#advanced transfiguration

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Advanced Transfiguration (& Other Forms of Romance) by me / Gemini In Retrograde by @citrusses

A tete-beche!

Cit and I have been chatting about doing a collab for ages and we did it at last! This is a little tete-beche marrying her fic about fathers and teenage sons and my fic about fathers and teenage sons. As I shout-messaged her: our fics are hanging out together!!! Ahhh!!!

Citrusses typeset my fic and I typeset hers, then we swapped and went our separate ways to bind and case them in, before finally sending each other a copy in the mail.

Well, the swap is complete and it was DELIGHTFUL to work with Cit on this little project. I have multi-part gushing so I'm just going to go ahead and give you a cut.

Starting with Citrusses' half of the tete-beche: this is the first time I've ever seen anyone typesetting my fic! I was so excited to get her email with the PDF. And then! It was so gorgeous! I loved the clean chess theme, the beautiful breaks and artwork, the font choice for the titles, everything. It was amazing to see it all come together like that. I am so fond of my little James-POV fic and it was a treat to get this small love letter to the fic from a binder and author I admire so much.

A couple photos of Cit's lovely typeset:

For my half, I had the pleasure of setting Cit's fic, which is a Freaky Friday trope where Draco and Scorpius have swapped bodies. Citrusses manages the tightrope walk that is a father-son body swap (and a Drarry story!) with such skill and care. I adore the imperfect but trying-hard relationship between Draco and Scorpius, and of course I adore Prof. Potter. It's a brilliant fic and it was so fun to set it and bind it.

I ran with the Freaky Friday thing -- at first, I thought about the Jodie Foster original, but when my 70s artwork failed to inspire, I switched to the 00s version with Lindsay Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis. This worked better for my brain! I had so much fun creating the title page and chapter headers in the 00s style, using green and blue to signify Draco and Scorpius's respective houses in the fic.

For the final bind itself, I did two versions, mostly because I trimmed the first copy badly and then bled on it (ha) so I had to try again. The first version uses black and white and gold HTV, but for the second I swapped the black for a dark blue because it vibed better with the endpapers I'd chosen. I did a striped endband for my (bloody) copy and an ombre one for Cit's copy.

The style of the cover design owes something to PrettyBinding's style on IG -- I love the thin gold outline and I am going to feature it again soon, though used a bit differently! The constellation behind the Scorpius and Draco figures is, in fact, Gemini. Not that you can tell??? But I know it in my heart!

(You can play a fun game of "spot the differences" between these two copies.)

All in all, an absolute delight of a bind and a swap! I was so tickled to work alongside Citrusses. And I will save my gushing about the amazing binds I received for a later post!

[monserelates]

P.S. I Still Love You ; James Potter

part 1 of the p.s. series

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters/

⇨ word count: 2.8k

You never should’ve been in that drawer.

To be fair, you weren’t snooping. You were helping Sirius dig through Remus' study stash for a copy of Advanced Transfiguration when your hand got stuck between the back of the drawer and a false panel. With a click, it gave way, and there it was:

Three envelopes. Old. Yellowed. Folded twice. And written in James Potter’s handwriting.

And now everything’s ruined..right?

..

The letter was dated fifth year.

The year James was still annoyingly cocky, always showing off during Quidditch practice, calling you love every time you argued about exam scores. The year you broke your wrist after slipping on the stairs and James carried you to the Hospital Wing before anyone else could even react.

It read like a confession. A soft, stammering thing.

..

October 3rd, 1975 Gryffindor Tower, 11:41 PM

My dearest Y/N,

I saw you today.

Not in the dramatic, world-stops-turning kind of way. Just… I saw you. You were sitting two seats ahead of me in Charms, hair a bit messy like you’d rushed out of bed. Your jumper was too big—again—and you kept tucking your hands inside the sleeves like you were hiding from the world.

And I swear to Merlin, I couldn’t think of a single spell for the entire hour.

Everyone else was focused on levitating pumpkins, or whatever Flitwick was going on about—but I kept watching you tilt your head every time something didn’t click, lips moving like you were mouthing the incantation until it felt right in your mouth.

You had ink on your cheek. Just a tiny smudge. No one else noticed. Not even Lily, and she notices everything. But I did. I always do.

You do this thing when you're thinking—your brow furrows, but only slightly, and you chew the inside of your cheek. You look impossibly serious for about three seconds before your mouth twitches like you're about to smile. I don’t think you know you do it.

I think about that too much.

And then Sirius made that floating pumpkin bob in front of your face, and you laughed.

Merlin. That laugh. You sounded so alive. Like something warm cracking through the cold. You leaned back, rolled your eyes, crinkled your nose—like you always do when you’re pretending not to be amused. I had to look away. It was too much.

You’re too much.

I want to say something. Anything. I want to walk up to you and tell you that you make me feel like my ribs don’t fit quite right when you’re in the room. That I remember things about you that don’t even make sense—like how you write the number 7 with a line through it, or how your left eyebrow arches a little higher when you’re being sarcastic.

But I can’t. Because you don’t see me like that.

Not really. I’m just James Potter—too loud, too smug, always with a stupid joke. And you’re you. Quiet brilliance wrapped in worn jumpers and ink stains.

So instead, I write letters I’ll never send.

And pretend you’ll read them anyway.

Yours Always,

-- James F. Potter.

..

You shouldn’t have read it.

You shouldn’t have read any of it.

But you did. And now it’s sitting in your lap like a wound you didn’t know you had.

You’re still holding the first letter. The ink faded, edges soft like it’s been opened and reread too many times. By him? By no one?

It smells like old parchment and something faintly warm. Like dust and Gryffindor Tower and a boy who always smelled like broom polish and stolen honey biscuits.

You fold it back up. Carefully. Like that’ll undo something.

It won’t.

You glance toward the doorway—Sirius is still rummaging through the bookshelf, completely unaware. Remus is off somewhere tutoring some fifth year Hufflepuff who can’t master non-verbal spells. You’re alone.

Except for the letters.

Except for his voice in your head.

James bloody Potter, calling you love every time you beat him in Ancient Runes. James Potter, who once tied your tie in fourth year because your fingers were shaking before a presentation. James Potter, who didn’t laugh when you tripped down three stairs and broke your wrist—just caught you, scooped you up without blinking, and carried you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Fifth year. You remember it so clearly now.

Back when he was all bravado and smirks, when you rolled your eyes at him so often it practically became a reflex. When his handwriting was all over your textbooks from doodling in the margins. When he looked at you like maybe he was too afraid to really look.

And now—now you’re dating Amos Diggory.

He’s sweet. Gentle. Smiles when you talk about the books you love and never once makes fun of you for organizing your quills by shade. He writes you notes. Holds your hand like it’s precious. He’s kind to your friends, even when Marlene’s a menace and Dorcas is sharp as glass.

He’s everything you wished for. Everything you told yourself you needed. Safe. Sure. Soft around the edges.

And James?

James is—

Gone. Different. Still James, but more controlled now. Better. Polished like he grew into himself. And yet still somehow the same boy who looked at you like his lungs stopped working when you laughed.

You shouldn’t keep reading. It’s his private thoughts. You’re invading his past. You’re in love with Amos. You’re happy.

But—

But the corner of the second letter is peeking out, tucked just beneath the first. Like it wants to be found. Like it’s been waiting for someone—you—to pull the string and unravel it all.

Your hand hovers over the envelope. You should stop. You should close the drawer. You should forget this ever happened.

But your fingers are already reaching. Already brushing against the crease of the paper.

And your heart’s already starting to ache all over again.

..

February 15th, 1976 Gryffindor Tower, late (again)

My Y/N,

I think you like him. Diggory.

I didn’t mean to notice it, really. Didn’t want to. But I see things I shouldn’t. Things I’d rather not.

Like how you lean in when he talks. Just slightly. Enough. Enough to make my stomach twist. Like how you laugh with your whole face around him—nose scrunch, dimples, the works. Like how he gets your inside jokes now. Mine. Ones you used to only say to me.

I saw you pass him a note in Herbology yesterday. I couldn’t even focus on the lecture. Not with you three rows ahead, smiling down at whatever he wrote back.

And I thought—that used to be me. I used to be the reason you smiled during class. Now I'm just a seat behind. Always behind.

It's stupid, isn't it? That I still write you these letters like you’re mine. Like you were ever mine.

But I remember the exact day you started looking at him differently. February 1st.

Right after that Charms assignment. You’d spilled ink on your sleeve and he offered you his handkerchief—some proper, polished little thing, embroidered with his initials. You laughed. Told him no one under the age of forty should own one of those.

But then you kept it. You tucked it into your pocket like it meant something.

And I hated it. I hated him. Because he noticed you late. Too late. After you’d already become magic.

After I’d already memorized the rhythm of your moods and the way you tie your shoelaces with a double knot because you hate tripping. After I’d already watched you trace words into the corners of your parchment when you’re bored. After I knew that you like peppermint over chocolate, and that you cry when you're frustrated but pretend you're just tired.

He doesn't know those things. But you smile at him like he does.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever noticed me the way I notice you. If you ever felt your heart do that horrible, heavy thing when I walked in. If you ever looked at me during dinner and thought, he’s all I’ll ever want.

Because that’s what I think when I look at you. Every time. Even now.

You don’t look at me anymore. Not really. Not since him.

But today in the corridor, we passed each other near the library. You said, “Hi, Potter,” like you always do. Like we were just classmates. Just names on a roll call.

But your voice caught a little. And I lived in that catch for the rest of the day.

Yours, Always Yours, Even when you’re not mine.

—James F. Potter

..

Your fingers tremble when you finish the second letter.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe.

The parchment is soft now from how tightly you’ve been holding it, edges slightly bent from the grip of your thumb. It feels warm in your hands—like it might still be alive somehow. Like maybe the words are still echoing from wherever James wrote them.

You stare at the closing line. "Yours, even when you’re not mine."

And it hits you.

Not like lightning—no. Lightning is fast. Loud. Immediate. This is worse. This is quiet. A slow ache that spreads like ink through water.

Your throat tightens.

Because how didn’t you see it?

How didn’t you know?

You knew James was loud. Proud. A show-off. But he was always looking at you. Always showing off for you. Always circling close like a star that didn’t dare burn too brightly near the thing it wanted.

And all this time—you thought it was nothing.

You thought it was just James being James.

But this letter—these letters—they aren’t jokes. They aren’t scribbled flirting or casual charm. They’re him. Raw and open and trying so hard to love you in silence that he bled through parchment for it.

And you didn’t see it.

You’d been too busy chasing quiet, safe things. Smiles that didn’t set you on fire. You thought you needed stability. Control.

You thought James Potter didn’t take anything seriously.

But he took you seriously. So seriously that he never said a word.

And now?

You blink. The first tear falls, hot and unwelcome, streaking your cheek before you can wipe it away. Your lip quivers—just once—and you press your palm hard to your mouth, like maybe that’ll hold it in.

Had you really lost it?

Had you let something real slip through your fingers without even noticing?

Amos is wonderful. He is. He makes sense. But when James looked at you…

No one has ever looked at you like that.

And now you’re sitting on their dormitory floor with your heart shattering into a thousand unsent letters, wondering if it’s too late to go back and read between the lines.

You glance toward the drawer again. The third letter is still in there. Waiting. Pressed flat and secret.

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’ll hurt worse.

But some part of you—some desperate, aching part—still wants to know if he loved you enough to stop.

Or if he loved you so much he never could.

You should leave.

Genuinely, what are you doing?

But before you can help it, you're now opening the third, and final letter.

..

It’s dated barely two weeks ago.

March 3rd, 1976 By the window, when everyone else is asleep

My dearest Y/N,

I wasn’t going to write this. I told myself it was better to stop—that it would hurt less if I just stopped.

But the truth is, loving you never hurt. It was the not loving you out loud that did.

Still… I think this is the last one. Or at least—it has to be. Because I saw you today. Not just in passing. Not from across a classroom. I really saw you.

You were standing in the courtyard, your back to the sun, laughing at something Diggory said. Your eyes crinkled. You shoved his arm. You looked happy.

And I realized—I don’t want to be the reason that ever changes.

You deserve someone who doesn’t choke on his feelings every time you smile at him. Someone who doesn’t have to write letters in the dark just to keep breathing. Someone who stands beside you—not behind, hiding in plain sight.

You deserve the hand you’re already holding.

So this is me—letting go. Not because I want to. Merlin, obviously not because I want to. But because maybe that’s what real love is. Not possession. Not loud declarations or grand gestures.

Just presence. Quiet, unconditional, unwavering presence.

And if letting you be happy means stepping out of your way, then I’ll do it. Even if it guts me.

But please, Y/N—don’t ever think I didn’t love you. I did. I do. I probably always will.

It just won’t be the kind you see. Not anymore. It’ll be the quiet kind. The kind that waits in the background. That checks the weather before you go flying. That memorizes your schedule just to know when to stay out of your path. That walks a little slower past the courtyard in case you’re there—just to see you from a distance.

And if you ever need me—really need me— I’ll come. No matter the time. No matter the hour. Even if we haven’t spoken in years. Even if you’ve long forgotten this boy who holds you so close to his heart.

I’ll be there.

Always yours, Even if I never was. Even if I never will be.

P.S. I still love you,

—James F. Potter

You sit there for a long time. Still. Silent. Letter pressed to your chest like a heartbeat you missed.

Because this is what you missed. Not the flirting. Not the jokes. But this quiet, impossible love.

And now you have to ask yourself:

Are you too late?

Or is the real question… Does you still have time to love him back?

...

You don't remember standing. Don't remember how the letter slipped from you fingers and fluttered to the floor like something dying.

But suddenly you're upright—shoulders trembling, face burning—and you can’t breathe. Not properly. Not when the world feels like it’s tilted sideways and everything you thought you knew about James Potter is now upside down.

“Y/N?”

It’s Sirius. Right.

He’s still sitting by Remus’ desk, flipping through that stupid Advanced Transfiguration book he pretended to care about ten minutes ago.

He glances over his shoulder and frowns when he sees your face.

“What’s—?” He stops mid-sentence. Eyes narrow. Voice softens.

“Are you okay?”

You can’t answer.

Not with the way your chest is tight, like someone tied a rope around your lungs. Not with the way your mouth opens and closes and nothing comes out because you're scared if you speak, you'll sob.

Sirius rises, already walking towards you , voice low and careful now. “Y/N… what happened?”

You bends down, snatch up the third letter from the floor with shaking fingers, and clutch it to your chest.

And you look at him.

Sirius Black. James Potter’s best friend (and yours). The one who had to have known.

Your voice breaks when you say it.

“You knew.”

Sirius doesn’t deny it. He just stares at you, jaw tight, guilt flickering behind his storm-grey eyes.

“You knew,” you says again, louder this time, angrier, voice wobbling with the start of heartbreak. “You all knew and no one told me—”

“He didn’t want us to,” Sirius says quiety. “Said it wouldn’t matter. Said you were happy.”

You lets out a laugh. Or maybe a sob. Maybe both. It sounds like something collapsing.

“I have to go.”

“Y/N—”

But you're already halfway out the door, boots stumbling down the stairs, mind racing. The letters crumple in your fist. Your chest heaves like it’s about to split in two.

You push through the common room like you can outrun it, this unbearable ache.

The dorm door slams open.

Lily is on her bed with a book in her lap. Marlene is braiding Dorcas’s hair on the floor. All three look up immediately.

“Oh—Y/N?” Lily frowns. “What—?”

And then they see you.

Your eyes are red. Your cheeks blotchy. Shoulders hunched like you're about to be sick. And your hand?—gripping a fistful of parchment like it’s the only thing holding you together.

No one says a word.

You just stand there in the doorway, panting, throat burning, voice small and cracked like it belongs to someone else.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Dorcas rises slowly.

Marlene’s eyes sharpen. “Y/N… what happened?”

She shakes her head, tears sliding freely now.

“How didn’t I see it?” she chokes. “How was I so blind?”

She crumples onto the edge of Lily’s bed, the letters sliding from her fingers. Lily’s arms are around her before she even realizes she’s crying out loud now—really crying—no more holding back.

“I ruined it,” she sobs into Lily’s shoulder. “I ruined everything. He loved me and I didn’t see it and now it’s too late.”

Marlene picks up the parchment from the floor. Her eyes scan the signature. Her lips part.

“James,” she says softly. “Oh my god.”

Lily looks like she’s about to cry too. Dorcas gasps out loud.

And through the blur, you whispers like a vow—desperate, aching, full of regret and something that sounds an awful lot like love finally understood:

“I have to fix this.”

taglist: @glittervame @strlightfilms

part two out now!

[elikajinnie]

Hate Is A Strong Word - N.R

P: Slytherin!Ni-ki X fem!reader

Synopsis: You never imagined that the picture perfect Slytherin would like you

Warnings?: Fluff, Misunderstandings, bullying (not from N-ki). Insecurities.

a/n: So this is the start of my Hogwarts au for each of the members. Ni-ki is the first one out! :D The next one will be Jake!

masterlist

----

As the heavy oak doors of the Transfiguration classroom creaked open, you walked in alongside your friend Leeseo. The room, illuminated by large arched windows that allowed beams of sunlight to dance across the stone floor, was already buzzing with the chatter of students.

Leeseo nudged you gently, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I heard today’s lesson is going to be something really challenging,” she whispered, her excitement barely contained. You nodded, sharing her eagerness. Transfiguration was one of the most fascinating subjects at Hogwarts, and Professor McGonagall’s classes were always a blend of rigorous discipline and awe-inspiring magic.

As you took your seats, you glanced toward the front of the classroom. There, standing tall and composed by the blackboard, was Professor McGonagall. Her stern yet kind eyes surveyed the room, ensuring everyone was settled. With her wand in hand, she exuded an air of authority and wisdom, her emerald robes flowing gracefully around her.

The murmurs gradually subsided as McGonagall stepped forward, her presence commanding your attention. “Good morning, class,” she began, her voice clear and steady. “Today, we will be advancing to human transfiguration, a complex and delicate branch of magic that requires utmost precision and concentration.”

The mention of human transfiguration sent a ripple of excitement and nervousness through the room. You exchanged a quick, thrilled glance with Leeseo. This was the kind of magic that defined wizardry, the intricate spells that transformed the very essence of matter.

Professor McGonagall flicked her wand, and the blackboard behind her filled with neat, precise instructions and diagrams. “Now, before we begin, I must remind you of the importance of practice and control. Improper transfiguration can have… unintended consequences.” Her eyes swept the room, emphasizing the seriousness of her words.

With a final nod of understanding, you prepared your wand and opened your textbook to the designated chapter.

After Transfiguration, your day continued with a series of classes, each filled with the usual hustle and bustle of student life at Hogwarts. Charms was lively as always, with Professor Flitwick’s enthusiastic instruction keeping everyone engaged. Herbology followed, where you worked in the greenhouse, learning about magical plants and their properties.

As the day wore on, you eventually made your way to the dungeon for Potions class. The air grew cooler and the corridors darker as you descended, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. You and Leeseo entered the dimly lit classroom, settling into your usual seats near the middle. Around you, your classmates were chatting in low tones, the anticipation palpable.

The door swung open with a dramatic flair, and Professor Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him. The room fell silent instantly, every student turning their attention to the formidable Potions Master. Snape’s presence commanded a certain respect—or perhaps fear—that was undeniable.

“Today,” Snape began, his voice a silky drawl that carried a hint of menace, “you will brew a Veritaserum.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the class. “A truth potion, which when correctly brewed, will compel the drinker to reveal their innermost secrets.”

He moved to the front of the classroom, where a cauldron was already simmering. With precise, deliberate movements, he began demonstrating the brewing process, adding ingredients with a practiced ease. His every action was fluid, almost mesmerizing, and you found yourself taking meticulous notes, your eyes darting between the instructions in the textbook and Snape’s methodical demonstration.

“Take care to follow the instructions exactly,” Snape intoned, his dark eyes sweeping the room. “Any deviation could render the potion useless… or worse.”

He finished his demonstration and stepped back, crossing his arms. “I have set up each of you with a partner, so I expect you all to work together,” he announced. The room buzzed with curiosity as you waited for your name to be called.

One by one, Snape called out the pairings. Leeseo was partnered with a Gryffindor student, and soon your name came up. “You will be working with Nishimura Ni-ki,” Snape declared.

You glanced over at Ni-ki, a Slytherin student known for his cunning nature and sharp intellect. Your eyes met briefly before he stood up and walked toward you, his expression neutral. He took the seat beside you, and for a moment, you simply looked at each other, assessing.

“Shall I cut and you brew?” Ni-ki asked, his voice calm and steady.

You nodded in agreement. “That sounds good.”

With a silent understanding, you both began your task. Ni-ki’s hands moved deftly, slicing ingredients with precision and efficiency, while you focused on the careful process of brewing, ensuring each step was followed meticulously. Though you didn’t converse much, there was an unspoken coordination between you, a shared goal that drove your efforts.

The potion started to take shape, its color gradually shifting as you added each ingredient in turn. Ni-ki’s sharp observations and quick corrections were invaluable, and you found yourself appreciating his expertise despite your limited interactions.

As the final stages approached, the potion glowed a soft, silvery hue, indicating you were on the right track. Snape prowled the classroom, occasionally stopping to observe or comment on various pairs’ progress. When he reached your desk, he paused, scrutinizing your work with his usual critical eye.

“Acceptable,” he murmured, giving a slight nod before moving on. It was high praise coming from Snape, and you felt a sense of accomplishment.

After you and Ni-ki finished brewing the Veritaserum, you let out a quiet sigh of relief and settled back into your seat. The potion simmered gently, its translucent glow a sign of your successful collaboration. With the class winding down, you pulled out your notebook and began doodling absentmindedly, your mind drifting.

Ni-ki, meanwhile, was meticulously sorting out the remaining ingredients. You stole a quick glance at him, curiosity getting the better of you. His recently dyed light hair hung in front of his eyes, accentuating his piercing stare. Despite his cold demeanor, there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze that seemed to see right through people. His robes fit him perfectly, the black fabric contrasting sharply with his pale complexion. The Slytherin badge, neatly stitched into his robes, was complemented by the prefect badge pinned just beside it, a testament to his standing and discipline.

You had to admit, even if only to yourself, that Ni-ki looked good. There was something striking about him, an aura that was hard to ignore. But you would never voice this thought out loud. You admired him quietly, keeping your appreciation to yourself. Despite his coldness, he wasn’t like some of his fellow Slytherins who resorted to bullying and teasing. No, his crime was different—he was aloof, detached, and seemingly emotionless. He was an enigma, always keeping to himself and his close-knit group of peers.

As you doodled, you found your thoughts wandering. What was Ni-ki hiding behind that expressionless face? What would it be like to see him smile, to see his features soften with joy? Did he ever feel sadness, and if so, did he let himself cry? These questions swirled in your mind, each one deepening the mystery that was Ni-ki.

Before you could ponder further, the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor signaled the end of class. Snape’s curt dismissal barely registered as you blinked, realizing how lost in thought you had become. You looked up to find that Ni-ki had already stood up and left, leaving behind a spotless workstation. The ingredients were neatly put away, the table wiped clean. In your daydreaming, you hadn’t even noticed him tidying up.

As you left the Potions classroom, the dark and cool dungeons faded behind you, but your thoughts lingered on Ni-ki. You shook your head, trying to clear the lingering questions that kept popping up about him. It wasn’t like you cared—he was distant and cold. But the fact that he cleaned up without saying a word or asking for acknowledgment—it was almost… considerate. Strange for someone like him.

You walked down the stone corridor, heading toward the next class with Leeseo catching up to you. “How was it working with Ni-ki?” she asked, her voice light and curious.

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. “He’s efficient. Doesn’t talk much.”

Leeseo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Efficient? That’s not the word I expected you to use.” She grinned playfully, nudging you. “You didn’t bicker, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “We didn’t even speak much, to be honest. He just… does his part and leaves. Not much else to say.”

“Classic Ni-ki,” she mused, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “Still, it’s kind of impressive that you got to work with him. He’s got a reputation, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” You kept your voice light, trying not to dwell on the fact that you had spent the better part of Potions class analyzing the guy instead of just brewing the potion. “It’s just one class though. Nothing special.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but wonder why he kept himself so closed off. There was a quiet confidence about him, yes, but also a wall that he didn’t seem to let anyone through. It made him mysterious, sure, but also frustrating. What was he hiding? Or was it just his nature, plain and simple?

Leeseo and you reached the courtyard, the cool autumn air refreshing after the confined dungeon. You tilted your head up, letting the breeze rustle through your hair, trying to shake off the distraction that Ni-ki had become in your thoughts.

“Well, he’s not bad-looking,” Leeseo added with a grin, catching you completely off guard.

You nearly choked on air, throwing her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

She laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, you can’t deny it. He’s got that whole mysterious, brooding Slytherin thing going on. You’d be blind not to notice.”

You groaned, tugging your scarf tighter around your neck as you continued walking. “I don’t need any more distractions, thanks. We have enough on our plate with the upcoming exams and essays.” You tried to steer the conversation away, not wanting to admit that, yes, Ni-ki was ridiculously good-looking. Admiring him from afar was one thing, but beyond that? Absolutely not.

Leeseo just smiled knowingly, but thankfully, she let the topic drop as you made your way to the next class. Still, as the day went on, Ni-ki’s expressionless face, his precise movements, and the way his hair fell over his eyes refused to leave the corners of your mind.

You sighed to yourself. This was going to be harder to ignore than you thought.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It all really started one afternoon at the library when you were tucked away at your usual table near the back, surrounded by textbooks and parchment. You were completely immersed in your reading when you noticed a shadow fall across the table.

Looking up, you saw him—Nishimura Ni-ki.

Without a word, he pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down. No greeting, no explanation, just the soft sound of him placing his books on the table. He didn’t meet your eyes, didn’t acknowledge your surprised expression. Instead, he opened his own textbook and began reading, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to sit there.

You blinked, taken aback. For a moment, you considered asking him what he was doing. After all, it wasn’t as if the library was short on tables, and Ni-ki wasn’t exactly known for being social with anyone outside of his Slytherin circle. But instead, you tried to focus on your work, convincing yourself that he’d leave soon enough.

But he didn’t.

He stayed, flipping through pages, scribbling notes in his neat, precise handwriting. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you—just sat there, quietly doing his own work. You couldn’t help but steal a few glances at him, confused by his presence. Why was he here, sitting with you, of all people?

After what felt like an eternity, you couldn’t hold back any longer. "What are you doing?" you asked, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing Madam Pince’s ire.

He didn’t look up from his book. "Studying," he replied, his tone clipped and direct.

You raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. But why here?"

For the first time, he looked up, meeting your eyes with that same unreadable expression he always wore. "Is there a problem?" he asked calmly, his voice steady.

You hesitated. He wasn’t being rude, exactly, but the way he spoke made it clear he didn’t think he needed to explain himself. You shook your head, deciding it wasn’t worth pushing further. "No," you muttered, turning back to your own notes.

And so the pattern began.

Each time you came to the library, Ni-ki would show up not long after. Sometimes he arrived before you, already seated at the same table, as if claiming it before you could. Other times, he’d stroll in after you’d settled down, take his seat across from you, and dive into his work. He never spoke unless you asked him a direct question, and even then, his answers were always short, almost dismissive. It wasn’t that he was unkind—just distant, like there was no need for conversation.

"Why do you keep sitting here?" you asked one day, after he’d settled into the chair across from you for what felt like the hundredth time.

He didn’t even look up. "It’s quiet," he answered simply, continuing to write in his notebook.

You frowned, not satisfied with the answer. "There are other tables. You could sit anywhere else."

"True." He glanced up briefly, his eyes meeting yours before flicking back to his book. "But I’m sitting here."

That was all he said. No further explanation, no invitation for more questions. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement that left you feeling more confused than before.

It wasn’t like he was helping you with your work, either. He didn’t offer advice, didn’t join in on any discussions about the material you were studying. He was just… there. A quiet presence that made you hyper-aware of his every movement, even though he barely acknowledged you. It was unnerving at first, but over time, you began to expect it—Ni-ki would be there, silently doing his own thing while you tried to focus on yours.

There were moments when you found yourself glancing at him more than you should have. His hair, still that light shade, would occasionally fall in front of his eyes, and he’d push it back with a practiced motion. His fingers moved with such precision as he wrote, and his posture was always so composed, like he never let himself relax fully.

And yet, despite the quiet, there was something oddly comforting about his presence. It was strange to admit, but in the silence of the library, having him across from you became… familiar. Predictable, even.

Still, the lack of interaction left you with more questions than answers. Why sit with you every time if he had no intention of talking? What was he gaining from it? Was it simply convenience, or was there something else going on that you couldn’t see?

One afternoon, after another long stretch of silent studying, you finally broke the quiet. "You don’t have to sit here, you know."

He paused, his quill hovering over the parchment. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, he seemed to consider your words. "I know," he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "But I am."

And with that, he went back to his work, leaving you with nothing but the steady scratch of his quill and the growing confusion swirling in your mind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the weeks passed, Ni-ki’s quiet presence at your table in the library became something you began to anticipate. It was no longer surprising when he pulled out the chair across from you, settling in without a word. At first, it had unnerved you—the silent way he occupied the space, his sharp focus on his own work, and the fact that, outside these moments, he didn’t acknowledge you at all. But now, somehow, you didn’t mind it.

In fact, you found yourself looking forward to it. His quiet company had a strange, calming effect, as if the library wasn’t truly complete without him sitting across from you. You had started to expect him there, so much so that on the rare occasions when he wasn’t, you couldn’t help but feel a little off-kilter, like something was missing from the day.

It wasn’t that the two of you had grown closer, at least not in the usual sense. He never spoke unless you asked him a direct question, and even then, his answers were brief and to the point. He offered no opinions, no conversation starters—just an occasional glance in your direction, sometimes a quiet nod. And yet, you had grown accustomed to the silence between you, a silence that felt oddly comfortable.

But the strange thing was, beyond these quiet library sessions, it was as if Ni-ki didn’t know you at all.

In classes, he barely looked your way. If he did speak to you, it was only because the lesson demanded it—when he was your partner for a potion, or during group work in Transfiguration. His responses were always curt, efficient, like he was checking off a box before returning to his own tasks. You would pass each other in the corridors, or see him in the Great Hall, always surrounded by his Slytherin friends, and it was like you didn’t exist. Not a glance, not a nod, nothing to suggest he even knew you.

It puzzled you to no end. You weren’t sure if it bothered you or just left you more curious. Why go out of his way to sit with you in the library if he had no interest in interacting with you elsewhere? It wasn’t like he needed help with his studies—Ni-ki was brilliant in his own right. And it wasn’t like you were friends, either. In fact, you had hardly spoken more than a handful of sentences to each other since you first started sharing a table.

You found yourself wondering more and more why he bothered. Why, out of all the places in Hogwarts, did he always choose the spot across from you? Why did he sit with you, week after week, without saying much of anything, only to act as if you didn’t exist the moment you left the library?

But you didn’t dare ask him. For one thing, Ni-ki was rarely alone. He was almost always surrounded by his Slytherin friends—usually fellow prefects or others from his house, most of whom carried an air of superiority that reminded you why you kept your distance from most of them. There was never a convenient moment to pull him aside, and even if there were, you couldn’t imagine what you’d say.

And then there was the other part of you, the part that didn’t exactly want to know the answer. What if it was something you didn’t want to hear? What if the reason was as simple as convenience, or worse—what if there was no reason at all? What if, to him, you were just a tablemate, nothing more?

You’d often catch yourself glancing over at him during Potions or in the Great Hall, trying to make sense of him. His friends would be laughing or talking among themselves, and there Ni-ki would be, sitting quietly, his expression unreadable, completely detached from whatever conversation was happening around him. You wondered if he was the same with them—distant, aloof, only speaking when necessary.

Sometimes you’d catch his eye, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something—maybe recognition, maybe nothing at all. But then, he’d look away, and the moment would pass as quickly as it came.

It became a kind of ritual—this quiet routine in the library, these fleeting moments of wondering. You couldn’t deny the growing curiosity, though. Why did he choose you, out of everyone he could have sat with? And why did it seem like he was perfectly fine with just… existing alongside you, never crossing the invisible line that separated the two of you?

You wished you had the courage to ask him. But each time you considered it, you reminded yourself of who he was—Nishimura Ni-ki, Slytherin prefect, sharp-tongued and unreadable. He wasn’t someone you could just ask a simple, casual question and expect an answer that wouldn’t make you regret it.

And besides, maybe it was better this way—better to leave the mystery unsolved than to shatter the quiet routine you had somehow built with him.

Even your friends began to notice. Leeseo had raised her eyebrows the first time she saw Ni-ki sitting with you in the library, but she hadn’t said anything beyond the occasional teasing. “Your silent study buddy’s here again,” she’d say with a wink when she caught him at the table. “You two make quite the pair.”

You always brushed it off, rolling your eyes at her remarks. But deep down, a part of you wondered if she saw something you were missing. Was there more to Ni-ki’s presence than what you had convinced yourself to believe?

It was during one of those quiet afternoons, with parchment spread across the table and the soft scratch of your quill filling the silence, that you found yourself thinking about it more than usual. Why, out of all the students at Hogwarts, did he choose to sit with you? Surely, he had plenty of friends or places he could have gone. And more importantly, why did he never talk to you outside of the library?

Your eyes flicked up to Ni-ki, who was seated across from you as usual, engrossed in a large, ancient-looking tome. His light hair fell over his forehead, slightly tousled from the breeze outside. He looked calm, composed, and completely at ease, as if this had been his routine for years.

A question hovered on the tip of your tongue, one you had been pushing aside for weeks now. But before you could find the courage to ask, Ni-ki suddenly closed his book with a soft thud. You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and he stood up, gathering his things with that same quiet precision.

He looked at you, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. For a second, you thought he might say something, but instead, he gave a slight nod—his usual, silent goodbye. Without a word, he turned and left the library, his footsteps soft against the stone floor.

You watched him go, feeling that familiar, quiet emptiness settle in his absence.

What you didn’t know was that, in Ni-ki’s mind, a storm was brewing. A quiet turmoil, hidden beneath his calm exterior, had begun to take shape, and it was all because of you. He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain focus, to keep his thoughts clear and his goals straightforward. But lately, you had become an unexpected variable in his otherwise predictable life.

At first, he had taken little notice of you. You were just another student, one among many who populated Hogwarts. But then, slowly but surely, that indifference had shifted to something else—curiosity. He began to notice the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you studied, the way your lips would curve into a small smile when you finally grasped a particularly tricky concept. There was something intriguing about your determination, something that pulled at the edges of his awareness.

As he continued to share those quiet moments in the library with you, he found himself observing you more intently. He noticed the small things: how you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, how your expressions shifted subtly as you worked through problems. You were a puzzle he hadn’t expected to encounter, and with each encounter, the mystery deepened.

But it didn’t stop there. What began as a mild curiosity morphed into confusion. Ni-ki couldn’t quite articulate it, but there was something compelling about you—something that made you linger in his thoughts long after he had left the library. Why did your laughter echo in his mind? Why did he find himself glancing in your direction during meals, seeking you out in the crowded Great Hall, even when he was surrounded by his friends?

It was disconcerting, to say the least. He was known for his stoic demeanor, for being the type of person who kept his emotions in check. Yet, here he was, caught in an unyielding tide of thoughts about someone he had initially dismissed. It was frustrating, and a little alarming. He was supposed to be focused on his studies, on his role as a prefect, on maintaining the reputation he had carefully crafted. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that there was something deeper to explore with you?

Every time you caught his gaze across the Great Hall or shared a fleeting moment in the library, the storm would build inside him—curiosity colliding with confusion, a need to understand you battling against the fear of opening up. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if this was all one-sided, and he was just a distant presence in your life? The idea sent a jolt of uncertainty through him.

Ni-ki’s friends began to notice his distraction. They would tease him about how often he seemed to lose focus, how he would sometimes pause mid-conversation, his eyes drifting off to the side as if searching for something—or someone. But he brushed their remarks aside, masking his inner conflict with indifference.

He found himself wrestling with a mounting desire to approach you, to understand the enigma you represented. But every time he would gather the courage to break that silence, to say something more than the necessary exchanges during class, he hesitated. The distance between you felt both comforting and suffocating.

It was a confusing dichotomy, and Ni-ki was left to navigate his own feelings in silence, unsure of where this newfound intrigue would lead him. All he knew was that every time he sat in front of you in the library, the storm inside him would shift—pushing him closer to the edge of wanting to reach out, even as fear held him back.

He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know why he kept coming back, why he couldn’t stay away, even though he knew that sitting there, in silence, only made things more complicated.

But he couldn’t stop. And he didn’t want to. He just needed to figure out how.

--------------------------------------------------------------

It started gradually, almost imperceptibly. The silence between you and Ni-ki began to shift, not in any overt way but in small moments that made it feel… less heavy. The library sessions continued as they always had, with Ni-ki sitting across from you, his head bent over his books, while you quietly worked on your own assignments. But there were times now when you found yourself speaking.

It started off with casual remarks. Maybe it was the stress of exams or the overwhelming workload that had you venting aloud, but Ni-ki never seemed bothered by it. He didn’t offer much in return—just a short nod or a quiet hum of acknowledgment—but he listened.

One evening, after a particularly difficult day, you couldn’t hold back anymore. "I just don’t get it," you muttered, staring at your Transfiguration textbook in frustration. "No matter how much I study, I can’t seem to get this right. And McGonagall keeps assigning more complex material like it’s nothing."

Ni-ki looked up, his eyes flicking to the page you were stuck on before settling back on your frustrated expression. He didn’t say anything, just kept watching you with that same quiet intensity you had grown used to.

"And," you continued, feeling a strange comfort in speaking your thoughts aloud to him, "there’s this Slytherin who won’t stop picking on me. Every time I pass by them, it’s like they have to make some snide comment or knock my bag off my shoulder. It’s ridiculous." You sighed, shaking your head. "But I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes."

Ni-ki’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. You didn’t expect a response; you were just letting off steam. Somehow, Ni-ki’s silent presence always made it easier to say the things that were weighing on you. You could talk to him without fear of judgment or interruption. He just listened, and that was enough.

The next day, something changed. The Slytherin student who had made it their mission to irritate you suddenly stopped. They no longer sneered at you in the halls, no longer made rude remarks or tried to provoke you. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid you altogether. You didn’t understand why, but you weren’t about to complain.

And then, there was the folder. It appeared during one of your classes, a neatly organized folder filled with notes on every subject you had been struggling with. The handwriting was unmistakable—precise, clean, and undeniably Ni-ki’s. The notes were thorough, covering all the topics you had mentioned having trouble with. It was as if he had gone out of his way to compile everything you needed to help you catch up.

You didn’t know how to react at first. Gratitude and surprise warred within you as you thumbed through the pages, recognizing the meticulous effort that had gone into writing them. Ni-ki hadn’t said a word about it, hadn’t even hinted that he was going to help you like this. He had just quietly, and without fanfare, made sure you had everything you needed.

The next time you saw him in the library, you didn’t hesitate to thank him.

"Ni-ki," you began softly, looking up from your books to meet his gaze. His head lifted slightly, acknowledging that he was listening. "Thank you—for the notes." Your voice was sincere, full of the appreciation you felt. "I really didn’t expect it, but it helped a lot."

He didn’t say anything in return. He just nodded once, his face remaining as impassive as ever, as if this grand gesture was nothing out of the ordinary. For Ni-ki, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that was just how he operated—helping silently, without drawing attention to it, without expecting anything in return.

But for you, it meant something. A lot, actually. It was a reminder that beneath Ni-ki’s cold exterior, there was more to him than he let on. His actions spoke louder than any words could, and though he kept his distance in almost every other part of your life, in these quiet moments, he was closer than anyone.

And so, you didn’t ask what had happened with the Slytherin who had suddenly stopped bothering you. You didn’t ask why Ni-ki had gone through the trouble of writing those notes for you or why he had stayed by your side all this time in the library. Because somehow, you knew. This was just Ni-ki’s way—silent, unspoken care hidden behind his cool exterior.

And that was enough for now.

One evening, during one of your usual study sessions in the library, you were stuck. The upcoming exam loomed over you, and no matter how many times you read the same question, the answer refused to reveal itself. You sat there in silence, frustration building as you stared blankly at the page in front of you.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of parchment and soft footsteps in the distance. Ni-ki sat across from you, as usual, his head bent over his own work. The silence between you two was comfortable by now, and you didn’t expect it to be broken anytime soon. You sighed, trying to push through the mental block that had settled over you.

Then, you heard movement—a soft rustling. Glancing up, you saw Ni-ki standing. For a moment, you thought he was leaving, and disappointment bloomed unexpectedly in your chest. You looked back down, resigned to continuing your struggle alone, but then something surprising happened.

You felt the faint shift of air and the quiet creak of the wooden bench, startled, you turned your head and found him sitting right next to you. His presence was closer than it had ever been during these sessions, and it made your heart race for reasons you didn’t entirely understand.

"Where are you stuck?" Ni-ki asked, his voice soft but clear. There was no trace of his usual distance, just a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

Blinking, still mildly in shock from the sudden change in his behavior, you pointed at the question that had been giving you trouble. You half-expected him to glance at it, make some passing comment, and return to his seat. But instead, Ni-ki leaned in slightly, examining the material with a focused expression.

He began speaking, his voice calm and smooth as he explained the concept in clear, concise terms. There was a quiet assurance in the way he spoke, his words precise and easy to follow. He wasn’t just repeating the textbook either—he was breaking it down in a way that made it understandable, relatable even. You listened closely, hanging onto each word, and slowly, like fog lifting from your mind, the confusion began to clear.

With each sentence Ni-ki uttered, the material started to make sense. What had seemed impossible moments before was now manageable, the concepts clicking together as he guided you through the steps. His voice had a soothing quality to it, calm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to sit with you and explain.

You found yourself glancing at him occasionally, taking in the way his eyes stayed fixed on the book, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he worked through the material with you. There was something unexpectedly gentle about the way he spoke, something that contrasted with the cold, distant persona he usually kept up. And in this moment, sitting side by side in the dim light of the library, it was hard to remember why you had ever thought of him as distant at all.

When he finished explaining, you stared at the page for a moment, absorbing the new understanding. It felt like a weight had lifted, and for the first time in hours, you felt a surge of confidence that maybe—just maybe—you could actually manage this exam.

"Does that make sense now?" Ni-ki asked, his voice still soft.

You nodded, almost dazed. "Yeah… it does. Thanks."

He didn’t say anything in response, just gave a small, barely noticeable nod before settling back into his seat, returning to his own work as if nothing unusual had happened.

But something had shifted between you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but the air felt different now—less like the quiet companionship you had grown used to and more like… something else. Something unspoken.

You sat there for a few moments longer, still processing both the study material and the fact that Ni-ki had just sat next to you, helped you. He hadn’t done it begrudgingly either; he had simply done it because you needed help. And his presence, his voice, had made all the difference.

As you returned to your notes, you couldn’t help but glance at him again, wondering what other sides of Ni-ki lay hidden beneath the surface.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

One evening, after hours of studying and flipping through books, you found yourself exhausted. Your eyes were burning from reading the same passage over and over, and you sighed loudly, resting your head on the table. Ni-ki glanced up from his work, giving you a quizzical look.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, almost concerned.

You nodded, not lifting your head. “Yeah. Between Potions, Transfiguration, and Herbology, I feel like my brain is going to melt.”

There was a pause before you heard him shifting in his seat. “Potions is your weakest subject, right?”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. It wasn’t like Ni-ki to make small talk, and the fact that he remembered your struggles in Potions caught you off guard.

“Yeah,” you admitted, sitting up straighter. “It just doesn’t click for me like other subjects do.”

Ni-ki seemed to consider this for a moment before responding, “I used to be terrible at Potions too. In second year, I once brewed a Sleeping Draught that knocked out half the class. Snape wasn’t pleased.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a laugh escaping you. “No way! You, bad at Potions? I can’t believe it.”

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

Another time, while working on your Charms essay, you noticed Ni-ki was unusually quiet—even for him. He wasn’t reading or writing, just sitting there, staring at his open textbook with an intense focus that seemed off.

You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay? You seem… distracted.”

He didn’t look up at first, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the table. “I’m fine,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You waited, sensing that he wasn’t fine at all. After a long moment of silence, Ni-ki finally spoke again, quieter this time. “I’m… just thinking about some things. It’s nothing important.”

You could tell that was a lie. He was always so composed, so in control of his emotions, that seeing him unsettled was strange. But you didn’t push him. Instead, you offered something simple.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his expression softening just a little. He didn’t say anything, but the small nod he gave you felt like a thank you.

Another late night, the library was almost empty, save for you and Ni-ki at your usual spot. You had been studying for hours, and exhaustion was starting to settle in. You stretched, groaning as you reached for your quill.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered. “My brain is fried.”

Ni-ki glanced up from his book, closing it with a quiet snap. “Take a break.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the suggestion. “You? Telling me to take a break? What’s gotten into you?”

“Even I take breaks sometimes.”

Skeptical, you raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve never seen it.”

Instead of responding, Ni-ki stood up and stretched, motioning for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s walk around for a few minutes.”

Confused but curious, you followed him out of the library and into the cool night air. The two of you walked in silence for a while, the soft breeze helping to clear your mind. After a few minutes, Ni-ki broke the silence.

“You push yourself too hard sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the observation. “You’re one to talk.”

He shrugged “Maybe. But I know when to stop.”

But perhaps the most unexpected moment came one late afternoon, as you both sat in the library, quietly working on your respective assignments. You were in a lighter mood that day, having finally finished an essay that had been plaguing you for weeks. Feeling more relaxed, you absentmindedly began talking about the ridiculous antics of a few fellow students during Herbology, mimicking the professor's reactions with exaggerated gestures and voices.

Ni-ki, as usual, didn’t say much, just listened with his usual calm expression. But then, something shifted. When you imitated Professor Sprout tripping over a Mandrake root, you caught it—the faintest twitch of his lips. At first, you thought you had imagined it, but then it happened again. His lips curved up into a small smile, and for a brief moment, Ni-ki’s usually composed face broke into something entirely different.

You froze mid-sentence, staring at him in shock. Ni-ki—quiet, serious, and often unreadable—was smiling. Not just a polite smile, but a genuine one, and you could see a glint of amusement in his dark eyes.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed your stunned expression.

“I… I didn’t know you could smile,” you blurted out, completely forgetting your earlier train of thought.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and then, to your utter disbelief, a soft chuckle escaped him. It was quiet and brief, but it was there—a real laugh. And suddenly, the cold, distant image you had of him cracked just a little more, revealing something warmer, something softer beneath the surface.

He quickly composed himself, the smile fading but not disappearing entirely. “I’m not a statue,” he said dryly, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that you had never seen before.

“I mean, I guess I just assumed…” you trailed off, still processing the fact that you had just witnessed Ni-ki laugh.

And then, with a small smile still playing at the corners of his lips, Ni-ki returned to his work, leaving you to sit there.

But one of the most memorable moments between you happened during a study session where, for once, things were going smoothly. You were both focused on your work when a random thought popped into your head, and without thinking, you said it aloud.

“Do you think Professor McGonagall’s animagus form ever accidentally knocks things off tables like a real cat?”

Ni-ki looked up at you, clearly confused. “What?”

You laughed, suddenly realizing how ridiculous the thought sounded. “I mean, she’s a cat, right? What if she just can’t help herself and bats things off desks?”

For a moment, Ni-ki just stared at you, and you thought he was going to tell you off for not focusing. But then, to your utter shock, he started laughing—a real, genuine laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it was pure, and the sound of it made your heart skip a beat.

“Why would you even think of that?” he asked, still chuckling.

You shrugged, grinning. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

Ni-ki shook his head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

But there was no malice in his words, only a warmth that hadn’t been there before. And in that moment, you realized just how much closer the two of you had become. And seeing him laugh—really laugh—was something you wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

----------------------------------------

It was a quiet afternoon when it happened. You had just finished another study session in the library with Ni-ki. He had helped you with a particularly difficult problem, and though he was his usual quiet self, you had left feeling a sense of warmth—like things between you were truly starting to shift. Maybe Ni-ki didn’t always show it in public, but you were sure he valued your time together, even if it was mostly in the library.

However, as you made your way through the corridors, feeling content from the productive session, a group of girls—Ni-ki’s admirers, if you were honest—blocked your path. Their expressions weren’t friendly, and you could tell right away that something was off.

Before you could say anything, they pushed you into an empty classroom, closing the door behind you. The leader of the group, a girl you recognized as one of Ni-ki’s more obsessive followers, crossed her arms, sneering.

“So,” she began, voice dripping with disdain, “you think you're special, huh? Just because you spend time with Ni-ki in the library?”

You froze, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what to say, so you just stared at them, trying to keep calm.

“Do you actually believe he cares about you?” another one chimed in. “He’s just too polite to tell you to leave him alone.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but the leader cut you off. “Oh, please. He pities you. You should hear the things people say. They’re always wondering why he wastes his time on someone like you.”

Her words hit hard, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “That’s not true. He helps me because he—”

“Because he what?” she interrupted with a cruel laugh. “Because he likes you? Don’t be stupid. He only tolerates you. He never talks to you outside the library, does he?”

That made you pause. It was true—Ni-ki never approached you in the halls, never spoke to you outside of your library sessions. He barely acknowledged you in class unless it was absolutely necessary. Even when you saw him with his friends, he acted as if you didn’t exist.

They could see the doubt in your eyes, and the girl smirked, sensing victory. “See? You know it’s true. If he really liked you, why would he act like you don’t exist when you’re not sitting across from him in the library?”

You stayed silent, unable to find an answer. The doubts they were planting in your mind started to grow roots, wrapping around your thoughts and pulling you into a spiral of overthinking.

“He probably thinks you’re a burden,” one of the girls said with a mocking laugh. “I mean, why else would he avoid you in front of his friends? He doesn’t want them to see him hanging out with someone like you.”

The words stung, each one cutting deeper than the last. You tried to fight back, tried to tell yourself that Ni-ki’s quiet nature didn’t mean he didn’t care, but their accusations fed into your worst fears. What if you really were just a burden to him? What if he did pity you, and that’s why he never spoke to you outside of your study sessions?

You kept quiet, and they could see they had hit their mark.

“Face it,” the leader said, stepping closer with a satisfied smirk. “Ni-ki feels sorry for you. You’re nothing to him.”

You bit your lip, holding back the sting of tears. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but the words had already wormed their way into your head. Why did he only talk to you in the library? Why didn’t he ever approach you outside of that space? You thought you had gotten closer to him, but maybe you had been wrong all along.

They left you there in the empty classroom, their mocking laughter echoing in the halls as they disappeared. You stood frozen in place, your thoughts swirling with doubt and confusion, questioning everything you thought you knew about Ni-ki and your growing connection with him.

That one question kept repeating in your mind: Why didn’t he talk to you outside of the library?

After that confrontation in the empty classroom, you couldn’t shake the words that had been thrown at you. The girls' taunts, the doubts they had planted in your mind—they echoed endlessly, gnawing at your thoughts and twisting everything you thought you knew about your relationship with Ni-ki. Every time you walked through the halls, you felt a strange weight on your chest.

You began to pull away, slowly at first. It started with cutting your library sessions shorter. Where once you might have lingered for hours, speaking to Ni-ki about anything and everything, now you found yourself packing up your things earlier, offering hurried excuses about homework or other commitments. Ni-ki would glance at you but never say much, and his silence only added to your doubts. It was almost like he didn’t notice your growing distance, or maybe, you thought bitterly, he didn’t care enough to ask.

The distance grew wider as the days passed. You started skipping your library sessions altogether, avoiding the places you knew Ni-ki would be. The once-familiar space where the two of you had shared quiet moments now felt like a weight, a place filled with uncertainty and confusion. You didn’t know what to make of your feelings, or of Ni-ki’s. Were you really just a burden to him? Did he pity you, as they had said?

It hurt too much to face him, so you stopped trying.

In the hallways, you could feel his gaze on you. Even if you weren’t looking, you knew when Ni-ki was nearby. It was as if some invisible thread still tied the two of you together, but now it felt frayed and fragile, a connection you didn’t know how to mend. You passed by him in the corridors, your head down, avoiding his eyes at all costs. In the Great Hall, you chose seats far away from where he and his Slytherin friends sat. But somehow, it didn’t matter. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, his gaze following your every move, and each time, it sent a wave of guilt crashing over you.

You never looked back at him, though. You couldn’t.

You skipped classes you shared with him. It started with one or two missed lectures, but eventually, it became a pattern. Without him, you struggled, barely scraping by with borrowed notes from friends. They weren’t as clear or detailed as Ni-ki’s notes, but they would have to do. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for help again.

Despite all your attempts to avoid him, Ni-ki’s presence lingered everywhere. You didn’t know if it was your mind playing tricks on you, or if he really was watching you more closely now. Whatever it was, you felt more conflicted than ever. You wondered if he noticed your absence, if he cared, but then that gnawing insecurity crept back in, reminding you of what those girls had said. He’s just too polite to tell you to leave him alone.

The more you thought about it, the more you withdrew. Doubts clouded every memory of your time with Ni-ki, twisting your perception of everything he’d done for you—the notes, the help with your studies, the quiet moments you’d shared. What if it had all been one-sided? What if you had been nothing more than a project, a pity case?

And so, you kept your distance, avoiding the boy whose piercing gaze you could no longer bear to meet, and wondering if maybe, in the end, they had been right all along.

-----------------------------------------

You had been so lost in your thoughts, your mind circling around the same questions, the same doubts, that you didn’t even realize where your feet were taking you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you noticed the dim, cold lighting of the dungeons, the walls lined with stone, and the distant murmur of voices. You froze, recognizing how close you were to the Slytherin dorms.

Instinctively, you were about to turn and head back the way you came when the sound of laughter caught your attention. It was light, warm, and carefree—a sound that felt almost foreign in this part of the castle. Curious, despite yourself, you peeked around the corner.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Standing there, casually leaning against the wall, was Ni-ki. His head was tilted slightly back, his face scrunched up in genuine amusement, his white teeth flashing in a wide grin. He was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his normally stoic expression completely replaced by something so light and happy that it shocked you. You had never seen him like this before. His laugh, his smile. It made him seem younger, softer, almost…adorable. For a moment, you were completely transfixed, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

But then, your eyes flickered to the people surrounding him. His friends—other Slytherins you recognized—were standing nearby, laughing along with him. Among them, you spotted a few of the girls who had cornered you in the empty classroom, their cruel words still echoing in your mind. The sight of them, standing so close to Ni-ki, chatting and laughing as if everything was normal, sent a jolt of discomfort through you.

And then, before you could react, one of Ni-ki’s friends noticed you. His expression shifted slightly as he leaned in to whisper something in Ni-ki’s ear.

Ni-ki turned.

Your heart dropped.

His gaze locked onto yours from across the hallway, his laughter fading instantly. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a gasp escaping your lips as you quickly turned on your heel and speed-walked down the hallway, trying to put as much distance between yourself and that scene as possible.

Your heart was pounding, your thoughts racing. He was laughing with them. With those girls… The image of his bright smile, so carefree, so natural, was seared into your mind, but it was tainted now by the memory of the people surrounding him—the people who had made you doubt everything.

Had he heard what they said? Did he know?

You didn’t wait to find out. All you knew was that you needed to get as far away from the dungeons, and from Ni-ki, as quickly as possible.

You didn’t exactly know how you ended up in the library, but here you were, tucked away in a quiet, hidden corner that no one ever really bothered with. It was your place, somewhere you used to come to study, or more recently, to avoid. The shelves towered above you, enclosing you in their safe, comforting silence, but it did little to ease the heavy weight in your chest.

Wiping away the stray tears that had already started to fall, you slid down to the floor, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your bag dropped beside you with a soft thud, the books spilling out carelessly, but you didn’t bother to pick them up. It felt like too much effort, like you couldn’t muster the energy to do anything but curl in on yourself.

Tears fell freely now, and you buried your face in your arms, trying to muffle the soft sobs that escaped. Everything had just… built up. The confusion, the distance, the hurt from what Ni-ki’s admirers had said, and now seeing him so happy without you. You had tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, that he was just a library acquaintance, but the truth was that it did matter. More than you wanted to admit.

The quiet of the library felt like it was pressing down on you, suffocating in its stillness, yet at the same time, it was the only place where you could let go like this. Where no one would see you, no one would ask questions, and no one would tell you that you were being silly for feeling this way.

You cried softly, the hurt you’d been bottling up for so long finally breaking free. The words of those girls echoed in your mind, their sneering voices telling you that Ni-ki pitied you, that he didn’t care, that you were nothing to him. The worst part was that you had started to believe it.

The image of Ni-ki laughing with his friends flashed before your eyes again, and it only deepened the ache in your chest. He seemed so happy, so… distant. And you? You were nothing but a fading presence, something he could ignore outside of your shared library sessions. You had convinced yourself that maybe you had become friends, maybe there was something more, but now, it all felt like a lie.

The sobs came harder now, your chest tightening painfully as you curled further into yourself. You didn’t want to care this much. You didn’t want to feel this way. But here you were, hiding in the shadows of the library, crying over someone you weren’t even sure cared about you at all.

The quiet shuffling beside you broke through your tears, making you look up from your curled position. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Ni-ki standing right there, holding your bag in his hand, his face full of worry. His usually composed expression was soft, eyebrows knitted together as he searched your face.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You sniffled, quickly wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve and nodding, though your heart wasn’t in the gesture. You looked away, half-expecting him to leave like always, to walk away and give you space. But instead, you heard him set his bag down. You glanced at him, shocked, as he sat beside you on the floor.

Ni-ki leaned back against the shelves, closing his eyes for a moment before sighing deeply. "I know you’ve been avoiding me," he said, his voice softer than usual, yet it held a vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. He opened his eyes, looking directly at you, and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

You sat up, startled by his question. "What? No, no, of course you didn’t!" you answered quickly, panic rising in your chest.

He tilted his head slightly, clearly unconvinced. "Then why…" His words trailed off as he sighed again. He looked at you, his expression filled with something close to concern. "Please… tell me. I’m worried about you," he admitted, his voice quiet.

His words made your heart clench. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made it harder to stay quiet. You gulped, trying to steady yourself. This was the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to say the words that had been haunting you since that confrontation. But seeing him here, sitting beside you, waiting for an explanation—it was enough to make you break.

"I…" You began, your voice shaky. "It’s not you, Ni-ki, really. You didn’t do anything wrong." You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. "Some girls… they confronted me, said that you pitied me. That you thought I was a burden… and it got in my head. They asked why you never talk to me outside the library, and… I started wondering if they were right."

Ni-ki’s expression shifted immediately, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What? Why would they say that?"

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. "They said I was stupid for even thinking we were friends… that I didn’t matter to you outside of studying."

There was a long pause, the silence hanging heavily between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, too afraid of what you might see in his eyes. But then, after what felt like an eternity, Ni-ki’s voice broke the silence.

"That’s not true," he said quietly, his tone firm but gentle. "You’re not a burden. I don’t pity you."

You slowly looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze. His usual calm exterior was gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

"I didn’t know you felt like that," Ni-ki continued, his voice soft. "I… I just didn’t think you’d want to hang out with me outside the library. I didn’t think I was someone you’d want to be around like that."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. "What? But… you’re always surrounded by people. Why would you think that?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, people, not friends. Most of them just see me as Ni-ki, the Slytherin prefect or whatever. I don’t… I don’t let people in easily. But you…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "I guess I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed your company until you started avoiding me."

His words made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth amidst all the confusion and hurt.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "I didn’t mean to make assumptions or push you away. I just… I didn’t know what to think."

Ni-ki shook his head, his gaze softening. "It’s okay. I should’ve been more clear with you." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "I want you to know… I don’t just think of you as someone I study with. I…" He trailed off again, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. He looked vulnerable, in a way you had never seen before.

"I care about you," he finally said, the words slow and deliberate, as if he had been holding onto them for a long time. "More than you think."

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission. For a moment, you just sat there, staring at him, unsure of how to respond. The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it made your chest tighten in a way that was both overwhelming and comforting.

"I…" you started, your voice faltering. You didn’t know what to say, how to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

But you didn’t have to say anything, because in that moment, Ni-ki smiled at you—genuinely smiled, the corners of his lips turning up, his eyes softening. It was a small, almost shy smile, but it was enough to make you realize that everything you had been overthinking, all the doubts and insecurities, had been for nothing.

Ni-ki cared. He had always cared.

Ni-ki stayed by your side, his presence steady and comforting as you finally let the weight of everything spill out. You told him about the girls, your voice shaky at first, but as you continued, you felt lighter, as though every word lifted a little bit of the burden off your chest. His expression shifted the moment you named them, his brows drawing together in a way you’d never seen before—serious, almost dangerous.

For a moment, you worried that he might storm off, that his calm demeanor would crack and he’d go after them. But instead, he simply listened, his face tight with restrained anger, and when you finished, he surprised you once again.

He opened his arms.

Without a second thought, you slid into his embrace, feeling his warmth surround you, his arms wrapping securely around your back. His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—a real, genuine smile.

"They were wrong," he murmured softly, his voice vibrating through his chest. "You mean so much more to me than they could ever understand."

You felt your heart swell at his words, the knot in your stomach slowly unraveling. He didn’t hate you. He never had.

When you finally pulled back from the hug, your gaze met his, and the intensity of his eyes made your breath hitch. His face was still close, his cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he paused, swallowing nervously.

"I…" he began, his voice a little shaky. "I need to tell you something." His eyes darted away for a moment before finding yours again, determination setting in. "I’ve been… thinking about this for a while, and I just—" He sighed, clearly flustered. "I don’t know how to say it."

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden vulnerability. Ni-ki, the calm, collected boy who never seemed to let anything rattle him, was stuttering and blushing, his usual composure unraveling before your eyes.

"I-I like you," he blurted out, his face now fully red. "A lot. I have for a while, but I didn’t know how to say it. I’m not good at this stuff, and I didn’t want to make things weird between us, but when you started avoiding me, I—"

He was rambling now, his words spilling out in a rush, and you could tell he was struggling to keep up with his own thoughts. It was so unlike him, seeing him this vulnerable, this unsure. It was endearing.

Before he could continue, you acted on impulse, reaching up to gently cup his face and pulling him toward you. His eyes widened in surprise just before your lips met his.

For a split second, you could feel his shock, his body freezing beneath your touch. But then, just as quickly, he melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cup the sides of your face, pulling you closer. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, but then the kiss deepened, his movements growing more sure, more confident. He held you like you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

The world seemed to disappear around you, the weight of everything that had been bothering you fading away in the warmth of his embrace. It was just you and Ni-ki, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than either of you realized.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, your face warm from the intensity of the moment. Ni-ki stared at you, his lips slightly parted, still processing what had just happened.

"I… uh…" He blinked, his usual calm demeanor shattered, and it made you smile.

"That was your way of saying you like me too, huh?" he asked with a sheepish grin, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

You laughed softly, nodding. "Yeah… I like you too, Ni-ki."

His smile widened, this time filled with a mixture of relief and happiness. "I’m glad," he said softly, his voice warm and full of sincerity.

For a moment, you both just sat there, basking in the newfound closeness, the tension that had been between you for weeks dissolving into something sweet, something real.

"Let’s forget about those girls," he murmured after a while, his forehead resting gently against yours. "They don’t know what they’re talking about. All that matters is you and me, okay?"

You nodded, your heart full. "Okay."

[iamgonnagetyouback]

FORGOTTEN.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ MARAUDERS

SUMMARY ৎ୭ after the marauders stand you up, you decide to give them the cold shoulder, making sure they know just how much they hurt you. but when you finally confront remus, everything you thought you knew about him—and about why they kept secrets—changes in an instant

WARNINGS ಇ. angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, mentions of self-doubt, remus struggling with his condition, brief mention of scars PARTS ಇ. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,360

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The days that followed the disastrous date at Madam Puddifoot’s were heavy with tension. You had made a decision. You would avoid the boys—every single one of them—and show them how much they’d hurt you. And for the most part, you succeeded.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

In Potions, you were paired with James, as always. Normally, the two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, joking and laughing as you completed the lesson with ease. But today, you kept your responses clipped and cold, answering only the necessary study-related questions.

"Hand me the crushed fluxweed?" James asked hesitantly, his voice low as he glanced over at you.

You handed him the jar without a word, not even bothering to look at him.

James frowned, his usual exuberance fading. “Did you… finish the notes for the essay?”

“Yes,” you replied curtly, your tone devoid of any warmth.

He waited for you to elaborate, maybe even make a joke, but you didn’t. The disappointment on his face was painfully clear, and you could feel his gaze on you, trying to find a way to break the ice. But you didn’t give him a chance. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The library was usually your refuge, a place where you could escape the chaos of the castle and study in peace. But today, it wasn’t the peaceful haven you needed. Sirius found you, of course he did. He always had a way of knowing where you were.

He slid into the chair across from you, his signature smirk in place, but there was an underlying nervousness in his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “Fancy running into you here. Been thinking—”

You didn’t look up from your textbook, flipping a page without so much as acknowledging his presence.

Sirius faltered, but tried again. “We really should talk, y’know. I mean, I know we messed up, but maybe we can—”

Silence.

You didn’t even glance at him. Not a word.

He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, I get it. You’re mad. But ignoring me isn’t gonna make it better, love.”

Still, you remained focused on the words in front of you, pretending to be engrossed in the chapter on advanced defensive spells. You could feel him staring at you, waiting, but you refused to give in. Eventually, Sirius stood up, his defeated sigh echoing in the quiet library as he walked away.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Transfiguration class was no different. You and Peter were assigned partners, as you often were, but this time the usual banter between the two of you was replaced with awkward silence. Peter kept glancing at you, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to catch your eye.

“So, uh… we should probably start with the incantation?” Peter said cautiously, his voice soft.

You nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

He fumbled with his wand, casting a glance your way. “I-I know we need to talk, about… y’know, the other night and all that, but—”

“No,” you said simply, your voice quiet but firm, eyes trained on the desk in front of you.

Peter swallowed hard, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. You saw him look down, his expression crestfallen, but you forced yourself to stay quiet. Each word spoken to them felt like a crack in the walls you were trying to build around your heart. So, for now, silence was the only way to protect yourself.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

But then there was Remus. The one who hadn’t tried at all. The one who didn’t come looking for you, didn’t send you a note, didn’t even attempt to talk to you. And that hurt more than anything else.

The silence from him was deafening.

It was days later, sitting in the library, when you saw him. Remus was hunched over a pile of books, looking pale and exhausted, a fresh bandage peeking out from beneath his sleeve. His eyes were hollow, dark circles marring his handsome face, and your heart clenched at the sight. He looked worse than usual. Like something had broken inside him.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your feet carried you across the room toward him.

“Remus,” you said, your voice cutting through the stillness of the library like a knife.

Remus flinched at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up in shock. His eyes widened as he saw you standing there, but he didn’t speak, too stunned by your sudden appearance.

You didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Are you a werewolf?”

The color drained from his face, and he froze, his mouth opening and closing as if the words had been ripped from him. He stammered, his eyes wide with panic. “I-I… I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Remus,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the scars, the excuses, the way the boys cover for you. I’ve been putting it together for a while, but I—” You swallowed, your throat tight. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Remus looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t… I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to—”

“Why?” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t any of you tell me? Do you think I wouldn’t have cared? Do you think I wouldn’t have loved you still?”

His face twisted in anguish, and he looked away, unable to meet your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t have understood. No one ever understands.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Remus!” you snapped, your voice filled with hurt. “I deserved to know the truth. I thought we were in this together. I thought we were… I thought you trusted me.”

He looked up then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I do trust you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “But… I’m a monster, Y/N. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to… be afraid of me.”

You felt your heart shatter at his words. You stepped closer, kneeling in front of him and gently taking his hands in yours. “Remus, you’re not a monster. You’ve never been a monster to me.” Your voice softened, filled with the love you had been holding back for days. “I love you. All of you. Even the parts you think are too broken to love.”

His breath hitched, and you could see the disbelief in his eyes. “You… you don’t hate me?”

“Hate you?” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “Remus, I’m hurt. I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. That you kept this from me. But I could never hate you.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his whole body trembling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You leaned forward and gently pressed your lips to his, feeling the tension in his body melt away as he kissed you back. The kiss was soft, filled with unspoken apologies and forgiveness. When you pulled away, Remus looked at you like you were something he didn’t deserve, but desperately wanted to hold on to.

���Forgive the boys too,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “They didn’t want to hurt you either.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Not before I make them grovel a bit first.”

Remus let out a soft chuckle, his smile the first genuine one you had seen in days. “You’re evil.”

You grinned, leaning in for another kiss. “Not as evil as you for keeping this secret from me.”

As your lips met again, Remus’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and for the first time in days, the weight of everything seemed to lift.

When you finally pulled back, Remus gave you a shy, almost nervous smile. “You’re not scared?”

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes. “Oh please, Remus. I’ve seen you fold your socks. You’re hardly terrifying.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into another sweet, lingering kiss, the warmth between you chasing away all the pain.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work.

[kyber-crystal]

the albatross || f.w.

summary: the albatross is the largest bird that can go years without landing; they spend their first 6 years of life flying over the ocean before coming to the land to mate. It is capable of traveling more than 10,000 miles in a single journey and circumnavigating the globe in 46 days. (he's been up in the air his whole life, but is finally able to land when he falls in love with you: alt, 4 times everyone noticed he loved you, 1 time you noticed he loved you too)

words: ~4.1k

warnings: TOOTH-ROOTTING FLUFF, CLICHE, your usual stuff yk 

a/n: i’ve had that snippet above stuck in my notes for a year now and never made anything of it and thought hey i should do something about it. so here were are. also i can’t resist doing the 3x1/4x1/5x1 trope. its so superior. ngl tho writers block hit me kinda hard with this one so i struggled to finish…sorry in advance for my writing, idk how i feel ab the way this turned out 

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

one 

You were looking forward to today’s Transfiguration lesson. 

Up until this point, McGonagall had you continue practicing nonverbal spells; having them carry over from sixth year because she wanted to emphasize their importance. In addition to that, you were set to start learning how to transfigure tortoises into trumpets. It was bound to be a loud but entertaining affair.

“I need you all to remember to focus,” she reminded at the start of class, “and please, refrain from playing your trumpets should you manage to successfully transform your tortoise—I’m looking at you, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.”

“Aw, darn it,” you heard the twins chorus in defeat. 

“Now, you will first review what you have in your notes, then practice individually. You may begin.”

A small, dusty green tortoise appeared on your desk, causing you to crack a tiny smile. You heard students muttering the incantation from all around you as they attempted the spell, one of them yelping in pain when their tortoise bit their finger. 

“Careful, Longbottom,” the Professor warned. 

You shook your head and smiled to yourself, patting your tortoise on the head. It seemed to just sigh in response.

Several minutes went by before someone broke your focus, poking your shoulder. 

“Psst! Y/N!” 

“What?” you hissed under your breath, looking over your left shoulder at Lee. “What do you want?”

He shrugged and passed you a slip of parchment. “For you.”

“Okay…”

You unfolded the paper and peered closer, examining the signature scrawl of none other than Fred. 

You look gorgeous today, darling. And it’s quite distracting, if I’m being honest.

Scowling, you glanced over to see that Fred was shamelessly staring at you and shot him a pointed glare. He simply gave you a cheeky grin then looked back down. Scribbling out a snarky reply—I look gorgeous every day, you daft dimbo—you crumpled up the parchment and decided to chuck itat his head. Without sparing another glance, he reached up and smoothly caught it with one hand. 

You muttered to yourself under your breath and refocused your gaze on your work. 

Not even a few moments later, Lee was poking your shoulder again to signal that Fred had tossed the note back.

Your name is pretty, but it’d look prettier next to my last. 

You know what else would look pretty? My fist in your face. -your reply

The exchange continued on, with him sending flirty notes, and you replying with half-flirty, half sarcastic remarks. But just as you were about to aim at Fred’s head for the nth time—

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Weasley, what in Godric’s name are you two doing?” 

You froze in your spot. Professor McGonagall was standing right by your desk, note in hand with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest. “Er, I—”

“Is there anything you two would like to share with the class?”

“No, it’s—”

“Actually, Professor, there is,” Fred declared, standing up and marching over to where you were, taking the paper out of McGonagall’s hands and opening it. “Since she hasn’t gotten to read it yet, I shall.”

He cleared his throat and began to read. 

“I’d face the storm, the darkest night,

With reckless heart and blazing light.

No cursed spell, no shadowed door,

Could shake the love I hold in store.

For you, I’d charge, both fierce and true—

My greatest courage lives in you.”

The classroom erupted into giggles as he finished with a bow, grinning proudly. It felt like your face was up in flames, if it wasn’t already burnt to a crisp. If Fred looked equally flustered you couldn’t tell at all, and he was masking it with that stupid cheeky look of his. 

You were too mortified and focused on the possibility of receiving detention to notice that McGonagall was trying to hide her smile; taking away House points now in the very back of her mind. 

Flitwick owed her 10 sickles. 

two

“Oi! Y/N, wake up!”

Something fluffy smacked you straight across the face and you hissed in annoyance, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to identify your attacker.

“Okay, I’m—what the hell are you three doing in here? It’s 3 in the morning,” you grumbled. “If you get caught—”

“T’was Fred’s idea,” Lee said innocently and dropped the pillow, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Why are you pinning all this on me? That’s not fair,” the older twin demanded. 

“Anyways, Y/N, the kitchens are empty.”

“No shit Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night. What do you all want?” you kept your voice down.

“We’re cooking up a storm tonight.”

“I hope you’re not referring to more Canary Creams?”

“No, we mean actual sweets,” Fred explained, taking your hand and pulling you out of bed. “Come on.”

The four of you crept down the staircase and through the halls as quietly as possible; George and Lee quietly talking to each other behind you while Fred remained by your side, hand still in yours. You were too tired and delirious to notice or care that he could’ve let go ages ago, but didn’t.

“Okay, we’re here,” George announced quietly and pushed open a grandiose, wooden door. 

The usually bustling kitchen was dead silent so that all you could hear were each other’s slow breaths. 

“Accio recipe,” Lee muttered quietly, and an old, worn maroon book came zooming towards him. He set it down onto the counter and propped it open, flipping through the pages and stopping on one particular recipe. “I hope you lot are up for some treacle tart.”

“I wish I could stay mad at you for smacking me in the face with that pillow, Lee,” you tried your hardest to suppress a laugh. “But you read my mind.”

“Okay then!” He clasped his hands, “let’s get to work.”

You picked one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room then got to work, quickly but efficiently rushing around the kitchen to collect what you needed. Fred rolled his sleeves up and leaned against the counter to watch you, in awe as you began measuring and pouring the ingredients with near-perfect accuracy.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” you finally looked up and noticed that he hadn’t been doing anything. 

“Sorry, you’re just distracting,” Fred sent you a wink, and you scoffed. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’ll help you.” 

You fell into a silent but comfortable routine afterwards, evenly splitting up the work to finish preparing the tarts in less time. Neither of you noticed how you gradually inched closer to one another as you did so, shoulders brushing together every time you reached over to grab something or continue mixing the batter. 

“Hold on a minute, there’s some flour right—” Fred paused, thumb grazing your cheekbone. You felt a jolt of electricity where his skin brushed over yours. “—there.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, face suddenly feeling too hot even though the kitchens were far from it. 

“Always my pleasure,” he smiled, oblivious to your flustered state. 

Lee was standing with George a few rows away, focus switching between you two and the first batches of treacle tart that were now in the ovens, slowly beginning to bake. The distinct scent of sweet syrup and berries soon began wafting through the air, filling the room with a sweet and tantalizing aroma. 

“They can’t keep their hands off each other,” he grinned knowingly. “They’re standing just inches apart…they have the entire table to themselves and yet they stand like that.”

“And they say they’re just friends. I call bullshit,” said George, watching as Fred said something to you and you rolled your eyes, whacking him with your wooden spoon. Fred tugged you forward in response, trapping you in his strong arms as you let out a faint giggle, protesting for him to let you go. It wasn’t until he tilted his head down and you begrudgingly pressed a kiss to his cheek that he finally released you from his hold, looking as smug as ever. 

“10 galleons says they’re getting married in the next two years.”

“15 galleons.”

“You’re on, mate.”

three

DA practices were now everyone’s sole source of motivation. They had finally started work on Patronuses, which they had been very keen to practice, though, as Harry kept reminding you all that producing one in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they weren’t under threat was quite different from producing one when under threat, like by a Dementor. 

You exchanged a soft smile with Cho, admiring her silvery swan-shaped Patronus before attempting to refocus on your own work; on the last several tries you hardly managed more than a cloudy, wispy form. 

Closing your eyes, you recalled the time you had Quidditch practice on a snow day. Oliver ended practice a bit early (Angelina did have to convince him a bit though) and you spent the rest of that time pelting one another with snowballs and zipping around in the air, laughter echoing across the space. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that carefree.

“Expecto Patronum!” Excitement began to build up in you but your shoulders slumped in defeat when again, just a thin wisp of silver smoke came out of your wand tip. “Damn it.”

“Y/N, you’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded you.

“But I did,” you exhaled, voice strained. “I don’t get it. I thought…”

“Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Try a new memory,” he suggested, “do you have anything else that might work?”

“Well, there is one…I don’t know if it’s my happiest, but it is one of them, and it is strong…”

“Then try that,” he said kindly. “You can do this.” You nodded and he walked away to help Neville, who was also struggling to cast his Patronus.

Readjusting your wand in your hand,  you closed your eyes once again and allowed the new memory to fill your mind. 

The first few weeks after the end of term and the start of the summer holidays were always the hardest. As badly as you missed home and your parents, you also missed constantly being around your friends and the Weasley family. At this point it had been three weeks since you’d seen Fred; you never went longer than that without seeing him. 

You and your parents had spent three blissful weeks traveling around France. From exploring the lavender fields in Provence, smelling the fresh sea air and seeing the breathtaking Mont-Saint-Michel castle in Normandy, to biting into pillowy soft pastries in Paris, you did it all. But you still felt that distinct ache to be back at Hogwarts with your close friends. 

“The Burrow!” you exclaimed, Floo powder in hand. Glowing green flames engulfed your body and then you were standing outside your third home in mere seconds, giddy with excitement. 

“THERE SHE IS!” you heard several voices shout with delight. Your best friends immediately came bursting through the door and stampeding towards you. Fred was the first to reach you, positively glowing with happiness as he swept you into a tight bear hug, spinning you around. He attacked you with repeated kisses to your temple then cheeks as he said how glad he was to finally see you. He was clutching you so tight that you almost lost your breath, but you were so happy to see him as well that you couldn’t care less. 

“Oi, we’re here too, lovebirds!” you heard Ron shout. You laughed and pulled away from Fred’s embrace to go greet everyone else. As you were hugging Ginny you made eye contact with Fred, that gleaming look still in his eyes. Your heart felt so full at that moment, you thought it would burst. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” you shouted. A flash of silvery-blue light emitted from your wand and a dainty squirrel burst forward. You smiled to yourself as Harry complimented your work. 

But what surprised you more was the small bird swooping in from above—it caught sight of your squirrel Patronus and started chasing it around the Room of Requirement, their forms glowing brightly. Several others stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle, confused but amazed. 

“Pretty cool, innit,” you heard a voice say from besides you. You turned to make eye contact with Fred, who was looking at you with amusement. 

“Yeah…is that a sparrow?” you pointed up at his Patronus, which was still chasing yours around the room and leaving a trail of glitter behind itself as it did so. 

“It’s a magpie,” said Fred. “Although I also thought it was a sparrow at first.”

“Well, it looks like they like each other…” 

“Art imitates life, right? Is that what they say?”

“Something like that, I guess,” you laughed softly, leaning into him. “It’s beautiful.”

“What did you think of?” he asked. “Beating Umbridge’s arse to a pulp? Just say the words and I’ll gladly help with that.”

You snorted. “No, I tried that last time but I guess it wasn’t strong enough. I don’t know how this one could’ve been happier than that.”

“Then whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty strong.”

“Definitely…” The scene flashed across your mind again, and you felt heat crawling up your cheeks. “it was.”

“His Patronus can’t seem to let go of hers,” Hermione whispered from the other side of the room; hers and Ginny’s otter and horse Patronuses were gracefully gliding around them. “You know what that means…”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ginny responded as she glanced over Fred, who now had an arm around you. “Why’s that so important?”

“Because, Gin!” she whisper-shouted. “Magpies hunt squirrels!”

“Okay…what’s the correlation there?” Ginny was now confused. 

“He’s in love with her, of course! I was reading up on Patronuses last week; when someone has feelings of deep affection for someone else, either their Patronuses change to match or they produce what’s like an opposite to the person they love. Hence the hunter and prey pairing.”

“You just figured out they love each other?”

“No, but this just confirms it,” the bushy-haired girl’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

four

It felt like hours since you had last seen the light of day. Right now you were waist-deep in assignments, preparing for your mind-numbing History of Magic project that was due the next morning. Sleep was threatening to pull you under and it took everything you had not to slump over and doze off on the spot. 

“Ange,” you yawned and cupped a hand over your mouth, “did you finish the revisions yet?” 

“Almost,” she returned your tired yawn and slid the parchment she was working on over to you. “Do you mind checking this over for me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, peering down at her tidy handwriting and picking up your quill. You rubbed your eyes and drew out a long breath. “Godric’s sake, what time is it?”

“Quarter to midnight,” Katie responded, jotting something down in her notepad, “I think we’re almost done…”

“...these damn revisions are taking bloody forever,” you groaned, placing your chin in your hand, “almost more than the time we took researching.”

“I despise history,” said Alicia.

“Hear, hear,” you and Angelina said tiredly.

All of a sudden you heard a rustle and the screech of someone pulling a chair out next to you. The comforting smell of broomsticks and cinnamon instantly hit your nose, which didn’t help with you already wanting to doze off. 

“There’s my Y/N,” Fred greeted warmly. His hand-knitted maroon Weasley jumper hung loosely off his toned frame, bringing out the color in his eyes and cheeks. He looked painfully attractive in everything, you realized.  

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Not when I know you aren’t,” he said plainly. “It’s late, but you’re here, right? So that’s why I’m here as well.”

You seemed to be completely oblivious to the way he kept staring at you as you continued to work. He couldn't help but stare; he found it rather endearing, the way you'd sigh every so often when stuck on a difficult problem and how you'd get this crease between your brows because you were deep in concentration. 

After several minutes you finally glanced up, a quizzical look on your face as you realized he was still watching you so intently. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he smiled softly, reaching over to briefly cup your cheek. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie exchanged knowing looks at this. “Just looking out for you, of course.”

The flickering lanterns overhead cast a warm golden light over the room, illuminating his features in a dim and hazy glow. There was an unmistakably soft and wistful sort of look in his eyes and you felt your heart race the longer his eyes stayed on you. Did he always look at you that way? You couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at you with anything other than admiration and delight but then again, Fred was known to be very open with those he cared for. 

Another hour went by and by this point you were fast asleep, head leaning against your arms on the table and parts of your hair spilling across your forehead. If he didn’t know any better, Fred would’ve thought you were an angel, part Veela, or something along those lines. Was there anything better? he thought to himself. If there was, that’s exactly what she is.

Fred slid his jumper off and as carefully as possible, slid it under your head so that you had something soft to rest on and wouldn’t wake up complaining that there were ink stains on your skin. He took the quill from your outstretched fist and set it by your side, and wordlessly began putting your things into your bag for you.

It was another two hours until you eventually stirred awake but he stayed, quietly waiting and watching; relishing in the peace and comfort that he knew only your company could bring. 

plus one

It probably would’ve been a wise idea to heed Katie’s advice and not overwork yourself; even Hermione had said you clearly looked exhausted and needed a break from studying. But being as stubborn as you were, you didn’t listen, and now you were starting to feel the consequences of your actions. 

So here you were now alone in the girls’ dormitory, curled up in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, pounding headache that felt like it would split your brain in two, along with crippling nausea. Despite your stomach grumbling after having skipped out on breakfast and lunch, the mere thought of eating made you feel even more sick. 

All you wanted to do in that moment was crawl into a hole and fall asleep for several centuries. 

Realizing that sitting there doing nothing wouldn’t help, you decided to at the very least, open your Charms textbook and get caught up on the past few reading assignments. You mentally reminded yourself to thank Angelina for standing in today and taking notes for you; the girl was saving you hours’ worth of work that likely would’ve had you collapsing all over again.

A loud CRASH from somewhere nearby caused you to jump slightly and almost slam the book closed on your fingers. Glancing around at the sudden noise, you were about to assume it was Peeves being chased by Filch after causing trouble (you definitely didn’t experience this from having helped him and the twins out with a prank in which you chucked a Dungbomb into his office). But then you remembered they never directly entered the girls’ dormitories and laughed to yourself.  

The door creaked open and Fred’s all-too-familiar figure stumbled through, breathing hard with his hands behind his back. He was shifting from foot to foot and he looked kind of…nervous?

“Fred?”

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you all day,” his face broke into a bashful grin, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…alright…”

“Well, I got you something,” said Fred, and quickly handed you a sweet-smelling bouquet of flowers. “I hope you like these, it took a while to grow them. Longbottom helped me out a bit.” 

“T-these are…” you stammered, pulse racing. The flowers shone brightly under the afternoon light; they were probably the prettiest things you’d seen in, well, forever. 

“—your favorite, I know,” he finished your sentence.

“But how did y—”

“It’s the same kind of flower as the dried ones that are in the bookmark you use for all your classes,” he explained, still slightly out of breath. “It’s the color of your favorite wool hat. It’s the color of the jumper I bought, I told you it’s because I liked how my eyes went with it but really, it’s because it reminded me of you. It’s what I smelled in George and I’s Amortentia in Potions. It’s you, Y/N, it’s all you and it has always brought me back to you. It always will, every single time.”

Suddenly, the realization slammed into you with a force of a Bludger traveling a hundred miles an hour. 

Fred Weasley loved you. You loved Fred Weasley.

And it had taken you forever to notice. 

He sat by your side and reached for your hand, taking it in his and interlocking your fingers together like it was normal; like he had done so dozens of times before. Because he had, but something about this one made your heart skip an extra beat and all the words you wanted to say leave your brain instantly. 

“I look terrible,” you turned your face into his chest so that your cheek was now resting against the fabric of his jumper, “and you might get sick too. You should go…”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, sliding his arms around you, “I’ve got all day. Snape can take my delightfully dimwitted Potions essay and shove it up his a—”

You chuckled a bit at this and took that moment to glance up at him—he was still gazing at you longingly. You’d never seen him look at anyone or anything that way; unless you counted the excited look he got when Hogwarts had its annual holiday feast and piles of food appeared on the tables. Or that look he got after winning a Quidditch match. 

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” you asked, shaking your head. “For taking as long as I did to realize that I’m in love with you. Everyone was practically screaming at me about it and yet I still couldn’t put the pieces together and see.”

That signature grin was back on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Weasley—”

He grinned, stopping what you were going to say next by closing the gap and sealing his lips over yours. Now it wasn’t the nausea that had your head whirling around; it was the feeling of him kissing you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, and it was intoxicating. He was right there all along—your best friend for as long as you could remember—and suddenly you couldn’t seem to register anything else other than the fact that you wanted to stay in the moment until you completely lost your breath. 

“Fred, I told you, you’re going to get sick,” you exhaled as you pulled apart, “I know you don’t want that.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” He brought you back in and kissed you a second, then third time, “all the more excuse to spend time with you.”

(He did get sick the following day, leaving a disgruntled Hermione to take care of not just you, but him as well.) 

a/n pt 2: yes the poem was done by chatgpt. i’m horrible at writing normally, and even worse at writing poetry. sorry yall LOL. also can you tell i love writing cheesy monologues. yeah. and also i’m sorry for the cringe ending

tags: @miissasa @bittermileymilez @daisydark @brinachiii @foreverthemaraudersera @viharbinger @ladyclay @apileofschist @arkofblake @lizzyrose200 @4ngeltrumpettt

[dtilmnh]

Daily reminder that James and Sirius were the smartest bitches at Hogwarts without even trying, to the utter dismay of all of their Professors and classmates. Like you can't convince me that literally all their classes wasn't them just messing around and producing results with concepts that were at least three years above their level.

Sirius waved his wand idly, not even thinking about it, and James’s entire uniform turned Gryffindor red and gold with a silent flicker of magic.

The class stared.

Fliywick sputtered. "Mr. Black, you—you realize nonverbal magic is meant to be taught in sixth year?"

Sirius frowned at his wand like it had personally betrayed him.

"Oh, is it? My mistake."

James just grinned. "Can you make my tie sparkle too?"

Sirius obliged.

McGonagall stalked through the classroom, voice clipped. "Human transfiguration is a complex and delicate art. It must be handled with the utmost precision and care -"

Sirius felt something prickling on his left hand before glancing down and yelping. His hand was now a lion’s paw.

McGonagall whirled. "POTTER!"

James smirked, twirling his wand. "Yes, Professor?"

Mcgonagall only huffed in annoyance. "You are not supposed to be this good."

Slughorn peered into Sirius’ cauldron, stroking his mustache with a mix of bemusement and awe.

"This is a highly advanced potion, one that even skilled potion-masters struggle to perfect," he said.

Sirius glanced at his cauldron, where his potion swirled in a perfect shade of amethyst. "Huh. Guess I got lucky."

Slughorn shook his head in pure disbelief. "I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate on your process?"

Sirius, who absolutely had not followed the instructions and had just thrown in ingredients based on gut instinct, smiled charmingly.

"Oh, you know. Just followed my heart."

[muntitled]

𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

: ̗̀➛ Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader | Brief!Harry Potter x fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: Alcoholism, Dark!fic, Ravenclaw!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Shy!reader, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Harry (sorry boo), Fluff, A bit of Angst, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DubCon, Semi Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Dom/Sub, CNC, humping, Spitting, Degradation, Dacryphillia, Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Breeding Kink

5k words

A/N: Hell truly is empty. I apologise in advance.

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if the muggle God existed - if he is known to shepard Muggles and Wizards alike, then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once. The wizarding world is caught in its archaic intolerance of Half-Bloods. On the mortal side, you were informed from your private tutoring with Professor McGonagall that their smartphones are threatening devolution.

“It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a wand, Lovie, so we can’t really fault them on that, can we?” 6 years into your schooling at Hogwarts and you would continue to shadow Professor McGonagall, hoping you might one day soar to her heights of academic prestige in the wizarding world. You needed to be a Professor as much as a mortal needs to breathe….

You cannot let him, of all people, ruin things. Your reputation is a fragile, flammable thing - and he is freaking Kerosene.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it started or how your sensibilities rushed away from you so swiftly. One moment you’re planting your textbook on the face of a wooden desk - the sound reaching the rafters in the highest peak of the deserted classroom…

“A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration.” Mattheo read the title aloud with a tedious uninterested drawl. “Seems a bit presumptuous to shove this down my throat so early on. Shouldn't we be starting from the beginning?"

You ignored him promptly, using the silence to arrange your colour coordinated stationery on your desk beside Riddle's,

“I had no idea," You began, brushing off your blue lined robes and flattening the invisible creases on your skirt, "-That the person residing under my tutelage would be a first year."

Riddle stabbed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your face remained passive as you continued, "You are a sixth year, correct?” You asked with a snide tilt of the head before planting yourself on the desk beside him.

“You are a big boy capable of understanding big boy books,” Unbeknownst to you, your words managed to stir something foreign within Mattheo but he conceals it with his usual veneer of arrogance as he swings his head lazily in your direction.

"May we begin?" You asked, with your back straightened - inches away from his hand now hanging on your chair.

"In a bit…" he says, "Just..." his voice trails off as his eyes scan over your visage, likely assessing it like an unseen tapestry. The truth is, Riddle did not know you prior to being forced under your tutelage. His droopy brown eyes appeared even more so as he broke the distance between you two and studied you closer. A tense silence grew pregnant in the ancient classroom, and your resolve was beginning to slip. Only one thought inflated a puddle of anxiety in your stomach:

Could this be your first kiss? Is this what first kisses looked like? Could this be your very first brush of intimacy overall?

Your brain failed to rationalise and compartmentalise his attraction, but your heart pushed your head closer.

"Call me a big boy again..." He had whispered… which evidently led you here.

Your lesson had ended with your hand covered in his release and a breathless smirk painted across his face. "This goes without saying," he breathed out with a satisfied smirk, "But tell anyone about this, and you're dead."

Ever since that day, your tutoring has been but a veneer of something much more sinister. When you were thrusted into the light of day, Mattheo overlooked you as did lots of his Slytherin friends. Besides the occasional threat and vague insult, you mean nothing to him.

When you two are alone, however, as you are right now, he would enchant you into servitude, lightly pushing your head down while he kissed you silly until your knees were planted on the hardwood floor.

Mattheo briefly opens his eyes to peer down at you. It is then when you notice the fresh bruise dotting the side of his face, and his pillowy lips split by a small incursion. He had very clearly gotten into another fight..

“Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be a smart ass,” His words illicit a bubble of heat inside you.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit. For starters, you can feel the old wooden floors digging into the meat of your knees and the crisp winter chill is unkind to your scantily dressed state. Your shirt is unbuttoned because Mattheo was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand is buried tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down your throat. The very bones of Hogwarts seem to be in vehement protest of your blatant whorishness.

3 silver chains hang from his neck as he plants his other hand against the wall behind you, blocking your kneeling frame between both him and cold, hard stone. You crane your neck back, keeping a half lidded gaze on the jewelry that drives you feral with lust. You are content imagining that perhaps, when he is getting ready in the slytherin common rooms, he wears the silver for you. A fanciful thought but one that consistently has your intestines weaving themselves into knots.

That, paired with his striking, jet black blazer, which is discarded somewhere in the abandoned classroom, has you keening and fighting to take even more of him into your mouth. Perhaps you were peacocking a little - flatting your tongue so his cock slid seamlessly to the back of your throat while you fought to ignore the pain blossoming on your scalp. He had turned you from an inexperienced nun to something you're not quite ready to examine yet.

"You're finally putting this head of yours to good use…" Despite his feigned arrogance you're utterly delighted knowing that only you can bring Mattheo to such an utterly restless state. He does not really know what to do with himself.

Not when you took so much of him, so well.

You clench your toes.

Feeling himself get too close, Mattheo eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your scalp. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that was special to Mattheo. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified toy.

"Are all Ravenclaws as compliant as you are?”

You bring a crisp white sleeve up to your lips, wiping away the excess drool as you remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

"If you ever think of finding out," your voice is hoarse, "this will be the last time I offer you any free study sessions."

"Is money all you seek?" He attempts to feign composure, continuing to languidly stroke his cock. "How utterly greedy. I thought- fuck… - I thought you were far more philosophical than that"

You watch hungrily as Mattheo bites on his pillowy bottom lip. He is prolonging the release, taking his time as he usually did... "If you plan on edging yourself in my mouth instead of actually finishing the job, I do have other commitments to attend to-"

He ignores you... his brows furrowing and smoothening at odd intervals as he continues to touch himself while studying you.

"We may not be studying… but I still intend to pass Transfiguration, hope you're aware." He punctuates his sentence with an breathless laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes.

As he talks, you examine his scars and feel the slow essence of admiration seep into the pit of your stomach. An arguably pathetic feat, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Mattheo as a glorified parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own means. Something that takes, and takes, and occasionally jokes around, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and worst of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to yourself. Mattheo's gaze is placed firmly on something down below. Throughout his mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against the leg of his pants, quite literally on its own accord. Mattheo is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Eventually, he dismisses you. He shakes his head. "Whatever," He says, tilting your head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost instinctively, you do as he orders and like clockwork, you swallow his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your words actually were. There was a moment, perhaps imagined, in which his fingers gripping your hair, melted to the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Mattheo soon straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable to the student body as they know him to be (which admittedly is not a lot) And before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection to assess the damage Mattheo and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended).

As far as Mattheo is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations through because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so unforgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of group projects and class discussions… so Harry Potter gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox, in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction during a rare free period in Study of Ancient Runes. Your professor has been summoned quite promptly by the headmaster and has yet to return. The class has been in a state of havoc ever since.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" A deep shadow over the pages alerted you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Potter, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. Gryffindors made use of Ravenclaws as often as Slytherins.

So naturally, you peer curiously up at him…

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book. It's a muggle book, isn't it? I haven't seen anything with a cover like that around here. It's refreshing. Everything in the wizarding world is ancient and leatherbound." He mumbles as his index finger slides into the collar of his red quidditch jersey. He finds himself suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End." He says, pointing towards the title.

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"No," Harry snickers before waving a large hand in dismissal, "Evidently, the only thing I 'made' was a complete and utter fool of myself."

You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"Is that how it is!?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by your banter, "- I could've sworn I had a shred of dignity before the start of this conversation. Now I'm not quite sure where that went."

Mattheo's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until Draco shoves past him, to get to their own seats in the front of the class.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgment of his presence.

You do nothing of the sort, and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Mattheo has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance.

Overthinking is something he consistently lives without.

Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

His glances at the front of the class before finding you once more in the very back corner of the class. He notices that Harry is stationed in front of you but the seat beside you is completely deserted.

Did you not have friends?

And more importantly; how did he never notice until now?

What if…

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Harry rallying into silence. Mattheo appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Potter - who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Mattheo injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your wide eyes off Mattheo as he lowers himself to his chair beside you with his legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop on my accord," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your professor might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you. His slouching puts him a level lower than you, but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation.

"Maybe I should ask, Potter?" Mattheo turns his attention to the front, "What were you lot talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Riddle's tone. In fact, it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalate into full-on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Harry's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-"

"Books!" Mattheo cuts him off with sarcastic fervour, "How utterly fascinating!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but you look down at your desk in blatant anger. Refusing to be a part of whatever this is.

"And tell me, Potter, how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Riddle's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Mattheo ever displayed a desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple,'' says Harry, fighting to show this bully that he was unaffected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Mattheo's palm made, you were slipping farther and farther away.

"A couple books?" Asks Riddle for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story.

He finally slips under your skirt.

His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it. His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Mattheo's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Mattheo's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Potter?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through the desk and Mattheo's overabundance in questions, has Harry reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Harry."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Riddle tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh. His nails bite into your skin, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Mattheo is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you.

That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along.

He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Potter for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Potter had gone far enough, would you replace him? Had you even fucked Potter before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows even further into your book. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Mattheo's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - for the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Harry Potter still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Mattheo. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties. "Don't cut your long life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, yeah?" Gone are any traces of feigned friendliness. "Fucking Mudblood,"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Potter could not see the slight tremor in your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary.

Mattheo's words… they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Harry give you one final curious look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aid Mattheo's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Harry is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Mattheo lowers his lips to your ears. The damp smell of firewhiskey floods your nostril and you realise that he is completely drunk. In the second lesson of the day.

However, you're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a lost little puppy until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony. "You like being humiliated like this?" He asks, almost in complete awe. It takes everything in you not to moan outright.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, warding off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for your Professor's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Mattheo's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he labelled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Riddle raises his hand for the professor… the very same hand that has previously been in between your legs.

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" Asks the Professor, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"May we be excused? We were excused by Professor Slughorn to assist him in-"

"Fine, fine," Says the professor with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Riddle's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the boy's bathroom before Mattheo is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom sink.

"Is that good?" His voice is as sweet as honey as he forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them.

Mattheo has half his sense to pull his wand from his back pocket, and without turning around, whispers "Colloportus," and the heavy doors snap shut.

You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Mattheo is always a ball of sarcastic energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of tears grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Mattheo presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his body into your side. His hard cock in unmistakable through his school pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly while your fingers grip the countertops and your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to make you cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner,"

This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart.

"Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you. Mattheo removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of sticky saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Mattheo weaponizes your distraction to reach around and slide your panties to the side with one hand while he rubs your soft nub with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've fucked that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Mattheo collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, he does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom sink and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock rams your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers small slaps against your cheek. Riddle keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking smart but you're just my little whore, arent you? A little whore thst fucks anything that gives her the slightest bit of attention?" It doesn't even register that Mattheo wrongfully suspects that there had been something between you and Harry but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving him balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Potter?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Potter?!" His voice is utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting.

He is panting, while he mumbles into your ear.

"What would Potter think? If he saw you like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum so deep inside you? Completely ruining you for anyone else, huh?"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "It's only ever been you, Mattheo -oh my god! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"Oh my God, Mattheo, I fucking need you." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes became sloppy. His mind is flooded with the tightest of your cunt around his cock- how someone so smart could possibly ever say they need him. It has a flood of heat pooling at the base of his cock. "You're so fucking pretty… my pretty girl - my pretty whore," He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your arms wavering while your back arches towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You say once more, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need you to cum inside me."

"Oh my fucking god," Mattheo's eyes soften in their desperstion, "M'gonna fucking breed pussy right here- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Y-Youre making me cum, baby- fuck-" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice.

"So… so pretty" His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Potter today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Harry Potter," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you, Mattheo."

And a part of him believes you, but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Mattheo's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[prythiansprincess]

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays. 

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick. 

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found. 

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned. 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life. 

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you. 

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely. 

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?” 

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?” 

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation. 

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.” 

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.” 

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.” 

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave. 

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course. 

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again. 

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem. 

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side. 

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?” 

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot. 

“Nice slippers, princess.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?” 

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.” 

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.” 

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?” 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy. 

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon. 

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

 “I can feed myself, you know.” 

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?” 

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it. 

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?” 

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?” 

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.” 

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?” 

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.” 

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little. 

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.” 

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.” 

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.” 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?” 

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” 

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed.  It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?” 

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.” 

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?” 

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.” 

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?” 

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” 

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.” 

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.” 

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.” 

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?” 

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.” 

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.” 

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?” 

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.” 

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh. 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer. 

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?” 

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.” 

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?” 

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

[my-castles-crumbling]

inside - December 10 - jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 249

"Potter!"

It took James a moment to register that his name was being called. He was too busy trying to cram all the information he'd just learned in his Advanced Transfiguration class inside his brain, and his mind was reeling.

"Fucking...POTTER!"

"Oh!" He turned and saw a very irate-looking Regulus Black rushing toward him. "Sorry, Reggie! I didn't realize you were talking to me."

Regulus threw him a scathing look. "Don't call me that. And of course I was. Are there other Potters at this school?"

James resisted the urge to laugh at the remark, his body heating oddly at the teasing. "Nah, I'm one-of-a-kind."

The younger boy scoffed. "Your ego is, anyway. You left this." He held out James's Transfiguration book, which he'd evidentially left on a ledge when he'd stopped to tie his shoe.

James narrowed his eyes, hardly believing what he was seeing. "You caught up to me all this way just to give me my book back?"

"Someone had to make sure you're not at even more of an unfair advantage," Regulus drawled, crossing his arms and soon as James took the book. "You're already so behind what with having only half a brain."

James grinned outright. "So you want to help me?"

Regulus began to blush a bright red. "No, I-"

"Thanks, Reg! I knew you cared," James grinned, flashing him his biggest smile before turning away, a bounce now in his step, not missing the way Regulus didn't bother to protest any more.

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY DAY OF YOUR BIRTH!!!!! Draco and wizarding politics please?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

"You're being an idiot about this," Draco says in greeting.

Harry's lips twitch up in the corners. He holds out a bouquet of light pink French roses. "Hello, Draco."

The roses are beautiful, in perfect bloom, and with just enough variation between them that they're probably not the product of a copying charm, although he supposes they could be a unique bit of transfiguration. However, considering it was Longbottom that finally got him to agree to this, there's a decent chance they're natural grown.

"Thank you," he says grudgingly, taking the flowers. They smell nice, which is another point in favor of the natural grown theory. Getting scent correctly is rather advanced and can be tricky even for masters. Pansy's not a master but she has a knack for it that few others can replicate, but he attributes that more to her vast perfume collection and obsession thereof than anything else.

Harry rubs the back of his neck, looking at someplace over Draco's shoulder. "Uh, yeah. No problem."

Merlin.

"First thing's first, don't slouch," he snaps. "Look me in the eye when you're speaking to me. Don't fidget. You killed a dark lord, Potter, and it would behoove you to occasionally act like it."

"I had help," Harry says, but he doesn't straighten and meet Draco's eyes, letting his hand fall back to his side. "Also, you should probably call me Harry if we're doing this."

Help. As if that means it doesn't qualify. One of Harry's most irritating qualities in school was that he was arrogant over the wrong things. Depressingly little has changed. "Apologies. You killed a dark lord, Harry, and it would behoove you to occasionally act like it."

Harry's definitely smiling at him now.

He turns to go find a vase. He could leave it for the elves, but hopefully by the time he gets back, Harry will have moved his mouth into a more appropriate shape.

[godricgryffinsnore]

Heyyyyyy Della!

I have a request, go on if you want.

Here it goes:

Y/n is a transfer student from any random country/magic school and her and Hermione are immediate friends because of shared traits.

The thing is- Harry and her have a 'I love you but I will pretend I hate you' relationship.

If you actually write it — I am goddamn excited.

Yours,

V ;༊

She Came in Like Thunder ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : A fiery transfer student shakes up Hogwarts, instantly bonding with Hermione and clashing with Harry in a whirlwind of witty insults, stolen glances, and unresolved tension. Amid snowy chaos, glittering banter, and accidental confessions, two love-struck idiots slowly realize that maybe “hate” was just their favorite disguise for love.

warnings : Light profanity, Mild magical mischief, Flirty insults / teasing, Excessive pining and fluff, Secondhand embarrassment from two idiots in love, Truth potion chaos, Mentions of blushing, kissing, and heart-thumping feelings. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : I was giggling and laughing the entire time when I was plotting out this request. I hope you do enjoy it <3 AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

word count : 0.9k

main master list <3

banners : @fawndollie and @saradika-graphics

Hogwarts had seen its fair share of chaos: trolls in bathrooms, flying cars, Quidditch riots, and Fred and George Weasley’s existence in general. But it was woefully unprepared for you.

You arrived on a rainy Tuesday morning with wind in your coat and fire in your stride, eyes sharp as phoenix flame. A transfer from Castelobruxo, the Brazilian wizarding school nestled in the jungle—where students tamed magical beasts before breakfast and performed wandless magic with the grace of dancers.

You were thunder wrapped in charm.

Hermione Granger liked you immediately.

“She reads three books a week and corrects professors when they misquote theory,” she whispered in awe to Harry at breakfast. “We’re practically soulmates.”

Harry, whose spoon had been halfway to his mouth, dropped it and scowled.

“Brilliant,” he muttered. “Another overachiever. As if one wasn’t enough.”

Ron blinked. “Jealous much?”

“No,” Harry snapped too quickly. “She just… looks like she’d hex someone for sneezing too loudly.”

“She saved Neville from a rogue Bludger yesterday.”

“She also called me ‘Scarboy Supreme’ in the library.”

Hermione hummed. “Yes, but she smiled when she said it.”

And that was the problem.

Because every time you tossed a smug quip Harry’s way, you smiled like a secret. And Harry, poor boy, kept falling for it.

── .✦

You were infuriating.

You hummed while working, corrected his wand grip without asking, and once said, "Your disarming spell is cute. Like a kitten trying to roar."

You left feathers in his inkpot. Charmed his robes to sing Celestina Warbeck when he got too cocky. You always looked too amused, too untouched by his scowls.

And the worst part?

You were brilliant. Better than him in Charms. Equally sharp in Defense. Fast on a broom. And you laughed like the sun got caught in your throat.

Harry couldn’t stand it.

He also couldn’t look away.

── .✦

“She’s annoying.”

“You’re in love with her,” Hermione said simply, not looking up from Advanced Arithmancy.

Harry sputtered. “Excuse me?”

“Anyone with a functioning brain can see it,” she added, underlining a line. “You hate her like a Victorian poet hates the moon—loudly, obsessively, while penning love sonnets behind a curtain.”

Ron choked on his biscuit. “He what?”

“I do not write sonnets!”

“Please,” Hermione said dryly. “You literally wrote ‘Her eyes are like bottled lightning’ in the margins of your Transfiguration notes.”

Harry turned red.

“That was metaphorical!”

“Sure, Potter.”

── .✦

And then came the snowball incident.

It was the first snowfall of December. Students frolicked. Couples kissed under enchanted mistletoe. Hogwarts looked like a greeting card. And you were perched on a bench in the courtyard, scarf draped like you were posing for an autumn fashion catalogue.

Harry was watching you again.

He didn’t mean to. His eyes just gravitated toward you like they were bewitched.

You were reading—of course you were—and twirling your wand in that dangerous way that made boys stupid and girls swoon. He scowled.

You looked up.

Smirked.

And flicked your wand.

BAM—a snowball slapped him directly across the face.

Harry sputtered. You grinned.

“Oh dear,” you said sweetly. “Did I hit something important?”

He stomped over, red-cheeked, snow in his hair. “You are a menace.”

“And you are terrible at ducking.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I know,” you said, too brightly. “Because I like seeing you flustered.”

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. Considered his life choices.

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he flung a snowball at you.

It missed.

You laughed.

God, that laugh.

Harry swore his heart was no longer his own.

── .✦

Later that evening…

“You’re smiling,” Hermione said, her eyes not leaving her book.

“No, I’m not.”

“Snow in your hair. Glitter on your robes. And you’re humming. Harry, be serious.”

Ron nodded solemnly. “Only two people make you this weird: Cho Chang and Butterbeer. And you don’t look sticky.”

Harry buried his face in his arms. “I hate her.”

“You love her.”

“Do not.”

“She called you pretty.”

“She called me a sentient broomstick.”

“She also asked you to walk her to the Owlery.”

Harry groaned. “She made me walk her to the Owlery. Said I had ‘stalker energy’ and might as well make myself useful.”

“And you went.”

“…Shut up.”

── .✦

Confession came by accident.

Well, by accident and a rogue Truth Charm gone wrong during Slughorn’s New Year’s Party.

“Tell us your deepest desire,” Seamus challenged Harry with a giggle, waving the glittering vial.

“Don’t drink that—” Hermione warned.

But it was too late.

Harry, flustered, dramatic, utterly cursed, downed the potion like an idiot.

“I’m in love with her,” he blurted.

The room froze.

“Merlin’s pants,” Ron whispered.

Harry looked horrified. “I mean, I hate her. Violently. With feelings. That live in my chest. Like traitors.”

You—standing nearby—blinked.

Then walked right up to him.

And kissed him.

It was soft. Hot. Terrifying.

Like finally touching fire you’ve stared at too long.

“God,” you whispered. “You’re so slow, Potter.”

“You knew?” he asked, dazed.

“I've been in love with you since you tripped over your shoelaces and called me a 'hex-hazard.'”

Harry smiled.

He was doomed.

He was delighted.

── .✦

The Aftermath

You still called him Scarface. He still charmed your books to hum. But now, there were stolen kisses in hidden alcoves, smirks behind held hands, and whispered “I love you” spoken like dares.

“I still hate you,” he said once, breathless, forehead against yours.

“I hate you more,” you replied, kissing him again.

And somehow, that meant forever.

[berilaksl]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

notes ! pure fluff, lovestruck! remus x reader and teasing from marauders.

warnings ! none really

Part I — The Library Chronicles

Golden rays filtered through tall, stained-glass windows of the library and stretched across the polished wooden tables and worn spines of ancient books, casting a sleepy calm over the castle’s scholarly heart.

At the far end of one row, James Potter and Sirius Black sat across from each other, quills in hand and faces lit with suspicious mischief as they pored over a stack of books titled “Charms of Illusions and Confounding Tricks” and “Advanced Magical Mishaps: A Guide.”

“I’m telling you, if we combine the Disillusionment Charm with a basic Muggle smoke bomb—” James started.

“—and maybe a hovering charm so the whole corridor looks like a foggy battlefield,” Sirius finished, practically vibrating in his seat.

Across from them, Remus Lupin was attempting to read Defensive Magical Theory, jaw tight and eyebrows pulled together like storm clouds.

“I don’t know why you two thought the library was the best place to brainstorm a full-blown prank,” Remus muttered, eyes flicking from his book to his parchment. “Some of us are trying to be productive.”

“Some of us,” Sirius said, cocking a brow, “are clearly just trying not to look over at the other table across from us again.”

Remus stilled, the tips of his ears reddening.

James smirked, setting his quill down dramatically. “It’s true. You’ve been glancing up every three minutes, mate. Do you want me to lend you my watch so you can time it better?”

“I am not—”

“—pining? Brooding? Suffering in scholarly silence?” Sirius grinned. “Remus, your tragic love story is happening live in the library and we’re the front-row audience.”

Remus groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple. “You two are insufferable.”

Just a few tables down, you sat with Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald, parchment spread out in front of you as the three of you annotated your Transfiguration notes in neat, color-coded harmony. Well—at least you tried to.

Because every few moments, without meaning to, your gaze would flick upward. Always toward the same place. Always toward him.

Remus Lupin.

You weren’t even sure when it started. Perhaps in third year, when he’d helped you pick up a stack of books you’d dropped near the Herbology greenhouses, and you’d shared a laugh that made your cheeks ache. Or maybe it was during that Potions disaster in fifth year when the two of you had been paired together—pure chaos, but still, he’d looked at you like you were made of stars when you finally figured out the antidote.

He was clever, thoughtful, and ridiculously charming in that quietly sarcastic way that made your stomach twist. And Merlin help you—he had that broody, cardigan-wearing, chocolate-and-old-books energy that made your brain go fuzzy.

But he was also stubborn. Withdrawn. Hard to read when it mattered most. And you? You weren’t about to throw yourself at someone who clearly wasn’t going to make a move.

Even if you sort of—kind of—maybe wanted to.

“You’re staring again,” Lily whispered beside you, scribbling something into the margins of her parchment.

You blinked, suddenly caught. “I was not.”

“Darling,” Mary chimed in, barely glancing up, “you were practically burning a hole through his jumper.”

You flushed and tried to focus on your notes, scribbling a little too hard with your quill.

Back at the Marauders’ table, James leaned across to Sirius. “I’m giving him a week.”

“A week?” Sirius laughed. “You’re generous. I say three days before he finally admits he’s hopelessly in love with her.”

“Will you both shut up?” Remus hissed under his breath, flipping a page so aggressively it nearly tore. But then—

He looked up.

And your eyes met.

It was just a second. Two, maybe. But it felt like everything else in the library blurred out, like the quiet rustling of parchment and distant whispers turned into static. Your breath caught. So did his.

And then you blinked, and it was gone.

Remus dropped his gaze like he’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.

James let out a triumphant whistle. “I saw that! Moony, you romantic bastard.”

“I swear, if you say one more word—” Remus warned, but the heat creeping up his neck gave him away.

Across the room, Lily leaned toward you. “You’re really going to make him suffer like this forever, aren’t you?”

You bit back a smile, twirling your quill slowly. “He could talk to me, you know.”

Mary smirked. “So could you.”

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And he was, against all better judgment, completely ruined.

Meanwhile, you had noticed the glances too.

How could you not?

Every time you so much as flicked your gaze toward Remus, he looked away so fast you almost got whiplash. He was terribly bad at hiding it — which, truthfully, only made him more endearing.

You leaned toward Lily, whispering just loud enough for Mary to hear too.

“Think I should go over there and ask him if he’s lost something?”

Lily choked on a laugh, hiding it behind her hand.

Mary smirked.

“Oh, do it. Please. The poor boy’s about one compliment away from fainting.”

You shook your head, smiling into your parchment.

As much as you liked teasing him in your mind, the idea of confronting Remus Lupin — whose clever, tired smiles made your stomach somersault — was frankly terrifying.

Back at the boys’ table, Sirius and James were plotting.

“We need to do something,” Sirius said, stage-whispering. **“At this rate, he’ll pine himself into an early grave.”

James leaned in conspiratorially. “Operation: Push Moony Off The Ledge?”

“Brilliant.”

Remus caught the look exchanged between them and narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Who, us?” Sirius said innocently.

Before Remus could argue, James and Sirius had both loudly and obnoxiously dropped a very heavy tome on Remus’s half of the table, conveniently open to a page titled:

“Twelve Foolproof Ways To Impress The Witch of Your Dreams.”

Remus turned a shade of crimson that would’ve impressed a Weasley.

He slammed the book shut and hissed: “You absolute prats—”

And that was the exact moment he glanced up — and caught you looking at him, amused, eyes sparkling with barely hidden laughter.

He froze.

It was like someone had floored him. Like time slowed.

Your mouth curved into the faintest, teasing smile before you turned back to your friends, whispering something that made Lily snort into her sleeve.

Remus sat there, heart hammering against his ribs, quill forgotten entirely.

“Smooth,” Sirius said, voice vibrating with laughter. “Real smooth, Moony.”

“I hate you,” Remus muttered.

James patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“We’re doing this for your own good, mate. You’re hopeless.”

Meanwhile, across the library, Lily and Mary were also plotting.

“You have to do something,” Lily urged you. **“He looks like he’s going to pass out if you so much as wave at him.”

Mary added, grinning: “At this point, it’s cruelty to leave him hanging.”

You rolled your eyes, though warmth crept into your cheeks.

“Maybe after we finish this essay…”

(You both knew you wouldn’t wait that long.)

Across the library, two separate operations had been launched — each with the sole mission of pushing two stubborn people toward the inevitable.

And neither of you had a chance.

[raven-unkind]

⋆♱✮♱⋆ D is for dangerous (part 1)

Ni-ki Nishimura x fem!reader

wc. 2071

summary: after pairing up with a slytherin for a potion project, you somehow find yourself unable to tear away from him  

tw. fem!reader, reader is implied to be a gryffindor but I don't mention it alot, reader is kinda awkward & Ni-ki is a halfblood, enha mentioned and all implied to be Slytherins (ikik sorry). Harry and Malfoy are mentioned like 1 time, also voldy died so we dont worry about him :)

a/n. Hello! This is my first fic and english isnt my first language so pls be nice. Part 2 should be up pretty soon :) comment to be tagged or fill my taglist form! btw 10 galleons is like 73.5 usd.

part 2

Potions are fun, well usually it is. You see, Professor Slughorn has a way of making his classes fun and the hardest potions seem like lightwork as long as you have a functioning brain and some sense of what you’re doing. What isn't fun on the other hand are group projects. Sure pairing up with your friends is nice; you know them and you’re sure they'll do their work. But not with people you don't know. So when Slughorn announced at the end of class that the class would have to prepare amortentia in pairs of his choice, you were ready to beg your ancestors for a partner willing to do at least some of the work. But to your demise (and the whole class really) Slughorn announced the pairs would be from different houses in order to ‘improve inter house relationships’, sending a pointed look at Potter and Malfoy. A list was stuck to the board and that was that. 

Sighing as you pack your things, you make your way to the board where a couple of your classmates are crowinding up. You get on your tiptoes, trying to find your family name on the page. (l/n),  (l/n),  (l/n).... Ah it's there! And next to it… Nishimura. You press your lips together, turning your head to find the Slytherin. You're not quite sure how the boy even got in Slughorn advanced potion class but you still hope he’ll do his part. At least I could get him to freeze the Ashwinder eggs since it's a pain… As you try to spot him, you hear a loud “Who the fuck is (l/n)?” When you’re finally able to spot him, he’s sitting on a desk at the very back of the class, next to Sunghoon, somehow spotting his name a few meters away from the board. His eyes meet your unimpressed one, and he flashes you his signature smirk. You give him a once over, trying your best not to roll your eyes. He makes his way to you, stopping in front of you. 

“Looks like we’re partners huh?” He looks at you with a look you assume makes girls eat in the palm of his hand. Boys…. “I'm going to the library after class, let's meet up there to slip up the ingredient prep.” He surveys your face, nodding. You leave the classroom, hurrying up the stairs to your transfiguration class.

—————————————

“Ok we’re gonna need to ask Slughorn to give us some pearl dust, which we can only get from his personal collection, can you take care of that?” You glance up from your notebook to a seemingly uninterested Ni-ki. “Are you even listening?” He glances up “Yeah, you’re asking me to fetch the pearl dust.” Ok, maybe the project wouldn’t be so bad afterall… Well at least he does listen. Ni-ki straightened up, resting his elbow on the table, joining his hands together. “So tell me, how come I've never heard of you before?” You close your notebook, leaning back on your chair, unsure how to answer him. “We never talked before today.” He smirks “Actually- I dont think I’ve ever seen you talk to anyone before… Do you even have friends?” He asks almost tauntingly. You raise an eyebrow, unsure why he suddenly seemed so interested. “I do have friends…” you cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defeat “Hey can't blame me for being curious”. Shaking your head, you open your potion book. “Let’s just get this over with…”

Fortunately for you, Ni-ki, while being mostly clueless about potions, was willing to both help and learn, taking some task of the amortentia making process upon himself. The month quickly passed, and the potion turned out to be a success. Slughorn was pleasantly surprised by your grade, especially when you confirmed that Ni-ki did play an active role in the process, which brings you to your current predicament; Ni-ki and you, standing in front of Slughorn’s desk, waiting for the last of your classmates to leave. “Miss. (l/n), I’d like for you to tutor Mr. Nishimura for a few months.” Your eyes widen, taken aback by the professor’s request. “Uhm, professor… may I ask why me?” Slughorn smiles, gathering some documents on his desk, which you assume is for his next class. “I know you are a talented student, Miss.(l/n), and you and Mr. Nishimura seem to be quite the team. The potion’s quality was excellent and if what you told me about Mr. Nishimura's contribution to it is indeed true… you might be able to help him raise his grades.” He gestures towards Ni-ki, continuing “Mr. Nishimura here is a talented quidditch player and while I know he doesn't play in your house’s team, it would truly be a shame if he couldn't play the upcoming seasons because of his grades…” You glance at Ni-ki, who sends you a sheepish look. You nod, it’s not a bad idea… teaching the material to someone else is another way of studying. Yeah! What's the worst that could happen? “I… I'll do it.” Ni-ki’s eyes widen. “Really?! You will?” You nod, and Slughorn claps his hands together, beaming. “Excellent, truly admirable Miss. (l/n), it seems the two of you are the only ones who truly grasped the point of this project!” Happy with the outcome, the professor continues to praise himself. You and Ni-ki share a look, and decide it might be best to leave. The walk back to the Great Hall is quiet. As you take the stairs to get to transfiguration class he stops you. “Hey-... uh I just wanted to say thank you for accepting to tutor me even though we aren't in the same house…” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It's nice- I appreciated it.” He stuff his hand in his pocket, smiling and you think that there’s simply no way all Slytherins are bad. You shake your head “No problem, don't mention it… tThe whole Gryffindor and Slytherin should be sworn enemies thing… it's kind of dumb so I don't mind… but just because I'm tutoring you doesn't mean I'll cheer for you out there.” You say with a smile, attempting to dissipate the weird tension in the air. He seems surprised but he simply returns your smile and nods, leaving for his next class. 

—————————————

In the first few days you spend tutoring Ni-ki you learn a few things. First, all Slytherins aren't stuck ups who believe in blood purity rank, Ni-ki and his half-blood status proved that. Secondly, if there was one thing Ni-ki did know, it was quidditch. He started playing in second year as a chaser, and he was good, really good. And thirdly, he had a knack to make you feel at ease, going as far as making your tutoring lessons enjoyable. Well maybe a little too much…..

Leaning back on his chair, Ni-ki looks at you.“You know, you aren’t as serious as I originally thought.” You look up from his notebook, red pen in hand as you correct his potion report. “What do you mean?” He smiles as he speaks. “When I first saw you, I assumed you were some super serious and reserved nerd… And you kind of look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” He adds, shrugging. You blink at him. “I do not???” “Oh trust me you do darling.” Your eyes widen at the sudden pet name and in order to protect both your sanity and divide his attention from the growing blush on your cheeks, you said the first thing that comes to your mind. “Well that's rich coming from the guy who looks like he’s gonna marry his first cousin.” Ni-ki burst out laughing, earning a disapproving look from Mrs. Pince – the librarian. You shush him, glaring. “Be quiet!! We’re gonna get kicked out because you’re too loud-!” Ni-ki lowers his voice, trying to keep his laugh to a minimum. “I'm sorry, it's just… I did NOT expect you to say that.” 

You look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh come on- I cannot be the first person to make fun of how obsessed some of y’all are with blood purity-” Ni-ki takes a deep breath, trying to calm down his laughter. “It was unexpected okay?” You start laughing silently, his laughter contagious. “Okay but will you?” You ask teasingly but also a little curious. “What?” “Marry your cousin.” Ni-ki looks absolutely bewildered that you would honestly ask him that question. “No???? Why the fuck would I do that?” You shrug. “Dunno. But honestly… I can't believe it's actually a thing- it just doesn't sit right with me to marry your cousin. Why not just marry another pure blood?” “Uhh, preserving culture? And like… the family structure or some shit.” You blink at the very much… weird explanation and sigh. “Why are you people like this??” Ni-ki pretends to be offended by the jab. “How dare you bring my family into this?!” You roll your eyes. “Because your family and weird pureblood values are literally the reason we’re having this ridiculous conversation.” He snickers. “Fair point.” You huff, shaking your head. “I swear, you don’t take anything seriously.” “That’s not true!” He argues, though the grin on his face says otherwise. You give him a deadpan look. “Ni-ki you’re the most unserious person I’ve ever met, you would laugh at a piece of toast falling.” He raises his voice, trying to defend himself, a smile tugging his lips. “I do NOT find humor in a piece of toast falling!” He pauses for a moment, his smiles widening further, picturing it. “Ok maybe I do, but that's beside the point-!” 

The b0th of you continue cracking j0kes until Mrs. Pince, after a particularly loud laugh from you, has to – quite literally – ask you to leave. Ni-ki bites back his laugh, sending an apologetic look at Mrs. Pince. “Of course, we were just leaving.” Packing your bags, leaving the library in a hurry, crackling on the way out.

“I can't believe it, we actually got kicked out of the library” Ni-ki’s eyes find yours, an incredulous look on his face, as if the idea of being kicked out of a library – for disturbing everyone by breaking the number one rule of a library – was inconceivable. You put a hand over your chest, struggling to breathe. “Wait, I literally can't breathe right now-” Ni-ki continues with a smile on his face. “We got kicked out of the library….” His face fall, realising what happened “WAIT WE ACTUALLY GOT KICKED OUT OF THE FUCKING LIBRARY!!” “OH MY LORD SHUT UP!” He covers his mouth, realizing how loud he just was. He turns to you whispering. “If they tell Slughorn I’m totally getting detention.” You shake your head, “It's fine we were just a bit loud, they won't give you detention for that… right?” Ni-ki passes a hand through his hair, looking around the hallway. “Who knows, maybe Dumbeldore will decide to give me detention AND make us pay for a library pass..” He lowers his voice, seeing some very confused Ravenclaws nearby, staring skeptically. 

You sign “Man I'm too broke for library pass….” Ni-ki chuckles pitifully, the idea of yet another detention dimming his laughter a little. “You can't afford the 10 galleons?? Me neither.” You turn your head towards him. “Charging us 10 galleons for a library pass is crazy” Ni-ki shrugs, acting as if 10 galleons is pocket change. “Well if it's the price to pay to enter the forbidden lands of the library...” He glanced at you, cracking a smile. You shake your head smiling, as you start walking “Shut up Nishimura.” You miss the lovesick look he gives you before catching up to you. “I mean, it was kinda your fault we got kicked out…” “ME??? I did nothing! YOU are the trouble maker mister!” Ni-ki crosses his arm, offended. “Why am I the one being pinned as a troublemaker?! YOU were the one that kept laughing!” “Because you kept saying out of pocket shit-!” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving you a slight shove. “Dang and you also hit women huh?” Ni-ki looks at you horrified, almost tripping on air. “I do NOT hit women. And even if I did, THAT wasn't even a hit! It was a shove, a light one at that.”

©RAVEN-UNKIND

reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay sebastian reacting to mc learing gaelic for him. we know that he probably speaks it due to his parents and being Scottish i just imagine him reacting like that guy when his girlfriend

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DAZlsjsy2mG/?igsh=MWp5NXo5OGJ6Z255cg==

Mo Chridhe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Ancestry says I'm 0% Scottish but I did my best BAHAH

Words: ~1,700

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Established Relationship, Fluff, Very Fluffy

The soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees buzzing around the early blooms filled the courtyard, mingling with the distant chatter of students enjoying the newfound spring weather. You sat cross-legged on the cool stone bench, your Charms textbook open in your lap and a half-finished essay balancing precariously on your knee. The warm sunlight felt good against your skin, a welcome change after the long, dreary winter.

Sebastian, on the other hand, wasn’t paying any attention to his homework.

He lounged beside you, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, one arm draped lazily over the back of the bench as if the very idea of studying offended him. His open Transfiguration book sat abandoned on the ground, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. Instead of working, he was leaning in close, prodding at your quill with his finger like a bored cat trying to get a reaction.

“Come on,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, teasing lilt. “How many hours are you planning to spend on that essay? You’ve written enough to fill three scrolls already.”

“Two scrolls,” you corrected without looking up, deftly shifting your quill out of his reach. “And unlike you, I actually plan to finish my assignments before midnight.”

Sebastian let out a dramatic sigh and tilted his head back to squint at the sun, the soft curls of his hair catching the light. “The best ideas come to me under pressure.” He grinned, his gaze shifting to you. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “The only thing I’ve noticed is that you’re terrible at staying on task.”

“I’m excellent at staying on task,” he shot back, straightening up slightly. “And my current task is making sure you don’t spend the whole afternoon scribbling away when you could be enjoying this beautiful weather.”

You glanced up at him then, raising a skeptical brow. "Enjoying the beautiful weather, or entertaining you?"

“Both, obviously,” he said, flashing you that signature smirk—the one he knew was impossible to ignore.

You groaned and went back to your essay, refusing to let him distract you any further. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead, he shifted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder with absolutely no regard for personal space, his woodsy scent wrapping around you like a blanket.

“What’s this one about, then?” he asked, his breath warm against your ear. “Another thrilling analysis of wand movements?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “It’s on advanced offensive charms,” you said. “And if you don’t let me focus, I will hex you with one.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against your shoulder. “Advanced offensive charms? Why bother writing essays about them when I could just give you a live demonstration.” He lifted his wand and gave it a dramatic twirl, the tip sparking faintly.

You reached out, swiftly catching his wrist before he could attempt anything. "I've had enough detention his month because of your antics, thank you very much."

Sebastian made a show of pouting, his wand still poised in his hand. "Detention builds character, love. Besides, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our last one—scrubbing those cauldrons gave us plenty of quality time together.”

You raised a brow at him, your lips quirking into a sly smile. "Oh, yes, nothing screams 'quality time' like scrubbing years of potion residue out of the bottom of old cauldrons. Truly romantic."

Sebastian grinned, his chin still resting comfortably on your shoulder. "You’re saying that now, but I distinctly remember you cornering me in the—"

"Alright, alright!" You cut him off, heat rising to your cheeks as you waved your quill at him in warning. "No need to revisit that memory in public, thank you!"

Sebastian’s grin only widened, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s the matter? Embarrassed?” he teased, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who—”

“Sebastian,” you interrupted again, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointedly avoided his gaze.

Sebastian's grin turned wolfish as he tugged on your tie, pulling your face closer to his. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that always made your stomach flip. "You know, you’re adorable when you’re flustered," he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin.

You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest. Usually, when he got like this—bold, unrelenting, and utterly incorrigible—you'd be left scrambling for a retort, something, anything, to wipe that smirk off his face. But not today.

Today, you were prepared.

Ever since you'd overheard Sebastian mention, offhandedly, how his parents used to speak Gaelic when he was young, you’d been secretly learning the language. He’d spoken of it with an odd mix of nostalgia and melancholy, lamenting how rare it was to hear it anymore. That wistfulness had stayed with you, and you’d spent countless late nights practicing phrases in secret, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise him.

And now, with him leaning so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him, you seized your opportunity.

You smiled sweetly, letting your fingers curl around the hand still gripping your tie. Then, in a voice as calm and steady as you could manage, you said, “Sguir dheth.”

Sebastian froze, his grip on your tie going slack as his eyes went wide. For a moment, he just blinked at you, completely thrown off. It was rare to see him so utterly speechless, and you relished every second of it.

“What did you just say?” he finally asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You tilted your head innocently, your lips curving into a sly smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t recognize your own roots?”

He gawked at you, his expression cycling rapidly between shock, amazement, and something that looked like pride. “You—you’re speaking Gaelic?” he sputtered, his voice rising. Then, before you could respond, he sprang up from the bench, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re speaking Gaelic! You learned Gaelic!”

You leaned back, raising a brow at his sudden burst of energy. “A little bit.”

“For me?” he demanded, his grin splitting so wide it could’ve rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking equal parts stunned and giddy. “I don’t believe it. You—you actually learned Gaelic. Do you have any idea how bloody amazing that is?”

You laughed, caught off guard by his sheer enthusiasm. “It’s not that big of a deal, Sebastian—”

“Not that big of a deal?” he interrupted, throwing his hands in the air as if you’d just said the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “Are you mad? No one speaks it anymore! I don’t even speak it anymore! And you—Merlin, you—you just casually drop it on me like it’s nothing?!”

He sat back down beside you with a thud, his excitement undiminished. He leaned in close, his hands gripping your shoulders now as if to steady himself. “Say something else,” he demanded, his eyes alight with curiosity and joy. “Come on, anything!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, his boyish excitement infectious. “Tha thu nad amadán mòr,” you said, your tone teasing.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, and then he burst into a loud, delighted laugh, throwing his head back as he practically doubled over. “You just called me an idiot!” he said, between wheezing laughs. “Unbelievable. You go through all the trouble of learning my ancestral language, and the first thing you do is insult me.”

“Seemed appropriate,” you said with a shrug, biting back a grin. “You make it so easy.”

Sebastian shook his head, still laughing as he pulled you into his chest. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” he said, still grinning.

“Just be flattered,” you said, your voice softer now. “You seemed so nostalgic when you mentioned it, and I thought… I don’t know. Maybe it would make you happy.”

He pulled back then, his teasing demeanor softening as his gaze searched yours. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You—you didn’t have to do this. Gaelic, Merlin. I’m never going to shut up about this.”

You searched his face, your breath hitching as your eyes caught the faint shimmer of unshed tears pooling in his. It was barely there—so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t been looking—but it struck you like a bolt. Sebastian’s usually self-assured confidence had softened, leaving behind something raw, unguarded, and achingly sincere.

Gently, you reached up, letting your fingers graze his cheek in a tender, grounding touch. “Of course I’d do this for you,” you murmured. “I’d do anything for you, mo chridhe.”

At that, a tear slipped free, trailing down Sebastian's cheek, though he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Merlin's beard,” he murmured, his voice muffled but filled with warmth. “How am I ever supposed to top this?”

You laughed softly, your arms winding around him in return as you rested your chin on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his grin returning through the lingering emotion. “Oh, I will,” he promised, his tone lighter now but no less genuine. “But first, I’m going to spend the rest of the day telling everyone who’ll listen that you learned Gaelic for me. Everyone.”

“Sebastian, no—”

“Oh, absolutely yes,” he said, his grin turning wicked. “And you’ll just have to live with it, mo chridhe.”

You groaned, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. “Fine. But don’t expect me to bail you out when Ominis gets annoyed.”

“Worth it,” he said, pulling you close again and pressing his forehead against yours. “Completely worth it.”

[artytaeh]

what slytherin boy is best at which subjects?

WHAT ARE THE SLYTHERIN BOY'S FAVORITE, LEAST FAVORITE AND BEST SUBJECTS? ── 𖤐

. 𖥔 ࣪˖ that's a great question, anon! thank you for sending something interesting for me to write about. i gave it some thought─although it's, obviously, totally up for debate. if you have a different opinion, please tell me about it!

mattheo riddle tries so hard to beat allegations. but he can't! it's difficult to grasp mattheo's interest, so he definitely finds defense against the dark arts interesting, even though he denies it. come on, the dark lord's son being a DADA enthusiast? hogwarts would have a field day with assumptions and ridiculous rumors. mattheo thinks that the dangerous part is related to adrenaline, and a competitive sense of who's strong enough to survive it. besides, most of the DADA professors he had allured mattheo. especially moody and lupin. umbridge ruined it for him, though. mattheo also somewhat likes charms, because he gets to use new spells. mattheo would like potions a little more if it was more about mixing and cutting stuff than decorating a lot of things.

worst subject: whatever classes that are full theory and less practical activity. which means that history of magic is his absolute nightmare; boring, fully theoric, no enthusiasm, nothing to do with his hands. even herbology and transfiguration are a little more fun.

theodore nott is a good student. a lot of logic and studying that hopefully, buys him some peace at home with his father and less meetings with the man's cane. even though he's one of the best at potions, usually paired up with the unluckiest ones to balance the damage, theo's favorite class is astronomy. his favorite stories were the ones that his mother would tell him about constellations, how they were named like that and their link with greek mythology. astronomy is something that reminds him of his mother for many, many reasons. besides, it's an excuse for theo to stay up until later, and deny that it's purely out of the boredom that comes with insomnia. they're not his favorite classes, but theodore occasionally enjoys arithmancy, ancient runes and charms; theodore is very good at spellcasting.

worst subject: divination. theo thinks that it's a load of bullshit; the type of scam that a muggle could pull off. theodore doesn't believe a thing that goes out of trelawney's mouth; if she said that the sky is blue, theo would second-guess it. or perhaps he hated how she read in tea leaves something about theodore damaging his own future by his incapability of properly coping with his mother's loss... yeah, he's still bitter about her unprompted guess during his third-year.

lorenzo berkshire tries to pretend he enjoys the 'cool' subjects to fit in. ultimately fails and the group somewhat jokes that enzo is into girly subjects; that liking herbology so much makes him a wrongfully placed slytherin and maybe he should join the badgers. so he tries to somehow save his reputation—excusing his interest to be into the venomous and terrible magical plants. yeah, right. enzo actually thinks they're fucking nasty; the devil's snare? get that out of his sight. enzo just really enjoys interesting plants that would make his garden the most interesting museum. he's also intrigued by the language of flowers; it's a romantic language to speak and a knowledge he eats up with more enthusiasm than the advanced extra classes that theodore and blaise take. with the exception of herbology, enzo also really likes muggle studies — in lorenzo's eyes, it's very interesting how muggles exist without magic, and sometimes sneaks in muggle london to experience that different lifestyle by himself.

worst subject: beasts' class. for some reason, he's unlucky—or maybe most creatures just know that lorenzo berkshire isn't the most trustworthy pure-hearted snow white in hogwarts. maybe his previous bad experiences had a small fear within lorenzo, that some creatures take as a chance to target lorenzo specifically. but hey, at least he attracts a bunch of pretty witches!

for draco malfoy, we have canon insight about his preferences. where he shows good behavior and interest in potions, draco shows a lack of interest, impoliteness and lack of care for subjects like divination, care of magical creatures and defense against dark arts—when it was remus lupin teaching the subject. what i mean to say here is, draco's favoritism swings back and forth depending on the professor; if he respects the wizard slash witch who's teaching the subject, then draco will make an effort to be an extra good student at that. if he doesn't find interest, feel respect or think that the professor is 'ridiculous', then draco won't sympathize with the subject either. because he's somewhat close to snape, draco perhaps enjoyed potions even more.

that being said, his favorite subject is potions. on the other hand, his worst subject is anything that's related to interacting with living beings; draco doesn't have the slightest patience to conquer a beast's heart, much less to wait for a feral plant to grow accordingly.

blaise zabini is a tricky one. in canon, we only ever saw blaise playing quidditch as a chaser and being one of the best students of advanced potion's class. that, however, cannot mean that much—blaise sparks me as a good student because he values good grades, pretty much like theodore and draco do, albeit for different reasons. i feel like blaise would take pride on knowing a little more than the others, a small sense of superiority that gives him an excuse to be a bit arrogant — within reason, of course. ancient runes is a subject that fits students who enjoy puzzle-solving type of challenge, and blaise likes the knowledge that he has a more open vocabulary/ability to read less known books. it takes analyzing the context and some interpretation, which blaise thinks to be pleasantly challenging. after potions, i'd say that this is a rivaling number one for him.

simultaneously, detests arithmancy. blaise knows that theo is good at it, but he personally thinks that it's confusing—for someone who enjoyed ancient runes. it's in this type of matters that blaise understood that he's more of a language-reading-writing oriented type of wizard, rather than the whole mathematical calculations one.

✰ tom riddle is an exception here. in canon, it's said that he was a model student, remembered for his academic excellence. while i do think that tom had subjects that he cared and was more excited for—like potions, charms, and very specifically defense against the dark arts, which knowledge he was hungry for—tom thought that all the subjects were important.

even divination could be a higher form of study that tom could need someday. tom needed charms to form horcruxes, transfiguration is a helpful thing for a wizard to know how to safely (and successfully accomplish), and even herbology along with beast's class offered insight of how to use the living beings that surround him for his benefit.

again, his highest interest were the dark arts. i think that tom was unashamedly curious and would find ways to sneak into the restricted section of hogwarts castle's library to further feed his curiosity. definitely used his status as a head boy to achieve those late night reading sessions to his advantage—probably, he sought to fill that role for that precise reason.

[moonyswolfie]

Study Session

A/N: So I just finished a torturously long exam session and this fic is a result of all the stress and mental breakdowns I've accumulated like Pokemons during this time. I actually wrote this piece between two of my biggest and most difficult exams, hence the N.E.W.T.s coming in to play. I hope you enjoy and if you relate, I'm so sorry! Remember that you are strong and no amount of academic stress can bring you down!

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

Masterlist

The table you were sat at in the Library was so crowded with textbooks and parchments that you could not see the wood any longer. Notes and cheat sheets, explanatory scrolls of parchments, quills and bottles of ink covered the entire surface. Hell, Lily even brought a dictionary. Merlin knew what use would a muggle dictionary have when it came to magical terms, but you learned a long time ago to never question her genius.

It was N.E.W.T.s season and to say that all 5 of you were stressed would be an understatement. James thought that once you passed your O.W.L.s, the N.E.W.T.s would not be as scary as everyone made them out to be. It was an exam session, a very long and tiresome and perhaps crucial exam session, but it wasn't Voldemort, right?

Wrong. The stress was growing by the hour and despite having two more weeks at your disposal to revise and memorise all you needed to, it didn't feel like enough.

But then again, was it ever enough? 

You've been preparing for the N.E.W.T.s since the beginning of the school year, forcing yourself to attend every class and take a ginormous amount of notes that you knew would probably end up useless or lost somewhere at the bottom of your book bag. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to pause. Failure was not an option.

So far you tackled Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all of them easy and rather entertaining subjects, if you were to say so yourself. Right now however, you were stuck on the same Potions chapter for the past four hours and were just about ready to scream, cry, Avada Kedavra yourself or better yet, all of the above.

"Hey, Sirius?" 

He hums and looks up, noticing your twitching eye and the exasperation rolling off you in waves. 

"Y/N, are you okay?" 

The concern was palpable and it caught the attention of your boyfriend in an instant, yet Remus knew better than to pester you with questions right now. He was adamant about rest and health being your first priority, but considering his own overcrowded study schedule, he would be a hypocrite to point it out at the moment. He did, however, push a goblet of water in your direction, which you eagerly accepted and gulped down in seconds. You weren't exactly allowed food or beverages in the Library, but what Pince didn't know would not hurt her.

You thanked Remus and handed the goblet back, before turning to Sirius and taking a deep breath to regain your composure. 

"I have been rereading this chapter for the majority of our time here and I still don't understand the origins or the side effects of Amortentia when used for a longer period of time. No one really bothered to detail on them in any of our textbooks and I am not sure anyone ever subjected themselves to testing it out and then writing a memoir about it. However, Slughorn oh so graciously announced us that it might be included in the advanced exam topics. Do you happen to have anything on this? I know he mentioned some in class, but I didn't catch all of them."

"I think I do..."

He shuffles some parchments and knocks down some books, thus earning himself a stern look from Madame Pince, but ultimately finds the notes and hands them over.

"There you go, love."

You smile and thank him, humming while you scan the information. For such a chaotic human being, he had the neatest handwriting you've ever seen.

It doesn't take long for you to find the part about side effects, however there was nothing you didn't already write down yourself. Thankfully though, Sirius was the type of person to absently write down everything he heard so you found other helpful pieces of information. This was why you asked him for the notes in the first place, instead of Remus or James. Remus, much like yourself, only wrote the parts he was less certain of, whereas James didn't write anything at all. And Lily, Merlin bless her, she was a growing disaster when it came to writing information down. There was, contrary to her claims, no method to her madness.

You rolled up the parchment once you were done writing, yet kept it close, just in case you needed it again later. Sirius was studying for Transfiguration, so he wouldn't miss the notes anytime soon. Lily turned to you, ready to ask a question regarding a Charms lesson she was too sick to attend, but stopped and frowned, browsing the page spread out on the table in front of you.

"Y/N, why are your notes bilingual?" 

You turned and followed her gaze to the margins, specifically to the terminology you borrowed from Sirius...

You unscrolled his notes again and placed them next to yours, looking from one to the other with a bemused smile. Next to the name of the potion, you drew a little arrow and wrote amour et obsession, which would have been inconspicuous, had you not added une potion délicate and l'amour impossible devient possible.

There were a few more next to the ingredients list and some corrections made regarding the mode of preparation. As you scanned the two sets of notes, you noticed that his were entirely in French, while you half translated, half copied your added bits.

You didn't know what was funnier, that you mindlessly wrote the information in Frenchglish, or that you didn't notice it was in another language to begin with. 

English was your mother tongue, yet like every other pureblooded offspring, you were forced to attend a variety of language lessons to determine which ones you would be more skilled in. Romantic languages proved to be your forte, so you stuck with French, Italian and Latin. It wasn't easy in the beginning, seeing as they are all mere variations of the latter, therefore making them ridiculously easy to mix up and combine in the oddest of sentences, but you persevered and were now fluent in all four. 

Regardless, slip ups like the one you were tiredly staring at now were not unheard of. You were certain it was a testament to how tired you truly were. Perhaps Remus was right, you should rest more.

But then again, this was not a simple exam session. It was the one that would determine your entire future. You could sleep when you're dead.

"You write your notes in French?"

Sirius' head shot up immediatey, confusion written all over his face.

"Yes?"

By now everyone's attention was on your exchange, which deepened his frown. James looked like he missed everything until that very moment, Remus was watching his best friend with a raised brow and Lily was silently shaking her head, smiling. She didn't know how she ended up with the lot of you, but she knew she loved you dearly.

"French is my first language" Sirius added, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

Sadly, it did nothing to clear up the confusion. When neither of you said anything, he added "doesn't everyone take notes in their first language?"

Despite Remus being the only other person in your group who wasn't a native English speaker, therefore making him the best candidate to answer his friend, you all shook your heads, your faces betraying different levels of amusement and fondness. It was a rather endearing situation.

"I don't take notes in Welsh, if that's what you're asking. I don't think I can even translate half the things correctly. Besides, the spells are in Latin, so imagine how that would look on a piece of parchment."

You chuckled at the mental image of magical notes looking more like pages taken from that muggle author's book, Tolkien. Lily followed and you both received a glare and a pointed "shhh" from Madame Pince. Honestly, it was a wonder she wasn't kicking you out at this point.

"Wait a second" James turned towards his best friend "ALL of your notes are in French?"

Sirius nods. Poor baby looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"But don't you..." you frown, unsure how to formulate your question "I see you writing constantly. If the Professor speaks, you write. How..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and shaking your head "my brain hurts. You look as if you write down everything that is said in class, so I assumed that you do?”

You peek an eye up only to be met with Sirius chuckling silently.

“I do write mostly everything that is said in class, but first I summarize it and I guess it’s easier to summarize it in French. I find it easier if I reformulate the information because it shows I understood the concept, but to avoid learning something mechanically and forgetting it when I flip the page, I use my own words. The only issue is that sometimes I forget the word I need in English or there isn’t even a word in English for said thing to begin with. Thus French. And no one really asked me for my notes before you so I didn’t see any reason to put any effort in translating them. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with it anyway.” he adds with an amused smirk, remembering Lily’s previous comment about your notes

You mask your chuckle with a cough and glance at your notes again.

“That is actually a great idea, Pads, I might have to start doing it myself.”

“NO!”

The lot of you was startled by James’ whisper-shout. You gave him a bewildered look, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Are you alright, big brother?”

“Don’t you dare. I know you and your disturbingly brilliant mind. If you start implementing this method, you’re going to write your notes in Latin” he squints, an accusatory look in his eyes “and where am I going to get my last minute notes from then?”

That was it, you couldn’t hold it in any longer if you tried. You burst out laughing, prompting an exaggerated “SHHH” to be directed your way.

“This is your last warning, if you cannot keep quiet, I suggest you move your little study session to your Common Room.”

Madame Pince was stern, yet you couldn’t fault her this time. You were loud and you certainly disturbed a few of your peers seated at nearby tables.

“Sorry” you whisper with a sheepish look.

You returned your attention to the table just in time to catch Lily placing a sweet kiss on James’ cheek, mumbling “don’t worry, my love, I won’t leave you noteless” which seemed to lift his spirits immediately. As grossed out as you were by their affection sometimes (what are sisters for after all?), you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. You were really happy he found his better half, even if it happened to be one of your best friends.

But after all, you did return the favour, did you not?

Remus’ hand found yours under the table and he squeezed it affectionately. You squeezed right back and smiled up at him, mouthing “I love you” and delighting in the beautiful smile that took over his face for the rest of the day.