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vibratingskull · 3 months

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Hiiii I love your fics so much that I'm genuinely suffering from Yandere Thrawn Brainrot 😭 can I pretty please request Yandere Thrawn x fem reader where the reader is just accepting of his behaviour? like maybe she's a rebel who has been just abandoned by her friends so she just gives in because actually the attention he gives is really nice when she behaves or maybe she's one of the emperors daughters who is always kind of forgotten about in comparison to her sisters so Thrawns attitude isn't a red flag for her because he treats her so nice and has never once sidelined her or forgotten anything about her! I just think it's an interesting idea to play with like I'm sure Yandere Thrawn would be ecstatic to have a partner who doesn't bat an eye to his behaviour and soaks it up desperately, even the brothel fic you made could fit with Yandere Thrawn (look at how bad the brainrot is LMAOOOOO) ofc I'd have to request some smut in it like maybe he eats her out on his command chair 🤭 (that's all I can think about since the last Yandere thrawn AU you just posted haha make it as crazy as you want it to be tbh I love giving you full reign over this your smut is like high quality wine for me at this point!) Anyways! Before I get completely off track and send you a whole essay of ideas I just wanna say that I cheered when I saw your requests open and you don't have to write this idea or if you prefer to tweak it then that's absolutely fine! I hope you're doing amazing and I'm looking forward to your beautiful creations!!!

Yandere Thrawn is best boy, you cannot change my mind! He can be a murderous psycho or a complete puppy if you play your cards well. Aaaaaaaw thank you dear ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm really happy you like my silly stuffs, even the smutty ones (i'm so not confident about those), it will be a 2 parters !

ThrawnxF!reader

Tags: Yandere behavior (duh), possessive, painting, meet cute

You sigh, sitting alone at the table. You make your drinks twirl in your glass, silently observing the ballroom. Your hand supporting your chin you look at the couples dancing, the lively discussions around the room, the laughs and smiles, the kisses exchanged behind closed doors, and the champagne flowing freely.

You catch one of your sisters dancing with a suitor, a metal and gaz magnate infinitely rich, they have been glued to one another during the entire party. You turn your head to see another one leading a political discussion with her natural charm, they all laugh at her witty comebacks and believe every word she speaks like gospel. You turn again to see your third sister on the stage, singing softly a beautiful melody, admired by the rest of the audience.

And then there is you...

The fourth.

The last one.

You do not have the charisma, the talent, or the political gene to rival any of your sisters. No one knows what to do with you. Everyone planned a beautiful future for all your three sisters to make the Empire shine brighter but you? Nobody has any idea. All your professors searched for a secret talent, a hidden jewel, hoping you are simply a late bloomer.

But nothing came.

Oh, you tried. You tried so hard! Spending sleepless nights working on your studies to at least hope for a well-made brain. But you are so average, both in looks and intellect. Nothing shines about you, nothing is worth noting.

You sigh and finish your drink.

Your only little quirk is your paintings. That’s the only thing distinguishing you from your sisters, you not failing art class. It is quite fondly regarded when you’re five but when you’re an adult princess of the Empire you need other qualities and skills than a good brush move.

You just wanted to go to art school and live simply, not that overdramatic life wrapped in politics and secrecy. You wish not for the power and the riches, they bring you too much headaches. You want to leave the Palace, find a small apartment, get a cat, and for everyone to forget your existence and leave you in peace.

But no... Not a chance.

This very party is a shining example. It is officially a diplomatic meeting between high political top hats but the true goal of your father is to show off his daughters in the hope you find a future husband, wealthy and powerful, and then marry you off.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You are a prop to your father’s politics. Good to lure a man and his funds into the imperial bank.

And right now you are failing spectacularly. Now that you mind per se, but the man you call father and emperor will inevitably learn about that and you don’t want to anger him. You still value your life.

You sigh again mentally preparing yourself to stand up and try to “seduce” men, feeling a headache rising, when-

“Will you allow me to join you?” A rich deep voice makes you turn your head.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, a hand on the back of the other chair of your table, is looking at you with a small grin and sparkling eyes.

“Oh...” You can only say, surprised for him to spawn out of nowhere, “I mean yes! Of course Grand Admiral.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” He bows his head.

He elegantly sits down next to you. Even his manners are impeccable, full of grace and dexterity. You feel so slow and clumsy next to him. You see his long, delicate fingers hovering over the canapes before choosing one and lifting it to his mouth to bite into it.

Maker, even Military officers are more dignified than you... You subconsciously straighten your back to at least match the energy he brings to the table, trying not to appear too sluggish.

You know this man for being the first and only alien to have reached the Grand Admiral rank, which is really impressive, you will give him that. He always struck you as a balanced and polite man. He revealed himself as an art enjoyer on your first meeting and very nicely proposed himself as a model for male anatomy. You accepted and you meet every other month when he comes back from his campaigns. He lets you draw and paint his body in silence for long hours before coming to take a look and give you advice from time to time.

And then he leaves. And that’s the end of that.

Or it is the end of your relationship because he seems to roam around the residency aisle of the palace a lot. Numerous times you caught the back of his head disappearing behind a corner when you left your studio after a long painting session. You have no idea what he comes here for in the residency wing of the Palace, nothing interesting for a Grand Admiral around here.

As a matter of fact, you do have an idea why he comes to this part of the Palace, you suspect he comes to visit one of your sisters regularly. And he must be seriously enamored for risking the wrath of the Emperor! You don’t even want to imagine his reaction if he discovered the Alien got access to one of his dear eldest!

You just hope the sister in question takes her precautions to not get caught.

That would also be a huge waste for the Grand Admiral, if an alien such as him managed to reach this rank it means he must be terribly good at what he does! Not that the Emperor shares any tactical info with you, his daughters, it is a simple observation. And he looks rather dashing too... Your vain side would be devastated to learn such a handsome man would be executed, that would be such a loss for the Galaxy you nod to yourself.

You remain silent, observing the guests and your sisters shining in their dresses and jewelry. They are so radiant, you think with envy. Typically the type of women a man as handsome as the Grand Admiral would pursue, they are in the same league.

Contrary to you.

You start feeling a tingle at the back of your neck and you turn your head to discover Grand Admiral Thrawn silently looking in your direction smiling softly. You spin your head again to see what he might be watching with such tenderness in his red gaze, only to see...

Nothing?

You frown.

“It is you I am looking at.” Thrawn’s deep voice rises again, with a touch of controlled amusement.

You turn back to him with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh, I just thought you saw... Nothing.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“What did you think I saw?”

“I don’t know, something interesting.” You take your glass to your lips to sip, feeling your throat going dry.

“But I am looking at something interesting. The most interesting person in this room.”

Oh okay.

You know where this is going, you know that sweet sugary tone.

“What do you want Grand Admiral?” You put your glass back with a clank, “What demand do you want me to ask my father?”

He cocks his head again, squinting like he didn’t understand your question.

“I have no demand to ask your father.”

“Of course you don’t.” You snort.

They always do that. Come with a sweet voice and a compliment and then beg you to interfere with your father in their favor.

You are no political genius but you recognize a freeloader when you meet one!

“You always come to me! You think I am the weakest and easiest to manipulate for your benefit, you come with doe eyes and then ask outrageous demands, in the hope of gaining political powers. Well, I am sorry, go knock on another door!" You speak irritated but low to not start any drama.

Vice Admiral Thrawn blinks at you. He shakes his head, trying to disarm the situation.

"I assure you, Your Majesty, I did not come to ask any political favors of any kind.” He reiterates softly, “I simply saw you, so beautifully dressed and dolled up and could not help but come to you.”

You sniff with disdain. Lies. If he doesn’t want political favors from your father then he wants access again to one of your sister's beds, another classic you had to deal with!

“I am sorry Grand Admiral.” You say coldly, “I have nothing to give you.”

His smile widens and you hear a low chuckle.

“But on the contrary, it is me who wants to give you something, Your Majesty.”

You look at him suspiciously as he takes something from his pocket. He puts a little box hermetically sealed in front of you. You tentatively take it and open the lid to discover a colorful powder in a tangerine shade.

You look at him mouth agape and mute with surprise.

“I heard you needed this shade to finish your latest painting.” He says softly, “I traveled the galaxy and found this powder made from local seashells in an isolated world. I saw it and knew I needed to get it for you.”

This shade...

Is the exact one you need, down to a t.

“How... How did you...?”

“That is not important, Your Majesty I know how much you care about this painting and wanted to help you.”

This painting, you saw it in your dreams.

It was a flash of a faded memory of your dead mother, smiling at you before the sunset. Long, long ago...

This powder is the perfect shade for her eyes...

“Oh dear Maker...” You start sobbing, hiding your mouth behind your hand.

“Your Majesty?” Grand Admiral Thrawn asks, “Are you all right?”

You nod, wiping any tear that might have rolled down your cheek, getting back control over your sobs.

“Yes... Yes. Thank you Grand Admiral, this is a very thoughtful gift.” You smile at him.

Now you feel dumb to have given him the cold shoulder.

But how did he know about that painting? You don’t remember talking about it to anyone? You specifically hid it behind a sheet.

“You are welcome, Your Majesty. It is my pleasure.”

His hand furtively reaches yours and caresses your finger with the tips of his own. You let him do it. You don’t know why. It is simply not unpleasant...

“I just thought... I’m going to sound stupid, bear with me, I thought you wanted to use me to get close to my sisters.” You chuckle embarrassed, “It is a bit stupid...”

“Why would I want to get close to your sisters when you are here?” He asks.

“Because... I am just me.” You shrug like it is evident, “Nobody knows what to do with me.”

“I have plenty of ideas of what we could do together.” He whispers, taking your hand gently to kiss it, his red eyes looking brazenly at you.

You feel heat spreading on your cheeks.

“Vice Admiral!” You choke “How dare... We are in the middle of a ballroom!” You chastise him.

“We can leave anytime you desire...” He licks your knuckles with the tip of his warm tongue, looking insolently at you.

You feel yourself melting into a puddle at that gaze on you. So many unchaste images cross his read shining eyes while devoring you. You feel stripped naked before him. You gulp and turn your head away, you cannot hold his gaze, you feel like you’re about to combust.

He chuckles and kisses your hand again.

“I am merely joking, Your Majesty. I know you cannot simply fool around with any man. But maybe you will allow me this dance?” He stands up, still holding your hand but awaits your response.

You gingerly look at him. Dear Maker, he is so tall...

He looks at you with a small smile, gently squeezing your hand.

“I... Can allow one dance.” You concede.

“You are so generous with me, Your Majesty. I thank you.”

He helps you stand and guides you to the dancefloor, his warm hand on your lower back. He spins toward you and grabs your hand, pressing your two bodies together.

“Hold on to me, Your Majesty.” He says sensually.

And he makes you spin and twirl on the dancefloor, holding you so close you can feel his high body warmth through your clothes. He is a very, very good dancer you realize.

The dance starts normal and modest as it should be but it slowly dissolves into... something else.

You can feel his large hands roaming your entire body, playing with the straps of your dress, raising the hem of your dress to touch your naked thigh, he grabs the pin and frees your hair in your back, he grabs your hips to press them against his in a sultry move, almost grabbing your butt...

It feels like he is making love to you, fully clothed and in public. You fail to put a stop to it and protect your modesty, he is just so good at it that you blindly follow him, losing track of time.

You gulp, losing your breath as he makes your head spin dangerously. He never once stops looking at you, devouring you with his shiny rubies, hunger lying deep in them.

You are breathless, straps down your shoulders, your skirt high on your thighs and your legs trembling terribly, threatening to give out under you if Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't holding you firmly against his tall body.

“Gra.. Grand Admiral...” You can only say.

“Is there a problem, Your Majesty? We are simply dancing, like I promised we would only do.”

“This is not a dance! This is...” You try to get angry at him but your beating heart only pumps blood to your cheeks even more.

“You did not stop me once.” He tilts his head, “If you said no I would have stopped immediately.”

“Someone could see us! Someone-”

“There are a lot of people around us. They hide you perfectly, no one will ever know. You can let go entirely, let me guide you...” He whispers sultrily in your ear.

His hand on your back slowly caresses his way down towards your butt and his hand on your leg slowly brushes his way up towards your crotch.

This... This is so indecent!

So scandalous!

So obscene!

So...

You should slap him across the face and ditch him there but you want more of it. You feel fire starts in your loin, slowly spreading in your veins, coursing through your entire body.

Quite unexpectedly he lets you go. You look at him without understanding, he grins and kisses your hand gallantly again.

“Have a nice evening, Your Majesty. Thank you for this... Delicious moment. I will see you for our next modeling session.” He rolls his ‘R’ like a purr and leaves.

Did he...

Is he the one who ditched you? At the height of the tension? When you were about to say ‘yes’ to him? You remain standing still in the middle of the dancefloor, mouth agape, breathless, hair and dress in a mess. You walk back to your seat, your legs wobbly at every step.

You feel played.

How dares he come around to set you on fire and just leave you, arms dangling, craving for so much more?! Such a ... Tease! You readjust your dress modestly, making sure none of your sisters saw anything of this... Outrageous display. None of them are looking in your direction, they are fully focused on their friends or songs.

You sigh, feeling like an idiot. Typically a thing that wouldn’t have happened to your sisters, they would have either put a stop to it or enchanted him so much that he would have dropped to his knees, begging for more of them.

You're the only one dunce enough to get played like that.

But... You cannot help but like it. It felt good to be someone’s center of the universe, even for two fleeting minutes, feeling his daring hands exploring your body so... immodestly. No man ever treated you like that, even less a man so handsome...

You shake your head. Stop that! It is blind lust speaking.

Your eyes lay down on the little box. You reopen it, to be sure of its content. Exactly the pigment you needed, the exact shade and vibrance...

How did he know?

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

The first time he saw you was during an Imperial ceremony, from far away. The youngest of all the daughters, dressed in gold, pearls, and Orichalc. He was still a simple commodore back then, without as much power to himself. He was from very far away, not able to discern the features of your face, but it was clear from your body language and posture you didn’t want to be here.

Like himself.

Pryce was unavailable, a rarity for a shark like her to miss a political event like that, but she pressed him to go, to form alliances with as many senators as possible. How on the Warrior’s Blue Csilla was he supposed to do that? He is surrounded by sharks and snakes ready to eat each other for their selfish benefits, something so beyond him he simply forgets this is actually a thing people do instead of worrying for the good of the many...

Saying he was terrified would be false, but saying he was comfortable would be a lie.

It takes a lot to make him uncomfortable, but politicians always do the trick.

So in a weird way, he felt kinship towards you. He knew nothing about you, he was not even sure of your rank at that very moment, but like him, you wished you weren't there at that moment.

The massive difference was that he was anonymously sitting in the grandstand while you were on the big stage, to be looked at and admired like a pretty doll by everyone else. How uncomfortable it must feel... He felt sorry for you.

Despite your discomfort, you accomplished your duties with grace, obeying your role. It was commendable of you.

“Who are those young ladies on the side of the stage?” He leaned towards his sit neighbor.

“Do you live under a rock? They are the Emperor’s daughters, the Imperial princesses.” He got chastised.

He nodded thankfully and returned to his silent observation of the ceremony.

It was not so long in retrospect, but isolated on this stage it must have felt like an eternity for you.

After the ceremony was the real challenge for him, for two hours he had to remain comfortably seated in silence to observe a stage, now he was truly meant to go out of his way and meet politicians.

He had to take refuge to the buffet or the corners of the room more than one time. Why can’t he read and anticipate politicians’ maneuvers? Why was he so blind to this type of warfare? After a new uncomfortable discussion that ended up with him pissing off his interlocutor because they couldn’t meet eyes to eye he caught a cozy area, almost hidden behind heavy curtains with sofas and a fountain, isolated from the rest of the busy party. He entered, hoping to find some peace and quiet but he found a young woman here, dressed in gold, pearl, and Orichalc.

“Your Majesty.”Thrawn bowed respectfully, “I did not want to disturb your peace, I will leave.” He immediately excused himself and turned to go away

When...

“You may stay, sir.” You simply responded, not even looking up from your drink twirling in your glass. “I do not mind...”

“I thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed again and took a seat.

Not on the same sofa as you, it would be terribly improper to impose his presence on a woman like that. He chose one a little removed from you to leave you in peace.

He was gathering his thoughts, but you kept catching his eyes, something about you was...interesting him. And he didn’t know what, nor the true nature of his interest in you.

“What?” You asked out of the blue, “You keep giving me side glance, you never saw a woman before?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. It was impolite of me”

“Yes, it is. My father killed men for less than that.” You added acidic.

Something in your tone and demeanor... Like a heavy lassitude, like you were crushed by something. But what?

“I will keep it in mind, then. Thank you for the warning, Your Majesty.”

You sniffed with disdain before looking back down to your drink.

“So it’s you....” You finally added after several minutes of silence, “the Navy’s favorite pet.”

He turned back his gaze to you, squinting.

“The Navy’s pet?” He repeated politely.

“The only alien in the Navy, and a Commodore at that. You pissed off a lot of people, my congratulations.”

He was not able to judge if you were sincere or sarcastic.

“I do my best to do my job. But some people never seem satisfied, I cannot do anything more to content them, I am afraid.” He humbly admits.

“Like me.” You let out with a little voice.

You did not say more and he did not pryied.

“Why are you not enjoying the party, Your Majesty?” He asked, curious, “Your sisters are getting their fill.”

You snarled in response.

“If you came here to flaunt my dear sisters in my face you can leave, sir.”

“My apologies, Princess. I was simply curious why a young adult would not enjoy such a party.” He explained.

You turned your head and for the first time your gazes crossed.

“What about you? You do not seem the type to enjoy parties either.”

“My young years are behind me.”

You frowned.

“Are they?”

Well technically he is still considered rather young for Chiss standards with their longer lifespan but for humans, he is middle-aged. But you don’t know that.

“I am over 45.” He informed you.

The way your beautiful human eyes rounded up in surprise was quite delectable.

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

“You barely look 35.” You responded astonished.

He came to understand it was a compliment on his physical appearance. Something he was not used to.

“I thank you, your Majesty. You look ravishing yourself.”

He stopped dead. Was ‘ravishing’ too much? How do you respond politely to a woman appreciating your physical appearance, and what is the proper and polite response when that woman is an Imperial Princess?

You gauged him up and down before exploding laughing.

Not one of those overly musical and false laughs of politicians and freeloaders, a true, pure, and sincere fit of laughter. Something coming directly from the heart.

Something fresh.

He remained still, not knowing how to react. Your laugh was quite pleasant to hear, and the smile you tried to hide behind your hand enhanced your features gracefully.

“Oh Maker.” You breathe to calm down, “You are quite funny, sir!”

He failed to see what was funny in his response but he was not starting to question a Princess. You sighed deeply, still shaken by the remnants of your laugh. At least you were smiling now, that heavy sentiment hovering over you seemed to have disappeared. At least for now.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He diplomatically responded.

“So tell me truly, why did you come hiding here?” You asked, a bit more lively.

This time he was the one looking down at his drink for a fleeting moment.

“Politics... Evade me entirely.” He finally reveals.

“Same.”

He looked at you curiously.

“But you are a Princess of the Empire.”

“That doesn’t mean I can lead. I dislike politics. I prefer my studio.”

A studio? The type he is hoping for?

“What type of studio?”

“Oh ... Just.” You gave him a side glance and lowered your gaze, embarrassed “No. You will find it stupid.”

“I will not judge, Your Majesty.” He solemnly declared.

“I ... Paint. A little...”You revealed, fidgeting your fingers.

His heart jumped and all of his social anxiety and restraints lifted up like a cloud. You paint? It’s marvelous news! He loves paintings, why not tell him sooner?

“This is not stupid, Your Majesty. Art is a very noble and respectable hobby, I am a humble art enjoyer myself.” He explained calmly, keeping his growing enthusiasm on a leash. “Would you have pictures of your work to show me by any chance?” He daringly asked

You looked at him absolutely horrified.

Please, do not look at him like that...It displeases him, even though he doesn’t quite know why.

He likes it when women are comfortable with him, it is gratifying to be perceived as a protector. He wants you to feel relaxed around him.

Especially you

For some unknown reasons...

“I... No!” You hurriedly responded.

He tilted his head. He wanted to see some of your work. It is so important for artists to be seen and perceived for them to flourish in their talents.

He just wanted to give you a positive boost... But you denied him.

“I understand.” He responded, a bit disappointed to have lost this opportunity to speak about art.

You looked at him, embarrassed before rising on your feet to close the curtain entirely, giving the little salon a cozy and very intimate atmosphere. You took out your imager of your little purse and approached him shyly, suddenly self-conscious.

He looked at you approaching with an impassible expression, but hope constricted his heart.

“Do you promise to not mock me?” You asked like you weren't an Imperial Princess with significant powers.

No. At this very instant you were a shy, but hopeful young artist, ready to expose herself intimately to a fellow art enjoyed, pressing your imager against your chest.

You were taking a leap of faith...

And he was ready to catch you in his arms.

“I never mock an artist, Your Majesty.” He declared with all the serious in the world.

You gulped and sat down next to him, handing him the imager with a slightly trembling hand.

“This is not very good...” You warned him.

Who cares? If you are a beginning artist with a low level he will be more than happy to give you references and art currents to study to help you in your art journey.

But you were actually really good with a brush. No need to get all shy about it, you should be proud of your paintings!

You studied a lot of subjects and tried a lot of different techniques and materials, your style could be soft and appeasing with pastel colors, bold and brash with vibrant brush strokes, or gloomy and eerie, creating a haunting atmosphere.

But no matter how different your paintings might be there was one very clear constant for him.

Your innate good and soft nature.

Not in a fragile or virginal way, no. But something bright, shining like a real sun, luminous, warm, inescapable, and unstoppable...

How could you be Emperor Palpatine’s daughter?

How was that possible?

He silently observed your work under your worried gaze, awaiting his judgment. It is clear you hid this part of yourself from everyone else, and maybe he was the very first person who took interest in your hobby, the very first one you let gaze upon yourself so intimately like that...

Because it was very intimate, he knew it. He stripped your soul naked before him and he ogled without any shame, taking as many details as he could.

And he very much liked what he saw.

Where were gentle souls like yours in the galaxy? They appeared so rare and he would very much appreciate one in his life. A friend honest and deeply good by nature...

That sounds terribly enticing to him.

He knew nobody on Coruscant, spending his entire leaves in art galleries. But maybe now he could visit them with a nice company at his arm? Simple rendezvous filled with passionate discussions about art, speaking and debating a subject until you both lose your voices and only look into each other eyes to continue the discussion.

That sounds terribly nice...

But you are a Princess and him a Commodore. How would that work? He was not even sure he had the right to be in the same room as you.

But the idea was just so nice... An art partner, being friends with an actual artist, getting to witness the intricate process of creating a masterpiece.

That is just so alluring to him...

“So?” you asked with a short breath.

“This is high-quality work, Princess. You have an undeniable talent and obviously worked really hard to get to this level.” He praised, “I can only encourage you to continue.”

“You think... I could live on my brush one day?” You inquired, hope lying in your voice.

“It is a real possibility, I can see it happening.” He nodded with a tight encouraging smile.

“... Thank you.” You let him knew, “I...”

You seemed to be about to say something else but suddenly jumped on your feet, the heat signals of your face through the roof.

“I need to go! Good evening Sir!” And like that you left him, speechless, still holding your precious imager.

Maybe the tension of showing your art to someone else for the first time was too much for you. This was quite endearing and he let out a little chuckle amused.

He resumed his art exploration on your imager, he will find a way to send it back to you.

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

He didn’t sent it back.

He kept it, he has it every day in his inner pocket, close to his heart. He rummages through it when he can, seeing you through the pictures, getting to know you through each paint stroke.

He innocently thought about you two becoming art friends to satisfy his knowledge cravings, but instead, he developed an... interesting bound with you.

Without your knowledge.

He tried several times to come to see you at your art studio to give it back, only to remain at the door, silently spying on you painting through the cracked door.

He wished not to disturb the holy inspiration flow so precious to artists. He would break your entire rhythm if he knocked at the door and stopped you.

How could he dare disturb the process of art? Especially yours? So he remained at the door for long hours until you decided to exit the room or he heard someone come by.

When you weren’t here he forced the door open to tidy up the place and look at your last pieces.

But one day you were simply preparing yourself to paint so he entered. Unannounced, unwanted he walked in like he owned the place. You didn’t see him at first, focusing on your flimsy sheets when you raised back on your feet to discover him observing your latest piece with attention, his hand holding his chin, appreciating every detail.

“Oh dear Maker!” You jumped back.

He turned his head to you with a tight smile.

“My apologies, Princess.” He said not at all sorry.

“What are you doing here?!” You asked in some sort of panick.

“Your father requested my presence today, and I had hoped to be able to catch you paint.” He mundanely explained it like it was evidence.

“And why is that?” You asked suspiciously, hiding some sketches behind you.

“My apologies Princess, I got ahead of myself. I have something belonging to you and wanted to give back.”

He took out the small imager of his pocket to hand it to you. He already has several copies and backups of all your art.

“My imager!” You shouted, relieved. “Where did you get it?”

“You actually gave it to me years ago when I was still a Commodore.” He explains gently.

You took the imager back and looked in the gallery, with an elated smile.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name, Mister.” You raise back your clear gaze at him.

Of course, you knew his name, he was the only alien of the fleet, surely his name traveled the corridors of the Palace and he knew it. But Politeness and etiquette demanded you asked.

And you are a very polite woman.

He put his right hand on his heart and bowed to you.

“I am Vice Admiral Thrawn. I am delighted to meet you again, Your Majesty.”

You elegantly bowed back.

“I am (Y/n) (L/n).”

“Are you not a Palpatine?” Thrawn tilted his head.

You bite your lower lips, like you spoke too much.

“I... Prefer to identify with my mother’s name.” You explain.

“It is a very beautiful name, it suits you marvelously.” He reassured you, “Do you mind if I remain for your next session? I long to observe an artist in their element.”

“Oh well...” You spin your head towards the holo clock on the wall and all of your glee seems to melt, your smile disappearing, “I am afraid there won’t be a session today... Yet again.”

Thrawn squinted.

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?”

“No its...” You sighed deeply, “Another model ditched me apparently. He should have been here an hour ago...”

“If you allow me, your Majesty, I can replace him if you wish.” Thrawn proposed immediately.

“I...” You purse your lips, thinking “I usually book models for three to four hours, are you sure you have that time?”

“I do today.” He answered politely, hiding his enthusiasm, “By a splendid hasard I have nothing booked for the rest of the day. I can model for you as long as you need.”

He very carefully planned today’s agenda to have his afternoon and evening free after his visit to the Emperor. It will postpone some operations on the Chimaera, but nothing he cannot catch up on, he made sure of it.

You hesitated, your gaze traveling from Thrawn’s stern face to your flimsy sheets.

It is the fifth model ditching you.

The fifth Thrawn got rid off.

Cleanly.

Discreetly.

When he entered your studio in your absence he got the occasion to detail your work and picked up on your... attraction, towards those young men.

Something that infuriated him greatly, even though he wasn’t sure why. He never felt like that before, longing for your presence, to get to know you better and well. This is a very new sentiment to him, he desires to be with you, to listen to you talk, to help you, to just be here in the same room as you. You could be silent and still, sitting on a pedestal and he would sit and look at you with all his attention, trying to pierce your secrets.

Why are you doing that to him? Where does this deep sentiment of covetousness come from? Right now he just wants to grab your hand and flee away from the Imperial Palace with you, take the first shuttle and take off for the never-ending universe, take you far away from that man you call father and Emperor for you both to live free.

He always feels so cold all day long, but in your vicinity, everything warms up, the ice melts, and the sun dares from its rays on his flesh, bringing him back to life and waking him up from a long coma. Laying his gaze on you he feels like opening his eyes for the first time and taking his first breath.

Is that... Love?

Did Cupid finally hit him with an arrow after ignoring him all his life?

He quite likes how that sounds.

He wants more. So, so much more...

But for now, he looked at you hesitating, patient, with a tight polite smile of someone only desiring to help.

“Well... If it isn’t too much trouble for you, I would appreciate it. What about a portrait to start?”

“But of course, Your Majesty. I am here to serve.” He bowed his head again deeply pleased that his plan worked.

He cannot help but wonder, how do you see him? Is he handsome or repulsive to your eyes? Is he powerful or weak?

He will soon know it through your primary sketches...

-------

“What are you thinking about Grand Admiral Thrawn?” You call him back to reality

Thrawn blinks, realizing he is posing for you once again in your studio. It is quite rare that he lets his memories take the forefront of his mind but his mind drifted off observing you painting him like that.

You took great care to not look at him in the eyes since that party and he is greatly pleased by the turmoil he stirred within you. Today again you cannot look in his direction without your face’s heat signals rising.

How delectable...

You draped a long fabric on him and gave him a staff to hold, ordering his pose, and started to paint. Holding the pose is hard but that only pushes him to appreciate art even more. He feels your focused gaze skimming his skin, detailing his muscles, observing the crooks and crannies of his flesh, taking in the different shades of blue of his skin.

He feels his heart accelerating with your eyes traveling his naked form.

He never exposed himself in such a way to anybody before.

It is so intimate.

So erotic...

He feels great under your gaze, he feels... Empowered. Like he could become what he was always meant to be under your brush, that through your gaze he truly could realize himself. He feels his chest puffing up with pride and satisfaction. That surge of warmth spreading in his chest and heart when your eyes skim his skin feels so soft and right...

“You truly have mesmerizing eyes, I hope I will be able to do them justice...” You say almost to yourself, fully focused on your sketch.

“We could do a series of portraits after, you could study them in detail.” He proposes.

“Thank you Grand Admiral.” You smile.

“Please, call me Thrawn, Your Majesty. I am a simple man at your art service in this room.”

“Then call me (Y/n).” You decide, “Let’s just be a man and a woman for this afternoon.”

“I simply cannot, Your Majesty. You are an Imperial Princess, I cannot address you with such familiarity.” He counters.

Who is he to address you so casually? He will not strip you down of your titles and grandeur.

You pout, visibly displeased by his response.

“All right...” You say very disappointed.

He clenches his jaw, conscious of his misstep.

“If you truly desire it, I will address you as you wish (Y/n).” He responds softly.

But in his mind he will keep using your titles, they suit you so well.

You nodd enthusiastically, relieved by his new response.

“Do you want to take a look?” You ask.

He descends from the pedestal and passes on a gown to modestly cover himself, but he doesn’t close it, coming to admire your genius on the canvas, discovering himself through your own eyes.

You take a picture with your imager that he gave back, adding it to your collection. His heart sprints at the view of the imager in a very Pavlovian response.

He had... other uses for your imager.

He will never admit it, not even under torture, but... He furiously masturbated several times using your art collection on the imager. He has no rational explanation for it. One day he was terribly bothered, to his utmost inconvenience, and hoped that some nice paintings could distract him.

But instead

He just got such a clear picture of you, of your good nature, of your amazingly sweet personality that he became hard like wood, worsening the situation. He found a self-portrait of yourself, looking straight back at him with such a clear and assured gaze... And he just lost it.

He fisted himself, entranced by those expressive eyes looking brazenly at him.

He never came so hard before, his entire body struck by lightning, setting fire to his very soul. He was left breathless and disoriented, his large chest rising up and down rapidly, your impudent gaze fixing him intently.

The high was so high the descent was devastating, leaving him craving more of you, by any means necessary...

That’s when he decided to enter your studio for the first time.

Thrawn discovers the canvas.

He discovers himself slouching regally on a throne like he is presiding over a tedious political case and is about to give his royal judgment.

You remain a step behind, fidgeting your fingers.

“What do you think?” You ask a bit worried.

An idea flashes in his mind, a bad idea, but oh so delicious...

“Technically very interesting and avant-garde. But there is something...” He teases sadistically.

“Something? What? What is wrong? What did I do wrong?” You immediately panick.

“Are you familiar with male anatomy?” He asks, falsely investigating.

Of course, you are familiar with it, he saw you paint it plenty of times.

“Yes! I am!” You protest.

“Let’s see...” He gently takes your hands to place them on his large pecs.

Your eyes round up in surprise and your breath is caught in your throat.

“Feel the muscles, how they are built in the body.” He casually instructs while he takes your hands for a jaunt on his body, caressing himself with your soft palms.

“Hum... Grand Admiral?” You try.

“Feel where they start and end, where they cross paths and attach to the bones.” He slowly pushes your hands down his abdominals.

You audibly gasp as he directs your hands on his naked body. While your body heat skyrockets in your embarrassment and confusion, he revels in the softness of your touch and the freshness of your hands on his thick skin.

Your touch is delightful. Delicate and tender. He has all the pain in the world to not moan in bliss...

He presses your palms on his abdominals, pushing them farther and farther south.

“It is very important you understand how the muscles twist and bend.” He lectures you like you didn’t already know that.

“Grand Admiral...” You press him more and more embarassed.

He takes a step forward and you take a step back.

He takes another one and you do the same.

He finally blocks you against the desk where you keep all your colors and pigments. You jolt when your back hits the wooden table, caged between his half-naked body and the furniture. He stops your hands on his groin region, right above his cock.

He looks at your flustered face intently, how you evade his gaze and your heat signals are the worst he ever saw. He refrains from licking your face as he so desperately wants to.

Your sex is irradiating a warm light to his infrared vision, well awake and demanding attention. He takes great pride in the reaction of your body to his daring advances, but you also appear tense.

“Feel how my male body is different from your female body, feel it deeply... within you...” He whispers, looming forward to press his forehead against yours to look at your eluding gaze. He pulls your hands to wrap your arms around his waist as his own hands come to seize your hips, slightly slipping them under your corseted top to caress your smooth human skin.

You cannot help the gasp escaping you, shocked to your core but indubitably... interested. Curious and craving for more.

Still, the uneasy feeling remains in the pearl of your eyes.

He presses your hips together and rolls his pelvis, delighting himself in your hot and bothered reaction. Your hands are trembling and sweaty but they hold on his lower back. You slowly and timidly raise your gaze to meet his, mouth agape and with a short breath.

You gulp as he smiles, satisfied.

Are you a virgin? Will he be your first?

His heart pumps harder!

You first... But more importantly your last!

He lowers himself with a satisfied grin, but right before he is about to kiss you, he suddenly grabs your ass to lift you up and put you on the table, making you yelp in surprise. His hands lift your skirt to caress your round thighs, dividing them open to slide between them swiftly.

His blood is beating furiously, his hands caressing and exploring your gorgeous body eagerly, mentally pesting against those useless clothes hiding your naked perfection to his burning rubies. You let out a weak moan between precocious fear and irrefutable excitement.

Your hands circle his shoulders and you dig your nails into his blue flesh, to his utmost pleasure, pulling you tighter towards you.

Everything comes to a halt as you look into each other eyes with heavy breathing.

He wants you.

He craves you.

And he will have you!

In one way or another, you will be his and his alone.

He will rip you out of your father’s claws and build you a life of comfort and love. He will hold you close and tight, showering you with adoration every day, worshipping at your feet.

Thrawn taunts you with his lips, hovering them over your parted mouth, making your throat go dry with anticipation. He teases you with a kiss on the tip of your nose, before letting out a low growl as your gazes meet, you cannot help but moisten your plump lips with your tongue with a short breath.

Thrawn hand seizes your lower back to pull you close and tight against him, his second hand embracing the back of your skull to pull you ever so slightly closer to his tempting grin.

You look at each other in a suspended moment, listening to each other heavy heartbeat, feeling the sheer tension in the room before Thrawn lowers himself with the intent to kiss you.

“Please... Do not hurt me...” You ask with a voice so low and feeble he barely hears you, tears in your eyes.

He stops his motion.

Why would-

“Sorry for my late arrival Princess, I-”

A man enters the studio unannounced, absolutely ruining the moment. You yelp in surprise, pulling on your skirt to cover your bare legs while Thrawn merely turns his upper body towards the intruder to shoot him with his glare, making no effort to cover his modesty.

The man is clearly embarrassed to have walked in during an intimate moment, but Thrawn wants him more than embarrassed. He wants him repentant and desperate.

“I am sorry, Sir.” You jump off the table, flustered, pushing your hair behind your ear to put up a front, “Thrawn, I present you Sir Hatway, a curator of an art gallery I invited to judge my art.” You gesture towards the impudent.

The man clearly doesn't know what to do with himself in front of a naked Chiss.

“Sir Hatway, this is Vice Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy and one of my favorite model.”

Thrawn heart speeds up at the compliment, but outside he is still shooting down Hatway, frowning, displeased.

“Should I... Wait outside, Princess?” The impolite man asks.

‘Yes he should!’ Thrawn thinks, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No! No...” You hurriedly respond, “It is all right, you didn’t interrupt anything. We can look at my paintings now.”

Thrawn gaze slides to you.

What do you mean ‘didn’t interrupt anything’? He wants to ask impudently.

He chastises himself. You are an imperial Princess. You cannot just fool around with anyone like that without consequences from your father, you must preserve your reputation.

The insolent nods unsure, still uneasy, before turning towards Thrawn with a smile he surely hoped to be affable, but honestly is just pathetic. He takes a step forward with his hand extended.

“Please to meet you Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

Thrawn consciously takes his time to gauge him up and down from all his height, straightening his back to look at him with all the smugness his rank conferred him. He finally took the man’s hand to shake it.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir Hatway.” Thrawn tightens his grip until the man winces in pain, “You will obviously not say a word of what you saw.” He asks, deadly cold.

“N-no, sir. I saw nothing and know nothing...” He pitifully responds

“Good...” The Chiss nods, venomous.

“You can go, Grand Admiral.” You say, fidgeting your fingers, still visibly agitated, “We are done for today.”

“If you allow me, Your Majesty. I am interested to witness your audition.”

“I...” You bite your lower lips again, thinking, “All right.” You concede.

When Thrawn exits the changing room in his pristine white uniform, Sir Hatway is no longer the pitiful man who entered the studio. He stands proudly before your paintings, detailing them and judging them imperially.

You remain a bit behind, full of apprehension and hope. Like the day you showed Thrawn your imager.

“This is not very good to be honest with you, Your Majesty. This is amateurish at best, and I am being generous.”

Thrawn stops dead in his tracks. Did he hear right?

“But I...” You try.

“It will not be possible I am afraid. You should abandon painting entirely, this is not a world for a fragile flower like you...”

Thrawn takes a single glance at the painting you are presenting right now.

Your dear mother’s portrait.

You spend long hours on this one, pouring your tears and blood in the paint to bring it to life and honor that woman.

And that... Uncultured fool rejects it?! Calls it amateurish?! Thrawn never saw such passion in a portrait in a long long time!

He heard enough.

He walks to the man with three long strides, catching both of your attention.

“Sir. I will invite you to take back your words immediately.” He said very coldly, camping in front of the fool, towering over him with all his height.

“Who do you think you are to teach my job?!” The impudent retorted, any traces of the former shy man long gone.

“Who do you think YOU are?! Is your heart so dry to be so blind before such a shining jewel, before such explicit talent, before such an evident masterpiece? I can not let you say such things.”

The man looks at Thrawn afraid and confused but sticks to his guns.

“No! It is my job to evaluate artists that wish to enter our art gallery and she doesn’t have the level expected.”

“Can you not see she is ahead of her time? That she is avant-garde in so many aspects? I pity your gallery Sir, we must only find mediocrity inside.”

“Are you insulting me?!”

“You insulted her first.”

“Grand admiral please...” You try to calm them both

Thrawn raises his hand to sush you.

“She has no talents, and no future in the art world. I am doing her a favor by telling her early.” He bites.

Thrawn feels about to punch this man.

Instead, he takes a step back and takes out his pair of gloves from his pocket, and throws them at the impudent’s face.

“I will protect her honor, I challenge you sir.”

“What?! No! This is getting ridiculous, stop-” You try to interject again.

“Fine! Whenever you damn please Alien!” The fool retorts.

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo, @germie2037 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @leo4242564

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

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biscuitsngravie · 10 months

Text

fics for december

i dont do events and stuff like that, so pls dont think this is a kinkmas thing. this is just my lineup for december. lmk if you wanna be tagged. tbh?? im gonna upload all of these mfs on the same day LMAO. with the possible exception of the two nurse geto ones since that's a collab with @yasminessims <3

the last one (getou x stripper reader) is a long fic, so at MOST it'll get started in december, but def aint finna be done lol

levi x reader: Ssshhh🤫

your needy ass couldnt wait til you got home, so now he has to fuck you in an empty room. be quiet. or else

shanks x reader: gangsta fairytale

hc style even tho i got carried away. mafia au. i aint go much to say, this was just brain worms

sukuna x reader: what that mouth do?

this is just like...pure horny. we're doing true form sukuna, we're doing double cocks, we're doing mouths everywhere and anywhere, and you know we puttin tummy mouth to work! (this is the one that won the poll)

SatoSugu: just like that...

*tag is correct for positions. this one is a surprise.

Nurse Geto x Gojo: ails that plague the healthy

gojo gets hurt and the nurse who triages him is hot. unbelievably so. all of a sudden he's the "clumsiest" bastard alive. this one is a collab with @yasminessims and we're doing a fem and masc version!

getou x stripper!reader — carousels and wishing wells: a tale of poles, pussy, and power

i dont even have the braincells to describe this one. ur a stripper. he's a client. need i say more? i wanna bring a *slightly* more realistic approach to this one (having been the child of actual sex workers sfhsklf) hence why it's gonna be long as fuck lol

i have time to finish all of these in december tbh, but if i need more time ill just upload all of them in january. i dont feel like posting more than once, so if anything ill just save them in my drafts. that way i can add anyone who wants to be tagged accordingly. i'll let yall know when i have a date. tbh i really wanna finish them this month cause i wanna finish my book in january before i start the next one in august😭

if you wanna be tagged in anything in particular or in all of them lmk. ill reblog this regularly

#levi x reader #levi smut #shanks x reader #shanks smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #satosugu #goge #sugusato #gego #geto x read #geto smut #satsosugu smut #sugusato smut #jordussy #jordussy speaks

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1moreoffkeyanthem · 2 months

Note

i know you’ve done a couple lists before but do you have anymore fic recs? everything you rec always hits so hard 🙏

Of course!!!! Stylibrarian in the house my dude! Granted I’ve been a little off my reading game the past month or so but I’ll try to recommend some that I haven’t recced before!

Is It You Or The Food I’m Allergic To? by Meepleep DUDE not only is this an adorable style getting together type fic, but it is HYSTERICAL OK?!? Cartman shenanigans, m4 slay, poor Stan being put through the wringer, just phenomenal.

Alter Ego by butterstotchcandy y’all like TFBW AU’s? Amnesia? Mystery? Teamwork? Regaining your forgotten powers? This one EATS

Stan Marsh and the Lost Lyre by AlottoDix bro SOUTH. PARK. PERCY. JACKSON. AU. and it’s WONDERFUL the humor is unmatched and as a huge Riordanverse fan too I was FERAL FROM THE VERY BEGINNING YALL PLEASE READ IT IM BEGGING!!!

snow (hey oh) by aerabit just a REALLY sweet style oneshot they’re so wholesome aaaaaa

To Overindulge by dvixiecups ENJOYERS OF VAMPIRE KYLE THIS IS FOR YOU!!! And it’s sooooo hot too; their whole vamp Kyle series kicks ass!!!

Last Night On Earth by enirojram y’all want some Kenjorine angst?!? KENNY IMMORTALITY ANGST?!? Bruh.

Where My Armoir Ends by OrcaTimes ok HUGE warning for subject matter definitely read the tags but it is INCREDIBLY written and handles the topic of the human trafficking epidemic with care. Really heartbreaking story but I promise it doesn’t end in tragedy! I may need to do a reread of this one tbh I remember being blown away by how good it is.

Drop Me Down And Don’t Let Go by courtanie I shit you not this is the best if you want stylenny smut and a really great balance of their throuple dynamic! It’s a super fun read and the characterization is GREAT and the focus on safety in bedroom roleplay and bondage is really well done!

Remplir Sa Bouche by asteria7 OK LOOK I KNOW IVE RECOMMENDED THE WORKS OF ALL THE HOMIES CONSTANTLY BUT THIS!!! Genuinely so fucking hot and that’s all I’m saying.

Aight man that’s what I got right now, thank you for the ask and HAPPY READING!!!

#south park #asks #PCE answers things #fic recs #style #stylenny

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cheshiresense · 1 year

Text

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

Character or Ship: Hadrian from CLV, I love Hadrian/Orion but that might not work here so it's totally up to you!

AU/Trope: I'd love to see an AU where instead of the CLV dimension, Hadrian is sent to a universe still with BWL!Neville but more similar to canon. Maybe with Slytherin!Hadrian and Hadrian taking some of the other Slytherins under his wing? I just really like the idea of a world where the "good guys" win and instead of (or in addition to) Orion it's the Slytherins who need Hadrian in their corner. Doesn't have to be all of them, whoever you prefer writing is fine. I am also down for bashing if you need to work that in. Thank you!

Tags: CLV AU, Slytherin!Hadrian, Canonical Prejudices, Draco Malfoy Bashing, kind of?, tbh this is more or less how I see him in canon lol but I know he's a fan favourite so fair warning, he's not the CLV version here, at least not yet.

-0-

Author's Notes: Hello, it's been a while since I've worked on these. I think I mentioned before that my tumblr inbox got glitchy so I actually couldn't find the other 6 requests from the last batch of 10 you guys sent in for 5+ Headcanons. So I set up an airtable form instead and got someone to test it, and this was the one they sent. It works, so in the future, I'll toss out a new post with the form link for more requests, and maybe I'll get through them in a timely manner lol.

If you're not in the UraIchi server, then you might've noticed that I've sort of been MIA on the writing front for a while now, the last time I wrote and posted something was like back in May last year, and honestly I've been kind of tired and burnt out ever since, and real life is kicking my ass a bit, so when I do have spare time, all I feel like doing is reading fics or webnovels and sleeping. But the winter hols were a nice break for me, and I've started on a couple new fic ideas and added to some wips on and off over the past few months, so I'm slowly getting back into it, and this 5+ Headcanons prompt was one of the things I've been working on. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into posting fics soon.

ANYWAY, on to the stuff you actually care about: Slytherin!Hadrian, so basically amp up the hardened war vet and dial down the friendship magic XD Way back when I first started CLV, I did consider Slytherin for his House but it felt like everybody did that, plus the politics I would have to get into gave me a headache and I felt like I couldn't do it justice anyway, so I went with Hufflepuff. Slytherin does give me more options to play with a powerful Hadrian who has less morals about flinging that around to get what he wants though since he would be viewed as a halfblood at best and he'd need that currency to make sure nobody messes with him, especially if this universe is more canon than CLV (lbr, almost everybody is at least 50% nicer in CLV lol). So okay, let's give this a spin.

(AO3 Link Here -- I’ll add this to the collection fic on my AO3 to make it a round 15 but this one will be the last for that. If I do more, I’ll start a new fic.)

-0-0-0-

Hadrian ends up being a Hatstall. He sits on the stool for a full seven minutes as the Sorting Hat sifts through his bloodstained memories with a silence so grim Hadrian is tempted to comfort it. Then it proceeds to send back memories of its own, the major points of recent Hogwarts history that would best help Hadrian fit in - Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived; an image of Hadrian's counterpart and an entire family still alive; Quirrell vanquished in first year, a basilisk slain and a diary that bled itself to death in the second, Remus teaching in the third but no Pettigrew in sight; Neville at odds with Potter, Gryffindors at odds with Slytherins, and Death Eater children who hadn't managed to come out of the last war as financially and politically secure as families like the Malfoys, subtly shunned for their parents' sins, while children from the Light side, the winning side, with parents who'd openly defied Voldemort, can do almost no wrong. On the surface, everything looks bright and happy. Beneath it, malcontent and despair bubbles and brews with hardly anyone the wiser, and those who are, are glad to look away.

The Sorting Hat offers no opinions of its own after it is done, only continuing on to extol the virtues of all four Houses while making an argument for why Hadrian would be perfectly suited for each of them in equal measure, before finally leaving the decision in Hadrian's hands.

"Even I cannot be certain where you would do the most good," the Sorting Hat tells him. "Nor do I know which House would do you the most good. There are many children in this school who could use a helping hand such as yours, and likewise, you too would benefit from the same. Who am I to decide which is more important? Perhaps it is most accurate to say that no matter where you end up, who you will help, and who you will allow to help you, a new future will unfold, one made possible only by your existence. Yours is a fate that demands change, Mr. Evans, for better or for worse. But when peril looms on the distant horizon, when our society insists on blind stagnancy, and its people have long stood divided, change is exactly what this world needs. Thus, I leave the choice to you. Where do you wish to go?"

Hadrian says nothing - thinks nothing - for a long deafening minute. The mounting whispers in the Great Hall are easy enough to tune out, and within the confines of his mind, the Hat too remains patiently silent.

The truth of it is - Hadrian is tired. Even now, in this moment, in this place, one year and an entire dimension and seven years away, he still feels like he does on most days— as if he's just walked off a battlefield at the end of one of those kinds of days that can break a man even when you think there's nothing left to break, yet still hyper-alert for the next enemy, the next fight, the next death, because he doesn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything else. On all the rest, of course, it feels as if he never left the battlefield at all.

He is tired, and he honestly doesn't feel like he's capable of helping anyone, not children, not the reflections of his loved ones, and certainly not an entire world that's rapidly revealing itself to be as stuck on a one-way train to hell as his original world had been.

He doesn't want to be a hero, doesn't know how to be one even after all these years, even when other people had always so desperately wanted him to be. A hero, until he'd proven unable to meet their expectations, and then he'd been their villain, right up until they'd needed a hero to stand in front of them again, and round and round and round they'd gone.

The only thing he could never be was just Harry, just himself, and now even Harry Potter is no longer his to claim.

But maybe that's not so bad, not when Harry Potter has always been more story than reality, a patchwork fairytale portrait of a boy, a man, a weapon, a sacrifice, stitched together by every hand except his own.

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

Gryffindor feels too much like repeating history, and Hadrian would rather not be forced to stare at the majority of those long dead to him day in and day out. Hufflepuff is too prone to crowding together for his liking, persistently eager to be friends with their own members even if they're quick to turn on those who aren't, and Hadrian doesn't think he can bear the overenthusiastic socializing that would require.

Ravenclaw might be best, a House where even the most introverted can find a home if they have a thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, for a lot of them, once they latch on to a question unanswered or an opinion that doesn't fit their worldview, they won't let go until the question is exhausted or the opinion has conformed to what they consider acceptable, and Hadrian has too many secrets and no more patience to be what others what him to be to fit in with those sorts of people anymore. Besides, he's never quite forgiven that House as a whole. Marietta Edgecombe had been Ravenclaw. Quirrell and Lockhart and Trelawney had been Ravenclaws. Every single one of Luna's bullies had been Ravenclaws. He'd worked with members of that House over the years, taught them back when the DA had been up and running, and even been friendly with some of them beyond just Luna, but generally speaking, he has no positive emotions regarding Ravenclaw. He knows that he isn't being entirely fair, because Voldemort had been from Slytherin, and Pettigrew had been from Gryffindor, and the worst of the lot who'd spearheaded the damaging gossip and baseless accusations incriminating him - first for the Heir of Slytherin debacle in second year, and then the Cup nonsense in fourth year - had all been from Hufflepuff, but still, Ravenclaw simply stands out as that one House that holds no appeal for him.

That really only leaves one place he can go though, and Hadrian finds that he minds that a lot less than he once would've. Slytherin will have its own problems, him being a halfblood at best with a very obvious muggle surname, but Slytherins also respect power, and most of them have the sense to back off if they realize they're picking a fight with an opponent they can't beat. And once that's dealt with, Hadrian will most likely be avoided and left to his own devices, with only the occasional curse to his back to worry about. From a bunch of schoolchildren, that's a negligible issue.

In his head, the Sorting Hat chuckles. "Very well then. If you're sure, better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Mr. Evans," the Sorting Hat says in the seconds before it's removed from Hadrian's head. It sounds thoroughly amused. "Do not be so quick to underestimate your own heart."

And with that last ominous statement imparted to haunt him, Hadrian stands to lacklustre applause and makes his way to his new House as his tie settles into green and silver stripes.

The briefest of glances over the stretch of the Slytherin table tells him that none of the students seated where most of the fourth-years are gathered have moved to make room for him. That's fine. Hadrian would rather not be boxed in anyway. He takes a seat at the end of the table, smiles at the suspicious first-years around him, and then waits for Dumbledore's opening speech to finish so they can start the feast.

Fifteen minutes later, one treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice is all he can manage. He sips at some water for the rest of dinner even as he wishes it was something a lot more alcoholic. He speaks to no one, and no one tries to speak to him, although plenty of prying eyes and sneers of disdain find their way to him throughout the meal.

It makes him feel, Hadrian thinks with some humour, almost nostalgic.

Near the end of the evening, he thinks about going over to the Gryffindor table to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione. But he's in Slytherin now, so he doesn't know how they'll react, and after another moment of contemplation, he decides against it. Not much can embarrass him anymore, but he'd still rather not be put on the spot if the Golden Trio rejects his overture of friendship. It won't help his reputation in Slytherin either if he ends up making a spectacle of himself like that. There's plenty of time tomorrow to see how they'll feel about maintaining ties with a Slytherin without too big of an audience watching, and if they're against it, then, well, it's not as if Hadrian hasn't been living as a recluse over the better part of the past year anyway. He sees no problem carrying on exactly as he has.

Fate sent him here against his explicit permission but she sure as shit can't make him dance.

-0-0-0-

Hadrian ends up shuffled into a dorm room with five very familiar Slytherins - Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. He gets the remaining bed that's presumably been empty since the others' first year, and a very pointed silence coalesces at his back as he starts unpacking his clothes into his wardrobe.

He ignores it. Instead, he absently begins a count of how long it will take for someone - he's betting Draco - to put their foot in their mouth first. He casts a glance at the floor-to-ceiling window next to his nightstand; like the Gryffindor dorms, the room is circular so everyone has a view to the outside, but here, instead of winds and open skies, it's lake water that shimmers against the glass, with the shadows of passing aquatic life flickering by. It's not bad, just different; the ambience of it is almost soothing.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hadrian hangs up his winter cloak before moving on to his books. They each get a desk too, complete with a mini bookcase, which the Gryffindor dorms don't have. They have to do their homework on their beds or in the common room. How unfair. But at least Hadrian gets to benefit from it now.

Someone clears their throat again, louder this time. Hadrian smothers a twist of a smirk and bends over his trunk again to fish out his towels and toiletries. His more personal belongings can remain inside, although he'll have to ward everything to the nines anyway.

A displeased noise that comes out gilded with that distinctly familiar Dudley-esque whine of a child who's been spoiled since birth and has never known hardship reaches his ears, and then finally-

"Are you deaf, Evans?!" Draco demands, and oh, look at that, Hadrian wins the bet.

He straightens and turns, idly fiddling with a packet of quills as his gaze falls on the blond standing puffed up and bristling by the bed opposite Hadrian's on the other side of the dorm. He looks him over, looks at Crabbe and Goyle bracketing him with twin expressions of oafish scorn, looks at Zabini standing a ways away, watching the whole room with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, looks at Nott who doesn't look at anyone at all.

His attention returns to Draco, considering him for a moment longer before asking mildly, "Did you say something?"

Draco's cheeks flush pink even as he draws himself up and snaps, "You should at least have enough manners to introduce yourself!" His face narrows into a sneer, and Hadrian can almost predict his next words. "But I suppose even that might be too difficult for a mudblood to learn."

For a second, Hadrian wonders if he should tell him he's a halfblood. Then again, it doesn't really matter, and also some people consider halfbloods to be mudbloods too. And now that he thinks about it, the person he is in this world might actually be a muggleborn. But he was homeschooled so at least one of his fictional parents had to have known magic, right? Then again, they could've just been related to a witch or wizard but were muggles themselves. Who knows. Certainly not him since Fate couldn't be bothered to inform him.

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

Hadrian blinks out of his thoughts. "Yes, I'm listening, what is it?"

Draco glares. His features are so… pointy at this age that the expression doesn't really carry the impact he's probably going for, but Hadrian figures it would be unnecessarily mean to mention it, so he doesn't. Instead, he quickly reviews everything Draco has said, and there wasn't actually a question anywhere in there, as far as Hadrian can tell, but maybe Draco really does want an introduction. Seems like a waste of breath though.

"Is there a point to introducing myself?" He asks. "Everybody heard my name at the Sorting. You even just used it so it's not like you don't know."

Draco splutters as if that wasn't what he expected Hadrian to say. He recovers after a moment and opts to glower harder instead, as if that would hide the way the pink in his cheeks is slowly turning red. Poor bastard. That's what you get when you have a pale complexion and fluster easily.

"Are you actually a mudblood then?" He demands contemptuously.

Hadrian honestly doesn't know, but he can't say that, so he volleys back, "Does Slytherin accept muggleborns?"

He knows they take halfbloods, but he can't remember any muggleborns in Slytherin, although if there are any, he doubts they would be willing to broadcast it, even if it means inventing a magical parent in their family tree.

"Of course not!" Draco refutes, sounding scandalized.

Hadrian can't tell if that's actually true, or if that's just Draco's own belief, but it does make things easier. "Then…" He shrugs. "If you already know, why are you asking?"

A beat of silence passes, then two. The red deepens in Draco's face as he hisses dramatically, "Are you mocking me?"

Hadrian suppresses a sigh. He probably is being too flippant for someone as high-strung as Draco, but it's still a far sight from mockery. He can definitely do better if he wants to taunt someone. Had his world's Draco been this easily riled up? They hadn't even really gotten into any exchange of insults yet. "I wouldn't say I'm-"

He stops.

Across the room, Draco has pulled out his wand, and when he realizes that Hadrian's broken off mid-sentence, the flush recedes from his face, and a triumphant smirk instantly takes its place instead.

"Since you've been sorted into Slytherin," Draco announces, raising his wand with a ridiculously showy flourish that makes Hadrian twitch with the desire to correct his posture. "You should know your place. Mouthing off to your betters is a good way to get cursed around here, especially when you're in the presence of someone like me." He sneers down his nose even as his chin tips up, all peacock proud. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Even the likes of your kind should've heard of my family." He looks smug, as if a mere surname can protect him from anything when it comes down to it. "You'll be staying here for the next four years, Evans, and I guarantee you'll have a miserable time of it if you get on my bad side. But today's your first day at Hogwarts, so I can be generous. If you apologize, I'll let you go just this once."

An expectant hush falls as Draco finishes his little speech. Hadrian doesn't say anything right away, still turning over the packet of quills in his hands, still waiting. When nothing happens after a good five seconds tick by, and the silence gradually becomes strained, Hadrian finally nods at Draco's wand, "So are you going to use that or not?"

The stunned look of outrage on Draco's face is gold.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Evans!" Draco snarls, jabbing out with his wand. "Oscausi!"

Hadrian has time to arch an eyebrow at the choice of a pseudo-silencing charm before he's flipping a quill into the fingers of his left hand. A swipe of his thumb leaves a chain of runes glittering along its shaft, and then he brings it up, catches the oncoming spell with the tip, and swats it aside with a flick of his wrist, all in one fluid motion. His right hand doesn't stay still either as his wand slides neatly into his palm, and a single wordless modified Expelliarmus darts out and attaches itself to Draco's wand.

The white light of the Mouth-Sealing Charm is sent soaring across the room, shattering against the door in a shower of harmless sparks, and in the heavy silence that follows, Hadrian smiles.

He thinks it's a very bland smile, if he does say so himself. At the very least, he's careful to not look too intimidating or too unhinged, the way he can sometimes get, if some of his dead friends were to be believed, back during the war. Nevertheless, it still makes Draco blanch white, makes Crabbe and Goyle shrink back, makes Zabini lean further back into a convenient shadow and Nott go utterly still from where he's sitting on his bed.

Hadrian glances down at the remains of his writing utensil, most of the barbs now burnt black. It was a regular quill after all, not exactly made to withstand so much magic. He looks back up, at Draco who has a white-knuckled grip on his wand, and with his own wand, he gives the other's a tug, just enough to make Draco's eyes go wide with something like panic, but not enough to actually disarm him and - considering the sheer amount of honed intent in the charm that even Draco can undoubtedly sense - most likely bend the wand's allegiance.

Hadrian holds it for a moment longer, and then lets go. Draco staggers back a step, jerking his wand down and reflexively pressing it into his chest as if he's trying to protect it, or maybe assure himself that it still belongs to him.

Hadrian tucks his wand back up his sleeve before stooping down to pick up the rest of the quills he'd dropped. The burnt one goes in the bin by his desk.

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

"That took you almost five seconds," He begins almost conversationally as he opens a drawer to stash his remaining quills away. "From when you decided to fire that spell to actually firing it. And that's not even counting all the time you wasted saying the stuff before that, after you already took out your wand. It's stupid. When you draw with the intent to harm, you shouldn't give any warning at all. And the spell itself was slow. You should work on that."

He pauses, and there's still no response, which he supposes makes sense. He doubts anybody here wants to listen to him preach. He should just wrap things up since the plan is moving along so neatly.

"Anyway, this is pretty unfortunate," He switches gears and smiles again, as fit-for-public-polite as he knows how to be. It doesn't seem to make anyone feel better, but he also doesn't feel like he was that heavy-handed earlier, was he? Ah well, can't change anything now, and it's still in line with what he wants so it doesn't matter.

"I wasn't really expecting to make any friends since I know the average Slytherin's views on blood isn't exactly in my favour," He continues in light tones. "But I was hoping that we could at least remain on civil terms and get along as schoolmates, if only because we'll be living together for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. Since that doesn't seem to be possible anymore though, how about we just go with the simplest solution?"

Hadrian surveys the room and smiles some more. "You ignore me and I’ll ignore you. You attack me and I'll retaliate. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Everybody just needs to mind their own business, and there won't be any problems. That's fair enough, don't you think?"

His gaze settles once more on Draco. "Since you're the only one who's said anything so far, I'll assume you speak for everyone in this dorm. Draco Malfoy, right? So then, do we understand each other now?"

Across from him, Draco shivers imperceptibly like a rabbit caught at the wrong end of a predator's line of sight, but he also swallows and nods and gingerly puts his wand away. It looks like it costs him, but - at least for now - he seems both too shocked and too afraid to try anything else.

"Great!" Hadrian says cheerfully before cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, right, one more thing."

He lets his smile fall away. Lets his expression smooth over into marble. And then he lets his magic flare, lets the pressure of it roll across the room like the black merciless depths of a storm-tossed ocean, lets it eclipse them all like death come to call, and then he brings it crashing down, not most of it, not even half, because he hasn't forgotten that these are children, that they're still young, and they can learn, they can be better, and Hadrian doesn't actually want to traumatize them permanently.

But he also remembers Draco - his world's Draco - telling him once, in a fit of aggravated exasperation during one of those times when they'd devolved into insulting each other's House traits yet again because they still hadn't understood what made the other tick, but they had also reached a point in their friendship where they'd started trying to, and kept trying.

"Slytherins respect power," Draco had said, not for the first time, but then he'd also added, for the first time, and haltingly as if he hadn't known why he'd had to explain it at all, "How else are you going to know they're worth your time? Or I guess worth befriending, in your Gryffindor terms."

"You don't decide whether or not to make friends based on how powerful someone is."

"Slytherins don't have friends. I only said friend because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand anything else."

"Fine, you don't decide whether or not to associate with every single person you come across in your life based on how powerful they are either."

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

"How else would you know they're strong enough to stand with you? Or competent enough to protect themselves? Power is a good starting line. If they're powerful enough, then they won't be afraid to face your enemies with you, and you can trust them to be capable of keeping themselves safe without having to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. Only brainless Gryffindors prefer doing things like throwing themselves in the line of fire and dying dramatically for each other and calling that a win. Let me tell you something, Potter - it's not a victory when you're forced to suffer a loss. You haven't won anything if you're not around to enjoy the aftermath. So the best allies must be ones who are powerful enough to not only achieve their goals but also survive them."

"…"

"Well, I will grudgingly admit that I didn't put quite that much thought into it when I was younger, but who did? …It's what I believe now though. Did I finally get it through your thick skull this time, Potter?"

After that particular conversation, Hadrian had understood a little better, even if he hadn't entirely agreed with it all. But he hadn't forgotten a single word, and Draco was right— as they are, these kids definitely aren't thinking that deeply, but Hadrian thinks that the core of it at least is the same. Slytherins respect power. And he has power in spades, so at the very least, he can make them respect him.

Of course, if that also happens to make them afraid of him, then, well, he was never aiming to be their friend or even ally anyway. So long as they leave him alone, it's fine.

He brings his magic to bear, allows the weight of it to fall and fall and fall, and he watches dispassionately as Draco goes grey, as Crabbe and Goyle's knees buckle, as Zabini flinches back like he wants to melt into the walls, as Nott curls into himself and may or may not have stopped breathing.

Hadrian catches Draco's eye, and doesn't let him look away. "I have no betters. Do I make myself clear?"

He'd spent half his life being beaten down by the Dursleys, told over and over that he was worth nothing, that he didn’t deserve food or clothes or kindness, that he was a waste of space and better off dead. He'd spent a good chunk of his Hogwarts career obliviously dancing to Dumbledore's tune, and then some more of it knowingly dancing to it because what else could he do with a target on his back. He'd spent over twenty years shackled to Voldemort, to his parents' legacy, to a war that had loved him a whole lot more than he'd ever loved it. And he'd been Fate's everything since before he'd ever even been born.

Some days, he wonders if he even knows what freedom is anymore. Or if he's ever known at all.

But one thing he is sure of is that he will never passively tolerate anyone controlling what he can or cannot do ever again.

Draco whimpers something like agreement, like deference, like surrender, and- that's enough. Hadrian reels it all back, all his magic hidden away again, and in the dizzying wake of its abrupt disappearance, Draco collapses, barely catching himself and his dignity with the edge of his bed. Crabbe and Goyle do crash to the ground, while Zabini has to steady himself against his nightstand, and Nott sways like he might faint.

Too much, Hadrian thinks distantly, and tries to feel bad about it because he really hadn't meant to go that far, but his lines in the sand have also long since blurred away beneath a tide of blood and corpses.

Mostly, he just feels tired, and it has nothing to do with his displays of magic tonight.

He breathes. Turns. Grabs a towel and his underwear and pyjamas and pretends everything's fine. It is fine, now. He's gotten what he wanted. "It's getting late. I'll shower first. Won't be long."

And then he's exiting stage right, straight into the bathroom, and it's a relief to close the door behind him.

Of course, that sentiment is one that's shared by probably every single person in the room.

-0-0-0-

Theo is awake before anyone else the next morning. Or at least he thinks he is because he usually is. But everybody's curtains are drawn, and after last night, he doubts anyone was able to sleep right away, if at all, with the exception of their new roommate.

Hadrian Evans. Great Merlin, where had this person even come from? Even just the memory of his magic - vast and endless and utterly uncompromising - pressing down on them like the sky had fallen on their heads, makes his hands want to shake all over again. For a long, suspended, suffocating moment that could've lasted an eternity, Theo could've sworn he was going to die last night. And the most terrifying thing is that he is absolutely certain that Evans hadn't even been trying that hard.

Evans had radiated enough raw power to force all of them to their knees if he'd really wanted to. But he'd held back. He'd only given them a glimpse, just enough to warn them off. The rest of his magic had been out of reach, but present. It was there, reined in and waiting, but the shape of it and the depth of it had felt… unfathomable, as if it had no limits.

And that doesn't even account for the spellwork he had done. Theo had recognized the Disarming Charm, but last he checked, the average Expelliarmus only deprived a wizard of their wand. A more powerful one might send the target flying and even knock them out, but he's never heard of one that can… threaten to disarm your opponent at your leisure and - if Theo wasn't mistaken - force the wand to forsake its owner. Everybody knows that that's always a possibility in a real duel; if you win and take your opponent's wand, then that wand might not work for its owner anymore. But most of the time, you have to mean it, you have to set out with the intent to do it, the buildup of magic in the duel itself gives that intent a foundation, and there has to be an actual possibly life-threatening conflict of interest between the parties too, a real enmity that even last night - however excessive the exchange - shouldn't have qualified. Squabbles between students just don't count. If it did, with the Disarming Charm being taught in school, there would be a lot more students in need of new wands. The only way Theo can rationalize it happening anyway is that Evans must've been strong enough to compel the wand itself to leave its owner.

Pity he hadn't gone through with it in the end. Evans is powerful, but he's also… Theo is hesitant to call him soft, but if it had been Malfoy, if it had been Blaise or even himself or pretty much any other Slytherin, they would've done it. He's unsure of why Evans hadn't.

And then there had been the thing with the quill. Theo can't even explain that, and he'd mulled it over for half the night. He has the… incidental fortune of occupying the bed closest to Evans', so as soon as Evans had ducked into the bathroom last night, and the others had been distracted with pulling themselves together and possibly trying not to wet themselves, Theo had chanced a swift peek into Evans' wastebasket.

It really had looked just like any other regular quill, one that'd been burnt completely black and missing most of its barbs, but it had been a quill. He'd been tempted to open Evans' desk drawer to check the other quills, but - with Evans' ultimatum still ringing in his ears - he hadn't been that suicidal, so he'd refrained. But from what he could recall, the pack it had come from had looked just like the mass-produced writing utensils one could find in any stationery shop in Diagon Alley.

Whatever he'd done though, he had made it look like child's play. A quill and a Disarming Charm, so fast that Theo could've blinked and missed it. Could someone like that really have remained in obscurity all this time? Evans had apparently been homeschooled up until now, and they haven't even attended their first class yet, but by anyone's definition, after last night, he can't claim to be anything less than a prodigy.

It's… unbelievable. And not even because of any of the blood purity ideals that Malfoy likes to preach about. Theo doesn't think much of muggleborns or halfbloods, but he also doesn't think much of most purebloods, so he's fairly certain it's not high society prejudices that's driving his disbelief. It's just… He's never met anyone - not even his father, and Merlin knows Theo's been afraid of him for as long as he can remember - as effortlessly powerful as Evans had shown himself to be, and he doesn't understand how nobody has heard even a whisper of a rumour of this boy before he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

Someone like him shouldn't exist. Or perhaps there has been one, and that had been how the Dark Lord had made so many people bow at his feet or cower in their homes, but Theo had never met him in person, and so all he has is Evans' example to draw from. And not a single witch or wizard whom Theo's ever met could compare.

Has Evans just been hiding himself? Maybe his family hid him before they deemed him ready to face the rest of the world, and he's certainly proven that he can hide it when he wants to. But what kind of family can bring up this kind of wizard? Evans is only fourteen. None of them had thought him anything special before he'd revealed exactly how wrong they were. And he probably wouldn't have done even that much if Malfoy hadn't immediately taken a go at him, always so obsessed with making sure everyone knows he sits at the top of the food chain.

Well, he certainly doesn't anymore, and if Theo hadn't been caught up in the confrontation last night just like everyone else, he would've been tempted to applaud the spectacle of Malfoy being taken down a peg or ten. Before Evans' arrival, Theo was the one Malfoy liked to take jabs at every few days, and it was only partly because he'd had a halfblood mother. The Notts could've been said to be respectably rich once upon a time, but after the war had ended, with his father's political clout being almost nonexistent and most of their extended relatives either dead or in Azkaban, they'd been easy pickings for the Aurors. His father had escaped prison time with the Imperius excuse and some bribes, but that hadn't prevented multiple raids on their home and a hefty list of fines that had left their vaults near-depleted. And what little fortune they have left is reserved almost entirely for Theo's father's alchemy obsession that's more often focused on illegal research topics than not, as well as his black market dealings, although neither of those at least is widely known, or who knows if they would even have their ancestral manor left after the Aurors were done with them?

Malfoy loved reminding him of almost every one of those things as often as he could, and the most absurd thing is that - more than being born from a halfblood mother or poverty or loss of prestige - Theo's pretty sure Malfoy's biggest reason for disliking Theo is because Theo had refused to follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle back in first year.

So here they are now, and after three years, Theo had more or less become inured, not to mention it wasn't as if Malfoy only bullied him, or even bullied him the most - nobody could top that list while Potter and Weasley were around to fight for first place on it - but it had still been annoying and stressful because Theo was the only one who had to share a dorm with him. Considering the Malfoys' standing in society however, all he could ever do was stay silent and bear with it.

Admittedly, he'd been a little happy when Evans had been sorted into Slytherin, because between Theo and an unknown halfblood-at-best with no allies and no significant family background to speak of, the perfect prey in every way, Malfoy would definitely enjoy targeting the latter more, and even if the blond ponce still came after Theo, it would at least take some of the pressure off of him.

Now… well. That will still probably pick back up sooner or later, but Theo resents it less when he thinks about how it will take at least a few weeks before Malfoy will be able to strut around again after last night's humiliation. And also…

He thinks again of last night, of how Evans had basically smacked Malfoy down like he was nothing more than an unruly upstart getting above himself, and of that quiet oath too - I have no betters - and it hadn't even been pride or arrogance or superiority, only stone-cold certain fact.

He thinks of the fear he'd felt, but behind that, beneath that, more than that, there had also been nothing less than a breathless, heady, wondrous sense of reverence that had settled itself behind his ribcage, in his lungs, in the sudden hungry swell of curiosity that he'd just barely managed to lock behind his teeth, and it had only grown stronger after a night of fitful sleep.

He wants to see that magic again. He wants to know what else Evans can do.

And most importantly, he wants to know if he can do it too.

-0-

Ten minutes later, Theo hears Evans pull his bed curtains back. Very cautiously, he twitches his own curtains open half an inch to watch Evans get up, stretching languidly and scrubbing a hand through his messy black hair before gathering up his toiletries and a change of clothes. Like this, he looks completely normal, nothing at all like someone who could flatten all five of his roommates with a thoughtless flex of his magic. Even his eyes are just green now, no longer glowing like the light of a Killing Curse.

Of course, then Evans waves a hand at his window curtains, which obediently sweep open in response, and… yes, why not? Wandless magic seems par for the course for Evans, even if Theo has only ever heard of a handful of seventh-years capable of some very basic wandless spells if they concentrate hard enough.

Evans leaves for the bathroom as if casual uses of wandless magic is an everyday occurrence for him, and only after the door has closed does Theo let himself relax.

Evans had never even glanced over, but somehow, Theo thinks the other boy had known he was being watched anyway. But he'd said nothing, hadn't even given any indication that he'd noticed, let alone minded. Theo still isn't sure why he'd let Malfoy off so easily yesterday - because on hindsight, when it came down to it, all Evans had really done was scare them and scare Malfoy most of all; despite the verbal abuse and even the Dark charm Malfoy had shot at him, Evans hadn't actually hurt any of them in return - and Theo doesn't get it but maybe part of it is just because Evans doesn't take offence easily.

It seems unwise to Theo to not at least dole out some injuries as a reminder when that offence had been as insolent as Malfoy's, but perhaps Evans has his own measure of such things. Besides, Malfoy's known to say worse. Theo's looking forward to what happens if Malfoy forgets himself and says something even more loathsome. It's not impossible. Malfoy has been unchallenged since he came to Hogwarts. He's used to saying and doing whatever he wants, even to the upper years and those outside his own House. Most people ignore him when they can and indulge him when they can't, or otherwise manage or placate him with their own methods, but the one thing no one has ever done is tell him no, tell him to stop and make it stick. Potter and Weasley tend to give as good as they get, what with how short their tempers are, but they're louder and more obvious about it, so they get caught more often, which just makes them even angrier, so it never actually feels like they win, even when Malfoy doesn't either. Certainly, no amount of lectures or point loss has managed to deflate his ego.

But now there's Hadrian Evans. Theo doesn't need a second demonstration to know that Malfoy is outclassed in every way, but funnily enough, Malfoy himself might need it.

Theo eyes the bathroom door for a moment longer before finally getting up himself. He's barely set his feet on the rug before Blaise - in the bed on Theo's other side - also whips open his curtains, looking far more alert than he ever has this early in the morning.

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence. And then - because he isn't sure if the other three boys in the room are awake yet - Theo pitches his voice even lower than usual and says, "He said Malfoy spoke for us."

Blaise blinks twice, and then something like distaste curves up at one corner of his mouth. "I heard."

Theo nods. They're on the same page then. Neither of them is particularly keen on this opinion that Evans has regrettably formed, Theo because of obvious reasons, and Blaise because he's Blaise.

Blaise has always been strange. He's the type who gets along with everyone and gets along with no one. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone - biased Gryffindors aside - who would say a bad word about him, but they'd probably have to think a while if you asked them to describe something of personal significance about him too. It's not that he's average - he's never failed a class, and he's especially good at Potions - but for all that he can carry a conversation in a way that makes everyone feel comfortable and included, and he could probably talk rings around a politician without making them feel stupid, he also never lets anyone close enough to actually get to know him. He's approachable, but only when he wants you to approach him. He's generous with his smiles, but sometimes, it feels a little like he's laughing at you. He might say something condescending or spiteful to you one day, but he has the kind of charisma that makes you forget that the very next. People might call him friend and invite him over for a chat or a game of chess, but most don't make any attempts to go beyond that. And if you know what to look for, as Theo has learned to do, you would realize - Blaise views the world like it's one big boring joke, and his estimation of most of the people in it is probably somewhere around the level of dancing clowns.

Theo doesn't mind. The two of them aren't friends either. They're also not enemies though, and occasionally, they can be allies, but only when Blaise feels like it. Sometimes, the other boy will distract Malfoy from messing up Theo's potion in class or launching yet another diatribe on all of Theo's deficiencies, but Theo will never ask him to because he has nothing to repay Blaise with.

It works for them. Blaise does what Blaise wants, and even Malfoy can't control him. Theo is secretly envious of that— with the Zabinis' seat of power in Italy, it means they don't have that much clout in Britain, and yet nobody messes with Blaise, not even the few who don't buy into Blaise's charm or simply hate him because he's a Slytherin. Not even Malfoy messes with him, and even Theo can't tell if it's Malfoy's self-preservation instincts kicking in to ensure that he isn't about to go insulting someone with a black widow mother like Blaise's, or if Malfoy genuinely hasn't noticed that Blaise doesn't respect him at all no matter how pleasant his words can be. Honestly, when it comes to Malfoy, there's a decent chance of either option being true.

With all that in mind though, it's not a surprise that Blaise isn't pleased with being slotted in as one of Malfoy's lackeys, especially by someone as impressive - or, as Blaise might put it, entertaining - as Hadrian Evans has swiftly proved himself to be.

"It's fine," Blaise says next, rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. He's already regained his typical lazy slouch, as if he hadn't been just as terrified as the rest of them last night. His eyes slide to the bathroom, then away, unreadable but more focused than Theo's ever seen them. "We live in the same dorm, and we'll attend at least most of the same classes. He'll see soon enough that we don't share the same opinions as Malfoy."

Theo watches him dig into his wardrobe. "And then?"

"Then?" Blaise tips a more familiar look of knowing amusement at him. "Then you do what you want, and I'll do what I want, and at the very least, we'll have the good sense to not throw ourselves straight onto a hippogriff's talons like dear Draco."

Theo smothers a snort and rises to his feet. Neither he nor Blaise take Care of Magical Creatures, but everybody had heard of Malfoy's idiocy last year. The phrase "my father will hear about this!" had reached a record high by winter's end. Not much had come of it, not when Hagrid had had the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore championing him. Even Lucius Malfoy would - and had, more than once over the years - find it difficult to contend with the British wizarding world's vaunted war heroes when they join forces. In the end, Hagrid could continue teaching so long as he did it alongside a second professor hired by the school, and even the hippogriff got to live. Malfoy had not been happy, and he'd made sure everybody knew it too, but at least he'd also whined less about it once Slytherin House had learned to snigger about it where he wouldn't hear.

But 'throwing oneself onto a hippogriff's talons' had become rather popular vernacular ever since, subtle enough that even Malfoy couldn't call anyone out on using it without embarrassing himself, but funny to everyone who understood, and nobody could even say who'd started the phrase. Theo's money would be on Blaise though.

The bathroom is spelled so that nobody outside can hear anything when the door is shut, but they can hear the lock click open just fine, and almost in tandem, he and Blaise both immerse themselves in picking out their outfits for the day as if it's a task that requires every last bit of their attention.

Evans walks out. True to his word, he ignores them completely, neither greeting them nor sparing them a glance as he moves back to his section of the dorm. Theo watches him out of the corner of his eye as the boy folds his pyjamas away before proceeding to pack his bag. He catches a glimpse of an Ancient Runes textbook, and his mind abruptly flashes back to the quill. But… that can't be right.

Evans shuts his bag, pulls on his robes, and toes on his shoes. Like this, there's something vaguely familiar about him that Theo can't place right away, and the thought is gone again as Evans slings his bag over his shoulder and strides for the door.

He still doesn't look at any of them, and he's gone from the room a moment later. They might as well have been empty air.

Theo's fingers tighten around the shirt he's holding. Somehow, he-

-doesn't like it.

-0-

Malfoy gets up two minutes after Evans is gone, moving around with an exaggeratedly unaffected sort of poise that makes Theo want to roll his eyes. At least the blond doesn't try to make conversation until Crabbe and Goyle wake up as well.

Evans aside, Theo is the first out of the room, as per usual, although this time, Blaise accompanies him up to the common room and out of the Dungeon. It takes no time at all to arrive at the Great Hall, and this early, most of the four House tables are still empty of students, although more and more are gradually drifting in in groups of threes and fours.

Unlike the other Houses who like cramming into whatever space they see, Slytherins are more political about it. The end seats are left to the outcasts or first-years who don't know better yet, while the midway point of the table is typically reserved for the most influential students, such as those with the best grades or the largest range of social connections or the strongest family background, or some combination of the three. And everybody else arranges themselves between the two extremes accordingly. The only time that changes - from what Theo has heard - is when someone is so magically powerful that they can overwhelm everyone else. Then it doesn't matter what grades or connections or background they have because magic is respected most of all, although they would usually have some qualifications in those other areas. But either way, they would be given reigning place of pride in the middle with their chosen followers around them, and everybody else would sit where they're told to sit, regardless of their accomplishments.

Someone like that hasn't come along in fifty years though, not since the Dark Lord was still at Hogwarts.

So it's jarring to see Evans seated at the very end, furthest away from the High Table, with a book open in front of him and a steaming mug in one hand, but Theo supposes it shouldn't be. He's newly transferred in, and a halfblood besides, so he probably doesn't know about the traditional seating arrangement, and since it's still just the second day of school, it's not as if anybody else outside their dorm knows that Evans is anything but the unfortunate fourth-year with a muggle surname sorted into Slytherin, so he really can be considered an outcast.

Theo exchanges a look with Blaise before tentatively taking a seat at their usual spot a few feet away from the halfway point of the table. It doesn't feel right to… go over Evans' head like this, but it's not like they can really do anything about it at the moment. Theo in particular is technically sitting above his station, but his family is still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter how far it's fallen, and he gets decent grades in almost every class. He's also on friendly terms with Blaise, and the fact that he shares a dorm with Malfoy is a double-edged sword. Malfoy has the status to sit near the middle ever since he was a first-year, and it wouldn't look very good for him if he's seen completely spurning a Nott in his generation. So Theo is largely left alone so long as he looks like he's nominally part of Malfoy's group during mealtimes.

Theo spends the next five minutes sneaking sidelong glances down the table. Blaise does the same, and neither of them is obvious about it so nobody comes up to ask them any questions. Other Slytherins begin filing in, and more than one wrinkles their nose or sneers when they pass Evans, as if they've smelled something repulsive.

Theo has to make an effort not to wince every time it happens. Blaise watches with a shallow smirk hitched across his face and something cold and callous and thoroughly amused in his eyes.

By the time Malfoy - with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him - sits down across from them, about half the table is full, plates of breakfast have started appearing, and Evans still hasn't looked up from his reading.

Malfoy - much less subtle - shoots something sulky and resentful with just a dash of fear down the table and mutters, "Doesn't even know how to sit properly."

Theo really does roll his eyes this time, although he makes sure to do it down at his scone. Before anyone can say anything else though, Evans unexpectedly straightens, his attention finally lifting from his book. Malfoy immediately stiffens as well like he thinks Evans had heard him from all the way down the table, which Theo wouldn't put past Evans's ability but also doesn't think that Evans thinks that Malfoy is worth that effort to eavesdrop on.

Evans looks around, but not at any of the Slytherins. He cranes his head over one shoulder, seems to catch sight of whatever he's looking for, and gets up, shutting his book and tossing it back in his bag. Then he's making his way across the Hall, past the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, straight over to the Gryffindor table that's only partially filled at the moment but is also hosting the Golden Trio, who had just come down for breakfast.

Evans stops a few feet away, and Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger turn to face him. What Theo can see of their expressions indicate that they're surprised and a little wary, but they also seem like they know each other. They converse about something, Weasley makes some exaggerated hand gestures, Granger smacks him, and then Evans says something else that makes the Gryffindors burst into laughter, startled but bright.

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

Longbottom and Granger are smiling, and even Weasley - with his hatred for everything Slytherin - seems fine with it, going back to plating more food for himself while passing some sausages over to Evans.

In Theo's peripheral, Malfoy's face has lost so much colour that he could pass for a ghost. Theo can't tell if he's just that offended or if he's actually managed to comprehend the fact that he's already alienated possibly the most magically powerful student at Hogwarts from Slytherin House, to the point where that student doesn't even want to eat at the same table as them, and classes haven't even started yet.

Theo can't tell, nor does he care, but if he'd ever needed any more reasons to despise Draco Malfoy, this would be it.

He averts his gaze from Evans, even if the mere thought of him preferring a bunch of Gryffindors - and those Gryffindors at that; the only ones worse would be Potter's lot - over his own House is… grating. But staring isn't going to win Theo any favours and might just tick Evans off. Besides, there are plenty of others who have noticed a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, and they're staring enough for ten of him.

He starts on his breakfast. School has just begun. There's plenty more time in the future to observe Hadrian Evans.

-0-0-0-

Within the space of a week, Theo is cautiously pleased to find that he shares all nine classes with Evans. The core subjects are mandatory of course, but in addition to Ancient Runes, Evans also takes Arithmancy, both of which Theo is also studying, and after three weeks, he gets a slightly more detailed picture of what Evans is capable of.

In class, Evans doesn't stand out, or at least not in a way most people would notice. He doesn't take the initiative to answer questions posed by the teachers, and his spells and potions aren't particularly dazzling when they're assigned practical classwork.

But every time a professor calls on him, Evans always answers correctly. Every time they have to practice a new spell, Evans doesn't clamour to be the first to show off, and he isn't the one who produces it with the most eye-catching burst of magic, but when he's asked to show his progress, he always does it exactly the way the teacher demonstrated it at the beginning of class. Even in Potions, all he does is work discreetly in the back corner on the Slytherin side of the room. He never finishes early, but he also never finishes late, never failing to turn in a textbook-perfect potion ten minutes before class ends, and a couple times, Theo catches Snape watching Evans with an inscrutable expression after the boy quietly hands in yet another flawless potion.

After three weeks, Theo can conclude that while Evans doesn't deliberately dumb himself down, and in fact is performing spectacularly across the board, he does it in such a reserved, inconspicuous manner that even most of the professors probably aren't going to notice until they've graded a good few months' worth of homework and tests.

He does it for every subject. Every single one, except Ancient Runes, and Theo is convinced that that's less because Evans didn't try, and more that… well, some brilliance just can't be hidden.

In the third week, when Babbling hands back their first assignment - Acceptables and Poors all around of course; some days, Theo isn't sure if he wants to strangle Babbling or himself, just to put himself out of the misery that is attempting to understand anything their Runes professor says - she holds Evans back at the end of class, and half the students snicker like they think he's in trouble or did so badly that even Babbling can't stand it, and it's the best joke they've ever seen. But two days later, some papers that Evans has left out on his desk while he's off doing something else, probably with his Gryffindor buddies, catch Theo's eye while he's on his way to his own desk. More specifically, the symbol of the Department of Magical Education stamped on them catches Theo's eye, and after some very hasty and very undignified neck-straining and squinting from a prudent five feet away, he more or less understands.

Babbling hadn't held Evans back because he was doing badly. Babbling had held him back because he was doing so good he would be sitting his Ancient Runes O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams on the twenty-third of October.

Three minutes after that revelation, Theo's still sitting somewhat dazed in his chair when Malfoy returns, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. The blond also spots the papers on Evans' desk and - after suffering day after day of, in Malfoy's increasingly belligerent opinion, being disgraced by Evans due to all the time he was spending with Gryffindors, and even three of the ones Malfoy hates most - practically lights up with a malicious sort of glee at the opportunity to get a little revenge.

He seems to have already forgotten that first night's lesson, and it hasn't even been a month yet. Sometimes, Theo is honestly baffled by Malfoy's Sorting into Slytherin. What ambition is there in a boy whose solution to everything in life is to fall back on his father and surname and family money? What cunning is there to speak of when he so often acts without even considering the option of leaving himself a way out, just in case his taunts and schemes backfire on him one day?

Or perhaps the real mystery is how he's managed to go this long without anyone telling him that the world won't always bend to his demands.

"O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?" Malfoy says loudly as he wanders over to read the papers. He scoffs. "No matter how much magic he has, there's no way that's possible. He's just a fourth-year. And a halfblood! I bet he paid Babbling to sign him up for them. Everybody knows she's not all there so Evans wouldn't even have to pay her a lot to persuade her."

Theo flicks a glance at Blaise, who'd brought up the rear, a few seconds behind Malfoy, and had entered on near-inaudible footsteps in time to witness this latest snowballing disaster. The taller boy's lip curls, and his next words come out in such a nonchalant drawl that it takes a moment for Malfoy to register the bite of them, "Why would he do that though? He's not you."

Malfoy flushes an unflattering shade of red. "Zabini! That's not funny!"

Blaise's insults are always taken as jokes. Theo thinks that's the only way Malfoy can weather them, because he doesn't truly dare to cross Blaise, so even if he does know better, he still has to feign ignorance.

"It can't be possible," Malfoy repeats, turning back to the papers. "Otherwise, why hasn't he said anything about it? If it were me, I'd let everyone know! Obviously, he knows he'll fail, so he doesn't dare to spread it around."

Theo tries to wrap his mind around that logic, fails, and gives it up as a bad job.

"Then, why is he taking them?" Crabbe suddenly pipes up, blinking with a befuddled air in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Obviously, Crabbe, it's to impress the Boy Who Lived. You've seen how Evans is constantly fawning over Longbottom." And there's the jealousy leaking into his voice even as it strengthens as if he's gaining confidence in his conjecture the longer he speaks. "He's still just a vulgar halfblood with subpar upbringing after all. He needs political connections if he wants to make anything of himself in our world. And Longbottom's a soft touch, and an idiot besides at everything that isn't digging in the dirt. Just trying to take the exams is probably enough to make him think Evans is a genius."

He takes another step forward, almost hovering over the desk now, childish spite tarnishing his features. "Let's see what the rest of Slytherin thinks of this. We are in the same House so Evans should look for support from real purebloods. I'll help him out."

Malfoy reaches out, and Theo goes still, staring, avid and unblinking.

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

Malfoy's hand lands on the papers, and it's as if a miniature explosion takes place. There's no warning as the desk ignites with enough interlocked, interwoven, bloody intricate runes to send anyone reeling. It blankets the entire desk in layers of circles and lines and eye-watering spirals, before even those disappear in a blaze of brilliant silver light that pulses once before bursting outward and knocking Malfoy clean off his feet.

Malfoy screams as he's sent flying across the room in a tangle of flailing limbs and flapping robes. Coincidentally - or not? - he lands on his bed in a graceless upside-down heap, the bag he's still wearing smacks him in the face, and the momentum tumbles him straight over the far side of his bed and onto the floor with a final muffled thump that cuts Malfoy's shriek to a yelp.

The light disappears, along with the runes. The room goes eerily quiet, and for a long moment, nobody moves.

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

It's enough to snap Malfoy out of his stupor. The blond scrambles to right himself, pushing to his feet, fury and humiliation writ large across his face as he opens his mouth to shout, "Shut up, Zabini! Wait until my father hears about this! Evans will regret-"

There's a clatter. The door opens.

Malfoy shuts up so fast Theo wouldn't be surprised if he bit his tongue.

Evans steps inside, and then stops. He looks around, looks at his desk, looks at a still dishevelled and increasingly pallid Malfoy, and then he shuts the door behind him and heaves a very deep sigh.

"Seriously?" He asks in rhetorical tones. "I just went to borrow a library book. I couldn't have been gone for more than thirty minutes."

Nobody says anything. Evans sighs again before striding over to his desk. He raises a hand and combs his fingers through the air— or perhaps something only he could see, and that's proven correct as a runic array shimmers into existence, swirling together before reshaping itself into-

-a memory.

Specifically, it's a replay of everything Malfoy had said and done as soon as he'd gotten within three feet of Evans' belongings, complete with sound and colour. It's basically a pensieve without the pensieve or the removal of memories to supply it.

Theo wants so badly that his teeth ache with the leashed desire to ask a million questions immediately.

Patience, he reminds himself.

"Hm," Evans says once the memory's run its course, and the runes wisp away once more. Theo is both surprised and not when the other boy proceeds to pull out his chair, sit down, and dig out his library book, clearly intent to continue his work.

Behind him, Malfoy seethes, and before he can think better of it, or he simply doesn't think, he barks out, "Do you think you can treat me this way, Evans? Do you know who my father is? When I tell him about this-"

"Tell him then," Evans interjects, leaning back to slant a cool look at Malfoy. "Tell him you tried to steal my things, and my wards tossed you onto your bed, and the only thing it really bruised was your ego. Or you can lie and make up something that would make you more of a victim, and big bad mudblood Hadrian Evans bullied you terribly. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?" He huffs a laugh, and as far as Theo can tell, the thread of mirth that laces the sound is astonishingly sincere. "Malfoy, I don't actually care. I don't need Hogwarts."

He really doesn't. Worse comes to worst, which other school would be daft enough to not scoop him up if they see what he can do with runes? And that's not even getting into everything else he can do. Any school would accept him in a heartbeat and then laugh themselves to tears if Lucius Malfoy actually managed to get him ejected from Britain's sphere of influence on some trumped up charges just because his son went crying to him. Besides, since Evans had been previously homeschooled, he could always just return to that as well.

Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it, and he does that a couple times, eyes wide in his face like he's never met anyone who has stonewalled him this way, who has challenged his authority so directly, more than once, and yet remains utterly unintimidated and untouchable.

Evidently, he never has.

Evans regards him for a few seconds more before sighing once more. "I thought I was clear enough that first night, but apparently not. When I say 'attack', I don't just mean with a wand. All my things are off-limits unless I say otherwise, so if I were you, I would keep my hands to myself. You don't want to know what my wards will do to you if they sense intentions worse than just petty theft. I hope you won't forget again."

He holds Malfoy's faltering gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his books and papers. Malfoy stumbles back a step as if he's been physically released, and he looks like he wants to pitch a temper tantrum but also doesn't dare. In the end, he storms out of the room without even straightening his robes or smoothing back his hair, and nobody tries to stop him or go after him, not even Crabbe or Goyle, who've both retreated to their beds, shoulders hunched, almost bowed, angled almost in Evans' direction.

Evans is already poring over his library book though, quill in one hand, inkwell set out, fresh parchment beside it. It's clear he's done interacting with the lot of them.

Theo almost lets it go, as he has every other time he wants to speak to Evans, to ask him questions, to know. He's already biting his tongue and swallowing down the words and opening his bag to fish out his homework.

Except-

It's been three weeks. Theo can be patient when he has to be, but more and more, it's… starting to feel like he doesn't have to be. He's had an entire childhood's worth of practice at dissecting emotions, at looking at a person's face and words and actions and taking all of them into account to figure out how they really feel, if they're angry at him or upset with him, if they're about to lash out even when they're smiling, or if there's still time to appease them even if they look like they're about to go for their wand.

Evans is harder to read than most, but at the very least, Theo can tell that he doesn't get angry often. In fact, there's only ever been that one time, that first night, and even for most of that incident, Evans had only acted to secure his own safety in their dorm once it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise. None of it had been driven by rage, not even when he'd nearly drowned them in the undertow of his magic over that particular handful of words Malfoy had jeered at him. And ever since then, Evans hasn't done anything except go about his business while ignoring theirs. That went for the rest of Slytherin too, and even some students in other Houses who don't like the fact that he's a Slytherin. Sometimes, they make snide remarks, usually behind his back, sometimes within his hearing range, and to a man, every student in their House has openly shunned him since he went to sit with the Golden Trio that first breakfast, but Evans has never given them a second glance, or really even a first glance, not out of anger or embarrassment or distress, and certainly not out of any desire for them to accept him, which just seems to offend them even more. But Evans is simply… indifferent to it all.

Most importantly, as much as Theo has been able to conclude, Evans isn't prone to violence. He always seems calm and easygoing when he's with the Golden Trio, and quiet the rest of the time. And from the very beginning, he's never done anything to harm any fellow Slytherins, not even Malfoy. Even his wards seem to have some kind of function worked into them that would rate the level of threat first and only respond with the same degree of damage.

Actually, not the same— if Malfoy had been caught taking another Slytherin's documents without permission, important or not, it wouldn't be too much even if they cursed his hands in return. They probably wouldn't, because it's Malfoy, and people are used to being more lenient with him, but normally, even Malfoy wouldn't do something that gauche anyway. No matter how much they've spoiled him, his parents have at least taught him pureblood etiquette. He's never even tried to rifle through Theo's belongings.

Admittedly, Theo had committed a slight faux pas as well when his curiosity had prompted him to read those Ministry forms, even if they were laid out on Evans' desk - unintentionally seeing them in passing was fine but the polite thing to do would've been to keep walking - but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to get too close, let alone put a single finger on them. Malfoy really only has his own poor impulse control to blame for going too far yet again, and Theo has every right to judge him for it.

Although since it was Evans, Malfoy had probably categorized him as someone who doesn't deserve a pureblood's courtesy.

Even then though, Evans hadn't retaliated with anything more than the ward equivalent of a watered down Knockback Jinx, which is basically a common prank amongst rowdier students. Malfoy's pride had - once again - been hurt, but nothing else, even when it would've been Evans' right. And he hadn't gotten angry this time either.

Of course, Theo isn't foolish enough to think Evans isn't capable of violence when he wants to be. If he's pushed far enough, Theo is certain that the other boy could and would inflict some significant damage that would at least end with a visit to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was his magic, the relentless weight of it that said it wouldn't hesitate to crush them if they proved themselves a real threat. Or perhaps it was Evans himself, who looks at Malfoy after each stunt like he's putting up with a recalcitrant child that he has to go easy on because said child is too young to know better, except the detachment in his gaze also says that he's weighing Malfoy's age on a scale and waiting for the day his youth will no longer be able to compensate for his actions.

Frankly, Theo hopes that day will come soon. But that's his pettiness talking, and Malfoy in general is none of his concern. What Theo really wants is to learn all those things for himself. Well, not all, he's more than self-aware enough to know he's nowhere near as powerful as Evans, but some of those things - the spellwork, the runes - surely those things can be taught to others even if they don't have incredible amounts of magic? Even if it's slow-going and difficult, Theo isn't afraid to work for it.

So long as he learns even just a little of what Evans knows - and he clearly knows so much, knows the things that can actually be useful in real life - then perhaps, one day, maybe even before he graduates Hogwarts… escaping his father won't be a fool's hope anymore. And if there's a chance that he can do that, then no matter how exorbitant the price Evans names, Theo would be willing to pay it, even if it takes him the rest of his life to honour the debt.

But nothing's going to happen if they're not even on speaking terms. It's been three weeks. Already three weeks. Only three weeks. Maybe it really is still too soon, but at the very least, Theo doesn't think Evans will do anything worse than say no.

At his back, he can feel Blaise's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around.

"Is that-" His voice doesn't crack, thankfully, but it comes out croakier than normal, giving away his nervousness. He bites back the urge to hex himself and tries again. "Is that taught by the time we graduate?"

Evans… doesn't react, doesn't even look up. For several tense and increasingly awkward seconds, Theo thinks maybe the other boy will just continue ignoring him, or maybe he even thinks Theo is speaking to one of the others, not him.

But then he writes something down and flips a page of his book, and then he raises his head and shifts away from his desk to face Theo.

It's a little daunting, to suddenly have that piercing bright green regard aimed straight at him, but there's also no hostility that Theo can see, and that settles some of his nerves.

Evans looks at him, then frowns, then asks in return, blunt, but amazingly, willingly enough, "You mean the wards?"

Theo nods carefully, making sure he doesn't look too eager or too demanding. Masters of their trades are always rightfully reticent about their knowledge and skills to anyone who isn't their own mentor or apprentice, unless they're a teacher. Evans may not be a master signed and sealed and authorized to practice, but nobody who can write the exams at fourteen can be considered an amateur.

Evans shrugs. "I haven't exactly flipped through the Ancient Runes syllabus of every year so I can't really say. If it continues at the same pace as third-year and fourth-year though, then probably not. You'd maybe get to the point of basic wards, but not much more than that. Compound wards like these-" He raps his knuckles against his own desk. "-put crudely, requires the use of runic coils to weave together multiple basic arrays, on multiple levels, in varying sequential order depending on how multifaceted you want the wards to be. It's not that difficult once you start getting some practice in, but from what I hear, you guys don't even begin practical work until after your O.W.L., which… I don't really get, but maybe Hogwarts is big on theoretical learning. But yeah, at that rate, I don't see how you could be constructing something like this by graduation."

Theo's head is spinning. He didn't understand… anything in that summary except perhaps a general idea of "basic arrays". It's rare for him to feel so stupid.

Evans is still watching him, and he doesn't seem impatient for their exchange to be over, or irritated that it's taking place at all. He looks like he's waiting for Theo to reply, so Theo hurries on to keep the conversation afloat.

"So you didn't learn Runes following the Hogwarts curriculum when you were homeschooled," He surmises. "Does that mean the standards here fall short of the international schools?"

It wouldn't be the first time. Britain's educational requirements have been growing more and more lenient for years. Correspondingly, their elective options have also been reduced to four due to budget cuts and lack of interest in anything harder than petting animals and making up death predictions. Every year, more second-years choose to sign up for Care and Divination than they do Arithmancy or Runes. It's one reason why the number of incoming students has been gradually declining and consists of more muggleborns than purebloods. Foreign schools are strict about accepting any children outside of their designated countries, but those in Great Britain and Ireland who want better for their kids and can afford the higher prices tend to prefer sending them to one international school or another instead of Hogwarts.

But Evans shakes his head. "I wouldn't know that either. I didn't really follow any official curriculum when I was learning." He pauses a beat, like he's thinking about how much to reveal, or even why he's revealing anything, but then he seems to decide it doesn't much matter. "The person who taught me was a bit… unconventional about it. He was a very good teacher, but he wasn't actually a teacher with the degree and whatever else you need to be a Ministry-approved professor, so he didn't really care about following some checklist of what a student attending a magical school was supposed to learn. Plus he was kind of a genius at runes. Ward-cracking and disassembly in particular since that's what he majored in - he was a Curse-Breaker - but he was pretty good at almost everything else too, which meant he found the basic stuff pretty boring. So when he taught me, and he realized I didn't have any trouble getting the foundations down, and I could mostly keep up even when he skipped ahead to more advanced stuff, he basically ended up just jumping between the subjects he liked most, filled in any gaps along the way, and gave me free rein to research whatever I found interesting. And whatever topic I picked was the one he lectured on, or helped me look up if it was one of the few areas he didn't know much about."

His expression turns wry, if only for a moment. "Apparently though, according to Babbling, that means there's nothing left for Hogwarts to teach me. But I don't know how I would compare to students in other schools."

He finishes and falls silent. It's the most he's said since that first night, and it's clear as day that whoever this Curse-Breaker tutor was, Evans respects him a great deal, great enough to ramble on about him to a roomful of near-strangers, and considering what he'd had a hand in molding Evans into, he deserves every bit of that respect too.

Theo envies it. He is oft a creature of envy, and it hollows him out a little more every time it rears its head, but he's resigned to it. He wonders why Hogwarts can't have a teacher like Evans' instead of the whimsical mess that is Babbling, who can never get through a single class without her train of thought wandering away like an untrained dog off its leash.

"Then," Theo continues, carefully neutral, carefully watching for any signs of displeasure on Evans' face. "Once you pass your exams, will you simply have an extra study period slot? Or will you be required to attend another elective?"

Evans blinks at him. "The first, I think. I might see if it's possible to take an owl-distance university course or something, but spare time in my day isn't bad either."

"Then," Theo forges on, watching as Evans's mouth twists a little, like he knows that this is what Theo has been aiming for from the beginning. Theo can't tell if he disapproves though - he doesn't think so - and it's too late to divert his course anyway. "What do you think about tutoring?"

Evans cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything for several anxiety-inducing seconds, just scrutinizing Theo with a face blank enough to rival Snape's when he bothers to stop sneering. The quill in Evans' hand taps-taps-taps against his desk before the boy swings around in his chair completely to face Theo.

"Tutoring," He repeats. "You want me to tutor you in Ancient Runes?"

And at least he doesn't sound derisive, nor does he put any particular emphasis on any part of that question. It does make it harder for Theo to gauge how he should respond though.

"Yes," He confirms, because straightforward seems to be what Evans prefers. He thinks, briefly, of including Blaise, but he doesn't actually know if Blaise would like tutoring as well, and even if he does, Blaise can ask for himself. Theo isn't that charitable, and Blaise might even take offense if he tries to be.

"I can compensate you for your time," He adds, because he's poor by pureblood standards, but not so poor that he can't afford decent education, especially with the nest egg he's been secretly building on the side since he turned eight and realized his inheritance was only going to get smaller at the rate his father was drawing from it for his… extracurriculars. His seven years at Hogwarts at least have already been paid for, robes and supplies and even some pocket money included, because even Silas Nott isn't going to let his son go into public at even more of a disadvantage than he already is. So as long as Evans doesn't ask for a huge sum of money, or even if he does, and he's willing to take part of that payment in favours, then Theo should have enough from his own funds to cover the cost.

Evans leans back in his seat and doesn't say anything about payment. Instead, he looks almost puzzled as he asks, "Why do you need tutoring though? Even if you want to learn stuff like this," He motions at his desk. "I wouldn't be able to even start teaching you how until you got at least the basics down, and that's what Hogwarts teaches, so is there any point in getting more of the same lessons from me?"

For a moment, even Theo can't come up with a way to say 'yes, because Babbling can't teach worth a damn, and I don't actually know how I passed last year but I definitely won't this year with the way her lectures keep getting lost somewhere between class and Atlantis every bloody week' but in more polite terms, if only because Evans might not appreciate anyone badmouthing her since she's obviously the one vouching for Evans' qualifications in order to let him take his exams so early.

Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

"Have you seen the way Babbling teaches?" The other boy enquires in his usual lackadaisical tone, just aggrieved enough to sound invested, but mild enough to leech the provocation out of it. It also gives Blaise a foot in through the door, drawing Evans' attention to him without making it seem as if he's interrupting.

Theo glances behind him at where Blaise is now lounging in his own desk chair, emptying his bag of textbooks and papers even as he glances over to meet Evans' gaze, and his expression has eased into an invitation to commiserate over Babbling's questionable teaching methods. All of it is designed to look casual and cordial, to keep this fragile first exchange lighthearted, if also full of a resigned sort of exasperation, funnelled together in order to lower Evans' guard.

And it seems to work too, like it does with everyone Blaise turns his charms on. At the very least, the way Evans' mouth quirks in response looks reflexive enough to be genuine.

"That's fair," Evans concedes, a wry sort of humour suffusing his voice. "She's not the best at… staying on topic."

Theo has to suppress a snort, but something of it must show on his face anyway because Evans' eyes snap back to him, and a moment later, a quicksilver grin flits across the other's face, bright in a way that lights up his whole face, and perhaps Blaise will have to try harder after all because Theo realizes that this is what genuine looks like on Evans.

"Okay, I get why you might want a tutor," Evans acknowledges. "But isn't there anyone better for that?"

Theo blinks at him. "Better than someone who's ready to take his exams in a month?"

Evans' eyebrows go up briefly, and something in his eyes sharpens. "No. Better than someone who's a halfblood orphan in Slytherin, stuck in a one-sided grudge-match with a pureblood brat who has all the maturity of a toddler and isn't going to be very happy if his friend starts hanging around the guy he wants to curse into the Hospital Wing."

Orphan? is Theo's first thought, followed by, I wish Malfoy was around to hear that. But all of it is superseded by a defiance that bursts out of him before he can curb it, "We're not friends."

Evans waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Slytherins don't have friends. What I mean is-"

"No," Theo says, wincing internally at how he'd cut Evans off mid-sentence. "I mean, we aren't friends. Normally, we aren't even civil acquaintances most days."

Evans eyes him for a long moment like he can hear all the things Theo isn't saying. Theo's pretty sure Evans doesn't know about his family's circumstances - How would he? Why would he even care to look it up? - but he seems to be able to glean at least the gist of it in a single glance because he seems to accept it easily enough, and the next thing he says is, "Alright, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still not going to be happy about it."

"Good," Theo says, once again before he can stop himself, and with more relish than he should convey. Even if he's often thought that anything that made Malfoy unhappy was a good thing, he's certainly never expressed it out loud. He doesn't know what's come over him, only that there's something about the way Evans is watching him, patient and without judgement, that makes him… bolder than he normally would be.

And since he's already opened his mouth, he might as well keep going.

"So long as you're willing, I don't mind what other people might say," Theo says as firmly as he knows how to be. "I need to raise my grades for Ancient Runes before I take my OWLs next year or I'm never going to pass. I would appreciate any tutoring you can spare the time for." He hesitates, but only for a beat. "If you want, in addition to monetary compensation, I can also snub Malfoy at dinner somehow. And you would know it wouldn't just be some show we put on either. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to be humiliated in public, even as a stunt."

It's far more outspoken and far more audacious than Theo is accustomed to being, and he can feel Blaise's eyes on him again. But he gets the impression that if he doesn't put his cards on the table - that he really does want to learn from Evans, that it's his main motivation, even if it isn't the only one - then Evans might think Theo is playing some kind of trick on him, possibly on Malfoy's orders, and that's the last thing Theo wants him to believe.

Besides, this is also an opportunity. Theo had been resigned to living under Malfoy's temperamental rule for the duration of his Hogwarts career. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be doing more of the same as an adult, after all. Considering the difference in their social status, Theo would still have to bow his head, and jump when told to jump, and remain courteously - or at least forbearingly - deferential in front of Malfoy whenever they see each other. At least this more childish version at school is giving him plenty of practice for the future.

But now, there is Hadrian Evans, whose existence no one had expected and no one thus far can control, who isn't afraid of Malfoy, whom Malfoy is afraid of instead, and Theo honestly can't see that changing. Of course, the real world is very different from some squabbles between teenagers, and Theo has only known Evans for less than a month. But… call it instinct. Even if one day the Malfoy family can really make it so that Evans can no longer live well in Britain, Theo gets the sense that the other boy would rather up and move to a different country than ever submit to anyone.

People with inborn power like Evans won't bow. They don't know how to.

And if Theo can get even a fraction of that protection that openly siding with Evans might earn him, then the choice is obvious. He's long known that he isn't powerful enough or ambitious enough or even brave enough to stand on his own. That in order to thrive, or even to simply live a satisfactory life, it would be best to choose someone's shadow to settle in. Preferably, that someone would be willing enough to leave Theo alone most of the time and wouldn't ask too much of him, but he already knows he wouldn't be able to get that from his father or Malfoy.

Then, there's no point clinging to either of them. Before, there had been no other choices, and between his father and Malfoy, Malfoy was the better bet, though it wasn't as if the blond ponce could've gotten him out from under Silas Nott's thumb either. But at least being - loosely - affiliated with Malfoy would, in the future, offer Theo some protection from his father's obsessive tendencies. It wouldn't do for one of Malfoy's circle of acquaintances to disappear under mysterious circumstances after all.

Now there's a new player on the field. Of course, Evans probably doesn't see himself as one, and wouldn't care even if he knew. But that doesn't change the fact that his shadow casts a long and looming line, and somehow, it feels more like a refuge than anyone else's Theo has ever come across. Evans might not be willing to protect him, if only because he would have to make himself known to do so, and if there's one thing Evans has shown over the past few weeks, it's that he much prefers staying in the background. But even if he isn't willing to protect Theo, at the very least, he can teach Theo how to protect himself. So, Theo might as well take his chances with Evans, and the first step in doing that is to make it very clear to all and sundry that he's throwing his lot in with the halfblood Slytherin transfer.

He hadn't quite been prepared to go this far when he'd first decided to speak to Evans today, but doing things by half measures doesn't bode well for him either. Prevaricating or at least being vaguer about his intentions might leave him an extra hand to play, a way to retreat in case associating with Evans becomes too dangerous one day, but no one likes a fence-sitter.

In Slytherin, every decision is a power play, whether it seems like it or not. An insignificant word or action might result in large consequences that aren't always obvious until the waves and ripples have settled. And Theo's never been much of a gambler, preferring safety over potential riches. But the things he can learn from Evans are too tempting to pass over. Put in plain terms, he's technically using Evans as a means to an end, which no one in Slytherin wouldn't approve of, but for a good chunk of this House, Evans' blood would definitely outweigh any usefulness he might have, especially since he hasn't publicly proven himself in any way at all. And the way he spends all his free time with Gryffindors hardly helps.

Still, it's a risk Theo's willing to take. And now the Quaffle is in Evans' hands, and all that's left is to wait for his answer.

Of course, if Evans says no, then Theo can only hope Blaise is feeling magnanimous today and won't go spreading this little story around. Then again, there's Crabbe and Goyle too, and they'll definitely tell Malfoy, so it will get out either way.

Such is Slytherin, where the only shared secret you can trust to remain a secret is when all other parties are dead.

In front of him, Evans only raises his eyebrows for a moment before amusement quirks one corner of his mouth. "Well you don't have to go that far."

Theo can't tell if the other boy understands the implications of publicly cutting ties with Malfoy, but he's relieved to hear it anyway. He'd do it if it's a condition Evans sets, if only to alleviate any concerns Evans might have of being played, but it's not as if he wants to do it. He would happily see Malfoy humiliated any day of the week, but Theo is at heart an introverted person. Open confrontation of any kind will always make him uncomfortable.

Evans studies him for a while longer as if weighing his sincerity. Eventually, he says, "I'm not opposed to tutoring. Actually, I'm already doing that for Hermione every Wednesday and Saturday. Adding one more doesn't make much of a difference. It's just that I don't love tutoring so much that I want to do it more than twice a week. So," He smiles, and this time, his expression is one of a sharp sort of curiosity. "If you want me to tutor you, then you'll have to be okay with Hermione. And I don't just mean tolerating her presence enough to sit at the same table as her. I mean if you say one bad word about her blood, I'll take that as an attack on me and react accordingly. Understand?"

Theo blinks once, twice, digesting that ultimatum with something like disbelief because- "Is that all?" And then, because it couldn't possibly be that easy, he hastily tacks on, "How much would you like to be paid?"

Evans blinks back at him, looking like he's re-evaluating Theo on the spot. Then he makes a dismissive gesture and says, "I'm not short on money. Also I don't make Hermione pay so it wouldn't be fair if I made you pay." He sits back with a finality that starts bringing an end to their conversation. "Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4-6pm in the library. I know we share all the same classes so that shouldn't be a problem for you. Showing up isn't mandatory, you can just come whenever you want, and I'll tutor you in whatever you need help with. My only condition is that you treat Hermione with basic respect. Of course," His mouth twists into a strange smile. "That goes for her too. And her friends if they happen to stop by."

Theo has to suppress a grimace at that, but it's mostly out of reflexive distaste. Even if Weasley starts flinging insults, he's sure he's heard worse than anything a Gryffindor could come up with, and his tolerance is high, so it doesn't much matter whether Evans can prevent it or not. Actually, it's already pretty novel that he would try at all. This is by far the easiest and weirdest deal Theo has ever been offered, which only makes him that much more suspicious, but Evans also adds no other terms, so Theo is forced to conclude that this really is all Evans wants from him.

The sheer unfairness of what each party is bringing to the table is jarring. Does Evans not understand what's happening here or is he seriously willing to offer up his time and knowledge on a silver platter at basically no cost?

Part of Theo wants to ask again, to make sure Evans really doesn't want anything else, but since they've come to this point, even if Evans were to ask for something in the future, Theo would have no obligation to give it. It's admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, to receive so much in exchange for giving back so little when he wasn't even the one manipulating Evans towards this outcome, but at the same time, wouldn't he just be stupid if he keeps pushing the issue? Complaining about not having to spend any money or owe any favours seems rather counterproductive, and even though Theo is willing to pay for a chance like this, that doesn't mean he wants to if he doesn't have to. Of course, he supposes it isn't very honourable of him to not at least insist on some form of compensation, but that's why Theo isn't a Gryffindor.

So then.

"Very well, I agree to your terms," Theo says, letting himself relax a bit more when Evans' expression doesn't change. And because even a Slytherin should acknowledge genuine goodwill, he shoves past his own discomfort and manages, if a bit stiffly, "Thank you, Evans."

Evans makes a face that's something left of embarrassed. "It's just tutoring, you don't have to be so formal. Besides, you're still the one who's going to have to put up with Malfoy pitching a fit once he finds out."

Theo almost shrugs. That's not anything new. He might have to field some curses hurled his way once other Slytherins realize he's no longer under Malfoy's "protection" and is seen spending time with a halfblood, but it's not as if he has no way of protecting himself from most spells that a student can get away with using in public at Hogwarts. He already has a few family wards set up around his bed too, so Malfoy can't get to him while he's asleep, and the only time he spends in the Common Room is when he's crossing it to leave the Dungeon or return to his dorm, so his Housemates aren't likely to be able to corner him there either. So long as he's careful, he'll be fine.

Blaise's voice cuts into his thoughts, speaking this time with the lightest touch of concern seeping out from behind a thin veil of indifference that would've fooled even Theo if Theo didn't know the way Blaise can change his approach like he's changing clothes depending on his assessment of the person he's talking to. "You sure you don't need to ask Granger first before letting a Slytherin join your tutoring sessions? She might not be too happy to have Theo there. And her friends definitely won't."

Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

The room is quiet for a beat.

Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

"Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

(And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

"Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

"You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

"Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

And no one likes a fence-sitter.

-0-0-0-

Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

"Cool, thanks, let's go."

Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

(Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

"…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

"Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

-0-

Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

(In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

Except-

Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

It's a strange new world.

In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

Not that these two are friends of course.

He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

"I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

"Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

"Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.

#headcanon meme: answered #HP series #c'est la vie #hadrian evans #theo nott #blaise zabini #draco malfoy #headcanon #slytherin hadrian au

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jinzouactor · 3 months

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do you have any other fic recs? for shimamine in particular but also for claw chatacter in

boy do i!!!!! sorry this one's been sitting for a while. did u forget to finish the ask perhaps.

i'll start with one someone showed me today: One Who Keeps the Promise (wolffy03) Doesn't have any pairings, it's a Minegishi-centric post-Claw thing. It's originally in chinese but the author has provided a translation. I really enjoy the tone and the attitudes of the characters. Minegishi being cursed by Mogami is such a cool idea.

Cluttered Spaces (beefstatic) Left a lasting impression on me. Shimamine slowburn. I love the tone and it's so well written. Some cool scenes and headcanons (minegishi having a motorcycle 'o'??) and it was clearly written with passion, I'm so fond of it

Superposition (LivGrapefruits) Also a Shimamine seminal work. this is an ult classic to me tbh. It's a slowburn and I love to see how their relationship develops. It still has a powerful impression on me. Liv has been a rly prolific writer for Shimamine and all of it is gold so it's hard to choose any specific ones from the whole lot, but some favourites of mine are: > Deliverance > all of Encyclopedia Botanica vol. 3 > Ivy

Good_beans is another pillar of the ao3 tag. They have such a skill for being tender in their writing and I'm really weak to that. Ones I particularly recommend are: > Don't Leave Me > As Vivid As It Truly Is > Nightmares Again, these aren't just the best ones and you should really check all of them.

There are sooo many other authors who've dropped some great stuff in the tag such as swearizawa / distraitLoser (wrote the first fic in the tag. also happens to be my gf) / Hino (mostly writes hatori-centric which i WILDLY enjoy) / SaturnineMartial / Ace_in_the_Hole (just minegishi-isms) / cursedwurm / shimamine / shinsays and surely more I have neglected to mention

If you're ameanable to reading fic through a translator or can read japanese then pixiv also has a wealth of fics I have slowly been getting through. Some authors I've enjoyed are:

Nagano has a very sweet and innocent take on Shimamine. They are also a really prolific writer who has several novels worth of work. Which is sort of insane, and I need to get through it. A lot of it is a very domestic post-Claw setting.

Kototoru's work is also super cute like this highschool/college AU. All their fics make me soft over Shimamine.

I think Mochiko and Wosashimi tend to write a little darker / more angsty and not terribly romantic? if I remember correctly. They both have a few fics and I remember liking them but I am struggling to think of a synopsis cuz it's harder for me to scan back over their fics </3

#is that enough to be starting with #i could say more. i could say a lot more #i desperately want to get to rereading all this. its been too long #ask #anon #shimamine

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chimcess · 1 year

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→ Chapter Two: A Rock and a Secret Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 9k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warning: Non-con kissing, strong language, blood, self injury, nightmare, PTSD, pining, angst, heart ache, longing, long hair Jimin, I love Taehyung so much, he’s so much fun to write, crying, not much to report here tbh, let me know if I missed anything A/N: How do we feel about the updated versions so far? Yes, I have combined old chapters and combined them so we can have longer (and less) parts. I know some of you liked longer updates so you are getting your wish!

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I couldn’t see past the smoke. It was a roiling, black mass, punctuated by brilliant yellow flames that danced like demons in the night. Shiloh’s voice cut through the chaos, a desperate cry reaching out through the suffocating darkness, pleading for me to return. Inside, the screams were a cacophony of terror and anguish, and I ran, my small feet pounding the earth as I shouted for Auntie. Shiloh’s cries grew louder behind me, but I ignored her, driven by a singular need to reach the cottage. I had to get to Aldara.

But the distance stretched endlessly, the screams crescendoed, and Shiloh’s voice became an unbearable buzz in my ears. I was sobbing, calling Aldara’s name, feeling the forest around me weep. The spirits that had once tormented me now seemed my only solace, and I crumpled to the ground. No matter how desperately I tried, the cottage remained out of reach. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw it—a movement that made my breath catch.

There it was, not even ten yards away—a large, midnight-black wolf with red eyes. The firelight cast a grotesque glow on its face, revealing a blood-stained muzzle. In its mouth was an arm, the ring on it gleaming malevolently. Anger surged within me, turning my vision red as I focused on the ring—a skull etched in fiery orange and yellow. Before I could stop myself, I was chanting a spell, my voice echoing through the forest. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled in response.

I jolted awake, my body trembling, gasping for breath. The dream was always the same, a recurring nightmare that never let me rest. At least this time, I hadn’t had to endure its full horror. The house was eerily silent, a haunting quiet that pressed against my ears. Shiloh hadn’t returned from her hunting trip and was probably curled up in the tree outside. The solitude was unnerving, so I forced myself out of bed and began preparing for the day.

My wardrobe consisted only of skirts and dresses, all sewn by my aunt. I’d become a proficient seamstress in my own right over the years. Unlike Aldara, who wore pants and used magic for her attire, I preferred the tactile pleasure of dressing myself. The chain locked to my leg made it impossible to wear anything without magical assistance, but I enjoyed the flowing fabrics. Today, I chose a yellow skirt, a color that felt like a small rebellion against the lingering shadows of my dream.

I ran my fingers over the rings displayed in my jewelry box, each one steeped in its own history. My gaze settled on one of my favorites—a large, clunky ring with an amber stone, its iron band painted gold. It had belonged to my great-great-aunt Heidi, a woman of sunshine and poetry, her magic fueled by the sun. I recalled her grimoire, filled with verses and peculiar tales written in the margins. Next to it, I touched the simple silver-painted iron band adorned with sapphires, a relic of Griselda, a blue jay gifted with telepathy.

My eyes then fell upon Aldara’s ring, and tears pricked at my eyes. Griselda had raised Aldara with a strictness that contrasted sharply with Aldara’s more nurturing nature. I remembered a story Aldara had shared about her ring—how she’d brought a decapitated bird to Griselda, sobbing over its fate. After much consolation, she’d given the bird a funeral, and the skull had become a ring. Aldara had sanded and filed it to fit her finger, and Griselda had charmed it to grow with her.

Slipping the ring onto my index finger, I then slid my own ring onto my right hand. Aldara had crafted it for me before my birth, bending and twisting gold into intricate patterns. The stones, collected from every corner of Bangtan, were engraved with coordinates that projected colorful numbers when exposed to sunlight. “I want you to remember the world when you can’t see it,” she’d told me. I had managed to find each spot just before her death.

Wiping away my tears, I laughed at my emotional display. Aldara would have scolded me for letting my emotions get the best of me. Though Bridd were seldom allowed to indulge in such feelings, I was human too, with thoughts and emotions that needed expression. I had learned that my vulnerability was my greatest strength, even if Aldara couldn’t see that. I heard voices and laughter in the distance and rushed to the living room, my rings forgotten.

The door to my cottage burst open, and the scent of wolves filled the air. In the lead were Namjoon and Hoseok, with Taehyung following close behind. I tensed as I saw a flash of white and my heart skipped. I hadn’t seen Jimin since our last meeting, and the uncertainty of our relationship lingered like a fog. Despite our late-night encounter, I assumed he was either too shy or too busy to visit. It was a relief to see him, confirming our standing, though the situation was far from ordinary.

An unfamiliar laugh echoed off the walls. I craned my neck and spotted Taehyung’s familiar posture. His humor was a stark contrast to his rigid stance. Jimin chuckled beside him, and I longed to share in their amusement.

“Good morning, Bridd,” Hoseok boomed, his smile radiant.

I returned his smile, the positivity contagious, amplified by Namjoon’s dimpled grin.

With a quick bow, I greeted them. “Morning. What can I do for you?”

Namjoon answered, “We’re familiarizing Taehyung with our duties. He might not visit often, but Jimin suggested bringing him along.”

“It’s good to know where to find you,” Hoseok added.

Taehyung, the youngest alpha, shyly peeked over their shoulders. His wide, nervous eyes betrayed his excitement and uncertainty. Speaking with someone so revered by the council must be daunting. Most pack members treated me as a friend, aside from the Elder Council, who saw themselves as superior. Taehyung’s hesitation was understandable.

Stumbling over his own feet, Taehyung managed to step forward. His eyes darted around nervously, and he licked his lips. Without warning, he bowed deeply. My eyes widened, and I took a step back in surprise. This was new.

“Hello, High Witch Bridd. I am Kim Taehyung, eldest son of the east Kim clan, one of the four alphas of Foxglove Village and protector of the Bangtan Forest.”

Taehyung straightened and reached out to me. His bow had shocked me, but nothing compared to the wet kiss he planted on my mouth. Someone gasped. I stood frozen, horror-stricken. Kisses between wolves were common but usually reserved for mates or pack members of high regard. As an outsider, this gesture was deeply inappropriate, a slight against both his pack and myself.

Taehyung beamed, oblivious to the breach of etiquette. His cluelessness was astounding. I glanced at Hoseok and Namjoon, both equally stunned. Behind them, a low growl caught my attention. Jimin’s face was a storm of darkened fury. His eyes, barely amber in the sunlight, were a blazing warning. Jimin’s anger was palpable, his hair bristling with tension. I knew this was a severe breach of protocol, damaging not only to my standing with Foxglove but to our relationship with the pack.

Without hesitation, Jimin was on Taehyung. He gripped the back of the young alpha’s neck, forcing him to his knees. A deep, resonant growl rumbled from Jimin’s chest, sending shivers down my spine. Even when his anger wasn’t directed at me, my bird’s instincts screamed for escape. My heart raced, mirroring Taehyung’s panic. I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of shock and pity. Taehyung hadn’t meant any harm.

“Apologize. Now.” Jimin’s voice cut through the air, cold and unyielding as iron, his hand still clamped around Taehyung’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung’s voice was a pitiful whine, all pretense of bravado stripped away.

“That’s it?” Namjoon’s voice cracked like a whip. “You think a sorry is going to fix this?”

“You’re sorry?” Hoseok’s tone was hard as granite. “Is that really the best you can muster?”

Jimin’s snarl was feral, “Apologize properly.”

“I-I-”

“Enough!” I shouted, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and frustration. “Just let him go. Please?”

Taehyung scrambled to his feet, Jimin stepping back reluctantly. I was surprised and oddly relieved that Jimin obeyed without a fight. My eyes stayed locked on Taehyung, who now resembled a puppy that had just been caught making a mess. His youth and naivety struck me with a pang of sympathy. At eighteen, he was still a child, thrust into a world that chewed up and spit out the unprepared. The notion of him having to grovel and kiss countless others before me made my heart ache. I wished I could erase his discomfort, to make this moment one of light-hearted learning rather than humiliation.

“I’m sorry if I—” Taehyung started.

“Hush,” I cut him off, and he snapped his mouth shut, looking like he’d been caught in a snare. “I understand you acted on what you thought was right. You see me as more important than I really am, don’t you, Taehyung?”

He nodded, and I caught a sound of disapproval from Jimin. I almost smiled. Jimin had a high opinion of me, and that was a comfort.

“I’m honored you see me as worthy of such deference, but I’m just a woman. And a woman who doesn’t kiss anyone—ever. Are you following?”

He nodded again, his ears flushing red, like a boy who wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He had so much to learn.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my cheeks. “Why did you think that was a good idea?”

“I didn’t know what to do or say!” Taehyung floundered, his hands flapping in desperation. “Everyone kept telling me how important this was, how honored I should feel, and all that!”

Unable to keep it in any longer, I burst into giggles. The alphas stared at me, confusion etched into their faces, but I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from my chest. I clutched my stomach and danced around the kitchen in search of a particular item. Kim Taehyung had earned a present for his earnest attempt at honor.

I had a tradition of gifting alphas on our first meeting. Hoseok had received a Lapis Lazuli bracelet, a talisman of friendship and warmth. Namjoon had been given a hand-bound notebook, a token for his tales and memories. I’d even gifted Jimin my favorite book at the time. It had been so long, I couldn’t recall its name, but I remembered his mention of wanting an escape and hoped it had provided some solace. Now it was Taehyung’s turn, and I needed to find just the right gift.

“Bridd?” Taehyung’s voice trembled with uncertainty.

“Aha!” I exclaimed, spotting the stone on a high cupboard shelf.

I retrieved the spherical carnelian, a semi-precious stone I’d found years ago in the forest. Aldara had been both shocked and thrilled when I’d brought it to her. It symbolized courage, a fitting gift for Taehyung, who would need plenty of it in the days to come. I polished it with care, admiring the vibrant red and the swirling orange and yellow patterns that danced in the sunlight.

“You must be the bravest man to ever step into my shop,” I said, handing him the stone with a grin. “This is for you. It’ll give you courage and strength when you need it most.”

“A...rock?” Taehyung’s brow furrowed as he examined the sphere, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

Jimin growled, a low, warning rumble, but I waved him off. There was no need for any more tension; this was just a misunderstanding. I handed the stone back to Taehyung, and he seemed to warm to it, holding it up to the light and marveling at its beauty.

“Ask someone in town if they can turn it into a necklace for you. If not, I can. This stone has healing properties.”

Hoseok peered at the stone and smiled, his Lapis Lazuli bracelet glittering in the sunlight. I remembered how he’d never taken it off since I’d given it to him, a sign of our enduring friendship. Taehyung’s acceptance of the gift filled me with hope that we might forge a similar bond.

Taehyung returned the stone to me, his voice tinged with regret. “No one in town would know how to bead this without ruining it.”

I laughed, “I can’t promise I won’t mess it up, but if you insist, I’d be happy to do it myself.”

Namjoon’s hearty laugh rang out, and he clapped Taehyung on the shoulder with good humor. “You’ve made quite an impression, cousin.”

Jimin’s gaze remained wary, but I quickly turned my attention away from him. The sound of familiar laughter reached my ears, and I felt a warm glow in my chest. It had been too long since Yoongi and Seokjin had been in my home together.

Jin, Yoongi, and Wendy were my closest friends. Their tangled history was like a web I had avoided for years. Jin’s feelings for Wendy and her flirtations with Yoongi had caused a rift, but now they were mending fences. I was glad to see them trying to repair their friendship, and Wendy’s absence was a small price to pay for harmony.

“It seems I have other guests,” I said, setting the stone down and lighting the stove. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’m making tea.”

Seokjin’s exuberant laugh echoed through the doorway as he burst in, his usual over-the-top enthusiasm followed by Yoongi’s grumbled protest. I set the kettle on the fire and gathered ingredients for everyone’s preferred brew. The wolves and I would have plain black tea, but the witches’ cups required a little extra care.

Seokjin’s voice boomed from the other side of the door, and I shook my head with a smile. The kettle whistled, and I quickly removed it from the heat, readying the tea.

“Good morning, darling!” Seokjin’s voice was a cheerful blast.

“Dear God, why are you shouting?” Yoongi grumbled, rubbing his ears.

Seokjin’s eyes widened in delight. “Wolves! How are you all?”

Both alphas bowed in greeting, and I smiled as they settled into my oversized table. Seokjin used magic to bring my reading chair into the kitchen area, while Yoongi took a seat on the floor. The kettle hissed and I poured the tea, adding the special touches each guest preferred.

“Good morning,” I said softly, preparing their cups.

Yoongi’s murmured thanks was warm, and I returned his smile. I preferred my given name over the title of ‘Bridd,’ a word that once symbolized respect but now felt like a barrier. The wolves and animal shifters of old had called Rosette ‘Bridd,’ but tradition alone couldn’t bridge the distance between me and my true self.

The revelation of my real name didn’t usually bother me much, but with the wolves in the room, it was a different story. Their reactions were a variable I couldn’t predict. Nobody else in their village knew my first name, and I intended to keep it that way. I didn’t trust their Elders, not one bit. They were as slippery as eels, driven by greed and a hunger for power. Ahn was the sort who’d make deals with the ielfen for eternal life or whatever twisted desire gripped his heart.

Aldara used to curse the ielfen with a bitterness that could sour milk. “Manipulative, greedy little minxes,” she’d growl, her eyes narrowed into slits as she stirred her cauldron.

I’d never tangled with one myself, so I couldn’t say for certain, but Aldara’s word was gospel to me. She’d battled beasts that roamed the wilds of Bangtan, and if she claimed she’d stared down an ielfen and walked away with her skin intact, I had no reason to doubt her. I took a deep breath and decided to deal with any fallout if it came. If Ahn was foolish enough to engage with an ielfen without understanding their rules, then he was digging his own grave.

“What did he call you?” Namjoon’s question cut through my thoughts.

“Y/N,” I chuckled, though the laughter felt hollow, my insides chilled. “It’s the name Aldara gave me. She hardly ever used it unless she was angry, but I had my share of nicknames too.”

“Remember Bibbles?” Seokjin chimed in. “Mama Min still calls you that.”

“Who’s Aldara?” Hoseok asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“The previous Bridd,” Yoongi explained, cutting through Jin’s antics with an edge of irritation.

“You have names?” Taehyung’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Like real names?”

“Of course they have real names,” Seokjin retorted, “They’re people, after all.”

I gritted my teeth, irritated by Jin’s jabs at the alphas. He had no real issues with them but had absorbed some of my disdain for Ahn. I shot a nervous glance at the wolves. They seemed more amused by Jin’s behavior than offended, which was a relief.

“Yes, we had names before this,” I forced a smile, my gaze sharp as I shot Jin a warning look. “Bridd was a nickname for the original shifter. Your people have kept it alive for tradition. It’s not offensive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Wow, cool,” Taehyung sipped his tea, the lightness in his voice a stark contrast to the seriousness of the topic.

Taehyung was a breath of fresh air amidst the tension. His carefree demeanor was a stark contrast to the other alphas, and I pondered the possibility of him becoming a pack leader. Sol would likely enjoy his company—his humor and optimistic outlook were a nice break from the usual grind. But I could see potential friction within the council. His easygoing nature might not sit well with Ahn. My gaze drifted to Jimin, the embodiment of the perfect alpha. The thought of him with Sol was unsettling, a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I hear your Luna will be of age soon,” Yoongi said casually, casting a sidelong glance at Jin before turning his attention to me. His smirk was infuriating. “Her birthday, I assume?”

“She turns 18 at the end of this month,” Namjoon’s voice held a stiffness, as if every word was carefully measured. “She will be of age.”

In my eyes, Sol and Namjoon were mismatched. While they got along, Sol had a softer spot for the white-haired man beside her. They grew up together, and their bond was evident. Namjoon was the heart of Bangtan, while Park Jimin was the heartbeat of the pack. I wasn’t sure how Sol would react if anyone else was chosen, nor how I’d handle Jimin being selected. I glanced back at Taehyung, hoping he’d be the one Sol would pick.

“Little young for you, wouldn’t you say?” Seokjin’s mischievous grin made my stomach churn. “Or do your people not mind those age gaps?”

My face flushed, and I quickly looked away. Seokjin had always been perceptive about my feelings for Jimin, more so than anyone else. His probing was a tad too personal for my taste. I had to control my temper.

“Their age gap won’t matter if they’re meant to be together,” I managed to say, my voice a flat monotone. “Ten years is inconsequential to the Gods. You should know that.”

My gaze drifted back to Jimin. He looked good today, his hair in a loose bun, clothes casual but fitting well. His skin was faintly flushed from the sun. A small scratch marred his eyebrow, and it bothered me. I couldn’t fathom who might have done that. Namjoon was too clumsy, Hoseok and the others too slow.

I looked at Taehyung, but quickly dismissed the idea. The boy couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone Jimin. With unanswered questions gnawing at me, I rose to prepare another round of tea. Plain black tea and sugar would suffice. I wasn’t about to go all out on a regular day, though perhaps for Yule, I’d be convinced to put in more effort. The cut on Jimin’s eyebrow remained a troubling distraction.

“Êow rôðres earfoðlic ætstillan,” Seokjin’s words echoed as he piped up, no surprise there.

I rolled my eyes and turned the flame back on, boiling more water.

“I just noticed a cut on Alpha Jimin’s face and was curious,” I joked, trying to keep my tone light and casual despite the growing tension.

A small ‘oh’ was the only response from Jimin. It was the first time he had spoken since their arrival. I poured the tea and took care of the salve I’d made for situations just like this. I was relieved to see Jimin’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. He looked cute, though it only added to my turmoil. His shyness was endearing, and I couldn’t help but wonder how far that blush extended. I tried to shove those thoughts away.

As I applied the salve to his cut, the room around us erupted into chaos. The men were laughing and shouting, and despite the noise, the quiet focus between Jimin and me felt almost intimate. I applied the salve carefully, trying not to let my emotions overwhelm me. Jimin’s breathing was shallow, his eyes fixed on the side of my face. The warmth of his breath made it hard to concentrate, and I found myself lingering longer than necessary on his skin. The cottage trembled with Hoseok’s laughter.

“At least I have a mate, Namjoon,” Hoseok’s voice boomed, full of mirth.

“And I’ll be the Luna’s,” Namjoon shot back with a cocky grin.

I disagreed silently. Jimin was destined to be the Foxglove Alpha, no matter what anyone said. Taehyung was kind but too inexperienced, and Namjoon was a poor match for Sol. The Gods would think twice before allowing that union. Seokjin’s comment about age rang true in my mind. Sol and Namjoon had nothing in common, while Jimin was her closest friend. I applied more pressure than necessary to Jimin’s neck, reciting a healing spell under my breath. When I finished, I pulled my hands away, feeling as though they’d been burned.

“Please,” Taehyung’s voice cut through, “We all know Jimin is the alpha.”

I retreated to the kitchen, searching for a distraction. The conversation had done nothing but stir my thoughts, and I needed something to take my mind off it. As the arguing resumed, I decided on baking rose and cardamom shortbread cookies. It was a familiar task that might bring me some comfort. Yoongi joined me, handing me ingredients with his usual efficiency.

“Êow d hnot pîslic these lâstlange under,” Yoongi commented, his voice gentle.

I shrugged, rolling out the dough and handing him my cookie cutter. He enjoyed this part, and I was happy to indulge him. I turned on the stove, greased a cookie sheet, and placed the dough on it.

“Normally I’d chill the dough, but not today,” I said as he cut out more shapes. “They might be a bit different in texture.”

“Who cares?” I laughed, hearing Jin’s outburst. “Shortbread is always delicious.”

The cookies turned out fine—perhaps not the best, but good enough. The wolves ate them without complaint, and Hoseok even asked for the recipe. They stayed long after sunset, long after my friends had left. Their company was pleasant, their laughter a welcome backdrop to my own restless thoughts. As twilight approached, I finally asked them to leave. Taehyung stood, grateful for the extended visit.

“Thank you for letting us stay so long,” he said, his voice sincere.

I patted his head gently. “Anytime, pup.”

He scowled, folding his arms like a petulant child. Hoseok’s laughter rang out, and he gave me a theatrical bow, which I returned with equal flourish. Namjoon and Jimin followed suit, though Taehyung, ever the reluctant participant, finally bowed with a grimace that made me chuckle. His frown deepened, which only made me laugh harder.

“Lighten up,” Hoseok said, draping an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “See you in a few weeks, Bridd.”

“See you then,” I replied with forced cheerfulness.

The men shuffled out, with Jimin bowing one last time before closing the door behind him. His troubled expression lingered in my mind, and I hoped whatever was gnawing at him would resolve itself. The thought of him being in pain or distress was unsettling. I watched him walk away, feeling an unspoken sadness as the door clicked shut behind him.

A quiet knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. I grabbed a large knife from the mantle, my pulse quickening. Late-night visitors were rare and unwelcome. I kept my eyes on the door, my senses straining. Last time we had an unexpected guest at this hour, it ended in tragedy. I enchanted one of my winter gloves, instructing it to peek outside the window and assess the situation.

Memories of screams and red eyes flashed in my mind, and I fought back tears. The blood, the terror... The glove gave a reassuring thumbs-up. I mouthed, “Who is it?” The glove’s answer in sign language was a relief: Jimin had apparently forgotten something. Dropping the knife onto the dining table, I swung the door open.

“Did you forget something?” I asked, picking up the glove from the windowsill.

I tucked the purple fabric into my coat pocket, patting its thumb. It held onto my hand, clearly enjoying the attention. Jimin stood in the foyer, looking at me with a mix of awe and curiosity. I wasn’t surprised; my unorthodox creations often drew stares. I noticed the glove growing lazy and quickly stuffed a handkerchief into it. The glove tugged at the cloth before settling into a contented sleep. The magic would wear off soon.

I looked at Jimin, waiting for him to speak.

“Oh,” he said, startled. “Right.” He cleared his throat and smoothed his hair. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” I raised an eyebrow, drifting back to my comfy chair. “For what?”

“For the nice things you said earlier,” he clarified.

“Well,” I said, plopping down, “I was just speaking the truth.”

“Still, it means a lot, coming from you.”

I glanced out the window. Time was running short. I wasn’t afraid of Jimin seeing me transform; I trusted him. His cold exterior had always belied a warm heart. The thought of him with someone else twisted in my gut. The very idea made me sick.

Swallowing hard, I replied, “You think too highly of me.”

“And you don’t think highly enough of yourself.”

His words made me pause. I looked at him, surprised by his expression. I had never seen Park Jimin look so vulnerable. His shoulders were slumped, his eyebrows knit together in concern. His usually straight posture was now slightly bent, one leg nervously tapping the floor. I was caught off guard, feeling as if I was on unfamiliar ground.

“I-” he began.

The familiar icy sensation ran up my leg, and I scrambled up from my chair.

“I’m so sorry!” I shouted as ice crept quickly through me.

The world expanded, and I cried out in pain as feathers began to burst from my skin. Jimin stepped back, colliding with the dining table. Shame and guilt crashed over me. Seeing Bridd’s transformation had been horrifying enough; I knew how terrifying it could be. More feathers ripped through my skin, blood staining the floor.

“Leave!” I cawed, my voice a harsh croak.

Pain engulfed me as I fell to my knees, my beak breaking through the skin. Transformation never got easier. Aldara had once said it was the only true pain a Bridd could feel, and I would argue she was wrong. Flashes of fire blurred my vision as I fell, a loud caw echoing through the room.

When I awoke, my dress was draped over me. I had to navigate my way out of the fabric, using my beak to cut through the layers. I could hear Jimin’s anxious breathing. I pushed through the mess, finally finding a breach and squeezing out.

Jimin was leaning against the table, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. I felt a pang of guilt. No one should witness such a transformation. I hopped closer, hoping he might be receptive to me despite the horror he had just seen.

In the distance, I heard an owl hooting. Shiloh would be here soon. She had become more independent recently, and I felt guilty for keeping her cooped up all day. We had planned to forage together tonight. After exchanging a few deep, gruff croaks, I turned my attention back to Jimin.

He looked less petrified than before, which was a good sign. Unsure of how to proceed, I decided to try and make myself cute. I thought rolling around on the blood-stained floor might distract him, though it felt futile. I remembered the first time I’d seen Aldara transform and winced. Nevertheless, I pressed on, determined.

I sat prettily on the floor and stared at him, trying to be comforting. My anxiety was manageable, so I moved forward with my plan. Still unsatisfied with his confused blinking, I flapped over to the table beside him. The proximity was both terrifying and comforting. I could not speak or laugh, but at least I could be near him.

Earlier, we had been closer than ever since his blessing ceremony. Why was I so cozy with him now? The fact that I couldn’t speak or mess up was strangely reassuring. I basked in his warmth, leaning onto his side and clicking to show my comfort. I began to sing, a throaty, hollow sound.

The melody was gentle, a warble Aldara had once called “a sign of intimacy.” I snuggled into his arm, eyes closed. Aldara had once told me ravens sing only for their most intimate loved ones.

“Mates sing to one another,” she had whispered, playing with my hair when I was a child.

As I sang, I waited for Shiloh to arrive so we could find a new stone.

“Hey Y/N,” Shiloh’s booming voice interrupted the quiet. “Are you ready to forage?”

Startled, I let out an angry squawk and flew to the windowsill, yelling at her impatience. Shiloh laughed and urged me to hurry. Patto had gathered our friends at Morla’s for forest gossip. After today, I was sure we’d be the topic of their nocturnal chatter.

“Bridd,” Jimin said as Shiloh flew away.

I looked at him. He understood what it meant.

“Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

I flew back to his side, wanting to close up the shop properly, but magic was beyond me in this form. Jimin offered his arm, and I perched contentedly.

“To be honest,” he began, sitting at the table, “I don’t want to be the alpha.”

I cocked my head, a silent question passing between us.

“I enjoy Sol as a person,” he continued, “and yes, she’s beautiful, but-”

He paused, looking at me with a helpless expression. My heart ached for him. The weight of responsibility, the burden of destiny—it was overwhelming. Even if Aldara had been present on my 16th birthday, I don’t think I would have been prepared. Jimin had an entire pack relying on him, and to not want any of it was heartbreaking.

“But she is not who I want to choose,” he finished.

I began to warble gently again, preening his silver hair. I hoped it was comforting. I thought of Sol—her dark skin, her freckled beauty. It was hard to imagine her in any way but perfect. The idea of her with Jimin twisted in my mind.

Jimin’s confession was a relief, though it was tinged with sadness. I continued to sing softly, hoping to offer some comfort.

Yet Jimin didn’t want her. He didn’t want to choose her. But as I dragged my beak gently through his hair, a sinking realization settled in my chest: no one truly chooses their mate. The goddess would have the final say in Jimin’s future. Both of us knew it well. And agonizing over it was a futile exercise. In the end, if they were destined to be mates, he’d laugh at this whole conversation. She’d be perfect then—so perfect he’d wish he could strangle himself for ever doubting it. Wolf bonds were like that.

Ravens mate for life, too, but their bond is built on trust and affection. A wolf’s mating bond, though, runs much deeper. It’s a primal connection that binds two souls completely. Once their scents mingle, nothing on Earth can keep them apart. It’s not like the soft, innocent affection of ravens, which burns through loyalty. No, this kind of love is a roaring blaze, unstoppable and all-consuming.

Not Jimin’s pre-ceremonial rejection. Not Kim Namjoon’s cocky bravado. Not even my own shattered heart if I had to watch it unfold. It’s a pure, unaltered rush that they’d never come down from. Deciding I was done, I backed away from Jimin and nuzzled his forehead with my beak, trying to offer comfort. He responded with a tight-lipped smile.

“Can I tell you something else?”

I turned my head bashfully but nodded.

“You’ve been very kind to me—” he said, stretching his arms wide. “—and I told you this because I felt like I owed you.”

Alarm surged through me. I squawked in frustration, but realized he couldn’t understand. My curse made communication a cruel joke. I wanted to reach out, to beg him for clarity, but my voice was trapped. Jimin seemed to notice my agitation.

“Thank you for helping me the other day,” he said.

I racked my brain, trying to recall what he meant. All I’d done was bring him tea and medicine. What else could there be? I hadn’t left my cottage since Taehyung’s ceremony, save for Jimin’s visit. Oh. Oh…

Jimin was my little wolf. He was the one who’d brought me the lantern. The realization touched and embarrassed me. He’d come back to express his appreciation. No wonder he was so stubborn about shifting back into a human—Jimin was supposed to be the strongest wolf in Foxglove. As much as I wished we could discuss this further, or that I could offer reassurance, I knew it would have to wait. For now, I’d let him know I wasn’t upset about his secrecy.

I flitted around his head, performing a few somersaults for good measure. Jimin laughed heartily as he left, and I felt a thrill at having finally made him smile. I savored the moment—his tousled hair, his flushed cheeks, that wide, toothy grin that lit up his entire face. I had never seen his dimple before, and I knew I wanted to preserve this memory forever.

“I have to get back to the others,” he said with a giggle, bowing. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Goodnight, Jimin, I replied silently. As he walked away, I took to the air, heading toward the spot Shiloh had mentioned. Even as I joined my friends and laughed, all I could see was the way Jimin’s eyes crinkled into crescent moons when he smiled.

Back at my altar, I breathed evenly, eyes closed. I had spent the better part of the afternoon praying and meditating, preparing for the energy I’d need for tonight’s ritual. The gods' support was crucial for a successful mating ceremony. When I opened my eyes, I glanced at the grimoire in my lap, sighing. Sol’s presentation tonight would reveal the pack’s new head alpha. My heart clenched, but I pushed through the discomfort, focusing on the text.

Each Bridd kept meticulous records of their spells and ceremonies, and Jordana’s writings had been invaluable. I absorbed her step-by-step instructions for the ritual, paying special attention to the parts where I was to exit the circle promptly. This would be my first time aiding a Luna in her mating ritual, and I was grateful for her guidance.

The cottage was silent. Shiloh was asleep, and none of my friends had visited. While I appreciated the solitude—it helped me stay focused—the emptiness was stifling. My mind wandered too often, becoming a distraction. I was glad Jimin and I were writing letters to each other now. He said he valued the privacy my mind provided, and I just liked him. Today, however, we hadn’t spoken. We were both too preoccupied with preparations for the night.

A few days ago, I’d stopped pretending my feelings weren’t hurt. I was already mourning Jimin before anything was decided. My adoration and love for him made it physically impossible to feel happy for him or anyone else. That letter had only deepened my sorrow. Now, with only hours remaining, I was sick with worry, selfishly hoping Namjoon would be chosen instead. If I couldn’t have Jimin, I didn’t want him with anyone else. As new tears welled up, I wiped them away roughly and closed the grimoire with a decisive snap.

I stood, surveying my home with desperation. I was tired of sewing—bored of it after a week of endless stitches. Wood carving could be fun but also exhausting. The same went for blacksmithing. I didn’t want to disturb Shiloh; she needed her rest. My gaze landed on the large red carpet in the living room.

Slowly, I sank to my hands and knees and lifted the only corner not weighed down by furniture. The black cast-iron handle of the basement door stared back at me, along with the bear carvings I’d painstakingly etched into the wood years ago. I traced the fading lines with my finger, sighing deeply. I’d carved something similar before the fire. Aldara had been furious when she discovered my handiwork, but it took her mere minutes to join me in the endeavor. For months after she was gone, I’d stared at the empty floor, feeling the weight of my loneliness. In a desperate bid for relief, I had started carving bears again—only managed three before I broke down in tears. I never tried it again.

Feeling a spark of inspiration, I drew a knife from my belt and began carving once more. My hands moved with ease, the lines straight and confident. Unlike my old drawings, these would never fade. Before I knew it, I had carved a wolf’s head and groaned in frustration. This wasn’t working. I sheathed the little knife and lifted the basement door. With a flick of my wrist, the scattered furniture rearranged itself into its proper places.

Looking back at the door, my heart ached at the sight of the violent gouges I’d inflicted on the wood. It was days after the fire, and I’d locked myself in the basement, the only refuge left. Yoongi, Seokjin, and Wendy had come to help, alongside their families. After treating them horribly, I had locked myself away, destroying many of the treasures from my childhood. The door had almost been a casualty, but it remained. Aldara had drawn a fox playing with butterflies, overshadowing my simple bears below.

“Egnis,” I whispered, and a tiny flame sparked from my index finger.

Using the small ladder attached to the floor, I descended into the dark room. The flame flickered aimlessly, its energy depleted. I recalled a time when my magic danced and sang with vibrant life, and the memory saddened me. Once I reached the bottom, I reached out and stroked the flame. It flinched but then grew larger. I squared my shoulders and focused.

“Leohtielfent.”

The flame exploded, branching out in all directions. Candle holders on the walls ignited brilliantly. The flames flickered and danced, their movements once more lively. A memory of Yule years past came to mind, and the sadness returned. Back then, my flames performed acrobatic feats, competing for my attention. Now they were as mundane as Aldara’s had been. She was right—magic had become more serious than fun.

This room housed all the grimoires and books of Bridd’s past. It was the reason it had survived the fire. Eight hundred years ago, Jordana had cast a powerful protection spell. None of the other Bridd could decipher how she did it or how to reverse it. I had tried to figure it out at ten but quickly gave up. If Aneesa, the 4th Bridd and a genius, couldn’t unravel the mystery, I doubted anyone ever would.

I walked over to the large bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines. Even with all the knowledge in the world at my fingertips, I felt clueless. What do you do when what you want is unattainable? Pine away uselessly or pretend you’re over it? Cry alone or seek out someone who understands?

Aldara would have advised finding a middle ground. But what middle ground exists in this situation, especially knowing Jimin doesn’t want to be Sol’s mate? That thought alone sent a shiver through me, and I felt a surge of shame.

“Be patient,” a voice whispered in the quiet room.

I smiled sadly. The spirit’s presence was comforting, though I couldn’t quite make out who it was today. It was easier to discern if I let them in, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I had a ceremony to attend in a few hours. The spirit’s fingers brushed through my hair.

“All will reveal itself in time.”

I swallowed hard. “And if it’s what I fear?”

“You will survive it, little one,” the spirit replied warmly. It had to be Heidi, and the thought made my tears well. As much as I appreciated her reassurance, I longed for my aunt. Aldara always knew exactly what to say. A choked sob escaped me. “You are brave and strong. You have nothing to fear.”

But I had everything to fear. Watching Sol approach Jimin, blindfolded and kneeling as he held her protectively—it would be unbearable. Seeing the man I loved so desperately, irrevocably entwined with someone else, seemed impossible to endure. I felt the gentle brush of fingers on the back of my neck.

“I’m afraid,” I whispered.

“That’s what makes you brave,” the spirit replied.

Drawing a breath, I nodded. Aldara’s words provided comfort, but unease still gnawed at me. I knew I needed to study more. So, I sat on the floor, trying to clear my mind.

“Flotian,” I commanded, and a book flew straight into my outstretched hand.

I decided to walk to the village tonight. The memory of the first time I saw Jimin had been haunting me. I wanted to retrace our steps. We were both so young then—no more than thirteen. I had been possessed during Yule, and he’d walked me home after his brother found me in the forest. I wondered if he remembered it as vividly as I did or if he’d buried it away for a rainy day. I smiled sadly when I spotted a rogue ielfen circle. I had been so afraid of the ielfen back then.

The night was quiet. Shiloh had gone off with Patto to get good seats for the ceremony. Morla was already there, and the rest of the gossipers were likely chatting away. Seokjin was already asleep, and Yoongi, though indifferent to pack affairs, would stay up in case I needed him. I reached into my cloak pocket and felt the letter.

Wendy had written to me before I left, and I hadn’t had a chance to read it. It had been too long since I’d seen my friend. We wrote often, though not as frequently as I’d like. She was a busy witch, traveling to Northorn with her younger sister, Nixie, who was meeting a possible suitor.

Wendy had stopped visiting after a particularly nasty argument with Seokjin. I didn’t know the details, but from what Patto shared, jealousy and Yoongi were involved. Seokjin was hopelessly in love with Wendy, and I knew she felt the same, but the kitchen witch was an obstacle. They hadn’t spoken since, and I assumed they’d ended their relationship.

I heard rustling in nearby bushes and paused, scanning the area. Ready for a fight, I walked slowly. But nothing emerged. After five minutes of waiting, I grew bored and resumed my normal pace. The bushes remained still.

The walls of Bangtan loomed like the unyielding ramparts of some ancient fortress, their stone battlements cold and unapproachable, daring any who might consider breaching them. Just outside, a humble farm lay, the green fields stretching out like a patchwork quilt under the waning daylight. A human family toiled there, unknown and nameless to me but whispered to be kindly souls who welcomed travelers with open arms. Most humans, especially those from the north, eyed wolves with a wary, suspicious glare.

On the other side of those impregnable walls, a gentle stream meandered its way back to the ocean, the bridge leading to the ceremonial cave standing like a solitary sentinel. The town beyond was quaint, a postcard of pastoral charm. The church perched on the hillside was enveloped by the embrace of ancient trees, while the market bustled in the heart of town, surrounded by homes and businesses. The copiae, steadfast and resolute, nestled beside the stream, a small but mighty entity, and I adored it.

Tonight, the streets lay empty, a ghostly silence hanging in the air. Everyone was either ensconced in the cave or barricaded in their homes, leaving the town eerily still. The moon’s energy pulsed through me, a tangible force that foretold the grueling path ahead. Even if Sol chose not Jimin, the toll this night would exact on me was not to be underestimated. My prayers mingled with the night air, asking for the Gods to grant me Jimin, to ensure his recovery, and to bestow Sol a lifetime of happiness, as she so richly deserved.

The cave was a cavern of silence, despite the throngs within. The unmated wolves stood in orderly rows, awaiting the moon’s cue. I moved forward, preparing for the ceremony with the meticulous precision born of experience.

As always, I began by cutting my hair and changing my clothes. Tonight, the body paint would be different, a ritual transformation guided by Jordana’s grimoire. I had to embrace my feminine essence, which called for delicate, white lines.

I began by tracing two large circles around my eyes. With a puddle of water as my mirror, I let the lines cascade downward, creating a shape that cast a melancholic shadow across my face. I refined the lines, drawing them to meet at my jawline, and then added curved, moth-like wings that gave me a fleeting sense of satisfaction, reminiscent of the Grand Witch’s designs.

I adorned my face with crushed pearls, an optional but favored touch that promised some relief from the inevitable pain. With the altar set and the moon’s position noted, I performed a quick cleansing spell to ward off bad luck and signaled the ceremony’s commencement.

As I maneuvered around the alphas, creating a protective circle, Sol was escorted in, blindfolded and naked. Her dark, freckled skin and exposed hair were a sight both vulnerable and poignant. I averted my gaze as much as possible, granting her what privacy I could, though the sheer weight of the moment was impossible to ignore.

Chief Ahn, with a tenderness born of past affection, led Sol to the center of the circle. I glanced up at the moon through the cave’s opening. It was time. I stepped away from the circle’s edge, ensuring no one was too close, for fear of confusing or agitating Sol, or provoking a defensive reaction from her or her mate.

Watching from a safe distance, my gaze fell upon Jimin. His demeanor was one of resignation, his eyes fixed ahead, betraying a hint of nerves. I felt a sting of sorrow but fought to maintain composure. Now was not the time for tears.

I focused on the ceremony’s unfolding drama. Sol’s sudden, agonized cry and the sight of her crawling toward her mate brought a pang of desperation. Jimin’s eyes met mine in an unexpected lock. In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause. He looked at me with a raw, unmasked fear, an echo of our last conversation, where he had wrestled with his feelings of inadequacy and guilt.

Then came the gasp, the collective shock rippling through the crowd as Sol collapsed, her form draped over Taehyung’s legs. The astonishment in the air was palpable. Taehyung, his hands gently exploring Sol’s hair—something unseen until now—was the image of awe.

I cleared my throat and began to sing, a spell-charm woven into a song. As I sang, I felt the searing pain of my wings manifesting, each feather falling into a pool of my own blood. The process was agonizing, more so than any blood ritual I’d endured. My strength waned, but I placed two of my feathers on the altar with trembling hands.

The feathers, now pristine and white, floated gently to the altar. Taehyung’s reaction was mixed with discomfort, while Sol clung to him, seemingly impervious to the tumult around her. Chief Ahn’s look of fury was enough to set my nerves on edge, but I remained focused, hoping the others could temper his wrath.

“Nam initiis novis,” I choked out, my voice strained, delivering the feathers with magic as my accent thickened. I then cast a spell to dissolve the salt circle, finishing with, “Mêowle hîe l¯ædan êow frêod nâðýl¯æs lufen.”

With the ceremony concluded, the crowd’s discontent was audible, a cacophony of disbelief. I allowed myself a moment of rest, but Taehyung’s concern for my well-being was met with a firm dismissal. I had to gather my things, ignoring his protests.

“I will do this,” Jimin said, voice hard and seemingly coming from nowhere. “Lay down.”

“But-” I protested.

Jimin, his concern evident, took my hand, urging me to rest. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that, now unburdened, Jimin might still belong to me in some intangible way. As he packed my belongings with careful precision, the townsfolk departed, their anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Need a hand?” Namjoon’s voice cut through the dim light.

“No,” Jimin muttered, and Namjoon, after a brief pause, turned and vanished into the shadows.

Jimin moved with a swiftness that belied the weight of my belongings, scooping me up into his arms with an ease that spoke of his strength. I was a mere feather to him, but I winced at the thought of my blood staining his robes—expensive and painstakingly crafted. Yet he seemed oblivious to the potential damage, holding me close against his chest with a fierce protectiveness.

“You can’t go pulling stunts like that again,” he chided once we were clear of the village’s borders.

“Do what?” I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper.

“That feather trick. You look like you’re at death’s door.”

I managed a soft hum, “Sorry if I scared you.”

Jimin’s sigh was a deep, rumbling sound of forgiveness. “I forgive you.”

The walk back felt shorter, the familiar path seemingly imbued with a comforting sense of déjà vu from that snowy night. I couldn’t help but chuckle, and Jimin’s gaze softened, a grin stretching across his face that I was determined to imprint in my memory.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

I giggled, “Do you remember the Yule we first met?”

His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes and revealing a slightly crooked front tooth. It was a sight that could melt any frost. “Of course,” he said, his tone warm. “I still favor that path. Can’t deny, it’s the best one.”

I sighed with contentment. “Except for the thorns, but it looks like someone took care of those.”

The trail, once choked with vicious thickets that sliced and jabbed at any unwary traveler, was now clear. Jimin, his cheeks tinged with a hint of shyness, shrugged.

“I took care of it once I started my rounds. Dodging mushroom circles is a challenge when you’re built like a tree.”

I snickered. “I can only imagine.”

Despite the shock of Taehyung’s unexpected rise to alpha, the sight of Sol on his back had eclipsed any lingering surprise. Exhaustion was beginning to pull at my edges, and I knew the reality would settle in come morning.

“I’m glad,” I murmured, “that you got what you wanted.”

Jimin’s eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead. “So am I.”

When we reached home, Shiloh was a whirlwind of concern, fussing over me with an intensity that bordered on the overwhelming. Jimin had assured her, as had I, that I was fine, but the owl’s persistent nagging was a test of patience. Jimin, ever composed, requested pen and paper to write to one of my friends.

Shiloh took care of that while I rested in bed, and though I was touched by Jimin’s gesture, it wasn’t surprising. He had never once left me to navigate such moments alone. I heard the flap of Shiloh’s wings as she departed, likely heading to Yoongi’s place.

“Thank you,” I called out, my voice already fading as sleep overtook me.

Jimin, standing in the doorway, offered a soft smile. He settled on the edge of my bed, his gaze gentle as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said.

“Drohtian hnot drîfan,” I mumbled, stifling a yawn. “Yoongi will help me.”

Jimin’s hum was a comforting sound, and I fought to keep my eyes from closing. He chuckled softly, a tender sound that seemed to wrap around me like a warm blanket.

“I wish I understood everything you say,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against my cheek. “Get some rest. Your friend will be here soon.”

I smiled, letting my eyes drift shut. “I’ll stay with you until then,” he added.

I nodded, and as my hands brushed the note from Wendy, I sighed in resignation. It would have to wait until morning. The exhaustion finally claimed me, and I drifted into a deep, restful sleep.

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus

P.S. For future reference, I did change Hyun-Jin’s name to Enver. I thought it would fit better since Thelma was naming him, and since it means luminous, I thought it rather fitting. I have always believed he was the light in Thelma’s rather lonely life. Hope you like the wolves and witches having different languages. I thought it would make sense since the wolves came from a different country and would not speak Lustrian at all. We’ll dive into that later.

Translations: Ielfen - FairyÊow rôðres earfoðlic ætstillan. - You are very quiet. Êow d hnot pîslic these lâstlange under. - You have not made these in a while. Yonder forerynel êow? - Where are you? Nam initiis novis. - For your new beginnings. Mêowle hîe l¯ædan êow frêod nâðýl¯æs lufen. - May they bring you hope and peace. Drohtian hnot drîfan. - Do not worry.

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