the-fiction-filter

[the-fiction-filter]

my ex’s best friend Pt. 1 | Blaise Z.

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: You never imagined that you'd run into Blaise Zabini during the summer. And you absolutely did not ever picture having a summertime romance with him. No strings attached. But all good things come to an end. He had told you it was just a summer thing, and you agreed. But you didn't think he was going to act like it never happened.

Inspiration: my ex's best friend by mgk ft. black bear

Word Count: 1.1k

I swear to God I never fall in love

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“Christ Daphne! Where are we going in such a rush?” You asked the girl whose hand was gripping your arm as she pulled you, walking down the corridor in a fast pace.

Daphne slowed down to a full stop and turned around, letting go of your arm, “how do I look? Is my hair alright? Do I have anything in my teeth? Do I smell good?” She started playing with her hair and gesturing to herself.

“you look fine- gorgeous!” You started to say but noticed her dismay at the idea of her looking just fine. “Who are you trying to impress?” You said raising an eyebrow suspiciously, reaching for a pick of lint of her cloak and tossing it.

“My boyfriend of course” she replied, a faint blush dusting across her cheeks.

“Oh you were serious about a boyfriend? You haven’t even said his name—or what year he’s in? What house?!” You hadn’t taken her conversation earlier seriously. She had mentioned over the break she started seeing someone but never said anything else.

Daphne began playing with her fingers, “listen don’t get mad okay? Just go with the flow and you don’t necessarily have to talk to him..” she trailed off before patting down a stray piece of hair on my head.

“okay now I’m totally confused” you began saying but didn’t finish your thought. She had already linked your arms together and started pulling you in the direction of the courtyard.

You started scanning the area for who this mysterious boyfriend could possibly be. Your thoughts were answered when she walked in the direction of the group of sixth year Slytherins.

You groaned seeing them. “Daphne, don’t tell me it’s one of them?”

She knew you weren’t particular a fan of any of them. Now your best friend was dating one of them.

Merlin, please don’t let it be him.

Your eyes locked on him. Blaise Zabini.

You hadn't told Daphne. Of course not. You didn't have any time to, even if you wanted to. Every single nerve in your body felt on fire. Praying that he wasn't dating her.

He stood there against the stone archway. Giving off a smug aura. Completely composed. He could’ve been a poster child for what a Slytherin should look like, act like.

He was there listening to whatever Draco was droning on about. Feeling eyes on him, he looked up and caught you staring. A small almost unnoticeable smirk came and went by on his face.

He was unbothered. Like this past summer didn’t even happen. You almost began questioning yourself, if it was all just a dirty dream of yours.

Daphne ignored your protests, instead she whispered under her breath “just act natural.”

“Y/N, this is Theo,” Daphne beamed, stepping into her boyfriend’s side like she belonged there—which she probably did. “And of course you know Draco and Blaise.”

Of course I do.

You managed a polite nod, but Blaise didn’t even give you that much. He barely glanced your way, lifting his chin in the laziest acknowledgment, like you were nothing more than an acquaintance.

What an arse.

Daphne joined Theo and Draco’s conversation, leaving Blaise and you to stare at each other in silence.

“How was your summer Y/L/N?” he asked in a smooth voice. You rolled your eyes at him, as if he didn’t experience it with you. “Do anything.. interesting?” he added with a smirk.

Your eyes widened for a split second before narrowing, “some things aren’t worth remembering.”

“Ouch, that’s cold,” his smirk dropping from his face, “cold but fair.”

You shrugged. Blaise’s gaze scanned your face, eyes staying on your mouth like he was replaying a memory he shouldn’t have. His cool and calm façade started to crack slowly.

Daphne came up to you, grabbed at your arm. She was laughing at something before mentioning dinner. Blaise turned his body back to his friends before you could search his face for anything.

✦ ✧ ✦

It was tradition that the Slytherin fifth through seventh years got together during the first Saturday. Celebrating returning to Hogwarts. The music was pulsing loudly. Someone had charmed the torches to flicker in sync to the beat. The scent throughout the room was the familiar mixture of butterbeer and firewhiskey.

Normally, you enjoy parties. This time it was different. You didn’t want to see him here.

But now at Daphne’s insistence you sat on a green velvet armchair, babysitting a drink in your hand. You tried to act like you weren’t following Blaise Zabini’s every move.

He was there laughing at something Mattheo said. His smirk was wicked. A random fifth year girl was standing too close to him, holding on to his sleeve.

You remembered when he would always grab your chin gently, pulling you in for a kiss. And then he'd smile, actually smile and not just smirk.

You snorted inwardly, before raising your glass to your lips and throwing back the drink.

“Want another?” a voice made you jump behind you. You turned to see Lorenzo, or Enzo as he preferred. He was a part of Theo's friend group, the infamous Slytherin playboys.

He had a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand and gestured it towards you with a small smirk. You nodded, “sure, yeah” tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and holding your glass to him.

Enzo’s smirk widened and he went to pour the drink. Before he could, Blaise’s hand reached out and grabbed the bottle from Enzo. You froze.

“Careful mate,” Blaise said smoothly, a slight glare towards Enzo, “she’s got limits, kinda a lightweight, I’d know.”

Enzo’s eyebrows furrowed at Blaise’s actions and words, “what’s that supposed to mean? You’d know?”

Blaise’s gaze locked onto yours before he turned back to Enzo. A smirk formed on his face like he was going to reveal it all. “Blaise” you muttered, standing up slowly and walking out the common room.

Expecting him to follow.

He did.

The cold air of the corridor hits you. Sobering you slightly. You went to lean against the stone wall of the dungeons. Crossing your arms, you felt like you could breathe, and you stared at him.

“What the bloody hell was that?” you asked in a low voice.

Blaise causally leaned against the opposite wall, “what?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn't suit you, you know what!” you said annoyed, “that stunt you pulled, what game are you playing at?”

“It's banter,” he shrugged as if it was that simple, “we don’t do that anymore?”

Your hands curled into fists at your side. “Incredible you are.”

He pushed himself off the wall, “you’re the one acting like it was meant to be more than summer fun” he said in a sharp tone. “It was just that. Fun. It ended. Now we’re back to reality.”

You felt your lips trembling and you bit down to stop it. “Right” you replied and turned to go back to the party.

His hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around your wrist gently. He tugged you towards him. “Tell me it meant nothing,” he said in a serious and quiet tone.

You pulled away without replying and continued back into the common room. He wants to continue with the narrative that the summer meant nothing. Well then, you'd act like it. Starting with that drink from Enzo.

✦ ✧ ✦

You honestly thought it was harmless. The drink you had went back and sought out Enzo to give you. You didn't think it would turn into more. But the next morning, Enzo showed you how persistent he could be when he wanted something. And oh, how he wanted you.

"Oi, Y/N!" Enzo called from behind you. You stopped and turned around to see him jogging to catch up with you. "You always walk fast? Or you're trying to run away from your admirer?" he asked with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Depends. Are you calling yourself an admirer?”

“I’m not ashamed to admit I like what I see,” he said smoothly, falling into step beside you. “And I’m also not above bribery—care to join me for a butterbeer this weekend at Hogsmeade?”

Before you could answer, a voice from ahead of you cut in. Cool. Detached. Annoyed. “Didn’t think you liked your girls clingy, Enzo,” Blaise said, without looking up from the book in his hand as he leaned against the corridor wall.

You didn’t realize he was there until he spoke. You frown at him.

Enzo raised a brow, unfazed still wearing his lopsided grin. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” Blaise replied, flipping a page in his book without reading it. “You're wasting your time. Y/N's not your type.”

“And what is my type?” Enzo asked, deciding to act oblivious. He was amused with Blaise's reaction.

Blaise’s eyes flicked up, meeting yours for a half-second too long. “Breathable. Less emotional baggage.”

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you turned to Enzo with a grin. “That butterbeer sounds great.”

“Perfect,” Enzo replied, and Blaise’s book snapped shut a little too loudly. You ignored him and continued on your way to the library, Enzo in tow.

By Thursday, Enzo was waiting outside your Ancient Runes class. You walked out the classroom while discussing the lecture with Hermione. One of the few times you actually interacted with her. She gestured towards Enzo.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of you waiting on me?" you said teasingly. Ancient Runes was the one class he didn't share with you and yet here he was.

“Brought you something,” he said, handing over a Chocolate Frog box and placing it gently in your hands.

“You know this doesn’t count as a proper gift, right?” You took the box, with biting your lip to prevent the smile from forming on your face.

“Sure, it does,” he grinned, eagerly nodding at you. “Rare card inside. Open it.”

Inside was a Helga Hufflepuff—gold-foil edition. You blinked. “How did you—”

“Connections,” he said with a wink. “Like I said. Not above bribery.”

From across the hallway, you could feel the weight of a stare. Blaise again. His arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. Theo was beside him, talking about something animatedly, but Blaise wasn’t listening.

Always observing, Theo called Blaise out on his staring.

✦ ✧ ✦

Friday in the Great Hall, you slid into a spot at the Slytherin table beside Daphne, already midway through a story about Theo.

“—and then Theo told Draco to shove it, can you believe it?” she giggled. “Anyway, do you know what you're wearing tomorrow for your date?”

Across the table, Blaise stabbed a sausage with more force than necessary. Draco made a face and muttered something about Blaise needing a bloody vacation.

Enzo entered then, slipping into the seat beside you with a lazy grin and his signature tousled hair. “Morning, darling,” he said casually, brushing a crumb from your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Blaise froze. Utensils halfway to his mouth. Darling?

Theo nudged him, and Blaise returned to eating. He tried to pull on a mask of indifference hoping that no one else would notice how he was acting.

Seeing Blaise's reaction, you just smiled at Enzo and took a sip from your goblet, keeping your eyes on your plate, heart hammering.

Daphne leaned in toward you, whispering, “Lorenzo must really be into you."

Blaise glared at Enzo the rest of breakfast.

✦ ✧ ✦

Later that night, you were walking through the dungeons when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned the corner—only to be met with Blaise.

Leaning against the wall like he owned the shadows. You stare at him waiting for him to say what's clearly on his mind.

“You and Enzo,” he said flatly, that unreadable expression on his face once again.

“Are getting to know each other,” you replied, arms crossed. “What, are you jealous?”

His laugh was humorless. “Hardly. Just surprised you’d go for someone like him.”

“You mean someone who doesn’t pretend the summer never happened?” you said with an eyebrow raised at him.

Silence.

He didn’t answer. He just looked at you—really looked. That smooth mask of his was cracked now. You could see the tension in his jaw, the flare of something unspoken in his eyes. Finally, he said quietly, “Don’t let him kiss you.”

Your breath hitched, it was almost like a command. But quieter. And before you could form a reply, he was already walking away. Leaving you with your heart racing.

Blaise walked to his dorm, his mind buzzing and him cursing himself. Don't let him kiss you, don't let him kiss you?! what the bloody hell was that?

He practically pleaded. And Blaise does not plead. He does not do emotions.

He slammed the door behind him and went to sit on the edge of his bed. Elbows on his knees, he dragged a hand through his hair and stared at the floor. It was just supposed to be summer fun. He thought if he acted indifferent long enough, everything that happened over the summer would fade.

He remembered the way your laugh sounded in the summer heat. How your fingers trailed along his collar when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. How his name sounded on your lips—soft, different—like it meant something more.

He groaned inwardly.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

[the-fiction-filter]

Why did I fall for you? | Bill W.

Pairing: Bill Weasley x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: It started out as a minor crush on your best friend. It eventually became you being full blown in love with him. Today was his wedding day, but you won't be at the altar next to him.

Inspiration: Dōshite Kimi o Suki ni Natte Shimattandarō by TVXQ🎵

Why did I fall in love with you? No matter how much I think about it, I can’t find an answer. If only I had told you how I felt Before it was too late.

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The familiar pull at your navel disappeared and you had landed in the marshy outskirts of the Burrow. You arrived early to help with the preparations.

Sighing, you make your way down the grassy path and managed to see the Weasleys raising the tent. Pulling a smile onto your face and steeling your nerves, you were greeted by the youngest of the family Ginny.

"Oh Y/N, you're here! Can you help me with the floral arrangements?" she said hugging you before grabbing your arms and dragging you to the garden.

The garden was arranged with multiple seating and an altar in the front. Glancing at Molly's rose bushes you were suddenly taken back to a night with Bill in that very same garden.

You were spending the night, after your mother finally agreed with much convincing from Molly and Arthur that no funny business was going to occur. It was the summer before Bill and your seventh year.

Bill was lying in the grass with his arms behind his head. You were sitting next to him, looking up at the starry sky.

"You ever think about just.. disappearing for a bit?" Bill said quietly.

You had no idea he was being serious, so naturally, you laughed. "And go where exactly?" you said in an amused tone.

"Anywhere, maybe Greece? It's warm" he sat up and stared at you. You held his gaze before he broke the eye contact and nudged your shoulder with his, "you and me, the dynamic duo."

You could’ve said it then, hell you should've. Yes Bill, I'd go anywhere with you.

But you only smiled and said, “You just want someone to carry your luggage.”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

That smile. That stupid, soft smile. Merlin, how you loved when he smiled especially when its at you.

You absentmindedly listened to Ginny's instructions and started levitating the arrangements and placing them on the sides of the benches. Going down the aisle, you glanced at the altar. Soon enough you'll be watching the man you love marry someone that wasn't you.

As you set down the last arrangement, your hands tremble slightly. No one notices — not Ginny, busy adjusting chair bows, not George chasing after a rogue gnome that wandered into the garden. But inside, the weight is heavy.

You pause at the altar, fingertips brushing the wood where Bill would soon stand. You imagine his face — nervous, excited — the same expression he wore the first time he kissed you by the orchard. Your throat tightens.

A voice cuts through. "Y/N?"

You turn to see Charlie giving you a look — one that says he knows. He always did. With a small smile you go towards him, "you made it."

Charlie pulled you into a quick, grounding hug. His embrace was warm and familiar, like the sun filtering through the Burrow's kitchen window in the early mornings. It almost overwhelmed you.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he murmured, pulling back to look you over. “But are you alright?”

You hesitated — just long enough for the answer to surface, then sink again. “Of course,” you said with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just tired. Long week at work is all.”

Charlie studied you a moment longer, like he was waiting for you to tell the truth. “You don’t have to stay,” he said gently. “You know that, right?”

The words hit you like a punch to the ribs. You shook your head, lips pressing together. “I do. I want to.”

Even if it hurts.

Charlie gave a short nod, studied your face for a second too long before accepting your lie because he knew better than to push. He hooked your arm through his and together you walked out of the garden.

You two were interrupted by the twins as they were going ushers, helping guests find sits for the ceremony. Fred winked at you, "hello Y/N, fancy saving me a dance?" he always shamelessly flirted with you.

You arched a brow at Fred but smiled, thankful for the momentary lightness. Briefly remembering when you first met the twins.

The laughter of the room dulls as your mind drifts — unbidden — to moments you’d buried like sea glass in the sand.

The first time you met his family.

You were young. Still a little unsure on your feet in wizarding society. He brought you to the Burrow in spring, said you “had to try his mum’s treacle tart.” The second you stepped through the door, Fred and George had locked eyes on you and smirked.

“So, this is Bill’s girlfriend,” George announced.

“She’s way too fit for him,” Fred added, grinning wickedly.

You nearly choked on air. “I’m not—”

But Bill didn’t rush to deny it. A slight flush around his neck and he laughed under his breath, “behave,” and casually put a hand on the small of your back.

Shaking your head you returned to the present. "Depends," you said, brushing a bit of hair from your face, "are you going to step on my toes again, or have you finally learned rhythm?"

George snorted, remembering how you helped both of them attempt to learn the waltz when they were on a break from classes. “She’s got you there, mate.”

Fred dramatically clutched his chest. “Wounded. Deeply. I’ll have you know I’ve improved vastly since the Yule Ball practice fiasco.”

“Improved from a disaster to a minor catastrophe,” George muttered under his breath, earning a shove from his twin.

Charlie rolled his eyes but smirked. “Alright, alright, break it up. She’s doesn't need you confessing your undying love for her.”

You laughed at Charlie's statement, "go be charming to the guests and try not to insult Fleur’s relatives — even if they do act like their wands are lodged—”

“Oi!” George said with a mock gasp, covering his ears. “Y/N’s being rude. Bill’s going to cry on his wedding day!”

That word — wedding — hit harder than you’d like. You plastered on another smile, waved them off, and watched as the twins bounded back toward the path, laughing between themselves.

Charlie didn’t say anything, just nudged you with his elbow again. “Let’s grab a drink before someone ropes us into setting the table charms.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The wedding guests started filing in, music filled the air. There was no going back now. Charlie held his arm out to you, steeling your nerves for what seemed like the hundredth time, you take his arm.

"I always hated weddings" you muttered low enough for only him to here. You both sat down in the second row on the groom's side.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, "tell me about it, the forced smiles and awkward human interactions? me too."

The music changed and everyone's attention was directed to the entrance where Molly had her arm linked with Bills. Your eyes were glued to him. He looked as handsome as ever, hair neatly parted, that soft smile on his face.

The smile he used to give you.

He walked slowly, nerves hidden well behind practiced ease — the kind he always carried, the kind that made you fall for him in the first place. Molly beamed up at her eldest son, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, her arm wrapped proudly through his.

You could barely breathe.

Charlie’s arm was still tucked with yours; he extended his arm and gripped your hand in his, grounding. He said nothing, didn’t look at you — just let you grip a little tighter, like he knew it was all you could do not to fall apart.

Bill passed your row, and your heart seized. His eyes scanned the crowd briefly and then — just for a moment — they met yours.

It was a flicker, barely a second, but in it was something heavy. Something that made the noise around you dull; the music goes hollow. Does he feel it too? you wondered.

For a split second you didn't smile. But you knew you should. Your lips curved on instinct; you had practiced hiding how much it hurt.

Bill returned the smile, your mind drifted.

The night he got that scar, you were the first person he called. His voice was raspy but steady, "it’s not as bad as Mum’s making it sound.”

When you got to St. Mungo’s, his eyes lit up and he smiled at you before grimacing from the pain. At least he was still capable of forming that handsome smile on his face. You sat by his bed, and he joked about becoming more “rugged.” You wanted to cry. Instead, you reached out and touched his hand.

“You scared the hell out of me" you said shakily.

He looked at you then, eyes soft, “I'm sorry Y/N,” he whispered.

Charlie squeezed your hand, bringing you back to the present. Bill had already looked away and he was waiting on his bride. Did those moments between the two of you mean as much to him as they did to you?

Fleur entered, radiant, a vision in ivory and French lace. She glided down the aisle like a breeze. You watched her take Bill’s hand, and your stomach twisted once again. Merlin there were so many times you could've said something, you should've.

You were relaxing after a long day of work; Bill had invited himself over and you both had the leftover spaghetti dinner you had in the fridge.

"So, I need to tell you something Y/N," he began after swallowing his food, "it's important."

Your fork stilled, you calmed yourself. Maybe this was it. Finally. He was going to admit his feelings and you'd do the same. You nodded for him to continue, dapping your mouth with a napkin.

"I've met someone," he said leaning back in his chair.

You felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot right under your ribs. You could feel your heart slowing down. Once he said his next words, it felt like you forgot how to breathe, your heart stopping altogether.

He continued on, "she's part Veela," he said smiling looking out the window. "Fleur is her name. She went to Beauxbatons. Merlin, she's... she's brilliant," he continued rambling on about her.

"That's wonderful Bill," you said too quickly, praying your voice wouldn't crack in half like your heart just did.

The sound of Bill speaking brought you back to the present. They said their vows — promises of forever in front of friends and family. The words stabbed more than you expected, each “I do” like a nail in a coffin you’d already buried once.

They kissed and applause filled the garden— thunderous, joyous. You applauded, of course. Everyone did.

But you didn’t look. You couldn't.

He wasn't yours to watch.

[the-fiction-filter]

Emotional kaleidoscope Pt. 4 | Mattheo R.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: All you both do is hurt each other, maybe this would be the last time?

Inspiration: Forget me too by mgk & Halsey 🎵

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You were focused on your arithmancy project as you walked back to the common room. Thankfully you had been partnered with Liam Rosier, who was surprisingly bright in the subject.

You’d barely make it through the passageway when you heard it. Laughter. High-pitched and breathy. It was a girl. Some girl that was unfamiliar. You rolled your eyes, assuming it was Enzo's new flavor of the week.

Noticing your friends, you started walking over to them. But then you saw him and froze.

Mattheo and some Ravenclaw girl perched next to him on the couch like she belonged there. His arm was around her shoulder, too close, too casual. Smirk on his face, his posture relaxed — the perfect illusion of someone who didn’t care anymore.

Your heart dropped. This arsehole. He was doing this on purpose. Every touch, every laugh, every sideways glance he gave her — was intentional. He wanted you to see. Wanted you to hurt.

He didn’t even look at you. But he knew you were there. He upped his act and whispered something to the unnamed girl making her giggle and swat at his chest.

He went from having an arm around her shoulders to resting his hand on her thigh. Casually.

Daphne shot you a glance, eyes flicking between you and the scene like she was waiting for something to explode. You shook your head at her and continued your way to the dorms. You hoped your act of appearing unaffected was working.

You made it halfway to the girls’ dorm stairs before the Ravenclaw girl giggled again and said, loud enough for everyone to hear: “So are the rumors about you true? You know your talents?

Mattheo’s reply was careless, “stick around, maybe you’d find out.”

You stopped dead in your tracks; fingers curled into fists. You spun around on your heel, raising an eyebrow at him. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet yours. For a second, everything around you two vanished.  You held his gaze with fire in yours, daring him to keep going.

His jaw ticked.

The girl said something, touching his chin to bring his gaze back to her. She laughed and leaned in. Her lips touched his. She kissed him. Worse part? He let her.

His hand curled around the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The girl moaned into his mouth. He shoved his tongue down her throat. His hands didn’t stop.

He kissed her like he wanted to forget. And maybe he did. But all you could think was: he let her. He let her touch what used to be yours.

It started to get heated. She went to climb on his lap and his hands roamed her body.

Before the tears started to fall you turned sharply and walked towards your dorm. He succeeded in hurting you.

Once you were out of earshot, the two took a minute from sucking each other's face off. Taking a breath, Mattheo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Pansy smacked Mattheo hard on the arm. “What the actual fuck was that?”

Mattheo didn’t answer, he just leaned back on the couch, his smile gone. The Ravenclaw girl, whose name he forgot the moment she told him, whispered in his ear to take her to his dorm. He nodded at her absentmindedly.

She giggled and went to adjust her clothing before heading towards the boy dorms. "Are you serious right now Mattheo?" Pansy stared at him knowing what the boy intended to do.

He shrugged.

Pansy looked at the others who were all silent. "What about Y/N?"

"I don't know," he answered back in a low voice. "Trying to forget her."

"You're just punishing her and yourself" Pansy replied.

✦ ✧ ✦

The weekend came by quickly. Slytherin had won their Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. The celebration was underway. Loud music. Smoke curled through the air. Booze being handed out left and right. Slytherin House was happy.

You stood next to Daphne, feigning disinterest as you sipped your drink. But your eyes kept flicking towards the crowd. Searching for him.

And then, as if the universe begged for the drama, you saw Mattheo. He was surrounded by Blaise and Enzo — but only half-listening, clearly scanning the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

You saw the muscle that twitched in his jaw. You smirked before leaning into your arithmancy partner. Liam Rosier, his hand already resting lightly on your waist.

“Dance with me,” you said, you could feel Mattheo’s stare watching your every move.

Liam didn’t hesitate, pulling you to the dance floor. He held you close, confident, one hand on your lower back. You moved with purpose — every sway of your hips, every toss of your hair, choreographed chaos designed for one pair of eyes only.

And he was watching.

Of course he was watching. He always watched you, especially when you danced.

You ignored Liam, who had whispered something against your ear. You didn’t even hear what he said, but you laughed. You were too focused on Mattheo’s eyes. And the way his jaw was clenched so tightly you were shocked he didn’t crack any of his teeth.

Mattheo was angry. Livid. Hurt.

Exactly what you wanted.

Then Liam spun you around to face him. His hands slid lower. Too low. Resting on your ass, for everyone to see, as you continued to grind against him. And suddenly, Mattheo moved.

You saw him shove past a group of sixth years. You swore you could hear Blaise mutter “here we fucking go” as he followed his friend.

Before you knew it, Mattheo had reached you. Without a word, he grabbed Liam's collar and shoved him away from you.

"Oi-what the hell?" Liam protested, pushing himself off the table he had been thrown to. Drinks spilling all over.

"Don't fucking touch her" Mattheo growled, stepping towards Liam with wild eyes and clenched fists.

You grabbed at his arm, to stop him but Mattheo shook you off making you stumble slightly.

"I thought you two were done mate?" Liam said looking between the two of you.

Mattheo just glared back at him, breathing hard like any minute he'd lose control. Liam mumbled under his breath and turned around to slip back into the crowd.

You shook your head at Mattheo and pushed your way through the crowd. Pansy stopped you briefly asking if you were okay and you nodded. You needed air.

You hadn’t intended to find Mattheo. You only wanted air to breathe. To be alone and wallow in your heartache.

But there he was — outside of the passageway, leaning against the cold stone wall with a bottle dangling from one hand and rage radiating off him like heat.

You stopped and he looked up slowly. Like he expected you to come to him. The tension was unbearable. This is it, you thought.

“Was he worth it?” he asked, voice hoarse and sharp.

You blinked, watching him take a swig straight from the bottle in his hand. “Excuse me?” The fire in your chest burning once again.

Mattheo pushed off the wall, walking toward you, unsteady but furious. “Liam fucking Rosier," he spat taking a step towards you. "Was he worth it? Hands all over you? You like that? Puttin' on a show for everyone?"

You crossed your arms. “You don’t get to ask that."

“I saw you,” he hissed. “You let him touch you like you wanted him.”

You laughed bitterly. “Like you didn't do the exact same with that Ravenclaw?" You raised your voice, narrowing your eyes at him, "was she worth it?!"

“She—” he snapped, nostrils flaring, “—that wasn’t-”

You didn't let him reply. “You think I actually wanted Liam?”

Mattheo’s chest rose and fell in jagged, angry breaths. He looked like he wanted to burn everything done, "then why?" he asked in an eerily quiet tone.

“I wanted to hurt you,” you said coldly. “And it worked.”

Silence.

His face twisted. “Why?” he whispered, broken. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

You glared, crossing your arms across your chest. “Why would you?”

“Because I’m fucked in the head, alright?” he shouted, voice cracking. “Because watching you laugh with Higgs, and talk to Rosier, and walk around pretending I didn’t ruin you—it made me insane.”

You took a shaky breath. “You did ruin me.”

“I know,” he rasped. “I broke us. I let you go because I thought it was the only way to protect you from me.”

“We went through this already,” you whispered, stepping forward, “you didn’t protect me. You destroyed me. And then you came back just to burn whatever was left.”

He blinked his eyes as if he was fighting back tears. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Then why does it feel like hate?” you looked away from him, close to crying yourself.

His voice dropped low. “Because I hated that you still had power over me. That you could breathe without me, while I was choking every day.”

You stared at him, something inside you crumbled. You shook your head. “You can’t keep breaking me and calling it love.”

“I don’t know how to love any other way” his voice almost pleading with you. Almost. He hadn’t realized how much that sentence would haunt him afterwards.

You looked at him, tears in your eyes, voice barely above a whisper: “Then don’t love me at all.”

And with that, you left him standing there — shattered, breathing hard, the weight of every unsaid word collapsing in his chest.

He didn't move a muscle. He didn't even try to say your name.

Everything felt heavier. Final.

✦ ✧ ✦

Months passed. Life continued. It was midterm week, you sat alone in a quiet corner of the library, flipping through Charms notes when a shadow cast over you. Sighing, you lifted your head to see it was Mattheo. And he looked... different. His eyes, there wasn’t that dangerous glint in them. Instead, his eyes were clear. As if the storm inside him had stilled.

“Can I sit?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated — but nodded. He slid into the seat across from you and folded his hands. “I’m not here to ask for anything,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that I realized something.”

You swallowed, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to be the villain anymore,” he said softly. “Especially not in your story.”

He looked away for a second before he added, “I'm done letting my name decide who I have to be and make decisions based off that.”

This was not at all what you had expected. Honestly, what did you expect from him — a plea, a performance, maybe more anger?

But this? Him being honest. Raw. Vulnerable. You didn't expect this.

You definitely didn't expect him wanting to change his ways.

✦ ✧ ✦

It started with a whisper amongst the purebloods. Then came Dumbledore’s speech in the Great Hall that made every student’s stomach turn. Finally, the Daily Prophet admitted it was true.

The Dark Lord has returned.

Suddenly the castle felt colder. Shadows fell longer. And Slytherins walked with their shoulders straighter, like waiting to be summoned.

Not you. You kept your head down as you walked through the castle. You knew what this meant, especially for your friends. For Mattheo.

You went to sit on your favorite ledge in the astronomy tower. Leaning dangling down, you looked up to the sky just like Mattheo was the other day. What was going to happen now? The Dark Lord was going to commit mass genocide just because some witches and wizards were born to a Muggle?

Having a very Gryffindor moment, you decided you wouldn’t let innocent people be murdered just because they didn’t have a pure blood line. When the time came, you were going to take a stand. Even if you were alone doing so. Even if you had to fight against your friends.

Exhaling deeply, you twirled your wand in your hand. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, fight.

You hadn’t heard footsteps coming towards you, until they were right behind you. Your heart beating furiously out of your chest, your breath caught in your throat. Wand firmly in your hand, you turned around and raised it at the mysterious person.

Raising their hands in the air, “easy,” a voice you knew like the back of your hand murmured. “It’s just me.”

Mattheo stepped behind the shadows, the moonlight washing over his face. He looked different. More haunted. But still him.

Still your Mattheo.

“What are you doing out here?” you asked, lowering your wand and returning your stare to the cloudy night sky.

He tilted his head, “I could ask you the same.” He moved to sit next to you, your knees almost close enough to be touching.

You hummed in response. You could feel his eyes looking at you, making you glance at him. His eyes scanned your face over and over as if he was committing it to memory.

The silence stretched between you two, full of memories — kissing in hallways, screaming in stairwells, bleeding for each other and never quite healing.

He broke the silence first.

“I’m being watched again," he said it in a simple tone, looking away. You watched as he lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Inhaled. Then he exhaled like he wanted to disappear in the smoke.

Your stomach twisted, “do you… do you think he’ll come for you?" as you asked you felt chills go down your spine.

Mattheo didn’t look at you. “I know he will. And I know which side people think I’ll choose.”

You stared at him, scared for his reply but you ask him anyway, "and will they be right?”

He turned to you, finally meeting your eyes. “Not this time.”

You leaned closer to him, whispering “I never stopped worrying about you."

“I never stopped loving you,” he said back in a low tone, his eyes flashing with something you couldn't name. There was no anger now. No fire. Just a quiet devastation that had settled into something stronger. Something real.

“I thought we were done,” you whispered, the smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes.

“So did I,” he murmured. “But then I heard the Dark Lord was back and all I could think was... if I never see you again, and I’ll die with every word I never said rotting inside me.”

Your breath hitched at his words.

He stepped closer.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said. “Not forgiveness. Not another chance. I just wanted you to know—before this war takes everything—I’d pick you. Y/N I will always choose you.”

You looked at him, lower lip trembling. “Even if it costs you everything?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Especially then.”

And something inside you shattered. The bitterness. The pride. The fear.

You leaned in closer and rested your head on his shoulder, tears burning silently at the corners of your eyes.

His arms wrapped around you like they’d never left.

Not lovers. Not enemies.

Just two souls who always found their way back to each other even through the dark.

Even if the world ended.

[the-fiction-filter]

Emotional Kaleidoscope Pt. 3 | Mattheo R.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Attempting to move on, just like Mattheo asked you to. He doesn't make it easy.

Inspiration: Forget me too by mgk & Halsey 🎵

Warnings: Crude language about sex

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

Terrence Higgs.

Terrence. Fucking. Higgs.

Mattheo’s fork bent in his grip as he watched Higgs whispering something in your ear. You laughed. Not a fake laugh. But a real, eye-crinkling, head tossing back, hand covering your perfectly straighten pearly white teeth kind of laugh.

Terrence Higgs—seventh year Slytherin, Quidditch star. Athletic build. Taller than Mattheo. Oozing charm out of every pore in his body. Mature. Apparently hilarious from what Mattheo could tell by your reaction.

Blaise shot Mattheo a sideways glance. “Subtle mate, real subtle.”

“Fuck off.”

Mattheo’s jaw was locked, his leg bouncing under the table. He was seconds from storming down the Slytherin table and demanding that you leave Higgs side.

You tried your hardest not to notice. Focusing on the warmth of Terrence’s hand resting on your thigh, fingers drawing lazy circles. Ignoring the chill down your spine from Mattheo’s stare.

Terrence was sweet. Easy. You knew what to expect from him.

Like calm after a violent storm. Gray skies clearing with the sun shining brightly, birds chirping.

Terrence complimented your laugh, smile, anything and everything. Held your hand or thigh under the table. Walked you to all your classes and kissed you like you mattered.

He acted exactly how a boyfriend should. Why didn't it feel perfect when it was?

Why were you so screwed up that this wasn't what you wanted?

You risked a glance at the reason why you couldn't completely move on. Mattheo. You saw him gritting his teeth and glaring back at you. He constantly watched you, his eyes burning holes into your skin.

✦ ✧ ✦

The music pulsed through the dungeons like a heartbeat — heavy and dangerous. It was the start of the Quidditch season and next weekend was the first match for Slytherin. So naturally, we used it as an excuse to party.

You were sitting on Terrence’s lap. His hand was resting comfortably on your thigh. You were smiling holding on to the drink in your hand. Barely listening to him talk to his friends.

You suddenly felt him. Christ, why can I still feel him?

Mattheo Riddle.

Leaning against the doorway, half empty bottle of firewhiskey in one hand. Red-rimmed eyes like he hadn’t slept since the last time he touched you. He was watching you. Jealousy bubbled up in his chest when he saw you were wearing Higgs’ jersey.

You never wore his jersey. Then again Mattheo never gave it to you.

He snapped when you picked up your head and caught him looking at you. You looked away quickly. But he didn’t.

Instead, he pushed off the wall, stumbling slightly. Blaise and Theodore tried to stop him. “Mate—” “Don’t—”

Mattheo pushed past his friends, ignoring their warnings.

“Cute,” Mattheo drawled, swaying slightly. “You two playing house now?”

Terrence straightened, instantly tense. “Back off.”

Mattheo ignored him, staring at you instead. He noticed you weren't wearing your necklace anymore. He scoffed, that infuriated him more. He wanted to hurt you, just like he was hurting from watching you prance around with Higgs.

“Tell me something, Y/N.” His voice was rough, slurred around the edges. “Does he know you make that little sound when you’re about to come? Or that you like being a big tease, just to be put in your place?”

The room went dead silent.

He continued, “or that you get off on sucking cock? Oh, Higgs you’re lucky her mouth is magical—"

“Mattheo,” you said sharply, cutting him off standing.

He laughed — sharp and mean. “What? Just making sure he’s not missing the user manual. Wouldn’t want him fumbling around, yeah?”

Terrence stood up at this, you put your arm out to stop him from advancing on Mattheo, “go to sleep, you’re drunk.”

“Can’t,” Mattheo said, voice rising. “Can’t sleep. Not when your face is the first thing I see every time I close my eyes.”

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, staring back at him sadden and confused.

He stepped closer. “Because you’re not supposed to be his. You’re mine.”

“You told me to forget you!”

“I LIED!”

The whole room flinched.

“I lied,” Mattheo said again, softer now, breaking in real time. “I lied because I thought I was doing the right thing. Because I thought I’d ruin you. Because I knew I could. And I did. And now you’re here pretending you’re okay, pretending you love him, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

Your throat was tight. “You don’t get to say this now, you didn’t want to fight for us.”

“I am fighting.”

“It’s too late.”

He looked at you like you’d ripped the air from his lungs. You didn't give him a chance to reply. Instead, you took Terrence’s hand and pulled him up to the dorms. Leaving Mattheo standing in the middle of the common room with every eye on him and the taste of regret burning in his mouth.

✦ ✧ ✦

The next morning, Mattheo sat in the top row of the quidditch stands. Splitting headache. Busted lips. He couldn’t remember the fight. But he remembered why he felt so much regret when he woke up. He stared off into the distance, wishing he could take back all the words he said.

He exhaled smoke, hearing footsteps behind him. Mattheo didn't bother to look at who arrived, he knew who it was. “Come to throw a punch?”

Terrence’s voice was cold. “No.”

“So then?” Mattheo took another pull from his cigarette. He side-glanced at the older boy.

Terrence stood over him, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I just came to tell you this ends now.”

Mattheo snorted, crushing his cigarette beneath his heel. “You going to piss on her leg, Higgs?”

“She’s not a prize. She’s a person. One you keep breaking.”

That cut deeper than Mattheo wanted to admit. Higgs was right, even if he didn't want to admit it to anyone.

Terrence didn’t wait. “You think you’re some tortured soul?”

His tone sharpened. “Every time she starts to breathe again, you show up. You drag her back in with your toxic little gravitational pull, and then you leave her gasping for air.”

Mattheo blinked. Just once. “You don’t know shit,” Mattheo growled, flicking his cigarette away. A scowl etched on his face.

“I know enough. I know you had her — and you broke her.”

Mattheo fought a flinch.

“Unlike you, I give a shit about what happens to her. If you ever pull another stunt like last night — humiliate her like that again — you won’t be walking away.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, both brimming with anger, but only one of them barely holding himself together.

Then Terrence took a step back. “One day she’ll stop waiting for you,” he said.

✦ ✧ ✦

The following days were filled with a strange heaviness between Terrence and you. He still dutifully walked you to class. Held your hand, but it felt different like he wasn’t so sure anymore. Afraid of holding too tight.

One day you both were sitting by the fountain in the courtyard. Not touching. Not talking. You stared at him. He was easily one of the most handsome guys in Hogwarts.

Everything would’ve been easier if you could love him. Want him.

“I’m not stupid,” he said finally breaking the silence. “I saw the way you looked at him. The way you don’t look at me.”

You turned away in shame, “Terrence—”

“I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty.” He paused. “I’m saying it because I’ve spent the last few weeks pretending you could be mine if I just held on tight enough. But it doesn’t work like that, does it?”

You looked down at your hands. “I wanted to love you. I tried.”

“I know.” His voice was soft. Just the quiet sadness of someone already letting go. “I’m not going to make you feel worse,” he added. “But I need you to be honest with yourself.”

You finally looked up at him, noticing the soft expression on his face, “I don’t know how to stop loving him.”

“And that’s your answer right there,” he said gently. Then he turned and walked away. No tears or yelling.

You watched him walk away until he was out of sight. You don’t know how long you sat there for. Lost in your thoughts.

Why couldn’t you feel anything for Terrence? He was everything and anything you should want.

You found yourself at the entrance of the common room. You didn’t remember the walk there. You took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. Who would be there? Terrence? Or worse Mattheo?

Daphne looked up from her spot near the fireplace, where she, Blaise, Pansy, and Enzo were lounging around, loud opinions and witty remarks being thrown back and forth.

Daphne raised an eyebrow, shifting over to make space for you on the couch. “Where’ve you been?”

You plopped down next to her, “studying.”

Blaise snorted into his drink. “You don’t lie well when you’re emotionally compromised.”

Enzo leaned in with a lopsided grin, “you look like you’ve cried and snogged someone within the same half hour. Which honestly? I’m impressed by it!

Your head dropped into your hands with a groan. “Can you all not?”

“Oh, we could,” Pansy said, swirling her drink, “but we won’t—because you and Mattheo have been suffocating the rest of us for months.”

“Years,” Blaise corrected. “It’s been years.”

“Agreed,” Daphne added. “At this point I think your unresolved issues have started haunting the castle. Not to mention this thing you have going on with Higgs.”

You stared at the fire, simply stating "well that's done with."

They all exchanged glances. And then Pansy sighed, speaking first “You know we love you, right?”

You glanced up. You looked at each of them one by one. Pansy gave you a soft smile. Blaise dropped his smirk and pulled a serious face on. Enzo stared back at you as if he was scared, you’d break. Daphne fidgeted with her fingers but glanced at you nodding encouragingly.

“We’ll support you no matter what,” she continued. “Even if that means watching you jump back into the fire. Again.”

“Also,” Blaise added with a dry smirk, “he’s my mate and all, but if I listen to one more of Mattheo’s brooding late-night rants about how ‘he's poison’ and ‘she deserves better’ while chain-smoking outside the common room, I’m going to hex him unconscious for my own peace.”

You laughed. A real one. And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

Laughter filled the room once again. The fire cracking lazily as you nursed the drink Pansy had passed you. For the time being you tried not to think. Not about the conversation with Terrence. Or how he was so mature and calm, telling you to choose yourself first. And definitely not thinking about Mattheo, who sent mixed messages like it was his favorite hobby.

[the-fiction-filter]

🪄 Harry Potter Masterlist

Slytherin Boys-

🐍 Blaise Zabini

|| my ex's best friend

🐍 Draco Malfoy

|| I'm staring at the mess I made Pt. 2??

🐍 Lorenzo Berkshire

🐍 Mattheo Riddle

|| Emotional Kaleidoscope Pt.2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4

🐍 Theodore Nott

|| Sorry, I'm here for someone else

Gryffindor Boys-

🦁 Bill Weasley

|| Why did I fall for you?

🦁 Charlie Weasley

Coming soon 🙊

🦁 Fred Weasley

Coming soon 🙊

🦁 George Weasley

🦁 Oliver Wood

Marauder Era-

🦌James Potter

🐺Remus Lupin

🐕Sirius Black

Coming soon 🙊

🐍 Barty Crouch Jr.

Coming soon 🙊

🐍 Regulus Black

[the-fiction-filter]

Emotional kaleidoscope Pt. 2 | Mattheo R.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: You can’t deny your lingering feelings, and neither can he. The confrontation turns explosive and raw. In the aftermath, you're left feeling hollow. You're still stuck in a toxic cycle.

Inspiration: Forget me too by mgk & Halsey 🎵

Warning: Mentions of sexual relations

It's eating me alive We'd both be better off alone

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

“See you,” you said bidding Pansy bye as you left the Charms classroom. She headed directly to the dungeons. You walked the opposite way, taking the long way. Effectively avoiding him all week.

You didn’t hear him coming up behind you. The chatter of the students too loud to hear anything. But you felt him. The pedant against your chest, the one he’d charmed to mimic his heartbeat when he wasn’t near, stopped pulsing. It glowed faintly instead, warm. Just like it always did when he was nearby.

You froze.

“Stop pretending like I don’t exist” his voice shattering your peace.

You didn't face him instead you said in a sharp tone, “not here.”

Mattheo snapped, “I really don’t give a fuck where we are.”

Sighing, you slowly turned to face him. There he was, jaw tight, hands shaking. Your heart ached seeing him like this. He looked so broken.

“Leave me alone,” you managed to say, voice cracking.

He took a step forward. “No. I said forget me, but I’m watching you walk around smiling like I didn’t rip your heart out. Like I didn’t destroy myself, too.”

Stepped backwards, you glared back at him, “I’m trying to move on, you told me to!”

 “I KNOW!” he shouted, voice echoing down the empty corridor. “I thought I was doing the right thing, alright?”

He laughed bitterly. “But I can’t fucking breathe without you.”

You didn’t have a response. What could you say?

“I see you in my sleep Y/N,” he said quietly now, his eyes falling to the pendant, “you’re still wearing it,” he whispered.

The warmth from the necklace around your neck started feeling white hot against your skin. That damn pendant. Alarming when he was nearby. Pulsing when he wasn't. A cruel reminder that you couldn’t forget him.

You should’ve thrown it into the Black Lake. But whenever you tried to take it off you couldn’t go through with it.

You looked away, ignoring his comment. “You don’t get to want me back now. Not after you said to forget you, not just because you’re finally breaking.”

“But you still love me,” he whispered, like it hurt to admit. “And I still love you. Even if it makes me insane. Even if I ruin it.”

You opened your mouth. But no words came out.

“Say it then,” he stepped closer, voice shaking, “say you don’t love me. Tell me walk away.”

Staring at him, something inside you broke at him demanding you to say you no longer loved him.

Closing the distance, your fingers grabbed the collar of his shirt, and you crashed your lips onto his. The kiss was angry. Desperate. Messy. Aching.

Teeth and tongues clashing furiously. Mattheo groaned into your mouth. His hands immediately gripping your waist, terrified to let you go.

You pulled back to get a breath of air, voice shaking, “this doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know,” he replied against your neck, pulling you into the abandoned classroom.

He lifted you onto the professor’s desk. His metal belt hit the floor. Everything, clothes, control, reason were out the window.

Mattheo pulled his lips off you and stared at you, grabbing your chin, his rings cold against your skin, forcing you to stare back as he slipped himself into you with ease.

The overwhelming sensation added with the intense eye contact made you lose any shred of sense you had left.

The familiar sound of skin slapping skin and moaning filled the air. You couldn’t resist the fire between you two, even if it burned you both in the end.

After the high, came the realization you had slipped. A moment of weakness, letting him back in.

His forehead against your shoulder. It was as if he was trying to stay in that moment.

Yet, he couldn't apologize. He didn't take back the words he said when he broke it off. When he broke you.

You were stuck in a toxic cycle with him. Wordlessly you got dressed and walked out the door. Your fingers subconsciously brush against the pendant. Why am I still wearing this?

✦ ✧ ✦

Days later, Mattheo was losing his fucking mind.

You didn’t even look at him. But the necklace still glowed when you passed him—traitorous, alive with everything you pretended wasn’t there.

You passed him in the corridor like he was just another Slytherin in a sea of green and silver. Like you hadn’t had your head thrown back while under him, saying things he’s still hearing in his dreams.

The worst part?

He knew you still thought about him. Just like he was thinking about you.

He didn’t know what the hell he wanted anymore. Yell at you? Kiss you? Fuck you again?

But then he saw you in the library, leaning over some Ravenclaw’s notes, biting your lip in concentration, and it hit him like a curse.

He wanted you. He never stopped wanting you.

He didn't want you to move on from him, even though he had said that. He had lied to you and himself.

You had intended to go to the astronomy tower to breathe. To scream if you had to. But of course, he was already there.  Brooding and smoking. Looking up at the sky as if searching for something he didn’t know.

“You always show up where I’m trying to move on,” you said bitterly.

He didn’t even turn your way. Just sat on the ledge, flicking his cigarette away. “You think that’s on purpose?”

“I think you don’t know how to leave me alone.”

“I tried,” he snapped, standing up slowly then walking toward you. “But you’re everywhere. In my head, in my fucking skin—”

You froze, the necklace around your neck suddenly felt too heavy.

“You’re driving me insane, Y/N.” His voice was low. Wrecked.

He stepped closer. “I know we said nothing’s fixed,” he whispered, eyes scanning your face like he was searching for answers.

His hand reached for the necklace he had given you, rubbing his fingertips over his family crest, “but you’re still wearing this.”

“So?”

“I made it so you’d feel me, even when I wasn’t around. So you’d never forget that I love you”

“Yet, you want me to forget, Mattheo whatever this thing is between us—” you choked out, “it’s killing me.”

His voice dropped. Quiet. Dangerous. “You think it’s not killing me too?”

You went silent once again.

“I look at you and it scares the shit out of me! Because you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted that— I still want, but I'm dangerous to be with. I don’t know what to do! I'm not good for you” His voice cracked, “Y/N, you scare the hell out of me.”

You backed away. “So, you destroy it before it destroys you? Push me away and break me so I hate you instead?”

He didn’t deny it.

You swallowed hard. “Well congratulations, Mattheo. Your plan worked.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched as he stepped back. Like he was trying to convince himself that letting go was the right thing. You didn’t stop him from leaving.

This cycle had to stop.

This wasn't love, right? Love didn't feel like falling apart painfully slow over and over each time you spoke.

[the-fiction-filter]

I'm staring at the mess I made | Draco M.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

Summary: It was time for the Yule Ball. Draco thinks you've been waiting on him to ask you to the dance. Little did he know he was going to have to face reality that he never admitted his feelings to you. So why would you wait on him?

Inspiration: Hard Sometimes by Ruel 🎵

When I come off cold I'm not doing it on purpose You caught me in a hole That I dig for myself when I'm nervous

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

The castle was buzzing ever since the Yule Ball was announced. Every day the halls echoed gossip about who asked who. Who had been rejected.

“It was bloody hysterical!” Pansy cackled as you had finished retelling the story about Ron Weasley asking- no screaming at Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. “You guys should’ve been there, they had to drag him away and he looked like he’d been petrified.”

The boys next to you all snickered. You managed to even get a chuckle from Blaise. Draco who was one to never turn down mocking the Weasley's, was strangely quiet. He was watching you. Staring for a little too long.

You raised an eyebrow at him. He pulled his eyes off you, jerking his head back to his charms essay.

“Everyone’s making a fuss about having a date but I’m going stag” Lorenzo announced squaring his shoulders. "That way whenever some poor bloke messes up, I’ll just swoop in and save the day without much effort."

Theodore snorted at his statement. "It's brilliant really" Lorenzo defended himself.

"You're incorrigible Enzo" you laughed. Draco's grip on his quill tightened as his body filled with warmth at the musical sound of your laughter.

Blaise, the most observant of your friends, notices Draco's reaction and smirks. He decided to stir the pot. "Say, Y/N, do you have a date yet?"

Almost dropping your quill. You avoided everyone's eyes, "well.. maybe," you chewed your lower lip.

Not expecting this, Draco's head shot up. "Maybe?" he said puffing his chest out. His trademark Malfoy arrogance oozing from every pore. "You don't have to pretend love, you can come with me."

"Pre-pretend?!" you said incredulously, you stared back at him as if he had three heads. "I have a date; I just didn't want any of you scaring him off."

Which was fair — any time a boy outside your friend circle so much as looked your way, one of the Slytherin boys would appear like a shadow. Intimidating whoever approached you and telling them to piss off.

And Draco? He was the worst.

Before he could help it Draco angrily asked, “WHO in their bloody right mind would ask you?”

Silence.

Theodore and Blaise glanced at each other before turning back to the scene Draco was creating. Pansy's mouth dropped at Draco's question.

You felt like someone dunked ice-cold water over your head. You looked up from scribbling on your parchment and eyes narrowing at his question. “Excuse me?" you said sharply. "Just because you may think I’m nothing special doesn’t mean everyone else finds me appalling” you spat out venomously.

You began shoving your belongings into your bag.

Draco's angry expression falling completely off his face. “That’s not- I meant- I just didn’t think anyone would ask you” he stammered, trying to correct himself and doing the exact opposite.

You scoffed and muttered under your breath “unbelievable.”

You turned to the boys, “you lot better teach your friend how to speak to the female species, or he’d end up dateless” you said angrily, turning on your heel and leaving.

Not sparing him another glance.

Draco’s mouth hung open as he watched you storm out of sight. All he could hear was the snickering of Blaise and Lorenzo.

“Way to go Malfoy” Theodore added, smirking as he finished his cup of pumpkin juice.

"Guess you'll have to go stag with me" Lorenzo said laughing, clapping him on his back. Draco was spiraling.

Draco turned to glare at them. “Was it one of you? Trying to get back at me for something?”

His friends just laughed harder, shaking their heads. He glared at the seat that had previously been occupied by you.

Who dared ask you to the Yule Ball? Who had the audacity—No. Who had the balls to go and take what was his? He was Draco bloody Malfoy. No one took anything from him.

Draco was losing his mind. Four days passed. Four. You acted like he didn't exist. You didn't glare at him. Didn't even acknowledge him.

It infuriated him.

Pansy being your loyal friend, refused to tell him who your date was. So, he was going mad trying to figure it out on his own.

"Ravenclaw?" Blaise said shouldering his bag, as they walked out of Potions.

Draco laughed hollowly, "no Ravenclaw would dare."

Theo smirked, "Imagine it's a Gryffindor."

"Absolutely not, she's not that stupid" he muttered.

Lorenzo snapped his fingers, "I know!" making everyone stop in their tracks. "It has to be a guy from Durmstang" he said simply.

Draco's blood ran cold. It makes sense. Everyone in Hogwarts knew you were off limits. But those bloody gits from Durmstang didn't. He stared off into the distance, watching you walk with your arm linked with Pansy's as you giggled over something.

Clenching his fist, he had to make a move.

If you had gotten yourself a date, well then, he'd be damned if he went alone.

Entering the common room, the idea hit him in the form of Astoria Greengrass. She was sitting there on the couch, aimlessly flipping through Witch Weekly.

He smirked. He knew the younger witch was head over heels for him. He made his approach.

She stared at him, a smile slowly forming on her face. "Draco" she said in an overly sweet voice, Draco internally rolled his eyes.

He tried to play it casually. Pretend this was his first option. "You going to the Yule ball?" he asked.

She blinked slowly, "no.. why? Are you asking me?"

He nodded.

✦ ✧ ✦

The Yule Ball quickly arrived after that.

You walked through the Great Hall entrance with your arm looped through the strong bicep of a tall Durmstrang. Erik-one of the handsome, charming quidditch players.

You glanced at his side profile. He was dreamy.

You felt eyes on you the second you stepped inside the wintery scene. You knew who it was. And you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of looking back at him.

Draco Malfoy stood there in black dress robes, with Astoria clinging to his arm. He saw you and his stomach twisted violently.

You smiled shyly, looking up at Erik through your lashes. “Let’s dance.”

A slow song came on; your hand slowly went around Erik's neck and his found your waist.

You felt someone staring and you knew it was Draco. You risked a glance, looking over Erik's shoulder.

He just stood there, glaring.

Astoria gave up on the idea of dancing with him, followed his gaze, and her body stiffened slightly. “She's the one, isn't she?”

Draco didn’t answer. He watched as you slipped outside for a moment. Placing the glass he was holding down, he followed you.

“Having fun?”

Draco stood behind you, hands in his pockets, his jaw tight.

“Erik’s wonderful” you said, voice biting. You turned to stare at him with your arms crossed.

Draco scoffed. “You don’t even like Quidditch players.”

You scoffed back at him, “says who?”

“I asked her to the ball to make you jealous,” he blurted out.

You blinked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion at him. “What?”

“I couldn’t stand not knowing who your date was. It drove me insane. And now? I can't stand seeing you with him—”

“Draco—”

“I was an idiot,” he said. “I said the wrong thing. And now you're happy, with him.”

You stared back, heart pounding. There he was — Draco Malfoy, arrogant, sharp-tongued, cruel when it suited him — finally admitting to something close to vulnerability.

“You never said anything, Draco. You never—never even hinted that you felt anything. But the second someone else does, you pull this?”

He looked away, jaw clenched. “I didn’t think—”

“You didn't think anyone would ask me” you said with a false laugh. “Now you’re here for what exactly? A dance? A kiss?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No—I don’t expect anything.”

His voice cracked slightly, and it stunned you.

“I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I messed up. I’ve never—felt like this. Not for anyone. It terrifies me.”

You exhaled. Draco’s eyes dropped to the floor.

Before you could respond, Erik stepped into the courtyard, searching until he spotted you both under the frosted archway.

“There you are,” he said, his accent laced with concern. “I was starting to worry—”

Draco turned to face him, annoyed at his interruption. He cut Erik off “she’s fine. We were just catching up.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tensing. “Is that so?”

You straightened, stepping towards him pulling a soft smile on your face. “I needed some air. That’s all.”

Erik looked between the two of you for a moment too long, before offering his arm again. “Shall we?”

You nodded taking his arm, ignoring Draco’s eyes as you left.

And he just stood there watching you walk away.

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[the-fiction-filter]

Emotional kaleidoscope Pt. 1 | Mattheo R.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Mattheo Riddle was far from perfect. He was possessive, jealous, arrogant. He was the Dark Lord's son. But everything changed for him when he let you into his world. You had been a shining light, a beacon in the darkness. You were everything he wasn't. He did not want to poison you. So, he pushed you away. Told you to forget everything and walked away without another word.

Inspiration: Forget me too by mgk & Halsey 🎵

Word Count: 870

Pt. 2

You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too You tell me you hate me, baby Yeah, I bet you do

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Mattheo leaned against the cool stone wall of the Slytherin common room. His eyes fixated on your figure as you dancing with your friends. That gorgeous smile as you your hips swayed, carefree. You looked.. happy.

You were clearly fine. Unbothered.

How? Didn't he rip your heart out a little less than a month ago?

His cigarette balancing between his fingers as he took a drag. That little black dress acting as a second skin. It was taunting him. Tempting him. Begging him to push it up around your waist as he pinned your body with his.

He couldn't. Gods, this was torture.

Taking one last drag, he exhaled slowly and calmly before crushing it in the ashtray on a nearby table. Pushing himself off the wall, he ignored Theodore and Blaise voice’s questioning him.

Bodies parted as he moved. As if they knew better than to stand in his way. You groaned when the scent of mint and tobacco surrounded around you like silk. He was behind you.

“Another inch higher and you'll be giving the common room a show” he said roughly, pressing himself firmly against your back.

Rolling your eyes, you turned around and lifted your chin defiantly to meet his gaze. The fire in his eyes almost makes you shiver. Almost.

“So what, Riddle?” you challenged him.

He hated that. Merlin, that bloody attitude of yours. It pissed him off and excited him at the same time. All it did was make him want to bend you over whatever surface was nearby and remind you that he owned you.

His nostrils flared, jaw clenching. “I don’t want eyes seeing what’s mine” he growled lowly as he slowly backed you against wall.

You laughed, ignoring the heat from his body against yours. He was sorely mistaken if he thought he could waltz over and claim you again. You weren't his plaything, to pick up and put down whenever.

He gripped your waist with one hand- possessive. Warning you.

He should’ve scared you. Instead, he thrilled you.

His touch? It sparked something wild inside of you.

You hated how you wanted to wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to his dorm or just take you in front of everyone. You couldn't stand it.

His words from a month ago replay in your mind. He had told you to forget him. Forget the feelings between you two. He wasn’t good for you.

That memory looped like a broken record in your head. It made the feeling of his hand burn. Bastard.

Suddenly, you shoved him with as much force as you could muster. Hard enough that he stumbled. “No. Absolutely not” you said sharply. “Yours?" you said lowly getting close to losing it, "You don’t get to say that. You told me to forget about you.”

Mattheo stood there. Fuck. He did say that, and he did mean every word. But that was then. This was now.

“I didn’t mean it,” he rasped. You barely heard him over the music.

You laughed bitterly. “Too bad.”

And then you were gone—you had turned on your heel and walked up to your dorm.

Mattheo stood there, chest heaving. His hands balled into fists.

He wanted to scream. Wanted another cigarette. To follow you. Make you listen to him. And take what was his.

But he didn’t.

He had told you to forget him. Now he had to live with the image of you wearing that goddamn dress for anyone. Anyone but him.

You were actually trying to forget him.

He slammed a fist against the stone wall. The students nearby jumping at his aggression. “Fucking hell” he muttered storming up to his dorm.

He thought he did the right thing. Pushing you away. He was toxic. He was the Dark Lord’s son. The epitome of evil. He was born to darkness and chaos.

Yet, he didn’t expect this.

He hated you for moving on. Hated you for not feeling like he was. You were managing to survive. And him? He was drowning. Dying for breath of air.

The minute he entered his dorm; he paced back and forth. Reaching up to run a hand through his hair. Frustrated. “Bloody mess” he said to himself, “I hate you, and I hate that I fell in love with you Y/N.” There it was. The problem.

Of course you didn’t know that.

You pressed yourself against the door leading into your shared dorm. Your heart racing so fast you swore you saw your shirt beating.

Why did he always show up at the wrong moment? Why did he get to be angry?

Throwing yourself on your bed, your eyes shut hard. Swallowing hard to prevent the tears from falling.

He said forget him. And you tried.

You picked up the pieces of your broken heart on your own.

But part of you still wanted him. And now another part of you hated him. Hated him for always coming back, tearing down the progress you made and setting it on fire for good measure.

“I wish I could forget you. I hate you, Mattheo.”

Not really. You couldn't voice the truth, or you'd never come back from it.

———————————————————————————-----------------

Tell me why you do the things that make me (hate you) It's an emotional kaleidoscope when I (face you)

[the-fiction-filter]

Sorry, I'm here for someone else | Theo N.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: During sixth year, Theodore Nott had worked up the courage to ask you out and it turned out to be the best choice he ever made. It was the happiest time of his life, that was until winter break when his father announced that he had arranged Theodore's marriage. He didn't have any time to fix the mess he was in because the war broke out right after. Fast forward to a year or so after the battle of Hogwarts, you two unintentionally meet up once again.

Inspiration: Sorry I'm Here for Someone Else by Benson Boone 🎵

Word Count: 2.9k

I'm sorry, I'm here for someone else It's good to see your face And I really hope you're doing well I hope you're doing well

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Theodore Nott walked into the Three Broomsticks, brushing off the layer of snow from his cloak. He took a seat and stared out the window while he patiently waited. His fingers drummed against the worn wooden table. He watched as the flurries fell from the sky outside and glanced at his wristwatch. Fifteen minutes past one, he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Typical, he muttered under his breath as his jaw clenched. Of course she would be late.

He was thankful that this whole arrangement that been delayed for as long as it has. The wizarding world was still putting itself back together- the war tearing apart families, people, and the castle. He sighed; the war had destroyed him as well.

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed two glasses of Butterbeer being placed on the table in front of him.

He opened his mouth to voice the mistake; he hadn't ordered anything. But the words died before they came out when he noticed who it was.

You.

There you were, giving him a dazzling smile. That perfectly dimpled smile he hadn't been blessed to see in over a year. As his eyes meet yours, he felt like he was suffocating on the warm air in the pub. "Hey Theo" you said, wiggling your fingers at him casually. Sliding one of the glasses towards him.

Theo blinked. He had to play it cool. He hadn't planned on running into you of all people. You looked the same -but different. "Um.. hey Y/N.. it's been awhile" he replied.

"Only been a year or so, right?" you grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. He watched as you brought the glass to your lips and taking a sip. It was like you had moved on. His absence hadn't broken you unlike how yours tore his heart out.

Why did he have to see you now? Of all people. And especially right at this moment.

What does he say? The year, since you two last spoke, had gone by torturously for him. Merlin he was being flooded with every possible memory of you as he studied your face.

When he told you about the arrangement, and when his heart was broken into pieces as you cried over it and ultimately broken up with him.

Theo's eyes took the sight of you, noting all the changes in your appearance. You had a mature, confident aura around you. Even how you sat was different, you seemed firmer.

His eyes went from your eyes to your lips and watched as your tongue licked off the remnants of Butterbeer foam. His eyes trailed from your lips to your chin; he fought back a flinch looking at the scar that had formed from the battle of Hogwarts. It reminded him of how much of a coward he was and still is. His mind briefly taking him back to that day.

**The dungeons holding the Slytherins in had burst open due to some explosion. Theo and the others were grateful and pushed past Filch. A lot of them began trying to find ways to get of the castle grounds and run away from the battle. He turned around and Blaise had already disappeared without him, damn bastard he thought to himself.

"What do we do now?" Pansy shrieked turning to Theo for guidance. It was then he realized that Pansy was holding on to his arm, clinging for dear life.

Looking at her hands clasping on to his arm he said curtly, "you're going to cut off my circulation if you don't loosen your grip." Her face flushed at his response, and she eased up. Theo scanned the dungeons; he made a mental note that his wand was still in his cloak pocket and started taking steps towards the stairs.

"Wait! Where do you think you're going?" Pansy panicked, her grip tightening once more around his arm, making him stop walking.

Theo gave her a side glance, "you know where I'm going" he said as if it was obvious, before continuing his walk.

"No! Don't! She's probably dead already!" Pansy exclaimed, either she hadn't noticed the look in his eyes, or she didn't care as she continued, "that's why you want to go there right? for her? it's always been her hasn't it?! She's most likely dead, and she's your past! I'm your future, me not her!"

If looks could kill, Pansy would have surely been dead the moment she opened her mouth and started claiming you were dead. Theo glared at her and his nostrils flared, "I'm going to go find her, stay here or come, I really don't care."

He shook her hands off him violently, before walking away at a faster pace. Pansy shouted from behind him "you're too late Theodore!"

Once he turned the corner, he ran.

Pansy didn't know what she was talking about. He wasn't too late. And you. You were alive. He could feel it in his bones. That had to mean something, right?

You two were soulmates. Of that Theo was certain. And being soulmates, he would have felt if you were no longer on this Earth.

I should've been there with her, he thought as he ran as fast as he could. The sounds of dueling getting closer, he could hear spells being fired off one after another. He made it to the corridor before the Great Hall, and he saw two Death Eaters dueling with Professor McGonagall. He stayed back in fear and watched as she managed to disarm one. Once she had the upper hand, Theo made a dash for it and ran towards the courtyard.

"Where are you?" he muttered as he took in the scene before him. Several student's bodies were thrown on the ground. He saw giants being attacked by stone statues that were once on the walls of Hogwarts. He saw Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom protecting younger looking students. But no signs of you.

That was until he heard a blood curling scream. He whipped his head so fast towards the direction it came from. He saw two Death Eaters laughing as a third continued to shout "Crucio" at the figure that was contorting and screaming at their feet.

Against his better judgment he took a small step towards them. Noticing him, one of the Death Eaters' points him out, "isn't that your son Nott?"

The person casting the unforgiven curse turned around, letting his victim have a breath. It was his father. "Ah, son, I wondered where you went, come join us and watch me torture this blood traitor girl" his father said with an evil smile on his face.

Theo took another hesitant step towards them. He noticed the figure on the floor start to move. Please get up and run away he thought. Maybe if he wasted their time, whoever this girl was would have a chance to run away.

"Stupefy!" the person's voice managed to weakly say, sending a stupefy out to one of the Death Eaters and managing to only kick him back slightly.

No, not her Theo thought as he felt dread wash over him at the sound of your voice.

He felt his heart stop beating when he saw you on the ground, a pool of your blood under you. Too much blood. Theo was shocked you hadn't passed out from blood loss yet. He wanted to say something, anything to get you to not try to get up anymore. But you were always stubborn, and he was always a coward.

You started to raise to your knees, blood trickling down your chin. Your wand pointed at the Death Eaters before you. The look on your face was exhausted yet determined. You turned your eyes to him and your wand arm faltered for a second.**

Noticing his stare, you cleared your throat and pushed your hair over your shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Theo's eyes followed your actions.

Your hair was longer than he ever remembered you having it. And before he could help himself, he softly murmured "you let your hair grow out.. you always said it got in the way."

Your eyes widened slightly, being caught off guard by his memory, "oh well.. it still does" you laugh breathlessly before adding "anyways how have you been? what are you up to nowadays?" you said biting your lower lip.

Just like before you still manage to make his heart skip a beat. He clenched and unclenched his fist under the table to calm his nerves. "I've been working at the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Artefacts.. its boring really.." he trailed off his eyes never leaving your face.

His eyes once again drinking in your appearance that he was depraved of since the war. You had stared back at him with an unreadable expression. He hated not knowing what you were thinking. "I heard you became an auror" he let slip out his mouth before he could help it.

He didn't want you thinking he was keeping tabs on you. He was of course. But you couldn't know that.

An eyebrow raised, and a slight smirk on your face you replied, "whoever your source is they're correct, work has been slow lately though. Only a few death eaters lingering around.”

Theo broke eye contact at your statement, the dark wood of the table becoming more interesting to him. He remembered his father. Theo wondered if you had gotten your revenge and it had been you to drag him away. “So, what are you doing around here? Taking a break from your artefacts?” You teased, tilting your head as you waited for his answer.

He glanced back up and watched as your eyes traveled over his face and down his arms. He saw your eyes glance at his hands. Probably noticing the lacked a wedding band if the way you quickly diverted your eyes back to his face had any indication of your thoughts. There it was- that smile of yours. He groaned internally; your smile always made him come undone. And apparently it still did. "You look.. good" he replied. Fucking git, that's not the answer to her question, he cursed himself.

Ugh, she's smiling still.

He allowed himself to stare. Watching your lashes brush against your cheek as you blinked. The perfect curve of your lips. He debated on glancing at your hand like you had searched his own. Fuck it.

No ring. But who was he kidding? It didn't matter.

“I’m actually waiting.. for her..” he said quietly, in such a low voice. He didn't want to admit it to you.

Your eyes widen in shock and you laughed nervously. “Oh! Well um… I’ll leave you to it.. I just saw you-.. but yeah.. you.. you tell her I said hi.. or don’t. I don’t know..” you reached to grab your butter beer as if to ground yourself.

Electricity shot from his hand the moment it covered yours. The both of you pausing your movements.

Theo pleaded in his head with you. Please don’t go, stay with me. It was on the tip of his tongue and yet he couldn’t get the words out.

You two continued to stare at each other with his hand on yours. All the while, he waged an internal battle with himself. You on the other hand looked like you wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Before he could make up his mind on his next words, the sound of the front door to the Three Broomsticks opening broke the spell between you two.

He couldn't hear anything besides the sound of his own heart breaking once again, as he saw Pansy making her way through.

You turned to look at what he was staring at. He could feel the change in you. You were both reminded that Theo was here for her. He was waiting for her. He wasn't there for you but someone else.

You snatched your hand back as if his touch was burning you. He frowned at your reaction. He watched you once again, figuring this would be the very last time you two spoke. God how he wanted to pull you into him. Hold you closely and never letting you go again.

He saw you turn back to him, “I should go, bye Theo” and without another word you walked away. Once again you slipped through his fingers. And once again he only had himself to blame.

"Y/N..." he said in a pained whisper. But he acted too late. Again.

“There you are!” Pansy’s shrill voice chirped. Theo turned towards her. His expression going back to the dead look he was so well known for.

Pansy started going on about her day without a care in the world. "Oh, the flower arrangements are-" she went on and on, eventually Theo drowned her voice out.

He was absentmindedly nodding his head at whatever she was saying. His body across from her, yet his mind on you. Seeing you again had shaken him to his core. His eyes zeroed in on your figure disappearing through the front door.

"Really Theodore?" Pansy scolded bringing him back to the conversation. He blinked at her.

"You two were chatting before I got here, weren't you?" she began playing with the charm bracelet around her wrist. She had noticed you speaking with him when she entered the pub. Theo looked at Pansy. She wasn't angry. She was nervous.

"You still.. think about her, right?" Pansy laughed weakly. Theo didn't bother answering. His lack of response was enough.

She scoffed. "Figures she'd be here.. I heard the war heroes were making a tradition of coming to Hogsmeade the first weekend of the school year" she rolled her eyes. "Is she still running around catching Death Eaters? I'd bet she was the one who brought your father to Azkaban" Pansy said trying to point out the obvious.

Theo’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t listen to this.

Pansy’s voice dropped. “Do you still love her?”

His head snapped toward her.

His eyes trailed down to her hand. The engagement ring sat sparkling on her ring finger. His eyes shut, he could hear his father's voice, "you will marry the Parkinson girl! You are the Nott Legacy. My legacy. That blood-traitor girl turned her wand on us, her kind! You won't taint the Nott name with the likes of her."

Opening his eyes, he realized just how much of a coward he was.

He listened to his father. Duty over desire. Stood on the wrong side of the war. Fear over belief.

Lost you.

You had chosen to fight and bleed for what was right. That last night in the courtyard, he failed you. He didn't stop your torture. He allowed your blood to flow.

And Merlin, does he remember how you looked at him hopeful. Hoping he'd do something. Chose you.

Theo stood up abruptly. Pansy panicked, "what.. what are you doing?!"

He threw a galleon on the table. Pansy's eyes widened, "Theodore! Don't! You can't do this, your family name- purity- your father" she sputtered out.

Theo looked at her, "I know what I'm doing. I'm sorry Pansy."

He meant it. He felt for the girl being caught up in this mess.

"Please.. don't choose her" she said her voice trembling.

He threw on his cloak. "I'm choosing myself for once."

Once the cold winter air hit him, he paused before sprinting off. He had to find you. You couldn't have gotten far. You had to still be around. Finally, he saw you nearby Honeydukes.

"Y/N!" he shouted before coming to a stop and grabbing your arm to spin you around.

Confused, your eyes took in his flushed cheeks and how out of breath he seemed. "What are-"

"I can't do it. I can't marry her. I'm a fool. A coward" he began blurting out.

You opened your mouth to reply, your eyebrows furrowed. Theo shook his head, stepping closer to you and placing his hands on your shoulders. "I kept choosing him. I just listened to my father, like a bloody idiot" his voice became ragged.

You stared at him.

“She talked wedding details. I didn’t—I haven’t been able to breathe lately.” His voice cracked, and he didn’t care. “And then you walked in. And I felt like I could again.”

Your expression softened, but your eyes still held caution. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I’m tired. I’m tired of letting you walk away. I should have fought for you. I should’ve been at your side during the battle. I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry I chose my father, the man who tortured you”

You blinked rapidly, your mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Theo's hand grabbed your chin. “I never stopped loving you.”

You stared at him, the air between you sharp and still. “You’re getting married,” you whispered.

“Not anymore,” he said, voice firm. “Not if it’s not to you.”

Silence stretched.

You stared at him, still guarded. “So, what now? You think you can just undo everything? You're not forgiven”

“No, I don't expect you to forgive me” he said. “I know I can’t fix the past. I know I was on the wrong side. And I know I left you bleeding in every way that mattered.”

Your eyes glistened and you fought a sniffle. “You did.”

“I know.” He took a shaky breath. “But I’m here now. And I want to choose you—if you’ll let me.”

A long pause.

And then you whispered, “You’re late.”

His heart shattered a little.

You hesitated. He panicked, maybe this wasn't a good idea.

“Not too late,” you added, softer this time. “But I swear to Merlin, if you run again, I won’t chase you.”

Theo nodded, breathless. “I won’t. I swear.”

You launched yourself into his arms.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

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You were always the one I should've waited for I can't lose you again, not again, not again, not again

[the-fiction-filter]

The Party & The After Party | Oliver Wood

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Reader Summary: After three years of dating, you and Oliver come to the conclusion that you're better off without each other. A few months later, at the start of 7th year, you realize just how wrong you were. Oliver had always had a quick temper, but seeing you being flirted with at a post-victory party seemed to push it to new limits.

Link to: Part 2

You'd grown and matured so much since your first year at Hogwarts.

When you'd arrived, you were sorted into Gryffindor; though you were welcomed, everyone had wondered how. You were quiet, timid, but intelligent and fun when you were yanked from your shell. As the years progressed, you got more confident, until finally, in your 4th year, you met Oliver Wood. He changed everything for you.

Confidence came easily to him. He was good at what he did —Quidditch. He worked hard, played harder, and when he met you, it was the first time ever that he thought of something that wasn't quidditch.

He thought you were beautiful, like the quidditch field early in the morning when it had fresh dew on it. You were polite, oh so smart, respectful.. Everything that Oliver had wanted in a girl, though he didn't think about them very often.

You’d always liked Oliver from afar. Everyone did, really. He had a presence — loud, determined, fearless. But he never looked at anyone the way he eventually looked at you.

It started small. A smile in the corridor after practice. A shared seat in the library when all the others were taken. You didn’t think much of it, assuming he was just being polite — friendly, maybe. But Oliver wasn’t friendly just to be friendly. He was focused, always moving with purpose, and if he gave you attention, it was because he meant to.

He’d wait for you outside of Transfiguration. Offer to carry your books. Leave you notes scribbled on crumpled bits of parchment, full of inside jokes or casual compliments that made your stomach flip. He’d never been good with words — not the flowery kind, at least — but he was honest. Blunt, even. And you liked that about him.

When he asked you out, he was straightforward, cheeks red but eyes steady.

"Look, lass," he'd started, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don't really do the dating thing, but.. I think of ye a lot and I'd really like to take you to Hogsmeade. Just us, if that's alright."

Of course, like every girl that swooned over the quidditch star Oliver Wood, you were floored. You said yes immediately.

The years that followed weren’t perfect — but they were real. You laughed together, studied together, had late-night walks through the castle where he’d sneak you into the pitch just to show you the stars from the stands. He always said the world looked best from up there, and the only thing that ever rivaled that view was you.

But as sixth year came and went, Oliver began to drift — not in love, but in time. His dream of going pro was so close he could taste it. Every spare minute went into training, every conversation turned back to strategy. You tried to understand. You tried to hold on.

But slowly, quietly, you started to feel like a benchwarmer in your own relationship.

And so, by the end of that year, standing near the lake under a sky full of summer heat and quiet heartbreak, you sniffled quietly: maybe it wasn’t working. Maybe you were growing in different directions.

The breakup didn't come easy. Oliver hated losing above everything he'd ever hated, and being broken up with meant he'd be losing arguably one of the most important things to him. You. He hadn't meant to direct so much of his attention to quidditch — but as he thought more, as he got angrier and more hurt about you breaking things off, he thought that maybe it was what he needed.

It was the final push. With one less distraction, he could go pro. The word distraction echoed through his head, making his chest tighten. Were you really a distraction? Or was he just a fucking git?

Regardless, there was no going back. He couldn't change anything now. You'd left and Oliver wasn't a sorry beggar that was going to grovel at your feet to get you back.

The months of summer passed. You were wounded, suffering — but you'd grown into yourself quite a bit over the summer. Your hair got longer, your shape got fuller, you got more confident, you got more fiery.

Oliver, to be honest, hadn't done the same. He was going to come back to Hogwarts the exact same he'd been, besides the absence of you and the little bit of dimness it had shed onto the light of his personality. He held it together, but he knew. He was an injured dog, wanting to spend more time huddled in a corner trying to heal than do anything else. He missed you, he missed your presence. Without you, it felt even harder to focus.

Seventh year arrived in a haze of new beginnings and old wounds.

You didn’t expect much from Oliver — not anymore. You weren’t even sure if he’d say anything when he saw you. But when you stepped onto the Hogwarts Express that morning, your heart betrayed you, thudding hard against your ribs when you saw him across the platform. He looked the same — same tired eyes, same determined jaw. The same Oliver, and yet... not.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t wave. Just stared for a moment too long before boarding the train.

And that was it.

That's how the first couple of weeks of school went. Your mutual friends noticed it immediately, how you avoided each other, refused to speak, refused to be friends. You sat through lessons, avoiding even looking at each other from across a classroom.

Oliver threw himself into quidditch the moment it started, burying himself in the only thing he'd known besides you.

Gryffindor’s first win of the season had the common room buzzing, students spilling in from every direction with sweets, music, and alcohol. You hadn’t planned on staying long, but your friends had insisted, dragging you into the crowd with promises of a good time and better company.

This party was only for 6th and 7th years. Only for the people that could keep quiet about it.

Oliver, on a winning high, sat in the back of the room on the couch, his friends surrounding him. You didn't even look, though you heard his thick accent and booming voice. Him and his friends laughed, drinks in their hands. He was finally happy for a moment. For one little moment.

Your refusal to look at him wasn't the same on the other end. His eyes zeroed in on you as soon as you'd gotten tipsy enough to come out into the open, not stand in the corner. You wore a skirt, a red mesh crop top, signifying Gryffindor. Your hair was messy. You were evidently buzzed, hanging off from Lavender Brown's arm and laughing lazily.

You were beautiful. As beautiful as the moment he saw you. The moment was almost blissful, a chance to look at you without a returning glare or a tense realization that you were being watched. He'd missed looking at you. He felt a warm buzz travel through his body as his hazel eyes softened.

Until the moment was ruined. He'd finally seen what you and Lav were laughing at.

A tall Hufflepuff boy, clearly streamlining lame jokes into you and your friend's ears, trying to impress. Oliver's blood went cold, his jaw clenching. George was the first to notice.

"Wood, mate. Easy."

But Oliver wasn't listening. He'd always been hot-blooded, easy to frustrate. But this? This was something new. Something he'd never experienced.

He couldn't listen. Not when the Hufflepuff twat had the nerve to lean closer to you, elbow brushing yours like he had any right.

"She's laughin'," He muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing and grip tightening on his cup. "She's actually bloody laughin'."

"Because she's drunk," George reminded, with Fred placing a hand on Oliver's shoulder to reinforce him. "Not because she's interested."

Oliver's glare heated up as the Hufflepuff boy nudged your shoulder playfully.

"Aye, well, drunk or not, that's my girl he's tryna pull."

Fred gave him a look. “Ex-girl.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Oliver snapped, his voice sharp, too sharp. “I ken what I said.”

He didn’t mean to stand up. Didn’t mean to slam his cup down so hard it sloshed onto the floor. He didn't mean to wrench both of the twins' hands off from his arms, strength doubled by how upset he was. But he was already up, the noise of the party falling away beneath the pounding in his ears. Fortunately, Fred and George followed, trailed by Harry too.

You didn’t see him coming.

Not until he was there, towering behind the Hufflepuff with a scowl that could curdle milk.

“Oi,” Oliver barked, accent thick and venom-laced. “Ye lost, mate? Thought the badgers burrowed down in the dungeons.”

The boy turned, eyebrows raised in confusion. “Er—what?”

“She’s not interested,” Oliver growled. “So why don’t ye take yer shite jokes and piss off before I throw ye out meself?”

The Hufflepuff blinked, confused, glancing between you and Oliver. You looked equally stunned.

“I was just—"

“Flirtin’. Aye. I saw. Now jog on.”

Your jaw dropped. You’d never seen Oliver so mad, so confrontational. It just wasn’t him. He was civil — not afraid to call someone out on their shit, but civil. This.. This was just plain old aggression.

There was a beat of silence before the boy muttered something to himself and, stupidly, decided to be brave. Clearly he didn’t know Oliver as well as the rest of Hogwarts did. He puffed up, turning his face straight to Oliver’s and said six words, six dangerous words:

“Why don’t ya make me, Wood?”

The room froze. Even the music seemed to stutter, as if the castle itself knew what was about to happen.

Fred and George stiffened. Harry cursed under his breath.

Oliver’s fists clenched at his sides, knuckles already white.

“Ye sure about that?” he growled, stepping forward until there was barely an inch between them. “Cause I’ve had a shite week, my tolerance for gobshites is sittin’ real low, and I’ve not thrown a punch in a while.”

You begged in your head for the boy to stop. This Hufflepuff must’ve been foolish, absolutely brainless. The strongest, most decorated, most known quidditch player in school, recognized for brute strength and temper, recognized for you, and he still has the nerve to push on. You didn’t know if he was brainless, like you’d thought before, or brave.

“Oh, I’m sure,” the boy asserted, almost nose to nose with Wood. “I’m certain. You might scare every other git in this school away from a pretty girl, but ya don’t scare me.”

Oh, bloody hell. You nearly winced.

You could feel the shift in Oliver’s body before he moved. Like a storm right before it breaks—quiet, charged, dangerous.

Fred muttered, “Right, well, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

George followed with, “Poor bloke’s gonna get launched into next Tuesday.”

Oliver’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring. His voice, when it came, was low. Controlled. That was worse.

“Ye’ve got guts, I’ll give ye that. Shame you’ll be wearin’ them if you open that mouth again.”

And then—he lunged.

You barely had time to react before the twins were moving, Fred hooking an arm around Oliver’s chest while George stepped between him and the Hufflepuff, arms raised.

“Woah, WOAH, alright! That’s enough!”

“Oliver, mate, c’mon,” Harry grunted, trying to grab his other arm. “Don’t punch this lad at a party, yeah? Save it for the pitch.”

But Oliver’s eyes never left the Hufflepuff. His chest rose and fell rapidly, like a caged dragon just barely kept at bay. The muscles in his arms were taut beneath Fred’s hold, his fists still clenched like they could fly at any second.

“He thinks he’s brave,” Oliver snapped, voice rough and shaking. “But he’s disrespectful. Sayin’ I scare the rest o’ the school? Sayin’ I don’t scare him? I’ll show—”

“Enough!” You finally snap, your eyes narrowed. “Enough, Oliver.”

His eyes softened, but hardened yet again. Fred and George’s arms tightened around him, like a vice.

“What the hell are ye playin’ at?” he snapped, glaring down at you. “Paradin’ around like—like that, lettin’ some idiot make eyes at ye like I’m not standin’ right fuckin’ here?”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed just as quickly.

“Excuse me?” you said, voice low and dangerous. “I’m not ‘parading’ anything, Oliver.”

“You are,” he hissed. “You bloody are. You ken what yer wearin’? What yer doin’?”

“What I’m doing is moving on,” you spat, stepping toward him now, flushed with drink and fury. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You, your broomstick, and your bloody dreams?”

That hit. Hard. You saw it in his face—the way his jaw flexed and his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I didn’t want this,” he bit out. “I didn’t want you makin’ me feel like this. D’ye ken how hard it is, watchin’ ye pretend I never meant a thing?”

The room around you had gone quieter now, the music thumping faintly behind the tension. Eyes were starting to linger.

“Oliver,” you warned, heart racing. “Don’t do this here.”

“Why not?” he said, voice breaking just slightly. “Ye don’t want me anymore, fine. But don’t stand there actin’ like I was nothin’ to ye.”

Your breath caught. Everything fell away—the party, the Hufflepuff, the gaping onlookers. Just you and Oliver and the aching history between you.

“C’mon,” Fred said, tugging at his arm, sensing the shift. “Let’s go cool off before McGonagall shows up and gives us detention ‘til Christmas.

Oliver didn’t move.

His jaw flexed like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Not to you. Not to anyone.

With one last searing glare at the Hufflepuff—who had the good sense to take a step back this time—Oliver turned on his heel.

“Fuck this.”

The words were quiet, half-muttered, but they carried enough venom to make a few nearby students shrink away. He shouldered past a cluster of seventh years, shoving open the portrait hole so hard it nearly bounced back into Harry’s face.

Fred and George exchanged a look, then quickly followed.

“This is gonna be fun,” Fred mumbled sarcastically.

“Aye,” George sighed. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t punch a wall this time.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, offering you an apologetic glance before trailing after them, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, surrounded by the aftermath.

The room buzzed with murmurs, but no one dared say anything too loud. The tension Oliver had left behind clung to the air like smoke.

And you?

You just stood there, Lavender hovering at your side, one hand lightly gripping your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softer than usual.

You nodded absently, eyes still on the portrait hole. But your mind was miles away—storming off down the corridor with Oliver.

Because that wasn’t nothing. That wasn’t casual jealousy. That was a boy who still had something burning deep inside him.

And Merlin help you, you felt the same fire.

[the-fiction-filter]

𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘱

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾-𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝟨𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾? 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝟣𝟫𝟩𝟨. 𝖲𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝖣𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗒. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗍 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈…𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?

Part One wc:5.5k

Part Two wc:5.3k

Part Three wc:5k

Part Four wc:5.5k

Part Five wc: 5.1k

Part Six wc: 6.1k

Part Seven wc: 7.2k

Part Eight wc: 5.6k

Part Nine wc: 6.9k

Part Ten wc: 6.1k (you stay)

Part Ten wc: 6.3k (you leave)

Soundtrack🎶

[the-fiction-filter]

Peonies ; series masterlist

Pairing ✿ Theo Nott x Fem!Reader and Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary ✿ Reader has liked Mattheo Riddle for years, fully knowing that nothing would ever come of it. At least he only had one night stands—until he gets a girlfriend. Heartbroken, she asks Theo Nott to help her get over him, completely unaware that Theo has feelings for her.

Series Status ✿ Ongoing

Word Count ✿ 23,757

Warnings ✿ Unrequited love, jealousy, & fake girls.

A/N 💌 I am so excited about this series! Here’s the marauder version if you’re interested!

There is no tag list. Please don’t ask! <3

✿ Part One

✿ Part Two

✿ Part Three

✿ Part Four

✿ Part Five

✿ Part Six

[the-fiction-filter]

the dance of love's sweet potion.

also available on Ao3

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

tags: fluff, one shot, you POV, house-neutral reader, jealousy, protective

word count: 5.3k

Warnings: MAJOR HEADCANNON, the books and the potions are all in my head just for the sake of this story, characters are in their 7th year, I finally caved and wrote the cliche protective and jealous seb and i fucking love it

Summary: When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

Notes: I was craving some fluff, so a fluff was created ❤️

Revulsaroma is a powerful potion that demands careful handling and discretion. Designed for specific situations where deterring unwanted advances or repelling individuals is necessary, its potency requires utmost caution. Ingredients: • 3 drops of essence of skunk cabbage • 2 crushed doxy wings • 1 teaspoon of powdered Boomslang skin • 4 ounces of extract from a Devil's Snare vine • 1 pinch of powdered Basilisk fang • Hair from the person brewing the potion

You carefully traced your finger along the intricate words laid out in the book you had kept from your parents’ dusty collection on potion making and meticulously followed the instructions. Taking advantage of the quiet after hours, you used the station at potion class to get on with your mission.

You’re not a pro in potion making per se, but the way you precisely measure out ingredients, stirring the potion with such poise, you feel as skilled as Professor Sharp– if he was plagued with a horrible disease of a red-haired boy goes by the name of Leander Prewett. 

For weeks, Leander had been following you around so relentlessly and constantly asking you out. It was cute at first but now it was starting to feel like pure harassment. Despite numerous rejection, it didn't seem like he’s the type of guy who understood the concept of boundaries and your patience was wearing extremely thin. 

You remembered an old potion you once came across when you were younger– Revulsaroma, a repelling potion. You figured it was time to revisit those pages since you’re in a dire need for a solution. 

You stirred the components inside of your cauldron with a pinch of determination, distress, and a lot of rage. The earthy and putrid notes filled the air and it was probably going to stick with you for a while but you surely hoped this was going to be worth it.

When the potion finally came to completion, you carefully transferred it to a pumpkin juice bottle to trick Leander into drinking it.

“Alright, that looks good.” You sighed in relief as you put the bottle down and stared at the securely stored dark liquid with pride, knowing that soon you’d be able to take a break from the unwanted attention. At least for a while just until you could figure out a permanent way to stop him, 

You proceeded to clean up your station and returned some tools that you took from the inventory room, making sure that everything was back in its rightful spot. Because Merlin knew that you couldn’t take another chide from Professor Sharp about the importance of being responsible and organised.

Just when everything was about to be restored to its pristine state, you heard a loud retching coming from the other room. When you rushed outside, you saw your bestfriend, hands desperately grasping the edge of your station, body racked with violent gagging, and breath ragged in a grave attempt to gasp for air.

“Sebastian?” You exclaimed while rushing to his side, “Are you alright?”

“Came to—bleughh—look for you,” Sebastian managed to say in between his guttural heaves.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice trailed off when you saw your pumpkin juice bottle collapsed and empty. Right at that moment, your eyes widened at the realisation that Sebastian just drank your Revulsaroma. “No, no, no. You bloody, bloody idiot!” 

Quickly, you summoned water from an empty jar that you found nearby and gave it to Sebastian who was still fighting the disgusting taste stuck in his throat.

Gulping down the entire water in a matter of milliseconds, Sebastian attempted to catch his breath, “Your pumpkin juice— is expired, by the way.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, Sebastian!” You ran your fingers through your hair in distress. What was already a pretty stressful situation just got a whole lot worse. 

“What?” He was truly not getting your frustration. He gagged once more, recoiling whatever last bit of that disgusting liquid he's tasting.

“That’s not pumpkin juice!” You scowled and gestured abruptly.

“What is it, then? Poison?” Every muscle on his face seemed to tensed up, still.

“Why would you fucking drink that? It was meant for Leander.” You grunted.

His grimace was then taken over by disbelief for a moment, “Gods, killing Leander is a bit extreme, don’t you think? Even for me.”

“No—ugh,” You sighed heavily, feeling totally overwhelmed. Slumping on your station, you rested your head on it "This is bad. It's really bad."

“You're freaking me out. What is it?”

You lifted your head from the table, meeting his concerned gaze with a weary expression.

“It’s a potion called Revulsaroma. It is supposed to repel whoever drinks it.” You admitted.

Sebastian was still focused on getting the foul taste out of his tongue, but his eyes were quickly narrowed in the scrutiny of your last sentence, “And why exactly are you trying to repel Leander?”

Catching Sebastian's look, a twinge of guilt pricked at you. You winced inwardly, realising you'd never really spilled the beans to Sebastian about the whole Leander debacle. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and thinking that there was anything romantic going on between you and the Gryffindor boy. 

The line on your relationship with Sebastian had always been blurry, if you could be honest. You’re obviously friends—best friends—but at the same time, the chemistry between the two of you would be such a waste to stay as friends.

You’d occasionally exchange innocent flirting, teasing each other and bantering in a way that felt more than platonic. You couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach that fluttered every time he smiled at you and the way you felt when he complimented you.

Things had been going very well lately, and you'd like to think you had a shot to turn it into something more.

But now, he’s consumed the one thing that was going to seal the chance you have with him. Because whatever feeling he was going to feel, the potion was supposed to make him feel it so strongly. 

The thought of losing Sebastian terrified you.

“That’s not what we’re supposed to be focusing on.” You diverted the topic and reached out to your book, checking for things to look out for. Your eyes trailed the ink that explains the detail of the potion.

You noticed Sebastian had shifted his weight from the corner of your eye, moving somewhat uncomfortable in his feet.

"But what does that mean for me?" he asked.

You sighed, trying to collect your thoughts. "According to the potion's effects, you're supposed to start feeling aversions towards me," you explained, gesturing towards the brewing cauldron with a frustrated gesture. "and I have no idea how to reverse it.”

Your voice was heavy with disappointment. The same emotion was written all over Sebastian's face. There was silence as you both processed the fact that there was no quick fix to this mess.

“So, I’m supposed to hate you? Just like that?”

“That’s kind of the whole point of the potion.”

Sebastian's eyes scanned the cluttered laboratory, a look of resignation settling over his features. "Well, this is just great," he muttered under his breath. Sebastian's complexion turned paler, a nauseous expression crossing his features, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Sebastian stood there, his hand pressed against his stomach, unsure if the wave of nausea washing over him was solely due to the potion's effects or the unsettling thought of hating you.

But then he felt his body teetering on the brink of collapse. You grappled his arm to provide support but his condition worsened in an instant and he started to fall backwards. Using every ounce of your strength, you were struggling to keep him upright because damn this boy was heavy. And when his weight eventually bore you down, you lowered him down gently.

There was no response even after you called out his name and shook his body. His breathing was laboured and you were panicking. You didn’t know the potion would be this strong.

Spotting a group of students who were passing by outside of the classroom, you called out to them for assistance. Sebastian was then taken to the infirmary and was given proper treatment by Nurse Blainey.

You had to awkwardly explain what caused the brunette to lose his consciousness. Given the fact that you were practising and using potions for non-study purposes, disciplinary action was necessary and you were required to attend detention tomorrow.

When you returned to your room that night, all you did was shift around in your bed. Spending the entire night thinking about Sebastian and how he will wake up in the morning hating you.

But for now, all you could do was wait.

 - 

When the sun rose, you were quick to get back on your feet and head towards the infirmary to check on Sebastian before breakfast started. But to your surprise, he was no longer there. Nurse Blainey said he woke up all energetic and there were no signs of any disturbance so she allowed him to get on with school.

You were slightly relieved to know that Sebastian was feeling better. Although the question of his feelings towards you remained unknown.

So you ventured on, heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Moving along with a crowd of students who were also making their way to the venue you suddenly bumped into someone.

“Oh, sorry.” You glanced up to see it was no other than Sebastian, “Hey, I was looking for you.”

You’ve caused some traffic considering you abruptly stopped in the middle of a walkaway crowd. Some were bumping into you and muttered under their breaths in annoyance. It was a horrible time to be upsetting people—hungry and grumpy people.

So Sebastian dragged you away from the crowd. You were caught a little bit off guard at the sudden tug on your elbow. Your feet were almost stumbling around trying to catch up to Sebastian’s pace.

“Are you insane?” Was the first thing he said when you found a quiet little corner away from the bustling people.

Your stomach clenched. 

This was it. 

The memories you shared for the past two years dramatically flashed before your eyes— the adventures, the late night studies, the stupid unfunny jokes he made but you laughed at them anyway— fuck. 

This was it.. he hated you.

“Why would you tell Nurse Blainey the truth about everything?” He sounded quite aggravated. Unexpectedly, it was not for the reason you thought it would be— albeit he should be angry towards you for no reason at all considering the potion.

Your mouth gaped open but you were struggling to find the words. 

"You could've just said it was a bad batch for our assignment," He explained. "You didn't have to get detention for it."

“What?” You finally managed to sputter out.

“Blainey said she gave you detention.” He added, “I feel bad.”

You can’t feel bad for someone you hate unless they fall into lava and viciously die or something. Because to feel bad meant having empathy, and to feel empathy meant he cared, which meant he didn’t hate you and the potion never worked.

Right?

“So you don’t hate me?” You asked carefully.

His tensed brows gradually softened as realisation dawned on him. He was so focused on you that he never really thought of what the potion was supposed to make him feel.

“I don’t, actually.” He sounded relieved and as were you upon hearing his confirmation, “I guess the potion never worked after all.”

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze on a hot day. Though you started wondering if the potion didn’t work on Sebastian, it might’ve not worked on Leander either. Which meant you were back to square one, trying to figure out how to deal with his annoying arse. 

But it was a problem you didn’t want to think about too much at the moment. You were just glad your friendship with Sebastian remained intact despite the unfortunate mishap.

“So what did Blainey assign you to do?”

“She said Scribner has been fussing over some organising issues.” You grumbled, “She told me to give her some assistance after classes.”

“Yikes.” Sebastian said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You retorted, “Are you really feeling alright?”

“As normal as I can be.” He smiled reassuringly, “Though, you still haven’t told me why you were trying to repel Leander.”

“He just..” You hesitated for a moment,  annoys me.” 

Technically, you didn’t lie. Leander’s entire antics had been nothing but annoying to you. Sebastian only pursed his lips and nodded. Be that as it may, his eyes were looking at you rather dubiously. But he didn’t pry further.

–

After breakfast, you had some time to kill before class started. You found yourself seeking solace in the quiet lounge area near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. With a book on Revulsaroma in hand, you sought answers in its pages that you might have missed. It explained further about its history and the past research on this potion. As you delved deeper, a particular section caught your eye that described a crucial detail—

The Revulsaroma potion's effectiveness in repelling a drinker is contingent upon the absence of strong positive emotions towards the potion-maker. If the drinker harbours genuine affection for the potion-maker, the potion's repelling properties may be nullified or significantly weakened. This phenomenon is attributed to the potent influence of positive emotions, which can act as a counterforce against the potion's intended repulsion.

Before you could dwell on it further, Leander plopped beside you out of nowhere and casually draped his arm around your shoulder, interrupting your thoughts.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He greeted you with a smile so charming if he wasn’t so pushy about it you could see yourself giving in to his cheesy escapades. You subtly shifted away from the sudden proximity, hoping he would take the hint some time.

“Good morning, Leander.” You replied politely.

He seemed to be undeterred by your subtle attempt because he leaned in closer, “So, I was thinking, with the weather getting nicer and all, let’s take a trip around the highlands.” He sounded so enthusiastic for a suggestion that’s so inappropriate, “We could explore the beautiful scenery. My family has this cosy little cottage just outside of Keenbridge that we can use. What do you think?”

You scrunched up your nose because it sounded bloody ridiculous, “A bit intimate, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of intimacy?”

“Nothing wrong with it, of course. If you’re a couple.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll love it.” Leander’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, if anything he sounded even more excited. 

“It’s too much—”

He interrupted you with a tone so persuasive, “Okay fine, how about just a simple Hogsmeade date, then?”

You sighed at his persistence. It’s really getting too much. 

“Leander, it’s really sweet but—”

Suddenly, your conversation was interrupted by a looming shadow casted over the both of you. Glancing up, you saw Sebastian standing there with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I’m going to count to three, Prewett, and you are going to stand up and get your arse the fuck out of here.”  He demanded.

“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?” He was annoyed  by Sebastian's sudden intervention.

The brunette’s gaze was focused on the way Leander had his arms wrapped around your shoulder and the way his hand was caressing your arm at the same time. Then he stared dead into Leander's eyes, “You don’t want to find out.”

Somehow you found yourself caught in the middle of the sudden hostility. 

“Sebastian.” You warned him softly.

“Ignore him.” Leander didn't care for the threat. But Sebastian wasn’t having it and when Leander was ready to ignore him and continue his conversation with you, Sebastian grabbed him by his collar that it forced Leander to stand up, and he dragged the red haired boy away and slammed his back into a nearby pillar.

“I told you to fucking stand up and get out of here.” Sebastian scowled.

“Get your filthy hands off of me.” Leander attempted to shrug off Sebastian’s grip but it only grew tighter.

“Then you better get yours away from her.” His voice was so low and menacing. You had no idea what possessed him, because as aggressive as Sebastian could get he wouldn’t be so quick to resort to anything so recklessly physical unless it’s necessary— at least not anymore.

“Are you both out of your minds?” You stood beside the conflicting boys, “Stop being children or you will get into trouble.” The confrontation was drawing more attention from onlookers, and you could sense the tension rising. 

A crowd started gathering around to see what the fuss was about. Students nearby paused and turned their heads, curious about the commotion. Whispers and side conversations began to buzz through the group as they watched the confrontation unfold.

You felt a bit awkward with the sudden attention. The whole thing was getting more dramatic than you'd anticipated, and you just wanted to find a way to sort it out before it got worse.

“What is your problem, Sallow?” 

“You are the problem, Prewett. Can’t you take the hint?”

“It’s none of your business.” The Gryffindor boy was defensive— as anyone would be if someone just randomly shoved you into the wall and told you what to do. 

“It becomes my business when you decide to harass her.”

“You are making a scene. Stop it.” You warned them, hoping they would steer away from the conflict. But they were still too busy with each other.

“Trying to be a big hero, aren’t you? Protecting her?” Leander was clearly taunting him. Sebastian wouldn’t usually allow himself to be bothered by whatever nonsense Leander would do. But this time was different,  “She doesn’t need you. She can make her own decision.”

“And she did, when she said no.” Sebastian retorted sharply, “So back off.”

“If you are so worried about me taking her out then you should’ve asked her first. Don’t come here and act all heroic because you missed your chance.” Leander fired back, “If you weren’t such a coward—-”

There went the last cell of Sebastian’s brain that allowed him to think rationally when he decided to punch Leander in the face, sending the red-haired boy stumbling and his nose bleeding. 

“Sebastian!” You stepped in between them, trying to push Sebastian back behind the line he just crossed. His eyes were glaring and breaths were rather ragged from the anger, “What the fuck are you doing?”

After being punched unexpectedly, Leander's pride and dignity were hurt. He wouldn't tolerate being attacked without retaliating. He mustered all of his anger and frustration to punch Sebastian with all of his force. 

But before he could, Sebastian struck again, landing a second punch on his face. Leander stumbled backwards again, but this time he was quicker to get back on his feet and lunged forward, swinging his fists wildly. 

Sebastian was able to dodge a few of his blows, but Leander managed to land a couple of powerful punches on Sebastian's cheek. 

Sebastian stepped back, his face red from pain and anger. Now the two of them had no choice but to fight, and you had no choice but to look for some help. Luckily, it wasn’t long for you to reach Professor Hecat, because when you returned to the brawl, Leander was already pinned to the floor with Sebastian on top of him, landing more punches.

Professor Hecat swiftly casted a spell that immediately shoved both of them away from each other. 

The two boys stood there with battered faces and were later sent to the same detention as you.

You had no desire in conversing with idiots, so when the three of you shared the space on one of the library aisle, organising books, you gave all your might to ignore them, especially Sebastian.

You thought he’d left his impetuous behaviour back in the catacombs two years ago, but clearly you were wrong. The way you aggressively shoved books into places allowed Sebastian to notice that you were furious.

“I know you’re angry at me.” He said, breaking the silence.

“Oh really? Didn’t think you’d notice. I was being subtle.” You replied sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what had gotten into me.” His voice was soft but outright, “You know I don't fight muggle-style.”

You remained cold. There was nothing about his apology that made you feel better. So you continued to ignore him and he tried to speak up again.

“Can we talk?” He pleaded but you ignored him. You picked up a stack of books and moved to the next aisle to shelve them in their proper places.

Sebastian followed you behind, not backing down, “I’m really, really, sorry.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic, but you were reluctant to give in. After all, his actions had caused this entire mess and resulted in the two boys getting detention.

You didn’t want to argue with him, but you couldn’t resist making a point.

“Tell that to Leander and his broken nose.”

Sebastian let out a scoff, “I’m not sorry about that.”

“Seriously Sebastian? You hit him first. He just reacted.” You turned to face him this time.

"He was harassing you," Sebastian defended himself, "I had to do something."

"Did you have to punch him in the face? Repeatedly?”

“Why are you defending him?” His tone was rising, "What do you expect me to do? Just stand by and let him flirt with you?"

“What is so wrong with that?”

“Because—” Then he stopped himself. Eyes flustered and flicked between yours like he was trying to gather his own thoughts. Then he let out a frustrated sigh,  “Leander is a self-oriented, self-indulgent, arrogant, selfish, insufferable jerk.”

You shook your head in disbelief and stared dead at him in the eye, “Well, right now it sounds like you were just describing yourself, Sebastian.”

Before you could say anything else, you left him alone in the aisle and this time he didn’t follow you.

—

It was Saturday morning, and while you had no classes to attend, you were still stuck with detention for a portion of the day. Not only did this eat into your weekend leisure time, but you also had to spend it without talking to Sebastian.

You sighed as you placed books somewhere in the corner of the library right where they belonged. 

Couldn’t help but think that spending your weekend somewhere in the castle, perhaps the undercroft, reading books and being alone together with Sebastian was where you belonged. 

Time sure felt lonely without his presence.

Then as if he could read your mind from miles away he showed up, “Do you like Leander?”

Shocked and confused by the sudden question you turned to find Sebastian standing at the end of the aisle.

His face was a patchwork of bruises and cuts, a visible reminder of the fight he had gotten into with Leander. A purplish bruise marred his cheek, and a small cut above his eyebrow was still fresh. Despite his battered appearance, his eyes were focused intently on you, filled with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“What?” You asked.

“I spent the entire night thinking about you. I thought maybe you like Leander, because why did you defend him so much yesterday?” He rambled.

You opened your mouth to say something but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“But then I thought, if you liked him, why did you want to repel him with the potion?” He continued, “And why did you reject him when he asked you out? Five times, over the past month.”

You opened your mouth again, but this time every single word you have learned seemed to have fallen over your head because not a single thing came to your mind.

There were two things that surprised you.

One, Sebastian spent the entire night thinking about you.

Two, Sebastian knew that Leander had been asking you out.

And your brain did not know which one to stress about first.

“You knew about Leander?” You finally said.

“We share every class everyday. You don’t think I’d notice?” He replied with another question, “He wasn’t subtle about it either. Was I not supposed to know?”

You fell quiet, unsure of what to say next. The more you opened your mouth, the more you found yourself with nothing to say. 

Sebastian waited for your response, but when it did not come, he continued, “Why did you keep rejecting him?”

You shrugged, slightly flustered, “Simply because I don’t want to go out with him.”

“Why did you not tell me about him, then?”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” you replied, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sebastian stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe your answer.

“It was pointless,” Your tone was rising slightly, “It’s not like I would ever date Leander. I wasn’t even giving him a second thought. So It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian was silent for a beat before he spoke again. “It matters to me.”

Your pulse raced, and the air suddenly felt tighter.

Sebastian was staring at you, his eyes intent and penetrating. The silence stretched on, and you had to force yourself to look him in the eye

“Everything about you matters to me. You’re my best friend. We’re supposed to share everything, right?” He added, “Isn’t that what best friends do?”

As you stood there, guilt was eating you inside out. Your decision to leave him in the dark unexpectedly hurt him more than you thought. The look in his eyes was so unfamiliar you couldn’t pinpoint his emotion.

He took a step closer.

“Why do you care so much? It’s just Leander.”

“Don’t you get it?” He said softly, “It’s not about Leander. It’s about the fact that he’s been asking you out, flirting with you relentlessly, being so close with you.. in a way that is supposed to be only for me.”

You stood there, stunned. His words hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you felt a mix of shock and confusion wash over you.

Sebastian took another step towards you, his gaze steady and unbreaking, and it was piercing through your soul.

“It’s supposed to be just for me” He repeated the phrase as if he was talking to himself. The look in his eyes was intense, and you could feel how important this was to him.

A moment passed until you realised that you should respond. The longer you stayed silent, the worse it felt. So you spoke up, “Are you jealous?”

“Yes.” He simply replied.

His response set your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“I was supposed to hate you, but instead I woke up that morning in the infirmary and I couldn’t be more sure that I am utterly and completely in love with you.” His voice dropped, “And when I saw you with Leander and hearing all the things that he said, I meant it when I told you I had no idea what had gotten into me but all I knew was every single cell in my body was on fire.”

You thought for sure your heart would explode as all of this sunk in. You had expected anything but a confession. Your heart was beating so fast and hard that you had to concentrate on breathing, or else it felt like you couldn't breathe.

“I spent the entire night thinking about all of the time we've spent.” He added, “I can't stop thinking about the sound of your laughter. The way you'd still genuinely laugh at the most unfunny joke I would tell. Or how your usual bright eyes would fall into a deep immersion when you read. And the way your delicate finger hovers over the edge of a page, turning it over.”

A smile tugged on the corner of Sebastian's lips as he recalled every little detail about you that only he would care about. The beat of your heart went faster with each syllable that came out of his mouth and every nerve in your body was shaking.

“I always wonder how the touch of those fingertips would feel on my skin,” There were so many things he wanted to say to you. Every detail of you that made him so desperately in love, “and how perfect your fingers would be intertwining with mine.”

For a moment, you were one-hundred percent sure this was all a dream. Because everything around you seemed so blurry and all of the sudden everything felt surreal. But when Sebastian took another step closer, and another until he was close enough to grab your hands and intertwine your fingers together, the haze dissipated. The way his touch alerted every single nerve in your body, you knew that this was real— he was real and he was in love with you.

The two of you stood there, inches apart, staring at each other with your emotions overflowing.

“We belong together.” You could see that his intensity and raw emotion was getting the better of him. His words were coming out quick and sudden, “I should’ve asked you out long before Leander did. Just another stupid mistake I made.”

He inched closer and closer until you felt Sebastian's breath on your lips, and your body trembled in anticipation. You took a deep breath and let yourself fall into the moment.

“You could’ve been too late, you know?” You whispered.

“Am I?”

You shook your head and smiled against his lips, “No, you’re not. I’ve been stupidly waiting for you.”

Sebastian's voice was soft and tender as he spoke again, “I’m glad we’re both stupid enough, then. And for many other things that make me glad you're finally mine."

“Even the potion?” You smirked.

“Especially the damn potion.” A smile spread across Sebastian's face.

Your breaths were laced with desire, and your thoughts went to the first kiss between the two of you were going to share. It felt surreal to have arrived at this moment that you had both anticipated for so long.

Your lips were close enough to touch. Your hearts were beating so loudly. And in this moment, it felt like a moment out of time.

When his lips met yours, the world seemed to melt away and everything else faded into the background. It was everything it had built up to be—hot and passionate and exciting.

You kissed him deeply and all was right with the world. Sebastian's hands wrapped around your back, and yours around his neck. 

Your senses were all focused on Sebastian, on the kiss and the way he made you feel. This was what you had been waiting for, and it was everything you dreamed of and more.

When you pulled away, your eyes were locked and you found yourselves smiling uncontrollably. There was nothing left to feel awkward or unsure of, and it felt as if a weight had been lifted.

Sebastian brushed his fingers through your hair. You were finally getting your happiness.

"I love you," He whispered against your lips.

“I love you, too.” you replied softly, brushing your noses together.

You spent the rest of the day making out in the deepest corner of the library, neglecting your detention. And when Madam Scribner found the two of you some time later, all dishevelled, you were granted another detention time.

But neither of you cared. Because it was all worth it.

In an extremely rare case, the Revulsaroma potion could have an unprecedented effect, completely opposite to its intended repelling nature. Rather than nullifying or weakening, the potion might paradoxically amplify and reinforce any existing strong positive feelings that the drinker harboured towards the potion-maker. Due to genuine and deep-seated love for the maker, the drinker might experience a surge of intense emotions that can be both overwhelming and consuming, such as, jealousy, protectiveness, and overwhelming affection.

[the-fiction-filter]

Falling In love with Oliver Benjamin Wood

[the-fiction-filter]

The Taming of the Rake: A. Bridgerton Masterlist

pairing: anthony bridgerton x sister's best friend!fem!reader status: ongoing

At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

Chapter 1 - I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game" Chapter 2 - I won't confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn Chapter 3 - it was all by design Chapter 4 - uh oh, I'm fallin' in love Chapter 5 - they said the end is coming, everyone's up to something Chapter 6 - oh, my, love is a lie Chapter 7 - I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all Chapter 8 - if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake Chapter 9 - in my defense, I have none Chapter 10 - coming soon...

follow @bosbas-library for updates!

buy me a ko-fi!

[the-fiction-filter]

Are we getting more of theo whom has a staring problem

The Boy Who Folded First

-> Part Ⅰ - The Boy Who Stares

You’re halfway through outlining your Arithmancy essay, peacefully nestled into your usual spot in the library (the cozy alcove by the window that smells faintly of dust and lavender polish) when you hear the faintest sound of someone… hesitating.

It’s the sound of feet shuffling. A bag being adjusted. A breath being held.

You glance up, expecting Madam Pince or maybe a first-year in crisis.

Instead, you get Theodore Nott, frozen like a deer caught mid-scheme, holding a stack of books and trying very hard not to look like he’s here for you.

He is.

You blink. He nods. It’s weirdly formal, like you’re about to conduct business negotiations.

Then, very carefully, he slides into the chair across from you. He places his books on the table with reverent precision. Doesn’t say a word.

You go back to your essay. Or try to.

It’s been twenty seconds. He has not opened a single book. He has, however, started watching you with the expression of someone seeing a rainbow for the first time.

You glance up.

He quickly looks away. Opens the wrong end of a book. Realizes it. Flips it. Doesn’t read it.

You pretend to focus, but your quill slips. “Theo.”

His eyes flick up, startled. “Yes?”

“You’re not even pretending to study.”

He freezes. Then, slowly he flips a page in the upside-down book and says, ��I am.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your book is in Latin.”

“It’s a universal language,” he replies, far too quickly.

You try not to smile. “Are you here to read or stare?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he rests his chin on his hand, looks at you, and says, very softly, but with complete sincerity

“Both.”

Cue the butterflies. Stupid, ridiculous, flapping butterflies.

Your face warms before you can stop it. “That’s not very productive.”

He leans in slightly, his voice just a whisper above the quiet: “It is for me.”

Silence. Except for your heartbeat, which is now doing some kind of interpretive dance in your ribcage.

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “You’re very weird, Theodore Nott.”

He gives you the softest, smallest smile, one that tugs at just one corner of his mouth like it’s shy about being there.

“I know,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “You make me that way.”

You drop your quill.

And for once, he doesn’t panic. He just picks it up, sets it gently in front of you, and goes back to flipping pages in his very, very upside-down Latin book.

And you, utterly doomed, go back to pretending you’re not falling for the boy who stares.

…

You don’t expect to find anything strange in your Arithmancy notes the next day.

You really don’t.

You sit down in the library like always, armed with a steaming cup of tea and the vague hope that numbers will one day make sense.

You flip open your notebook.

And there it is.

A folded piece of parchment tucked right between your notes on logarithmic spell sequencing and wand length correlations. Neat. Crisp. Very much not yours.

You pause. Pick it up. Look around suspiciously, like the paper might explode or insult your handwriting. No one seems to notice.

Your name is written on the front in tight, slanted script. Theodore’s script. Oh dear.

You unfold it carefully.

And you gasp.

Because it’s not a note. It’s a letter. A dramatic, charming, deeply earnest letter, written with the kind of emotional intensity that could only come from someone who once stared at you in class for thirteen entire minutes and forgot how to blink.

To the girl who doesn’t know she’s being watched, I should clarify: not in a terrifying way. Hopefully. Just… in a “you exist like sunlight through old stained glass and it’s very distracting” way. You sit there, every day, with your quiet focus and your ridiculous pens and your little crease between your eyebrows when you're thinking too hard. I’ve watched the way you annotate like you're solving a mystery. I’ve watched the way you smile to yourself when you get something right. I’ve watched the way you make silence feel like a conversation. And I’m utterly, irrevocably— (Ridiculously, foolishly, sincerely) —smitten. You make it very hard to concentrate. You make it very easy to feel seventeen and doomed and soft all at once. I’ve rewritten this five times. Probably because I’m terrified. You’re very smart. I’m mostly composed of sarcasm and dramatic eye contact. But if you’ll have me, even just for a walk by the lake, or a shared study table, or something unspeakably wild like holding hands, I’d very much like that. —Theo (P.S. I know you saw me walk into a door. I’m trying to block that memory out. Please let me have this.)

You stare at the letter for a full minute, brain short-circuiting, heart doing small backflips.

And just as you’re about to burst into tiny flustered sparkles, you hear the soft scrape of a chair.

You look up.

Theodore Nott is standing there.

He looks like he wants to flee the country.

“Hi,” he says, voice unusually hoarse. “So. You found it.”

You hold up the letter with both hands like it’s Exhibit A in a very dramatic trial. “You left me a love confession in my Arithmancy notebook.”

His ears go red. “You weren’t supposed to find it until after exams. I was buying time to work on…bravery.”

You raise an eyebrow, suppressing a giddy smile. “You rewrote it five times.”

“I panicked,” he says solemnly. “And I was out of parchment.”

You try to hold back your smile, but it breaks through anyway, soft, real.

“I’d very much like that walk by the lake,” you say.

Theodore’s eyes go wide. Then soft. Then stunned.

“You would?”

You nod. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

You grin. “You have to stop pretending your upside-down French book is useful.”

He groans. “I knew you noticed.”

And just like that, the boy who stares officially becomes the boy who blushes, babbles, and very gently takes your hand like it might be the most important thing he’s ever held.

Spoiler: it is.

A/N: manifesting this, big thank you to everyone for all the love :)

[the-fiction-filter]

The Boy Who Stares

Theodore Nott is staring at you again.

You don’t know why. You're not even doing anything particularly interesting. Just sitting in the third row of Ancient Runes, dutifully highlighting a passage about something very old and very cursed, as one does at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday.

But there it is. That intense, brooding stare from two seats to the left. Again.

You risk a glance. Yep. Still happening. His quill is poised mid-air like he forgot how to write. His mouth is slightly parted.

You blink. He blinks. You look away. He doesn’t.

Okay.

Maybe you have ink on your face. Or a troll horn growing out of your forehead. Or maybe he’s plotting your murder, slowly deciding which corridor would be least suspicious to lure you down. Totally fine.

You swipe your thumb across your cheek, just in case. Nope. No ink. Still cute, still confused, still alive. Probably.

Why is he looking at me like that? you think to yourself, nose back in your book.

What you don’t know is this:

Theodore Nott: stoic, unflappable, academically terrifying, hasn’t heard a word Professor Babbling has said in thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds because he’s been trying to figure out how you manage to tuck your quill behind your ear without it falling out.

That, and how you’re the only person in class who managed to finish the Ancient Runes translation without using a single cross-reference guide. And how you chew on your bottom lip when you’re focused, and how your handwriting slants slightly to the left, and how—

You glance up again, catching him mid-gaze.

He immediately jerks his head away so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t snap in half.

You squint. He suddenly finds his parchment very interesting. His ears, traitorous things, go a bit pink.

You blink again.

Nope. Still a murder plot. Definitely.

...

Class ends with the soft clack of textbooks shutting and chairs scraping across the floor. You take your time gathering your things, mostly because your bookmark has disappeared into a void of loose parchment.

Okay. That’s a problem for later.

Theodore Nott is still sitting there. Not moving. Not packing up.

You glance his way again. He pretends to yawn, which would be normal if it weren’t so obviously staged. Like, hand-to-chest, slow-motion, opera-singer yawn. No one yawns like that. You watch in real time as his brain short-circuits trying to look casual.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward the door. And then:

“Wait.”

You stop. Turn. Blink.

Theodore Nott is standing. This feels promising.

“You, um—” he begins, voice low and uncertain. “You left your—uh…” He looks over at your desk. There is nothing there. Not even a scrap of parchment.

He stares at the empty space like it might help him. It does not.

“I left my…?” you say slowly, eyebrows lifted.

He panics. “Presence.”

Your brain takes a full three seconds to process that.

“My what?”

“Your—you left your—pencil sharpener,” he blurts. “Quill sharpener. Yes. That.”

You do not own a quill sharpener. Is that even a thing?

“Oh,” you say, smiling like you’re talking to a slightly confused, very pretty ghost. “Do you…have it?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then he blinks, visibly resets, and tries again. “Sorry. I meant—Hi. I’m Theodore. I mean, you know that. Obviously. We’ve had class together for like six years, I just—well.” He gestures vaguely toward your general existence. “Hi.”

You blink again. You’re doing a lot of blinking lately. “Hi…?”

“I like the way you annotate,” he says.

You stare.

“What?”

“I mean, not in a weird way. Just in a—your notes. Your margins. The way you organize them. It’s very…” He swallows. “…structured. Efficient. There’s a system. You color-code.”

You keep staring.

His voice lowers slightly, like he’s confessing to a crime. “I think about them sometimes.”

This might be the most unhinged flirtation you’ve ever witnessed.

“…Thanks?” you manage, because what else does one say when a gorgeous Slytherin boy admits to daydreaming about your annotated footnotes?

“Anyway,” he says, suddenly flustered again. “I’m going to leave now. With my dignity. Or…what’s left of it.”

He turns, walks directly into the doorframe, mutters “brilliant” under his breath, and disappears.

You stand there blinking at the empty doorway.

And then you laugh. Like, properly laugh.

You’re still laughing when you find your missing bookmark sticking out of Theodore’s textbook.

A/N: missed writing for theo -> pt. ⅠⅠ - The Boy Who Folded First