mattheoriddlewifesblog

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Dirty Dreams

You’ve recently started seeing a new guy… but this incubus isn’t happy about that.

MDNI!! an incubus is a demon, sex dreams, slight coercion, creampie, unprotected piv, blood, biting, fingering, possessiveness, jealousy, incubus!mattheo x fem!reader, I am not responsible for your media consumption.

w/c: 1,786

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a/n: my very late contribution to week 2 of @acourtofchaos's au event!

The dreams started the night you kissed that gryffindor boy. Alex and you weren’t exclusive, never have been. You’d been going on dates, and he seemed to like you, but you two never agreed to anything official. He was kind, there was no doubt about that. Safe, too. He was the kind of boy who asked to kiss you, who would never go farther than holding your hand. 

But you two never shared that spark, that fire, that aching intensity that’s been haunting you ever since you slept with the boy everyone steered away from – Mattheo Riddle. But unfortunately for you – and your pussy – that was just a fling; a one time occurrence. You were over it, over him. Or so you thought.

Because when you went to bed after that first kiss, sweet, chaste, forgettable, you dreamt of sex. Of teeth scraping against your neck. Of a hand wrapping around your throat. Of someone pushing you down onto your mattress, forcing your thighs apart with a noise that said he’d needed this. Needed you. 

The first time it happened, you attributed it to stress. Maybe it could’ve been your lack of recent sex. But the second night, you dreamt of his mouth. Wet kisses trailing down your throat. His mouth nipping at your thighs. You could practically feel his breath blowing gently against your ear as he whispered, “You think he can fuck you like this?” And, “Is this how you moan for him?” 

By the fifth night, you were trembling when you woke up. Your skin was slick with sweat, your panties ruined by your arousal, and an unbearable ache between your thighs. And worst of all? You felt like you were being watched, like someone was drinking up all your pent up need and savoring it like the finest wine. 

By the second week, you knew this couldn’t possibly be a coincidence anymore. Every erotic dream you had, every lustful image you thought of, was centered around him – Mattheo Riddle. Touching yourself at night didn’t help. Instead, it only made things worse. Not only that, but you kept seeing him around the castle. His gaze was always on you, dilated eyes never failing to meet yours. The expression on his face was always one of hunger. These dreams were meant as punishment. Torture. A warning. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Mattheo’s hands are everywhere. He’s trailing his hands down your body, then grips your thighs, forcing them apart. He loops his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulls them down without a second thought. 

For some reason, you’re begging. Not softly, not sweetly. You’re begging desperately, your body writhing under him. 

“Please,” you gasp, his name like a prayer on your tongue. “Fuck. Mattheo, I need you.”

The bastard only chuckles that rich, dark laugh that makes your stomach flutter. You groan, annoyed.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He purred against your inner thigh, sucking marks into the sensitive flesh. “Tell me what you want. I may be a demon, but I can’t read thoughts.” 

Your whole body tensed. “Please. I want you. I need you to-”

You woke with a gasp, body jolting to a sitting position. Heart pounding, sweat clung to your skin. And then you realized you weren’t alone. Mattheo was sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you. 

“Miss me?” He asked, voice low and rough, curls shadowing his face. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, those perfect eyes trained solely on you as you jerked back against the pillows. He could practically hear your heart slamming against your chest.

“What the fuck?”

“Shh. You were moaning my name, sweetheart. Loud enough for the whole castle to hear. Poor little Alex is going to be crushed, won’t he?” He mused with mock sympathy, watching your face flush. “Quite the dream you were having, huh?”

“How’d you get in here?” You questioned, attempting to change the subject. 

He smirked. “You invited me, love. Every moan. Every dream. Every fucking time you touched yourself at night, imagining my hands instead of that grimy gryffindor’s. You opened the door – gave me the opportunity.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

He shushed you before you could finish, “voice low like a purr, “Shh… But you did.” His hand crept under your blanket, finding your thigh, touch so warm it was inhuman. You should’ve pushed him away. You didn’t.

Your thighs clenched together, and he felt it. He inhaled deeply, groaning. “So wet already, fuck. Your desire is so sweet. Been feeding off this for weeks, sending you all these dreams. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.”

“That was you?” You asked, incredulous. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be able to be here,” you panted, trying to make him leave.

“What, you want me gone?” He asked, dark eyes locked on yours. There was a knowing smirk on his lips, like he knew you wouldn’t object. But he still wanted to give you a chance to say no, wanting you to fully want this. 

You didn’t answer, silence filling the void between you.

He moved to hover over you, forcing you to lay back down, his arms caging you in. “Tell me to stop.”

But again, there was silence. 

Mattheo’s mouth crashed onto yours, his kiss feral, hungry, demanding. His hand slid between your legs and you gasped as his fingers ran over your soaked panties. 

“Look at you… fucking dripping. And that's all for me. No one else,” he rasped. In one swift movement, he hooked his fingers in your panties, pulling them right off you. Just like in your dream. 

“You fucked me once, and now nothing else will do. Nobody else will do,” he rasped, shoving two fingers into you without warning. “So fucking tight.”

A whimper escaped your lips when he curled his fingers just right, and he smirked as he left kisses down your neck.

“You’re going to come for me,” he hissed, pumping his fingers at a rapid pace. “You’re going to come on my fingers and then beg me to fuck you properly. You hear that, love?”

All you could do was moan loudly as your hips bucked, rocking against his hand. That’s when he bit you, teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder. “Fucking answer me,” he barked, but the pain only doubled your pleasure. 

Your body convulsed, walls clenching around his fingers as you came with a broken cry. The orgasm hit hard and fast, making your vision blur at the edges as your nails clawed at his back. You could feel his tongue lapping at your wound, drinking up not only your blood but also your pleasure. When he pulled back, lips stained crimson, he looked like not only the demon he was, but sin itself. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, hands moving to drag your shirt over your head. He landed kisses on every inch of newly exposed skin, nipping at your chest until your breasts were littered with marks. 

“You want me to be gentle?” He asked, voice soft. His face was level with yours now, arms caging you in as he hovered over you. “Last chance, sweetheart.”

You looked into his eyes, and whispered, “No. Prove to me that this isn’t just another fling.”

He looked startled at that, but the next thing you knew, his belt was clanging to the floor, cock pressing against your entrance. 

“You’re mine. Say it. Say it and ask me to give you what you want” he panted, voice trembling with restraint. 

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your expression full of longing. “Please. Please, I need you, Mattheo.”

You barely got to finish your sentence before he slammed into you, bottoming out in one brutal thrust. A moan left your lips, and he didn’t move for a long moment, letting you adjust. Then, his hips started to move, slow at first, then faster. The bed creaked beneath you both as his thrusts grew deeper, harsher. You were absolutely soaked – the obscene sounds of sex filling the room.

“Fuck,” he murmured, head falling to rest in the crook of your neck, “you were made for me.” 

His hand reached between you to rub your clit, moving his fingers in fast, rapid circles. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” Mattheo demanded. “Does he make you moan like this? Like the pathetic slut you are?”

You couldn’t speak. All you could do was mewl and squirm, which did not help his temper.

“Fucking answer me.”

“No,” you sobbed. “Only you, Mattheo.”

He laughed, dark and cruel, before gripping your throat with just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter. He sucked a mark into the flesh just above your breast before biting down, and blood welled up immediately. “You’re mine now,” he rasped against your chest. “Mine to fuck. Mine to make bleed.” 

He licked up your blood with a low groan, his cock twitching inside you from the taste. 

“You have no idea what you do to me. I’d kill him – that gryffindor bastard. Tear him apart for touching you,” he muttered, now littering kisses over your fresh wound. 

“Then do it,” you gasped. “Prove it.”

Something snapped in him then, and his pace turned pushishing. You couldn't think, couldn’t breathe. Every one of his thrusts sent sparks through your body. Every bite, every filthy praise he muttered into your ear pushed you closer to your next climax. 

“Mattheo… I’m gonna come,” you sobbed. “Please. Don’t stop!” 

“Come on my cock,” he snarled. “You can do it. Let me have you.”

Your orgasm hit like fire. Vision going white, your body trembled as you clenched around him, and he came next with a low moan. Hot, thick, he spilled deep inside you, never bothering to pull out. Instead, he rocked into you slowly, letting you feel all of him in your overly sensitive state. He grinned, his teeth still stained red with your blood.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him. “Forever.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When you woke up the next morning, he was still there. Lying beside you, arms wrapped around your waist, he had a hand splayed possessively over your stomach, the other buried in your hair, as if he was playing with it as he fell asleep. 

You ached everywhere, yet you’d never felt so satisfied. The bite marks on your skin were still fresh, still stinging. Your thighs were sticky with the mix of both your cum. You should’ve been embarrassed, ashamed. But all you felt was his. His, and absolutely adored. 

He opened his eyes, gaze tired but loving. “Morning, angel.” 

You didn’t speak, just pressed a soft kiss to his lips and settled back into his embrace.

hope you enjoyed!! reblogs and comments are VERY appreciated and motivate me lots! <3

tag list: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls @viperify @winnie1emon @catching-fire-in-the-wind

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[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙤𝙤𝙝

summary: You can’t just sit in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes. characters: mattheo riddle. shy! ravenclaw! reader. mentions of slytherin boys. warnings: none! word count: 2.5k

The familiar buzz of morning chatter filled the air, but it was all too distant, too muffled in the back of your mind as you scanned the room. Mattheo’s friends were clustered together at their usual spot, sitting at the Slytherin table, their voices rising above the hum of conversation. You felt the familiar knot of anxiety twist tighter in your stomach.

The weight of the book, the note-it had been all you could think about since you found it, and now you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

You told yourself to breathe, to focus. The cool morning air filled your lungs as you exhaled, and you forced your legs to move toward them, each step feeling heavier than the last. You had to speak to him. You had to understand what it all meant-the book, the message, his intentions. You had no answers yet, only questions swirling in your mind.

As you neared the table, Draco was the first to notice you. His gaze flicked up from his conversation, and a knowing look passed between you two-sharp, almost predatory. He raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips, but he didn’t speak, simply watching you. He knew why you were here, and he wasn’t going to offer any assistance unless you asked. It was in his nature to let you come to your own conclusions.

Theo, however, didn’t have that same reserved nature. He glanced up from his food, his eyes scanning you briefly before his lips twitched into a grin. The grin wasn’t malicious, but there was a hint of mischief there, as though he had already guessed the reason for your sudden appearance. His posture was casual, laid-back, the picture of someone who had all the time in the world, but you could feel his gaze sharpen on you when you stopped in front of him.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice low and easy, but there was something almost knowing in his tone, as though he’d seen this all play out a thousand times before.

You hesitated, caught in the rush of emotions and confusion. Finally, you managed to speak, your words spilling out before you could stop them. “Do you know where Mattheo is?”

The question hung in the air, a thick silence settling over the table for a moment. Theo’s grin widened, and you swore you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks as the attention shifted to you. Enzo, who had been pretending to concentrate on his breakfast, looked up, his eyes glinting with amusement. He exchanged a knowing glance with Theo before leaning forward slightly.

“You got his message then?” Enzo’s voice was light, but there was an edge of something deeper to it, something that made your cheeks burn hotter.

“Yes,” you answered, your voice quieter than you intended, but the words carried the weight of everything that had built up in your chest. “But I need to talk to him. Where is he?”

Theo chuckled softly, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his seat, making no effort to hide the amusement on his face. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, but his smirk faded slightly, his expression growing more serious, almost thoughtful.

“He’s probably in the Quidditch locker rooms,” he said, his voice unhurried, as though it were an obvious fact. “That’s where he goes when he needs to think. If he’s been, you know, trying to figure stuff out.”

The words hit you like a sudden blow to the chest. The Quidditch locker rooms? The thought of him being so close, yet so far away, sent a jolt through you, but it also fueled the urgency in your veins. You couldn’t wait any longer. You had to find him.

You nodded quickly, already turning toward the door. The air in the hall felt thick now, the space closing in on you as you tried to push past your nerves. But just as you were about to walk away, Theo’s voice stopped you.

“Hey,” he called out, his tone a little more serious now, softer than before. It was almost as if he were considering his words carefully. You turned back, confused, because this wasn’t the Theo you were used to-the one who teased relentlessly, who always had a sarcastic comment on hand.

This Theo was different. He was still sitting casually at the table, but his eyes had lost their usual edge, replaced with something far gentler.

“I just want you to know something,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Mattheo... he’s never really been the type for all the... bookish stuff. You know, the notes, the quotes, all that. But he’s doing it for you. He’s been trying because... well, he cares.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. They were simple, and yet they held so much weight. You swallowed hard, trying to digest what Theo had just said. Mattheo, the one who always seemed so guarded, so distant, had been changing for you? The realization left you momentarily speechless, and for a moment, you felt vulnerable-exposed.

But at the same time, there was something undeniably comforting about Theo’s blunt honesty. It was like a small reassurance, a promise that maybe you weren’t walking into this blind.

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. “Thanks,” you muttered, your voice softer than you expected. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at your lips as you turned away, heading for the door once again. “I’m going to go find him.”

As you made your way toward the exit, Enzo’s voice called after you, light and teasing, but there was a warmth in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t just joking. “Good luck!” he called, his voice carrying across the room with a touch of mockery, but underneath it, you could hear the sincerity.

You didn’t look back, but the small gesture made your chest feel lighter, as though it had all somehow shifted. The Quidditch locker rooms. That’s where you’d find him. Your pulse quickened with every step, your thoughts racing ahead of you. What would you say? How would you even begin? The words you had rehearsed in your mind felt suddenly insufficient, and the weight of the moment pressed down on you, but you couldn’t turn back now. You just hoped that when you found him, you’d be able to find the right words-words that would finally unravel the tension, finally explain the feelings swirling between you both.

And as you pushed through the door, stepping out into the crisp morning air, the world around you felt like it was holding its breath.

-

The Quidditch locker rooms were enveloped in an eerie kind of stillness, the only sound the soft, rhythmic brushing of Mattheo’s broomstick being polished. The faint, comforting smell of wood polish and leather clung to the air, mingling with the lingering scent of freshly cut grass from the pitch outside. The mid-morning sunlight streamed through the open windows, casting soft, golden beams across the room, illuminating the dust motes floating lazily in the air.

Mattheo, with his usual intensity, was meticulously focused on his task, his brow furrowed in concentration as he ran a cloth over the broom, ensuring every inch was spotless. His hands moved with practiced ease, the movements almost ritualistic, as though the broomstick itself demanded the same precision and care he gave everything else.

But you couldn’t focus on the serenity of the moment. Every step you took toward him felt like it was dragging you through a thick fog of uncertainty. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, your heart hammering in your chest with every echoing footstep. This wasn’t a place you had ever imagined being, not like this, not with everything you had kept buried for so long. You had been avoiding this conversation, this confrontation with your own feelings, but now it was all too real. The words you had kept locked away were threatening to spill out, and no amount of hesitation could hold them back.

You paused in the doorway, your hand brushing against the frame as you gathered your courage. Mattheo didn’t seem to notice you at first; he was too caught up in his task, his focus entirely on the broom in his hands. It was only when you took a quiet breath and said his name that he looked up.

“Mattheo?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a sudden rush of wind.

His head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise as they locked on you. For a split second, his expression was unreadable, but then a flicker of something softer crossed his features. He set the broom aside with deliberate care, brushing his hands together before straightening up.

“Hey, what’s up?” His voice was calm, though there was a trace of curiosity in his tone, his gaze not leaving you.

You felt your breath hitch, your chest tightening under the weight of his gaze. It was always like this with him, like he could see straight through you, and it made everything feel so much more intense than it should have been. But you couldn’t back down now. You had to say it.

“I-” You started, but the words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, gathering your thoughts, then pushed through. “Thank you for the book,” you said, your voice a little steadier this time, though there was still a nervous tremor there. “The new copy of Pride and Prejudice... it’s perfect. You really didn’t have to.”

He shrugged, his usual indifference creeping back into his demeanor, but there was something in his eyes that softened the action, something that made the air feel warmer between you. “You needed a new one,” he said casually, though there was an unspoken tenderness in his voice. “Your old one was falling apart.”

You nodded, but the words felt heavy now, like they were leading you to something you couldn’t avoid. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken things. You had to say it, even if it terrified you.

“I am no better than the book you gifted me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “At first, I judged you. I listened to what others said, I let their words shape my view of you. But then... you started talking to me about books, like The Great Gatsby, and I knew, even then, that I had feelings for you. I just didn’t know how to say them.”

A slow realization crept across Mattheo’s face, his eyes softening. You could feel the weight of the moment between you, the truth hanging in the air like an open wound.

“I can read as many words as I want,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, “but it doesn’t mean I know how to say them. I’ve been afraid... because I didn’t know how to tell you how I felt.”

You paused, a lump forming in your throat, the truth finally spilling out in the most vulnerable of ways. "But I do know now. I like you, Mattheo. I like you in a way that no book or quote could explain. It's more than that, and it's terrifying."

He took a small step closer, his expression unreadable for a moment, but then something shifted in his eyes. It was like everything between you clicked into place. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“What made you come out here?” he asked, his voice softer now, filled with curiosity. There was a vulnerability there, something unguarded, and you felt a rush of affection for him, the way he always seemed to make space for your feelings, for your thoughts.

You bit your lip, searching for the right words, but in the end, the only thing you could think to say was simple, and it felt right somehow. “You,” you whispered. “You made me come out here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. You smiled, stepping a little closer to him. “You can’t just sit in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes,” you said, quoting the words from Winnie the Pooh that had always stuck with you. They felt like the right words now, even if they were odd in the moment. You weren’t sure why you said it, but it felt true.

Mattheo stood still for a long moment, blinking slowly, as though your words were taking time to sink in. Then, to your surprise, he laughed-a soft, genuine laugh that rang out through the otherwise quiet room. It was like a weight lifting off your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“You’re quoting that yellow bear right now?” he asked, his eyes wide with amusement, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. “You really went there?”

You nodded, fighting the urge to laugh yourself. “He’s very wise,” you said seriously, meeting his playful gaze, the mischievous glint in your eyes betraying your words.

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re something else,” he murmured, and before you could reply, his hand was at your back, gently pulling you closer. You didn’t resist; in fact, you leaned into the touch, feeling the heat of him radiate through you. It was a natural pull, an unspoken invitation to let go of everything you’d been holding onto.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the air thick with the closeness that had always been there but never fully acknowledged until now. The walls between you both felt like they were crumbling, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but honesty, raw and real.

And then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours, gentle at first, as if he were waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence as he kissed you, the feeling of his lips against yours sending a wave of relief through your chest. The kiss deepened, and for the first time, it felt like everything you had been hiding inside was finally coming to the surface.

When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, and there was an understanding between you now-something unspoken but real.

You leaned against him, your forehead resting gently against his. “You don’t have to read for me, Mattheo,” you whispered, your voice soft, but full of meaning. “If you don’t want to.”

Mattheo smiled, his eyes filled with something that made your heart race. “I’ll write a whole book for you,” he said with a quiet intensity, his voice steady and sure. “Anything you want. A story just for you.”

Your smile widened, your heart swelling with emotion at his words. It wasn’t just a promise, it was everything he had been too afraid to say until now, everything you had needed to hear. And in that moment, you realized that this was just the beginning.

The beginning of something honest and true, something you both would write together, one page at a time.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Love on the Silver Screen

Pairing: D.M x Actress! Reader Summary: After the war, Draco Malfoy secretly falls for a Muggle actress whose films become his only escape from the hollow life he’s trapped in. When he’s forced to attend a wizarding convention, he’s stunned to discover that you’re not only real but a witch, throwing his carefully built walls into chaos. W/C: 1.8k A/N: NEW SERIES ALERT! I have 3 written so far for this story line and may write more if people like <3 [masterlist] Much Love, Saige

Malfoy Manor was stiflingly silent after dark.

Draco liked it that way. It meant there was no one around to see how low he’d sunk.

The great drawing room — once a place for stiff parties and bloodline boasts — had become his hiding place. A battered armchair sat crookedly before a small television he’d smuggled in under a Disillusionment Charm. Next to it, a messy pile of Muggle films and a half-broken DVD player he’d barely learned to operate.

His wand was abandoned on the side table, useless here.

Tonight, all he needed was this small, flickering escape.

The screen buzzed to life, bathing the room in warm, golden light.

And then you appeared.

Y/N Y/L/N.

The name blazed across the credits of some old Muggle movie he’d found tucked between the sofa cushions at a secondhand shop. He hadn’t even meant to watch it — just needed something to drown out the silence — but when you appeared, laughing, wild and alive in a way no one in his world seemed to be anymore, he was lost.

He should have stopped watching. It was pathetic — a Malfoy, obsessed with a Muggle actress.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Draco found himself drawn deeper with each film you starred in: a fierce-hearted detective, a sharp-tongued musician, a stubborn dreamer running through a rainstorm barefoot and laughing like magic itself.

You had a way of biting your lip when you were nervous. Tucking loose hair behind your ear when you were thinking. Smiling so brightly it hurt to look at.

“You’re a fool,” Draco muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his pale hair. “Absolutely mental.”

Still, he watched you.

When you cried on screen, something cold and sharp twisted in his chest.

When you smiled, he smiled too — without even realizing it.

It was ridiculous. You didn’t know he existed.

You lived in a world where magic was a fairytale, where his name meant nothing at all.

And yet, in this forgotten room filled with dusty furniture and fading memories, you were the only thing that felt real.

The film ended too soon. Credits rolled. Your name — Y/N Y/L/N — floated across the screen in soft, white letters. Draco sat motionless, staring at the empty glow, the silence in the manor swallowing everything once more.

He thought of your laugh, of the way you had thrown yourself into love and danger with the kind of reckless courage he had never dared.

He thought of how different you were from the world he knew — pureblood masks, Ministry lies, cold handshakes.

He thought, briefly and madly, that maybe he wasn’t beyond saving after all.

Not if someone like you existed.

The television buzzed, the screen fading into darkness.

Still, Draco didn’t move.

Sitting there alone, heart aching with something sharp and unfamiliar, he whispered to no one,

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And for the first time in months, he almost meant it.

———

The next morning, the manor felt even colder.

Draco stood in front of one of the tall, cracked windows, watching mist snake its way across the grounds. He hated mornings like this — when the sun never quite broke through and everything hung heavy and grey.

It gave him too much time to think.

With a sharp breath, he tore his gaze away and crossed the room, kicking aside a stack of old newspapers. His stomach twisted as his eyes landed on the television, still sitting crookedly on the ornate table, cables tangled like vines.

Pathetic.

He was pathetic.

Somewhere out there, you — Y/N — were living a real life. Smiling at real people. Loving real people. Not hiding behind broken televisions and walls heavy with old magic and regret.

He rubbed the heel of his palm against his chest as if he could physically wipe away the ache there. As if it could be that easy.

It wasn’t.

Draco raked a hand through his hair again — a restless, angry gesture — and turned sharply, pacing across the room like a caged thing.

He shouldn’t feel this way. It was reckless. It was stupid. Falling for a face on a screen, for a voice trapped inside plastic discs.

He didn’t even know you.

Not really.

Not your favorite color. Not the way your voice softened when you said someone’s name. Not what your laugh sounded like when it wasn’t scripted.

And yet he did know you — somehow, someway — better than he knew himself these days.

He knew the crinkle at the corner of your eyes when you smiled.

The way you spoke like you meant every word, even when it was fiction.

The way your sadness didn’t come in neat, pretty tears but in fierce, silent moments that broke his heart a little more every time.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” Draco snarled under his breath, slamming his hand against the wall harder than necessary. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

He had survived a war.

He had faced down monsters — inside and out — and lived to tell the tale.

And now, here he was:

Broken, aimless, pining after a Muggle actress who didn’t even know he existed.

What would his father say, if he could see him now?

Pathetic. Weak. Disgraceful.

Good, Draco thought viciously. Let him be disgusted.

He wanted nothing to do with the man who had shaped his childhood in cold, sharp hands. Nothing to do with the name that still burned like a brand on his skin.

But wanting to escape that legacy was one thing.

Letting himself fall into a daydream about you — beautiful, brilliant you — was something else entirely.

It was dangerous. It was impossible.

And yet…

And yet.

When Draco closed his eyes, it wasn’t war or guilt or blood he saw.

It was your smile.

Your laugh.

The way you looked like you could change the world with nothing but stubbornness and a spark in your eyes.

He hated it.

He craved it.

With a low, frustrated growl, Draco yanked open the heavy curtains, letting the grey light flood the room. He needed air. He needed distance.

He needed to stop believing, even for a moment, that he could have something so far beyond him.

Without a backward glance at the television, Draco grabbed his coat and stalked toward the manor’s front doors.

Maybe today, the cold would finally freeze whatever was left of the stupid, traitorous hope growing in his chest.

Maybe.

But even as the heavy doors slammed shut behind him, even as the chill bit into his skin, he knew:

It was already too late.

——-

Draco adjusted the stiff collar of his dress robes, biting back a scowl as he stepped through the grand marble archway of the Ministry’s event hall.

It smelled like old parchment and false pleasantries.

The “Preservation of Wizardkind” Convention — an annual event meant to showcase the resilience of magical culture after the war — was the kind of thing he normally avoided like the plague.

But the Malfoy name still carried obligations, even when it was whispered with more suspicion than reverence.

His presence had been requested.

Draco glanced around with thinly veiled disdain.

Everywhere he looked: wizards and witches milling about in ornate robes, grand banners declaring things like “Unity Through Tradition” and “Honoring Magical Bloodlines.”

It was unbearable.

He ducked toward the side hall, pretending interest in a series of dusty exhibits about ancient broom designs. Maybe he could survive the afternoon with minimal conversation, make an appearance at one of the mandatory talks, and leave unnoticed.

‘You just have to endure it’, he told himself grimly.

‘Just smile politely. Nod. Pretend you care.’

A voice crackled through the enchanted speakers overhead:

“The Art of Magic: A Modern Panel on Magical Expression will begin in ten minutes in Hall B.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Art?

That sounded… different.

At the very least, it would be less painful than another lecture on goblin treaties or blood purity statistics. With a resigned sigh, he made his way down the polished corridor, weaving between clusters of witches chattering about cauldron innovations.

The “Art” panel was tucked away in one of the smaller halls, a modest stage set up with several chairs.

Draco leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, thoroughly disinterested.

Until he saw you.

You were perched at the far end of the panel — wearing simple robes, nothing flashy, but there was a brightness about you that made the entire room dull by comparison.

It hit him like a Bludger to the ribs.

Y/N.

He blinked once. Twice.

But you didn’t disappear.

It was you — the girl he had watched for endless nights through the cold, flickering light of his stolen television. The girl he had memorized without meaning to. The girl he had cursed himself for dreaming about.

And you were here.

In the wizarding world.

Real.

For a wild, unsteady moment, he thought he might actually be hallucinating.

But then you leaned forward to adjust your microphone, your mouth curling into a soft, familiar smile as you glanced toward the audience.

And Draco knew, with gut-sick certainty, that you were no fantasy.

You cleared your throat, your voice steady and clear.

“I’m honored to be here today to speak about how art — magical and Muggle alike — bridges the past and future. After the war, I think it’s important we don’t just preserve traditions blindly, but learn from them. Grow.”

The audience shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Muggles.

Draco’s heart kicked against his ribs.

You were a witch.

Maybe not one tied to the old names or the old ways, but a witch all the same.

His world and yours weren’t so far apart after all.

He felt dizzy.

You spoke passionately about your work — weaving Muggle methods with magical materials, painting spells into tapestries that moved and breathed, using creativity as rebellion and healing.

Draco couldn’t look away.

You were everything the convention claimed to celebrate but quietly feared:

Change.

Hope.

Defiance.

And he — Draco Malfoy, son of the coldest traditions — stood rooted to the spot, completely undone by the simple truth of your existence.

It was stupid.

It was dangerous.

It was already too late.

The panel continued, voices rising and falling, polite applause filling the small room.

Draco barely heard any of it.

He only heard you.

And for the first time in years, something inside him — something buried deep and bruised and aching — stirred awake.

He didn’t know your favorite color.

He didn’t know what you smelled like up close, or how your laugh sounded when it wasn’t wrapped in scripted dialogue.

But he would.

He had to.

Because you were real.

And sitting on a stage less than thirty feet away.

And Draco Malfoy, fool that he was, was already yours.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Hermione and Ron's Study Dates (Post-War)

> Hermione sat across from Ron in the quiet corner of a small Muggle café. Books and parchment cluttered the table between them.

Ron leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs.

"Hermione, why are we revising Arithmancy? We already saved the world," he grumbled.

Hermione smiled softly. "Because saving the world doesn't mean we stop learning, Ronald."

Ron sighed dramatically, scribbling on his parchment.

"If you weren't so pretty when you’re bossy, I'd be out the door," he teased, making her cheeks flush.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

behind every hot girl there is unhealthy, slightly concerning, spiritual connection to harry potter’s dead parents dead friend group

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

✩ eternal sunshine collection ✩ return to masterlist

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mattheo x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after your heart being broken by Mattheo, you decide to erase him from your memory

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1k+

“Are you sure you want to do this?” your friend asked you “Once it starts, you can't stop it”.

“I just want to forget about him” was your reply.

She took a deep breath, getting ready to say the spell out loud, but she couldn’t──it was like as if she cared more about it than you did.

“I can’t let you do this to yourself” she told you, concerned running all over her face.

“It’s okay, don’t worry” you said as your lips curled into a small smile (which looked more like a grimace) that didn’t reach your eyes, and your voice kept the exact sad tone you’ve had for the past 4 months “I’ll do it”.

After a while of hesitations, your friend left the room, she knew that no matter how hard she tried to stop you from doing this, you would do it anyway.

Once she exit the room and closed the door behind her, you sat on the floor of your room, looking at the almost empty space that reflected the way your heart felt at the moment.

You crawled to your bed, grabbing a box that was filled with things that you didn't dare to throw away like the rest. It was filled with notes he gave you and pictures of the both of you.

Suddenly, all the memories came back as you passed each photo.

There was one of you holding a teddy, the one he gifted you (the one you threw away alongside the rest of stuff that reminded you of Mattheo) and, with just looking at it, it took you back to that day.

Your bedroom was quiet, the flickering light from the ceiling casting warm shadows on the walls. Mattheo had been uncharacteristically secretive lately, a sly grin tugging at his lips whenever you asked what he was up to. Tonight, he finally revealed his surprise.

“Close your eyes” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, as he stood before you. You obliged, the corners of your mouth twitching in anticipation.

“Alright, you can open them” Mattheo said, his tone softer now—a rare vulnerability hidden beneath his usual confident facade.

When you opened your eyes, a small, plush teddy bear was waiting in his outstretched hands. Its fur was the color of caramel, and a tiny green ribbon around its neck matched the hue of Mattheo's slytherin ribbon.

“For you” he said, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your heart swelled at the gesture. Mattheo, who often masked his feelings with wit and sarcasm, had opened up in the most endearing way. You took the teddy bear into your arms, its softness adding an extra layer of comfort to the warmth spreading in your chest.

“I love it” you whispered, your smile radiant. “And I love you”.

You felt your heart shrink at the memory, so you quicky passed to the next photo, despite knowing the feeling would be the exact same or worse.

The second picture showed both of your initials on the snow inside of a heart.

You remembered that day as if it has just happened.

The first snow of the season had turned the Hogwarts grounds into a winter wonderland. You and Mattheo wandered hand in hand, your breath mingling in the crisp, cool air as the snow crunched beneath your boots. The world felt still, save for the faint sound of laughter in the distance and the occasional flurry of snowflakes brushing against your faces.

Suddenly, Mattheo stopped, pulling you gently to a clearing near the edge of the forbidden forest. The ground was untouched, a pristine canvas of white stretching before you. Without a word, he knelt down, his black gloves dusted with snow as he started to trace something on the surface.

“Mattheo” you began, tilting your head in curiosity “what are you doing?”

He looked up at you with a mischievous grin, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Patience, love” he murmured, returning his attention to his work.

When he finally stood up, you saw it—a heart carefully outlined in the snow. Inside, your initial and his were written together, intertwined as if they belonged to one another.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took it in, a warmth blossoming in your chest that rivaled the chill of the air. Mattheo turned to you, his smirk softening into something more sincere.

“Figured I'd mark my territory” he teased lightly, though his voice held a quiet vulnerability. “You and me... forever”

You couldn't help but smile, bending down to trace a little snowflake beside the heart. “Forever” you echoed, as your gaze met his and the snow continued to fall around you.

You traced your fingers over the picture, looking at it with a sad smile and a look of nostalgia. You wished every day could be like that one, just the both of you together again.

Switching images, you found the third picture, it was one where you couldn't see your face, you just saw your chest and a bit of your neck.

You were wearing one of his coats, and then you saw it──the necklace, the one that had his initial craved, the one he gave you as a gift for your anniversary.

You tossed the pictures aside and started to look for the necklace on the box. Once you found it, your eyes started to glisten from tears, as they roll down your face.

As you tied the necklace on your neck, you remembered how he did it that day he gave it to you.

The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow from the candles casting warm pools of light over the stone walls. Mattheo stood before you, a small box cradled in his hands, his usually confident demeanor tinged with a rare sense of nervousness.

“Here” he said, voice quieter than usual as he handed the box to you. His dark eyes held yours for a moment before flickering away, as if unsure of how you would react.

Curiosity bubbled within you as you lifted the lid of the box. Nestled inside was a delicate silver necklace, its pendant shaped into a small, elegant charm—his initial, M, carved into the smooth surface. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the letter catching the light like a tiny star.

“Mattheo…” you whispered, your fingers gently brushing over the charm. “It’s beautiful”.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I just thought… you know… if you’re going to put up with me, you might as well have something to show for it”.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you reached out and pulled him into a hug. “I love it” you said, your voice full of sincerity. “And I love you”.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, and he leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go, ever”.

As he fastened the necklace around your neck, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that it wasn’t just a piece of jewelry—it was a symbol of the bond you shared with the boy who had stolen your heart.

Your fingers wrapped around the letter in the necklace, as tears kept flowing down your cheeks.

Your vision was blurry, but you still recognized the green and silver material at the very end of the box of memories; it was a slytherin sweater, one of the many piece of clothes that belong to him yet he let you wear and keep. You forgot you even still had it.

The cold wind howled through the corridors of Hogwarts, making you shiver despite the layers you wore. You rubbed your arms, trying to shake off the chill, as Mattheo noticed your discomfort. Without a word, he began pulling off his slytherin sweater, the dark green fabric adorned with the house crest.

“Here” he said simply, holding it out to you. His expression was a mix of nonchalance and something softer, something that betrayed how much he cared. “Take it. You’ll freeze otherwise”.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at him. “But won’t you get cold?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I’ll manage. Besides, I’m not the one shivering like a leaf”.

Reluctantly, you accepted the sweater, the warmth of the fabric—and the gesture—wrapping around you like a hug. The scent of pine and a hint of his cologne clung to it, making you feel a comforting sense of closeness.

“Better?” he asked, his dark eyes watching you intently.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Much better. Thank you, Mattheo”.

“Good” he said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Now you can’t say I never do anything nice for you”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth spreading through your chest. As the two of you continued down the corridor, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders, the slytherin sweater felt like more than just a way to keep warm—it was a reminder of how much he cared, even if he didn’t always say it outright.

As you slide down the material down your body, you hugged yourself as you kept crying that, at this point, it was more of a sobbing. It was like as if you had no more tears left to cry.

You cleaned the tears stained in your cheeks, taking deep breaths to calm down and, as you did, you saw the last picture.

The image showed Mattheo blowing the candles of the cake you made for him on his birthday and, even if it was for the last time, you let yourself travel to that day.

The clock struck midnight, and the quiet stillness of the common room was broken by the faint flicker of candlelight. Mattheo walked in, his brows furrowed in curiosity as he spotted you standing by the fireplace, a mischievous smile lighting up your face.

“What’s all this?” he asked, his usual confidence laced with genuine surprise.

You stepped aside to reveal a small cake sitting on the table, the glow of a single candle casting a warm light over the icing. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was made with care—your care. The words ‘Happy Birthday’ were carefully scrawled on top, slightly uneven but utterly charming.

“It’s your birthday” you said simply, a touch of nervousness creeping into your voice. “And I wanted to be the first to celebrate with you”.

For a moment, Mattheo just stood there, his dark eyes scanning the cake before moving to your face. Then, a slow, genuine smile spread across his lips—the kind that made your heart skip a beat.

“You made this?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You nodded. “I may or may not have snuck into the kitchen earlier… And no, I’m not telling you how many times I almost dropped it”.

A chuckle escaped him as he stepped closer, pulling you into a hug. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

“Well, go on” you urged, gesturing to the cake. “Make a wish”.

He leaned over, his face illuminated by the tiny flame, and closed his eyes for a brief moment before blowing out the candle. When he straightened, his gaze locked onto yours, and a smirk danced on his lips.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble” he said, though his tone betrayed just how touched he really was.

“Of course I did” you replied, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “You deserve to feel special”.

Mattheo shook his head, his smirk softening into something far more tender. “I already do. Because of you”.

The night continued with quiet laughter, shared stories, and a slice—or two—of cake. It wasn’t grand or loud, but it was perfect in its own way. And for Mattheo, it was a birthday he wouldn’t forget.

As you got up from the floor, you took off the sweater and tossed it to your bed, and you did the same with the necklace, breaking it.

You didn’t wanna feel this pain anymore.

That’s why you searched for your wand and pointed it to yourself, murmuring ‘obliviate’ as you closed your eyes.

Soon enough, you opened your eyes with fear. Looking around the room, you found yourself questioning why you were in an almost empty room.

Your gaze moved to the floor and found the pictures that used to be filled with painful memories, now weren't.

You saw that there was one of you with a teddy bear with your house’s color ribbon, another one that showed a heart written in the snow, a third one that had your neck with your name in it (that lied broken on the bed), and a last one of you wearing your house’s sweater, which also was on your bed.

You wondered what happened for your room to be like that, but didn't dig too deep into it as you started to clean the room.

You might've not know it now, but the spelled definitely worked.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

ಇ do i wanna know, hozier cover.

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!quiet!reader

summary. sometimes, pansy knows exactly how to bring couples together. when mattheo, known for his grumpy mood, finds himself growing closer to a quiet, introspective girl, he must come to terms with feelings he never expected to have.

warnings. a bit of suggestive scene, but nothing explicit

add notes. I feel like my dialogues would never be said in real life.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

It was Pansy Parkinson’s birthday. The Parkinson Manor was a spectacle—a grand, ancient, and imposing structure, surrounded by meticulously tended trees. Its tall stone towers stood in stark contrast to the ethereal silver of the moon on that autumnal night, while the crisp air carried the fresh, melancholy scent of fallen leaves. The entrance hall sparkled with the glow of greenish lights that reflected off the polished marble floor. Music flowed through the vast corridors of the manor, mingling with the voices and laughter of the guests. Pansy never did anything halfway, and her seventeenth birthday party was no exception.

The main hall was teeming with Hogwarts students, predominantly Slytherins, although a few figures from other houses stood out, strategically placed. Groups gathered around enchanted tables laden with exquisite appetisers, while others chatted or danced in the centre of the hall beneath the enchanting glow of chandeliers and floating magical candles.

Mattheo Riddle leaned against a wall near the fireplace. His spot had been carefully chosen, allowing him to observe the entire room without drawing attention to himself. A glass of some drink—nearly forgotten in his hand—served more as a distraction than a necessity. His eyes scanned the scene with the detached air of someone watching a mediocre play, clearly indifferent to the excitement around him. He despised parties, but Pansy had been emphatic: “If you don’t show up, I’ll never invite you to anything again, and you’ll have to live with that.”

And so, here he was, enduring the loud music, empty chatter, and the unbearable feeling of being out of place.

The room buzzed with familiar faces: Blaise was chatting with Daphne near the makeshift bar, Draco was laughing at something Theodore had said in a secluded corner, and at the centre of it all, Pansy shone like a star, greeting her guests with a smile that was as rehearsed as it was charming.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, raising the glass to his lips and sipping half-heartedly, merely to occupy himself. His thoughts drifted to the garden, which promised a quiet, solitary escape—perfect for smoking a cigarette far from the noise and frivolity of the hall.

You entered the party hesitantly, your measured steps and reserved posture betraying your unease. Your eyes scanned the room cautiously, taking in every detail before allowing yourself to fully step in. You clutched a small, delicately wrapped gift in your hands, your arms tucked close to your body as if forming a barrier against the chaos around you.

This wasn’t your kind of place—not in a bad way, just different from what you were used to. Your hair, styled in a carefully crafted half-updo, fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the golden light of the chandeliers and the greenish glow of the magical candles scattered around the room. Your pastel yellow dress, a nod to your Hufflepuff identity, was graceful and perfectly suited to the occasion, modest yet elegant without being over the top.

Stepping inside, you carefully shut the door behind you with a soft thud, masked by the music filling the air. You looked around attentively, moving with the grace of someone trying to avoid drawing attention. Your eyes landed on Pansy, who, upon noticing your arrival, quickly made her way over, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

“I’m so glad you came! I’ve been waiting for you,” Pansy exclaimed excitedly, and you smiled shyly, offering her the neatly wrapped gift. She took it with equal enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, guided you with a gentle touch on your arm, introducing you to her closest friends, most of whom you didn’t know—predominantly Slytherins. To anyone watching from afar, you might have seemed out of place, but you nodded politely, feeling quietly pleased to be surrounded by the friends of your close companion.

You tried to adjust to the atmosphere. The party was loud and full of people, but you knew this was exactly the kind of event Pansy loved, and it had been hard to turn down her insistence—especially on such an important occasion as her seventeenth birthday. What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was the intensity of it all: the loud laughter, the conversations about topics you barely understood or didn’t care about, and the overwhelmingly high volume of the music.

“Relax,” Pansy whispered in your ear, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as she noticed your discomfort. “You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

Her words carried a hint of something unspoken, though you didn’t catch it immediately. She continued introducing you to her friends, eventually steering you toward a more secluded corner near the fireplace, where Mattheo Riddle stood leaning against the wall, his expression bored, as though he were merely fulfilling an obligation. Holding a half-filled glass in one hand, his grey eyes scanned the room with disinterest.

“Mattheo!” Pansy’s voice interrupted his reverie, casual but still confident. “I want you to meet someone. This is my friend [Name]. [Name], this is Mattheo.”

Pansy smiled, looking far too pleased with the situation. “I’m sure you two will get along wonderfully!”

“Uh… hi,” you said softly, offering a timid smile as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, revealing a delicate gold moon-shaped earring that Mattheo noticed with mild indifference.

“Hi,” he replied curtly, his tone brief and aloof.

Pansy watched the exchange, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm. “Did you know that [Name] loves taking care of magical creatures? And Mattheo, you have an impressive tolerance for people who talk too much—aren’t you two a perfect match?”

“Funny, Pansy,” Mattheo remarked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head with a trace of amusement in his otherwise dry tone.

“Thanks, it was sincere,” Pansy quipped with a playful grin before stepping away with a conspiratorial air. “Enjoy yourselves!”

With one last smile, she left you both alone, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, the sound of the music and the chatter around you filled the silence as you, uneasy with the quiet, fidgeted with the star-shaped pendant on your necklace.

“So…” you began cautiously, looking at Mattheo. “Do you not like parties in general, or just the people who talk too much?”

The question caught him off guard, and he raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to think before answering. “Depends on the party. And the people.”

You let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh, but it was genuine. “I get that. This isn’t really my kind of place either.”

“Then why’d you come?” Mattheo asked, his tone casual but curious, as if waiting for your answer without much urgency.

“Pansy insisted,” you admitted with a small shrug. “And you?”

“Same.”

At that, you felt a little more at ease, tilting your head slightly towards him. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common.”

“Besides Pansy,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he warmed to the idea that the conversation wasn’t as tedious as he’d expected.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less strained. You leaned against the wall beside him, gazing up at the ceiling, where floating candles with green flames illuminated the room alongside the warm, golden glow of the grand chandelier, while Mattheo’s eyes followed the movement of the partygoers.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the commotion, you noticed the atmosphere beginning to feel heavier. The grand and magical hall, while impressive, didn’t make you feel at ease. Mattheo, seemingly indifferent to the pressure of the space, appeared entirely unbothered. So, you decided to suggest something.

“How about we head out to the garden?” you asked timidly, looking up at him. “It’s… quieter, maybe?”

Mattheo, still leaning against the wall with his usual impassive expression, raised an eyebrow. “You really think the garden will be quiet, considering how many people are here?”

You smiled, slightly embarrassed. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

With a sigh, he slipped a hand into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Parkinson mansion’s garden was undeniably stunning, but you barely noticed the perfectly trimmed hedges shaped into geometric designs or the softly glowing magical flowers. Your attention was more on the refreshing coolness of the night air and the silence—a welcome contrast to the chaos inside the hall.

The two of you walked in silence for a while. Mattheo observed you discreetly, noticing how your fingers gently brushed against the petals of the flowers along the path, as if you were connecting with their textures and details. There was no urgency in your steps, and eventually, you reached a secluded corner near an ornate fountain illuminated by floating candles casting dancing reflections on the water. He stopped by a tree, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to look at the starry sky.

“Do you always go to Pansy’s parties?” you asked, finally breaking the silence as you strolled slowly, examining the plants with more interest.

“Not a chance,” he replied with a short laugh, as if the idea were absurd. “I try to avoid them, but she’s always got these… oddly persuasive arguments.”

“Like what?” you pressed, curious.

“Like, ‘if you don’t come, I’ll tell everyone you sketch people in your notebook like a frustrated artist,’” he said, smirking slightly.

You blinked, surprised at the confession, then let out a soft laugh. “You draw?”

Mattheo shrugged, almost defensive. “Sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t sound like something to be embarrassed about,” you said simply, your tone free of judgment. Kneeling beside a bush of blueberries that seemed particularly enchanting, their tiny fruits shimmering under the magical light, you added, “Actually, it sounds pretty interesting.”

He frowned slightly, as if unsure how to respond, before muttering, “You haven’t seen it.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a small smile, still studying the delicate berries. “But it’s good to have a hobby. Everyone should have one.”

He remained quiet, thoughtful, as he watched you. There was something about you that felt disconnected from the party—yet perfectly at home here in the garden. The calmness in your movements, even when you seemed shy or slightly flustered, struck him as unusual.

“So, what’s your hobby?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.

You took a moment before answering, as if reflecting. “I suppose it’s taking care of magical creatures… They don’t need explanations. You just feel and understand them.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the clarity in your answer, but didn’t comment straight away. It was rare for someone to talk about something so simple with such genuine passion.

“Fair enough,” he finally said, his voice free of sarcasm but still lacking much emotion, as though he were processing your words.

The silence returned, though it was comfortable now—almost natural. Yet, your curiosity about him grew too strong to ignore.

“Do you go to these parties often?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint hint of amusement. “Just every now and then. Pansy’s good at twisting my arm. If I don’t show up, she starts predicting my social death.”

You chuckled lightly, your gaze shifting to him rather than the garden around you. “And you always give in?”

“I’m not great at resisting emotional blackmail,” he admitted with a short, slightly insincere smile. There was a coldness in his comment, as though he didn’t place much value on his presence here. “Pansy has a way of turning invitations into ultimatums.”

The floating candles swayed gently around the fountain, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone. You took a step aside, feeling the cool night breeze against your skin. After a few moments of light-hearted conversation, you realised the dialogue had run its course.

“Maybe we should head back,” you suggested, breaking the silence. “Before Pansy comes looking for us.”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. His expression still carried a hint of seriousness, but his eyes had softened somewhat.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “But you decide when to go back, not me.”

You chuckled softly, shyly, as though the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, though it didn’t bother you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

ಇ

The Slytherin common room was bathed in a cosy silence, broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. The flames cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, creating an atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the rest of the castle. Mattheo was sprawled across one of the black leather sofas, his posture completely at ease, as though he belonged to the room itself. He twirled his wand idly between his fingers, his sharp gaze lazily drifting over the surroundings, disinterested.

The peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of firm, purposeful footsteps echoing off the cold floor. Mattheo didn’t look up—he didn’t need to. Pansy Parkinson always made her presence known. She strode into the room with the kind of authority that promised trouble, her eyes glinting with determination.

“Riddle,” she started, stopping in front of him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Saturday. Hogsmeade. You’re coming with me. Theo, Blaise, Luna, and [Name] will be there too.”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up, continuing to spin his wand between his fingers. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “No.”

“No?” Pansy echoed, raising an eyebrow, her expression morphing into one of incredulity. The set of her jaw only made her look more stubborn. “Come on, you haven’t even heard what I—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he cut her off, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. His voice was dry, laced with boredom. “And the answer is still no. I’m not going, I don’t want to, and I’m not changing my mind.”

Pansy let out a heavy sigh, though the self-satisfied smile creeping onto her lips only deepened Mattheo’s irritation. “You say that now, but come Saturday, you’ll be there.”

Mattheo let out a short, humourless laugh. “Pansy, I’d love to see you try. I’m not Theo, who does everything you say just because he thinks you’re ‘cute.’”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Pansy shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Is this about [Name]? I saw you talking to her in the garden. You actually looked… sociable.”

“And? We exchanged a few words. That doesn’t mean anything.” His tone hardened as he narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated. Leaning back into the sofa, he added flatly, “If this is some attempt to set me up with someone, just give up now. You know I hate that.”

“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No one’s setting you up. [Name] doesn’t even care if you’re there, to be honest.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “All the more reason for me not to go.”

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh, though a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “I know you, Mattheo. You say you won’t go, but come Saturday, you’ll end up tagging along with Blaise and Theo anyway. You need to connect with the world once in a while, you know.”

“I’m perfectly connected right here, thanks,” he shot back, gesturing around the room before rolling his eyes again. “I’d rather stay here than deal with people who think I owe them the courtesy of being interesting.”

Pansy tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words. “You’re so full of yourself. She’s not even thinking about you like that. And you know what? Maybe you should try acting normal around people who don’t fear you because of your surname.”

Mattheo huffed, but before he could muster a retort, Pansy was already making her way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She threw a parting remark over her shoulder, her voice bright with smug amusement. “Saturday, Mattheo. Be there, or I’ll add this to my list of lifelong grudges!”

He stayed where he was, his gaze falling back to the wand in his fingers. It spun faster now, less smoothly than before. Pansy was wrong. He wasn’t going. And if [Name] didn’t care whether he came or not, that was fine by him. A relief, really. A big relief.

ಇ

The streets of Hogsmeade buzzed with chatter and laughter, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the sweet smell of warm drinks wafting out of nearby shops. Despite the lively atmosphere, Mattheo would still take this over the castle any day—at least here he wasn’t constantly followed by stares and whispers. He walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black overcoat, his expression bored, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“So,” Blaise started, nudging Theo with his elbow. “Whose brilliant idea was it to drag him out here? Thought Mattheo was allergic to socialising.”

“Don’t start,” Mattheo muttered without even glancing at them. “I’m only here because someone wouldn’t shut up about how this was going to be ‘fun.’”

Theo laughed, unbothered. “It is fun. You should be thanking me.”

Mattheo opened his mouth to fire back but was cut off as the three of them rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Pansy, Luna, and [Name] standing outside the Three Broomsticks.

“Oh, what are you lot doing here?” Pansy exclaimed, her voice dripping with faux surprise. Only Mattheo caught the teasing glint in her eye.

“Pansy,” he began, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even try it.”

“Try what?” She blinked at him innocently. “This is pure coincidence.”

Mattheo was about to argue when his attention was pulled to Blaise and Luna. The moment they spotted each other, Luna lit up with a bright smile, and Blaise… Well, he looked like someone had hit him with a softening charm. It was rare to see him like that—genuinely smitten.

Luna stepped closer immediately, lightly tugging Blaise by the arm as she spoke. Whatever she said made him laugh, low and almost shy, a side of him Mattheo hardly ever saw. Blaise was usually so composed, but with Luna, he seemed… different.

That’s when it hit Mattheo. This wasn’t some trap for him. It was for them.

He glanced at Theo, who was watching the scene with a smug smile. Theo shrugged in response, as if to say, Don’t look at me, this wasn’t my idea.

Pansy, however, wasn’t even trying to hide her satisfaction, though she kept her focus firmly on Luna and Blaise.

Mattheo sighed quietly. Right. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this whole outing really was just about those two.

But then his eyes landed on you. You stood a little behind Pansy, a small, almost shy smile playing on your lips as you watched Blaise and Luna. You didn’t seem out of place, exactly—just quiet, like someone unsure where they fit into the group dynamic.

He looked away before you noticed, but Pansy, ever observant, caught the movement.

“Well,” she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Since we’re all here, why don’t we do something together?”

Mattheo was already preparing to decline, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way you, distracted, reached out to catch the falling snowflakes in your hand, that soft, almost enchanted smile still on your face.

He frowned. What was so special about snow, anyway?

“Relax, Riddle,” Pansy said, pulling him back to reality. “I didn’t plan this.”

“You planned this,” he replied flatly.

“And if I did?” She held her hands up, her smile infuriatingly casual. “It’s not the end of the world. Try being social for once.”

Before he could respond, Theo slung an arm casually around his shoulders, as if to stop him from bolting. “Not every day we hang out with such a… diverse group.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing. Judging by how glued Blaise and Luna were to each other, it was pointless. Still, the way Pansy kept glancing at you before whispering something to Theo made him suspicious.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to it all. You adjusted your scarf, your attention caught by a nearby shop window where tiny enchanted ice figurines were dancing.

“Alright,” Theo said, breaking the moment of silence. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at you. You were standing a bit apart from the group, but somehow, your eyes met his. A small, tentative smile crossed your face, the kind that seemed unsure of its place, before you quickly looked away.

He considered walking away, but something made him stay. Maybe it was the sense that Pansy would never let him hear the end of it if he left.

“The Three Broomsticks?” he suggested, his voice laced with reluctance. “If we’re doing this, might as well get it over with.”

Pansy’s smile widened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, but to his annoyance, she said nothing.

ಇ

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as Mattheo had expected. The buzz of conversations and laughter mingled with the clatter of mugs and the sweet smell of butterbeer, creating a lively, almost chaotic atmosphere. For most, it was a place to forget about the pressures of school, but for Mattheo, it felt suffocating. He stood near the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, ready to leave at any moment.

“See? Told you this would be fun,” Theo said, flashing a carefree grin as he dropped into a chair beside Pansy.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d rather be back at the castle,” Mattheo replied flatly, choosing the chair furthest from the table.

Pansy, ever the orchestrator, settled in beside Theo and shot a smug look at Mattheo. “Oh, stop being dramatic. You’ll survive.”

Luna and Blaise took their seats next, the pair seemingly lost in their own little world. Blaise leaned in to whisper something, and Luna let out a soft, musical laugh. Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“They’ve already forgotten we’re here,” he muttered, tapping a keyring against the table in an almost absentminded rhythm.

Pansy smirked. “Leave them be. They’re cute.”

Mattheo huffed but didn’t bother replying. His eyes drifted across the room, eventually landing on you. You had chosen a seat near the window, detached from the group’s chatter. The soft glow of candlelight reflected in the glass as you gazed out at the falling snow, your expression calm and contemplative, as though soaking in every detail of the world outside.

For a moment, Mattheo found himself wondering what was so fascinating about the snow. It was just snow—falling endlessly, especially this time of year. But to you, it seemed to hold some deeper meaning, something he couldn’t quite grasp. You watched the flurries with a quiet intensity he found… puzzling.

“Paying attention, or has the snow got you too?” Theo teased, nudging Mattheo as he caught him staring.

Mattheo shot him a sharp look. “Shut up.”

Glancing at you again, he lowered his voice. “Why’s she so quiet?”

Pansy, ever observant, turned her gaze from you to the two whispering boys. “Because that’s how she is. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Very funny,” Mattheo shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

Theo chuckled. “She just doesn’t like all the noise. Makes me wonder, though… why’s she here with us?”

“Because you invited her,” Mattheo said dryly, his tone clipped. Theo shrugged, unbothered.

“She’s here for Pansy. And maybe because sometimes people like to shake things up a bit,” Theo replied, as if it were obvious.

Mattheo didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to you. You were still lost in the view outside, but you must have felt the weight of their stares because, after a moment, you turned to face the group. Your smile was small and uncertain, a touch of embarrassment in your eyes. “What?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and cautious.

“Mattheo thinks you’re mysterious,” Theo said boldly, grinning as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

You frowned, your gaze shifting to Mattheo, who let out an irritated scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“No need to explain yourself, Riddle,” Pansy chimed in with a sly grin, hiding behind the menu.

You gave a shy smile, clearly flustered, and buried yourself in the menu as if it were a shield. Mattheo caught the faint blush creeping across your cheeks, and for some inexplicable reason, it made him glance away, feeling oddly unsettled.

“What’re we ordering?” Blaise asked suddenly, breaking the tension and redirecting the group’s focus.

While the others debated their orders, Mattheo remained silent, his fingers tapping against the table. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about you that left him uneasy—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel restless, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with himself.

The waiter arrived, looking a little tired but polite, his quill poised to take orders. Theo and Blaise rattled off their choices with ease, but when it was your turn, you hesitated, your voice so soft that the waiter leaned in.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” the waiter asked, his tone patient.

Mattheo noticed the discomfort on your face as you tried again, your cheeks flushing with self-consciousness. It was such a simple moment, but something about it made Mattheo feel compelled to step in.

“She’ll have a butterbeer,” he said abruptly, leaning back in his chair as if it were no big deal. “And I’ll have the same.”

The waiter blinked, then nodded. “Right, and the rest of you?”

You glanced at Mattheo, your surprise evident. For a moment, he wondered if he’d made things worse. But then you murmured, “Thanks,” so quietly it was almost inaudible. Your smile was small and a little shy, but there was something about it—something genuine—that made Mattheo’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to make Mattheo look away, feeling a strange heat rising in his neck. What the hell was that?

He focused on the table instead, letting his gaze fall on Pansy. She was watching him with her usual smirk, the kind that screamed, I know something you don’t. That look alone was enough to irritate him further.

He clenched his jaw, determined to brush it off. Whatever Pansy thought she saw, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in whatever game she might be playing. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought of that small, genuine smile you’d given him—or the way it had made him feel completely out of his depth.

Later, the group had finished their meal and was now strolling leisurely through the softly lit streets of Hogsmeade. Snow fell in delicate flakes, blanketing the rooftops with a fine layer, creating a scene that was ordinary but, in your eyes, uniquely enchanting.

Mattheo walked in silence, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, while you stayed a little ahead with Luna, Blaise, and Pansy. The latter seemed particularly alert, as if she were plotting something in her mind.

“Let’s stop by Honeydukes,” Pansy announced suddenly, pausing beside Blaise and Luna. “I’m absolutely craving those ginger caramels.”

“Now? is probably a nightmare,” Theo grumbled, though his protest was pointless as Pansy was already dragging him firmly towards the shop’s entrance.

Before you could say a word, she turned to you and Mattheo with a sly, self-assured grin.

“How about you two check out the bookshop? We’ll catch up in a bit!”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly in the direction of the bookshop and then back at Pansy. But she didn’t wait for a reply. Without giving you a chance to argue, she disappeared into Honeydukes with Theo in tow.

Mattheo let out a quiet sigh, his expression laced with a knowing irritation at Pansy’s obvious intentions. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he gave a small nod towards the bookshop.

“Fancy it?” he asked, his tone straightforward.

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to come out steady, and followed him towards the shop.

The interior of the bookshop was warm and serene. Tall shelves were crammed with books, from old, worn-out tomes to pristine, freshly bound editions. The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of aged paper, and the soft glow of strategically placed lamps added to the cosy atmosphere.

Walking slowly down the aisles, you trailed your fingers over the spines of books, savouring the texture of each one. Mattheo had wandered to a quieter section, where he pulled an old, dark-covered book from the shelf and examined it with mild curiosity.

“I’ve read that one,” you remarked casually, stepping closer.

Mattheo looked up at you, his expression faintly surprised. “Have you?”

You nodded, your eyes lighting up shyly but genuinely. “It’s really good, though a bit sad.”

He shrugged, placing the book back and reaching for another.

“That one too,” you said, glancing at the new book in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, holding the book for a moment before putting it back and selecting yet another.

“Oh, that one’s brilliant!” you exclaimed, a spark of enthusiasm slipping through. “A bit heavy in parts, but it’s one of my favourites.”

Mattheo paused, studying the book in his hand before looking back at you.

“Have you read all of these?” he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering away briefly before meeting his again, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

“Almost all of them,” you admitted softly. “I just… really like reading.”

A faint, genuine smile tugged at Mattheo’s lips as he shook his head slightly.

“All right,” he said, holding up another book. “How about this one? Have you read it?” He revealed the title: The Great Gatsby.

Your eyes lit up instantly as you nodded. “Yes. It’s a classic. Sad, but so good.”

Mattheo let out a short sigh, glancing at the book with more interest. “Do you cry at all of them, or just the ones I pick because I like the cover?”

Your timid but sincere smile answered before your words. “Only the good ones.”

For a moment, he just watched you, his eyes lingering as you studied the shelves around you with quiet fascination.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Think I’ll like this one?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Depends. Do you like happy endings?”

Mattheo chuckled lowly, a hint of dry humour in his voice. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

Your expression softened at his response, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you looked up at him, as though trying to understand him better. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze and glanced away.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered, holding the book firmly. “If it makes me cry, it’s your fault.”

You laughed quietly, the sound lighter this time, as he tucked the book under his arm.

“Do you read much?” you asked, your voice still a little shy as your eyes lifted to meet his.

“Not really.”

The moment was abruptly interrupted by Pansy’s familiar voice cutting through the quiet. She appeared suddenly beside Mattheo, a smug smile on her face.

“You two are taking ages,” she teased, throwing a loaded glance between the two of you. “Buying a book or writing one?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify her with an answer, while you glanced away, feeling slightly flustered. Pansy’s satisfied grin made it clear she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Without ceremony, she tugged Mattheo towards the counter to pay for his book. You followed quietly as they left the shop, snow beginning to fall again outside.

ಇ

Once again, the group had gathered, this time in a more comfortable setting, as if they had already gotten used to the rhythm of their regular outings. The Slytherin common room felt cosy and calm, bathed in the soft light of the fire crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the space. Theo and Pansy were chatting animatedly about something trivial, while Blaise and Luna stayed, as usual, wrapped up in their own bubble, oblivious to the world around them.

You and Mattheo, however, were more on the edge of the group, tucked away in a quiet corner where silence hung comfortably in the air. He was staring into the flames, his mind distant, while you flicked through a book, your eyes quickly scanning the shelves of volumes in the common room.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft, laced with your usual curiosity.

“Have you finished that book, Mattheo?”

He gave you a look after a brief pause, responding casually.

“Yeah, it was quick to read, just like Cat’s Cradle.”

“You’ve read Cat’s Cradle?” you asked, surprised, your eyes lighting up instantly at the thought that he might be interested in such a quirky book.

Mattheo nodded with a relaxed gesture.

“Mm-hm.”

“I love that book,” you said enthusiastically. “I thought you said you didn’t read much.”

He laughed and shrugged, not giving it much thought.

“Well, what’s ‘much’?”

You laughed, satisfied with the answer, before diving back into your love for the book.

“Cat’s Cradle is just so chaotic, so human, you know? Like a distorted mirror of ourselves.”

Mattheo furrowed his brow, now visibly more interested.

“Human?”

“Yeah,” you continued, gesturing lightly. “The way Vonnegut portrays people, with all their confusing flaws—it’s so real. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but still, it’s genius.”

Mattheo watched you for a moment, trying to understand your perspective before replying in a teasing tone.

“I’m not sure ‘genius’ is the right word.”

You let out a soft laugh, not offended.

“No? And how would you describe it?”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the window beside him, watching the snow fall gently outside.

“It’s more like… a bunch of people getting into trouble because they’re too thick to see what’s right in front of them.”

You tilted your head slightly, amused by the simplicity of his argument.

“Exactly. That’s what makes it genius.”

Mattheo blinked, clearly impressed by your response. He wasn’t sure if you were joking or if you really believed it.

“You think stupidity is genius?”

“Nooo,” you said with a sideways smile. “But it makes us reflect on that human stupidity, like a portrait of our own contradictions, in a raw way. It’s uncomfortable, but in a weird way, it’s beautiful.”

Mattheo fell silent for a moment, processing your words.

“Beautiful?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to decide whether the comment was fascinating or just plain weird.

“Yes, beautiful,” you insisted, your tone calm but firm. “I think there’s beauty in accepting that we’re flawed, that we’re always trying, even when we know we might fail.”

He let out a low, almost incredulous laugh.

“You’ve got a peculiar way of looking at things.”

“Peculiar?” You laughed back, not losing the lightness of the moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward slightly, without thinking too much, and with a gentle gesture, you brushed a stray curl of hair from his face. Your touch was so natural that he barely had time to process it. Your fingers slid smoothly through his dark hair, pushing the curl away, and you did it with such ease that it felt completely normal to you. But for Mattheo, the action was enough to freeze him for a moment.

Mattheo froze. His mind instantly went on alert. The touch, though brief, had triggered a cascade of disconnected thoughts that he had no idea how to sort or deal with at that moment.

You, completely unaware of the inner battle Mattheo was facing, turned your attention back to the book you were skimming through, still intrigued by the shelves in the Slytherin common room. They were filled with delicate details, snakes and symbols, which gave the place a peculiar touch.

Mattheo, on the other hand, remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. He tried to push the moment’s impact aside, but it seemed impossible. The touch was still fresh on his skin, and the echo of your words about the book lingered in his mind.

ಇ

The night was quiet and peaceful at Hogwarts Castle. Mattheo lay in his dormitory, the soft light of the moon streaming through the window, casting a subtle glow over the room. His mind, however, was restless, filled with thoughts that were hard to sort. Almost mechanically, he reached for his wand, and with a subtle motion, began to move it, calling the music.

The first notes of “Crash Into Me” began to fill the room, softly, as Dave Matthews’ voice echoed through the space, enveloping him in a familiar melody. The song seeped into him like a comforting whisper, and something in it gripped him almost viscerally. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be consumed by the music, and, without knowing why, raised his wand again to put the track on repeat.

The words of the song began to take on more meaning, subtly echoing within him, much like the thoughts swirling in his mind that he couldn’t quite organise. It was as if the song spoke directly to him, not in a clear and direct way, but through its rhymes and melody, something in between the lines made him think of you. Your calm presence, yet shrouded in mystery, took shape in his mind.

He turned over in bed, still immersed in confusing thoughts, trying to understand the nameless feeling that overtook him. What was this unease? The music seemed to break something inside him, as if it were unveiling parts of himself he didn’t know existed.

As the chords of the song filled the space around him, a quiet exhaustion began to settle in. He surrendered to the melody, letting himself drift, without haste or resistance. The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was your face.

In his dream, you were beneath the Astronomy Tower. The stars watched silently as you leaned against the balustrade, your hair softly shimmering, floating with the night’s breeze. They saw when you approached him, and the world around seemed to shrink, as if everything became insignificant. You kissed him, a simple, gentle kiss, incredibly soft, full of sincerity. When you pulled away, his eyes opened.

The song “Crash Into Me” still played in his ears, but the sensation of the kiss, the soft touch of your lips, lingered with him, even though the dream dissipated as quickly as it had come. He lay there, motionless, not knowing exactly when he had been struck. The confusion that had once dominated his thoughts now seemed entwined with that fleeting memory, and he allowed himself to feel.

ಇ

Theo’s dormitory was as cosy as ever, lit only by the bedside lamp, casting a soft yellow glow that created an intimate atmosphere. The lazy tendrils of cigarette smoke drifted in the air, mixing with the low hum of music playing from a small gramophone in the corner. Lorenzo was slouched on the sofa, his feet carelessly propped up on the coffee table, while Theo, seated on the floor with his back against the bed, took long drags from his cigarette, releasing the smoke in the air as if following a ritual.

Pansy, meanwhile, leaned against an armchair, distractedly fiddling with her wand. Mattheo remained on the outskirts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and visibly more distant than usual.

“So,” Pansy began, breaking the silence with a mischievous smile playing on her lips, though her tone remained casual, “I’m thinking of organising another group trip to Hogsmeade next Saturday. You coming?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Who’s going?”

Pansy shrugged nonchalantly. “Me, obviously, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo, Daphne… if she’s not busy.”

He gave a small nod, considering the idea. Maybe getting out a bit wouldn’t be so bad, even if he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

“And [Name],” Pansy added casually, throwing him a sly sidelong glance.

The effect was immediate. Mattheo froze, quickly averting his gaze. “Ah… no, I don’t think I’ll be going, then.”

Pansy stared at him, taken aback. “You’re not?”

“I’m just not in the mood,” he replied flatly, still avoiding her gaze.

“Not in the mood or running from her?” Pansy pressed, her tone sharp. She uncrossed her arms and stepped away from the armchair, facing him head-on.

He let out a humourless laugh, pushing away from the wall. “Oh, spare me, Pansy. This is just one of your dumb ideas to try and push me onto one of your friends. I’ve told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Push you onto my friends?” she repeated, incredulous, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Merlin’s beard, do you even hear what you’re saying? I’m just organising a trip, it��s not your bloody wedding!”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t notice? You’re always trying to set people up, like it’s some kind of game. But this isn’t some stupid romance novel. And honestly? She’s none of that, not worth the hassle.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Even Lorenzo, who had seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, lifted his gaze, surprised by the bitterness in Mattheo’s voice. Pansy stood still for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Not worth the hassle?” she repeated, each word laced with icy venom, as she stepped right up to him. “Do you have any idea what utter rubbish you’ve just said?”

Mattheo tried to hold her stare, but there was something in her stance that unsettled him.

“You don’t even believe that,” she continued, her voice firm now. “You’re so terrified of the idea of liking her that you’d rather say something vile like that than admit it to yourself. But guess what, Mattheo? It doesn’t change a thing.”

He crossed his arms, frustration clearly etched on his face. “I’m not scared of anything. You’re the one harassing me with this ridiculous conversation.”

“Ridiculous?” Pansy raised her voice, frustration seeping through every word. “You’re the one acting ridiculous! As if liking someone is some kind of weakness. It’s pathetic, actually—it’s so sad, it’s almost funny.”

“Oh, fuck off, Pansy,” he snapped, his anger boiling over.

She laughed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her. “I’m just trying to stop you from being an idiot. But, then again, maybe you don’t deserve someone like her. Maybe she’s too good for you, yeah?”

Mattheo clenched his jaw, irritation flashing across his face before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the stillness of his own dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed, his chest still heaving from the argument. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts, but Pansy’s words continued to echo in his mind like an unshakable spell.

“Maybe she’s too good for you.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t true, and he knew it. She was worth the effort, without a doubt. He remembered the way she spoke about books, how her eyes lit up with passion for things he didn’t even bother to notice. She was kind, funny, incredibly genuine, and, above all, special.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Pansy was right. He was an idiot. And, worse yet, an idiot in love.

ಇ

The pub in Hogsmeade was packed, but the noise around Jasmine felt distant as she watched the group of friends play pool with curiosity. The soft lighting gave the place a warm, inviting atmosphere, while the low music in the background punctuated the occasional laughter of Theo and Lorenzo, who were arguing about who the better player was.

Mattheo kept his gaze fixed on you, knowing there was no escaping this. He was already falling, and he knew it. Rather than resist, he decided to enjoy the moment. There was something about your cautious yet charming manner that stirred him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. But soon he realised there was no need to comprehend it. It was as if the fall was inevitable, and somehow, the view would be worth it. All that was left for him to do was relax and let it happen. Maybe it was time to be bolder. Let the fall happen. He was ready for whatever came next and wanted to see how far it could go.

“Go on, who’s next?” Theo asked, twirling the cue stick with a teasing smile, aiming it at you.

“Definitely not me,” you muttered instantly, shrugging behind your butterbeer.

“Oh, come on,” Pansy teased, smiling. “You’ve never played?”

You shook your head, feeling a little out of place. “No idea how to play.”

Before Pansy could insist, Mattheo pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning, arms casually crossed, and approached. “I’ll teach you.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t have to, I—”

“Come here,” he interrupted, leaving no room for protest. He reached out and, before you could object, gently took hold of your wrist, guiding you to the right spot at the table.

Frozen, you watched him as if he’d just cast a spell. There was something so natural about the gesture – as though you’d shared this kind of proximity for years – that it left you speechless.

“Grab the cue,” he instructed, his voice low and slightly husky. You obeyed, holding the cue with clear hesitation.

Mattheo took a step back, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Like this,” he said, adjusting his hands over yours. His fingers were firm but didn’t squeeze; the touch felt casual, yet it carried an intimacy that made you blush instantly.

He tilted his head, his voice close to your ear. “You need to align with the ball.”

His breath seemed to brush against your skin, and your heart raced. “Right… okay.”

He chuckled softly. “Relax, you’re all tense.”

“I’m not tense!” you protested, though the nervousness in your voice gave you away.

“Of course not,” he teased, shifting his hands slightly to adjust the position. “Now aim here.”

Biting your lip, you tried to focus, even though the closeness made it nearly impossible. The sound of his voice, the way he leaned in, his firm yet careful touch – it was all making your mind spin.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, feeling your face heat up.

With his help, you moved the cue forward, striking the ball harder than you expected. It rolled across the table, hitting a few others before dropping into one of the pockets.

“See?” he said, stepping back slightly but keeping his hand near yours. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You laughed nervously, too shy to meet his eyes. “I think it was more you than me.”

“Maybe,” he replied casually, but his gaze was now locked on yours.

You noticed he was still holding your hand, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. When he finally let go, the touch seemed to linger.

“Next,” he said, handing the cue to Theo, who was already laughing.

You stepped away from the table, trying to regain your composure, but your heart was still racing. Pansy watched you with a mischievous smile, but said nothing – which, in some way, was even more embarrassing.

Mattheo, now leaning back against the wall again, looked relaxed, though a subtle smile played on his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done – and he seemed to be enjoying it.

The night was light, filled with laughter and pool shots. You still felt a bit embarrassed about the last shot, about Mattheo’s unexpected touch, and the way he seemed so at ease. The way he approached so naturally, as if there was an intimacy between you two that you didn’t know how to handle, made you nervous, but also… curious.

At one point, you stepped away to grab the drink you’d left on the table, and Mattheo was right behind you, not wasting a second before taking the empty glass from your hand.

“I’ll get you another,” he said, flashing a casual smile.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him and then at the empty glass he’d taken from your hand. “Hey, I can do it myself.”

He shrugged as he walked away. “So what? Let me do it for you.”

You stared at him as he made his way to the bar, wanting to protest, but knowing he probably wouldn’t care. He was back quickly, drink in hand, placing it gently in front of you.

“Here,” he said, smiling tranquilly.

Still unsure how to react, you responded, “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He laughed easily and sat beside you. “I listen, I just don’t care. And let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, “you’re not exactly good at hiding that you like it when I do things for you.”

Your face flushed, but you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by the comment or by how comfortable he seemed with the situation. You tried to change the subject, though your voice still sounded hesitant. “I really could’ve filled my own glass.”

“Sure,” he interrupted with a sly grin, “but I wanted to do it.”

Not knowing how to respond, you looked down, crossing your legs and resting the drink on your thigh, unsure of how to act when Mattheo was messing with your composure. But secretly, you were enjoying this new side of him – unsure of how to react, but liking it all the same.

“I know what I’m doing,” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I know, princess,” he replied with an easy grin, “but I like doing it.”

ಇ

As time passed, your meetings became more frequent. The group hangouts gradually gave way to moments alone, and the relationship between you two became more comfortable and intimate. Being in each other’s company felt natural, easy, almost like an extension of everyday life. Mattheo’s behaviour grew more spontaneous, with fewer of the usual walls he built up when you were around. And it wasn’t just you who noticed; the entire group of friends could see it too.

One night, you were in Mattheo’s dorm. The atmosphere was calm and welcoming, with the scent of scented candles he’d started using now permanently filling the room. They were burning all around, three on the dresser and others on the bedside table. Meanwhile, Mattheo was rummaging through the wardrobe shelves and found a few hidden bottles. It was cheap wine that Theo had bought to settle a silly bet, but had forgotten there. Mattheo remembered it like it had happened yesterday. He looked at the bottle with a smile, laughing to himself. You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“I can’t believe you’re going to drink that,” you said, laughing lightly while lying on the black carpet in the middle of the room, fiddling with the radio.

Mattheo shrugged, flashing a carefree smile. “Of course I am, it’s here, right?”

You gave him a sceptical look, but couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “That’s a bit weird.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, walking over and sitting beside you, holding the bottle out. “Try it, go on.”

Hesitant, but tempted, you sat next to him, smiling nervously. You took the bottle from his hand, laughing before bringing it to your lips, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

After a bottle and a half shared between you, the effects of the wine were already clear. The conversation flowed easily, words coming out freely, and you both laughed at anything, letting yourselves enjoy the sense of freedom the moment brought.

Then Mattheo stood up, walked over to the radio, and adjusted the music. Fleetwood Mac, one of his favourite bands, and he knew it well. The soft notes filled the room, creating a relaxing and warm atmosphere. He smiled at you, stood up from the carpet, and waited for you to follow. “Don’t you want to dance?”

You looked at him hesitantly, but he was watching you as if daring you. It didn’t take long before you got up, still a bit loose from the alcohol, and started dancing awkwardly, singing along with Stevie Nicks, a silly grin on your face. Mattheo held your hands and settled on the bed, watching your dance. There was no pretension; it was a spontaneous dance, a bit off-beat, but genuine.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smile, but his gaze revealed something more. He saw you differently. You moved with clumsy grace, not caring about the rhythm, and he was completely captivated by the way you threw yourself into the moment, without a hint of self-consciousness. Your movements, though not sensual, were, in that instant, the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. You were so at ease, as if you were dancing just for him. And, in a way, you were.

You laughed, unaware of the effect you had, how your hair shone and moved perfectly with the rhythm of your motions. That sight, so natural, only drew him in more. When the music finally ended, you stopped, out of breath, and looked at him with a mischievous grin, holding onto his shoulders while he watched you from below, his expression one of admiration.

“See? Was this what you wanted?” you asked, regaining your composure, but with a faint blush on your cheeks.

“More than I expected.”

The music still filled the room, but slowly, it became a distant echo, overshadowed by the tension that now dominated the space. The air felt heavier, each heartbeat ringing in your ears as you locked eyes with him. Your hands still rested on his shoulders, and despite the relaxed smile that appeared on his face, there was something in Mattheo’s gaze that made the lightness of the moment take on a new weight.

His eyes were fixed on yours, serious, intense, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Something in that look seemed ready to spill over, and before you could even question it, the space between you two was vanishing. Mattheo moved, his strong hands reaching up to cradle your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the fervour in his expression. The world around you faded in the blink of an eye. No more cheap wine, no more candles, no more Stevie Nicks in the background. It was just the two of you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filling the silence between you. His gaze didn’t waver, and the proximity made each word feel even more intimate, almost like a confession. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t respond. There were no words that could capture what was going through your mind.

When he finally closed the remaining space between you, his lips found yours, and everything seemed to fall into place. The kiss began firm but soon softened, as if he was exploring each detail, testing, savouring the moment with an almost palpable intensity.

His hands didn’t stay still. One slid to your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, touching your warm skin with a mixture of firmness and care. The other moved up to your neck, fingers light as a caress, but determined, keeping you close, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

When his lips left yours, it was only to trace a deliberate path along your jawline, down to the delicate spot on your neck, where he could feel your pulse quicken. Each kiss was meticulous, almost reverent, as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation. The softness of his touch seemed to contradict the intensity he maintained with every movement, and it made the moment all the more overwhelming.

Then, unexpectedly, Mattheo made a quick movement, pulling you onto the bed.

He was firm, but careful, lying you down with precision and security, as if guiding you through a dance he had already mentally rehearsed. Your bodies moulded into the surroundings, as if the moment had been waiting for you both.

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his hands slowly lifting your shirt, with a near ceremonial slowness. There was no rush, just a clear intention in every gesture, as though he was absorbing the significance of what was happening. His eyes scanned your body, but not with haste or crude desire. There was something almost devotional in that gaze, something that made your breath quicken and slow at the same time.

His lips descended to your stomach, touching it with the lightness of a promise. Each kiss seemed to hold something unspoken, something long-kept. Mattheo's fingers traced slow paths along your skin, as though he wanted to memorise every detail, while you let out a sigh that seemed to echo in the intimacy of the room.

For a brief moment, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes sparkled with a mix of desire and playfulness, and a light smile curved his lips before he leaned in again, the kisses resuming their course, now with even more care, as if each touch was a silent vow of adoration.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Growing Pains

poly!marauders x female!reader

summary: you are in desperate need of a job, and the marauders are in desperate need of a babysitter, what's the worst that could happen?

you got the job! (technically first chapter)

week one

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ | age gap between marauders & reader (not heavily identified) | reader is 21 + | mature language.

! divers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics !

© singmyaubade

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

A Real Good Time

um... i am shocked I even wrote this. so this is like the longest fic i think i've written and it is by far the nastiest, horniest thing i've also ever written... you're welcome i guess?

Summary: poly!marauders x reader x rosekiller, the marauders share reader with Barty and Evan...

CW: MDNI!!!!!! smut!! idk everything man, you tell me. smoking, swearing, voyerism, sharing?, overstimulation, masturbation, (cumplay?), oral, unprotected sex, choking, smacking/spanking, roughness?, reader is a brat. oh this is also not proofread

word count: 4.3k

“What’s ours is yours.” Sirius said boastfully to your friends lounging on the floor of your dorm. You gaped at your boyfriend, not believing what he just said.

Barty threw his head back in laughter, Evan smirking at you. You looked down quickly, slightly embarrassed by the whole situation. 

The whole conversation had been so abrupt and derailed faster than you could stop it.

You had your friends over for a fun evening in your dorm. You all mostly played games and chatted, you could all find fun no matter what, so it didn’t really matter what you got up to as long as you were all there. It was especially easy in the boys’ room, the massive space filled with squashy and fluffy sofas, armchairs and beanbags, half of which they stole from the common room. 

The evening turned quickly into night which turned into the early hours of the morning, and one by one, all of your friends cut out and headed to bed. Lily and Marlene were the last to leave, leaving only Barty and Evan now. They too said they would head to bed, but wanted Remus to roll them a joint they could all share before they left.

The boys enthusiastically agreed and Remus started rolling. 

You don’t know how the topic of sex was introduced, Sirius made a comment to Barty along the lines of “You’re just leaving so you can wind up in Rosier’s bed.” Which then made him reply with “Careful, or I might just take Y/N along with us when we go and show her what a real good time looks like,” as he made grabby hands for you.

You chuckled and swatted his hands away, hoping a blush wasn’t creeping across your cheeks for them to see. The thought of that…

Remus finished rolling the joint and lit it, the room becoming hazy with smoke. “Is that something you'd be interested in, love?” he questioned you. He had a tone of curiosity laced in his voice mixed with something familiar to you, excitement at the thought. Shit, maybe you were blushing, because how did he sense that from across the room? Both Sirius and James perked up at this. 

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about Evan and Barty in that way, in fact, Barty was the first crush you ever had. But ever since you started dating your boys, no one else interested you at all.

Sure the boys could share, they shared you didn’t they? But you never thought that they would be interested in sharing you with others. 

“W-what,” you stuttered. 

Remus passed the joint off to Evan who was looking at you with intrigue, and waltzed over to where you sat cross legged in an oversized armchair. “We can share,” he said, motioning to Sirius and James. “In fact, this is something we’ve talked about before, we just didn’t know if you would be up for it.” Was the weed making him that much bolder? To say all of this in front of Barty and Evan?

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but ultimately failing. You looked to Sirius and James for reassurance, but they were no help, giving you the same lust filled eyes that you were receiving from Barty and Evan now.

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick to breathe, all you could do was stare up at Remus.

His gaze softened on you for a moment. “Baby, if you say yes, we would love to watch our pretty girl,” he explained softly to you. “But if you say no we’ll just tell them to fuck off and have you ourselves, does that sound alright?”

You smiled slightly, the tension easing a bit. Then you nodded up at him, “It is something that interests me.”

He smiled down at you, placing his palm on your cheek which you happily nuzzled into.

“Wait, so you’re saying you want to watch us fuck your girl?” Evan asked, amusement written all over his face.

“That’s what we’re saying,” James affirmed.

“What’s ours is yours.” Sirius said, causing Barty to laugh and Evan to eye you up and down. “For tonight.” 

Evan made his way to where you were still perched in the armchair, taking your face in his hand. The action was so like what Remus had just done, but it couldn’t feel any more different. Remus’s hand was soft and gentle, while Evan’s was rougher, gripping your jaw tighter and squishing your cheek into a pout, forcing you to look up at him.

“You sure about this doll?” He asked quietly. You did your best to nod for him but this made him tsk. “None of that, words.” he demanded.

“Yes, I’m sure.” you replied, his grip making it a bit tough to respond but you managed.

“Good,” he hummed.

Barty then made his way over as well. Both the tall men eyeing you down, you felt smaller than ever under their gazes.

Maybe it was because he wanted to hurry this along, or maybe he was taking pity on you, but Barty held out his hand for you to take. You hesitated but placed your hand in his as he pulled you to your feet, his grasp surprisingly gentle. He pulled you up and in between his and Evan’s bodies, both encroaching on your space.

Barty tilted your head up to look him in the eye. He looked so calm right now, a direct contrast to his usual demeanor. Maybe he could sense the nerves radiating off of you, so he was making it easier, making you more comfortable. He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, the act so unsensual to the moment, but felt like just what you needed. You cracked a smile up at him.

“There she is,” he hummed in response, taking your face in both hands. He leaned in again, this time kissing your jaw, then down to your neck. You relaxed, your head falling back and right onto the shoulder of Evan who had copied Barty’s movements, beginning to kiss the other side of your neck.

You peeked over to your boyfriends, all lounging on the sofas across from you, James falling into the armchair you had just vacated. You were looking to see any sign of hesitation, any sign that they weren’t comfortable with this, but the looks on their faces told you there was nothing to worry about right now. James had a look of awe in his eyes while Remus was relaxing into the sofa and getting comfortable, waiting for the show to begin. You couldn’t quite place the look that Sirius had, somewhere between amusement and thrill of a challenge in front of him.

This was their way of saying ‘go ahead, relax, have fun.’ So fun you would have.

You felt Evan’s hands begin to wander from behind you, feeling his way slowly from your hips to your waist.

A single thought continued to bounce around your skull as the two boys sucked harshly at your jaw and neck, a thought that you couldn’t shake. You smiled to yourself, if it was a show your boyfriends want, then it was a show they would get. 

You moaned out and entangled your fingers into Evan’s wavy locks. You gripped his hair and this seemed to encourage him as he chuckled against your skin, the heat warming the entire side of your face, then nipping at the spot.

You whimpered and moved your hips back, just enough to brush against Evan. He gripped your hips even tighter and pulled you impossibly close to him.

“I love the noises she makes,” Barty mused, now smirking down at you. He took the bottom of your shirt and lifted it slowly, you not stopping him at all. He lifted it over your head and pulled it off of you finally, throwing it over to your boyfriends. Evan took this time to unclasp your bra, letting it pop open before sliding it down your arms and letting it fall to the floor. You took a deep, steadying breath as Barty smiled softly down at you. You took the initiative and slid your shorts down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving you only in your panties in front of them.

He took your wrist in his hand before falling backwards onto the couch across from your boyfriends, pulling you down with him.

You squealed as you landed on top of him, giggling the whole way down.

Barty adjusted himself on the couch as you made your way down his legs, making sure to keep your eyes on him the entire time. He looked heavenly and you didn’t want to miss a moment of his expressions as you unbuttoned and pulled the zipper down on his jeans.

You struggled a bit on purpose and looked up at him with a faux pathetic expression to get him to help you. He leaned forward to place yet another kiss on the tip of your nose before sliding his jeans down for you. You pouted up at him and tugged at the waistband, wanting to get him to do all the work for you.

“Awe,” He cooed, “not used to putting in some hard work yourself?”

You frowned and slipped a finger in his waistband, pulling back and letting it snap against his abdomen. He snatched your wrist in his hand, amused but clearly growing frustrated by your actions.

“I'll help this once,” he said, the most stern you had heard him this entire time, “But be a good girl, yeah?”

He slid his boxers off, his dick already red and leaking. He was big, probably the same size as Sirius. You looked up at him and smiled.

Before moving any further, you looked to your boyfriends to check that everything was still alright. Both Sirius and James already had their hands wrapped around their cocks, lazily tugging and watching you. You smiled again, turning your attention to the cock in front of you.

You started by licking Barty from base to tip, just like how Siri showed you all that time ago. You gave him a few licks which earned you a small groan and you giggled at the sound, peaking a look up at him, his head thrown back and shirt riding up his toned stomach.

You took his tip fully in your mouth, giving it a little suck, intent on taking your time and working him up, but Barty being Barty had it down your throat with one quick thrust. It made sense, you hadn’t seen Barty sit still for all of three minutes in a normal situation. You gagged a little at the intrusion, but quickly recovered, fitting as much of him in your mouth as you could, then using your hand for the rest.

“Good girl,” He praised, head still thrown over the edge of the couch.

You sucked again and again, hollowing your cheeks and taking him  as deep as you could, setting your own pace.

 You felt Evan’s fingers trace the outline of your core over your panties, the fabric no doubt soaked through. He used his thumb to rub your clit in small circles. 

You moaned at the feeling, the vibrations making Barty moan as well, the sound utterly sinful. Barty pulled your hair off of your face and into a makeshift ponytail, disregarding your set pace and fucking your throat at his own instead.

Evan picked up on this and rubbed your clit in rhythm to Barty’s thrusts. You choked out another moan, eyes watering as you tried to catch little breaths in between Barty’s ruthless pace.

Evan’s hands gripped your hips again, placing himself behind you. He was getting impatient, you could tell by his movements. He didn’t even try to pull off your panties for you, he just pulled them to the side and continued his ministrations to your clit. 

Barty’s breathing became uneven and shallow, you looked up at him through your lashes and could see how good you were making him feel. His brows were pulled tight together and his mouth was open slightly, letting out whines and breathless moans. It was nothing compared to the noises that James makes, but for now it would do.

Before you could even think, you felt the tip of Evan’s dick tracing up and down your dripping core. The action made you gasp around Barty’s dick. You wiggled your hips the best you could, trying to feel more of Evan and test the waters.

You heard Evan chuckle behind you, felt his hand leave your ass and swat down. This made you jump, Barty’s dick managing to hit the back of your throat without a warning. You whined as Barty moaned.

You pulled off of him for a moment, intent on complaining to Evan that he made you choke, but before you could turn your way around and get him in your line of sight, he slammed himself into you.

This made you jerk forward, your cheek pressed to Barty’s abdomen. “Ugh, why’d you stop, pretty?” he asked you.

You weren’t able to answer him due to the way Evan was pounding into you. You were trying to catch your breath in order to moan, but the pace that Evan had set made you almost forget how. You dug your nails into Barty’s thighs under you, hoping it would ground you somewhat. Barty hissed in pain above you, but made no move to stop you.

Evan was sliding in and out of you so easily, so quickly, you had no time to even think about anything except how good you felt.

You caught a glimpse of your boyfriends across from you, Sirius’s mouth now around Remus who was looking you dead in the eye and smoke falling from his parted lips. On any normal occasion, this sight would be enough to push you over the edge, but now, it somehow drew you back into reality. 

You moaned, the sound filling the space and mixing with Evan’s groans and James’s breathless sounds from the other side of the room. Every noise borderline pornographic. 

Barty gently brushed a lock of hair from your face. “Feel good, pretty girl?” he asked, a smug grin cut across his face.

“Y-yes,” you moaned out, remembering to play it up a bit for your voyeur boyfriends. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” Evan chuckled, keeping up his pace. You were slightly caught off guard with that question, trying to focus on an answer. Impatient, he reached down to pull your hair,  giving it a tug until you were eye to eye with Barty who smirked and tilted his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

“R-remmy-y and Siri.. a-and Ja-amsie.” you replied. Although Evan was fucking you, you would never betray your boys. You were wholly theirs, and they were yours.

“Is that so? Then how come we’re the ones getting to use it now? Huh?” he teased.

“Cause they’re just s-so generous. Helpin’ out t-the less fortunate ‘n a-all” you replied, still finding a way to brat off. This probably made Sirius prouder than ever. At least just because it wasn’t him you were mouthing off to.

“She really does have a mouth on her doesn’t she?” He asked Barty and without warning flipped you onto your stomach, continuing his brutal pace. You had to hand it to them, they were trying their hardest to break you, but you couldn’t be broken. Not when you won the lottery not once but three times over in Sirius, James, and Remus.

“Fuck!” You cried out and arched your back, this new position had Evan hitting your sweet spot over and over in the most perfect way. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt yourself barreling towards the edge.

Evan pulled out and stood from where he was kneeling behind you. “Switch with me.” He ordered Barty.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Barty answered him, excitement dripping off his words.

You panted hard, using this time to try and fill your lungs. Now that it was Barty’s turn to fuck you, you knew you were going to be in for a ride. If that is the level of stamina that Evan had, you didn’t think you were prepared for Barty.

Barty hovered over you, smiling down with amusement and lust. “You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked with fake intrigue. You don’t know why but this annoyed you. Your face must have shown signs of this annoyance because he leaned down and whispered, “At least be better for me than you were for Evan, yeah? No one likes a brat.”

You rolled your eyes in response.

You felt a sharp sting at your thigh from where Barty smacked you. This one hurt more than the warning swat that Evan gave you, his red hand print already imprinted on your skin. The shock wore off after a moment and what Sirius would like to call ‘brattiness’ set in.

How dare they, they aren’t your boyfriends. They don’t get to dictate your mood or attitude, especially when they’ve been so self serving up until now, no even allowing you to cum yet. Not even making you cum.

You opened your mouth to make your thoughts known, but Barty seemingly had run out of patience with you. He gripped your throat and pushed you back onto the sofa, squeezing this fingers on either side of your neck and sending a fuzzy feeling throughout your entire body. You whimpered and gasped, struggling to breathe with your head hung over the end of the cushions. Evan made great use of this, cock shoving past your parted lips and down your throat with no warning, the same way Barty did.

You would have panicked, not taking a deep enough breath before Evan’s entire length was cutting off your airway, if it weren’t for Remus and Sirius doing basically the same thing when punishing you sometimes. 

Evan set his own pace, thrusting deep into your throat each time. Barty took this opportunity to push into you as well, taking you inch by inch. You heard both Evan and Barty groan out at the feeling of you around them.

Evan pulled out slightly for you to breathe, which you quickly took, thankfully swirling your tongue around his tip and making his hips buck back into your mouth.

Barty was moving agonizingly slow, making sure to fully fill you before pulling almost completely out and starting again. You jerked your hips up, signaling for him to move, to do something. He chuckled.

“Seems like you’ve got a brat on your hands,” He said over to your boyfriends. This was the first time they were verbally acknowledged since starting.

Sirius chuckled, “Trust me, we know.”

Barty halted all actions which made you jerk yet again, becoming frustrated with the lack of movement.

“Is that, why you wanted us to fuck her?” Evan asked, “Wanted someone to finally tame her?”

You rolled your eyes at this, slightly grazing Evan’s cock with your teeth. Not hard, or a lot, just enough to get your message across. He replied with a particularly rough thrust down your throat again, making you choke and gag.

“Oh please,” James chimed in, “She would break you before you even got close to taming her.”

“It's true,” Remus laughed at the thought of Evan and Barty actually trying to ‘tame’ you, something that not even he could really do.

Barty hummed with delight. “Well, what does princess have to say about that?” He asked.

Evan gave you another thrust before pulling out and letting you speak. You coughed as you caught your breath, your throat becoming sore with all the abuse. 

You looked him in the eye, remembering the fact that you still hadn’t cum yet. You thought this was supposed to be a fun experience. You remembered what he had said, bragged to your boyfriends earlier.

“I thought you were supposed to show me what a real good time looks like.” you spat.

Barty blinked at you before smirking.

He didn’t bother answering you, just lifted your hips up off the couch and snapped his hips into yours. You let out a high pitched scream, not expecting this at all.

Finally, you knew how to get what you want, and in most cases, that just means a snide comment or bratty behavior. Works just as well on Evan and Bart as it did on your boyfriends, who knew.

You heard Sirius snicker, the brattiness amusing him.

You had every right to be worried before, Evan’s pace was brutal, Barty’s was ruthless, cruel. He was hitting so deep inside of you that your moans raised in pitch with each thrust.

Evan followed in Barty’s lead, lazily reaching down to where you and Barty connected and rubbed small circles over your clit again. The feeling overwhelming you, back arching even in Barty’s hold on you. 

You thought you would return the favor, taking Evan in your hand and pumping his cock in time with Barty fucking you. His eyes fluttered shut and a line appeared between his brows, muttering a small “Fuck,” under his breath. You didn’t know his body well at all, but you would say he was probably close.

Between Evan’s skilled fingers and Barty hitting your cervix over and over, the painful pleasure was what you were seeking, finally tipping you toward the edge of climax.

Barty’s fingers were sure to be bruised into your hips as he kept his grip and fucked you as if you weighed nothing, just a doll for his pleasure.

Evan swatted you again, this time making contact with your sensitive bud. You threw your head back and cried out as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Barty kept his pace and so did Evan, both intent on letting you ride it out with their help.

But that wasn’t the case at all, even as you came down off of the high of your orgasm, their pace didn't falter. You whined and tried to squirm away from them, but Barty gripped you harder, pulling you back. Evan didn’t halt either, in fact his fingers were working faster than before.

“W-wait, wait please,” you stuttered, trying your best to get them to let up for a moment. You were trying hard to wiggle your way out of their reach, but it was no use, all you could do was take what they were giving you.

The moans that were coming from you were the same as the ones coming from your boyfriends, you knew they were ready to cum from the way they all sounded. You wanted it to be them fucking you stupid right now, but watching them watch you was adding so much to your arousal, these images of them would be burned into your brain for the rest of time and you hoped you were providing the same for them.

“F-fuck, fuck,” you heard James whine, catching the sight of him just in time to see him come undone, white ropes of cum landing in his abs and thighs. 

You moaned at the sight, your Jamesie looking so dirty and breathless, all because of you. And all you really had to do was look pretty.

This pushed you over the edge again, vision going hazy and feeling hot all over, shaking and trying to push Evan’s hand away from you. To your surprise he actually obliged, removing his soaked hand and moving it to grab your throat and squeeze. His other hand went down to his own throbbing cock, jerking himself off above your face.

You made a breathless sound, Barty, finally becoming sloppy in his thrusts, groaned out “Fuck, I’m close.”. Your whole body felt limp and tired, but his final thrusts into you were deep enough to make you see stars.

You cried at the overuse of your cunt, Barty pulling out in time to cum all over your stomach, Evan doing the same, releasing on your chest. Your body a sticky hot mess from Barty and Evan. You panted hard, your body tired from the whole night.

Sirius and Remus made their way into your view, both fisting their own cocks with need, both breathless and on the edge.

Sirius came first, his beautiful moans prefacing his cum landing over both Evan and Barty’s, mixing with the rest of the fluid across your torso. 

This left Remus. You looked up at him, scrambling to your knees and opening your mouth for him. He let out a small chuckle before throwing his head back and releasing a throaty moan.

You licked the underside of his dick as he came in your mouth, the liquid quickly filling up your mouth and dribbling out the sides, down your neck and chest.

“Fuck,” you heard multiple boys say at once.

You swallowed what made it into your mouth and giggled, taking in everyone’s satisfied states. 

Evan and Barty dressed and joked with your boyfriends about how it’s unfair they kept you to themselves all this time. They asked if you were alright about a thousand times, Sirius telling them they would take care of you from here. You all bid your goodnights and Barty and Evan finally left for bed.

You were happy to be all alone with your boyfriends now, James having cleaned you up and gave you one of his shirts to wear. You cuddled into bed with them, feeling more grateful for them than ever. Sure the sex with Barty and Evan was fun, but no one knew you like your boys did, no one could make you feel like they did. No one could measure up to the pleasure you felt, nor the safety afterward.

This late night became the early morning that led you to see the sunrise as you dozed off in your boyfriends arms.

i-... idk what to even say here. here ya go.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

i don't WANT to read smut right now

i WANT to read a passionate, poetic, jaw dropping, tears streaking down my face, heart wrenching, giggle inducing, feet kicking, cringy yet amazing, gorgeous story written by someone who apologizes for english not being their first language(they're the best writers ever) which has 4 chapters and then makes me scream because it hasnt been updated in months and the author is mia

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Dirty Fucking Mind - M.R.

Speak of the Devil…and the Devil shall appear

Your luck was fucking awful.

You had come to the Restricted Section with a singular purpose: find the book on alchemy you’d been dying to get your hands on and get out. Simple. In and out. No one would know. But, as usual, your unfortunate timing had yet again fucked you over.

Because you weren’t alone.

You stilled, fingers hovering over the spine of an aged, leather-bound tome, as you caught sight of him. Mattheo Riddle.

He moved between the towering bookshelves like a shadow, deliberate and silent, his sharp gaze scanning the rows as if searching for something just out of reach. But what caught your attention—what made you pause, breath hitching—was the way his lips moved. Barely audible, murmuring a language you had heard before but couldn’t immediately place.

And then it clicked. Parseltongue.

Your brows lifted in mild surprise. You recognized it as clear as day, though your understanding of it was... lacking. A fault of your own negligence, really. Your grandfather—one of the few remaining Blacks to still wield the gift—had tried to teach you, but you’d been too stubborn to care. Maybe if you’d listened, you would have known exactly what Riddle was searching for now.

As he stretched, reaching for a book just out of reach, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his forearms, the flex of his muscles making the veins in his hands stand out, and fuck—had he always been this strong? The thought hit you suddenly, unwanted, unwarranted. You imagined those hands on you, wrapped around your throat, pinning you down as his body pressed between your legs. How deep would his cock—

You about done, princess?

Your stomach plummeted as the voice echoed inside your mind. You recognized it instantly, it was Mattheo’s. shit. shit. shit.

Panic flickered in your chest, but you kept your expression composed as you straightened, snapping your head up to meet his gaze. Except…

He wasn’t there.

The space where he’d stood just moments ago was empty, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across abandoned bookshelves.

What the—

His laughter curled around your mind like smoke, seeping into every crevice, dragging icy fingers down your spine.

Legilimency.

You should have known.

Riddle was a fucking menace, a master of slipping into minds undetected, and clearly, you weren’t as skilled at Occlumency as you’d thought. Which meant—

Heat burned across your cheeks.

He’d heard everything. The filthy, unfiltered thoughts you’d had about him.

A slow clap broke the silence, sharp and mocking. "Well, well," came his voice, smooth as silk and twice as deadly. "I must say, I’m flattered."

You didn’t turn immediately. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you exhaled through your nose, slow and even, before sliding the book back into place. Only then did you pivot, deliberately, meeting his gaze with a lazy tilt of your head.

Mattheo stood mere feet away, leaning against a bookshelf like he had all the time in the world, his arms folded, one brow arched in amusement. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

"You must be mistaken," you said, voice laced with boredom. "Not everything is about you, Riddle."

His smirk widened. "Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong." He pushed off the shelf, closing the distance between you in two measured steps. "See, I find it quite hard to believe that you weren’t just picturing my hands around your throat."

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Instead, you smiled—slow, saccharine, dangerous. "I suppose if you already know my thoughts, there’s no point in lying," you said, voice dipping just slightly. You let your gaze flicker over him, deliberate and slow, before meeting his eyes again. "It’s a shame, really. Fantasy is always better than reality." Taking a step back as he took one towards you. Your back hit the bookshelf as you inhaled sharply, refusing to react, refusing to let the way his body crowded yours make you do something stupid—like, say, pressing your thighs together.

"Is that so?" Mattheo mused, his eyes locked onto yours. He reached out lazily, running his fingers along the edge of the shelf beside your head. You felt the air shift, his presence pressing in closer. then—before you could register the movement—his thigh was slotted between yours, firm and unforgiving.

Your breath stilled in your throat. The heat of him was immediate, seeping through the fabric of your skirt, and—Merlin help you—you were already too fucking warm.

Mattheo noticed. Of course he did.

"Interesting," he drawled, his voice almost thoughtful as his hands came to rest on your waist—not gripping, not pinning, just there. Just waiting. "You act as though I don’t affect you, yet here you are…" His lips curved into something wicked, something knowing, as he shifted just slightly, the movement pressing the firm plane of his thigh against your already aching cunt.

It took every ounce of restraint you had not to react. Not to suck in a sharp breath or—God forbid—moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the bookshelf behind you, grounding yourself, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with unwavering defiance.

"You think too highly of yourself, Riddle," you murmured, voice impressively steady.

His hands tightened just slightly, the ghost of a squeeze, and then his knee bucked up—just a fraction, just enough to force a spark of pleasure up your spine.

Oh, fuck.

Heat licked at your cheeks, but still, you refused to break. Refused to let him have this. You set your jaw, inhaling through your nose, refusing to give him a reaction.

You glared at him. "If you think this little game is going to—"

Another slow, deliberate movement of his thigh.

Your words cut off.

His dark eyes gleamed. "Go on," he encouraged. "Finish your sentence."

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but the friction was unbearable. The ache between your thighs only intensified, and you were certain—certain—he could feel the evidence of it. The growing damp spot against his trousers, the way your body reacted against your will.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even holding you there. He wasn’t forcing you to grind down, wasn’t pinning you in place.

You were doing that all on your own.

"You’re quiet all of a sudden," Mattheo murmured, tilting his head. His thumb brushed over your jaw, deceptively gentle as his leg shifted, dragging slow, agonizing friction against you. "I expected more fight from you. Aren’t you going to tell me how much you don’t want this?"

Your nails bit into his wrist. "I hate you," you breathed.

He chuckled. "Oh, I know."

His thigh flexed, and stars burst behind your eyes. You bit your lip, hard, swallowing the whimper that threatened to spill out.

Mattheo’s free hand traced the line of your waist, slow, testing. "You’re soaking me," he murmured, almost thoughtful. "All from just this?" His knee shifted higher, pressing right against the throbbing ache between your thighs.

Your head tipped back, thudding against the shelf. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

You barely noticed the way your fingers worked at his belt, the way you shoved his trousers just far enough down to feel the thick, heavy weight of him against your palm.

Mattheo hissed between his teeth, his breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re impatient,” he muttered, but his hand was already guiding yours, wrapping your fingers around his cock like he needed it.

The door creaked open. You froze. Mattheo didn’t. You barely had time to react before he shoved you down, your knees hitting the stone floor, his cock in your hand before you could even register what was happening.

“Mr. Riddle?” came Professor Flitwick’s tiny voice. “Still here, are we?”

Your eyes flicked up to Mattheo’s face. He had to step further into the shelves to hide you, but you stayed exactly where you were, blinking up at him with mock innocence, tongue trailing the underside of his cock just to fuck with him.

He stiffened. You swore you saw panic, actual panic, flicker across his features before he schooled it into composure.

“Yes, professor,” Mattheo rasped, voice strained.

You started again, licking his cock slow, deliberate, watching the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his nostrils flared as he fought for control. Letting your lips part, taking the thick, leaking head of his cock into your mouth just.

Mattheo shot you a warning look, but you ignored it, taking him deeper into your mouth, swallowing around him.

His thigh tensed, his jaw locking, and for the first time in your life, you heard him stutter.

Flitwick’s voice remained curious, oblivious. "What is it you’re still doing in the library?"

Mattheo cleared his throat, his grip in your hair tightening as he struggled to maintain control. "J-Just—research, Professor." His voice was even, but you could hear the strain beneath it.

God, this was fun.

You hummed around him, flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, and his entire body shuddered.

You watched, delighted, as he fought to remain composed, as he struggled against the pleasure you were so generously giving him.

You sucked harder, forcing Mattheo’s cock deeper down your throat.

Mattheo stiffened. His grip on your hair turned punishing. "Shit."

"Professor," he choked out, voice strained. "I… I was just finishing up in the Restricted Section."

Flitwick’s tiny feet pattered closer.

You flattened your tongue, swirled it around the head of his cock, hard, until he trembled above you.

Finishing up. You could hardly help the quiet giggle that slipped from you as you took him deeper into your mouth, pressing until you felt him hit the back of your throat.

Mattheo’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling, silently begging you to stop, but you just stared up at him tauntingly, sucking harder.

“Very well,” Flitwick replied. “Do lock up when you’re done, won’t you?”

Mattheo grunted in response, sharp and clipped, visibly struggling. He could barely manage a nod. His knuckles turned white where they gripped the shelf behind him, while the other hand held a death grip in your hair, pleading you not to move, you did the exact opposite.

The moment the library door clicked shut, Mattheo snapped.

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking you off him with a wet, obscene pop, your saliva still glistening along the length of him as he dragged his thumb across your slick, swollen lips. His eyes, black as sin, drank in the sight of you—breathless, wrecked, your mouth shining with evidence of your depravity.

“You little fucking—”

“What?” You taunted feigning innocence as you pouted at him.

"You," he growled, hauling you to your feet, crashing your bodies together, "are going to pay for that."

His thumb pressed against your tongue, and you—defiant, taunting—wrapped your lips around it, sucking, never breaking eye contact as his restraint shattered.

His hands were everywhere—pushing, pulling, grasping at your robes, yanking at your clothes with a ruthless impatience. He had no time for undressing, your skirt was shoved up over your hips, your blouse hanging open, the cool air ghosting over your exposed breasts.

Your moan was swallowed by his mouth as he pressed against you, his fingers slipping beneath your panties, dragging through your slick folds, spreading you open. "So fucking wet for me," Your nails carved red crescents into his back as you moaned against his lips, and he drank in every sound like a man starved. He lined up his cock, teasing you as he slid through your wet folds pushing his tip against your sensitive clit. His eyes never leaving yours as he thrusted into you, one arm wrapped strongly around your waist and the other gripping your throat leaving bruises you knew weren’t going to heal for days.

"Fuck," you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling,"Is that all you've got, Riddle?"

His pace faltered, just for a second, before his grip on you tightened like a vice. "You're infuriating." His hips snapped against you in punishment, pulling a cry from your throat.

Your nails clawed at his back, your legs tightening around his waist as he fucked you deeper, harder, driving you into the wood. Your head thumped against the bookshelf, but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it over the sharp, consuming pleasure, over the way he was taking you. “You almost fuck me better than my ex,” you moaned.

Then, in a blur of motion, he pinned your wrists above your head, his other hand wrapping around your throat as he rolled his hips against you with devastating precision, dragging himself out excruciatingly slow before slamming back into you so hard you nearly screamed.

"You forget yourself," he growled, lips grazing your ear, his grip tightening just enough to make you whimper. "Do you want to repeat that, princess?" Another thrust, sharp and cruel, making your legs tremble around him. "I thought you were going to stop me, eyes up, look at me, where the fuck is my cock right now." His grip on your wrists tightened, his pace relentless now, your back arched, your lips parted in a silent scream as your body clenched, trembled, broke around him.

Mattheo groaned, as he drove into you once, twice more before he spilled inside you, his head falling against your shoulder, breath ragged, bodies slick and trembling as you came together.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing—a soft shuffle. The unmistakable creak of an old wooden floorboard.

You stilled.

Mattheo’s head snapped up, his gaze narrowing as he peered into the darkened rows of the Restricted Section.

Your unfortunate timing had fucked you over yet again.

And this time… someone had seen.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: this was supposed to be slow burn but then I blacked out and now there’s thigh riding in the restricted section. oopsies.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

hiii <33

first i want to say that i absolutely ADORE your page on here, your writing is just wow, perfection!! i really liked your sirius story (even tho i strayed off a bit and started liking rabastan too ahahahah-) it's amazing omg

and i was wondering would you be up for writing for barty? anything with him honestly lol, but if you don't have any ideas feel free to ignore this!

SAY LESSSSSSS (I've been dying for someone to request Barty or rosekiller pls send all the requests). Also! so glad you enjoyed that fic! (I played myself and kinda fell for Rab too 😬)

I Wanna Be Yours | BCJ

feat. Barty Crouch Jr. x blackcat!reader

SUMMARY: Barty is determined to win your affection, but due to his larger-than-life personality and your aloof nature, you find it difficult to trust his intentions.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pov switches once, a little angst and a little fluff, blackcat!reader, artist!Barty, only soft for each other, mentions of drinking and drug use, strong language, sort of insecure!reader, Barty is a giant simp

AN: i'm having my scene music renaissance, and something about that era is so Barty-coded. I have a few other songs that suit him in my mind, but I'd love to hear any ideas you guys might have!

masterlist | more blackcat!reader | requests open!

“Honestly, I don't know what Slughorn’s problem is. If I want to make a love potion that makes Xeno hard for four days, I can—”

“Four days and I would die of deprivation,” Xenophilius chuckled, his arm draped over Pandora's shoulders.

“Sure, but what a way to go.”

You walked beside them, half-listening to their sugar-dipped conversation, equal parts disgusted and deeply jealous. You'd never admit it, but you so badly wanted what your best friend had. Devotion, affection, complete and total acceptance. But you walked through life like a spring-loaded trap, biting the fingers off anyone that dared come close.

“Should we grab dinner before heading to the library? I'm starved,” Pandora said, turning her attention to you.

“Sure, it's probably quiet this early anyways—”

“Going to dinner, are we?” Evan bound up between Xeno and Pandora, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “I'm fucking ravenous.”

Two arms looped around your waist, hauling you back into a solid chest. The familiar scent of clove cigarettes and paint enveloped you, as if you needed any clues to know exactly who had the audacity to handle you so boldy.

“As am I,” Barty purred against the shell of your ear.

You wriggled in his hold, slapping at his forearms until he released you. “Not in the mood, Junior,” you warned, ignoring the way your stomach flipped when you met his dark eyes, eyeliner smudged along his lashes.

“Aw, don't be cross, gorgeous. You looked like you needed a hug,” he teased, falling into step between you and Pandora, slowing his natural gait considerably. He snatched your books from your arms, ignoring your protest and cradling them against his chest. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and a Slytherin vest, his tie loose and sleeves pushed up, hand-poked tattoos sprawling and dark against his forearms.

“I'm fairly certain she needs a hug as much as she needs your dumbass in her space,” Pandora said, rolling her eyes. “Which is not at all.”

“Oh, she needs me.” Barty grinned. “She just doesn't know it yet.”

“Give it a rest, Crouch,” Xeno cut in. “Keep pushing her and you'll end up on the bottom of the Black Lake.”

“Oh, how exciting! How will you do it, treasure? Stabbing? Maiming? Choking? Oh Merlin’s fuck, please say choking—”

“Maiming sounds about right,” you bit, attempting to get your books back, but he was far too tall, holding them way above your head. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of jumping for it, and crossed your arms over your chest with a huff.

“You can maim me whenever you like,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his stupid, handsome face. “Will you do it now if I ask nicely?”

You ignored him, looking forward again.

Barty Crouch Jr. loved nothing more than fucking with you, finding the gaps in your armor and trying to pry them open. But no matter how attractive you found him, because saints was he attractive, or how endearing he could be in the in-between moments, you refused to play his game.

You would not be made a fool of, not like every other person he set his sights on and got bored with a week later.

“So are we eating or what?” Evan asked, walking backwards at the front of the group. Any student unfortunate enough to be in his path quickly scurried out of it, cowed by the Slytherin's reputation for retaliation.

You watched them shrink away from Barty too, who clearly got some sick sense of pleasure from it. He even bared his teeth at a Gryffindor that veered to close to you, flipping your bodies around so he was on the outside and you were next to Pandora again.

“I'm actually going to head back to the dorm,” you said, slowing so you fell out of line with them. “See you later?” You said to Pandora, who gave you a tight frown.

“Are you sure?” She asked, tilting her head like an avian.

“Yeah, you guys enjoy,” you said, pretending you didn't see the disappointment flash across Barty’s face as you turned on your heel, letting the opposite flow of students sweep you up and away from your friends.

The truth was, Barty scared the shit out of you. He was everything you weren't: outgoing, bold, rebellious, and just charming enough to get himself out of whatever mess he and Evan made. And for whatever reason, he was obsessed with pushing your buttons. And he did, with infuriating efficiency.

Pandora insisted it was all in good fun, that he was harmless, but you knew better. You saw the way he manipulated others to get what he wanted, the way he masked his calculation with charisma.

Barty Crouch Jr. was far from harmless, and even if he had his friends fooled, he would not fool you.

Barty's POV

Barty watched your head bob away through the crowded corridor, your books still heavy in his arms and guilt gnawing a hole in his chest.

Why couldn't he just fucking control himself? He felt like a noxious ball of energy, filling whatever available space he could, unable to contain his own impulses, a slave to his own existence.

He just wanted you so badly. You occupied every part of his mind, owned every thump of his wretched, ruined heart. He was irrevocably, intrinsically yours, but you couldn't stand him, and it was largely his own damn fault.

Because he was broken. Couldn't hold a normal conversation. Couldn't flirt in a way that wasn't deeply vulnerable, or obscene and intense. For Merlin’s sake, he'd begged you to choke him just now.

You were a fix he couldn't get, so he was suffering withdrawals from a drug he never had. He was going mad with it, the desperation for your attention. He would do anything to hear you say his name, to occupy an ounce of space in that beautiful brain, even if meant looking like an idiot. Like a psycho.

It was worth it just to have you look.

After dinner, the four of them returned to the Slytherin common room, Barty still carrying your books with a wrapped bundle on top. Every step towards your shared dorm with Pandora made his heart beat faster, a nervous sweat collecting along his spine.

Nothing made him nervous like you did.

Barty walked into the room last, his eyes immediately drifting towards your bed even though he tried to resist. You were curled up against a pile of pillows, surrounded by parchment and open books, your quill scribbling furiously across the page in your lap.

You glanced up when they entered, meeting his eyes for a split second, low-lidded and disinterested, per usual, and turned your attention back to your work.

The dismissal itched like a bug under his skin, his blood going hot and tingly. He needed you to look at him again.

He set your books on your desk and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto your bed before he really thought about it. It was softer than his, covered with quilts and pillows, and he noticed a little stuffed cat tucked away under your covers. He could smell you all around him, so sweet and warm, and whatever rationality he had left dissolved into goo.

“Who invited you?” You snapped, shoving at his shoulder with little success. A swell of affection at your pitiful attempt made his heart beat quicken, you were just so fucking cute.

He set the paper bundle on your chest. “Thought you might be hungry, sweetness,” he said, hugging one of your pillows to his chest.

Merlin, you were so beautiful when you glared at him like that. He filed the image away for later, mentally sifting through his paint collection for the perfect shade to match your pout.

You looked a bit perplexed at the package, almost angry, and his anxiety returned, fighting through the haze caused by your proximity. “You brought me food?”

He nodded, biting back ‘and dessert too’. He wanted you to actually eat the food, not throw it at his head.

Hesitantly, you unfolded the bundle, as if he'd given you something rotten, or was pulling a prank. It made his lungs squeeze with guilt. He was shitty to a lot of people, most people. But not to you, never you.

Your brow softened with relief when you realized it was just a sandwich, before quickly furrowing again. He wanted to smooth it with his lips, kiss you until it never creased with worry again.

“I'm not hungry,” you said, setting the bag on the side table. A twinge of hurt stabbed between his ribs, but didn't let his smile falter. He knew that's what you would say. And he also knew you would eat it later, when no one was around to see you accept a small gesture of kindness.

That was good enough for him.

You slid out of your bed, leaving his side cold, and he stretched out against your sheets, wallowing in your residual warmth like a niffler in a pile of gold.

The others chatted around you, Xeno lighting up a joint by the cracked window, but you sat down at your desk, turning back to your work and tuning them out.

Barty sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed so he could pretend he was wrapped in you body instead of your sheets, his nose buried into your hair instead of your pillow.

Reader's POV

You and Pandora walked arm in arm into the library, chatting about the idiots in your Transfiguration class. You were headed to your usual spot at the back of library, a collection of over stuffed chairs by a stained glass window overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and stopped short when you saw Regulus, Evan, and Barty already there.

Barty was reclined in the window, his long legs propped up against the other side, a sketchbook in his lap, quill between his teeth.

“Excuse the hell out of me,” Pandora said, startling them all from their abnormal quiet.

Barty's head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on you, and he about fell out of the window.

“What? Like you own this table?” Evan drawled, not looking up from his book,his expensive loafers propped up on the table.

“Yes,” Pandora shot back, dropping down beside him and pulling out her books with clear agitation. "So if you're staying, keep your mouth shut."

Evan mimed zipping his lips and crossed his heart. Barty just turned back to his sketchbook instead of sauntering over to you with some cheeky quip on his tongue.

A prickle of uncertainty climbed your neck. Perhaps you really had upset him about that sandwich. You wish you hadn't said you were hungry as soon as it came out of your mouth, but you were too proud to apologize. You were so stunned by the gesture, so overwhelmed by his body pressed against you, his warmth mixing with yours, that you clammed up. Shut him down.

But even now, you couldn't bring yourself to approach him and apologize. Thank him. So, you sat down beside Regulus, the only other member of the group you found tolerable most of the time, and he greeted you with a dip of his chin.

You pulled out your work, determined to pretend Barty wasn't there at all.

Of course, you failed. Your eye kept wandering back to him, his sharp jaw silhouetted by the light, his pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved across the page, silver rings adorning ink stained fingers. He was dressed down today, jeans and Slytherin sweater, the collar of his shirt underneath it crooked.

After an hour or so of quiet, he dozed off, his head lolled against the window, quill dangling loosely in his fingers. Barty did that a lot, slept in unusual places at unusual times when the quiet dragged on a little too long. Evan mentioned once that Barty struggled to sleep at night, insomnia or something, and even the draughts Madam Pomfry made him only worked sometimes.

Unable to quell your curiosity, you got up to retrieve another book, brushing past him and sparing a glance down at his sketchbook. Your own face stared back at you, framed with rough sketches of your hands, your eyes, the bow of your lips.

Your heart gave a painful lurch, a burst of affection making your bones soften, and you nearly stumbled over the carpet, catching yourself on the bookshelf at the last second.

You hurried down another row, praying none of your friends saw you, and braced yourself against the shelf.

Did Barty like you? Like, actually like you? You couldn't fathom it. It didn't make sense. You weren't kind to him, or outgoing, or special. He was all of those things and more, the most fascinating, maddening, all-consuming person you'd ever met in your life.

Surely, he didn't see all of those things in you? But why would he draw you if he didn't see something of interest? Something he liked?

Fuck, you couldn't breathe in this stuffy library. You needed air.

You steeled yourself and walked back to the table, collecting your things.

“Something wrong, y/n?” Regulus asked, always too perceptive, and Barty stirred, picking his head up from the wall to peer at you through drowsy eyes.

“Nothing, I—”

Barty slid off the window and you lost your train of thought, heat scorching your cheeks. “Rushing off to hang out with your more interesting friends?” Barty asked, his voice a little gruff from his brief nap.

“More interesting friends? Not at Hogwarts,” Evan chuckled. “We're as interesting as it gets.”

“If you're bored, babygirl, all you had to was say so,” Barty hummed, striding up to you.

You placed a hand on his sternum to stop him from coming any closer, ignoring the flare of heat that accompanied the contact. “You were asleep five seconds ago,” you argued.

“Asleep and dreaming of all the ways I could keep you entertained.” He grinned, wicked and sharp, and the simmering heat spread to your lower belly, your heart beating fast.

“What are you, a fucking court jester?” You bit, unable to stop your arm bending as he pushed closer, the smell of ink and his cologne making your mouth water.

“I'm whatever you want me to be,” he flirted, and Regulus and Pandora groaned in unison.

“Will you leave her the fuck alone?” Regulus snapped, tugging Barty back by a belt loop. “She's not interested in your act, Junior.”

“Act?” Barty quirked a brow. “I’m dead serious.”

“Don't talk about his brother that way!” Evan shouted, far too excited to make the over-used joke once again, and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, the rare quiet time had come to an end.

“I don't give a fuck about his brother!”

“I don't give a fuck about you!”

“Oh, so you're a bitch and a liar?”

“I'm not a bitch, you cunt!”

“I'll see you guys at the party later,” you said, using their bickering as your window of escape. You all but fled the library, desperate for some fresh air and clarity.

If Barty sincerely liked you…did that change anything? Was there a way to know for sure how he felt? You didn't even know how you felt, not really. You'd never let yourself really consider it for fear of inevitable disappointment.

Sure, you found him attractive, everyone did. And yes, despite yourself you thought he was funny and sweet, in his own, odd way. And he was especially sweet to you. He never brought your other friends food, or waited for them after class, or snuggled in their beds. Well, besides Evan.

He didn't really touch anyone else either. But if you were close enough, as he often ensured you were, he was touching you whenever he could. Knocked together knees in the Great Hall, leaning on you during class no matter how many times you shoved him off, throwing his arms over your shoulder when it was cold, wrapping his pinky around yours in a particularly crowded hall.

Yes, his words were often obnoxious and bordering on insane, but his actions…his actions were sincere, thoughtful, almost tender.

Was that the real Barty?

Maybe you had been fooled just like everyone else into thinking he was nothing more than a joker, a rowdy troublemaker, when the reality was so much deeper.

Had you been all wrong about him?

By the time you and Pandora left your dorm room to join the party, the common room was a madhouse. Green lights flashed in time with the thumping bass, bodies dancing and mingling in every available spot on the dancefloor, a haze of smoke and glitter over their heads.

You were wearing a black mini dress and heels, held together by string and a prayer. Your hair hung in loose waves down your back, your eyeliner sharp and lips painted. You knew you looked good, lethal in the best way, but all you could think about was Barty's reaction.

Would he like it? Hate it? Or even worse, not even notice?

Together, you and Pandora moved through the crowd towards your friends usual place at the far side of the common room.

Of course, you spotted Barty first. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in all black, tailored trousers and a sleeveless undershirt. Apparently he ditched his actual shirt before you arrived in favor of displaying his countless tattoos, most of them done by his own hand. His hair was dark with pomade and pushed off of his face, glitter clinging to the sweat along his lean chest and shoulders.

He looked like a wet fucking dream.

Xeno let out a low whistle when you and Pandora stepped out from the crowd, drawing Barty's attention from Evan and Dorcas.

His jaw dropped instantly and with a dramatic flourish, he pretended to faint into Evan's arms, clutching at his heart. Despite yourself, you giggled, and Pandora shot you a surprised look through a gap in her boyfriends embrace.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Barty gasped, sliding out of Evan's arms and onto his knees. “Look at—baby, look at you!”

You flushed under the attention, your blood heating as it raced through your veins, but you just rolled your eyes at him, a new confidence blooming in your chest. He loved it.

You strode over to the bar, closing his mouth with a finger, and leaned against the counter. “Firewhisky?” You asked the student bartending, and they stared back at you, dumbstruck, before rushing to collect your drink.

Barty leaned against your legs, his cheek against your thigh. “What are you doing to me?” He whined up at you, feeding into your surge of confidence.

You pushed his head away, tugging at the roots of his hair before releasing him, and he groaned, a low, panty-melting sound. “I'm not doing anything. You're just insufferable,” you chastised, accepting your drink.

“And you're beautiful,” he said, sounding almost reverent, and you nearly choked on your drink.

“Fuck off and drool on someone else, yeah?” You snapped, overwhelmed by his candor, even though it was exactly what you thought you wanted.

Fuck, you didn't know what you wanted. And even when you did, it seemed your subconscious wasn't always in agreement. You had wanted him to drool over you. He was literally on his knees, but some broken part of your brain couldn’t accept it. So you pushed him away.

“C’mon, you simpering mutt,” Evan said, hauling Barty up. “I think I saw a kegger over there.”

Barty started to protest, but Evan and Regulus dragged him away.

“You should have some mercy,” Xeno said, leaning on the bar beside you.

“Oh?” You raised a brow at him, taking a sip of whisky.

“Poor prick is besotted,” Dorcas supplied.

“He's full of shit,” you bit, that panicky feeling crawling up your spine.

Pandora shook her head, and your eyes widened. “It's true, I’ve never seen him so fucked up over someone before.”

“He's not the obsessive type. Not when it comes to dating, at least. He loses interest as often as he changes his underwear. But he's been stuck on you for months,” Dorcas said.

“Yeah, he usually obsesses over like quill tips, and arson—”

“You guys are serious?” You asked, cutting off Xeno. “You think he actually likes me?”

They all stare at you, dumbfounded.

“You can't tell?” Pandora asked, grabbing your face and shaking you. “Babe, he's absolutely gone for you.”

“Like, gone gone,” Dorcas added.

“But it's Barty, I mean—he’s never serious—”

“Exactly, that's what makes it so obvious!” Pandora cried, exasperated. “I thought you knew!”

“Why would you think that!” You shouted back.

“Because he says it constantly!” Your friends yell in unison.

“He was on his knees, y/n. Like literally on his knees,” Xeno said, shaking his head. “It doesn't get much more devoted than that.”

Devoted. It clicked then, the signs you'd been brushing off, refusing to see clearly because of your own veil of distrust. Because you didn’t allow yourself to accept the truth out of fear. Barty had been showing you for months how he felt, and not just in his words, in his actions. Bringing you food when you were hungry, walking you from class to class, meeting your barbs and verbal lashes with a smile.

He’d been wearing his heart on his sleeve this entire time, and all you’d done is punish him for it.

Oh, fuck. How could you be so blind?

You set your drink on the bar and pushed through your friends, ignoring their calls as you forced your way through the crowd, searching for Barty in the sea of green. You found him standing with Evan and few other members of the Quidditch team, cheering while a fifth year shotgunned a dandelion draught.

“Barty!” You shouted over the roar, grabbing his wrist.

He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? Are you alr—where are we going?”

You dragged him into a shadowed alcove, slightly hidden from the party. Your heart was pounding in your ears, tears already burning behind your eyes. “Be honest with me,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“Always,” he said automatically, brow heavy with uncertainty.

“How do you feel about me?” You asked.

Understanding dawned, and Barty's expression melted into something painfully soft, painfully sincere. “I just wanna be yours.”

The admission stole the air from your lungs, made your heart freeze in place. "M-mine?"

“Yours,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist, grip tight as desperation filled his eyes. “Please, let me be yours.” He lowered to his knees again, his head by your navel. “I promise—I promise I’ll be good, if you’ll just give me a chance too—”

You leaned down and grabbed the silver chain around his throat like a collar, dragging his mouth to yours in a fervid, frantic kiss. He surged upwards, lifting you into the air and crushing you between his body and the wall, forcing air out of your lungs. You wrapped your legs around his narrow hips as his tongue pried open your mouth, desperate to taste you. Desire pumped through you, scalding hot and more potent than the whisky, making your head spin, your skin tingle.

You tugged at his hair, drawing him closer, and he whimpered low in his throat. Your cunt clenched at the sound, your thoughts turning singular: make him beg. Your tongue traced his lips, tasting beer and cigarette smoke, and you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard before soothing it with your tongue.

His hips canted up into your core, his hands moving down to squeeze your ass beneath your dress and grind your core against him. You gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment, and he seized the opportunity to pillage your mouth again, licking at your teeth and the roof of your mouth.

“Your dorm,” you panted, yanking his head back by the roots of his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, throwing you up and over his shoulder in a startling feat of strength.

“Barty!” you squealed, giggling and slapping at his back while he carried you to the stairs, his hand keeping your dress in place so you didn’t flash anyone. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious what was happening, and you found that you didn’t care. If you were going to be with Barty, you were going to have to get used to being loved out loud.

“Look at her ass again, see what happens!” You heard him bark, his voice a rumble through his ribcage, and you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as he carried you up the stairs.

A moment later, you were being tossed roughly onto his bed, the door slamming shut with a muttered alohomora. Barty crawled up your body, his dark eyes flashing with a feral hunger that made your pussy purr, and he dove into your neck with his teeth and tongue, making you gasp and arch into his body, your whole body alight with pleasure.

“Easy, baby,” you cooed, petting his hair to try and settle his frantic affection. Poor thing couldn’t seem to control himself, so worked up he was rutting against your thigh. “I’m not going anywhere, darling, relax.”

He whined into your neck, clutching at the fat of your lovehandles. “Need you so bad,” he groaned. “M’sorry, can’t help myself.”

You rolled over him, straddling his hips with yours. “I know, love. Just sit still and be good for me, yeah?”

He nodded vigorously, watching you kiss down his body with heavy-lidded eyes. You pushed up the hem of his undershirt, licking a stripe between the valley of his abdomen muscles, admiring the tattoos you’d only gotten glimpses of.

“So pretty, Bat,” you purred, and felt his cock twitch against your chest, his head falling back against the pillows. “Been wanting me this whole time?”

“Yes, so badly—fuck, treasure, please—” he moaned when you grazed your teeth along his hipbone, sucking the skin into your mouth to leave a mark. His hand tangled in your hair, rings cool against your scalp, and you released his skin with a pop, admiring the plum-colored bruise left behind. “I’m getting that tattooed,” he panted, dragging a thumb over your spit slick lips. “Swear to Salazar.”

You giggled, shifting further down to undo his trousers and finding that he apparently skipped boxers. His cock sprung out to slap against this stomach, rigid and flushed, a bead of pearly precum dripping down to his navel. Gently, you traced a finger over the protruding veins along his shaft, admiring him.

Barty hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing to keep still.

“Good boy,” you praised, wrapping your hand loosely around him, pumping once, twice without any real pressure. He was long and slightly curved, gorgeous, and you couldn’t resist dragging your tongue up the root of him, feeling the velvety texture against your lips.

“Fucking shit, you’re going to kill me.” His fingers tightened in your hair as you lapped at the head, savoring the salty taste of him.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, every muscle flexed tight. Fighting for his life to hold still.

“Baby,” he whined when you stopped, picking up his head to look down at you.

“Say your mine,” you ordered, hovering just over his cock, holding his wild-eyed gaze.

“I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You smiled and wrapped your lips around him, swallowing down as much of him as you could manage and he cried out, rough and breathless with relief. You bobbed up and down on his length, tongue pressing against the root of his cock and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and you watched his soul leave his body.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, using your hair to lift and lower you a little faster, his control starting to falter as you pulled him apart. “Bloody hell, you’re way too good at this. What the fuck—oh saints. Your mouth feels like fucking heaven.”

You hummed in response, letting him push you further down, gagging on his length before he released you and you pulled off of him to catch your breath, a trail of drool connecting your lips and his head.

Barty groaned. “Never mind, I’m getting that tattooed. Right on my fucking forehead so every time I look in the mirror—”

You climbed back up his body and draped yourself over him, silencing him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue laving across your lips to taste himself. “Do you ever stop talking?” you teased, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.

In a quick movement, he flipped you beneath him. “There’s one sure-fire way to shut me up,” he purred against your ear before kissing and licking down your neck and chest. Every pass of his lips was electric, a bolt of pleasure straight your weeping pussy, swollen against your panties and desperate for attention. “This dress,” he murmured, tracing the swell of your breast with his tongue. “Wear it for anyone in particular?”

“I wanted to see your reaction,” you admitted, gasping when his big hand came up to knead your tit, fingertips still a little stained from sketching. His rings were harsh against your skin, and you arched into him, relishing in his greedy touch.

“Sent me to my knees, sweetheart. Damn near killed me.” He pulled the top of you dress down, your tits spilling free, and he took one pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue while he teased the other with his hand.

You keened, hands flying into his shaggy hair. Every pull of his mouth went straight to your cunt, making your hips buck against his thigh. He shifted to press his leg harder against you, letting you chase your pleasure, and hummed in approval against your chest.

The friction was amazing, buzzy heat spilling under your skin and making you moan and cling tighter to him, trembling with unspent energy. “Fuck, Barty—please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but he seemed to understand you perfectly.

“Say your mine, treasure,” he said, biting at the side of your breast, and you yelped.

“Yes, Barty! All yours! Just please—”

He pushed two fingers into your mouth, silencing you while he shifted down your body. Without warning, he buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy through your panties with an eagerness that made your eyes cross, your teeth sink down on his digits.

“So fucking sweet, baby. Melting like sugar f’me.” He yanked your panties down your legs and returned to his feasting, laving his long tongue through you before sucking hard at you clit. He slipped his fingers from your mouth, needing both hands to spread you open for his consumption.

Your mind was wiped clean, erased completely by all-consuming bliss as he practically mauled your pussy, vicious in his pursuit of your pleasure. His tongue fucked into you, the slurping loud and lewd, while he massaged your clit with his thumb. You dug your nails into his sheets, trying to stifle your screams into his pillow.

"So responsive, baby. Ready for more?" He asked, easing his middle finger inside of your clenching channel, curling against the gooey spot behind your pelvic bone that made you melt into the mattress. Adding a second finger, he started nursing your clit again, letting his dexterous artist’s fingers coax you open.

Once you were moaning, loose and languid against the mattress, he ramped back up, working your g-spot like it stole something from him he was hellbent on getting back. He dragged his teeth against your clit, soothing the flare of pain with his tongue, and you felt yourself draw tight, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Barty—oh God, I’m going to come—oh fuck, oh fuck!” You lifted almost completely off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through sinnew and bone to consume your heart, devour you entirely.

Barty slowed his ministrations, dragging his tongue through your spasming pussy with long, lush licks, his hold tight on your thighs when you started to inch away from him, your body twitching and shaking as you came down from your high.

“That’s my treasure, so fucking gorgeous when you come for me,” he hummed, smiling against your skin, and nuzzled his nose against your clit while he withdrew his fingers, making you jump and whine. “Not so mean now, are you, sweetness?”

You shook your head, trembling and weak, completely boneless beneath him.

"So soft for me, hm?" He dragged you down the bed, throwing one of your calves over his shoulder while he swiped the head of his cock through your messy slit. “Better hold onto something, darling. You've got me at the end of my leash.”

You wrapped your hands around the bars of his headboard and he grinned, a wicked slash across his handsome face.

“Fuck, I knew you were perfect for me.” He notched his cock at your entrance and with a smooth roll of his hips, buried himself to the hilt. You both cried out, the fullness, the stretch more intense than anything you’d felt before. “I was fucking made for you, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, your pussy fluttering around him.

“Fuck, B, feels so good,” you mewled, rocking your hips to meet his thrust for thrust, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

He used his hold on your elevated leg to lift your hips off the bed, ratcheting up to a punishing pace, making you scream and thrash on the bed while he fucked you with every ounce of desperation and determination he’d harbored over the last few months. His teeth sunk into your calf, hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your leg and make you cry out, heightening the pleasure radiating from your core until you were teetering on the edge again, every graze of his cockhead against your cervix winding you tighter, higher—

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna come soon,” he grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy, erratic and rough, and you could only nod. “Can feel it, tres. C’mon, babygirl, come with me. Please, need to feel you come around me, m’dying for it, please, please—”

You came with a scream, your vision whiting out as sunlight blazed through you, eviscerating every ounce of tension, trepidation, fear, and leaving you a beacon of light, nothing but giddy, delirious stardust.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it—fuck!” Barty came a heartbeat after you, the swelling and throbbing of his cock as he painted your inside white prolonging your release, wringing every drop of pleasure from you until you both collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving and sticky with sweat, the glitter from his skin decorating yours.

You reached for him, trembling and raw, and he gathered you into his chest, kissing your cheeks and forehead with a dizzying gentleness. “Barty,” you breathed, hands curling against his chest, too overwhelmed with feeling to say anything else.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, cradling your face to bring your gaze to his. “I’m yours.”

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, taste him again, letting the warmth of his body, the heavy beat of his heart, ground you in the reality of this moment. Barty was yours, and you were his. And you were safe. He wanted you despite your attitude, your armor, your callousness. He wanted you exactly as you were, more than happy to lay in the shadows with you, or draw you out into his light to dance.

“And I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips, and he smiled.

“I'll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your head before flying out of bed and wrenching open the door, his cock barely stuffed back into his pants. “SHE’S FUCKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!” He screamed down the stairs to the party.

A chorus of cheers rang out, reaching you from the common room. You buried your face into his pillow, laughter bubbling up despite the embarrassment scorching your cheeks.

Barty whirled around, a maniac’s grin on his face, and he dove back into bed, determined to stake his claim as many times as possible before sunrise.

Thank you for reading!

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Music box

What happens when the dancer inside the music box decides she no longer wants to spin? When a girl like Y/N slowly stops spinning in the path laid out for her and instead turns towards a life of love, and war.

poly!wolfstar x scared28 fem!reader, platonic regulus black, trans regulus, rosekiller, dorlene, side jily, set in late 1976-1978 following this series

synopsis: When Y/N’s parents learn of her new relationship, she is forced to choose between love and family. The life set out for her or one with Remus and Sirius. Her destiny or freedom. Meanwhile Regulus takes his spot at the Dark Lord's table alongside Evan and Barty while Dorcas joins her girlfriend in the order. Causing a rift in the friendship leaving Pandora and Y/N at a standstill. Follows the events of sixth and seventh year (autumn 1976-1978).

warnings: angst, pureblood culture, homophobia, discrimination (against werewolves and muggleborns), canon events taken from the war (HP), cliffhangers, friendship rifts & breaks, werewolf transformations described.

Coming soon

ideas and requests

...

Taglist:

@reggieswriter @xlxnq @sammyreid @liviessun @ae3ther @duchesz @wolf-phoenix-lover @i-am-grells-pretty-boy @thewitchesofart @runningbear2000 @wolf-phoenix-lover @liviessunun @thewitchesofart

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

We're Always Shifting {Chapter Three}

Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

WC: 7.5k

Masterlist

Summary: After a small fight and a make up session, Harry and the reader stumble upon a room that finally harbors some answers.

<--Prev/Next-->

The week following the disastrous attempt to steal from Snape had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights and desperate attempts to make sense of the hollow ache inside you. Hermione, Draco, and Luna had thrown themselves into the task of helping you, their worry manifesting in different ways. Hermione had suggested Legilimency, but Draco had shut that down immediately, his voice sharp with protective indignation. You had almost forgotten what he had gone through; his main argument being it wouldn’t help with memories you claimed not to have- but you know what it was. He didn't want you to feel that pain. Luna had brought you a collection of oddities- an old mirror, a battered music box, a tattered vinyl sleeve- swearing they would spark something, but they only left you feeling more adrift.

Even Draco, normally so quick with a biting remark, had grown strangely subdued. His silences spoke louder than his words, his usual bravado giving way to an unspoken concern that settled heavily between you all. It was like they could sense the cracks forming in you, but none of them knew how to mend them.

You’d tried to distract yourself. Hours spent in the library with Hermione, feigning interest as she scribbled notes with the intensity of someone trying to outrun her own thoughts. You let Luna’s voice wash over you as she rambled about magical creatures, her whimsical theories like threads of light in the dark. And when Draco had dragged you to the Astronomy Tower, pointing out constellations with a confidence that made your heart twist, you let yourself get lost in the stars, searching for answers you couldn’t name.

But nothing worked. The ache remained, gnawing at you like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. And then there was Harry.

He’d been watching you all week, his gaze a quiet weight you felt even when you tried to ignore it. He didn’t push, not at first. But his presence was constant, lingering at the edges of your world like an unanswered question. Every time his eyes met yours, there was something there- something raw and yearning, something you couldn’t face.

By the time Monday morning arrived, you weren’t surprised to find him waiting for you outside the courtyard steps. His tie hung loose, his hair as perpetually messy as ever, but his expression was different. He looked... tired. And the sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Hey,” He forced a smile, his voice softer than you’d expected. “Do you want to skip class? Go down to the Black Lake like we used to?”

The question was so simple, so Harry, that it almost broke you. Memories of stolen afternoons by the water flashed through your mind; his laughter, the sun on your skin, the feeling that nothing else mattered when you were with him. The sounds of Draco's snark remarks about you actually getting into the water- with Hermione’s fussing about getting caught- You wanted to say yes. You wanted to let him pull you back into that world, even for a moment. But the thought of being alone with him, of facing everything you couldn’t explain, was unbearable.

“I’d… rather be alone right now,” You muttered, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Harry stepped in front of you, his brows furrowing in frustration. “Don’t do that,” He huffed, his voice sharper now. “Don’t shut me out. It’s not fair.”

You blinked, startled by the edge in his tone. “I’m not shutting you out, Harry. I just-”

“Yes, you are,” He cut you off, his hands clenching at his sides. “You’ve been doing it all week. Hell, longer than that. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice.”

His words hit like a slap, and you looked away, guilt twisting in your chest. “I’m not trying to shut you out,” You muttered softly. “I just… I need space.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Space,” He rasped, his voice laced with disbelief. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve had plenty of space, haven’t you? Space from me, but no one else.”

“That’s not fair-”

“No,” He interrupted, his voice rising. “What’s not fair is you disappearing into your own head and leaving me here, wondering what the hell I did wrong.”

The rawness in his voice made your breath catch, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. His green eyes burned with something you couldn’t name- hurt, frustration, desperation- and it cut deeper than you expected.

“Do you have any idea how much I miss you?” He strained, his voice breaking. “I miss us. I miss how things used to be. And I don’t understand why you don’t. It’s like… the second this year started, you wanted nothing to do with me. I need my best friend back.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple, Harry.”

“Why not?” He demanded, stepping closer. “Is it because of Ginny? Because of Malfoy? Because I swear, if it’s about them, I’ll-”

“It’s not about them!” You snapped, your voice rising in frustration. The words hung heavy in the air, and Harry flinched, his hurt etched into every line of his face.

“Then what is it about?” He asked, his voice quieter now, trembling with something fragile. “Because I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a storm, and you felt your walls crumbling. You wanted to tell him everything- the flashes of memories, the way your chest ached when you looked at him, the fear that you were unraveling piece by piece. But how could you, when you didn’t even understand it yourself?

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it either.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged, but the determination in his eyes didn’t waver. “Then let me help you,” He huffed. “Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out together.”

His words should have been comforting, but they only made the ache worse. You didn’t deserve his loyalty- not when you couldn’t give him the answers he deserved.

Harry reached out, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment before he pulled away. “Take your space.” He sighed softly, his voice tinged with resignation. “But don’t forget… I’m still here. I’m always here. I'm not going to just leave you behind.”

You nodded, unable to speak, and watched as he walked away. His shoulders were hunched, his steps heavy, and you felt the tears spill over, hot and unrelenting.

As the courtyard fell silent around you, you realized how deep the chasm between you and Harry had grown. And yet, his words lingered, a promise you weren’t sure you deserved but couldn’t let go of.

"I’m not going to just leave you behind."

If only you could believe him. If only you could believe in yourself.

~~~

The days that followed your conversation with Harry dragged like wading through deep, endless water. You’d catch sight of him in the halls or across the Great Hall, and each time, the quiet anguish in his green eyes clawed at you. It made your chest ache, and no amount of distraction could dull the weight of it.

His words hung in the air, a constant echo in your mind. And yet, how could you tell him the truth? The flashes of fragmented memories, the visions that felt like whispers of another life. The image of Harry with a jagged lightning scar carved into his forehead- it haunted you. But how could you explain something that felt more like a dream than reality? How could you put that burden on him when you didn’t understand it yourself?

You tried to busy yourself, anything to drown the noise in your head. Hermione’s endless study sessions became your sanctuary, though her focused quill scratches only reminded you of your own restless inaction. Draco’s sharp comments- usually a source of irritation- started feeling oddly grounding, like he was trying to anchor you in his own backhanded way. And Luna, sweet Luna, would sit beside you, offering her peculiar trinkets and theories, her voice laced with a gentleness that made you want to cry. 

But no matter how hard they tried, and no matter how much you wished you could let them in, the ache in your chest remained, pulling you under.

And Harry.

He didn’t push, not at first. He lingered at the edges of your world, his presence always there, quietly waiting. But his patience wasn’t infinite, and you’d felt it begin to fray. The tension between you grew heavier with every passing day until finally, it all came to a head.

~~~

It was late one evening when you found yourself in the library again, the quiet hum of the room interrupted only by the occasional rustle of parchment. Hermione was beside you, her focus unwavering as she tackled Advanced Transfiguration. Across the table, Draco flicked lazily through a Potions text, his sharp features cast in the warm glow of a lamp. And then there was Luna, perched on the table’s edge, humming softly as she dangled a peculiar dried herb in front of her like it might hold all the answers you sought.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” Hermione said finally, her tone cautious but kind. Her eyes flicked toward you, her quill pausing mid-scratch. “Still thinking about what Harry said?”

The question hit you and your thoughts came to a halt, though you tried to hide it. You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of your book. “Yeah,” You admitted, barely above a whisper. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated is putting it mildly,” Draco hummed, his voice cutting but not cruel. “Potter’s as subtle as a Hippogriff, but at least he’s honest. You? You’re like some impossible bloody riddle, and I, for one, am tired of trying to solve it.”

You shot him a glare, but Luna chimed in before you could retort. “Maybe it’s not about solving.” She said dreamily, tilting her head. “Maybe the answer is already there, and you’re just scared of it.”

Hermione sighed, closing her book with a soft thud. “Look, no one’s asking you to figure it all out right this second. But pushing Harry away isn’t fair. You know how he is. He’ll wait forever if he has to, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

The words sank in, the guilt clawing at your insides. “I know.” You murmured, your voice barely audible. “I just don’t want to hurt him.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Draco said bluntly, though his tone lacked its usual bite. When Hermione shot him a glare, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “What? I’m just being honest. Someone has to.”

Luna’s voice was soft but steady, her gaze piercing in its own ethereal way. “Maybe it’s not about whether or not you want to hurt him. Maybe it’s about whether or not you trust him enough to let him help.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest. Trust. That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? Trusting Harry to stay, to weather the storm of your fractured mind when you couldn’t promise him any clarity. Trusting him not to crumble under the weight of what little you could offer.

Without a word, you closed your book and rose from your chair, the scrape of wood against stone drawing all eyes to you. “I need some air,” You mumbled. “I’ll be back.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Luna placed a gentle hand on her arm, stopping her. Draco simply raised an eyebrow, though for once, he said nothing. You left before their collective concern could smother you.

~~~

The corridors were quiet, the late hour cloaking the castle in stillness. You wandered aimlessly, your thoughts a tangled mess of guilt and confusion, until your feet carried you to the Astronomy Tower. The crisp night air hit you as you stepped outside, the stars above sprawling endlessly, like an invitation to lose yourself in their vastness.

Leaning against the cold stone railing, you stared out at the dark silhouette of the Forbidden Forest. Your mind raced, memories you couldn’t place flitting just out of reach. The ache in your chest felt heavier here, the weight of it almost unbearable.

“You’re not the only one who hides up here, you know.”

The voice startled you, though it shouldn’t have. You turned to see Harry stepping out of the halls, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked as exhausted as you felt, the moonlight casting sharp angles across his face.

For a moment, you said nothing, the silence between you thick. Then Harry stepped closer, leaning on the railing beside you. “I didn’t mean to push the other day,” He said quietly, his voice raw. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help.”

The vulnerability in his tone twisted something deep inside you, but this time, you didn’t look away. “I don’t know how to do this either.” You admitted, your voice breaking. “And I’m terrified that if I tell you what little I do know, it’ll make everything worse.”

Harry frowned, his green eyes searching yours like he could will you to let him in. “Worse than this?” he asked softly. “Worse than watching you slip further away every day?”

You swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill. “Harry, I saw something the other night. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It was you. But… not you.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was steady, but his brow furrowed with confusion.

You hesitated, the memory of his scar flashing in your mind. “You had a scar. A lightning bolt, right here.” You gestured to your own forehead. “And your eyes, Harry… they looked so tired. Like you’d been fighting something- something I couldn’t see.”

Harry stared at you, his confusion deepening. “A scar? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.” You confessed, aspirated, your frustration bubbling over. “I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me, showing me things that just don’t make sense. And I don’t know how to make it stop.”

As the silence settled between you, Harry’s hand remained steady on your arm, his warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. His eyes searched yours, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe he could take on some of the weight that had been suffocating you. 

“Alright,” He said softly, his voice tinged with that steadfast determination you’d always admired. “Let’s talk about it.”

You hesitated, then nodded, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. The two of you turned and began walking, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet corridor. For a while, neither of you spoke, the stillness giving you time to gather your thoughts. 

“It’s hard to explain,” You began, uncertain. “It’s not just the visions. It’s this… this feeling that something’s missing. Someone’s missing.” 

Harry glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “Missing? Like you’ve forgotten someone?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “Or maybe it’s like they were never here to begin with, but they should’ve been. I don’t know, Harry. It’s like… there’s a gap, and I don’t know how to fill it.” 

He stayed quiet, letting you talk without interruption, his attention fully on you in a way that made your chest tighten. 

“And it’s not just that.” You continued. “Sometimes I look at people- Pandora, Draco, even Luna- and it’s like I’m seeing two versions of them at once. One that feels… right, and one that doesn’t. Like they’re slightly out of focus. I can’t explain it better than that.” 

Harry tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And me? Do I… feel out of focus?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “No,” You said quietly. “You feel… solid. Real. But it’s like there’s another version of you, one I can’t quite remember but still… know. It’s the you with the scar.” You glanced at him, searching his face for any hint of recognition, but he only looked more confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry murmured, shaking his head. “But if you’re seeing this, if you’re feeling this… it’s got to mean something, right?”

You nodded slowly, your steps faltering as the ache in your chest deepened. “It has to,” You whispered. “Because if it doesn’t, then I’m just losing my mind.”

Harry stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not losing your mind,” He validated you firmly. “You’re going through something, something none of us understand yet. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His words settled over you like a balm, and you felt a spark of hope flicker to life amidst the chaos. You gave him a small, shaky smile, one that he returned with a quiet confidence that made you want to believe in him. 

“Come on,” He said, his tone lighter now. “Let’s keep walking. Who knows, maybe you’ll start seeing something that makes sense.”

You snorted softly, the sound startling both of you into a brief laugh. “Unlikely,” You muttered, though a tiny part of you dared to hope.

The two of you continued down the corridor, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. You talked in fits and starts, describing the strange flashes of memory that haunted you, the sensations that tugged at the edges of your consciousness. Harry listened intently, his occasional questions thoughtful but never pressing. 

As you turned a corner, you felt it. A tug, faint but insistent, pulling you toward the stretch of stone wall ahead. You slowed, your steps faltering, and Harry noticed immediately.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know,” You murmured, your gaze fixed on the blank expanse of wall. The ache in your chest intensified, sharpening into something almost physical, and before you could say anything else, the stones began to shift.

Harry stepped back, his hand brushing yours as the wall transformed before your eyes. The bricks rippled and rearranged themselves, forming a tall, intricately carved door that hadn’t been there moments ago. You exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Harry, his expression mirroring your own mixture of awe and unease.

“What… is that?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I… don't know.” You whispered in a shaken voice. Then, your jaw tightened and you turned sharply to smile at Harry. He seemed confused.

“But I know someone who might.”

~~~

The quiet corridors of Hogwarts grew heavier with the weight of secrecy, and you found yourself pacing just outside the newly formed door in the stone wall. Your heart raced, caught between the tension of discovery and the uncertainty of what lay within.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention, and you turned just as Harry came into view. He wasn’t alone. Hermione trailed close behind, her expression sharp and curious, while Draco and Luna followed at a more casual pace. Ron brought up the rear, his hair an unmistakable mess, and his face reddened as if he’d just been caught in a compromising position.

“Bit late for a study group, isn’t it?” Draco drawled, though his curiosity was evident as he eyed the strange door.

“Late-night adventure,” Luna corrected him dreamily, her gaze flicking between the door and the stars peeking through the high windows.

Ron, rubbing at his neck, muttered, “What’s this about, anyway? Harry practically dragged me here. Interrupted my… er, reading session.” His ears turned even redder, and Hermione huffed, though a faint blush tinged her cheeks.

“Reading session,” Harry repeated, his lips twitching with amusement. “Right. That what we’re calling it these days?” 

Ron shot him a warning glare. “Not the time, mate.”

Hermione, either unwilling to entertain the teasing or simply too intrigued by the door, stepped forward. “What is this place?” She asked, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the intricate carvings on the door. “It wasn’t here earlier.”

You hesitated, glancing at Harry before turning back to the group. “I was hoping you'd know,” You explained softly. “It just showed up when I was telling Harry.. Everything.”

Hermione’s brows knit together in confusion, her logical mind clearly racing to process this revelation. “The Room of Requirement? I’ve read about it, but I’ve never actually seen it. Why now? Why would it appear for you?”

“I don’t know,” You admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. “But whatever’s inside… I think it’s important. I think it might help.”

Draco crossed his arms, his gaze flicking from you to the door with guarded skepticism. “And we’re just supposed to waltz in there, are we? What if it’s a trap? What if it’s not what you think?”

“Draco,” Luna said gently, her voice soft but firm. “The room appears when someone truly needs it. It wouldn’t trick her. It’s here to help.”

Hermione nodded, her curiosity winning out over caution. “Luna’s right. If the room has appeared, it’s because it has something to show us. Something you need.”

Ron, less convinced, muttered under his breath, “Great. Another magical mystery to solve right before curfew. What else is new?”

Harry ignored the grumbling, his gaze locked on you. “If you think this will help, then we’re with you. All of us.” His eyes softened, the vulnerability from your earlier conversation still lingering. “You don’t have to go in alone.”

You felt a surge of gratitude, your chest tightening at the unspoken solidarity between them. Even Draco, for all his snark, looked ready to follow you inside. With a deep breath, you turned to the door and reached for the handle.

The moment your fingers touched the cool metal, it gave way. As the door creaked open, a cool draft escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of old parchment and something metallic, like the tang of magic that had been left undisturbed for years. The room beyond was vast, its high, vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadow. It resembled a library, but not one you’d ever seen before- this one had a strange, disjointed quality, as though the room itself couldn’t decide what era it belonged to.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes that ranged from pristine to crumbling. Scrolls were stacked haphazardly in some corners, their edges yellowed with age. A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, its surface littered with papers, letters, and strange objects. Some were covered in thick layers of dust, while others gleamed as if they had just been placed there.

Luna was the first to step inside, her wide eyes taking in the scene with quiet awe. “It’s beautiful,” She murmured, her fingers trailing along the edge of the nearest shelf. “But... sad.”

“Sad?” Ron asked, clearly uneasy as he peered into the room. “It looks like someone’s attic exploded.”

Hermione ignored him, her gaze locking onto the table. “This isn’t just clutter.” She said, her voice hushed with the kind of reverence she usually reserved for particularly rare books. “It’s... research. Someone’s been experimenting here.”

“Experimenting with what?” Draco asked, his tone sharp as he moved cautiously into the room. His eyes swept over the objects, his posture stiff with suspicion.

Harry stayed close to you, his presence a steady anchor as you stepped further inside. Your heart raced as your gaze flicked over the table, the scattered papers and artifacts drawing you in like a magnet. There were pieces of broken clocks, small vials filled with swirling silver liquid, and diagrams that seemed to map out the flow of time itself. 

“Time magic,” Hermione whispered, her fingers hovering over a series of intricate sketches. “Whoever worked here was studying time manipulation.”

Draco snorted, though his eyes remained fixed on a glowing hourglass perched precariously on the edge of the table. “Brilliant. Messing with time never ends well. Just ask anyone who’s ever gone near a Time-Turner.”

“You think someone was using a Time-Turner here?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Not just using,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she picked up one of the papers. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the text, written in a spidery hand. “This is advanced. Far beyond what a Time-Turner can do. They were trying to... change something. Or maybe... restore it?”

“Restore what?” You asked, your voice trembling as you moved closer to the table. The ache in your chest had grown sharper, almost unbearable, as though the room itself was reaching out to you.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted, her frustration evident as she rifled through the papers. “But it’s clear they were trying to fix something they believed was broken.”

Luna had wandered to a shelf near the back of the room, where a dusty mirror hung on the wall. Her reflection shimmered strangely, as though the glass were rippling like water. “This room remembers,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Whoever was here... they left pieces of themselves behind.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Ron muttered, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

Draco reached for a stack of letters, his movements careful as though he were afraid they might crumble to dust. “These are addressed to... someone named P.R.” He said, holding up an envelope. His eyes flicked to you. “Does that mean anything to you?”

P. R. The letters echoed in your mind, familiar yet elusive. Your breath hitched as your fingers brushed against one of the objects on the table- a locket, tarnished with age but still bearing the faint engraving of a crest you couldn’t place. The moment you touched it, a wave of dizziness washed over you, and the room seemed to blur.

“Are you alright?” Harry’s voice cut through the haze, his hands steadying you as you swayed.

“I... I think someone I knew was here.” You whispered, your voice barely audible. “Someone important. But I can’t... I can’t remember.”

Hermione placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression softening. “Take your time,” She said gently. “We’ll figure this out.”

As you steadied yourself, your gaze fell on a journal lying at the edge of the table. Its leather cover was worn, the edges frayed, but something about it called to you. You reached for it, your hands trembling as you opened it to the first page. 

The handwriting was familiar, looping and elegant, though the words themselves made little sense at first. But as you flipped through the pages, fragments began to emerge- notes about fractures in time, the consequences of changing the past, and a name that sent a chill down your spine.

Bartemius Crouch Junior.

Your breath caught, and the room seemed to spin around you. The locket in your hand grew heavier, the pieces falling into place with a clarity that was almost painful.

“He was here,” You furrowed your brow, your voice breaking. “Someone- Bartemius. He... he was trying to fix something.”

The others exchanged glances, their confusion evident, but Harryreached for your arm. “What do you mean? Fix what?”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as the ache in your chest became too much to bear. “I don’t know,” you choked out. “But I think... I think P.R. was supposed to help him.”

~~~

The hours passed in a haze as the six of you combed through the room, its strange, timeless air wrapping around you like a cloak. Scrolls and letters were examined, diagrams poured over, and objects handled with the utmost care. The weight of unspoken questions hung heavily in the air. Luna, ever practical in her whimsical way, had vanished at some point, returning with an assortment of snacks and a steaming cup of tea, which she set in front of you with a soft smile.

“You’ll think better with a clear head,” She cooed simply, her serene confidence somehow soothing.

You wrapped your hands around the tea, the warmth grounding you as you turned your attention back to the journal on your lap. Harry sat beside you, his presence steady and reassuring as he sifted through a pile of letters. Hermione and Ron were deep in discussion across the table, their voices low but urgent, while Draco stood by the shelves, his sharp eyes scanning the spines of books as though they might hold the answers you sought.

It was Draco who broke the silence, holding up a stack of letters with a triumphant smirk. “These are addressed to someone named ‘Vixen,’” He announced, his tone tinged with curiosity. “Bartemius seems to have been quite... devoted to her.”

The name sent a shiver down your spine, and you exchanged a glance with Harry. “Vixen?” You parroted, your voice barely above a whisper. “That sounds... familiar. But it feels important.”

Draco flipped through the letters, his expression shifting as he skimmed their contents. “He wasn’t just devoted,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “He was... obsessed. Listen to this.”

He cleared his throat and read aloud from one of the letters:

My dearest Vixen,

How am I meant to live in this fractured, hollow world without you? Every breath I take is a cruel reminder of your absence, every sunrise an insult, every hour stretching into eternity without the warmth of your presence. You were my heart, my hope, my soul- and without you, I am unmade. Even now, I feel the edges of myself fraying, the darkness creeping in where your light once shone so brightly.

Do you know how often I find myself reaching for you in the quiet moments? When the silence becomes unbearable, I think of our laughter- the way it echoed in the halls as Regulus teased us or as Dorcas argued over some absurd plan we all knew we’d follow anyway. I think of Pandora’s curiosity, her unyielding faith in the impossible, or Evan’s snark, always ready to rally us when the world seemed set against us. We were unbreakable, weren't we? Together, we had something the rest of the world couldn’t touch. And now... now that unity feels shattered, like glass crushed underfoot. They won't look at me. Call me mad.

But it wasn’t the world that took you from me, was it? It was him.  

Dumbledore.

I see his shadow in every crack of this broken life. He played his games, weaving his manipulations like an old spider, and we were caught in his web. You, most of all. He didn’t see you as a person- not the fierce, vibrant force of nature that you were- but as a pawn, something to be sacrificed for his grand design. And now you are gone. He stole you from us. From me.

I hate him for it. I hate him with a fire that burns hotter than any magic I’ve ever known. He will pay for what he’s done- I swear it, my love. He will answer for the hole he has torn in this world, for the family he has destroyed. But my rage, my grief, my hatred- they are nothing compared to the love I still hold for you. A love that will not, cannot die.

And so, I refuse to let this be the end. I refuse to let Dumbledore’s schemes, his lies, and his arrogance win. I will defy him. I will defy the laws of magic, the constraints of time, the will of the universe itself if that is what it takes to bring you back. Whatever the cost, I will pay it. Whatever the consequences, I will bear them. Nothing matters but you, my Vixen.

I will find a way. Regulus, Dorcas, Pandora, Evan- they deserve to see you again. To feel whole again. And I deserve to hold you in my arms, to hear your voice, to live in the world as it was meant to be- where you and I were unstoppable.

I will not fail you.  

Wait for me, my love. No matter where you are, no matter how far you’ve been taken from me, I will find you. I will tear down every barrier, bend time itself, and defy the heavens to bring you home.  

Forever and always,  

Bartemius  

The room fell silent, the weight of Bartemius’s words settling over you like a heavy fog. Your chest ached, the same gnawing emptiness that had plagued you all week surging to the surface.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, breaking the silence. “That’s not devotion. That’s... that’s desperation.”

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. “Whoever this Vixen was, she must have meant everything to him. And it sounds like something happened to her. Something he blamed Dumbledore for.”

Draco set the letters down, his sharp gaze shifting to you. “And you think this is connected to you? To what you’ve been feeling?”

“I don’t know,” You admitted, your voice trembling. “But it feels... tied to everything. To the visions, the ache in my chest, even the gaps in my memory.”

Luna, who had been quietly examining a small box filled with trinkets, spoke up then, her tone calm but pointed. “What about the initials? P.R. Whoever Bartemius was writing to, they must have been important too.”

Harry hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “P.R.,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It could be a name. Or a title.”

“Pandora Rosier,” Draco said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

The room stilled, all eyes turning to Luna. She didn’t flinch under the weight of their gazes, her expression serene as always, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes- something deep and unknowable.

“Pandora Rosier,” Draco repeated, his voice firmer now. “Your mother. What if P.R. stands for her?”

Luna tilted her head, considering this. “It’s possible,” she said softly. “But my mother never mentioned Bartemius Crouch Jr. Or anyone named Vixen.”

“But he mentioned her,” Hermione interjected, her voice filled with quiet urgency. “If there’s a connection, it might not have been something she wanted to share. Especially if it involved time magic.”

“Wait a second,” Harry said, frowning. “If Bartemius was writing to Vixen and working with P.R., then where does this locket fit in?”

You looked down at the locket still clutched in your hand, its weight suddenly overwhelming. The crest etched into its surface seemed to shimmer in the dim light, and for a moment, you swore you saw something shift within its tarnished depths.

“I think...” You began, your voice barely audible. “I think this locket was hers. Vixen’s. And somehow, it’s tied to everything.”

Draco leaned closer, his sharp features etched with determination. “Then we need to figure out who Vixen was. And what Mrs. Lovegood’s role was in all of this.”

“And how it connects to you,” Harry added quietly, his green eyes filled with unwavering resolve.

You kept staring at the locket. It seemed old, older then most things in the room. You ran your thumb along the engravings, more stars.

Mindlessly, you lifted the tea to your lips and took a sip, immediately hit with a bitter- almost sour taste. Your expression shifted and you frowned into the cup like the liquid would apologize for it’s flavour, earning a laugh from Harry.

You huffed at him and leaned forward to take a sniff of the steaming mix and your face fell, the smell reminding you of the humid musty smell of the potions classroom. Then the memory hit you, it all hit you at once.

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

“You guys.” You whispered and set the tea down. “Vix. It's what Professor Snape called me. That night we got caught in his storage closet- he called me Vix. What if.. it's Vixen? Short for Vixen?”

The room went quiet as your words hung in the air, the revelation settling heavily over the group. Hermione’s quill paused mid-scratch, and Harry’s gaze sharpened, a mix of concern and curiosity etched into his features. Draco, ever the skeptic, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied your expression.

“Vix,” Hermione repeated, her voice soft, but insistent. “That’s what he called you?”

You nodded slowly, the weight of the memory making your chest tighten. “That night in the potions storeroom... it didn’t make sense at the time. I thought it was just Snape being... Snape. But now...”

“It’s a nickname,” Draco interrupted, his tone edged with skepticism. “One he used like he’s done it before. Like it’s... familiar.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “And you’re saying it’s short for Vixen. That Snape knows something about this... about you.”

“It would explain why he’s been so cagey,” Hermione murmured, her eyes darting to the journal in front of her. “If he’s connected to all of this, then he’s been keeping it from us on purpose.”

“Typical Snape,” Harry muttered bitterly, running a hand through his messy hair. “He’s always holding onto secrets. This one just happens to be about you.”

Luna, who had been quietly observing, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s protecting something,” she said, her voice lilting and serene. “Or someone.”

The words sent a chill through you, a nagging suspicion worming its way into your mind. “What if he’s protecting me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was deafening. Hermione was the first to break it, her tone hesitant but thoughtful. “It’s possible,” she said, glancing around the room. “If you’re tied to this Vixen, and she was important enough for Bartemius Crouch Jr. to risk everything for her... then Snape might be trying to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Draco scoffed, though there was an edge of unease to his voice. “Or he’s just doing what he always does: sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and making things worse for everyone.”

“Draco,” Luna said gently, her eyes meeting his with quiet certainty. “Not everything is as it seems. Especially when it comes to memories.”

Your grip on the locket tightened, the cold metal grounding you as your thoughts swirled. Snape’s words from that night echoed in your mind over and over.

“I need to talk to him,” You said suddenly, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling under the surface. “If Snape knows something- if he’s been keeping this from me- I have to confront him.”

Ron furrowed his brow, shifting uneasily as he crossed his arms. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered, voice edged with skepticism. “But if Snape’s trying to protect you, you really think he’s just gonna spill everything the second you ask? He’s not exactly known for being... forthcoming.”

Harry gave a curt nod, his jaw tightening. “Ron’s right. Snape’s a master at keeping secrets. If he doesn’t want you to know something, he’ll find a way to shut you down.”

Draco’s sharp laugh broke the tension. “Oh, please,” he drawled, leaning against the edge of the table. “Snape’s not some untouchable genius. If he’s hiding something, we’ll find a way to pry it out of him. Subtlety isn’t Potter’s strong suit, but-”

“I’m sitting right here, Draco,” Harry cut in, his tone clipped.

“Enough!” Hermione snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t about who’s better at manipulating Snape. The question is, how do we even get him to listen? Confronting him outright might not be the best idea if-”

The sound of your head hitting the back of the sofa interrupted her. Everyone turned to you, their conversations faltering as they noticed your sudden shift. You had sunk deeper into the plush cushions, eyes fluttering closed, the tension in your face softening as if the fight had drained out of you entirely.

“Hey,” Harry said, his voice low with concern as he stepped closer. “Are you... okay?”

“Just tired,” You mumbled, your words slurring slightly. Your head lolled to the side, and you let out a long, heavy breath. “Really, really tired...”

“That's strange,” Hermione murmured, exchanging a look with Harry. “You were fine just a minute ago.”

Luna, perched on the arm of a nearby chair, tilted her head with an almost serene expression. “Oh, that’s the sleeping draught,” She said simply, as if announcing the weather.

“What?” Draco straightened, his sharp gaze snapping to her. “Sleeping draught? What are you talking about?”

“The tea,” Luna explained, her tone light and airy. “I added a touch of sleeping draught. She’s been so restless, and I thought it might help her relax.”

“You drugged her?” Ron yelped, his voice jumping an octave. “Without telling her?”

Luna shrugged, her dreamy demeanor unbothered by the growing alarm in the room. “She needed it. And it’s not as if it’ll harm her. It’s just a gentle nudge toward sleep.”

“Luna!” Hermione’s voice was half-scolding, half-exasperated. “You can’t just-”

“She needed it,” Luna interrupted, her voice gentle but resolute as she looked at you, now fully dozing against the sofa cushions. “You’ve all seen how exhausted she’s been. This will give her a chance to rest. The Galanthus Nivalis I put in will help her memories.”

“The what now?” Draco hissed and snapped his entire body toward Luna. But she just smiled.

“Snowdrop. We planted it in Herbology weeks ago. It finally dried.” She hummed blissfully. “She needs it. It will help her memories, with her thoughts. And the Sleep draught.” She muttered before turning to smile at your sleeping form as Harry took off his cloak and laid it over you. “Encouragement.”

The group was silent for a moment, everyone staring at Luna in bewilderment.

“Bloody hell, remind me to never cross you, Lovegood.” Ron muttered with wide eyes.

Luna tilted her head, her serene smile unshaken by Ron’s comment. “Oh, I would never do anything harmful, Ronald,” She said sweetly. “Unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“That’s somehow not reassuring,” Draco muttered, narrowing his eyes as he took a seat beside you, watching your steady breathing. His tone was sharp, but the tension in his posture betrayed his concern. “What exactly is this supposed to do, Luna? Beyond putting her to sleep?”

“The snowdrop is for clarity,” Luna explained patiently, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s said to bring light to the shadowed corners of the mind. Combined with the sleeping draught, it should help her relax enough to let her thoughts surface. Sometimes, the mind holds on too tightly to things it isn’t ready to let go of. This will give her space to remember.”

“Or,” Draco countered, leaning forward with a glare, “it’ll just mess her up more, and we’ll be left cleaning up the pieces. Did that thought cross your mind, Luna?”

Hermione interjected, her tone exasperated. “Oh, stop it, Draco. You’ve seen how much she’s been struggling. Luna might actually be onto something. Snowdrop has restorative properties- Professor Sprout mentioned it in class. If this gives her a moment of peace, we should be grateful.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Luna said dreamily, her gaze flickering to you again. “I thought you might understand.”

Harry, who had been silently watching over you, let out a soft sigh. “Luna’s right. She’s been pushing herself too hard- too much guilt, too much pressure to figure this all out. If this helps, even a little, then it’s worth it.”

Draco let out a frustrated huff but didn’t argue further, his eyes lingering on you as if searching for any sign of discomfort. “Fine,” He muttered, leaning back in his chair. “But if she wakes up confused, crying, or worse, I’m blaming Lovegood.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Because that’s new.”

“Enough,” Hermione snapped again, rubbing her temple. “The important thing is that she’s resting. Let’s use this time to figure out our next move.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances before nodding. Harry shifted closer to you, adjusting the cloak he had draped over you to ensure you were warm. His gaze softened, and he muttered under his breath, “She’ll be alright.”

Luna, who had been humming softly to herself, smiled warmly at him. “She will,” She said. “You’ll see.”

For a while, the room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of parchment as Hermione returned to her research and the occasional muttered comment from Draco as he sifted through the letters. Ron, looking thoroughly unsettled by the turn of events, busied himself by examining one of the dusty bookshelves, while Harry remained by your side, his unwavering presence a silent promise.

As you lay there, your breathing even and your features peaceful, something in the air seemed to shift. The magic of the room, subtle but ever-present, seemed to hum in response, as if waiting for the moment you would wake. Waiting to come alive once more when you returned.

Taglist: @bmyva1entine @edb954 @juniorlore @milunalupin @ailoda @ellipsisspelled @nessielovesfood @yannew @schrodinger-ka-billa @rory-cakes @rubyboobie17 @jennapancake @vilentia @derbygracie

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Traitor.

Pairings : Theodore nott x GN!Reader

Summary : Theodore Nott once promised to love you forever, but when a new girl arrived, he forgot. Neglected and broken, you couldn’t take it anymore. Days later, your friends found you lifeless in his dorm, blood staining the sheets. Regret came too late—Theo lost you, and now, all he has left is the unbearable weight of your absence.

A/N ; enjoy the angst teehee, listen to Traitor or Reckless while reading this :3

Warnings : Heavy angst, betrayal, mention of blood, major character death, graphic descriptions, emotionally abusive themes, implied self-harm, grief, regret, cheating.

Word count : 1.7k+

Soft candlelight flickered against the walls of the Slytherin common room, casting long shadows over the green and silver decor. It was late, past curfew, but neither of you cared. You sat curled up against Theodore on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go. His scent—cedarwood and fresh parchment—filled your senses, grounding you in a warmth you never wanted to lose.

"I promise you," Theodore whispered against your temple, his voice filled with quiet conviction, "I will always love you. No matter what."

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look into his deep brown eyes, searching for any trace of hesitation. You found none.

"Always?" you teased, a small smile playing at your lips.

His fingers traced along your jaw before cupping your cheek. "Always," he confirmed, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

The world outside could burn for all you cared—right here, in his arms, you were safe. Loved. Cherished.

You believed him.

But promises are just words, aren’t they?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It all started with her. The new transfer student. Eleanor fucking Rosier.

She arrived at Hogwarts in the middle of the term, stepping into the Great Hall with her perfect smile and charming laughter. The moment she was sorted into Slytherin, things began to change.

At first, it was small things. Theodore missing study sessions with you, brushing off your hand when you tried to hold his in the corridors.

Then, it got worse.

He stopped waiting for you after class. Stopped sitting next to you in the common room. Stopped kissing you goodnight.

And then came the dagger to the heart.

You had walked into the courtyard one day, searching for him, only to see him laughing with Eleanor—his hand on her waist. The same way he used to touch you.

You froze, the world blurring around you, nausea clawing at your stomach.

"Theo?" Your voice barely carried over the chatter of students.

He turned, his laughter dying when he saw you. Guilt flickered in his eyes for only a second before he schooled his expression into indifference.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?"

Your heart shattered at how casual he sounded, as if you were just some acquaintance interrupting his conversation.

"Looking for you," you admitted, your voice breaking despite your best efforts.

Eleanor gave you a smug smile, stepping closer to Theodore, her presence screaming he’s mine now.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Can we talk? Alone?"

Theodore sighed as if this was some great inconvenience, but he nodded. "Fine."

You walked a few steps away from Eleanor, far enough that she couldn’t hear. But you knew she was watching. Waiting.

"What the hell, Theo?" you whispered, fists clenched at your sides.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't do that," you snapped, voice trembling. "Don't act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Pretending I don’t exist. And now I find you with her—"

"It’s not like that," he said, but the words felt empty.

You let out a humorless laugh, blinking rapidly to keep your tears from falling. "Then what is it like, Theo? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve already lost you."

His jaw clenched, eyes darting back to Eleanor for the briefest second. That was all it took for the final crack in your heart to shatter completely.

"You promised," you whispered. "You promised me."

Theodore exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "Things change, Y/N. People change."

Your vision blurred, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it.

"Not this easily," you choked out.

But he just looked at you, silent. And that silence told you everything.

You turned and walked away.

He didn’t follow.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You stopped showing up to the Great Hall for meals. Stopped going to the common room. Stopped talking to anyone.

Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Pansy noticed, of course. They asked if you were okay, but you just forced a smile and told them you were fine.

They didn’t believe you.

But they didn’t realize how deep the wound had become until it was too late.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It was Draco who suggested it.

"We should check on Y/N. They haven’t been to the Great Hall in days," he said, looking between the group.

Pansy frowned. "I tried earlier, but their dorm was locked. I just assumed they wanted space."

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably. "What if something’s wrong?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances before Mattheo spoke up. "Then let’s go find out."

Together, they made their way to Theodore’s dorm—the one you used to spend so many nights in. The door was slightly ajar.

"Hey, Y/N-" Draco pushed it open.

The sight inside made Pansy scream, a strained scream.

You were there, on Theodore’s bed. But you weren’t moving.

Blood pooled beneath you, staining the white sheets in sickening contrast. Your wrist—slashed open. A letter, clutched in your lifeless fingers.

Blaise stumbled back, hand over his mouth.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, voice shaking.

Lorenzo just stared at your lifeless body, his whole body trembling.

Pansy sobbed, pressing a hand to her mouth as if she could hold in the pain.

Draco was the first to move, ripping the letter from your fingers. His hands shook as he read it aloud, voice breaking:

"Theo,"

"You promised me forever."

"You lied."

Silence.

Then, chaos.

"Get Snape!" Mattheo barked, already bolting out the door.

"Find Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore!" Lorenzo added, voice thick with emotion.

Blaise couldn’t stop staring at you. The warmth was already draining from your skin.

Pansy sobbed harder, whispering, "No, no, no..." over and over again.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The professors arrived in a whirlwind of robes.

Snape’s face was unreadable, but his hands clenched at his sides.

McGonagall gasped, hand over her heart. "Merlin..."

Dumbledore’s usual calm was shattered, his blue eyes filled with sorrow. "Too late," he murmured.

Too late.

Theodore arrived then, panting, confused. "What’s going—"

Then, he saw you.

And the world.. stopped.

His breath hitched, his body locking in place. His gaze fell to the blood-stained letter still clutched in Draco’s hands.

"You promised me forever."

"You lied."

A strangled noise escaped his throat as he staggered forward, but Snape blocked him with a firm grip. "Don’t," the professor warned, voice deadly quiet.

Theodore’s chest heaved, his mind racing. No. No, no, no.

This wasn’t real.

You weren’t gone.

You couldn’t be gone.. right?

But the silence screamed the truth louder than words ever could.

And somewhere in the background, the soft hum of magic played a familiar melody—

"God, I wish that you had thought this through before I went and fell in love with you."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

A day after your death.

The world kept moving. The sun still rose, the students still laughed, and Hogwarts remained the same. But for Theodore Nott, everything had stopped.

Your funeral had been small, private—only those who had truly loved you had been allowed to attend. Pansy had sobbed into Draco’s shoulder, Blaise had stared blankly ahead, Lorenzo had refused to speak, and Mattheo… Mattheo had nearly punched Theodore in the face when he had shown up.

“You don’t deserve to be here,” he had spat, his voice thick with fury. “You let them die.”

Theodore had taken the hit, let Mattheo’s fist hit his face because he deserved it.

Because Mattheo was right.

As the coffin had been lowered, Theodore had gripped the edge, his entire body trembling. "I'm sorry," he had whispered, too soft for anyone to hear. "I'm so sorry."

But the dead did not listen.

Day Four.

Your dorm had been left untouched.

No one dared enter—not even Pansy. But Theodore had. He had slipped inside in the middle of the night, hands shaking as he reached for the sweater you had always worn.

It still smelled like you.

He clutched it to his chest, burying his face in the fabric as sobs ripped through him. "Why?" His voice cracked, broken. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"

But deep down, he knew you had tried. You had begged for his attention, for his love, for something—anything—but he had been too blind, too foolish.

Now, the only thing left of you was the ghost of your scent and the unbearable weight of silence.

Day Seven

The Great Hall felt different without you. The chair beside Theodore remained vacant, untouched, a reminder of the space you had once filled.

People whispered. They stared. But no one spoke to him.

Even Pansy, who had once been his closest friend, refused to look at him. Draco had barely spared him a glance, Blaise had turned his back, and Lorenzo had muttered something under his breath about how some things were unforgivable.

And maybe they were right. Maybe he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

He pushed his plate away, appetite long gone. His hands were cold, his chest tight. No amount of warmth could shake the chill that had settled into his bones.

"You’re mine," he had once promised you.

But he had let you go.

Day Twelve

He had written it a hundred times. Over and over.

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I was an idiot. I should have seen it. I should have held you. I should have stayed."

But what good were words now?

You were gone. And he had to live with the fact that he had driven you to it.

He folded the letter, pressing his forehead against the parchment. "I wish I could trade places with you."

But wishes were just words, and words meant nothing anymore.

Day Thirty

He had avoided it. Avoided your name, your memory, the way his heart clenched every time he walked past the places you had once stood.

But that night, alone in his dorm, he broke.

"Theo," you had once whispered, tracing his jaw with your fingertips. "Promise me you’ll never forget me."

And now, as he sat in the dark, your blood still staining the edges of his nightmares, he whispered back:

"I could never forget you."

And for the first time in a long time—Theodore Nott wept.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

27. kisses for cover at a party with poly!rosekiller. reader goes to evan to get a guy off you, he makes out with you, barty sees and is like "yay i wanna join" and then just devours you

ahhh i love them! poly!rosekiller x fem!reader, college!au ✩ 900 words

You slip beneath the handsome guy at the pub with practiced ease, dipping under his outstretched arm in an attempt to shake your unwelcome admirer of the evening.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch but rather curls his arm round the nape of your neck, tucking you into his shoulder in one fluid movement until you're mostly obscured. He dips his head low enough to murmur in your ear; his voice is like smooth, dark honey.

"Who you hiding from, lovely?"

"This bloke's been following me round all night," you admit, voice high and breathy. "He's still looking, I think. Will you- will you pretend to know me until he goes away?"

He grins and the sight almost blinds you; crinkled eyes and a soft smattering of freckles across his high cheekbones. Miles and miles of brown skin and a curly blonde mop that sits high on his head.

He really is lovely.

And if you'd met him under different circumstances, you'd be nervous for an entirely different reason.

"Consider it done, okay? No need to fret."

He tips his head lower until his nose brushes yours. You hold your breath in anticipation.

"Let's give the prick a show, yeah?"

Your insides flush white-hot as you wait for his lips to make contact. It's a languid sort of kiss, building in intensity as your mystery man flattens his tongue against your bottom lip. He palms at your neck, angling your face upward until you have no choice but to part your lips and let him lick into your mouth, soft and slow and deep.

You push up on your toes - encouraging him closer - and you feel the corners of his mouth tip up even as he indulges your wordless request.

The kiss ebbs and he pulls back. You bite your lip and try to pretend that he didn't just give you the best kiss of your life.

"I'm sorry," you say, cadence twinged with embarrassment. "I don't even know your name."

He smooths the pad of his thumb over your pencil lined eye and smiles, unperturbed. His expression is softer this time, something akin to fondness lingering in his eyes.

"Evan," he murmurs. "And you?"

"Y/N."

A weight settles at your back and you go rigid, pushing back into Evan's space with a startled gasp.

"It's okay, lovely girl," he placates with ease, as though he's known you for much longer than a few minutes. "This is Barty."

This boy is taller – sharper round the edges than Evan, but no less beautiful. His face is shrouded by thick, dark hair that contrasts so heavily with his pale skin it almost looks unnatural.

"Hi, pretty," he coos. "Oh, she is gorgeous, Ev. The gorgeous ones always love you."

"Hi," you almost whisper. You're suddenly even shyer under Barty's fervent gaze, red-hot at his rapt attention.

He folds at the waist and twirls one of your loose curls between his fingers. From here you can smell his breath, mint and vodka and something sweeter that lingers on the tip of his tongue.

He steps closer, right into your space until you're sandwiched snugly between the two of them.

"Do I get a kiss?" he asks, borderline pleading. Intense, for a man you've just met.

Your throat works around a thick swallow and you look down at your feet, suddenly overwhelmingly shy.

"Um..."

"Don't be jealous, babe," Evan placates, a lithe hand massaging teeny circles into your shoulder.

"I find a pretty little thing snogging my boyfriend and I'm supposed to not be jealous?"

You balk. Your eyes gloss over, and wet and wide and painfully apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm really sorry."

"Shh." Evan loops an arm round your waist and tugs you neatly into his side. "He's teasing. He just wants a kiss, too, if you're willing to give it."

You can't deny that Barty is beautiful – all long, milky limbs and dark features. You nod tentatively.

"Okay."

Evan plants his chin in the juncture of your neck as Barty leans in, long fingers roaming the expanse of your waist with a fervour you've never felt before. Your stomach flips.

Barty's kiss is far more fervid. All tongues and clashing teeth as he angles his head to get more of your mouth on his– as though he wants to eat you whole.

You whine into his mouth when his hand settles on the dip of your spine and presses down, forcing you to arch up into him. There's not a part of you that isn't being touched in some way.

Especially not when Evan trails his lips along your pulse point and begins diligently sucking a bruise under your jaw.

Barty gets you by the nape of your neck and probes his tongue further into your mouth. He's persistent, flicking his tongue behind your front teeth until you gasp and open your mouth wider to grant him more access.

"There's a good girl," Evan says, voice rumbling against your back.

The trail of spit that stretches and bows between the two of you when Barty pulls back to get a good look at you has you feeling faint.

"Can we keep her, Ev?" Barty nuzzles his nose against the soft swell of your cheek.

"What do you say, angel? Can we keep you?"

You're too dazed to answer with more than a nod, curling your own arms around Barty's waist to keep him pressed against you.

[mattheoriddlewifesblog]

Not Quite Poison

Barty Crouch Jr. X Potter!Reader

Summary: after a chance meeting in the library; a whirlwind love affair between Barty Crouch Jr and the youngest Potter blossom, but neither of them were prepared for how life would go after.

AN: MONTHS. I have finally finished this after MONTHS. Sorry if the writing style is a bit whiplash, I have changed a lot since then. I can't get away from Barty he owns my whole heart

CW: not proof read, no use of Y/N, Obsessive!Barty(implied obsessive reader), sexual themes and scenes, graveling and begging, Protective Sirius and James, fighting, lying, self indulgent, cursing, Remus x reader if you squint, angst, angst with slightly happy ending, fem reader, not cannon complacent, sexual innuendo, underage drinking, major character death (unless...?)

WC: ~17k

You never felt as bold or as powerful as you did at Hogwarts, walking the halls with your older brother and his friends. 

Shamelessly you always thought they were the coolest. The Marauders, James Potter; Head Boy, Remus Lupin; Prefect, Sirius Black; one of the most clever and strongest duelists in the school, and Peter Pettigrew; the sweetest boy you'd ever meet. 

They had a reputation for themselves even before you came to the school a year later. Not that it surprised you, your brother had always been a moth to the limelight. You were just happy he never aimed that at you, being fiercely protective of his little sister. They all were pretty defensive when it came to ‘little Potter.’

But, there was only so much their help could do.

“Dreadful! A Dreadful on my potions exam!” You groaned as you wiggled the parchment in front of you, as if shaking it enough would change the ink that was etched on the page.

“I have never gotten such a low score in my life!” You whined and hugged the paper. Giving a small sigh as Sirius ruffled your hair. “Calm it, Bambi. It’s just a practice test. You're becoming Moony.”

Sirius gestured behind his back to Remus, who was wearing an offended look.

“I'm sorry I couldn't help you more.” Lily called over from under your brother's arm, sending you a sympathetic look. You just mumbled.

“It’s alright, Red. If even you can’t save me, I’m well and truly done for.” You groaned and Remus nudged you with his elbow.

“I could always give you a hand.” 

You shook your head and bit your cheek. “Nah, think it’s best I crack on alone. No distractions.” You waved your hands out dramatically, full of resolve. Enough to make Sirius laugh at you and Lily to roll her eyes fondly. The redhead looked up and smirked at James who seemed to be lost in his own little world, staring at her. 

“Jamie, dearest?” 

He blinked out of his daze and smiled at her. “What's that?”

“Were you paying any mind to your little sister?” 

“She was talking?” He muttered and looked over at you, greeted by a bird that wasn't under his arm, instead poking from between your index and ring finger. “Ah, so I’ve finally learned to tune her out. Only took me seventeen years.”

“Sod off.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he blew a raspberry back, before Lily gave him a reprimanding smack on his shoulder. 

“You're meant to be head boy.” She huffed and you just smirked. 

“How they let him get that badge, I’ll never know!” You shouted up to your brother who made a mocking face at you with his eyes crossed. Remus snickering from your other side.

“Oi, James, keep it to yourself,” Peter mumbled, shuffling out of spitting range.

“It's like watching two first years go at it.” Sirius mumbled and Remus shrugged. “I don't think they ever left that age.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at the jabs as Lily grabbed your brother's face and squished his cheeks, leaving him a smiling fool.

“Okay, I'm heading to the library.” You offered and got a variety of responses as you left. “Got to make sense of this disaster of a grade.”

Their echoes of conversation faded out as your shoes hit the path to the library. Once there, you were shocked to see how many people were studying in the now cramped hall. It was fair to say that everyone here had a poor score on their test.

What was worse is you didn't recognize a single person. Not well enough to sit with.

You walked down the long path between the aisle and tried to spot an open seat somewhere. That was, until you spotted an empty table. An entirely empty table with a few spare books shoved across the old oak. You lit up and hurried over to take the seat closest to the wall. Setting up your things to begin to study, not noticing how people had been avoiding that table like the plague.

As you set up your books and notes you were oblivious to any presence around you, until the seat right next to you was pulled out. “You know…”

You looked up quickly and you were greeted by a pair of piercing green eyes that made your heart stop. What was it with Potters and green eyes? You'd never know. 

“If you wanted my seat that bad, you could have just asked.” You were suddenly snapped to your senses when you recognized the voice.

Bartemius Crouch Junior. Fuck.

You didn't talk to many RavenClaws, you hardly talked to any male classmates considering how often your brother would scare them off. Sirius wasn't much help either.

However, Crouch had a special reputation. Hanging around dangerous Slytherins, loud, dangerous, obsessive and as smart as a damned whip. You only knew what Sirius told you about him, which was nothing good, considering how both of them absolutely despised each other. James didn't like him either, but Lily spoke highly of him.

Lily spoke highly of almost anyone, though.

You only realized you had been staring at him when he arched his eyebrow.

“Cat got your tongue, Potter?” He teased as he took his seat and you snapped out of your thoughts. Still just blinking owlishly at him. This made him chuckle softly, leaving him to simply shrug and get back to work.

With how he behaved around most of the students you expected him to chase you off or bare his fangs- maybe bite you. Who knows? People described him more like a rabid animal than a proper student. Yet you had sat in his seat, at his table, pushed aside and even stolen one of his books, and he was as calm as a cat. 

“Er- sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.” You whispered and he glanced over at you. Meeting your eyes with a slowly growing smile.

“So she does talk?” He teased and you pursed your lips.

“When she wants to.”

“That's not very Potter of you.”

“It's very me of me.”

His smile only grew as your banter continued. His shoulders seemed to relax and he became a bit more playful. You felt like you might be insane, were there two Crouchs? There is no way this is the same boy who almost beat Sirius to a pulp over a remark about his own brother.

“So… do you mind if I study here?” You asked softly and he shrugged, going back to his paper. 

“I don't mind a pretty face.” 

This time it was your turn to smile, rolling your eyes a bit fondly. You got back to your notes, writing down each problem you had gotten wrong and looking for the proper potion recipe, starting with Wiggenweld. You began to mutter to yourself as you looked across three different books. Rubbing your temple in irritation as you tried to understand the ingredients and grew more and more infuriated. 

“You're doing it wrong.” You heard Barty mumble from beside you. You snapped your head over to glare at him and it only served to make him chuckle. 

“I don't think I've ever seen a Dreadful in my life.” 

You flushed a bit and moved your wrist to hide your marks. “What happened to you being nice to me?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled and shifted his seat a bit closer to you, looking at the books. “What's got you confused?”

“I just..” You sighed and gestured to the books. “Every one of these say something different! Salamander blood until it turns yellow, then orange, then green. But this one says Unicorn horn and Lionfish spines. And then this one says Sloth-”

“Woah woah woah, pretty girl, breath.” He pushed and you took a sharp breath. No one but Sirius had ever called you that, and certainly not in that tone. He lifted his arm and you got a good view of his bare forearm from where his sleeve was rolled up, showing off a tattoo, a snake wrapped around a magpie, you think. He smiled at how you took it in. “Did it myself.”

Your eyes widened and looked at him in shock. He seemed giddy with excitement at your interests. “That and this,” He mused and stuck out his tongue, using his middle fingers to press it flat against his lip. Showing off his tongue piercing and his black nails. Your eyebrows shot up to your hair line.

Him and Sirius were scarily alike. It was almost comforting.

“Woah…” You mumbled and he laughed. Smiling ear to ear.

“Look here, kid.”

“I'm your age-”

“Shhh, I'm spitting wisdom.” 

You couldn't help but laugh and relax fully as his fingers lined the pages of one of your books. “The reason they are so different is the one thing Professor Slug on my Horn doesn't tell you,” You laughed a bit in surprise at the vulgar nickname, “Is the potions you study under him have several different ways to make it. Salamander blood being the one taught in class.”

You looked back at the books and tilted your head a bit. “Why wouldn't they tell you that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I don't even use those recipes, I made my own.” 

You looked over at him in shock and he just smiled at you. 

You knew Crouch was a genius, he made sure everyone knew. But to have your own concoction for the potion you couldn't figure out how to brew according to instructions? You were baffled.

“Really?” 

He nodded and you furrowed your brow. “Why Wiggenweld?”

His lip twitched and you could see as the smile left his eyes but not his lips, slowly biting his cheek. “I'm prone to.. accidents.” 

“Your fights.” You whispered and he shrugged. 

“Those too.”

“Typical Crouch behavior.” You murmured, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice. Talking to him was feeling more natural by the second. “Always getting into trouble.”

He grinned at that, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence that was slightly charming. He had a way about it, how his sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loose. Robe discarded and undeniably handsome- “What can I say? It’s a talent of mine.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling more at ease as you continued to chat. The tension from earlier with your potions exam began to fade, replaced by a curiosity of learning who this Barty boy really was. It was a strange feeling, considering the reputation he had, but he seemed different here, away from the majority of the school, he was so gentle and sweet. 

“So, what’s your recipe for Wiggenweld?” You asked, hopeful for a bit of help. You leaned in closer, the books between you momentarily forgotten.

“Alright, but you have to promise me something,” He whispered and leaned all that more closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You can’t tell anyone I’m teaching you this. It’s our secret.”

“Deal!” You nodded, your excitement bubbling over. You didn’t care about the implications of keeping secrets; you were just grateful for the distraction and the chance to understand potions from a different perspective. Definitely not to keep talking to him, not at all, he was just so damned sweet.

“Well, I use this version of it.” He gestured to your test, “But no Salamander blood. Just Horklump and Dittany.” 

“What?” You whispered in shock and he sent you a playful wink. 

“Trust me, yeah?” He gestured to the pages. “You just need to stew them for no longer than ten minutes. Stir it the first two- Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“You should be writing this down.” He teased and you quickly scrambled for your quill, cheeks flushed as he found you just staring. 

You quickly scribbled down the details, heart racing as you focused on Barty’s instructions. The way he leaned in, so close that you could catch a whiff of his cologne, made it hard to concentrate. You tried to tune out the little voice in your head that reminded you of his reputation; all you wanted was to absorb the knowledge he was sharing. Nothing more.

“Okay, so after you’ve stewed the Horklump and Dittany, you need to add a pinch of powdered mint. It has to be powdered, if you add any fresh mint the juice will wind both of us in detention.” He continued, his voice low and steady, as if he were sharing a well-guarded secret. “But don't tell anyone that. It's just to get the color Slug likes so much.”

You couldn't help but smile at his goofy antics. “We?”

“Hm?”

“We'd end up in detention?”

He gave a chuckle. “Can't let you get in trouble for my secrets, can I? How could I live with myself?”

“What a gentleman.” You cooed and he gave a playfully solemn nod. 

“Truly, I am.”

“I would totally let you take the fall for my antics.” You countered and he put a hand over his chest with a gasp. You giggled and he couldn't help but smile at your look. 

“You're much prettier than your brother.” He hummed and you paused, turning to furrow your eyebrows at him with a bright smile. Clearly, he had no shame in what he said.

“Watch what you say, my brother may disagree with that.” 

Barty smirked, clearly unfazed by the warning. He seemed so.. shameless. “Let him. I’ve dealt with worse than a jealous Potter before.” He leaned in a little closer, his tone playful, yet there was an undertone of seriousness in his eyes. “Besides, I would hate to disappoint him. But my type is more.. about your height, your hair color, your eyes. Have to say, the only thing wrong with you… your name.”

You felt your cheeks flush with warmth at his compliment, the boldness of his words making your heart race. Who was this guy? “Oh really? What’s wrong with my name?” You asked, trying to keep your tone teasing, but the stutter in your tone betrayed you.

“Potter is a lovely name.” He hummed, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “But if you are looking to try out something different, I have some ideas.“

“Is this you flirting, Crouch?” 

“Call me Barty. And if you have to question it I might just have to up my game.” He lit up like a child and your heart clenched hopelessly. He didn't even attempt to play coy with his new found attraction, you wondered hopelessly how many people had told this boy no. Certainly not enough.

Thank Merlin for that.

You couldn't help but laugh, trying to mask the fluttering in your chest. “Well, Barty, I don’t know if you’re just charming or if this is some elaborate scheme to distract me from my disastrous Potions exam.”

He leaned in closer, resting his chin in his hand, eyes focused solely on you. “Maybe it’s a bit of both.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting to suppress a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re delightful,” He shot back without missing a beat. The intensity in his gaze made you feel a little dizzy, like you were the center of an exhilarating storm. Like you were worth all his attention.

You had only been speaking for an hour and it seems he made up his mind about you so quickly.

“Okay, Mr. Charming.” You said with a smirk, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Let’s focus on Potions before you completely derail my study session.”

“Fine, fine.” He chuckled, leaning back into his chair but not breaking eye contact. “What's your next question?”

You spent the rest of the day with Barty, drilling on about the exam and your potion questions, falling into an easy and familiar rhythm. Eventually, even when your questions were answered and the library was empty, you two stayed. Even as it grew dark outside and the only lights came from the candles on the table. You two keep droning into easy conversation.

“You know.” Barty hummed. “This isn't the first time we've met.”

“Really?” You asked, your head in your arms as you leaned on the table over your books. He nodded. “Mhm. We met before, when we were younger. Before Hogwarts.”

“Before Hogwarts?” You echoed, trying to piece together the fragments of your memory. “I don’t remember meeting you before then. Are you sure?”

Barty chuckled, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms. “Oh, I’m sure. It was at Diagon Alley.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you tried to recall any memory of him. “Diagon Alley? I don’t remember that at all.”

“Yeah, it was ages ago. You were with your family, and I was there with my mum.” He explained, with such a sweet smile that reached his eyes. “You had just gotten your first wand. You were so excited, waving it around like you were already a pro. I was upset because my magic hadn't come in yet but you and your brothers came around the same time.”

You felt a spark of recognition at his words, completely baffled he would remember something so utterly small and insignificant to him. “I do remember being really excited! I think I accidentally turned my brother’s hair blue for a week after that.”

Barty burst out laughing, the sound bright and infectious. “See? You were a little troublemaker even back then.”

“Hey, it was an accident!” You protested, laughing along with him. “I was just a kid.”

“Still, it’s good to know you’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.” He muttered and bit his cheek. Suddenly so.. thoughtful and distant. 

“... how did you remember that? I hardly remember it and it was the day I got my wand.” You have a small nervous laugh.

“You really don't remember?” He laughed and you just furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Woah, I'm that forgettable?” He teased and laughed as your eyes widened in horror. “I'm only teasing.”

He rolled his jaw a bit and laid his head on the table to look you in the eyes. “I was throwing a fit, you know. I wanted a wand so badly. You walked past me on the street and you pointed your wand at me. You shouted; ‘tears be gone and magic be strong!’ And just toddled away after your mother.”

Your jaw dropped a bit before you slowly covered your face in embarrassment. Giving a low groan as you began to laugh. “I don't remember that. But that's what my mum always told us when we got hurt. Said our magic would heal our owies.”

He chuckled and nodded. “I stopped crying. When I got my magic the next year I was sure it was your doing. I'm not surprised you don't remember me.”

“It's not that you're forgettable-”

“Heavens no, not that. Just… you are always doing small things like that. You don't know how much it means to people.”

You flushed a bit at his statement and looked down, unable to keep his eyes anymore. “You're exaggerating.” 

“I'm not. Everyone just adores you.” He mumbled and you shook your head.

“And everyone is scared of you.” You challenged. “Not everyone knows what they are talking about.” 

“They are scared of me with good reason.” He corrected and you shook your head defiantly. 

“You're not scary.” 

“I can be.” 

“I'll believe it when I see it.”

“I guess you'll never believe it then.”

You tilted your head a bit and looked up to meet his eyes. He was smiling so softly, so sweet, eyes gentle and almost suffocating. “I would rather die than scare you.”

You stared at him, a bit stunned. Struggling to catch yourself but all you could muster was. “You could never scare me.”

“Good.” He whispered in earnest with a nod of his head. “Good.” He smiled.

Before you both could continue talking, you heard the grand doors creek open, both of you looked up like deer in headlights. You saw Remus poke his head in and he smiled at you, before giving a grimace of a look at your company. 

You stood up as you saw Remus leave, giving a low sigh. “Sorry, I kept you here so late.”

“Don't worry about that.” He muttered as he began to help you pack up. “I'll put your books away for you.”

You gave him a surprised look before you furrowed your brow. “Are you not heading out as well?”

“Not now. I have a few assignments to look over.” He mumbled and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Wha? Oh! Oh, Barty, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to distract you.” You whispered and he shook his head, chuckling.

“It's alright, you can make it up to me.” He muttered and you nodded vigorously. “Distract me again? Tomorrow? Same seat?”

You were stunned for a moment before you slowly smiled to match his. “Time?”

“I'll be here all day.”

“Understood.” You smiled and gave him a small wave. “Goodnight, Barty.”

“Goodnight, Star.”

When you made your way out of the library and noticed James, Lily, Remus, Peter, and Sirius. You tilted your head a bit curiously when you saw James with the map.

“What's this about?” You hummed and James pointed at you like an accusatory child.

“Nuh uh! You and Crouch? Gross! No!”

You furrowed your eyebrow in confusion and looked over to Sirius who was glaring at you. Peter looked nervous to meet your eyes.

“You upset your brothers.” Remus muttered to you and you tilted your head. 

“It would seem so.” You mumbled back and Lily gave a little giggle. James didn't appreciate your mellow response.

“Bambi that boy is no good for my little sister.” James huffed and you could have sworn if you rolled your eyes any harder they would fall from your head. 

“Oh Merlin, here we go.” Lily mumbled.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at James, trying to keep your expression calm. “You mean the boy that helped me understand Potions better than I ever have? The same boy who’s been nothing but nice to me? You guys really need to relax.”

Sirius chimed in, his tone teasing but serious. “Nice? Junior? He's a walking red flag, love”

“And you’d know all about red flags, wouldn’t you, Sirius?” You shot back, a smirk creeping onto your face. You couldn’t help but needle him a bit, knowing full well his own history.

Lily laughed, trying to diffuse the tension. “Come on, you guys, let her have some fun! She’s old enough to make her own decisions.”

“Lily!” James huffed and gestured to you. “She's only 17.”

“18 in two months.” You put your hands on your hips as Remus smirked. “58 days.”

“Right on.” You mused and you and Remus shared a high five.

“Wha- I- no! No, I don't like it!” James whined like a child. “He's a Death Eater.”

That killed the fun chillingly fast. The hall was silent- in truth, no one knew anything about who was truly what. The only people you guys knew to be those monsters were the ones who claimed it. Like Mulciber, Avery, and even some of the other younger Slytherins.

The only evidence they would have to that would be the company Barty chose to keep.

“You watch your mouth.” You snapped quickly at James who looked a bit caught off guard that his usually sweet playful sister was so serious. Your blood was boiling with anxiety and inching for you to back down, you just wouldn't. To be in the middle of a war and to use that word so freely?

“You don't know what rumors like that can do to someone! And, I'll have you know, he is the sweetest boy I've ever talked to!” You snapped at him and his jaw dropped. 

“Not you, Remus or Peter.” You reassured and they nodded in agreement. 

“Not me.” Peter smiled at his friends and earned a smack from Sirius. Remus had the good sense not to say anything.

“You're such a git, James! And I won't be letting you continue to dictate my social life!” You snapped and the second Sirius opened his mouth you glared at him down. “You either greaser!” 

Remus snickered and you shook your head. “I'm going to my dorm!”

Lily scurried up to follow you, giving the boys a playful ‘hmph!’ As she passed.

Remus was about to say something before Lily grabbed his arm and dragged him along. Leaving the three older Gryffindor's alone in the hall, baffled.

~~~

You stomped right up to your bed and slipped across it with a groan. Remus was next, mocking your childish stomps before he laid the proper way across your mattress, arms behind his head. You glared at him before Lily sat beside you and patted the side near her, coaxing you closer.

You sighed and sat up, wiggling closer. 

“Baremius, huh?” She prodded and you nodded, leaning on your palms beside your knees. Her tone was always so soft and patient. She was always so… peaceful. 

“It's not like that. But James- ugh! He just gets on my nerves.”

“Not like that?” Remus spoke up from behind you two. “He looked like he was about to kiss you.”

“I have that effect on people.” You cheeked, quickly trying to cover up your heating cheeks. “He was helping me with potions. Nothing more.”

“Well, that's good.” Lily muttered and you half glared at her.

“Good?”

“I can't believe I'm about to say this.” She muttered. “I agree with your brother on this one.”

You gawked at her before you looked at at Remus who suddenly looked nervous. 

“And you?”

“In my defense, putting aside the rumors and.. his behaviors. He's a guy.” He shrugged and you gave a scandalized laugh.

“And you're not?”

“I'm a man.” He hummed and flexed playfully, showing off his arms and making you laugh, laying back and across his stomach. Lily rolled her eyes playfully and laid her head on his chest, looking at you with a soft smile.

“And in my defense, honey, I know him. He's friends with those horrid Slytherin boys and…” She looked away for a moment. “Snape. I know you can't judge someone on their friends alone but…”

“It says a lot.” You muttered and slowly hid your face in Remus’s stomach. He lifted his hand to ruffle your hair and you gave a loud and annoyed groan, looking back at Lily. “Do you really think-”

“I haven't seen any proof.” Lily quickly hushed you. “But just.. be careful, yeah? May want to keep him at arm's length.”

“...” You sighed and began to pick at the cables of Remus’s sweater, earning a smack from him. “I'll keep my distance.”

“That's our girl.” She smiled and leaned in to kiss your temple, making you laugh.

“You have to marry my brother now.” You insisted and Lily gave a snort. 

“Oh, look at this.” Lily mused and reached behind her, the second you lifted your head she flung a pillow at your face, leaving you to fall against Remus’s stomach. He let out a sound that resembled a balloon deflating and it left you and Lily giggling like fools.

You stared up at the ceiling as Remus and Lily began to chat aimlessly. You began to pick at your nails and pause. You wondered if there was any truth to it, the rumors and his actions. 

“I would rather die than scare you.”

His words replayed in your head over and over. What did he mean by that? Was it just you? Was his persona an act? What made you the exception?

The way his head tilted and his eyes looked into yours, it was something so genuine. Scarily affectionate. You wondered if it really was just that conversation. That day you met and that comment you made to him about magic.

Was he really not used to such simple compassions?

“Earth to bambi.” Lily called out and you looked over at her with a curious look. She smiled.

“So you won't get tangled up in him, yeah?” She prodded and you bit your cheek. You must have missed a lot.

“Yeah.. I'll be careful.” You muttered and she smiled.

“Good. I'm off to my patrols.” She hummed and sat up, grabbing her books and saying her goodbyes.

Remus looked down at you to see that distant stare again. Giving a weak chuckle and patting, giving a hum. “Wanna braid my hair?”

You sat up wordlessly and flopped on the pillow next to him. “Actually.. Can you read to me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want, bambi.” He mused and grabbed one of the books from your coffee table. Shifting up so you could lay your head on his chest, listening as he started the same book he's already ready you a million times.

~~~

You kept your promise and you avoided Barty. Everything went back to the status quo. At least for the first few weeks.

James had let it go a week or so later and Sirius was still weary of leaving you alone for too long. Ever since he started staying at your house in year five, he had become just as hovering and doting as your brother. But with Lily and Remus as reinforcements they never pushed it too far.

Then came the full moon. Remus would never allow you too far from the Gryffindor towers the nights leading up to it. No one, really. 

He would sooner see you in detention then letting you out of the dorms and especially not near the dark forest the night of the full moon. However, even if you couldn't help the night of, the very next morning no one could stop you from rushing down to the shrieking shack with breakfast and water for the boys.

It was never anything complicated, just a few biscuits and water before you all were lugged back for classes. This morning was no different. As you walked with the boys out of the shrieking shack and towards the school. 

The sun was shining bright, casting warm rays across the forest floor as you made your way back toward the castle. The air was crisp, fresh from the night’s chill, and you felt a sense of accomplishment in being there for your friends. 

“Thanks for this, lil Potter.” Remus mumbled, his voice still a bit hoarse but warm with affection as he took a sip of water. He was leaning heavily on his crutch that he still tried to insist he didn't need. The other boys were busy sharing their own sleepy banter, but you just smiled. “Of course, Moony. I wish you'd let me help more. I feel like I've become an animagus for nothing. I can still taste the mandrake leaf, I'll have you know.”

“I told you he wouldn't let you help like, five times!” James shouted ahead as he slipped back on his shirt. Remus strayed behind in his slowed step. Sirius shook his head.

“If we had it our way, and you weren't so spoiled, you wouldn't be one at all.” He snarked in all his grumpy morning glory and you gave a sarcastic laugh.

“What got up your ass this morning? Hopefully not Remus in his state.” 

Remus began to choke on the water you had given them and Sirius gawked at you. James let out a laugh so loud it startled a few birds from the trees.

Remus rolled his neck before he nudged you a bit and gave a low groan. “It will keep you safe. Just in case… you know, anything happens.” 

“Nothing will happen.” You assured and he shrugged, always ready to believe he could hurt you guys at any second.

“You never know.”

“You'd never hurt me, Remus.” You whispered and locked your arm with his. He shook his head.

“Moony would.” He challenged and you shook your head back at him.

“No, I mean, you wouldn't be able to. I am simply getting that good at self defense magic, didn't you hear our new professor? Could wipe the floor with em.” You cheeked and Remus gave you the most sour look you had ever seen, making you giggle.

“Can I?” Peter whispered from beside you and you handed him your water easily, giving a laugh when he threw it back and chucked the damn thing.

“Thirsty?”

“We shouldn't have drank.” He muttered and your jaw dropped.

“You four drank? That has to be illegal. More- more so illegal than whatever we have been doing so far.” You scolded and Remus just gave you a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, looking off into the forest with a playful huff. Only for you to pause when you saw some bit of blue behind you guys. 

You began to slow down more, furrowing your brow at the figure you swear you saw, just following you guys. Your arm untangled from Remus’s and he paused, looking back at you. Then, you saw cigarette smoke. You trailed back a bit more before you turned sharply. 

“I think I dropped something! I'll catch up!” You called back before you hurried down the trail. Looking along the tree line. Only then did you spot exactly who you thought you saw.

Barty looked at you with wide eyes, from the thicket of the trees. You two locked in a staring contest for a few moments before you heard Peter’s voice call out to you.

“You okay, Bambi?” He shouted and you quickly ran into the proper tree line. Grabbing Barty by his lapels and pushing his back against the nearest tree. He gave a small ‘oof’ as you took the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it on the ground, stomping it out.

He didn't react much besides rolling his head in annoyance and looking up at the leaves above you as you attempted to hide him. “What are you doing here?” You whisper hissed, assuming the worst.

He sucked his teeth a bit before looking down at you with a quirked eyebrow, “Can't take a morning stroll?”

“Were you following me?” You asked incredulously, stepping back from him as he fixed his uniform. “Not.. initially.” 

“Yo! Bambi, you alright?” Sirius called down and you pursed your lips, giving Barry a once over. He looked.. sad. Almost bored. Nothing like the playful boy in the library.

“Uhm… yes. Yes!” You shouted back. “Wardrobe malfunction! I have a spell for it, just run ahead!”

There was a long pause before Remus shouted back. “Alright!”

As you listened to the boy’s voices finally fade out into the background you slipped your hands in your robe pockets. 

“Why are you out here?” You finally asked and he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. He walked over to a well worn log and sat down. Looking back to the path one more time you finally sat by him, hugging your cold knees. 

He took off his robe and threw it over your lap. Before you could protest he took a letter from his pocket and handed it over to you. Taking out a box of smokes and starting another one.

You looked over the letter carefully, the envelope was beige but it had a blue stamp. Carefully, you unfolded it.

Bartemius,

I find it utterly disheartening that I must waste my precious time addressing your incessant foolishness yet again. Your childish antics are a stain on our family name, and quite frankly, I am beyond exhausted by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation. Another fight within a week? Pathetic.

How dare you presume to send a personal letter to my office as if your juvenile escapades warrant my attention? If I sought updates on your disgraceful behavior, I would have asked your mother- though I suspect she has long since learned to ignore your antics. It astounds me that you continue to associate with those beneath you, dragging my name through the mud and jeopardizing the reputation I have painstakingly built in the ministry.

Your conduct is an embarrassment, not just to yourself but to me and our entire lineage. I expect to see a marked improvement in your behavior, though I have little hope that you possess the maturity to effect any real change. If you cannot rise above your base instincts, you will remain nothing but a disappointment. Do not insult me further with your incompetence. 

You felt your heart clench tighter with each line you read. It was like someone had cut out the devil's tongue and used his linguistics to verbally lash the pages, and the lack of warmth in the words left you feeling hollow. It was hard to reconcile the boy you’d just been speaking with- the charming, playful Barty- with the boy described in this letter. 

Let alone a boy as sweet as Barty could be subject to this. Your thumbs began to crease the page the tighter you held it.

You knew you were lucky to have a father like yours. He would never speak down to you like this, he was the one who begged you to write. About anything and everything. 

“I wanted him to know I got all O’s.” He muttered, gesturing to the letter. You looked over to him in surprise as he tightened his jaw but kept his expression unreadable. “Should of known it wouldn't have impressed him.”

“Barty…” You whispered, looking up at him with concern etched across your features. You felt your eyes begin to sting and your vision blur. He was staring off into the distance, tense as he took a deep drag of the cigarette. How could someone be so cruel to him?

You schooled your expression, giving a sniff or two as you used your sleeve to dry your tears. Then, your turned to face him fully, pressing the letter firm against your lap.

“You impressed me.” You declared in a stern tone. He furrowed his brow and looked at you curiously. You kept a straight face. “It's impressive, Barty. It's impressive and.. I'm impressed.”

He gave a weak, almost scandalized laugh before he bit his cheek, trying to hide a smile. “You are?”

“Mhm.” You nodded earnestly and he gave a low chuckle as you began to sniff again to try and keep your tears back.

“So.. is that why you'd been avoiding me?” He mused and your shoulders sank a bit. You have a deep sigh and hugged your knees. Burying your face in his robe still draped over your legs.

There was a moment of pause before you finally gave in. “You're not.. you're not a bad person. I don't think you are.” You whispered. “But my brother does. And his friends.”

“So what?” He asked softly, no malice in his tone just genuine curiosity. 

You hesitated, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “So... I don’t want to get caught up in whatever is brewing around you. I know there's something. They care about me, and I care about them. I can’t just ignore it. And Lily she's...”

Barty’s expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing as he considered your words. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“I think you have a reputation.” You countered, trying to keep your tone neutral even as your voice wavered. “And it’s not just who you hang around with. It’s the way people talk about you- like you’re some kind of monster. I've.. heard things. What you've done, I mean.”

He chuckled softly, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose I’ve earned that.” He admitted. “But I’m not dangerous. Not to you.”

You felt a pang of something- so heavy and tight in your chest at the way he said it. There was an honesty in his voice that made you hesitate, and for a moment, you saw not just the boy with the reputation, but someone who seemed genuinely weary of the way others perceived him. No.

The way you perceived him. The hypothetical danger he posed to you. He was more concerned with how you felt about him then anyone else.

“Then why do you hang around with them?” You asked, trying to understand. “You could easily distance yourself from them, you know. They are.. they are monsters, you know what they did to Mary and Lily. They are important to me.”

Barty shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that didn’t quite match the tension in his expression. “They’re... my friends. They understand the game. It’s easier to be with those who don’t expect me to be anything other than what I am.”

“But that's not fair.” You huffed boldly. “That's not fair to me. I won't pick between anyone and my friends because my answer will be my friends.”

“Yeah..” Barty took another long drag of his cigarette. “Me too.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you two, a heavy silence stretching out as you both considered the implications. You had to let yourself realize that with a father like his… his friends were truly all he had. You watched as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, the tendrils swirling in the sunlight filtering through the trees. His face was partially shadowed, but you could see the conflict in his eyes- caught between the reputation he had and the reputation his friends built.

“So, you’re saying that you’d rather be with them, even if it puts you in a bad light?” You asked, your brows furrowing in concern. “Is that really worth it?”

Barty leaned back against the tree, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Not all of us can be Sirius Black.” He chuckled dark and your lip twitched. “Not all of us have a Potter waiting to save us and I'm not leaving Regulus alone either.”

You furrowed your brow at him and he just shrugged. “Why didn't Regulus come along?” You whispered softly and he shook his head.

“Wrong question star. It's not my job to question him. I'm the one who's there for him.” 

You stared at him for a moment longer and Barty met your eyes. It was like a stalemate for a good few minutes.

At that moment, you wondered if the houses were truly picked properly. Because you had never known anyone braver and more loyal than Bartemius Crouch Junior. You gave a low sigh and then smiled at him. He slowly returned it and your smile only widened.

Giving a small giggle he tossed his finished cigarette and held his hand out to you. You took it and he pulled you up, tossing his robe over his arm.

“You should run off now, yeah? Before your brother finds me defacing his sister's reputation.”

You shook your head with a bitter laugh. Taking a moment to appreciate him up close. Eventually, you gave in, getting on your toes and giving him a small kiss on the cheek. One that seemed to stun him.

“You really are remarkable, Barty.” You whispered and he couldn't hide his goofy and bright smile from you. 

“And you, Star Potter, are a beautiful experience, everytime.” He said, his voice low and earnest, a spark of genuine warmth in his gaze. You felt your heart flutter at his compliment, and for a moment, it was as if the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this small pocket of time.

“Now, run along.” He whispered, his tone teasing as he stepped back, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Don’t let them catch you talking to me, or they’ll think I’m corrupting you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to walk back toward the castle. “You wish you were that lucky!” You called over your shoulder, feeling lighter than you had in days.

He watched you go with a small sigh. Shamelessly he put the robe to his face he could smell the faintest linger of your perfume. His eyes closing tight, as the scent reminded him you were real. 

“Merlin, I really do.”

~~~

Sneaking around was your brother’s bread and butter, not yours. 

But you found it harder and harder to really stay away from Barty. His persistence didn't help.

Small things started happening. Like chocolates began to appear in your books, flowers showing up on your desk, and other small things that were undeniably Barty. You couldn't get away from him. Whether it was the shared glances or the way he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race, it was undeniable how much you were starting to fall for him.

You’d see him in the halls between classes, his eyes catching yours briefly before he flashed that charming smile. Sometimes he’d join you at the library, his presence both comforting and slightly thrilling. Each time felt like a secret shared in the quiet corners of Hogwarts, a world apart from the repetitive life of your friends. Not that you didn't love them- you adored them. 

But the attention was nice.

“I got an Outstanding!” Lily sang as she held up her test, smiling ear to ear. James gave a wolf whistle to make Lily laugh, earning a shove for it. 

Sirius looked at his parchment and gave a low whistle before carefully setting it back down, making the group laugh.

“That bad?” You cooed and Sirius smirked at you.

“Yeah? And what did you get, bambi?”

You bit your cheek and looked down at your parchment. Slowly turning it over with one eye closed, only to give a delighted gasp. “Ha! Outstanding!” 

You flashed the paper to the group and Remus gave a laugh, Sirius playfully glared at you and snatched the paper away from you. “Horseradish! You cheated.” He insisted and you laughed.

“I did not cheat!” You protested, trying to snatch your parchment back. “I just studied really hard!”

“Sure, sure,” Sirius said, grinning as he held it just out of your reach. “What’s your secret? Did you bribe Slughorn?”

“That didn't cross my mind, actually.” You cheeked, and Remus clicked his tongue with a playful shake of his head. “Disappointed.”

Sirius laughed, holding your parchment a little higher. “You could have had him eating out of your hand with some chocolate frogs, you know.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to bring him a whole box.” You shot back with a grin, finally managing to snatch your parchment back.

“Look at my little sister!” James piped up, pinching your cheeks. “I knew you had brains in there somewhere!”

“Sod off!” You huffed and he just laughed, letting you go.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but smile at the actual cause of the O. As your brother and everyone began to get back to their idle chatter, you looked across the hall to the RavenClaw table, but you didn't see him. As your eyes drifted across the hall to the Slytherin table, you found your eyes trapped by a pair of stormy gray ones. Regulus Black simply nodded to you and looked down.

You wondered if he knew.

You pouted a bit before you looked back to the group. “I think I'll spend my free period at the library.” 

“Awe, booo.” Peter called across the table.

“Come on, Bambi, don’t be a hermit!” James chimed in, trying to coax you back into the conversation. “You just got an Outstanding! Celebrate a little, you'll turn into my Evans!”

Lily gave a scoff.

“Yeah, you deserve a break.” Sirius added, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “How about we all go to Hogsmeade this weekend? A little fun to reward your hard work?”

You hesitated, torn between the prospect of hanging out with your friends and the nagging feeling that you wanted to see Barty again. “I would like to. But I really should review.”

“Come on, bambi!” Sirius pleaded, leaning forward with that infamous grin of his. “You can study later! Hogsmeade is a perfect way to unwind. Plus, we’re all going together. It’ll be fun!”

You bit your lip, glancing toward the Ravenclaw table again, half-hoping to see Barty’s unmistakable figure. He still wasn’t there. “I really should-”

“Should what?” James interjected, crossing his arms in an exaggerated manner. “Your grades won’t crumble if you take one break. Besides, you’ve been studying like a madwoman. You deserve a little fun. We haven't really hung out since you started this new study obsession.”

“Yeah! What’s the point of getting good marks if you can’t enjoy yourself?” Sirius chimed in. 

You sighed, biting your cheek. While you loved your friends and cherished the time spent with them, the thought of Barty lingered in your mind. “I just think I can study more effectively if I focus on Potions right now.”

“Come on’, you can’t keep avoiding social interactions forever!” Sirius exclaimed dramatically. “You’ll turn into a hermit! Just imagine it: ‘Bambi, the hermit of Hogwarts’- it has a nice ring to it, actually.” He mumbled.

You giggled despite yourself, but the thought of Barty won over. “Sorry boys.”

“I think it's a good idea.” Lily hummed and you felt a bit guilty. Giving a firm nod and gathering your things and hurrying out of the hall before they could continue to protest. 

The soft breeze from outside pushed back your hair a bit as you walked. The smell of the great hall flickered out and was soon replaced by the not entirely pleasant dampness of the dungeons. You weren't walking down the halls for long before you were suddenly yanked into a broom closet so fast you squealed.

Quickly a hand came over your mouth and you- like a normal person would- freaked out. Slamming your head back into the unseen attacker’s face. You heard a groan as he let go and spun around, only to stare at Barty with wide eyes. His hand covering his bruising nose and smiling at you.

“You scared the daylights out of me!” You scolded quickly, pushing away your embarrassment and annoyance with him- especially since he got such a strong reaction out of you. He just smiled and chuckled at you. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He muttered. He had such a pretty smile, even when he was being an absolute moron. Oh, you owe Lily so many apologies. His hands slipped into his pockets as his shaggy hair fell a bit over his face. 

“Just had to see you.” He whispered and you nodded.

“There are better what's to get a girl’s attention.” You muttered and he couldn't stop smiling at you.  “Does it still hurt?”

You muttered softly and he nodded, leaning down a bit to your height. You smirked and raised your finger as if it was your wand. “‘tears be gone and magic be strong.” You whispered and he gave a low hum.

“You know…”

“Hm?”

“I'm not a kid anymore.” He chuckled and you flushed a bit, rolling your eyes. 

“You could've had me fooled. What do you want me to do? Don't pull girls into a closet- no, don't pull anyone into broom closets.” You scolded and he just laughed, again, the most beautiful sound you'd heard all day.

“How about you kiss it better?” He pushed and you gave a snort. 

“So you are a kid?”

“Come on.” He whined and gave you his best puppy dog eyes. “You hurt me, star.”

You held back a laugh, though the urge to playfully shove him away was strong. Instead, you gently cupped his face, watching his expression soften as you leaned in, pressing a quick, light kiss to his nose.

He closed his eyes, humming contentedly at the contact. “Again.” He murmured, barely opening his eyes.

“Needy.” You teased, but obliged, giving him another small kiss. He muttered the same request, and you rolled your eyes, leaning in to pepper his nose with a flurry of quick kisses, each one lighter and faster than the last.

But then, just as your last kiss hovered, he lifted his chin, guiding your lips to his. You gasped softly at the unexpected move, but he only pulled you closer, hands shifting from your hips to your waist, deepening the kiss. You couldn’t help but smile against his mouth, warmth flooding through you as you melted into him.

“Cheeky.” You murmured against his lips.

You felt the gentle rumble of his laughter as he held you tighter, closing every bit of space between you until it felt like you’d always belonged there, tangled in his arms, with nothing left between you but the sound of his heart beating against yours.

“Congratulations on potions.” He mumbled and he stepped a bit closer to you. Leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

You giggled and slipped your hands up his arms, grabbing his biceps and your laughter getting louder as his kisses became a bit more sloppy and messy. From your temple to your cheek to your neck. Devolving you both into laughter and loving kisses.

“Barty?” You whispered and he kissed from where his lips we pressed to your ear. 

“Mhm?”

“You should kiss my lips again.”

He paused and slowly his lips curled up into a smirk against your neck. “Anything you want, star.” 

He slowly kissed a trail up your neck, to your chin, to you cheek. You were growing a bit impatient, but you couldn't bring yourself to be mad about it. It was slow and sweet. The opposite of him.

The anticipation built with each gentle kiss, and when Barty finally pressed his lips to yours, nothing else mattered. The kiss was everything you hoped it would be; soft, warm, and filled with all the excitement from the sneaking around you had been doing.

You both pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other as you shared a quiet moment, the sound of your mingled laughter still lingering in the air. He was warm, he always was. Just quiet and content. "I've been wanting to do that for a while.” Barty admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his confession. "Me too."

After a moment of pause, Bart slipped his hands out of his pockets and around your waist. You slowly opened your eyes to see he was staring at you so obviously. So much affection and.. pain in his eyes. Carefully your reached up from his shoulders to tangle in his hair. 

“Baby.” You cooed, watching as the black pupils of his eyes grew twice their size. 

“I love when you call me that.” He whispered and kissed you again. This time, with a bit more hunger for it. 

The intensity of the kiss took you by surprise, yet it felt natural, as if this was where you were always meant to be. Barty's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if trying to erase any lingering distance between you. The world outside the broom closet faded away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, private moment. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that mirrored the emotions you'd both been holding back for so long.

When you finally broke apart, both of you slightly breathless, Barty rested his forehead against yours again. "I need to know.” He whispered. “You're my girl, yeah?”

“Yours.” You confirmed without hesitation. “Your girl.”

Barty's eyes softened, and a relieved smile spread across his face, as if the weight of uncertainty had been lifted. You hadn't realized that for these past few weeks, despite all the flirting and stray touches, the meetings and secret rendezvous you'd never confirmed what felt so obvious to you.

"Good.” He murmured, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek. "Good.”

The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, savoring the stillness and the shared understanding that had only deepened. It was rare to find moments like these at Hogwarts, where every day was bustling with activity and noise, but here, in the quiet confines of the broom closet, you had carved out your own little haven.

"We should probably get back before they start wondering where we are.” You whispered reluctantly, knowing that duty and friendships couldn't be ignored forever. If Remus or anyone went looking in the library for you it was over, Merlin if they pulled out that map they loved to use on you so much you were done for.

Barty nodded, though he made no move to let you go just yet. "I suppose. But we’ll have more time together soon, right?"

"Definitely.” You assured him, smiling as you reluctantly stepped back, already anticipating the next secret meeting, the next shared glance across the crowded halls.

As you both emerged from the broom closet, the world seemed a little brighter, the halls a little more welcoming. And as you parted ways with a lingering look, you knew this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

~~~

You never thought Barty was capable of restraint- his affections for you were never a secret. He had been bold from the start, confessing his feelings on your first meeting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You assumed he couldn’t hold back if he tried. But the truth was, you had underestimated him completely.

You were a Potter, you were no stranger to a love that burrowed into your heart like a bug. James was a prime example, but he had nothing on your father. You knew love like you knew the sunrise, Potters were love. That still didn't prepare you for the love of Barty Crouch Junior.

The moment you became ‘Barty’s girl,’ subtle gestures turned into grand, unrelenting declarations. Flowers appeared on your bedside in ornate bouquets, chocolates transformed into extravagant assortments, and he began slipping you old notes from his classes, annotated with messages he thought you’d enjoy. Sometimes, you’d find an anonymous love letter tucked between the pages of your books, though you always recognized his handwriting. It was a whirlwind of adoration that grew so excessive even your friends couldn’t ignore it.

The rumor spread quickly: you had a secret admirer. A very devoted one.

What started as stolen glances in the hallways and whispered words in broom closets evolved into something deeper. He became a constant, pulling you into hidden spaces where he’d kiss you like you were the only real thing in his world. His kisses were desperate, his hands always seeking some part of you to hold, as if he feared you might slip through his fingers.

Your world shrank to accommodate him. It was thrilling, yes, but also overwhelming. Each secret meeting was marked by a mix of exhilaration and dread that only lended to thrive in you, every touch, every breathless encounter behind closed doors, reminded you how deeply tangled you were becoming in each other. It was intoxicating and dangerous, like standing too close to a fire.

When he looked at you, it was like he was trying to memorize your every detail, like you were his only source of light. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” He murmured one night, his voice rough as he pressed his forehead against yours. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing the curve of your jaw as his eyes searched yours with raw intensity. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you.”

You shivered, his words igniting a heat in your chest. “Barty…”

His lips crashed against yours, swallowing the rest of your words. The kiss was frantic, a collision of need and longing, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, like he couldn’t get enough of you. Your knees buckled slightly, but his arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you, grounding you. 

“You’re mine,” He whispered against your lips, his voice low and fervent. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.” You breathed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. And it was true- somehow, he’d claimed parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You couldn't even fathom were your breath started and his ended. 

He sought you out in the quiet moments, trailing his fingertips down your arm when no one was looking, writing your name in the margins of his notes when he thought you wouldn’t see. You began to realize that to him, you weren’t just a girl he fancied; you were his anchor, his sanctuary in a world that seemed determined to tear him apart. He was becoming yours too.

Your eyes searched for him in every room. The way he flashed you that sickeningly slick smirk when he caught you staring. How he would follow you out of any room you happened to share, just to steal you away from whatever task he deemed not more important then his time with you. Shushing you in empty corridors as his hands found a spot just above your skirt. Ruffling your tie in slight frustration and marking skin no one would see but him. All while looking at you  like you were his last salvation.

~~~

The fire crackled in the hearth as you sat cross-legged on your bed, your Transfiguration book open in front of you. Lily sat at your desk, rifling through her notes, while Remus lounged on your bed, one arm thrown casually over the back of a pillow. The three of you had settled in for a relaxed study session, but conversation had drifted away from studies.

"So, are we ever going to find out who it is that's got you all flustered lately?" Remus asked with a teasing grin, nudging your ankle with his foot. Lily looked up from her notes, her eyebrows raising with interest.

"Oh, Remus, give her a break," Lily sighed with a small smile, though you could see the curiosity twinkling in her green eyes. "She’ll tell us when she’s ready."

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks, and you gave Remus a playful kick back. "You’re both ridiculous," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "There’s no one."

Remus rolled his eyes, his smile widening. "Sure, and I'm the Minister of Magic."

You shook your head, flipping open your Transfiguration book to avoid his gaze. "Fascinating. The Minister and all- and you can't even tell me which wand motion is the proper technique to transfigure my desk. Study don't pry into my very uninteresting love life."

"Uninteresting, huh?" Lily asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "I don’t know, those flowers you’ve been getting seem pretty interesting to me."

You opened your mouth to retort when something caught your eye; a folded piece of parchment, carefully tucked between the pages of your book. You furrowed your brow as you pulled it out, unfolding it to see the familiar slanted handwriting of Barty.

Meet me in my dorm. I’ve got something to show you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly folded the note, trying to suppress the smile threatening to spread across your face. You slipped the parchment under your pillow, feeling both Remus’ and Lily’s eyes on you.

"What’s that?" Remus asked, his smirk only growing.

"Nothing," you said quickly, giving them both a bright smile. "Just a reminder for myself."

Lily narrowed her eyes playfully, clearly not buying it, but she didn’t push. "Alright, fine," she said, glancing at the clock on your bedside table. "But I think I should be getting back to my own dorm soon. I promised James I'd meet him."

You nodded, swinging your legs off the bed. "Yeah, I should… um, I’ll be back in a bit."

Remus gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything as you grabbed your robe and made your way towards the door, feeling the folded note burning against your skin. You slipped out of the room, trying to keep your excitement in check as you made your way through the castle.

Not long after you left, James appeared in the doorway, his hair as untidy as ever and a bright smile lighting up his face. "There you are, Evans," he said, striding into the room without knocking. "Ready to go?"

Lily stood, gathering her notes, but before she could respond, James’ eyes flickered to your bed, where the edge of the note you’d tucked under your pillow peeked out. His eyes narrowed slightly, and with the mischievous curiosity that had always been a part of him, he reached over and pulled it out.

"What’s this, then?" James asked, more to himself than anyone else.

Lily turned, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the note. "James, put that back. It's not yours."

But James had already unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words. His playful smile faltered slightly, his brow furrowing as he read the message. “... she's meeting someone. At night.”

Remus wasn't proud of himself, but he felt his body jolt forward at the idea. His brow furrowing as he looked at the handwriting. 

“Surely not.” Lily muttered skeptical, walking closer and pouting. “James, whose handwriting is that?”

“Don't know.” He mumbled before he glanced at Remus who grimaced a bit. “I know how to find out.”

~~~

The sun had long since set, plunging the room into shadow. The lone candle on the nightstand burned low, its golden light flickering uncertainly across the walls, casting fleeting glimpses of the intimacy shared within. You lay beside Barty on his narrow bed, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb tracing gentle lines as if memorizing your face. His other hand gripped your waist, not possessively but securely, as though grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

His green eyes, bright and intent, held yours with a tenderness so consuming it made your chest ache. The world outside seemed to vanish in this space- no war, no sides, no betrayals. Just the boy you loved, smiling softly at you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

"What are you smiling about?" You teased, brushing your nose against his, your fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck. He sighed at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed briefly before fixing on you again, filled with the kind of raw vulnerability he showed to no one else.

This was your Barty. The boy who could switch so drastically between needing every bit of your skin against his own, and loving you like you were a fragile truth.

"Just you." He murmured, his voice thick with affection, his smile deepening. "Thinking about how breath taking you look right now.."

Your heart swelled at his words, at the way he looked at you as if you were his last breath. You pressed your lips to his, slow and soft, letting the warmth of his embrace spread through you. His arms tightened around you, his desperation seeping through the way he held you close, as though he feared you might disappear. 

But even in this fragile moment, reality intruded. Your lips trailed down his jaw, leaving a line of soft kisses along his neck. As your hand slipped beneath the sleeve of his shirt, your fingers brushed against something rough, foreign. You froze, your heart stuttering as your fingertips traced the unfamiliar texture.

"Barty, what’s this?" You asked, pulling back slightly, your brow furrowing as dread began to creep into your chest. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

His entire body went rigid. His eyes snapped open, the warmth in them replaced by something colder, darker. His hand shot to your wrist, gripping it with startling intensity, though his touch remained gentle. “It’s nothing.” He said- no, demanded quickly, but his voice cracked, and his gaze flickered away. The tension in his jaw, the way he avoided your eyes. It betrayed him.

He couldn't hide from you. Not after he'd given you every way to see him.

"Barty.” You pressed, your voice trembling now. "Show me."

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the faint twitch of muscle. His eyes darted to yours, filled with a fear so raw it sent a chill through you. Slowly, with trembling hands, he rolled up his sleeve.

The world seemed to stop.

Etched into his pale skin, dark and stark against the flickering candlelight, was the unmistakable mark of the Death Eaters. Your breath hitched, the air in the room turning ice cold as you stared at the symbol that now defined him. The room, once warm and safe, felt suffocating, as though the walls were closing in around you.

"No.” You whispered, shaking your head, your voice breaking as tears stung your eyes. "No, Barty, tell me this isn’t real. Tell me it’s a joke. Please." 

He reached for you, his expression desperate, pleading. "It’s not what you think.” He whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own guilt. "Please, just listen- fuck, let me explain."

"Explain?" You choked, the word a bitter laugh as you scrambled to sit up, the sheets tangling around your legs. “You’re one of them, Barty. A Death Eater. The people who are trying to kill my brother, who would destroy Lily, who hate everything I stand for. How could you? How could you do this?”

He flinched as if you’d struck him, his hands trembling as he reached for you again. “I did it for them,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “For Regulus. For Evan. They needed me- I had to protect them.”

Your laughter came out hollow, bitter. “Protect them? What about me, Barty? What about us? Did you think of me when you let that thing be branded onto your skin? Did you think about what it would mean? About the promises we made?”

“I love you.” He pleaded, his voice breaking on the words. His eyes, wide and glistening with unshed tears, bore into yours, his desperation bleeding through every syllable. “I love you more than anything in this world. I did this for us; for you. I thought I could keep you safe.”

You shook your head, your chest tight, every word he spoke only twisting the knife in your heart. “Safe? You think this is keeping me safe? Barty, you’ve tied yourself to the very people who want to destroy me, my family, my friends. Dorcas got out. She didn’t need to join them. She did it for Marlene! You had a choice, Barty. You could have chosen me.”

“Don’t do this.” He begged, his voice trembling as he sank to his knees in front of you, his hands clutching at yours. “Please, don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I can’t- I won’t survive it. You’re all I have.”

His raw vulnerability shattered something in you, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to humanity. But even that couldn’t change the mark on his arm, the choices he had made. You tore your hands from his grasp, stepping back as tears streamed down your face.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to hold yourself together. “I can’t be with someone who’s made that choice. Picking that side. Not when it means standing against everything I believe in. I love you, Barty, but this…” Your voice broke. “This isn’t love. Not when it costs so much.”

His face crumpled, his body trembling as he clung to the edge of the bed like it was the only thing holding him up. “You are my side,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re everything to me. Without you, I’m nothing. Darling, please. You have to trust me.”

Your heart shattered at his words, but you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t let your love for him blind you to the truth of what he had become. Turning away, you moved toward the door, each step feeling like a physical wound.

“Please.” He whispered one last time, his voice so broken it nearly stopped you in your tracks. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll fix it. I'll fix us, darling, my love.”

You hesitated, your hand on the doorknob, tears blurring your vision. “I’m sorry, Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling with grief. “But you’ve chosen a side. And it isn’t mine.”

With that, you stepped out of the room, the soft click of the door behind you sealing the final break between you. Each step down the hallway felt like walking through fire, the ache in your chest consuming you. You pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle a sob, the image of him- broken, desperate, lost- burned into your mind.

But you kept walking, because if you turned back, you knew you’d never leave. And that was the one thing you couldn’t allow. 

Not when his love came with a price you could no longer bear to pay.

~~~

It was well past curfew when you stumbled back into the dormitory, your body heavy with exhaustion and your heart feeling as though it had been shattered into pieces too small to ever put back together. Every step echoed hollowly in the silent hallways, the sound swallowed by the crushing weight in your chest. You didn’t care about the risk of being caught; the only thing propelling you forward was the desperate need to collapse, to sink into the safety of your bed where the world couldn’t reach you. 

But the sight that greeted you when you pushed open the door wasn’t the solitude you craved.

James stood with the Marauder's Map clutched tightly in his hand, his face flushed with a mix of anger and worry that twisted painfully at the sight of you. Sirius paced like a caged animal, his jaw tight, his dark eyes alight with barely restrained frustration. Remus sat perched on the edge of your bed, his brow furrowed with concern, while Lily lingered by the desk, her green eyes soft and filled with sympathy. Peter, as always, quiet. Hovering in the background.

"There you are!" James's voice rang out, sharp and filled with barely contained emotion. The sound made you flinch, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He crossed the space between you in two quick strides, holding up the map like a damning piece of evidence. “You want to tell me what the hell you were doing in the Ravenclaw dorms? Or should I save you the trouble? I know who you were with.”

The accusation in his voice hit like a physical blow. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The fight you would usually summon to deflect his concern- the sarcasm or sharp retorts; was gone. It had crumbled under the weight of the truth you could no longer avoid. Your shoulders slumped, the tears you had tried so desperately to hold back beginning to blur your vision.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, James.” You muttered, though your voice was a faint shadow of its usual strength. It trembled, hollow and lifeless, like it no longer belonged to you.

James scoffed, his frustration boiling over. "Don’t have to explain? You’ve been sneaking around with him! Don’t you see what he is?” His voice cracked, the anger giving way to something far more fragile. "He’s one of them, isn’t he? A bloody Death Eater.”

His words were a knife twisting in your chest. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath, your body trembling under the weight of his accusation. But you didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. Because James was right. He had been right all along. 

"Say something!" Sirius’s voice cut through the silence, raw and desperate. He stepped closer, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his pacing halted by his need for answers. His sharp gaze burned into you, searching for some explanation, some reassurance that you hadn’t fallen so deeply into something so dangerous. He couldn't bare to see you follow, not after losing Regulus to it. “Anything.”

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered, “You were right.” The words came out broken, each one heavier than the last. “You were both right… about everything.”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of your admission pressing down on everyone. James’s expression crumbled, his anger dissolving into a mix of heartbreak and understanding. He moved toward you, his voice soft and filled with pain. “Oh, sweetheart…” He murmured, reaching for you.

That was all it took. The dam inside you broke, and a sob tore its way out of your chest. James pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as your knees buckled beneath you. You clung to him, your sobs muffled against his robes, your whole body trembling.

“I thought he loved me.” You choked out, the words spilling from your lips in between gasps for breath. “I thought- he said he loved me. But he lied. He lied to me.”

James’s arms tightened around you, his own tears slipping silently down his face. “I know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I know, Bambi. I’m so sorry.”

Sirius stepped forward then, his anger replaced by an aching sadness. His hand rested on your back, tentative at first, before he let out a shaky breath. “We were only trying to protect you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “We didn’t want this for you. We didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Lily knelt beside you, her warm hand brushing against your arm as she looked up at you, her eyes filled with sympathy. “We’re here now,” she said gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ve got you.”

You turned to her, your tear-streaked face trembling as you met her gaze. “I don’t know what to do now,” you admitted, your voice small and broken.

Remus, silent until now, stepped closer and placed a hand on your shoulder. His touch was steady, grounding. “You take it one step at a time,” he said softly, his calm voice a lifeline. “Just breathe for me. Ten in, ten out. We’ll figure it out together.”

You nodded, trying to follow his guidance, your breaths still shaky but slowing little by little. The sobs subsided, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest that felt impossibly heavy. 

“Come on.” He whispered, his voice filled with a protective warmth. “Let’s get you into bed. You don’t have to think about anything else tonight.”

You nodded with a distant look, letting him coax you into your bed. You felt like a child.

“Jamie, let's head back to the dorms, yeah?” Lily said quietly, her eyes flicking to James, who stood near the foot of your bed, still looking worried. 

“But..” James started, staring at your slightly trembling form, reluctant to leave you like this. He wanted to protect you, to make sure you were okay, but the look Remus gave him was enough to hold him back. Remus’s gaze was gentle but resolute, silently reassuring James that he would be here, that he’d stay by your side tonight. 

James sighed, his reluctance clear, but he finally nodded. He glanced at Sirius, then back to Remus, letting out a slow breath. “Right. Let’s let her rest then?” 

“Yeah,” Lily whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the back of your head. She lingered for a moment, her hand still gently stroking your hair. “We’ll be back in the morning.” 

Sirius looked like he was about to protest, his expression torn between wanting to stay and knowing he had to let you rest. But Remus quietly reached for the familiar book on your nightstand. He shuffled slightly, getting comfortable next to you. Remus turned his head to look at Sirius, offering a reassuring nod. 

“I’ve got her,” he said softly, his voice calm and steady. It was enough to ease some of the tension in the room. Sirius hesitated for a moment longer, then gave a small, reluctant nod. He exchanged one last glance with James before following Lily towards the door. 

James lingered just a heartbeat longer, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Get some sleep, alright?” He whispered, his voice filled with love and concern. “We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Goodnight, Bambi.” Peter mumbled from the same spot he stood earlier, slowly shying behind James as he left. And with that, they left the room, the door closing softly behind them. The silence settled back over the room, and Remus turned towards you, his presence a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone. He carefully opened the book, his fingers brushing over the worn pages. 

His voice, quiet and soothing, filled the room as he began to read, his words wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You turned slightly, facing Remus, his voice becoming a soft rhythm that helped to steady your breaths, one at a time. His free hand rested near yours, close enough that if you wanted, you could reach for it. He didn’t push. He simply stayed, his calm presence anchoring you. Eventually, as his gentle voice lulled you, the weight on your chest seemed to lighten just a fraction, and you let your eyes drift shut. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to let go, to let the exhaustion take over. The sound of Remus’s voice, the warmth of his presence, made it feel just a little bit more bearable.

~~~

You woke the next morning to soft murmurs drifting through your dormitory. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the walls in a gentle glow. For a moment, the warmth tricked you into thinking everything was fine. But then the memories of the night before came flooding back. Barty’s betrayal, the heartbreak, the fight- and the ache in your chest returned with full force.

You forced yourself to sit up, rubbing at your stinging eyes. Across the room, you saw Lily and Remus speaking quietly near the window. Lily noticed you first, her soft smile tinged with sadness. She crossed the room, settling beside you and placing a comforting hand on your arm. 

“Morning.” She said gently, her voice careful, as though she were afraid you might shatter under the weight of it all. “How are you feeling?”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I don’t know,” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Your body felt heavy, like every muscle was pulling you back down into the mattress, but the weight wasn’t comforting- it was suffocating.

Remus moved closer, offering you a steaming cup of tea. “Take your time.” He mused, his gaze steady and kind. You accepted the cup with a small nod, letting the warmth seep into your hands even if it couldn’t reach your heart.

You hesitated before asking, “James?” The one person you were dreading facing. 

Lily and Remus exchanged a glance. “He’s alright,” Lily said gently. “Probably caught up with Head Boy duties. He’s just worried about you.”

You nodded, guilt twisting in your chest. “I didn’t want to upset him…”

Lily squeezed your arm. “He loves you. He just needs time to process everything. He’ll come around.”

Remus gave you a soft smile. “How about some fresh air? It might help clear your head.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. Staying in bed wouldn’t make anything better, and maybe the cold air would numb more than just your fingers. You wrapped a robe around yourself and followed Remus and Lily out of the tower, their steady presence keeping you grounded as you moved through the quiet castle halls. Each step felt like a small victory against the chaos inside your heart.

Just as you began to feel the chill of the air prickling your skin, a familiar voice shouting down the hall made your blood run cold. The words were indistinct, but the rage behind them was unmistakable. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you quickened your pace, your pulse pounding.

When you turned the corner, the scene stopped you in your tracks. James had Barty pinned against the wall, his fist gripping the collar of Barty’s shirt. His face was twisted in fury, his voice shaking as he snarled at him. A small crowd of students had gathered, whispering and watching the spectacle unfold.

“You think you can just hurt her?” James spat, slamming Barty against the stone wall. “You think there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Barty didn’t fight back. He stood there, taking every shove, his face pale and hollow, but his eyes- his eyes betrayed him. They weren’t empty; they were frantic, burning with guilt, fear, and something that terrified you when they flicked to your own. He didn’t even seem to register James’s words. His entire focus was on you, standing frozen in the hallway.

Sirius leaned casually against the wall nearby, a cigarette dangling from his lips, though his sharp eyes were anything but relaxed. “Go on, Prongs,” he muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Give him hell.”

Your voice cracked as you shoved through the onlookers. “James, stop!” You shouted, panic lacing your words. But James didn’t hear you, his rage blinding him as he shoved Barty again, his voice trembling with emotion. 

“You don’t get to treat her like that, to use her, and walk away like nothing happened!” James’s fist cocked back, and you screamed again, louder this time. “James!”

Sirius turned, startled by the desperation in your voice. He immediately straightened, stepping toward James. “Mate,” Sirius hissed, grabbing James’s shoulder. “She’s here.”

James froze, his chest heaving as he turned to look at you. His face softened the instant he saw the tears streaking your cheeks, but the tension in his body didn’t fade entirely. He let go of Barty’s shirt with a sharp shove, his hands falling to his sides. 

Barty stumbled back, his hand reaching up to rub his neck, but his eyes were locked on you. His voice was hoarse and trembling when he finally spoke. “Please…” His gaze was raw, desperate. “Please, just talk to me.”

You froze, the pain in his eyes tugging at something in your chest even as you recoiled from him. “I don’t want to-”

“She doesn’t need to,” Remus’s voice cut in, low but firm as he stepped in front of you. He placed a steady hand on your arm, keeping you rooted beside him. “That's all, Crouch.”

Barty flinched at the tone in Remus’s voice, but he didn’t look away from you. “I just need a moment,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Just one chance to explain- she has to know that I didn’t mean-” 

“Bartemius.” Remus said sharply, though his tone never rose. His calmness was like a dam, holding back the chaos in the room. He stepped forward slightly, his hand still on your arm. “That's all.”

Barty’s shoulders sagged, his face crumpling as he looked at you one last time. “I love you.” He whispered, his voice so broken it sent a chill down your spine. “You have to know that.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Remus gently tugged you closer to him, shielding you from Barty’s gaze. “Come on,” he murmured softly. “Let’s go.”

As Lily took your other side, guiding you down the hallway, you could feel Barty’s eyes following you, like he was clinging to the sight of you as his last lifeline. Behind you, Sirius muttered something sharp under his breath before stomping out his cigarette and following James, who stood frozen, his jaw tight as he stared after you.

You felt like a pathetic child. Being ushered around and babied, but you didn't fight it. You wanted this nightmare of a year to be over. 

So when Regulus and Evan finally came, and the Black brothers shared some hateful words- and Lily dragged James away from the impending fight, you stayed hidden under Remus’s arm. The yelling and the arguments just sounded like buzzing in your ears. Leaving you to stare blankly off at the mess you had created. Watching as Evan took Barty away and Regulus glanced at you with an expression that flashed between sour, sympathetic, and careful. Turning on his heel to hurry after his friends. You wanted this year to end.

~~~

The rest of your sixth year at Hogwarts passed in a haze. After the confrontation between James and Barty, you felt like you were living in fragments- moments of warmth with your friends interrupted by long, suffocating stretches of numbness. James, Sirius, Remus, Lily, and Peter had rallied around you, protective and supportive, but the pain lingered. Barty’s betrayal, his mark, the weight of his choices. It all clung to you, no matter how hard you tried to shake it.

The school year ended with bittersweet farewells. James and everyone graduated, leaving behind an emptiness that Hogwarts couldn’t fill. On the train ride home, James gave you a fierce hug, his voice low but steady. “You’re going to be okay.” He whispered, as if saying it enough times would make it true. “We’ll all be okay.” His determination was a promise: he would fight, protect, and do whatever it took to keep you and the people he loved safe. It terrified how how devoted to the war he became, he hated to leave you at Hogwarts alone.

But the summer brought its own heartbreak. James and Lily joined the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius, Peter, and Remus close behind- throwing themselves into the war. The house was too quiet without James’s booming laugh or Sirius’s teasing remarks. Letters from James came sporadically, and the tension in his words bled through the parchment. 

Then, not long after James and Lily’s wedding, your world shattered. Your parents got sick and you hardly left their bed side. They died days apart and you wondered if that's what it looks like; real love. Not able to be apart for even a week before returning to one another no matter what disaster they left behind. Though, you knew it wasn't true, just your own comfort. James, crushed under the weight of his grief, threw himself further into the Order. You rarely saw him. Remus kept you company as best he could, but even he had missions that pulled him away. Sirius made sure to remind you that James just wanted to protect what little family he had left, it killed you to not be there with them. The isolation was unbearable, every goodbye feeling like it could be the last. The ache of losing your family was only worsened by the fear that the rest of the people you loved would follow.

When you returned for your seventh year, Hogwarts felt hollow, almost unfamiliar without James, Sirius, or the others. But Dorcas Meadowes was there, refusing to leave you to fend for yourself. She became your constant companion, the person you leaned on most. The two of you forged a quiet understanding- she never pushed you to talk about Barty, and you never asked about the darkness she’d left behind. Dorcas was the girl who had escaped the worst parts of her legacy, a beacon of strength and resilience that kept you grounded.

Still, no matter how far you tried to distance yourself from Barty, he remained a presence in your life. Letters appeared on your bed, scribbled with frantic apologies. Flowers were left outside your dormitory door, wilting reminders of his desperation. He cornered you in empty corridors, his green eyes burning with longing as he begged you to listen.

“I love you,” He whispered one evening, his voice breaking as he blocked your path outside the library. “I’ve always loved you- since we were kids. You have to know that. What I did- it wasn’t about hurting you. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought…” He trailed off, his hands trembling at his sides. “I need you, star. I can’t do this without you.”

You clenched your fists, your chest tightening at the raw emotion in his voice. His words always left a mark, reopening wounds you were desperately trying to heal. “Barty.” You whispered quietly, your voice shaking. “You need to let me go. This… this isn’t love. Not when it hurts this much.”

He flinched as though you’d slapped him, his eyes filling with tears. “It is love,” He insisted, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never felt this before- it's terrifying. I haven't been in this much pain before. I’d give you anything- everything- if you just came back to me. Star I can't do this.”

You shook your head, your breath hitching. “That’s not what I want. I don't like feeling like this either, Barty. I wanted you, Barty. But you made your choice. Your cause- what they have done to my family alone-”

Despite your protests, the line between you blurred one night near the end of the school year. He found you in the Astronomy Tower, the only place you could escape responsibility. The sight of him made your heart ache. He looked so much like the boy you had fallen for; tousled hair, eyes filled with a longing so fierce it made your knees weak. And for a moment, you forgot yourself.

“I hate what I’ve done to you,” He confessed, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “I hate that I’ve hurt you. But I can’t stop loving you.”

The vulnerability in his voice cracked something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, your lips met his. The kiss was frantic, desperate. His hands cradled your face as though you were something sacred, something he couldn’t bear to lose. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself drown in him, in the memory of what you once had.

But as quickly as it began, reality crashed over you. You pulled away, your breathing uneven as tears blurred your vision. “We can’t.” You whispered, stepping back. “This isn’t right.”

Barty reached for you, his voice trembling. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t walk away again. I’ll change- I’ll leave everything behind if that’s what it takes. Just… don’t leave me.”

The sincerity in his words nearly broke you, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “If you loved me, you would’ve chosen me before it came to this,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “But it’s too late, Barty. You can’t undo what’s been done. We both.. we both know if it came to me or Regulus- me or Evan.”

“That's not fair.” He croaked.

Your eyes flicked up to his as your tears rushed down your face. “It isn't.”

His shoulders slumped, the light in his eyes dimming as your words sank in. For the first time, he seemed to realize that no amount of pleading or promises would bring you back to him. “I’ll always love you.” whispered, his voice hollow.

You turned away, your heart shattering as you walked down the spiral staircase, leaving him alone in the tower. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You knew if you did, you’d lose your resolve.

When the train pulled into King’s Cross at the end of the year, you were greeted by the sight of your brother and his friends waiting for you. James’s grin was wide as he swept you into a bear hug, and for the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. Sirius ruffled your hair, Remus gave you a reassuring smile, and Lily’s arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. 

Even as you smiled, as you let yourself feel the warmth of their love and support, a part of you still ached. A part of you still thought of the boy you had left behind. But as the summer sun warmed your face and James’s laughter rang in your ears, you realized that some chapters had to end, no matter how much they hurt.

~~~

The kitchen was warm, filled with the comforting smell of breakfast and the sound of soft laughter. Lily twirled Harry in her arms, humming along to the radio as James danced beside them, making ridiculous faces to elicit another bright giggle from his son. Harry’s laughter rang out like a bell, pure and joyful, filling the room with a happiness so genuine it felt almost untouchable.

June 24, 1981. The day meant nothing and yet everything, because for a fleeting moment, life felt like it was untouched by war. Even without Peter, the Potter manor felt like home again. 

Sirius leaned against the counter, a mischievous grin lighting his face as he watched James spin Harry dramatically before dipping him like a proper ballroom partner. “Fancy a dance, Bambi?” Sirius asked, holding out a hand to you with an exaggerated flourish.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Only if you promise not to step on my feet, Black.” You placed your hand in his, letting him pull you into the center of the kitchen. The music was upbeat, and Sirius matched it with absurdly exaggerated movements, twirling you around with flair that made you laugh so hard you had to clutch his shoulder for balance.

Sirius finally let out a mock sigh, fanning himself. “Too much for me, little Potter.” He joked, stepping aside. “Your turn, Moony. Show her how a real gentleman dances.”

Remus chuckled softly, stepping forward with a shake of his head. He took your hand with a gentleness that made your heart ache, pulling you into a slower, steadier rhythm despite the lively tune still playing on the radio. Even with his weight pressed heavy on his crutch, and your movements small and slow, it still felt all the same. His gaze lingered on yours, his hazel eyes soft and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. 

"You deserve this.” He muttered quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. “To smile like this every day.” 

The warmth of his words filled your chest, but it was bittersweet, a reminder of all the times you hadn’t felt this light. You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a small smile. “You do too, Remus.”

He returned the smile, spinning you one last time before James swept in with dramatic flair, lifting you off the ground. “One more dance before breakfast!” He announced, making you laugh despite yourself. “No sad faces allowed today. We’re celebrating.”

It was perfect- the kind of moment you could tuck away and hold onto when the world outside felt unbearable. Lily danced with Harry in her arms, Sirius joined in with exaggerated moves, and the room filled with the kind of happiness you hadn’t felt in so long. For a brief, fragile moment, it was enough.

But then the music stopped.

The radio cut out abruptly, replaced by the somber voice of a news broadcaster. “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an urgent update on the latest casualties in the ongoing conflict. The names of those lost in the recent skirmish include…”

The warmth of the room vanished, the light dimming as everyone froze. James set you down gently, his expression hardening as he turned toward the radio. Lily instinctively clutched Harry closer, her face pale. Sirius’s grin disappeared entirely, his hand hovering near the dial as though he could will the news away.

The list of names continued, some familiar, most not. Each one was a reminder of the growing cost of the war, of the lives slipping away like grains of sand.

And then you heard it.

“...Evan Rosier, Bartemius Crouch Junior…”

The words echoed in your ears, louder than anything else. The world seemed to stop. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as the name repeated in your mind, over and over. Barty. 

The boy who had loved you so fiercely, who had been so lost, so desperate to make you stay. He was gone. Evan too, another name tethered to your past, but it was Barty’s that struck you like a knife to the chest.

At first, you laughed. You could of sworn James looked at you like you had lost it; you wouldn't blame him. It was ridiculous. The boy you knew, the magnetic and ethereal wizard who you gave your all too couldn't possibly be dead. He was your age. He was a kid. You had both just graduated- what in Merlin's name could they possibly be on about? 

Your laughter slowly died down into a choked gasp and a sniffle, your body stiff. You closed your eyes tight and tried to stifle your sobs. “No…” Your knees buckled, and James caught you instantly, his arm tightening around your shoulders. Sirius reached out, shutting off the radio with a harsh click, the silence that followed deafening. 

“He…” Your voice cracked, trembling as you forced the words out. “He’s really gone?”

Remus stepped closer, his expression pained. He placed a hand on your shoulder, steady and comforting. “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Lily’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she rocked Harry gently, trying to keep him calm. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The sound of her grief only deepened the ache in your chest.

James pressed his nose to your temple, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’m sorry, Bambi,” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

The tears came before you could stop them, spilling freely as your body trembled. You clung to James like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, your sobs muffled against his shoulder. The memories of Barty overwhelmed you; the way he’d looked at you, like you were his everything; the way he’d held you, as though letting go would destroy him. The thought that you would never see him again, never hear his voice or feel his touch, crushed you.

“I thought I was over him.” You whispered through your tears, your voice trembling. “I swore I was. But now…”

Sirius moved closer, his arm wrapping around you and James. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’ve got you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your throat felt too tight, the lump of grief choking you. You lifted your head to look around the room, at the faces of the people who had been your family for so long. They were blurry through your tears, but their love was palpable, a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Still, the ache remained, deep and unrelenting. Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you had moved on, a part of you would always carry Barty. His loss wasn’t just his death; it was the loss of what could have been, the love that might have saved him if only things had been different. If only he chose it. Because you and Barty were a Hogwarts fling, everyone knows they don't last forever. But even if it crashed in a blazing glory, even if you both turned bitter, if the break up destroyed you. You'd rather feel that.

The kitchen felt colder now, the warmth of the morning replaced by the sobering weight of reality. And yet, as James held you tightly, as Sirius and Remus stayed close, as Lily hummed softly to soothe Harry, you knew you weren’t alone. Even in the face of heartbreak, you were still surrounded by love. And somehow, you would find a way to carry on.

~~~ Bonus Scene~~~

The house was suffocating in its silence.

Your childhood home, once filled with laughter and the chaotic warmth of your family, now seemed cold and lifeless. James and Lily were busy with their own lives, preparing for the future that everyone whispered about in cautious tones, and Sirius had left for good reason you couldn’t fault him for. You were alone, and the empty hallways of the Potter Manor only amplified the echo of your own thoughts.

It had been days since you’d learned the news of what befell Barty.

After the shock ran over you it took days of Remus coaxing to get you out of bed. Then days to be able to face a mirror. Everyone was supportive, helpful, but you felt just as pathetic as you did in school.

The ache in your chest felt heavier tonight as you climbed the stairs to your old room. The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting long, pale shadows across the walls. You reached your room and pushed the door open, slipping inside and locking it with a flick of your wand. It was habit more than anything; no one else was here.

You set your wand on the bedside table and turned toward the window, intent on shutting the heavy curtains, when a hand clamped over your mouth.

Panic erupted within you, and instinct took hold. Without thinking, you threw your head back as hard as you could, the satisfying crack of impact reverberating through your skull. A sharp, pained grunt followed, and the grip on you loosened.

Spinning around, your heart hammering in your chest, you braced for a fight- only to come face to face with the last person you’d expected to see.

“Bloody hell, star,” Barty groaned, one hand pressed to his nose as he leaned against the wall for support. Blood trickled between his fingers, but his lips still curled into that maddeningly familiar smirk. “That’s twice you’ve done that. Are you always this violent, or am I special?”

The air left your lungs, your body frozen in place. “No.” You whispered, shaking your head as if the motion could erase what you were seeing. “No. You’re- You’re supposed to be dead.”

Barty let out a low chuckle, straightening up and swiping at the blood on his face. “I think.. we should talk.”

Part two -->