#Hexes and Hushes

[brights-place]

【⋆˚࿔ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝜗𝜚˚⋆】

Read The full book on my wattpad

[Name] stared at the people below her as she bit her lip as she headed over to the platform of the quartz stage as she took a sharp breath in as she stood in front of a podium. The scene takes place under a dusky, gradient sky that transitions from deep purple at the top to lighter pink hues near the horizon as lightning stroke behind her as she held her hands close to herself as a form of comfort.

Framing the center of the large stage were ornate picture frame liked mirrors floating mid-air. These golden gilded frames are elaborately detailed with swirls and flourishes, housing portraits of [Name] in their outfit. Each portrait is identical showing [Name] standing their on the stage in front of the podium.

The central architectural feature is a large, open book structure, its curved pages forming a bridge-like stage. The book features intricate crest-like symbols and patterns along its spine and cover further enhancing its magical appearance. Flanking the book like stage are delicate arches covered with vines wrapped around the arch way. Silhouettes of figures below in the seats were staring up at the stage.

"I am [Name] Queen... Daughter of the Evil Queen" She looked around before diverting her attention to the side speaking with a solemn voice "And I pledge-" a silence rang out for a moment before she spoke once more "I uhm" A girl with snow white skin and blonde curled hair smiled with a happy expression gesturing the girl to go on "come on! do it" she said cheering the girl as y/n felt her dress to feel more uncomfortable as if the weight of the accessories held her down with the dress is fabrics clung to her skin tighter as if she couldn't breathe.

[Name] glanced over to her other side to headmaster grim a male dressed in a blue coat and light greyish blue vest with a light blue ascot with a golden decoration with a red stone on it. He has a dark grey mustache, green eyes and dark grey hair with lighter stripes. He also wears a golden ring in the shape of a mirror. He's also rather stout, at least in the stomach area, from the side who let out a huff with furrowed rows staring at her.

She stared at a floating key that summoned as she opened her hand letting it drop onto her palm as she stared at it's black and purple swirl as she looked towards the book on the podium. The Storybook of Legends laid there a hardcover book with pages containing the stories and the students taking up the roles of the characters in the fairy tale.

On it's front cover was a shiny mirror-like compartment in the center front cover of the book, along with a keyhole with a magical key required to open the book for signing. The crest of Ever After is embedded on the top, above the mirror. The magical key appears once a student pledges, and the Storybook flips itself to the page of the signer.

She paused as she twisted the key into the book as pages flipped showing her story on how she will be the next evil queen with how her life will end up as each page flipped and turned her shoulders tightened and her grip on her palms turned sweaty nails digging into her skin as she stared at the small signature box that was left on the bottom right corner of each page, for the specific student to sign. Some pages from major fairy tales are displayed by the headmaster's office, taken from the Storybook of Legends. Physically, the book is maroon-colored with golden embellishments on each corner.

[Name]'s eyes widened to see the last page of her homeless and in struggle as her face dropped biting her lip distress on her face as she shakily looked up to the mirror in front of her that showed herself. The ornate's swirling golden frame encloses a vivid and almost ethereal depiction of a character in distress.

[Name]'s appearance hued with magenta and swirls of colors of purple as she was bounded, exudes a sense of urgency and confinement. Appearing shackled with glowing magical chains encircling her wrists and neck.

Her expression is one of shock or fear, with wide pleading eyes and a slightly open mouth that conveys a sense of desperation. Wearing gothic clothing with feathery, jagged edges along with The glowing chains with purple energy that bounded her down as a small gasp came from her lips as her eyes widened as a quill also appears for the stage of signing.

Her e/c eyes diverted around the page gripping onto the podium with a feeling of angst as her eyes stared back to the book and the quill hovering before she reached out and pulling back her eyebrows furrowed as she went back to facing forward as her body loosened up as she spoke "I am [Name] Queen and I'm going to write my own destiny" she exclaimed as the mirrors that were floating shined brighter as they shook slightly as she grabbed the Story book of legends is front cover "My happily ever after starts Now" in a quick motioned her hand slammed the book shut as the bright pink mirror on the front cover glinted for a moment as the mirrors that surrounded the area vibrated before shattering.

Fragments of glass dropped to the floor below and onto the stage as she heaved gasps of shock and cheers were heard from the crowd below. [Name]'s eyes widened before she heaved and relaxed her body feeling lighter as her lips twitched up eyes widening checking her hands "I- I did it I'm still here" she quickly snapped her focused to headmaster Grim "I didn't disappear" headmaster grim eyebrows furrowed with his emerald eyes stared down at her with edge as she glared back harshly.

She couldn't help but flinch for a moment at a voice calling out "How could you be- so- So selfish" A girl with bright blue eyes with skin as pale as snow her lips coated with a red lipstick that was suppose to support her smile yet it was twisted to a harsh frown her curls blonde curls bouncing as her eyes were tearing up. A loud booing was heard from a half of the crowd below as another part was cheering at [Name].

[Name] spoke quickly "I'm sorry apple but I-" she took a sharp breath in yet the noise was too loud for her to think as if they continued to swarm around her making pressure getting added to the back of her throat as if not having the choice to speak out was withholding her back.

[Name] snapped her head to the crowd gripping her fists angrily as she let out a noise of annoyance turning around as she spoke loudly as her hands started to glow a violaceous flame "Hold everything" The purple hued flame shot out of her hands growing in size as it shot down to the crowd and people around her as she froze seeing everything freeze around her, [Name] couldn't help but be stunned staring at her palms and the flames that vanished "I didn't know I could do that..." her e/c eyes filled with sorrow as she looked back over her shoulder to Apple with a look of sadness.

She sighed raising her hands facing forward to apple as the familiar coloured hue of her magic shot to the girl from her finger tips Apple is frozen stature went back to normal as she blinked her sky blue eyes at the h/cnette with various purple highlights "I'm sorry apple" [Name] uttered staring at the girl.

Her eyes diverted to the ground and back up to the girl "but I don't want anyone to tell me who I want to be. I wanna figure that out on my own" [Name] stated hands going to her chest staring at the blonde with eyes filled with determination and honesty "and don't you understand?" she muttered gesturing to the girl in front of her who was staring at her with sadness "I'm not the only one who can choose their own destiny now we all do" she gestured to everybody who was frozen and stared back to the girl hoping she'd understand her view of the situation "even you" she stated.

Apple stared at [Name] with wide eyes before speaking "I don't want to choose a new destiny" Apple rebutted as she teared up more as her eyebrows furrowed "I liked what I had and because of you" she pointed her finger towards [Name] who flinched back slightly her eyes widening "It might not happen" "It might" [Name] suggested hand to her chest as she went to reach her hand to comfort apple but pulled it back as apple sobbed quietly "I don't know... I just don't know" apple walked off as [Name] stared at her retreating figure with sadness before taking a sharp inhale and looking at the crowd her lips slightly lifting up from seeing maddie cheering her on frozen as she undid the spell on her bff.

A noise came from Maddie as she got unfrozen from the crowd before [name] grinned at her petite shorter friend who popped up right beside her "wahh! your here no poof Poof POOF! YAY!" the girl cheered hand sin the air being ecstatic and hyper as always as   [name] laughed "I know! it feels good" she smiled eyes closed as she let out a sigh of relief talking to Maddie.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝

Head master grim stood in front of a window as lightning struck with rain hitting the cold glass as his hands were behind his back eyebrows furrowed "[Name] does not know the forces she has released" he spoke to himself with furrowed brows letting in a sharp inhale as he watched the rain leave it's marks on his window.

"It must be contained before the dangerous idea spreads" he shook his fist before flinching when a laugh came from a mirror to his right side as a woman's malicious laugh echoed the mirror shining and glittering with a white glow slightly with each noise of the laughter head master grim flinching back as lightning struck.

Yet it wasn't only was a Womans laugh a crow like laugh was also heard too on par with a males behind the female laugh. Headmaster Grim's eyebrows furrowed at the voice as he looked back out at the window gulping.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 【Time Skip after E.A.H events】❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[Name] sighed as she finished the whole ordeal with throne coming, going into wonderland, stopping her mother and reconnecting with her and the events after all that she finally could catch a break to have fresh air after all the destruction, chaos and problems.

The h/cnette was walking up the stairs of the stone tower to visit her mother to have their once a week talks with eachother that she'd give her mother yet when walking up to the top of the attic she paused "Mum?" She called put stepping up the final step boot hitting the wooden floor boards staring towards a part of the room.

A mirror that stood tall and oval-shaped, exuding an air of elegance and mystery. Its frame is a deep rich purple with a highly intricate and ornate design. The frame is adorned with swirling, vine-like patterns that intertwine gracefully, creating a sense of movement and fluidity patterns extended outwards in curling tendrils.

At the very top of the mirror the design culminates in a decorative crest, resembling a crown with two raven feathers around. The legs of the mirror are equally ornate, curving outward and continuing the flowing theme of the frame.

A sigh past her lips a puff of cold air shown as she walked over to it yet something felt off with the mirror her mother would usually be doing something in their last time she came by she was on a cycle but due to the dire weather and raining everything felt a-bit more tense the lightning on the glass didn't help either.

[ Name ] walked over hand placing onto the mirror is curves to check to see her mother who would usually greet her inside the glass yet nothing was there. A sigh past her lips as she stepped back staring at her own appearance.

The mirrors glass itself is smooth and reflective framed beautifully by the vivid patterns that seem to almost cradle it as if it were a precious artifact.

[Name] couldn't help but repeat herself while staring at her mirror "Mum? This isn't really funny" she said hand on her hip before smiling softly yet she couldn't see anything her mother didn't appear, no comments, no pampering and praises not anything.

A look of awkwardness reached her face as she looked around and back "I'll come back later" she muttered as she turned around before feeling a gust of wind hit her from the open window in the tower as she held to cover her face as the sound flames erupted from behind her.

Her head snapped to see her mothers mirror floating and shaking swirling in colours before it changed as [Name] jaw dropped stepping back with wide eyes to see the familiar mirror that was suppose to be in her legend originally her mothers.

The once purple mirror changed to a larger oval frame that was gold that curled around the mirror like tendrils the mirror your mother was trapped in was now changed and was in front of her now floating in the air.

Where your reflection should have been, was instead a large wall of green flames that engulfed half of it as her face paled staring at the Mirror confused how could her mothers mirror prison change into the one her mother had talked to before it was shattered long ago.

"Ahh..."

A deep voice began, coming straight from the mirror. [Name]'s  e/c eyes widened staring at the mirror that continued speaking the flames flickering

"My cherished benefactor."

"A lovely, wicked bloom that doth nobly enthral."

The mirror moved closer to her causing her to scramble back landing on the floor as she panicked but was frozen staring at the mirror that hovered more closer.

"Truly, thou art the fairest one of all." It continued, slowly floating closer still.

The mirror kept coming closer until it stopped a few inches away from [Name]'s face where it proceeded to hover.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall."

[Name] was stuck frozen as it spoke more before pausing in its speech, almost as if it were aware that it wasn't on a wall.

"Who is the fairest one of all"

Noise was blocked in [Name] is ear as her palms shook she despised the familiar phrase that she heard too many times from Apple in their shared dorm one she hated to listen to especially when she accidentally hexed Apples mirror once and it became mean so she had to pretend to be the mirror to compliment the girls ego. This though? This was different

Out of sheer stress the girl summoned purple flames in her hands staring at the Mirror raising her hands as if she was going to shatter the mirror before freezing when she was met with the sound of the mirror speaking again

"Those who art guided by the Dark Mirror."

The green flames flicking and gripping at the glass from the other side slowly began to fade out as it continued.

"Follow the wish of thine heart, and take the hand thou seest reflected in the looking glass."

At that, the flames fully out and her breath caught in her throat as a hand came into view. It looked as if it was reaching out towards her, but it was waiting for someone to take it. There was something all too familiar about the hand as it waited, something that she just couldn't place as she bit her lip the flames in her hand died down.

She stared at the mirror eyes staring at  the glint of a small ring on its finger that caught her attention and it made her bite her lip looking over her shoulder to the stairs she could just go but for some reason the hand was reaching out as if ushering her.

[Name] turned back to the mirror that floated to her still beckoning her forth as she spoke "Mum if this is a prank to get me to let you out I'm going to punch you" [Name] said pausing yet the atmosphere was still tense this was real and she couldn't help but be swayed.

She began to reach out for the hand the one shown in the glass mere centimetres away from you. The words the mirror uttered next feel deaf upon [Name] is ears as her fingertips brushed against the glass pausing before it went through as her eyes widened before shouting in shock when the hand was quick to reach out and grab onto her's, pulling her body through the glass.

The mirror broke with a large shatter and fell to the ground, glass shards scattered all over the ground and curtain the words that were left deaf upon [Name] is ears echoed a warning that was spoken around in the broken glass, never to be heard.

"For I.....And for them.....And for thee.....Little time doth remain. No matter what, take care to never let go of that hand..."

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: I’m so tempted to make a load of these scenarios because I find this trope so cute 😭 and I was definitely not inspired by that photo I reblogged…

The moment Mattheo Riddle stepped into the Great Hall, the entire atmosphere shifted. Conversations hushed, eyes flickered away, and the once lively room felt as though it had lost all its warmth.

It wasn’t uncommon for Mattheo to be in a foul mood, but today, it was different. Today, he radiated pure fury.

His dark curls were even messier than usual, his sharp jaw locked tight, and his eyes—those usually mischievous brown eyes—were stormy and dangerous.

“Don’t even look at him,” Theo muttered under his breath, nudging Enzo as they both sat at the Slytherin table.

Enzo let out a low whistle. “What’s got him like this?”

“Dunno, but I’d rather not be on the receiving end of it.”

Sure enough, Mattheo strode past a few third years who were unfortunate enough to be in his path and they practically flew backwards as he barged past them. Even the Gryffindors who would normally offer an unsolicited snarky comment chose to keep their heads down.

The only one who seemed entirely unbothered by his wrath was you—for good reason.

As soon as Mattheo spotted you at the Slytherin table, his expression shifted so suddenly it was almost comical. The storm in his eyes calmed, his shoulders relaxed, and his lips curled into a soft, barely-there smile.

“Hey, love,” he murmured as he slid onto the bench beside you, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You turned to face him, brows raised. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Mattheo sighed dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “I might. Haven’t decided yet.”

Despite his words, his tone when speaking to you was so sweet, so warm, that it was almost laughable compared to how he’d just been glaring daggers at half the school.

Theo, who had been watching the entire exchange with amusement, turned to Enzo. “You see that?”

Enzo smirked. “Oh, I see it all right. Blatant favoritism!”

Theo grinned. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. He looks like he’s about to kill us all, and then the second he sees Y/N? Boom. Puppy.”

“I’m literally right here,” Mattheo muttered, pulling away from you just enough to glare at his friends. “And I will not hesitate to throw you both into the black lake.”

“Oh, we know,” Theo said, leaning back smugly. “But only if Y/N isn’t looking, yeah?”

Mattheo scowled. “Shut up.”

You giggled, reaching out to cup his cheek, drawing his attention back to you. “What’s got you so mad, anyway?”

He melted into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he exhaled heavily. “Idiot Ravenclaws in Dueling Club,” he grumbled. “One of them kept running their mouth, thinking they could beat me. Almost hexed the bastard into next week, but Snape showed up before I could.”

You hummed in response, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “So you’re mad because you didn’t get to hex someone?”

“Pretty much.”

Theo snorted. “Psychopath.”

“Dead man,” Mattheo shot back without even looking at him.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Alright, alright. No hexing your friends at breakfast.”

Mattheo groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “You always take their side.”

“I do not,” you argued, laughing softly. “I just think you need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he said, voice softer than before. He nudged his nose against yours, and for a second, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just you and him, wrapped up in this little moment of warmth.

Enzo made a gagging noise. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Mattheo’s hand shot out to grab a piece of toast from Enzo’s plate and chucked it at his head. “Then leave.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Don’t let them bother you.”

His lips barely curved into a smirk. “They don’t. They’re just annoying.”

“You love us,” Theo chimed in.

“No, I tolerate you.”

Enzo grinned. “Right, but you love her.”

Mattheo didn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”

The table went silent for a second.

Theo’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell, did he just—?”

“He did,” Enzo confirmed, looking equally stunned. “He admitted it. Just like that.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, looking at you like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with this level of stupidity. “Of course I love her.” He glanced at the other two. “What, did you think I was throwing myself at her feet just for fun?”

Theo blinked. “I mean… yeah, kind of.”

Mattheo groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “You absolute idiots.”

You just laughed, feeling warmth spread through your chest at how easily he had said it. You knew Mattheo loved you—he showed it in every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every time he softened his voice just for you—but hearing him say it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world? That was something else entirely.

He may have been terrifying to everyone else, but when it came to you, he was nothing but soft.

And honestly? You loved that.

Even if your friends never let you live it down.

[ghostedgwen]

under that attitude | j.potter

note : I'll have you know it was very funny to take breaks from writing this to create rollercoasters on my roblox theme park tycoon that I managed on the side, I cannot just do one thing lately - at least it was productive

warnings : some angst and a lot of overthinking, pining, misunderstandings (only a bit), two dumb idiots avoiding their feelings, idiots in love, a whole lot of fluff despite the denial

You were always good at keeping secrets - especially the one about your Legilimency. No one could know, because you didn’t have a solid prediction of how the wizarding world would react to that information. But everything changes the day you hear the truth behind his insults - the way his heart stutters when you argue, the desperate, half-terrified way he wants you. 4.9k words

. . . Like, I want you, bless my soul, and I ain't gotta tell him. I think he knows.

Like how most depressing things are, it was worse at night.

The castle breathed in the dark - long, slow sighs that rattled through stone and bone alike - and it was then, in the hush between curfew and dawn, that the voices were loudest. Not aloud. Never aloud. In your head. Flickering, always uninvited.

You leaned against the cold wall outside the Slytherin common room, your head tipped back, eyes closed. The torches burned low, sputtering against damp stone. Somewhere down the passage, you could hear the slow drip of water, the groan of ancient pipes. Familiar sounds.

The other ones - the ones that weren't supposed to exist - you kept locked tight behind your ribs.

You hadn't meant to become a Legilimens. Hadn't studied it, hadn't even known the word when it first happened. It had just. . . started. It started as barely audible whispers at first. At eleven years old, you'd thought everyone heard them - snatches of feeling, flickers of thought that didn't belong to you.

It wasn't until second year, during a Charms duel, that you'd understood: when your opponent raised her wand and spat a hex - and you had already known she was going to - because you had heard her panicked mind scream "Left - aim for her left!" before she ever moved.

You’d dodged without thinking. You won without even expecting an upper-hand thanks to hearing her thoughts and you’d walked back to the Slytherin huddle under curious eyes, your skin cold with the realization that something was wrong.

There were rules about things like this, from everything you have read so far.

Legilimency was dark magic in most people's eyes - an invasion, a violation - a talent reserved for those who couldn't be trusted. Monsters wore polite faces. Mind readers didn't get second chances.

So you told no one. Not even your dormmates, whose secrets you could taste sometimes when they laughed too hard.

And most days, it was fine. Manageable. If you stayed guarded. If you didn't look too closely. It only slipped when people were loud inside - when their feelings boiled over and the world around you blurred at the edges and suddenly their thoughts weren’t behind their teeth anymore, but bleeding out into yours.

You hadn't meant to overhear anyone.

But here, in the long velvet dark of Hogwarts, the mind had no walls.

Potions was a war zone on a good day. On a bad day, when the Gryffindors shared the clasroom with Slytherins, it was mutually assured destruction. Why the professors allow for this inter-house collaboration was beyond you, if there was a house the snakes mildly respect other than themselves - it would be the Ravenclaws.

You sat at your usual table near the back, carefully slicing a bundle of valerian roots, pretending not to notice James Potter throwing glances your way like hexes. He was always known to prank Slytherins, and you were not straying his radar with how you competed on the pitch often.

You anticipated it but still braced yourself for impact.

"Careful, ____," he drawled loud enough for half the room to hear. "Wouldn’t want you brewing up something - oh, I don't know - illegal."

You didn't even flinch, you saw the insult coming a mile away and barely rolled your eyes at how lame it was.

"Touching concern, Potter," you murmured, not looking up. "Planning to report me to the authorities or just desperate for my attention again?"

A few Gryffindors snickered. Lily Evans shot James a warning glare over her cauldron. He ignored it with practiced ease, an amused smile playing at his lips.

He strode closer, arms folded, the portrait of a boy who’d never been told no. Which is funny given how he's very much like a spoiled pureblood heir, only his robe colours were different. 

You neglected to point out how great he would be in your house, he’d thrive alongside the other snot-nosed pureblood brats.

"Just making sure the dark wizard training program’s running on schedule," he said, smirking. "Be a shame if someone as - what's the term? Frighteningly competent - wasn't putting in the hours."

You looked up then, meeting his gaze coolly and that was when it happened.

The world shifted - not outwardly, not visibly - but inside your head, the way it always did when someone's emotions rose too high and their mind got too loud. And James Potter, his mind was practically screaming at you, demanding to be invaded.

James's smirk stayed fixed on his face, not faltering even when your sharp gaze held his - full of mockery and bravado.

But beneath it, like a crack in the ice, you heard:

"Look at her. Smug. Brilliant. Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating."

Your knife slipped, slicing too hard through the root. You caught yourself enough for anyone to not notice the stumble - steady hands with no visible flinch - but your heart jumped painfully against your ribs.

Stay calm.

Stay normal.

Outwardly, you quirked a brow. "If you spent half as much time on your coursework as you do worrying about me, Potter, you might actually pass your exams."

More laughter. A few Gryffindors - Sirius Black among them - hooted loud enough to make Slughorn look up from his desk.

James flushed slightly, his smirk faltering before he masked it with exaggerated affront.

You went back to your valerian root, slicing with vicious precision, pretending your ears weren’t ringing with the echo of his mind’s betrayal.

He hated you, he said. You were rivals, he said.

And yet.

"Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating."

You didn't even want to think about what else he might be shouting inside that head of his.

You just had to survive the rest of class without cracking first.

The library was supposed to be a safe place - for you. Just you and the books and the quietness, somehow people's thoughts are quieter here. They get too focused that your abilities were not being demanded by their thoughts.

Low voices, scratching quills, sound of parchment - no loud Gryffindor boys itching for a fight. No accidental mind-reading incidents. Just quiet.

Or it should have been.

You hunched over a thick tome on advanced defensive charms, trying and pathetically failing to focus. The words blurred, your mind replaying Potions over and over.

'Look at her. Smug. Brilliant. Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating.'

You shook your head sharply.

"No," you muttered under your breath. "No way."

Maybe you'd misheard. There was absolutely no way, the lack of sleep from slaving over N.E.W.T.s and the nearing Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match was getting to you, taking its toll. You convince yourself that was all.

Maybe James Potter didn't actually think you were. . . that.

You sank lower in your seat, dragging a hand across your face. 

You had rules about this. You never took strong flashes from someone and assumed they were true. Minds were messy, complicated things. Thoughts didn't always mean anything.

Still. You started noticing it.

The next day in Charms, you caught James looking at you across the room, chin propped on his hand, staring. When you met his gaze, he immediately dropped a book on the floor and made a big show of retrieving it.

Later, walking down the corridor between classes, you heard him before you saw him - laughing too loudly with Sirius, knocking shoulders with Peter Pettigrew, and the second he spotted you, his whole posture changed. Straighter. And then, predictably, he opened his mouth.

"Watch it, snake," he called, as you passed.

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, but your fingers twitched at your sides. Because even though his words were full of spite, his mind had been humming loud enough to burn:

"There she is. Merlin, she’s - "

You cut yourself off before the thought fully formed. You didn't want to know.

James Potter was many things - loud, insufferable, reckless - but he couldn't actually like you.

Could he?

You buried yourself deeper into your books, trying to drown out the noise - both outside and inside your head.

But the thing about secrets was: they had a way of refusing to stay quiet for long.

The air still smelled like grass and almost-rain when you cut across the pitch, broom slung lazily over one shoulder.

You’d only come to watch - Slytherin practice had ended hours ago - but somehow you’d found yourself lingering, pretending to study the Gryffindor formations. Pretending not to watch a certain messy-haired idiot loop the sky like he owned it.

You should have left.

You should have.

Boots scuffed behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

"Well, well, well," James Potter's voice drawled, closer than you expected. "Didn't realize Slytherins were so obsessed with Gryffindor athleticism."

You snorted, not bothering to face him yet. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I was studying your mistakes."

He caught up easily, falling into step beside you as you made for the gates. His hair was still damp from flying, sticking to his forehead. There was a smudge of mud across his cheek, and he grinned like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Sure you were, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt - but your heart stuttered.

Because even before it hit you fully, you could feel it - the swell of emotion, bright and reckless, practically leaking out of him.

And then you heard it:

"If she knew what I really thought of her, I'd die. I'd let her hex me if it meant she'd touch me."

You stumbled.

Just a little. Just enough that you hoped he thought you tripped on the uneven ground.

But inside? There is absolute chaos brewing in you.

You recovered quickly, shooting him a scathing look, but James only laughed - like you were the most amusing thing he'd seen all day. Given the track record of his thoughts, there might be some weight to that.

He ruffled his already-ruined hair and gave you a wink that nearly made you want to hex him on principle.

"Careful, snake. Wouldn't want you falling for me."

You scoffed. "As if."

But your mind was spinning.

Because it was real. All of it - the glances, the smirks, the insults that were less venom and more cover.

James Potter didn’t hate you. He hated how much he wanted you.

The night was unbearably still, the only sound the quiet ripple of the Black Lake against the shore. You sat by the water, your knees drawn up to your chest, staring at the moonlight dancing on the surface. Your breath came in slow, measured patterns, but inside, it was chaos.

You liked coming here to help calm yourself - the sound of the soft ripples of water, the loneliness of it all as the moon shone brightly. Finally, it's quiet - truly quiet.

No person around whose privacy you could invade.

You had never wanted to know what others were thinking. You had never asked for this. But it had happened. You were a Legilimens.

And now, you knew too much.

James Potter likes you. He wants you.

The thought shouldn’t have had the power it did. It shouldn’t have twisted inside you like this, leaving you cold and unsettled. But it did. And you hated yourself for it.

You could still hear his voice, taunting you in Potions, the insults he threw your way. "Dark wizard in training," he'd called you, his words sharp and cruel. But it wasn’t his words that hurt, was it? It was the thoughts beneath them.

"Bloody hell, she's gorgeous when she's angry."

You froze, the echo of those words still too fresh, too sharp.

But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t let anyone know as it would open a pandora’s box of undesirables you dared not explore outside the wee hours when your head feels like it might cave in on itself.

Legilimency was a curse. It was rare, dangerous, and feared. Wizards who had been caught using it had been cast out, exiled to live on the fringes of society. Families had been ruined, careers destroyed.

And worse - those who could read minds were feared. There were whispers about what those with the power could do with it. How easily they could manipulate people. Control them.

Or perhaps the articles and books you have read were just laying it on very thick, making a spectacle out of something that was out of what society considered ordinary but you couldn’t risk it.

As a Slytherin, it was in your nature to always preserve yourself. Your well-being came first, so every action is well thought-out for your benefit - including hiding your ability away in shame.

People don't take kindly to having their minds read, the mind is one very powerful thing - a vast vault of secrets. You could very well weaponize people’s thoughts and secrets against them.

You’d keep quiet. Keep pretending you didn’t know. Even if it gnawed at you from the inside. Even if every part of you screamed to just tell him, to confront him, to understand what the hell was going on in that arrogant Gryffindor head of his.

You swallowed hard, standing up and brushing your hands off on your robes. The weight of your secret settled like lead in your chest.

You’ll pretend. You’ll keep it secret. And maybe - just maybe - you’ll survive.

Because that is why the hat sorted you to wear green robes, because you were not the type to grab James Potter by his tie to confront him and demand some explanation for the things he thought about you.

You walked back toward the castle, the darkness wrapping around you like a cloak. The sound of your footsteps on the cobblestone echoed in the quiet night.

The cauldron before you is bubbling with that familiar greenish glow, steam rising like smoke. Your fingers are quick, precise - just the right amount of crushed powdered moonstone, stirred counterclockwise, steady, controlled.

James Potter is sitting across from you, as always, only this time he's making a show of it. His elbows are planted on the table, chin in his palm, eyes fixed on you. And that smug expression. The one that makes your insides twist.

"Look at her. She’s so - "

You shut the thought out. It is your absolute misfortune that he settled on sharing a table with you when the Professor demanded some inter-house collaboration for today’s class due to Dumbledore’s insistence.

It doesn’t matter. You have a potion to finish.

But, of course, James never misses an opportunity to make you hate him just a little bit more - if hate is truly what you have been feeling.

“You’re stealing looks at me, _____. Thinking of what unforgivable to use, eh?”

You barely hear the words, your mind too focused on the process in front of you. But you hear the tone. You always hear the tone. And that’s enough.

You don’t look up from your potion, but the words slide out of your mouth like a reflex, sharp as ever. “What’s your problem, Potter? Can’t keep your mouth shut for one class?”

The words are meant to sting, meant to remind him that this rivalry isn’t just one-sided. But as you snap at him, the air thick with the tension of old wounds, your own mind is buzzing with something far worse.

"Merlin, she smells amazing."

The thought - completely out of nowhere slams into your mind like a train. Your hands falter for a second, a stray drop of essence splashing over the edge of your cauldron. You curse under your breath.

But that’s nothing compared to the way your heart jumps in your chest.

"Stop thinking about her like that, Potter. Just focus."

It’s like his voice is in your head - no, not just his voice. It’s his thoughts. His internal struggle, raw and unfiltered. And it’s all about you, as if all the time spent learning at Hogwarts were useless when all he could think about was you, you, you.

You almost choke. Almost spill the entire potion.

But you don’t. You manage to keep your face cool, eyes fixed on your cauldron. You won’t let him see the effect he’s having on you.

James doesn’t see the way you flinch, the way you want to scream and laugh all at once. He doesn’t know that you can hear every stupid, misguided thought racing through his head.

He’s still talking, probably making fun of you, probably insulting your potion-making technique. But inside, it’s all just a blur of "please don’t notice", how good you smell and "how is she this good at everything?"

You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you hate him, when his equally-annoying voice spouted compliments and confessions in your head. Like he was right by your ear screaming them.

But you have to. Because you know. You know what he’s thinking. What he really thinks about you. And it’s driving you mad - as much as he is driving himself mad.

"She’s making it look so easy. Stop it, James."

You don’t flinch this time. You just keep your hands steady, your face calm, pretending like none of it’s happening. Pretending like the weight of his thoughts isn’t burning through your skin, making you want to dunk your head into the boiling cauldron.

It’s maddening. And you’re beginning to wonder how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t know.

The Quidditch pitch was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd drowning out all other sounds. Gryffindor versus Slytherin - the match everyone was waiting for, one that had your Quidditch captain on everyone’s rears all semester.

The teams soared high, the Quaffle exchanged between players as they raced towards the goalposts. It was fast, furious, and wildly competitive.

You gripped your broom tightly, eyes locked on the Quaffle as you swerved past a Bludger. You were focused, focused enough that you could almost tune out everything else - everything, except for him.

Merlin, despite the heat and chaos of the match, you could still hear him through them with how absolutely loud he was as if he was projecting his thoughts to you on purpose.

James Potter, the Gryffindor starchaser, was on the opposite team. The moment you locked eyes, he flashed that insufferable grin, like he’d already won. He was always cocky, always loud. But this time, it felt different. There was something in the way he was watching you.

"Watch out, snake!" he shouted, a taunt just loud enough for everyone to hear as you flew past him.

You didn't flinch, too used to the hostility. Instead, you focused on the Quaffle, your eyes scanning for an opening. You threw it, perfect precision, straight through the left hoop. Score. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the sound felt distant compared to the pounding in your ears.

But there it was again. His voice. Not in the air, but inside your head.

"She’s so good at this. Bloody hell, how does she do that?" James’ thoughts interrupted everything, like a crashing wave. "She moves like - like she was born to fly. Makes me want to just - "

You clenched your jaw, trying to force the thoughts out of your head. This was bad. So bad. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t block out the next wave of thoughts that flooded your mind.

"I want to snog her senseless."

It hit you like a jolt to the chest. You had to swallow the sudden rush of heat in your throat. You didn’t dare look at him, not with the intensity of what was going on in his head.

The game was still raging on, but your focus was slipping. You were just trying to keep it together, trying to pretend this was normal - that it didn’t matter that James Potter, the James Potter, was thinking about you like that.

He wasn’t just mocking you any more. His admiration was clear, cutting through every insult and joke. It made everything ultimately worse.

You caught another pass - biting the insides of your cheeks, dodging a Bludger, and went for another shot. But now it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t about scoring or winning.

It was about trying to control your emotions - when everything in you wanted to break the rules. To reach out. To tell him what you were hearing.

But you couldn’t.

Because the last thing you needed was for him to find out just how much you felt the same.

You were unsure how to process the realization that not only is James Potter besotted with you, but you liked him back. You, the Slytherin chaser who he exchanged insults with on a daily every Potions class was just as besotted.

It is truly a doomed plot written out for some sick god’s entertainment watching you run around like a headless Hippogriff.

So here you are, ending up yet again in the black lake during wee hours, escaping the castle undetected yet again. It is the only place that could truly calm you down when even your own ehad gets too loud.

Unbeknownst to you was the Gryffindor hiding under an invisibility cloak, watching you. His eyes studied your face that seemed much more softer in the dead of night, how all the frown left you and all that remained was your features all bare.

He felt the strong urge to reach out, but that would reveal the fact he followed you. He noticed you leaving the castle on the map, and out of concern snuck out to follow you under the cloak. He knew the dangers outside the castle walls, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

He did not expect to invade your privacy as you looked out into the lake like a person who had the entire weight of the world. He wonders just what could be going on inside your mind, wishing he could peer into it and maybe, maybe he could take some of that weight off.

He gripped his wand, feeling defeated. 

He can’t even let you know how much he worries about you, how much he wonders about you - because that would be confronting the fact he has fallen for the enemy. That he would be going against his beliefs.

James Potter is an idiot. And he wanted nothing more than to snog you but instead he always resorts to insults, failing to do right by the bravery prided by his house.

You couldn’t hear his thoughts under the cloak, so you remained unaware of the boy watching you with so much love in his eyes that you were two hopeless idiots dancing around it.

“Merlin,” you breathed out exasperatedly. James Potter is not someone to lose sleep over, you knew that much should be true but nothing is working. No essay on Ancient Runes could distract you enough.

The school year was nearing its end. Despite yourself, you still managed to dodge out of confronting your feelings for one annoyingly-persistent Gryffindor and made it through passing your N.E.W.T.s with flying colours.

You had a decent set of “O” and “E” from your results, not getting anything less than Exceeding Expectations. Your parents are satisfied, not that you have ever failed them. Being a Slytherin is basically being bred for perfection.

Your academics and pureblood duties were already weighing on you but then - 

“Oi, snake!” right.

James Potter is that one itch you can’t quite scratch enough to get rid of. A very handsome itch with a perfect set of teeth, that is. 

“Sod off, Potter,” you roll your eyes as if following a perfected script by now, “I have better shit to do than deal with your childish antics.”

He frowned, something about the way you said it alerted him. There was no bite from that, all he heard was the exhaust from your voice as if you had forced those words out of you. He wanted to ask if you were okay, he thought it.

Before he could ask, you already gave an answer.

“I’m bloody fine,” you scoff. “Since when did you care?”

His frown deepened, impossibly so. He hadn’t asked it yet. You heard his confused pool of thoughts and your mistake began to dawn on you, you look at him, panicked and backed away before he could get another word out.

He must have called out your name, you weren’t sure. So you just made a run for it to avoid whatever he was about to say. 

He ran after you, not bothering to entertain Sirius’ confused inquiry as he watched his best mate chase after a Slytherin. He didn’t think it was anything James needed backup with so he only watched, nudging Remus next to him who also watched.

“What do you think that’s about?” Sirius asked, face unreadable.

Remus let out an amused chuckle. “That, mate, is young love blossoming.”

Sirius gagged, which was the reaction Remus anticipated, wording his phrase that way. “Prongs and that snake?”

“Blimey, you are bloody clueless.”

James had managed to catch up to you before you could turn and see the dungeons common room. Grabbing you by your wrist and pulling you back so you could face him, he called out your name again but your heart was too loud.

“Can you stop running away?” he asked, barely raising his voice. “What’s wrong?”

You turn at him, glaring. Tugging at your wrist to free it but he was not letting you go, you let out an exhausted groan and you only paused when a look of worry painted itself over his features as he watch you struggle out of his grasp.

“____?” he called out, his voice impossibly soft when saying your name that it almost made your knees buckle.

You blink at me. “Say you hate me,” you tell him and you wanted so badly for it to also be echoed in his head.

“What?” he couldn’t explain your actions and it was worrying him beyond belief. You could almost feel your eye twitch at him.

“Say you hate me,” you tug at your wrist, “and mean it, Potter. Fucking say you hate my guts, and also think it in that thick skull of yours.”

“Merlin, ____,” James sounded desperate. “What is going on with you? Lost your wits after N.E.W.T.s?”

You felt unbelievably angry at this moment but it was more directed at yourself than him. Though he thought it was aimed at him, so he threaded carefully. Slowly letting go of your wrist and it dropped limply at your side.

“Yeah, Potter, totally went nuts after the exams so I’m demanding you express your hatred for me,” you remark sarcastically, he did not appreciate it one bit. “Just say it.”

“No,” James replied right away sternly. “You are losing it.”

“How can I not?” You point angrily at him.

“____ - “

“You say one thing and you think another,” there was no going back now as the tears welled up in your eyes, all his confusion left him and all that was left was worry. “I can hear you, your thoughts.”

All the words he knew left him. Jaw slackened, he remained standing in front of you, unable to say anything. All this time, you heard him - how? That doesn’t really matter, his head is now replaying every thought he had of you.

Fucking hell.

Fucking mumbling, bloody hell.

“I didn’t mean to, I know it’s your privacy and I wasn’t going to - “ you cast your eyes down, afraid to see how disgusted he’d look when he realizes what you were confessing. “I couldn’t control it.”

James allowed a beat to pass, just a pregnant pause between you two as the hall remained empty, much to both of your delights. Then finally, he found his voice. He cleared his throat, afraid his voice would crack.

“You mean - you’ve heard all my thoughts about you.”

You managed to smile despite the tension, “Yes, including wanting to snog me senseless,” you saw the smile tug at his lips. You still refused to meet his eyes, “Your mind is very loud. I couldn’t shut it out even if I wanted to.”

James surprised you by what he did next - crossing the gap between you two which you had expected to keep growing until he was impossibly out of reach. Instead he closed in on you, capturing your lips in his and he did right by his words - 

You felt like he was stealing every breath away with how he kissed you like it could explain everything away. You kissed him back, finally allowing yourself to do one brave thing and confront your feelings instead of swallowing it all down.

His arm wrapped around your middle to pull you impossibly closer as he continued making your head lighter and lighter and only when you tapped in surrender did he pull away. You were heaving, breathless as you eyed him all bewildered.

“You -”

James Potter managed a smirk with swollen lips. “Snogged you senseless, didn’t I?”

“You twat.”

end. masterlist

[monserelates]

Rainy Days and Warm hands; James Potter

James Potter x F!Reader - Fluff - Oblivious Best Friends In love

summary: when reader is attacked by period cramps and the marauders comfort her—especially James.

a/n: So I’m writing this as a heating pad lays on my stomach and I try not to off-myself because of these cramps. This fic was heavily inspired by how I’m feeling right now and I hope it can bring you guys some comfort! Enjoy!! <3

cw: no use of y/n, no lily (sorry:( ), dynamics between the marauders and reader, “hurt”!reader, protective!james , fluff, period cramps, I don’t know if i’m missing anything but if I am let me know in the commenta! This is my first fic and english is not my first language, sorry

word count: 1.2k

it was raining.

not the thunderstorm kind—just the soft, sleepy drizzle that tapped at the windows of the gryffindor common room like it was asking to be let in. the fire was low, crackling gently. the tower was nearly empty, and everything, portraits, curtains, the hush of air, felt slower, softer.

you were curled up tight on the red velvet couch with your red and gold blanket that read “Gryffindor”.

arms wrapped hard around your stomach.

you hadn’t said anything all day, just that you were tired. but james had noticed. the way your face twitched every so often. how your breaths came short, like each one had to tiptoe past the pain. how you held your stomach as if you were afraid you were going fall apart.

he walked in from the boys’ dorm, hair damp from the showers, and spotted you instantly.

“hey—” he started, but his voice was softer than usual. “you’re curled up like a cat.”

you didn’t answer.

just a small, miserable shake of your head.

he was at your side in seconds. kneeling on the rug. brushing the hair out of your face like it was instinct.

“is it bad?”

you gave the smallest nod.

“cramps?” he whispered.

another nod.

james frowned—and stood up fast.

“don’t move,” he said.

as if you could.

—

sirius stumbled in next, hair wet and wild, dripping onto the rug.

“you look like you just got hexed.”

you lifted your gaze from the crackling fire place to his eyes.

“gee, thanks.”

“Prongs! what happened to her?”

“cramps,” james called from upstairs. “the bad kind.”

“there is no good kind.” marlene exclaimed before giving sirius a peck on his cheek.

“oh,” sirius said, and crouched down next to you. “stupid uterus.”

you made a small noise—almost a laugh.

“i could hex it?” he offered. “i’ll be gentle.”

you shook your head, a tired smile twitching at your mouth.

“how are you feeling, love?” marlene asked, sitting on the armchair next to the couch you were laying in.

you sat up but winced, so went back to your resting position.

“i’ve been better”.

“well,” sirius said, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, “when my stomach hurt this bad, it was because i ate ten cauldron cakes in a row. i do not recommend. but this? this is worse.”

he sat next to marlene, rubbing circles on your back. humming something off-key under his breath.

—

remus came in quietly. hair damp. book under one arm. tea in the other.

he spotted you right away.

“oh, love.”

he didn’t touch you—just set the mug on the table and placed a slim book on the armrest.

“All The Young Dudes, your favorite” he murmured. “thought it might make you feel better”

then he sat by the fire and began to read aloud, slow and soft. his voice was like the rain—gentle, rhythmic.

the words flowed like magic, and everything in the room seemed to breathe with him.

—

peter appeared next, eyes wide with concern.

“do you want a biscuit?”

you didn’t answer.

so he disappeared and came back two minutes later with a napkin full of biscuits.

“i brought four,” he said, awkwardly. “and nibbled the weird one. just in case.”

you let out a shaky little laugh.

the kind that cracked the ache for a second.

“thanks, pete.”

peter lit up like he’d cured you entirely. “you’re welcome,” he said, with a proud thumbs-up.

—

james came back.

his hair was even messier now, and he was holding his wand in one hand and a steaming hot water bottle in the other.

“alright,” he said. “move over.”

“mate,” sirius warned, “she’s literally dying.”

“i’ll be gentle.”

he sat beside you and pulled you carefully into his lap.

your head found his chest like it had done it a hundred times before.

his arms wrapped around you, warm and protective, and he pressed the bottle gently against your belly.

you let out a shaky breath. your fingers curled in his jumper.

he held you like he’d been waiting to. like if he just kept you warm enough, steady enough, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

“you always take care of us,” he whispered against your hair. “let us take care of you, yeah?”

you didn’t speak. you didn’t need to.

—

you heard remus reading. felt sirius humming. saw peter offering another biscuit with wide eyes. and james…

james held you like a secret.

—

the rain tapped softly on the windows. the fire cracked.

your eyes fluttered shut. it still hurt—of course it did.

but the ache wasn’t alone anymore.

now it lived inside this circle of warmth and love and stupid boys who knew exactly what to do when you didn’t have the words.

and somewhere, between rain and breath and james potter’s steady heartbeat,

you started to feel just a little bit better.

just enough.

—————

you were asleep.

for real this time—slow breathing, limp arms, lashes fluttering against the curve of your cheek.

james didn’t dare move.

you were still curled in his lap, face tucked into his chest like you belonged there, like you’d always been his. the hot water bottle had gone lukewarm, but you didn’t seem to notice. one of your hands had found the hem of his sweater and curled around it in your sleep, like even unconscious, you needed him close.

sirius had migrated to the floor by the fire, flipping through remus’s poetry book and adding questionable commentary every few lines.

“‘in the stillness of pain, love makes itself known,’” sirius read dramatically. “he should’ve added, ‘through cramps, chocolate, and holding her like a stuffed animal.’”

“he isn’t a stuffed animal,” remus muttered, not looking up from his parchment.

“tell that to her,” sirius said, jerking his chin toward james.

james gave him the finger.

he hadn’t stopped watching you.

you looked so small, for once. so quiet. like a soft, exhausted version of the girl who always made faces in class and stole the last treacle tart from his plate.

his hand was resting against your back, thumb brushing slow circles. he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“you’re staring again,” peter said helpfully, popping half a biscuit in his mouth.

“i am not,” james whispered.

“mate,” sirius said, “you’ve been staring like she’s the bloody moon for ten minutes.”

“more like fifteen,” remus added. “i was timing it.”

james opened his mouth to argue—then froze.

click.

the portrait swung open.

“mr. potter.”

everyone froze.

mcgonagall stood at the entrance, umbrella in hand, her expression unreadable.

she took in the scene:

you, fast asleep in james’s lap.

james, frozen in place like a deer caught in the wandlight.

sirius with one biscuit stuffed in each cheek like a squirrel.

marlene standing up so fast she had to grab onto a chair for support.

remus mouthing abort mission.

peter waving, for some reason.

“please do try,” mcgonagall said, dry as toast, “not to drool on her head.”

sirius howled.

james flushed red. “i wasn’t—i—she’s sleeping!”

“and you seem quite pleased about it,” she said, arching a brow.

“i’m just—helping!”

“of course you are,” mcgonagall said, already turning back toward the door. “five points to gryffindor for emotional support.”

and she was gone.

the room burst into laughter.

you shifted slightly in his arms, nestling closer.

james looked down at you and sighed, the corners of his mouth softening.

“you’re so doomed,” sirius whispered gleefully.

james smiled.

maybe he was.

but holding you like this—warm and safe, even just for a while?

he wouldn’t change a thing.

[iris-qt]

𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗

ᴘᴛ. ɪɪ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 3.6ᴋ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛɪᴄᴋꜱ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ…?

Fate was indeed quite cruel for you and Theodore Nott

Fate? Or just an incredibly annoying best friend named Mattheo Riddle?

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening, the typical crackle of fire and hushed whispers replaced by a tense stillness as the storm howled outside. The wind battered the windows, sending flakes of snow spiraling in every direction. Inside, though, the four friends had finally returned from their little excursion to the Three Broomsticks, all of them dripping wet and looking far too pleased with themselves.

Mattheo Riddle collapsed into an armchair by the fire, his usual smirk more of a self-satisfied grin. “Well, well, well. That was absolutely perfect.”

Draco Malfoy, having shed his wet cloak and settled by the fire, shot him a glare. “Perfect? Are you out of your mind? We were spying on them. They’ll kill us when they find out.”

Pansy Parkinson kicked her booths off and flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “They’re practically made for each other.”

“Yeah, a match made in sarcasm and tension,” Blaise Zabini chimed in, lowering himself onto the armrest beside her. “But I have to admit, y/n’s got Nott wrapped around her finger.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms. “See? I told you. It was destiny. The universe wanted this.”

“Destiny?” Draco scoffed. “This was a disaster waiting to happen. Those two will never get along. They’re like oil and water.”

“You’re forgetting one important detail,” Pansy said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “They’re both annoyingly competitive. They’ll keep each other on their toes.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Draco muttered, eyeing Mattheo. “You do realize we’ve practically pushed them into a blizzard together, right? They’re going to be stuck in that pub for the rest of the night. There’s only so much avoiding each other they can do.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the window where the storm raged outside. “It’s really coming down out there. I bet they’re already stuck in that pub for a while.”

“Good,” Mattheo said smugly. “That’s exactly what they need. The whole ‘forced proximity’ thing works wonders, trust me.”

“Uh-huh,” Draco said skeptically, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And when they start throwing punches instead of witty remarks? What then?”

“You don’t think they’ll, you know, talk about their feelings, do you?” Mattheo asked, smirking.

“Talk about their feelings?” Blaise scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n? The only feelings they’ll share are how much they loathe each other.”

Pansy raised her cup of tea, a wicked grin on her face. “To Theo and y/n. May they finally see what we’ve known all along: they’re perfect for each other.”

“Here, here!” Mattheo toasted, holding up his own mug. “No way they’re escaping this. Not unless they manage to hex each other into oblivion first.”

Blaise chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

They all fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling as they relaxed in the warmth of the common room, the storm howling just beyond the walls of the castle. Outside, Theo and y/n remained trapped in the Three Broomsticks.

The winds rattled the window panes of the cozy little pub.

As if getting stuck with the bane of his existence for a few hours wasn’t torturous enough, kind Madam Rosmerta, who Theodore was beginning to suspect was secretly evil, decided to share some unfortunate news regarding available rooms…

Madam Rosmerta gave them a sympathetic smile, her hands clasped tightly around a steaming mug. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left upstairs, dears. The others were taken by travelers when the storm started picking up.”

Your head snapped toward Theo, your jaw already tightening. “One room?” you repeated, voice sharp.

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Of course, it’s one room. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Rosmerta glanced between them, clearly trying to gauge if a fight was about to break out. “It’s got a big bed and a cozy fire. You’ll be warm, at least.”

“Great,” You said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Warmth will really help when I’ve been murdered by morning.”

Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anyone’s at risk here, it’s me.”

Rosmerta sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Look, I’m offering it as a courtesy. If you’d rather sit out here all night with the cold drafts and creaky chairs, be my guest.”

You shot Theo a glare. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m hexing you into next week.”

Theo smirked, grabbing his trench coat from the chair. “And if you start ranting about Potions essays at midnight, I’m jumping out the window.”

With a heavy sigh, you followed him toward the stairs, muttering under your breath about “the worst night ever.”

Rosmerta chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Young love,” she murmured, returning to the bar.

...

The door creaked open, revealing a small but warm room. A crackling fireplace cast flickering light across the wooden walls, the flames throwing shadows onto a quilt-covered bed nestled against the far corner. A single armchair, worn but inviting, sat by the hearth, and a rug that looked as though it had been knitted decades ago lay sprawled on the floor. 

Theo stepped in first, his sharp gaze flicking around the room. It was simple and unremarkable, yet the warmth from the fireplace immediately softened the icy tension that clung to his shoulders. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them onto the chair before brushing the snow from his sleeves.

“Cozy,” he muttered, though the word carried a hint of sarcasm. He glanced over his shoulder at you, lingering in the doorway, expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance.

“Cozy,” you echoed flatly, eyes landing on the single bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Classic.

You huffed, stepping further inside and dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “I’ll take the chair,” you declared, pointing toward the armchair by the fire.

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Good luck sleeping in that thing. You’ll be begging for the bed by midnight.”

“And you’ll be sleeping on the floor by morning if you keep talking,” you shot back, unbuttoning your coat with stiff, jerky movements.

Theo didn’t respond, instead shrugging off his trench coat and hanging it neatly on the back of the chair. He busied himself with the fire for a moment, adding another log and stirring the embers. The room grew even warmer, the heat seeping into his cold hands.

When he turned back, you had pulled off your scarf, revealing flushed cheeks and a few stray snowflakes still clinging to your hair. He watched as you brushed them away absently, the gesture oddly... endearing.

He frowned, shaking off the thought. “You should take the bed,” he said abruptly, the words surprising even himself.

You blinked, turning to him with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed,” he repeated, his tone more clipped this time. “You’ll be unbearable tomorrow if you don’t get any sleep.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment, he thought you were going to argue. But then you sighed, the fight draining out. “Fine. But don’t complain when you’re stiff and miserable in the morning.”

Theo smirked faintly, grabbing the blanket from the armchair. “I’ve survived worse than a night on the floor, y/l/n. Don’t flatter yourself.”

As he spread the blanket out by the fire, he caught himself glancing at you again. Your expression had softened slightly, your usual sharp edges dulled by the firelight. You didn’t look quite as insufferable now, standing there with your arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.

…

The wind howled outside as Theo paced the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Meanwhile, you were glaring daggers at the small, frosted window in the corner, where an icy draft was sneaking through a crooked frame.

“Are you going to do something about that?” you asked, rubbing your arms.

Theo shot you an incredulous look. “Do I look like a handyman to you?”

“Well, you’re the one with the pureblood superiority complex,” you quipped. “Surely fixing a window is beneath my ‘mudblood’ capabilities.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, but then he smirked. “Fine. Stand back. Watch and learn.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as Theo strode toward the window with unbelievable confidence for someone who had never fixed a thing in his life. He fiddled with the latch, muttering under his breath.

“Step one,” he announced grandly, “assess the problem.”

“You’re narrating this?” you deadpanned.

“Step two,” Theo continued, ignoring you, “apply logical reasoning and brute force.” He yanked on the window frame.

It didn’t budge.

“You’re going to break it,” you warned, suppressing a grin.

“I’m improving it,” Theo shot back. He gave the window another tug, and the whole frame groaned ominously.

With a loud crack, a chunk of ice dislodged from the outside and tumbled onto Theo’s foot.

You burst out laughing, doubling over as Theo hopped on one leg, muttering curses.

“Step three,” you said between gasps for air, “check if the window is laughing at you because I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Theo said, shooting you a glare as he hobbled back to the chair.

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use brute force,” you said smugly, grabbing a blanket from the bed. “Here. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Theo watched with exaggerated skepticism as you climbed onto the chair, draping the blanket over the frame and tucking it into the edges. “Voilà!” you declared triumphantly, stepping back. “No more draft.”

The blanket immediately sagged and slid to the floor, letting the icy wind back in.

Theo barked a laugh, clapping slowly. “Brilliant. Truly groundbreaking work, y/l/n.”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped, grabbing the blanket and tossing it at him.

Still laughing, Theo caught it and stood. “Move. You’re terrible at this.”

He stepped closer to the window, brushing past you. This time, instead of pulling or yanking, he gently adjusted the frame and tucked the blanket into the top corners, muttering charms under his breath to secure it in place.

When he finished, the draft was gone, and the room suddenly felt warmer.

“There,” he said smugly, turning to face you. “Step four: call in the expert.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. You win this round, Nott.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

For a moment, the bickering subsided, and they stood there by the now secured window. The firelight flickered across their faces, and you glanced up at him, noticing for the first time how soft his smirk could look when it wasn’t accompanied by an insult.

“Thanks,” you said, surprising both of them.

Theo shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “Don’t mention it. Or actually, do. Preferably to everyone we know.”

And just like that, the moment passed, but the warmth lingered.

The wind howled outside, but the warmth of the fire in the room kept things cozy…except for one thing: the floor. Theo sat cross-legged by the hearth, his arms wrapped around himself as he gave the ground an occasional glare.

“This is a crime against my back,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get comfortable but only managing to shift in place every few seconds.

You glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still complaining about the floor?”

“It’s not the floor, it’s the principle of the floor,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. “The suffering of it.” He adjusted his position for the fifteenth time, finally giving up and lying flat on his back.

“Poor Theo. The floor is too hard for your delicate aristocratic back,” you teased, pulling out a bag of crisps from your bag.

Theo shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead reaching for the nearby blanket. His stomach, however, had other ideas, gurgling loudly enough to make you look over with a raised, slightly concerned eyebrow.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I’m fine,” Theo said defensively, as if his stomach hadn’t just betrayed him.

You held up the packet of crisps. “Well, I have snacks.” You shook the bag temptingly.

“Ugh, crisps?” Theo wrinkled his nose, but his stomach grumbled again, this time louder.

You smirked, leaning forward. “What’s the matter, Nott? Too simple for you?”

He glared at her, but his stomach won that round. “Fine. Give me one.”

You tossed him a chip, and Theo inspected it like it was a cursed artifact. He took a small bite, making an exaggerated face. “It’s like chewing on nothing.”

“Is that so?” you asked, unimpressed. “Maybe you’re just not sophisticated enough for the finer things in life.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another chip. “Finer things? It’s a bag of plain crisps, not an heirloom from my great-grandfather’s collection.”

“Well, sorry for not carrying around caviar in my school bag,” you replied dryly, reclining back onto the bed.

Theo ignored you, popping another chip in his mouth. “You know, I expected something better,” he muttered. “This is barely edible.”

You snorted. “You’re so picky. Can’t believe I’m wasting my high-class snacks on you.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another crisp. “High-class? It’s a bag of crisps, not some exclusive delicacy.”

“Just eat the damn crisps, Nott,” you laughed, tossing him another.

Theo sighed dramatically. “Fine. It’s not like I have a choice.” He slowly chewed the next chip, making an exaggerated show of tasting it.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, barely hiding your smile.

“Look, I’m just saying… if I were to critique the flavor,” Theo began, licking his lips as if in thought, “I’d say it’s… offensive. Lacking a certain je ne sais quoi.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell off the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s potato chips, not fine wine.”

Theo gave you an insufferable smile. “Exactly why I can’t trust you with snack recommendations.”

You picked up another bag from your bag, this one chocolate-covered pretzels. “You want to try these, too, Mr. Refined?”

Theo cautiously took one, studying it like it might explode. He bit into it, then paused, his eyes widening a fraction. “Okay, this is actually… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” you grinned. “Are you really that hard to please, or are you just trying to be difficult?”

Theo shifted again on the floor, finally conceding defeat to the uncomfortable surface. “The floor is awful,” he muttered, as if the snacks were the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

You give him a slightly sympathetic look.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a moment, Theo stuffing pretzels into his mouth like he was trying to make up for lost time. You finally cracked a smile, glancing over at him.

“You know, for a picky snob, you’re not terrible,” you said, the teasing tone light.

Theo swallowed his pretzel, his expression serious as he looked at you. “You’re not the worst company either, y/l/n.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he’d given you, and though it was seemingly wrapped in sarcasm, you couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take it.”

…

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. Theo had long since stopped pretending the floor wasn’t absolute torture to sit on. His posture was slumped, his legs stretched awkwardly in front of him as he tried to find some position that didn’t make his back ache.

You, who had long since claimed the bed and made yourself comfortable, glanced over at him. He was practically squirming, his face a mix of annoyance and defeat, and you couldn’t help but stifle a smile.

“You okay there?” you asked, your voice light but with just a hint of genuine concern.

Theo shot you a look. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Just living my best life on this luxurious floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up in bed. “You don’t look very fantastic to me.”

“Thanks for the observation,” he muttered, glancing at the bed and then back at the floor. I’m just fine,” he added with a dismissive wave.

You studied him for a moment. Despite his usual bravado, there was something about the way he was holding himself, like he couldn’t quite escape the discomfort. His jaw was tight, and his hand kept fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

A thought crossed your mind, and for once, maybe showing some kindness to Nott wouldn’t hurt. You swung your legs off the bed and stood up, walking over to where Theo was sitting with an exaggerated sigh.

“Get up,” you said, holding out a hand.

Theo stared at it like it was some sort of foreign object. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you suffer on the floor like that. It’s ridiculous.”

Theo opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly took your hand and let you pull him to his feet. He winced slightly as he stood, stretching his stiff legs.

Theo hesitated but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he adjusted the position of his legs. He wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from the floor.

“I still don’t know why you’re being nice to me,” Theo mumbled, not looking at you.

“Because I’m not entirely evil,” you teased with a little laugh, sitting back down beside him.

There was a pause as Theo’s watercolor eyes flicked to you, then away. He glanced at the small couch across the room that was far less comfortable than the bed but was still an option. He wasn’t entirely ready to admit that he liked the idea of staying near you for a while…

Finally, he sighed, and, almost begrudgingly, moved further onto the bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged beside you.

You watched him, noting the way his usual air of self-assurance was slightly dropped. It was strange to see him like this…vulnerable, not in control. and for some reason, it made him more… approachable.

“See? This is better,” you said with a teasing grin, glancing over at him.

Theo, still half-pretending to be indifferent, couldn’t quite hide the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well… I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

The tension between them softened even further. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just listening to the crackling fire and the sound of their own breathing. Theo, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“Thanks,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

You blinked, glancing at him with mild surprise. “For what?”

“For… not leaving me to sleep on the floor like some kind of peasant,” Theo said, his voice light but sincere.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Theo shrugged, but his smile was genuine now. “I try.”

For a moment, they just sat there, quietly, but the air between them had changed. The teasing, the banter, the barbs…they were still there, but there was something softer now, something that wasn’t just about annoyance or putting each other down.

Theo’s thoughts drifted for a moment, and he realized, in a way that made his chest tighten a little, that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, this moment, this strange and unexpected peace with you, was… nice.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d like to stick around a little longer.

The Morning After

The room was bathed in soft morning light, the snow outside blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. 

Theo woke slowly, his eyelids heavy, the quiet of the room wrapping around him like a comfort he didn’t expect. The fire had long since gone out, but the warmth from the bed kept the cold at bay. He shifted, and that’s when he realized.

 His arm was around you. 

Your head rested against his chest, your hair slightly tousled, hand curled loosely over his side. The weight of you, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, was surprisingly soothing.

Theo didn’t want to move. Ever. He stayed still. He could feel your warmth seeping into him, and it made something in his chest tighten in the most unexpected way. He wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, he felt… content.

You stirred in your sleep, nuzzling closer without realizing, your fingers twitching against his chest. Your soft breath brushed against his neck, and Theo’s heart did a funny little jump. He smiled quietly to himself, the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a defense or a mask but just a simple, genuine reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his fingers gently brush against your hair, the motion instinctive, as if he’d done it a thousand times. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise of something soft, something unexpected.

You sighed in your sleep, face relaxing further against him, and for a moment, Theo thought he had died and gone to heaven. His arm tightened ever so slightly around your waist, as if he were holding on to something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes again, the quiet peace wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Maybe he wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something worth holding on to.

pt. 3 here <3

Taglist: @lazycrazyme, @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr,

(ty for the comments and support!!)

[4m0r1m]

Moonlight and Mischief

SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,727 words

PAIRING: george weasley x reader

The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.

George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.

You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.

George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.

“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” George muttered.

Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”

George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.

Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”

“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”

George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.

Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

That got George moving.

He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”

Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”

George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.

You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.

“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”

George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”

He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”

George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.

He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”

You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”

You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.

“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”

“By me?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”

You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.

“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.

George flushed. “Did he now?”

“He also said you had a crush.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”

You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”

He blinked. “Someone like me?”

“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”

George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.

You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.

George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”

He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”

“Please do.”

As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.

He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”

You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”

You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.

“Of course.”

“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”

You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might ruin me.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”

He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[starkeysmoon]

KNOTS AND KISSES

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: after a long day at hogwarts, mattheo surprises you by offering to untangle your hair, revealing a softer side you didn’t expect.

content: fluff, mutual pinning, no established relationship, suggestive language, kissing.

words: 1,853

the castle had settled into a hushed stillness, the kind that only came when most students had retreated to their dorms.

you sat on your bed, freshly showered but too tired to deal with the mess of damp, tangled hair sticking to your shoulders.

the soft glow of enchanted fairy lights shimmered across your room, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

just as exhaustion began pulling at your limbs, a soft knock broke the silence, and before you could respond, the door creaked open.

“you’re going to get hexed one day for not locking your door,” mattheo muttered as he stepped inside, his smirk already firmly in place.

his dark eyes flicked over you, taking in your pajama-clad form and the damp strands clinging to your face.

“though i suppose if i’m the one sneaking in, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

you arched a brow at him, too tired to fight the grin tugging at your lips. “is this your way of saying you missed me, riddle, or are you just bored?”

he shut the door behind him with a soft click, the smirk deepening as he crossed the room. “can’t it be both?”

you rolled your eyes as a laugh escaped from your lips, flopping back against your pillows. “what are you even doing here? do you plan to charm my hairbrush to attack me?”

he pushed off the doorframe and strolled over to you, his gaze lingering on the damp strands clinging to your face. “doesn’t look like i’d need to. your hair’s already doing half the job.”

“wow. insightful as ever, mattheo,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

he chuckled, low and warm, as he perched himself on the edge of your bed. “bad day?” he asked, his voice laced with concern, but you could already hear the teasing in it.

you turned your head toward the door, only to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a grin spreading across his face.

“i’m fine,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

“just… too tired to deal with this,” you said, motioning vaguely at your tangled hair.

mattheo raised an eyebrow. “too tired? or too lazy?”

you gave him a playful glare. “i prefer ‘tired.’”

he walked over to the bed, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softened when they landed on you. “i think i can help with that,” he said, as if he'd already made up his mind.

“help? how?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of what he meant.

“well, you don’t have to untangle your hair if you’re that tired,” he said, his voice practically dripping with mischief. “i’ll do it for you.”

“you?” you blinked, unable to hide your amusement. “you’re going to untangle my hair?”

“don’t sound so surprised,” he drawled, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “i’m full of hidden talents.”

you couldn't help but laugh at the idea.

“like what? bothering me until i lose my mind?”

“that’s one of my favorites,” he admitted, moving to sit down on the bed next to you, patting his lap, gesturing impatiently.

“now, are you going to sit down, or are we going to spend all night arguing?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t stop a small smile from playing at the corner of your lips. “this better not be some trap to mess with me.”

“i’m offended,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

“just sit, and let me work my magic.” he patted his lap again, the mischievous glint in his eyes growing stronger.

sighing dramatically, you rolled your eyes, but there was no resisting him. you climbed onto his lap, positioning yourself so you were sitting comfortably with your back against his chest.

hesitating for only a moment, you shifted to sit on the bed, your back pressed against his chest as you settled into his lap. his hands immediately found your hair, the warmth of his palms startling against your cool, damp skin.

“you’ve done this before?” you asked, more out of curiosity than doubt.

“maybe,” he said, his tone deliberately cryptic as his fingers worked through the knots with surprising gentleness.

“what does maybe mean?” you pressed, craning your neck to glance at him.

“it means don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he said, smirking down at you.

you huffed, but the way his fingers combed through your hair was oddly soothing, and you felt yourself relax against him.

“you’re quiet,” he noted after a moment, his tone light. “you’re not plotting my demise, are you?”

“not yet,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “this is suspiciously nice, though.”

he chuckled, low and warm, the vibration of it against your back sending a strange flutter through your chest. “what can i say? i’m full of surprises.”

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the sound of his voice mingling with the soft crackle of the candlelight as you chatted.

you teased him about his hair-braiding skills, or lack thereof, and he retaliated by pretending to tug too hard, only to gently smooth his fingers through the strands again.

at one point, he paused, his hands lingering in your hair. “you know,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly, “this isn’t so bad.”

“what isn’t?” you asked, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

“this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you both. “not... being alone all the time.”

his admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. but then you reached up, your fingers brushing against his, and you smiled.

“i trust you,” you said softly, feeling the weight of his words in the space between you.

his gaze softened, his fingers pausing in your hair before he continued gently untangling it.

“you do?” his voice was low, surprised in a way that made your chest tighten.

you nodded, feeling the quiet shift between you both. “yeah. even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

he snorted softly, but there was a warmth in his smile. “you know, you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re being stubborn.”

his fingers carefully tugged at a particularly tough knot, and you winced.

“sorry,” he murmured, his voice softening. “i won’t hurt you.”

you laughed. “you’re lucky i like you. otherwise, i might just hex you for putting me in this position.”

“oh, please,” he scoffed, but there was no malice in his voice.

“as if you could live without me.” he tugged on your hair again, this time with much more care.

“hmm, true,” you admitted, letting your eyes close for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body and the soothing rhythm of his fingers. “you’re pretty hard to get rid of.”

“you’re welcome,” he said with mock humility, and you could feel the grin on his face against the back of your head. “this is just me being a good…friend.”

“good friend, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “who knew you had it in you.”

“you’re the only one who gets to see this side of me, you know,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft as he continued working through your hair, his hands gentle now. “so enjoy it while it lasts.”

you felt a warmth settle in your chest at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you tried to play it off.

“you really are soft underneath all that sarcasm,” you teased, your voice warm with affection.

“and you’re not fooling anyone with that fake tough-girl act,” he shot back with a grin, though it was obvious he was enjoying the moment just as much as you were.

his fingers worked through another knot before he reached for a strand near the back of your head, tugging it with an exaggerated grunt.

“how did this even happen? seriously, it’s like you’ve been wrestling with a hippogriff.”

“i do have a very busy life, you know,” you quipped, reaching up to lightly smack his arm. “you’re lucky i’m letting you do this. don’t mess it up.”

“mess it up?” he echoed, his voice dripping with confidence. “i told you i’m a professional.”

you snorted. “right.”

you felt his chest rumble with laughter, the sound so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

he was so close to you, and in this simple, sweet moment, everything felt just a little bit more perfect.

“well, i think i’m done,” he said after a moment, gently setting your hair down, and you could feel the soft caress of his hands against your skin.

you turned in his lap to face him, feeling your heart race as you met his eyes.

“you actually did a good job,” you said, a teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. “i’m impressed.”

“thank you,” he said, grinning back at you. “i told you. i’m good at everything.”

“everything, huh?” you leaned closer, your breath mixing with his as you smiled. “prove it.”

before he could respond, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but soft.

he tasted of warmth, familiarity, and affection. he didn’t pull away, his arms tightening around you in response.

and for that moment, with his fingers still tangled in your hair and his lips against yours, the world outside your little bubble of comfort didn’t matter.

it was just the two of you, tangled together in the way only you could understand.

mattheo riddle masterlist | navigation

[bryan-writes]

Green smoke and golden smiles— barty crouch jr x reader

Summary: you find yourself at a Gryffindor party, celebrating with Lily and the marauders on a win against Slytherin. Barty decides to crash it, prank the Gryffindors and steal you away to get to know you.

Hufflepuff reader, fluff, Barty calls reader darling and my lady, super cute!

Credit to @strangergraphics-archive for the lovely dividers :)

The Gryffindor common room was alive in a way that only followed a narrow victory against Slytherin. Laughter and voices bounced off the stone walls, and red and gold streamers, charmed to burst into mini-fireworks, spiraled across the ceiling in dizzying loops. Near the bar, which boasted an impressive line-up of Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, and an alarming amount of snacks, Lily Evans was chatting animatedly with you, the token Hufflepuff in the crowd. Your easygoing friendship with Lily had opened doors you’d never anticipated, including one straight into the rowdy, reckless world of the Gryffindors.

You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced around, feeling a familiar, comfortable warmth. James was being his usual self, arm slung around Lily’s shoulders as he tried and failed to impress her with exaggerated retellings of his quidditch heroics. Sirius was close by, grinning and tossing popcorn into Peter’s mouth like it was some kind of game, while Remus sat on the sofa next to you, watching them with a faintly amused smile, occasionally chuckling at your comments and sipping a warm mug of Butterbeer. You were surrounded by friends, wrapped in warmth and cheer, and yet there was something gnawing at the edge of your mind— a sense that tonight wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long.

In the back of your head, you could practically hear the gears of fate turning. After all, a win this close against Slytherin? They wouldn’t let a game this hard fought go without consequence.

And that’s when it happened. The Gryffindor portrait door burst open, the fat lady yelling obscenities as Barty Crouch Jr. strolled in, looking like he had every right to be there. With his classic lopsided grin, he paused at the threshold, one brow arched as he scanned the room with a gaze sharp enough to unsettle even the most stalwart lion. Trailing behind him were a small group of his Slytherin friends, each wearing expressions that ranged from smug to wary as they took in the Gryffindor revelry.

A hush fell over the crowd for a heartbeat. Then, true to Gryffindor form, James leaned toward Sirius with a snort, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Since when does Crouch drop by without hexing someone first?”

Sirius grinned, nudging him back. “Just give it a minute.”

Barty, meanwhile, held up his hands, that smirk never leaving his face. “Evening, Gryffindors!” He announced, voice effortlessly cutting through the chatter. “Thought I’d drop by to congratulate you lot on your narrow— and I mean narrow— victory today.”

A few students raised their Butterbeers, chuckling, though Lily rolled her eyes, muttering, “Oh, this should be good…”

He walked right up to her, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. “Lily Evans! Captain of this unruly pride of lions.” His grin widened and his eyes flitted around the group. “A spectacular game, truly. It’s Gryffindors like you who make these matches worth every bit of trouble”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not all you’re here for,” Lily said, unimpressed but unable to hide her faint smile. Barty’s charm had an annoying way of creeping up on even the most suspicious of people.

You were trying not to laugh when he caught sight of you, and his expression shifted from playful to intrigued, his eyes narrowing just a bit as they took you in. Then, in one smooth motion, he turned from Lily and closed the space between you with a look of casual interest, leaning in just close enough to spark a thrill of excitement in your stomach.

“And who might you be, tucked away here among all these lions?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“Y/N,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone neutral. “I’m here with Lily.”

”Y/N,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring it. “The one and only Hufflepuff in a den of Gryffindors. Fascinating. Tell me, darling, how does one of your gentle disposition find themselves here, surrounded by all this… ferocity?”

”Just lucky, I suppose,” you quipped, surprised at how easily the words came.

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at the marauders with an amused smirk before looking back at you. “You’re certainly braver than I’d have guessed,” he murmured, a spark of something playful in his eyes. “Though, I’d advise staying close. If I know Gryffindors, there’s bound to be some… retaliation.”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Retaliation? For what?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, nothing too sinister. Just a little fog to set the mood.”

Before you could question him further, a loud pop echoed through the common room, and in an instant the space was filled with thick, swirling green mist, tinted in unmistakeable colors. There were shrieks and laughter as green fireworks began going off, Gryffindors stumbling blindly, coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces. Even the maraduers were caught off guard, fumbling around in the chaos, yelling and laughing as they tried to locate each other.

In the confusion, you felt a hand slip around yours, warm and steady. You didn’t need to see his face to know it was Barty. With a grin you couldn’t see but could practically feel, he pulled you through the haze and out into the hallway, leaving the chaos behind you.

Once outside, he turned to you, grinning as he gave a mock bow. “My lady, saved from the treacherous fog by none other than yours truly.”

You laughed, catching your breath, swatting at the green powder bound to stain your sweater. “Saved? You started that!”

”Perhaps,” he said, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself, “But you can’t deny I got you out in one piece, can you?”

”I suppose I can’t,” you admitted, unable to stop smiling. “Though, I have to admit, that was… well-executed.”

”I’m a man of many talents, what can I say?” He shrugged, as if leading a stealth operation into the Gryffindor common room was just another day for him. Then, his tone softened, though the mischievous light never left his eyes. “But tell me, Y/N… what are you doing here?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to scrutinize him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to chat me up, Crouch.”

”Trying?” He raised an eyebrow, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Here I thought I was doing a splendid job.”

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up at his confidence. “Maybe you are, just a little.”

”Only a little?” He asked, feigning disappointment. But he was smiling, that lopsided grin that could probably melt ice if it tried. “Well, that’s a start.”

He took a step closer, eyes flickering over you with a hint of genuine curiosity. “It’s not every day I meet someone who can handle a little chaos with such grace. Most would’ve hexed me by now.”

”Maybe I have a soft spot for chaos,” you teased, feeling bolder than usual.

“Oh, dangerous,” he murmured, eyes lighting up. “And here I thought Hufflepuff were all sweetness and sunshine.”

”Well, maybe we are,” you replied, unable to hold back a smile. “But we’re also more than people think.”

At that, he let out a laugh, warm and rich. “I’ll have to remember that.” Then, offering his arm with a wink, he leaned closer. “So, what do you say, darling? Feel like risking another adventure tonight?”

You glanced back toward the common room, where the Gryffindors were slowly recovering from the smoke bomb. The thought of slipping away into a night of spontaneity with Barty felt like a much better way to spend the rest of your evening.

Grinning, you looped your arm through his. “Alright, Crouch. Show me what you’ve got.”

With that, he led you down the hallway, the two of you walking in step as the night stretched out before you, filled with possibility, laughter, and just the right amount of trouble.

[brights-place]

⋆˚࿔ 【 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡.1-4 】 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Read The full book on my wattpad

The soft chorus of purrs and gentle snores echoed through the second-floor bedroom of Ramshackle Dorm. Nestled under a blanket she had yanked from the closet, [Name] slept soundly, her form half-curled against the chilly air. Moonlight spilled in through the cracked windows, but it was the mirror tarnished and laced with webs over the shattered fireplace that began to glow softly.

A brilliant white shimmer pulsed from its surface, dust and grime doing nothing to dull its otherworldly light. It grew brighter, casting silver beams over [Name]'s face as she stirred in her sleep. Her brows twitched, lips parting as fragmented dreams clashed behind her eyelids. With a sharp inhale, her e/c eyes snapped open.

Faint singing floated in the distance. "What the hell...?" [Name] muttered groggily, fingers brushing her cheek as she pushed herself upright. She wasn't in her dorm anymore and Grim wasn't beside her.

Instead, she sat on a lawn of perfectly trimmed, velvety grass, encircled by towering hedges and blooming roses a garden too perfect, too surreal. Her expression twisted with disbelief. "Maddie?" she whispered instinctively, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips when she realized the wackiness of the world around her. Then, confusion overtook her again. "No... I was in my room. I was asleep so how come..."

Pushing herself to her feet, her sock-clad toes met the cool ground. Her surroundings wavered like water, and she gripped her head, steadying herself as vertigo hit. A shadow approached. Lifting her gaze, she saw a young girl in a cerulean dress approaching.

"Why are you mad too?" the girl asked with a puzzled tilt of her head [Name] blinked. "Mad...?" she repeated, then shook her head with a soft smile. "No. I'm not from Wonderland." "Oh, how strange!" the girl said, her British accent unmistakable. "But you're like me, then. You're not from here, are you?"

"No... I'm not," [Name] said. Her voice was soft, but carried a natural authority. Her presence  regal yet rebellious was striking, from her h/c, plum-tinted curls to the intricate black and amethyst accents in her outfit, reminiscent of a modern fairytale queen who had chosen her own fate. The h/cnette shook her head "What's your name?" "Alice! Alice Pleasance Liddell" She grinned [Name]s eyes snapped open. She's talking to Alastors mother.

Her thoughts whirled around panicked, yet her thought process was cut off by the girl gesturing a hand towards her "What's your name?" the girl asked brightly "[Name]... [Name] Queen." Alice for that's who the girl introduced herself as  gasped softly. "A queen?" Her blue eyes sparkled with wonder. "Oh, are you royalty?" [Name] chuckled lightly. "No, not really. It's just a last name."

The two girls exchanged smiles, an unspoken understanding forming between them. They began walking together through the winding rose bushes, their conversation filled with curiosity and warmth. Alice, as it turned out, was from Victorian England. Her description matched perfectly blonde hair tied back with a bow, porcelain skin, and a dress that looked like it belonged in a storybook... though she couldn't help but flicker of memories of herself travelling through wonderland to get the storybook of leegnds.

What amused [Name] most was Alice's claim that her dress was wide enough to float down like a parachute. It reminded her of the nonsense Maddie blabbered and yet, this place was wonderland it didn't feel completely unfamiliar. There was a tug at the back of her mind, memories wrapped in violet and silver mist.

"I don't see anything ahead," [Name] said, scanning the garden. Alice nodded. "It's quite difficult." "Don't worry. I'll help you," [Name] said, gently placing a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. Then came the singing.

Painting the roses red!

A rose bush, an actual bush shouted at them. [Name] flinched, patting down her pajama pants and furrowing her brow. "Okay, that's new," she whispered. She stepped forward, not noticing how each movement transformed her outfit her clothing morphing into a regal ensemble.

As [Name] walked deeper into the strange, blooming garden, her pajamas shimmered, threads of light curling around her limbs like strands of magic. In their place formed an elaborate, two-part dress otherworldly, elegant, and unmistakably enchanted.

The bodice bloomed in a soft lavender hue, etched with swirling, paisley-like patterns in a richer violet shade that danced with each movement she made. It clung delicately to her form, regal yet flexible, like something spun from moonlight and ink.

Below it, the skirt flared outward in vibrant layers of teal and soft green, interwoven with horizontal stripes of white and pale yellow. It swayed with a playful elegance, airy and whimsical like a breeze made fabric.

Draped over her shoulders was a dramatic, textured shoulder piece its form reminiscent of seafoam or stylized aquatic flora. Crafted in shimmering aqua and teal hues, it cascaded like frozen waves, adding volume and a touch of fantasy to the ensemble.

Her shoes clicked softly against the garden's path high-heeled and sculptural, black as obsidian with details that mimicked feathers or perhaps gnarled vines wrapping around her ankles. Each step carried the weight of a fairytale queen dramatic, composed, undeniably powerful.

A golden crown rested atop her head, delicate yet commanding, casting glints of reflected moonlight through her h/c purple streaked hair. Her voluminous locks were pinned in an elegant updo, with curled tendrils spilling down to frame her face in soft waves.

Painting the roses red~! We're painting the roses red!

Alice climbed onto [Name]'s lifted arms to peek over the hedge as the two watched a parade of living playing cards cheerfully and desperately slather red paint over snow-white rose bushes. "Oh no," [Name] muttered as she caught on to the lyrics. The song, once whimsical, took on a darker tone. "They're trying to hide the mistake before the Queen sees."

They'll cease to grow!

The Two and Three of Clubs wailed dramatically, clutching their brushes like lifelines.

NO!

The Ace barked, whacking them both with his dripping paintbrush. "Well... this is well mad" [Name] whispered with a snort, and Alice giggled quietly beside her. As they stepped forward, Alice curiously asked.

Oh pardon me but Mr three why do you paint them red?

The cards paused, staring at [Name]'s outfit so eerily reminiscent of Wonderland's madness, yet refined and otherworldly. One card held up a white rose, brushing red over it.

The Queen, she likes 'em red! If she saw white instead...

She'd raise a fuss!

And each of us...

Would quickly lose his head!

The cards chorused. Alice gasped, hand flying to her neck. [Name] also awkwardly fidgeted with her fingers reminding herself of how Lizzie is mother use to be more brutal then currently in ever after. Soon though the pair joined in the song, if only to blend in. [Name] even used a brush to help Alice reach a rose nearly taller than her.

Not pink!

Not green!

Not aquamarine!

We're painting the roses RED!

The joy didn't last long in the moment. A loud trumpet blared. The cards scrambled, trying to hide the paint as they shrieked  "The Queen!"Alice gasped, trembling slightly. [Name] stood firm, slipping in front of the girl protectively as shadows loomed. A white rabbit dashed out, trumpet in hand her eyes sparkling in relization.

"Her Imperial Highness, Her Grace, Her Majesty! the Queen of Hearts!"

The Queen arrived in a flourish of red and gold, a towering presence. Her expression soured immediately as she inspected the roses one of them still dripping fresh red over white petals. [Name] placed a hand protectively on Alice's shoulder, but her eyes dropped to her own hand when feeling her hand slightly faze through the young girls shoulder.

It was fading. "Alice..." she whispered. "Your hand-!" Alice's wide blue eyes stared in horror. "[Name]... you're disappearing!" The ground beneath [Name] cracked open, a pool of inky blackness spreading under her as if hands were forming grasping up. Shadows clawed at her ankles, dragging her down. "What the-?!" "[Name]!" Alice screamed.

With one final, wide-eyed glance toward the shrinking garden above, [Name] was swallowed by the darkness  a scream echoing into the void.

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as [Name] jolted upright, hand clutching her chest like she was trying to hold her heart in place. Her wide eyes darted downward, panic rising but she exhaled shakily the moment she realized nothing had wrapped itself around her feet. No shadows. No cold grip. Just the tangled blanket and the echo of a dream she couldn't quite shake.

The sudden rapping at the door snapped her from her daze. Blinking in confusion, she whispered, "What... Alice?" Her voice was raspy, half-swallowed by sleep.

She shuffled to the cracked window and craned her neck to look outside, but the only thing that greeted her was moonlight and mist. Then came a familiar, whiny voice that floated up from behind.

"Myaaah... Hey, [Name]," Grim drawled with a yawn, tiny fangs glinting as he stretched. "I know it's the middle of the night, but I think we've got a visitor. Maybe it's those pesky ghosts again? They just don't know when to quit."

Still foggy with sleep, [Name] groaned softly and dragged herself out of bed, her limbs heavy and unwilling. Grim followed close behind, immediately latching onto the hem of her pajama pants. His claws and tail wrapped tightly around her shin like a furry ankle weight as she trudged forward, careful with each awkward step to keep him from slipping off.

The floorboards beneath them groaned in protest loud, brittle creaks that echoed far too clearly in the dead silence of the old house. Dust swirled in the air as she moved through the dim corridor beside the staircase, the wallpaper peeling like old skin and the smell of damp wood clinging to everything.

She didn't know what waited for them on the other side of the door but in that moment, wrapped in shadows and silence, it felt like something was holding its breath.

The exhausted h/cnette stood before the door, hair a tangled mess and sleep still heavy in her limbs. She extended a hand toward the knob, her voice muffled by a tired yawn. "State thy name," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm.

A familiar voice answered from the other side loud and unmistakably impatient. "It's me, Ace! Just let me in, all right?" A loud groan escaped her lips just as a sharp smack landed against the door. "Don't groan at me!" Ace barked with a scoff, clearly annoyed but also just as dramatic as ever.

Grim, still curled against [Name]'s pajama leg, gave a small sleepy nuzzle before his ears perked up. He glanced up just as she cracked the door open and both of them blinked into the dim moonlight spilling across the hallway.

"Ace?" [Name] squinted at the males neck.Grim jolted fully awake at the sight, fur fluffing as he pointed an accusatory paw at the redhead now standing with his arms crossed and a deep scowl plastered across his face.  "It's the middle of the night- B-Bwah! That collar!" "I can't go back to Heartslabyul," Ace said flatly. "I'm joining your dorm. For good." "Myah?! Come again?!" Grim squeaked, his voice pitching in disbelief.

[Name] blinked slowly at him, still half-asleep, before noticing the anxious way Ace's eyes flicked over her appearance the loose, slipping shirt barely hanging onto her shoulder. Without thinking, he awkwardly reached out and tugged it back into place with an embarrassed cough, avoiding eye contact.

He stepped inside without waiting for permission, brushing past her in a huff with a tired sigh, [Name] shut the door and followed, her footsteps soft as they made their way toward the lounge, Grim scrambling along behind them. The air felt heavy with questions neither of them had the energy to ask.

Grim sat perched on the edge of the broken table, his tail twitching in suspicion as he pointed a clawed paw at Ace. "Myah! I'd recognize that collar anywhere," he huffed, puffing out his cheeks indignantly. "It's the same one that psycho stuck on me at orientation!"

He narrowed his eyes. "What'd you do to get shackled with that?" [Name] barely looked up from the chipped glass she was filling, her fingers curling gently around its rim before silently handing it over. Ace took it awkwardly, muttering a quiet thanks, and surprisingly  it didn't taste like dishwater. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

With a deep sigh, Ace downed the rest and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth"I ate a  tart." [Name] froze in place, halfway through setting the empty glass in the sink. She slowly turned her head toward him, eyes squinting in disbelief.

"You... ate a tart?" she echoed, stepping into the lounge. A small, disbelieving snicker escaped her lips. "Are you serious right now?" "Dead serious," Ace groaned, throwing his hands up. "That's it! That's all I did! I was starving, okay? So I snuck into the dorm kitchen and found these tarts in the fridge three of 'em! Big, shiny, delicious ones just sitting there!"

[Name] leaned lazily against the wall, watching him ramble on, one arm folded while the other rested under her chin. Her gaze, however, wasn't on his face it lingered on the smooth, glinting metal of the collar locked tight around his neck. Her expression turned thoughtful, the shadows from the dim lounge light playing across her face. That collar was no joke.

Ace rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he tugged open the fridge door in Heartslabyul's kitchen. His voice echoed through the empty space. "Ugh, I'm still beat from that crazy adventure... I missed dinner, too. I'm starving. C'mon, fridge- gimme a miracle. Whoa- score!"

His eyes lit up as he spotted the prize: tarts. Golden, glistening, still cool from the chill "These look amazing... and hey, plenty to go around," he muttered, already grabbing a fork. "No one's gonna miss just one teensy little slice. Right? Right." He took a bite, eyes shimmering with bliss.

"Mmph... So good. I'm in pastry paradise right now." A calm voice interrupted his sugar-fueled daze. "Of course they're good. Trey made them. His tarts are always exceptional." Ace, still chewing, blinked slowly. He turned mid-bite, already nodding his agreement.

"Yeah, but I mean- these are crazy good. Like, he could sell these at- wait- Housewarden?!" The fork clattered to the floor as he jumped. There stood Riddle Rosehearts, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. His uniform was perfectly pressed, his red hair immaculately styled and those two heart-shaped tufts on top looked anything but sweet at the moment.

"That you would dare to touch something of mine..." he began coldly, voice cutting through the kitchen air like ice. "Well. I'm impressed by your audacity, at least." Ace swallowed hard. Riddle raised his magic pen, its rose-red gem gleaming with warning.

"But the Queen of Hearts's rule number 89 is quite clear: 'Never eat a tart without the Queen's permission.'" His voice rose in fury. "The theft of tarts is a serious crime!" "Wait, wait, can we talk about-!"

Off With Your Head!

Ace sighed dramatically, gesturing to himself and the heart-shaped collar outlined in gold—the front dangling with an ornate golden lock "and here I am," he announced. A heavy silence settled over the trio. [Name]'s eye twitched in quiet disbelief.

Grim deadpanned, voicing what both he and [Name] were clearly thinking. "So... the point is you're both terrible?" Ace's jaw dropped. "You don't think it's insane that they sealed my magic over one slice of tart?!" He pointed wildly at himself, flailing his arms to punctuate every word. "For a mage, that's like having your arms and legs shackled! There were three tarts! Three! It's not like he could've eaten them all himself! You know this is messed up!"

[Name] blinked slowly, her exhaustion audible in her voice. "I guess... but what does this have to do with us?" Ace scowled at her, his face contorting in exaggerated offense. "What kinda wishy-washy answer is that?!"

Grim yawned, folding his little arms. "Yeah, but like... if there were three of 'em, they were probably for a party. Maybe it was someone's birthday or somethin'? Lookit that, I'm like a master detective too!"

Ace paused, frowning as the idea clicked. "A birthday party, huh...?" [Name] crossed her arms with a sigh. "Did you even apologize? I mean, I'd be annoyed too if someone took my food but if it was a mistake, I'd understand. Still... it might've been important."

Ace clicked his tongue, pouting. "Man... I thought you'd be more sympathetic! I'm a victim of the housewarden's tyranny here!" Grim didn't miss a beat. "But you stole food. That ain't cool!" [Name] chuckled. Ace groaned. "Ugh, you've gotta be kidding me!"

She gave him a pointed look before lightly smacking his arm. "Why not just go apologize, yeah?" He looked at her for a moment, then snorted at Grim's comment. "You don't go messin' with another man's meal..." Grim froze, eyes widening. "Wait a minute! I never got those cans of tuna the headmage promised me! Henchwoman-" "I'll get some later" She placed her hand onto Grims scruff fur the cat purring for a moment before clearing is throat.

[Name] glanced to her hand her nail polish chipped, Ace hummed before reluctantly nodding. "All right, all right. Fine. I get it I should apologize. But you're coming with me, [Name]. This was your idea, after all." She shrugged.

Ace looked around, hands on his hips. "Anyway, you got a place I can crash tonight?" Grim blinked. "Wait, you were serious about that? Outside of the room me and [Name] use, the rest of this dump is buried under a foot of dust. If you wanna stay here, you better start cleanin'!"

Ace recoiled. "Dude, no way! I hate cleaning! Just let me stay with you, N/N I'm slim! I won't take up much space." [Name] raised a brow at him, arms crossed her blank stare was answer enough. "Tch. You're about as flexible as a brick," he muttered. "Fine. The sofa it is. Night!" He flopped down on the couch with a huff, watching Grim head upstairs. [Name] followed with a glance back at Ace.

"I'll get you a blanket and pillow," she offered casually before heading up after Grim. Ace's lips twitched upward. He sighed in relief and leaned back, rubbing his neck where the enchanted collar tugged slightly. Just as he began to relax, a strange squeaking sound caught his attention.

He turned his head slowly and froze a rat stood on the coffee table. Silence blanketed the room as the mouse stared down Ace, a loud scream echoed throughout the room. Ace's voice cracked into a higher pitch as he yelped, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

[Name] ran down the stairs worriedly. Holding a pillow, blanket in one arm before seeing how frightened Ace looked staring at the mouse. She couldn't stop laughing at the expression on his face.

Ace, red in the face, finally gave in and chuckled too. She winked, gave him a teasing mock bow, and whispered a dramatic, "Goodnight, Ace," before disappearing back upstairs. Ace sighed yet he was still smiling when the door shut behind her.

A loud groan escaped Ace as he coughed into his elbow, a small cloud of dust swirling into the air like powdered cobwebs. The threadbare couch beneath him creaked in protest, its springs groaning with age.

Even though [Name] had used her magic to patch up parts of Ramshackle Dorm, the place still looked like it had one foot in the grave.

The wallpaper peeled like old bark from the walls, its faded floral print stained by time and moisture. Exposed floorboards moaned under every step, brittle and splintered. Shadows pooled in corners where light couldn't reach, and the musty scent of age hung heavy in the air wood rot, soot, and something faintly metallic, like old blood or rust.

Despite the charm her presence brought, [Name]'s efforts could only do so much. Where her magic had swept through, things were cleaner, smoother, with faint traces of violet glow or ivy curling across the cracked surfaces but the decay of the dorm was stubborn.

Paint blistered on the ceiling. A single chandelier hung askew in the main hall, its crystal droplets dulled with grime and dust. Every breeze through the broken windows whispered like the ghosts that resided there.

Suddenly, sharp knocking echoed through the entry hall, bouncing off the warped wood and crumbling plaster with a loud, jarring rhythm. Ace huffed, scratching his tangled orange hair and sitting up with another groan. "Duuude... Who's banging on the door this early?" he muttered, coughing again as more dust billowed from the cushions. "Blegh! Every step kicks up a dust storm!"

He tossed his blanket aside. It landed in a heap on the floor, near a moth-eaten rug that had long lost its original color. With sluggish steps, he trudged toward the heavy double doors of the front entrance. Their once proud frame now sagged slightly, the brass handles tarnished and cold to the touch.

When he opened the door, the hinges shrieked like they were crying for mercy. Deuce stood there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. "I figured I'd find you here," he said, tone flat while Ace let out a groan "Ugh. Deuce..." Deuce stepped into the entry hall, his boots tapping across the floorboards that echoed far too loudly for comfort. He glanced around at the gloomy interior with a sigh before focusing his annoyance back on Ace.

"So. You ate the housewarden's tart," he said, voice clipped. "You really are an idiot." Ace pointed a finger at him, scowling. "Oh, shut up! Like you're one to talk!"

He hesitated, glancing off toward a cracked window that filtered in pale morning light through crooked shutters. "Anyway... uh... is Riddle still mad?" Deuce shrugged, but his tone was dry. "Not exactly. Maybe just... mildly homicidal. Some of our dormmates overslept this morning. Only three of them got your treatment."

Ace's jaw dropped. "You call that not mad? Sounds like he's still on a rampage to me!" Creaking floorboards above made both boys look up, just in time to see Grim bounding down the rickety staircase, his fluffy tail twitching.

Behind him, [Name] descended with a tired expression. She moved as if the rotten wood didn't dare snap beneath her boots. Her silhouette, framed by the fractured sunlight spilling through the cracked windows, made her look like a shadow cut from royalty. She offered a small wave to Deuce, her e/c eyes calm and unreadable yet the eyebags were slightly visible.

Together, the four stepped out into the morning mist, leaving behind the eerie silence of Ramshackle Dorm its broken beauty standing like a forgotten relic against the creeping dawn.

Grim darted ahead on all fours, tail flicking and a smug grin plastered on his face as he weaved between passing students.

"Move it! Outta the way!" he hollered, earning scowls and grumbles from several irritated students. Trailing behind him, [Name], Ace, and Deuce followed at a more reasonable pace, offering half-hearted apologies to those Grim had shoved past.

"Night Raven College student comin' through!" Grim shouted again, slowing down just long enough to puff out his chest and flash his collar. "Oh? Did my collar catch your eye? Way better than the one you're stuck with!"

He let out a bark of laughter, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Y'know, the one that makes it so you can't use magic? But hey, the school could always use another janitor! Bwahaha!"

[Name] covered her mouth to stifle a snicker, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. She glanced at Ace, who was grinding his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn't crack.

Ace scoffed, fists clenched. "Grrr! Trust me, Grim, once I get my magic back, you're first on the chopping block!"

Deuce raised a brow, placing a steadying hand on Ace's shoulder. "Didn't the Headmage just tell you yesterday no more incidents?" he asked, voice edged with exasperation. "Seriously, you're not going to be allowed in class if you can't use magic."

He crossed his arms. "Why not just apologize to the Housewarden? It's a small price to pay to get that collar off." [Name] nodded, her tone light but sincere. "I agree. And if it doesn't work..." She raised her hand and gave a small, graceful wave, fingers sparkling faintly with magic "I can always try something," she added with a soft smile.

Ace let out a dramatic groan. "Aaaaargh! I hate this! So! So! Much!" Grim rolled his eyes with a shrug. "Hmm. We've still got some time before class starts. I am kinda curious about the other dorms. Guess I'll tag along while you go beg for forgiveness."

Ace shot him a glare. "Since when did this become a field trip?!" [Name] giggled, teasing, "Since you didn't listen to your Housewarden. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he wore platform heels to make himself feel taller next time. If you continue to say he's mean I'm going to say he'd get on one knee posing in a courtroom to show his authority" She reached out and patted Ace's shoulder gently. He flinched, startled, but didn't pull away.

"Don't worry," she said softly. "We're here to help you out." Her smile warmed, comforting and genuine. "We're friends, Ace. And we'll be right there, we'll charm you on." Ace blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. For a second, his usual scowl faltered.

With that, the group continued toward the Hall of Mirrors. Grim hopped up and settled comfortably on [Name]'s shoulder, his tail curling around the back of her neck. Ace followed, quieter than before. Maybe it was the calm way [Name] spoke, or the glint of magic still dancing faintly on her fingertips but for the first time since this mess started, he felt just a little less alone.

As The entrance of the Hall of Mirrors grew closer, [Name], and Deuce walked beside him, steady as a spellbook's promise, ready to help him face whatever came next.

The group of four stepped into the Hall of Mirrors, its grand architecture swallowing them in silence. The chamber was circular, vast, and breathtaking, with a vaulted ceiling that arched like the spine of some ancient cathedral. 

Each footfall upon the polished floor sent soft pulses of light skimming across the green-tinted surface, as though the very room exhaled in quiet reverence. Lanterns, suspended in midair or mounted along the curved walls, glowed with emerald fire casting a faint shimmer over every reflection and whispering an aura of sleeping magic.

[Name] stood still at the heart of it all, she turned in slow, measured circles, her dark lashes low as her gaze drifted from mirror to mirror. Each surface reflected her image from impossible angles, fracturing her silhouette into countless shards of herself each version staring back with the same wide, wondering eyes.

"What... are these mirrors?" she murmured, her voice soft as velvet but carrying an edge of suspicion. Her fingers twitched at her sides, restless, as if her magic wanted to reach out and touch the unseen threads humming in the air. Deuce stepped closer, steady and reassuring. He rested a hand gently on her shoulder "They're portals," he explained. "Each one connects to a different dorm across campus."

"Your dorm [N/N] is nearby," Ace cut in with his usual smirk, gesturing with a lazy sweep of his hand. "But the others are way out there. Think 'blink and you'll miss it' kind of far." [Name] turned her head slowly, mesmerized by the sight before her. All around the room, arched doorways stretched like gateways to other realms. Each one was an artistic marvel carved stone, gilded details, glowing runes. Above every entrance sat a distinct crest, symbolizing one of the seven dormitories. Beyond the mirrors, the paths dissolved into swirling mist or deep shadow, a siren's call to curiosity and the unknown.

Some arches seemed to stir with life stone statues half-hidden in fog, cloaked figures caught in frozen motion. But the details remained elusive, always just out of reach, like a dream half-remembered. The effect was haunting yet beautiful. 

The group made their way to one particular mirror the frame an intricate dance of roses and playing cards, crowned with the emblem of Heartslabyul. Red roses wrapped around its edges like careful guardians. Deuce stood beside it, hand on his hip, expression soft. "This one's ours" he said, nodding toward the mirror. Grim, who had been padding along silently, paused to paw at [Name]'s leg, blinking up at her.

"You ready?" Deuce asked, turning toward her again. His brow furrowed slightly. He had noticed the way she stared into the glass jaw tense, fists clenched at her sides. Her reflection mirrored the same guarded stance. Something about the image unsettled her. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. [Name] blinked, her expression easing just enough to speak. "It's nothing," she said, though her voice held the chill of honesty. "I'm just not used to traveling like this." There was no shame in her tone only quiet resolve.

Deuce offered her a smile, half-warm, half-hopeful. "You'll get used to it soon," he promised. Then, with a confident step, he passed halfway into the mirror, the surface rippling like water around his frame. He glanced back at her one last time, catching the violet sheen of her highlights under the green lantern light "Let's go."

The mirror rippled as [Name] continued to stare at it her mind feeling fuzzy for a moment as she stuck ehr hand through the mirror as she slowly moved in wiuthg her fuyll body eyes closed before passing through fully her vision bluryr as she opened her eyes at the bright light before standing right infront of a heart bush archway covered wutg rises. here lipos pursed as the whole scene around them shifted confused a thow quickly it changed thes emirror gate ways seemed to be good. they were now standing in a courtyard [Name]s eyes snapping at the extravagant castle in red and white tones, with heart motifs prominently featured throughout its architecture.

The central entrance is shaped like a giant heart, bordered with striking black and white accents that give the building a playful yet regal aura. Towers with red flags raised into their peaks adorned with spires. Diamond-patterned walls and ornate details including a banner emblazoned with a crowned heart emblem.

The pathway leading to the castle is framed by a perfectly manicured garden brimming with heart-shaped hedges adorned with blooming red roses. These hedges sit atop classic stone planters that emphasize the ornate yet some of the red flowers for some reason were dripping of paint. The red rose bushes scattered across the trimmed green grass were also small white flowers further enriching the fairytale setting. At the center of the pathway stands a circular fountain with flowing water as the path itself is composed of uneven cobblestones.

Beside the pathway were decorative wrought-iron lampposts topped with curved and pointed lanterns. One lamppost features a banner proudly displaying the emblem of "Heartslabyul" In the distance lush green trees and hazy ethereal forested hills provide a serene backdrop, grounding the scene in a sense of otherworldly tranquility.

[Name]s jaw dropped as grim spoke up "Dang, this place is swank! This is nothing like our dumpster of a dorm." [Name] softly smacked grims head as th ecat rubbed its sore spot before blinking glancing to the side "Hm? Theres someone in the garden!" Grim pointed a paw at a red head male.

The sun filtered through the rose-covered archways of the Heartslabyul garden as the group followed the winding stone path deeper into the maze. Warm light glinted off the dew-slicked petals, casting dreamy colors across the trimmed hedges. And then came the voice loud, gleeful, and utterly unbothered.

"Aww yeah, I am so getting my paint on!" The words pulled [Name] to a stop mid-step, brows raising with mild curiosity as she turned her head. Just beyond the hedgerow, crouched beside a rose bush with a glowing magical pen in hand, was a young man with light orange hair styled into a deliberately messy ponytail. A few strands fell artfully around his face, tucked behind his ears, and his green eyes sparkled with energy as he hummed a chipper tune. She watched him swipe the pen across one of the white roses, turning the petals an unnatural shade of crimson with every flick of his wrist.

Her gaze sharpened, lips parting slightly in quiet observation. There was a red diamond-shaped mark on his cheek deliberate, styled, likely magical. His grin revealed a faint fang, the kind of detail most wouldn't notice, but [Name] did. She took in everything. The confident way he moved, the rhythm of his humming, the way his entire presence seemed to vibrate with curated charisma. Something about him tugged at the edges of her memory not quite familiarity, but enough to make her head tilt.

A soft pink brushed her cheeks as she caught herself staring a second too long. Pinching the inside of her wrist discreetly, she muttered, "Well... shit. I'm not dreaming." As they stepped into the clearing at the heart of the rose maze, the sound of the boy's voice echoed around the walls, singing out in playful cadence. "They all gotta be red, or it's off with my head!"

The melody hit her like a cold breeze. Her fingers curled slightly, arms folding as she exhaled through her nose, voice low and sarcastic. "The déjà vu is too real" It was a Wonderlandian song. One she'd heard Maddie belt out with a manic grin during her tea parties back at Ever After, while Kitty laughed in riddles beside her. The fact that it was happening here, in another world entirely, sent an uneasy thrill down her spine. The resemblance to Wonderland was uncanny almost deliberate but also reminded her of the little girl she met in her dream.

Behind her, Ace and Deuce had both gone visibly pale. Something about cater must have jogged a memory they clearly weren't fond of. [Name] arched a brow as they looked at her and then instantly shook their heads, silently begging her not to ask. She said nothing, but the smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth said she would file it away for later.

Then Grim always blissfully unaware spoke up "Whatcha doin' over there?" the feline called out, strutting forward with no sense of danger. Deuce flinched, reaching out instinctively to pull Grim back, but the damage was done.

The orange-haired boy looked up with a grin that practically sparkled. "Me? Painting these roses red, duh." Grim tilted his head. "Yeah, but why?" The boy gave a dramatic twirl of his pen, pointed right at Grim, and winked. "What a cute reaction!" [Name] let out a breath through her nose and began quietly humming under her breath, the words slipping in softly with a knowing edge: "Painting the roses red..." Her voice, low and haunting, danced beneath the scene like a forgotten verse.

Then, as if remembering they were not alone, the boy's gaze swept toward Ace and Deuce and lit up with recognition. "Whoa, hold the phone!" he said, standing and pointing dramatically at the pair. "Now that I'm getting a good look at you, you're the first-years who broke the rules yesterday!"

[Name] turned slightly, watching the color drain from her companions' faces as they groaned "Yeah! You're the ones who shattered that billion-thaumark chandelier and almost got expelled, right?" the boy continued, eyes practically glowing with excitement. Ace let out a long-suffering sigh, muttering under his breath. "That chandelier's gonna haunt us 'til we graduate..." From beside him, [Name] chuckled, arms still crossed as she tilted her head.

Grim coughed and looked away quickly, pretending he wasn't involved. No one bought it but the boy wasn't done. "And you!" He spun toward Ace again. "You're the one who ate the housewarden's tart that night!" His grin widened. "You guys are, like, the hot topic on campus right now. I've got to get in on this fleeting fame." He whipped out his phone, already unlocking it. "Let me just grab a quick selfie cool if I post this on Magicam?" before anyone could answer, the camera flashed.

In suprise [Name] had struck a perfect pose just before the shutter, turning slightly with a sly smile that captured the spotlight effortlessly. She didn't do awkward. Her whole aesthetic thrived under pressure that's anxiety and expectations from family and friends does to you.

The boy checked the photo with a grin. "Perfect! Okay, gimme your names so I can tag you." Deuce hesitated but gave in. "I'm Deuce Spade." "Ace." Grim puffed up with pride. "I'm Grim, and that's my henchman-!" "[Name] Queen," she interrupted smiling softly. The boy blinked. "Queen? That's... a new one. Haven't heard that before." He chuckled. "Kind of iconic, honestly."

She shrugged "Call it fate." turning to Ace, she asked, "What exactly is Magicam?" He gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's like an app. You post photos, people react, y'know." [Name] hummed thoughtfully. "Oh we have something like that back home" she muttered.

"Uploaded!" the boy announced, already tapping away at his screen. "Oh, by the way Cater Diamond. Junior here at Heartslabyul. But you can just call me Cater. Or Cay-Cay, if you're cray-cray!" He struck a peace sign with practiced ease. [Name] stared at him for a long moment, deadpan "That's the most brain-rotted online personality I've ever seen in person." Ace leaned over to Deuce and muttered under his breath, "He's acting completely different from yesterday..." Deuce nodded grimly.

Cater turned his attention back to [Name], tilting his head "Wait... you're the prefect of that rundown little dump? Ramshackle House, right?" He physically shivered. "Yikes. I can't believe you actually live there. That place looks like it crawled out of a horror story and not the cute kind." He gave an exaggerated gag, waving his phone "you actually live there? That place is gloomy as hell. Looks like hot garbage on Magicam. No filter could save that dump."

[Name] met his gaze evenly, her expression unreadable "Oh, don't worry," she said coolly Cater smiled looking away as she muttered under her breath eye twitching "The ghosts think you're ugly too." Cater blinked turning his head to [Name] who smiled.

Grim couldn't help but get riled up and snapped, "Y'know, you've done nothin' but diss us here, pal!" Cater blinked, his mouth forming an 'o' in realization. "Gah! What am I doing? I don't have time to chat!" He hurried back over to paint the rose bushes. "The party's tomorrow. If we're not ready, it's 'off with my head!'" He turned and called to the group. "Hey, you guys wanna help me paint some roses?"

Ace blinked, confusion in his tone as he asked, "Yeah, uh... why are you doing that exactly?" Cater shrugged and replied casually, "Because red roses are so much more photogenic. Or... something...?" [Name] stiffened and coughed into her fist, trying to mask the smirk forming on her lips. She could tell Cater was absolutely bullshitting his way through.

Cater kept grinning as he continued. "And after that, I've gotta start getting things ready for the big croquet tournament. And that means coloring all the flamingos." A frown crept onto Cater's usually beaming face as he let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly fishing for sympathy.

[Name] stared at him in disbelief, trying not to laugh. Flamingos? Painted?! Wasn't that some kind of animal cruelty? Every word coming out of his mouth made her head spin from the sheer randomness of it all "You're colorin' flamingos now? Isn't anything the right color around here?!" Grim shouted, just as baffled.

Deuce paused, placing a hand under his chin thoughtfully. "Now it's coming into focus, Ace. That tart you ate must've been for the housewarden's birthday. That explains his reaction!" Cater tilted his head. "Hm? Oh no, it's not Riddle's birthday." He shook his head casually Ace blinked. "It's not? Then whose birthday is it?" Cater pointed a finger toward the group. "It isn't anyone's birthday. Tomorrow is our dorm's traditional un-birthday party. It's a special tea party we throw when no one has a birthday if the housewarden feels like it."

Ace stared at him like Cater had just spoken in riddles. "And why would you do that?" Cater sweatdropped, then kept grinning. "Again with the questions! Listen, I need these roses to be red. Like, yesterday. Can't you guys help out with magic or something?" He paused, then snapped his fingers dramatically. "Oh, but Ace is on magical house arrest and the prefect's a total normie, so you two better stick to paint." [Name] raised a brow at the label. Normie, huh? The last thing she ever wanted to be was normal. She was anything but that. The word settled in her chest like a rock irritating, but not worth fighting over. Not right now, anyway plus she could keep her hands busy instead of using her magic.

Deuce blinked. "Recolor the roses with magic" Grim tilted his head. "Can't say I've ever done this before." "Relax, it'll be fine. You got this!" Cater said brightly, flashing a peace sign. "But maybe do it before I lose my head? K-thanks!" As the group moved to paint the roses, [Name] hummed softly to herself, brushing crimson over each white petal with a practiced hand. She stood beside Ace, the two of them mostly silent until a tune slipped past her lips as she sang gently while working  "Painting the roses red... We're painting the roses red... We dare not stop or waste a drop, so let the paint be spread... We're painting the roses red~ We're painting the roses red~..." 

She paused mid-brush stroke, realizing Ace was staring at her like she'd suddenly grown a second head [Name] blinked back at him. "What? It's a catchy tune," she said, waving her paintbrush casually in his direction. Ace looked away, clicking his tongue. "No, it's a nice tune... passes the time, I guess." Then, with a huff, he added, "But still get back to painting."

[Name] chuckled under her breath. "At least we're doing better than Grim and Deuce." They both looked up to see Deuce and Grim trying and failing to get a color spell to stick. [Name] and Ace snickered in sync at the disaster unfolding just a few feet away.

Ace spoke glancing over to [Name] "at the mirror chamber you look abit freaked out" [Name] paused mid-brushstroke as she glanced over to him "How so?" her paintbrush glided over the petals "You went quiet for a couple of seconds" Ace pointed out at her as she spoke "I just found it weird.. this place is all familiar just reminds me of-" "Home?" Ace finished off her sentence as she smiled nodding her head.

Deuce took a deep breath in, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration as he raised his wand. The tip of it glowed faintly, flickering like a candle in the wind. With a hopeful flick, he waved it toward a nearby white rose and chanted, "Red... Red... BAM!"

A small wave of magic shimmered through the air only to hit the rose and immediately shift its color into a bright, electric blue. Deuce's jaw dropped as he leaned back, eyes wide with disbelief. "Wh-whoa! It turned blue?! That wasn't supposed to happen!" Grim, standing proudly nearby with flames curling at his paw pads, puffed up his chest dramatically. "Stand aside! Allow a true magical master to handle this!" he declared with theatrical flair. Lifting his paw high, he cast a small flame toward the base of another white rose. "Change, o foul color! Change! AHA-!"

The moment the flame touched the flower, it burst into a small blaze of crackling fire "BWAH! The rose caught on fire!" Grim screamed, tail puffed out like a bottlebrush as he scrambled backward in panic.

With a long-suffering sigh, Cater casually raised his hand and flicked his wrist, summoning a gentle burst of water magic that doused the flame with practiced ease. A soft hiss came from the rose as steam rose off its slightly charred petals "Wow," Cater said, tone dry and unimpressed.

"You're even less competent than I thought." Ace, who had up until now been half-heartedly painting a rose while leaning lazily on his brush, looked up with a shrug. "Yo, maybe you should just leave the roses white! They look perfectly pretty 'n stuff to me," he commented casually, standing upright and glancing at the others.

Cater turned his head toward Ace, then flicked his gaze to [Name], who was still humming a lighthearted tune under their breath while steadily painting a rose. The brush in their hand moved with rhythmic grace as they sang softly to themselves, blissfully unfazed by the surrounding chaos.

Cater's voice chimed in, light but firm. "It's a matter of tradition," he said, closing his eyes with a dreamy smile. "You can't have an unbirthday party without the roses being red. And you can't play croquet without seven-colored flamingos as mallets and a hedgehog for a ball." He opened one eye again with a wink. "Oh, but of course, the roses have to be white when the garden flowers put on their spring concert. That's absolutely crucial."

[Name] stiffened, mid-stroke with the brush. Their brows raised as they almost choked on their own breath, coughing lightly into their hand as they stared at Cater. Their magic buzzed beneath the surface, nearly sparking a shapeshift from sheer disbelief "What kind of logic is that?!" Grim stomped a paw against the grass, ears twitching. "All your rules are completely insane!" he barked in frustration, tail lashing behind him.

Cater exhaled through his nose, barely phased by the outburst. "They say the Queen of Hearts made up these rules herself," he explained, tone taking on a sing-song rhythm again. "She was one of the Great Seven, you know and Riddle is all about tradition. Probably more than any of our previous housewardens, T-B-H." [Name] tilted their head, still eyeing him suspiciously. "What about your previous housewarden?" Cater gave a cheeky smile, waving the question away with a flutter of fingers. "I'll admit that he's, well... a bit extra."

Ace clicked his tongue, clearly not amused. "Yeah, no kidding. I sure don't have time for this nonsense." His expression shifted slightly, as if something just clicked. "I need to talk to our dorm leader. Is he here?" Cater hummed, bringing a finger to his chin in mock thought before nodding. "Hm? There's some time before he leaves but-" Ace didn't wait for the rest. He turned on his heel and made to leave but Cater quickly stepped in front of him, arms crossing smugly over his chest and a grin tugging at his lips.

"Oh, by the way, sticky-fingered Ace-chan~," he cooed Ace froze, squinting suspiciously. "...What?" Cater tilted his head with faux innocence. "Did you bring a tart in apology?" Ace raised a brow, casually shrugging. "Huh? No. I came here first thing, so I'm empty-handed." Cater let out a long, overly dramatic sigh as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Is that so? Aah, man..." Then his smile sharpened, and his tone dropped into something deceptively light. "Then, by the decrees of the Queen of Hearts Article 53: 'What was stolen must be returned at all costs.'"

He pointed toward the dorm entrance with a flourish. "I can't let you back in the dorm." [Name] leaned toward Deuce, voice lowered. "He's got to be joking about this rule stuff... right?" Deuce, who was still processing everything, simply shook his head slowly. "I don't even know anymore."

Ace gaped. "Are you serious?" Cater kept smiling, voice cheerful but now laced with a very real edge. "All dorm residents must obey the rules. If I let you slide, it would be off with my head next!" He sighed dramatically and stepped aside, gesturing toward the dorm gate. "I hate to say it, Ace, but I'm gonna need you to leave before Riddle spots you. Thanx."

Ace blinked several times, stunned. "I... think this guy is for real." He turned to the others, desperation creeping into his voice. "You guys, do something!" Without missing a beat, [Name] raised the paint bucket in their arms like a shield.

Deuce's eyes widened. "Why should we do anything?!" Ace frowned, gesturing wildly. "C'mon, please! I can't use magic! Hurry, he's-" Suddenly, Cater's pen glowed dark and shimmered with arcane energy. He flicked it outward with a dramatic flourish.

"He is me, and so are we," he said ominously, just before shouting: "SPLIT CARD!" A magical pulse erupted from him like a ripple through water and in an instant, the group was surrounded by multiple copies of Cater, each identical down to the freckles and fluttering lashes.

Deuce stumbled backward, eyes going wide. "Diamond-senpai... multiplied?!" All the Cater clones turned to the group with sly smirks. The real one winked cheekily. "Okay, guys!" he called, spinning the pen between his fingers. "Time to throw them out~"

"Aye aye, sir~!" they all sang in perfect unison, their cheerful tones masking the dark shadows that now fell over their eyes The clones lunged, grabbing Grim, Deuce, and Ace with shocking force. They yelped, flailing and yelling as they were lifted and carried away but one Cater clone slowed as he approached [Name], gaze softening.

With a playful glint in his eyes, he bowed theatrically. "Excuse me, Queeny~!" he chirped, then swiftly swept her off her feet in a bridal carry before she could protest "W-Wait-!" [Name] squeaked, clutching his shoulders for balance. Her eyes widened, face flushed pink again as the clone's hold remained secure and oddly gentle.

The others were tossed rather unceremoniously onto the grass just outside the gates, landing with disgruntled groans. Meanwhile, the real Cater knelt, setting [Name] down softly as if she were something fragile. His hands lingered for a brief moment before he stood, dusted off his coat, and turned on his heel.

He snapped his fingers with flair. "Don't come back without that tart, kay?" as if on cue, the remaining clones gathered around him, laughing as their forms dissolved into dozens of fluttering cards. They scattered in the air like confetti before vanishing completely.

"BYE-BYEEEE~!" Cater sang over his shoulder, waving without looking back and just like that, he was gone.

Ace groaned loudly as they trudged their way back toward the mirrors, his posture slouched like someone carrying the weight of the world or at least the weight of one too many Cater clones. His lips twisted into a grimace as he grumbled, "What's with that dude?! Seriously!"

Deuce, walking just a few paces behind him, let out a sigh of exasperation and nodded in agreement. "Diamond-senpai just multiplied out of nowhere... Was that illusion magic or something?" he asked aloud, more to himself than anyone else, before shaking his head as if trying to clear the bizarre memory from his brain. "I don't even know anymore."

Ace suddenly came to a stop, planting his feet in place with a dramatic click of his tongue. His brows furrowed as his frustration boiled over. "So lemme get this straight," he said slowly, voice tightening. "We walked in there, totally tartless, right? And that guy still made us jump through hoops with that whole song and dance number... just to toss us out at the end?!"

His eye twitched violently as his fist clenched at his side. "He just wanted to make us paint his stupid roses." Grim, trailing beside them with his tail flicking irritably, made a disgruntled noise. "Myah! We sure looked like a bunch of chumps." Deuce nodded solemnly.

"I guess we'll just have to get an apology tart and come back." He glanced down at his watch and then suddenly froze mid-step, his face draining of color. "Oh no..."

The group collectively turned to face him, confused "You good?" Ace asked, raising an eyebrow Deuce whipped his head toward them, panic now fully evident in his widened eyes. "We already missed the first bell! We're gonna be late for class!"Grim gasped in horror, then immediately threw his paws over his face in dramatic despair. "MYAHH! I don't wanna get a blemish on the first day of my glorious Night Raven education!"

He turned on his heel and began stomping ahead with full determination. "Shake a leg, chumps! To the classroom, pronto!" Ace blinked before glancing sideways at the student beside him—[Name], whose long h/c hair swayed with each confident step. Her posture was poised, even while speed-walking, elegance still clinging to her like shadowy silk.

"Hey," Ace called over the rush, "what class are you guys in, anyway? You're freshmen too, right?" [Name] gave him a sidelong glance, her voice effortlessly calm despite the chaos. "Well, yeah. But I'm actually-" "Headmage said we're in Class 1-A!" Grim cut her off loudly before she could finish.

He didn't seem to notice her slight sigh of resignation as she reached into her coat and pulled out a crumpled but official-looking piece of paper.

With a flick of her wrist, she unfolded the schedule and held it out. The faint shimmer of Crowley's wax seal glinted in the light as she offered it without a word Deuce leaned over, eyes sparkling as he scanned the page. "Hey, that's the same one I'm in! We've got Potionology for first period- oh wait..." His brows pinched together in confusion. "It says here Grim's only with us for fourth to sixth period. And you-" he looked up at [Name], his eyes blinking in surprise, "you're with the second and... whoa, third years?! For periods four to six?! That's... kinda wild."

[Name] shrugged, her dark lashes fluttering with a subtle exhale. "Crowley said I should take advanced classes for ahem..." Her tone was dry as she looked away. Deuce nodded along slowly, clearly impressed. Ace, meanwhile, grumbled under his breath as he folded his arms. "Ugh... Just great. Now we've gotta babysit the weasel when she's off playing honor student."

Grim puffed up proudly. "Oh ho, yeah! We got Potionology! That sounds awesome!" Ace looked somewhat hopeful for a moment. "M-Maybe I won't even need magic for that... Right?" [Name] turned to the boys, a sly smirk pulling at her lips. Her voice was smooth, teasing, but not unkind. "Hey, sorry for the hassle and all," she said lightly, her eyes glittering with playful sharpness. "But you two can take care of Grim, right? I did help out with that whole mage crystal mess earlier, remember? You owe me."

She snickered behind her hand, looking far too entertained by their awkward silence. Deuce blinked, then offered her a small but sincere nod, his expression turning determined "Yeah... We can do that." Ace groaned as if the weight of the world had been dropped on him. "God, we have to take care of the weasel in some of our classes? This is ridiculous."

[Name] lifted one hand and offered a sarcastic little wave in Ace's direction, the tips of her painted nails catching the light. "Have fun with that, Ace~" she smiled sweetly, laughing softly under her breath as his expression soured even more and so, they took off running Grim in the lead, yowling dramatically, Deuce charging ahead with nervous energy, and Ace dragging his feet behind them while complaining every step of the way with [Name] giggling softly.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝ Dictionary !!

Features!! Physical Appearances S/C: Skin Colour H/C: Hair Colour H/L: Hair Length E/C: Eye Colour

Other!! Other things that could be mentioned in chapter

Heartslabyul: A dorm based on the Queen of Hearts' spirit of strictness. Twisted from Alice in Wonderland. Heartslabyul is a dorm in the Night Raven College.It's known for its long list of rules that its students are expected to abide by. Should they break even one, it will result in their beheading by the housewarden.

Ace Trappola: A quick learner with an upbeat personality and a mischievous streak. Since he and are both freshmen in the same class, they regard one another with amicable antagonism.

Deuce Spade: An earnest young man who enrolled at Night Raven College with the singular aim of becoming a respectable mage.

Grim: A monster who aspires to be a great mage. He will eat anything and everything, and his tendency to get carried away often gets him and the main character into trouble.

Queen of hearts, Rule 53: You must replace anything you steal

Phrases/Sayings/Refrences/Quotes Ever after High dictionary/Rooms/ etc. from the show/or game!!

Wonderland: Wonderland is a one of the realms of the Fairytale World, joint-ruled by the Queen of Hearts and the White Queen. Its people are called the Wonderlandians and its official language is Riddlish, which non-Wonderlandians often perceive as mad babbling.

Charm You on: Word that means to cheer you on. A word of endearment to express help and joy to a person close to you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】

Tag List @ashjade19 @mochiclouds @1abi

[harkness-pet]

power grab gone wrong

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: double manipulation? idk, kind of bottom!agatha?

Plot: agatha has found another source of power, playing her usual game of cruel words, but your ability makes it easy to play the game, maybe even better than Agatha herself

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

You were driven into the forest with stones and fire. You had not been burned, not yet, but the promise of it lingered in the air since the villagers banished you.

Now you lived in the dead places of the forest, where the sun touched nothing and the roots whispered of old hungers. You survived on stolen bread and berries and moss-water. Your magic was quiet, like the hush before a storm. It was not fire or wind or death, but feeling. You could pull sorrow from a bird’s wing or joy from a dying tree. You could understand others so deeply, it made your chest ache.

It was a curse, and it had saved you.

You were crouched beside a stream one twilight, half-starved, cupping you hands for water, when the forest went silent. The birds fell mute. The wind recoiled. You looked up.

A woman stood across the stream. Draped in robes the color of purple, skin pale, hair like wild and wavy. She didn’t blink.

You knew who she was, you had heard the stories of witches being attacked by one of their own. 

Agatha Harkness stepped from the shadow of the trees like she belonged to them. Her cloak flowed behind her, whispering secrets in a language older than the soil. Her pale hand rested lazily on her hip, her eyes sharp and glinting like the edge of a polished blade.

“Well,” she said, looking you up and down with open disdain. “A little scrap of meat and magic. I smelled you half a mile off. You reek of hunger and hope. Disgusting.”

You didn’t move. You stood by the stream, your bare feet half-submerged in the cold water, your tattered dress clinging to your legs like ivy. You looked at Agatha the way you observe a storm - beautiful, terrible.

“I don’t want trouble,” you murmured.

Agatha’s lip curled. “You’re in a forest older than death, little bird. Trouble is the only thing that lives here.”

She took a step closer, the ground beneath her feet darkening with each stride.

“What’s your trick, then?” she cooed mockingly. “Do you make flowers bloom from your palms? Heal injured rabbits and weep when people cry?” She leaned in. “Or maybe it’s something nasty, something hidden… are you going to explode my heart with a thought? Melt my bones with a scream?”

You said nothing. Your eyes flicked to Agatha’s fingers, where old magic hummed. Old powerful magic. 

“Come on,” Agatha drawled. “Hit me. Hex me. Try. You want to, don’t you?”

Your breath caught. The witch was obviously crazy, but she was so mesmerisingly beautiful that you started wondering whether the dead witches had simply given up their powers upon meeting this woman. 

Agatha grinned. “Don’t pretend you're a saint. You’ve got it in you. All that bitterness, all that grief. Use it. Cast your first spell with teeth.”

Still, you didn’t move. Her soul was pouring into your veins without you having to do anything. Empathy was your greatest power and your greatest curse. 

Agatha’s tone turned sweet, mocking. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll miss? Or worse, afraid I’ll laugh while I burn?”

She circled you now, slowly, dragging her nails along the air as if shaping invisible wire.

“I know what you are,” she whispered into your ear. “A soft little doe who thinks kindness will save her. You think the world will change if you cry hard enough. You think if you love someone enough, they won’t put a knife in your back. Pathetic.”

Your eyes shimmered, but not with fear.

Agatha stepped in front of you, lowering her face until you were inches apart.

“I bet you’ve never even hurt anyone,” she sneered. “Not once. Not properly. You’ve never screamed so loud your throat bled. Never snapped a bone just to feel something break. You don’t know power.”

She raised a hand, and purple fire licked her fingertips.

“I could unmake you right here,” she said with a smile. “Wipe you out like a candle. But I’d rather earn it. I want to feel your resistance. I want to taste your strength when it bleeds out of your mouth.” She leaned close, breath cold as fog. “Make me work for it. Come on. Give me an excuse.”

Silence fell again.

Then you smiled, just a little. While Agatha was talking, your power made it easy to read her like a book. 

“You’re trying so hard,” you said softly. “Is it always like this? Do you always have to beg people to fight you, just to feel something real?”

Agatha blinked. “What did you say?”

You tilted your head, your voice calm, kind, devastating. “You think if you hurt me enough, I’ll just attack you so you can steal my power? Trust me, you don’t want my power.” 

Agatha recoiled a step, confusion and intrigue flickering through her expression.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said. “I pity you.”

A flicker of raw emotion cracked across Agatha’s face, gone as quickly as it came. But you saw it. Felt it.

Agatha snarled. “Don’t pity me. Don’t you dare—”

“You’re tired,” you said gently. “And lonely. You push people until they turn to ash in your hands because you’re too scared to see who would stay. And it’s so much easier to kill someone who wants to kill you back.” 

Agatha’s magic faltered, just a fraction. Her jaw tightened.

“But deep down you just want someone to surprise you. To not lash out at your cruel words. To not attack you.” 

Agatha raised her hand again, fire boiling in her palm, but her wrist trembled. “Stop it,” she hissed. “Whatever curse you’re casting—stop it!”

“I’m not casting anything,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m just seeing you. That is my power.”

Agatha stared at you. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. No one had looked at her like that in a hundred years.

And that, more than any magic, was what broke her.

“You don’t see anything,” Agatha growled. 

You smiled softly and lifted up your hand to trace the hem of Agatha’s bodice, where satin met skin. Agatha’s breath hitched and you could feel the touch starvation pouring from her into you in deep waves. 

“You could have me, we could be a team,” you whispered. Your fingers trailed up to her neck and you pressed your thumb against her pulse. You leaned closer to Agatha’s ear and murmured softly, “I know everyone’s weaknesses.”

Agatha made a noise at the back of her throat and immediately pushed you away. “You think I want a child clinging to my skirts? Don’t flatter yourself.”

You closed the distance again, grabbing Agatha’s hips and making her step back until she was pressed up against a nearby tree. You could feel her resolve cracking, you could feel her hunger, her loneliness, her pride. 

“I’ll be good,” you said earnestly. “You can teach me. I’ll learn anything you want.”

“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do.”

Agatha sneered. “Are you trying to seduce me, little worm? You think I’ll melt because you beg prettily?”

You didn’t flinch and you smirked at her. I don’t think. I know you will. Agatha underestimated you, maybe empathy was a cruel ability to have, but it made it easier for you to manipulate. To get what you want. 

And right now, you wanted safety. Even if it meant finding it with a witch killer. 

You grabbed Agatha’s hair and pushed it over her shoulders. Agatha was watching you with caution, but also with interest, as if she wanted to see how the whole game would play out. Your lips softly attached to the soft skin of her throat. 

“You’re already melting.” You tilted your head back to look into Agatha’s eyes, your finger tracing the lines of her face. When your finger reach Agatha’s lips, your own hunger deepened when she slightly parted them. “Poor thing”, you cooed. “How long has it been since someone touched you without fear?” How long had it been since someone touched you?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, I could-“ Agatha’s words died in her throat when you suddenly leaned down and licked a long striped across her neck, humming as if tasting something delicious. Her magic was playing on your tongue. Agatha shivered. 

“You’re shaking,” you said softly. “You wanted me to be afraid. But you’re the one trembling.”

Agatha’s jaw tensed. “Don’t.”

But you continued because you knew you already had her. Agatha might be a dangerous woman, but with your gift, with your clever words, she’d want you by her side, offering you safety you so deeply longer for. “You came out here to hunt me. You thought I’d throw sparks and scream. That I’d make it easy. But I didn’t. And now you don’t know what to do with me.”

Agatha snarled, but there was no fire in it now. “I could still take everything you are.”

You smiled. Not cruelly. Not innocently. It was the smile of someone who knew. “I’m offering it freely,” you whispered.

Agatha blinked. “What?”

You pressed herself more against her. Your voice dropped, soft and intimate. “You don’t have to break me. You don’t have to hurt me. I’ll give you all of me if you just ask. I’ll follow you, serve you. I’ll belong to you.”

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. You were weaving something now, not a spell, at least, not in the usual sense. But your words dripped with power. Power drawn from emotion, from truth, from Agatha’s own fraying desires.

“In exchange for…?” 

“Safety,” you mused, dipping your hand into Agatha’s hair, pulling them softly. “Companionship.”

Agatha’s lips parted, but no answer came. One more push and you had her. 

“I could be yours,” you said. “Your shadow. Your student. Your comfort. I could be the one thing that doesn’t run from you.”

You stepped back and lowered yourself on your knees, looking up at her, fluttering your eyelashes prettily, Agatha’s power seeping into you, your power seeping into her. Your voice dropped to a murmur. “I could worship you, Agatha.”

The forest seemed to exhale around you. Agatha let out a shaky breath at the implication and your energy rushing into her veins. Her fingers curled into her dress.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, girl,” she hissed, but her voice had lost its edge.

Your grasped the hem of her skirt and sneaked your hands under, firmly grabbing her calves, her thighs, drawing lines with your fingernails. You smiled lazily. “I’m not playing,” you said, “but if I were… I think I’d be winning.”

Agatha’s eyes closed for a moment and when she opened them again, looking down on you, they were full of hunger that was desperate to get out. “I should tear your mind apart.”

“You could try,” you whispered, softly massaging her thighs now, slowly spreading them and realising with pleasure that Agatha was letting you. “But I think you like this better.”

Agatha didn’t answer with words, but she slowly pushed her feet more apart. 

You smirked and then looked up at her with a question in the tilt of your head. 

And she knew what you were asking, and she nodded. You pressed the heal of your hand against her center and watched her head fall back against the tree. 

You dipped your fingers below the fabric and moaned at how wet she was. “Aren’t you the most powerful witch in all the galaxies?” you whispered while your fingers worked. You pushed two fingers into her and her warmth accepted you as if your fingers belonged inside of her. “Spreading your legs for a nobody in the middle of a forest?” 

Agatha’s hand dropped and she gripped your hair. “Shut your mouth.” 

You chuckled and dipped under her skirt, putting your mouth to a better use. 

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (4) - Mattheo Riddle

The whispers had become a constant hum in the Great Hall, a low murmur that followed Mattheo like a shadow. Ever since his father’s return, his name carried more weight than ever—more fear, more suspicion. Students shrank away when he passed, their voices hushed but not enough to stop him from hearing. Voldemort. The name curled on their tongues like poison.

He didn’t care. Let them whisper. Let them believe whatever their terrified minds conjured. His only concern sat beside him, unaware of the storm brewing in his head. You.

You were sitting with Mattheo, Theo, and Enzo at the Slytherin table, your hands resting on Mattheo’s thigh as he absentmindedly played with your fingers, his other hand holding a goblet of wine-red pumpkin juice. He looked calm, at least on the surface, but you could tell by the tension in his shoulders that something was off.

You followed his gaze, your stomach twisting when you saw the source of his irritation—Fred Weasley.

Fred was sitting at the Gryffindor table, laughing with his twin and a few others. He didn’t seem to notice Mattheo’s glare burning into the side of his head, but you knew it wouldn’t take much to set your boyfriend off. The last time Fred had said something about Mattheo’s family, Mattheo had nearly hexed him into the hospital wing.

Theo and Enzo were already watching with mild amusement, waiting to see what would happen.

"Mate, just hex him already and get it over with," Theo said lazily, stabbing at his food with his fork. "You’re going to combust if you keep glaring like that."

"Nah," Enzo countered, smirking. "He’s waiting for a real reason. Give Weasley a few minutes; he always runs his mouth eventually."

Mattheo didn’t respond, but his fingers tensed around yours. You could feel the barely restrained anger rolling off him in waves. You sighed, squeezing his hand. "Mattheo, focus," you murmured. "You promised you’d help me with my Charms essay, remember?"

His eyes flicked to you, still dark with irritation, but his expression softened slightly. "I did, didn’t I?" he mused, though his glare returned to Fred a second later.

You rolled your eyes, realizing there was only one way to get his attention back on you.

Without warning, you grabbed his chin and pulled him into a deep kiss. Mattheo immediately responded, his grip tightening on your waist as he kissed you back, his fingers tangling in your hair. The sound of Enzo and Theo groaning in mock disgust barely registered in your mind.

"Bloody hell," Theo muttered. "We get it, you two are obsessed with each other."

"I’m going to hex myself just to escape this," Enzo added, pretending to gag.

When you finally pulled back, Mattheo looked at you with a dazed expression, his anger momentarily forgotten. His pupils were blown wide, and his lips were slightly swollen from the kiss. "What were we talking about again?" he murmured.

You smirked, brushing your thumb over his jaw. "My Charms essay."

"Right," he said, though he still looked entirely distracted by you.

Theo snorted. "Unbelievable. One kiss and you’ve melted him completely. You really do own him."

"Shut up, Theo," Mattheo grumbled, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned his full attention to you, leaning in so close that his nose brushed against yours. "Alright, love, let’s talk about Charms. I’ll give you whatever help you need."

You smiled triumphantly, knowing you’d successfully pulled him back to you. But as much as Mattheo was now entirely focused on you, you couldn’t ignore the way he occasionally glanced back at the Gryffindor table, like he was still debating whether or not to throw a hex.

You sighed. It was only a matter of time before chaos struck again.

As dinner continued, you could feel Mattheo’s fingers twitching where they rested against your thigh, his eyes flickering back to the Gryffindor table every so often. He was distracted, but at least he wasn’t storming over there yet. Small victories.

Theo and Enzo, however, weren’t helping.

"You know," Theo started, picking at his food with a smirk, "if you don’t do something soon, Weasley might get the idea that you’ve gone soft."

Mattheo tensed beside you, his jaw clenching.

Enzo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Yeah, imagine what people would say. ‘Mattheo Riddle, heir to the Dark Lord, taken down by a single kiss.’ Sounds tragic, really."

You shot them both a look. "Would you two shut up? He’s already trying not to murder anyone tonight, let’s not encourage him."

"We’re just pointing out facts," Theo said, raising his hands innocently. "Your boyfriend has a reputation to uphold."

"His reputation is fine," you shot back, but Mattheo exhaled sharply and leaned back in his seat, his fingers flexing as if itching to grab his wand.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," he muttered, pushing his plate away.

You could tell he was at his limit. The stress of all the drama and attention surrounding his father’s return to power was all weighing on him. And now, Theo and Enzo were poking at him like he was some caged animal ready to snap.

You sighed, reaching for his hand again. "Mattheo, don’t."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, but before he could respond, Fred’s loud, obnoxious voice carried across the hall.

"—not like Riddle can do anything, anyway. All that talk, but he only picks fights when he knows he’ll win."

The moment those words left Fred’s mouth, the Great Hall went still. A few students turned their heads, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Even some of the professors seemed to pause, looking toward the Slytherin table warily.

Mattheo, who had been on edge all night, went entirely still beside you. You could practically feel the rage rolling off of him, his entire body tensing like a predator that had just locked onto its prey.

Theo and Enzo immediately sat up straighter, no longer smirking.

"Oh, fuck," Enzo muttered under his breath.

Theo blinked. "Well. That was a choice Weasley just made."

You groaned, knowing exactly what was about to happen. "Mattheo—"

Too late.

Before you could stop him, Mattheo was already out of his seat, moving with a deadly grace toward the Gryffindor table. The hall erupted into hushed murmurs as students watched him stalk forward like a man possessed.

You got up immediately, following after him, but Theo grabbed your wrist. "Let him have this one," he murmured. "You know he needs it."

You bit your lip, torn between stopping Mattheo and knowing that Theo was right. After everything that had happened, Mattheo needed an outlet. And unfortunately for Fred, he had just volunteered himself as a sacrifice.

By the time Mattheo reached the Gryffindor table, Fred was already standing, his usual cocky smirk in place. "Ah, there he is. Took you long enough—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Mattheo’s fist connected with Fred’s jaw so fast that most people barely had time to register what had happened before Fred was stumbling backward, knocking into George.

The hall exploded into chaos.

"What the fuck, Riddle?!" Fred shouted, clutching his jaw.

Mattheo just stood there, rolling his shoulders like he hadn’t just decked a Weasley in the middle of dinner. "What? I thought you wanted a fight," he said, voice eerily calm. "Or was all that talking just for show?"

Fred, never one to back down, lunged at him, and suddenly the two of them were full-on brawling in the middle of the Great Hall.

Students were cheering, some scrambling to get out of the way. The professors were already shouting, wands raised, but no one dared to step in just yet.

Theo and Enzo were thrilled.

"Oh, this is fantastic," Enzo grinned, leaning forward with an excited gleam in his eyes. "Best dinner we’ve had in weeks."

"My money’s on Riddle knocking him out cold in the next three minutes," Theo said, nudging Enzo.

"Two," Enzo countered.

"One," you deadpanned, because Mattheo had just slammed Fred into the Gryffindor table so hard that plates shattered on impact.

"Alright, that’s enough!"

Professor McGonagall’s voice rang through the chaos, and with a flick of her wand, both Mattheo and Fred were forcibly separated, yanked apart by an invisible force.

Mattheo was breathing heavily, his lip bleeding slightly, but he looked thrilled.

Fred, on the other hand, looked like he had just gone through a war. His hair was a mess, his shirt was ripped, and he had a nasty bruise forming on his cheekbone.

McGonagall looked furious. "Detention. The both of you. My office. Now."

Mattheo wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, smirking as he glanced back at you.

"Worth it," he mouthed.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as he was practically dragged out of the hall by McGonagall.

Theo and Enzo were howling with laughter.

"That was beautiful," Theo said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Absolutely stunning work. I’m so proud of him."

"He looked so feral," Enzo added. "Did you see the way he threw Weasley into the table? Absolute art."

You shot them both a look. "You two are the worst."

"And yet, you love us," Theo grinned.

"No, I love Mattheo, but he’s also currently on his way to serve detention, so thanks for that," you muttered, shaking your head.

Theo smirked. "You gonna go wait for him?"

You hesitated for a second before sighing. "Yeah. Someone’s gotta make sure he doesn’t hex the next person he sees.”

Enzo grinned. "Good luck with that one.”

You rolled your eyes but turned on your heel, making your way toward McGonagall’s office. Mattheo Riddle was going to be the death of you, but Merlin help you, you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You leaned against the cold stone wall outside McGonagall’s office, arms crossed as you waited for Mattheo to emerge from his detention. The hallways were quiet now, dinner having ended long ago, and you were left with nothing but the occasional flicker of torchlight and the muffled sounds of students moving about the castle.

You had half a mind to be annoyed with Mattheo—because honestly, punching Fred Weasley in the middle of the Great Hall? Not his smartest moment. But at the same time, you knew exactly why he’d done it. He had been itching for a release, something to pour his anger into. And Fred, with his big mouth and reckless attitude, had given him the perfect excuse.

The door creaked open.

Mattheo stepped out, looking entirely unbothered, as if he hadn’t just spent an hour being lectured by McGonagall. His lip was still a little split, though the swelling had gone down, and there were faint bruises blooming along his knuckles. His tie was loosened, and his shirt was slightly untucked—he looked thoroughly unrepentant.

The moment he spotted you, his entire expression softened. "Hey, love," he murmured, already moving toward you.

You sighed, shaking your head. "Mattheo."

"What?" he asked, smirking as he reached for your waist. "Didn’t you love watching me put Weasley in his place?"

"You’re impossible," you muttered, but you didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around you, tugging you into him.

"And yet, you’re here waiting for me," he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of your jaw. "Which means you love me anyway."

You rolled your eyes, but your hands found their way to his chest, fingers brushing over the faint bruises peeking from under his collar. "You’re lucky I do," you muttered. "Otherwise, I’d let you deal with your injuries alone."

"You’d never," he teased, but there was something softer in his voice now. His forehead dropped against yours, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter. "You always take care of me."

Your expression softened. "Of course I do. Someone has to.”

Mattheo exhaled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m in desperate need of a bath, and you, my love, are in desperate need of letting me spoil you properly."

"Spoil me?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You’re the one who got in a fight."

"Exactly," he murmured, smirking. "Which means you had to stress over me, and for that, you deserve extra attention."

You rolled your eyes, but you let him lace his fingers with yours as he led you down the hallway.

Of course, when you got back to the Slytherin common room, Theo and Enzo were waiting.

"Ah, there they are," Theo said, grinning. "Hogwarts’ favorite troublemaker and his poor, suffering girlfriend."

"Took you long enough," Enzo added, smirking. "Did you two snog in the hallway or something?"

Mattheo smirked. "Wouldn’t you like to know."

Theo groaned. "Merlin, you two are insufferable."

"And yet," you said, smiling sweetly, "you love us anyway."

Theo muttered something under his breath, but Enzo just laughed. "She’s got you there, mate."

Mattheo tugged you toward the couch, pulling you down onto his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder as he exhaled contentedly. "Much better," he murmured. "Now, I believe I promised to spoil you, love."

"Oh?" Theo quipped, smirking. "And what does spoiling entail?"

Mattheo smirked against your skin. "Wouldn’t you like to know."

Theo groaned again, while Enzo just cackled.

And despite the absolute chaos of the day, you couldn’t help but smile. Because as long as you had Mattheo, Theo, and Enzo—your ridiculous, unhinged little group—you knew that, somehow, everything would be okay.

[tomarryaltacc]

Tom's beauty is the one thing Harry can actually successfully ignore.

After travelling back in time Harry struggles to act normal around Tom, often lashing out and throwing hexes whenever he can.

It was easy enough to hate him - with all of Harry's old memories being about how Tom made his life Hell and tried to kill him multiple times.

It wasn't until they were the last in the common room that Tom had struck back for once. He had Harry with his back against the floor in an instant. Stradling his hips so he couldn't move.

"What exactly is your problem with me?" He'd asked in a hushed and angry voice.

It was only then with Tom's wand to his neck and his face so close to his, that Harry had realised the beauty Tom held.

And God was he beautiful.

[monserelates]

MAGNETIC ; James Potter

part ll of the series Dumb Decisions

⇨ summary: The bond starts pulling. Literally. You and James struggle to stay more than a few feet apart without the universe throwing a tantrum. The professors are watching. The Marauders are plotting. And your friends are catching on way too fast for your liking.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, curse words, minor inconsistencies ?), accidental magic injury, mild angst, shared emotions, denial, mutual pining, professors whispering about it in the staff room, platonic marauders x reader shared sensations, magical tether hijinks, accidental touching, denial galore, platonic friendships, magnetic bond effects, chaotic Marauders.

⇨ a/n: not my best piece but I promise in chapter 3 things will get more entertaining! hope u enjoyy

⇨ word count: 2.5k

The moment you walk into Magical Theory, you just know you're screwed.

Flitwick's voice is high and chipper as ever, but the second he waves his wand and the chalkboard spells out Partnered Spell Mapping Project – Assigned Pairs, your stomach drops.

There, in clean, cursive gold script under Group 3, are your names:

Potter, James & L/N, Y/N

You blink. Then blink again.

"Absolutely not," you mutter, already turning around to head back out. But before you can make it two steps, you feel a pull behind your sternum—a little jolt that sends your knees locking to keep from stumbling forward. You don’t even need to look to know what’s happening.

James Potter has just walked in.

Like gravity clocking in for its shift, the bond snaps taut.

You're dragged a half-step forward. James lurches as well, catching himself on the doorframe with a scowl. You lock eyes.

"Don't say it," you warn.

"I'm not saying anything," he says, walking toward the only empty desk left in the classroom. It’s the only two-seater. Of course it is. Of course.

You grit your teeth and follow him, muttering hexes under your breath that would make Professor Babbling faint.

By the time you sit down beside him—because you literally can’t sit anywhere else—the entire classroom is buzzing. People whisper. Someone snickers. Behind you, sirius clears his throat in the most obnoxiously dramatic way imaginable.

“Synchronized seating achieved,” he announces, his voice hushed but loud enough for everyone to hear. “This is stage three, Moony.”

Remus looks up from his notes. “Stage three of what?”

“The Bonded Idiots Timeline. Stage one was bickering. Stage two was eye contact over pumpkin juice. This—” Sirius gestures to you and James sitting stiffly, arms crossed in the exact same pose without realizing it “—this is full-blown couple mirroring.”

“Stage four is hand-holding,” Peter adds from behind them, nodding wisely.

“Stage four is denial-fueled hand-holding,” Sirius corrects. “Very different from voluntary. Moony, write that down.”

“I’m not writing any of this down,” Remus says, but he does slide the parchment closer to himself.

You glare at them all over your shoulder. “We can hear you.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius beams. “Now lean in a bit more, yeah? Get the symmetry perfect.”

You roll your eyes and try to focus as Flitwick launches into the lesson, but it’s impossible.

Every time you shift in your seat, James does too. When you lean your head on your hand, he mirrors you—not on purpose, but it happens, and it happens again, and again. A twitch of your foot? His twitches too. You reach to scratch your neck? He does it the second after. It’s like watching two synchronized swimmers drown in embarrassment.

The worst part? You don’t notice half of it until someone points it out.

“Are you two breathing at the same time?” Marlene whispers from the row beside you, her eyes narrowed. “I swear to Merlin—”

“We are not,” you whisper back.

James—at the exact same time—whispers, “We are not.”

A pause. You both freeze.

Dorcas, watching from the back, slowly leans over to Lily and says, “Did they just say that in unison?”

Lily puts down her quill. “We need to take them to the Hospital Wing. Or the altar. One or the other.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

James sighs beside you, slumping back into his chair. You slump too. At the same moment.

Flitwick, trying very hard not to smile, waves his wand and sends floating parchment worksheets fluttering down the rows. Yours and James’s land in perfect sync.

“Partners,” Flitwick says kindly, “you’ll need to trace magical affinity loops together. Hands over the parchment, left and right. No wands. Just wand-less magic”

You stare at the paper. Then at James.

He stares back.

“No,” you say flatly.

“It’s homework,” he says, equally flat.

“I’m not touching your hand.”

“I’m not asking you to—”

“Good.”

“Good!”

Another long pause.

Your hands move toward the parchment at the same time. Both of you freeze mid-air when you realize.

“Oh my God,” you groan.

“Just do it,” James mutters.

You reach down, palms hovering over the glowing golden sigil on the page. James’s hand hovers beside yours. The moment your pinkies brush?

Zap.

A crack of magic pulses through the paper, flaring gold like a mini sunburst. The parchment jumps. So do you.

Flitwick claps, delighted. “Excellent! Strong magical resonance!”

“Strong? Professor, the paper exploded!” Marlene exclaims.

“It sparked like a firework.” Peter adds.

“I think they just accidentally activated a marital charm.” Remus says.

You look at James. James looks at you.

They're being stupid, right?

And for one stupid, reckless, dangerous second, your hands don’t move apart.

The world around you fades. Just a bit. Not enough to be romantic—but just enough to be terrifying. Like the bond is holding its breath, waiting.

Then James jerks back, rubbing his palm.

“Bloody thing stings,” he mutters.

You snap out of it too, scribbling nonsense onto your parchment just to look busy.

From the back row, Lily turns to Dorcas.

“I’m giving it a week.”

“A week until what?” Dorcas asks.

“A week until she admits it,” Lily says.

Dorcas snorts. “A week until he admits it. She’ll go down swearing it’s an allergic reaction.”

“Do not put this in the betting pool,” Lily says, already scribbling down a galleon in the corner of her notebook.

“Oh, I am the betting pool,” Marlene grins.

..

In the Great Hall, the bond goes feral.

You sit across from James. A safe distance. Healthy. Mentally and physically responsible. You even put the jug of pumpkin juice between you like a barrier.

And then—

“OW,” you gasp.

Your fork clatters. You press a hand to your elbow.

James winces, rubbing his. “Okay. What did you hit?”

“I didn’t hit anything—”

And then you get yanked forward. The jug crashes to the floor.

Sirius shrieks as juice splashes his robes. “My jacket! Do you know how expensive this was?”

You and James freeze.

You’re nose to nose across the table. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same wide-eyed panic.

Across the staff table, Professor McGonagall raises a single, dark eyebrow.

Next to her, Professor Slughorn leans in to mutter, “Three days. I say three days before they crack.”

McGonagall sips her tea without blinking. “Five. She’s stubborn.”

Flitwick: “One galleon on the staircase scene. Bet it ends in a confession.”

Sprout: “I want it to end in a duel. Much more exciting.”

You storm into the common room after dinner, dragging James behind you by the wrist because you tried to leave without him, and the bond yanked you both down the steps like ragdolls.

You’re still yelling.

“This is YOUR fault! You’re the one who cast that stupid hex!”

James protests, “You cast the Latin one!”

Sirius is upside down on the couch, watching like it’s Quidditch finals. “Did you try holding hands? Might stabilize the current.”

You hurl a cushion at him. “SHUT UP!”

Peter walks by with toast in hand. “You two okay?”

“No,” James says.

“Yes,” you snap.

The Marauders share a look.

Remus: “They’re going to kill each other.”

Sirius: “Or shag.”

Peter: “What if they shag and then kill each other?”

..

You’re halfway through storming out of the library when the bond yanks you backwards by the waist.

“Don’t you dare—”

You scramble to hold onto the doorframe, but the magic is relentless. You skid back into the room like a cursed marionette, colliding right into James’s chest with a solid thump. His arms snap out instinctively to steady you, and for a split second, he looks as surprised as you are.

"Merlin," he breathes. "You actually left. You left."

"You were being insufferable."

"I made one joke."

"You compared me to Amos Diggory."

James runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It was a comparison of study techniques, not—"

"He's not even in NEWT-level Theory."

"Exactly! That was the joke!"

You scowl and try to step away, but the bond tightens like a leash. You only make it a few inches before it tugs sharply and drags you two inches closer, flush up against him again.

James sighs, dropping his head back dramatically. “This is so dumb.”

“You’re dumb,” you mutter without thinking.

It’s childish. It's stupid. It’s also your third argument this week.

And it had started well.

—

An hour earlier, you were sitting across from him at a quiet table in the back of the library—far enough from the Slytherins to avoid judgment, close enough to the Restricted Section that Madam Pince occasionally narrowed her eyes at you both. James had slouched back, hair messy, glasses pushed up his nose, one hand holding open The Arcane Principles of Paired Magic while the other sketched slow, bored circles with his quill on the table.

“Hey,” he’d said suddenly, voice quiet and oddly serious. “You know what’s weird?”

“What?” you’d mumbled, trying to focus on your notes.

He didn’t answer for a moment. Just looked at you.

Then: “You’re the only person who doesn’t flinch when I’m like… me.”

You paused. That wasn’t what you’d expected.

“…When you’re you?”

“You know. Loud. Rude. Obsessed with Quidditch. Joking all the time.” He’d offered a lopsided smile. “Most people tolerate me. You punch me in the arm and tell me to shut up.”

“Because you never shut up.”

“Exactly.”

Your eyes met. A strange, soft silence settled between you.

He looked so earnest. The air buzzed faintly—bond quiet, humming under your ribs.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before you could, James grinned and added, "Bet Malfoy would’ve kissed you by now."

And just like that, the moment shattered.

You blinked. Your heart went cold. “What?”

“I’m joking,” he said quickly. “Sort of. I mean—he’s very eager, isn’t he?”

Your jaw tightened. “You’re bringing up Lucius Malfoy while we’re magically tethered together and studying under duress?”

James shrugged, flippant. “I mean, if you’re into charming mediocrity—”

You slammed your book shut. “You’re a bloody child, Potter.”

James flinched like you’d struck him, but covered it with a smirk. “Says the one storming out mid-study session.”

You had stormed out. Furious. Humiliated. Flushed with heat that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with the way he made you feel stupid, off-balance, and out of control.

Then the bond had grabbed you like a lasso.

—

Now, tangled in his arms again, nose-to-nose from the recoil, your voice drops to a furious whisper.

“You don’t get to be sweet one second and cruel the next.”

His jaw clenches. “I wasn’t trying to be cruel.”

“You brought up Lucius.”

“Because you keep pretending I don’t matter to you!”

That stops you.

The air crackles.

James swears under his breath and looks away, cheeks red. “Forget it. That was dumb.”

“No. Say it again.”

“You heard me.”

You step back—or try to. The bond tightens. Your ribs pull forward again, chest-to-chest with him, like the universe is begging for confrontation.

“I’m not pretending,” you snap. “I’m trying to survive this! You’re like a hurricane. And I’m tired of getting tossed around.”

James's voice is low and rough. “I don’t want to toss you around. I just want you to look at me the way you look at him.”

You stare at him. “You don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I do,” you whisper, voice shaking, “I’ll want more. And I can’t have that. Not with you.”

Silence.

Thick. Unbearable.

Then James swallows. And he says, barely audible, “Why not me?”

You look at him, heart pounding—and for a second, you almost answer.

But instead, you whisper: “Because you’ll break my heart.”

Then you storm off.

The bond yanks you back five seconds later, slamming you against his chest again like divine punishment.

James winces. You groan.

From a nearby bookshelf, Sirius mutters, “Betting pool says one of them cries before midnight.”

Remus, watching in sympathy, writes something quietly on a piece of parchment:

Stage Five: Fighting like lovers. Still not dating.

The Betting Pool (Staff Room Edition)

The door to the Hogwarts staff lounge swings shut with a heavy click, muffling the buzz of enchanted quills and distant staircase grumblings.

Professor McGonagall lowers herself into the high-backed tartan chair at the head of the long table. She looks tired. Annoyed. Amused.

Behind her, Professor Flitwick floats in on a cushioned charm, already snickering.

“They nearly broke the Restricted Section door,” he announces cheerfully. “Pomona, you owe me two Sickles.”

“I said they’d fight within three days, not that they’d cause property damage,” Professor Sprout huffs, pushing her herbology glasses up her nose. “You lot keep changing the terms.”

“I keep track,” says Madam Hooch, legs kicked up on a trunk, blowing on her tea. “We’re at stage six. Physical tug, emotional vulnerability, and a refusal to acknowledge feelings. Classic pre-confession spiral.”

Professor Slughorn twirls the end of his mustache, beaming. “I told you! I told you she’d storm out. Y/N L/N is nothing if not dramatic. Gloriously so.”

“Did you see the look on Potter’s face when the bond yanked her back?” Professor Burbage asks, flipping through a copy of Witch Weekly. “He looked like he’d been hexed in the heart.”

“Deserved it,” drawls Madam Pince from her corner. “I nearly hexed him myself when he knocked over a shelf of alchemical glossaries.”

McGonagall raises a hand. Silence falls.

“We are,” she says crisply, “not technically allowed to encourage romantic entanglements between students.”

A long pause.

Slughorn: “But hypothetically—”

Sprout: “Purely academically—”

Hooch: “Magically speaking, it’s quite fascinating.”

McGonagall sighs and rubs her temples. “How large is the betting pool now?”

Flitwick waves his wand and conjures a floating scroll. It unfurls dramatically across the table, glowing names and time-stamped wagers etched in gold ink.

THE GREAT POTTER/L/N TETHER DEBACLE – OFFICIAL STAFF BETTING LEDGER

Current Wagers:

Professor Sprout: Full confession in the greenhouse, triggered by a Venomous Tentacula mishap. (Odds: 12:1)

Madam Hooch: Midnight Quidditch pitch showdown. Either a kiss or a brawl. Maybe both. (Odds: 7:1)

Professor Burbage: They’ll admit feelings during a Transfiguration mishap—possibly involving matching Animagus forms. (Odds: 15:1)

Professor Slughorn: One will break a bone during a tether snap, leading to a tearful hospital wing confession. (Odds: 9:1)

Professor Flitwick: They’ll get caught making out behind the Charms corridor tapestry. Bonus if it’s during an argument. (Odds: 5:1)

Professor McGonagall: ...No bet entered. (But she’s secretly monitoring the situation with silent, iron-clad judgment.)

“Any new wagers?” Flitwick asks innocently.

“I’d like to add a double or nothing clause,” says Slughorn, leaning forward. “If they kiss before the next full moon, I win five Galleons.”

“You’re all unhinged,” McGonagall mutters.

“Come on, Minerva,” Sprout teases. “Even you are invested.”

“I’m invested in preventing another textbook from getting soaked in dragon bile.”

“Which happened because they were bickering over a shared quill,” Flitwick reminds her with a grin. “Honestly, it’s textbook bonded tension.”

McGonagall sips her tea. “If one of them hexes the other by accident, we’re calling in a specialist.”

Slughorn raises a brow. “A romantic counselor?”

“A cursebreaker.”

“But also a romantic counselor,” Burbage adds, chuckling.

Outside, thunder rumbles. A magical gust flutters the curtains—and with it, a faint echo of two familiar voices yelling at each other in the distance.

Hooch leans back and smirks.

“Five Sickles says they’re holding hands by Friday.”

McGonagall closes her eyes.

“Merlin save us all.”

taglist: @strlightfilms @glittervame @ifilwtmfc @theblindhag @vxyselectric @spirit-of-a-b1tch

[tedwardremus]

Jily, reunion kiss?

Lily stared at the ticking second hand of the clock, watching as it crept further and further past their scheduled meeting time.

They were supposed to meet here. Now. Well—twenty minutes ago.

But not everyone had arrived like they had planned.

Some managed to make it, even if they were a little worse for wear. Even Bones had entered the study inside the predetermined meeting spot, bruised and battered, barely on his feet.

But Dearborn, Vance, and James were still missing.

James. Missing. On a mission.

And Lily wanted to scream. She wanted to smash the damn clock to pieces so it would stop reminding her how much time had passed—and how James still hadn’t come.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Sirius burst through the door, Peter trailing close behind, twitching as he looked around the packed room full of Order members. “They were the diversion team, right? Leading them southeast, toward Kent. We’ll go and—”

“You aren’t going anywhere, Black,” Moody growled from the corner, where he stood conferring with Frank and Alice. “We all stay here.”

“But James is out there!” Lily snapped, finally peeling her eyes away from the clock. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing—he’d come looking for us!”

“Exactly,” Sirius said, nodding fiercely. “We can’t let him down.”

“This isn’t one of your schoolyard adventures. You aren’t risking detention if something goes wrong. You are risking all our lives,” Moody barked. “This is war. And it’s selfish to get other people killed just because you want to go looking for your friend. That’s not how it works.”

He glared at them both, voice deep like a drum. “Now sit down and be good little children—or I’ll hex your arses to the sofa.”

Sirius looked like he still wanted to argue, but with a tight jaw and a glare at the floor, he sank onto the sofa beside Peter.

Lily returned to her hopeless vigil, eyes fixed on the clock. She tried to sync her racing heartbeat with its steady ticking, hoping the rhythm might anchor her, might quiet the flood of terrifying thoughts—images of James lying still, lifeless, somewhere they couldn’t reach.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Then two.

Eventually, the night surrendered to the pale glow of early morning. Lily was no longer watching the clock. She’d curled up on the sofa, wrapped in Sirius’s cloak, her eyes closed. Sleep came in fragments—light, restless, never deep—punctuated by the sound of footsteps, hushed voices, and that ever-present ticking.

Still no word.

The room had emptied out. Even Peter had wandered off to some other part of the house, muttering something about needing air, or maybe sleep, though Lily doubted anyone in the house would sleep properly tonight.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock was relentless. Steady. Merciless.

She knew it was foolish to catastrophize so quickly—but she couldn’t help it. Every logical part of her mind told her to wait, to be patient, to trust him. But logic meant nothing when the minutes kept stretching into hours and the silence remained unbroken.

The fear had started as a low hum in her chest, but now it climbed higher with each passing second, tightening around her lungs and coiling behind her ribs like a vice. It clawed its way up her throat no matter how many times she swallowed it down.

She cursed herself—quietly, bitterly—for not insisting they fly together. They could’ve taken the long route, slower but safer. She should’ve argued harder. She should’ve held his hand tighter. She should’ve—

Her vision blurred. The tears came quietly, without warning, sliding hot and steady down her cheeks. She didn’t bother wiping them away anymore. Her eyes were already red and puffy, raw from the salt and the effort of pretending she wasn’t falling apart.

Whenever she closed her eyes, there he was.

That crooked smile. That mess of windswept hair he never managed to tame. The way he laughed with his whole body, head thrown back, shoulders shaking.

The floorboards creaked softly behind her. Someone entering the room again. She didn’t open her eyes. It was probably Alice who kept checking in on her and Sirius. She’d come in earlier with steaming mugs of tea, and before that, a little plate of toffee and licorice.

But Lily didn’t want tea. Or sweets. 

She wanted James.

Just James.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

She could almost smell his cologne—warm, familiar, a little too strong because he always overdid it. 

“I don’t want tea,” Lily murmured, not bothering to open her eyes.

“You know,” came a voice—familiar, warm, and maddeningly cocky, “not to be terribly dramatic, but I did expect my heroic return to be met with a bit more enthusiasm.”

Her heart stopped. Then raced.

Her eyes snapped open.

And there he was.

James Potter.

Disheveled, smudged with dirt, a large cut on his cheek, and dried blood on his neck. His hair was more unruly than ever, but alive. Smiling at her with that crooked, boyish grin like he hadn’t just scared the life out of her. Like he hadn’t been gone for hours and hours with no word. Like he hadn’t just stepped out of her nightmares and into the room.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t think.

In one breathless second, she launched herself at him, Sirius’s cloak falling from her shoulders like dead weight. She threw her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder as she clung to him with all the desperate, aching fear she had inside her.

“James! Oh, thank God,” she gasped, her fingers fisted the back of his robes, like if she let go, he might disappear again.

He stumbled back a step with her momentum, but caught her easily, laughing as he held her against him. “Now this is more like what I envisioned,” he said, breathless but grinning.

She didn’t answer. She kissed him instead—hard and messy and uncoordinated, all urgency and saltwater. Her lips trembled against his, and she didn’t care. The taste of him—familiar and real—mingled with her tears.

“You’re back,” she whispered, pulling away just far enough to press her forehead to his. “James, you’re back.”

“I’m back,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear. His eyes searched hers, softer now. “Of course I’m back.”

His hand slid into her hair, “I’ll always come back for you, Lily. Always.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, more reverent than frantic—she wanted to memorize the shape of his mouth, the warmth of him, the weight of him. 

“I was so scared,” she admitted quietly between kisses “I thought—I thought maybe—”

“You don’t have to think that anymore,” he said, holding her tighter.

[httpvomitello]

could u do a little love triangle where both fred and george are into the reader? 👉👈 they've been a trio of bsfs since the beginning and the twins like to bicker over reader's attention. there doesn't need to be a definite ending — maybe reader's just sighing and rubbing their temples by the end of it LOL

Hello, beautiful person! I particularly don't like love triangles because I ALWAYS SHIPP THE PERSON WHO DON'T END UP WITH IN THE END. (but if it's the twins, I'd take both of them without complaining hehe). I hope you like it ~ ♡♡

Twins and Trouble .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Somewhere between first-year food fights and fifth-year Quidditch matches, the twins Fred and George Weasley had started bickering. Not about pranks or who had the better sense of humor—no, they were fighting over you.

george weasley x f!platonic reader

fred weasley x f!platonic reader

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake, not this again."

You slammed your book shut and glared at the two redheaded menaces standing before you. Fred and George stood on either side of your library chair, bickering in hushed (but still way too loud) voices.

"You literally sat next to her at breakfast, Fred—"*

"Yeah, and you sat next to her at dinner last night, Georgie."

"Oh, so now we're keeping score?"

"Mate, I’ve been keeping score since third year—"

You let out a deep, suffering sigh. "Please tell me you’re not actually fighting over who gets to sit next to me."

Fred grinned. "Oh, we’re definitely fighting over who gets to sit next to you."

George crossed his arms. "Technically, we’re fighting over who gets to sit next to you more."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, willing yourself to stay calm. "Both of you are being ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you? Absolutely," Fred said, winking.

George groaned. "You cannot be flirting right now, Freddie."

"I can and I am," Fred shot back.

You could feel the beginnings of a headache forming.

It had always been the three of you.

Since first year, you, Fred, and George had been inseparable. You were the unofficial third Weasley twin—the one who kept them grounded (when you weren’t helping with their schemes), the one who laughed the loudest at their jokes, the one who never felt like a third wheel between them.

Until, of course, they started treating you like you were some golden prize to be won.

It started small—harmless teasing, playful jabs. Then, suddenly, they were one-upping each other, bickering over who got to partner with you in Potions, who got to sit beside you in the common room, who made you laugh harder.

At first, you brushed it off. It’s just the twins being the twins.

But then Fred threw an arm around your shoulder at a Quidditch match, and George actually pouted.

Then George "accidentally" spilled ink on Fred’s Charms essay after Fred had spent all afternoon helping you with yours.

And last week? Oh, last week, they nearly came to actual blows over who got to walk you back to the dormitory after class.

You were done.

"That’s it."

Fred and George blinked at you as you stood up so fast your chair nearly tipped over.

"I cannot believe I have to say this, but: I am not a prize. I am not some trophy you two get to bicker over like children. I am a person. A person who, mind you, is slowly losing their will to live every time you two open your mouths!"

The twins exchanged glances.

You weren’t done.

"I swear, if I have to hear one more argument about who gets to sit next to me, or who gets to carry my books, or who makes me laugh more, I will personally hex both of you into next week. Do you understand me?"

Silence.

Then—

"Got it," Fred said cheerfully.

And then?

Then, that absolute buffoon pulled out a juice box, stabbed the straw into the carton, and took a long, deliberate sip.

As if you hadn’t just screamed at them in the middle of the library.

You could feel your eye twitching. This is it. This is how I die. Not from Voldemort. Not from a rogue spell. But from the sheer audacity of Fred Weasley sipping a bloody juice box.

George, bless him, had the decency to look somewhat guilty. "We were just messing around, love."

"Yeah, well, it’s not funny anymore," you huffed, plopping back into your chair.

Fred gave you a lazy grin. "Not even a little?"

You glared at him.

He took another obnoxious sip.

George sat down beside you, nudging your knee with his. "We really didn’t mean to make you upset, you know."

Fred sat on your other side. "Yeah. If you want us to stop, we’ll stop."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "That’s all I ask."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"But if you had to choose—"

"OH MY GOD, I HATE YOU BOTH."