's her when she walks into a room.

I pretend I don't notice, I can feel her eyes upon me, she then sneaks behind me. She leans down and says close to my ear, "Who knew I'll see the day to find Mattheo Riddle reading a book, and enjoying it." She chuckles, I look back at her pretty and perfect face.

A few months ago, I randomly fell in love with y/n. It all kinda happend, one day, I was pissed off at her for something, and then the next day, I found myself staring at her and admiring her. I hated myself for it. It took me at least a whole month to accept my feelings. I've never loved a girl before, sure I had a small crush on Pansy Parkinson in first year, but that doesn't count. It only lasted a week or so.

A few weeks ago I saw Y/n read this book, she seemed really interested in it, so i got the book out, which is the book I'm currently reading.

I didn't mean to be creepy or anything- but I wanted to get into what she liked. So once told me she enjoyed Astronomy the most, so i decided to read a little about it.

[Y/n]

We are all sitting in the great hall, chatting amongst ourselves and eating the food provided in front of us.

"Are you guys going to try out for Quidditch?" Blaise Zabini asks us. "Hell, yeah!" Mattho answers, as Blaise and him clap hands together. "Me and Y/n are just going to watch the tryouts, right?" Pansy says, nudging me with her elbow. "Right." I say giggling.

The next day, I enter potions, excited to see what we are going to do. I use to not be that interesting in potions due to Snapes boring lessons, but ever since Slughorn starting teaching potions, I've grown to like it more and more.

I stand next to Pansy as I see a red-pinkish liquid on the table, brewing. I could smell a faint smell of..

Cigarettes, rich colange, and books.

Why did I smell that?

"Pansy, do you smell that?" I ask. "Smell what?" She whispers, clenching her book to her chest. "Cigarettes, and colange." I mutter under my breath. "I don't smell that? I smell apples, mint, and fresh air?" Huh? That's werid. I definitely wasn't sick, my nostrils were working fine.

"Ah, girls, it seems you have discovered Amortentia."

Amortentia, i repeat in my head. I heard of this potion, but I forgot what it is, it's on the tip of my tongue.

"Professor, what exactly is Amortentia?" I question. "Great question, Y/n, you'll find out soon enough." He chuckles. I nod.

"Alright, alright, everyone, please settle down and gather around this table." He clears his throat as students gather.

"So-"

The door slams open as a messed up Mattheo enters, looking undeniably hot. His hair was slightly messed up, his tie on his uniform was not done properly, and a cigarette was placed in his mouth. I'll hate to admit it, but he looked awfully hot.

Slughorn clears his throat. "Mr. Riddle. You're late."

"Yeah, I've noticed." He scoffs. A few students giggled.

Slughorn eyes Mattheos cigarette, he looks down at it and mumbles an "Oh." Then places it in his pocket, probably saving it for later or something.

Mattheos walks behind me, his breathing loud and hot.

"Anyways." Slughorn says.

"Gosh, Y/n, how much perfume did you spray!?" He whispers a little to loud as most of the class begins to laugh. I turn my head to face him. "I didn't spray any." I mutter. His face twists into confusion.

"Ahem, as I was saying before I got interrupted, So this lovely pink potion we have brewing over here is Amortentia, which is known to be the most intense and most powerful love potion in the world, it's rumored to smell like whatever you're attractive too."

I turn to Mattheo again to see his red flushed face. It's almost cute.

"I guess we all know who Mr. Riddle is attracted, too." He chuckles. Suddenly, Mattheo scoffs loudly before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It's almost like a child throwing a taturm.

Pansy comes closer to me. "What the heck was that!?" She whisper yells. "I dunno.."

Slughorn sighs, before looking back at me. "Y/n, if you will." He motions to the door.

"Uh, sure profosser." I nod, walking towards the door. This was unfair, why'd I had to to get him after his outburst? Why couldn't one of his minions go fetch him?

I headed to go to see if he had gone to the bathroom because in previous instances, he was often caught skipping in that bathroom. No one really uses it because most teachers won't allow you to use the restroom during class. You would have to wait until break, plus no one really used that bathroom due to it not being properly taken care of. There was always a bunch of cobwebs all over the celling.

I walk up to the door, and I almost hesitate to knock. But I give in and do it.

No reply.

I wanted to check anything place, but I had this werid gut feeling telling me to check inside just in case. So I opened the door as I looked at the ground.

"Mattheo..?" I ask softly, still looking down. I wait a full five seconds before he answers. "What?"

"I'm coming in." I call out, my voice echoing within the massive bathroom. I scan the room before laying eyes onto Mattheo. He's to my left side, sitting down against a hard brick wall, smoking a cigarette. (Probably the same one he stuffed into his pocket earlier.) He's also writing in a black journal. He looks up at me, lips parted, his messy curls laid perfectly upon his face.

I slowly approach him. I sit down next to him, hugging my knees, letting my back fall against the harsh brick wall. He closes his journal quickly before placing it next to him.

"Uh. Just so you know, Slughorn is looking for you." I mutter in a low tone, fidgeting with my fingers. I felt almost nervous being this close to him. I felt a wave of butterflies wash over me.

"I don't care about that jerk." He mumbles, leaning his head back, fidgeting with his wand.

"He had no right to expose you like that." I say. "Thanks." We both sit there awkwardly for a few seconds before he calls out.

"So..what did you smell in the Amortentia?" He says, looking at me, obersving me.

"Oh, um. I smelt cigarettes, rich colange and books." My face then turns red once I've realized what I've just said. I have smelt Mattheo in the potion, and I know I have just realized. I guess when I smelt him, I guess I just didn't expect it at first, I denied it. I just convinced myself I smelt someone else. But in reality, it was him.

He smirks to himself.

"Hey, Mattheo?" I question trying to avoid the subject.

He doesn't reply back, but he looks at me. My heart pounded out of my chest.

"Why do you hate me? Or at least act like it."

"I dont really hate you. I've never had. I guess I hate you because I love you."

My mouth opens but doesn't make any noise. I can't believe he just said that. Mattheo Riddle actually loves me? Sure he was attracted to me but loves me?

"Wanna know something?" He smirks. I nod helplessly. "I think you smelt me in the Amortentia."

"I think so, too." I admit as he leans in closer.

"Can I kiss you?" He says as I smile widely. "Please..?" He asks. "Yes, you can." I answer. And with that, he kisses me.

The kiss is everything I've ever wanted. It's soft, gentle, and passionate. Usually, when I imagined Mattheo kissing me, i would imagine it to be rough and lustful.

He cups onto my check, his other hand wrapped around my waist, as he pulls me in closer to him.

"Mm, you have no damn idea how long I've been waiting for this exact moment." He whispers, pulling a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Me too." I say, looking at him, as our foreheads touch.

"So, will you be my girlfriend?" He asks me out of the blue.

"Yes." I whisper back.

"Good." He smiles, as we kiss again.

A/n; this was fun to write! :)

Masterlist link

#theodore nott #benjamin wadsworth #slytherin boys #marcus lopez arguello #tom riddle x reader #harry potter fandom #tom riddle smut #theo nott smut #theo nott #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheoriddlexreader #mattheoriddle #mattheo x y/n

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fandomfrenzy97 · 10 months ago

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Happy 1st September, everyone!!

For all you witches and wizards out there, as you all know it’s time to go back to Hogwarts, no matter if it’s via book, via movie series, or even via gaming. It’s definitely been a while since I was last at Hogwarts myself, so hopefully a surprise return for this years’ Quidditch Season should do the trick to mark the occasion, and who knows, maybe I’ll be reunited with Sebastian Sallow. Hope to see you all on the Pitch from September 3rd.

#harry potter quidditch champions #game preorder #digital copy #standard edition #Quidditch Tryouts #Team Slytherin #team spirit #can’t wait #bring on the competition

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slytherin-princess-x · 6 months ago

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Bound by decree: love is a dangerous game

Mattheo x reader

Summary: An arranged marriage but they’re enemies

A/n: it’s a long one today guys

The parchment felt like a death sentence in my trembling hands—crisp, official, and utterly final. I stared at the ornate script, the words swimming before my eyes: *"By decree of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the Ministry of Magic, a binding betrothal is hereby established between…"* My stomach churned. I already knew the name; it had been the hushed whisper in the corridors, the grim topic of conversation amongst the Slytherins. *"...Miss Y/N L/N and Mr. Mattheo Gaunt Riddle."*

Year Seven was supposed to be exciting. The final exams, Quidditch tryouts, maybe even a stolen kiss or two behind the greenhouses. Instead, it was starting with shackles. Arranged marriages were archaic—relics of a bygone era—but here we were, being dragged back into it for the sake of pureblood lineage. As if my family's ancient bloodline wasn't pristine enough.

The cause of my imminent doom was leaning against the wall across the Slytherin common room, a picture of indolent indifference. Mattheo Riddle. Dark hair perpetually mussed, eyes like chips of obsidian, and a smirk that promised nothing but trouble. He exuded an aura of dangerous charisma that made most students scurry out of his path. But me? I was now legally bound to him. The irony tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Well, well," Mattheo drawled, pushing off the wall and strolling toward me. His voice was a smooth, velvety threat. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, L/N."

I crumpled the parchment in my fist. "Stuck is an understatement, Riddle. This is a bloody nightmare."

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound that grated on my nerves. "Don't pretend you're not flattered. Who wouldn't want to be betrothed to me?"

"Oh, I can think of a few," I snapped, my eyes blazing. "Anyone with a functioning brain and a desire to, you know, choose who they spend their life with."

His smirk widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Such spirit. I'm almost… impressed."

The "almost" hung in the air, thick with sarcasm. That was our dynamic in a nutshell—a constant sparring match, a battle of wills fueled by mutual disdain. He reveled in my frustration, while I seethed under his arrogant gaze.

The engagement was a public spectacle. Announcements at breakfast, pointed glances in the corridors, and the ever-present whisper of our names linked together. It was suffocating. And the worst part? Mattheo seemed to enjoy it. He’d drape an arm possessively around my shoulders during meals, his touch sending shivers of disgust down my spine. He’d answer questions about our "future" with infuriatingly vague pronouncements, leaving me to grit my teeth and plaster on a fake smile.

My attempts at a normal Year Seven were thwarted at every turn. Gryffindor boys who’d dared to flirt with me suddenly found themselves on the receiving end of Mattheo’s icy glare and a few well-placed hexes. Even my closest friends grew hesitant, the air around me now tainted by Mattheo’s presence.

"He's like a bloody Dementor," my friend Clara muttered one afternoon, as we watched Mattheo lean against a tree, his gaze fixed on me. "Sucking all the joy out of the air."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Tell me about it. I can't even look at another boy without him glaring holes into their skull."

The enforced proximity did offer a twisted kind of insight, though. I saw glimpses of Mattheo away from the public eye. The way his brow furrowed in concentration during Potions, the almost imperceptible twitch of his lip when he read a particularly clever passage in a Transfiguration textbook. These moments were fleeting, quickly masked by his usual sardonic demeanor, but they were there.

One evening, stuck in the library together to “study”—a thinly veiled excuse for our parents to see us interacting amicably—I found myself staring at him. He was engrossed in a heavy tome, his features softened in the lamplight. For the first time, I saw past the arrogance and the threats, and caught a glimpse of… something else. A weariness, perhaps? Or maybe just boredom.

He looked up, catching my gaze. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a neutral expression that was almost unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

"Problem, L/N?"

I quickly averted my eyes, a blush creeping up my neck. "No. No problem."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. It was different from our usual animosity, charged with something… more.

As the year progressed, our interactions, while still laced with sarcasm and barbed comments, began to shift. We argued about house points with a shared competitiveness. We found an odd sort of camaraderie in our mutual disdain for certain professors. During a particularly grueling detention scrubbing cauldrons, Mattheo surprised me by sharing a mumbled joke that actually made me laugh.

The Yule Ball arrived like a looming deadline. I had dreaded the thought of being seen on Mattheo’s arm. But as he stood before me in his dress robes, a certain unfamiliar nervousness in his eyes, something shifted within me. He was undeniably handsome, and for the first time, the thought didn’t fill me with immediate revulsion.

Our dance was stiff and awkward at first, but as the music softened and we found a rhythm, a strange sort of understanding passed between us. His hand on my back was firm, his gaze surprisingly steady.

"You look… tolerable," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the music.

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "And you're not entirely unbearable yourself, Riddle."

It was a minuscule crack in the wall of our mutual animosity, but it was there.

The turning point, perhaps inevitably, came during a late-night study session in the deserted astronomy tower. We were arguing, as usual, about some obscure Charms theory. Our voices echoed in the stillness, the tension crackling between us.

"You're being deliberately obtuse," I accused, frustration bubbling over.

"And you're being willfully ignorant," Mattheo retorted, his eyes flashing.

We were close—too close. Our anger was a palpable force. And then, something shifted. The anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of intensity. His gaze lingered on my lips, and for the first time, I didn’t want to look away.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "you're not what I expected."

My heart hammered in my chest. "And what did you expect?" I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.

His gaze searched mine, a flicker of something vulnerable in his dark eyes. "A simpering pureblood princess, eager to please."

"And what did you get?" I challenged, my voice barely a breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and banished the usual shadows. "Someone who challenges me. Someone who isn’t afraid."

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t a gentle, tentative kiss. It was fierce, possessive, filled with a pent-up energy that mirrored the animosity that had simmered between us for months. And surprisingly, I kissed him back, my own frustrations and grudges melting away in the heat of the moment.

The world didn’t magically transform. We were still betrothed, still bound by an archaic agreement. But as we stood there, breathless and slightly shaken, in the silence of the astronomy tower, something had undeniably changed. The hatred hadn’t vanished entirely, but a new emotion had taken root—a complicated tangle of resentment and reluctant attraction.

The arranged marriage was still a cage, but now, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be quite so lonely. The year still stretched before us, filled with uncertainty and the weight of our forced union. But for the first time since that dreaded parchment arrived, I felt a flicker of something akin to hope. Perhaps, against all odds, this nightmare could turn into something else entirely. The enemies were still there, but maybe, beneath the surface, lovers were beginning to bloom.

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

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hollowed-theory-hall · 4 months ago

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What are some of book Harry’s shining traits as a character that the movies seem to gloss over?

I haven't watched the movies in a while, but I'd go with his cleverness, intuition, and ability to stay cool externaly being the most overlooked. Movie!Harry is still a resilient character, if more passive and in a different flavor than book!Harry, but it's there. In the first 3 movies, there are some moments of Harry's iconic sass as well, though the later movies forgot his sass altogether. But what I think bothers me the most are the first two traits I mentioned: his cleverness and intuition.

I wrote whole posts about Harry's cleverness and intelligence (here & here & here) and his intuition (here). Harry is the one who figures out a lot of things in the books. From the Philosopher's Stone and that Dumbledore was led away by the thief (even if he was wrong about the thief) to figuring out the Horcruxes locations and that Voldemort is after the Elder Wand. He is far from stupid and his intelligence and quick wit are the source of many of his wins in the books.

Again, I haven't watched the movies in a while, but scenes like Hermione hitting Harry with a paper because he's being an idiot in HBP is so far from who Harry and Hermione are in the book — mostly because book!Harry isn't an idiot and book!Hermione knows that!

Book!Harry is calm under pressure and comes up with plans when shit hits the fan. In OotP in the ministry, everyone (including Hermione) looks to Harry for a plan. Because Harry is witty and good at thinking on his feet. Something I don't remember getting from movie!Harry.

Movie!Harry also lacks the cold facade book!Harry has.

In the HBP, movie!Harry struggles to awkwardly manage the Quiddich tryouts. Book!Harry shouts at the girls that shouldn't be there to fucking leave, and he's not awkward about it at all, just annoyed at them. In OotP, movie!Harry spits on himself when Cho waves at him, book!Harry is covered in mimbulus mimbletonia juices and still keeps his chill:

“Oh ... hello, Harry,” said a nervous voice. “Um ... bad time?” Harry wiped the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him: Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. “Oh ... hi,” said Harry blankly. “Um ...” said Cho. “Well ... just thought I’d say hello ... ’bye then.” She closed the door again, rather pink in the face, and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned.

Harry is annoyed at the impression it created, but he isn't showing it to Cho, he doesn't act awkwardly at all. Cho is the one acting awkwardly when meeting Harry, not the other way around. Even when Harry is awkward, it's not the stumbling over himself awkwardness, it's the "I don't know how to comfort Hermione so I'll just throw Ron's blanket on her and not say anything" awkwardness. When he's embarrassed or awkward, he just stays cold and silent and a bit robotic for the most part. At worst he'd go: "Er..." blush a little and look at you blankly, but more often he'd just get annoyed. He isn't going to spit on himself. God, that one gif is the bane of my existence.

Movie!Harry does not have the coolness under pressure or wit and intuition of book!Harry. These are the first that came to mind, but there are a lot of other traits that are different or missing. These are just the traits that would be very obvious to someone looking at Harry from outside (like the movies do). And these are the traits I find missing most often in fanon interpretations of his character.

#harry potter #hp #asks #lazyoldfusspot #hollowedrambling #harry james potter #hp movies

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ilrrbghjovehp · 3 months ago

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Deserve Me

Fred Weasley x Slytherin Reader

Summary : You and Fred broke up after a very long time and you wanted to rekindle things

CW: SMUT 18+, head giving /receiving

A/N : I was listening to Deserve Me by Kali Uchis and Summer Walker and I knew I had this account so I thought why not. Also I changed some stuff thats normally in the original Harry Potter you'll see.

(draft) NOT PROOFREAD SORRY!!

The beginning of the year was already at the best start you had everything, after years of working to get to the top you where finally cheer caption. That morning you held cheer tryouts but of course after you just forgot about him Fred Weasley and the Gryffindor quidditch team just came out to practice you glared as they all came walking out bags in hand. You stretched out hand on knees your ass facing them you can feel Fred staring at you. ……

" I mean I don’t care if he was staring, half the guys at this school been staring and he is the least of my worries" y/n said to her best friend as you both walked into the great halls for the sorting assembly with your dark green and silver uniform with your hair and your makeup done you went to go sit down as the headmaster welcomed new comers sorting them into their houses and announcing the announcements " And finally let the feast begin!" Food appeared infront of you as all the food glistened a magical feast served upon you . you looked up and saw fred staring at you his chin resting on on his hand his pinkie gracing over his lip staring you dead in the eye you looked him up and down and glared at him but that only seemed to appetize him more you continued talking to your friend "Ugh I am so tired of him he’s such a stuck up douche But I think I just might fuck him one last time to be sure " y/n said leaning on her hand side glancing at him. "Then go up to him" y/n's best friend said. Y/n got up and walked over to the Gryffindor table " Move" you said as you moved first years sitting infront Fred " hi" he said as he smirked at you " You really cant stop staring you know that right ?" Y/N said as she carresed freds hand that was laying in the table " I need help unpacking maybe you can " Y/N said as she raised an eyebrow “help me “ Fred grabbed her hand lightly “can’t we just go now”, You laughed “yeah right , and let everyone know we’re doing this after” you winked at him leaving him and going back to your table . As you sat down Fred still staring you pointed at him to eat his food pointing out that he’s making it obvious “sooo, what’s going on” said your best friend, “he’s helping me unpack” you replied , “right unpack, sure” just tell me how it goes after” she said dog he as dumbledore announced dinner was over “okayy , I will” you responded. As you where walking to your dorm you were pulled into a doorway by your arm, immediately you were met by soft lips touching yours as you both finished kissing Fred whispered “ I missed you”, “yeah? How much” you teased “all of you” he responded as he skimmed his finger down your stomach inching away from your Vigina , you grabbed his hand leading you to your dorm

...

Walking into your dorm you quickly locked the door behind you , then right into Fred’s arms kissing him pushing him back till he sat down on the bed Your hands skinned up his shirt pulling it off. He took off your shirt as he felt your beautiful body admiring it in awe , you unclasped your bra as it fell down you slowly adjusted yourself now sitting on top of Fred feeling him rise as he stared at you. He began dry humping you slowly hands and arms back as he thrusted lightly staring at you the whole time “god, your gorgeous I can finish just looking at you” , “mhm, then do it” you responded . He grabbed you flipping you over so your now laying on your back “I’d rather have you do it first” he said as he started unzipping your skirt he took it off then skimmed over your under just like magic you felt his warm mouth on your clit as you felt his tounge moving up and down , side to side exactly where it felt good. You let out a moan as he continued pleasuring you. He copied you so you felt the vibrations please you perfectly he then took his fingers and inserted them in you curling them at the perfect moment while his you he still pleasured you , you felt the rush about to leave “I’m going to..” you moaned as he continued to pleasure you finally finished but Fred still kept going finally getting up after all has been released you looked up at him as he looked down on you . You continued to unbuckle his belt as he stood over you he mounted slightly as you took out his hard dick from his pants as you took it out it bounced on his abdomen you trapped it as you looked up to him putting it in your mouth teasingly bobbing your head up and down will still maintaining eye contact he moaned lightly looking down at you finally putting his hand on your head following your moments you continued faster feeling Fred almost reach his climax he moans-getting higher and higher until he finally finished in your mouth you looked up at him making eye contact as your swallowed “woah” he managed to breath out “alright time to go” you chucked getting up gathering Fred’s shirt that was in the floor “that’s it” he asked “if you want more just play with yourself baby” you said as you lead him to the door “see you next time Fred” you said as you winked at him.

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #Fred Weasley imagine #imagine #smut

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cheralith · 4 months ago

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omg i really love your slytherin!kaiser au. !!!! your writing is so good !! 😋 i was wondering if you would do any other characters for this type of au if so could you do karasu hp au 🫡😈

character ; karasu tabito || wc ; 931 contains/cw ; gn!reader, no pronouns used, ravenclaw!reader, ravenclaw!karasu, hogwarts!au a/n ; this was sitting in my inbox for awhile and i honestly didn't really know what to write abt despite wanting to, so hope this is ok! another person added to the harem (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و

karasu has always been a rather fascinating character to me personally; dare i say he's very relatable in terms of how he finds himself mediocre? so he gets very confused as to why he's sorted into ravenclaw when he first comes to hogwarts, the house known for producing the most extraordinary wizards because he doesn't think of himself as such. he thinks he's a fraud.

it doesn't help that such a mentality worsens over the years. he excels at his subjects, yes, but amongst the house that many of its students at the top ranks of their classes, karasu merely blends in with the rest of them. there's nothing outstanding about him in particular that makes him stand out from the rest of his house.

so he attempts to search for a way. quidditch catches his eye because of the fact that in all the houses, there are only seven people on a team and he thinks by being one of those seven, he'd be able to stand out from the house of three hundred-something people. he tries out in his third year and doesn't make the cut and it discourages him from trying again in his fourth because if he can't even stand out in tryouts, how the hell was he suppose to make a name for himself if he'd ever make the team?

what makes him destroy that mentality is when he meets you. early in the fifth year, you're in his group for care of magical creatures, where you pick up on his ability to tame animals just by knowing their weaker, vulnerable points. tells you to press on the side of a hippogriff's neck to help calm it down when he sees your tense on your first ride and that the beast could sense it.

you're discussing about the most recent loss ravenclaw incurred from slytherin during a class break, karasu listening intently. you complain that their newest chaser, chigiri hyoma, was an insane weapon on the field, for his speed was incomparable to the others on your own team and what you've seen in the past.

karasu, who was watching the game at the time, tells you that you should've been more perceptive, that you're the upcoming captain, aren't you?

when you furrow your brows and question what he means by that, disapproving of his tone, he merely tells you that you missed a crucial point in the game that would've obliterated slytherin's newest weapon. that chigiri hyoma can't ride for long periods of time since it puts a strain on his back that he suffered an injury on awhile back due to the resisting air pressure.

"yeah, sure, he can definitely fly fast," he says, waving a nonchalant hand, "but he can only do it when he's about t'score a goal. if y'were able to pick that up earlier, ya could've made sure that he exhausted himself faster."

karasu notices your wide-eyed staring after he finishes his ramble of possible tactics you guys should've done against the other players, pointing out some of their key weaknesses. he asks you harshly, "what?" and despite his sharp tone, your eyes just continue sparkling at him.

"have you ever thought about trying out for the team?" you ask him excitedly.

he frowns and picks at his fingernails, head down in shame. "tried to. in my third year," he mutters. "didn't get in."

"well," you start giddily, thinking you found a diamond in the rough. "one of our old beaters had to step down due to an injury... we're hosting tryouts soon for his replacement."

karasu catches your drift and is quick to turn it down, not wanting to embarrass himself like last time. "no thanks. i'm good."

"but!" you protest, "we could use someone like you. someone who's really analytical. all of us are a lot stronger on a physical sense, but you seem to really have the nail on the head of our opponents. imagine what you could do!"

"... i don't have much experience playin' quidditch," he admits, scratching the back of his heating neck, "i don't think i'd be able to do well as the others."

you bite your lip, trying to think of what to say to him. you suddenly think of a plan that may be just a tad bit unfair to the others that would want to try out, but you think karasu could really be an amazing addition to the team with analytical skills that could compare to a familiar prodigal redhead's.

"i probably shouldn't be doing this but," you beckon him with your hand and whisper into his ear, "i could practice with you. just so you can get a solid grip on the play."

he thinks despite the colder weather, he's heating up a little too fast for his sake when your voice sends shivers down his spine.

you pull back with an excited smile on your face as the professor tells everyone to gather together again.

"i'm serious, think about it," you say to him as you begin to walk off to join some other friends of yours. "we'd love to have someone as extraordinary as you on the team."

you throw him a thumbs up just before you run off, leaving karasu dazed with your voice echoing the one word he's been desiring to attain the status of for years now in his mind.

"extraordinary, huh..." he murmurs with a soft grin, staring at the back of your figure when you chat and laugh amongst your friends. "someone like you sayin' that to someone like me... that's pretty funny."

#blue lock #bllk #karasu tabito #karasu #karasu tabito x reader #karasu x reader #karasu x you #blue lock x reader #bllk fluff #mini series ; slytherin!kaiser #blue lock ; karasu tabito

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ask-wren-zhang · 10 months ago

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It isn't long until she senses a pair of uneasy eyes on her back and sure enough, her favourite Mongoose is looking every bit as high-strung as he often is as of late - having robbed of his hair during those weeks must've done him a number or two.

Just this once, she'll refrain from ruffling the locks on his head.

Not that she's allowed to. But he doesn't need to know that ;)

My dear Wren, just a hypothetical anon here... I know you and the Mongoose are on the same team but what would it cost me to bribe you into pushing him off of his broom one of those matches? Just a HYPOTHETICAL.

Summoning her quill, she quickly scribbles a quick response on a scrap of parchment, laughing quietly as she does:

Mel, dearest, is this you? ♡

#rp #quidditch wren (???)#andrew mongoose #[set before Wren begins considering tryouts]#[and everyone thinking she already joined hahaha]#[she may find this handy some other time]

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immobulusmalfoy · 6 months ago

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Rogue Bludger // Oliver Wood x F!Reader

Summary: Oliver Wood and his Quidditch-obsessed best friend are performing for talent scouts when tragedy strikes, leaving her to care for him. In all reality, it's literally two idiots in love with each other and Quidditch. Warnings: Mentions of injuries/bodily harm and food. A/N: Is this terrible? Yes. Is it also super cute? Yes again. > DO NOT, under any circumstance, repost my works on any other platform or even on this one. I don’t condone it, haven’t condoned it, and never will. <

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Match days always set me on edge, though I didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the fact that today’s match was one of the last ones that actually mattered, the match just before the Quidditch Cup. This match would decide whether or not we played against Slytherin who had already beaten their opponents. We were playing Ravenclaw, a surprisingly good team and one not to be underestimated.

Oliver nudged me with his shoulder, broom at the ready beside him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” I finally answered, nodding to myself. He grinned.

Oliver and I had met on the train our first year when my book of quidditch trading cards spilled on the floor in front of the carriage doorway that he was occupying. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he noticed the spilled cards, quickly hopping down from his seat to help me clean them up. After that, we spent the entire ride talking about the cards and quidditch—our favorite teams, our favorite players, what position we wanted to play at school, which house we thought we’d end up in—and the like.

I’d like to say we became best friends that day, but I’m not sure Oliver would have said the same until two weeks later when we had our first flying lesson and appraised each other’s flying skills, understanding then that both of us weren’t just talking ourselves up when we raved about quidditch. Of course, we couldn’t try out for the house team until our second year, though, so we spent our extra time talking about quidditch strategies for when we were finally able to play on the team and about various other things. Our obsession with the sport usually turned others away, but I found it refreshing that someone else loved the sport as much as I did and didn’t mind that I was a girl.

When we’d tried out for the team, Oliver tried out for Keeper and I tried out for Chaser, the two positions we’d been eyeing since we were little kids on our toy brooms. We were ecstatic when we found out we’d both made the team, celebrating with butterbeers the Saturday after tryouts. And now we were here, playing for our house, and hopefully winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time.

The stands were filled with people from all four houses and even some of the professors, all cheering for the two teams playing. Oliver assured me he’d snuck to one of their practices and that we’d win for sure, but when I heard the cheering and felt the energy in the air, I wasn’t so sure of my own abilities.

“Just play your heart out, lass. It’ll be alright. Don’t even think about the scouts.” Oliver murmured beside me before mounting his broom and flying to position. I flew to my own position, watching Oliver and the Ravenclaw team captain shake hands. Madam Hooch’s whistle blew, starting the game.

I hardly remember what happened when everything started, just that it was a flurry of passing the quaffle around and throwing them through the hoops to get our points. I managed to throw the quaffle in Ravenclaw’s hoops twice, avoiding bludgers and other players like the plague.

I chanced a glance at Oliver, knowing we were winning, when I spotted a bludger heading straight for his head. I screamed his name, but he didn’t hear me, his head turned the other way. The bludger struck him in the side of his head, knocking him off his broom. He fell fast, faster than I expected. Professor Dumbledore arrested his motion with a quickly muttered spell, Madam Hooch hurrying over to him to assess the damage when he hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Harry was eyeing me as well as Oliver, so I flew past him, shouting as I went, “Catch that snitch now, Potter, or you’ll never play quidditch again!”

I no longer cared that we had scouts in the stands or that we were down twenty points. If Harry didn’t catch that snitch, I knew I’d have his hide. He seemed to sense my desperation and beat the Ravenclaw seeker to the snitch as fast as he could.

Once the game was won, I descended to the pitch to find Oliver, but he wasn’t there. Madam Hooch noticed me and informed me he’d been moved to the Hospital Wing already so Madam Pomfrey could see what could be done.

“Aren’t you going to talk to the scouts? Puddlemere United wants to speak to both of you!” she called out as I ran away, but I didn’t even care. My best friend was hurt. The boy I cared more about than anything was injured and I didn’t know how badly. Who cared about quidditch when Oliver’s life was on the line?

I ran faster than I ever had before and was breathless once I reached the hospital wing a good ten minutes later. Madam Pomfrey stopped me from coming inside, complaining that I was dirty and sweaty and needed a shower before I came near her patient. She was right, of course, but I didn’t care.

“But he’s my best friend! I just want to make sure he’s alright!”

“Mr. Wood is asleep, but if you keep shouting like that then you won’t even be allowed in once you’ve cleaned yourself up, young lady.” she sniffed, shutting the big door in my face.

I muttered a curse under my breath and lightly kicked the door before heading back to my room to shower and change, avoiding everyone’s congratulations and cheering.

I was back at her door within the hour, banging on it to be let in, which Madam Pomfrey did grudgingly. She led me to Oliver’s bedside and left me there with the instructions that I shouldn’t bother him, but that I could talk to him quietly since she suspected that he was in a coma due to the head trauma.

Oliver looked terrible. Blood was matted to the side of his head where the bludger had hit and he was a sickly shade of green, but I refused to let it bother me as I sat in the chair beside his bed.

“Hey, Oli. Feeling rough, are we? I know you’re sleeping and I hope I don’t wake you, but I just had to tell you that I was really scared. So scared. Godric, I hope you’ll be okay. Who will talk Quidditch with me if you don’t make it? Who will play for Puddlemere with me?”

He didn’t flinch. The gravity of the situation hit me and I quietly called for Madam Pomfrey.

“What can I do for him? Can I clean up his head with a cloth or something? I want to make him comfortable if possible. And I’m not leaving.” I said sternly.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, realizing that I wouldn’t budge and handed me a basin of warm water and a few white cloths.

“Gently clean the wound with the cloths. Head wounds bleed a lot, so you may see more bleeding. Just be careful and don’t press too hard. I gave him a bit of Skele-gro to ensure that the bones in his head heal themselves, so it may hurt him a lot if you press in just the wrong place.” She explained some more instructions on how to care for him then moved on to a few Ravenclaws who happened to catch bludgers to their arms or legs. Thank goodness for the Weasley twins who seemed to have enacted vengeance on behalf of me and their captain.

I did as she asked, gently cleaning Oliver’s wounds and keeping an eye on him. I didn’t leave him either. Dinner passed in the Great Hall and Angelina brought me a plate to eat, but I refused to leave. I slept at his side and did my homework beside him for a full week as he slept, position never changing although his skin color certainly improved. Our friends brought me food while I kept a radio going most of the time so he could listen to the quidditch stats around the country and fielded visitors so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed if he suddenly woke up.

A whole week and no stirring. Madam Pomfrey assured me that I shouldn’t worry, but I’d hardly showered or eaten the whole week for worrying. I’d stayed awake as much as possible and took short naps when needed in case he woke up, but still nothing.

The twins had tried tapping his face when I was napping, Madam Pomfrey had tried a few healing spells, and I’d even set coffee near his nose to see if that would awaken him, but nothing seemed to work. I was informed that he’d wake up when he wanted to, but surely now was a good time? We had a match set for a week from now and he wouldn’t even be cleared for it if he didn’t wake soon.

“Oliver, love, you need to wake up.” I whispered over and over when no one was watching. “You have no idea what this is doing to me.” After a whole ten days of sitting beside him and tending to him, the full gravity of the situation hit me and I ended up falling asleep on my chair with my head laid on his bed near his arm.

I woke to someone’s hand tangling in my hair, my name being hoarsely whispered. My bleary, sleep-filled eyes didn’t immediately register that it might have been Oliver, but that notion was quickly dissolved as I whipped my head up and winced because Oliver’s hand was still tangled in my messy hair. He quickly released my hair with a sheepish grin.

“Hi.” he whispered. The area was lit with a single candle, so it wasn’t too bright in the darkness, but he squinted his eyes anyway.

“Oliver!” I scooted my chair closer and grabbed one of his hands. “I thought you’d never wake up.” My voice broke with the sentence and Oliver’s eyes softened.

“Did we win? How long have I been out?” he asked hoarsely.

“Well, you’ve been out for about ten or eleven days. I’m not sure what time it is. But, yes, we did win. I threatened Harry within an inch of his life if he didn’t catch the snitch after you got hit in the head with a rogue bludger.”

“Is that why my head hurts?”

“Does it hurt? I can get Madam Pomfrey. I’m sure she has something that will help.” I made to get up, but Oliver tugged my hand.

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“She’s been here the whole time, Mr. Wood.” Madam Pomfrey suddenly appeared, much to my surprise. She looked at me pointedly and sniffed, “I had charms set on his bed that would alert me when he woke up, young lady.”

Madam Pomfrey did a few checks and then gave Oliver a small amount of some greenish potion he swore tasted like toad eggs to help alleviate the pain in his head.

“Well, Mr. Wood, overall you look good for having been in a coma for over a week. We were able to keep you in a magical stasis so you shouldn’t have any weakness in your muscles or anything, but we’ll test that in the morning. Do you have any questions?”

“When can I play quidditch again?” Oliver asked seriously.

Madam Pomfrey snorted.

“Mr. Wood, we can discuss your game in the morning. Now, I think it would be beneficial to eat a little something like toast and then get some sleep. We can evaluate everything in the morning and see where you are. How does that sound?” she explained. He agreed and she got him some toast and water to drink. Once he’d finished eating, he laid back down but scooted all the way to the side of his bed and beckoned for me to get in with him.

I hesitated, but eventually climbed in under the blankets with him. We faced each other in the bed and whispered about the game for a few minutes before Oliver started staring at me.

“Have you really been by my side the entire time?” he asked quietly, the fingers of his left hand interlacing with my right over the blankets. I nodded, suddenly sheepish.

“Honestly, it was the scariest thing. I saw the bludger heading your way and I screamed your name, but you didn’t hear me and you were hit really hard in the side of your head. I thought you were dead when you landed on the ground. I couldn’t leave the game, though, so I made Harry catch the snitch so I could get to you. Madam Pomfrey made me shower and change first before she let me in, but I’ve been here ever since. Angie and a few of the others bring me food and homework, so I’ve been doing that while waiting for you to wake up. I just—I thought I lost you, Oliver. I can’t imagine doing that. I never want to lose you.” My worried tone related the story quickly, knowing he didn’t like it when he was hurt and liked it even less when it made him miss a match.

Oliver lifted his hand out of mine to trace my face, eyes intently memorizing every line. But I could tell they were drooping and knew he’d be asleep soon.

“You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you,” he murmured. And then he was out like a light, asleep and snoring, nose twitching sporadically as he did. The sight warmed my heart since he hadn’t been sleeping like that for over a week.

“Goodnight, Oli.” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose before snuggling into his side and falling asleep again myself.

When I woke again, it was to Madam Pomfrey and Oliver’s hushed voices discussing what I’d been doing while Oliver was in his coma.

“She was here at all hours and never left. She brushed off the talent scouts who wanted to speak with her after the match and took her meals here. She slept by your side when she did sleep and even did her homework here. If that girl isn’t in love with you, then I’ll quit healing.” she snorted. Oliver’s chest rumbled in a quiet laugh, but I pretended to stay asleep. I could feel one of his hands against my hair, his fingers brushing through the strands.

Frankly, I wasn’t super thrilled that someone had finally brought up my deepest secret, the fact that I was in love with my best friend. It sounded childish—like something from a silly muggle romance novel—and I hadn’t fully come to terms with it yet. The fear of rejection wasn’t allowing that.

“I don’t suppose anyone bought her food today so far?” I heard him ask quietly.

“No, not yet, but I’m sure the Johnson girl will be bringing some by in a bit and hoping to see you.” Madam Pomfrey replied.

“Thank you.” Oliver murmured. Not even five seconds later, he was poking me in the side and demanding I wake up.

“What the hell, Wood? Why can’t I sleep?” I groaned.

“Because you aren’t sleeping. You forget that I know you like the back of my hand.” Oliver replied pointedly. “Now, you’re going to march out of this room and take a shower, then get some breakfast, and then you can come back. And you’d better bring my planning binder because we have some strategizing to do.”

I sat up in the bed and looked at him, dumbfounded.

“Who are you?”

“Your Captain and your best friend.” He grinned. “Now, do as I say. You can bring me some food as well because I’m starving.”

“Aye aye, ‘Captain’” I grumbled as I climbed out of the bed. “It’s not as if I’ve taken care of you this whole week.” Oliver’s eyes softened as I muttered the phrase and he quickly took my right hand in his while he had the chance.

“I know you have. And I appreciate it more than you know. But our futures are on the line right now and we have talent scouts breathing down our necks. If you don’t clean yourself up a bit and get some food, you won’t be worth anything today and I need your brain to strategize.”

I nodded in agreement and left to do as he asked. It took a little while, but I was soon back with a plate of food for Oliver and feeling much better than I had when I’d woken up. Oliver was sitting up and waiting for me with a smile on his face.

“Is that for me?” he asked when he spotted the plate.

“No, it’s for my other invalid friend in the bed over there. Of course it’s for you, you numpty.” I snorted, throwing his binder on the bed and handing him the plate.

He thanked me with a mouth full of food, already flipping through his pages and pages of plays in the binder. That thing had been through two generations of Woods and I suspected it might make it through a third or fourth if Oliver had anything to do with it. Oliver’s dad had been on Gryffindor’s quidditch team when he was at Hogwarts, having met Oliver’s mum in class (she was a Hufflepuff).

Oliver pored over the different plays, making notes on a pad of paper he kept attached to the front of the cover. Every once and a while he’d point one or two out to me as he ate his breakfast. By the time he’d eaten all his food, we had a pretty good handle on the plays we’d be using against Slytherin in two days' time.

“Has McGonagall said anything about the talent scouts we didn’t see? Will they come back?” Oliver asked nervously.

“She said they were very impressed, so I hope they’ll come back. She knows how important this is to us.” I reassured him. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure they would. But I hoped so.

We were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey who promptly told us Oliver could leave as there was nothing else she could do for Ollie’s “thick head” as she put it. So back to class we went.

Charms, Potions, and finally Defense Against the Dark Arts. Assignments from each and every professor. And a summons from McGonagall to meet her in her office. Oliver groaned.

It wasn’t like Oliver and I didn’t like McGonagall. We did. But I knew Oliver like the back of my hand and I knew he wanted to get out on the pitch as quickly as possible to practice some of the plays we’d outlined. And I’d bet money that he was planning to get the rest of the team together too.

He grumbled all the way to her office, sticking close to me as we speed-walked to the office.

But it wasn’t just McGonagall there. A man and woman stood next to her desk, smiling at the two of us.

“And here they are, my star players!” McGonagall introduced us proudly, allowing us to shake hands with the two scouts who’d been at the last match.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” The man smiled pleasantly, “and I trust you’re feeling better after your unfortunate accident, Mr. Wood?”

“I am, all thanks to my best friend and the best chaser here, sir.” Oliver said, bumping my arm as he answered. I could feel the heat on my neck rising at his praise.

“Excellent! Well, we don’t want to make you both worry. My colleague and I would like to make both of you an offer.”

Oliver and I looked at each other excitedly.

“We’d like to offer you both a contract with Puddlemere United. To be specific, a reserve contract. However, we have a few players potentially transferring teams or retiring within the next few seasons, so it’s more than likely a temporary contract before being offered a better one.” The woman jumped in.

Oliver’s eyes widened. This was exactly what we hoped for, having pored over the quidditch stats and player lists to see what might suit both of us together.

“Would that be agreeable to you both?” the recruiter asked.

“Absolutely. Thank you so much. We’ve been dreaming of this for years.” Oliver grinned. I nodded in agreement, offering my own thanks.

“Wonderful. Then we’ll plan to sign the contracts right after the Quidditch Cup championship this weekend. We’ll see you there!” They shook our hands again, wishing us luck and leaving the room.

“Congratulations to the two of you!” McGonagall smiled, her eyes a bit wet. “I’m very proud of you both and I expect you to play a perfect game this weekend.”

“You can count on us.” I replied firmly, knowing we’d win the match even if it killed us both.

After 32 hours straight, drilling and doing homework, as well as going over strategy after strategy, the game had finally arrived. The biggest game of Oliver and I’s lives. Right here and now.

I gulped, staring at the stands which were filled with all the students of Hogwarts plus our parents, whom McGonagall had invited for the day. It was nerve wracking, but also so exciting.

I felt a presence on my left and Oliver slipped his hand into mine. I looked up at him.

“Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.” He started, “but you better play your arse off, y’hear me?”

“As if I wouldn’t, idiot,” I scoffed goodnaturedly, pulling my hand out of his and moving forward to where the rest of the team was congregating. I proudly watched Oliver give his final starting speech, and then we were off, brooms high in the sky.

The quaffle was thrown and the next two hours flew by. Gryffindor was up by thirty points until Slytherin got ten more points. At that moment, I saw Harry zero in on something near the ground, something glittering and gold. He dove for it, as did Malfoy, but both came up empty handed. It had disappeared.

I lost track of time, zooming and flitting about, performing a few fancy moves Oliver and I had worked on. Time stretched out and moments felt like they took forever as we kept scoring against each other. And then he did it. Harry caught the snitch, effectively ending the match. And we’d won!

The team was ecstatic, having just won the first Gryffindor house cup for Quidditch in years and I landed in disbelief, having not quite let the news sink in yet. Slytherin was on the other side of the pitch, angrily tossing their brooms to the ground, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. We’d won!

The twins called for a group hug, hoisting Oliver and I up on their shoulders for just a moment before complaining about our weight. I laughed when we were unceremoniously dumped back on the ground, looking over at Oliver who was sweaty and dirty and an all-around mess. Just like me. He was doing the same thing, running his hand through his messy hair as he stepped closer to me.

“We did it, Ollie.” I said, still breathless and incredulous, “We won.”

“Aye, we did, and it’s all thanks to you.” Oliver breathed, finally reaching my side amongst the thrall. And then he kissed me.

If I thought time had stopped during the game, then I was wrong because time definitely stopped as soon as his lips met mine. I could faintly hear wolf whistles and howls coming from the team around us, but I ignored it all in favor of kissing the boy I was in love with. When we finally broke apart to breathe, Oliver rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“What was that for?” I whispered, scared of his response, but needing to know anyway.

“I—I’m in love with you.” he whispered back. “Have been for years. And it took me being knocked in the head by that bludger and seeing just how much you care to give me the courage to finally do something about it.”

“Oliver,” I started, “I love you too. Godric, the last few weeks were awful. I kept wondering if we’d really make it, if you’d ever love me back, if you’d survive your injury, et cetera. The list goes on and on. I’m so happy today. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy—not even the time we bought each other new brooms for Christmas. I love you so much.”

“Godric, can you two lovebirds stuff it? You’ve got papers to sign and we have a win to celebrate!” the twins scolded, and I had to laugh.

“Rest assured, we’ll be making out the whole party so you can stuff it yourselves.” Oliver grinned. “But you’re right. We’ve got contracts to sign.” he finished, taking my hand in his once again.

“Ready?” I asked, looking across the field to see the two scouts with McGonagall and our parents standing on the sidelines. McGonagall was smiling ear to ear, clearly thrilled at our win.

“Absolutely. All our dreams are coming true and I couldn’t be happier to do it all by your side.” He pressed a kiss to the side of my head and then we walked towards our future, hand in hand, united.

#Oliver Wood x reader #Oliver Wood x f!reader #oliver wood #immobulusmalfoy

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