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lqveharrington · 7 months ago

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Golden Snitch | R.L.

summary: you convince remus to dress up together and everyone LOVES the costumes

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

includes: underage drinking, cursing, kissing, Sirius and reader behaving like siblings, overall fluff

a/n: poll is releasing tmr to vote for this or the draco one!

Although Remus wasn’t big on dressing up for Halloween, you absolutely adored it. Since your childhood, you always looked forward to the holiday and the tacky outfits from the spirit store down the street. Since Remus’ childhood, the holiday only reminded him that everyone found werewolves terrifying as death itself.

But you made sure to change all his horrid memories to good ones the second you met.

Over the years, you slowly coaxed Remus into dressing up and having fun on Halloween, especially when his best friends threw the Gryffindor party every year. When you began dating, the costumes you made him wear became couple costumes. Some of your favorites being Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast, and The Great Gatsby.

This year — your final year at Hogwarts — you wanted to wear something that would be talked about for years. You wanted something so spectacular that it would be remembered. Luckily, you had just the couples costume in mind.

“Remind me again, why do you need a quidditch uniform?” James threw a curious look to Remus who was currently reading Little Women, a book you made him read for entertainment purposes. “If you’re telling me you’re joining the quidditch team during your last year, I’ll go bloody mad.”

“I’m not.” Remus flicked the page and sipped on his tea beside him, glancing at James from the corner of his eye. “Just need to borrow one.”

Remus, James, and Sirius have gone through this dance about ten times. Each one ending in the talk of the latest play before James sobered up and asked about the uniform again. It was a never ending cycle of bickering.

Sirius threw a crumpled piece of plastic at Remus’ head as the painting opened up, earning a loud sigh from the boy himself. “Yeah, but why do you need to borrow one?”

“Don’t throw stuff at Remus, Black.” You huff and make your way over to the trio, flashing your loving boyfriend a smile as his hand made their way to your hip. “What did they do this time?”

“Why are you assuming we did something?”

“Yeah, we’re saints!” Sirius dropped down on the couch beside Remus, sending you an oh-so innocent smile.

You roll your eyes at him and flash him your favorite finger, “Says the devil himself.”

“Hey—!”

“They were asking why I needed a quidditch uniform.” Remus cut Sirius off before you two could argue for the nth time.

It was like you two were always fighting over him — which he had to admit — was funny to see unfold each time. Remus laced his other hand with yours and returned your attention back to him, thumb rubbing your pulse point.

“How’s your thing going?” He murmured when you sat beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, shifting his body to block Sirius from your sight.

You shrug, “Lily and I have been working on it. We’ll be done even before the holiday.”

“You two are so ominous, I don’t like it.” James shuddered, which earned a glare from you and an eye roll from Remus. “What? It’s obvious you two are planning something and not telling us.”

“Okay, well, I’m done with this conversation.” You sighed and pressed a quick kiss to Remus’ lips, looking like the love sick fool that you were. “I love you, and I’ll see you in a bit.”

You made quick steps up the girls’ dorm after Remus reciprocated the notion and left the three boys back to their dwelling.

“Why does she hate us and love you?” Sirius grumbled and popped a jelly bean into his mouth, grimacing at the flavor and spitting it out.

“Maybe because she’s dating him and not us?” James threw him an annoyed look.

Remus blocked out their bickering and went back to reading. He loved you and you loved him, and that’s all he needed to know. Besides, it was the boys who practically begged him to ask you out since first year. They knew he was smitten with you the second you both met on the train.

Eventually, James did lend Remus an unused quidditch uniform while you and Lily finished your costume for Halloween. The only thing left to do was perfect the actual look and win the couples contest.

“Hell, are you dressing up as one of our quidditch players for Halloween?” Sirius raised his brows in surprise as Remus shuffled out of the bathroom with said uniform on. “Which Gryffindor did you dress up as?”

“No one.” Remus replied in a bored manner and adjusted the leather gloves he had on. “I’m just a quidditch player.”

“Uh-huh. So you definitely didn’t dress as Prongs or I?”

“No.”

Sirius gave him an unimpressed look and shrugged on his vest for his Indiana Jones costume. “Whatever you say… Anyway, Prongs and the rest of them are already down there and I’m not waiting for you any longer if you’re going to gel your hair back.”

“Yeah, I’m going.” He grumbled and adjusted his uniform before following Sirius down the stairs and into the ongoing Halloween party.

The red lights flickered about as the music practically shook the entire room. Remus scanned the vicinity for you, struggling until Sirius almost dropped dead at the sight of you. It was the same reaction everyone had to seeing you dressed in… That.

“Holy fuck. Your girlfriend is wearing the shortest dress in existence.” Sirius gaped and earned a smack to the head from Remus.

Remus watched you dance and jump with Lily, eyes shining bright with joy when they met his. You beamed so bright and almost elbowed everyone in your way to make it to him. He caught you in his arms as you kissed him senseless, hands coming to rest on his cheeks.

“Hey, dovey.” He finally spoke when you both parted for air, thumbing your jaw softly. “You look absolutely stunning in gold.”

“Of course, I do, Rem! I’m a Gryffindor!” You laugh and eyes his outfit like he was a three course meal. “It’s interesting seeing you dressed in quidditch robes for the first time.”

“Yeah?” He continued to thumb your jaw in a doting manner. “Well if I did play, I plan on you being the snitch every game. I wouldn’t play otherwise.”

You tilt your head and meet his eyes with so much love. Now that you and Remus were standing together, your costumes made so much sense. It wasn’t just a quidditch player and a golden fairy, it was a seeker and the golden snitch. Sirius looked between the both of you before gasping and clapping his hands in realization, those around you looking over as well.

“Aren’t you two the cutest pair!” He gushed and pinched Remus’ cheek at the revelation.

Smacking Sirius’ hand away, you rested your chin on Remus’s shoulder to prevent him from doing such thing again. Remus laughed at you two and rubbed your back.

“You know, Marlene is looking for you, Siri.” You practically shout over the loud music.

“Is she?” He perked up at the mention of the girl he had been talking to recently. “Well then… I will catch up with you two later.”

You waited a little longer before laughing loudly at your own doing. Was Marlene really looking for him? No, but Sirius was always there whenever you wanted to be alone with Remus. Before you could stop laughing, Remus swatted your ass playfully in response to the poor prank.

“Hey—!” You pout jokingly, laughing again when Remus shook his head at you with an upturned smile.

As the night carried on, the crowd grew bigger, the music louder, and the drinks more alcoholic. It got to the point where you and Remus were too drunk to be the responsible ones in the group. Oddly enough, you both drank more than anyone else in the group.

However, you both won the couples costume contest and — for some reason no one could explain the next day — you decided to give a speech to the mass of Gryffindors in the common room about winning the contest. It wasn’t your proudest moment, but it was your last year.

Clambering on top of the wooden tables, you stumbled over your own legs as Remus tried to stabilize you. Lily, who was the responsible one for the night, rubbed her forehead in exasperation. She didn’t want to necessarily stop you. You were a whiny drunk, and it would be impossible to stop you from something you wanted to do.

“Wait wait — hiccup — I would like to thank the committee,” You hold your red cup close to your chest, your cheeks almost as bright as the cup. “Lily Evans — hiccup — the quidditch team, and my ever so loving boyfriend — hiccup — for making this all possible!” You throw your arms in the air, earning cheers from the crowd.

“What committee?” Sirius looked at Lily with a confused look, pointing between him and James. “Us?”

She shrugged and watched you jump down from the table, snickering when Remus nearly had a heart attack from your way of getting down. She made sure you both were okay before returning to James’ side, pointing you both out to him.

“You’re gonna be the — hiccup — death of me.” Remus tucked his head in between your neck and shoulder, nudging his nose on your exposed skin. “Don’t do that.”

“M’sorry.” You giggle and stumble slightly at the weight being put on you. “You baby.”

He kissed your cheek, “No.”

“Yeah.”

“No.” He dragged you over to the dormitory stairs. “Hi.”

You giggle and trace the scars on his face, “Hey.”

“You’re cute.” He melted into your hands and pecked your palm. “Really really cute.”

“You wanna know a secret, Rem?” You murmur and hiccup when he tugged you impossibly closer. “I promise it’s really cool.”

“What is it?” He pressed kisses everywhere he could, putting more attention to your lips.

“I love you.” You whisper against his lips and fully kiss him, the taste of firewhisky strong. “So much.”

He smiled into the kiss and parted briefly, thumbing your lip. “You want to know my secret, dovey?”

“What?” You look up and meet the hazel eyes you’ve come to love.

“I love you more.”

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monyokami · 5 months ago

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Beatrice and Clora (My Mc/ Oc with @choccy-milky 's Mc)🐉

I hope you like the drawing, it's the first time I draw someone else's character. Thank you very much for your permission

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malfoysanctuary · 3 months ago

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To Have and To Hold

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred Weasley loves you recklessly, shamelessly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is, maybe love is effortless when it’s him, when he twirls your wedding ring between his fingers and calls you his wife like he still can’t believe you’re real.

The first time you catch Fred Weasley playing with your wedding ring, you think nothing of it.

You’re seated at The Burrow’s worn kitchen table, comfortably tucked into his side, one of his arms draped lazily over your shoulders as he chats with George. It’s not unusual—Fred has always been tactile, always had a way of touching you like he needs to confirm you’re real. But then you feel it, the absentminded brush of his fingers against yours, the way his thumb traces slow, deliberate circles over the thin gold band on your ring finger.

You glance down, catching the way he spins the ring idly, over and over, his movements so effortless, so natural, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

You glance up at him, amused. “Enjoying yourself?”

Fred turns, grinning like the lovesick fool he is. “Mmm,” he hums, still twirling the band. “Just admiring my wife.”

Your stomach flips, warmth curling at the base of your spine, because he means it. He says it with no fanfare, no teasing lilt, just quiet, undiluted affection. And that’s the thing about Fred Weasley—he loves you loudly, but he loves you softly too.

And Merlin, you adore him for it.

────

He introduces you the same way every time.

Like now, in Diagon Alley, when you run into an old friend from school. Fred doesn’t even let you speak before he’s slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side, and grinning like he’s won the bloody lottery.

“This beautiful lady is my wife.”

Your friend raises an amused brow. “I do know who Y/n is, Fred.”

Fred shrugs, unbothered. “Doesn’t hurt to remind people.”

You nudge him with your hip, arching a brow. “Or yourself?”

Fred leans in, breath ghosting against your ear, voice dropping into something softer. “Especially myself.”

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because there’s something raw in the way he says it, something earnest and unguarded, like even after all this time, a part of him still can’t believe you’re his.

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, in the steady rise and fall of his chest. He notices, because of course he does, and his arm tightens around you, thumb stroking slow, soothing circles against your side.

You shake your head, attempting to fight the smile threatening to take over your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Fred presses a kiss to your temple, lingering. “Ridiculously in love with you.”

And you?

You love him just the same.

────

The shop is quiet when Fred finds you in the back room, tucked between shelves stacked high with merchandise. He corners you effortlessly, hands braced on either side of you, effectively caging you in.

“Fred,” you sigh, arching a brow. “You’re in my way.”

Fred grins. “Am I?”

His voice is all honey and mischief, and Merlin, he knows what he’s doing. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him, close enough that you catch the way his lashes flutter as he looks down at you, the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting the urge to kiss you senseless.

You tilt your chin up, challenging. “What do you want?”

Fred hums, pretending to think. “Hmm… you.”

And damn him, because he means it.

He doesn’t move—not yet. He just watches you, watches the way your breath catches, the way your fingers twitch at your sides like you want to reach for him. He wants you to.

And maybe that’s why you don’t.

Instead, you smirk. “You already have me.”

Fred’s grin softens into something impossibly fond. His hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down, fingers grazing your jaw, your throat, before settling over your wedding ring. He twirls it between his fingers, slow and deliberate, his other hand splaying across your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing left between you.

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Just like I know I’m never letting you go.”

It’s late when the two of you finally tumble into bed, limbs tangled, the scent of him all around you—firewood, spice, something inherently Fred. The world outside is quiet, but his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, grounding.

His fingers find yours under the sheets, and he does it again—twirls your wedding ring between his fingers, lazy and thoughtless, like a habit he’s never quite grown out of.

“Do you ever get tired of doing that?” you ask, voice heavy with exhaustion.

Fred’s lips twitch against your forehead. “Nope.”

You exhale a quiet laugh. “Why?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds you closer, presses a kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. Then—softly, barely above a whisper—

“Because I still can’t believe you married me.”

You blink, something tightening in your chest.

Fred Weasley is the most confident man you’ve ever met. He can talk his way out of trouble, charm his way into getting what he wants. He’s brilliant and funny and devastatingly golden.

And yet, here, in the quiet safety of your shared bed, he’s just Fred. Just a boy who loves you so much it sometimes knocks the wind out of him.

Your throat feels tight as you shift, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, shining with that impossible, unwavering love.

So you reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, and whisper, “I’d marry you a hundred times over, Fred Weasley.”

Fred grins, slow and unbearably fond, fingers still toying with your ring.

“You’re stuck with me now, love.”

And Merlin, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #shifting to hogwarts #hogwarts houses #gryffindor #slytherin #hogwarts oc #x reader #female reader #reader insert #fem reader

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spencersmopbucket · 1 month ago

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Mirror | Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader Summary: You're everything Draco sees in himself -- and he's never wanted anything more than to be understood.

The dungeons of Hogwarts were colder than most remembered. They clung to silence like a second skin, damp with echoes of footsteps long since passed and secrets whispered into stone.

You had never minded the quiet.

Like your uncle, you found comfort in solitude — the kind of comfort that didn’t demand smiles or small talk, only silence and space. Professor Snape wasn’t affectionate by any definition of the word, but he saw you. And that had always been enough.

You were his niece — not that most students knew. It wasn’t a well-known fact, nor was it a connection you flaunted. You shared none of his oily hair or hooked nose, none of the scowl that made first-years flinch when he walked by. In truth, the resemblance was nearly invisible unless someone looked deeper: the calculating expression behind your eyes, the way your voice rarely raised, the sharp wit that cut deeper than any spell.

Snape didn’t coddle you. He tutored you in potions with the same exacting precision he used on everyone else — but in private, he trusted you with his thoughts, let his tone soften just slightly, and ensured you had your space. You were the only student he didn’t reprimand for lingering in his office. Sometimes, you’d sit there for hours while he graded parchment and the dungeon fire popped softly between you.

You weren’t cold — you just didn’t care for the unnecessary. You kept your head down, your spells sharp, and your eyes sharper. A Slytherin through and through, but not in the same way your housemates were. You were quiet, not cruel. Calculated, not callous. And you had a reputation of being unreadable, unapproachable… unbothered.

It wasn’t until he started watching you that your perfectly constructed walls began to shift.

Draco Malfoy.

He was everything you understood — ambition, restraint, a mask so carefully curated it was practically skin. And yet, he looked at you like he couldn’t decide if he’d found a rival or a mirror. Like he wanted to speak, but didn’t know how. Like he recognized something in you… and it terrified him.

And you — well, for once, you didn’t mind being seen.

The dungeons of Hogwarts were colder than most remembered. They clung to silence like a second skin, damp with echoes of footsteps long since passed and secrets whispered into stone.

You had never minded the quiet.

Like your uncle, you found comfort in solitude—the kind of comfort that didn’t demand smiles or small talk, only silence and space. Professor Snape wasn’t affectionate by any definition of the word, but he saw you. And that had always been enough.

You were his niece—not that most students knew. It wasn’t a well-known fact, nor was it a connection you flaunted. You shared none of his oily hair or hooked nose, none of the scowl that made first-years flinch when he walked by. In truth, the resemblance was nearly invisible unless someone looked deeper: the calculating expression behind your eyes, the way your voice rarely raised, the sharp wit that cut deeper than any spell.

Snape didn’t coddle you. He tutored you in potions with the same exacting precision he used on everyone else—but in private, he trusted you with his thoughts, let his tone soften just slightly, and ensured you had your space. You were the only student he didn’t reprimand for lingering in his office. Sometimes, you’d sit there for hours while he graded parchment and the dungeon fire popped softly between you.

You weren’t cold—you just didn’t care for the unnecessary. You kept your head down, your spells sharp, and your eyes sharper. A Slytherin through and through, but not in the same way your housemates were. You were quiet, not cruel. Calculated, not callous. And you had a reputation of being unreadable, unapproachable… unbothered.

It wasn’t until he started watching you that your perfectly constructed walls began to shift.

Draco Malfoy.

He was everything you understood—ambition, restraint, a mask so carefully curated it was practically skin. And yet, he looked at you like he couldn’t decide if he’d found a rival or a mirror. Like he wanted to speak, but didn’t know how. Like he recognized something in you… and it terrified him.

And you — well, for once, you didn’t mind being seen.

In fact, you loved it from the right people. And Draco was the right person.

The scent of asphodel and wormwood hung thick in the dungeon air, curling around stone pillars and sinking into the black robes of every student in the room. Cauldrons bubbled in eerie unison, and the low hum of muttered instructions mixed with the occasional sharp clatter of vials.

Professor Snape’s voice cut through the fog like a whip.

“Do not stir clockwise, Mr. Nott, unless your intent is to melt a hole through the table.”

You didn’t look up from your own cauldron. Your stir was precise — seven counterclockwise turns, pause, sprinkle of crushed valerian root, then three more. Your notes were already memorized; you worked by instinct now, moving like someone who knew the potion was beneath them.

Across the table, Draco Malfoy was silent.

He wasn’t watching his potion.

He was watching you.

You felt his stare like a physical thing, a prickle of static against the back of your neck. He always did this — watching you like a puzzle, like he couldn’t quite figure out what made you tick. You were used to glances, to being noticed and quickly dismissed. But Draco… he lingered.

“What?” you asked flatly, not looking up.

His voice came a second too late, like he’d been caught off guard.

“Nothing.” A pause. “You’re doing it wrong.”

You finally glanced up, arching a brow.

“I’m sorry — was that concern or competition?”

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “I just thought you should know the instructions said to stir exactly ten times. You’ve done eleven.”

You set your ladle down and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m not following the instructions.”

That made him blink. “Why?��

“Because Snape’s instructions are wrong.”

He stared at you like you’d just confessed to murder. “He’s your uncle.”

“And he still gets things wrong. Often, actually. He overcompensates with precision because he doesn’t trust instinct.” You leaned forward, voice low enough for only him to hear. “But I do.”

Draco looked at you like he didn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed. You could almost see the war happening behind those pale grey eyes — the part of him that was raised to scoff at anyone who challenged authority, and the part of him that desperately craved someone who saw the world the way he did: carefully, calculatedly, and with an edge.

Your cauldron puffed a soft, silvery mist — perfect. His gave off a sputter of green smoke.

You looked down at it, then back up. “Guess you should’ve done eleven.” You fought the urge to release a quiet laugh.

Before he could retort, Snape’s voice rang out again.

“Miss Y/L/N. Ten points to Slytherin.”

Draco blinked. “For what?”

Snape didn’t even look up from his grading. “For improving my recipe.”

You tried not to smirk. Draco stared at you like you were an entirely new language he’d never been taught.

And Merlin, did he want to learn.

There were repeated instances like this with you — revealing parts of yourself that you thought no one paid attention to. You were more than just the quiet girl sitting in the back of a classroom earning good marks. You were smart, talented, mischievous. You had a sense of humor, passions, soft parts of yourself that you never expected to reveal.

Everything about you made Draco realize how alike you were. You both found it extremely difficult to expose the gentle parts of yourself.

In time, your personality grew on Draco. Factually, you grew around Draco like vines on stone.

You didn’t barge into his world. You crept in — slowly, deliberately. Slipping through cracks he hadn’t realized were there. One shared smirk in Potions. One witty retort in the corridor. One too-long glance across the Slytherin table. Like ivy on old brick, you twined around him without choking. Just existing. Becoming.

And he let you.

He didn’t push you away, didn’t sneer or snap the way he did with others. Not even when Snape began to watch your interactions with the subtle scrutiny of someone who noticed everything. Not when Pansy asked, offhandedly, if he and Snape’s niece were "a thing.” Not even when he caught himself staring at you in the common room, wondering what it might feel like to let you see all of him — without the mask, the sneer, the posturing.

Because with you, it wasn’t about impressing.

It was about being understood.

One evening, when he saw the suave Blaise Zabini trying to crack your hard shell in the same way he did, it all came to a head.

Draco was halfway through pretending to study in the Slytherin common room, a book open on his lap, eyes unmoving — when he caught the sound of your laugh. Not loud, not full. Just a short exhale, dry and quiet and laced with that sharp-edged wit you usually reserved for him.

His eyes flicked up.

You were sitting in one of the green velvet armchairs near the fire, curled slightly sideways with your legs tucked beneath you. Blaise stood just beside your chair, one hand resting on the back, leaning in just close enough to be noticed. Too close.

Draco’s jaw locked.

Blaise was talking and you were listening. Not swooning, of course not. You weren’t the type. But you weren’t brushing him off, either.

And that? That was enough to piss Draco off.

He stood, calmly, as if he'd just remembered something terribly important. He closed the book with a quiet snap, and crossed the room without a single hesitation.

“Blaise,” Draco drawled as he came to stand beside the armchair, his tone bored, sharp. “Didn’t realize you’d taken up the role of court jester.”

Blaise turned toward him, smirking. “Didn’t realize you were interested in comedy.”

“I’m not. That’s why I came over.”

Your gaze lifted slowly from your book, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. You didn’t say anything.

Draco looked at you then, gaze lingering just a second too long, before snapping back to Blaise.

“She doesn’t need an audience,” he added lazily. “She prefers actual intelligent company.”

Blaise raised a brow. “Funny. I thought she could decide for herself.”

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk — one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“She could,” he said, tone icy, “if she were remotely interested.”

Your voice came. “I’m right here.”

Draco’s eyes slid to you, and for the first time in the conversation, something softened. Barely. But you caught it.

“She doesn’t like being spoken for,” you added.

Draco didn’t apologize. Of course he didn’t. But the way his shoulders shifted — the way his jaw flexed and his eyes met yours — told you everything.

He wasn’t angry at Blaise.

He was angry at himself.

Because you were never supposed to matter this much.

Blaise chuckled lowly, pushing off the chair. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Once he was gone, a silence hung in the air. The fire crackled. Draco still hadn’t moved.

You tilted your head. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you.”

He sneered. “Wasn’t jealousy. It was pity.”

You snorted. “Right.”

He looked at you like you were a problem he couldn’t solve. Like you were the only puzzle he actually wanted to understand.

Then, softly — not for anyone else to hear: “I don’t want anyone else trying to figure you out.”

That made you pause.

“Why?” you asked, quieter now.

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the fire, like the words were molten in his mouth.

And then he added, almost bitterly, “Because they’d get it wrong.”

The words echoed in your mind. Partly because they were true and partly because you'd been shocked to hear them out of Draco's mouth. A small tinge of red burned across your cheeks.

You didn’t respond at first — mostly because you didn’t know how. Draco Malfoy wasn’t the type to say things like that. He wasn’t the type to say anything at all if it didn’t serve his image: calculated, superior, untouchable.

But this wasn’t that.

This was something raw, unedited. A quiet confession tucked inside a throwaway comment, and Merlin, did it make your pulse skip.

The firelight danced across his features, casting sharp shadows beneath his cheekbones, flickering in his pale gray eyes. He still wasn’t looking at you, but the silence between you buzzed with a different kind of tension now. Not rivalry. Not snark.

Something deeper. Something real.

“Why would it matter,” you said finally, voice low, “if they got it wrong?”

His jaw clenched.

You didn’t expect an answer. You knew how to play this game — he’d shut down, deflect with sarcasm, say something cruel to keep you at a distance.

But instead, he exhaled slowly and said, “Because you’re not some house trophy to be won over with fake charm and compliments. You’re not like Pansy or any of them.”

Your lips parted slightly, but still, you said nothing.

He turned to you at last, the mask nearly gone — eyes sharp but no longer guarded.

“And maybe I don’t want to share the version of you I know with anyone else.”

That silenced every thought in your head.

Because what could you possibly say to that?

You stared at him and for once, he let you. Let you see everything in his expression. The hint of something softer, vulnerable, real. It was fleeting, a flash of lightning behind storm clouds. But you saw it.

He looked away first, swallowing hard, the usual smugness creeping back into his voice as he added, “Anyway, Zabini’s a halfwit. His eyebrows do more talking than he does.”

You huffed a quiet laugh and just like that, the tension broke.

But the firelight still flickered, and the silence between you wasn’t empty.

Not anymore.

You studied silently with Draco by your side, reading a book. There weren't any more words exchanged. An hour into your study session, your eyes began to get heavy. It was getting late.

Draco analyzed you, the way you stirred in the chair, the way your quill strokes slowed. With a light nudge, he issued an unspoken communication that it was time to go.

The halls were quiet — empty save for the soft, overlapping echoes of your footsteps and Draco’s beside you. The torches burned low, casting golden light against the cold stone walls, throwing long shadows across the floor.

Now, the silence between you was heavy with the weight of things unspoken.

You stopped at a corridor where your paths would usually split, and turned to him.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you murmured, your voice hushed, intimate in the dimness. “About not needing anyone to speak for me.”

Draco leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, but his gaze was locked on you with a fire that betrayed the casual stance. “I know,” he said, tone quiet. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You arched a brow. “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

His lips quirked into something dangerously close to a smirk. “Only when I’m right.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding. The air between you shifted — crackled. He pushed off the wall and took a step closer, close enough that the scent of cedar and firewood on his robes filled your senses.

His voice dropped. “I meant what I said too.”

You blinked. “Which part?”

Draco’s eyes flicked to your lips, then back up again. “All of it.”

The silence returned — but this time, it was electric. He was close now, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, the slow, careful inhale of his breath as if he were fighting against instinct.

Your hand brushed his — barely. His gaze darted down, then back up.

And then, just as he leaned in, your noses brushing lightly, lips within a breath away —

“I do hope I’m not interrupting something.”

Draco stiffened immediately, pulling back like he'd been burned. You turned, wide-eyed, to see your uncle standing not ten feet away in the shadow of a stone archway, arms crossed and expression unreadable — save for the glint of dry amusement in his dark eyes.

“Professor,” Draco said quickly, straightening his posture.

“Draco,” Snape replied coolly, then shifted his gaze to you. “Niece.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re still up.”

“I was merely patrolling,” Snape said smoothly, stepping forward. “It’s well past curfew, in case either of you forgot.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Snape held up a hand.

“I don’t need excuses. I need plausible deniability.”

You blinked. “Wait — what?”

Snape tilted his head slightly, mouth curling into what might’ve been a smirk — if Snape ever actually smirked. “Should anyone ask if I saw two Slytherins lingering suspiciously close in a dungeon hallway, I will, of course, say I saw nothing. Because I wasn’t here. Naturally.”

Draco stared at him, caught between horror and disbelief. “Sir—”

Snape turned, robes sweeping behind him. “Be discreet. And Merlin’s sake, don’t let me catch you actually snogging in public. That’s just tacky.”

He disappeared around the corner without another word.

The silence left in his wake was… something.

You turned to Draco. He was still frozen, lips parted, eyes narrowed after your uncle.

“He’s deranged,” he muttered.

You laughed — really laughed — and Draco’s expression broke into a grin.

You almost swooned. This was a wide smile, the widest, most genuine smile you'd ever seen on Draco's face. His teeth were white, his smile was beautiful. He was just.. Gorgeous. Every girl in Hogwarts had to admit that Draco was attractive. Objectively.

“He didn’t tell us to stop,” you teased.

“He told us not to get caught,” Draco corrected, stepping closer again, voice low and edged with heat. “Big difference.”

And Merlin help you, you almost leaned in again.

But not quite.

Because some things are worth waiting for.

The weeks that followed were blissful. You had truly opened up to each other, gaining the attention of everyone at Hogwarts that had once feared Draco. They'd now noticed that he seemed to be going.. somewhat soft. As soft as you could get for a Malfoy.

He still rolled his eyes at first-years and snapped at Gryffindors for breathing too loudly. Still walked like he owned every corridor he passed through. Still carried that cold, untouchable air like armor. But he didn't seek people out to humiliate them. He wasn't the worst nightmare of anyone entering Hogwarts.

And as for you?

He no longer mocked you in class. In fact, he never had — but now he openly looked for you. Waited for you outside lecture halls. Sat beside you during breakfast, a hand lazily propped under his chin as you spoke about things that would’ve bored him coming from anyone else. His smirk, once cruel, now lingered at the edges of his mouth in ways that were meant for you.

And for the first time, people didn’t fear Draco Malfoy — they envied him.

They watched him laugh at something you whispered in the library, a real laugh that twisted the knife in every girl who’d ever tried to flirt with him and failed. They watched him lean in a little too close, touch your hand like it was instinct. Watched you roll your eyes at him, not like you were annoyed — but like you knew him better than anyone else ever would.

All you two needed was one final push. One final nudge to make the transition into something more.. Official. Something more obvious.

Someone flirting with you.

It happened on a Tuesday.

The library was unusually quiet for that time of day — not that Draco ever truly cared about who was around. You sat across from him at one of the back tables, parchment spread in front of you, a quill twirling lazily between your fingers. He was reading, pretending to focus, but his eyes kept flicking upward to watch you, the corners of his mouth twitching every time you muttered something under your breath.

Then he walked in.

Andrew Whitmore. Ravenclaw. Sixth year. Disgustingly charming in that polished, irritatingly sweet kind of way. Draco had never paid him much attention before — until he saw where Andrew was headed. Straight toward you.

He stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing over the top of his book.

You didn’t notice at first, too caught up in a particularly difficult sentence you were trying to phrase. But you definitely noticed when a shadow fell across your table, and Andrew leaned in just a little too casually.

“Y/N, right?” he asked with a grin, eyes scanning the page in front of you. “Need any help translating that? I’ve got a bit of a knack for Ancient Runes.”

You blinked up at him. “I’m alright, thanks.”

But he didn’t move.

Draco’s fingers twitched.

“I mean, you look like you’ve got it handled,” Andrew went on, his voice lowering. “Just figured I’d offer. Not every day I see someone in here who’s actually worth talking to.”

You smiled, polite but dismissive. Draco recognized that smile. The same one you used with people you didn’t care about. The same one you’d never once given him.

Andrew didn’t take the hint. “Maybe I’ll sit here for a bit? Could use some good company—”

“Seat’s taken.”

The voice was calm, sharp, and unmistakably cold.

Andrew turned, confused, to find Draco Malfoy standing at his full height, arms crossed and jaw tight. His tone wasn’t angry — not yet — but there was something dangerous simmering just beneath it. A warning.

Andrew looked between the two of you. “Didn’t think—”

“You didn’t,” Draco cut in, his words like ice. “Which is your first mistake.”

A thick silence fell over the table.

Andrew cleared his throat, faltering. “Right. Yeah. I’ll, uh—see you around, Y/N.”

He practically bolted.

You raised an eyebrow as Draco slid back into his seat across from you, pretending to pick up his book like he hadn’t just threatened someone into backing off.

“You done marking your territory?” you asked, tone dry but amused.

Draco didn’t look up. “Didn’t realize I needed to.”

You tilted your head, watching him for a moment. “Do you?”

That got his attention.

He met your gaze, his expression unreadable for a long, suspended second. Then:

“I might have to if you keep gaining fanboys from Ravenclaw.”

The silence in the library felt suffocating now. Andrew had retreated, but the air between you and Draco was thick, electric, like something was going to give. His hand still rested on the table, close enough for you to feel the heat from his skin.

You studied him, unable to stop the way your heart hammered in your chest. His eyes flickered over your face, pausing for just a heartbeat on your lips before returning to your eyes. It was enough to make the breath catch in your throat. The space between you felt impossibly small now, as if every word had already been spoken and you were both just waiting for the next move.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you said quietly, though you already knew the answer. You didn’t need to ask.

Draco’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “I didn’t,” he said, voice low, controlled, but the tension there was undeniable. “But he was getting too close for comfort.”

“Is that how you see it?” you teased, leaning forward slightly.

His lips curled, a flicker of something dangerously close to a grin. “You have no idea.”

Before you could respond, his hand shot out, quick but gentle, curling around your wrist. He didn’t wait for you to pull away — he didn’t give you a choice. His grip was firm but not unkind, guiding you to him with the fluidity of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this — had thought, in the back of your mind, that maybe he was too cold, too guarded to ever do something like this. But the way he pulled you in, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that his scent enveloped you, shattered that thought entirely.

Draco’s face was inches from yours now, and there was no more teasing. No more distance. Just the silent understanding between you that everything that had led to this moment had been building up, slow and steady, until now.

“I don’t want you to think it’s anything less,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, sending a shiver through you. “I don’t want you to think it’s just a game.”

You didn’t have time to respond, because before you could, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was hard, urgent, and all-consuming. His lips pressed against yours with the weight of everything unsaid — everything he’d been holding back, everything that had built up in the months of knowing you. His other hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer, a low growl of something unspoken vibrating in his chest.

The world outside of that kiss faded. You barely registered the soft shuffle of someone else walking by, too caught up in the heat and the intensity of the moment. You were both aware of the risk, aware of the eyes that might be watching, but neither of you cared. Not when this felt like the moment.

Not when it felt like everything was finally real.

When he pulled back, breathless, his gaze was fierce, intense, and you could see it in his eyes — something had shifted. He wasn’t just the Draco Malfoy everyone feared anymore. He was something else entirely. Something that belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

“You’re not getting away now,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost possessive.

You didn’t answer, not right away. You were still reeling from the kiss, your pulse racing. But when you finally found your voice, you let out a quiet, teasing laugh.

“Maybe I like being caught.”

Draco’s eyes flashed with something dangerous — but then, the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest of smirks.

“I’m counting on it.”

Finally, you felt like you'd fallen into step.

You were Draco Malfoy's partner. It sounded all too meant for you. Draco felt the same.

But to keep you from gaining any more fanboys? He did mark his territory.

The next few days felt different. It wasn’t just the whispered rumors spreading through the hallways or the looks people threw your way. It was the way Draco acted. You'd barely made it out of the library that night when Draco, with his usual arrogant air, tossed his cloak around your shoulders like it was a declaration. A subtle one, but still enough to make everyone aware that you were his.

But it didn’t stop there.

The next morning, when you were heading to Potions, Draco showed up with one of his signature sly smiles, pulling you aside in the corridor and, without warning, slipping a silver chain around your neck — the Malfoy family crest hanging loosely from it.

“You’re wearing this today,” he said, his voice smooth, unyielding. He was still the same Draco — cold and calculating, but with an unmistakable softness when it came to you. “Don't argue with me.”

The weight of the necklace was heavier than it seemed, and as you touched it absently, you couldn't help but notice the way people’s gazes followed the gleam of silver. Eyes that once looked at you with indifferent curiosity now lingered with the sort of admiration (and maybe envy) that only came from one thing: they knew. They all knew now.

As the days passed, it wasn’t just jewelry. It was the subtle possession in how Draco made you wear his jumper on cooler days. You would be walking through the hallways, just talking, and he’d slip it over your head without asking, the dark green knit swallowing you whole. No matter how many times you tried to shrug it off, he insisted, like the damn thing was an extension of him. Every time you looked down at the Malfoy crest stitched into the sleeve, the weight of the unspoken message grew heavier.

And Draco made sure that message wasn’t missed.

During lunch one afternoon, when you and Draco had found a quiet spot near the windows — just the two of you, trying to steal a moment for yourselves — a familiar figure walked by. Cedric Diggory, the ever-dashing Hufflepuff, paused when he saw you and Draco. His gaze lingered on you, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his lips. You could see the shift in his eyes, the way they softened when he looked at you.

Draco saw it too.

In fact, Cedric had tried you before. Last year, he'd asked you to the Yule ball. Of course you'd politely declined. Parties weren't your thing and Diggory wasn't your type.

Before you could react, Draco’s arm slid possessively around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The action was so smooth, so effortless, that it looked almost casual. But the way his grip tightened slightly, the way his gaze never wavered from Cedric, told a different story.

“Cedric,” Draco drawled, his voice low and laced with mockery. “Still trying to charm my girlfriend? Thought you knew better than to play with fire.”

Cedric blinked, visibly thrown off by the bluntness of Draco’s words. He tried to mask it with a smile, but the tension was palpable. “Just a friendly hello, Malfoy,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than Draco liked.

Draco gave a soft chuckle, but there was nothing light about it. “Sure. Friendly.” He turned to you then, pulling you in close and planting a kiss just under your ear, one that left you breathless. “I suppose it is cute when people try.”

The words were subtle — almost playful — but they carried the weight of Draco’s presence. It was a statement, a warning. Cedric’s smile faltered just slightly before he excused himself, clearly out of his depth.

And that was just the beginning.

Later that week, you found yourself in the common room, Draco’s jumper still wrapped around you, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands. You were half-focused on your homework when a familiar face appeared at the edge of your vision. It was Andrew Whitmore — the Ravenclaw boy who had tried to approach you before.

This time, he wasn’t quite as confident.

“Y/N,” he began, voice tentative, glancing at Draco who was lazily lounging in a chair, one leg thrown over the armrest. “You, uh... doing okay? Need help with anything?”

Draco didn’t even look up at first, but you could feel his presence shift. His smirk was already forming, the trademark Malfoy arrogance lacing his words when he finally spoke.

“Andrew Whitmore,” Draco drawled, lifting an eyebrow as he set his book aside, his eyes finally locking onto the Ravenclaw boy. “Still under the delusion that I’m going to let you help her?”

Andrew froze, clearly caught off guard by Draco’s tone. Draco sat up a little straighter, clearly enjoying himself now. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the edge in his voice deepened.

“You do realize, Whitmore, that helping her with anything would imply a certain... familiarity. Which, I’m sure you know by now, she doesn’t exactly hand out to just anyone.” Draco’s eyes slid to you, his gaze softening for a fraction of a second before he turned back to Andrew. “She’s... a bit more selective than that.”

Andrew looked like he might say something in response, but Draco didn’t give him the chance. Instead, he stood up, casually tossing his jumper’s sleeve over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him with that arrogant, possessive air of his.

“Besides, I doubt Y/N’s really in the mood for anyone right now, hmm?” Draco continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “She’s already got a full schedule of my company.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but it was clear Andrew had heard enough. He mumbled an awkward excuse and quickly backed off, muttering something about needing to go study.

Draco watched him leave, and once Andrew was out of earshot, Draco let out a quiet chuckle, turning back to you. “Honestly, the things I put up with. Can’t even have a conversation in peace without someone thinking they can just waltz in.”

You smiled, a little amused. “You’re awful.”

Draco’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his fingers brushing your cheek. “You love it.”

"I love you. This idiocy just comes with it."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, the kind of laugh that made your heart flutter just a little more every time. His gaze softened, and for a moment, the usual arrogance melted away, revealing the boy beneath the layers of sarcasm and ice.

“Fair enough,” he murmured, his voice just a hint more vulnerable than usual. “But I’ll admit, I’m rather fond of you, too.”

You could feel his thumb tracing small circles on your skin as he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. It was a simple touch, one that felt like a promise, like the weight of the world had lifted, and it was just the two of you in this quiet little space, away from the rest of the noise.

“I’ve never been good at this,” he admitted, his breath warm against your lips. “But I’m trying. For you.”

Before you could respond, Draco’s lips were on yours, slow and soft, like he had all the time in the world. It was a kiss that didn’t demand anything, but somehow gave everything. His hand cupped your face gently, as if he were trying to hold onto this moment as tightly as he could.

You kissed him back, not with the urgency of someone afraid of losing something, but with the certainty of someone who had already found exactly what they’d been searching for.

When you pulled away, your breaths mingled in the space between you. His eyes were dark with affection, an unspoken promise lingering in them.

“I love you,” he murmured again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

You smiled, running a hand through his hair, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. "I noticed."

Draco's lips twitched into that familiar smirk, but this time it was softer, almost shy.

"Good," he said, pulling you in for another kiss, one that was softer, gentler than the last. "Because you're the only person I've probably ever let near my designer jumpers."

You chuckled against his lips, feeling the world fade away around you, leaving nothing but the two of you in your own little bubble, tucked safely away from everything else.

And for once, Draco Malfoy didn’t mind the vulnerability. Because with you, it was okay to let his guard down. With you, he didn’t have to be perfect.

He just had to be himself. And that was enough.

You laughed again, the sound a mix of amusement and affection. "Oh, I see. So, I’m special enough for your jumpers, huh?"

Draco pulled away slightly, his smirk widening with that signature arrogance, but there was a warmth in his gaze that made it all feel different, more personal. “You’re the only one who could even think about getting away with it.”

You arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your expression. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He chuckled lowly, that familiar edge of sarcasm creeping back into his tone. “It’s the truth, love. No one else gets me, not like you do.”

In that moment, it didn’t matter that you were still wearing his jumper, or that Draco Malfoy —proud, guarded Draco Malfoy— was softening in ways no one could have predicted. All that mattered was the quiet certainty between you, the connection that no one could take away.

And for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy was okay with that.

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bi-snape · 9 months ago

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Ginny has gotten very attached to child Severus and poor Sev has no idea what's happening.

This au is back. It just randomly crossed my mind when I was looking for drawing references on Pinterest and I saw a picture of this B99 quote and it made me think of the au where Ginny has to take care of Severus who was accidentally turned into a child. 😌

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eeriepromis · 2 months ago

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Hogwarts House Sorting: LaDs Edition (and why Caleb isn't who you think he is)

Remember: Hogwarts houses aren’t restrictive boxes. Each person, real or fictional, carries traits from all houses. What determines sorting is not only personality but core values and priorities. This analysis takes into account that nice Slytherins and gentle Gryffindors exist, breaking stereotypes to portray a nuanced, realistic perspective. Let me know your thoughts and your own house headcanons!

Xavier – Primary: Gryffindor | Secondary: Slytherin

Though Xavier outwardly appears gentle and calm, his behavior aligns with core Gryffindor traits: courage, impulsivity, and rebelliousness against injustice. He's not merely courageous out of circumstance; he actively seeks out risks. His creation of the flashy alter-ego "Lumiere" showcases his bravery - and perhaps recklessness - perfectly embodying Gryffindor's inclination toward flashy acts of heroism. His decision to rebel against his royal lineage in Philos, openly defying his father the king who sacrificed innocent lives, further emphasizes his alignment with Gryffindor values - specifically, moral courage. Xavier willingly sacrifices personal safety and stability to fight for what's right and travels back in time, reflecting true Gryffindor spirit. Reasoning for secondary Slytherin: He is sneaky and a little manipulative at times and fully knows what effect his innocent looks have - and uses that to his advantage. You notice this especially during Fluffy Trap. Somehow he is always a few steps ahead of MC and tricks her!

Positive: Courageous, protective, strong moral compass, heroic.

Negative: Reckless, impulsive, stubborn, often acts without foresight.

Zayne – Primary: Ravenclaw | Secondary: Hufflepuff

Zayne's core value truly lies in his relentless pursuit of knowledge and understanding. Importantly, intelligence alone doesn't warrant a Ravenclaw placement - it's the priority given to knowledge and wisdom that defines them. Zayne consistently demonstrates that acquiring knowledge - medical or metaphysical - isn't merely practical for him; it's essential to who he is and what he wants to accomplish (saving MC's life). As the Foreseer and Master of Fate, Zayne’s life revolves around carefully acquired knowledge to make decisions of enormous consequence. His choices are rarely guided by impulse or emotion alone, but always supported by intellectual clarity. His calm, methodical approach underscores his Ravenclaw essence. Reasoning for secondary Hufflepuff: Beneath his logical, stoic exterior, Zayne consistently demonstrates deep-rooted loyalty, compassion, and genuine care. His medical profession and the tireless effort he invests to protect and heal highlight his sincere dedication to the well-being of others. His actions are not driven by glory or recognition, but by quiet, steadfast commitment and genuine empathy.

Positive: Wise, analytical, thoughtful, innovative, responsible.

Negative: Detached emotionally, overly analytical, may appear cold or indifferent.

Rafayel – Primary: Slytherin | Secondary: Ravenclaw

Rafayel strongly aligns with the house of Slytherin through his complex motivations, secrecy, and charm. His playful exterior masks carefully concealed ambitions and plans. His network within the N109 zone and hidden dealings demonstrate his adeptness at navigating complex social dynamics - classic Slytherin traits of cunning and adaptability. His artistic temperament and charisma further illustrate how Slytherins can embody traits often associated with other houses, like creativity and charm, while still prioritizing ambition, resourcefulness, and strategy as their core values. Rafayel exemplifies that Slytherins can have good hearts but choose to show vulnerability selectively, preserving an enigmatic persona. He keeps his cards very close and even MC gets to see them very rarely. Reasoning for secondary Ravenclaw: He’s deeply artistic, driven by a curiosity for truth, meaning, and beauty. These qualities align well with Ravenclaw’s love for learning, creativity, and understanding deeper meanings. His exploration of art as a means to expose societal corruption and his intellectual depth behind each masterpiece clearly display Ravenclaw traits.

Positive: Charismatic, strategic, resourceful, artistic, adaptable.

Negative: Secretive, occasionally manipulative, holds grudges, guarded emotionally.

Sylus – Primary: Slytherin | Secondary: Hufflepuff

Sylus is the epitome of modern, multifaceted Slytherins. Ambition and cunning don’t inherently equate to villainy; Sylus demonstrates Slytherin's core traits positively and negatively. He is deeply ambitious and maintains strategic long-term thinking, always planning steps ahead. His network of connections, meticulous strategies, and hidden plans further highlight his resourcefulness and adaptability - key Slytherin virtues. Yet Sylus also showcases a softer, family-oriented side, demonstrating that Slytherins deeply value loyalty and closeness, particularly within tight-knit circles. He’s fiercely protective of those he genuinely cares for, and despite his outward harshness, this selective loyalty underscores a balanced, nuanced Slytherin personality. Reasoning for secondary Hufflepuff: I can't really tell you why - it's just a feeling. I don't have a lot of his cards, but I did watch some of them on YT. You can tell me in the comments what you think. (this applies to the other LIs too)

Positive: Ambitious, resourceful, strategic, family-oriented, selectively loyal.

Negative: Manipulative, secretive, mistrustful, sometimes morally ambiguous.

Caleb �� Primary: Hufflepuff | Secondary: Ravenclaw

Caleb embodies the genuine warmth and humble spirit often overlooked when discussing Hufflepuffs. While traditionally bravery is a Gryffindor trait, Caleb’s bravery is more circumstantial than inherent; life forced him into courageous roles rather than him seeking them out. His core identity is rooted deeply in kindness, gentleness, loyalty, and humility - all quintessential Hufflepuff values. Caleb’s universal kindness, even to those he's not romantically interested in, emphasizes his innate empathy and respect for others. He's beloved by peers not because he's overtly charismatic, but because he's genuinely thoughtful and attentive. He cooks and enjoys food - not for validation or prestige - but for the simple joy of it and to see his loved ones enjoy it, deeply resonating with Hufflepuff’s comfort-oriented nature. His protective behavior towards the MC arises not from a desire to be a hero, but from trauma-induced loyalty and deep-seated love. This fierce loyalty, shaped by childhood trauma, is the hallmark of a Hufflepuff pushed beyond comfort into challenging circumstances. It’s precisely this loyalty and quiet strength that makes Caleb a true Hufflepuff, not Gryffindor. (He is basically Cedric Diggory - just more alive ... barely.) Reasoning for secondary Ravenclaw: He shows great intellectual capacity, strategic thinking, and analytical clarity. He adapts to complicated situations (this is an understatement) using intellect, precision, and careful planning. Caleb attempts to find logical ways to cope and protect even in traumatic circumstances. His genuine curiosity, analytical problem-solving, and sharp observational skills reflect Ravenclaw characteristics beneath his Hufflepuff core.

Positive: Loyal, empathetic, humble, compassionate, steadfast., kind.

Negative: Overly self-sacrificing, can be obsessive, passive-aggressive under stress.

Read about why he isn't a Slytherin further below.

MC – Primary: Gryffindor | Secondary: ???

MC’s Gryffindor traits are unmistakable. At her core, bravery, competition, and the desire for truth and justice guide her actions. She doesn't simply endure challenges; she actively seeks them out, recklessly engaging in dangerous missions and confrontations. Her grief-induced impulsivity and rebelliousness also fit Gryffindor perfectly, as she channels loss and trauma into daring missions without a thorough plan. However, this recklessness is balanced by genuine bravery and a powerful drive to protect and avenge those she loves. Her pursuit of justice - even when dangerous or irrational - is a defining characteristic, making her a Gryffindor through and through.

Positive: Courageous, determined, loyal, passionate about justice.

Negative: Impulsive, stubborn, reckless, tends to leap before looking.

But Caleb is definitely a Slytherin you say?

It makes sense why people would place Caleb into Slytherin based on his Colonel arc. But personally, I see Caleb's "cunning" and manipulation not as inherent character values, but as coping mechanisms shaped by trauma and survival instinct. It's important to distinguish between a person's true core values and the traits they've been forced to develop under extreme circumstances. Caleb’s story is one of deep emotional trauma - losing loved ones, being subjected to invasive experiments, and being manipulated into a position he never truly wanted. He didn’t choose cunning or ambition willingly; rather, those became survival tools in response to severe situations he faced. (it's more like his Ravenclaw side coming to the forefront to help him survive) In his youth, Caleb was naturally kind, humble, and nurturing - classic Hufflepuff traits. He didn't seek power, nor did he find joy in manipulation or secrecy. The Colonel storyline showcases a deeply hurt and scarred person fighting for the little control left in his life, driven primarily by loyalty and protectiveness toward MC. His methods might resemble those traditionally associated with Slytherin, but his motivations remain firmly rooted in loyalty, compassion, and the desire for a peaceful, simple life. Additionally, Hufflepuffs aren't devoid of complexity - they can exhibit cunning, resourcefulness, and determination when their loved ones are threatened. These traits aren't exclusive to Slytherins; what differentiates the houses is the underlying core value. For Caleb, cunning isn't an inherent value; it's a tragic necessity. At his core, he's guided by warmth, empathy, and loyalty - the values of a true Hufflepuff pushed into a darker, harsher reality. So, while Caleb absolutely shows "cunning" and resourcefulness, these traits alone don't define him. They're reactions, not values. At heart, Caleb is still that caring, emotionally intelligent Hufflepuff trying desperately to protect the person he loves most, even if he must walk a morally gray path to do so. Caleb is such a deeply nuanced character. He isn’t embracing cunning because it aligns with his heart - he’s forced into it by circumstances beyond his control. Caleb is essentially walking a tightrope, pretending to be the cold, calculating Colonel that EVER expects him to be (the perfect weapon), precisely because that's the only way he can maintain some small degree of freedom and protect himself (and MC) from their control. The Toring Chip isn't just a physical implant - it's symbolic of the trauma and manipulation he's endured (and is still enduring). Caleb's actions and outward persona reflect not his true nature, but his desperate fight to keep that nature intact beneath the surface. His core Hufflepuff kindness and empathy never disappear; they're hidden behind the mask he must wear to survive. It's a heartbreaking struggle between his authentic self and the identity EVER wants to impose upon him. That’s precisely why calling Caleb a cunning Slytherin overlooks the heart of his character - he isn't ambitious or manipulative by choice, nor does he derive satisfaction or pride from it. He's a victim of cunning, not its master.

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