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weasleytentia · 3 years

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I’ll meet you there

↳ I’ll meet you there, Fred Weasley

fred weasley x fem!gryffindor!reader

summary: after the disaster at Bill and Fleur’s wedding you and Fred share one of the last tranquil moments together before the Battle of Hogwarts.

warnings: slight mentions of sex between consensual adults, almost non-existent, mentions of blood, violence, death and lots of angst. some fluff at the beginning tho <3<3

comments are very much appreciated!!

a/n: i cried writing this so i really hope u like this. i spent more than five hours working on this even tho i’m not satisfied at all. please lemme know if u like this, i may have changed some things in the story since i got pretty carried away haha. xx

Your fingertips traced circles of various sizes on his chest and you could still feel his fastened heartbeat through that touch, the love marks you had left on his skin were still of a very intense purple. His left arm was holding you closer to him while the other was calmly and tenderly caressing your hair, your messy locks were spread across the pillow.

“What will be of us, Freddie, in a few years?” You hummed with a raspy voice while the first rays of the sun made their way through the curtains, and you could feel their timid warmness on your bare skin. “What will be of all of us?”

A few days had passed since Bill and Fleur’s wedding and since the Ministry of Magic had fallen. You had yet to recover from that night, Ron, Harry and Hermione had disappeared leaving you with nothing but worries, and the scars that event had left in your heart would probably never go away. Things weren’t surely going too well in the Wizarding World - well, actually - you couldn’t even force yourself to remember those days in which you had no worries at all: the only thought of you, an eleven-years-old girl, entering the gates of Hogwarts for the first time almost made you want to go back and live your first year forever.

That year you had met Fred and George Weasley, a very odd couple of twins - you had thought - but since that day in the Gryffindor Common Room you became inseparable: there was no Fred and George Weasley without Y/N Y/L/N. You weren’t actually the type to pull pranks on other students nor the one to misbehave, in fact, you were quite a bookworm and had an obsession regarding Hogwarts’ rules - nevertheless - you still were their best accomplice. One time the twins had tried one of their infamous candies on a younger student and he had to immediately go to the toilet: needless to say, professor McGonagall had questioned Fred and George and before you could even say “Quidditch” you were in detention. “I can’t believe that I got in trouble with you guys.” you had hissed while writing the one-hundreth sorry on a paper. “The truth is that you just missed us too much.”

“I think we will be just fine, darling.” Fred murmured with a relaxed tone in his voice, never stopping to play with your hair. You knew he just said that to calm you down and to not cause you more stress, but how could you ever believe him?

Your chin raised up just a little so that you could see the expression on his face, and you contemplated the man that had accompanied you for so many years, never leaving your side. His thin lips were still reddish and almost plumper, recalling the sweet night you had passed together, and his eyes were closed as if he had nothing to worry about, as if in the whole world there was no one but the two of you. His way of being impassive to difficult situations wasn’t really odd to you since he rarely showed any kind of concern, but there were times in which you had witnessed an unknown part of Fred: during your third year at Hogwarts you got seriously injured during one of your Quidditch matches, falling from your broom and hitting your head. You were asleep for a couple of days and when you woke up in the middle of the night, you were utterly surprised at noticing a sleeping Fred right beside you, barely fitting in the chair Madame Pomfrey had given him. As soon as your hand touched his thigh he opened his eyes wide, immediately reaching for your hand, and you almost remember seeing a different glimpse in his eyes as if he had cried, That night, you shared your first timid kiss and since that cool spring night, he never left your side.

“I don’t know, Freddie,” you slightly got up sitting on the bed that was never meant for two and turned your head to look at him. “Your brother has just gone poof” and you gestured that with your hands, “What if the-they are gone? What if they found them and, and we just don’t…”

“Love,” The redhead quickly got up too and came closer to your face. “They are not a bunch of idiots and they surely know how to protect themselves.” He took one of your locks and put it behind your ear, “What about us?” you asked, your eyes searching for a source of reassurance in his. “O-Our family, our friends…”

He parted your lips but your heart was burdened of so much weight that you didn’t let him speak, quickly talking before he could. “The battle is imminent, Freddie, we cannot pretend that everything is going to be fine,” Your eyes were now watery as his never stopped staring into yours, not even a glimpse of sadness or worry. “It’s just a matter of time and I don’t want to risk it.” You breathed out, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Fred was quick to wipe your tears away with his thumbs as he took your face into his palms, lightly kissing the tip of your nose as he always did when you were about to cry, which - in some way - calmed you a bit. As the warmness of his hands left your cheeks you felt the soft material of the blanket on your shoulders, which made a light smile appear on your lips.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile,” he hummed, “that’s what makes me go through this shit, your smile Y/N, I never want you to stop smiling, alright? ‘Cause your smile it’s my only source of happiness now.”

“What if…”

“You won’t lose me, love, I promise you that.” Fred got up and picked up his shirt from the floor. “I’ll always stay by my pretty girl’s side, alright?”

From the first time in a few days you found yourself to smile sincerely.

You opened your arms demanding one of his tight and endless hugs, and as you snuggled more into his chest you closed your eyes, cradled by the same perfume you had smelled in your Amortentia during your fifth year: fireworks, candies and the familiar scent of the Burrow.

∘◦❀◦∘

“Expelliarmus!”

Your right leg incredibly hurt as you limped into the cold and oddly emptied hallways, a few witches and wizards still battling against each other, throwing colourful spells from their wands that made the place look like a show of fireworks. Your leg had been cut by a spell casted by a Death Eater and was now bleeding uncontrollably, the aching pain made you bite your lip.

You couldn’t recognize which of the many hallways you were crossing which was odd since you had walked those very steps during your seven years there, but everything was chaotic and... different.

In fact, Hogwarts wasn’t the same place anymore: some of the walls had fallen down and the candles that once lit up the school were now extinguished, the same place in which you saw yourself and your friends grow up, full of happiness and friendship, was now a gloomy and cold grave. Although the thought of encountering another Death Eater made shivers run through your spine your main concern was not finding Fred anywhere, since you both parted ways just right after the beginning of the battle.

“Stay with dad, you got me?”

Fred’s eyes looked at Arthur, his father, who was standing just a few meters away from you while the two of you had found a corner apart from everyone else. You had felt the urge to embrace him, squeezing the fabric of his coat.

“Why?” you cried into his chest, “why can’t we stick together?”

“Y/N, love” he tenderly cupped your cheeks with his steady hands looking at you with the same Love with which he had looked at you during your first Yule Ball together. “I have to stick with Georgie, he needs me.”

You closed your eyes biting your lower lip.

“Dad will protect you, alright, darling?”

You nodded in response unable to utter a single word.

Chaos started to fill the room as Voldemort’s army broke the protection spell but you never stopped looking at Fred, still searching for that reassurance.

For the first time his eyes weren’t sparkly but had a glimpse of uncertainty and fear.

“I’ll find you.” you murmured, “At the Great Hall.”

“I’ll meet you there.” You could feel the tension build between the two of you and in a matter of seconds, your lips crashed together, as he held you close to him as if he wished to do anything but to let you go. That kiss didn’t last long since, one moment Fred was standing right in front of you and after a few seconds you had lost him along with Arthur.

You were all on your own.

“Y/N.”

You heard a feminine voice that made you immediately turn around the corner, finding one of your close friends, Luna Lovegood, standing there. You instantly couldn’t think of anything else but to hug her tightly, her being the only familiar face you had seen in a while. You couldn’t say that you seriously understood Luna and her ramblings about weird Magical Creatures, but her personality and her immense loyalty to you had made you love her a lot. After breaking the hug you noticed a cut on her cheek and you sighed in relief.

“I’m so glad that you’re alive.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, “Have you seen Harry?”

“No, I haven’t seen him at all, have you seen Fred?”

Luna looked at the ceiling as if she was thinking very hard to remember what she had seen, given that many things were happening at the same time.

All of a sudden, your head started to spin as you heard a hissing voice coming from an unknown location: then, you realised to whom that voice belonged.

The words were very clear, the battle was now over and all of Voldemort’s minions had retreated. You glanced toward Luna who put her wand down and your brief moment of happines was soon replaced by a strange feeling.

“Luna, please tell me if you have seen him.” “I reckon he was with his brother, George.”

She then lowered her gaze to your bleeding leg as she started asking question on how you wounded yourself, but her presence was now minor, you had to figure out where your boyfriend was. Your brain was trying to work out a few places in which he could find him and suddenly, it hit her.

“The Great Hall.”

You murmured to yourself more than to Luna and quickly nodded a thank you to her before sprinting away toward the place in which you had spent most of your days. As you ran - trying to ignore the aching pain your body was in - all of the past years spent by his side started to resurface in your mind: the long walks toward Hogsmeade holding hands like little kids and the multiple butterbeers you would drink in just one evening, the various nights where you snuck out of your dorms and explored the castle using the Marauder’s Map, the hours of detention spent together cuddling and giggling at his jokes about Snape’s nose. The kisses he gave you everytime you won at Quidditch shouting to everyone in the Common Room: “That’s my girl!”

As soon as you crossed the immense doors of the Great Hall all of your thoughts vanished like dust in the wind. The first person you saw was Ron and you smiled widely limping toward him, but there was no smile, only a simpathetic sad expression. You felt a strange sensation at the tip of your stomach as something didn’t feel quite right.

“Ron.” You mumbled with a dry mouth. “Where’s everyone?”

Ron didn’t answer, instead, he just lowered his gaze and took a few steps to his right, revealing a scene you had only thought of in the worst of your nightmares. George was standing still, looking at you with tears streaming down his face, sobbing uncontrollably. His eyes were now void as if he had been deprived of his own soul. Molly was kneeling down just like Arthur and Percy, while Ginny was crying in Harry’s arms, and as you stood there all of their eyes were on you.

Every step you took was like being stabbed in the heart, each time by a much sharper knife. You started to feel your legs go numb and you didn’t even feel the pain of the wound anymore, because the pain irradiating into your chest was much more stronger. You fell to your knees, arms immediately reaching for the fabric of his clothes, squeezing them tight making your knuckles become white, and you contemplated his face.

“Fred,” you whispered as your tears fell on his shirt, “Freddie please, please, wake up.”

His once brown eyes were now closed, his face was covered in ashes and seemed to be paler. He looked as beautiful as the last time you had seen him, but when you sweetly brought your hand to his check, you found it cold to the touch. “What happened, Molly?” It came out as an odd murmur, your brain still not processing what you were seeing, “Did he, d-did he hit his head? We should-, we probably should bring him to a muggle hospital.”

The woman couldn’t stop herself from crying as she reached for the top of your head, caressing your hair. “Oh, Y/N, dear...”

“Fred?”

You asked once again and checked for a movement, a wink, anything.

Maybe he was just faking it to scare everyone and then, when no one saw it coming, he would stand up on his feet at laugh at all of you for believing such a stupid thing. Fred Weasley couldn’t have died like that.

The more you looked, the more his chest didn’t move an inch, but as you desperately searched for any sign you noticed his lips curled into a small yet visible smile, and then you realized.

He was gone.

Fred Weasley was gone and had left you in just a couple of hours.

The one person who had never judged you, the one person who had planned a forever with you, had just left you and there was nothing you could do about it.

Fred Weasley was dead.

The screams of agony were almost muffled by all of the voices into that crowded place and by George’s embrace. As he held you tight the both of you cried the unjust and unexplained death of a brother, a partner in crime, a lover.

Even in death Fred Weasley had left you with one of the best gifts you could have ever asked for and that had made all of your days bright... his smile.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred and george #george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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sirius · 6 years

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Chaos Theory Part 5

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 5380

A/N: Finally oh my gosh this took freaking ages to put together! YAYY for Cedric and Draco coming back, I love writing them (esp Draco :P) I’m finding that, the more I write this, the more pairings I add to the story. In the end, I think I’m going to make it so you can choose who you want to end up and write different endings for each potential love interest. Annnyway, here you go. P.S. I’m super proud of my giffing skills atm, see the above! a gif by yours truly.

Chapter Five:

There’s something whimsically surreal about the Burrow.

It seems to glisten from the ground up as though someone had sprinkled gold dust over it. From where you’re standing, you begin to appreciate how beautiful it is in the light; standing tall against the backdrop of rolling hills and lush, green grass, inviting you in without having to use words.

You’re standing in the backyard, waiting for someone, though you’re not sure who. It’s more like a feeling like you’re anticipating something you’re not sure will happen. There is a faint buzz humming in the air, like the beating wings of a thousand butterflies. The sky is like a painter’s palette; a blend of soft blues and vibrant pinks, like those honey-glazed moments right before the sun sets.

It’s like a poet’s dream.

“(Y/N)?” says a familiar voice. You’re smiling before you even turn around, knowing who is standing behind you without even looking.

“Cedric,” you sigh, whirling around and throwing yourself into his arms.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, kissing your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, lips spilling over your skin like he can’t get enough of you.

“I know,” you whisper, softly, as his lips move against you like water, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reassures, voice gentle in your ear as his hands card through your hair, “Besides, a mouse never trusts a hungry snake.”

You freeze as, suddenly, the voice in your ear trails off into a cold, sharp hiss, and the world around you plunges into darkness. Cedric untangles himself from your embrace, stepping back as his face distorts before you, revealing his true form.

You watch in horror as black bleeds into that deep, deep blue in his eyes, filling out every corner as though he were possessed by something sinister. His head distorts into a spade-like shape, neck elongating, his nose flattening into two thin slits and he sheds his bronze skin, a snake-like pattern stretched over his muscles and veins. His lips pull back into an insidious smile, cold and cruel like the edge of a scythe, revealing sharp fangs and a long, forked tongue that pokes out and curls in the air, testing, tasting for prey.

The fluttering noise gets louder, more insistent, like an orchestra of shrieking violins, warning you to run, run, run!

“You’d better wake up now, mouse” the snake monster hisses; it sounds like the blood-curdling shriek of nails scraping across a chalkboard, “Before you forget how to.”

You wake up to green eyes in the dark.

Belladonna Nightshade, better known as Nightshade, Bella, Belle or simply B, peers down at you curiously, blinking owlishly. She’s perched on your chest, her gaze now sharpening from curiosity to expectancy as she silently demands food, though there’s something in those green eyes that suggests that she had sensed your discomfort and pulled you from your nightmare as an act of mercy.

Sometimes, Belladonna Nightshade is more human than she is a cat.

Your hands tremble as you reach out and pat her, your fingers raking through her soft fur. She leans into your touch, purring in delight, and she does that adorable cat thing with her eyes where she closes them and eases into your roaming touch, as though she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, on your chest, her paws pressed into your cheeks.

“Hey B,” you whisper, voice raspy and low. There’s a dry, scratchy sort of taste in the back of your mouth like you had just been stifling a scream. You swallow thickly and reach beneath your pillow, pulling out the photo that’s been buried underneath since it arrived one week ago.

You unfold it and stare at the symbol on the back. Why would someone send this? Why were they spying on you in the first place? Is it a threat or a warning? Has Cedric received one, too?

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” Says a voice in the doorway, and your vision swims as you try to focus on the figure in front of you.

Hermione strides over and stands next to you, already showered and dressed, hair tackled and tamed into a bushy ponytail and an irrefutable air of anticipation buzzing around her. It’s such a startling contrast to your nightmare that you have to reassure yourself that, in reality, snakes don’t usually protrude from people’s necks.

Usually.

“Mrs Weasley said she’ll cook some blueberry pancakes for us if we all get ready in time.”

You nod curtly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swallowing the imaginary cotton-ball stuck in your throat. Nightshade leaps from your chest and onto the floor, rubbing herself against Hermione. Hermione bends over and scratches Nightshade’s head.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Hermione asks, but the look in her eye tells you that she already knows.

A knot forms in your stomach, like a strong, calloused fist is squeezing it into submission. You nod wordlessly, your thumb scraping across the corner of the photo as though you were deliberately trying to get a paper cut. Hermione places Nightshade on the floor and sits by your side.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, staring at the photo.

“Not really,” you murmur, fingers rubbing nervous circles on your wrist and feeling your pulse thump beneath the delicate skin, “I just want to forget about this stupid thing.”

You toss the photo to the ground and Hermione picks it up again, unfolding it. She studies it intensely, brown eyes dragging across every inch of the photo and the symbol on the back.

“It does seem odd that they’d send you a photo of you and Cedric,” Hermione muses, distantly, “and how does this symbol relate to Cedric? Do you think he got one as well?”

You shrug as you stare at your wrist. It’s red from where your nails have been furiously scratching away at the ache.

“And what do they mean by ‘A mouse does not trust a hungry snake’? Are you the mouse in this scenario? Or are you the snake? Are they trying to warn you about something? Are they saying you can’t trust anyone?” Hermione sighs and slaps the photo on your bedside table, “The more I stare at it, the more questions come to mind.”

“That’s why I want to pretend it doesn’t exist,” you mumble, climbing out of bed, “And, before you ask, no. We’re not telling Harry or Ron or anyone about this, okay?”

Hermione nods, opens her mouth to say something, but you can’t talk about it anymore right now, you just can’t. Being on edge for an entire week has turned your stomach into a mosh pit, nerves crashing and colliding and crackling like the frayed edges of tangled electrical wires, and you don’t think you can verbalize any of it without dissolving into an existential crisis.

“Thanks,” you give her a half smile, drawing a carefully guarded expression across your face. You smile at Nightshade and she saunters over, her tail curling into a question mark shape. She leaps into your arms and you rush out of the room, evading any more discussions on the topic.

Knowing Hermione, she will probably want to talk to you later. And that’s okay for now. But, at the moment, it’s best to leave some things unspoken, like seeing your crush transform into a horrid snake monster.

***

Breakfast is an awkward ordeal.

True to her word, Mrs Weasley did make some of the fluffiest pancakes you have ever tasted, and you enjoyed every bite, even if you did have to shovel in as many mouthfuls as you could. Still, you enjoy sitting with the Weasleys; they have this rare ability to make you feel like you’re one of them.

It’s even better seeing Luke. You take a moment to study him, watching him carefully. He’s wearing his favourite, borg-lined denim jacket, black jeans, black converses and a broad grin as he challenged Bill Weasley to a quick game of Wizard Chess.

Over the course of the week, you had watched Luke slowly heal from your father’s surprise-turned-disaster visit. Now, he seems so different again. It makes you wonder how many masks he had for separate occasions. But this morning, he seemed so…unguarded. Happy, even.

“Come on, William,” Luke teases, grinning, “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Bill snorts a laugh, “I’m not scared. I’m just not an idiot. You Arden’s are far too cunning for your own good.”

Luke shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling lazy today…”

“I certainly hope not,” Percy Weasley snaps from the kitchen, “It’s the first day of school and all you’re concerned about is playing a game of Wizard chess! You need to sort out your priorities.”

“And you need to get laid, Percy Weasley,” Luke grins, watching as a deep red flush burns up Percy’s neck, “I can tell you’re suffering from a classic case of Blue Bludgers. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, we’ve all been there. Well, not all of us.”

Everyone bursts into a furious fit of laughter except Hermione and Percy, the former looking like she’s teetering along the edge of amusement and embarrassment, the latter looking as though he may explode.

Percy opens his mouth to scold Luke but is interrupted by Mr Weasley, who bursts into the kitchen, shrugging into his work robes, and swipes a piece of toast from the table and straightening his glasses.

“Morning kids,” he says as he passes, rushing into the study.

While everyone is distracted, you turn to Harry, who sits next to you.

“Have you heard from Sirius?” you whisper, and Harry turns to you, green eyes tinged with a hint of worry.

“No, not yet,” Harry replies, “I’m not sure where he is, though, so it could take weeks before I get a response.”

You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “You’re right. It’s probably better that he doesn’t reply straight away anyway.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “Why? Is something wrong?”

You think about telling Harry the truth, showing him the photo burning through the fabric of your mini denim overalls but you don’t really know where to begin. Plus, with everyone crowded in the kitchen…

“I’ll explain later,” you murmur, eying Ginny as she tries to lean into the conversation, “Now isn’t a good time.”

Harry nods, then fixes his eyes on your bottom lip. He stares as though he’s transfixed, an interesting shade of pink brushing against his cheeks as his pupils dilate ever-so-slightly. You freeze, feeling your own cheeks burn under the intensity of his gaze.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s–there’s something on…” He trails off and hesitantly raises his hand, swiping the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, “There. Got it.”

His fingers hover over your skin, ghosting across your cheek as though he wants to cup it but some sort of invisible barrier is preventing him from breaking through. Something flares inside of you as you watch him, wondering what’s going on inside his brain.

The sound of shattering glass shocks you from your trance, and you both nearly leap off your chairs. Ginny is grimacing, her face flushed as her eyes dart between you, Harry and something on the floor.

“You alright, Ginny?” Bill asks from across the table. Luke springs from his chair and walks around the table to Ginny’s side.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ginny murmurs, her lashes fluttering as she blinks rapidly, “I just…dropped a glass. That’s all.”

Ginny glances between you and Harry and an expression of hurt flickers across her face, disappearing completely as she turns away from you and Harry.

Luke draws his wand, points it at the shards of glass scattered across the kitchen floor, and mutters ‘Reparo.’ Small pieces of glass trapeze through the air and piece themselves together like a jigsaw puzzle, forming a glass. He pats Ginny on the back and she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Fred continues as Luke sits back into his chair, “Mr Diggory – also known as (Y/N)’s father-in-law – was saying that Mad-Eye Moody’s put in another complaint. Apparently, someone tried to ambush him last night. Again.”

“He’s lost it,” Charlie mumbles through a mouthful of pancakes, “Also are we going to ignore the whole ‘(Y/N)’s father-in-law’ joke?”

“Did he ever ‘have it’ in the first place?” Luke asks as he absentmindedly plays with his food, “Besides, why would anyone try to ‘kidnap’ him in the first place? His house is basically a burglar’s nightmare.”

“I guess we are going to ignore it,” Charlie shrugs and stabs his fork into another pancake.

“I concur,” Percy chimes in, “Moody’s a raging lunatic and he shouldn’t harass Mr Crouch with his pathetic, baseless complaints. Mr Crouch is a very busy man, he shouldn’t have to put up with Moody.”

“Well, you would know,” George says, grinning wickedly, “You are Mr Crouch’s bitch boy.”

Percy scowls dangerously at George while Luke and Fred snicker. Luke even leans across the table and pumps his fist on George’s.

“Father is rather fond of Moody,” you interject, and Luke’s expression falters, his lips quirking ever-so-slightly, “He respects Moody, even if he is a little…. senile.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that,” Luke huffs, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice, “Adrien Arden only ever cares about people who look good on the front page of the Daily Prophet. If their faces sell copies, then he’s their best friend. He did the same thing to Sirius Black; he wasn’t afraid to drag Sirius’ name through the mud, even though there wasn’t even a trial for him.”

You, Hermione, Ron and Harry exchange a furtive look,

“You think he’s innocent?” Hermione asks, a faint tinge of pink staining her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” Luke shrugs, “I’ve looked into his case and I’ve just…I’ve seen a lot of inconsistencies. A lot of his case is sensationalized. Anyway, it’s a good thing that Sirius escaped. I wouldn’t wish the Dementors kiss on anyone.”

“A good thing?” Percy chides, hotly, “The whole ghastly ordeal has been a pain in the Ministry’s back, especially for–”

“–Mr Crouch,” Fred finishes, rolling his eyes, “Yes, Barty’s Bitch Boy, whatever you say.”

Everyone laughs, once again, including Hermione. Except, you think it might be out of relief rather than amusement.

***

You arrive at Platform 9 ¾ with a good ten minutes to spare.

Surprising, really, given that breakfast had been such a rushed ordeal and it felt like it had taken months to get ready. Still, after cramming into the Ministry-loaned car and uttering a string of silent prayers to gods you don’t even know, you managed to pull up to Kings Cross Station.

You and Ron had rushed through the barrier together and emerged on the other side grinning. It was always such a thrill, running through the barrier. Of course, Nightshade didn’t care for it, and as soon as you clambered onto the platform, she had meowed loudly, hoping to be released from her carrier.

“I know Belle,” you coo as you poke your finger into her carrier, stroking her fur. Nightshade nuzzles into your touch, rubbing her nose on your finger, “I’ll let you out as soon as we’re on the train.”

A burst of loud guffaws echoes across the station, and you turn to find Luke with his friends. Luke glances at you, his lopsided grin broadening.

“I’ll see you on the train,” you hear him say, “I’ll just be a sec.” They tease him as he shoulders past them and jogs toward you. You smile and cross your arms over your chest, cocking your head as you watch him.

“Aw, come to kiss your little sister goodbye?” you ask, cooing mockingly, as Luke pulls you into a one-armed hug.

“Actually, I came to say goodbye to Nightshade,” Luke jokes, scratching Nightshade through the bars of the car carrier, “And to tell you that I’ll be sitting with my freinds if you need me.”

“You better not let Caleb and the boys see you like this,” you tease, poking him in the ribs, “They’ll think you’ve gone all soft inside.”

“Maybe I was soft to begin with,” Luke suggests, planting a kiss on the crown of your head, “Seriously, though. You need me, come and find me and I’m yours.”

You roll your eyes as Luke gives you one last hug and stalks off to his friends, who wait for him patiently. Behind you, you hear hurried whispers engaging in a heated argument, and you turn to find Ron and Harry murmuring amongst themselves. Your ears strain to listen, but you can’t hear over the chatter of the crowd. You’re about to approach them when you someone nudges your shoulder with their own.

“Looks like you’ve caught someones attention,” Hermione smiles, nodding toward someone in the distance, and you follow her gaze to Cedric Diggory, who smiles and waves cheerily at you.

You swallow, your chest fluttering. Even though you’ve seen him enough in your nightmares let alone your daydreams to recognize him from miles away, he still catches you off guard, like some invisible force has swept you off your feet. A strange, tingling knot forms in the pit of your stomach, tightening then slackening then tightening again and even though it should be painful, it’s not. It’s...peculiar, in a terrifying sort of way. Familiar, yet it surprises you every time.

You blame it on hormones.

Still, spotting Cedric Diggory amongst the bustling crowd has a way of reducing all your thunderous thoughts to mere whispers, chasing them into the base of your skull. You bite your lip, a calming, sanguine wave of relief washing over you, washing through you, trickling down your spine and filling the spaces between your ribs.

“You should talk to him,” Hermione gives an encouraging smile, “If the secret love letters are anything to go by, he’s really been missing you.”

“How did you find out about them?” You ask, incredulously, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

“I didn’t,” she laughs, “You just told me. Right now, actually.”

You glare at her, equal parts frustrated and impressed by her tactics, though you can’t fight the smile flirting around your lips. Knowing that he’s missed you and having someone verbally confirm it has two radically different effects on you, and both of them are good.

“What about you guys?” You ask, tossing a nervous glance at Harry. He’s stopped talking and is ignoring Ron as he watches you carefully, as though he’s trying to listen to your conversation. You think back to earlier that morning when he had grazed his thumb across your bottom lip, his touch meek and hesitant but at the same time curious and warm.

“(Y/N), we’ve just spent nearly two weeks together,” Hermione reassures you with a hand on your shoulder, “I’m sure Harry and Ron can forgive you for choosing to spend one train ride with Cedric. Besides, you might be able to ask him about the…” she trails off suggestively.

You turn back to Cedric, who is making his way through the crowd as you speak.

“Okay,” you smile, biting your lip, as you watch Cedric. He’s wearing a white v-neck beneath a denim aviators jacket and jeans. He’s even better than any fantasy you’ve ever seen of him.

Several other girls seem to agree, because they giggle and whisper as he passes them, eyes following him until he’s standing in front of you.

“Hello, (Y/N),” Cedric beams, blue eyes soaking you in warm, cerulean waters, “Hello Hermione.”

“Five minutes until boarding and departure,” a voice booms over the crowds, and you and Hermione glance at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you.

“I’ll go and get Ron and Harry,” Hermione murmurs, smiling, a silent suggestion dripping from her lips. She glances between you and Cedric one final time before flouncing away.

“So...” Cedric blurts, trailing off into an awkward silence.

“So,” You echo, grinning.

Cedric runs a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. He gazes at you, blue eyes twinkling as they bashfully sweep over you.

“So,” Cedric repeats, fiddling with his shirt, “I was thinking that – if you want – we could, maybe, sit together?”

“What about your friends?” You ask, glancing back at the group of Hufflepuff seventh-years watching your exchange from a distance and grinning teasingly.

“Oh they’ll be fine,” Cedric flaps a dismissive hand in their direction. He seems to know that they’re watching and no doubt joking amongst themselves, “They’re not babies.”

You nibble your smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and the folded photo in your pocket seems lighter already, “Okay.”

Cedric smiles, and it’s as though he’s been kissed by sunlight.

***

Somehow, you end up sitting crossed-leg on the floor, blindfolded and at Cedric’s mercy.

He shifts, leaning forward, and he’s so close, close enough for you to breathe in the scent of his shampoo and bottle it inside your ribcage like a fine wine. You inhale, trying to drink him in and you taste sunlight on your tongue; warm and reassuring and melting your fears away.

“Okay, I promise this one isn’t a gross one,” Cedric says, and you can almost hear the smile on his words. There’s a scratchy rustling of a cellophane plastic bags, and the scrape of thin, flimsy cardboard like it’s been ripped open, “Ready?”

You nod and part your lips. A moment later, Cedric pops the jelly bean between your lips and you bite down, strawberries and cream oozing onto your tongue.

“Mm,” you hum, smiling, “Strawberries and cream.”

“I love that one,” Cedric confesses, “You’re good at this game.”

You shrug triumphantly, “I’m good at anything to do with food.”

There is a brief moment of silence while you enjoy the jelly bean as the rich, creamy flavour melts down your throat. But the silence continues, lingering, stretching, and even though you’re blindfolded, you can still sense hesitation in the air.

“Is there something wrong?” you ask. A beat of silence passes, where you assume Cedric has just shaken his head because he gives a little laugh.

“No, nothing is wrong,” He murmurs, “I’m just…admiring how beautiful you are.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck and burn in your cheeks, the knot in your stomach tightening, but the feeling fades a little as you feel Cedric trace a finger down your jaw, his thumb dragging across your cheek. You lean into his touch, your entire body tingling with anticipation, as you sense him shift closer, closing the inches between you, and he’s so close, you can feel his lips ghosting over your own, testing, hesitating, and Merlin it’s happening, it’s really happening–

Shattering glass echoes down the corridor and you and Cedric jerk apart.

“What was that?” Cedric asks, and you push your blindfold over your head, climbing to your feet.

“I’m not sure,” you muse, sliding the compartment door open and stepping out of the compartment.

You immediately want to shrink back into the room.

Draco Malfoy is prowling the corridor with his goons, Crabble and Goyle in tow, following him loyally like a persistent shadow. They look as though they’ve just won a fight and they’re basking in their glory, snickering amongst themselves like scheming snakes. You start back toward your compartment, but you already know it’s too late; you can sense Draco’s pale-blue eyes roaming over you like a predator assessing its prey.

“Don’t suppose you’ve heard the news yet, Arden?” he asks, smugly, knowing that you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“I really don’t care,” you sigh, exasperated with the conversation, “Now excuse me–”

“–you’re excused,” he drawls, like he’s bored already, “Though I’d watch my back if I were you. Potter seems to be in a miserable mood lately. You ought to find yourself better friends.”

You glare at him, blood pulsing hot and red and burning the cushion of your veins, “Don’t tell me what I ought to do, Malfoy. I’ve always been patient with you, but that doesn’t mean you can push me.”

“I can do what I want, and you know it,” he scorns, an annoying, haughty glint in his eye, “I can get what I want, too.”

Crabble and Goyle, snigger trollishly.

“And what is it that you want, Malfoy?” you ask, a sharp brow raised indignantly as you stare at him.

Malfoy’s eyes glitter with shades of blue and silver as they study you, sweeping across every fine detail on your face, and there is something distinctly masked about his expression like he’s showing you something he shouldn’t be as he contemplates, hesitates, before scoffing,

“Just–watch yourself. You and Potter think that you’re invincible, prancing around like little lovers. But you shouldn’t trust anyone.”

Your scowl turns into mild interest as you narrow your eyes on him, recognizing his thinly-veiled threat.

“What is that supposed to mean, Malfoy? And why are you telling–” you trail off into a stutter, blinking in disbelief.

Are they trying to warn you about something? Are they saying you can’t trust anyone?

The photo in your pocket itches. You wrench it out of your pocket and unfold it hastily, fingers fumbling around the edges.

“Do you know what this is?” you ask, thrusting the photo into his hands.

Draco sniffs as he stares down at it, flattening it out so he can get a better look. His expression shifts, rippling with more expressions you’ve ever seen before, before he settles on disdain.

“It’s a photo, Arden. I can’t believe I had to tell you that, Merlin.”

You roll your eyes, seething, as you snatch the photo from his grasp and shove it into your pocket. “I know that. I mean, did you have anything to do with it?”

Draco scoffs, narrowing his eyes on you with haughtily, “Do you really think the world is that obsessed with you? Of course not. Not everyone is in love with you.”

“That’s not what–you know what? It doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve another minute of my time,” You whirl around and storm off, reaching for the handle of the compartment door when Draco suddenly calls out.

“Underwood.”

You’re not sure if you heard him at first, until you turn around and notice that he had strode toward you to catch up. Draco’s eyes travel between you and the photo in your pocket.

You furrow your brows in confusion, “Excuse me?”

“Underwood,” Draco reiterates, “Noah Underwood. You know, the only person weirder than Potter? He’s in our year. It looks like one of his photos. He’s the only idiot I know who uses a stupid, muggle camera.”

You cock a single brow as your eyes scan Draco’s face, giving him an appraising look, “How do I know if what you’re telling me is the truth?”

“Just ask him,” Draco snips, coldly, “You’ll know then.”

“Is everything okay here?” someone asks from behind you, and you turn to find Cedric watching your exchange with Draco suspiciously.

Draco’s expression falters, something malicious flashing in his eyes, like a fork of lightning splitting the sky in half.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, soothingly, “This conversation is over.”

Draco shoves past you and disappears down the corridor, his eyes never leaving yours as he passes. You absentmindedly pat the photo in your pocket.

Noah Underwood. Draco was right about him being a little…odd. He was alone, a lot of the time, people were probably repelled by his standoffish personality. You didn’t really know well, having only spoken when it was absolutely necessary (for instance, in Potions you had once been paired with him and even then, the only words that he murmured were soft-spoken instructions that you could barely hear over the bubbling potion) but what you did know was that he is currently the only muggleborn in Slytherin and that his sister died last year in an unfortunate accident.

In a way, you pitied Noah Underwood.

You wait until Draco is out of earshot before turning to Cedric, peering up at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry to do this to you but I have to go and talk to Hermione,” you say, giving him a meek smile. Cedric smiles, understanding without verbalizing it, and drags a gentle finger up your jaw, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart swells at the affectionate gesture and, without even comprehending what you’re doing, you reach up and give him a quick peck on his cheek.

You breathe in the subtle notes of his cologne and savour them in your chest as your lips linger for a second longer than necessary. Cedric winds an arm around your waist, holding you to his chest for a brief moment, where you can hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. You have to muster every ounce of your willpower to tear away from his side and flash him a smile before flouncing away.

When you finally reach Hermione, Harry and Ron’s compartment, you wrench open the door and stumble inside, noticing the air shift around you.

There’s an undisguisable tension that weighs heavy in the air. Ron’s arms are crossed over his chest, Hermione is reading a book, and Harry is staring out of the window. It looks as though they’ve just had another argument.

Another argument that they’ve had without me

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hermione smiles, lowering her book. There is a faint brush of red over her cheeks, recognizable only to those who truly know her, “Is everything alright?”

“Can I speak to you for a second?” you ask, ignoring the penetrative stare that Harry’s eyes are drilling into you.

Hermione nods, standing, before following you out of the compartment. You pull her aside, enabling others to pass as you talk.

“I think I know who took the photo of me and Cedric,” you murmur, and Hermione’s brows shoot up toward her hairline as you continue, “Draco recognized the photo as one of Noah Underwood’s.”

“What?” Hermione breathes, brows creased in thought, “How can you trust that Draco is telling the truth?”

“I can’t,” you sigh, shrugging, “But I’ve got nothing to lose by asking him. I have to follow every lead I find.”

“But (Y/N)–”

“Hermione, Noah Underwood is the key to all of this,” you whisper, trying to convince yourself that it’s true, “I know it.”

And even if I’m wrong, I still have to get to the bottom of this

***

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