#bellatrix x you

[buggyboba]

Gonna start writing part two of "I'm starving, darling"!! I also think I'm going to release part one of my Bella fic.

What if I started releasing headcanons too. 👉👈👀

Also fable has me in a choke hold again so I might start writing for my problematic fave Reaver again.

[miryum]

A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious. 

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter. 

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends. 

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly. 

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree. 

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world. 

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you. 

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother. 

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect. 

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing. 

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright. 

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well. 

Best wishes, 

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours  myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable. 

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated. 

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close. 

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms. 

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows. 

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’ 

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were. 

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.” 

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth. 

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family. 

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?” 

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…” 

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son. 

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy. 

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue. 

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…” 

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger. 

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed. 

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates. 

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care. 

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him. 

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.” 

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour. 

“Goodnight,” you reiterated. 

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you. 

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?” 

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?” 

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.” 

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.” 

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him. 

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence. 

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library. 

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?” 

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red. 

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.” 

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm. 

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.” 

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied. 

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene. 

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up. 

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall. 

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him. 

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read. 

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply. 

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?” 

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered. 

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble. 

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly. 

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?” 

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. 

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer." 

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?” 

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children. 

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less." 

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously. 

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?" 

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you. 

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much… 

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how. 

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune. 

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted. 

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin. 

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.” 

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss. 

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his. 

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!” 

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid. 

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck. 

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes. 

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?”  Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline. 

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled. 

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

[bey0nd-1he-stars]

I know Snape was the only death eater that was able to produce a patrons and I’d just like to beg your pardon.

Snape conjured a patrons based on an obsession. What he had for Lily might have been love once but let be real, we’ve surpassed that phase. Now it feels like it’s just an obsession over her.

Other than Lily, his life was fucking miserable. His father was a prat and his mother was weird. He got bullied at school and he doesn’t really seem to enjoy his teaching life very much.

It’s also portrayed that his patronus is conjured from love and not happiness.

So excuse me if I feel like any other death eater has happier memories than Severus Snape.

Lucius Malfoy, he’s respected at the ministry and has a wife, a son that he at least cares about, a nice ass mansion. He’s wealthy and grew up in a famous, rich family, why can’t he conjure a patronus?

Bellatrix Lestrange, like the only death eater who really enjoys what she’s doing with Voldemort. She straight up laughs when killing Sirius. Why can’t she conjure a patronus?

Regulus Black, whose love for his god damn house elf got himself killed. Why can’t he conjure a patronus?

Narcissa Malfoy, who loves her son more than anything, so much that she straight up lied to Voldemort who can read minds just because there’s a chance her son is still alive. Why can’t she conjure a patronus?

Why can’t any of the death eaters conjure a patronus especially since Harry, at 13 years old, could do it based on a made up memory.

It’s a shit excuse to get people to like Snape more.

[wordsarelife]

—the black dog

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: the war awakes something in theo you hadn't thought was even there. you battle with your feelings of heartbreak, while you try to forget his everlasting presence in your life

warnings: mentions of death, grief, pain and torture. canon typical violence. this is very much heartbreak through and through

note: this isn't exactly what you asked for but your request inspired me to write this. i feel like it was important to highlight the complicated relationship that theo and reader resulted in because of the war.

theo and draco are cousins in this.

"would you please just talk to me?" you screamed. he had been acting weird for a few days now. 

at first you hadn't thought anything of it, not at the beginning. it had started with draco, who had been strange since the school year started, staying behind when the rest of you would go somewhere or disappearing in the middle of dinner. 

you had tried talking to him, you had grown closer over the time you and theo were together. you had quickly realized that it was hard for draco to build relationships, partly because he wasn't sure how and partly because he was scared of being left. 

you had done a pretty good job at showing him that you were going nowhere and that he, even if theo and you should break up one day, would still be your friend. 

you had thought that it had something to do with his parents. he didn't mention them often and you had only met them once, during a visit to the manor for a festivity during the winter break of the fifth year. you admitted that you didn't know them well, but it was easy enough for you to judge narcissa malfoy and the connection she had to her son. the love that kept her from ever risking something happening to him.

whatever was going on with him, his mother was well informed and probably already searching for a solution.

but draco had made it clear to you that he wanted to be left alone and you didn't push him to tell you more, just comforted him whenever he would let you or pansy. 

his weird behavior had been a constant throughout the entire year, until the point where it had influenced mattheo and enzo to act just as suspiciously and if you thought it couldn't get worse, you had been wrong. 

"i can't" theo muttered between clenched teeth, and you tried to look at his face as he frantically turned away from you. 

"is it about harry? is it about something he said to draco? did he say something to you?"

harry and the rest of your gryffindor friends were normally a topic you strictly avoided when in company of the slytherins and especially draco. you didn't agree on the childish rivalry they had going on and rather just kept out of that. but now that you thought about it, harry had been acting just as strange as draco had since the beginning of the year.

"potter doesn't matter, y/n" theo pressed his hands on both your shoulders, scaring you with the look on his face. 

"let me help you, love" you tried to not let it affect you, to not let the fear shine through your voice and honestly, you weren't scared of him, but of what would happen to the boy you loved so desperately it felt like breathing. 

"you can't" theo shook his head. "but you have to get ouf of the castle immediately, promise it to me"

"what? why should i--"

"you have to promise it" theo repeated louder, desperate and teary eyed as he stared at you like you had already died. 

the threatening war had made it harder to overlook the differences between you and the slytherins. you were a pureblooded witch, but definitely didn't share the same views about blood purity your friends did. 

"okay" you cooed, taking him into your arms. "i promise, i promise anything you want" 

theo didn't leave much room for questions when he told you to get off the hogwarts grounds and apparate home to your parents a few minutes later. you were scared and confused, as you watched the fear in his eyes flame up at whatever was coming. there was something he was not telling you and it simply broke your heart, knowing that he had to go through it alone. 

you weren't sure what took over you, when you heard a familar laugh, one that was so earth shattering and haunting, you couldn't help but dash back into the castle, despite what you had promised your boyfriend, his name repeating over and over again in your mind. 

you took two stairs at once, sprinting up the tower, wand in hand and ready to jump to theo's defense. 

"you made mummy so proud, boys" bellatrix said and you wanted to throw up at the tone in her voice. you could just imagine enzo and mattheo, or what was left of them, looking at their mother, not one bit of love or familiarity on their face. just fear. 

before you could climb the rest of the stairs, a hand grabbed you, pulling you to the side, behind old school supplies. the persons other hand was pressed onto your mouth and your eyes grew big until you noticed harry, stoic expression, not amused at seeing you. 

"harry" you muttered relieved. 

"what are you doing here?" harry whispered, not caring for the fear in your voice or the intent you had had coming up here in the first place. 

before you could answer, bellatrix spoke once again. 

"your boy has surely made you proud too, nott" she giggled. "just like our draco will make his parents in just a few minutes"

your eyes went up to the floor above you like your own name had been called. it wasn't even theo she had called by the name and still you could just imagine his slumped down shoulders and sickly expression. the same he had been spotting these past few days.

harry watched you closely, as if to make sure you would keep quiet, before his eyes turned back up too. 

“do it” bellaxtrix hissed at draco, who had raised his wand at dumbledore.

harry and you exchanged glances, before he too, raised his wand. you gripped on his arms tightly, shaking your head at him. 

“we can’t” you mouthed. 

“dumbledore” harry whispered. you shook your head again, tears spilling over your cheeks. 

your eyes left harry and wandered back through the floorboards. you couldn’t see theo, enzo, and mattheo, but draco was clearly shaking in fear and you couldn’t help but be worried about him. 

“draco” bellaxtrix encouraged once more “do it!”

“he’s not brave enough, bellatrix” notts voice rang out sounding as triumphantly as possible. you heard movement on the floor, a pair of dark shoes stepping forward and you wondered what nott was planning to do, when your heart suddenly stopped beating. 

“avada kedavra” a voice muttered, wand raised and aimed at dumbledore, who fell backwards so slowly as if time had stopped.  

harry gripped your arm, your body still frozen, as your eyes stayed focused on notts shoes. theodore notts shoes. not his father. theo, your theo. 

theo had just killed dumbledore. 

one part of you wanted to scream, jump into the open and scream at him or bellatrix or all the people a few steps above you, but the other part, the unstoppable dread, was aching to hide away from all of it, to just go and never come back.

how could you ever look at him again after what you had just witnessed? would he still be the same after he had done something like this? you couldn’t. he wouldn’t. your heart ripped open. 

“y/n” harry whispered, pushing you back to hide the both of you behind some old astronomy maps. footsteps descended down the stairs and out of the tower and you felt like you could breathe again once he had left. 

you sank to your knees immediately. harry still watched the space around you, not sure if you were entirely safe yet. 

someone ran up the stairs. harry tried grabbing you to push you back behind the old things, to shield you from whoever was coming back and trying to finish the job. 

it was snape and harry felt relieved for the first time upon seeing the teacher. he didn’t fully trust him, but dumbledore did. also, snape was a far better option than any of the death eaters. 

snapes eyes jumped between harry and you on the ground, before they turned to look up the stairs. 

“they’re gone” harry said, voice raised to drown out your sobbing, before he bent down once more and helped you back onto your feet. he pulled you close, to bring you comfort and shield your tear spilled face from snape's penetrating gaze.

harry wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he could almost see a bit of pity in snape’s eyes, when the man watched you stand on your shivering legs, only held up by harry, as if your body was too heavy to stand on it’s own.

it was just suddenly that the meaning of snape's presence painted a clear picture in your mind. narcissa malfoy hadn't found a solution, no she had found something that was even better: a substitute, someone to step in, when draco would ultimately fail upon the task he had been given.

and tiberius nott had done the same, only that he had proudly sold out his son instead of sparing his life.

you threw off harry’s arms, walking across the room, step by step, until you were standing in front of the teacher, ready to bash his head in.

“you are too late” you cried, not caring if spit or tears or anything else fell onto his robes. you stabbed a finger to his chest. “it’s your job to help. why didn’t you help him?” you cried.

snape furrowed his brows in confusion. “draco?” he asked in his normal tone, but a little bit of surprise broke through. just like you had thought. not even snape had held draco for capable of fulfilling his task.

you shook your head. slowly, bitterly. It was unfair that you had to say his name, that you had to recapture the event like a missed quidditch game, that snape had been late enough to miss it, but perfectly on time to watch your life fall apart.

you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. couldn’t even mutter the name that had been the most beautiful thing to you these past years, there was nothing left. no meaning behind those letters and still you couldn’t do it. “nott” you said. 

it was over. 

“nott?” snape repeated, as if he was daring you to finally say what you had been dreading. 

“junior” harry muttered. you turned your head at him and he looked down on his shoes, as if he was ashamed you had heard him. 

“surprisingly unexpected” snape noted, like you had been discussing the weather.

“what?” you muttered, your voice strained. 

“y/n” harry said softly and you could hear him coming closer. you broke apart from snape, slapping his hand away when he tried reaching for your arm in an unusual caring manner. 

“you failed him” you spit at him, before you stormed out of the tower, harry hot on your heels.

bellaxtrix and the rest of the deatheaters, were jumping down the grass path to hagrids hut. following behind them were draco, enzo, mattheo and finally theo, who stepped out of the castle as last.

they had probably strolled through the halls, bringing their inevitable destruction into the home you had grown to love and cherish.

harry and you had watched them from the side of the entryway, dried tears on your cheeks and the anger taking over the pain that had tightened your chest. you loved him, but you couldn't believe that he had had no choice.

killing someone was not debatable.

you had watched in susprise when theo had not been there with them, but your surprise had been quickly taken over by even more anger, when he finally strolled through the door, hands in his pockets, like he was talking a late evening stroll.

your hand wept forward without so much as a thought, gripping the material of his tie and yanking him back.

theo made a gurgling sound, briefly breathless, and it was only his surprise that allowed you to measure up enough strength to effectively pull him back. that and your anger.

harry helped you as he pushed theo against the wall, wand at his throat.

theo took a big breath as soon as you let go of his tie, his eyes widened in surprise as he completely ignored harry and only looked at you, your face cast with shadows of the darkness in the creeping night and the regret that was so evident it only pained him further.

"didn't i tell you to go home?" it didn't surprise you that there was still a hint of superiority in his voice, even if it had faltered tremendously.

"you knew about all of it, didn't you?" you asked instead.

"y/n" theo sighed, in a tone as if he was inspecting a failed task for a homework you hadn't been able to finish. "i can explain"

"i don't think you should" you muttered and you were doing your best to not let the look of helplessness that now entered his face break your heart any further. "i just think i speak for the both of us, when i say that it's over"

"y/n" theo pleaded, pushing against harry's hold to try and reach for you. you stepped back and harry pushed the tip of his wand deeper into theo's neck.

you shook your head, not having it in you to look at him, before you turned around. "do what you have to do" you left the two of them alone, knowing that harry was just waiting to punish theo for killing one of the most important people to him.

you couldn't muster up the courage to even care about what would happen to him. your anger at snape had evaporated as fast as it had come. theo had it in him to kill and snape's late arrival changed nothing about that.

the person you had loved died together with the headmaster.

everything had been lost the moment he had muttered the curse, leaving behind a hurricane of feelings in your heart, but no one left to love in this world.

you did not waste another thought for him, pushing his name so far away from your mind, you almost forgot about him completely.

but a three-year relationship wasn't just consisting of memories, but of habits too and you found yourself thinking about possibilities in the dead of night.

possibilities that you had thought to be endless before, but of which was only one left now.

what if theo hadn't killed dumbledore?

your friends were clearly worried about you. hermione and ginny never left you alone during your stay in the burrow or during the nights, which had to have been the most haunting. the time were you most experienced his loss, as nightmares were plaguing your mind and fear was taking over your senses, feeling like you had made a mistake with theo. even if your friends and the weasleys said something different.

it was the same restlessness that lead to you following hermione, ron and harry on an adventure that was trying to fulfill an impossible task.

but there was no hope left if you didn't at least try what had been asked of you and you were smart enough to realize that.

even though you were always together, the time you were on the road seemed to be the most lonely you had ever felt and you found yourself thinking more about theo than you had wanted to.

none of your friends dared to say anything to you the next morning, when you would call out his name in your dream, always asking yourself what had happened, and if he was even still alive.

your question was answered in a different way than you had liked, when your group was discovered by deatheaters and brought back to malfoy manor, where not only draco and the malfoys, but theo was staying too.

you hadn't seen him at first, down in the dungeon. but surely they had come to get hermione, bringing her back a few hours later, scarred and crying for mercy as she fell into ron's arms.

it took another hour to call for the other female friend of harry potter.

"the other?" you could draco's voice ask when you were dragged up the stairs and through the halls.

"what other?" it was theo's voice that was now speaking, fear and dread overweighing the curiosity.

the door flew open and five people turned around to gain a look at you.

narcissa and lucius malfoy were sitting in obnoxious chairs, spotting similiar looks of surprise and interest.

bellatrix was hanging over the back of narcissa's chair. her hands pressing down on her younger sister's shoulders, squeezing them as if she was excited.

narcissa suddenly seemed less content, as she heard the similar gasps coming from her sons and nephew's mouths.

draco and theo were staring at you wide-eyed. their faces pale and painfully twisted as they recalled what had happened with harry potter's other friend just hours before.

"oh" bellatrix quirked up when the unknown death eater threw you to the floor and theo and draco dashed forward at the same time to try and catch you, before they were held back by the black haired witch. "do you happen to know her?"

your eyes were fixated on the doors behind you, which fell close with a loud thud as the deatheater who had brought you disappeared.

"no" draco and theo mustered up to stutter at the same time.

you send a glare across the room. it meant nothing, those two were only shells of the boys you had once known. but the innocence had been drained from them like a well run dry in a relentless drought.

"what are we going to do with you?" bellatrix smiled, stepping away from the chair and walking around your body on the floor.

narcissa reached for theo's arm, when he was about to drag bellatrix away from you.

you averted your eyes. not giving her the satisfaction to see the fear in them.

bellatrix looked through your act immediately. "she's a tough one" she noted and her expression of admiration changed to a malicious grin as she saw theo close his eyes.

"you do it" she laughed excitedly, stepping forward and pulling theo into the middle of the room.

"bellatrix, please" narcissa said, not even bothering to stand up and stop her sister from her attempt.

"what, cissy?" bellatrix asked. "you don't think she should be punished for stealing?"

"stealing what?" your voice made bellatrix turn around dramatically.

"would you look at that!" she gushed "the girl can speak!"

"yes" you nodded "and the girl can even tell you that she stole nothing"

"lie" bellatrix giggled and you had to admire her persistence, while the playful tone in her voice kept you on edge, always waiting for the moment she would break into an insanely loud scream.

you had heard not only hermione's cries, but bellatrix' screams from the dungeon. that gave a measure to how loud she was able to scream. and how she could torture until there was nothing left of the person you had once been.

"atta boy!" bellatrix encouraged theo, as she pushed him closer, until he was standing just a few feet from your body.

you wouldn't beg for their mercy. you would die without feigning any regret. if bellatrix really thought you stole something from her, you were glad she was torturing you instead of harry, who was much more important for everything coming after.

you could afford to die so early into the war. you were of no importance for the safety of the wizarding world.

you looked up at theo. the blue of his eyes mixed together with the tears that were already spilling over the edges.

"it shouldn't be hard" you said, voice hoarse and strained. you had been apart for almost ten months and he was still creating a lump in your throat, he was standing for everything that had been lost.

theo exchanged a glance with draco, almost as if begging him to take his place.

"bellatrix, this is madness" narcissa said, a bit stricter now, as if her simple words could really change the mind of someone who had already decided to embrace the madness her sould had been corrupted by.

"oh, cissy" bellatrix giggled "how will he learn? just another step on the path he must take to be granted the honour of the dark lord"

"do it" you said to theo, ignoring what bellatrix was babbling about.

"i can't—“ theo looked back at narcissa, talking to her rather than you.

"do it!" you repeated, louder this time.

"she even wants him to" bellatrix noted, clear amusement in her voice. she was almost excited to find out more about the conflict between you and her nephew.

"she's a pureblooded witch" theo turned to bellatrix, now trying to convince her himself. "she's one of us"

"i'm not" you protested, but bellatrix ignored you, stepping forward and touching theo's cheek softly with the pocket knife that she had taken from her robes, dripping in blood. hermione's blood probably.

"i thought you didn't know her" bellatrix mused "but the knowledge about her blood status suggests otherwise" theo gulped and before he was ready to say something, bellatrix has dragged the weapon across his cheek with one quick gesture, leaving a bleeding cut.

theo looked down quickly, as if to hide his injury from you, but he hadn't missed the gasp of air you had taken, scared that the woman had planned to kill him.

bellatrix stepped back next to her sister. "go on boy, don't make auntie bella angry" she threatened, playing with the knife in her hand.

not even narcissa dared to say something.

"just kill me" you told theo, when he raised his eyes to look at you once more, wand still losely hanging to the side. "you know how to"

"y/n" theo muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

"it doesn't matter" you shook your head. "just do it" you closed your eyes, ready for the stream of the green curse to take over your body and future.

theo did not raise his wand.

"kill me" you said loudly, unforgiving, almost screaming. you opened your eyes to look at your tormentors. apart from bellatrix none of them looked like they were particularly enjoying what was happening.

bellatrix’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as if she was savoring the power she held over theo. narcissa’s face was a portrait of conflicted emotions, torn between her loyalty to her sister and her love for her son and nephew. lucius’s gaze darted nervously between the scene unfolding before him, as if hoping for some resolution to the madness. draco was crying and trying to swallow the breaths that were tempting him to throw up right on his aunt's feet.

and theo? theo was rather keen on killing himself than doing you any harm.

you were less forgiving. "kill me like you killed dumbledore!" you screamed, tears falling on the floor in front of you, as your voice echoed off the cold stone walls. the anger in your voice was raw, pure, and unfiltered. theo flinched at the words, his face paling further, if that was even possible. the weight of your demand seemed to crush him, making it even harder for him to act.

you were so indescribably angry. but not at what he had done to you, but rather what he had done to himself. and that in it alone was the reason you would never forgive him.

he had ruined what you had loved. he had killed the person you had loved the most and you had nothing left to care about what would happen to you.

maybe it was his punishment that he had to be the one to kill or torture you.

theo’s grip on his wand faltered as he looked at you with a mixture of horror and heartbreak. he seemed to be struggling not just with what he was being asked to do, but with the shattered remnants of the person he used to be.

bellatrix’s patience wore thin, her frustration evident as she waved her wand dismissively. “enough of this pathetic display,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “the boy is clearly too weak for this task.”

“no!” theo shouted, his voice cracking. “i can’t— i won’t—” his wand dropped to the floor, clattering against the stone with a finality that seemed to reverberate through the room.

the room erupted into chaos as bellatrix’s fury reached its peak. she turned on theo with a rage that was almost as palpable as your own pain. narcissa tried to intervene, her voice pleading, but it was clear that the darkness had already taken hold.

but before she was able to mutter a curse, to torture or kill theo right in front of your eyes, harry, ron and hermione came running in the room, wands raised they started firing spells.

it took you a moment longer to get up. you and theo held eye contact, the boy just a crumpled mess on the floor in front of you. you reached out your hand and took his wand, disarming bellatrix, who began screaming.

the fight was short and unforgiving as the malfoys were throwing spells. draco was struggling to keep up with harry's quick movements and theo did not even make an attempt to stand up. instead he kept his eyes trained on you.

dobby appeared suddenly, calling you to him to bring you to safety, after he had let a chandelier fall onto bellatrix who had held a knife to hermione's throat.

you stepped forward once more, kneeling in front of theo, who looked up at you with curiosity, just hoping you would be taking him with you.

"i will never forgive you" you muttered instead and all hope left his face and heart. you healed the cut on his cheek with a move of his own wand. "you should've killed me and maybe i could've been able to"

you did not look back again as you ran across the room to your friends. you just left him there, on the ground in malfoy manor, as you took dobby's hand and followed your friends into the uncertain.

one heart shattering realisation left with you that day.

theo's gaze would haunt your nightmares. but the possibility of his death would haunt your dreams, as you could only forgive him if he didn't survive.

[seriousaboutsiriusblack]

Andromeda: Everybody has a gay cousin

Sirius: I don’t have a gay cousin!

Bellatrix: …

Narcissa: …

Andromeda: …

Regulus: …

Sirius: o wait, I AM the gay cousin

Bellatrix: no kidding, Sherlock!

[lenaswritingandstuff]

All I had - Mattheo Riddle x f!reader (Part 2 & END)

Requested: No well I lowkey did

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x f!reader

Summary: After his girlfriend y/n is killed, Mattheo has to deal not only with pain and sorrow, but also cruel accusations (complete original prompt here), and asks someone for help.

Word count: 4.7K

Warnings: mentions of death, lost and grief; cursing ;

A/N: Thank you guys a lot for the good feedback the first part got! Here Mattheo and Tom are also Bellatrix' sons, and Mattheo is older than Harry by one year (so this takes place during Harry's sixth year) and younger than Tom by one year too. There will be two povs in this part, and I might do a bonus scene if (a lot of) people ask. This is my first time writing for Tom (and Voldemort) so I really hope it's alright. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Hope you enjoy it!

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @arlxtoa

GIF IS NOT MINE.

PART I

The two Aurors got up and left, and Mattheo blinked. When he opened his eyes again, the  cold metallic table and the chairs disappeared, and he was back into the small room with the bed and the floating candles. Weakly, he laid on the bed and crossed his hands on his stomach. He didn’t know how long he had been here, in this room which was more magical than he thought as the bed, the sink and the table that were here when he arrived disappeared every time the Aurors came in, with a metallic table and three chairs surrounded by simple darkness which disappeared when the two men did. However, it must have been at least two days, spent refusing anything he was proposed to eat or drink - strangely enough, though, he wasn’t feeling hungry or thirsty at all - and refusing to say what those two fuckers demanded. Everytime they came in, Mattheo asked if they contacted Tom so he could come, but they refused to answer, insisting with their dumb questions instead. 

At first, his brother not coming to his aid had gave Mattheo great anxiety, as he saw it as the only way to prove he didn’t do what they accused him of - his mind refused to use the real words - but now, as time passed and without an answer, all anxiety - which was the only thing he was able to feel besides his pain and empty chest - had left him, leaving only resignation. If he was sent to Azkaban, so be it. After all, even if he didn’t do it, didn’t he deserve it for not being able to protect y/n? He was her boyfriend, who vowed while looking into her eyes, her eyes he was crazy about, to always protect her and save her if needed, and he couldn’t fucking do that. And again, even if he didn’t do it, it was his fault she was gone. If he hadn’t gone out for a stupid cigarette with Theo, maybe y/n wouldn’t have left her room and she would still be here, holding his hand and kissing him. Some part of him knew that maybe she left to go help a friend in need - typical y/n - and didn’t actually go out to look after him after he took a while to come back, but the biggest part of him refused to think about that theory, refusing to admit that it wasn’t his fault somehow. 

It had been too good to be true, he thought. He had managed to escape both his parents ever since his father came back and his mother escaped Azkaban, Tom and Dumbledore helping him hide during the summer holidays - y/n had asked him countless time to come to live in her parents’ house, but despite wanting nothing more than to say yes and spend the summer by her side, Mattheo had refused to put her and her family, who had already been kind enough to let someone like him date their daughter, in danger. He had also managed the anxiety and stress his father’s coming back had brought, mostly due to y/n’s love and care, and had even managed to plan on becoming an Auror once he would leave school, which he knew had worried y/n, but now, all the good things he had managed to do and the overall good - or at least; bearable - life he had built around his friends and y/n not only meant nothing, but it had died with her. Because even if I manage to not go to Azkaban, what would I do? I might as well join my father. 

But Mattheo had that thought, y/n’s sad, disappointed face appeared to him, and he hated himself even more. y/n wouldn’t want that, he forced himself to think, slightly shaking his head. y/n would want him to fight, and most importantly, would want him to remain the boy she had loved. His only option, if he managed to not go to prison, would be to hide until his death - which now he didn’t care when it would come. The door suddenly opened, bringing Mattheo out of his thoughts, and had half expected the Aurors to come back and, letting out a long sigh and closing his eyes, he prepared himself to insult them this time, but it wasn’t one of their voices he heard. 

“Brother.”

Fuck. Mattheo’s eyes snapped open, and he jumped on his bed, and at the same time turning his head so quickly he could have hurt himself. Taller and of stronger structure, Tom was standing near the door, his dark curls perfectly styled contrasting with Mattheo’s messy hair, and dressed in an all black suit. 

As if he was waking up from a long, deep sleep, Mattheo’s mind was not perfectly aware, and got used to the idea of Tom actually being here. Looking up at him, Mattheo noticed his elder brother looked paler than usual, and there was something strange about his eyes. 

“They called you,” Mattheo managed to say.

“They did. Their message came late, however, as I was…busy, in the north.” 

In other circumstances, Mattheo might have asked Tom what he meant by that - he never really knew what his brother was up to ever since the latter left Hogwarts last year - but, now, he just slightly nodded in answer. 

“Dumbledore told me,” Tom continued, his tone now sounding more febrile and softer, “that y/n was… dead.”

The last three words hit Mattheo like a thousand knives in the heart, but they also for some reason finished to convince his mind that it really did happen. 

“The two Aurors told me you did it.” 

“I didn’t,” Mattheo answered immediately, the defensive tone and behavior he had been having for the last two days around the Aurors coming back. 

“I know. Though I wish to know what really happened.” 

Sighing and his eyes on the ground, Mattheo explained everything that happened that night, from spending an usual night with y/n in her room - he saw a small grimace on Tom’s face for a small second - to going for a smoke with Theo.

“Then on my way back, I was walking by the courtyard when I saw her…her, I…I saw her body.”

Mattheo then raised his gaze, and saw that Tom’s body and face had stiffen, and one of his fists was now closed. A year ago, this reaction from Tom upon hearing about y/n would have angered Mattheo deeply, but now, he only felt some annoyance which surprisingly disappeared quickly.  

“There was no round around?” Tom asked. “No sign of anybody?” 

Mattheo shook his head negatively. 

“Who do you think might have done it?” Tom questioned in a sharper tone. 

“I don’t know. She only had friends. Teachers liked her. Her family is normal…” 

“Try to think, Mattheo,” Tom cut off coldly, growing impatient, “try to remember a detail, a conversation y/n had with someone…”

“I don’t know!” Mattheo said louder. “I haven’t been able to think ever since I had her corpse in my arms!” 

Tom had a very small sigh. “Then maybe y/n didn’t tell you about it. Do you think her friends might know something?" 

“Her friends never liked me much,” Mattheo had a bitter small laugh. “Well, except for Pansy.” 

“I see. I’ll have to ask them some questions, then.” Tom said. And I could as well have searched her dorm for a clue, but I heard her family already took her belongings and cleared her room,” he added in annoyance.

Mattheo frowned. “Her family? Her family is already here?”

“Yes. It’s been two days, they had to take her body,” Tom answered, his voice a bit febrile. “I suppose the… funeral will be held soon.”  

It was already unbearably hard enough for his mind to understand the idea that y/n was dead and would never come back, but to imagine her immobile body in a casket, alone in the darkness and the coldness of the silent underneath the ground…No, fucking no, that was something he could not and could never handle. When he looked at Tom again, Mattheo saw him as lost in thought, as if he felt the same way. And he knew he did. 

“Do you believe she could have had some sort of stalker or admirer?” Tom questioned after a moment of silence. 

“You mean, other than you?”

Tom looked at him, now angered but a bit surprised as well. 

“Unbelievable. y/n is dead and you’re still thinking about this?” 

Mattheo didn’t answer. Of course that was stupid to think about what happened last year, especially now. Last year, between Umbridge’s tyranny and the suspicion that had raised around Mattheo and Tom now that their father was back, something Mattheo never imagined happened: Tom, the cold and quiet Tom who had never looked at a girl before, had fallen in love. Mattheo had been amused at the idea, and had been curious to know who the lucky girl was, despite the whole thing happening in front of his eyes. One day, a very surprised y/n had come to him, saying Tom had asked to talk to her in private and had confessed to her that his heart, which all thought cold and frozen, had fallen for her. Angry as he never had been in his life and only listening to the part of himself which was telling him that his brother wanted to steal everything from him, Mattheo had immediately went to see Tom and a big fight had followed, and it would have probably became physical if Tom hadn’t remain his calm self, although greatly annoyed at Mattheo’s shouting, and his friends holding him back just in case. y/n , sweet, innocent y/n had felt guilty despite not being at fault, and later Mattheo had realized that it was likely her fondness and compassion for Tom, who was “always so alone” which had made his older brother think he and y/n might have a chance. Mattheo had never been mad at y/n, but, unable to not be angry at Tom and unable to not think that Tom wanted y/n just because she was with him, his cordial relationship with Tom had been broken, and they never had any contact after Tom graduated. But with time, Mattheo had realized he understood Tom. After all, y/n was beautiful and had a heart of gold, and people were drawn to her and her warmness, kindness and natural charm. It wasn’t even a surprise that someone like Tom, cold and silent, would fall for her despite being as different as can be. But while also thinking about this, he had then remembered all the times he had seen Tom and y/n speaking, studying, or just the kind things he would sometimes tell her, and it had made sense.

“I know they found your wand. You mentioned you lost it,” Tom said suddenly. “Do you have any idea where that might have happened?”

“No,” Mattheo said, looking at the ground. “I just know I lost it after class.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“y/n.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember any details? Anything that could help?” 

“I already told you no,” Mattheo said with annoyance. 

He tried to think hard about it, though, trying to remember his walk from y/n’s dorm to the dark corner of the castle where he met Theo, and remembered it overall - the empty corridors, making sure nobody, especially a teacher, wouldn’t see him. He then tried to remember every detail of the way back. He tried hard, forcing his mind to bring itself back to this moment, but to his great confusion, he didn’t remember anything. It was as if, one moment, he was walking away from Theo, and the other, he was walking by the courtyard, seeing his biggest nightmare coming true. 

“I don’t remember anything from my way back to her dorm,” Mattheo simply said. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember anything between leaving Theo and seeing h…her body.” The last two words still had a hard time leaving his mouth. Suddenly, he had a thought, maybe the most clever and useful thought he had ever since he had been brought here. 

“Maybe you losing your wand and your memory somehow disappearing are linked,” Tom stated, and Mattheo nodded. “Did anybody here do some strange things or had a strange behavior this year?” 

Mattheo thought, and quickly had an idea.

“I heard Harry speaking with his friends once. He said Draco was up to something, and, well, I noticed he’s been acting strangely since september.”

Tom remained silent, and acquiesced. 

“Then I shall have a conversation with our cousin.”

They opened the door after Tom knocked once, and the two Aurors were still here waiting for him when he left the room. He ignored them and started walking down the small corridor, but they apparently were not willing to do the same. 

“Did he tell you anything?” one of the Aurors asked, full of curiosity, trying to keep up with Tom’s quick and long footsteps. 

Not bothered, Tom did not even give him an answer. 

“Well?” the other insisted. 

“No, he did not,” Tom answered this time, but only to get rid of them. “He already told you he was innocent. There was no more he had to say. Just like I have nothing to say to you.”

It worked, and the Auroras stopped following him. He left their outraged and suspicious gazes behind his back, but to say he didn’t care was an understatement. It was already the end of the afternoon, and classes just finished. Tom, ignoring the surprised looks of the crowds of students, walked to Snape’s class, and found him here sitting behind his desk. His former professor raised his eyes, and though he didn’t show it, Tom knew Snape was surprised to see him at Hogwarts. 

“Snape.”

“Mr. Riddle.” 

“I wish to talk with a few of your students. Be kind to bring them here.”

“And may I ask why you wish to talk to them?”

“If I thought it concerned you, I would willingly tell you,” Tom responded. “Now, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkison and Daphne Greengrass.”

Snape looked at him, but did not say a word. Minutes later, only two silhouettes entered Snape’s dark greenish class. The two girls exchanged a curious look upon seeing Tom.

“Tom?” Pansy Parkinson asked. She had always been somehow unafraid of him, and Tom respected that fact. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to help my brother.” 

Parkison raised her eyebrows with genuine surprise. “You think he’s innocent?” 

Tom nodded. “I know you two ladies were y/n’s closest friends. I need you to tell me if she had anyone who wished to do her harm.” 

Pansy shook her head and had a slight sigh, “we already told the Aurors everything.”

Daphne nodded, “y/n had no enemies. Well,” she added with a false smile, “at least that’s what we thought until her own boyfriend turned out to be one..” 

“Mattheo is innocent,” Tom retorted right away. 

Pansy chuckled bitterly, “Don’t make me laugh, Riddle. Everyone in school knows how they found his wand near her body, and how the last spell it cast was the killing curse. He did kill our friend, and I hope he will rot in Azkaban for the rest of his days.”

Tom remained silent, ignoring his growing annoyance, and instead focused his mind on entering Parkison’s. He saw her in Daphne’s arms, probably crying over y/n’s death, and going back to before that event, he saw her this time laughing with Daphne and y/n, and his heart - if it was still there - skipped a beat. Seeing her full of life, laughing, when he knew she would never laugh again was almost too much to bear. He continued inspecting Parkison’s memory, and when he couldn’t find anything, did the same thing to Greengrass. He didn’t find anything new inside her mind, and had a hard time not showing his displeasure. He had entered their minds and saw their memories so quickly that they didn’t even notice what he did. 

“Where is my cousin?” Tom finally asked, quickly looking at Snape.

“Draco?” Parkinson asked. “Well, we saw him in class, but…”

“He left right after the last one. Maybe he’s in the common room, or maybe his dorm?” 

Tom wanted to ask if, like Mattheo, they thought Draco had been acting weirdly, but wouldn’t do that in Snape’s presence. He gestured for the two girls to go, and turned back towards Snape. 

“If I don’t find who murdered y/n and exonerate my brother before I leave Hogwarts, I suggest you continue looking for the murderer. Because, as you well know, Severus, my wrath is nothing compared to his.”

Not waiting for Snape’s answer, Tom left the room. He directly went for the dungeons, where the Slytherin common room was. Some friends of Mattheo were here, sitting on some of the couches - Berkshire with his innocent face, Nott always acting as if he had no care in the world and Zabini who never smiled - and they immediately came to him when they saw him. 

“Tom?” Nott asked. “You’re here to help Mattheo, right?” 

“Did you find anything?” Berkshire asked. 

“I need to speak to my cousin. Where is he?”

“We don’t know,” Zabini shrugged. “I looked in our dorm, he’s not here.”

Tom decided to go check the room himself, and walked in its direction. As Zabini said, there was no one here. The room was well ordered, full of expensive things both Zabini and Draco’s parents had bought and of Slytherin decoration, but Tom looked into it, he didn’t find anything. His patience growing thin, Tom quickly left the room, and, ignoring Mattheo’s friends and their questions, left the common room. Walking through the corridors, he only met a few much younger students who did not dare to look at him for too long until he saw three silhouettes talking softly.

“Potter.”

The latter turned immediately, but didn’t seem that surprised to see him, and they walked closer to each other.

“My brother told me you found Draco’s behavior strange. Why?”

“We saw him at Borgin & Burke with his mother. They seemed like they didn’t want people to know they were here. Sometimes, he disappears and doesn’t come to class. He’s always quiet, and you never see him outside of class.”

“And pray tell, what’s your theory?”

Potter stared at him, and as Tom expected, didn’t say anything.

“Come on, Potter. You’re smarter than most people give you credit for.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t be smart if I told you what I thought.”

Tom inclined his head, squinting his eyes. “So it has to do with my father. You believe he’s a Death Eater, don’t you?”

Potter’s eyes hardening was enough for Tom to know he was right.

It wasn’t common for Tom’s father to pick followers that young, but if it was indeed true, Tom was not surprised. Either his father had expected Draco to replace Tom’s uncle Lucius, or he was forced to. I know my cousin. He may be arrogant and spoiled, but he doesn’t have the stomach to be a Death Eater. Not for long, anyway.

“I see,” Tom continued. “And where do you think he goes when he disappears?”

Potter looked at him, hesitating before giving an answer. “I can’t be sure, but…the Room of Requirement makes sense.” 

And with that, Tom turned his heels and went to the seventh floor of the castle. He knew it was going to be hard, as that room could appear anywhere, but he wasn’t going to give in. In a long, empty corridor, he closed his eyes, and walked past a large naked wall three times. I need to find what Draco has been up to. I need to find who killed y/n. Doing his best to shut the pain that thinking about y/n brought him, he walked past the wall for several minutes, but when he stopped his pace and opened his eyes, the wall was still naked. Growing angry, he all of a sudden heard footsteps breaking the silence. He focused, and almost instantly knew who it was. Draco. Putting himself against the wall, Tom waited barely a minute, and immediately grabbed Draco, who, as expected, tried to resist.

“Let me go!”

“Quiet.”

Draco immediately stopped moving, and, upon seeing who had grabbed his arm, frowned.

“Tom?” 

Tom immediately saw that Draco’s face was paler, looking even a bit gray, and thinner than usual, and that he had dark bags under his eyes. 

“Greetings, cousin.” Tom said with calm and a smile. “I have a few questions to ask you, if you don’t mind.” 

Draco started to struggle again, but Tom took out his wand, pointing it on his cousin’s chin. 

“Do not make me do something I will not regret. It is really simple, cousin. You either answer my questions, or I will get them out of you. Do we understand each other?” 

Draco remained silent, but Tom knew he understood. 

“Do you know who killed y/n?” 

“No!”

“Do you know who might have done it?”

“No! Let me go, now, or I’ll-”

“Do what?” Tom said, amused. “Please, pray tell.”

Draco again didn’t say a word, only giving him a death stare. Despite allegations of Draco acting weirdly and his weaker look, Tom knew it didn’t mean Draco had anything to do with y/n’s murder - the word was enough to almost wreck havoc. However, despite Draco’s denial, Tom felt something was off. Just like he did with y/n’s friends, Tom entered Draco’s mind, but found it way harder. Immediately understanding why, Tom smiled.

“I see my mother taught you Legilimency. I expected better, though.”

Not wasting another second, Tom pointed at Draco’s forehead. At first, he was shown memories from Draco’s first years here, bullying students with his friends, then darker, unhappier memories with his parents and Tom and Mattheo’s mother at Malfoy Manor, succeeded at last by what really interested Tom. He suddenly saw his father, probably furious after Uncle Lucius failed the disaster at the Ministry, and then had a memory of Draco inside the Room of Requirement - as Potter had guessed - standing in front of what Tom knew was a Vanishing Cabinet. The whole scenery disappeared, and instead there was the boys’ restroom, with Draco sitting on the ground with his face in his hands, crying. Next, he was back to Malfoy Manor, standing in front of both Tom’s parents.

“My sons have both been a disappointment, a great disappointment,” Tom’s father said calmly. “I still hold hope for Tom, but as for Mattheo…If I don’t act quickly, he will be out of reach forever. You said there was a girl at Hogwarts that he ‘loves’.”

Tom felt his heart beat faster, and his breath became short. 

“Well,” his father continued, “along with the other task you have been given, Draco, you will kill that girl. If you don’t, I’ll kill your mother and then you.” 

If he thought Dumbledore telling him of y/n’s death broke his heart, learning it was his father who ordered it broke his soul. But he had barely time to process that memory that another came, bringing him back to Hogwarts. Draco was standing against a wall in an empty corridor. Tom heard voices from afar, and after a moment, saw his own brother. Jumping behind him, Draco pointed his wand at the back of Mattheo’s head.

“Impero.”

Mattheo took his wand out of his robe and Draco grabbed it. Mattheo didn’t move as Draco went back to the spot he was hiding it, and pointed once again his wand at Mattheo.

“Obliviate.”

A few seconds later, Mattheo slightly shook his head and continued walking, eventually disappearing. The next memory happened at night, and Draco was once again hiding, this time in a corridor which led to the courtyard, apparently waiting for someone. But Tom didn’t even have to guess who, because it was as if his whole being knew who was coming and what was going to happen. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to hear, but his eyes refused to look away or to close themselves. He heard familiar footsteps, and suddenly, y/n appeared; walking rather quickly, and she took a glance at the darkness of the courtyard. Tom saw Draco’s hand shaking as he pointed Mattheo’s wand at y/n and, after hesitating for a short moment, opened his mouth.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Despite his whole being screaming at him to look away, Tom turned to y/n and saw her looking at the green light coming to her right and gasping before the spell hit her, and her body hit the ground. Draco closed his eyes, and a tear ran down his cheek. Taking his own hand, Draco moved it, and y/n body started levitating, heading for the courtyard, before eventually lowering itself to the ground. Tom stayed here, looking at her corpse, wanting to scream for the first time in his life. He didn’t know how long he stared at him, his very soul in pain, but it must not have been for long, because when he pulled himself together, Draco was still here, and he heard a familiar voice.

“y/n?”

Mattheo was here now, close to her body. He kneeled near her, taking her into his arms, calling for her, asking her if she could hear him, eventually crying, screaming for her to come back. Draco once again shed a tear, and took out both his wand and Mattheo’s. He made Mattheo’s wand float to fall down near Mattheo. Wiping away his tears, Draco tried to look normal, started walking away, and thus his memory was over. Tom was brought back to reality, to the corridor where he was holding Draco - y/n’s murderer, the one who had taken his only chance of happiness from him. If it was another person who had been killed, Tom might have understood why the murderer did it and even maybe felt compassion as he knew how his father was, but it was y/n, and it took everything in Tom to not torture Draco in ways that would have make his father happy. Draco tried to fight Tom’s grasp again, but this time, Tom took the opportunity to answer the last question he had on his mind. He rolled up Draco’s left sleeve, and saw the Dark Mark. Potter was right, after all, was all that he thought.

“It was Draco.”

Mattheo looked at his brother, confused.

“What? Draco did what?”

Tom looked back at him. “He killed y/n. I saw it. In his mind. Our father told him to.  He put you under the Imperius curse to take your wand, used it to kill her, and put it next to you after killing her.”

Mattheo tried to grasp the idea, but simply couldn’t. Draco, his vain cousin, spoiled and loved by his parents like neither him or Tom had been? 

“He’s a Death Eater,” Tom added with no emotion. “He has the mark. He killed her to save both his and his mother’s lives. I do think he didn’t want to do it. He cried a bit.” 

Mattheo gulped. “Did she…Did she see him? 

But Tom knew what his real questions were: did y/n see death coming? Was she scared? Did she scream for help, for anyone - for him, to come and save her? 

Tom became pale, and for the second time in his life, Mattheo saw that his brother’s eyes were sad. 

“No. She only saw the spell for a quick second before she…”

Mattheo closed his eyes, and nodded. One half of him wanted to see it with his own eyes, wanted to see her last moments, where he should have been here to save her, but the other half refused to, convinced he would turn into a mad man if he saw her dying. Mattheo felt warm tears leave his eyes and roll down his cheeks. 

“She was all I had,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“I know,” Tom said, staring at the wall on his left. “She was all I had, too.”

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[whisperingn1ghts]

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[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic July 23 - prompt 23: Rescue [word count 798]

Sirius had learned to recognise every single sound around him. He could hear the legions of rats plaguing Azkaban scurrying in the walls. They hadn’t come into his cell after the first night he had spent there, when the first rat to poke its head in the newcomer’s cell had ended up crushed in Padfoot’s jaw, paying for another rat. He could hear every sound traveling down the corridor. He could tell how many Dementors were by his cell by the swish of their coats alone. Sometimes a hysterical laughter echoed from who knew exactly where up to his cell. The first time he had heard it, Sirius had had to lean on the wall and had immediately transformed into Padfoot again, curling up in the corner opposite the door. Now when he heard it it barely fazed him.

“Hello there, Bella. Still alive then,” he would murmur before resuming what he was doing which was usually trying to stare out of the small grated window above his cot.

Other sounds traveled to his cell, mainly screams or begging, and other times a voice talking. Sirius had taken quite some time to recognise the voice, despite having heard it often in the corridors at Hogwarts years before. Crouch Jr. The only person left for him to blame for Regulus’s death since Orion and Walburga had apparently died from the utter shock of having no heirs left after October 31st. And now he was stuck in a place where the other’s voice would drift through the door, sometimes arguing loudly, sometimes possibly reciting whole pages of books Sirius remembered having studied himself, sometimes laughing almost as hysterically as Bellatrix, sometimes repeating the same word over and over like the night before when Sirius hadn’t been able to sleep because the whole prison seemed to be filled with one word.

“Rose, rose, rose, rose, rose, rose, rose.”

Come dawn, Sirius hadn’t been able to know if he wanted to ask Crouch when he had become so interested in botanic or just strangle him.

So it was natural for him to hear an unusual sound as soon as it echoed somewhere. Footsteps. The Dementors only glided, and no one was ever allowed to visit Azkaban. It was a double sound, as if two people were walking in the corridors, their steps different. Sirius was about to move to the door to better listen when the footsteps stopped somewhere. A couple of seconds later, his door blew up in a flash of bright green light and smoke. Sirius coughed and tried to better look at the shape coming through the smoke. He blinked, feeling his heart skip a beat, then he was crushed by two arms.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, my love,” Remus’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Moony,” Sirius looked up at his boyfriend’s face. “I thought… I mean, they must have told you…”

“They packed you up without even a trial and sent Harry away somewhere just as fast. It was all too easy, I knew something was missing even if I don’t know what.”

“I swapped with Peter. He was Secret Keeper instead of me.”

As he watched the colour drain from Remus’s face, Sirius realised he had never been able to say that sentence out loud. Remus swallowed.

“Alright,” he managed to say. “We’ll deal with this as soon as we’re back on land.”

“How did you get in here?”

“I had help,” Remus motioned to the door.

The green smoke had almost cleared by now, and on the threshold stood a pretty blonde woman, her hands calmly crossed on her very pregnant belly.

“Pandora Lovegood,” she smiled at him. “You might remember me as Pandora Rosier back in school.”

Sirius just nodded. The Rosier twins, other people who had constantly been around Regulus. He remembered the Order meeting when Alastor Moody had proudly announced Evan Rosier had been killed in a run-in with the Aurors.

“She’s got a knack for explosives,” Remus said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, running around Azkaban with the sister of a Death Eater. “The smoke stuns the Dementors as well.”

“But not forever,” Pandora said. “Come on, I have another cell door to blow up before we can go, and I don’t want to be too long, my husband worries easily.”

“Which door?” Sirius asked as he followed Remus in the corridor, strewn with motionless Dementors.

“Barty Crouch Jr,” Remus said. “I had to agree to it to rescue you.”

“Crouch?” Sirius repeated. “But he’s been condemned to life here!”

“As were you,” Pandora smiled. “Besides, there’s something him and me have to tell you about your brother.”

“Regulus?” Sirius breathed.

“Come on,” Pandora started down the corridor. “We have an awful lot to do.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 31 - Body Hair

@jegulus-microfic March 31 Word count 1435

Here we go guys. I hope it doesn't disappoint.💜💜

Previous part First part

Something was wrong. Regulus, Barty and Evan had all been summoned, but not to Malfoy Manor. They’d been summoned to a field in Devon. 

They’d only just all returned to Rosier House to start planning the best way to defeat Voldemort. 

“We’re coming with you,” James told him. “The rest of us will hide. But at least we’ll be there if anything goes wrong.” Regulus argued, but Sirius moved to James’s side and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. 

“We’re coming, Reggie.” He said firmly. Regulus stopped trying to change their minds.  

They apparated together a safe distance from the field into a small wooded area. Regulus’s dark mark was searing with pain as Voldemort summoned him over and over again. 

“I love you,” He said, grasping James’s robes and dragging him down for a final kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others doing much the same. 

He let go of James and took Remus’s arm as Voldemort summoned him again. They spun and landed beside Barty and Evan in the centre of a field of long grass. 

“My Lord,” They spoke together, bowing low as one. 

“What took you?” Voldemort hissed, his anger not hidden at all. 

He stood before his entire congregation of Death Eaters. Regulus was pleased to see the werewolves hadn’t been summoned as well. He must think they aren’t that much of a threat. Perhaps he was right.  

“We were hunting down my brother as you demanded, my Lord. We were hot on his trail and had hoped to capture him before we answered your call.” Regulus said using his best penitent Lord voice. 

“Liar!” Voldemort hissed at them so fiercely that they half expected him to transform into a snake. 

With a crack, Bellatrix and three masked Death Eaters appeared beside Voldemort. James, Sirius, Lily and Pandora with them, bound tightly. They shoved their captives forward towards Regulus. 

“Pan-Pandora, what are you doing here?” One of the masked Death Eaters spluttered, breaking rank. Lord Rosier was quickly forced back into line by Voldemort’s deadly stare. 

“Mr Potter and Mr Black were caught leaving Rosier House last night with our spy in chains. We have put two and two together and assume you are all working together. You have all turned spy for Albus Dumbledore.” Voldemort spat the name as he revealed why they’d been summoned. “Did it start when you were captured?” He asked Regulus. 

Regulus set his jaw and nodded stiffly. Voldemort narrowed his eyes. “You have betrayed Lord Voldemort. What an incredibly foolish thing to do.” While Voldemort had been distracted, Barty and Evan had removed the ropes from their friends. The Thestrals raised their wands in unison. 

In her haste, Bellatrix had bound her captives but not unarmed them. She realised her mistake and looked in horror at her master. Luckily for her, his attention lay elsewhere.

“Now, now, children. Lord Voldemort is merciful.” Voldemort raised his hands as though to calm them. “Lord Voldemort will forgive your deceitful ways.” He turned to James, Sirius and Pandora, pointedly leaving Lily out of his offer. “Join me, and all will be forgiven. You shall all have a place at my side as we rule wizarding society as it was meant to be.” Voldemort’s attempted benevolence fell short. Their silence gave him their answer. 

The line of Death Eaters moved forward, closing the gap between themselves and their master, standing just behind him, all but one. Orion Black reached up and removed his hood and mask. Unseen by everyone but the Thestrals. He raised his wand and, in one graceful swoop, stunned every Death Eater in the back, taking them all out. 

Orion managed to bind and gag the Death Eaters before he was hit by Voldemort’s curse. He fell to the ground screaming and then lay still. 

“PAPA!!!” Regulus and Sirius screamed together. Regulus saw the murderous rage in his brother’s eyes and knew his own reflected the same. As one, they turned and pointed their wands directly at Voldemort.  

They started blasting off spells one after the other. Voldemort may be mortal now, but he was still more than a formidable foe. They dodged and parried and stuck up shields, sending as many spells as possible at Voldemort, hoping to catch him just once so they could get the upper hand. 

Evan caught a spell on the left side of his body. Evan’s face contorted in pain as Regulus watched his friend fall to the ground in slow motion. Barty rushed forward and was struck as he tried in vain to get to Evan. 

They were dropping like flies. Voldemort was so powerful. Regulus began to panic that none of them would make it out alive. 

Pandora and Lily collapsed simultaneously into the sopping grass next after they successfully cast a slicing charm together, leaving deep slashes across Voldemort’s torso. Voldemort fired off curses in quick succession at them.  

Sirius dove in front of Remus as another spell went sailing across them. It clipped Sirius and struck Remus. 

“REMUS!!!” He screamed, forgetting about the battle and leaving himself open for Voldemort to take out. He landed on Remus’s chest, both of them deathly still. Regulus pushed the tears away as he forced himself to concentrate on the battle. 

His magic had begun to crackle beneath his skin with the anger he felt. He tried to ignore it. 

Regulus and James were the only ones left. They defended themselves well, but Voldemort was so powerful. 

Regulus heard the guff of air leave James's lungs. He turned just in time to see him crumple to the ground, unmoving. 

Regulus’s world stopped. A screeching noise blasted his ears. It took him a while to realise it was his own voice screaming in grief. He turned his attention back to the cackling form before him. 

“Just us now, little Lord Black. Are you prepared for the afterlife, I wonder?”

“Are you?!” Regulus felt his magic scorching his body as it fought to get out to avenge the ones he loved. Voldemort threw his head back, cackling louder than ever, still believing himself to be immortal. 

The magic swirled around Regulus like the ancient magic of the forest had, ruffling his hair and casting a gloom around him that made him look deadly. Voldemort took an uncertain step backwards as Regulus raged towards him, all semblance of fear gone. 

There wasn’t much left of Tom Riddle once Regulus was done with him. He fell to his knees, feeling drained. He’d used more of his magic than he’d ever used before. It left him weak. 

He snorted with derision as he looked down at the pieces of wizard in the grass and realised the man had absolutely no body hair. It was an odd thing to realise about the person you’d just murdered, but his brain wasn’t exactly working at full capacity. It probably had to do with not wanting anyone to use Polyjuice Potion in his image. He reasoned as things slowly clicked together. 

He turned his head, tears beginning to cascade down his face as he remembered his friends and brother lying around him on the ground. And James. Oh, James. He crawled over to him and dropped his head onto his chest as he fell apart, sobbing into his robes. 

A hand came up and rested on the back of his neck. 

“Hey, love, don’t cry. It’s alright.” James croaked at him. Regulus snapped his head up and watched as James slowly blinked his eyes open. 

His mouth found James’s, and the relief at seeing him, feeling him alive, made his jaw quiver with unshed emotion. He could not have survived without James Potter in this world.  

Movement in the corner of his eye made him pull away from James, but he still held on for dear life. The others were all groaning in the grass, but they were all moving. They were all alive! 

“Fuck you, Mouldy Voldy.” Barty spat into the grass as Evan hauled him shakily to his feet. 

Sirius was clinging to Remus much like Regulus was to James. Somehow, Remus managed to pull him over to where they were standing. James wrapped them in a hug. They were all shaking as the effects of the adrenaline wore off. Lily and Pandora came over next, adding themselves to the group hug, and then Evan and Barty joined in, not wanting to be left out. 

They just stood there holding each other. Relief and disbelief flooded through each of them.

“We won,” Regulus whispered as he watched his father get up. “We won.”

Thank you all so much for reading I really hope you enjoyed it.

Lulu xxx

[deathnguts]

Spare some rabastan lestrange for the needy pls🤲 (i’m the needy and i’d like to know what you think about his dynamic with his brothers)

Sigh, fine I’ll guess I’ll spare some pennies. Thank you for the ask! This is kinda scatter brained and kinda focused on Rodolphus to like parallel/paint how the brothers are together with they are separate and yeah I dunno I threw up

So usually I internalize whatever @florsial (formal apology to you pookie, Im about to act out of line 🫶) says about Rabastan because we tend to agree on things surrounding him but I think we definitely view Rodolphus differently. Which is fine, he barely exists as a character and I think it’s just representative of how we fundamentally view sibling relationships differently. Like I don’t know what it is with me, but I feel the need ti make every sibling relationship I write for either fanfiction or my own work complicated as hell.

So Rodolphus Lestrange. I think he’s a lot like Orion Black. Like he probably even looked up to him kind of when he grew up, (which is kinda funny because Rodolphus probably isn’t much younger than him if at all considering my headcanon that both walburga and Orion were young when they had both their children to kind of get it out of the way) and you can see that in like a lot of how he just is. Hes ‘stoic’ but actually just doesn’t feel a lot of emotions and doesn’t pretend he does, he’s probably like a hair away from being an alcoholic but he doesn’t drink because he knows that (unlike Orion who is very much an alcoholic), hes antisocial and physically annoyed around people because he doesn’t understand why they are as ‘efficient’ as he is and looks down on all of them.

He’s very work oriented, so much so that he doesn’t really have a life outside of it at all. He’s always been the twin the family knew to count on and he always liked having the title so he never had a rebellious stage or any real anger towards his expectations beyond being tired at the end of a particularly grueling work day. I think the only work hes expected to do that he actively doesn’t work towards doing is producing heirs. He doesn’t like kids, he thinks they’re loud and messy and they get in the way of a schedule. It’s like the only thing him and Bellatrix agree on since she also wants nothing to do with kids. (Also quick note on their marriage, I think they pretty much ignore each other and that’s their idea of what they’ll be like forever. When in public together they put on the ‘better than you’ couple mask but in every other scenario they live completely separate lives and actively avoid each other or they’ll find something to fight about.) like the general vibe I could sum him up with is, yes he’s Rabastan’s twin, but everyone who’s ever talked with him assumes he’s like a decade older and just aged well.

So to contrast that with Rabastan, who was never really expected to be anything and never proved anyone wrong, he’s the sort of kid his mother defends no matter what but he father actively tries to forget about. The exact sort Rodolphus looks down on. He can’t help it’s his brother, he’s still below him. And that would be easier to accept if Rabastan stopped proving it over and over. He had to act out in school, he had to move where mother couldn’t find at seventeen, he had to preach to the family that they were ‘immoral’ or whatever, and then he had to preach it to a child, and then he had to marry the child. Like, Rodolphus isn’t a good man by many means, but his lack of feeling or empathy towards people gives him a more head on view of them. And his head on view of his brother is that he’s useless, dramatic, and so desperate to be anything he’ll lie to a little girl to get her to view him that way. And not to say Rodolphus is any better since he witnessed first hand what his brother was doing, he literally walked in on the two hiding away to make out in a corner when regulus was still fifteen and his brother was the same age as himself and just turned back around and never mentioned it to anyone. A truly good person probably would’ve done something. Good thing that’s not what he’s trying to be.

(Also unrelated but I wanna circle back to a point @florsial has that I love about how Rabastan and Regulus are a couple who tries to nuclear and domestic but fails, I feel like that’s a joke on its own especially in this context. The idea that Rodolphus is the nuclear working man so Rabastan must parallel him by being a family man, he just isn’t. Yes he’s closer with his wife than his brother is, and yes that could be something he has over Rodolphus but pretty much no one in their family is proud of Rabastan for his teenage wife and it’s not like their perfect or anything.)

Rodolphus has probably told Rabastan he thinks this only once since he’s usually content to be quiet about it. He probably broke and yelled about how Rabastan will never be anything ro even get his shit together and it won’t matter because no one has hope he will and it hurts because Rodolphus was never given that leeway and it must be fucking nice to have. Rabastan probably doubles back with how much it must be nice for anyone to give a shit about you, to not only exoect things from you but love you even more when you deliver. They probably kept fighting until Rodolphus, as always, gets tired and shuts it down and goes home.

Because even a man who feels nothing has breaking points, especially when Rabastan keeps fucking pushing for one. And that was their relationship a lot of their life, I think. Rabastan desperately wanting to be seen and Rodolphus who is willingly blind. When they were younger that was ok, little kids before hogwarts just played together until father came to take Rodolphus away, growing boys at hogwarts who slowly drift apart when one doubles down on academics and the other found there’s more to do (and not for lack of desperate trying on the seconds behalf.) and then they’re grown up and neither can place what really happened. They’re sure they used to love each other, at least they think so. And they don’t know what happened, because something must have happened. Right?

Yeah I dunno it’s hard to continuously explain but I think what’s tragic about them is that it’s needless. Rabastan could try ti be better and it would not only help his relationships but himself, Rodolphus could try ti be more and he same would happen to him. If either brother were better at being human then they would be better at loving each other. But they’re not, so they can’t.

[keanusbabydoll]

make up sex

paring: bellatrix lestrange x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, toxic relationship, smut, soft!bella, mentions of torture, fingering, slight overstimulation, cunnilingus, mommy kink, age gap relationship (reader is 18, bella is in her late 30s), softdom!bella

——————

and again you’re sitting in your room at the malfoy manor, balling out your eyes because of her. bellatrix lestrange. your girlfriend.

by now you’re not only crying because you’re sad, no. it’s the frustration and anger you feel towards her already. this is the fourth time now she completely ignored, taunted and even hurt you during a meeting with the death eaters and the dark lord of course. you simply can’t describe how angry all that makes you, neither do you understand her sick behavior.

in your opinion she’s too blended by the dark lord. it doesn’t matter what he asks of her, she won’t spend a single thought before doing it immediately. she practically follows him around like a fucking dog. and today it definitely went too far.

you became a death eater a few weeks ago and that not by wish. you were forced and it not only broke you but also affects your mental health badly. however, the dark lord has given you a task, which required to murder your best friends, ron and hermione, because they’re destroying his plan to kill harry potter. and obviously he chose you to act out the deed as you’re still attending hogwarts and you’re the closest to them from all death eaters.

but of course you couldn’t do it. you didn’t have the heart to kill your best friends. they’re practically like siblings to you and if you would have done it, you would have never recovered from that.

so, you didn’t follow the dark lords commands, and of course you knew that he would find out about it very quickly and that this wouldn’t end good. every death eater that doesn’t oblige the dark lord’s wishes, serves a harsh punishment. and today you were the one.

you begged him for forgiveness, promised him that something like that would never happen again. but he didn’t show mercy. and to make it even worse for you, he chose bellatrix to be the one to torture you. unfortunately he knows about your relationship and he knew that it would hurt you even more if bellatrix punishes you.

and you can’t explain how you felt in that moment. the betrayal, angst, anger, everything just came crashing down. the tears that were prickling in your eyes when bella stood up from her seat, went over to you and roughly threw you on the floor and cursed you with the torture spell, crucio, in front of everyone. and all that without hesitation. even narcissa, her sister, was shocked and tried to talk her out of it. but nothing made her change her mind, not even your cry’s and begs.

that really broke you. merlin, she’s your own fucking girlfriend. and it’s not like she doesn’t know that you hate the way she behaves towards you when you’re around voldemort. you guys had multiple arguments about that topic, where you told her how you felt and what you expect from her. but it seems like she never really took it seriously and just didn’t give a fuck about your opinion.

soft sobs leave your mouth and you hug your thighs tighter. you really don’t want to continue this way. you can’t bear all that any longer.

a loud knock on your door, pulls you out of your thoughts and look up. “what?” you ask with a shaky but annoyed voice. you honestly just want to be alone right now.

“baby, it’s me. i’m really sorry, can i please come in?” the sound of your girlfriends voice rings through your ears.

“no bella, go away.” you mumble before you burry your face in your knees again.

a frustrated sigh slips past your lips when you hear your door open. what does she not understand? you do not have the power to see her or speak to her right now.

you lift your head and start to cry again when you see her standing in front of you.

“just leave bella. i don’t want to talk to you.” you whisper, eyes pleading her to just listen to you once. but of course she doesn’t give you this satisfaction.

as she sees your red puffy eyes and swollen trembling lips, she immediately walks over to your side of the bed, sitting down next to you. even if it doesn’t seem like it, but seeing you in such a state breaks her. bella loves you more than anything, even when she doesn’t act like it directly.

“y/n, listen, i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have done that.” she states, sadness latching from her voice. you just look at her with a blank stare, a chuckle almost threatening to leave your mouth.

“that’s what you always say bella.”

“no y/n, i mean it. really.” she places her wand down and scoots closer to you but before she can touch you, you shift further away from her. bella frowns in reply and looks at you with soft eyes.

you shake your head in disbelief, wipe your tears forcefully away and sit up straight. does she actually think you’re stupid? it’s always the same. she hurts you in any way possible, then she crawls back to you, apologizing and you idiot always forgive her. and then everything starts again. but not this time. you can’t and won’t put up with that any longer, simply because of the sake of your mental health.

with gritted teeth and hate filled eyes you turn your head to look at her. “do you really think that i’ll continue like this? don’t you notice that it’s always the same? and merlin, what the fuck have you thought bella. torturing me in front of everyone without any hesitation? me, your girlfriend? do you have any idea how i’m feeling?” you hiss at her sharply, not being able to contain your anger and frustration anymore.

you catch her face dropping at your words, a sad expression covers it now. she nervously fiddles with her fingers and looks down to her lap.

as she remains silent you huff out and turn to face the wall next to you. “just as i thought.” you whisper.

your brows furrow when you hear quiet sniffs next you. once again you turn around and are almost shocked when you see bellatrix crying. this is the first time ever you witness her crying. she was never one to show her feelings or her soft side, not even in your presence.

but nevertheless, she shouldn’t be the one who’s crying. you didn’t hurt her in any way. it was just her who failed to be a good girlfriend.

her glossy eyes wander up to yours and she pouts. “please y/n i beg you. forgive me one more time. i promise you, i’ll never do something like that again. see, i talked with narcissa because i didn’t know what to do. i feel so fucking awful for how i treated you and i realize that all just now. how much you really mean to me. you’re the only person i ever truly loved and i hate myself for being such a bitch towards you. please, i’ll make it up to you.” the witch pours out her heart, completely vulnerable right now.

when you don’t reply she shoots up and grabs your hand before you can snatch it away.

“please say something baby. i love you.” her voice is barley above a whisper and you close your eyes for a second. seeing her in such a form and hearing her talking in that way kind of shocks you. as mentioned before, you never saw her in that manner before. and to be honest you think that she actually means it this time. or else she wouldn’t be acting like this.

“it’s okay bella, i get it. but please, don’t you ever do something like that again. i’m serious.” you finally answer her, voice much softer and understanding now.

bellatrix’s eyes lighten up in happiness and relief and she almost squeals out.

“thank you baby. i can’t tell you how sorry i am.” the witch pulls you into a hug and squeezes you tightly. you smile in reply and hug her back. doesn’t matter what she does, she’ll always make you happy and smile. she’s the woman you love.

bella pulls away from your embrace and stares at you with sparkling eyes. “but let me make it up to you. please.”

you smirk at her, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “yes… mommy.” is all you have to say before she almost jumps on top of you and gets herself comfortable on your lap. she brushes a few strands of your hair behind your ears and puts her hands on your cheeks before smashing her lips on yours. your hands grip her waist as you return each of her kisses with equal favor. as a moan slips past your lips, bella doesn’t hesitate and sticks her tongue into your mouth, exploring every bit of it with her tongue.

the both of you fight for dominance, which bella wins with no question. a muffled whine comes from her as he starts to grind her hips against yours, your clothed clits rubbing against each other deliciously. your core starts to ache already, needing to feel more of her. with a moan you break the kiss and breath out. “i need you bella, please.”

she grins at you wickedly and leans over to grab her wand from the bedside table. with a wave of her wrist, all your clothes are gone in a blink of an eye. “whatever you want kitten.” she purrs before she tosses her wand away again and bends down to suck on your neck. you quietly whimper out as she licks on your soft skin. slowly, her lips wander down to your collarbone and to the swell of your breasts, leaving a trail of purple turning hickies. when her mouth finally wraps around your right nipple and her hands roam over your whole body, your heart skips a beat.

it doesn’t matter how many times you have sex, you always get excited at the thought of her pleasuring you and feeling her cold hands on you.

your fingers tangle in her hair and you slightly lift your hips trying to sign her that you need to feel her on your pussy. obviously she gets it, but she takes her time with you, worshipping your whole body. bella’s hands caress your curves, memorizing every inch of her beloved’s body.

the witch releases your hardened bud before she focuses her attention on your other one, gently licking it, then biting down on it harshly, eliciting a sharp hiss from you. “bellaaa! please.”

she pulls away from your nipple and looks up at you with a smirk. “my little impatient pet.” she chirps. her hands start to knead and squeeze your tits harshly while she gets off your lap and settles in right between your plush thighs. her tongue licks its way down your belly, loving the taste of your skin. her hands follow her tongue and they wrap around the inside of your thighs, pushing them open as wide as possible.

you let out a frustrated sigh and throw your head back. if she doesn’t fuck you now any minute you’ll go insane, your walls are already clenching around nothing, desperately wanting to feel her long fingers pushing them open.

without you knowing, bellatrix just read your thoughts and chuckles darkly to herself. before even completely realizing it -too lost in your own thoughts- , the witch lines up two of her fingers with your already wet dripping entrance and pushes them knuckle deep inside of you with ease. a surprised whine falls from your lips as you finally get to feel her. the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them and the overwhelming lust they're feeling.

“you’re so wet baby.” she almost groans out, as she scissors her fingers against your warm, velvety walls, just loving the feeling of them.

“just for you mommy.” you reply breathlessly and prop up on your elbows, making eye contact with your girlfriend.

without breaking your intense stare, bella begins to slowly pump her fingers in and out of your hole, not daring to give any attention to that special spot, intentionally teasing you. you huff out and throw your head back in annoyance. “i thought you wanted to make it up to me.”

“who said i didn’t?” she taunts you with an evil grin.

you look back down at her, opening your mouth to say something but before you are able to let out a single word, she suddenly curls up her fingers, pressing them hard into your sweet spot. your breathing stocks at the jolts of pleasure this is sending through your body and you whimper out.

bella smirks to herself proudly as she starts to roughly thrust up her fingers against that spot that makes you see stars. a loud whine rings in bella's ears, making her go just faster in reply. she looks up at you with hungry eyes, loosing herself completely as she watches you fall to pieces just because of her. there's nothing else she loves more than pleasing you and seeing you quiver under her. you are hers and only hers.

the squelching sounds and the intense smell of hot passionate sex that fills the room, makes your mind spinning, loosing yourself in the pleasure she's giving to you.

"look at you, taking it so good for mommy." your girlfriend moans out as she starts to kiss up and down the inside of your thigh, her aggressive pace never stopping. you barely nod your head in reply, as your eyes wander further down to where she's pounding your poor cunt in an inhuman way.

her face distances from your plush flesh and she sends you one last mischievous look before she dips down her head for her tongue to lick a slow strip up your folds to your sensitive bud with a small hum. that simple contact on your clit makes your whole body shudder and you have to lay back down. you feel her smile against your pussy because of your reaction and lets the tip of her tongue flick expertly over your small bundle of nerves. you press your eyes tightly shut and whimper out at the intense sensation.

with the intense thrusting of her fingers and the indescribable feeling on your clit, you can feel your orgasm slowly build up. bella notices this as well, simply because of your body language and how hard your walls are clamping down on her digits. your whines and cry’s rattle against the black colored moans and your left hand grips the duvets beneath you tightly, needing something to hold onto.

the witch lifts her head from your in spit glistening cunt and admires her work for a second. the loss of contact makes you look up to her and your breath stocks a for a moment when you see her spitting on your pussy, before capturing your clit again.

“oh my god, bella!” a scream leaves you mouth as you’re on the verge of cumming, your abdomen tickling deliciously. bella hums feverishly against your cunt in reply, sending shock waves through your whole body.

“i’m gonna cum!” you sharply spit out, arching your back off the bed in ecstasy. again, she hums approvingly and with her free hand, bellatrix holds one of your thighs spread open, before she suddenly starts to suck on your clit uncontrollably, sending you straight over the edge. a deafening noise falls from your lips as you feel your orgasm crash through your whole form.

your girlfriend fucks you roughly through your orgasm, letting you ride it out to its highest. you let out a string of whimpers in discomfort as bella continues to stimulate you, even after your orgasm already faded, the intense feeling being too much.

“please stop bella.” you choke out and begin to trash around uncomfortably.

she lets out a muffled chuckle before she finally pulls away from your shaking form, sliding her fingers out of you slowly.

you close your eyes, trying hard to catch your breath while you lay there completely still, body aching from your intense fuck.

“oh you did so good my little pet. so, so good.” bella praises you in a high pitched voice, planting kisses on your lower belly and thighs. you smile at her being such a sweetheart with you, usually she wouldn’t be that soft, but you’re her exception. only you.

bella removes herself from your thighs and crawls up to you, pressing her body to yours. you turn to your side to take a proper look at her, admiring her beautiful features.

you both lay there in comfortable silence, her hand caressing your exposed skin lovingly and she whispers sweet little nothings into your ear. "I love you y/n. I promise that we'll get through all this. together."

"I know. I love you too." you whisper, snuggling closer to her.

a soft hum leaves her, before the both of you drift off in a deep slumber.

[pascaloverx]

To Begin Again

FOUR

Summary: You're a new teacher at a large and influential school. It's a risky step for you, as you've been running from your ex for almost two years. But when Dumbledore asks you to take on a class at the renowned Hogwarts, you can't refuse. However, your life as a newly arrived teacher won't be easy. Especially when the other teachers don't seem eager to make friends. Or rather, two teachers in particular: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Author's Note: Welcome, dear readers. Please leave your comments if you enjoy fanfiction. This fanfic takes place almost in the real world (with the addition of werewolves) and is not a wizarding fanfic. There will be some differences and changes in things from the Harry Potter story or other fanfics in the HP universe, but I promise to do my best writing this fanfic. There will be a love triangle coming in this fanfic.

THREE FIVE

You had a date with two men, two men who stood you up, didn't even bother to send a smoke signal to cancel everything. The worst part is that you got all dressed up, put on a nice dress and everything. How infuriating. And just as you're about to lie down on the bed and turn on the TV to try to forget the pathetic situation you find yourself in, someone knocks on your door.

"So, the idiot here and I are going to the bar on the other side of the forest to have some beers. As uninteresting as you may seem, it's worth giving you a chance to at least do something fun. What do you think?" Bellatrix asks as she leans abruptly against the corridor wall. Peter is standing beside her, looking uncomfortable at being called an idiot but much more focused on looking at you as if he wants to uncover your secrets.

"I think that's a rather rude way to ask someone if they want to go have a beer with you, but at the moment, my options are either to go with you or put on my pajamas, and I think it's worth giving you guys a chance." You say, grabbing your bag and then locking the door to your room. When you turn around, Peter looks at you as if you were some kind of different creature. A look that seems to mix curiosity with a sort of dread.

"Deep down, I know you want to go out with us because you don't want to be in the middle of what's going on between Remus and Sirius. Believe me, I know how you feel. Hogwarts doesn't offer many options for relationships, so sometimes I tried to have something casual with Remus or even with my boring cousin, but Sirius is simply… nothing is more important to those two than their relationship. So my advice is to stay away from them. Or at least don't have feelings for them. But if you do, be prepared." Bellatrix speaks as if she just wants to gossip about something or influence you even a little bit. You, who are walking beside her while Peter walks ahead of the two, don't know what to think. After all, you're a stranger. You can't demand anything from anyone.

"Danger, danger is all you'll get with Lupin. If you survive, you'll come out marked forever." Peter turns to you and says this. His body language seems to indicate that he's nervous, as if he's warning you of an impending attack. Bellatrix looks at him with a disapproving and almost furious look. You don't understand anything, but something inside you tells you to be more cautious.

"What Peter means is that getting involved with Remus can be dangerous, but not in a real sense. More like a romantic danger. You know how love triangles are, and if you manage to win one of them over, you'll have to deal with the other. But our friend Peter here is a bit too dramatic. He's a literature professor and has lost track of what's fiction and what's reality. Stay at Hogwarts for longer, and maybe you'll end up like that too." Bellatrix speaks as if she's trying to convince you of something, and you admit that she could easily persuade you to believe her, but something in you said that Peter wasn't exaggerating.

"My intention is not to meddle in the relationship between Black and Lupin. In fact, I don't even know how that relationship works. I just happened to meet them by chance and get closer." You speak as you walk through the forest. You look up, unable to see the moon and wondering if tonight you would see the hairy creature again. For a moment, you even think it could be a plan of Bellatrix and Peter to bring you into the middle of the forest and get rid of you, but then you start to think that you're being a bit paranoid. After all, why would they want to get rid of you?

"And finally, we've arrived at the quaintest local bar you'll find around here. I'll warn you upfront that not all patrons are good folks, but the beer is good and it's our only option." Bellatrix informs you as the three of you enter the establishment. The design of the place is cozy and simple, like Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother's house. There's a fireplace right at the entrance, near an old and somewhat tattered-looking sofa. Some people are sitting on the sofa, drinking, while others are standing. Most are just having drinks and chatting. Others are smoking while playing pool in a part of the bar that seems to have a door. You imagine it must be the exit.

"I'll have a beer. Actually, make that two beers." You tell the bartender. He's an incredibly tall man with a long beard and hair. Despite not being sure if he heard your order, he nods. Bellatrix is placing her order while Peter seems to have gone to the restroom. He's so quiet, he could be mistaken for a mouse sneaking around.

"Would you like to dance?" Bellatrix asks as she grabs her drink. The bartender apparently didn't hear you, as he passed you a glass of whiskey and then went to serve another customer. You wonder how she plans to dance without music until you see a jukebox near where the smokers are. Bellatrix promptly goes over there and selects a song. "Kill of the Night" is the song she chooses, and she starts dancing with a certain rhythm towards you. You take your whiskey shot and then take Bellatrix's hand as you try to keep up with her pace. It's a dance that mainly involves the feet and hips. You're not the most coordinated person in the world, but you manage to keep up with her, even though she's holding a bottle of beer while dancing.

"Thank you for inviting me to come here. It was kind of you." You say as you're close to her. Then she pulls you closer and gives you a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, catching you by surprise. You quickly push her away, not quite understanding. Not that she isn't attractive, but you just met her. Well, not that you're a prude.

"If you're interested in spending more time with more fun people, now you know where to find me." Bellatrix winks in your direction and heads towards where Peter went. You're not quite sure what to do, but suddenly you feel short of breath. You then head towards the exit of the bar. Bad idea. The more you walk in the same direction you came from, the more you feel lost. Going back would be an option, but you're a bit embarrassed. So you walk even further until you see someone approaching you at some speed. You clench your fists in a defensive position, preparing yourself. When you feel the person's body collide with yours, and you both roll into the forest. You get lost in the moment, feeling some rocks and branches touching your skin as you and the person roll on the ground.

"What the hell are you doing? Trying to kill us both?" You say as soon as you stop rolling after hitting a tree. Your body already shows signs of feeling the impact, but your anger speaks louder. Especially when you realize who it is. Sirius, who is currently positioned right on top of you, says nothing. He just lightly presses his fingers over your mouth and shushes you. His hand smells nice, like vanilla. But you're itching to kick him where it would hurt most and get him off of you. Then you hear a loud, pained howl, as if from a wounded animal. You also notice that Sirius's arm is injured. And it's like a puzzle assembling itself right in front of you.

"Where's Lupin?" You ask, concerned. Sirius looks at you with a serious expression as if he's annoyed that you didn't shut up.

"I'd like to explain, but it'll be better if we stay quiet." Sirius says, almost against your mouth due to how close he is. You stare at him, feeling his blood touch your skin. He's losing a lot of blood. You need to help him.

"I'll distract whatever's coming. You try to find someone to help you. Don't try to be a hero. You'll die if you keep bleeding like this. Just run in a different direction from mine and try to stay alive." You say, gently pushing Sirius's body off of you and then figuring out how to get the creature's attention. Your only option was to do what the creature does best. So you let out a loud howl, trying to mimic the creature's noise. Soon, the sounds of the creature approaching can be heard. Sirius must have noticed that you were truly determined to attract the creature's attention, because he disappeared once you howled. You then started running as if your life depended on it. But before you left, you grabbed a branch. Your feet pound the ground at an unprecedented speed as you flee from the creature. But it's not enough, as somehow the shaggy creature appears in front of you. You have no doubt it's a werewolf. And the creature looks at you as if it knows who you are. It moves as if it's about to come towards you, and you grip the branch as if to attack the creature. And then it occurs to you that perhaps you can speak to the werewolf, especially if it's who you suspect it is.

"Remus, don't make me attack you. I… don't know you as well as I'd like, but I don't want to hurt you. I know. Deep down, you know it too. You don't want to hurt me, just like you didn't want to hurt Sirius. Just try to stay calm. I know it might seem silly, but focus on what's around you. Your home is nearby. Where your students study. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Luna, and many others. They need you." You speak, trying to appeal to the human inside the creature. And for a few seconds, you think you succeeded, until you hear footsteps that distract both you and the creature. And just when it seems like the werewolf is going to attack you, you see four small bodies throwing stones at it. You can bet that Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Malfoy are the students daring enough to venture out of Hogwarts at this hour. Even though Draco might have only come with them because Harry did. You don't have time to think. When you realize that your students might be in danger, you throw your entire body against the werewolf's. You close your eyes tightly to avoid seeing the damage, but you manage to bring the creature down, causing both of you to fall near a stream. Or something like it; you can only hear the sound of water as you begin to lose consciousness.

When dawn breaks, you're unsure if you're alive or how you survived. All you know is that your body is racked with pain. Looking around, you realize that yesterday's events weren't just a dream. Your eyes settle on another person nearby. Despite feeling a bit dizzy, you muster the determination to get up and confirm what you already suspected. The naked man lying unconscious by the stream is Lupin. He's covered in bruises and has a cut near his mouth. So, Remus Lupin is a werewolf, and last night he nearly caused quite a problem. And to top it all off, you'll need to figure out how to carry him somewhere.

To be continued...

[severussnapemylove]

Y/N; (to Sev, Bella and Remus) "I have been the moral compas for you three for years, and all three of you are gonna have to hold me back on the day I finally snap."

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 16: Fingertips

Words: 645 | Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

You’ve seen muggles addicted to things like money, cars, even alcohol, After all, everyone in the world has something they are addicted to, but you always found yourself back in the same place when it came to your own, plastered against the cool hallway wall in The Malfoy Manor with a bated breath.

Draco Malfoy is about six feet of the male version of sex on legs. His signature platinum blonde hair and piercing silver eyes had caught the eyes of many girls at school. It really drove everyone mad when he’d started growing scruff around his jawline, but none could handle the roughness around the edges like you could. Surprisingly, even being from different houses, Draco’s invited you here many times over breaks and his father never complained. Usually you’d just study together or complain about things neither of you have control over, but couldn’t discuss within the walls of the school. However, it never mattered which came first because it always ended the same.

Today, the mansion has been completely empty aside from you and Draco. The family elf, Dobby had been dismissed thanks to Harry himself just months ago and Lucius’ frequent business for the Ministry had kept him too occupied to bother finding a replacement. Draco’s mother, Narcissa has been keeping herself busy too lately, running alongside her sister, Bellatrix, doing who knows what. And in that same manner, you’ve been running around doing who knows what with Draco all week long.

It always started in the dining room. The long ebony table took up most of the room, but the family had hardly sat here for a proper meal. When you were alone in the comfort of your parent’s home, you’d think of Draco eating here alone, only served by an elf that would quickly be dismissed, and now, he doesn’t even get that.

The curtains don’t help much either. Heavy black, pure velvet clinging over the floor to ceiling windows and it sickened you. You could hardly see the sun through them, not a single plant would ever survive here, but they were a perfect accent in comparison to the emerald green chairs. At least his father thought so.

You’d sat closer to Draco today, side by side actually. You’d decided to open the curtains to let in some of the natural light. Draco protested, even going as far as rushing over to take your hands off. His father would be upset, of course, but you could handle it. Lucius didn’t scare you.

And with the sun peering through just right and Draco’s hand on yours, rays catch in the silvers of his irises. He must have noticed the same spark in your own eyes, a curiosity clouding your young lustful minds.

Draco’s lips were on yours faster than you could breathe and within that time, he had you right where he wanted you. So, you stand, half naked with goosebumps prickling across the surface of you skin from being smashed against the frigidness of the wall just outside his bedroom. You two couldn’t even make it that far, but that’s nothing new.

Draco’s lips always follow wherever his fingertips travel. From your curls to the tip of your bulbed nose, to your lips and the curve of your jawline. He took extra care to let his fingers curl around the base of your neck when he kissed there, causing you to moan up towards the ceiling in pleasure while he kissed deep into your skin, licking and biting too, before leaving the area warm and throbbing in his absence. The next thing you know, you’ve been kissed all over, inches of your body trembling against his touch and his absence. He always takes you into his room when you’re like this, drunk off the touch of his fingertips and kisses, and yearning to have your addiction completely satisfied.

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[jwnchstr]

THE LOVE LETTER | sherlock holmes

Title: The Love Letter | sherlock holmes

Pairings: Henry Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Y/n!Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: In which, Enola found her brother's love letter.

*

“Dear Scherlock,”

     Enola hasn’t finished the whole letter and yet she already pulls a face, disgusted with the sender. It’s not because of a thought of her favourite brother having a partner. If anything, she would be the happiest person on Earth seeing Sherlock standing with a woman—a remarkable woman—beside him.

     But, out of the many outstanding, smart, remarkable women in this century, why must this woman Sherlock choose? Who did this woman think Sherlock is? A German?

     “By the time you’re reading this letter, I might not be in England anymore. And I should’ve told you this a few days ago, but nowhere seemed the right time.

     “But then again, when is the right time when it comes to me and us...”

     Enola wonders how long is a few days ago. Has it only been a few days? Well, she would like to think that it’s only been a few days since Sherlock received the love letter. But judging by the faded ink, she thinks it must be three weeks the least.

     And the hole at the centre, and the rips at the edges give Enola an impression that Sherlock must have been rereading the letter since the day he received it. With that case, Enola wonders how much his brother likes this woman, how much this woman means to him.

     She wonders if she knew this woman because let’s face it—since Enola knows Sherlock, she never not know Sherlock’s lovers. Call it a perk of being an inspired detective. She might learn one or two tricks to spy on her brother from her brother himself and she’s guilty to pull the tricks on her own brother.

     Enola continues reading the letter out loud even though she is well aware that she could be caught by Sherlock at any moment seeming that she is, indeed, in Sherlock’s apartment. (One of the places where she enters and leaves anytime she’d like.)

     Enola could feel this woman’s frustration with Sherlock through the letter. Glad that she’s not the only person who feels like it. Even being his sister is frustrating.

     Everything is a no, for instance. Like “No, I don’t need your help.” Or “No, you can’t stay.” Or “No. Just no.” And then there are times when he acts like he loves you yet says the opposite. It’s frustrating to make Sherlock opens up upon something. Just anything.

     Enola guessed, he is the same in romance.

     “I just wanted to let you know that I—”

     “That’s enough now, Enola.”

     Sherlock, out of nowhere, without warning, snatches the love letter from his sister’s delicate hands, leaving her agape in shock.

     “I suggest you leave before I call Mycroft to make you leave,” Sherlock threatens while refolding the letter and carefully slips it into the pocket of the same vest he wore to sleep last night, securing it as if it’s the most vulnerable thing in the world.

     Ignoring her brother, Enola says, “Would you care to tell me—”

     “And for the thousandth times, Enola, stop touching my belongings!” Sherlock turns around and starts making his way towards the living room, where he works most of the times, before turning back around to face Enola.

     Enola frowns. “What?”

     Squinting his eyes at his sister, Sherlock says, “How did you get in?”

     “How did I get in?”

     “Into my apartment. How did you get into my apartment? Did you steal my spare keys? Ah, wait. No. Don’t answer. I don’t think I want to hear it.” Sherlock sighs before making 180 degrees turn and gets back to his desk.

     Her eyes trail after her brother’s figure before he stops in front of his desk and sighs and runs his hands through his face and hair.

     “God...” he whispers to himself.

     Enola observes Sherlock’s living room. To her, there’s nothing wrong with it. There are still papers on the floor though on a stack rather than scattering all over. His working desk is neater unlike last night where there were unwashed coffee mugs here and there. His journaling pens are inside their holder—right here they belong.

     “It was all a mess, Sherlock. And I was bored while waiting for you to wake up so I helped a little.” Enola shrugs rather than coward away. “Plus, now you can work without difficulty.”

     “Work without difficulty? I almost had everything figured out, organised to its timeline.” Sherlock wants to shout but it’s impossible with Enola’s innocent doe eyes staring back at him. “This is… this is why I never invited anyone into my apartment. Now, leave before I—”

     “Oh, don’t play that Mycroft card on me, Sherlock.” Enola puts a finger up to warn her brother. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me about that letter.”

     Sherlock hung his hands on his waist. Annoyance is creeping inside him. “What about that letter?”

     “Who sent you that letter?”

     Sherlock shrugs. His face barely showed any emotions when he answers, “I don’t know.”

     Enola narrows her eyes at her brother. It’s still hard to read Sherlock’s facial expression but she knows he is lying to her right now. “Do I know her?”

     “Either you know her or not, that’s none of your business. Now, before I use a force on you, I suggest you leave.”

     Enola smiles mischievously, crossing her arms on her chest. “Is it? Well, let me tell you what, brother. Whomever that girl is, I really think you can get a smarter woman because who the hell misspells Sherlock ‘Scherlock’?”

     Something inside Sherlock twists. His eyes darkens as he looks into Enola’s eyes. “Hey. Don’t talk about her like that.”

     “So you know her?” Enola’s face lights up as if she’s on the verge of getting the answer she wants. “And if you know her, than I must know her, too! Or is she someone new?” Enola beams.

     A random curse escapes Sherlock’s mouth.

     “Oh, come on, brother! Tell me! I swear I won’t tell mother and Mycroft about her.”

     “Really? You would do that?” Sherlock doesn’t fully trust Enola despite her being his little sister, despite how she knew every woman he spent the time with or had a relationship with.

     Hell, Enola even saved him from bad relationships on several occasions. But, regarding the current topic, not everything needs to be told, isn’t it? Even when she claims that she won’t spill anything to their mother—the woman whom she freakily closed with. And he knows that there’s nothing good coming out when Enola and Eudora together.

     However, like Enola said over a few months before, that there’s nothing wrong in admitting that he could use a friend. Being constantly on the run, solving puzzles, fighting people, can get lonely. And seeming that the only friend he has now is Enola, there’s nothing wrong in confiding her, is it?

     Sherlock finally let out a heavy sigh. Defeated? Maybe. How could he not when Enola is giving that innocent, puppy-dog eyes to him? That bright smile, curiosity in those similar dark brown eyes? Sherlock envies her sometimes. She seems to know nothing except laughing even though they’re under a difficult situation. So much reminds him their mother.

     “It’s… Y/n.”

     “Y/n?” Enola raises her eyebrows, confused for a split second.

     She doesn’t believe her brother because she didn’t think it would be her to send a letter with a misspell, to be honest. Because the Y/n that Enola knew is clever and precise in her works. There’s no way she could misspell a name or a phrase especially when it comes to Sherlock.

     Enola stares at her bother for a few seconds longer, waiting for him to tell her that he was joking. And maybe even an explanation, but nothing came. And Enola starts to try to read her brother’s facial expression.

     First, Enola notices how serious he looks. But isn’t that how his face looks like all the time? Then, there is a tell on his face. One that means that Y/n purposely misspelled Sherlock’s name and that Sherlock knew it and he didn’t try to correct her because... that’s the only way for him to know that it’s Y/n.

     Seriously, come to think of it, that was a brilliant way to communicate so neither of them get caught by enemies.

     “Oh. Y/n.”

     “Now, that you got your answer—” Sherlock closes the distance between him and Enola. He doesn’t have to put extra energy on her when he pushes her by the arm because her weight is nothing to be compared to his size, but it could be a struggle when she is pushing against him.

     “But what does she want? Where is she now? When did you get that letter? It said—”

     “No. you’re not getting anything else.”

     Enola tries her best to fight her brother’s strength, but seems to no avail. The more she fights, the more she loses, and the more she’s tired. So instead, she let Sherlock leads her towards the front door of his apartment.

     “Sherlock, please! I need to know that she’s okay. Are—Are you meeting her? I’d like to meet her. You know I missed her! I missed playing problems solving together. And—urgh—I would like to invite her to be on my team.”

     “To be on your team?” Sherlock laughs sarcastically at Enola.

     Why does she think that it’s a good idea to drag Y/n into this detective-spiralling world? And where did that idea come from?

     Y/n isn’t a detective herself. She is a daughter to a duke and a pioneer—a brilliant pioneer and gambler, he must say. Her charm would melt every man in the room and her wit would make every man in the opposite chair to give up everything before the game even started. He was one of her victims. However, the harder he pulls away from her, the closer he gets. Now, here he is.

     “I thought you said she was stupid.”

     “But that—”

     Before Enola could finish her sentence, Sherlock closes the door at her face with a loud bang. He intended to leave Enola hanging, but that loud bang, though. That was not intentional.

*

Y/n is mad at him. Sherlock knows that. And he will let her stay mad at him because he knows he was wrong. And he will let her stay mad him for as long as she wants even if only that would make the letters keep coming.

     But, no matter how much Y/n has been writing for him, she never sent a letter twice in one week. Meanwhile she had explained how marvellous her voyage had been, another letter came only a day after Sherlock received the last one.

     Sherlock didn’t think how crazy it would be to cross the ocean under one night for Y/n to meet him in England. Perhaps, he has lost his mind as well, but when Y/n says she wants to see him, Sherlock drops everything and instantly decides he will, too.

     Sherlock may seem calm on the outside. After all, he is a detective. He cannot show any less emotion on his face or he would be the one in danger. But only God knows how nervous he feels inside when he sees Y/n’s beautiful figure (even though only from behind), waiting in her new dress (at least, the one Sherlock hasn’t seen she worn before), under the big tree.

     After all these years, out of the many extravagant, nice places they have in England and yet Y/n chose a place where they had their first meet.

     If Enola knew how much he had been practicing a reunion speech for Y/n, not only that young girl will mock him for the rest of his life. But she will make sure their mother knew how weak her middle son is despite being the most grudged-looking. And not only that Eudora will laugh at him for that, but will also treat him as if he is a baby. Not like that never happened before, but he definitely doesn’t want that to happen again.

     “Y/n,” Sherlock greets the apple of his eyes.

     When she turns around like a slow-motion, Sherlock feels the world stops. He lost every word. That reunion speech he had been mentally practicing disappears. It seems that he cannot do anything except stare at her.

     It’s only been a few weeks, but she is already looking different. Sherlock isn’t sure if it’s the make-up that is making her looking more mature than the last time they met, or the way she pulls her hair into a neat bun, but either way, she looks prettier. Vibrant. Sherlock doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked Y/n a picture that he could keep in his coat watch.

     “Hello, Sherlock,” Y/n greets him back. Her voice melodious. It sounds like she is singing in his ears. That snickers at the end of her lips. Oh, how much he missed those lips. “What, you’re speechless now, Mister Holmes? If I didn’t know you any better, I would think that you think I’m ugly.”

     Yeah, it’s weird that Sherlock is speechless in front of a woman while he never have done so before... before he met Y/n. And he’d met a lot of women in his life before and even after Y/n left, but none of them were as beautifully confident as Y/n. It’s scary especially how she could drive Sherlock, a great and flawless detective, crazy and weak. But it’s also sexy as hell.

     Sherlock licks his lower lip. Smoothing the front of his coat and clears his throat. “Sorry.”

     “Don’t be,” Y/n smirks. “Though I would love to hear you plead for forgiveness after those times you left me without any goodbyes.”

     “I—I thought you’re in Spain.” Great. Now he’s stuttering.

     “Oh, I thought you never read my letters,” Y/n teases.

     It’s her defence mechanism that she had learned over years of spending so much time around people with titles, who think that they know more than somebody else, who think that they can get anything they want with a snap of their fingers.

     “Y/n, I’m—”

     “Sorry?” Y/n laughs. “After so many letters I sent and you only replied one? I have to be honest with you, Sherlock, I don’t know why I’m even here to see you. Perhaps, I missed your face. Perhaps, I’m here only to see my own heart breaks… again.”

     “I never meant to treat you that way.”

     “I could say I never meant to tell you I love you in those letters, ignored the one you decided to reply, and agreed with my father’s decision to marry me with another man in Spain.”

     Y/n had done many things that could leave Sherlock heartbroken (that night when she beat him at poker, that day when she told him she had a date, that evening when Enola brought her to his apartment with blood pooling her dress, that day when she told him she was leaving). But to hear her to marry someone other than him makes his heart scattering to pieces.

     “I could be pregnant with his child by now, Sherlock, and you still hadn’t replied my letters.”

     “Y/n, I swear to you, I want to—”

     “Is that why you wanted to see me? To tell me that you wanted to reply letters, but barely had enough time to do so?” Y/n makes a sound coming from her nose and shakes his head. “Write one alphabet if one second was the only time you have and I would still appreciate it and keep it with me everywhere I go.”

     His heart blossoms with the thought Y/n bringing his love letter everywhere she goes. They can’t be together at most times, constantly feeling half a heart, but if a love letter makes them whole again. If only Y/n knew how he has been bringing that one letter with him everywhere he goes…

     “But you didn’t reply my letters so, of course, I tried to forget you. And when you replied, asked to see me at a place where we first met and had an ideal date...” Y/n trails off, chuckling to herself at how crazy her life has been. “Your word. Not mine.”

     Sherlock doesn’t need her to remind him that because he remembers everything that happened that day. He remembers how he felt before he asked her if she would like to have a date with him. In fact, it was similar to the one he is feeling right now.

     He used to not believe in true love. But if what he is feeling right now was the sign, maybe he will have to believe it. Eventually.

     Still tongue-tied, head in the cloud seeing Y/n for the first time after weeks, Sherlock tries to register what she had been delivering: One is about how she wants Sherlock to plead for forgiveness for all those times he left her without even seeing her first. One is about how she was expected to marry a man of her father’s choice. In between these, his mind suddenly takes him back to when he saw how sweet Y/n had been with Enola.

     Then, she talks about how he had replied one of her letters that leads her to see him here. And—

     Hold on a second—

     Now, Sherlock must admit that he was drunk several times, here and there, especially when the case gets really tough with no leads. Also when he misses her so much that he can’t handle his emotion, but never in his drunkest mind that he would reply Y/n’s letter. No matter how keen he is because he thought Y/n would be safer that way.

     Now he wonders...

     “Y/n—”

     “No. Don’t stop me,” Y/n slaps her hand in the air in front of his face. Indeed, she was in the middle of talking about how she had to run away from her own wedding, to get back to England and to be near Sherlock. “I’ve been saving this story for you to listen so that you know how you were at a massive lost.”

     “I’m sure I have plenty of times to hear that story in the future,” Sherlock says, “but I need to know—that letter you said you received. You said it was from me?”

     “How could have you forgotten the letter that you wrote yourself?” Y/n’s heart breaks with the thought of Sherlock writing the letter to other women.

     “Tell me what does it say in that letter, my dear.”

     Y/n feels her face heart when she hears Sherlock calling him with a pet name that he barely uses. She wished she knew why.

     “Was it intended to be sent to someone else? Another women women perhaps?”

     The end of Sherlock’s lips twitches with the thought of Y/n being jealous. And as much as he likes seeing that on her face, with a little argument about how she’s not the slightest bit of jealous, it’s not the time.

     “Please. Y/n. That letter. Tell me.”

     Y/n sighs, knowing that she won’t win this time. “It says, ‘Afternoon, December 24. Meet me at a place where we had our first date. I have something to tell you’.”

     “Did you have that letter with you?”

     “Why is it so impor—”

     “Y/n.”

     Y/n reads Sherlock for a few seconds before she takes the letter out from her purse and hands it to him. Indeed, she brought the letter with her. Brought it all the way home from Spain. And she’s not humiliated by it.

     Suddenly, Sherlock laughs.

     Y/n looks at Sherlock as if he had lost his mind. “Would you care tell me what’s happening? Why are you suddenly asking me about that letter? Why are you suddenly laughing? Sherlock?!”

     “Oh, Y/n, how stupid can we be.” Sherlock is smiling, one so big that is showing his teeth and makes Y/n’s heart flutters. “Darling, I think we’ve been set up.”

     “You’re saying you didn’t even want to see me in the first place? That me being here, running away from my own wedding, has been a useless effort?” Y/n doesn’t know what to feel. She thought she finally could hear everything Sherlock didn’t tell in the letters he didn’t reply. After what she had been through, Sherlock is telling her that he didn’t even want to see her?

     “No, sweetheart, no.” Sherlock shakes his head.

     Three pet names in one day, after months of not seeing other, after years of drawing the line? Sherlock must be out of his mind.

     “You’re overthinking, my love—”

     Four.

     “—I’m just saying that someone set us up to meet here.”

     “Who could—”

     “Enola,” both of you say once that particular, mischievous young woman, cross both of your minds.

[seriousaboutsiriusblack]

me running in gym class:

me running to the cafeteria to buy chicken nuggets: