#Slytherin reader

[darkacademicvibes]

Kiss It Better?

Theodore Nott x Fem!Slytherin Reader

CW: Blood is kind of vividly described, slightly obsessed/dirty minded Theo

Theo entered the Great Hall grumbling.

He sat down grumbling.

And he glared at his utensils grumbling.

You share a look with Pansy, curious and amused, "Theo? What s'a matter?" you ask, leaning in to speak quietly.

The smooth, albeit grumpy italian falling from his lips trails into silence as he glances at your shared friends, unsure whether or not he was willing to tell you - and realistically speaking, the others - about the frankly humiliating situation that had him in such a foul mood.

He knew he was probably being dramatic, but he'd never fucked up like he had this time, and a part of him was deeply - though probably unreasonably -embarassed."Tell you later" he mumbles, his right hand picking up his fork as he stabs at the beans on his plate.

He ignores the questioning looks of the others, the stinging, and most of the loud conversations in the great hall as he keeps his left hand firmly beneath the table, wiping blood on the low hem of his white uniform shirt. He'd never cared much for it anyway, this way he had a reason to wear something other than the stuffy hogwarts shirts in the hot classrooms.

So perhaps there was somewhat of a silverlining to the situation he found himself in.

Eventually, students begin to trickle out of the Great Hall and towards their prefect or head duties, or their common rooms - You and Theodore amongst them - he hesitates as you both enter the slytherin common room, gently grasping your wrist and leading you up to your own dorm. Your first aid kit never stung as much as his, perhaps because you got the good products, and none of them were expired, which he wasn't particularly aching to hear about the riviting affects of not taking proper care of his bumps and scrapes for a third time this month.

He also really didn't want you questioning the flowers tossed (delicately placed) alongside the thin drips of red against his green covers.

"Theo?" you mumble, letting him lead you along as he continues hiding his left hand from your view. He doesn't answer, stopping only to drop your wrist and open your dorm door, you allow him to tug you wordlessly into your dorms bathroom, repating yourself.

"Teddy?"

He groans, reluctantly showing you his hand, blood dripping down his fingertips from the mean cut along the back of his pointer and middle fingers, he'd bled a decent bit, but the drips were more of an occasional trickle of red against his tan skin. "I.. fuck- I got distracted dethorning roses in herbology" he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes as you guide his fingers over the sink, running a gentle stream of warm water over his bloodied fingers, the watery red dripping down your palm as he watches, something about it making his jaw tick.

"Why were you dethorning roses? I thought you were meant to be trimming venemous tentacula?"

For you.

For your halloween - or, really autumn solstice - ball outfit you'd been mentioning to Pansy that morning at breakfast.

That's exactly what he didn't say.

Couldn't say.

"I did, and then I got bored" he grumbles, itallian accent thick as he winces, watching you clean out the jagged marks along his fingers with your own before gently drying them off. The bleeding has entirely stopped now, but it still stings terribly as you disinfect them, getting ready to place two fresh bandaids over them. He pulls back his hand slightly, and it makes you pause.

"Do you want me to kiss them? So they get better?" you ask quietly, your fingers tacing his palm soothingly.

He swallows the lump in his throat, his baby brown eyes dropping to your lips.

"That works?" he nearly croaks. Fuck - if Mattheo could see him now he'd have a fit. Maybe he'd laugh so hard he'd choke and die so Theo wouldn't have to kill him for it.

You nod softly, gently tugging at his sleeve. "Mhm, my mum used to do it when I was little" you tilt your head.

"Yeah, s'alright then" he grumbles, just trying not to sound like he was about to lose his mind over the fact she was going to fucking kiss it better.

Shit, maybe he should ask Mattheo to punch him in the dick.

You press gentle kisses to both cuts, wrapping bandaids around his fingers after.

"All better" you hum, smiling up at him.

He nods stiffly, his newly fixed up hand tangling into your hair as he guides your head to his chest in a hug. "Thanks, doc, 'nything else I gotta do?" he mumbles, mostly joking. He'd do anything for you, maybe that was a part of the reason he was so fucked in the head, 'cause he couldn't get you out of it.

"Mh, just be careful, Teddy" you huff, and he has to hold back a groan. He had to leave before you called him that again, before you said anything that would make him want to drag you to your bed and make you ruin your sheets.

"I will, I gotta go meet Mattheo, love" he lies through his teeth. He needs a smoke before he goes fucking crazy. He places a lingering kiss to the top of your head before bidding you goodnight and leaving the girls dorms.

There wasn't a lot of things you loved more than your friends, but perhaps the way Theodores low murmur of italian slips through his lips against your forehead could be one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's driving himself fucking mad, the memory of your lips against his ripped open skin replaying in his mind like a fucking charmed camera had snapped in his brain at the perfect moment.

His knee bounces quickly as he sits with Mattheo and Draco, blowing through cigarettes like they're candy straws. You'd given him candy straws once - muggle ones he'd split with you. He'd taken the lemon, cherry, and blue raspberry ones and you'd kept the rest.

"Fucking hell, spit it out- before you drive us up the wall with you" Draco mumbles, flicking his cigarette butt over the side of the astronomy tower, and it makes him glare. You didn't like when people did that, it was why he stopped.

"I can't get her outta my fuckin' head" Theodore breathes, inhaling the poison into his lungs near desperately. Mattheo smirks, distracted by the few people millng about the ground below, "what's new?" he breathes, exhaling the smoke in his own lungs.

Theos knee stops bouncing as a wild, stupid, fucking genious idea slipped into his mind.

"Draco, I need you to do somethin'" Theo sits up, flicking his cigarette onto the floor and stepping on it before exhaling the last of the addictive smoke.

The boy in question groans, "fuckin' depends. what." he snaps, and a cheeky smirk tugs at Theos lips.

"Punch me in the mouth."Mattheo sits up, looking oddly like he'd struck gold as he inhales.

"What the fuck? Why?" Draco scoffs, and Mattheos eyes widen in a near giddy excitment.

"'Cause Theo's a fuckin' freak that knows if he goes to Y/n she'll kiss it all better" Mattheo taunts. Draco raises an amused brow as Theo shrugs noncommitally.

"You sure?" Draco muses, and Theo can only shrug again. Draco and Mattheo share a look and suddenly Mattheo's on his feet, brown eyes wild with excitement.

"How hard?" he grins and Theo follows suit, tugging off his sweater, leaving him in dark jeans and a white t-shirt.

"As long as I bleed, I don't fucking care"

Mattheo cracks his knuckles."How many times?"

"Twice."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second you saw Theo you were on your feet and practically running to his side, much to his obvious delight as you examine his split lip and the bleeding cut along to bridge of his nose. "Teddy, what happened?" you ask, worried, as your thumb traces the bruising around the cut on his nose.

He tips his head down, pretending that the way he presses his cheek into your palm is an accident as he 'reacts' to the light pressure you're appyling to his (very, very, hurt - if you asked) nose.

His eyes flicker to Mattheo for barely a moment, and he has to bite harshly at his lower lip to keep himself from smirking, the familiar metal taste flooding his tongue.

"Just an argument, ragazza dolce" (sweet girl) he nearly coos the nickname, and you don't know what it means, but it makes you flush a subtle pink nonetheless.

"Can you fix me up, love? Hurts" he grumbles, practically chewwing on his split lower lip as you take his hand. He intertwines your fingers as he lets you lead him up to your bathroom this time.

He leans against the edge of the counter, spreading his legs for you to stand between as you tip his chin down so you can properly fix up his nose.

He waits patiently for you to clean his nose, gluing it up and applying the thin white strips of whatever properly. He never took as much care of himself as you do, that's why he goes to you. He loves how much you care - loves watching the worried way your teeth tug at you own lip whenever he winces. It's never as bad as it looks, not that he'd ever tell you that.

You move to begin on his lip and he leans down slightly, gazing at her warmly, "c'mon love.. not gonna kiss this one better? S'hurting" he mumbles, and you can't help but mumur an apology as his hands find their way around your lower back to press you just slightly closer to his chest as he dips his head to allow you to lightly kiss the cut along his nose.

He knows he's being greedy when his hands fall to the backs of your thighs and knead at the skin as your fingers gently clean his bleeding lip, and when his eyes watch your teeth chewing on your lip he knows asking you to bite his instead would be too much for such a sweet, worried, thing like you.

The last thing he wants is to spook his angel, but when you lift his chin slightly to double-check your work, he can't help the faux-innocent pout on his lips and the pleading gaze he doesn't have to fake.

"Not gonna kiss this one better?" he mumbles, and the butterflies in your stomach melt into a violent stampede urging you to do as he asks, no matter what he wanted.

He hums, leaning close enough for his nose to bump against yours playfully, "s'not gonna heal if you don't, y'know" he teases quietly, and your eyes meet his. They're dark in this lighting, or perhaps it has something to do with the way you could imagine your own skin bruising if he grips your legs any harder.

Something in the chocolate brown softens as you hesitate, and you see your Theodore, the one that listens to what people say and doesn't bother to ask if someone needs help - just doing it for them. Your Theo that has only let you call him teddy for as long as you can remember and who listens to quiet music with you, and doesnt complain when you talk endlessly about whatever had captured your attention that week. Your Theo that stopped smoking in class and throwing his cigarette butts anywhere except into bins, and always let you wear his spare quidditch jersey when the weather is less than stellar, and who was there for you when your ex cheated in fourth year and hasn't let himself leave your side since.

"Please?" he murmurs, and realize that, somehow, you've never been more comfortable with anyone than you are when you're with Theo. He's sweet, and funny, and you've always thought perhaps you could live in the way his clothes smell when you borrow them.

You've always thought of your best friend as safe, the warmth from him when he let his arm rest over the back of your chair, and the way he places his palm against your hip to guide you out of the path of excitable first years or redheads with matches and fireworks nearly tumbling from their pockets.

He feels like he could live forever in the moment your lips brush the dull sting on his, his fingers winding their way into your hair as he kisses you properly, his other hand cupping your cheek so sweetly it makes your knees go weak.

It's unbelieveably soft, nothing like the way he kisses the girls at parties, this kiss is important to him. He wants you to want to kiss him again, so lets himself slow down. It's the first time he's ever cared enough to want to.

His lips trace yours, and a metalic taste seeps into your mouth as you part your lips.

He only kisses you deeper, hating himself for needing to breathe when he pulls away, he could die breathless on your lips and it would be the one thing he'd never regret - not even if he got the chance.

His thumb follows, sweeping over your lips, collecting the messy red he left there and sweetly tracing, rubbing it into your lips like lipstick, his touch never forceful as blood drips down his chin.

He lets you clean him up again in silence, and when you're done for the second time, he smiles down at you, his hands thumbs tracing lines on your hips.

"Hey" you meet his eyes, bright, and so Teddy you almost can't stop yourself from smiling back.

Almost.

You smile at him anyway.

He nearly melts, like he was Draco when Hermione kissed him in sixth year.

Mattheo would laugh at him for this too, but Theo would simply wait until the H/R/S/G Mattheo was scaring himself falling for smiled at him for the first time after their first kiss.

"Are you sure that first 'get better' kiss worked?" he asks, and you know he's asking if you would ever want to kiss him again.

"I don't think so" you whisper, leaning up to gently place a short kiss to his split lip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's too hot to bother playing quidditch as everyone sits together in the middle of the grassy pitch, nobody had expected for the last day of summer to be this hot - not when it had already started cooling into autumn, but nobody was complaining about the break from winds in corridors just cold enough to make you shiver as it crept up sleeves and skirts and under woolen jumpers.

Theos arm was around your shoulders, unlabed but each others, as he places a flower crown of dried red roses and pressed rosemary leaves into your lap.

"What's this?" you muse, gently picking it up and admiring it, how he'd crafted it was brilliant, a permenant sticking charm keeping the flowers and leaves together on a rose vine.

"That is why I was dethorning roses" he mumbles into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple through your hair.

"For your autumn solstice ball dress" he adds, nuzzling his nose into your cheek to make you laugh.

"Thank you, Teddy" you smile, and he hums, "always, amore" he mumbles, placing his chin on your shoulder. "You'll go with me, won't you? To the dance?" he mumbles.

You smile, "I thought you weren't going?" you tease, and you feel his shoulders move in an unbothered shrug.

"If you're there, I'm there" he grumbles softly.

You might not have been his first anything, but you were the first one that mattered, and that'll never change.

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Theo: I cut my finger

Y/n: I can kiss it, so it'll get better

Theo: That works?

Y/n: Yeah, my mum used to do it when I was little

*later*

Theo: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Draco: Fucking finally

[bunny-1111]

Just breathe - Theo Nott x reader.

Word count: 2k

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Description: The castle was in pieces. The war ended only moments ago, but for Theodore, nothing matters except finding you in the wreckage. You were supposed to make it. You had to make it.

Warnings: War trauma, blood, near-death experience, swearing, emotional distress, depictions of death (non-graphic), mild dark themes, swearing, unedited

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated. <3

...

The castle was still burning.

The air was so warm.

Though all Theodore felt was the cold cement below him.

He tasted the thick metallic blood that was slowly reaching the back of his throat, desperately trying to rack his mind over what had just happened.

He smelled smoke so close it was as if he was inhaling it just as he would his cigarette.

'oh fuck, I'm absolutely dying' he thought to himself, or had he said it out loud?

His closed eyes winced, remembering the flashes of green, had someone killed him, or even tried to? Was he dead? At the hand of someone he knew, or maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t even meant for him. That's the thing with war, it didn’t have to mean anything to kill you, it just does.

Most of his body stiffened numb. His mind racing, where was his wand? He couldn't feel it between his fingers; he could hardly feel anything.

Where was he? Holy shit. Where are you.

With that, he jolted up, like a force against nature. As he sat up he took a gasp of air so heavy like a newborn's first breath, his hands wild from the rocking floor to his hair.

His first instinct was to get on his feet. His unsteady balance rocked as he paced to find you.

'where are you, no seriously where the fuck are you' he thought as he searched the faces of those around him

"You better be fucking alive" he said out loud, Theodore became so determined to reach you he paid no attention to the wreck around him, not to the blood stains that painted over every second step he took nor the cries he heard from what was once the great hall.

He looked up for a brief moment, he saw the mother and fathers, friends and peers weep over their losses. Bodies laying cold so close together, so many. So he only allowed himself a brief moment, he wouldn't go in, why would he, you aren't in there waiting to be mourned. Keep walking, he told himself as he walked past, not through the great hall.

His stride turned manic.

The constant ringing in his ear became a stopwatch, as if he was running out of time before he would find you.

Until he stopped in his tracks.

All that blood he tasted in his mouth, he was about to throw it up.

There you were.

His heart didn’t stop; it slammed.

“No—no, no—” he roared

He fell to his knees when he reached you, if you could even call it that, it was a pathetic attempt get to you, to grip your shoulders, to shake you up, he has fallen his chest colliding with ground next to you, the ground giving way like it wants to swallow him whole.

When his hand gripped your cold hand, he dipped his head into your chest, desperate to feel the rise and fall of breath.

“Don’t do this,” he rasps, his voice barely there. “Don’t fucking do this to me.”

He presses harder against your chest with the flat of his hand, then curls it into a fist and lets it hover, useless. Like he could beat your heart back to life. Like he would, if that’s what it took.

“I’m right here,” he chokes, his forehead pressed to yours now, the dirt between you be damned. “You hear me? I’m right fucking here.”

He couldn't feel anything, maybe that was because he was losing all control of his senses at the sight of you like this.

You don’t react. You don’t move. You don’t even twitch.

And that’s what makes the panic crawl up his throat, because if you were hurting, you’d scream. If you were okay, you’d speak.

But you don’t do either.

You just lie there. Limp. Quiet. Unbreathing.

He dragged you onto his lap, he cradled your face with his dirty hands.

“Wake up. Please. Just get up.”

“I swear to Merlin, I’ll never smoke again. I-I won’t steal your pumpkin juice without asking, I swear—”

His hand skated from your cheek, to your neck, to your chest.

Why weren’t you breathing?

“Breathe,” he begged. “The fuck, breathe—”

He shook you. Gentle at first. Then harder.

“Breathe for me”

He clutched your shoulders and hauled you upright, holding you tight against his chest like his ribs could do what your lungs wouldn’t.

“Breathe in me, breathe with me, just fucking breathe.”

It came out like a sob. He didn’t care, he was angry at you now, get up.

...

Somewhere far off, there was a sound. Ash. Stone. Burnt magic. Blood. You couldn’t tell if it was yours. Couldn’t tell if it mattered.

Everything felt heavy. Your ears rang. Your knees were scraped raw. Something was pressing down on you. Or maybe your body was caving in from the inside.

It’s over. That’s what it's saying.

But it doesn’t feel over. Not when your ears are ringing again. Not when your knees are scraped raw. Not when the only thing you can feel is the ache in your lungs.

Focus.

You could hear someone.

There it was again.

Saying your name like a prayer.

You knew that voice.

Theo.

“Please. Look at me.”

You tried.

You really tried.

Your limbs wouldn’t move.

“No—no, come on,” he sobbed. “Breathe. Please. Please”

You wanted to. You wanted to more than anything.

But your chest wouldn’t lift.

You were so fucking tired.

And he’s sobbing now, arms pulling you up into him, holding you against his heartbeat like he’s trying to give it to you. Like he’ll give you anything if you’ll just stay.

“I don’t care. Breathe for me. Breathe in me. Breathe with me. Just fucking breathe.”

You feel it. That crackle, like lightning in your ribs. The sharp sting of return.

And then air.

A gasp.

Yours.

...

The feeling was so faint, he thought he imagined it. But then again, there it was. A breath. A real one. A shallow, wheezing drag of air against his collarbone.

He jerks back, his face flinches. Stares. His eyes are wide, wild. Red.

And there you finally were, eyes opening, he felt your chest inhale and exhale.

“You stupid, stubborn girl. You scared the shit out of me.”

You tried to smile. It barely reached your lips, but he could tell

You felt so exhausted you closed your eyes again, Theo felt panic surge in his chest.

“Baby, look at me, eyes open, OK?”

“I’m tired.”

“I don’t care. You’re not dying in my arms, alright? You’re not doing that to me,” he began to shake you, to keep you awake, to keep you alive

You nod so gently that Theo lets out a groan.

He watched you nod, it was so polite, it shattered him.

Your eyes opened a little wider with each blink. You shifted, just enough to pull back slightly, glancing around in a daze.

Theo’s hand went to your heart. He had to check again. Just to make sure.

Still beating. Still real.

When your breathing evened out, slow and full, Theodore let himself fall back, his body collapsing next to you.

He let out a scream of agony at the idea of you dying, at the sight of finding your unmoving body just moments ago, each time he blinked, exhaustion, everything

“You scared the shit out of me,” he panted, rubbing his face.

You turned your head toward him.

“You scream like a girl.” Your sympathetic eyes meet his

He barked a what he could make of a laugh. It wasn’t pretty, but it was real. A sound that shouldn’t exist in a place like this, and yet here it was.

He wiped a hand down his face, smearing blood, trying to get a grip on himself, on you, on the fact that you were still here.

“I hate you,” he breathed, the kind of thing you only say to someone you love so much.

You think you laughed, too, or maybe it was just an exhale.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged weakly. “You weren’t fucking breathing.”

“I am now,” you whispered.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. The ruins of the battle echoed around you in silence.

And then

“Are they okay?” you asked. “The others — Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Mattheo, Lorenzo...?

He blinked. Looked around. “We all got separated. But I think I- I hope”

“Theo?”

It was Draco’s voice, his footsteps crunching under rubble.

Then Blaise.

Then Lorenzo’s wild laugh of relief.

Then Pansy sobbed. Mattheo’s yelling.

It was like fate was finally on your side there you all were, bloody, bruised, broken but fucking alive.

Everyone was talking at once, some yelling, some crying. You grabbed Pansy. Mattheo grabbed Theo. Blaise was hugging you even before you could protest.

Theo pulled you back into him, arms around your waist again. “We’re going home,” he murmured into your hair.

You blinked up

“We are home.”

“Look around, not anymore.”

You turned. “Then where?”

“My place,” he interrupted. “Ours, if you want.”

There was a long pause. Then he looked at the others.

"All of us" Theo stated. Pansy gave a low, agreeing nod

Draco scoffed, trying to mask the trembling in his hands. “Everyone will think we’re cowards for leaving.”

Mattheo spun on him. “We’re not running,” he snapped. “We’re surviving. Do you realise most of these people hate us? Hate our families?”

Silence.

No one argues.

They all know he’s right.

"They’ll look at our faces and see everything they lost. Everything they'll blame. You think they’ll thank us for bleeding beside them?” he continues

No one speaks.

“They’ll tolerate us. At best. And at worst?” Mattheo swallows hard. “They’ll destroy us, just like they wanted to destroy them.”

"We'll Apparate now, the house is hidden, it's not on records, it's perfect" Theo suggests

You all nod in agreement, holding out your hands, taking a deep breath, the air you could finally breathe was once again yours.

..........

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated. <3

ALSO THIS IS UNEDITED AND NOT REREAD SO IM TAKING A LEAP OF FAITH THAT IS MAKES SENSE ITS PAST 3AM AND I DONT HAVE THE ENEGRY TO READ IT BACK

all my love xx

B.

[megwritesriddles]

Sweetest Nectar ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Being at Hogwarts at university-level had it's perks, such as unsupervised days in the greenhouse with Neville. Reader finds herself in an unfortunate position thanks to a flower in the greenhouse and Neville has to figure out how to help while being a gentleman and preserving their friendship.

Tags: Sex pollen, Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Begging, Friends to lovers, Minor yearning, HogwartsUniversity!AU, Post-war/Eighth year, Virgin!Neville (he just is, I don't make the rules), Too much backstory, Sentient Hogwarts, Silly fluffy ending.

Word count: 11.1k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: Can you see why I've been gone so long??? This had zero business being 11k words but I'm a chronic overexplainer so here we are!! Skip the first 9 paragraphs if you don't care about any worldbuilding. Continuing my 'Neville gets muscular as he gets older' agenda as per. The last line is so dumb... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

P.S. this is technically day 23 of my kinktober but it's january so lets not talk about that

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Hogwarts worked in mysterious ways, with its own indecipherable motives. This much had always been true but was especially recognised lately. Once rebuild efforts had concluded after the war, Professor McGonagall, like every headmaster before her, bar Severus Snape, had sent out invitations to recent graduates to join the Higher Education program, a two-year program that would prepare its students to become a professor in any chosen field, subject to meeting entry requirements of the course. Demand for this program was higher than it ever had been, so many recent Hogwarts graduates felt like they had missed so much time at Hogwarts, that they were willing to come back on the program just to make up for lost time. At first, McGonnagal thought of shutting the whole thing down or at least raising entry requirements for joiners; there wasn’t exactly enough room in the designated Higher Education quarters for all the applicants. And though the regular student population had dwindled significantly over the course of the war (best not thought about too hard), it seemed wrong to try and room adults with 15-year-olds just to fit everyone in. The night before she intended to send out the letters of amendment to the required marks, McGonagall felt bizarrely compelled to go on a stroll around the castle, feeling drawn down a route she didn't often find herself going. There, she found a brand new door, behind which were brand new living quarters, just big enough for all the applicants. Although she should have been relieved, McGonagall was initially rather frustrated by this. Why now did the blasted old castle decide it could build, when nearly all summer long volunteers had been slaving away to restore the castle? The windows glittered as if to wink at her, she decided that the daft old thing must have liked the attention. McGonagall found herself relieved, she too felt that the recent graduates were not ready for the career world quite yet, having had not only their final year of study lost to the war, but the years before that tarnished by looming threats and incompetent bumblers. Also, there was an urgent need for qualified teachers of magic, so the more the merrier, even if most of them would only use it as a springboard into something else. 

You had always been a shoo-in either way, although you never got to sit your NEWTs, the honourary grades you were given were stellar, supported by fantastic results in your OWLs and overall fantastic conduct in class. The blemishes on your record from the Carrow's note-taking were wiped, leaving your record squeaky clean. You received your acceptance letter and list of supplies and felt like you were eleven again. Everyone was required to specialise in a subject, and while you'd had a couple in which you had adequate grades which you might have chosen, you went for Herbology in the end, as it was something you loved.  In all honesty, you liked Professor Sprout the best and were eager to train under her. 

As soon as you received your letter, you wrote to Neville. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be studying under Professor Sprout alongside you, despite not even knowing if he had applied to the program initially. He quickly confirmed this suspicion when he wrote back to you, saying he had a sneaky feeling about you as well. The two of you had become fast friends in the sixth year, both being in Advanced Herbology. You'd known each other a little here and there before that, but in this class, your friendship truly formed. The class was very small, as the interest in Advanced Herbology was low, most careers only required a decent grade in standard Herbology, so even those with interest had to prioritise other things for the sake of their future, such as Potions or Charms. There were only the two of you and a pair of Slytherin girls who, despite seeming genuinely very passionate about the subject, refused to converse with the two of you and whispered amongst themselves all the time. This was fine with both of you, as you had each other, taking time to study together, walking to and from class, and working efficiently during any pair work. The two of you had been ripped apart during the war, you had to steer clear of Hogwarts for your safety, and Neville, being intensely monitored by the Carrows at the time, refused to write to you and risk revealing your location to them, so you had been out of contact for quite a while. You wrote to him again on his birthday and had been corresponding a little since, but things felt slightly stunted. You hadn't seen each other in so long and Neville was never the best when it came to socialising. 

Arriving at Hogwarts once again had been intensely bittersweet. So many good and bad memories to try and process all at once, it felt overwhelming. You'd had to step outside during the sorting but found yourself far from alone out there. So many people were broken. You apprehensively made your way over to Hermione and said hello. She pulled you into a tight hug, as you hadn't seen her for a long time either. You listened as she explained about Harry and Ron, that they didn't want to go into teaching, and though she'd explained over and over that most people that do the program don't end up teaching, they'd still refused to come. Trying to make the most of it, she tells you it'll be nice to spend time with other friends for once and you nod along. She is somehow specialising in three subjects, she'd wanted to do more of course, but it hadn't been allowed. Trust Hermione to work herself to the bone happily. You'd made it to your room later that night, a private room with an en-suite, which felt awfully fancy for Hogwarts, and settled in. Being back was an odd feeling, you could see the cracks in the stone everywhere you looked, there was pain everywhere, yet so much good to try and find.

To your complete relief, when you started your first day in the Greenhouses, things fell back into place with Neville instantly. At first, you'd greeted him with a hug, which had been awkward as he hadn't been expecting it, but very pleasant once he figured out what was going on. Soon after this though, as Professor Sprout set you her first task (to prepare some plants for her third years), things were back to as they were, perfect. You worked together well, talking and laughing easily, and though occasionally the chat went sour and the mood fell, this was happening with everyone lately, a byproduct of the war, there was so little to talk about that wasn't tarnished that it was a wonder the two of you were able to laugh as much as you were. Neither of the two girls from advanced Herbology were there, and although this initially saddened you both, you conceded that there could be many reasons for it. There weren’t many Slytherin returners, there never had been, but after the war especially, the turnout was pathetic. Most Slytherins avoided their peers after the war for fear of ostracism, which was fair as people had some pretty bad opinions on them but sad because there were several Slytherins who hadn’t been on the wrong side of history who were still facing hostility. 

The course was a lot of independent study of assigned texts and essay-writing, but all day on a Tuesday and half a day on a Thursday, the two of you were in the smaller greenhouse behind the ones for teaching, working on various projects, which also sometimes required your attention out of teaching hours. This greenhouse was set aside initially for research purposes at Sprout’s predecessor's request, but now was being used to train those in the higher education program. Despite this greenhouse being smaller than the two nearer the grounds, it was still fairly large and complex. Upon entering, you came into a little cloakroom, where you would have to don your aprons and gloves before entering, with a sink in the corner for washing up when leaving and entering. The next room was the main growing area, growing various plants that weren’t dangerous but were still perhaps best kept out of the reach of the younger students. There was a long wooden workbench in the middle of the room for potting and taking notes and whatever else you might need to do. Off of the opposite end of this room, there were three doors, one that led to a small room which was always kept humid and at tropical temperatures, one which was always kept cool and dry and one lockable room in which more dangerous plants were kept, such as venomous tentacula or fanged geraniums, only to be accessed with Professor Sprout supervising. 

Professor Sprout would only tutor the two of you on Thursday, so with the exception of the first few weeks, the two of you were entirely alone from 9 am to 4 pm on a Tuesday. Although it sounded a little salacious when you told friends, the truth was that most Tuesdays you were both too busy for anything to happen. Not that anything would of course, but certain assumptions were made when people heard you were alone together for hours with what they assumed was an easy subject. Mostly your days were full of tending to the plants, having to frequently refer to your notes for how each should be cared for (how much water? what temperature should the water be? do they require singing to?), observing any plants that were the subjects of your essays and preparing plants so they would be safe for lessons with younger year groups. 

It’s a Tuesday like any other. Neville is carefully planting some seeds across the workbench from where you’re delicately pruning a particularly active flitterbloom bush, setting the clippings aside to send to the potions department later. One of Neville’s research subjects is observing what methods of growth acceleration work the best and cause the least damage to the plants they’re applied to. He has been planting, growing and replanting dittany over and over for weeks now, but was still gathering more data as he came across more and more methods to test, and each had to be tested several times over to rule out external factors. 

Your research was on the merits and drawbacks of pruning, and which plants took best and worst to the practice. Pruning was useful as it allowed more ingredients to be obtained from individual plants for potioneering purposes, but generally was thought to be harmful to the overall health of the plant. You were attempting to write a definitive list of which of the 25 most common plants used in potions could be pruned and which couldn’t, which to your surprise had hardly been researched before as the belief of its harmfulness had permeated the field since 1870 and most Herbologists had steered clear of it since. Your research seemed to be proving it wasn’t nearly as harmful as thought.

The two of you chat idly as Neville uses a pipette to apply various growth potions to the soil of his newly planted seeds and you carefully measure the regrowth of a stem of the flitterbloom bush that you pruned a few weeks ago, struggling as the stem swayed about. 

“I can’t believe Hermione talked Ron and Harry into actually joining the course next term,” Neville hums, extracting exactly 5 millilitres of potion from a bottle with his pipette. You scoff. 

“For real this time? They keep saying that yet nothing ever comes of it,” you shake your head, scribbling down your measurement on the parchment beside you.

“Yes, really, two new rooms have appeared in the boys' dorms with their names on them, if Hogwarts knows, it must really be happening,” his tongue sticks out slightly between his teeth as he concentrates on dropping the liquid right in the middle of the little pot. Not wanting to throw his research, you wait until he’s done to reply.

“Perhaps Harry and Ron don’t even know it themselves,” you joke, making Neville chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the castle decided it for them,” he carefully pushes the cork back into the top of the potion bottle. “The castle is quite odd lately, perhaps it has whatever its equivalent of brain damage is from the war, it’s acting much more blatantly,”

“How so?” you tilt your head in his direction, soothing your finger over the agitated stem that you just had to hold taut for measuring. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories of people getting stuck in rooms with the people they like, doors literally disappearing until they confess or otherwise!”  Neville laughs, carefully moving his pots back to their designated spot on the windowsill. With his back turned, you can’t help but glance at the door despite yourself, wondering if it’s still there. It is. You quickly avert your eyes from the door as he turns back toward you. “It’s why there’s suddenly all these couples popping up, sure the castle has always been a little cheeky, but never so obvious before, it all started with the higher education wing appearing overnight and it’s seemingly been madness since,” he shakes his head, picking up another batch of pots containing little sprouts at various heights that he has to measure. 

“It’s sweet how many people have liked each other and not even known… has it always been people who like each other stuck together?” you ask, stroking your quill, feeling the soft tufts beneath your fingers. 

“As far as I’ve heard, each time it’s happened it’s ended well,” Neville shrugs, rifling through his bag for his measuring tape. You glance at the door again, seeing it still there. Unrequited, you figure, that door will stay right where it is. 

“I wonder where the brain of the castle is if it even has such a thing… it is sentient in some ways, so there must be an equivalent right?” you ponder as he loudly removes his books from his bag and thuds them onto the workbench. 

“The room of requirement? For some reason that comes to mind… a fire in your brain can’t be good,” he chuckles, his voice slightly strained as he peers under the table for the offending measuring tape.

“You can borrow mine,” you suggest softly as he comes up with nothing. 

“No it’s fine, you need it,” he waves his hand dismissively, standing up from his stool. “I’ll fetch mine from my room, I’m fairly certain I know exactly where it is on my desk, can’t believe I forgot it again,” he grumbles the last part to himself. “Be back in 15, watch my plants,” he smiles, although you can tell from his sheepish look that he’s embarrassed to have forgotten something yet again. Luckily, you could head back to fetch things at any time at your level, no longer having to ask to go to the toilet or anything like that. There was no one here to ask. You smile back, watching as he enters the cloakroom. A few moments later, you see his heavily blurred figure heading up the hill through the heavily rippled glass of the greenhouse windows. In the newfound quiet, you return to your work, hearing only the spray of simulated rain in the tropical growing room. 

Finally finished with the flitterbloom, you stand to retrieve your next plant, a valerian bush, for pruning. As you move to stand and step forward, you feel an odd pressure at your ankle. Stepping forward anyway, you realise too late that your foot is hooked on a support between the legs of your stool, sending both you and the stool off balance and toppling over toward the room-length counter that holds all the various plants. Reflexively, your body twists and your arms come up to shield your head as you thud loudly into the solid wood surface, causing a choir of wobbling pots, luckily with no ensuing crash of broken terracotta, you had to count your blessings somewhere. A dull pain throbs through your body, starting from the side that crashed against the counter. Thud! A yelp rips from you as the stool, still twined with your leg, falls onto your thigh. Luckily, it is only light and will leave a small bruise at most, your side colliding with the counter on the other hand…. You shut your eyes tight, feeling utterly embarrassed about what just happened despite being alone. You weren’t normally this clumsy and you were sure you looked a mess, an undignified heap on the floor, too shocked to stand up or even open your eyes yet. In the permeating silence, you sit on the cold stone floor and try not to cry, from the shock more than the pain. 

A violent sneeze overtakes your body, the action of it hurting your side. You sniff and cough, dust seemingly surrounding you. You must have jostled some old dusty plants that hadn’t been touched in a while when you collided with the surface. Surrendering to the coughs and sniffs that wracked through your pained body, you wait it out until the dust subsides, grabbing your bruised side as you double over with violent sneezes and sputters. Finally, a deep breath of clean air, you sag against the counter and try to gather yourself now you can breathe properly once more.

“It was exactly where I thought it was…” The door from the cloakroom creaks open in the silence as Neville enters, clutching his measuring tape. “I can be so scatterbrained,” he huffs, his eyes sweeping the room at the height he expects you to be. In embarrassment your eyes squeeze tighter, not wanting him to see the mess you’d gotten yourself into. Upon not seeing you, he glances around for any evidence you might be in one of the back rooms, though not thinking of a reason you would be. 

“Down here,” you squeak, your voice hoarse from coughing. The words itch your throat and you splutter slightly once more as he rounds the workbench and spots you on the ground. You give a sheepish smile, finally having opened your eyes. It’s painfully obvious from your stool-adorned leg what happened, you just hope he doesn’t think any less of you. He shouldn’t, he has a reputation for being clumsy himself, but you can’t help but worry. “I fell,” you rasp pathetically. 

“Are you alright?” he surges toward you and kneels, immediately examining your head for any bumps, rubbing over your scalp gently. The action makes your cheeks heat up, but you try to ignore it. 

“I’m okay, I landed on my side,” you reply as he carefully removes the stool from around your leg and stands it back up beside the workbench. His arms wrap around you and he carefully lifts you to stand, you yelp as the movement stretches your side and he shushes you gently. 

“It’s alright, there we go… just—,” he holds you steady until you’re stable on your feet. When he lets go of you, it feels oddly painful deep in your stomach, but you brush that off. 

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly. 

“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” he asks, bringing his hand up to feel your skull once more, worrying over whether you might have been badly injured. You lean slightly into his hand without meaning to.

“No I promise, it was just my side and my thigh,” you insist, inwardly wishing he’d brush his hand against those spots to check them. For a moment his hand moves like he might, but he stops himself. 

“If you’re sure,” he inspects you once more, hovering behind you as you sit back down on the stool, trying to brush past this whole incident. “Can I grab your plant for you?” he offers. “Which were you going for?” you want to complain, but his eyes are wide and earnest and you know he wants to help.

“The valerian… and could you pop the flitterbloom back for me?” you request, hesitantly testing the tender skin where the stool collided with your thigh, wincing at the throb of pain that followed your touch. Neville dutifully returns the flitterbloom to the counter, then places the valerian bush before you. Behind you, you hear him gently pushing some of the pots that had moved when you smashed into the counter back into place. You flush and keep your head down, pretending to inspect the valerian bush but not being able to focus. Your brain feels a little fogged up, you assume from the shock of the fall. Not wanting to alarm Neville in any way, you grab your tape measure and pretend to measure the leaf regrowth. He quietly moves around the workbench, bringing his pots over to your side of the bench and sitting down beside you to resume his work, his brows furrowed in concern for you. “Really, I’m okay,” you chuckle, but the weakness of your voice does little to reassure him.

“It’s better if I sit here, just in case something happens,” he says, more firmly than he usually says anything. That side of him was new since the war, this ability to stick up for himself in smaller situations. He’d always known how to stick up for the greater good, but little things like this, he would allow himself to be walked all over, too scared of losing a friend. Now that he has more confidence, he’s not so afraid to dispute his nearest and dearest, knowing you’re unlikely to end your friendship with him over this. And if you did, it would be weird and not his fault anyway. The tone of voice is also on the newer side and it stirs something in your belly.

You sit side by side working on your respective projects. Well, Neville is working, you’re more just going through the motions while your mind hovers elsewhere, not allowing you to focus on what you’re meant to be doing. Maybe you were concussed… but you hadn’t hit your head during the fall, so what was wrong? You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart which still seems to be beating slightly fast. Slowly but surely, your body starts to feel a little warm. You glance to make sure the door to the tropical room hasn't opened as your cardigan starts to feel a little stuffy. No matter where you look in the room, you can’t find any source of excess heat. A puff of breath breaches your lips, you’re growing uncomfortable now, the heat only seems to rise and rise. With great unnecessary difficulty, you wrestle yourself free of your cardigan, throwing the wretched thing on the ground beside you with a grunt. Neville gives you a confused look, but not yet seeing anything obviously wrong with you, returns to his measurements. There is relief from the warmth that was engulfing you, but only for ten minutes at most, as soon you are sweltering once more. An awful voice at the back of your head tries to convince you to throw off all of your clothes, but you keep it together, merely squirming in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to try and quell the growing ache in your belly that your mind isn’t quite registering yet. In a last-ditch effort, you sip some water from your lukewarm water bottle, the relief it provides is even shorter than before. Your head whips around now, searching fruitlessly once more for the source of this despicable heat, but finds nothing. Neville is unfazed beside you, still wearing his sweater and looking perfectly comfortable. The only thing you can think of is that Neville must be radiating the heat, as nothing else could explain your sudden discomfort. You reach your hand out toward him, trying to gauge if it gets warmer the closer it gets to his side. This finally catches his attention and when he looks up, he’s met with your flushed clammy face and dilated pupils.

“Whoa! Is everything alright?” he sputtered, leaning back slightly as if worried you’re contagious. This upsets you and you let out an unseemly whine.

“I’m hot,” you huff, pushing your hair back from your face to get more cool air on your skin. “Really hot,” Neville’s eyes brush over you for a moment as he considers just how hot you are, before promptly snapping himself out of it.

“You do look a little… feverish,” he agrees, reaching out and touching the back of his hand to your forehead. You lean forward into the touch, moaning softly. Your skin is burning and slightly tacky with sweat, which makes Neville frown deeply. How could you have suddenly developed such a terrible fever? He pulls his hand back, but you immediately whine and claw at his arm to pull his hand back. Too baffled to protest, he lets you pull his hand to your cheek and watches you lean against it happily. He gently runs his thumb over your cheekbone before catching himself. “Are you alright?” he enquires once more, keeping his voice soothing.

“Don’t stop touching me,” you pout, looking up at him through your lashes with a look that is wholly inappropriate for an academic premises. He swallows.

“Wha-what?” he stammers, watching as you nuzzle against his hand.

“It helps the heat… don’t stop,” you whimper, reaching out to try and pull him closer by his sweater, but not being strong or focused enough to do it. This failure pulls another whine from you. Neville’s mind reels completely and he has to look away from you to compose himself, though he keeps your cheek cradled in his palm. What was going on with you? Were you ill? His eyes find the spot where he’d found you on the floor just earlier in his attempts to avoid the sultry unexplainable look you were giving him. “I need you to touch me,” you mewl, making him shiver.

“I’m not sure that’s–” he cuts himself off when his eyes land on the plant on the counter above where you fell. Lamprocapnos libidinosus, also known as the dripping heart, a magical relative of the bleeding heart flower in the muggle world. A common ingredient in lust potions and aphrodisiacs, highly dangerous in the wrong hands due to the potent amorous effects of its spores. Neville vaguely remembers Professor Sprout's warnings that one of the PhD students was being allowed to grow it for research and to steer completely clear of it. A warning he’s sure you would have headed if you hadn’t been tumbling toward it. Even from afar, he notices a couple of burst spore pods. “Oh no…” he mumbles to himself, dropping his hand from your cheek. You immediately protest but he stops you short. “When you fell… you didn’t happen to breathe in any dust, did you?” his voice shakes slightly, this cannot be happening to you. He always thought they shouldn’t have the plant growing in this greenhouse, even if only experienced herbologists were allowed in. Accidents happened as he knew all too well, and now his vague fears had become a biting reality.

“Yeah, why?” your voice is soft and sweet as you paw at him, trying to get him to hug you, or presumably something more. Neville flushes brightly and shoots upright, making a mad dash for his textbooks, still on the workbench from when he’d been searching through his bag. You wail at his absence, feeling the heat that had reduced to a low simmer return to a full boil. “Please…” you sob at him, not even knowing why you want what you want. “Just hold me, comfort me,” The look in your eye has him breaking, and if he remembers what little he’s read about the plant, you must be rather uncomfortable right now. He returns to your side and allows you to cling to his arm, bumping your head into his shoulder like a loving cat, while he frantically searches for the information he needs to help you. After several panicked flick-throughs, he locates the page.

Lamprocapnos libidinosus; also known as the Dripping Heart or the Flower of Lust.

At the top of the page is information entirely useless to this cause, the best season to plant, how much light is needed, etcetera, but finally Neville finds what he’s looking for under the ‘uses’ section. It’s tough to focus on reading when you’re practically trying to get under his sweater with him, pushing the knit material slightly up his side, your fingertips brushing his abdomen and making him jolt. He pushes your hand away but pulls you into a hug to silence your outcries, which you’re more than happy to sink into. He’s hugged you plenty of times so he pretends this is perfectly normal as he wills his brain to digest what's in front of him on the page. It’s hard to keep this pretending up as he can hear you sniffing him and moaning deeply at the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat, which in this state only fuels your arousal, acting as a pheromone, worsening your need.

He skims the section frantically. Inhalation of the spores will lead to overwhelming feelings of lust even in small doses, however, the dose may affect who this lust is directed toward. Smaller doses will only worsen lust toward people already lusted after by the infected person, while larger doses will cause these feelings of lust to latch onto whoever is around, no matter prior relationships. The infected person will pursue their object of affection at any cost, they will be unable to focus on anything but the lust that has overtaken them. These feelings of lust, if left untreated, can cause extreme discomfort in the infected person, high fevers, intense symptoms of arousal (such as fluid secretions), shivers, brain fog and other symptoms varying by person and dose. The only way to cure the infected person of these symptoms and return them to full faculties is to have them reach climax.

It seems that you have chosen him as the object of your affections. Neville looks down at you as you hug him tight, continuously trying to slip your hand beneath his jumper. Out of selfish curiosity, he heads for the plant to try and determine how large of a dose you got and whether you may have already experienced feelings of lust toward him before the effects of the plant. When he moves away, you practically sob.

“Please don’t!” you wail, diving for him and into his arms once more. For now, you seemed to be mostly content just being held in his arms, and it’s clear you find it painful when separated from him for even a moment, so Neville has to relent. He delicately lifts you, and although having you wrap your legs around his hips hadn’t been a part of his plan, he supposes it does help keep you steady. He blushes brightly as he walks over to inspect the flower. He’s never held anyone like this, so intimately. Your skirt rides up where your legs wrap around him and he has to tear his eyes away before his thoughts become too inappropriate. You like the sight as much as he does. “You’re so strong,” you purr in his ear, your voice much lower than normal. He shivers and you feel it, the knowledge you’re having some effect on him overtakes your lust-addled brain. 

“Th-thank you, I’ve been exercising a lot since the war,” he mumbles, counting all the burst pods on the plant. He counts five, but he’s not sure if that’s considered a large dose or not. Probably, but the pods do look rather small.

“Mmm, it’s so hot…” you purr, trying to wriggle against him. Neville’s face turns red and he practically drops you, but holds you steady so you don’t fall once more once your feet touch the ground.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” he yelps.

“It’s true,” you pout. “I need you,” you try to hop up into his arms again but he holds you firmly on the ground, practically shaking. Really, this should’ve been a dream come true for him, he’d had feelings for you practically since the day the two of you met, but he felt disgusted with himself for every wave of excitement that passed over him. You were burning up, your cheeks brightly flushed, a deep ache at the pit of your belly and an ever-growing wetness in your underwear. All you could think about was how it might feel to have Neville soothing the fire inside you with deep strong thrusts, you moan aloud, if you focus enough you can almost feel it. “I bet you’re big, I bet you’d fill me up so well,” you murmur, looking up at him seductively.

“I- Merlin…” Now Neville feels overheated, he tries to push you away a little but you aren’t letting him. The image of filling you up won’t leave his head no matter how much he commands it to. It doesn’t help that you’re now trying your best to reach his jaw to kiss it. 

“Please…” you beg once more. “I need it so badly…” his resistance crumbles for a moment and his hands drop from your sides, allowing you to rush forward and attach your lips to his jaw. His eyes slip shut and he whimpers as you hold him close and lavish his neck and jaw with attention. His arms wrap around you, hands gently skimming your back as you continue to pepper him with kisses. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, your hand dropping to the buckle of his belt. The feeling of you tugging at his belt makes his eyes shoot open. He realises in a sudden flood of shame what he’s allowed you to do. You’ll hate him for this once you’re back to normal. He grabs your shoulders harshly and pushes you away. You squeak as he sits you on one of the stools, your eyes filling with tears at the rejection. You’d been so close to what you needed, and now with this newfound distance from him, you were in pain once more, a horrible throb in your stomach. 

“Listen to me,” he breathes shakily. “We can’t do this, you’ll regret it as soon as it’s over,”

“No, I–”

“You’re not in your right mind, you don’t know what you actually want,” he asserts again, reminding himself more than anything. He takes a deep breath and thinks. The only way to cure you according to the textbook was for you to reach climax. In colloquial stories about the plant, he’d always heard that orgasm would have to be reached with the help of another person, but the book didn’t stipulate this, maybe this was the answer. You could do it alone. His cheeks were flushed bright red as he opened his mouth once more. “What you need to do is… er… I’m going to take you into the cloakroom, alright?” he swallows, cautiously pulling you up from the stool onto your feet. You would need to sit somewhere to do this presumably and sitting on the stool or the workbench in here could lead to falling and disaster all over again. The best place he could think of was the bench in the cloakroom where people could sit to remove their shoes. You would have the wall to lean against and wouldn’t be sitting on the cold stone floor. Beneath you, he lays out a towel and then helps you to sit down on top of it. The towel was intended to make you more comfortable, but he considers with a blush that it might be necessary for other reasons also. He clears his throat. “Now, you have to… er… get yourself… uhm…” he can’t seem to make himself say the words. With a soft tug at his sleeve, you pull him to kneel between your legs, your faces nearly level given how much height he has on you. 

Before he can stop you, you kiss him. His brain stops functioning for a moment, all he can do is wrap his arms around you and kiss back, so intoxicated by the way your lips move against his. He didn’t have much experience with kissing, but there was no doubt this was the best kiss of his life. You moan against his mouth and it sets all his nerve-endings alight, making him push even closer to you in desperation. For you, the kiss is a sweet relief, cool water washing over your overheated body, but even so, you need more. There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a horrible feeling of emptiness that you know only Neville could fill. Trying to urge him on, you brush your tongue against his lips, hoping for entry. You’re allowed in for one tantalising moment before he pulls away with a start when your tongues graze against each other. The whine that rips from your throat is downright pathetic, but you don’t have the faculties to care at that moment. You look at him through your lashes, watching as he fights to regain his composure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Never in his life has he felt as weak as in this moment, rendered so malleable by his desire for you. The two of you are friends. How will you react when you come back to normal and discover he let you kiss him in this state? That he’s allowed his selfishness to get in the way of what’s right? He jumps to his feet, ignoring your cries and protests as much as it pains him to do so.

“Look, the textbook says that the only way to cure you of this is… a uh… a climax,” he blushes and chokes on the words slightly. “I’m going to keep watch outside that nobody comes in, all you have to do is… you know…”

“Get myself off?” you supply in a sultry voice. 

“Yes, exactly,” he clears his throat, turning to leave you alone.

“Nev, please… I need your help… I don’t want to do it alone,” you plead, your voice soft and needy.  

“No, you can do it alo– oh… wow,” he exhales heavily as his eyes reach you once more. In an effort to persuade him, you’d pulled up the hem of your skirt and spread your legs, revealing your thighs and your soaked panties to him. The cold air makes you shiver but doesn’t actually cool you down in the slightest. It takes a great deal of strength to keep Neville from lunging himself at you. You look positively delicious, the wetness of your panties allowing him an outline of your most intimate areas, the skin of your thighs soft and plump and enticing. If he was even a slightly feebler man, he’d already be on his knees, devouring you through the thin, damp fabric. Just imagining how you might taste has him weak in the knees. “Oh Merlin…” he breathes, feeling his erection, which has been slightly present for the last half-hour or so, straining painfully against the zip of his jeans. The needy seductive look on your face almost breaks him, he takes a step toward you, causing you to light up, before he stops himself and just stares. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, unable to help himself. He watches you squirm in response. 

“Please, I need you,” you beg, unbuttoning your shirt as he observes. The garment falls to the ground, leaving you in your plain bra. Neville doesn’t seem to mind how simple the garment is in the slightest, his breath hitching as you reveal yourself.

“I really shouldn’t” he tries again, but he cannot rip his eyes from your body.

“I can’t do it alone, I feel so empty,” you whimper, spreading your legs further. “Please, fill me, I need your cock,” Neville nearly faints at those words, at the pleading way you say them, at how desired you’re making him feel. His legs carry him forward before his brain can catch up and he sits beside you on the bench. His brain finally does catch up just in time to stop you from sitting in his lap.

“Maybe I can help a little, but we can’t… I can’t uh… I can’t ‘fill’ you,” he gives in, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t. He had heard many times that another person was needed to reverse the effects of the Dripping Heart, so it was likely he did have to help, given the fact you hardly seemed satisfied with the idea of getting off alone. He could still be as much of a gentleman about it as possible. He knew the both of you had limited sexual experience, he himself was a virgin and though he wasn’t sure about you, he would guess you were in the same boat or had only had one partner before. With both of you having so little experience, he didn’t want to go all the way, as for you it would likely be regrettable. You plead with him softly, trying to climb into his lap still, despite his strong arms holding you at bay. Each plea weakens his resolve and he knows you know it because you’re babbling now.

“Please, please Nev, I need you inside me, to fuck me, I’ve never needed anything so badly, please, I know you want me too,” he deserved a medal for being able to resist you for this long, most other boys would have given in the second the girl of their dreams said something even remotely flirty, but he was somehow just barely resisting your pleas to have sex with him.

“Sit down,” he implores you, and you quickly obey, batting your lashes at him. “I’m going to help you, okay? But you need to stay still and just… take what I give you, don’t ask for more, okay?” These words seem to excite you, you squirm and nod, eagerly allowing him to spread your legs. His shaking hand rests on your bare thigh for a moment as he takes a few composing breaths. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, it was something he had dreamed of incessantly, but now it felt like it could ruin his life if he wasn’t careful. You tug softly at his arm, trying to get his hand where you want it, bucking against the air.

“Please…” you sob, clenching around nothing as you look at his large hand against your thigh. He shushes you gently.

“I’m about to, just give me a second,” he stammers, trying to sort through his brain for any information he has on how to do this. He averts his eyes, figuring you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you so intimately, even if the damp fabric of your panties had already given him a pretty good look. Slowly, he places his hand on the apex of your thigh, shivering at the damp warmth he can feel radiating from your core. You mewl. Despite the pain in his neck from the position, he keeps his eyes locked on the wall behind you, pointedly ignoring how arousing the sounds you made were. Gathering his courage, he carefully slips the tips of his fingers past the fabric of your underwear and groans aloud at how wet you are. Your nectar gathers on his fingers and for a moment he just gently swipes them up and down to gather as much as possible, hearing your desperate moans as you lean your head on his shoulder. He never knew a woman could be this wet, and sure perhaps the flower was exacerbating it, but the thought still had him unendingly aroused. The angle wasn’t quite right, so he removed his hand, whining in unison with you at the separation. Your essence dripping down his fingers was like a siren song, trying to lure him to lick his fingers clean and finally get a taste of you. How could he ever explain that to you later? To his infinite regret, he doesn’t bring them to his mouth, sliding his hand into your panties once more, now from the top. This angle works a lot better, your hips immediately buck as his fingers slide over your clit.

“There, please, right there,” you beg, and he’s glad for the advice. A little unsure but determined (no point backing out now, at least he might be able to cure you), he relocates the spot that makes you shiver and whine. Your reaction tells you exactly when he’s found the little bundle of nerves once more and he takes a deep breath, before gently beginning to circle his fingers around it. It’s something he remembers hearing in the common room, and it seems it was good advice as soon you’re panting in his ear like a dog in heat, mewling his name softly. He can’t believe the noises you’re making, the sinful way you’re saying his name, it’s like perfect torture, it takes a lot out of him not to look. “Yes, fuck… Nev…” you whine, feeling the syrupy pleasure coursing through your body. “Yes, yes! More!” 

“More?” he croaks, unsure what you mean by that. As a guess, he tries circling faster, and though you definitely seem to like it, your hips canting up into his touch, he can feel you shaking your head against his shoulder.

“Need you inside,” you cry, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“We- we can’t do- that,” he stutters, although he’s never wanted to more in his life. He wholeheartedly agrees with your pained sob in response, but he knows it’s for the best. “How about… er… my fingers? Inside?” he gulps, flustered that he’s even in a situation where he can ask such a thing. 

“O-okay,” you whimper. Neville fumbles around for a moment, trying to figure out where to put his fingers. It would be much easier if he could see what he was doing, but he’s already decided he shouldn’t. The fact that he touched you will no doubt be mortifying enough once you’re back to normal. With a little guidance from you, he very slowly and cautiously presses two fingers into you, making you gasp in pleasure. You’re wet and warm and tight around his fingers and he practically drools imagining how you might feel around his cock, almost cumming on the spot just thinking about it. Merlin, he was such a pathetic virgin, maybe he should be taking the chance and losing his virginity now, but it just doesn’t feel right when he doesn’t know how you’ll feel about it afterwards. He presses his forehead to the cool wall to calm himself down and prevent him from looking at how you took his fingers in, withdrawing them just slightly and then pressing them back in. The sound that comes from you makes Neville’s heart skip, so lewd and sinful and full of ecstasy. He wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows he shouldn’t. 

At your renewed pleading, he starts up a steady pace, thrusting his fingers in and out the way he wished he could with his cock, feeling filthy for even thinking it. The wet sound that each thrust made, accompanied by your wanton moans makes him feel like he’s the one who has been infected by the flower, so crazed with desire. Could there have been some pollen on you that he inhaled when he helped you up? It didn’t seem impossible, but he was also a young man, they weren’t exactly notorious for being level-headed when it came to sex. You lean heavily against him, gasping against his shoulder at each press of his fingers, the coil in your belly twisting tighter than it ever had before. You mumble incoherent pleas and he simply shushes you, not trusting himself not to give in to you if you keep talking. 

“Thumb,” you breathe between vulgar moans and though it takes his sluggish brain a moment, he realises what you want. He presses his fingers deeper, fumbling a moment before his thumb grazes your sensitive bud, making you sob in pleasure. His large deft hand pleasures you like it was made for it, all you can think of is the bliss he’s giving you as he hits all the right spots over and over. Your hand flies up, nails digging into his arm as you realise you’re dangerously close to exploding, despite the bite of your nails, he doesn’t let up his pace, too addicted to the sound of your moans to slow down now. “Nev… I’m–” you cut yourself off with a shout, pleasure shooting through your body like you were struck by lighting. Your muscles tense and tremble, your eyes rolling back in your skull, walls contracting around his fingers hard. The pleasure goes through you in strong waves, drowning you in it, not allowing you respite from shivers and moans for even a second as it wracks through you. You’d never felt anything so intense and all-consuming before. Neville feels your essence gush onto his fingers and though he should be relieved it’s over, he finds himself disappointed that he has to stop doing this, hearing those bewitching sounds. Gently, he removes his hand from you and guides your skirt back down your thighs so he can finally look toward you again. His fingers are covered in your essence, creamy and mouth-watering, the only thing that’s able to stop him from having a taste is your hand still clinging to his arm. He waits for you to gather your breath, silently smug he was able to help, but also petrified of what happens next. 

“Are you alright?” he asks delicately, shifting his erection away from your back now that you might actually register it. You open your eyes and look up at him, which immediately makes him frown. Your pupils are still almost comically dilated, your cheeks still pink and clammy, and though it could just be from the aftermath of your orgasm, he immediately knows something is still wrong.

“I feel better… but not entirely,” you whisper and Neville bites his lip. Great. He stands to wash his hands in the sink, and during that brief period of absence, he watches you become consumed by the effects of the flower again, pleading for him to come back. He splashes water on his face and takes a deep breath. You had reached climax, he may not be an expert in female orgasms but he knew what he just saw and felt, so what was wrong? Was the plant in the greenhouse genetically modified in some way? Would he have to call Professor Sprout to ask for help? How exactly could he explain that he’d already given you an orgasm and it hadn’t worked? Looking back, he should have taken you to Madam Pomfrey the second he’d realised what had happened to you, but he thought you would have found it too embarrassing. Now things would be infinitely more embarrassing for the both of you if you sought out help. Lesson learned, just because he’d survived a war it didn’t mean he could deal with anything life threw at him alone. He feels you approaching from behind and turns around, allowing you to sink into his arms. “Stay with me,” you plead, holding him close.

“Okay,” he sighs, because what else can he do now? “I’m here,” He caresses your bare back and tries to forget what he just did to you, but he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, kissing your forehead without thinking. “I’ve made a mess of things, we did all that and you’re not even cured,”

“Why won’t you fuck me?” you whimper. Your boldness doesn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Because it’s not what you really want, you’d never forgive me once things got back to normal, I was just the only person around for the pollen to latch onto,”

“But that’s what the pollen wants, maybe that’s the only way to cure it, I don’t just want an orgasm, I want you inside me,” you suggest. He’s glad you’re slightly more lucid from the relief of your climax, but you’re still not entirely yourself, your voice slow and sluggish like wading through water when trying to formulate logical thoughts. He can’t deny the way his cock, which had softened slightly, was coming back to life at your words. “Please…” you nuzzle against his chest. “I promise you, I want this even when I’m not… whatever I am right now,” you chuckle. He sighs. He doesn’t quite believe you but he’s running out of ideas of what to do, and your friendship is presumably ruined anyway. Maybe he’s making excuses for himself, but it feels more and more like there’s only one thing for it. He prays you’ll remember how much you begged and how hard he tried to be a gentleman and not hate him, even if you avoid him for the rest of your life after this. “I need you,” you whisper and he gives in.

“Forgive me for this,” he pleads, before lifting you into his arms and moving back over to the bench, sitting down and letting you straddle his lap. You smile at him softly, fluttering your lashes. At least the orgasm before made you a little calmer and more agreeable. If nothing else, if he gets you to orgasm again, you might be even closer to normal. He pulls you to his chest taking a moment to embrace you for what he worries may be the last time. You nuzzle into him eagerly. “I’m a virgin, you know?” he mumbles into your shoulder, not knowing why he feels the need to say it. Those words seem to embolden you, you paw at his chest.

“I promise it’ll be good, please…” you purr. He wonders how you might have reacted if you were your regular self. Would you have found it sweet? Would you have pitied him? You probably knew, everyone knew, but you never mentioned it to him. He allows you to pull off his sweater, lifting his arms and watching you discard it across the room. When you lean in to kiss him, he doesn’t even pretend to put up a fight, holding the back of your neck and kissing you back, pouring all his unspoken feelings into it. He tries to keep it slow and gentle, but you’re far too eager, and the heat starts mounting fast. He pushes away all his doubts, telling himself he can enjoy this, or else it would be even more of a waste. The t-shirt that was under his sweater is next to go, as he pulls away to allow you to rid him of it, he studies your face, still flushed and feverish, but so beautiful, full of lust. His hands fall, one to your waist and the other to your cheek, pulling you back in, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue between them. You moan against his mouth, whimpering a soft sound, a thank you or a plea for more, it’s unclear. He groans back in agreement with whatever it was you intended to say. Your tongues languidly swirl together, caressing one another affectionately. Feeling your warm hands on his bare chest makes him shiver, feeling as you explore the newfound definition of his abdomen, only light, but still a change. In turn, he presses a few kisses to your chest, shakily reaching up to rid you of your bra. It falls away and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare breasts, his breath hitching. He could have never hoped he could see you like this, could have never hoped for any of this, and yet here you were, whining and guiding his hands under your skirt. He runs his hands up and down your thighs as he kisses and sucks at the supple skin of your breasts, giving himself some time to enjoy this despite your hurry. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to have left a mark and asked you to give him one in return, but he knew this was crossing a line as if a million lines hadn’t already been crossed today. At this thought he changes his mind and sucks a tiny mark into the centre of your chest that he’s sure will fade in a few hours, staring at the light pink mark a little wistfully. “Need you inside…” you whine, despite enjoying his affection. There’d be time for that later, but right now it felt completely imperative for him to be inside of you, fearing you might explode if he didn’t give you what you wanted.

“Alright, I get it,” he sighs, placing a few more lingering kisses on the swell of your breasts. Your hands find his belt buckle and without him stopping you this time, they make quick work of it. There’s an awkward shuffle as he helps you lower his jeans around his ankles, but once you’ve settled back in his lap, you take in the sight before you. He looks big even through his boxers, just like you predicted, thick and slightly longer than average. Just the thought of him inside you makes you moan and claw off your skirt with no regard for whether it survives the encounter. Neville’s overheated back presses against the cool wall as he leans back to watch you. He doesn’t bother feeling insecure, as you look like you’ve struck gold as you drool over his length, he supposes in this state you would have been happy with anything. His hands slide up and down your sides, being gentle, taking in the sight of your body, so perfect. He wishes in the back of his mind that this won’t be the last time he sees it, but hope feels too dangerous given the circumstances. He helps you slide your panties down, groaning softly as he spots a string of arousal fluid connecting you and the fabric for a while. You want him so badly. His boxers soon follow and he hisses loudly as your hand wraps around his length. “Oh Merlin…” he whimpers, bucking his hips into your hand. “Fuck, I need you,” he parrots. The ghost of a smile crosses your face as you recognise the words as your own.

“You have me,” you whisper, shifting your hips so you’re above his cock, holding him steady as he twitches. Deep brown hooded eyes stare into yours, he can’t believe his luck. Unable to wait any longer, you sink down onto him. Neville’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and he grabs your hips to slow you. You feel perfect around him, warm and silky and inviting, engulfing his whole being in sickly-sweet pleasure. He pulls you close, embracing you as you moan in his ear. Slowly, he lowers you down the rest of the way until your hips are flush with his. For a moment, he simply hugs you and kisses your neck. 

“Feels so good,” he pants in your ear. “So good,”

“You fill me perfectly,” you whine, squirming in his lap for friction. “So big…”

“Yeah?” he coughs, trying to sound smooth but failing, causing him to chuckle nervously. “I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he rubs his hands up and down your spine. “I wish this could last forever,” He lets go of you and leans back against the wall, his hands settling on your hips, taking a moment to admire the sight of you on top of him, him inside you. You feel him twitch within you. “Take what you want, love,” he encourages you to move. There’s no point in him trying to remain in control, all he cares about is that you reach climax, he’s bound to anyway. The nickname makes you even needier somehow, the way his voice is deep with desire. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, eyes meeting for a moment. You’re both flushed and blissful and the look in his dark eyes shoots a jolt through you. He’s always been attractive, but to see him like this, vulnerable, needy, chest-heaving, it was something else. On his advice, you begin lifting yourself up and lowering yourself down onto his cock, moaning unabashedly with each motion. He stretches you open in the most delicious way, exactly how you’d been picturing all day, or for several years really, perfectly endowed. He relaxes and closes his eyes, groaning and whimpering as you move. Every rock of your hips stokes the flames in the both of you, sending you both toward a common end faster than you regularly might. 

“Thank you,” you purr between moans. “I’ve needed this so bad,” 

“I know,” he chokes out with a tired smile. “I’ve needed it too,” he gently massages the fat of your rear as you ride him, watching in bliss as he disappears inside of you over and over. Your moans rise to a fever pitch, your pace faltering slightly as your climax approaches.

“Yes! Yes!” you practically scream, all your senses heightened as you slam your hips down against him. His face scrunches up in pleasure.

“I’m going to– Ahh!” he grunts, body trembling as he releases thick ropes inside of you, whining with the aftershocks as you continue using him to chase your high. It’s so close, you can’t give up now. Neville’s hands weave into your hair, pulling your face down to his to kiss you. Your tongues meet messily as you struggle to focus on the kiss, preoccupied with your orgasm that is on the tip of your tongue. Heat pools strongly in your abdomen, and you feel the familiar ecstasy of the coil snapping in your belly. Your movement immediately ceases, walls spasming around his length as you moan loudly into his mouth, grabbing him and holding him as close as possible. Your vision whites and your brain goes blank, your whole body twitching violently. He tries his best to soothe you through it, but the pleasure isn’t allowing a single thought to form in your mind for several moments. Finally, your muscles relax and you collapse against him heavily, chest heaving with effort, skin slick with sweat. You vaguely register him removing himself from you and wiping you with a towel, but the corners of your mind are fuzzy and you just cuddle closer to him. You sit in silence for a long while and you nearly fall asleep against his shoulder when he speaks up. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you hum. He tilts your chin up towards him.

“Open your eyes, love,” he implores softly, to which you flutter them open. He sighs a great sigh of relief, seeing your pupils shrink as they react to the light, dilated now a regular amount, and the flush on your cheeks is much less than before. “Do you still need me?” he asks.

“Don’t go,” you panic, holding him closer, but then you realise what he means. “Oh… no, all I want is to maybe have a nap,”

“Thank Merlin, I couldn’t have gone for another round,” he jokes stiltedly. You giggle, cuddling closer once more. “You don’t hate me then?” he mumbles, as if worried he will have reminded you to hate him, gently pushing some hair from your face. 

“No, you… saved me,” you shrug.

“Saved seems dramatic,”

“Well, who knows what would have happened to me if you’d just run away and left me alone? You didn���t have to do what you did, but you did it for me,” you lean up to kiss his cheek. “You gave yourself to me completely, just to save me from discomfort,”

“Trust me, it was my pleasure,” he laughs nervously and you gently swat his chest. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead with a barely contained tenderness.

“Yeah, you’ve proved that,” you grin, kissing his cheek again. “And I for you,”

“You’d have had sex with me if I’d been the one to bump into the plant?” he prompts, sliding his hand up your bare side affectionately. 

“Of course, I’d have done it way sooner too, not wasted time being a ‘gentleman’,” you tease. “Thank you for that though, it was sweet of you, even if it was unnecessary because I don’t regret it one bit,” you promise him, kissing his lips tenderly. He embraces you tighter for a moment and then loosens his grip. 

“We should probably leave, I bet it's past teaching hours now,” he sighs before helping you up and to dress. Your panties are well and truly ruined, so you’re forced to go commando under your skirt. Neville wraps his sweater around your hips to help prevent it from flipping up as you walk through the grounds back to the dorms. He finds it difficult to dress himself as you keep eagerly kissing him, but finally get himself presentable, only to be pulled into another kiss. It’s not desperate or lustful like before, more playful and excited, and he’s happy to accept them. “I take it you like me,” he chuckles as you hug him tight, his arms around you in return.

“Loads,” you sigh into his t-shirt.

“I do too,”

“My room? I promise we can just cuddle and sleep,” you suggest, smiling up at him.

“Hey, give me a few hours, I might be raring to go again,” he jokes.

“Well then definitely my room so I can help you out, I owe you one, don’t I?” you giggle and wink. He blushes slightly and shakes his head. 

“That plant has made a monster, come on,” he takes your hand in his. “Let’s go before someone notices and starts asking questions,” he opens the door into the greenhouse, accio-ing both of your bags over, as well as the open textbook from the workbench. “Stupid inaccurate thing,” he grumbles, stuffing it in his bag. You merely giggle at his frustration. As you turn to leave, you’re met with a gleam of magic, the door to the outside of the greenhouse rematerialising. The two of you exchange a look, neither of you had realised the door was even missing amidst the whole debacle, but it must have been, or else it couldn’t have reappeared. Hogwarts had forced the two of you together, it was likely your fall hadn’t even been organic in the first place. You knew you weren’t usually so uncoordinated.

“Huh,” Neville blinks, checking that the door now works, wondering when exactly it disappeared and how he had missed it. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief before the both of you laugh earnestly.

“Hogwarts is a total perv,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

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[crescentofthegods]

DISSIPATION!

pairing: draco malfoy x muggleborn!slytherin!fem!reader

request: devastion overwhelmed you completely once you witnessed how draco, your boyfriend, was unable to defend you after his friend called you a mudblood.

word count: 2,472

warnings: ANGST, swearing as usual hehe, goyle being a cow, draco being a DICK and also calling reader a mudblood but its for your own good woah, a bit of fluff before the angst but there is NOT a happy ending, all this goes down on reader's birthday, unfortunately not proofread again (it's 1am in the uk im SORRY)

author’s note: i looooved writing this request, goodness gracious me. HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON, i put my own little twist in it if you dont mind, draco DOES call reader a mudblood towards in their argument dw<3 also theres a little easter egg from one of my other fics, youre a real one if you notice hehshhs

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IN THE SPAN OF SIX MONTHS, your private friendship with Draco had blossomed into something more beautiful—a real relationship where you got to call him your boyfriend. However, there was a downside to the two of you dating… Draco made you promise that you wouldn’t tell anyone; you knew deep down that this should’ve been a red flag, that if he really loved you, he wouldn’t be afraid to tell anyone about you, about your love.

            Too bad that your naivety got the better of you.

            Sitting on the cold, stone floor of the Astronomy Tower, you tried to stifle your sobs of despair, but it was no use. Tears of your turmoil trickled down your cheeks like the waterfalls you always adored gazing at whenever you went hiking with your parents—today wasn’t the special day you had planned it to be.

            After all, it was your birthday. Your seventeenth to be precise.

            You weren’t expecting a lot, in all honesty. Just a day of happiness, spent with your closest friend… and even your boyfriend, Draco. Most of all, he had promised you—

            “I can’t believe I turn seventeen in a few days,” you whispered, more to yourself if anything as you burrowed into your beloved boyfriend’s chest, hiding away from the rest of the world… The tips of his fingernails slowly traced a line up your spine, creating a rather ticklish sensation, your quiet giggles sounding like the vocal music of the angels in Draco’s mind. He brought you closer (you didn’t think that had even been possible, not with how close you both already were) his arms wrapping tighter around your waist, his chin making a home in your many locks of hair.

            He had snuck you into his dorm. Since you were both in the same House, it was easier said than done—Theo and Blaise decided to attend class for once, so Draco took his chances.

            “Mhm,” a small smile touched his lips as he hummed, his grey eyes peering at you—he had always cherished how you fit so perfectly against him. Like he was made for you, and you him. “I bought you something, actually.” Though, as soon as those words left his lips, he immediately regretted saying them in the first place, seeing how you sat up within an instant, your wide, bright eyes meeting his.

            “What?—Why? You know I hate it when you buy me things,” you frowned, though it looked more of a pout in Draco’s eyes, his small smile widening into an amused grin.

            “And why is that? Am I not a good enough gift giver for you?” his teasing voice prompted you to roll your eyes, the heel of your hand colliding with his chest, almost like you were shoving him playfully.

            “No, you always buy really… expensive things—don’t your parents wonder where the money’s going?” you asked, your tone sounding a little more serious now. He hated how concerned you grew whenever it came to the people in his life—but, it was basically his fault. Sometimes, he thought about how it would’ve been better if he’d decided not to pursue this relationship with you.

            But, for once, he wanted to be more selfish than usual. Everyone that feared Draco seemed to conclude that he always got what he wanted, but that was not the case.

            He got lucky with you.

            “Don’t worry about my parents,” was all he said; his expression didn’t say much, but you could tell he didn’t want to continue this particular conversation. Initially, your heart dropped, worried that you had overstepped a boundary—though, the way his fingers intertwined with yours, the way his thumb rubbed the gentlest of circles across your skin… it caused your anxious feelings to dissipate.

            They never really go away. They just… stick to the surroundings. Hence why your inner voice used the term ‘dissipate’. Your mind always knew better than your soul, always two steps ahead…

            “Can you at least tell me what the gift is?” your question was much more softer this time, smiling because of how warm he made you feel—how warm his hand felt against yours. You wanted to ask another question; something that probed at your mind recently was how he always wore long sleeved shirts around you now. It wasn’t a problem entirely, it merely sparked worry inside you. In spite of that, you supposed that attempting to ask would only push him away.

            Draco was confusing in that sense. Your love for him, however, overpowered that.

            “Of course not, my heart,” murmured Draco, his grey eyes twinkling with his usual charm. Using that nickname that always made your soul melt like fresh honey. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

            “You’re the bloody worst,” you groaned, his deep chuckle flipping your organs inside out as you collapsed against him once again, snuggling into the cotton of his grey jumper.

            Tell me about it, was what he wanted to reply, but he stopped himself. It was a happy moment. A moment of peace for once in his fucked up life. He wouldn’t ruin it.

            Not with you, the only person who believed in him.

            —That was before you stumbled upon a conversation with Draco and his friends today. Being a Muggleborn sorted into the House of Slytherin was clearly a set up from bloody Merlin himself. Unsurprisingly, you had more friends outside of Slytherin; a lot of the Hufflepuffs, thankfully, were sympathetic to your situation. That afternoon of your birthday, you had walked out of the girls’ dorms, relieved that you had found your Transfiguration homework, heading straight towards the Common Room…

            And, that was when you heard it.

            Gregory Goyle saying your name.

            “What are you so hot and bothered about?” Crabbe nudged Goyle, seeing how visibly peeved the latter appeared to be after exiting the boys’ rooms. Draco wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation after his little… rendezvous at the Room of Requirement. He simply sat in an armchair, playing with his silver bracelet.

            It had a butterfly charm, actually. Your middle name, translated from Latin, meant ‘butterfly’. For your birthday, which was today, he had bought you a dragon charm since ‘Draco’ meant ‘dragon’ in Latin. However, you wore yours on a sterling chain around your neck, wanting it to be hidden—no one would believe that you could afford something like that.

            “Snape teared me a new one,” he grumbled, plopping himself down onto the velvety green sofas with a huff. Crabbe pulled a face.

            “You mean tore—”

            “—Shut up. Anyway, he saw how shitty my grades were and now he’s forcing me to get a tutor! Fucking unbelievable,” Goyle muttered under his breath, running a hand through his extremely thin curls, leaning his head back as Crabbe replied.

            “Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m being tutored too,” he shrugged, sitting beside him as he fiddled with his watch. Releasing an irritated ebb of air, Draco also leaned his head back, wondering how long he was going to endure this pointless discussion.

            “You’re not being tutored by that mudblood, [Y/L/N].”

            That was when you heard it. Standing under the doorway that led towards the Common Room. It was nothing new, being insulted with that term. Nevertheless, your eyes fell on Draco, seeing the way he picked his head up slightly at the mention of you.

            You waited. For a good few moments. Hoping. Praying that he would defend you.

            And, a few seconds later, he laughed, bearing his pearly whites and all.

            “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s a real fucking brown noser, that one.”

            By that point, your mind was blocking out every sound that followed Draco’s words—you made a run for it, not even bothering to look at your so-called boyfriend, dashing out of the Slytherin Dungeons before fleeing to the Astronomy Tower. You had tried to keep it in, your tears, your sorrow—it was all too much.

            To make matters worse, he had fucking followed you. As soon as he made sure that his lackeys couldn’t question him, he’d tried to catch up to you, but you were always the quicker one. If you weren’t so obsessed with academics, you’d make a real good Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

            There Draco Malfoy stood, watching your hysteric sobs consume you, your head in your hands—he knew that you’d be upset; in fact, he knew you’d been listening the entire time. He noticed you before you had even become the topic of conversation.

            He always noticed you.

            And now, you had noticed him. Your gaze lifting momentarily, only for it to widen at the sight of your boyfriend standing there with the blankest of expressions. Sniffling to yourself, you stood up from your seat on the ground, your expression one of clear torment.

            Anger. Anger consuming you because you didn’t know why you were putting yourself through this. Dating one of the richest Purebloods a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. When you were only a measly Muggleborn. A Mudblood.

            Even so, the same weight of dissipated dejection weighed over you. Why did he ask you out? Why did he become friends with you in the first place if this was how he saw you? If this was how it was going to be? Him pretending to care about your blood status in front of his good-for-nothing friend group.

            Maybe, after all this time, it wasn’t a pretense. Perhaps this was a prank he’d instigated just to humiliate you.

            Numerous possibilities. Numerous outcomes. They all filled your head like snakes in a vat of thick, torturous tar.

            Your voice broke the silence.

            “I don’t understand you,” your first statement filled the atmosphere like a hot vapour, suffocating not just you, but the other person in the room—Draco. Your tears had stopped, cheeks still wet with your misery as you stared at him, not just with passionate feelings of indignation, but more so disbelief. And he couldn’t handle it.

            I should’ve done this earlier.

            “Really?” His voice was quiet. Almost noiseless, like he was calculating the best way for this to go. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood me, my heart.”

            That nickname. The nickname reserved for you and you only. There was once a time where it would make your insides all warm and fuzzy, where it would make your soul melt like honey. Now… now, it felt like molten; searing, dripping lava scorching your insides, burning you—destroying you from within.

            Those anxious feelings, the ones that dissipated. They came back.

            “Seriously?” you scoffed, blinking away the fresh saltwater that threatened to spill from the very crevices of your heart. “Was all of this just some cruel joke to you? Our friendship? Our relationship?”

            Silence.

            Silence, silence, SILENCE—

            “Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now,” you muttered with a breathless chuckle, stepping forward, only to shove him where it would hurt the most—slamming your heel against his chest, where his heart would feel its impact. He certainly did with the way he turned his head to the side, unable to look at you. “You planned this to embarrass me, didn’t you? You never loved me, all these stupid gifts—” you reached inside your shirt, only to rip the sterling chain from your neck, throwing it at him— “It was all fake?! It was for YOUR enjoyment, wasn’t it, Draco?”

            No.

            “Of course it fucking was,” he finally snapped, glaring at you with those grey eyes—you swore that they had been brighter once, that they had sparkled in the sunlight during those ever so secretive moments in his dorm. Regardless, it was now darkness that devoured those orbs you always pined after. Depravity. Hatred.

            All over a blood status.

            “You’re a mudblood, [Y/N], you’ll always be a fucking mudblood—why can’t you get that through your insipid brain of yours?” he was seething now, catching you completely off guard as he grabbed your shoulders, staring into those wide, dimmed eyes that used to glow every time you saw him.

            “Theodore gave me the idea, you know?” Lies, lies, lies. “Told me to mess with you a little since no one else would dare touch such… such scum,” he laughed—he was fucking laughing. Watching as more tears rolled down your cheeks, like it was automatic. Two natural waterfalls crashing into the warm chambers of your coveted core. “I mean, come on, love—I thought you were smarter than this,” his taunts overwhelmed you like a vice, his grip on your biceps tightening, wanting to hurt you as much as he could—needing to, so you could walk away.

            “You’re just as delusional as the rest of them,” scoffed Draco, his lips, the same lips that locked with yours in the early hours of the morning, holding a barely perceptible smirk, clearly proud at how broken you looked. How utterly devastated you appeared before him. Glass-like tears decorating the apples of your cheeks like diamonds on a dress, eyelashes wet with absolute desolation—the contentment that had embraced you like a blanket earlier today had vanished in less than seconds.

            All because of Draco Lucius Malfoy.

            “Probably shouldn’t have led you on for so long, huh?” he murmured gently, like he was complimenting you. Like this wasn’t eating you up completely; terrorising you. His calloused fingers cupped one of your delicate cheeks, his thumb swiping across your skin to wipe those tears away, the ones you had fought so hard, but had escaped your crevice anyway. A whimper of sheer melancholy was all you could respond with, crying to yourself—your entire life was a lie.

            “Fuck you, Malfoy,” you whispered, shaking your head from his almost-soothing grasp, stepping away once again, feeling rotten to the core. Your eyes met his for a final moment, your bottom lip quivering, as well as your entire body—like you were cold, frostbitten. Betrayed. “We’re done. I hope I never see you again.”

            With that, you shoved past him, your hushed weeps trailing after you as you fled the tower, leaving your ex-boyfriend alone in the tower. Leaving him with his deprecating thoughts.

            She wasn’t worth it.

            Father wouldn’t have approved.

            MUDBLOOD.

            Swallowing the painful lump that grew by the second in the confines of his throat, Draco’s eyes landed on the sterling chain at his feet—the one that he had gifted you only this morning. Holding the dragon charm. Holding him. He bent down to pick it up, seizing it like it was the most delicate thing he had ever felt; and it only held that title because it was purely yours. His heart was yours and yours only.

            “Don’t worry, my heart,” he murmured to himself, the ambient glow of his Dark Mark resonating through the rich cotton of his shirt. His thumb brushing over the silver scales of the charm with an utmost gentle manner.  “You won’t.”

[filmsbyun]

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ── ⟢⸝⸝

Muted Desires || Choi Beomgyu

pairing: gryffindor! beomgyu x slytherin! afab! reader genre: hogwarts au, harry potter au warnings: doesn't follow the usual hp age system, all characters are 20+, something like hogwarts college/uni au, mention of other idols, amortentia, yearning (lots of yearning), physical fighting, depiction of injury, wound care (more to be added) [MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, use of protection (huzzah!), slight pain kink, fingering, pwp

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞: OUT NOW

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒;

A Gryffindor who radiated light and laughter, yet craved the solace of quiet moments. A Slytherin who wore a mask of unshakable composure, concealing a heart warmer than anyone could guess.

Your friendship had always teetered on the edge of something more—a connection that felt too fragile to name.

But when a trip pulled you closer than ever, the boundaries began to blur. When Beomgyu stumbled into your orbit one night, bruised and battered, the distance you've maintained dangerously faltered.

As you tended to his wounds in the hushed intimacy of your hotel room, in that quiet, fleeting moment, the months of yearning and longing began to unravel, threatening to upend everything you’ve had carefully built.

⊹₊⋆.☘︎ Yun's 💬

In celebration of reaching over 100 followers, I have decided to write this as a token of my gratitude. I am incredibly happy for all the support you all have been showing me.

The taglist for this fic is CLOSED

[v4mp-re]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

SUMMARY: When your childhood best friend Theodore Nott sleeps with you one night, your feelings for him over complicate the delicacy of the situation. ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: childhood bestfriend! Theodore Nott x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

T.W: Angst, mentions of lost of parental figure (mother), commitment issues, implications of sex, mentions of the word "porn", mentions of smoking, drinking and promiscuity, the word "fat" used with slight negative connotation, google translated Italian. ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ: @cafekitsune

It was as if all hell broke loose.

Ever since you've been young, your memories have been stained with that of the presence of your best friend, Theodore Nott. Influential pureblood families had to stick together, that and it just so happened that your mothers were good friends. You were about 5 when news of his mother's death came around, still remembering the tear stained cheeks belonging to none other than him.

That was the only time you'd seen him cry before.

The two did everything together, from getting their Hogwarts acceptance letters to getting sorted into the same house and forming a friend group of their own.

The group worked as sort of a combination of both your close friend groups, yours consisting of Pansy and Astoria and his of Mattheo and Lorenzo. It was just the 6 of them for a while until Pansy introduced Draco, who brought Blaise with him, and eventually joined the group as well.

Things changed in 5th year.

What at first seemed like Theodore reconnecting with his mother's death and coming to terms with it, turned into smoking, obsessive drinking and even whoring around. It wasn't something you necessarily expected either, growing up, he was always that chubby kid that you'd befriend but always depised when it came his turn to sit on the swing. Now however, he was different. He had grown, obviously, but puberty laced with Mattheo's influence, shaped him into the man he is today. And as much as you hated to admit it, he was gorgeous.

Theodore Nott. The very boy you grew up with, was now this tall, rich, Italian pureblood, slytherin boy that every girl wanted to get with, far from the ''fat geeky kid'' he used to be.

So what else could he do other than to embrace it?He had never gotten this much attention before and it wasn't as if the girls of Hogwarts were all a pain to look at, plus, Mattheo had showed him enough porn to know what to do, right?

His inexperience wasn't known to you. Surely you thought he had slept with you with the intention of wanting to get together, afterall he was your bestfriend and you both knew each other practically your whole lives. So you took his drunken kiss as a confession, the way his hands slid into your hair, how his tongue slid itself into your mouth, down to the way he looked at you as you laid there bare for him for the first time.

You should have known better.

By the time you woke up, he was gone. His presence almost non existent, except for the faint smell of him still lingering in the air, the only indicator that what happened last night wasn't a wild dream of yours. You thought nothing much of it, getting ready when the sight of your skin littered with hickeys made you freeze. You weren't drunk but you weren't necessarily sober last night either, for it being both your first times, it surely didn't felt like it. Your bodies felt like they were made for each other, and in a way you were conviced you were too.

You got ready, making sure to cover up the bruises claiming your neck as you walked to the great hall. You had been friends long enough to know that Lorenzo's love for the school's food had rubbed off on the others as well. You knew exactly where to look.

Though the sight you were greeted with wasn't necessarily pleasant.

Sitting at where you usually did, was Daphne Greengrass, a gorgeous blonde slytherin that just so happened to be the same year as you guys. Theodore's arm drapped right across her shoulder.

Mattheo, whom was previously in a conversation with Theodore, spots you almost instantly. He smiles that charming grin he always carried, one that you grew to adore, before calling you over. Theodore doesn't even glance.

With your original seat currently occupied by a girl, of which none if them had ever talked to prior, you sat beside the spare spot near Mattheo, who immediately pulls you closer to him by your hips. A gesture you normally would pull away from, yet the sight of Theodore being so cozy with another girl after the night you too had together was a new kind of pain you wish you never knew.

The insistent giggles coming from Daphne felt like a knife getting plunged deeper and deeper into your chest, knowing that the reason for said giggles was the man beside her, so carelessly whispering in her ear as his hand played with her hair.

''You're awfully quiet.'' A voice that unmistakably belonged to no other than Lorenzo. His eyes ever so slightly flickering to the way Mattheo's hand was still snaked around your waist, in which his fingers were carefully drawing patterns against the fabric of your skirt.

''I'm just tired'' You spoke, a slight smile gracing your features though your words carried a certain innuendo to it, one only Theodore could pick up, one which he ignored so openly.

Mattheo's low chuckle unmistakable, his arms moving to wrap around your waist, head nuzzled in the spot between your neck and shoulder. His breath ghosting against the surface of your neck.

Your eyes flickered to Theo, who, would once immediately tell Mattheo off, now sat occupied with the pretty blonde. His eyes fixed on hers like she was the only person that mattered. The glimpses of the night prior, the way he looked at you, how he treated you with such care, now a fleeting memory.

You felt used. Like Theodore had taken advantage of your friendship together and used it as a cheap way to test out what he already knew. Toying with a lot more than you had let on.

It was then on that you decided to distance from the Italian, something he had barely noticed until he strolled into the potions classroom, after flirting with random girls throughout the whole duration of the morning, to an empty spot which you normally occupied.

It was abnormal to him, you were his potions partner, his seat mate that allowed him to copy off you on tests, the one person who could help him pass the class, yet there you were, sitting with Mattheo instead of him.

It wasn't as if finding a new seatmate was hard, almost immediately, a brunette ravenclaw sat beside him, her friends giggling from the seat behind her, but she wasn't you.

As the class went on, Theodore found himself looking your way. His eyes would linger on the way you ever so carefully measured the ingredients and placed them to the side, a gesture that his current partner didn't care to do. How you laughed when Mattheo so dropped the eye of newt in an attempt to flirt with you.

It infuriated Theodore, but god was he too stubborn to admit it.

The smell of alcohol reeked the common room, the blasting of the music through the speakers weighing heavily on the countless of sweaty, intoxicated teenagers present, all of which, unbothered by it.

Draco had thrown possibly the 4th party in the past 4 months, all of which, you had previously attended on Theodore's insistence. This time, it was on someone's insistence, though not his.

Heels clicking with every step, you weaved towards the familiar green leather couch situated in front of the fireplace. Spotting your usual friend group, all of which slightly drunk and possibly high.

Mattheo, ever the observant, spots you almost immediately.

''For a second there I thought you wouldn't show'' His voice laced with amusement, it was clear he had probably been drinking prior, the scent of alcohol lingering with every breath he took.

He doesn't await a response before wrapping his arm around your waist, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by Theodore Nott, who in turn, pushes off the slytherin girl who was previously seated on his lap, before abruptly standing up.

You knew better than to follow after him, that Theodore Nott was no longer any of your business, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't care about him anymore.

Moving out of Mattheo's grasp under the excuse of wanting a drink, you made your way to the one place you knew Theo would be.

Theodore knew you'd come after him, you always have. The clicking of your heels an echoing reminder of your fleeting friendship. The once obnoxiously loud music now muted by the glass of the common room balcony.

You knew he'd be there, he always was. "Why are you doing this to me?" He spoke, his gaze fixed on the moonlight that reflected off the black lake, now even darker. The only flicker of light coming from his lighter as he brings it to the cigarette hanging off his lips.

"Doing what Theodore?" You spoke, your tone unconsciously laced with irritation and an air of indifference to his dishriveled appearance.

He pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, letting out a trail of smoke in it's path.

"Cazzo. (fuck) You know what I mean! You and Mattheo! Mio Dio, mi sta facendo impazzire!" (My God, it's driving me crazy) He turns to face you and for the first time tonight, you catch a glimpse of his expression.

It's been years since you've seen Theodore Nott cry, and yet here he was.

He moves towards the lounge chair, sitting at the edge, cigarette long forgotten. His shoulders shake with the kind of sorrow that you've only ever saw once in your life, his face buried in his hands.

"È come se ti stessi perdendo." (It's like I'm losing you) He mumbles ever so slightly, looking up for the first time as his gaze catches yours.

You knew there was no turning back. With your resolved crumbling at the seams, you moved to sit beside him on the chair. "I can't lose you, né a Matteo, né a nessuno" (not to Mattheo, not to anyone)

His cheeks were tear-stained as he stared out toward the lake. The party music in the background had grown faint, almost as if the world itself had narrowed to just the two of you.

But you weren’t having it.

"This isn't fair. You can't just sleep with me and then act like nothing happened! You can't just toss me aside like I was nothing and then get mad when Mattheo suddenly takes interest in me!"

"I don't get why you're bringing up that night we slept together. non è stato un grosso problema." (it wasn't a big deal)

"It was a big deal!" Your voice cracked, the weight of your emotions pouring out with every word.

"And why’s that?!" he snapped back, his voice sharp and defensive, but there was something else there—something unspoken, trembling beneath his anger.

"Because I love you!" The confession tore from your chest like a wound finally bursting open, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the air between you heavy with the gravity of what you’d just said.

He froze, his breath hitching as his eyes searched yours. You could see it—the flicker of vulnerability in the depths of his gaze, the way his jaw tightened as if trying to hold back a storm of emotions.

"You love me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now, as though the words were too fragile to say out loud.

"Yeah," your voice trembling but resolute. "I have loved you ever since first year, and it's killing me that you're pushing me away and acting like nothing happened!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I’m pushing you away because I don’t know how to stop myself from destroying everything good in my life!" he snapped, his voice breaking. He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he paced in frustration. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself every second for the way I treat you?"

"Then stop doing it!" you cried, standing as well, your voice trembling with anger and pain. "Stop acting like you’re some broken thing that can’t be fixed. I see you, Theo. I’ve always seen you. And you’re not broken—you’re scared. But so am I!"

He stopped pacing, his back to you, his shoulders tense. "You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice low.

"Then make me understand!" you pleaded, stepping closer, your heart hammering in your chest. "Tell me why it’s so hard for you to believe that I love you. I’ve seen the parts of you you’re too scared to show anyone else. And I’m still here, aren’t I?"

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own self-loathing was finally too much to carry. "I’m scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m scared of what happens if I let myself believe it—believe you. Because what if I lose you? What if I ruin it?"

"You’re already losing me," you said softly, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "Every time you push me away, every time you act like this—like we don’t matter—you’re losing me a little more."

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession.

"Then stop pushing me away," you pleaded, taking another step closer. "Stop pretending you don’t feel this too."

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to argue, but then he closed the distance between you in one swift, desperate motion. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself break in your embrace.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against your shoulder, his voice muffled but filled with raw sincerity. "I’m so sorry."

And as you held him, feeling the tension slowly leave his body, you knew that this was the beginning—not an easy one, but one where neither of you would have to carry the weight alone anymore.

[filmsmakkari]

your highness

fred weasley x slytherin!reader

Summary: When Slytherin beats Gryffindor in the final quidditch match of the season, Fred Weasley decides to give the Slytherin princess a little reward

CW: NSFW, semi public sex(?), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praising.

Author's Note- As usual, I had a black reader in mind, so (Y/N) is described as having braids, but that's the only physical description. Anyone can imagine themselves in this fic. Also emmm I have never written smut in my life saurrr... I hope this makes you horny and I'm sorry if it doesn't!

To say that (Y/N) (L/N) hated Fred Weasley would be an understatement.

The Princess of Slytherin was in the prefect’s restroom, trying to wash the red and gold dye out of her hair. The last quidditch game of the autumn term was the next day, and Fred fucking Weasley thought it would be funny to make a mockery of the Slytherin team captain by having Peeves throw ink at her as she tried to run down the moving staircases. 

“That bloody…” she muttered as she roughly scrubbed her scalp. She’d been at it for what felt like hours when the dye finally washed away, and the raven-winged color of her long braids was finally visible again. 

Enraged, (Y/N) stomped out of the bathroom, envisioning ways to get her revenge. In her anger and fantasies of all the means of torture she could inflict upon the irritating prankster, she was barely aware of her feet carrying her down to the ever-calming bioluminescence of the  Slytherin common room. She waved her wand violently, blowing around a stack of papers and knocking over a desk, catching the attention of Blaise Zabini. 

The boy seemed slightly frightened as he said, “Hey (Y/N/N), you alright?”

(Y/N) huffed with irritation. “Oh, I’m more than alright. I’m ready to knock Weasley off his bloody broom.”

-

The Great Hall was alive with conversation. Some students excitedly cast charms, creating fireworks with their house colors and animals, while others feasted on fruits and vegetables in preparation for the big match. Slytherin vs. Gryffindor games were always the most anticipated. The extreme disdain between the two teams brought out the absolute best in them as players. Even if it was occasionally violent, it made for a great game. 

Fred and George Weasley sauntered into the hall with the typical swagger of Gryffindors, scanning the tables and admiring the displays from the students. As Fred eyed the Slytherin table, his gaze fell upon her. There in her quidditch sweater, brown knee-high boots, and a horribly tempting skirt, the Slytherin Princess, who’d earned her title by getting the best grades in her house, being captain of the quidditch team, and being so ridiculously beautiful that even the proudest Gryffindors tried their luck with her, was sitting on the table, locked in conversation with Blaise Zabini and Emma Vanity- the Slytherin chasers.

“Discussing a new and improved strategy for the pitch?” Fred asked, approaching her. “I might as well tell you now, you’re wasting your time.”

(Y/N) turned to him with an eye roll.  “Keep taunting me, Weasel. It’s the most satisfaction you’ll get today.”

“Keep dreaming. Tell me, how’d you like my little gift yesterday?” Fred asked, resting his hands on the table and leaning close to her face.

(Y/N) hummed. “To be honest I’d expected more from you, beater. You couldn’t even do the job yourself. That scared of little old me?” 

“You wish. You’ll see out there today. Tell you what. If you win, which you won’t, I’ll reward you,” Fred smirked.

“Please, what could you possibly have that I want?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Too bad you’ll never find out.” Fred winked and walked over to the Gryffindor table, filling (Y/N) with so much irritation that it made her face hot.

-

Fred Weasley was eating his words.

The match was over before it began, the Slytherin players flying like bullets, (Y/N) ’s strategy working to absolute perfection, giving (Y/N) the perfect opportunity to catch the snitch without hesitation, winning the last game of the season.

The after-party was a blur of green and silver, fireworks, and cheering. One second (Y/N) was being hoisted up in the air by her teammates while they chanted her name; the next, she was playing games with giggle juice and fire whisky with her classmates. The snake lair was on fire with passion and excitement. While (Y/N) was reveling in it all, she had another celebration in mind. While her friends chanted so loud that the paintings were all forced to cover their ears, (Y/N) quickly slipped out of the common room and skipped happily up the stairs with a clear destination in mind.

As the sleeping form of the fat lady came into view, (Y/N) suddenly realized she had no actual plan. She couldn’t get into the Gryffindor common room, and even if she could, what would she do? Find Weasley in his dorm room and slap him? Cast a spell turning all the furniture silver and green to boast Slytherin pride? Steal Fred’s clothes while he was in the shower and- oh. Somewhat embarrassed at how eager she’d been to go to the Gryffindor common room and at how her thoughts kept wandering back to Fred, (Y/N) quickly turned around and began to go back to her dorm but was quickly stopped in her tracks.

Standing before her was the very person who’d been nagging at her thoughts all night. There was Fred Weasley, with dripping wet red hair and no shirt, looking down on her with irritation and amusement.

“Well well,” he said tauntingly, stepping closer and closer to her until her back was pressed against the wall. “Just what is the snake princess doing so close to the lion’s den? Came here to gloat?” Heat was radiating off of him. He was angry about the match.

(Y/N) swallowed, suddenly nervous, her usual Slytherin pride and confidence nowhere to be found. “As a matter of fact, Weaselbee, I’m here to see you. I told you I’d win, I’m here to claim my reward.”

Fred raised an eyebrow at this. He walked over to the fat lady, knocking on the portrait softly. The fat lady awoke with a jump, giving Fred a frustrated glare.  “Sorry about this,” said Fred. “Iced Mice.” The fat lady hesitated. “And just what are you doing bringing her in here?”

(Y/N)’ s bite finally returned as she spoke, “I can show you better than I can tell you. How about a charm for taking the tongues of bad singers?” Fred chuckled at that.

“Why, I never!” said the fat lady as she finally swung open the door.

Fred took hold of (Y/N) ’s hand as he walked in, dragging her behind him.

(Y/N)’ s words were full of venom as she whisper-shouted, “Just what do you think you’re doing, you slimy-”

“Just be quiet for once, princess.”

Indignation swelled in (Y/N) ’s chest, but she obeyed. Though she toothlessly fought back, attempting every now and then to snatch her arm away from him, deep down, she wanted to see where this would go.

Fred dragged her to a dark corner, taking her by her hips and lifting her onto a desk. 

“What the hell are you doing?” (Y/N) asked with a furious look, but there was no bite behind the glare. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was afraid he’d hear it. 

“You came for your reward, didn’t you? You were so desperate for it that you were willing to cheat during the match,” he said, moving her hair and leaning into her ear.

(Y/N) shuddered at the closeness before pushing him away. “I didn’t cheat, Weasley, the hell are you talking about?”

Fred hummed, smoking at her and placing his arms on either side of her, caging her in.

(Y/N) scoffed. “This is ridiculous, I can’t believe I wasted my time coming here. Have a nice life carrot top.”

(Y/N) pushed him again, hopping off the desk and starting to walk away from him, but Fred quickly grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back into him and placing a wet, passionate kiss on her lips. (Y/N)’ s eyes widened in shock as Fred Weasley, the person she hated most since first year, slipped his tongue into her mouth and lifted her back onto the desk. Shocked and confused, she pushed him away a third time.

Fred looked deeply into her eyes, a tendril of red hair hanging over his eyes, making him impossibly more attractive. “Oh c’mon, love, don’t act like you don’t want it too. Like you haven’t wanted it since fourth year when you walked in on me showering after the quidditch cup.”

(Y/N)’s face got hot at the memory. “I hate you. You hate me. I’m the “princess of Slytherin,” remember?”

“Well then, your highness, allow me to serve you,” said Fred, dropping to his knees.

“What are you doing?” (Y/N) asked, her voice shaking as Fred ran his hands up and down her thighs, barely past her skirt. The tight little green dress and those white knee-high socks she was wearing had been driving him crazy since he first saw them, and he wanted nothing more than to see what was hidden underneath them.

“I’m rewarding you, even if you did cheat like a naughty little serpent, somehow I feel like this will be just as much as a reward for me.” He spread her legs wide, getting in between them and slowly peeling back her skirt.

(Y/N) breathed in sharply. “You have tormented me for six years, and now you expect me to let you use me to get off?’ 

“‘M sorry,” said Fred, kissing her thigh softly. (Y/N) shuddered. Fred kissed his way up to her sopping wet heat, muttering “I’m sorries” between every kiss. He finally made his way to her lacy undergarment, placing a soft kiss there. “You’re so wet, darling,” he said, popping his head out and looking at her, “It seems like you’ve already forgiven me.”

“In your bloody dreams, Weasley,” (Y/N) said with an unconvincing scoff. “I’ll hate you until the day I die.”

Fred hummed before quickly dipping his head back between her thighs, sliding her panties to the side, and licking a long stripe through her slick.

(Y/N) let out a throaty moan at the sensation, gripping the desk tightly. 

Fred chuckled against her, the vibrations making her breathe in deeply. “What was that about you hating me, love?” he asked.

“Shut up and get on with my reward, asshole.”

Fred smirked. “As you wish, your grace.”

Fred grabbed her thighs tightly and went to work, taking her clit into his mouth and sucking it like a starving man. (Y/N) moaned loudly before placing her hand over her mouth. Fred looked up at her, his sudden pause making her whimper. “No, no, no, darling. Don’t hide the noises.” He slowly pushed a single long finger inside her. “Let the whole school know.” Another finger. He looked into her eyes with a wicked smile. “Let them all hear how the snake princess let a lion make her scream.” He added two fingers that time and rapidly pumped in and out. And, just as he said she would, (Y/N) screamed. She went to cover her mouth again, but with his free hand, he took both of her wrists and held them in front of her. It burned, but it felt so good. (Y/N) began to move her hips slightly to increase the sensation, making Fred smile. “That’s it, beautiful, good girl. Good girl.” Fred spoke in a way that was almost patronizing. If she weren’t so close to the edge, she probably would have made some snarky remark, but (Y/N) couldn’t think straight as the pressure in her stomach was building up, and the Weasley boy was making her see stars. She let out another loud moan, throwing her head back as the pressure became unbearable. 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” (Y/N) screamed as Fred’s fingers slammed into her g-spot, and she finally couldn’t take it anymore. (Y/N) let out a scream as she came, barely aware of anything around her. Her vision went blurry as the hot juices spilled out of her. Fred wasted no time re-attaching his mouth to her drenched cunt, licking up her juices until she was clean. “Mmm, sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Surprising for such a nasty girl,” Fred said, slapping her thigh, sliding her panties back over, and standing up.

He placed his arms on either side of her, staring at her intensely, his hair disheveled and her cum around his mouth. (Y/N) matched his gaze with equal intensity, her heart pounding, a million questions running through her head. After a few beats of silence, she finally spoke. 

“I still hate you.”

Fred actually laughed at that, shaking his head before looking back at her. “Beat me again, princess, and I’ll give you a better reward then my fingers and my  mouth,” he rasped into her ear before walking off to his dorm room, leaving her with her legs spread on a table of the Gryffindor common room.

“We’ll see how much you hate me then!”

[magical-reid]

The Spell Gone Awry

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Word Count: 1.9 K

Summary: Draco Malfoy is unexpectedly vulnerable after a duel accident leaves you injured, leading to an unexpected bond between you two. As rumors swirl around your growing closeness, Draco reveals his feelings for you, culminating in a heartfelt confession at the Yule Ball.

It was a quiet afternoon at Hogwarts, or at least it was supposed to be. The Great Lake glimmered in the autumn sun, and the grounds were bustling with students making the most of their weekend. You had intended to spend the afternoon exploring the castle’s nooks and crannies, but fate had other plans.

The courtyard near the Clock Tower was unusually noisy. As you walked through the archway, you realized why—two Slytherins were dueling.

“Expelliarmus!” one voice shouted, and a wand went flying.

You paused, recognizing the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy. He stood with his wand raised, his silver-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, and his trademark smirk firmly in place. Opposite him was Theodore Nott, his face set in determination.

Normally, you’d avoid scenes like this—public displays of superiority were practically a pastime for Draco—but today, curiosity got the better of you.

You were mid-step, walking through the duel’s perimeter, when Theodore shouted, “Stupefy!”

Before you could process what was happening, a jet of red light hit you square in the chest. Your body flew back, the world spinning as you crashed into the stone pavement with a sickening thud.

“Y/N!”

Draco’s voice cut through the fog in your mind, sharper than the pain that spread across your body. You tried to sit up, but your limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Move, Nott!” Draco snapped, shoving Theodore aside as he knelt at your side. His hands hovered over you, unsure where to touch. “Someone get Madam Pomfrey!”

Through your hazy vision, you saw the concern etched into his face. It was an expression you’d never seen from him before.

“Draco…” you murmured weakly, but the darkness claimed you before you could say more.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Hospital Wing

You woke to the sound of murmured voices. The faint scent of medicinal potions hung in the air, and the soft rustling of curtains told you where you were—the hospital wing.

“Finally,” came a familiar voice, tinged with relief.

Turning your head, you saw Draco sitting in a chair beside your bed. His tie was loosened, his robes slightly rumpled as though he’d been there for hours.

“How long have I been here?” you croaked, your throat dry.

“Since this afternoon,” Draco said, leaning forward. “You’ve been out cold for hours. I thought…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “You shouldn’t have been walking through the middle of a duel.”

His tone was accusatory, but his eyes betrayed his guilt.

“I didn’t know there was a duel,” you said softly.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You could’ve been seriously hurt, Y/N.”

You tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through your back. Draco was immediately at your side, adjusting your pillows and muttering about how careless Nott had been.

“Draco,” you interrupted, “it wasn’t your fault.”

His hands stilled, and he looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “It doesn’t matter. You got hurt because I was being…well, me.”

You managed a weak smile. “You mean a show-off?”

His lips twitched, but the smirk you expected didn’t come. Instead, he sat back down, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Why did you stay?” you asked after a moment.

Draco scoffed, though his ears turned pink. “You’re in my House. It would’ve been…unbecoming to leave you here alone.”

His words didn’t quite match the look in his eyes—soft, vulnerable.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Whispers in the Shadows

The following week was strange. News of the accident spread quickly, and students whispered about how Draco Malfoy had stayed by your side until you woke. Some called it an act of guilt, others a show of loyalty to a fellow Slytherin.

Draco, however, seemed to avoid you. In the Great Hall, he sat at the far end of the table, his gaze fixed on his plate. In Potions, he worked silently, not once glancing in your direction.

It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

One evening, as you wandered the castle in search of solitude, you found yourself in the library. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the shelves, and the room was mostly empty.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name made you turn. Draco stood at the end of the aisle, his hands buried in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, surprised.

He hesitated before stepping closer. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You could’ve done that anytime,” you said, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. “But you’ve been avoiding me.”

Draco stopped mid-step, his pale complexion flushing slightly. His hands fidgeted in his pockets, a rare sign of discomfort. For once, he didn’t have a witty retort or his usual confidence.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he said quietly, though his tone lacked conviction.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Because that’s what it felt like.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his platinum hair. “Fine. Maybe I was. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you.”

You frowned, confused. “Then why?”

Draco hesitated again, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot. When he finally met your gaze, his gray eyes were unusually vulnerable, stripped of their usual smugness.

“Because you make me feel…unlike myself,” he admitted.

You blinked. “Unlike yourself?”

“Yes. And I’m not sure I like it.” He let out a frustrated huff and leaned against the bookshelf, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Ever since that day in the courtyard, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About what could’ve happened if that spell had been stronger, if I hadn’t stopped Theodore fast enough.”

You softened at his words, the anger draining from your posture. “Draco, it wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it. I’m not used to…caring about what happens to anyone else.”

You couldn’t help the small, surprised laugh that escaped your lips. “That’s not true. You care about your family. Your friends.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But this is different.”

The vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Draco, I don’t know what you’re so afraid of. But I don’t need you to be anyone other than yourself.”

He looked at your hand on his arm, then back at you, his eyes softening. “That’s what’s terrifying,” he murmured. “You see me—the real me. And I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

You smiled gently. “Maybe you don’t have to be ready. Maybe it’s enough to just feel it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The library seemed impossibly still, as though the castle itself was holding its breath. Then, slowly, Draco reached up and covered your hand with his own.

“Why are you so…kind to me?” he asked, his voice almost breaking.

You squeezed his arm lightly. “Because I see the real you, Draco. And I like him.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Dance of Distance

In the days that followed, Draco became a near-constant presence in your life. He walked with you to classes, found excuses to sit beside you in the Great Hall, and even waited for you after Potions.

But the closer he grew, the more complicated things became. The whispers among the Slytherins grew louder, their sharp comments cutting deeper. Some accused you of using Draco to climb the social ladder. Others claimed you’d bewitched him, that no one like you could possibly hold the attention of someone like him.

And yet, through it all, Draco stayed at your side.

One evening, as you sat by the Black Lake, he found you staring into the water, lost in thought.

“You’re quiet today,” he said, sitting beside you.

“Just thinking,” you replied, your tone subdued.

He frowned, leaning closer. “About what?”

You hesitated before meeting his gaze. “About us. About how everyone seems to think we shouldn’t…be together.”

His expression darkened. “Let them think what they want. Since when do their opinions matter to you?”

“They don’t,” you admitted, though your voice wavered. “But I don’t want them to hurt you, Draco. And I feel like being with me is only making things harder for you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his gray eyes searching yours. Then, without a word, he reached out and cupped your face in his hands.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You’re the only person who’s ever looked at me and seen something more than a Malfoy. You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m worth something beyond my name. Don’t take that away from me because of a few gossipy idiots.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “You really mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said, his voice softening. “Besides, you’re stuck with me now.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

An Unspoken Confession

The Yule Ball arrived faster than you expected, and with it came the usual flurry of excitement. Dresses were chosen, hair was styled, and students buzzed with anticipation. You hadn’t planned on going—until Draco appeared outside the Slytherin common room, dressed impeccably in black and silver, his hand outstretched.

“Come with me,” he said simply.

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “Draco, I don’t even have—”

“Don’t worry about that,” he interrupted, smirking slightly. With a flick of his wand, a set of elegant green robes appeared in his arms.

You stared at him, speechless.

“I took the liberty of having these made,” he said, his smirk softening into a small, hopeful smile. “For you.”

The warmth in his gaze made your chest tighten. Wordlessly, you took the robes and stepped back into the common room to change.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Dance

The Great Hall was transformed into a winter wonderland, with snowflakes falling from the enchanted ceiling and twinkling lights illuminating the room. Students swirled across the dance floor, laughter and music filling the air.

Draco guided you to the center of the room, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

“People are staring,” you murmured nervously.

“Let them,” he said, his smirk returning. “They’re probably jealous.”

You laughed despite yourself, relaxing as he led you through the waltz. For the first time in weeks, the whispers and the stares didn’t matter.

As the music slowed, Draco leaned closer, his voice low in your ear. “You know, I’ve been trying to tell you something.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “What is it?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment before saying, “I’m falling for you.”

Your breath caught, and your heart seemed to skip a beat. “Draco…”

He smiled faintly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

But you did say something. Leaning up on your toes, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, his expression was equal parts shock and joy.

“I think I’m falling for you too,” you whispered.

His grin was brighter than any spell he’d ever cast.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

[cash-111]

Am I so bad?

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

CW: just some minor hurt-comfort. Friends to lovers. Reader is purely gender neutral except for the fact they have longish hair.

Synopsis: Theo is insecure after you snort at the idea of you being together.

Words: idrk but it’s very short.

A/N: sorry this isn’t very professional or aesthetic, or beta read. It’s my first fic on here, I’ll get the gist eventually.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Would it be so bad?”

Having had your interest peeked, you looked up from the book you were so enthralled by. Theodore laid on your bed, his uniform messy and crumpled from the day’s commotion, looking up at your ceiling.

“Hm? What, Theo?”

Your eyes dropped down on the page again, turning it slowly, almost to savor the feeling of the paper on your fingertips.

“Would it be so bad” He repeated “if we… you know, were to date?” His hands rested on his chest, one of his thumbs smoothing the top of the other in a soothing way.

“What’s this about now?” You said, a playful tone in your voice. “You getting desperate, Teddy?”

His face scrunched up in one of his usual sarcasm-filled smiles, before it straightened into a normal one.

“Be serious for a moment, would you?”

“Okay…” you closed your book on your lap and sat up “So what’s this about?”

He rolled around too so he could face you, consequently scooching up with a few huffs. “Well,” he started “you made a really disgusted, wacky sound when those Hufflepuffs mistook us for a couple”

He gestured, a hint of a shrug. “And, you know, I wanted to know what was up”

You set your book on the table, your eyebrows raised.

“Oh my god. The Theodore Nott feels insecure? Check the date, I need to put this on my calendar!” You gasped jokingly, getting up in a hurry. You laughed as Theo caught your thighs and threw you onto the bed with him.

“I’m not insecure.” he reasoned, quite loudly.

“Mhm” you pursed your lips, trying not to let any more laughter slip, but he caught on and started tickling you as ‘his revenge’.

Once you were begging for him to stop, he finally relented, mumbling a satisfied ‘that’s what you get’.

As you caught your breath, a big grin still on your face, Theo turned away from you, his shoulders slacked.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” You came to rest a hand on his shoulder, your voice softer and worried. In turn, his hand shot up to rest on yours.

“Do you truly, actually, find me sickening?” He smiled, but his eyes were sad and his voice carried that hint of melancholy that let you know he was asking sincerely.

“What? Of course not, Theo.” You squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, and your other hand came to smooth over his back. “You’re the most handsome guy I know. I thought you knew that, that’s why I was making irony earlier” you explained.

He turned his head to look into your eyes. “I’m the most handsome guy you know?” His usual grin finally reclaiming his features.

“Psh, don’t flatter yourself.” you pushed him lightly. “But yes” you returned his grin with one of your own.

“So I do have a chance” he propped himself up more to face your body.

“In your dreams, Ted” you gave him a quick peck on the cheek, before patting his head and going to put up your hair.

He tsked and mumbled to himself. “Nei miei sogni facciamo già molto di più, tesoro” In my dreams we do a lot more already, darling (treasure)

“What was that?” You spoke up, busy looking at your image in the mirror.

“Nothing, nothing…”

[kquil]

PERFECT MATCH PART 2

PAIR. : poly!marauders x female slytherin reader

SUM. : despite being from Slytherin, as a fellow prankster, you give the marauders a helping hand

LENGTH : 1.2k

PART 1 | NAVI.

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

Peter had blown their cover, and now the boys were running from Slughorn, who had caught them red-handed, switching the necessary ingredients for the next potion class. They should have known that Peter wasn’t the best choice for a lookout, considering he was the first to get caught and promptly given detention with Filch. As they were running away, however, their camaraderie lingered when Peter called out to them, hoping they wouldn’t be caught. 

The remaining three marauders make a valiant effort to run away as fast as possible. Remus stays a good few metres ahead of James and Sirius, his hidden athleticism sparking in only the most dire straits. Despite the potential threat of detention, the three grin widely through the chase; Sirius has the gall to laugh at the sheer amount of fun he’s experiencing. The freedom to break the rules and run freely from the consequences – only light penalisation in his eyes – was invigorating. None of them believe they would ever willingly stop their practical jokes, even Remus, no matter how much he denies it.

Racing through the halls with their youth pumping through their veins, Remus, James and Sirius make it so that Slughorn is considerably far behind them before slowing down. Between laboured breaths, they try to sort out their next move but quickly run out of time. Slughorn was quickly approaching according to their map and they resorted to hiding in a darkened hallway they don’t normally walk down. Consumed by the rush, they had managed to make it down to the dungeons just as you stepped out of the hallway they had barely hidden in.

They weren’t very good hiders but it was amusing so you kept your lips sealed despite your mischievous nature urging you to press them with questions. Your answer came swiftly in the form of Professor Slughorn, out of breath and keeling over with sweat drenching his brows. 

So that’s what’s happening~ 

Immediately understanding the situation, you step out of the hallway to face your gasping head of house and restrain a devious giggle at the sight of the marauders’ widened eyes. They’ve seen you, see them hiding. They’re also familiar with your artfully scheming ways likened to their marauder group’s mischief; the fact that you’re a Slytherin, however, doesn’t bode well. Fuck…were you gonna out them? 

You don’t need any prompting, already directing the professor before he’s managed to catch his breath, “Oh Professor~ by the way, if you’d really like to know…” Slughorn eyes you after finally catching his breath. Through the fog of his exhausted mind, he finds himself eagerly awaiting your direction, almost having forgotten why he was in his current state in the first place, “they went that way,” you point to the right, the opposite direction of the three tricksters. James, Remus and Sirius release a collective breath of relief but remain eager to see how the interaction may unfold further. 

“Who did?” Slughorn asks, trying to navigate the smog of fatigue clogging up his brain. 

“The marauders,”

“They did?” your potions professor brightens at the revelation. You guess he’s finally rediscovered his initial intentions. But woe is me~ can he trust you so easily? 

“They did what?” you tilt your head innocently, casually continuing the conversation as if you hadn’t just thrown him for a loop with that curveball of a question. 

“Went that way?” he points right, perplexed at your sudden change. It seems Professor Slughorn was still foggy in the head from his sapped stamina and the boys had to bite their lips from bursting out laughing – you’re a menace. 

“Who did?” you ask, pulling the most innocuous expression the boys have ever seen a Slytherin muster. Have you grown more beautiful since their last interaction? They can’t help but keep staring at your sweet face and pretty, pouty lips…

“The marauders!” Slughorn insists but you continue your oblivious stance. 

“What marauder?”

“But didn’t you just say?-- Oh never mind,” Slughorn gives up the chase and turns with a dull swish of his robes. For now, he’s satisfied that he, at least, managed to get Pettigrew. As soon as Slughorn was far enough away, you turn back to the crouching marauders and give them a wink, signalling that the coast was clear. 

“My fair lady!” Sirius dramatically bows down and kisses your knuckles, “How may I ever repay your kind gesture?”

“Hmmm…” you seem to seriously contemplate his playful words for a moment, though Sirius doesn’t mind, he’s more than eager to pay you back for saving his hide. “Let’s see…” You press your hand flat against his chest and slowly move down. The sultry overtones of your gesture make Sirius’ heart pound as he, Remus and James stare wide-eyed and gaping at your soft hands fondling their close friend’s chest. Suddenly your hand becomes a blur as you pull back his robe and steal a licorice wand from his inner breast pocket. “This’ll do~” you chirp innocently and begin to nibble on your newly acquired snack. “I can always count on you to be generous, Siri,” your wink sends a dangerous heat crawling up Sirius’ neck and exploding across his pale cheeks. This has never happened to him with a girl before! He’s supposed to make you flustered! 

Turning to Remus, you make a gesture with your hand as if to say ‘pay up’. However, when the tall brunette merely stares at you in wonder with a small, amused quirk on his lips, you raise a brow, “I know you’re loaded, Lupin. Gimme the goods,” and just like that, you also have Remus turning bright pink. How can you be so nonchalant and not realise the embarrassingly sexual innuendos underpinning your words?! Remus surrenders a peppermint toad. 

James was the last one of the three you turn to as you pocket Remus’ liberal offer. “You don’t have to ask me, for anything,” James chuckles and easily provides you with a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees. With a victorious smile, like a cute little squirrel who’s happy with her hoard, you pocket James’ addition and lean forward to brush a kiss along his sharp jaw. 

“I knew I could count on you, Potter,” 

James was floored. Sirius had to lean against the wall and Remus was limp against the large window sill. All three stare with a mix of surging admiration and boyish wonder as you walk away with a skip in your step. You’re so happy, you even begin to hum a soft little tune to yourself. 

“...wait… how come only James gets a kiss?” Remus asks, bringing Sirius back from his dazed state. James merely smirks in triumph – he’ll remember the softness of your pretty lips against his skin forever~

“Dearest!” Sirius calls, already jogging after you. “I think you’ve forgotten something!” 

“Yeah,” Remus adds with a cheeky grin, leisurely making his way over with James at his side, drawling in his Welsh accent, “gives us a cusan,” 

“What’s that?” you’ve stopped, curious as to what he may mean. From his tall height, Remus leans forward, bending at his hips and whispers in your ear. 

“That’s a kiss, sweetheart,” he steals one anyway at the base of your ear, where your neck and jaw meet. The high sensitivity of the area makes you squeal in surprise, only to be kissed by Sirius too, who aims innocently for your cheek. 

NAVI.

A/N : because of @urmomw4ntsme 's recent ask of wanting to see a Slytherin reader, it got me thinking about this request that i wrote last year for my 1k milestone. I couldn’t sleep until i finished writing this so it may not have the best grammar so please excuse me for that. this was also inspired by this interaction between Alice and the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.

[darkacademicvibes]

Only One ~ Yellowcard

Slytherin!Fem!Reader x Mattheo Riddle

Not canon compliant

For @princess-weasley bc Matty is such a 'Dovie' boy

Sorry I took so long😭

You watch, amused, as he struggles with his tie. "Do you need-"

"No" Mattheo insists, yawning as he fumbles with it before cursing and shoving it into his bag with a groan. "Why do we even have to be here?" he grumbles, and Blaise lifts his head from his arms. "'Cause Umbitch has something to screech" he answers, and it makes a far-too-awake Pansy snicker.

"How are you so awake? It's six o'clock in the morning-" Blaise mumbles.

"On a saturday" Mattheo interrupts to complain.

Theo lifts his head, having been smoking beneath the table. "Shut up, my head is killing me" he grumbles, ducking back to place his forehead on the edge of the table again. You snicker quietly, "real discreet" you muse, eyeing the hungover italian.

Mattheo yawns again, and lays his head on your shoulder, "I'm too sober for this shit" he grumbles to no one in particular, and Blaise grins at you cheekily as warm blooms over your cheeks. Your fingers gently tangle into his hair, "mhm?"

Mattheo nods against your shoulder, huffing.

"Y'got no idea, dovie"

➯ 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

"Come on, y/n, please? Nobody is gonna tell toad-face, we're in our common room" Mattheo pleads for the forth time in ten minutes. Ever since Umbridges new rule, he'd been practically begging for your attention, but you'd seen the words people have had carved into their skin. The weasley twins had 'I shall not be reckless fools that waste time' for weeks. As well as Pansys own 'I should not break important rules for selfish satisfaction' that she was still unable to look at.

"I'm studying, mattheo, if it bothers you so awfully, go to Theodore. You two practically kiss all the time" you muse distractedly, and Mattheo screws up his nose, "sharing a smoke doesn't count, and if you really think it does, than I might have to show you a real kiss, because that's disgusting" he mutters. You pause, "why is that disgusting?" You challenge, ignoring the way he had insinuated actually kissing you, because the way your stomach fluttered at the sound had absolutely no business here.

"Because it's Theo, Blaise would've been a better choice" he grumbles. "Not that I'd kiss one of the boys- or any boy- see what you're doin' to me dovie? I miss you, pretty girl. Please?" And with a painfully dramatic sigh, you push your homework away and open your arms, enjoying the way Mattheo all but crushes you beneath him, burrowing his face into your neck.

"Ugh- get a room!" Draco snaps, walking throught the common room, one of Umbridges many 'enforcers'. "If Riddle wasn't practically glued to your side fourty-eight/seven, I'd remind you of the rule. But I'm not an idiot, and I want to live, so do as you damn well please, I guess" Draco mutters, slumping into a chair. Mattheo doesn't even lift his hand to flip Draco off, merely clinging to you.

"You can never not touch me again, pretty girl, I love'ou. Been driving me mental all week." He complains quietly, placing soft kisses over your throat.

"You love me?" You ask, warmth fluttering alight in your stomach, and when he merely nods, silent, you can only tangle your fingers into his hair.

"Mkay... love you too, Matty."

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Pansy: Professor Snape won't trace this back to us, right?

Y/n: Are you kidding? He traces everything back to us. Professor Snape traces things we haven't even done yet back to us.

[riesobunz]

When Silence Speaks | D. Malfoy

synopsis: After a heart-wrenching breakup with you, a certain Malfoy turns to Astoria Greengrass in an attempt to move on. Unbeknownst to him, you aren’t playing the game he expected. You’re silent, more reserved than ever. He wanted your attention. He got silence.

cw: slytherin!reader x draco, astoria is the same yr as them, angst, toxic dynamics, break up themes, pansy is a sweetheart!!! yearning, yearning, and yearning… oh did I say yearning?

wc: 1.6k

a/n: hello everyone, this is my first ever fic! I hope you guys like it <3 (inspired by don’t smile by Sabrina Carpenter I recommend listening to it while reading this 🫶🏻)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ

Having Defense Against the Dark Arts as your next class was already troublesome for you, but the fact that your teacher made you and your ex sit together? You wanted to end it right then and there.

Seeing Draco looking at someone with those eyes — eyes that had known every feature of your face and had seen you at your best and worst — how could he look at someone else like that now?

You kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself not to look at him. Not that he would care when he looked at Astoria with that subtle smirk, the one that used to be yours.

“Perhaps you know the answer,” Professor Snape said, turning to look at you. His voice sliced through the quiet classroom. “What’s the key difference between a Hex and a Curse?”

All eyes shifted to you, waiting.

“A Hex causes minor harmful effects and is often mischievous, while a Curse is designed for serious harm or control and is generally considered dark magic,” you answered, your tone cool and precise.

His lips curled, not exactly a smile but more like approval.

“Correct,” he said, turning away. “Five points to Slytherin.”

Just as class ended, and students began to head out, as if fate were toying with you, you saw Draco walking with Astoria in the hall. The two of them were close enough that their shoulders brushed.

“Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant,” you muttered to yourself, a bitter laugh threatening to escape, your chest tightening with something sharp and unwelcome.

Draco passed some kind of book to her. “Don’t smudge the corners. That’s a limited edition,” he said.

“I’ll treat it better than your last relationship,” she teased, her eyes flicking to you for just a second.

A pang cut through your chest. They knew you were listening — or worse, they wanted you to be.

You tried to hide your face to escape the embarrassment of once being his — and the guilt of being the one who ended it.

Without a word, you turned and left the corridor, each step faster than the last until they were out of sight. You couldn’t stay there, not with him looking at her like that. The further you walked, the more your thoughts crowded your mind, loud and unwelcome.

You tried to calm your aching heart, to find comfort in the memories you once shared.

And yet, your mind kept circling back, lingering where it shouldn’t.

Did the moments you created together mean nothing to him now? How could he look so unaffected when you were falling apart?

The cold, dim atmosphere of the dorms welcomed you. You made your way to your bed, cocooning yourself in the blanket, nearly swallowed by its warmth. The silence is broken only by soft rustling — and then, the subtle presence of a familiar, expensive perfume drifts through the room.

“Alright, enough of this,” Pansy’s sharp, annoyed voice cut through the silence, though beneath it was concern.

She straightened you up. “Merlin, you look like someone ran you over with a Hippogriff.”

You groaned. “Not now, Parkinson.”

Pansy raised a brow. “Oh, please.” She gagged at the pile of tissues beside you. “You’re literally a pathetic pile of heartbreak while Malfoy plays snogging with Greengrass.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you haven’t, I don’t know, thrown yourself into the Black Lake.”

You scoffed.

“He’s doing it on purpose, you know. The book, the hallway, the stupid limited edition line. He wants a reaction.”

“Well, he’s not getting one.”

Pansy clicked her tongue. “He already has. You just gave it to him in silence.”

“Also, the Greengrass girl was loving every second. She’s always been good at pretending she’s innocent while twisting the knife,” Pansy continued.

You sat up, arms wrapped around your knees. “Well, what do you think I should do?”

“Hmm… you could always use a hex or two.”

“Pansy!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she teased, grinning. “Just don’t let him ruin you, your class, your entire day. Don’t let him ruin that beautiful face of yours, too.”

You chuckled. “Alright. Thanks a lot,” you said with a smile.

“I’ve got you. Always.”

The next morning came too quickly, though it carried a quiet sense of peace. You woke to warm sunlight spilling through your window and fresh air filling the room. Despite the lingering ache, you decided that no matter what attitude Malfoy showed, you would ignore it and keep living your life, doing your best to move on from him.

Your footsteps echoed softly against the stone, each one a reminder that the day had to start, whether you were ready or not.

By the time you reached the Great Hall, your stomach was already twisting, not from hunger, but from everything else. Still, you made your way to the Slytherin table, reached for the usual bland porridge, and added a generous swirl of honey.

“Didn’t know you’ve got a sweet tooth,” Pansy said, raising an eyebrow as she slid onto the bench beside you.

Your face warmed slightly. “A habit of mine,” you muttered, stirring the honey in.

More students headed into the Great hall, their chatter and footsteps filling the space. Familiar laughter echoed from around the corner. You braced yourself.

And then, your eyes met his, like the moment had slowed without warning. His robe was perfectly neat, his tie slightly loose — and for a second, you remembered how often you were the one fixing it. He walked beside Greengrass, his hand resting on her waist, like it belonged there.

“Hey,” Pansy said gently, her hand pressing against your back. “Don’t mind them. Keep eating. Remember what we talked about.”

You nodded, letting yourself breathe for a moment. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. They were not worth your time, and most importantly, there were plenty of things you still needed to work on rather than being held back by whatever this drama was all about.

And somehow, you did.

That whole week was pretty hectic; not only did you ace every test, but you also earned full marks on every assignment. You focused on working hard, determined to be better and to prove something to yourself. You gained the attention of your professors, their whispers filling the halls like a quiet applause — but so did someone who had sworn he would never look for you again, yet somehow couldn’t stop watching from afar.

Draco was watching. From the school grounds, across the library, and even from the corner of the common room.

He never spoke. Never approached.

But he looked.

And you hated that part of you still hoped he’d say something.

You’d almost forgotten about Friday nights patrol. Almost.

When you saw the list with your name beside his — Astronomy tower. Late shift. Draco Malfoy. — You swore your insides turned to knots. Head boy and Prefect. How ironic.

You arrived early.

The stars shimmered above, the cold night air kissed your skin, and the view below stole your breath. For a moment, you felt at peace—until footsteps echoed behind you, followed by the scent of some obnoxiously expensive perfume, one that was painfully recognizable.

“Well, if it isn’t the one who broke up with me.”

You turned slowly, arms folded across your chest. “What are you doing here?”

He raised a brow, stepping closer. “Patrolling. Head Boy duties. Or have you forgotten everything, like you forgot about us?”

There it was.

You scoffed. “Don’t turn this on me.”

“Someone has to,” he said bitterly. “You ended things. Not even explaining why you suddenly left me.”

Your voice dropped. “If only you’d looked at me. Just once.”

His mouth snapped shut.

You stepped closer, your words barely above a whisper. “I was tired, Draco. Tired of reaching out… only to find you with her instead.”

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t deny it.

“I missed you.” Your voice cracked as tears welled in your eyes. “I always missed you. Even when I tried to convince myself I didn’t.”

You looked at him—truly looked—and it hurt. It hurt to see the boy you loved in front of you and know he wasn’t yours anymore. Maybe he never fully was.

“But maybe we were never meant to last. Maybe we’re just better on our own.”

The words left your mouth like a slow ache, heavy and irreversible.

Draco stepped forward, close enough that the scent of his cologne mixed with the night air, so familiar it almost broke you.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he said softly.

Your breath hitched, yet you didn’t move.

“I’ve been aching for you. Trying to find any excuse just to feel you again, to be near you, but—”

“But what, Draco?”

“But you left.” He whispered, taking a step closer to you.

“I did,” you replied, voice cracking. “Yet I never stopped loving you.”

That was all it took.

His lips were on yours, slow and searching. At first, hesitant — afraid you’d pull away — but you didn’t. It was raw, full of everything that had gone unsaid. A kiss soaked in guilt and something that still burned.

And then… you pulled away.

“I—this is wrong.” You turned away. “Maybe it’s better if we just end it.”

He didn’t argue back, not even a plea. “I’m sorry.”

Then he turned away, far from that tower, and far from you.

It then hit you. That tower had once been yours. The secret kisses, the late-night stargazing, the quiet laughter shared in the dark. It used to be ethereal — soft and timeless, like magic untouched by the world.

Now it held only silence.

And somehow, that silence spoke louder than anything he could’ve said.

It told the truth you couldn’t bring yourself to voice.

It said everything he wouldn’t.

Because when words slip away, silence speaks.

₊˚⊹ ⁀➴ m.list

© riesobunz | do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works.

[bunny-1111]

Beg for it - Theodore Nott

Description: Before break, you had trouble with Theodore. On the train ride back to Hogwarts, he reminds you of the consequences of your actions.

Word count: 1.5k

...

You had gone all summer break without taking to Theo.

All summer long.

It was out of pettiness, of course. A small little argument turned into a blowout fight right before getting off the train to return home for the holidays.

You stared at your parchment all day, every day. You even picked up your quill one day, watched the ink drop onto the paper, then dropped it, pride having got the better of you.

Pride got the best of Theodore too.

Who the fuck were you to do this, ruin his summer and not write a dot to him, he thought; stubbornness mets human form in Theodore Nott; he would not accept defeat in reaching out first.

So that was that. Nothingness for two full months.

As you made your way to the platform, you thought the silent treatment would reach its end. Scarcely looking around for your boyfriend, you realise you're so nervous, you don't know if you could get a word out if you tried.

Pushing your trolley you look up, in his mighty form, Theodore Nott, body leaning onto the brick, casually talking to Matteo and Pansy.

You felt your heart drop. What do you say now, hey stranger? Miss me? I'm sorry. No. Dumb, dumber, dumbest.

So you just stood there, hand on your trolley, heart beating out of your chest by the second.

Your daze broke when you heard Pansy call out to you.

"There she is!!" she called out, gesturing you to join them.

You tried to approach, really you did, except your legs failed you. You couldn't move for a few seconds, or was it a minute? You didn't know.

"What's wrong, come-er" Mattheo yelled towards you, eyebrows furrowed

You finally made your way to them, Theodore looking at the ground.

When you got there, he was quick to leave, stomping on his cigarette and boarding the train. So this is how it would go, still not talking, got it.

Matteo quicky greeted you, then followed your boy.

"What's up his ass?" Pansy questioned, pulling you into a hug.

"I couldn't tell you" you huffed

"What's up your ass?" she questioned

"Theodore" you rolled your eyes

"Did yous fight during the break" she asked linking her arm with yours, as you start to walk towards the train

You stop and turn to her "We haven't spoken since the last day of school" you admit

her eyes widen "did you break up?!"

"that would require a conversation" you laughed self pity laced in your expression

"you wouldn't have mentioned that in one of your letters?" she says

"I didn't want to think about it, I'm sorry" you reply

"what are you going to do?" she almost laughed

"I don't know, I was hoping you'd figure it out for me" you say faking a cry

she threw her head back in laughter "Oh no, no, this is a you problem"

You groaned back, searching for the carriage the boys secured.

As you reached the door, you looked at the seating arrangement. You could sit next to Draco, wedge yourself between Blaise and Enzo, or sit in the open seat next to Theo.

Next to Draco was the most rational decision you thought: taking a seat. Until Pansy had other plans. " Get up; I'm sitting there," she smiled, her head nudging towards Theos's direction.

You took a deep breath and moved beside him, your shy eyes looking up at him. When he didn't look back, breathe a word, touch you, or even acknowledge your existence, you took it upon yourself to rest your head on the window seal.

Pft you thought.

Nine and a half hours of this. You wished you had a time turner to change your present. To have just written him. Maybe you wouldn't be in this situation if you had.

Would it be this painfully quiet the whole trip? Would he even reply if you started a conversation? Ugh you wanted to scream out. But you didn't. Your mouth stayed shut, and your eyes stayed closed.

Eventually falling asleep to the soundtrack of your endless thoughts.

That is until Theodore nudges you awake. Opening your eyes, he gestures for you to leave with him. Here we go.

The two of you walk down the thin corridors of the Hogwarts Express in silence, looking for an empty carriage.

After looking and looking, with no luck, Theodore grew increasingly impatient.

He found an almost empty space, though three kids, much younger than you both, sat in cartridge, door closed. Theodore stopped before the door, opening it, as the children stared at him.

"Get out", he said cooly, pointing at them, then behind himself.

"Why, where will we go?" a boy replied

"I don't give a fuck join the people next door. We're prefects unless you want three weeks of detention. I suggest you do as I say," he continued; it was the most you had heard of his voice in so long; you didn't want him to stop talking, even if it was telling off these strangers.

They hesitantly got up and left, muttering something under their breath, beginning their quest for new seats.

Theodore grabbed your hand and sat you down, closing the door and curtain behind him.

Your heart rate picked up again as he sat directly before you.

You didn't know where to look and certainly didn't know what to say.

"You have some nerve." He stated, leaning back, relaxing his legs out, looking straight at you.

Could he hear it, the thud of your pounding heart, you wondered.

"I-" you began

"And then. You dare to not sit next to me" He laughs, a scary laugh, an angry laugh

You inhale, ready to rebut before he starts again. "Is that what you want, to sit with Draco? Huh? Or Blaise or Matteo, anyone but your fucking boyfriend."

"I didn't think you wanted me near you," you say, looking out the window. Avoiding his gaze. Yeah, he didn't like that, immediately moving next to you,

"What's so special out the window?" he growled, placing two fingers on your chin, tilting your head towards him "Look at me when we talk, not the bloody view" he continued

"okay", you managed to whisper back. I wasn't a second longer before one of his hands reached the back of your neck, the other finding its way through your hair. His lips exploring your mouth.

He was literally taking your breath away when he finally pulled away; you caught your breath back, his forehead connecting to yours

"why didn't you fucking write me?" he pants out

"I don't know," you say, closing your eyes

"look at me" he says, you do.

"I waited all fucking summer," he says, looking deep into your eyes; you knew what he was doing, searching for the answer you still hadn't given him.

"you didn't write me either," you said in a hushed tone

His hands meet his face, burying his frustration.

You place your hands on his back, he moves his hand from his face to your arm, sliding down until his arm is around your body.

"I shouldn't talk to you for the whole school year" he spat out

"You couldn't live like that" you quickly reply

"I have plenty of experience, two months worth, all thanks to you," he says inching closer to you

"I'm sorry, Teddy, alright" you plead

"you really don't get it, do you? How angry you made me all fucking break. What am I gonna do with that?" his voice husky and low, leaning over you

"do what you have to do," you say just above a whisper underneath him

"Here, now? I don't think so" he says before kissing you "teddy" you called out

"I'm right here," he says, kissing your neck

"please" you whisper

"No, no," he says, moving off you

"I'm gonna make you as frustrated as you made me all summer, baby" he smiles

You look at him blankly. He was knocking any bit of integrity out of you

"come on" you almost laugh

"I'm so serious", he says "You'll be begging all term long" he continues kissing your forehead, standing up

"where are you going?" you rush

"back to the group" he smiles. You furrow your brows

"what's wrong, baby?" he chuckles

"Teddy" you whine

"I told you... begging" he says, looking back, leaving the carriage

This was not how you expect things to go.

It was going to be a long term, and you hadn't even arrived yet.

The punishment of pushing Theodore Nott.

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part 2 - here

[yasministration]

When we were young - Sirius Black

saw a post about Sirius x slytherin!reader's relationship drifting apart from when they were childhood best friends and wanted to add my own thoughts. If anyone finds the author of that blurb, please tag them in the comments! Warnings: SMUT, cheating (r cheats on bf), semi-public sex 2.7k wc

Sirius had immediately stopped speaking to you the second you got sorted into Slytherin, set on building himself a reputation as the odd one out of the family, wanting to break all ties with the Black family. Ties that included you. You're no different, of course. Once you've pieced the puzzle together, noticing how Sirius's gaze always drifts away just as you look his way, you decide not to self-sabotage your relationship with your family, instead going along with their expectations of you. You become close friends with the other Slytherins in your year group, never missing an occasion to flirt with the older boys either. A new lifestyle has been adapted by both of you.

You soon become the type that the younger Slytherin girls aspire to be, strutting down the corridors without a care of what Gryffindors might say, shooting a snarky comment at them if they try causing problems with your friends. Sirius, on the other hand, becomes a typical Gryffindor prankster, set on getting everyone's eyes on him if it's ever possible. He seems particularly keen on targeting your housemates, though you never find yourself being a victim of his pranks.

In the summers, Sirius seems to have disappeared from the mansion, and you find yourself in Regulus' company more than you would have liked, the younger boy constantly going on random tangents. You listen to him as he was once your best friend too, but slowly stop going over when you realise Sirius won't come down to save you, preferring the tight friends you've made in the past few years over Regulus's company. With rich parents who are constantly on business trips, just like yours, your new friends' mansions are often empty, allowing more time spent there.

Sirius notices your absence; he can't hear your voice through the wall of his and Regulus's bedroom, but he pushes the thought to the back of his mind, occupying himself with his best mates, planning new pranks on the man who has you wrapped in his muscular arms. The relationship was unexpected. You'd been with all your friends, sitting on a couch with Narcissa while Barty, Lucius, Avery and Evan played a competitive game of Wizard's chest in teams of two. Evan had done a little triumphant dance, and claimed he wanted to go out for a celebratory smoke. You stretched your legs out in front of you, stating you'd wanted to go for a walk, and one thing led to another.

Sitting in the middle of his parents' giant hedge maze, Evan held his cigarette in one hand, the other cradling your cheek softly, guiding you into a passionate kiss. Feelings had been confessed, and before you knew it, your parents had found out about the relationship, strongly encouraging it to go on. So when the new school year started, you had become the talk of Hogwarts. Sirius hadn't taken the news well, complaints of how different you had become made common appearances in his daily conversations with the other marauders, who started shooting each other concerned looks for their best friend.

Sirius watched with distaste across the courtyard as Evan pressed kisses across your neck, arms wrapped around your waist while you sat in front of him, leaning back into his chest as you carried out casual conversation with Narcissa, who sat across from you. You turned briefly to face Evan, and Sirius perked up, expecting you to scold Evan, or at least shoot him and annoyed look, but instead you leaned further into him, connecting your lips with his, arms wrapping over his shoulders as he pulled you onto his lap. Sirius almost did a double take, his lip curling in disgust as he gathered his things, leaving the courtyard in a hurry.

Sirius had only ever known you as a little girl, disgusted by relationships and kissing, not as a grown woman who had gone past puberty, building relationships of her own, unafraid of her sexual nature. The same went your way too, always averting your gaze when you spotted Sirius making out with a different girl at parties, shoving away the thought that maybe it should have been you instead of whoever she was. You had discovered everything together, until you got to the age of puberty and relationships, splitting down different paths, arguably when you needed each other the most.

The first time you briefly reconnected in almost seven years, Lucius, Avery and Barty had barged into the Great Hall, late for breakfast, their hair dyed bright red, uniforms replaced with Gryffindor jumpers and red trousers - victims of another prank. They trudged up to the Gryffindor table, but before anyone opened their mouth, Evan appeared at the entrance of the Great Hall, having endured the worst of it all.

A collection of gasps was heard and you couldn't help but laughing in shock. His hair and trousers matched in colour, but he also had red stripes drawn on his face, as though he was supporting the Gryffindor quidditch team in a game. Worst of all, his shirt was off, exposing his beautiful abs, but when he turned around, red glitter spelled out "MY GIRLFRIEND HAS THE HOTS FOR LIONS" all over his back.

"Do you think this is fucking funny!? It doesn't fucking come off!" He yelled, pushing his friends out of the way to loom over the four marauders sat at the Gryffindor table, throwing the red jumper he held at them, causing a clatter of glass cups, and loud laughs. You couldn't help the grin on your face, a hand covering your mouth, trying to silence your giggles. You glanced up to look at the Gryffindor table, and for the first time in years, made solid eye contact with Sirius Black, who in that moment was your best friend again, both of you eleven years old without a care in the world. He smiled at you, looking up at your boyfriend, and though you couldn't hear what he said, when his mouth moved, your boyfriend's head instantly snapped in your direction.

"You think this is funny? Do you have the hots for Gryffindors?" This time you couldn't help the laugh from bubbling in your chest, even as the entire hall went silent. "No baby, you just look amazing in red." You insisted through laughs, not even convincing yourself. He stormed out of the hall, but you didn't bother following him, too busy collecting yourself. Somehow, that had caused you to be late to Slughorn's potion class, earning yourself a detention, despite many others being late to his lesson too.

You swung your feet from where you sat on the high stool in detention, glancing up at Slughorn, who made no move to give you any instructions. The door creaked, and you turned back to see who was entering. A flash of curly black hair and you knew exactly who it was, snapping your head forward again. "Mr. Black! Professor McGonagall told you to be here at 5 sharp! It is now 5:08!" Slughorn exclaimed, walking towards you. "Sit with Ms. L/N, you need to make me a few batches of the cure for boils. You can leave when you've filled up 50 bottles." You couldn't help the annoyed "What!?" that escaped from your mouth at the instructions. "Do you have a problem with that Ms. L/N?" You shook your head at the old man, looking back down at the desk.

The door slammed shut again, a clear sign of the Professor's absence, and you groaned, hitting your head on the desk. "I know exactly how you feel." Your head shot back up at the comment, having forgotten you weren't alone. "Sirius." The boy stared at you with a soft smile and you pursed your lips awkwardly. His name felt familiar coming out of your mouth, but it had been so long since you'd said it last that it felt almost alien at the same time. A long silence filled the room, causing chills to run up your arms.

"Hey, sorry about your boyfriend by the way." He started, making you look up at him. You scoffed, a smile tugging the corners of your lips up "Are you really?" Sirius shook his head, grinning. "No, but you don't seem sorry either." You shrugged, "Well, I need some excitement with him. He's..." You trailed off with a huff, biting your bottom lip, afraid you had said too much to the wrong person. "Someone looks like they're about to break up with their boyfriend." Your eyes went wide, and you shook your head, snapping "You can't say anything Sirius. I'll get to it when I get to it." He made a move of zipping his mouth and throwing a key away, and you sighed.

"Best friends always keep each others' secrets." You scoffed, replying with "What best friends? You haven't been able to look me in the eye since I got sorted into Slytherin. I hung out with Regulus during the Christmas holidays for the first two years of life at Hogwarts." You complained, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why the change all of a sudden?" You remarked, hopping up on the desk, dangling your legs over its side and leaning forward. Sirius stepped closer to you so you were barely a foot away from each other, wiping his palms on his trousers and biting his lip. "Because I-I... Just let me help you break up with him." He begged, looking at you hopefully.

"Sirius, wha-" You gasped when two calloused hands cupped your face, bringing it forwards so that Sirius could kiss you desperately. Your hands came up to Sirius's chest, pushing him away from you. Panting, you observed the boy in front of you, completely bewildered. Sirius stood, a grimace on his face as though he knew this would happen. "You can't just! You can't-" You breathed, hands gripping his jumper, pulling his body back to yours urgently. You pressed your lips back to his the second he was close enough, his arms wrapping around your waist just as Evan had done the day before.

Sirius bit your lip down making you gasp, and slipped his tongue into your mouth, battling with you for dominance. You moaned loudly, hugging him closer to you. Sirius deepened the kiss, hands sliding down your back until he was groping your ass, massaging the fat between his big hands. You went on your tip-toes, trying to get impossibly closer to him, hips grinding into his, causing the both of you to moan loudly, breaking the kiss momentarily. You panted, catching your breath before grabbing both of Sirius's hands and dragging him into the ingredients cupboard to finish your business, desperately grinding against each other until you were hoisted up against the wall, panties falling down to your ankles while Sirius shimmied out of his pants, finally stuffing your tight cunt with his big cock.

Your lips never separated while Sirius fucked you, all the pent up frustration from the last few years being taken out of you in that moment. Your arm slipped under the back of his collar, nails scratching at the sensitive skin on his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake. Your orgasm hit you like a wave and you shuddered in Sirius's arms, moaning his name so loudly he had to slap a hand over your mouth to cover your sounds, eyes worriedly glancing at the closed door. After catching your breath, you had pushed Sirius away from you, falling to your knees to finish him off, making doe eyes at him as he gripped your hair, pushing you onto his dick. Sirius's thighs started shaking and he cussed your name out before he was pulling you back up to his level, slamming his lips against yours once more, tasting his own pleasure as he mumbled "Break up with him, break up with him."

That night, when Evan approached you trying to apologise, pressing kisses on your neck while hugging you from the back, his hips grinding against yours, you brushed him off, insisting "It was a dick move Evan. You didn't have to embarrass me in front of the whole school." Even when you knew very well that you were the one who had made fun of your boyfriend, humiliating him when he was just angry with another boy.

You and Sirius continued to meet after that, set on talking things out before things got serious between you, but you couldn't help the stolen kisses and wandering hands, even as Evan waited for you relentlessly in the common room as you had promised. Discovering that the other was still passionate about things you had loved as children brought you closer, as though you were uncovering your best friend all over again. You met the marauders, who instantly loved you, but it was really Lily who took you in, telling you more about herself than Narcissa had ever opened up to you about. You truly found your people, unafraid of what your parents had to say to you, or who pureblooded families thought you should make relations with.

"What the fuck is this?" Spat Evan one night, when you'd all been hanging out in you and Narcissa's dorm. You had been quiet all day, guilt-ridden, trying to figure out a way to finally break things with Evan. Four heads turned to face you and Evan, sat with his arm around your shoulder. The tall boy stood up, walking over to your open closet, and you immediately followed in horror of what he'd found. A red and yellow quidditch jumper laying under a pile of clothes. You'd forgotten it was there, having thrown it in your closet after you and Sirius had gone for a walk by the black lake late at night, giving you his jumper after feeling your cold skin.

Evan gripped the jumper in his hand and you tried cooly playing it off "Oh, that's probably from that prank, when they swapped-" "Don't fuck with me Y/N. Do you have the fucking hots for Gryffindors, is this was that is?" Evan yelled, stepping closer to your threateningly as you shuffled backwards. Narcissa stood up, walking towards you. "Calm it Evan, that's mine." "No it's fucking not!" Evan aggressively pushed you back and you squealed, tripping over your feet and slipping on the carpet, hitting your forehead head on the four poster bed as you fell, blood immediately beginning to drip down your face. Through teary eyes, you could see the four figures of your friends standing up and pulling Evan away from you protectively.

He was dragged out of the room, the door slamming shut behind them and Narcissa immediately crouched by you, bringing you into a tight hug, whispering comforting words into your ear. "I know, I know, it's okay." By the next day, not only had all the students found out what happened, but your parents did too, and everything you had done for seven years to meet the standards of being accepted by Slytherin pureblooded families had gone straight into the trash.

You had gotten an angry letter from your parents by breakfast, and all of Hogwarts witnessed the angry red cut on your face from Evan's outburst. Sides were made, people had opinions. 'It was wrong to cheat; worse to physically hurt someone because you were mad. It was cute that you and Sirius made up, but you should have told Evan. You were friends with the marauders, so everyone who preferred them over the Slytherins automatically liked you but that meant all the Slytherins who didn't personally know you now hated you.'

Sirius had worriedly ran over to you when he saw you in the hallway, bringing you into a hug that had you succumbing to tears in his arms. You weren't welcome back home, you told him, and he apologised for giving you the same reputation he worked so hard to get as the rebel of the family. Months later, when you graduated, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Pettigrew and Evans all cheered for you because your parents hadn't shown up for their traitorous daughter.

Now, years later, living in your own house facing your best friends' house, you realised that the pain was all worth it because you had a wicked story to tell your children.