#notts music scene

[newmusickarl]

Top 10 EPs of 2023

As we have seen, 2023 has been a mega year for new albums with LIES being named as my Album of the Year earlier this week. You can read why I was such a fan of that record, along with more on the rest of my Top 50 picks by scrolling below or simply flicking through the New Music Weekly archives for December.

However, as many great longplayers we received in 2023, there was an equal abundance of great shortplayers too. In today’s hectic world where the demand for “snackable” (shout out Andrew Belt for my word of 2023) content has risen, the humble Extended Play has seen a big resurgence. So I’ve looked back over the last 12 months and picked out my ten favourites of the year. As always, I’ve gone for an eclectic selection that pulls from various genres including pop, rock, electronic, R&B, and indie. So depending on your taste, hopefully you’ll find something to enjoy on this list.

Here we go then, my Top 10 EPs of 2023…

Honourable mentions

Forever Means by Angel Olsen

White Magnolia by Bear’s Den

The Rest by Boygenius

Heady Metal by Divorce

Julie Byrne with Laugh Cry Laugh by Julie Byrne & Laugh Cry Laugh

Alaska Sadness by Katie Keddie

That Sweet Breath by Lowmello

My Eyes, Brother! by Opus Kink

Not The Baby by Prima Queen

See You In The Dark by Softcult

10. Modern Day by Bloxx

Kicking off the list with London-based indie quartet Bloxx, who have had a bit of a tough time recently. With multiple shows in recent memory cancelled, it was great to see them make a welcome return in 2023, with Modern Day their first new EP since 2021’s Pop Culture Radio.

Much like their output till now, it is a collection of five songs that showcases the band’s talent for writing catchy hooks and memorable riffs, with the strong opening trio of Modern Day, Television Promises and Runaway helping it secure a spot on this year’s list.

Listen here

9. Not As I by George FitzGerald

It was also a great year for synth-driven shortplayers as one of my favourite electronic musicians of recent times, George FitzGerald, released a new four track effort - Not As I.

Opener Mother is worth the price of admission alone, a beautifully ambient groove featuring American musician SYML on vocal duties. That said, the mind-melting synths of Venera, the spacey chimes of the title track and the pulsating soundscapes of All Roads make this one well worth 15 minutes of your time.

Listen here

8. More Truth by Daniel Avery

Sticking with 2023’s best electronic releases, DJ and producer Dan Avery also released a companion EP to his acclaimed 2022 album, Ultra Truth.

Featuring seven excellent new tracks that didn’t quite make the final cut originally, including trippy Georgia collaboration Going So Low and the accurately titled Bliss, it’s another absorbing collection from the Bournemouth musician who seems incapable of putting a foot wrong.

Listen here

7. Freak Show by ALT BLK ERA

As you can probably tell if you’ve made it this far onto my blog, I am a big champion of new music. On top of that, I am also a big champion of new music emerging out of my world-class local scene in Nottingham. And of all the fantastic Nottingham acts who had a breakout 2023, ALT BLK ERA are the ones leading the charge.

Word is finally getting out about this alt-rock sister duo, who fuse mind-melting electronica, heavy rock and razor-sharp bars for a sound that is entirely of their own making. This was highlighted this week when the pair received a prestigious MOBO award nomination for Best Alternative Act, nominated alongside the likes of Arlo Parks, Skindred and Young Fathers.

So, with ALT BLK ERA seemingly right on the cusp of blowing up in popularity, now is the time to get yourself acquainted with their hypnotic genre-defying sound. Debut EP Freak Show released back in August is the perfect introduction for those not already familiar, with the opening trio of I’m Normally Like This, Misfits: SOLAR and the horn-backed title track all well worth checking out, alongside fan favourite Oggy. I promise you, it’ll be unlike anything else you’ve heard in 2023.

Listen here

6. Homospace by Mickey Callisto

When I was first introduced to Liverpudlian pop sensation Mickey Callisto at Dot-to-Dot Festival earlier this year, it was obvious from the get-go he was a natural-born showman destined for big things. An enigmatic, commanding presence on stage, it was an utterly captivating performance that made for one of the highlights of the day and left me eager to see where his career would go next.

Well, this November saw Mickey releases his first EP titled Homospace and I’m pleased to say it’s a star-making debut release - in more ways than one. Here’s what I said in my review for 5-9 last month:

“Loosely inspired by Arctic Monkeys’ Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, Mickey’s debut EP sees him transport the listener into outer space for a visit to “a gay nightclub on the moon”. The sounds that welcome you upon entry are a mesmerising blend of disco, psych-rock and 80s-inspired synth-pop, with Mickey lyrically jumping between personal stories and cosmic metaphors. The result is a joyful, imaginative orbit around some ambitious planetary pop. This is a fantastic, high-concept debut EP from Mickey; one that is not just a lot of fun to experience, but also offers the perfect introduction and showcase for his talent. Offering a welcome escape into some vivid musical nebulas, once you’ve taken the trip to the outer limits, you’ll be reluctant to return back down to Earth.”

Read my full review for 5-9 here

Listen here

5. The High Life by Bloc Party

2022 was the year Bloc Party got their mojo back. Whilst the band’s 2016 album Hymns still had its moments, it very much reflected a band going through a transition. Indeed, Alpha Games was still far from a perfect record, but if you had ever been a fan of Bloc Party then there was plenty of familiar pleasures on offer. Following on from that effort then, and this year the indie icons released a new four-track EP where they sound even more rejuvenated.

It’s a fun collection, with summery indie belter High Life kicking things off, before brilliant KennyHoopla collab Keep It Rolling flourishes with that classic Bloc Party sound. Similarly Blue sees Kele finally get back in touch with his younger self, with the song presenting some of his most sincere lyrics in years. Final track The Blood Moon is then my pick of the bunch, with shades of Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths early doors, before it then transforms into that vintage Bloc Party of old by the end, thanks to Russell Lissack’s signature riffing.

Even if you weren’t quite on board with Alpha Games, Bloc Party fans will find plenty of resemblance to that band they fell in love with all those years ago on Silent Alarm and Weekend In The City here on The High Life. Another positive step in the right direction for one of my all-time favourites.

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4. A Little Lost, A Little Found by Grace Carter

It can sometimes be lost on us as listeners just how derailing the pandemic was for new artists breaking out during that time. After discovering Grace Carter at Live At Leeds fest in 2018, it was evidently clear she was heading for superstardom. The following year cemented this prediction, as the London-based singer-songwriter made the BBC Sound of 2019 list and she set off supporting mainstream heavyweights like Dua Lipa and Lewis Capaldi on tour. However ever since the pandemic struck, Grace has been lost in the wilderness unable to further shine a spotlight on her evolving talent – until now.

Her incredible 2023 EP is Grace getting back to basics, releasing a collection of heartfelt pop ballads that explore identity, family, love and racial injustice. From the exquisitely produced groove of Pick Your Tears Up, the gospel-influenced Riot, the atmospheric tribal cries of Mother and the quirky vocal inflections of Hope, it is littered with moments that quickly remind us of Grace’s songwriting talent.

This is the mesmerising sound of Grace Carter finding herself again and getting things back on track – hopefully she has a clear run this time around.

Listen here

3. Welcome To My House by Yonaka

It doesn’t feel like too long ago I was stood watching Brighton rockers Yonaka perform in the 1am graveyard shift at Dot-to-Dot festival back in 2017. With a then long-haired Theresa Jarvis jumping off the stage to sing her lungs out amidst the modest, onlooking crowd, I was instantly entranced by the band’s energetic songs and performance. Fast forward to now and the band are now a prominent name within the British rock scene, with their songs constantly making their way into TV show, game and movie soundtracks. Returning in 2023 with another release packed with addictive commercial rock anthems, you get the feeling this new seven-track mini-album - which comes complete with a music video for every track - will only catapult them further up the chain of popularity.

With each song representing a feeling, memory or emotion within Theresa Jarvis, the trio blaze through each concisely constructed track, with most hovering around the two-to-three-minute mark. Propelled by anthemic choruses, polished production and Theresa’s ever-impressive vocal acrobatics, it’s another tour de force project from the band.

From rousing opener By The Time You’re Reading This to the anxiety-induced PANIC, through to the colossal confidence of Welcome To My House and the full-throttled punk of Hands Off My Money, it’s just an absolute blast from beginning to end. However, the EP’s best moment is arguably reserved for one of the band’s softest, most heartfelt songs to date – Give Me My Halo. Noticeably stripped back compared to the rest of the tracks here, it allows Theresa’s vocals to soar with her raw, passionate cries driving home the song’s uplifting message.

Across their early releases, their 2019 debut Don’t Wait ‘Til Tomorrow, 2021 mini-album Seize The Power and now this EP, Yonaka have built themselves an arsenal of bangers that would put most other British rock bands to shame. A seismic collection of anthems that will no doubt go down a storm when they take it on tour in 2024.

Experience the visual mini-album through the music video playlist here

Listen to the EP here

2. MANHOOD by ROB GREEN

From one visual EP to another then, however you arguably couldn’t find two more different in sound.

During my first visit to Hockley Hustle festival in 2022, an all-dayer around the cultural heartbeat of Nottingham, soul-pop sensation Rob Green’s acoustic set was such an undisputed highlight, I was wondering how he could possibly top it this year. Well, he managed it.

Performing in the corner of Broadway Cinema’s café with the Rob Rosa String Quartet accompanying him, people were literally queueing at the door to catch even the smallest glimpse of his incredible thirty-minute set. And rightfully so, as the enigmatic performer proved once again his unrivalled ability to bring immeasurable positive energy to a room and leave the audience joyously radiant by the end. I always thought if he could bottle that energy and transfer it to his studio output, he would be unstoppable. Based on his MANHOOD project released at the start of November, it looks like he had the same idea.  

Unlike any other shortplayer released in 2023, MANHOOD is a stunning new visual EP that explores masculinity, self-love and racial identity. Centred around his heartfelt recent singles I’ll Be Around and What Are We Waiting For, the other parts are short vignettes made up of beautiful gospel harmonies, catchy hooks, conversation recordings and deep spoken word passages. With the film version impressively shot in a single take too, it all makes for a powerful 10-minute experience.

A special project by a very special talent, MANHOOD gives the perfect insight into Rob’s unrivalled charm and heart as both an artist and performer. Due to take the project on a UK tour next year, I implore you to go out of your way to see his life-affirming live show if you can – I guarantee you’ll want to capture the positivity in the air and bring it home with you.

Watch the MANHOOD short film here

Listen here

1. Sucker by bexx

“Sometimes falling in love feels like the most important thing in the world, especially when you’re not doing it.” – bexx, 2023

For me, the very best shortplayers should be all killer no filler – with most at four to six tracks long, there really is no excuse on that front. Additionally for me though, they should also take you on a conceptual journey or tell you a story in the same way any great album would. Enter Notts-hailing, synthpop superstar bexx, with her banger-filled debut EP that guides the listener through the highs and lows of her hapless love life.

Ever since discovering bexx through a support slot for Fickle Friends at the start of 2022, she has been on a roll. From her incredible breakout single Hard To Love complete with soaring 80s-tinged guitar solo, to more recent efforts like the extremely catchy One More Night and body positive, rock anthem Prettier, bexx has shown her knack for writing addictive, resonant pop songs is as good as anybody in the genre right now. Taking her first big step forward in 2023, she finally released this her debut EP and it is just the perfect showcase for her talent.

Sucker presents five songs about the eternal search for human connection and the stumbling blocks along the way. It is an EP filled with irresistible tongue-in-cheek humour and packed wall-to-wall with cathartic, anti-love songs with which any amiable cynic can relate. This is “unserious, heartbreak pop” of the highest order and it makes for the most joyously fun EP of the year.

The opening title track is the perfect tone-setter, as bexx describes the urge to text back a former lover, with her wry lyricism firmly at the fore on lines like “I still wonder, do you wonder, how I’m doing, who I’m under – I’m not lonely, I’m just going through the motions.” It’s this light-hearted take on these common melancholic feelings that makes bexx so refreshing and the song itself is one of her most instantly gratifying yet, thanks to its hooky chorus.

Inescapably catchy single I’m Disgusting follows, where bexx describes becoming that hopelessly lovesick romantic she’s always despised (“The lovey-dovey shit belongs on the TV, I’d rather die”). However, the honeymoon period of the relationship quickly ends, as bexx then throws us listeners into the brutal break-up on excellent single, Stupid. Culminating in the frustration-fuelled refrain “I hate this song, ‘cause it’s about you”, it is tailor-made for heartbroken festival crowds to sing back with angst.

Recent single Bad For Each Other is then undoubtedly the EP’s best moment, with bexx found unravelling a toxic friends-with-benefits relationship (“Steal a kiss, 3AM, just a secret between friends – even though I don’t feel used, still a little bit confused”). Once again channelling some palpable rock energy with a guitar-driven chorus, it is mixed seamlessly with a brilliantly produced electronic beat on the quieter, almost whispered verses.

After taking this wild journey with bexx through her romantic life, navigating attraction, sex, heartbreak and all the mixed emotions found along the way, the EP’s climatic song Haha, I’m dying alone can’t help but feel brutally poignant. This is the moment where bexx finally lifts that shield of humour that she’s carried throughout just a little bit, but enough to show the vulnerability hiding underneath - acknowledging that making a joke out of these feelings is her way of coping with the strain of it all. It’s another special, brilliantly written pop song and it’ll have you reaching through your headphones to give bexx a big comforting hug at the end of it.

For a first outing, bexx really couldn’t have crafted a better shortplayer to introduce new listeners into her world. A collection that has been cohesively pulled together and is simply beaming with the catchy, singalong choruses and witty takes that have made her music such a joy to behold. She has really knocked it out of the park with this batch of songs and it is no surprise that it has held on throughout the year to remain my favourite EP of 2023.

Listen here

Thanks for reading – I’ll be back next week with final year-end awards, including my favourite live shows and Top 100 songs of 2023!

[shamblz]

Finally checking the music scene in Nottingham out but I'm already too late 😪

[sunnami]

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.” 

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all. 

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips. 

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly. 

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest.  “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting. 

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number. 

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.” 

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.” 

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.” 

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock.  “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life.  “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.” 

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”  

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.” 

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup. 

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.” 

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.” 

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy. 

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.” 

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few. 

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.) 

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire. 

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster. 

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.” 

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother. 

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.” 

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?” 

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.” 

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?” 

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.” 

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?” 

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks. 

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.” 

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think. 

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance. 

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends. 

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?” 

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.” 

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.” 

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work. 

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf. 

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes. 

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance.  “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.” 

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.) 

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless. 

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand. 

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight. 

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins. 

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position. 

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children. 

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?” 

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls. 

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally. 

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the  emptiness of your unbroken charade. 

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.) 

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots.  The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you. 

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.” 

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?” 

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks. 

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the  hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter. 

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.” 

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?” 

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!” 

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?” 

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.” 

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?” 

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it. 

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow. 

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear. 

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.” 

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought. 

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion. 

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails. 

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must. 

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor. 

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes. 

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.” 

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!” 

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.” 

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side. 

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second. 

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?” 

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?” 

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.” 

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you. 

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt. 

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.” 

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?” 

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders. 

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms. 

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly. 

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.” 

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.” 

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background. 

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!” 

Turns out, you are not fine. 

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen. 

 —

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly. 

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.” 

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly. 

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin. 

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you. 

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.” 

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius. 

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half. 

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.” 

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds. 

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!” 

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights. 

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!” 

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick. 

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.” 

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” 

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair. 

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.  

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.” 

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors. 

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.” 

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.) 

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.” 

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase. 

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.” 

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway. 

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling. 

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you. 

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior. 

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?” 

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly. 

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others. 

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern,  as well.” 

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades. 

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.” 

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself. 

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you. 

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?) 

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House. 

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?” 

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.” 

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.” 

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more: 

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!” 

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets. 

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary. 

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?” 

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?” 

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?” 

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.” 

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.” 

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.” 

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses. 

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders. 

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes. 

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words. 

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them. 

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell? 

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive. 

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.” 

You want to go to sleep already. 

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport. 

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.” 

You miss your cat. 

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.) 

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself. 

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus. 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument. 

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under. 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!” 

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms. 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger. 

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask. 

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters. 

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included. 

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

[ahqkas]

♯ PRACTICE MAKES IT BETTER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing + lmk !

NOTES! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

AMERICA WAS VIBRANT AND DIVERSE. The music scene was thriving with genres like grunge, hip-hop, and pop dominating the airwaves. To you, it was a place of contrasts and boundless possibilities. It was a land where towering skyscrapers stood next to historic buildings, and where you could find everything from bustling cities to quiet, open countryside. The diversity was striking; every state feels like its own little world, with different cultures, foods, and ways of life. It was a country where you could experience all four seasons, with hot summers, cold winters, and vibrant springs and autumns. The sheer size and variety made it feel like there was always something new to explore, whether it was a national park, a music festival, or just a quirky little town.

Then you moved to England.

Leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of America, you stepped into a new world of magic and centuries-old traditions.

The first thing you noticed was the climate change. England's weather was full of frequent rain and cloudy skies. You had to get used to bringing an umbrella everywhere with you.

Hogwarts in Scotland was completely different from Ilvermorny, which resided on Mount Greylock. The towering buildings of the castle intimidated you a bit as you were used to the more modern school, but you were excited for the change of scenery.

The stone corridors, moving staircases, and enchanted portraits had captivated your imagination. The castle itself was full of new discoveries. Sure, you missed your old friends dearly, every one of them, but the owls worked hard and you managed to make new friends here.

As an exchange student from America, walking the hallowed halls of Hogwarts was a totally new experience. The ancient castle with its sprawling grounds, enchanted staircases, and hidden passageways was like stepping into a dream. But it wasn't just the magical environment that threw you off balance; it was the British slang that seemed to pop up in every conversation.

During your first week, you found yourself constantly bewildered by the new expressions. At breakfast, when a cheerful Hufflepuff asked if you wanted a "banger" with your eggs, you hesitated, unsure if it was an insult or a menu item. When a Ravenclaw mentioned being "knackered" after a long night of studying, you had to suppress a laugh, thinking it sounded more like a sound effect from a comic book than an expression of exhaustion.

The confusion was endless: "snogging" instead of kissing, "knickers" instead of underwear, "blimey" instead of a simple exclamation of surprise. You did your best to keep up, but the nuances of the language often left you feeling like you were missing the punchline of a joke. To put it simply, you were lost.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the library, poring over a stack of books for a Transfiguration assignment, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Ciao, piccola," Theodore Nott drawled, sliding into the seat across from yours. His presence was effortlessly welcomed, with his cool demeanor and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. He was a strange boy at first, never letting anyone, but when you warmed up to him, he was a totally new person.

"Hi, Theo," you greeted him with a smile playing on your lips. Theodore had been one of the first students to approach you, his Italian heritage a surprising connection. He often teased you in his native language, enjoying the way you fumbled with the unfamiliar phrases. A nuisance, that he was.

"Come va la tua giornata?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ("How's your day doing?")

Already hearing this phrase a few times, you learned to understand its translation. With a sigh, you ran a hand through your hair. "It's been . . . interesting. I'm still trying to understand half of what everyone says here."

Theo chuckled, the sound rich and warm to your ears. "British slang getting to you?"

"You could say that," you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you watched his amusement at your misery. "I feel like I need a translator just for conversations."

"Well, if you think British slang is confusing, wait until I teach you some Italian slang," Theo smirked at the idea that appeared on his mind. "It's a whole different level."

Now this got your attention. "Teach me, then. It can't be that difficult from the British slang."

Over the next few weeks, Theodore Nott became your informal language tutor. He started with simple phrases, weaving them into everyday conversations until you began to pick them up naturally. He taught you how to greet someone with "Ciao, amico!" instead of a formal "Buongiorno," and how to say "Andiamo!" when you were ready to go.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat together in the Great Hall, Theo decided to test your knowledge. The rain tapped persistently against the high, arched windows, casting a muted gray light across the large hall. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside, swirling with dark clouds and flashes of lightning that illuminated the space completely. Despite the dreary weather, the Great Hall buzzed with the soft hum of student conversations, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the rustling of pages.

Theo, seated across from you at the Slytherin table, leaned back casually, a mischievous glint in his eye. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing his sharp features. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, the way he delighted in challenging you with phrases in Italian, watching with amusement as you thought through the unfamiliar language. Today was no different, his eyes scanning the hall as if seeking inspiration for his next test.

You had been in the midst of revising for an upcoming Charms exam, your notes spread out around you in a chaotic array of parchment and textbooks. The soft light from the floating candles above cast a warm glow on the pages, making the ink shimmer slightly. As Theo's gaze returned to you, you knew another one of his lessons was coming.

"What would you say if you were really tired?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Theo's questions were always a blend of practical and playful, designed to push you just a little further each time. He spoke with the ease of someone completely comfortable in his skin, his words flowing like the rain outside, steady and sure. His Italian phrases, though foreign at first, began to weave themselves into the mind of your understanding.

Your responses grew more confident, the hesitation in your voice diminishing with each passing day. You found yourself thinking in Italian at times, the language slipping into your thoughts as naturally as your own. Theo's delight was evident, his eyes lighting up whenever you got something right, his praise sincere and heartfelt.

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, but within the Great Hall, a warmth lingered.

You thought for a moment, then confidently replied, "Sono stanca morta." The phrase rolled off your tongue more smoothly than before, each syllable a small victory in your journey to master his native language. The meaning — "I'm dead tired" — was all too familiar after long days filled with classes and studying.

Theo laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing softly in the near-empty Great Hall. His laughter was like a reward, a confirmation that you were getting it right. Silver eyes sparkled with approval, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that made your heart flutter. The warmth of his reaction was comforting against the dreary, rain-soaked afternoon outside.

"Well done!" His voice was filled with genuine pride and delight, making you feel accomplished. His praise was never out of place; it was always heartfelt.

Your heart swelled with a mix of pride and joy. Learning Italian was not just about understanding a new language, but also about bridging the gap between your worlds. Each phrase, each word, was a step closer to understanding Theo better, and a way to connect on a deeper level.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, waiting for your next move. "And if you wanted to compliment someone on a job well done?" His question was another gentle challenge, pushing you to dig deeper into your newfound vocabulary.

"Bravo!" you answered without hesitation. The word felt natural, a perfect fit for the context. As you spoke, you couldn't help but smile, the simple word carrying a world of meaning and mutual respect. Seeing the approval in Theo's eyes, you felt a surge of confidence.

Theo's smile broadened, and his expression softened with pride and admiration. The approval in his eyes was more than just about your grasp of the language; it was about your willingness to immerse yourself in something new, to share a part of his heritage, to make an effort to connect.

The atmosphere around you felt lighter, the earlier tension of the day's studies dissolving into a shared moment of triumph and connection. The Great Hall, with its towering windows and ancient stone walls, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world of language and laughter.

The candles above flickered gently, casting a warm glow that danced across Theo's features, highlighting the pride in his eyes.

One day, as you walked together by the Black Lake, the cold water reflecting the moody sky, Theo turned to you, his expression thoughtful. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the shore, their branches swaying rhythmically as if in silent conversation. The scene was picturesque, the expanse of the lake stretching out before you, a serene contrast to the bustling life within the castle walls. It was quiet out here, and you liked this spot.

"You know, you've picked up Italian slang faster than I expected," Theo remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and surprise. His thoughtful tone blended seamlessly with the natural sounds around you, creating a moment of perfect harmony.

You laughed, the sound bright and carefree, echoing across the still waters. Nudging him playfully, you replied, "Maybe I had a good teacher." The playful banter was a reflection of the easy camaraderie that had developed between you, a testament to the countless hours spent learning and laughing together.

Theo's smile softened at your words, a tender expression that seemed to light up his face. His gaze lingered on you, the depth of his affection and pride evident in his eyes. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, each shared glance made your knees tremble. Like you were the only girl at Hogwarts.

"Maybe," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a warmth that enveloped you. "Or maybe you just have a knack for languages." His words were a gentle compliment, a recognition of your efforts and abilities.

The path around the Black Lake was peaceful, the occasional ripple disturbing the otherwise mirror-like surface of the water. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. As you walked side by side, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the rest of the universe fading into the background.

Your footsteps synchronized, a silent dance of familiarity and comfort. The conversations flowed effortlessly, alternating between Italian lessons and shared dreams, each word weaving a tapestry of understanding and companionship. Theo's presence was a constant, steady and reassuring, his thoughtful insights and quiet encouragements a source of strength.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The twilight hues painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, a breathtaking sight that added to the magic of the moment. Theo's silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun was a picture of serenity and quiet strength, a reminder of the stability he brought into your life.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Slytherin boy took a small step closer, closing the distance between you. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, his proximity sending a gentle thrill through your body. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up your arm.

In that moment, with the golden light of dusk casting a magical glow around you, Theo leaned in. His movements were deliberate, filled with a tender hesitation. As his lips met yours, the world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of pure, unadulterated connection.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that spoke everything you needed to know. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the gentle caress of his hand against your cheek — it all combined to create a sensation that was both exhilarating and deeply comforting.

Theo's hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. The kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more insistent. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The connection between you intensified, the kiss becoming a language of its own, expressing everything words couldn't.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of nature reasserting themselves around you. Theo's eyes, still holding that mix of affection and awe, met yours. A soft, contented smile played on his lips.

"Grazie, Theo," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude.

"For what?" he asked confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"For being patient with me. For this. For . . . everything."

Theo's eyes softened, and he reached out, intertwining your fingers in one. "No worries," he replied, his voice just as soft. "I'm glad I could help."

[raekensluver]

moonlit confessions

description: connecting with theodore nott after escaping the chaos of a slytherin rager.

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: partying, late night confessions, drinking, mentions of alcohol, smoking.

song rec: i'm yours by isabel larosa- "nervous, trip over my words, you're so pretty it hurts."

w.c: 1.4k

an: in my slump era....

the room was a blur of motion and color, the air thick with the scent of spilled alcohol and the haze of cigarette smoke. the pulse of the music thrummed through the floorboards, setting a rhythm that seemed to dictate the movements of the slytherin students as they danced and cheered. you leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the game of beer pong unfold with a detached amusement. mattheo and blaise were a formidable team, their laughter echoing off the walls as they scored point after point, while pansy and draco's competitive banter added a sharp edge to the atmosphere. it was the kind of party that you used to love, but tonight, it all felt a bit too much.

you decided to take a break from the chaos, making your way through the crowded room, looking for a familiar face. your eyes scanned over the faces, some flushed with excitement, others with the beginnings of a hangover. lorenzo berkshire caught your gaze from across the room, his dark eyes twinkling as he leaned in to whisper something to the girl he was flirting with. you rolled your eyes and continued your search for theo, wondering if he had retreated to one of the quieter corners to escape the cacophony.

as you moved through the party, the twins, fred and george, intercepted you with mischievous grins. "looking for someone?" fred asked, his hand offering you a beer. you took it, smiling politely. "theo nott," you replied. "ah, the mysterious one," george said with a wink. "last we saw, he was playing hide and seek with a group of his adoring fans." they both chuckled, their playful teasing a welcome distraction.

you thanked them and continued your search, the music's bassline vibrating in your chest. the party was in full swing, but theo's usual charm and presence were nowhere to be found. the crowd grew denser, a mix of laughter and shouts as the game grew more intense. you felt a gentle tug on your sleeve and turned to see luna lovegood, her eyes wide with curiosity. "have you seen theo?" you asked, raising your voice over the din. she tilted her head, considering for a moment before pointing towards the balcony doors. "i think he went outside," she said, her voice delicate as ever.

you pushed through the crowd and stepped into the cool night air, the stark contrast from the stuffy room making you gasp for breath. the moon was high and full, casting a soft glow over the grounds. you spotted theo immediately, leaning against the castle wall, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. he looked lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

his posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his shoulders that spoke of his discomfort with the raucous festivities inside. you approached him slowly, the gravel crunching under your feet. "mind if i join?" you called out, your voice low and gentle. he glanced over, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "thought you'd be in there, cheering for the champs," he said, nodding towards the party.

you took a seat beside him, the cold stone wall biting into your back. "not really my scene tonight," you confessed, taking a sip of the beer that had grown warm in your hand. "yeah, me neither," theo said, taking a long drag of his cigarette. the silence between you grew comfortable, filled only by the distant sound of the party and the occasional hoot of an owl.

theo's eyes flickered to you, the embers of his cigarette casting a warm glow on his face. "you okay?" he asked, his voice genuinely concerned. you shrugged, feeling the weight of the night's expectations lifting. "just needed some fresh air," you replied, watching as he exhaled a plume of smoke. the air around you felt charged, as if the very molecules were holding their breath.

his gaze searched yours for a moment before he spoke again. "it's not easy, is it?" theo said, breaking the silence. "keeping up with all of this." you knew he wasn't just talking about the party. the unspoken understanding between you grew stronger with every shared glance. "sometimes i feel like i'm drowning," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. "i know what you mean," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. the warmth of his hand found yours, and for a moment, you felt like you weren't alone in the sea of noise and expectations. "theo," you began, but he leaned in, cutting off your words with a kiss.

his lips were warm and firm, the taste of tobacco faint on his breath. his ring clad hand slid up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you would slip away. you felt your heart stutter in your chest, the suddenness of the kiss taking you by surprise. but you didn't pull away. instead, you melted into him, the warmth of his embrace a comfort you hadn't realized you needed.

his thumb traced gentle circles on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. theo's other hand rested on your hip, grounding you as the world around you faded away. the music and the laughter were just a distant echo, the only sounds that of your mingled breaths and the crackle of the cigarette between you. it was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party just a few feet away.

you pulled back, your cheeks flushed and your eyes wide with surprise. "theo," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. he looked at you, his own eyes dark with something unreadable. "yeah?" he responded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk that was all too familiar.

you opened your mouth to speak, but the words got tangled in your throat. his beauty had always been a silent punch to the gut, leaving you struggling to breathe, let alone form coherent sentences. "you're just… so pretty," you stumbled out, your eyes flicking down to his chest, where his shirt lay open, revealing a hint of his collarbones. it was a clumsy compliment, but it was all you could manage.

theo chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. "thanks," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. he took another drag of his cigarette, the orange ember burning brightly in the dark. "you're not so bad yourself," he added with a wink. the confidence in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter.

you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting to him. the warmth of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself leaning into it, craving more of his touch. his hand on your neck had left a trail of fire, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you again.

the silence stretched out, filled with unspoken thoughts and racing hearts. you felt your cheeks heat up as you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right ones to express the tumult of emotions churning inside you. "theo, i… i just…" your voice trailed off, and you bit your lower lip, feeling your heart thud in your chest.

his smirk softened into a gentle smile, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. the touch sent an electric jolt through you, and you leaned into it, your eyes searching his for any sign of what he was thinking. "i know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "i feel the same."

you took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne and the night air swirling around you. it was a heady combination, making you feel both lightheaded and grounded at the same time. the party inside beckoned, the music and laughter a siren's call that you couldn't ignore. "we should get back," you murmured, not really wanting to leave the sanctuary of his arms but knowing that you couldn't hide away forever.

theo nodded, stubbing out his cigarette against the wall before standing up. his hand found yours, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through you as he pulled you to your feet. "yeah, we don't want to miss the grand finale," he said, his voice teasing. you couldn't help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly as you allowed him to lead you back into the mayhem of the party.

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ the night of the broken rules ✦ 」

theodore nott x reader x Mattheo riddle ( threesome)

Summary: why do you need to choose when you can have them both

Warnings: threesome , smut , p in v sex, fingering, unprotected sex.

Words: 3k

The scene pulsated with raw energy, a mix of naked bodies swaying to the music, simmering desire, and the lingering tension from their earlier heated exchange. I stood by the bar, pretending to sip my drink while stealing glances at the two magnetic figures across the room—Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott.

They were engrossed in conversation, sharing laughs and inside jokes that only seemed to heighten their allure in the dance floor . Both men exuded a dangerous charm, their magnetic presence drawing gazes from every direction. How was a girl supposed to choose when faced with such tempting options?

Mattheo's confidence and devilish smirk were enough to make any heart skip a beat. And then there was Theodore, with his brooding intensity and sharp wit that could ignite a fire in even the coldest of souls. It was a battle of temptation, and I found myself caught in the middle,

With a heavy sigh, I felt the heat of desire swirling within me, urging me to give in to the tantalizing pull. Suppressing the rising sensations, I navigated through the crowd towards the dance floor. Every step was deliberate, every movement calculated to tease and entice.

I could feel the eyes on me as I moved, the rhythm of the music guiding my body. I traced my hands along the curves of my figure, accentuating my curves, feeling the fabric of my outfit cling to me in all the right places. Swaying my hips seductively, I made sure to give Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott a captivating show, a silent invitation laced with desire.

As the pulsating lights of red, blue, and green bathed the dance floor, I found myself sandwiched between Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. Our bodies moved in sync to the seductive beat, drawing closer with each enticing sway.

Mattheo's hands skillfully found their way to my nipples, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through me. His fingers teased and caressed, igniting a primal desire within me. Meanwhile, Theodore's lips traced a scorching path along my neck, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

The heat between us intensified as we danced closer, the intoxicating mix of their touch and the pulsating music enveloping us in a haze of passion. Mattheo's firm grip on my nipples contrasted with Theodore's soft yet urgent kisses, creating a symphony of sensations that left me breathless and wanting more.

I gave in to the euphoria of the moment, allowing myself to be lost in the sensuality of their dance, the heat of their bodies pressing against mine, and the tantalizing sensations they evoked with every touch.

“ I need you “ I whispered breathlessly to Theo, my desire clear in my voice.

He responded by sucking harsher on my neck, igniting a wave of pleasure. It wasn't a secret — that I have been with both of them before more than once, strictly following my rule of sex without feelings. But this time was different.I craved both of them at the same time, and I made sure they knew it..

"Need you both," I moaned, my hands sliding down to Mattheo's, urging him to squeeze harder on my nipples. Their initial confusion was replaced by a hunger that matched my own as Theo's lips crashed onto mine, claiming me in a frenzy of passion. Our tongues danced in a sinful tango, exploring every inch with unbridled lust.

When Theo finally pulled away, my body ached for more. I turned around, pressing myself against Mattheo's hands, reveling in the sensation of his firm touch. I kissed him fiercely, my mouth molding to his in a torrid embrace. At the same time, Theo's lips found their way back to my neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and delicious nips that sent shivers down my spine.

The anticipation was electric as I led them up the stairs to one of the private rooms at the bar. Every step felt like an eternity, my body humming with desire, the ache between my legs becoming almost unbearable. I couldn't wait another second to have them both, to experience the ecstasy that awaited us behind closed doors.

Once we reached the private room, I turned to face the two boys in front of me, their eyes filled with desire. Without hesitation, I led them both to the bed, the tension in the air palpable and intoxicating.

"Have you ever done this before, Theo?" I inquired as I settled down in the center of the bed, with Mattheo standing at the foot and Theo beside me.

"Hmm, a couple of times, but with two girls," Theo whispered in my ear, gently guiding me to sit on his lap.

"What about you, Riddle?" Mattheo smirked.

"The same, darling," he replied.

"Are you nervous?" Theo asked, and I shook my head. "A little, but I really, really want you both," I admitted with a soft smile, trying to maintain an air of innocence amidst the charged atmosphere.

Feeling the bulge on Theo’s pants, I subtly moved my hips to create friction, hoping to ease the ache that was building there.

Mattheo, aware of my teasing, decided to join in. "What's wrong, darling?" he whispered in my ear as he settled down on my other side.

My entire body heated up as Mattheo's hand found its way to my left thigh, while Theo rested his on my right, both of them spreading my legs to expose me further.

Their hands roamed down my body, exposing my panties to the cool air of the room. I blushed as I felt the dampness between my legs, and I couldn't help but rest my head on Theo’s strong shoulder. "So beautiful, baby," he murmured before kissing me again with hunger, his tongue exploring my mouth as I moaned into the kiss. He took full advantage of my vulnerability.

When we parted, I glanced at Mattheo, noticing his gaze lingering on my covered core. I quivered under their touch, my desire growing more intense as Theo continued to touch me.

His hands skillfully opened my legs even further, keeping them spread wide. Fingertips traced along my inner thighs, igniting shivers of anticipation. I whimpered, yearning for his touch. Mattheo's hands explored over my covered mound, confirming the wetness that had pooled there. I arched my back, moaning softly as I rocked my hips against Theo's hard bulge.

"Don’t tease her too much, Matt. Give her what she wants," Theo's voice commanded as one of his hands slipped underneath my panties, finding my clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I couldn't help but moan as soon as he touched it.

I felt like putty in their hands, no longer the dominant one in control. Theo's finger expertly circled my clit, using my own wetness as lubric

His other hand slipped underneath my dress, confirming my lack of a bra, and he eagerly seized my breast, squeezing it. I squirmed on his lap, craving more of his touch with every passing second.

Even as I writhed in pleasure on Theo's lap, I couldn't ignore Mattheo's presence as he knelt down in front of me. His fingers traced down my clothed slit, eliciting a moan from me as he touched my clit. Mattheo skillfully circled it, coaxing more sounds of pleasure from me. Meanwhile, Theo's hands ventured back under my dress, molding my breast in his hand and squeezing them as he kissed my neck. My hips jerked involuntarily as Mattheo's fingers neared my opening.

The sensation of both their hands exploring my body overwhelmed me, and I couldn't help but open my legs wider for them. Mattheo's gaze locked onto my pussy, and I blushed crimson under his scrutiny, my body thrumming with anticipation.

I was moaning, my hands reaching for Mattheo's hair, allowing me to better rock my hips against his mouth and fingers. While Theo silenced my moans with hot kisses, Mattheo's fingers entered me. He began to lick me once more as he started fingering me.

I could feel my body tensing even more, coiling with every thrust he gave me. I started moving my hips more against his face, eager for him to hit the spot that I knew would make me explode. I didn't know how much longer I could last, but then I felt Theo's fingers playing with my clit along with Mattheo's, and that's what made me climax.

I screamed out as Mattheo's mouth quickly went to drink my juices, not letting a single drop go to waste, while Theo continued to play with my clit, already sensitive from my orgasm.

I looked behind, seeing the smug look on Theo's face as he took in my flushed appearance and saw me cum.

Mattheo licked me clean, loving how his tongue made me shudder when he touched my clit.

Once he was done, he came up and kissed my lips.

I noticed how Mattheo's bulge got bigger, realizing that he needed to relieve himself as well.

"Think you should return the favor, (Y/N)," Theo whispered into my ear, almost as if he read my mind.

I nodded throwing my dress to the floor as my hands reached for Mattheo's jeans, quickly undoing them and pulling them off along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, standing erect right in front of my eyes as he got out of his jeans. I couldn't wait until that was inside me, but first, I just had to have him in my mouth.

I licked the tip first, my eyes never leaving Mattheo's. He looked at me with so much passion. As I licked his head, my hands jerked the part that wasn't in my mouth. I could hear him groaning as I smiled, knowing that I was making him groan.

I was about to take him whole, but then I felt Theo lift me up off his lap. I looked back at Theo and saw him standing up, removing his pants. He smiled, knowing that I was looking at him. He reached for my hips, placing me on all fours. My ass was on full display for him as I took Mattheo's dick in my mouth again.

I finally took Mattheo’s cock as far into my mouth as I could without gagging. Mattheo's hands gripped my hair, pulling me towards him.

I was taking him as well as I could, trying to take him all in my mouth, and I was about to when I felt Theo's touch on my center.

I let out a moan, stimulating Mattheo even more.

I took him out of my mouth, my hands still jerking him as I looked over at Theo behind me.

I saw him with a sly smile as he smacked my ass; I let out a scream.

"Do you like getting spanked while you have a dick down your throat, baby?" he said with his dominant voice.

"Yes," I responded to him, crying so much my tears blurred my vision.

I went back to taking him in my mouth, wanting to taste Mattheo even more. All of a sudden, I felt Theo's cock between my folds. He wanted to enter me, but mainly to let his cock get covered with my juices, which made me scream once more. I leaned my bum against him desperately.

“Matt, please tell him—“ I couldn’t contain myself when Theo spanked me once more, making me scream. Mattheo's hands were on my hair, softly pushing it from my face. “Shhhh, baby, it’s alright.”

Theo made his tip rub against my clit. I was moaning more as his hands went to play with my chest and one with my clit. I was becoming a mess; I took Mattheo more into my mouth, and Mattheo began rocking his hips against me. I kept my head still, letting him enter my mouth as Theo was slowly entering me, just letting the head tease me.

Suddenly, Theo entered me, taking me from behind. I let out a scream as he thrust hard into me. He let me adjust to his length and the angle he was in. He began moving, his thrusts coming slowly, and he just hissed at how amazing I felt. His hands held my hips tightly to pull me against him. His fingers were still teasing me, making my own hips move against him, wanting to create even more friction between us both.

I went back to Mattheo, my hands playing as I licked him from base to end. I tried matching the bobbing of my head to the thrusts of Theo's.

Mattheo was close to coming; he just needed a little bit more to send him over the edge.

I wanted him to come, so I began playing more vigorously, sucking him harder and faster. And Theo was doing the same to me, hearing the slapping sound of our skins echoing in the room.

Theo pounded against me, still not ready to come, but he was going to make me cum. He sped up his thrusts, and I sped up as well, trying to match him, but he was faster, stimulating me more, making me explode against him.

Mattheo let out a groan as he exploded into my mouth. My mouth filled with his cum, feeling the warmth trickle down my throat. I looked up at him, my mouth still filled with his cum, and he looked amazed at what I was going to do next.

I swallowed, opening my mouth and showing him my now-empty mouth.

"Fucking hell," Mattheo said, letting his fingers clean a bit of his cum that I didn't swallow. “You will be the death of me.”

"We aren't even done with her yet, Matt," Theo said as he picked me up, setting me down and slowing his thrusts. He leaned down to take one of my nipples in his mouth. I screamed and arched my back, holding Mattheo's hand.

“Shhh, you're doing a good job for us, Y/N, darling,” Mattheo said, kissing my neck, and I melted in their hands.

I didn’t think i could feel this filled. They both gave me time to adjust to this new feeling. As I came so hard that I felt my soul might just leave my body from the pleasure.

Giving me a minute, I felt Theo's hot cum on my stomach. I opened my eyes slowly to get settled again with Mattheo's dick on me. He slowly slid himself inside me. I ran my hands through his hair, crying out as he sucked my nipple, and I felt Theo’s lips taking their turn in my mouth, kissing me softly with so much passion. “Breathe for me, darling,” he said, putting soft kisses on my neck, and I calmed myself down, doing what he asked me to.

“Yes, just like that, good girl,” Mattheo said, letting me get used to the feeling of him inside me. He began rocking his hips a bit faster. He continued to thrust harder against me, enjoying how with each thrust, I let out a small whimper.

Their hands roamed my body, touching anywhere they could, making me quiver for them. They knew where to touch, having had sex with them plenty of times; they were easily able to find my weak spots, the places that made me squirm. Mattheo was thrusting so fast I thought that we just might break the bed, while Theo’s lips were on one of my nipples and his hands circled my clit. I screamed so loud, my back ached on the bed and my toes curled.

They repeated over and over, I wasn’t sure how long I was going to last. I could feel the pressure in my core building; I really was going to cum, and if they kept whispering into my ear like that, I was going to do it sooner.

“Do you want to cum, sweetheart?” Mattheo said as his grip on my hips tightened to pull me to him. “Do you like being used like that?” yes yes I wanted to scream but can’t find the energy to

I started to let out small whimpers; they knew that I was close. “That’s it, baby, don’t hold back, just let go,” Theo whispered. “Don’t hold it back,” he repeated as he licked my neck.

“Your pussy takes my cock so well, sweetheart. Do you think you can handle both of us together?” I couldn’t really process what he was saying, but I nodded, pretty sure I would agree to anything they wanted me to say.

“Such a dirty princess wanting two loads in her pretty little cunt. I suppose I can give you that,” Theo said as he opened my mouth with his fingers, making me take his dick inside as well.

I kept sucking, taking him all in my mouth while Mattheo still thrusts in me. He only lasts for a few thrusts, but the sensation is better than I could have imagined, his cum filling me up alongside Theo’s and leaving me with a lasting warmth. Mattheo’s head falls between my shoulder blades.

And then it hit me, the strong feeling in my stomach. “Oh, Matt, I think there’s something,” I don’t know how to put it into words as I felt Theo’s dick in me again. “Shhh, I know, love, I know,” he said, leaving kisses all over my face.

I was a moaning mess, Mattheo latched his lips on my neck, sucking on my sweet spot that made me moan out his name. Theo began to kiss the other side of my neck as his hands reached for my breasts, syncing his thrusts.

Theo pulled out of me, his cum matching Mattheo’s in my stomach, then it happens—an unbroken stream of fluid rushed out of me, spraying over the bed sheets. I was shaking, my back ached so bad that when I came down, I felt like I passed out for a moment or two.

“Fucking hell,” Mattheo said in my ear. “That’s the best fucking thing I ever did in my life, sweetheart,” he said, pushing my hair from my face softly.

“We are really fucked now, baby,” Theo said. And then I realized that my stupid rule of no feelings had been broken.

not for one person but two. I was in love with both of them, and I knew that was going to ruin my life.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[distantdarlings]

CRY TO ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - (1960s AU) (Based on this) When Theodore Nott, the best dancer at one of the top clubs in the Wizarding World, loses his dance partner, he asks you to take her place. However, he pushes you too far and you quickly become overwhelmed.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (PIV), unprotected sex, kissing, language, inexperienced!reader, sub!reader, dom!theo, brief mention of masturbation, small amount of angst at beginning, fem reader, bad Google translate, not fully proofread (please lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Cry To Me - Solomon Burke

A/N: Okay so here’s that Dirty Dancing inspired idea I had. I know it’s kind of a weird mixture but I want to see what you guys think, so please lmk below!!!

- - -

“So, why? Why can’t we do the dance this way?” you demanded, pressing your hands to your hips.

“Because the performance is in two days! We’ve rehearsed it like this the whole time!” Theo shouted back, his face becoming red with anger.

You groaned in frustration, pressing your hands to your face. The sweat slipped through your fingers and down your arms. The two of you had been at it for 4 hours, practicing like your lives depended on it.

Your second to last performance of the season was approaching quickly, as was the end of summer. The two of you couldn’t come to a conclusion about what the finishing move was going to be.

You had argued back and forth for weeks trying to decide what was going to knock the rest of the performers off of their feet, and ensure the two of you would be the main entertainment for the rest of the season. Only that would pay yours and his bills.

You’d been partners since the beginning of summer, when the two of you had first met. You’d had no prior dancing experience and had been absolutely terrified to take on the challenge of dancing with Theodore Nott. One of the best dancers you’d ever seen.

The club you agreed to dance with Theo for had been threatening to drop you for another set of partners. They were better, faster, more qualified, but you’d promised Theo that you’d help him keep his job with this club.

But right now, you felt as though he was expecting too much of you. You’d promised you’d be his dancing partner for the rest of the season only to keep him his job. You didn’t agree to become one of the best young dancers on the scene. You weren’t good enough. Theo was, however. And he was expecting too much from you.

“Theo, I told you I’d help you keep your job. When your dance partner backed out, I stepped up to help you immediately. But I told you from the beginning, I’m not a professional dancer. I’m nowhere close to you or even your old dance partner. I’m just me! I’m telling you—I don’t think I can do this move!”

Angry tears had begun to cascade down your face. At the sight of your emotions, Theo seemed to pause and drop his defensive boundaries. His rage seemed to stutter.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping closer to you. You shook your head and turned away from him, so angry you couldn’t see straight through the tears or your fury.

“I’m sorry…I’ve pushed you too far,” he said. “How about we take a break?”

You sighed, covering your face out of embarrassment. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. You wanted to finish the damn dance and move on.

“Amore,” he whispered, his voice rattling through the air. Your breath shuddered as he reached for you once more, trying to comfort you. The tips of his fingers brushed against your arm. Somewhat awkwardly, he tried to comfort you. Yet the way he spoke, and the way he touched you, led you to want more than his comfort.

Since the two of you had started dancing together, you couldn’t ignore the obvious attraction you felt for him and the tension that often hung through the air between the two of you.

“What does that mean?” You breathed, refusing to meet his eyes.

“What?” he chuckled quietly.

“Amore,” you responded. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘love.’” You gasped slightly at his words.

When you finally met his eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the back of the practice studio.

Behind the studio was a small building where Theo was allowed to stay while he was performing with the club—it had been part of his contract. He led you through the door.

His room was dark and smelled slightly of tobacco smoke. He walked past the fireplace and further into the room. You could feel his fingers unfurl from yours as he cast a small incantation toward the small candelabra in the corner. it was bronzed and quite plain but the boy it illuminated was cut like David.

Theo turned and walked toward you, stopping just before your body. His softly carved fingers traced slowly up your arms. Though you wore a long-sleeved shirt, you could still feel his fingertips through the material. Shocks went down your spine.

He pressed his hand tightly against the small of your back. You recognized this position as the one that he had done while you were dancing just moments before.

Your hips melded against his as he let you fall back against the brace of his arm. Your eyes fluttered shut as you allowed the dark boy to support you with full trust. You sighed as your back craned against Theo’s arm. He dipped you once before pulling you back up. You smiled slightly, allowing your hands to place themselves on Theo’s chest.

It was endearing how Theo seemed to incorporate dance into everything. He was a dancer, that much was clear, but you weren’t. You’d never taken any classes but the way Theo moved your body within his hands made you feel as if you’d always known what to do. Like you’d always felt the rhythm that Theo kept in his body.

He pulled you as close against him as you would go. Your lips trembled as the tall boy leaned you back once again, molding his blushed lips against your neck. You weren’t sure how you felt about this, feeling this boy's touch and wanting more. If your parents knew, they'd murder you but this was your way of rebelling against them. You knew that they'd hate you but you didn't care.

"K—" you breathed out, your chest shuddering beneath the pressure of his closeness.

"What?" Theo asked, his eyes flickering up to yours, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You looked into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall into them. You wanted to feel the brunette's arms wrapped around you and his cold lips on your chest. You wanted to feel the strings of his heart wrap tightly around your throat and suffocate you.

"Kiss me."

Theo exhaled shakily and, without another moment, pressed his lips to yours, holding your face in place with his gentle fingers. Within a breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck, attempting to be closer to him in any way possible.

You felt his hands fall away from your back and slip beneath the underside of your thighs. A gasp slipped from your lips as Theo lifted you off the ground and pressed your back to the wall. The feeling of the wood behind you and his soft body before you made you shudder with delight.

The boy’s lips melded perfectly with your own, allowing you to see that this is what you wanted. You didn't want to be constantly nagged at by your parents about finding a Ravenclaw man or a wealthy auror. You wanted Theo—this beautiful, Slytherin dancer.

You unwrapped your legs from his tight waist, placing your feet gently on the floor. You pushed Theo backwards and over to the lounge chair you’d seen when you first walked in. Theo fell down against it and allowed you to straddle his hips.

You pulled his lips back to yours, feeling the way the boy's chest pressed so beautifully against your own. A small moan slipped across your tongue at the taste of Theo’s lips.

He brought his fingers up to your hair, burying them within the soft strands. Your chest shuddered against his feelings.

Theo’s hands traveled down to your waist, pulling the hem of your training shirt out of the waistband of your skirt. You helped him slip it over your head.

Theo marveled at your body. Your skin was flawless beneath the white fabric, carved with the intricacies of an art form. He dragged his fingertips down your curves, reveling in the feeling of the soft flesh that blushed beneath his touch.

"You’re so beautiful," Theo whispered, his lips parted, a springtime blush painted across his cheeks and nose. His lips were a bit swollen from the pressure of yours.

Without another word, you pressed your lips back to Theo’s, allowing him to turn both of you over.

The small chair caused some issues with that but Theo quickly figured it out, getting to work on your skirt. His nimble fingers moved over the fabric like they were dancers themselves.

You watched his every movement, his chest elevating with each heavy breath. The brunette boy pressed his cold lips to your stomach.

A gasp escaped you at the sudden change in temperature. Your fingers wrapped in Theo’s hair just as he had done to yours.

Once your skirt was undone and slid down the length of your thighs, Theo slowly slid his pants down his legs. You helped him pull the firm material down and to the floor.

Though you both had waited for months to see each other, to touch each other, to love each other, you couldn’t wait another second now. It felt as though you’d miss out if you waited any longer. You were scared that Theo would slip through your fingers and you’d never feel his touch again.

“Can’t believe I waited this long,” Theo breathed against your flesh.

He kissed his way back up your chest, marveling at the roving dips and curves. Your hands which were still tucked within his hair led his head back up to yours. Your lips locked together once more with a fervor that left the both of you—inexperienced and experienced—utterly breathless.

The brunette boy's hands traveled down between the two of you, his pale fingers tracing down your abdomen. His hands slipped gently between the fabric of your undergarments and your flesh.

You moaned against Theo’s lips at the contact he was applying to the core of your body. His hands gently teased the your most sensitive areas, smirking against your lips at the sounds he elicited from you. The sound was intoxicating to him.

The only thing you’d ever felt down there was the touch of your own hands, but now you wondered how you’d ever lived without his. He touched every aspect of your body perfectly—almost like he could read your mind and knew exactly what you wanted. Perhaps he was a Legilimens.

“Theo, I need you closer,” you breathed, just as his fingers had just begun to edge your inexperienced body over in on itself.

Without saying another word, he slid his briefs down his pants and ever so gently slid himself inside of you.

The foreign stretch pushed your face to the sky. Your lips opened wide, crying out in silent bliss. His hand gently brushed your hair away from your sweating face.

“So beautiful,” he sighed. “You feel just as I’d imagined.”

The thought of him imagining you and himself like this had you teetering on the edge of pleasure.

With him inside of you, claiming you as his, you imagined him after one of your heavy, tension-filled practices. Ones where he’d brush his fingers down your body a little slower, a little longer, a little softer than he had the last time…or ones where he’d let his breath fan across your neck when he was standing behind you…or ones where you’d touched yourself after the fact to relieve even half of the tension he forced into your body.

And with one final thrust against you, you came breathlessly over Theo, with him very close behind.

At the tightening of your muscles, he gripped the cushion above your head and released into you, pressing love and warmth into you over and over again. You clutched at his bare skin, begging for purchase on anything as he rode out his high into you, assaulting what little strength you had left.

You could barely see anything—not his gorgeous face above you screwed together in pleasure, not the metal ceiling of the building overhead, and not the black beginning to cloud at the edges of your vision.

“S-stop,” you barely muttered out.

Within a millisecond, he completely stopped his movements. His high had passed and so had yours.

“I’m sorry, tesoro,” Theo breathed, checking to make sure you were okay and desperately kissing your fingers. “I didn’t mean to push you too hard.”

“It seems you have a bit of knack for that, hmm?” you whispered, giggling just a bit.

As he realized you were joking, he relaxed just a bit, returning your lazy smile.

Theo was a hard man to keep up with, whether it was dancing, fucking, or just living, and you realized that. But for whatever reason, his intensity only exhilarated you, no matter if it left you in the dust sometimes.

“I will slow down for you, bella,” he spoke softly. “Resterò qui. I will stay here with you, my love. For as long as it takes…”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout , @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch, @abaker74

[nottsbitch]

Right Here, Right Now - T.N.

Based on that one high school musical 3 scene

✩✩✩✩

As Theo Nott touched down on the pitch, the roar of the Slytherin crowd was deafening. The victory was complete: Slytherin had won the House Cup. Theo’s teammates surged towards him, lifting him high into the air in celebration. The thrill of triumph and the smell of victory filled the crisp evening air.

Hours later, the excitement had shifted from the Quidditch pitch to the Nott residence, where the grand celebration was in full swing. Music and laughter echoed through the opulent halls as students, family, and friends gathered to honor the win. The house was alive with the energy of the Slytherin spirit, with food, drinks, and a great deal of revelry.

Meanwhile, Theo and Matteo were nowhere to be seen. The two friends had found themselves in a less glamorous situation: Theo’s truck had broken down on their way to the party. The situation had quickly escalated from a minor inconvenience to a near disaster, as the truck stubbornly refused to start.

“Keep pushing. You better be pushing!” Theo yelled, his breath visible in the chilly night air as he strained against the vehicle.

“I’m pushing!” Matteo shouted back, his frustration evident. Theo’s truck was heavy and unwieldy, and the prospect of missing out on the party was adding to his exasperation.

“Push harder!” Theo urged, his voice a mix of determination and amusement. They were almost there, just a few more steps from the Nott residence.

Finally, with one last effort, they managed to roll the truck to the edge of the driveway. Theo leaned against the truck, panting and smiling with relief. “Home sweet home,” he said, grinning as he glanced at Matteo.

Matteo gave him a flat look, clearly annoyed. “I’m saving for a new one,” Theo said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

“Uh-huh, save faster,” Matteo muttered before turning on his heel and heading towards the house, eager to join the festivities.

Theo watched as Matteo disappeared into the party, and with a resigned sigh, he trudged towards the entrance. The contrast between the chaotic scene outside and the lively celebration inside couldn’t have been starker. As he walked in, he was greeted by cheers and claps on the back from his friends and family.

Despite the rough start, the party was as vibrant as expected. Theo joined the crowd, accepting congratulations and high-fives. His friends, including Enzo and others, were animatedly discussing the match and their victory.

As Theo navigated through the party, searching for you amidst the sea of well-wishers, he was momentarily lost in the whirlwind of congratulations. He stopped briefly to exchange pleasantries and thank the well-meaning crowd, but his focus remained on finding you.

When he finally spotted you on the dance floor with Pansy Parkinson, he felt a surge of relief. He made his way over, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you in a warm embrace.

"Hey," Theo greeted, his voice filled with a mix of joy and exhaustion. "Congratulations, Mr. MVP."

You grinned up at him. "Thanks! Can I fix you a plate?" Even in the midst of the celebration, Theo's thoughtfulness shone through.

"I'll take one of everything" You smiled

"What are we celebrating something?" Theo chuckled, the warmth of your smile making the stress of the day seem almost worth it. Before he could say more, Adrian Pucey swooped in, grabbing Theo's arm.

"What's up, dude? Back-to-back champions, baby!" Pucey exclaimed, his excitement mirroring Theo's earlier exuberance.

Theo was about to respond when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. His father had arrived, ushering him towards a distinguished-looking man who introduced himself as a scout for a professional Quidditch team.

"Let me tell you, that teamwork I saw tonight and the dedication from you, Nott—that's the kind of player I’m looking for," the scout said, his tone sincere.

Theo thanked the man, his mind racing with the possibilities as he tried to process the unexpected opportunity. He turned to find you again, but the crowd had shifted, and he was momentarily disoriented.

Just as he was about to resume his search for you, Pucey stopped him once more, this time with a curious look. “Hey man, great house,” he said, then paused. “Your room? Wicked cool.”

Theo blinked, slightly taken aback. “Oh, thanks, man. Wait, you were in my room?”

"Well yeah I just took a picture... I'm doing mine the same way" He smiled like it was completely normal before pulling out his camera and taking a picture with Theo. The flash confusing him even more then he already was.

Before he could respond Pucey was talking again "Dude we should hang out tonight, Get to know each other"

"yeah sure, I just have to grab the house cup I left it in my truck." Theo thought quickly of a way that he could get away from Pucey.

"Oh dude don't worry I'm on it" And with that he ran off, leaving Theo alone once again and brininging him back to his search.

✩✩✩✩

Theo’s treehouse, tucked away in the branches of an old oak tree, was a nostalgic retreat from the bustling party below. The evening sky was awash with twilight hues, casting a gentle glow over the scene. Theo led you up the wooden ladder with a mix of excitement and nervousness, keen to share this personal space with someone special.

As you reached the top and stepped into the cozy, somewhat cluttered room, you were greeted by the familiar smell of pine and the faint scent of old books. The space was adorned with old Quidditch memorabilia, photographs, and sketches—evidence of the countless hours Theo had spent up here as a child.

“So, another top-secret hiding place,” you said, slipping your hand into his and looking around with interest.

Theo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and nostalgia. “You’re the second girl I’ve ever brought up here,” he said, his voice softening as he met your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “The first?”

“The first was my mom,” he said, pausing to see your reaction. When you elbowed him gently, he continued, “And she only climbed up here to get me down when I got stuck.”

Both of you burst into laughter, the sound echoing softly in the quiet, serene space.

“Well, I’m honored,” you said, taking in the view of the Nott estate. “This place is so cool.”

“Yeah, my dad and I built it together,” Theo said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “It’s been a special place for me.”

You nodded, glancing over at him. “Is that the coach from the pro team who he hasn't stopped talking about in weeks?”

“The very same,” Theo said, a note of amazement in his voice. “He’s here at my house tonight. It’s surreal.”

“I bet he’s already got your name on a jersey,” you teased.

“That’s always been my dad’s dream,” Theo said, his tone filled with warmth. “He’s been so supportive and I know he's proud .”

“I’m proud of you too,” you added softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Theo’s expression grew contemplative. “The thing about going pro is…”

He was cut off by you both speaking at once. “I’ll be 1,000 miles away.”

Theo stopped, his gaze fixed on you. “It feels like this year is flying by.”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh, “I wish it would slow down, at least for a little while.”

Theo took a deep breath, looking around the treehouse as if trying to hold on to the moment. “Well, at least we have right now.”

“That’s true,” you agreed, leaning closer.

“And right here, right now,” Theo said, his voice soft and earnest, “I’m looking at you, and my heart loves the view.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. “That was pretty cheesy.”

“I know,” Theo said, grinning sheepishly. “But I meant every word.”

You smiled back at him, feeling a sense of contentment and connection in the quiet intimacy of the treehouse. The party below seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the shared moment between the two of you.

Theo leaned in, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lantern hanging above. “I’m glad we could share this moment together.”

“Me too,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you leaned in closer. “It’s been a night to remember.”

As you two leaned in and shared a slow kiss the winning fireworks were set off in the back. Perfect timing.

As the party below carried on, the sounds of celebration drifting up to the treehouse, Theo and you were content in the knowledge that, despite the uncertainties of the future, you had each other and a memory that would last long after the night was over.

✩✩✩✩

This was kind of hard to write at the end because I didn't want them breaking out into song.

[sallowsswan]

Slytherin Boys W/ Ballerina!Reader as Pas De Deux 🩰

SO I'm back at it again with more ballet stuff! Last time I did headcanons for Mattheo if he was dating a ballerina. This time however, we're going down the route of what Pas De Deux (pair dance) the boys would do with a ballerina reader if they danced together.

Lorenzo Berkshire

White Swan Pas De Deux (Swan Lake)

Choosing one for our boy Enzo was EXTREMELY difficult because I secretly headcanon him being a danseur already so picking just one dance for him was hard. I went with the famous white swan pas de deux from Swan Lake where he is the role of Prince Siegfried and the reader is Odette. It's a beautiful, and heartbreaking pas de deux where Odette and Siegfried get to know each other better with it ending in Odette putting her trust in Siegfried to make a vow of true love in order to free her from Von Rothbart's spell. (In this video the pas de deux is performed by famous dancers Svetlana Zakharova and Roberto Bolle. The part at 5:09 where he embraces her makes we weeeeeeep)

Theodore Nott

Giselle act 2 Pas De Deux (Giselle)

For Theo's I decided to play a little into the headcanon of him being a casanova and went the route of Giselle. Theo's character would be Albrect (sometimes known as Count Albrect, Duke Albrect, or in other versions Prince Albrect) the reader's character is Giselle, who died of a broken heart when she found out Albrect was bethrothed to another woman. Another beautiful and heartbreaking piece as Giselle is trying to protect Albrect until dawn from the wrath of the willis (spirits of young maidens that died before marriage) who wish to make him dance to his death. The queen of the willis Myrtha uses Giselle to lure Albrect away from the safety of her tombstone by making her dance a seductive pas de deux that lures him in like a siren singing a song. (In this video the pas de deux is danced once again by famous dancers Svetlana and Roberto. They're one of my favorite dance partner pairings!)

Draco Malfoy

Sugarplum and Cavalier (The Nutcracker)

My first fictional love, I had to give Draco one of my favorite pas de deux which is from The Nutcracker between the sugarplum fairy and her cavalier. I don't think I need to explain which roles these two are, it's a beautiful piece with beautiful music performed near the end of the story. (I've inserted my FAVORITE rendition of this dance performed by famous dancers Anna Tsygankova and Matthew Golding)

Mattheo Riddle

Black Swan Pas De Deux (Swan Lake)

When it comes to my headcanons I said that Mattheo liked Don Quixote and Giselle, but this man also in my headcanon has an absolute WEAKNESS for Swan Lake. So when he gets to be the part of Siegfried and the reader is playing Odile? He's absolutely giddy because this pas de deux is alluring and seductive as Odile is playing poor Siegfried like a fiddle making him believe she's actually Odette. (For this video the pas de deux is danced by one of my favorite dancers Gillian Murphy with Angel Corella)

Tom Riddle

Opening Scene (Swan Lake)

I could've easily went full delulu and gave Tommy a pas de deux, but come onnnnn. I'm giving this man the role he was MADE FOR. The opening scene from ABT's Swan Lake. He's the role of the sorcerer Von Rothbart while the reader is Odette. So enchanted by the beautiful princess he runs into in the woods he tries to charm her only to find her displeased and so what does he do? Takes her for his own and changes her into the form of a swan to keep her close to him. (For this video it's from ABT's Swan Lake they recorded back in the early 2000's with Gillian Murphy as Odette, Marcelo Gomes as the handsome human Von Rothbart and Isaac Stappas as Von Rothbart's other form)

Blaise Zabini

Nikiya and Solor act 1 (La Bayadere)

I'm not too familiar with Blaise, so forgive me everyone but I didn't want to leave him out. I chose my favorite pas de deux from La Bayadere where Blaise would be Solor a warrior and the reader is Nikiya a beautiful temple dancer. The two are secret lovers that are reunited and dance together before swearing their love under the sacred flame. (For this one I went with yet again Svetlana and Roberto because they ATEEEEEE this pas de deux up with their chemistry alone!)

[infin1ty-garden]

BAND TOGETHER

✧. ┊ summary: your rival is in a band ✧. ┊ character(s): blaise zabini, draco malfoy, lorenzo berkshire, mattheo riddle, pansy parkinson and theodore nott ✧. ┊ warnings: mention of alcohol consumption ✧. ┊ word count: 847 ✧. ┊ author note: it's a day late. verry sorry

masterlist. & 100 follower celebration

BLAISE ZABINI

✧. ┊ Blaise was a guitarist in the band. Your relationship wasn't exactly a good one but you respected each other. You were surprised one of your friends was a fan of said band.

✧. ┊ All in all their music was pretty good and you ended up listening to their songs. That's what you were doing in the library, when Blaise interrupted you.

✧. ┊ "You like my voice that much," he just had to interrupt you as one of his rare solo parts came on. For weeks he didn't let you live it down. He visited you after class and shoved a ticket in your hand. Didn't say anything else.

✧. ┊ He couldn't keep his thoughts straight. You are listening to his voice. Well, songs but same thing. The scene kept replaying in his head. Do you like him? Does he like you?

DRACO MALFOY

✧. ┊ You were in rival bands. Known to dislike each other. Most of your songs containing lines to make fun of the other band. What you didn't expect was finding Draco in your dressing room.

✧. ┊ "What are you doing here?" He didn't say anything as he made his way to you. Stopping right in front of you. His expression is unreadable. "I wanted to ask you out on a date."

✧. ┊ Your head was spinning. Your rival is asking you out for a date. What has the world come to?

✧. ┊ Draco didn't really hate you. How could he? You were talented, great, caring and just awesome. He had to ask you out if he'd end up waiting for too long. He didn't want to regret not asking you out sooner.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

✧. ┊ Lorenzo was trying to impress some girls with his guitar skills. You rolled your eyes as they swarmed around him. A sensible person would run in the other direction. "I could do better."

✧. ┊ "Try," he heard you, passing you the guitar. Everyone was looking at you but then the gryffindors crashed the party. Saving your ass.

✧. ┊ "I still wanna hear you play," Lorenzo insisted. A few days after the incident, Lorenzo asked you to play him something. You prepared in advance and asked one of your friends to teach you something simple.

✧. ┊ he was mesmerised, watching you play. He isn't sure why he feels like that. He hates you, doesn't he?

MATTHEO RIDDLE

✧. ┊ You had gotten drunk at another slytherin party. Barged into a random unoccupied room. To find a drum set and decided to fool around.

✧. ┊ Mattheo stumbled in with a girl in his arms. Confused once he spotted you on his drum set. Ignoring the girl he'd been making out with a moment ago.

✧. ┊ "What are you doing?" You stopped. Looked around finally realising this was Mattheo's room. "Sorry, I d-didn't..." you left the room. Letting them continue what they were doing.

✧. ┊ Mattheo was so confused. Why were you in his room? Why didn't it bother him? He cornered you. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think it was your room and I was drunk."

✧. ┊ "Would you like to learn how to play?"

PANSY PARKINSON

✧. ┊ Pansy was a great singer. You randomly found out she was apart of a band. You can't deny her singing capabilities. You can't stand her but she is talented.

✧. ┊ You decided to go to one of their shows. It was a small venue. You still hoped she wouldn't see you. Just your luck as soon as she got on the stage, she spotted you.

✧. ┊ She kept looking at you while singing certain parts of songs. You thought she hated you. Clearly you thought wrong.

✧. ┊ After the show she came up to you. "What did you think?" She'd placed her hands on yours. "I...um loved it?" You were uncertain what she wanted to hear your opinion on. "Yeah?"

✧. ┊ Pansy didn't realise her feelings for you until one of her friends pointed them out. What she thought was hate was actually love? She couldn't deny it anymore.

THEODORE NOTT

✧. ┊ "What's this bullshit," you found Theo in the courtyard writing. You assumed it was an essay or something but it was lyrics. You grabbed his notebook and started running. "Is it about a girl you're madly in love with?" He chased you as you read the lyrics. Slowly coming to the realisation that they were about you.

✧. ┊ "You can't come up with a better title than I hate you, die," he took back his notebook and ignored you for the rest of the week. "Hurt, I read your little diary?" He threw a paper at you. You read the top 'I hate you, die'. The lyrics had been reworked to include a certain event. Despite this the song was a love song. He loved you?

✧. ┊ Love and hate can be mistaken for one or the other and Theo knew he loved you. He just didn't know how to say it. Words left him when he was around you. He felt like a fool. It was a dumb idea but he did it anyway. Writing a song for you.

Thanks for reading!

[beegomess]

Dark Paradise || Theodore Nott

Don't forget to watch the previous chapters

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated🫶🏼

10. Sweet dreams This chapter has content for adults!

That night, Y/N needed help to give his brother a cold bath and then put him to bed. In her head it seemed like an easy task, but it was definitely the heaviest thing she had ever done, and Draco didn't seem to want to collaborate. Luckily, Theodore helped, taking the boy to the bed of one of the many guest rooms in the place.

Y/N was exhausted, borrowed one of Daphne's pajamas and took a shower, soon after, she went to the kitchen looking for something to eat. While she chopped some fruits in a small bowl, Theo leaned on the door holder in total silence, just watching Malfoy on her back humming some music.

- No sleep?

- Just hungry. And you? - Y/N said still without turning around to look at him.

- I heard the noise of someone walking around the house and I thought it could be Draco.

- If it were Draco, you can be sure that his bodyguard would be escorting him. - Y/N jokes when referring to Astória, which makes the boy laugh too. Y/N finally finishes the quick snack he made and turned to Theodore, finding the boy in his pajamas, which seemed strange at that moment. Y/N was used to seeing him with Slytherin's cape, quidball uniform and even less formal suits or clothes, but seeing him in pajamas seemed a little more intimate than usual. - Do you want to? - She offered a small fork and he nodded positively, approaching.

They started eating quietly and slowly, although a little strange, it was also comfortable. Theodore took advantage of every small flash of light that entered through the window in front of the kitchen sink to admire Y/N with his sleepy face, which in turn felt the look of the boy himself. In a brighter place it would be possible to see the slight blush that appeared on his face.

- Do you miss Hogwarts when you are at home? - Theodore breaks the fragile silence that reigned for a few long seconds.

- Usually not, but this last week yes. - She responded with a slight smile on her face, but still without looking at him. Theodore wondered if she missed school because she also missed seeing him every day, just like he felt about her in that long week. - Why? Have you missed me? - Y/N provokes, now looking at Theodore's angelic face, who just directed his eyes to the girl's pink lips.

- To be honest, lately you have been appearing in my thoughts more than I would like to confess. - Theodore seemed too close now, his breaths mixing and the slight touch of his fingers dragging a lock of hair away from her eyes made her shiver.

Nott's confession seemed more like a request than a de facto outburst. In his mind, he revisited every dream scene in which she appeared. That moment was different from the others when they were about to kiss, there was no hurry or tension at all. The distance between them seemed to decrease naturally. Y/N was waiting for Theodore, she wouldn't try any more proximity of this type if he didn't do something at that moment.

- You're so beautiful. - Theodore's hand went down from his hair to his mouth, dragging his thumb slightly over his lower lip. - I've been dreaming about you every night, Y/N. Even trying, I couldn't stop thinking about you for a minute. - The words were like butterflies that circulated inside the stomach of Y/N, increasingly lost in those eyes and confessions.

She decides to repeat what she did on the night of the dance, taking the initiative to have him for herself and touching her lips on his. Theodore corresponds with passion, bringing her body as much as he could, his hands snaked through all the fragile fabric of the sweater she wore, creating crumpled folds, hungry hands looking for the least amount of skin she could. Her hands, in turn, were in the middle of his hair, curling and pulling more to herself as the kiss deepened more and more.

Theodore pushed her against the sink bench, pressing more on the bodies and lowering the kisses down her neck as sighs fell from Y/N's mouth. The external lighting brightened a little the lascivious scene that happened inside the house, Theodore climbing the hem of the white silk piece she wore, squeezing her thighs to the point of marking them as his. - Merlin, I'm in heaven now. - That's what went through her head when she felt light bites on the skin of her neck and hands inside her legs, teasing her over her underwear with a torturous finger drag.

Y/N closed his eyes, hung his head back, stuck his nails on the bench behind him, and surrendered to the feeling of his hot hand invading his panties with his fingers, pressing in slow circles the most sensitive point between his legs.

Nott kissed her mouth again, swallowing every moan she let out, they were like music to him. In a short break during the kiss, he observed the mess he left in Y/N. Neck with the marks he left, a strap fallen from her shoulders, legs squeezing in her hand and half-open lips releasing all the moan she had.

- Please... - Y/N said between moans still with his eyes closed. He held her neck, just strong enough to make her look at him. - Theo, I want you so much now... - The boy thought for a moment if he wasn't in another of his hot dreams with her. Theodore was on fire to hear her call her name.

He stopped what he was doing, kissing the girl's soft mouth again. Y/N felt Nott's hands grab the sides of his hips, clearly feeling how needy he looked inside his own clothes. In a quick movement, Theodore turned her, leaving her Y/N back against her chest. His hands walked under the fabric on the girl's body, kisses and small bites were left on her shoulders.

Y/N felt Theodore's hands reach one of her breasts, squeezing it slightly and making her gasp with the sensation. She held it in his arms, as if she were fading down there.

The pressure of Y/N's ass on his dressed member made Nott hurry to take off her panties. The piece fell easily through her legs, which kicked her slightly to some corner when it reached her feet.

Squeezes were felt stronger and stronger on his thighs and ass. Theodore undresses just enough to fit into her, which he leaned slightly so that he finally entered.

- Don't do this to me, Theo, please...- Y/N moans low while he provokes her by crawling between her wet folds. Theodore smiles instantly when he hears the girl of his dreams beg for him at last.

- Sorry, love, you're so wet that I couldn't contain myself. - Theo's deep voice completely loaded with excitement near her ear made her squeeze around nowhere. He provoked her a few more times, making her temporarily hate him for it.

And then Theodore finally pushed himself into his entrance, hypnotized with the view of the sweater raised to the Y/N waist by his firm hands around his body. To Theo, it seemed like paradise, to feel it around him, the scene and the moans that came out of that beautiful mouth.

Y/N felt the ice cream from the countertop stone against her boiling skin when Theodore began to move inside her. He pulled her body back and she laid her head on one of her shoulders, making a point of moaning near his ears, which she realized made him react more intensely.

Theodore held Y/N's neck with one hand, ensuring that he had the control he wanted over her. The other hand went to the sensitive clitoris again, while distributing kisses on the extension of his neck. Y/N at this point only tried to hold on to his body, grabbing his arm stretched over his belly and feeling him release his neck, using his hand to hold it in place.

- Damn, you're fucking tight... - Y/N was super stimulated enough to squeeze only with Theodore's low moans, the things he said just made her closer to the edge. Her grips made Theodore smile convinced.

- Teddy, don't stop...- That's just what Y/N could say, and then the eyebrows came together, the lips opened, the muscles tightened and a small amount of a viscous white liquid ran down his thighs as he continued to hit his hips against hers.

That was too much for him, Theodore continued to move in the same way as she squeezed around him, which was the last straw. A few seconds later, he tried to move his hips away so as not to end up inside her, but Y/N used one hand to pull him back and spill himself inside her.

When he retired from Y/N, Theodore probably saw the most sexually attractive scene for him, which he made a point of keeping it mentally for another moment. Y/N recomposing himself little by little by holding on to the sink, the legs trembling and both liquids mixed flowing between the thighs.

- Merlin, I need a bath. - The breaths are still controlling when she turns around, still leaning on the bench. Both smile with the Y/N statement.

The clothes and hair were already properly tied when they both headed out of the kitchen. Y/N did not dispute and Theodore did not question, they just took a shower and slept peacefully in the room where the boy was

[...]

The breakfast table was set, the meeting of the Slytherin friends at the big table reminded Hogwarts once again, with no adults around, only them.

Luckily for Theodore and Y/N, the girl managed to return to the room without drawing attention earlier that morning, she took advantage of the fact that all her friends were passed out in their rooms and that they would not even wake up with a bomb. Most of them were destroyed the night before, Draco was certainly the most affected.

- Merlin, never let me drink like that again. - The blonde held his head between his hands with his elbows on the table.

- You'd better recover quickly, little brother, tomorrow we'll return to Hogwarts. - Y/N said while drinking a sip or another of your coffee.

- You don't need to remind me, Y/N. - The boy complains and when he was going to say something else he was interrupted.

Mattheo drew all his attention to himself, who came from the kitchen with lilac lace panties hanging from his index finger while a malicious smile adorned his tired face.

- Someone here had a lot of fun last night, huh? - Y/N and Theodore froze with the look of Mattheo and Pansy on them. - Astoria did you really do miracles here, Draco making a little scene to let the party do this in the first room they entered? - Y/N and Nott didn't understand, but they wouldn't take that in front of everyone. They took advantage of the fact that Draco was so out of patience that he did not make a point of answering, while Astoria received a stern look from her sister.

_______________________________

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

Next chapter>>>

[cutestdomi]

‘truest lyrics heard’

— theo nott x fem! reader

( arranged marriage x enemies to lovers)

⚠️ • warnings ; this fanfic WILL be a slowburn, but there’ll be tension / smut too (if lucky).

“you need to be married to theodore nott of the nott family, you understand what you must do, right [name]?” my father’s words echo throughout my mind as if it seemed to be an empty place, but it was in that moment. atleast to me it seemed.

“w-what? father, you know i despise nott. right?” i stuttered, stumbling on the right words to say as i couldn’t believe what i was hearing.

“oh my goodness, can’t you stop being selfish and finally be useful? just do this for us, for our family, for your family.” my father sternly said, his tone solemn and i knew his words were final.

i sighed, nodding my head, allowing myself to be controlled without a peep of opinion coming out of my mouth, i knew i couldn’t win this fight against my father.

“finally, anyways they’ll be coming by next week, go out and buy yourself gowns, i’ll ask the maids to come and bring you the necessities need to pretty yourself up.” my mother said, cutting between the tension in the air as she slightly smiled, trying her best to reassure me after the conversation.

“okay thank you mother, ill go out and buy my gowns, now if you’ll excuse me.” i said, smiling back as i walked past her and out our home, not looking as i made my way to the shops, the cold air flowing throughout my walk to the shops.

my purse in the clutch of my tense hands, the only thing on my mind was the song i was listening to, ‘i wanna be yours’ by arctic monkeys, god how much is love that band, and how true the lyrics were. i hummed along to the beat, smiling unknowingly.

the only thing in my life was music, and how peaceful it was. “merlins, couldn’t pansy have married that bastard.” i mumbled, sighing heavily as i rolled my eyes at the thought of my fiancé aka my enemy.

once i reached the sign signaling i was at my destination, i immediately turned my head looking for the dress boutiques. a crowd surrounding me, not the best time to go shopping, but it’s whatever.

i finally found a boutique that had caught my eye, making my way to the store, maneuvering through the crowd swiftly. my eyes lit up as i made it passed the door, the gowns of all styles and lengths shown brightly, which painted a grin on my face.

i excitedly made my way to this mannequin, a beautiful white, pearly beautiful gown. the details on it were immaculate, the dress was beautifully decorated with pearls as lace was draped along the dress, it seemed like something that an angel would wear, and i decided to get it since the bow really spoke to me as it was placed along the waist, tying the long pieces of laces draped on the dress.

i sighed, looking at the other gowns, finding others i enjoyed and would absolutely look beautiful on me and my body, i also decided to buy some heels for each dress, a girl could never have enough heels, right? but anyways, as i headed into the direction for the checkout, i spotted him through the glass window.

deciding not to make a scene, i continued making my way to the counter, the huge pile of gowns and heels on the counter as they were placed in huge boxes delicately and said to arrive to my house tomorrow, in which i smiled at and paid before hesitantly making my way out the door.

i began to walk out, heading to ‘Honeydukes’ since in that moment i had felt a craving for sweets. making my way swiftly and with consciousness i had almost made it there, until i heard his voice. i had unconsciously turned my head, interlocking eyes with him, his smile turned up as his steps made their way towards me.

“and what may you be doing here, [name]?” he questioned, a glint of light in his eyes as he smirked right at me.

i rolled my eyes, sighing heavily, “shopping obviously, why do you think im at the shops, idiot?” i remarked, trying to find a way out of this situation, i was not in the mood for his blabbering at the moment.

“awh, poor principessa, mm why dont i be a good fiancé and help you, no?” he asked with a smirk, though it sounded more like a demand than a question.

i cringed at the word fiancé, merlins why’d i have to be so unlucky to have to get him as my fiancé and soon to be husband? i meekily shaked my head, finally deciding to answer him.

“awh, nott!! you just can’t seem to get enough of me can’t you?” i stated in a ever so playful and gentle tone, smiling brightly but it was just a facade, he knew it was too.

he sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, the sassiness in his actions shone heavily as he walked away, waving a slight bye before pulling out a cigarette and leaving me behind to wonder.

‘who the fuck does that guy think he is? oh my god he’s gonna be the death of me one day i swear..’ i thought, also thinking about how we’d have to get married and live together, and be a couple before all of that. life is gonna be miserable.

i heavily sighed, marching into the candy shop as i walked to the candy frogs aisle, the bad energy releasing and all i felt in that moment was joy and gratitude for the makers of these chocolate-y frogs.

i couldnt wait to indulge in them once i got to my mansion, making sure i grab more than just a few since you can never go wrong with these frogs, especially chocolate ones!

after paying, i made my way home, stopping by the boutique to make sure they had readied my packages full of gowns and have made sure to deliver them by tomorrow since i’d need them to try on before the meeting with theodore’s family.

i walked the path, making sure to keep my eye on the road and the path ahead, finally reaching the gate to my house, and that’s when my song had played again.

lost in the moment, all i could recall was that song and the lyrics, ‘i just wanna be yours’. except, who’s would i be? i laughed at myself and made my way inside stopping by to my older sister’s room, pansy, and ranting about theodore as always.

“what if i run away, god i dont want to deal with that horrible example of a man.” i remarked, almost going to tears infront of my sister at the thought of being married off to the devils spawn.

“hmm, are you sure you don’t like him? i mean, maybe hes the reason you say the lyrics to ‘i wanna be yours’ are so relatable!” she exclaimed, seeming excited at the thought of her younger sister having a crush, finally one pansy could help with.

“w-what. no you’re dumb, im leaving.” i said, marching out of her room and slamming the door, merlins all my family have gone crazy..

right?

[fieldofdaisiies]

Halloween Party

ship: Theodore Nott x Reader type: fluff/suggestive word count: 1,8k words warnings: underage (they are 17) smoking, drinking, sneaking out summary: Y/N and Theo attend a Halloween party hosted by the Slytherins and later on decide to sneak away

Your heart is pounding vividly. Music is sounding all around you, and in your ears.

You stand at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, excitement coursing through your veins as you take in the scene before you.

The Halloween party is in full swing, the room in front of you a wicked wonderland full of students dressed up as monsters, spiderwebs decorating every corner, and ghosts adorning the dark emerald walls.

The sconces' soft glow casts eerie shadows across the room. Jack-o'-lanterns flicker all over the room. 

In the centre of the room, is burning brightly, its flames casting a warm, inviting light upon the room. On the table in front of it there is a a lavish spread of Halloween treats like chocolate frogs, liquorice wands, and pumpkin pasties.The scents of these sweet and baked goods mingles with the with the musky aroma of fire whiskey (someone must have snuck it in) and the earthy notes of pumpkin juice.

You look around and spot your friends, all in their Halloween finery. Draco is dressed in an casual attire, not costume though. Pansy is a mysterious witch (more than usual, now dressed up and styled). Enzo, with a wicked grin on his lips, has decided to put on a werewolf costume, his body adorned with realistic fur and fangs.

And then there is Theo. The object of all your desires and your heart. Your boyfriend. And he looks absolutely dashing, with a mischievous smile playing on his lips. He decided to dress up as a vampire, his fangs visible, his hair neatly combed back. He looks stunning, you think and pull your lower lip between your teeth. 

His dark eyes lock onto yours, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He flicks away his cigarette, of course making sure it is no longer burning and approaches you.

"Baby, you look stunning," Theo says, his voice low and smooth. "I can't wait to…let my teeth sink into your soft skin." He leans in a little, kisses your cheek and then your neck. He draws in a deep inhale, your scent and leans back with a smirk on his lips. 

You blush, feeling a rush of warmth at his compliment. You, just like Pansy dressed up as a witch, still wearing your robes, but the skirt is a little shorter, the blouse unbuttoned, the tie hanging loosly around your neck. 'All the other days you are a good witch, on Halloween you are a sexy witch,' is what Pansy had told you when you had gotten ready. You had laughed at her, but you have to admit you absolutely love the outfit and how it fits you. And how Theo looks at you — like he would truly love to devour you. 

"Well, you Mr Nott, look very dashing yourself." You bounce onto your toes and peck his lips. He tastes like Fire Whiskey — musky and sweet. 

He grins and offers you his arm, and you accept it with a smile. Together, you make your way over to a cozy corner of the room where a small group has gathered. Blaise Zabini is talking about their last Quidditch game (one they obviously won), his smooth, deep voice captivating the the people gathered there. He uses his hands, gesturing, to make his point even more clear. 

"Fuck Gryffindor," Draco chimes in when Blaise finishes, pouring a shot of fire whiskey for himself. His housemates are cheering, and so is Blaise. You watch them with amusement and think to yourself, men…

Draco offers Theo another two glasses, one for your boyfriend, one for you. Theo takes the drinks and hands one to you, his fingers brushing yours. The contact sends a pleasant shiver down your spine and makes warmth erupt in your hands. "A toast to Halloween, and to the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts," he says, raising his glass.

You clink your glass with Theo's, the fiery liquid warming your throat as you take a sip and then lean in to kiss him, this time a little deeper, tasting the whiskey on both your lips. 

When you lean back, the room seems to blur, and you find yourself lost in Theo's eyes. He leans closer, his breath soft against your ear. "Dance with me, Y/N?"

Obviously you say yes and follow him into the middle of the room, next to the table with the lavish goods and soon you are joined by your friends. A bewitched gramophone is playing a beautiful music and you sway together, lost in each other's company, his hands on your hips, yours on his strong shoulders. 

Laughter and happy fills the room as you all dance, big smiles gracing your faces. Everyone swirls everyone around but soon your return to your boyfriend. After a few dances, you and Theo make your way back to your cozy corner, and he pulls you onto his lap, your back perfectly fitting against his chest. You hum in delight, feeling his hard chest press against your back. 

His hands sneak around your waist, over your belly and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing from your collar bone up to your ear. You shiver at the sensation and jerk a little in his lap. "Theo," you whisper, voice tinged with reprimand. 

But your boyfriend does not care. He loves showing everyone that you are his. Normally, he is not so keen on the public display of affection, but it always changes when he drinks something. Then everyone has to see you are his, and only his. 

Theo leans in closer, his voice a sultry whisper that only you can hear when he says, "Lets sneak out to the Black Lake." 

You bite down on your lip and turn to look at him. His eyes have darkened, yet the promise of what would expect you shines brightly in them.

The idea sends shivers of excitement down your spine. And so you nod. It is exciting and thrilling, sneaking out with him in the middle of the night. It is not like you haven't met at night in either the common room or a broom closet before, but this is different. You are leaving the castle!

Out of the sight of the others, you slip away with Theo, your hand in his. A wave of thrill and ecstasy washes over you as you tiptoe through the hallways, the large corridors of the castle, hoping to go unnoticed. You really hope no painting will give you away, revealing you to the headmaster or some teachers. But you always stay close to the walls and the ground and truly manage to sneak out of the castle. But you stay calm until your far enough that no one inside the castle could spot or hear you. 

The Black Lake already awaits you as the chilly night air greets you. The moonlight casts a silvery path across the ground and leads you towards the lake. 

Theo removes his cloak and spreads it out on the ground for you to sit down. Once seated he immediately pulls you into his arms and kisses you. And when your lips part, his face stays within inches of yours and he looks at you. Just looks at you and it is all he does for a very long moment. 

Until he brings his thumb up and brushes it over your lower lip. "You are so fucking beautiful, Y/N. I am the luckiest man alive." His voice is breathless, a whispered promise to love you until the very last day of your life. 

Your breath mingles with Theo's when you lean in closer, lips nearly on his. "And I am the luckiest woman alive." Your lips curl when his press against them.  

His fingers brush against yours, and then move lower. Without much effort, Theo pulls you onto his lap, your bodies melding. A gasp parts your lips, but he does not let you escape, his hand buried in the hair at the back of your head, moving your head even closer, his tongue simultaneously parting your lips. He groans when you allow him entrance, his other hand sliding down to grab your butt. "The sexiest little witch I have ever seen," he rasps against your lips and kisses you again. 

Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the kiss, the world around you fading into the background. Everything turns into insignificance as you give yourself to him, your bodies becoming one near the lake. 

"Theo," you whisper, a hint of mischief in your voice. 

He nips at your lower lip and then lifts his darkened gaze to you. "Hm?"

"Didn't you say something about wanting to sink your teeth into my—"

He does not even let you finish, flipping you over, but of course making sure you land softly on the ground and his coat. His finds his place on top of you, your hips falling open, his hands braced on either side of you, lips and teeth attached to your neck. At first his kisses you, softly, gently, then he graces his teeth over your skin until he starts to bite down softly, nibbling. 

You know only magic will be able to conceal the terrible love bight he is giving you, but it is so worth it. Your back arches a little, pressing against him, against the hard ridge of his hardening length and a moan parts your lips. He groans in approval, both at the sounds leaving you and the feel of your body against his. 

He devours you, worships you. Praises you. Tells you how beautiful you are, over and over again. Your bodies come together under the moonlight, accompanied by the soft sounds of the water of the lake and the some owls howling in the nearby forest. 

Only a long time after, you return to the party, hand in hand, with secret smiles that only the two of you share on your lips. You know your hair is ruffled, cheeks flushed, costumes no longer looking as they did before you snuck out. Your lipstick is smudged and Pansy flashes you a knowing grin when she spots the two of you re-entering the party. 

You only roll your eyes at her, but eventually have to grin. 

"I love you," you tell Theo, kiss his cheek and then let go off his hand to walk over to your friends — Pansy and Astoria. You also want to spend the party with them, or part of it. Since you've started going out with Theo you've been spending less them with them and you miss them. Greatly. So, some time this evening has to be reserved for them. And you know that they are sitting on hot coals, waiting for you to tell them everything. 

Later on your once again joined by the boys and the night continues, filled with laughter, chatter and a few more drinks. 

It is a wonderful night to remember, full of love and happiness. Theo wraps his arm around you once again, bringing you in close. "But I am sure I love you more, my stunning witch." He kisses your cheek and intertwines your hands. 

[radioisntdead]

Buon giorno or Buona notte dearest!!

I have another request heheheh

Think of this : Angel and the gang go out for another trust exercise, and they see an add for one if m!readers concerts.

Since Angel is a fan, he asks to go with the group as a bonding experience, which Charlie says yes too

They go together, and m!reader is getting ready, when they see Angel and think he's quite cute, not knowing him from his ahem, works and they sing a love song (Heavy metal lover by Lady Gaga) and Angel almost has a heart attack.

(It's mostly the ; 'I could be your girl,girl,girl' part that I get inspired from)

At some point Val starts being a weirdo, and then m!reader publicly shits on him in front of their entire audience, and he leaves after getting taken away by a few of m!readers fans

And it ends happily ever after with them together forever :D

(Readers music vibe is like odetari, ayesha erotica, asteria, etc)

If you could do this, it would make my summer!!

Love

-XIN🌹💝

Good evening my dearest Xin! I had so much fun writing this, my apologies it took awhile to write but I hope you enjoy it!

Backstage passes

Angel dust x M! Reader

Warnings: Valentino gets ripped apart, literally. Reader is low-key like the dazzlings from MLP, also I imagine the reader died via Bell accident like that evil dude from Disney's coco

Song used [I listened to this song so much while writing that it actually made me sick LMAO]

You appeared in hell overnight after dying from an unfortunate and totally not planned stage accident, involving a bell, everything you had worked so hard for gone within a mere moment.

Filled with rage and the confidence of someone desperate to thrive in the spotlight, you began to conquer the music scene of hell.

You climbed the ranks and crushed those beneath you, if you weren't so focused on gaining fame instead of plain ol' power you'd give a couple of overlords a good run for their money.

You captured the attention of hell's finest, sinners and hellborn alike wanted to book you for their events, concerts were sold out within seconds, stan accounts on hell's Twitter servers would beef with those who opposed you, music edits were made of you, memes and clips, mildly disturbing fanfiction was written, you were an icon.

Along with catching the attention of hell's finest, you gained Angel dust as a fan.

Your music would be playing in the clubs he went to, sometimes played during his drag shows, he'd use it as background for whatever thoughts he disassociated away to whenever Valentino was having his way, or he'd just listen to your music when he was alone.

And so when Charlie somehow managed to get the entire hotel front row tickets to your show after he mentioned it's make a good group exercise, he was ecstatic!

The group waited outside, Charlie and Vaggie were trying to secure a place for them in line, Alastor would rather died again then attend so his ticket went to Cherri, Husk had found the bar, Niffty was terrorizing some sinners by cleaning, Sir Pentious was... Sir Pentious-ing Cherri bomb, and that left Angel dust to wonder around until the show began, stumbling into a nearby store to grab some snacks.

You on the other hand sneaked out to go to the convenience store near by the concert venue in full performance outfit covered by an oversized coat and hood just to grab a slushie and a light snack because with all the dancing you were going to be doing, you couldn't do on a empty stomach but not a too full one or you'd puke!

And that's where you saw him, purchasing a couple of things.

You had a little thing for cute things, and Angel dust seemed to fall into that category, for you anyways, for most of hell's people, they usually tended to put him into a more... Exploitive one,

It wouldn't hurt for you to make one of your people drop off a couple of backstage passes for that spider, after your show right?

Or better yet maybe you could do it yourself?

The concert venue was filled with sinners and hellborn alike from all types of backgrounds, all there to see you perform.

Including a couple of overlords.

Angel's eyes bounced around the stage waiting for your arrival.

Soon enough the bright lights dimmed and more colorful ones took their place.

Lights, smoke, action.

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

It was starting.

Heavy metal lover Heavy metal lover

You came up from a platform under the stage smoke coming out with you as the music began, microphone in hand, and eyes closed shut.

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Your eyes shot open as you began to move, background dancers were moving in sync, all eyes were on you.

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Heavy metal lover

Dressed in black and neons you practically glowed in the dark atmosphere,

"I want your whiskey mouth all over my blonde south," your voice rang out throughout the venue causing some members of the audience to scream out your name.

You struggled to hold back a filthy grin.

"Red wine, cheap perfume, and a filthy pout," you walked out onto the stage front and center, lights following you in all your leather-y glory, the backstage passes in your sleeve crinkled.

"Tonight bring all your friends, because a group does it better," Angel dust's eyes were locked onto you much like everyone's else's, like they were hypnotized.

"Why river with a pair? Let's have a full house of leather," Oh how you adored being the center of attention, you looked at the crowd, eyes glancing over everyone, a mild shiver of disgust went through you when you accidentally locked eyes with what looked to be a grape flavored moth.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You quickly moved your eyes away to continue looking for a certain spider, honestly your attachment to see a sinner you only saw for five seconds tops in a convenience store was interesting.

What was even more interesting was your ability to avoid the explicit ads for the films he did, seriously they were everywhere in hell! Including said convenience store!

"Heavy metal lover,"

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

"Heavy metal lover,"

As you walked across the stage you kept your eyes on the audience,

Searching..

Searching..

And you found him!

Right in the front row, how did you not see him before?

"Dirty pony, I can't wait to hose you down," your eyes locked on him as his locked on yours.

Did that count as a horrible, HORRIBLE pickup line or was that just poorly timed?

"You've got to earn your leather in this part of town," it seems someone hadn't seen the poison music video! You flared out your own leather jacket, the shiny gems on it sparkling in the dark.

"Dirty pearls and a patch for all the Rivington Rebels," you winked at him before turning on your heel as your background dancers circled around you with all sorts of dancing.

"Let's raise hell in the streets, drink beer and get into trouble,"

You danced and your background dancers mimicked in perfect coordination.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

"Heavy metal lover,"

You began strutting to the center of the stage.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You leaned down and went into what I can only describe as a sensual army crawl but without relying on your elbows to crawl.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You moved towards Angel dust.

"Heavy metal lover,"

You reached out an arm towards him, gently tugging on his bowtie to pull him closer to the stage, once he was close enough you touched his face, his eyes were wide and his heart was nearly pounding out of his fluffy spider chest, you his all time favorite singer was touching his face.

"I could be your girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl,"

Within seconds you moved your arm just enough to loosen the backstage passes from your sleeve and have them fall into your hand.

"But would you love me if I ruled the world, world, world?"

You tucked the tickets into the front of his shirt where his chest fluff was located, being careful not to accidently grope the spider.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

You gave a wink before flipping yourself onto your back and throwing yourself up and strutting back to the middle of the stage as your performers danced around you.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Unfortunately a certain moth witnessed your little flirt, with his best pornstar? He didn't think so.

Without alerting the other two Vees who were actually focused on the show itself he marched his way through the crowd.

Heavy metal lover

"Whip me, slap me, punk funk, New York clubbers, bump drunk,"

Shoving audience members to the side, causing some to crash into each other and tumble like dominoes, grabbing the attention of others.

"Bud Light, liquors, bar slam, move it, this is your jam"

Of course that caught your attention, and you didn't appreciate someone stepping out and stealing the attention that belonged to you! That you deserved and worked so hard for!

"Wash the night with St. Jameson, Like a baptism, heavy metal lovers play,"

You took a couple of steps towards the side of the stage where he was.

"Baby, we were born this way''

"Uh oh, it seems a shiny headed purple man is trying to wreck the show! We can't exactly have that now can we?"

You could barely hear whatever words he was saying, in your prospective it was like a grape yappin' away.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

With a wave of your hand the crowd grabbed onto him, lifting him up and pulling him through, landing him in the cannibal section.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Grabbing onto his limbs and pulling them apart, teeth were sunk into him pulling at his purple flesh.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Attention was back on you, as it should be.

No one paid mind to Valentino's screams as if they couldn't hear it or as if it wasn't happening at all, completely and utterly enamoured with you and your music.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Heavy metal lover

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Neither of the Vee's would notice he was gone until hours after the show, no one would notice the blood scattered on the floor until late at night when they were cleaning up the messes, and no one would know what exactly happened to him until he eventually respawn, having lost everything.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

Heavy metal lover

What a scary power you possessed, even if you didn't completely realize you had it.

But that wasn't the focus here, because as if nothing ever happened you went back to flirting with Angel dust from the stage.

"I could be your girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, but would you love me if I ruled the world, world, world?"

Eventually the show would end, and you'd wait anxiously backstage until that spider came, cashing in that backstage pass you shamelessly gave him from the stage, followed by the princess of hell herself moments later trying to get you to join her hotel.

Heavy metal lover Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

And what else could you do then accept her invitation to join her little hazbin hotel, although you were anything but a hazbin.

And if you did manage to get past the pearly gates, you already had earth and hell alike in a chokehold, imagine what you'd accomplish if you performed in heaven?

Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

It was a good chance to get to know Angel dust as well, the two of you would go from friends to something more.

Heavy metal lover

Friends to lovers was such a a underrated trope wasn't it?

Heavy metal lover

It wouldn't hurt to lean a little more into romantic songs, especially if you went the more cheesy route and played for Angel alone.

Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

You couldn't wait for the chance to shamelessly flirt with him while you were on stage again.

Heavy metal lover, Heavy metal lover

Good evening folks! I hope you enjoyed! I know my posting schedule has been a little wonky [side eyeing the Wednesday angst being posted on Thursdays] my bad, there's some personal stuff going on, plus I've been feeling a little sick but hopefully everything will be a little more organized this week! As always thank you for tuning on in, goodnight!

[yuzurujenn]

[2024.08.05] AERA x Yuzuru Hanyu: 24.8.12-19 No. 37

person in focus

"After all, it's frustrating when I can't perform well."

A session with photographer Mika Ninagawa for the first time in a year. In a long interview exclusive to this magazine, he talks about the ideals he pursues.

Writer: Takaomi Matsubara

Professional skater Yuzuru Hanyu

Born December 7, 1994 in Sendai. 2009 Won the Junior Grand Prix Final at age 14. 2010 Became the youngest Japanese male to win the World Junior Championships. 2011 While practicing at a rink in Sendai, the Great East Japan Earthquake occurred, and he had to live in an evacuation shelter. The rink where he was training was temporarily closed. 2012 First participated in the World Championships, coming in third. 2013 Graduated from Tohoku High School. Enrolled in a correspondence course at the Faculty of Human Sciences at Waseda University, studying human informatics and cognitive sciences. Won his first Grand Prix Final. Won four consecutive titles thereafter. 2014 First Asian gold medal in men's figure skating at the Sochi Olympics. First World Championship win. 2017 Second World Championship win. 2018 Second gold medal in men's figure skating at the Pyeongchang Olympics. 2020 Won his first Four Continents Championship, becoming the first man to win all major international junior and senior competitions. 2022 Participated in the Beijing Olympics. In July, announced his professional career. The ice show "Prologue" was held in Yokohama in November and in Hachinohe in December. 2023 In February, the ice show "GIFT" was held at Tokyo Dome. In March, the ice show "notte stellata" was held in Miyagi Prefecture. In March and April, he appeared in the ice show "Stars on Ice" (Osaka, Iwate, Yokohama). In May and June, he appeared in the ice show "Fantasy on Ice" (Makuhari, Miyagi, Niigata, Kobe). In November, the ice show "RE_PRAY" tour began at Saitama Super Arena. The following year, it was held at SAGA Arena in Saga in January, Pia Arena MM in Yokohama in February, and Sekisui Heim Super Arena in Miyagi in April. 2024 In March, the ice show "notte stellata" was held in Miyagi Prefecture. In May and June, he appeared in the ice show "Fantasy on Ice" (Makuhari, Aichi). On September 15th, he will be performing in the "Noto Peninsula Reconstruction Support Charity Performance Challenge" in Ishikawa Prefecture.

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

It has been two years since he made a new start as a professional figure skater in the summer of 2022. In 2024, he led three successful ice shows: "RE_PRAY" (Saga, Yokohama, Miyagi performances), "notte stellata" and "Fantasy on Ice".

The shoot with Mika Ninagawa for the first time in a year began with a cheerful greeting from each other, "Thank you for your continued support this year," and "Thank you." When she said to him, "You're still as young as ever!", Hanyu replied with a smile, a little embarrassed, "I'm almost 30."

"Move freely."

With those words, he made expressions and gestures as he pleased.

Various scenes were set up in the vast studio. Hanyu, who changed costumes and was photographed in each scene, moved and made expressions freely, sometimes under instructions and sometimes as if he was imagining (creating) a story himself. The people watching repeatedly let out gasps of amazement as the images were displayed one after another on the computer monitor. It was nothing short of amazing how he instantly exuded various moods - from boyish with a hint of innocence to cool and seductive.

His creativity was not limited to the way he behaved as a subject. When the BGM was played during the shoot, his body naturally responded to the music, and he also requested songs himself when he saw the costumes. There was also a moment when he saw a prop that had been set up and asked, "Do you have one more of these?" This revealed his high level of creative awareness.

The shooting has completed.

"Thank you very much," he said, and there was something light-hearted and cheerful about it. After a year, what he showed in the studio was a more mature and expressive side to him.

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

Exclusive interview with this magazine

[In pursuit of a distant ideal]

He is now in his third year as a professional figure skater. Reflecting on his days of taking on unprecedented challenges, he spoke about what he has gained from them and what the future holds.

Photo: Mika Ninagawa    Writer: Takaomi Matsubara

Yuzuru Hanyu, the journey continues

hair & make up: Noboru Tomizawa  styling: Masataka Hattori costume: NEEDLES    BED j.w. FORD    YUKI HASHIMOTO  prop styling: Ayumi Endo

Yuzuru Hanyu started out as a professional figure skater in 2022. In his first professional ice show, "Prologue," he performed the first solo ice show in history. He skated for nearly two hours, with a structure that richly conveyed his skating career. Following "Prologue," he then performed a solo show at the Tokyo Dome for the first time in history, "GIFT." The ice show filled the gigantic venue, which had never been seen before.  After "Prologue" and "GIFT," he held the performance "notte stellata" in March 2023, which was filled with thoughts and prayers for March 11. It has been a year since our interview last summer, following those three performances.

Changes in the "depth" of thinking

"When I was interviewed a year ago, it had just been a year since I turned professional. I had a desire to grow and learn more specialized things. In the year since then, I think that my technique, expression, and many other aspects have changed. Among them, I feel that I have had many more opportunities to think about expression. I have been thinking about expression even in my daily life. I think that the way I think about my show, the way I think about each program, the depth of those things has clearly changed." He talks about what triggered the change in the past year. "First of all, I had to spend more time thinking about writing a new ice story after GIFT and also about my own performance.” The new ice story was "RE_PRAY", under the title "ICE STORY 2nd".  It opened on November 4, 2023 at Saitama Super Arena. It was performed in Saitama for two days, on that day and the following day, and in the new year it was performed in Saga on January 12th and 14th, and in Yokohama on February 17th and 19th, for a total of six performances in three cities. After the premiere in Saitama on November 4th, Hanyu said the following. "First of all, I myself have learned from games, manga, novels, and various other sources, about what life is all about, how precious life is, and other similar things that everyone else roughly feels.

In games, the concept of life is really light in a sense, and you can repeat it, so you can use characters to do all sorts of things and push forward with curiosity. If you apply that to the real world, you might be a person who has the drive to grab hold of dreams, or conversely, from a different perspective, you might be a very terrifying person. But if you could do it all over again, I'm sure people would try it."

24 hours a day, always skating

In this story with a game motif, the question of "choice" is often depicted. We make choices in our lives, even if we are not aware of it. What if you choose a different option than the one you originally chose? Or would you choose the same option? This story asks the audience, which serves as an opportunity to reexamine their way of life. Of course, just like "Prologue" and "GIFT," the fact that this story was completed and received with overwhelming acclaim was due to the performance of Hanyu, who was the sole performer. And even after six performances, he did not try to stay in the same place. He continued to evolve. There were many evidences of this growth at the final performance of the Yokohama show, for example. The movements in the performance of "Chicken, Snake and Pig" where he moved forward as if resisting the shackles. The performance of "Megalovania", following a silent performance without music with only the sound of his edges resonating, was more integrated with the music than in previous performances. Not only in the production aspects, but also in the details of Hanyu's performance itself, there were traces of refinement here and there. After the Saga performance, Hanyu spent his days preparing more rigorously for the Yokohama performance.  "Of course, I trained and restricted my diet. Well, how should I say it, there are 24 hours in a day, but I spent the entire time on nothing else but skating. In other words, skating was always present, 24 hours a day.” "That's right. To put it simply, it felt like I was spending every day just working on 'RE_PRAY'." The reason he spent all his time facing skating was because he had regrets about the Saga performance. "After all, it's frustrating when I can't perform well." However, the standards of frustration have changed from when he was a competing athlete.

Still not enough

"Gradually, the focus is shifting from scores to an evaluation. If something technical that I had planned didn't go well, then my evaluation vector changes and my perspective shifts. I couldn't accomplish what I wanted to accomplish in Saga, so I was simply disappointed." After spending 24 hours focused on skating, the Yokohama performance came. After the final performance, he said, "I feel a sense of accomplishment like winning the Olympics." While he felt a sense of fulfillment, he wasn't completely satisfied. He also felt that his ability had not yet caught up with what he wanted to do. "So I feel like there are still things I need to study more. Of course, I think I'm evolving. I think I'm getting better. But I still feel like it's not enough. As I keep digging deeper and deeper, my ideals become higher, and the things I want to express are becoming more and more specific. The more my ideals become more concrete, the more I feel like I'm not catching up." He is aware that he still has areas where he needs to improve, especially in the finer details. This is something he realises now, which he didn't feel this way when he was competing in the sport. "It's impossible to realise this when you're a competitive athlete. After all, if you can jump, you win. To be honest, if you couldn’t jump, there was no point in talking about it, as the outcome of the competition was pretty much decided by how many types of quadruple jumps there are and where you put them in the program. For example, what memories do you have of this song, the background of this song, what is the story you want to express, how will the story and the song fit together, or what meaning is in the choreography, to be honest, there’s not much room to think about them. You have to complete all your technical elements in one go in the four minutes of a competition (free skate), so that's all you can focus on."

A world not in first place

Win the match. In a competition, that is set as a goal. "Since I had already achieved that, there was no way I could go any higher. If you think about it in the world of competition, I won first place, so even if I tried harder, I couldn't get any higher than first place. In other words, I just tried to see how long I could maintain that first place position.

But in the world I'm in right now, even if I think I'm in first place, it may not be. It’s a place where I can think, "I'm still at the bottom". When I look at the various works of art or technically excellent things from around the world, I feel that there are still many things I can't do, so I think that I still have a long way to go." When he moved from the world of competition, which was fixed in a sense, to a new world, it was no longer a confined space. However, whether one knows its vastness or not, whether one feels that there is an endlessly wide world out there, is up to the individual. So even though the world is infinite, some people only notice a limited space. Or, there are those who limit the space themselves.

Right now, Hanyu thinks, "I still have a long way to go." He feels like he's at the bottom. This is because he knows that the world is endlessly vast. The reason he feels this way is because he has the ambition to move forward without being content with the present. So instead of seeing the place he has arrived at as the end point, he knows that there is still space to go beyond that.

Ideals evolve

"I may have surpassed the ideal I had a year ago. But the sense of distance between me and my ideal is probably the same as it was a year ago. For example, if the distance between me and my ideal a year ago was 10 meters, it may be 10 meters, no, 11 meters now. That's how I feel. I'm living and experiencing life, I see information every day, and in the midst of that, my ideal evolves. My ideal gets further and further away. But at the same time, through what I have seen and experienced, I'm sure I’m also one step closer to my ideal." Then, after a short pause, he continued with a smile. "As long as I want to, I think I can continue for the rest of my life." The skater is still on his journey, striving towards the ideals he has built with his own will. 

Source: AERA issue 24.8.12-19 No.37, pg 9-15 Info: https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B0D89L6LS2

[raekensluver]

melodies of love

description: you and your childhood best friend theodore nott have been through thick and thin together, so when he tells you he's leaving, paired with a confession, it changes everything.

pairing: childhood bsf!theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: mentions of parental death, latent fathers, late-night love confessions, theo plays piano!!!!!, musician!theo, modern au!

song rec: symphony by clean bandit ft. zara larsson- “life was stringing me along, then you came and you cut me loose."

w.c: 2.0k

an: i have been waiting so longgggg to use the middle photo of lorenzo.

the room was quiet, the only sound being the occasional rustle of the curtains dancing with the night breeze. the bed beneath you was warm and comforting, the familiar creaks of the old wooden frame a gentle lullaby. you laid there sideways, your legs hanging off the edge, the mattress slightly indented from your weight. the soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the walls with a golden hue, casting a serene scene of shadows and light.

you felt the anticipation build in your chest, your heart beating slightly faster as you thought about the stories theo might share tonight. the late night talks had been your ritual since you both discovered that insomnia was a shared burden. you'd lay in the darkness, whispering your secrets and fears into the night, knowing that the other was always there to listen.

the bond between you and theo was forged in the fires of shared pain. both of you had fathers who were more like shadows than guardians - present but never really there. the cold shoulder from your father had been a harsh reality you learned to navigate early on, while theo had to deal with the tyranny of his own. it was your mothers' gentle spirits that had truly bound you together. lost too soon to the merciless grip of illness and a tragic accident, their memories remained a beacon of warmth in the cold, unforgiving world of your fathers.

you remembered the particularly bad nights, the ones where the darkness outside was only a reflection of the turmoil within. when the house was too quiet, and the sadness was too heavy to bear alone, you would sneak out of your room, tiptoe down the stairs, and out the back door. the cool grass beneath your bare feet was a comforting reminder of the outside world that waited for you beyond the walls of your father's frigid domain. the night air was a balm, carrying the scent of the blooming lilac bushes that lined the fence separating your yards.

you would slip into theo's house, the soft tinkle of the piano in the parlor guiding you like a lighthouse beam through the stillness. his mother had been a pianist before her illness took her, and the piano remained, a silent sentinel of happier days. theo had taught himself to play, and his music was the voice that soothed your soul. the melodies he conjured in those small hours were bittersweet, a testament to the love and loss that haunted your shared past.

his room was always the same, a sanctuary filled with books and knickknacks that reflected his boundless curiosity. the walls were plastered with posters of faraway places and people, a silent declaration of his desire to escape the confines of your small town. the bed was unmade, the bedspread a tapestry of wrinkles from his restlessness, but there was always a spot next to him where you felt safe. you'd slide under the covers, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the chill that had followed you from your own room.

his eyes would light up when he saw you, a smile playing on his lips as he whispered a quiet "hey." theo had the kind of smile that could melt the iciest of hearts, a trait you envied and adored. you would share your day's troubles with him, the mundane and the profound, and he would listen with a rapt attention that no one else ever seemed to have. his eyes never left yours, as if by looking away he might miss something important, something only you could tell him.

his voice was low and soothing, a balm to your soul on those dark nights. you felt as if you could tell him anything, and he would understand. the way his fingers danced over the piano keys, the gentle strokes and crescendos, mirrored the tumultuous symphony of emotions that played within you. as you talked, he would often reach out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, giving it a squeeze that spoke of his silent support.

this night was no different, except for the anticipation that filled the air. the whispers of a secret untold. you had felt it brewing for days, a heaviness in theo's eyes, a sadness that even his smile couldn't quite hide. you waited, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, for the moment when he would finally confide in you.

you blinked your eyes open, and there he was, leaning over you, his elbows resting on the mattress. the smile on his face was a gentle curve, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. the lamp's glow painted him in a warm light, making his dark hair seem almost golden. his eyes searched yours, looking for the understanding he so desperately needed.

"i've got something to tell you," he began, his voice low and hesitant. "it's big, and i'm not sure how you're going to take it."

you sat up, scooting towards the headboard, pulling your legs up to your chest. the anticipation grew like a storm cloud in your chest, thick and heavy. "okay," you murmured, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come.

theo took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "i'm leaving," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. the words hung in the air, thick and palpable. your heart skipped a beat, the blood rushing to your ears, drowning out the world outside of your little bubble.

you felt the mattress dip as he sat down beside you, his body warm and solid. "what do you mean?" you asked, your voice trembling. his hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"i've got a scholarship to a school in the city," he explained, his voice gaining strength. "for music. it's a full ride, and it's a chance to get out of here, to make something of myself."

the words hit you like a wave, crashing over the sandcastle of your quiet life. theo, leaving? It was unthinkable. your eyes searched his, looking for a hint of a joke, a twitch of his lip that would give away the punchline. but all you saw was sincerity, and a hint of fear.

"theo, that's… that's amazing," you managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice steady. Inside, you were a whirlwind of emotions - joy for his opportunity, sadness for your impending loss, fear of the unknown. "when did you find out?"

he sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "a few days ago. i've been trying to figure out how to tell you." his eyes searched yours, looking for the acceptance he so desperately needed. "i leave next week."

the news was a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. your mind raced with questions and objections, but all that came out was a soft "next week?" the urgency of the situation was stark, the reality of his departure so close you could almost taste it.

his grip on your hand tightened. "i know it's a lot to ask, but… i want you to come with me." he said, his voice filled with hope and desperation. "i can't do this without you. you're the only one who really gets me."

you felt your world tilt on its axis, the gravity of his words pulling at you. the idea of leaving your home, your father, your life behind was both terrifying and exhilarating. the thought of starting anew, of escaping the shadows of your past, was something you had never dared to dream.

you took a deep breath, trying to organize the chaotic symphony playing in your head. "theo," you began, your voice shaky, "i can't just leave. my dad…"

his expression fell, the hope in his eyes dimming. "i know," he said, his voice soft. "but you can't stay here forever. you're just as trapped as i am."

you felt the weight of his words, the truth of them pressing down on your shoulders. you knew he was right, but the thought of leaving was too much to bear. "i… i don't know if i can do that, theo," you whispered, the lump in your throat growing.

his eyes searched yours, desperation flickering in their depths. "please," he said, his voice cracking. "i don't want to leave you. i need you there with me."

you felt your chest tighten at the raw vulnerability in his voice, a feeling you hadn't heard from him in years. theo was the strong one, the one who held you together when your world fell apart. but now, he was asking for your help, for your company. it was a revelation that shook you to your core.

his hand was still in yours, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand. the warmth of his touch was grounding, a reminder that you weren't alone in this tumultuous sea of emotions. "theo," you whispered, "i don't know if i can."

his eyes searched yours, desperation etched into every line of his face. "please," he begged, the word coming out as a hoarse whisper. "i need you there." the raw emotion in his voice made your heart ache.

you swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "theo," you began, your voice trembling, "i…"

but before you could finish, he leaned in and kissed you. it was soft and gentle, the kind of kiss that held a thousand unspoken words. it was a kiss that spoke of a love that had grown over the years, a bond stronger than friendship, a connection that had always been there but had remained unacknowledged.

you pulled back, your eyes wide with shock. "theo," you whispered, your hand still trembling in his.

his face was inches from yours, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. "i know it's a lot," he said, his voice soft, "but i had to tell you. i love you. i've loved you for so long, and i can't just leave without saying it."

you sat there, frozen, his words echoing in your mind. theo, your best friend, the one who knew you better than anyone, was confessing his love for you. the revelation was as surprising as it was overwhelming. your heart was racing, trying to keep up with the thoughts that bombarded your brain.

you looked into his eyes, searching for the truth in their depths. they were filled with a vulnerability that was as stark as it was beautiful. theo had always been the one to wear a mask, to hide his pain behind a smile. but here, in the soft light of the bedside lamp, his defenses were down, and you could see the raw, unfiltered version of the boy you had grown up with.

his confession hung in the air, as potent as the scent of the lilac bushes outside. it was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, the silence a living, breathing entity that wrapped itself around you both. you felt your heart pound in your chest, a symphony of emotions playing out in your mind.

slowly, you reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the stubble that had formed since the last time you had seen him. your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty that you both needed. "theo," you whispered, "i love you too."

his face lit up like the first light of dawn, the sadness and fear fading away. "you do?" he asked, his voice filled with hope.

you nodded, your heart pounding. "yes, i do."

his smile grew, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a blanket. "so, you'll come with me?" he asked, hope dancing in his eyes.

you took a moment to let the reality of his confession sink in. the thought of leaving your father was daunting, but the idea of being without theo was unbearable. "yes," you said finally, "i'll come with you."

his eyes lit up, and he leaned in again, this time the kiss was filled with a mix of relief and joy. it was a kiss that spoke of a future filled with promise and hope. "i'll make it worth it," he whispered against your lips, his hand cupping your cheek. "i'll make sure you never regret this."

you felt a warmth spread through your chest, his words like a balm to your fears. "i know you will."

edited 8.20.24