pick a trinket! ordered from oldest to newest acquisitions.
succession
roman roy:
short blurb ― you go back home and roman is waiting for a reunion with the person that knows him best.
burning red ― after coming back, you find out roman is seeing someone, just after you've realised you have feelings for him.
pining and anticipation ― roman makes an effort to try to appear more serious in front of you.
no glimpse of relief ― roman only needs you at the moment.
this hope is treacherous ― an interesting conversation takes place during the wedding of roman's mother.
life in plastic ― you invite Roman to watch Barbie with you.
that boyish look ― Roman is bored and wants to go out, but you're studying for one of your exams.
harry potter saga
remus lupin:
me and you... were meant to be (slytherin!reader) ― remus takes you by surprise after saying that things between the two of aren't working anymore. james, who wants nothing but happiness for two of his greatest friends, steps in.
lost the game of chance ― Hogwarts is abuzz with the rumours that you and remus have called it all off.
willow (muggle!reader who's a Tarot reader) ― a quiet evening spent in remus' arms after your last client of the day (finally) leaves.
I'll be on my way ― Remus has a hard time accepting the fact that his partner has been captured by Death Eaters.
harry potter:
replaying your laughter (slytherin!fem!reader)― Harry has a crush on a Slytherin, which could collapse the entire school, but he doesn't seem to care much.
covered in you (slytherin!fem!reader)― part 2 of replaying your laughter
WDYGH? (slytherin!fem!reader)― based on Sabrina Carpenter's song When Did You Get Hot?
synopsis - a Slytherin student finally notices how... hot Harry Potter has gotten over the summer.
Based, of course, on Sabrina Carpenter's song When Did You Get Hot?
word count: 2,2k
a/n: no use of (Y/N), little to no description of the reader (tried my hardest). a couple of curse words and there are a few comments about burning at the stake or hanging, but as a joke! English is not my first language so there might be some mistakes.
other works
It felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes the moment they settled on his. Somehow, the grey sweatshirt he was wearing made the green in his eyes stand out more. Suddenly, his hair was somewhat styled in a way that didn’t look like he had just gotten out of bed. His jawline was sharper, his shoulders were broader. She could feel how his right hand, the one he’d used to grab her after bumping into her, scorched the skin of her arm through her clothes —surely, he’d set up her hoodie on fire if he didn’t move it—.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he adjusted his glasses with his other hand. The way he’d said her last name after apologizing almost made her salivate, almost.
It happened again during the feast. He showed up after Dumbledore had already delivered his welcoming speech with what looked like a broken nose because of the bloody rag he was pressing against it. Merlin, how could she think he was hot when there was blood running down his face? And, most importantly, how could he have this new effect over her after not seeing him over the summer?
“Who are you staring at?” Damien asked from the seat facing hers.
“No one,” she replied almost too quickly. Damien turned his body towards the other tables and tried to find the person she was so busy ogling at that she hadn’t even finished her favourite dessert. She risked another glance at Harry, entirely out of greed, but she could only see his back now that he had taken a seat beside Ginny Weasley.
“Merlin help you if it’s a Gryffindor.”
“Oh, he definitely is,” Mary Ann said with a grin on her face so big it resembled the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Great, betrayed by her own cousin. There was nothing she could hide from Mary. “Gryffindor's most famous student.”
Damien stared at the both of us, his face changing once the name seemed to settle on his brain.
“Oh, you cannot be serious.”
“Hey, he’s nice and it’s not my fault he’s gotten hot over the summer!” She raised her arms as if in self-defense.
“Half of this table would have your head if they saw you with him,” Damien reasoned. Mary Ann nodded in agreement as she took her fork to her mouth.
“As if I’d ever care about what this lot of fools had to say about me, or us!” Damien knew this to be true. Her and Mary Ann had been one of the few Slytherins to not care about his muggle parents, cursing Malfoy and his puppets or any other blood supremacist prick whenever it was needed. They had created their own little club of ostracized snakes while also including members from other houses that weren’t so quick to judge Slytherins.
“Even then, he probably hates us by association,” Mary Ann mentioned with her mouth full. “Last year was just an exception.”
She rolled her eyes at that, “That’s so stupid. We cannot be burnt at the stake for Malfoy’s awful beliefs only because we wear the same tie colour."
“I’m sure he’d like to burn you at the stake if he could read your mind and find out what you’ve been thinking about his arch nemesis,” Damien laughed. “Potter, really? Though I have to admit, he has gotten hotter.”
A smile settled on her face as she entered the Potions classroom. She was ready to enjoy one of her favourite subjects without Professor Snape waiting for her to make a mistake. Even though he was known for favouring his Slytherin students, the truth was he was more inclined towards helping those whose views aligned with his. This was the reason why she had tried so hard at Potions, to prove him wrong. In the end, ironically, she ended up loving the subject.
Professor Slughorn was already in the classroom when she arrived, “Miss, I saw your mark in Potions in your O.W. L.’s last year. I must say I’m glad to see that such a dedicated student belongs to my house. I’d like to invite you, then, to my club. We meet sometimes for dinner, I’ll send you an owl with all the details.”
Proud that her efforts had been —finally— recognized, she didn’t hesitate to accept his proposal.
Somehow, Harry Potter not only had gotten more handsome over the summer, but an expert at Potions, too! He had succeeded in Slughorn’s ‘contest’ and had won Felix Felicitis as a reward. The satisfied smile on his face made her insides soar, and she was careful to stay away from the cauldron filled with Amortentia in case the smell of his cologne —she was sure she’d get a whiff of it if she came close enough— emerging from it would make her more lightheaded than she already was.
She didn’t know whether to hex Slughorn or raise a statue in his honour in the Courtyard. He was the one who suggested she’d sit next to Harry, and, of course, she wouldn’t want to displease a teacher. She prayed none of the other invited students had noticed her rubbing the sweat of her palms with her jeans, she prayed he hadn’t noticed.
Harry turned to her when the chair she was about to sit on made a scraping sound against the floor. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head and a soft whisper of her name, “It’s been a while, apart from bumping into you on the train. Sorry about that.”
She didn’t realise he was actually talking to her after a few seconds when he cleared his throat, probably in embarrassment after not receiving an answer.
“Oh! Yes, yes, it’s been a while,” she said as her face heated up. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” You and your ridiculous face and gentle eyes and funny smile, that’s what’s gotten into me.
“How are, um, Mary Ann and… and, um…”
“Damien?”
“Yes! Damien, sorry. Haven’t seen them since our last meeting with the DA.”
Dumbledore’s Army, Merlin, it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since her and her two friends were introduced to the group by means of Jeanine, a Hufflepuff friend. Jeanine had fought tooth and nail against the prejudices of the rest of the members to include them. Harry had agreed to let them join once Luna Lovegood told him the three of them had been the ones to defend her against Crabbe and Goyle’s insults. What sealed the deal was Hermione’s comment on how they’d been calling out Malfoy’s blood supremacist shit since first year.
“They’re fine, though they wouldn’t stop complaining about how I was leaving them for the night,” she said, looking everywhere but his green eyes.
Slughorn’s dinner party wouldn’t have been as… exciting (and anxiety-inducing) if she hadn’t sat beside Harry. Next to her had been Hermione, who looked like she was ready to start running away from Cormac McLaggen any second now and with whom she’d made some conversation to, mostly, make the Gryffindor girl ignore his uncomfortable stare (and, to be honest, her own nerves with Harry so close to her).
The next time she saw him was before Gryffindor’s Quidditch match against her own house. She had stopped by Gryffindor’s table to greet Luna and compliment her lion’s head that she’d probably made from scratch.
“Came to wish us luck?” Harry asked from his seat, a few places down the table. She didn’t know whether it was the Great Hall’s lightning or his red and gold jumper that made him look so… good.
“Oh, you wished, Potter. I might want to hex half of our team, but I still want Slytherin to win.”
He shook his head, taking his cup filled with pumpkin juice and bringing it to his lips. “Such a shame,” he mumbled before drinking from the cup and setting his eyes on hers. It was then she realised that they matched her uniform. Her breath itched and she was sure that she could see Hermione’s eyes moving from her, then to Harry, and her again. A curious and intrigued look finally settled on Hermione’s face. “Red would sui— nevermind. Try not to hate us too much when we beat you.”
“If one of your beaters makes Zabini fall off his broom, I won’t even get mad if we lose,” she said, trying to ignore whatever he was about to say first. The chuckle that escaped from his mouth at her comment made her knees go weak. With a smile on her face, and trying to ignore the lightheadedness she was starting to suffer from, she went back to her own table.
“Girl, you need to get it straight,” Mary Ann grumbled while dusting her clothes of any crumbs. “I could almost hear your sighs from here.”
“I was definitely not sighing.”
Mary Ann and Damien share a knowing look and both of them shake their heads at the same time.
“Sure, sure you weren’t,” says Damien, patting her shoulder after rising from his seat.
Hang her for treason, she couldn’t care less, but a part of her was thrilled at seeing Gryffindor (Harry) win the match against Slytherin. Mary Ann nudged her to stop a grin from creeping in her face, and she was pretty sure Damien was ready to jinx her hands so they wouldn’t start clapping.
Getting out of the stands took them quite some time, although both of her friends knew she was being slow on purpose just to get a glimpse of Harry down at the Quidditch pitch. He was celebrating with his team, a grin on his face while discussing something with Ron.
They were finally on their way to climb the small hill out of the pitch and towards the castle when they heard someone shouting her name. Mary Ann and Damien exchanged looks and teasing smiles, they all knew that voice. After a semester of hearing it repeating and demonstrating spells it was impossible not to.
“Remember not to sigh too much,” Damien whispered in her ear. She rolled his eyes at him, but a laugh escaped her mouth anyways. “We’ll meet you in the Common Room.”
“If you kiss him while he’s all sweaty, you’re definitely mental!”
“Please, as if you wouldn’t kiss an all sweaty Jeanine, Mary Ann.”
“How dare you!”
Harry calling her again made her realise he’d gotten closer to them while they’d been busy teasing each other. She turned around and greeted him before any of her friends thought of doing something that’d end up embarrassing her.
“See you, love,” said Damien. The pair of them said their goodbyes to Harry and continued on their way up to the castle.
When she turned to look at Harry again, he had a strange look on his face, almost like a frown. “You okay, Harry?”
“Yeah, sorry, just – just thinking,” he answered quickly. “I wanted to make sure you Slytherins weren’t about to start shedding some tears.”
“Don’t get too cocky, Potter. It might suit you, but it’s not a good look for Gryffindor’s most beloved student.”
“Right, sorry,” he smiled, and she could swear that that boyish look on his face would be the death of her. “Listen, I –um–, I wanted to ask if you already had a date for Slughorn’s Christmas dinner party.” Quickly, his confident facade started to crumble (which made him even more attractive in her mind). “I thought, well, I thought that because we’re both part of his club, we could, yeah, we could go together. If, you know, you don’t have a date already. I, um, I know you and Damien are close.”
“Wouldn’t us going together cause an uproar among Gryffindors? You’d probably stop being their most beloved student,” she said with a smirk on her face, desperately trying to conceive the state in which his proposal had just put her in. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she worried he’d be able to hear it.
“I don’t really care about what they have to say about me.”
“Good,” she whispered. Her feet, as if by some magnificent force, carried her closer to him. “And, for the record, I’m not dating Damien.” Harry exhaled almost too happily, too relieved. She could see his eyes dropping to her lips, now caught between her teeth in an attempt to conceal a grin. And even though she was dying to press their lips together and kiss him until they’d both frozen under the relentless and unforgiving Scottish weather, she contented herself with a sweet kiss to his cheeks. She’d swear that the pink on his cheeks and neck had nothing to do with the cold wind blowing round them.
“You better be dressed for the occasion, Potter.”
The hallway leading to the Slytherin Common is dark, only a few lamps offer a dim greenish light, illuminating it enough so as one doesn’t trip with their own feet. It’s almost depressing, Harry thinks. However, his thoughts regarding the corridor quickly leave his mind upon seeing her leave the Common Room. He approaches her slowly, taking in every detail of her dress, the makeup adorning her face and the way her hair is styled.
“You look… you look stunning, love,” Harry says, an awestruck look on his face.
“Please, Harry, you can barely see me with these lights.”
Harry grabs one of her wrists at the same time he presses his lips against her cheek. Then, a single red rose appears in her hand.
“Didn’t think you were the romantic type,” she whispers. Apart from them, the hallway is deserted. For a moment, the only sounds to be heard are their breaths, their faces so close together that they meet in the space left between their mouths. Harry wonders if he should wait till the end of the night to kiss you; he wonders if he can even reach the end of the night without actually doing it.
He’s not willing to wait in order to find out.
One of his hands settles delicately on the cheek he’s just kissed, his forehead presses against hers. He’s about to ask her when he feels her barely nodding her head, afraid, maybe, that any sudden movement will ruin the moment. His lips are on hers before he starts wondering again. They lock almost too perfectly. Harry almost sighs when her arms snake round his neck and bring him even closer to her.
thank you for reading! divider is not mine, but by @bronzewasp
synopsis - a Slytherin student finally notices how... hot Harry Potter has gotten over the summer.
Based, of course, on Sabrina Carpenter's song When Did You Get Hot?
word count: 2,2k
a/n: no use of (Y/N), little to no description of the reader (tried my hardest). a couple of curse words and there are a few comments about burning at the stake or hanging, but as a joke! English is not my first language so there might be some mistakes.
other works
It felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes the moment they settled on his. Somehow, the grey sweatshirt he was wearing made the green in his eyes stand out more. Suddenly, his hair was somewhat styled in a way that didn’t look like he had just gotten out of bed. His jawline was sharper, his shoulders were broader. She could feel how his right hand, the one he’d used to grab her after bumping into her, scorched the skin of her arm through her clothes —surely, he’d set up her hoodie on fire if he didn’t move it—.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he adjusted his glasses with his other hand. The way he’d said her last name after apologizing almost made her salivate, almost.
It happened again during the feast. He showed up after Dumbledore had already delivered his welcoming speech with what looked like a broken nose because of the bloody rag he was pressing against it. Merlin, how could she think he was hot when there was blood running down his face? And, most importantly, how could he have this new effect over her after not seeing him over the summer?
“Who are you staring at?” Damien asked from the seat facing hers.
“No one,” she replied almost too quickly. Damien turned his body towards the other tables and tried to find the person she was so busy ogling at that she hadn’t even finished her favourite dessert. She risked another glance at Harry, entirely out of greed, but she could only see his back now that he had taken a seat beside Ginny Weasley.
“Merlin help you if it’s a Gryffindor.”
“Oh, he definitely is,” Mary Ann said with a grin on her face so big it resembled the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Great, betrayed by her own cousin. There was nothing she could hide from Mary. “Gryffindor's most famous student.”
Damien stared at the both of us, his face changing once the name seemed to settle on his brain.
“Oh, you cannot be serious.”
“Hey, he’s nice and it’s not my fault he’s gotten hot over the summer!” She raised her arms as if in self-defense.
“Half of this table would have your head if they saw you with him,” Damien reasoned. Mary Ann nodded in agreement as she took her fork to her mouth.
“As if I’d ever care about what this lot of fools had to say about me, or us!” Damien knew this to be true. Her and Mary Ann had been one of the few Slytherins to not care about his muggle parents, cursing Malfoy and his puppets or any other blood supremacist prick whenever it was needed. They had created their own little club of ostracized snakes while also including members from other houses that weren’t so quick to judge Slytherins.
“Even then, he probably hates us by association,” Mary Ann mentioned with her mouth full. “Last year was just an exception.”
She rolled her eyes at that, “That’s so stupid. We cannot be burnt at the stake for Malfoy’s awful beliefs only because we wear the same tie colour."
“I’m sure he’d like to burn you at the stake if he could read your mind and find out what you’ve been thinking about his arch nemesis,” Damien laughed. “Potter, really? Though I have to admit, he has gotten hotter.”
A smile settled on her face as she entered the Potions classroom. She was ready to enjoy one of her favourite subjects without Professor Snape waiting for her to make a mistake. Even though he was known for favouring his Slytherin students, the truth was he was more inclined towards helping those whose views aligned with his. This was the reason why she had tried so hard at Potions, to prove him wrong. In the end, ironically, she ended up loving the subject.
Professor Slughorn was already in the classroom when she arrived, “Miss, I saw your mark in Potions in your O.W. L.’s last year. I must say I’m glad to see that such a dedicated student belongs to my house. I’d like to invite you, then, to my club. We meet sometimes for dinner, I’ll send you an owl with all the details.”
Proud that her efforts had been —finally— recognized, she didn’t hesitate to accept his proposal.
Somehow, Harry Potter not only had gotten more handsome over the summer, but an expert at Potions, too! He had succeeded in Slughorn’s ‘contest’ and had won Felix Felicitis as a reward. The satisfied smile on his face made her insides soar, and she was careful to stay away from the cauldron filled with Amortentia in case the smell of his cologne —she was sure she’d get a whiff of it if she came close enough— emerging from it would make her more lightheaded than she already was.
She didn’t know whether to hex Slughorn or raise a statue in his honour in the Courtyard. He was the one who suggested she’d sit next to Harry, and, of course, she wouldn’t want to displease a teacher. She prayed none of the other invited students had noticed her rubbing the sweat of her palms with her jeans, she prayed he hadn’t noticed.
Harry turned to her when the chair she was about to sit on made a scraping sound against the floor. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head and a soft whisper of her name, “It’s been a while, apart from bumping into you on the train. Sorry about that.”
She didn’t realise he was actually talking to her after a few seconds when he cleared his throat, probably in embarrassment after not receiving an answer.
“Oh! Yes, yes, it’s been a while,” she said as her face heated up. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” You and your ridiculous face and gentle eyes and funny smile, that’s what’s gotten into me.
“How are, um, Mary Ann and… and, um…”
“Damien?”
“Yes! Damien, sorry. Haven’t seen them since our last meeting with the DA.”
Dumbledore’s Army, Merlin, it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since her and her two friends were introduced to the group by means of Jeanine, a Hufflepuff friend. Jeanine had fought tooth and nail against the prejudices of the rest of the members to include them. Harry had agreed to let them join once Luna Lovegood told him the three of them had been the ones to defend her against Crabbe and Goyle’s insults. What sealed the deal was Hermione’s comment on how they’d been calling out Malfoy’s blood supremacist shit since first year.
“They’re fine, though they wouldn’t stop complaining about how I was leaving them for the night,” she said, looking everywhere but his green eyes.
Slughorn’s dinner party wouldn’t have been as… exciting (and anxiety-inducing) if she hadn’t sat beside Harry. Next to her had been Hermione, who looked like she was ready to start running away from Cormac McLaggen any second now and with whom she’d made some conversation to, mostly, make the Gryffindor girl ignore his uncomfortable stare (and, to be honest, her own nerves with Harry so close to her).
The next time she saw him was before Gryffindor’s Quidditch match against her own house. She had stopped by Gryffindor’s table to greet Luna and compliment her lion’s head that she’d probably made from scratch.
“Came to wish us luck?” Harry asked from his seat, a few places down the table. She didn’t know whether it was the Great Hall’s lightning or his red and gold jumper that made him look so… good.
“Oh, you wished, Potter. I might want to hex half of our team, but I still want Slytherin to win.”
He shook his head, taking his cup filled with pumpkin juice and bringing it to his lips. “Such a shame,” he mumbled before drinking from the cup and setting his eyes on hers. It was then she realised that they matched her uniform. Her breath itched and she was sure that she could see Hermione’s eyes moving from her, then to Harry, and her again. A curious and intrigued look finally settled on Hermione’s face. “Red would sui— nevermind. Try not to hate us too much when we beat you.”
“If one of your beaters makes Zabini fall off his broom, I won’t even get mad if we lose,” she said, trying to ignore whatever he was about to say first. The chuckle that escaped from his mouth at her comment made her knees go weak. With a smile on her face, and trying to ignore the lightheadedness she was starting to suffer from, she went back to her own table.
“Girl, you need to get it straight,” Mary Ann grumbled while dusting her clothes of any crumbs. “I could almost hear your sighs from here.”
“I was definitely not sighing.”
Mary Ann and Damien share a knowing look and both of them shake their heads at the same time.
“Sure, sure you weren’t,” says Damien, patting her shoulder after rising from his seat.
Hang her for treason, she couldn’t care less, but a part of her was thrilled at seeing Gryffindor (Harry) win the match against Slytherin. Mary Ann nudged her to stop a grin from creeping in her face, and she was pretty sure Damien was ready to jinx her hands so they wouldn’t start clapping.
Getting out of the stands took them quite some time, although both of her friends knew she was being slow on purpose just to get a glimpse of Harry down at the Quidditch pitch. He was celebrating with his team, a grin on his face while discussing something with Ron.
They were finally on their way to climb the small hill out of the pitch and towards the castle when they heard someone shouting her name. Mary Ann and Damien exchanged looks and teasing smiles, they all knew that voice. After a semester of hearing it repeating and demonstrating spells it was impossible not to.
“Remember not to sigh too much,” Damien whispered in her ear. She rolled his eyes at him, but a laugh escaped her mouth anyways. “We’ll meet you in the Common Room.”
“If you kiss him while he’s all sweaty, you’re definitely mental!”
“Please, as if you wouldn’t kiss an all sweaty Jeanine, Mary Ann.”
“How dare you!”
Harry calling her again made her realise he’d gotten closer to them while they’d been busy teasing each other. She turned around and greeted him before any of her friends thought of doing something that’d end up embarrassing her.
“See you, love,” said Damien. The pair of them said their goodbyes to Harry and continued on their way up to the castle.
When she turned to look at Harry again, he had a strange look on his face, almost like a frown. “You okay, Harry?”
“Yeah, sorry, just – just thinking,” he answered quickly. “I wanted to make sure you Slytherins weren’t about to start shedding some tears.”
“Don’t get too cocky, Potter. It might suit you, but it’s not a good look for Gryffindor’s most beloved student.”
“Right, sorry,” he smiled, and she could swear that that boyish look on his face would be the death of her. “Listen, I –um–, I wanted to ask if you already had a date for Slughorn’s Christmas dinner party.” Quickly, his confident facade started to crumble (which made him even more attractive in her mind). “I thought, well, I thought that because we’re both part of his club, we could, yeah, we could go together. If, you know, you don’t have a date already. I, um, I know you and Damien are close.”
“Wouldn’t us going together cause an uproar among Gryffindors? You’d probably stop being their most beloved student,” she said with a smirk on her face, desperately trying to conceive the state in which his proposal had just put her in. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she worried he’d be able to hear it.
“I don’t really care about what they have to say about me.”
“Good,” she whispered. Her feet, as if by some magnificent force, carried her closer to him. “And, for the record, I’m not dating Damien.” Harry exhaled almost too happily, too relieved. She could see his eyes dropping to her lips, now caught between her teeth in an attempt to conceal a grin. And even though she was dying to press their lips together and kiss him until they’d both frozen under the relentless and unforgiving Scottish weather, she contented herself with a sweet kiss to his cheeks. She’d swear that the pink on his cheeks and neck had nothing to do with the cold wind blowing round them.
“You better be dressed for the occasion, Potter.”
The hallway leading to the Slytherin Common is dark, only a few lamps offer a dim greenish light, illuminating it enough so as one doesn’t trip with their own feet. It’s almost depressing, Harry thinks. However, his thoughts regarding the corridor quickly leave his mind upon seeing her leave the Common Room. He approaches her slowly, taking in every detail of her dress, the makeup adorning her face and the way her hair is styled.
“You look… you look stunning, love,” Harry says, an awestruck look on his face.
“Please, Harry, you can barely see me with these lights.”
Harry grabs one of her wrists at the same time he presses his lips against her cheek. Then, a single red rose appears in her hand.
“Didn’t think you were the romantic type,” she whispers. Apart from them, the hallway is deserted. For a moment, the only sounds to be heard are their breaths, their faces so close together that they meet in the space left between their mouths. Harry wonders if he should wait till the end of the night to kiss you; he wonders if he can even reach the end of the night without actually doing it.
He’s not willing to wait in order to find out.
One of his hands settles delicately on the cheek he’s just kissed, his forehead presses against hers. He’s about to ask her when he feels her barely nodding her head, afraid, maybe, that any sudden movement will ruin the moment. His lips are on hers before he starts wondering again. They lock almost too perfectly. Harry almost sighs when her arms snake round his neck and bring him even closer to her.
thank you for reading! divider is not mine, but by @bronzewasp
synopsis – after years in hogwarts being rejected by your everyone there for being too much, you meet remus lupin.
a/n – this is really long but please give it a try 😭
c/w – bullying
requested by @boromoony <3
angst. fluff
the morning of september 1st, the sun was barely rising, but you were already dressed and ready to go with your hogwarts letter tightly in your hands. the excitement made it impossible to sleep at all last night. the moment albus dumbledore himself walked through your door months ago, your world changed forever. the words you’re a witch echoed in your mind constantly.
—all those strange things you’ve noticed about her, —dumbledore said, addressing your parents, —the lightbulbs bursting when she’s upset, how she always seems to know when someone’s at the door before they knock... those aren’t accidents. they’re signs of magic.
before dumbledore left that evening, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small stack of books and put them down on the table in front of you. —these, —he said with a twinkle in his eye, —are just a taste of what you’ll be learning at hogwarts.
you reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing over the covers. magical drafts and potions, one thousand magical herbs and fungi, but it was the third book that completely caught your attention: fantastic beasts and where to find them by newt scamander.
—ah, that one’s a favorite of many, —he said. —the magical creatures of our world are both fascinating and, sometimes, a bit mischievous. that book should keep you entertained until term begins.
the moment you opened the book, you were hooked. the pages were filled with sketches, notes, and stories about creatures you never imagined could exist—bowtruckles, hippogriffs, nifflers... that night, you stayed up late, devouring every word about the beasts and their habitats. could hogwarts have any of these creatures? you flipped through the book again, your heart racing at the possibilities.
so when you stood on the platform 9 ¾, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst and you balanced yourself on your feet out of excitement. newt scamander's book was under your arm, as a kind of lucky charm, during the summer you had memorized as much as you could about the creatures within and you couldn’t help but look at your future classmates, wondering what kind of magical creatures they might be fascinated by.
FIRST YEAR
when the sorting hat called your name and announced you as a slytherin, you didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you loved green, it reminded you of nature, of the forests and trees, and even the slithering snakes you had read so much about. you were so full of excitement, so eager to make friends, hogwarts felt like a fresh start.
you had always struggled with friendships before, feeling like you never quite fit in.
you laughed loud, shared everything on your mind, and tried your best to connect with the girls in your dormitory. you spent your days with them, following the girls around, chatting and laughing. well, they chatted and laughed, because every time you did, they’d look at each other, exchanging glances you couldn’t quite understand. the air would shift, like you had said something wrong, but you had no idea what it was.
you’d share something you thought was funny or interesting and they’d just stare at you, and then their voices would drop into low murmurs. maybe they were into other things like potions, herbology, or the history of magic, maybe they weren't interested in what you had to say about magical creatures.
during lessons, the girls were always so nice to you, especially when it was time for group projects, and you were so naive to even realize that they were just using you. they’d smile at you, pat your shoulder, and invite you to sit with them. it felt like a relief, like maybe you had misunderstood those looks and laughs but when the class ended, they'd leave without a second glance, their arms linked as if you had never been part of the conversation at all.
your first year at hogwarts ended in a bittersweet way. you loved the subjects, truly. you devoured every lesson, every spell, your grades were unmatched, if only broom flying had gone as smoothly, but even that felt like something you could improve with time. on the other hand, you felt the loneliness through the corridors and back to the slytherin dormitory. on the last day of term, the girls in talked about writing to one another over the summer.
but day after day, you checked and no letter came.
SECOND YEAR
the train ride to school felt heavier than the year before. as you walked through the corridors, searching for a compartment, the familiar laughter of your roommates caught your attention. and you sat with them and suddenly all the laughter stopped. not once did anyone ask what you did over the summer.
the more you tried to fit in, the more it felt like you were out of place. you tried to brush it off at first, thinking maybe when you appeared, you just interrupted them or spoken at the wrong moment. but after a while, it became clear that it wasn’t a coincidence. you realized you didn’t have to limit yourself to them. you could meet other people, even outside of slytherin so, you decided to try.
but things didn't go quite well. you overshared about your special interests, waiting for the other people to do the same, but it seemed that your excitement only pushed people further away. you'd dive into conversations eagerly, sharing everything you knew about magical creatures, but they’d blink at you, nod politely, or look for an excuse to leave.
you tried to blame yourself, maybe you were saying too much or maybe you weren’t asking the right questions. you started holding back, answering their questions in shorter sentences, nodding along but it didn’t change anything.
you discovered why no one wanted to be near you, the rumors that had spread far beyond your dormitory. twisted stories, each more absurd than the last—that you talked to yourself late at night, that you were a secret animagus, that you collected dangerous creatures and were plotting to release them in the castle. they made you sound lunatic, something to be avoided. for a moment, you considered fighting back, telling people the truth, but what was the point? you had learned long ago that the more you tried, the worse it became.
maybe there was something wrong with you. maybe you were too much, too strange, too difficult to be around. maybe you didn’t belong anywhere, no matter how hard you tried.
THIRD YEAR
by the third year you stopped trying. you didn’t hang out with them anymore, didn’t laugh too loudly or share too much about the things you loved.
you made a habit of leaving class last and the library became your refuge. you stayed there as long as you could, around books that didn’t judge you, didn’t whisper about you when your back was turned. you poured yourself into your studies and it gave you an excuse to stay out of your room instead of sitting silently on your bed, listening to your roommates complain about how much they hated sharing a room with you.
some of the teachers noticed something was off, but even the ones who suspected something was wrong assumed it was just teenage drama. girls will be girls, you heard professor mcgonagall say.
other teachers just assumed you liked studying. you volunteered for extra work, you stayed late to help clean up after lessons, your essays were always meticulously detailed. so they began giving you extra tasks—not as a punishment, but because they thought you enjoyed it. they called it encouraging your ambition, and you welcomed the work because it kept your mind occupied.
one day, you were sitting near the edge of the lake, your back pressed against a tree, a book about animagi on your legs. you spotted the book on the floor of your favorite section of the library. it wasn’t normal for books to be left lying about yet there it was, dropped by someone in a hurry or someone really careless. you wondered who might have been reading about animagi, a subject that complex.
you’d spent hours flipping through the pages when something small landed in your book. you blinked and looked down. a small twig had fallen from above, landing right between the pages. you reached out to brush it away, but a soft whine reached your ears and it moved.
the twig shuddered and let out another whine, this time a little louder. you stared at it, it wasn’t a twig, it was a tiny creature with thin body and tiny limbs trembling as it struggled to move. a bowtruckle. you gasped fascinated, recognizing the creature instantly from your books. you had read about them, studied their sketches in newt scamander’s book, but you had never seen one in real life. until now.
the little bowtruckle looked up at you with wide, beady eyes. you could see a faint crack along one of its delicate limbs, it was hurt.
—it’s okay, i’m not going to hurt you, —you whispered. carefully, you set the book aside and cupped your hands around it, creating a little shelter for it. it didn’t flinch or run away.
—poor thing, —you murmured. you glanced around, you couldn’t see any other bowtruckles and you wondered how this one had ended up here. you pulled out your wand, thinking back to a section of fantastic beasts that described how to soothe and heal bowtruckles. you improvised, muttering a soft episkey and focusing on the tiny crack along its limb. the crack was gone.
the bowtruckle blinked up at you, its expression almost... grateful. it climbed onto your finger, its tiny claws gripping your skin. for a moment, you just stared at it and it let you admired it. it felt like magic in its purest form.
you stood carefully, and you gently lifted your hand, guiding the little creature back to its home. —here you go, —you whispered softly, holding your finger close to the tree. but instead of jumping, it clung to your finger and its tiny claws gripped your skin. it let out another faint whine, its small body trembling. you froze, unsure of what to do. its wide, dark eyes looked at you, and you could feel its fear.
—you’re safe now. this is your tree, isn’t it? —it let out another tiny whimper, it wasn’t just hurt, you realized. it was scared. —do you not want to go back? —you asked softly, as if it could answer you. the bowtruckle gave a tiny shake of its head or at least, that’s what it looked like. —alright, —you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. —you can stay with me for now.
and it stayed with you, not just for the rest of the day, but in a way that you never expected—forever.
you worried that it wouldn’t adjust to school life but, to your amazement, it adapted quickly. during classes, it would hide in your robe pocket or tucked against your sleeve. sometimes it would peek out to watch whatever you were doing. in herbology, its excitement was hard to contain. but potions was another story. the cauldrons’ fumes made it irritable, and once or twice, it sneezed and made your classmates glance around.
for the first time, you didn’t feel so alone.
FOURTH YEAR
through the glass door, you saw them—your roommates. the girls stood in the corridor, their heads tilted toward one another as they whispered and glanced inside. there weren’t many seats left on the train, and you knew they’d see your compartment as the last resort. the bowtruckle ran into your jacket pocket, and you instinctively placed a hand over the fabric to reassure it.
you heard them talk outside, do we really have to sit there? one of them whispered, i don't want to sit with her. a short, awkward silence followed, then, one of them said, the boys’ compartment isn’t full yet. let’s go there instead. and you let out all the air in your lungs, relieved. the bowtruckle jumped out of your jacket and stared through the window again. but all of a sudden, the door opened and two gryffindor boys stood there.
—hi, —one of them said.
the bowtruckle ran scared inside your jacket again. —hi, —you answered back, caught off guard.
the boy who spoke looked familiar, not someone you’d ever talked to, but someone you’d heard about. people whispered about him in the corridors, pointing him out as he passed. black, was his last name though you couldn’t recall his first name. beside him stood another boy, quieter, his expression neutral. you didn’t recognize him at all.
—was that a bowtruckle? —he asked, his tone with curious.
—no, —you replied immediately, your voice sharper than intended. you clutched the front of your jacket where it was hidden, your fingers tightening defensively.
the boy raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, as he leaned casually against the compartment door, his posture relaxed as if he had all the time in the world to coax the truth out of you.
—i saw it, —he said again, his tone teasing but firm.
—i don't know what you're talking about.
the quieter boy next to him, with brown messy hair, face decorated with some silvery scars, and a book tucked under his arm, looked at his friend and gave a subtle shake of his head. —sirius, don’t, —he said softly, his voice calm carrying a note of exasperation.
sirius shrugged, completely unbothered. —what, remus? i'm just being friendly, or maybe i have a thing for mysterious bowtruckle-less compartments, —he said, then he turned his attention back to you, tilting his head slightly. —don’t worry, i’m not going to tell anyone. i think it’s kind of cool, actually.
—there’s nothing to tell, —you muttered.
sirius nodded slowly. —okay, but if you happen to see a bowtruckle, let us know. we’re in the compartment over there.
and just like that, sirius left. the quieter boy stood there, his gaze flickered to the stack of books next to you. he seemed hesitant, his hand halfway to pointing at them before he stopped and cleared his throat. —good books, —before you could say anything else, remus left, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed yourself, like you'd missed an opportunity to actually have a real conversation.
from that moment on, it seemed like something shifted. you’d catch glimpses of remus during breakfast, his shy gaze drifting over to the slytherin table where you always sat alone. at first, you thought it was just coincidence, but it kept happening. subtle moments where you’d look up, only to find his eyes already on you, before he’d quickly look away and distract himself with his toast or whatever book he was reading that day. it wasn’t mocking, like the looks from the girls in your dormitory. it was... different, quiet and curious.
during classes, you began to notice his presence more and more. sitting a few rows ahead in defense against the dark arts, in potions you’d glance across the room and see him stealing quick looks your way and once, during herbology, you caught him staring and when your eyes met, he quickly looked down at his gloves, pretending to busy himself with adjusting the cuffs.
the bowtruckle noticed too and it'd tug on a strand of your hair or nuzzle against your neck, as if sensing the strange mix of confusion and warmth. you were used to catching people’s attention, not for good reasons, it was usually the kind of attention that came with whispered jokes behind your back and judgmental stares but when he looked at you, it was soft and steady, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle but didn’t want to rush it.
and that made you uncomfortable. not knowing what he was thinking left you second-guessing everything, was he like everyone else, taking his time before making a joke?
one day, as you walked out of your class, clutching your books to your chest, you heard his footsteps behind you. you stopped and turned to him, catching him off guard. the bowtruckle peeked out of your jacket pocket, but you pressed it lightly to keep him hidden.
—quit it, —you said, your words sharper than you intended.
remus blinked, taken aback. —quit what?
—the looks, —you said quickly, shifting your books in your arms. —you keep staring at me in class, at breakfast. it’s... —you trailed off, searching for the right word, —weird.
—i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, —he said, his voice lowering slightly.
you pressed your lips together, not knowing how to respond. he wasn’t defensive, he wasn’t laughing or rolling his eyes like the girls in your dormitory. instead, he seemed... sincere. and for some reason, that sincerity annoyed you more than if he’d just been another person to laugh at you. so you huffed and turned on your heel without another word.
the bowtruckle peeked out from your pocket, its tiny head tilting, confused by your reaction. it tugged at your hair with a stubborn little click, his leafy fingers curling like he was scolding you.
even after your sharp words, remus couldn’t just look away. he noticed too much—too many little things that others ignored or pretended not to see. he noticed how those girls whispered behind their hands as you walked by, how they sweet-talked you into doing all the work, only to share smirks once they’d left you behind.
no one knows how, but somehow, remus convinced lily to sneak into your room and pour some of that infamous itchy powder into the girls’ beds. the next morning, the slytherin dorm was filled with chaos and the girls spent a couple of days in the hospital wing. for the first time, your room felt like a peaceful sanctuary. the bowtruckle, took full advantage of the empty space and at night, it curled up next to you on the pillow, chirping softly as if sharing secrets only you could understand. the chirps felt deliberate, like it was scolding you in its own quiet language. its tiny fingers tugged at strands of your hair, like it was trying to pull your thoughts into the right direction.
—i know, —you murmured. —i've been awful to him.
the bowtruckle gave a sharper chirp, almost triumphant, as if it had been waiting for you to admit it. the bowtruckle chattered again, softer this time, before curling up against your neck. it had been with you long enough to sense things—your unease, your fear, the way you flinched away from kindness like it was something dangerous. you weren’t used to people noticing you in a way that wasn’t cruel. but remus did. he saw you and you had been pushing him away
you exhaled slowly, —i'll try to be nicer next time.
and you did, you tried to be nicer. when you caught him looking at you in class, instead of just looking away, you pressed your lips together in a small smile, when he held the door open for you, instead of brushing past, you murmured a quiet thanks, even if your voice was barely above a whisper.
one night, you were alone in the library as the bowtruckle scurried up the bookshelf, its tiny claws clicking softly against the wood as it reached for the book you had pointed out earlier. it reached the spine of the book, tugging it out inch by inch until the book hit the floor, and it chirped triumphantly before coming back down and climbing into your pocket.
you picked up the book as you heard the faint creak of footsteps on the wooden floor. your heart jumped, and you froze. from around the corner of the shelf, remus appeared, his eyes slightly widened as they met yours.
—oh, —he said, clearly startled to see you. —sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt.
—you didn’t, —you said quickly, trying to sound casual even though your pulse was racing.
remus chuckled softly, his laughter. he tilted his head toward the book in your hands, the title unmistakable: “the care and keeping of bowtruckles.” —you know, —he said, —if you’re trying to convince me you don’t have a bowtruckle, maybe carrying around that book isn’t your best defense.
you noticed the book he was carrying: "the art of becoming an animagus." —that's dangerous, you know?
remus glanced at the book in his hand and then back at you, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. —and having a bowtruckle in your pocket isn’t?
you raised an eyebrow. —bowtruckles aren’t illegal. animagi without proper registration, though? pretty sure the ministry has a field day with that.
remus chuckled, holding the book up as if in surrender. —it’s just research. i'm not planning on becoming an animagi.
you nodded and smirked, looking him up and down. —yeah, i know that.
remus frowned. —what's that supposed to mean? —without answering, you simply passed by his side and left him standing there, puzzled.
and from that day on, remus didn’t just glance at you from afar anymore, he started to approach you.
whenever you crossed paths in the corridors, he’d give you a small wave or a warm hi. at first, it caught you off guard because you weren’t used to people greeting you so casually, especially someone like remus, always with his big group of friend who were kind of intimidating. sirius and james would raise an eyebrow at remus or smirk at him when they caught him slowing down in the corridor to greet you. it wasn’t the kind of attention you were used to. one day, you muttered to the little creature, why does he keep doing that?, and it just tilted its tiny head, its bright eyes blinking up at you as if to say, why not?
those waves gradually became more—small, quiet moments where remus would sit across from you at the library, or casually move to your spot during potions to ask you a question about the assignment.
in another occasion, you'd do everything you could to avoid it because you told yourself whatever he was doing, it couldn’t possibly be genuine. but now, you were trying to be different, kinder. so, you’d find yourself replying to his questions during class more often, even offering him advice on the potions he was brewing and when he appeared at the library, you let him sit across from you, even though there were plenty of other empty chairs around.
but doubts remained, people didn’t just decide to spend time with you. it was probably some kind of joke or a challenge his friends had come up with. you could almost hear it now: “bet you can’t get the quiet slytherin to talk to you.” maybe they were all waiting for him to come back with stories about how weird you were, ready to laugh behind your back like everyone else. that thought burned in your chest, making it harder to concentrate.
while everyone else was watching the quidditch match, you sat in the library, flipping through a book on herbology. these were the best moments, when the rest of the school was caught up in something else, and the library was left almost entirely to yourself. just as you turned the next page, you heard footsteps approaching, and remus appeared, carrying a cup of tea.
—figured you’d been here, i don’t think you particularly enjoy quidditch, —he said, placing it gently on the table next to you. —thought you could use this.
you stared at the cup, your stomach twisting. —why are you doing this? —you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
remus looked genuinely confused. —doing what?
—this, —you said, gesturing between the two of you. —the tea, the sitting with me, the… the talking. what do you want?
his expression softened. —i don’t… want anything, —he said, his voice quiet but firm. —i just thought… well, you seemed like someone worth knowing.
your heart clenched at the words, because they didn’t make sense. they couldn’t. you looked down and remus did too.
—i think i should leave now.
—wait, —the words left your mouth before you could stop them. —do you... want to stay?
remus blinked, clearly not expecting that. there was a pause, and for a second, you thought you’d made a mistake, that he’d laugh or make an excuse to leave anyway.
—oh, i mean, yeah. if you don’t mind.
you swallowed, feeling that unfamiliar warmth in your chest again. —maybe you’d rather watch the match, —you added quickly, as if giving him an out. —that’s fine, really.
remus shook his head, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his lips. —i’d rather stay.
after that day, you and remus started hanging out more, you’d catch him waiting for you after class, pretending he just happened to be heading the same way. during lunch, he'd move from the gryffindor table, claiming it was too loud, and sit beside you at the slytherin table, drawing a lot of curious glances.
your conversations grew longer. you’d talk about magical creatures, books you loved, spells you found fascinating and he’d listen, really listen. sometimes, in the middle of an excited rant about a rare magical creature, you’d catch yourself embarrassed by your own enthusiasm but he never seemed annoyed. instead, his expression would soften, confusion flickering in his face as if he couldn’t understand why you’d feel the need to apologize.
the bowtruckle would peek out from your pocket, growing bolder around him. you’d gently nudge it back down with your fingers whenever it got too brave, muttering under your breath, “not now,” or “stay hidden.” it would chirp softly in protest, tugging at the fabric with its tiny claws as if scolding you for keeping it a secret. remus never pushed. he’d occasionally glance at the faint movement in your pocket with a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he never asked.
you sat beside remus under the shade of a tree near the black lake, the exact same tree where you found your bowtruckle.
—since we’re friends now, —you started, your voice barely above a whisper, the word friend felt strange in your mouth, —there’s… there’s someone i wanted to introduce you to.
—someone?
you nodded and looked inside your pocket. —it’s okay, —you whispered softly, your voice more tender than you realized. —you can come out. he’s not gonna hurt you. i… i trust him.
it slowly poked his little head out of your pocket, eyeing remus cautiously from the safety of your robes. his dark eyes studied remus for a long moment, trying to figure out if the gryffindor boy could be trusted.
—hey there, little guy, —remus murmured, his voice low and calm, offering him a finger so it could climb. it hesitated for a moment but after a beat, the little creature stepped onto his finger, its tiny claws gripping softly as it crawled up his hand.
remus smiled. he didn’t pull away, his attention completely on the small creature. —it’s so nice meeting you finally, —he said softly, still looking at the small creature with genuine curiosity. his voice held that familiar kindness.
you watched the exchange, feeling a strange sense of relief. it was a small thing, really, showing him the creature you’d kept hidden for so long, but it felt significant, like peeling back a layer of yourself. remus’s gentle reaction, the warmth in his smile as he greeted the bowtruckle like it was something precious, made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
each time you met remus and without fail, after greeting you with a casual, hey, he’d lower his voice just a fraction and add, hey there, little one. how’s it going? at first, it caught you off guard, not used to someone remembering small details, let alone treating them with care. the bowtruckle seemed to enjoy the attention. it'd poke its head out slightly, blinking up at remus with those curious eyes, sometimes chirping softly in response as if answering his question.
so after that, it seemed only fair that he’d return the gesture. he wanted you to meet his friends, not just in passing, not just as faces in the crowded hallways of hogwarts, but really meet them.
your bowtruckle was climbing up remus’s arm with ease, using the folds of his sweater like a ladder. it paused at his shoulder and darted into his hair, playing with his messy curls. you were both having a good time, playing with the little creature.
remus cleared his throat and said, almost too casually, —i was thinking… maybe you’d like to meet my friends?
—why? —you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.
remus blinked, caught off guard, but then his face softened with a small smile, as if he’d expected you to respond that way. —i don’t know… i thought you might like to. they’ve been curious about you, and i think you’d get along. they’re… a lot, but they’re good people.
you looked at him, meeting his gaze. —curious about me?
remus chuckled, shaking his head. —not in a bad way. they just… they’ve noticed i spend time with you, and, well, they’re nosy.
the bowtruckle ran from his hair to your shoulder and gave excited little hops on, its enthusiasm was undeniable, chirping softly as if voicing its own opinion on the matter, which, clearly, was a firm yes to meeting remus' friends. traitor, you muttered to it.
—look, we’re hanging out tomorrow in the gryffindor common room, —he said, casually leaning back against the tree, like he hadn’t just invited you to meet his friends, which, in its own right, was an enormous step. —we’re gonna play some board games, talk… you’re welcome to come. no pressure.
you picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, your thoughts tangled. you nodded slowly, —i'll think about it.
the next day arrived before you knew it and remus greeted you with a big smile, happy that you finally decided to join them. as you stepped into the common room, the atmosphere was warm, cozy, filled with an easy laughter that echoed off the walls. the bowtruckle nestled comfortably in your pocket, feeling more and more like a little cheerleader with each step you took into the room.
all eyes turned to you—three boys sitting around a table and the only girl, standing up eagerly with a wide grin. she had that spark of excitement in her eyes, and before you could fully process what was happening, she was already moving toward you.
her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite your nervousness, you couldn't help but feel a little lighter in her presence. she reached out to give you a hug, and you hugged her back. lily’s reminded you of the person you were when you first entered hogwarts. the way you were before the walls you’d built around yourself became solid. before the loneliness, the whispers and the isolation. seeing lily now, the way she embraced you so openly, without hesitation and any judgment, made you realize how much you'd changed.
sirius smirked as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes moved to you before narrowing with a mischief. the memory of that day on the train, when he'd caught a glimpse of you and your bowtruckle, seemed to still linger in his mind. he couldn't resist a bit of teasing, just to let you know that you were more than welcome in the group.
james shook your hand with that familiar, confident grin, and peter followed him, giving you a more nervous but warm handshake.
remus watched you from across the table and felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw how easily you fit in with the group. the teasing from james and sirius had been lighthearted, playful—nothing malicious—and you handled it effortlessly, laughing along with them instead of retreating into your shell. it was a small victory in his mind.
you found yourself drawn into their orbit more often than you ever expected. it started with small things, lily casually saving you a seat in the library, peter waving you over in the great hall, james sharing his quidditch knowledge with you and sirius tossing playful remarks your way in the corridors. they had their own way of making space for you without demanding anything in return. they didn’t expect you to be louder, funnier, or different. they just… accepted you.
the bowtruckle adjusted too and it grew bold around the group, perching on sirius’s (who was completely fascinated by the creature) head when he wasn’t looking, sneaking sips from james’s pumpkin juice, and even nestling in lily’s hair once.
with remus, everything flowed easily. your hands would brush as you walked side by side through the corridors, he stopped sitting across from you and instead slid into the seat beside you and the space between you grew smaller, yet it never felt suffocating. it felt right, like the closeness had always been meant to happen, you were just catching up to it. when you laughed, he felt like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, and your conversations deepened, no longer just about magical creatures or classwork but hopes, fears... and that's how he ended up telling you.
you were both curled up on the couch in the gryffindor common room, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow around you. at this point, you spent more time there than in your own common room, and the gryffindors had grown used to the sight of your green robes among them. it was late, the marauders went to bed, leaving just you and remus, sitting in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between you.
but there was something unspoken. you could feel it—an unease in the way remus fidgeted slightly, in the way his lips parted as if to speak only to press together again and though he hadn’t said it yet, you already knew what he was struggling to tell you.
—i have something to tell you. now that you're part of the group, i think you should… you should know something about me, why i sometimes disappear...
—remus, —you said softly, not looking at him. —i know.
he turned to you sharply, his expression freezing mid-thought. —you… you know? how? —his voice was almost a whisper, low and cautious, as if he feared the answer.
his heart felt heavy inside his chest. he imagined this moment countless times, played it out in restless dreams and waking nightmares. in those versions, your face twisted in fear, your steps quick as you turned to leave, your voice sharp with rejection. he’d wake up with a cold sweat, heart pounding, the taste of dread bitter on his tongue.
—your scars, —you murmured, —i’ve been studying magical creatures for years. i know how werewolf scars look.
there was a pause before he spoke again.
—aren't you scared of me?
you shook your head. —i’ve been afraid of people for most of my life. but not you. not ever you.
—i’ve had nightmares about this, you know? —he admitted suddenly, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. —about telling you. i thought… i thought it’d be the end of everything.
you shook your head again, a small smile in your lips. slowly, you moved your hand across the couch until your fingers brushed against his, then gently curled around them. his hand was tense, but he didn’t pull away. —it’s not the end of anything, —you whispered. —not even close.
EXTRA - FIRST KISS
christmas came, and the idea of going back home crossed your mind but then remus mentioned that he was staying at hogwarts over the holidays. the other marauders were all going home, and though he had brushed it off with a casual smile, you could see the truth behind it, he would be alone.
before leaving, james and sirius had cornered remus in the gryffindor common room, arms crossed and identical smirks plastered on their faces.
—so, —james said, —you and her are staying for christmas? alone?
—how scandalous, —sirius added.
remus sighed, rubbing his temples. —it’s not like that.
—sure it isn’t, —sirius teased. —mate, you can’t tell me this doesn’t mean anything. you’ve been pining for months, and now you get hogwarts all to yourselves? it’s practically a fairy tale.
james grinned. —just don’t forget to thank us in your wedding speech.
remus didn’t remember a better christmas. every day, you woke up a little later than usual and you'd go to the gryffindor common room, where you waited for him, your heart light with anticipation. you shared breakfast and then you'd both rush out into the snow, the cold air crisp on your skin. you'd play throwing snowballs, laughing as the flakes danced around you.
you’d walk hand in hand to hogsmeade, enjoying the quiet of the village while the snow continued to fall gently, almost like magic itself. even one day during the holidays, remus followed you into the slytherin common room for the first time and you couldn't help but laugh at his face when he saw that it was nothing like gryffindor's.
one evening, you were searching in the gryffindor common room for your mischievous bowtruckle. it loved the common room and to hide in it, and its love for mischief often drove you crazy. after scanning the room, you finally spotted it, hanging above you and remus’ heads. a tiny red bow was tied to one of its arms.
—for merlin's bear! —you called out, exasperated. —what are you doing up there? come down! you're gonna hurt yourself!
remus hummed, the bowtruckle with the red bow reminded him of something. it chirped loudly, as if to say, no way, and made no move to obey you. you sighed while remus finally recalled what the bowtruckle looked like.
—i think, hmm... it's playing to be a mistletoe.
the bowtruckle chirped again, giving remus the right. your eyes opened wide. remus cleared his throat, his voice low and slightly hesitant as he spoke. —well, i suppose... we don’t have much of a choice, do we?
your heart skipped a beat as you shook your head to his question and before you could overthink it, you stepped a little closer to him. you stood face to face for a few seconds as remus's hand brushed gently against your cheek and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.
he seemed to hesitate for a second, searching your face as though waiting for permission, for you to say something or do something. but you didn’t need to say anything. in that moment, he closed the distance between you both, his lips brushing yours gently.
it was soft, hesitant at first, but it was everything you’d been feeling since the first time you met him, all the small, quiet moments, the shared glances, the laughter, it all came to this shy kiss, and as he pulled away, your heart was already racing.
you both awkwardly laughed as the bowtruckle let itself fall from its perch, landing softly on your shoulder. it gave a satisfied chirp, as if pleased with its dramatic entrance. the little creature let the strand of hair that remus had tucked behind your ear to fall right back in front of your face again and it chirped, as if telling remus to do it again and kiss you one more time. you laughed, taking the bowtruckle off your shoulder and keeping him in your pocket while remus pushed your hair out of your face again.
harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader ― Harry doesn't know it yet, but the crush he has on a certain Slytherin Chaser is reciprocated.
part 2 of replaying your laughter.
slightly inspired by 'ivy' by Taylor Swift. the first part was through Harry's POV, this one is from the reader (1st person). if you enjoyed this 2nd part, you can always like, reblog, or write a comment!
word count: 3k
#masterlist!
His eyes are the same colour as my tie and it feels like a punch to the throat every single time that I’m reminded of it, which occurs any time he’s mentioned. Unfortunately, that happens more often than not – even in the Common Room of the house that proudly swears to hate him.
Though I was determined to forget him, I can't help myself from watching him sitting with his friends who brandish the same deep and vibrant colour on their robes, laughing at their jokes, smiling kindly – and awkwardly – at the kid with the camera and toothy grin. Though I was determined to forget him, my mind refuses to stop showing me his face every time I close my eyes at night. Though I have resolved that I must forget him, it is hard to do so when his presence haunts my dreams.
He’s ruining my life. The image of him, his smile, his eyes, his voice, all creep into my head, covering what is deemed unimportant – almost anything that isn’t him – like an ivy climbing over a stone wall, trapping me to the point where it is suffocating. But the worst part is he doesn’t even know.
Peeling my eyes away from his back (it is a shame he didn’t sit on the other side of the Gryffindor table), I catch Luna’s eyes. I smile at her and raise a hand as a greeting. She mirrors my action, though more enthusiastically, and the scarlet and golden flecks of the lion hat she’s wearing move from one side to the other. I giggle at her creation, remembering how she came up to me a few days ago explaining how she would support Gryffindor at the upcoming match.
“I just thought it’d be nice to tell you. I don’t want you to feel bad because of me,” she had said while we were on our way to our first class of the day.
“Luna, you could never make me feel bad,” I had answered, truth embellishing every word. “But, I do expect you to support Slytherin when we play against Hufflepuff.”
A pair of tender eyes suddenly grew curious about Luna's actions, following her line of vision by turning his head and finding me. Our eyes meet for a brief second, but I look away, going back to eating my toast and remembering the plays that Urquhart had prepared for today’s match. For a moment, my mind tricked me into believing I saw what resembled a smile on his face. It couldn’t have been.
The walk-back to the castle after the match and that conversation felt surreal. There was a massive and unforeseen flock of emotions that seemed to want to rip up my body, especially my mind by how fast it was racing. I was angry for the lost, conflicted because of the fight with Urquhart, surprised by my own magic after making him fly away several paces, irritated at the fact that I had to face Snape tomorrow for a detention that I didn’t deserve, confused as to why had Harry Potter even approached us; and just utterly elated.
For some reason, Harry had seen it fit to come near us – me? No, it couldn’t be. I was already spiraling –. For some reason, he’d called me a great Chaser. Not good, but great. Could it be…? No, I was going further down the rabbit hole. He was being nice, because that was who he was. Harry Potter was nice – and charming, and funny, and heroic, although Snape had only said it to mock him –, therefore, it was simply because of him being such a good person that he would compliment my skills as a Chaser.
That night, a single question kept me from resting. No matter how sore my muscles were from the match, how tired I was of simply thinking, I didn’t sleep a wink. It kept me up all night, and even when the sun was already rising, my mind insisted on repeating it.
Could it be?
It had taken an insane amount of willpower to not yawn in front of Professor Snape while we – he – discussed the terms of my detention, though the bags under my eyes did little to take away the attention from the fact that I hadn’t slept at all. The whole time I was thinking about how Harry Potter was really ruining my life, because I didn’t know how I would manage to go through all of my classes after spending the night thinking about him.
I was leaving Snape’s office with my bag, a stomach ready to devour breakfast, and a two-week more or less decent detention on my back, when he called me. Salazar, if he’s thinking about adding up a week…
“That display of wandless magic was… quite efficient.” Were my ears deceiving me? “Never use it against your Slytherin peers again.”
Should I use it against Gryffindors, then? The remark died in my throat. I did not want more detention. I accepted whatever sort of compliment – because Snape didn’t use the word efficient, even less with a quite in front, offhandedly – was that and left the room, not without uttering a ‘thank you’ and ‘of course, Professor, it won’t happen again’.
My pace, and my mind, were a little lighter as I made my way to the Great Hall. A small smile settles on my face, proud of myself and my magic, as I walk towards my usual place at the Slytherin table. Most students have already had breakfast, making the long table not as crowded, and that is why Harry Potter decides, on a whim, to approach it quickly with a half-eaten toast in his hand and crumbles scattered across his robes.
For one or two seconds, I stare at him – it seems to be all I do these days –.
For two or three seconds, he stares at me, surprised, perhaps, that he’s even here.
“How did your conversation with Snape go?” Why was he asking me that? Before I can answer, though, he appears to have realised something because it is all stretched out on his face. “Sorry- Hi, good morning. How did your conversation with Snape go?”
A laugh wants to escape my mouth, but I don’t let it in case Harry thinks it’s because I’m laughing at him. Instead, I remind myself to breathe and act cool, or at least casual.
“Morning.” I didn’t think it’d be this hard but the kind expression he has on his face stuns me for a moment. “Well- it, it went well. I’ll have to help Madam Prince at the library for two weeks, but I don’t mind it too much. I like it there.”
“I know.” His response, too quick to his liking depending on his widened eyes, causes a giddy feeling to spread through my body. “I- I meant… I’ve seen you there… only when I go with Hermione, from time to time.”
I nod, choosing not to say anything that would spur the redness that has overtaken his cheeks and neck. Instead, I mention something else. “He called my wandless magic ‘quite efficient’, as well.”
“Did he? Wow, you must be his favourite for saying something that sounds so much like a compliment.” I laugh at Harry’s response, closing my eyes and missing the way his are twinkling. “I think he basically called you gifted.”
Suddenly, Luna is right beside Harry, a beam on her face as she sees our interaction. “Quibbler?” She asks us. I nod at the same time I grab a toast from the table. “This one includes a section on different Tarot readings and spreads, (Y/N).”
“Nice! Thank you, Luna.”
“No problem,” Luna whispers. Now, looking up at Harry, she furrows her eyebrows. “What happened to you, Harry? Your face and neck are all red.” My lips are etched on a sheepish smile on my face, and my heart beats just a tiny beat faster at the prospect that I could be the cause of his blush.
The next time I see Harry, he doesn’t actually see me, and it’s not like I’ve planned it so it doesn’t count as spying or stalking. I had been sitting on the crook of one of the many archways that the castle had to offer, reading a muggle book that I’d brought from home, when I heard three different sets of footsteps, each accompanying a different voice. From the sound of it, they had stopped a few metres away from me, and based on the fact that they started talking about me, I assumed the big column blocked me from their view.
“Why are you suddenly friends with that Slytherin?” Ron had asked, his face set on a scowl from the way his voice sounded.
“I think she is… nice, and kind… and friendly.”
“Friendly? Harry, she’s a Slytherin! She cannot be friendly! None of them are.” Ron’s words would have hurt me in First Year. Now, I had learned to ignore whatever people had to say about my house. It’s not as if he didn’t have a reason, though. Unfortunately, the ones that were not nice were also the loudest, making themselves look big and threatening by spitting insults, and, in the process, giving the rest of us a bad reputation. Moreover, the fact that He Who Must Not Be Named once brandished the same colours didn’t help. “Is this… some kind of plan to find out whatever you think Malfoy is up to?”
My eyebrows furrowed instantly after hearing Ron’s question. My heart, instead, trembled, getting closer to breaking apart while my mind began to come up with doubts, ‘I told you so’s’, and inquiries.
Had Harry truly approached me only because he thought he’d get information about Malfoy from me? I wasn’t even friends with that arsehole! And speaking of him, did Harry believe he was planning something? I mean, sure, he was acting stranger than usual, but at the end of the day, it was Malfoy we were talking about here! He’s always scheming and he’s prone to acting weirdly. I could try to pry something from Zabini… Nah, that would never work out.
“No! No! I- I hadn’t even thought of that…” In the middle of my mental war, I heard Harry’s answer, catching myself almost too late to sigh in relief. They couldn’t know I was listening in to their conversation. That would surely make me more suspicious in Ron’s eyes. “She’s…”
Silence passed between the trio while Ron and Hermione waited for Harry to finish his sentence.
“Well, she’s Luna’s friend. And I trust Luna, so I trust her.” A smile grew on my face.
“Trust is a big word for a Slytherin.” The smile almost, almost, faltered.
“You know what, Ron? I think you’d actually be good friends if you gave her a chance.” This was Hermione’s first contribution to the discussion, which surprised me quite a bit. I knew my housemates hadn’t been exactly friendly towards her, especially Malfoy and his gang of illiterate fools, so the fact that she would defend me in some way shocked me.
“Sure, we’d be best mates.” I could picture Ron’s disgusted face perfectly on my head. I giggled quietly at it. It was a shame, we would make good friends.
Sipping my drink quietly, I looked at the different faces round the wooden table. Sitting idly between Professor Slughorn and Zabini, I avoided Marcus Belby devouring his food by locking eyes with Hermione. Her face almost made me cackle, Zabini’s wasn’t helping my case either. Sitting on the other side of Slughorn was Cormac McLaggen, the most obnoxious Gryffindor I had ever met, sending furtive glances towards Hermione. Salazar, I’d never want to be in her place. Neville Longbottom, seemingly just enjoying the fact that he had been invited, and Harry stood on each side of her. I forced myself not to stare at Harry – or at least, not so much as usual. The twins I had encountered a few times, though I had to avoid them daily because their stares and questions creeped me out; but I’d never seen the boy beside Harry. Only one was missing, Ginny Weasley.
I jump at Slughorn’s sudden call of my name. “I hear you’ve got a business going on. Tarot readings, isn't it?”
My ‘business’, as Professor Slughorn called it, was always supposed to be secret. Particularly, because I had never bothered to check if it was permitted for a student to offer such ‘services’ at Hogwarts. I guess the mortified look on my face amused Professor Slughorn enough to laugh soundly. “Oh, do not fret, Miss. No one will expel you for that. But do tell me, are you thinking of doing it professionally?”
“Well -” Usually, I was not the shy kind, but I knew that if I moved my eyes towards the other side of the table, I’d see Harry looking at me because I could feel his green eyes observing me. Also, I felt the need to impress Professor Slughorn. He was a great teacher in my eyes, I enjoyed his classes, and he had good connections in the Wizarding World. “In a sense, I think I’d like to do it professionally, maybe even try my luck in the muggle world. But, I’ve always wanted to explore other branches of Divination, maybe even research them in depth.”
“You said something about the muggle world, muggles are aware of these practices, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are, sir. It was actually my muggle grandmother who taught me how to read the cards.”
Professor Slughorn hummed content. Pleased with my answer and his nod of approval, I let myself relax and smile. “That is certainly interesting, Miss. When I’m no longer your teacher, I shall ask for a reading for myself. What do you think, Mister Potter? Do you think we can predict the future?”
Finally, I looked up, linking my eyes with his. He had already been gazing at me, his green eyes fixing on mine the moment I moved my head towards him.
“Well, only if the person predicting the future is an exceptionally gifted witch or wizard, sir.” There was a boyish beam on his face that pushed me to grin back at him.
Slughorn’s Christmas party looked more promising than I was expecting it to be. Perhaps it was due to the lavishly decorated room, the music playing in the background, and the never-ending incoming of trays filled with food. The guests who weren’t classmates were also interesting. It was hard sometimes to imagine a life outside of Hogwarts, especially with a war brewing, but seeing all these witches and wizards gave me a sense of comfort.
I start roaming around the room alone a few minutes after I arrive. It had been some sort of beneficial agreement for both me and my date. Neither of us would've wanted to show up at this party alone – I knew it even if he hadn’t necessarily told me so –, but we didn’t tolerate each other enough to spend the night attached to the hip.
It’s not as if I’m searching the room for him specifically, still I flinch a bit when I find him on the other side of Slughorn’s office. He hasn’t seen me, so I take this small moment to compose myself and to think of my next move, playing with the purple heart-shaped pendant that matches the deep hues of my long dress. The fabric is rich in colours and the tiny rocks that are sewn into the bodice seem to reflect the warm light that illuminates the room.
Taking a deep breath, I let my eyes wander across the room once more, looking at everything except at where he is. A handful of guests are chatting with each other, some are hoarding the food, and others are just arriving. Finally, our eyes meet for the first time tonight. He appears to have forgotten the fact that he was just talking with someone because he starts moving towards me without even saying anything to the guest he’d been entertaining. In the middle of his walk, as a greeting, he raises his right hand, which stays for barely one or two seconds hovering over his heart when he’s putting it down.
When he reaches me, alone in one of the corners, I can only describe the expression on his face as dumbfounded. He struggles to keep his eyes set on my face and not let them scan the way this dress is hugging my body. “H-Hi!” His excitement is heard through his voice. Also his nervousness. “You- you look…” His mouth opens and closes, and I giggle at the way he reminds so much of a fish right now. “You look… Godric, beautiful doesn’t do you any justice.” He whispers this as if he hadn’t wanted me to hear, but I do.
I want to scream. I want to start dancing around the room. I want to cry. I want to grab his face and kiss him until we’re both suffocating. I don’t do any of those things.
“Who, um, who did you come with?” He asks.
“Seeing as someone asked Luna before I got the chance, I had to resort to other… options.” My eyes settle on Zabini, chatting up a guest across the room.
Harry laughs sheepishly, “Right, sorry. It was either Luna or one girl who wanted to give me a love potion.”
“Oh! Then I’m glad you got to Luna first.”
There’s a moment of silence that, surprisingly, does not feel awkward.
“I, uh, I was about to ask you, actually, but,” Harry turns his face towards me and I see him gulp “I didn’t know if you would’ve been up to it.”
I look at him, gazing at him in this warm-lighted room makes my head dizzy. His black robe is elegant and fitting, and there is something, just something, that seems to be calling me to run my fingers through his hair. But I control my urges and save myself the embarrassment.
“I would’ve.”
“That’s good to know.”
Two weeks after, I find myself having a laugh over a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks with Harry Potter. My cheeks hurting from smiling so much and my stomach flipping because of something that I know has nothing to do with my drink, I choose to ignore the nasty feeling in my gut warning me about how this might not last long. Whatever time I can spend with him, I’ll take it.
harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader ― Harry has a crush on a Slytherin, which could collapse the entire school, but he doesn't seem to care much.
slightly inspired by 'message in a bottle' by taylor swift. there could be a second part if anyone's interested in it. don't forget to like, or reblog, or leave a comment! those are always appreaciated.
word count: 1.4k
part two (covered in you)
#masterlist!
Harry was sure that half – maybe even more than half – of Gryffindors House would never forgive him for having a crush on a Slytherin. Yet, Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care. The lot of them had called him a liar just last year, and none of them, friends or not, had the right to tell him who was appropriate enough or not to go on a date with.
It was hard not to miss her when she was one of the few Slytherins in Harry’s year who had never insulted him nor any of his friends. As a half-blood, she didn’t care about ‘blood traitors’ or muggleborns nor was she a member of Malfoy’s gang. Also, the fact that she was best friends with Luna Lovegood made her trustworthy in Harry’s eyes.
Although they had shared many classes during their years at Hogwarts, Harry didn’t know when he’d started to feel this way towards her. Had it been during their third year, after he’d seen her yell curses at Marcus Flint because he didn’t want girls in the Slytherin Quidditch Team? Had it been during their fourth year, after he saw her in an elegant, deep blue gown at the Yule Ball dancing with a Ravenclaw a year older than them? Had it been during their fifth year, after he’d seen her comfort two first years from Slytherin and Hufflepuff that had spent their afternoon in Umbridge’s office? Had these feelings been there since he’d met her on the train in their first year after she couldn’t find her older sister?
Has he always been so clueless?
Now, despite the fact that this recently discovered crush made Harry’s heart almost burst out of his chest any time he’d see her – whether in real life or in his dreams –, it didn’t mean that he would easily hand the victory to Slytherin in the match they were about to play.
Standing face to face with Urquhart, Slytherin’s new Quidditch Captain, Harry tried to avoid her eyes and how imposing she looked dressed in the deepest hue of emerald green. Still, when Madame Hooch blew the whistle, Harry couldn’t help but raise his head in her direction. Her eyes quickly settled on his, and Harry almost punched himself for being the first one to look away.
Up in the sky, a hand on his broom keeping him steady, he thought he’d have a moment of peace from her. But, in his defence, flying round the pitch looking for the snitch and making sure that his team was playing well eventually led him to find the force of nature that was her on top of a broom. Watching the speed at which she flew, Harry was somewhat relieved that she had never intended to become a Seeker. Yet, as magnificent as she was with a Quaffle in her hands, Ron’s confidence that there was Liquid Luck running through his system managed to block all of the shots she’d thrown at him. Anyone could tell from the look on her face and her stance on her broom that she wanted to rip off Ron’s head, probably use it to mark a few points as well. Her kindness, Harry realised then, did not make her less of a competitive hothead.
The match finished with the snitch in Harry’s hands, granting yet another win to Gryffindor. A smile on his face, he let his eyes trail over his team, each with a grin on their faces as big as his. He saw Ron lifting both of his arms, celebrating with the scarlet and gold crowd, and Ginny dive-bombing into the podium from where Zacharias Smith had been calling the match.
Harry looked for her once more, finding her already on the ground with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. He’d started descending when he saw what seemed to be a fight between her and Urquhart. The Slytherin Quidditch Team had a finger pointed to her chest, which she quickly dismissed with a jab of her hand and a hissed that Harry got to hear as a ‘Don’t fucking touch me’. This infuriated Urquhart more, making him get closer to her face, but with only a stamp of her foot, she sent him flying backwards.
Madame Hooch’s whistle blew loudly across the pitch, and the crowd finally caught on what was happening. Harry saw them go from celebrating, or sulking in the case of the silver and green sea of people, to whispering excitedly about the tussle. Urquhart was now marching in her direction, though Harry noticed some hesitation on his pace when the determination settled on her face. He had known, not that Harry spent a lot of time observing her, that she was very capable at wandless magic. In Urquhart’s case, he was always ready to start a brawl, yet he never saw through; opting, instead, to play it cool when he realised that he wouldn’t come out triumphant.
Because of some kind of instinct, Harry drew closer to the Slytherin Quidditch Team, standing a few paces behind her. Zabini observed him, his eyes were narrowed and his arms were crossed; it was clear he wasn’t there to stop his teammates from fighting each other. Suddenly, Snape stood between Urquhart and (Y/N). His face was rougher than usual and with only a few words he sent the Slytherin Captain back to the castle. Then, Snape turned to them, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Harry.
“Potter, shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Said Snape. The mere mention of the word ‘celebrating’ added a layer of disgust to his face. “Or is it that you cannot bear that the attention is not on you?”
Before answering, he looked at her. She had glanced back at him at the mention of his name, clearly surprised that he was here. Their eyes met for a brief second, one in which Harry noted the colour of his eyes was similar to that of her robes.
“I was only making sure that none of the players of your house got hurt. Seeing as Malfoy wasn’t here to play today, to get yet another replacement would surely affect the team.”
“How… heroic. Always ready to save the day, Potter.” Harry smiled sarcastically at Snape’s comment. “Miss, I expect to see you at my office tomorrow morning. We will discuss your detention.”
“Detention? Urquhart was the one to start the fight. He was the one yelling at me and getting all over my face.” Harry was certain that weren’t for the fact that Snape was a professor and the Head of her House, he would have suffered the same fate as Urquhart, thrown back across the pitch. He stopped himself from laughing at the mental picture of that.
“It’s not up to discussion, but if you keep complaining you will do a month of detention rather than two weeks.” With her silence and the matter already settled, Snape started walking towards the castle, Zabini and the rest followed him.
Now that the two of them were alone, Harry didn’t know what to say. The bleachers were emptying, some members of his team had already left the pitch.
“Um, thanks for that, I guess,” she mumbled. It seemed she didn’t know what to say either.
“Uh, yeah, no problem.”
There was another moment of silence where both of them avoided each other’s gaze, looking at their shoes or the brown gloves on their hands.
“What did- What did Urquhart say to you?” Harry asked. He was curious, but he also wanted to keep talking to her.
“He basically blamed the loss on me, saying I wasn’t fast enough or my aim was off, which could be true, but it’s not as if the rest of the team got the same. He said it to me because I’m the only girl, so…”
“So he’s a prick and no better than Flint.”
She laughed at that, softly and probably reminiscing that time she cursed him for not wanting to put her on the team. Harry swore that if he could hear that laugh play in the back of his mind forever, he wouldn’t need anything else. It would be her laugh that’d spurred him on. He thought about running to Dumbledore’s office and using the pensieve to replay this moment over and over again.
“Yeah, at least Montague would yell at all of us.” She mentioned while beginning to play with the strap on her gloves. “Anyways, I think it’s time for me to get back, and you have a win to celebrate.”
“Yeah, yeah, I do. But, um, you played well today. You’re a great Chaser.”
She whispered a small ‘thanks’, biting her lower lip in an attempt to contain the grin that was about to erupt in her face.
harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader ― Harry doesn't know it yet, but the crush he has on a certain Slytherin Chaser is reciprocated.
part 2 of replaying your laughter.
slightly inspired by 'ivy' by Taylor Swift. the first part was through Harry's POV, this one is from the reader (1st person). if you enjoyed this 2nd part, you can always like, reblog, or write a comment!
word count: 3k
#masterlist!
His eyes are the same colour as my tie and it feels like a punch to the throat every single time that I’m reminded of it, which occurs any time he’s mentioned. Unfortunately, that happens more often than not – even in the Common Room of the house that proudly swears to hate him.
Though I was determined to forget him, I can't help myself from watching him sitting with his friends who brandish the same deep and vibrant colour on their robes, laughing at their jokes, smiling kindly – and awkwardly – at the kid with the camera and toothy grin. Though I was determined to forget him, my mind refuses to stop showing me his face every time I close my eyes at night. Though I have resolved that I must forget him, it is hard to do so when his presence haunts my dreams.
He’s ruining my life. The image of him, his smile, his eyes, his voice, all creep into my head, covering what is deemed unimportant – almost anything that isn’t him – like an ivy climbing over a stone wall, trapping me to the point where it is suffocating. But the worst part is he doesn’t even know.
Peeling my eyes away from his back (it is a shame he didn’t sit on the other side of the Gryffindor table), I catch Luna’s eyes. I smile at her and raise a hand as a greeting. She mirrors my action, though more enthusiastically, and the scarlet and golden flecks of the lion hat she’s wearing move from one side to the other. I giggle at her creation, remembering how she came up to me a few days ago explaining how she would support Gryffindor at the upcoming match.
“I just thought it’d be nice to tell you. I don’t want you to feel bad because of me,” she had said while we were on our way to our first class of the day.
“Luna, you could never make me feel bad,” I had answered, truth embellishing every word. “But, I do expect you to support Slytherin when we play against Hufflepuff.”
A pair of tender eyes suddenly grew curious about Luna's actions, following her line of vision by turning his head and finding me. Our eyes meet for a brief second, but I look away, going back to eating my toast and remembering the plays that Urquhart had prepared for today’s match. For a moment, my mind tricked me into believing I saw what resembled a smile on his face. It couldn’t have been.
The walk-back to the castle after the match and that conversation felt surreal. There was a massive and unforeseen flock of emotions that seemed to want to rip up my body, especially my mind by how fast it was racing. I was angry for the lost, conflicted because of the fight with Urquhart, surprised by my own magic after making him fly away several paces, irritated at the fact that I had to face Snape tomorrow for a detention that I didn’t deserve, confused as to why had Harry Potter even approached us; and just utterly elated.
For some reason, Harry had seen it fit to come near us – me? No, it couldn’t be. I was already spiraling –. For some reason, he’d called me a great Chaser. Not good, but great. Could it be…? No, I was going further down the rabbit hole. He was being nice, because that was who he was. Harry Potter was nice – and charming, and funny, and heroic, although Snape had only said it to mock him –, therefore, it was simply because of him being such a good person that he would compliment my skills as a Chaser.
That night, a single question kept me from resting. No matter how sore my muscles were from the match, how tired I was of simply thinking, I didn’t sleep a wink. It kept me up all night, and even when the sun was already rising, my mind insisted on repeating it.
Could it be?
It had taken an insane amount of willpower to not yawn in front of Professor Snape while we – he – discussed the terms of my detention, though the bags under my eyes did little to take away the attention from the fact that I hadn’t slept at all. The whole time I was thinking about how Harry Potter was really ruining my life, because I didn’t know how I would manage to go through all of my classes after spending the night thinking about him.
I was leaving Snape’s office with my bag, a stomach ready to devour breakfast, and a two-week more or less decent detention on my back, when he called me. Salazar, if he’s thinking about adding up a week…
“That display of wandless magic was… quite efficient.” Were my ears deceiving me? “Never use it against your Slytherin peers again.”
Should I use it against Gryffindors, then? The remark died in my throat. I did not want more detention. I accepted whatever sort of compliment – because Snape didn’t use the word efficient, even less with a quite in front, offhandedly – was that and left the room, not without uttering a ‘thank you’ and ‘of course, Professor, it won’t happen again’.
My pace, and my mind, were a little lighter as I made my way to the Great Hall. A small smile settles on my face, proud of myself and my magic, as I walk towards my usual place at the Slytherin table. Most students have already had breakfast, making the long table not as crowded, and that is why Harry Potter decides, on a whim, to approach it quickly with a half-eaten toast in his hand and crumbles scattered across his robes.
For one or two seconds, I stare at him – it seems to be all I do these days –.
For two or three seconds, he stares at me, surprised, perhaps, that he’s even here.
“How did your conversation with Snape go?” Why was he asking me that? Before I can answer, though, he appears to have realised something because it is all stretched out on his face. “Sorry- Hi, good morning. How did your conversation with Snape go?”
A laugh wants to escape my mouth, but I don’t let it in case Harry thinks it’s because I’m laughing at him. Instead, I remind myself to breathe and act cool, or at least casual.
“Morning.” I didn’t think it’d be this hard but the kind expression he has on his face stuns me for a moment. “Well- it, it went well. I’ll have to help Madam Prince at the library for two weeks, but I don’t mind it too much. I like it there.”
“I know.” His response, too quick to his liking depending on his widened eyes, causes a giddy feeling to spread through my body. “I- I meant… I’ve seen you there… only when I go with Hermione, from time to time.”
I nod, choosing not to say anything that would spur the redness that has overtaken his cheeks and neck. Instead, I mention something else. “He called my wandless magic ‘quite efficient’, as well.”
“Did he? Wow, you must be his favourite for saying something that sounds so much like a compliment.” I laugh at Harry’s response, closing my eyes and missing the way his are twinkling. “I think he basically called you gifted.”
Suddenly, Luna is right beside Harry, a beam on her face as she sees our interaction. “Quibbler?” She asks us. I nod at the same time I grab a toast from the table. “This one includes a section on different Tarot readings and spreads, (Y/N).”
“Nice! Thank you, Luna.”
“No problem,” Luna whispers. Now, looking up at Harry, she furrows her eyebrows. “What happened to you, Harry? Your face and neck are all red.” My lips are etched on a sheepish smile on my face, and my heart beats just a tiny beat faster at the prospect that I could be the cause of his blush.
The next time I see Harry, he doesn’t actually see me, and it’s not like I’ve planned it so it doesn’t count as spying or stalking. I had been sitting on the crook of one of the many archways that the castle had to offer, reading a muggle book that I’d brought from home, when I heard three different sets of footsteps, each accompanying a different voice. From the sound of it, they had stopped a few metres away from me, and based on the fact that they started talking about me, I assumed the big column blocked me from their view.
“Why are you suddenly friends with that Slytherin?” Ron had asked, his face set on a scowl from the way his voice sounded.
“I think she is… nice, and kind… and friendly.”
“Friendly? Harry, she’s a Slytherin! She cannot be friendly! None of them are.” Ron’s words would have hurt me in First Year. Now, I had learned to ignore whatever people had to say about my house. It’s not as if he didn’t have a reason, though. Unfortunately, the ones that were not nice were also the loudest, making themselves look big and threatening by spitting insults, and, in the process, giving the rest of us a bad reputation. Moreover, the fact that He Who Must Not Be Named once brandished the same colours didn’t help. “Is this… some kind of plan to find out whatever you think Malfoy is up to?”
My eyebrows furrowed instantly after hearing Ron’s question. My heart, instead, trembled, getting closer to breaking apart while my mind began to come up with doubts, ‘I told you so’s’, and inquiries.
Had Harry truly approached me only because he thought he’d get information about Malfoy from me? I wasn’t even friends with that arsehole! And speaking of him, did Harry believe he was planning something? I mean, sure, he was acting stranger than usual, but at the end of the day, it was Malfoy we were talking about here! He’s always scheming and he’s prone to acting weirdly. I could try to pry something from Zabini… Nah, that would never work out.
“No! No! I- I hadn’t even thought of that…” In the middle of my mental war, I heard Harry’s answer, catching myself almost too late to sigh in relief. They couldn’t know I was listening in to their conversation. That would surely make me more suspicious in Ron’s eyes. “She’s…”
Silence passed between the trio while Ron and Hermione waited for Harry to finish his sentence.
“Well, she’s Luna’s friend. And I trust Luna, so I trust her.” A smile grew on my face.
“Trust is a big word for a Slytherin.” The smile almost, almost, faltered.
“You know what, Ron? I think you’d actually be good friends if you gave her a chance.” This was Hermione’s first contribution to the discussion, which surprised me quite a bit. I knew my housemates hadn’t been exactly friendly towards her, especially Malfoy and his gang of illiterate fools, so the fact that she would defend me in some way shocked me.
“Sure, we’d be best mates.” I could picture Ron’s disgusted face perfectly on my head. I giggled quietly at it. It was a shame, we would make good friends.
Sipping my drink quietly, I looked at the different faces round the wooden table. Sitting idly between Professor Slughorn and Zabini, I avoided Marcus Belby devouring his food by locking eyes with Hermione. Her face almost made me cackle, Zabini’s wasn’t helping my case either. Sitting on the other side of Slughorn was Cormac McLaggen, the most obnoxious Gryffindor I had ever met, sending furtive glances towards Hermione. Salazar, I’d never want to be in her place. Neville Longbottom, seemingly just enjoying the fact that he had been invited, and Harry stood on each side of her. I forced myself not to stare at Harry – or at least, not so much as usual. The twins I had encountered a few times, though I had to avoid them daily because their stares and questions creeped me out; but I’d never seen the boy beside Harry. Only one was missing, Ginny Weasley.
I jump at Slughorn’s sudden call of my name. “I hear you’ve got a business going on. Tarot readings, isn't it?”
My ‘business’, as Professor Slughorn called it, was always supposed to be secret. Particularly, because I had never bothered to check if it was permitted for a student to offer such ‘services’ at Hogwarts. I guess the mortified look on my face amused Professor Slughorn enough to laugh soundly. “Oh, do not fret, Miss. No one will expel you for that. But do tell me, are you thinking of doing it professionally?”
“Well -” Usually, I was not the shy kind, but I knew that if I moved my eyes towards the other side of the table, I’d see Harry looking at me because I could feel his green eyes observing me. Also, I felt the need to impress Professor Slughorn. He was a great teacher in my eyes, I enjoyed his classes, and he had good connections in the Wizarding World. “In a sense, I think I’d like to do it professionally, maybe even try my luck in the muggle world. But, I’ve always wanted to explore other branches of Divination, maybe even research them in depth.”
“You said something about the muggle world, muggles are aware of these practices, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are, sir. It was actually my muggle grandmother who taught me how to read the cards.”
Professor Slughorn hummed content. Pleased with my answer and his nod of approval, I let myself relax and smile. “That is certainly interesting, Miss. When I’m no longer your teacher, I shall ask for a reading for myself. What do you think, Mister Potter? Do you think we can predict the future?”
Finally, I looked up, linking my eyes with his. He had already been gazing at me, his green eyes fixing on mine the moment I moved my head towards him.
“Well, only if the person predicting the future is an exceptionally gifted witch or wizard, sir.” There was a boyish beam on his face that pushed me to grin back at him.
Slughorn’s Christmas party looked more promising than I was expecting it to be. Perhaps it was due to the lavishly decorated room, the music playing in the background, and the never-ending incoming of trays filled with food. The guests who weren’t classmates were also interesting. It was hard sometimes to imagine a life outside of Hogwarts, especially with a war brewing, but seeing all these witches and wizards gave me a sense of comfort.
I start roaming around the room alone a few minutes after I arrive. It had been some sort of beneficial agreement for both me and my date. Neither of us would've wanted to show up at this party alone – I knew it even if he hadn’t necessarily told me so –, but we didn’t tolerate each other enough to spend the night attached to the hip.
It’s not as if I’m searching the room for him specifically, still I flinch a bit when I find him on the other side of Slughorn’s office. He hasn’t seen me, so I take this small moment to compose myself and to think of my next move, playing with the purple heart-shaped pendant that matches the deep hues of my long dress. The fabric is rich in colours and the tiny rocks that are sewn into the bodice seem to reflect the warm light that illuminates the room.
Taking a deep breath, I let my eyes wander across the room once more, looking at everything except at where he is. A handful of guests are chatting with each other, some are hoarding the food, and others are just arriving. Finally, our eyes meet for the first time tonight. He appears to have forgotten the fact that he was just talking with someone because he starts moving towards me without even saying anything to the guest he’d been entertaining. In the middle of his walk, as a greeting, he raises his right hand, which stays for barely one or two seconds hovering over his heart when he’s putting it down.
When he reaches me, alone in one of the corners, I can only describe the expression on his face as dumbfounded. He struggles to keep his eyes set on my face and not let them scan the way this dress is hugging my body. “H-Hi!” His excitement is heard through his voice. Also his nervousness. “You- you look…” His mouth opens and closes, and I giggle at the way he reminds so much of a fish right now. “You look… Godric, beautiful doesn’t do you any justice.” He whispers this as if he hadn’t wanted me to hear, but I do.
I want to scream. I want to start dancing around the room. I want to cry. I want to grab his face and kiss him until we’re both suffocating. I don’t do any of those things.
“Who, um, who did you come with?” He asks.
“Seeing as someone asked Luna before I got the chance, I had to resort to other… options.” My eyes settle on Zabini, chatting up a guest across the room.
Harry laughs sheepishly, “Right, sorry. It was either Luna or one girl who wanted to give me a love potion.”
“Oh! Then I’m glad you got to Luna first.”
There’s a moment of silence that, surprisingly, does not feel awkward.
“I, uh, I was about to ask you, actually, but,” Harry turns his face towards me and I see him gulp “I didn’t know if you would’ve been up to it.”
I look at him, gazing at him in this warm-lighted room makes my head dizzy. His black robe is elegant and fitting, and there is something, just something, that seems to be calling me to run my fingers through his hair. But I control my urges and save myself the embarrassment.
“I would’ve.”
“That’s good to know.”
Two weeks after, I find myself having a laugh over a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks with Harry Potter. My cheeks hurting from smiling so much and my stomach flipping because of something that I know has nothing to do with my drink, I choose to ignore the nasty feeling in my gut warning me about how this might not last long. Whatever time I can spend with him, I’ll take it.
harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader ― Harry has a crush on a Slytherin, which could collapse the entire school, but he doesn't seem to care much.
slightly inspired by 'message in a bottle' by taylor swift. there could be a second part if anyone's interested in it. don't forget to like, or reblog, or leave a comment! those are always appreaciated.
word count: 1.4k
#masterlist!
Harry was sure that half – maybe even more than half – of Gryffindors House would never forgive him for having a crush on a Slytherin. Yet, Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care. The lot of them had called him a liar just last year, and none of them, friends or not, had the right to tell him who was appropriate enough or not to go on a date with.
It was hard not to miss her when she was one of the few Slytherins in Harry’s year who had never insulted him nor any of his friends. As a half-blood, she didn’t care about ‘blood traitors’ or muggleborns nor was she a member of Malfoy’s gang. Also, the fact that she was best friends with Luna Lovegood made her trustworthy in Harry’s eyes.
Although they had shared many classes during their years at Hogwarts, Harry didn’t know when he’d started to feel this way towards her. Had it been during their third year, after he’d seen her yell curses at Marcus Flint because he didn’t want girls in the Slytherin Quidditch Team? Had it been during their fourth year, after he saw her in an elegant, deep blue gown at the Yule Ball dancing with a Ravenclaw a year older than them? Had it been during their fifth year, after he’d seen her comfort two first years from Slytherin and Hufflepuff that had spent their afternoon in Umbridge’s office? Had these feelings been there since he’d met her on the train in their first year after she couldn’t find her older sister?
Has he always been so clueless?
Now, despite the fact that this recently discovered crush made Harry’s heart almost burst out of his chest any time he’d see her – whether in real life or in his dreams –, it didn’t mean that he would easily hand the victory to Slytherin in the match they were about to play.
Standing face to face with Urquhart, Slytherin’s new Quidditch Captain, Harry tried to avoid her eyes and how imposing she looked dressed in the deepest hue of emerald green. Still, when Madame Hooch blew the whistle, Harry couldn’t help but raise his head in her direction. Her eyes quickly settled on his, and Harry almost punched himself for being the first one to look away.
Up in the sky, a hand on his broom keeping him steady, he thought he’d have a moment of peace from her. But, in his defence, flying round the pitch looking for the snitch and making sure that his team was playing well eventually led him to find the force of nature that was her on top of a broom. Watching the speed at which she flew, Harry was somewhat relieved that she had never intended to become a Seeker. Yet, as magnificent as she was with a Quaffle in her hands, Ron’s confidence that there was Liquid Luck running through his system managed to block all of the shots she’d thrown at him. Anyone could tell from the look on her face and her stance on her broom that she wanted to rip off Ron’s head, probably use it to mark a few points as well. Her kindness, Harry realised then, did not make her less of a competitive hothead.
The match finished with the snitch in Harry’s hands, granting yet another win to Gryffindor. A smile on his face, he let his eyes trail over his team, each with a grin on their faces as big as his. He saw Ron lifting both of his arms, celebrating with the scarlet and gold crowd, and Ginny dive-bombing into the podium from where Zacharias Smith had been calling the match.
Harry looked for her once more, finding her already on the ground with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. He’d started descending when he saw what seemed to be a fight between her and Urquhart. The Slytherin Quidditch Team had a finger pointed to her chest, which she quickly dismissed with a jab of her hand and a hissed that Harry got to hear as a ‘Don’t fucking touch me’. This infuriated Urquhart more, making him get closer to her face, but with only a stamp of her foot, she sent him flying backwards.
Madame Hooch’s whistle blew loudly across the pitch, and the crowd finally caught on what was happening. Harry saw them go from celebrating, or sulking in the case of the silver and green sea of people, to whispering excitedly about the tussle. Urquhart was now marching in her direction, though Harry noticed some hesitation on his pace when the determination settled on her face. He had known, not that Harry spent a lot of time observing her, that she was very capable at wandless magic. In Urquhart’s case, he was always ready to start a brawl, yet he never saw through; opting, instead, to play it cool when he realised that he wouldn’t come out triumphant.
Because of some kind of instinct, Harry drew closer to the Slytherin Quidditch Team, standing a few paces behind her. Zabini observed him, his eyes were narrowed and his arms were crossed; it was clear he wasn’t there to stop his teammates from fighting each other. Suddenly, Snape stood between Urquhart and (Y/N). His face was rougher than usual and with only a few words he sent the Slytherin Captain back to the castle. Then, Snape turned to them, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Harry.
“Potter, shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Said Snape. The mere mention of the word ‘celebrating’ added a layer of disgust to his face. “Or is it that you cannot bear that the attention is not on you?”
Before answering, he looked at her. She had glanced back at him at the mention of his name, clearly surprised that he was here. Their eyes met for a brief second, one in which Harry noted the colour of his eyes was similar to that of her robes.
“I was only making sure that none of the players of your house got hurt. Seeing as Malfoy wasn’t here to play today, to get yet another replacement would surely affect the team.”
“How… heroic. Always ready to save the day, Potter.” Harry smiled sarcastically at Snape’s comment. “Miss, I expect to see you at my office tomorrow morning. We will discuss your detention.”
“Detention? Urquhart was the one to start the fight. He was the one yelling at me and getting all over my face.” Harry was certain that weren’t for the fact that Snape was a professor and the Head of her House, he would have suffered the same fate as Urquhart, thrown back across the pitch. He stopped himself from laughing at the mental picture of that.
“It’s not up to discussion, but if you keep complaining you will do a month of detention rather than two weeks.” With her silence and the matter already settled, Snape started walking towards the castle, Zabini and the rest followed him.
Now that the two of them were alone, Harry didn’t know what to say. The bleachers were emptying, some members of his team had already left the pitch.
“Um, thanks for that, I guess,” she mumbled. It seemed she didn’t know what to say either.
“Uh, yeah, no problem.”
There was another moment of silence where both of them avoided each other’s gaze, looking at their shoes or the brown gloves on their hands.
“What did- What did Urquhart say to you?” Harry asked. He was curious, but he also wanted to keep talking to her.
“He basically blamed the loss on me, saying I wasn’t fast enough or my aim was off, which could be true, but it’s not as if the rest of the team got the same. He said it to me because I’m the only girl, so…”
“So he’s a prick and no better than Flint.”
She laughed at that, softly and probably reminiscing that time she cursed him for not wanting to put her on the team. Harry swore that if he could hear that laugh play in the back of his mind forever, he wouldn’t need anything else. It would be her laugh that’d spurred him on. He thought about running to Dumbledore’s office and using the pensieve to replay this moment over and over again.
“Yeah, at least Montague would yell at all of us.” She mentioned while beginning to play with the strap on her gloves. “Anyways, I think it’s time for me to get back, and you have a win to celebrate.”
“Yeah, yeah, I do. But, um, you played well today. You’re a great Chaser.”
She whispered a small ‘thanks’, biting her lower lip in an attempt to contain the grin that was about to erupt in her face.
summary ⸺ you, the princess of the nation, and choso, the son of your father's most trusted general, have been inseperable since birth. but after many deem it inappropriate for him to be so close to you, the distance between you and him only deepens after he leaves for war. when he comes back older and a more handsome, bigger version of the choso of your childhood, you both grapple with love, duty, and test the bounds of propierty.
warnings ⸺ smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, reader has a vagina, classism? not really, reader may seem pushy at times, not edited, very sweet love confession, happy ending, fingering, breast worship, virgin reader, mutual loss of virginity, mentions of sexism and archaic beliefs about virginity, pathetic choso, soft dom choso, p i v sex, gentle choso :(, me being really horny about his HAPPY TRAIL
a/n it's something about a hot decorated warrior that crumbles at the thought of you...
general masterlist
You and Choso had been inseparable since birth.
As the princess of the realm and the son of the general—your father’s most trusted advisor and sworn brother—it seemed ordained by fate itself that you should become steadfast companions. And companions you were; as babes, you darted through the royal gardens, frolicked in the halls of the palace, and devised schemes to escape the ever-watchful eyes of your tutors. Only the constraints of your education would separate you. You were confined to lessons in the classical tongues, the harp, and courtly diplomacy, while Choso immersed himself in the arts of the sword, the strategies of war, and the unyielding discipline of a soldier.
“Choso!” you squealed, your laughter ringing through the royal gardens as you fled from an imagined dragon. You ran toward him, your skirts billowing behind you, and found him poised and ready. His knees were bent, his gaze unwavering, and his small wooden sword clutched tightly in his hands. He glared past you at the phantom threat with the solemnity of a true knight.
“I will save you, Your Highness!” he roared and lunged, hacking away at the demon passionately. You cheered him on, giggling at his act.
“You’ve done it!” you cheered, clapping your hands in delight. But then your eyes widened in feigned terror. “Look, another one approaches!”
Choso spun around at your warning, his attention diverted just as you had planned. Seizing the moment, you imagined the dreadful beast closing in on his unguarded back.
“Watch out!” you exclaimed, grabbing a fallen branch to defend him. With a bold leap, you placed yourself between Choso and the imagined peril, brandishing your twig as though it were a knight’s blade.
“I’ve got you!” you declared, laughing as you swung your newfound weapon, the pair of you lost in the unrestrained joy of childhood.
Of course, while the king, your father, appreciated you so closely acquainted with his general’s son, your mother did not seem to think it wise that you become estranged from the daughters of nobles; after all, you would need to forge relationships early on to strengthen your future court. This led to many a playdates being interrupted.
“You didn’t need to save me!” Choso whined, pouting while crossing his arms.
However, you held out a pudgy hand, patting his hair as if to soothe him. “It’s okay, Choso. If you ever need saving, I’ll always be there—”
“YOUR HIGHNESS!” You heard footsteps running towards where the both of you were sitting idly. When parrying the imaginary monster’s attacks, you had tumbled on top of Choso, your dress and limbs entangled with his and both of your hair unruly. Hearing your governess’ voice led you to pout, for you were sure to earn a scolding for fooling around with Choso rather than practicing the violin for the nth time. Alas, you couldn’t escape her—as well as Choso’s nannies, who had appeared—and you both looked sheepishly at their horrified faces.
Frowning, Choso’s nanny stomped towards the both of you, untangling you both impatiently and, once you were both standing, giving Choso a light smack on his head while bowing towards you. “Your Highness, I apologize, but the both of you mustn’t do such things anymore. You both are far past the age that this is appropriate.”
“What?” You pouted, disappointed in having to back to your room, confined to practice your violin with those dreadful, boring tunes. “What isn’t appropriate about this? We’re just playing—”
“Your Highness,” your governess began, her strained smile barely masking her displeasure. “It is not fitting for a princess to engage in such… undignified behavior. You must remember your station. A young lady of your rank is expected to conduct herself with grace and decorum at all times.”
Choso’s nanny, now tidying his tousled hair with brisk, efficient motions, added in a sharper tone, “And you, young master, should remember your place. You are not her equal but her servant’s son. Such familiarity is unbecoming.”
At her words, Choso’s face turned pale, his gaze dropping to the ground. His hands clenched into small fists at his sides, but he said nothing, his lips pressed tightly together. You could see the effort it took him to remain still, his shoulders stiff with tension.
“Choso?” you called softly, tilting your head to catch his eye.
However, he did not look up, though his voice came, quiet and steady. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I… I won’t do it again.”
Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening at the sight of his downcast expression. “What are you apologizing for?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve done nothing wrong! We were only playing.”
“Your Highness!” your governess interjected, her tone scandalized. “Such defiance is unbecoming. You must understand—”
“I understand perfectly,” you snapped, cutting her off. “I understand that I don’t care for these rules. Choso is my friend, and I decide what is and isn’t proper!”
Choso’s nanny inhaled sharply, but he quickly stepped forward, shaking his head fervently. “Please, Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. “Don’t… don’t say such things for me. I’ll… I’ll do as I’m told. I promise.”
“Choso!” you exclaim, betrayed as the sting of his words settling in your chest. His gaze still refused to meet yours, fixed instead on the ground between you.
Your governess, sensing her victory, straightened. “Your Highness, you must return to your chambers immediately. Your music tutor is waiting. And as for you, Master Choso, your training will resume at once. I trust there will be no further disruptions.”
Neither of you spoke as the governess and the nanny ushered you away in opposite directions, their sharp voices ringing in your ears. Yet, as you glanced over your shoulder, you caught one last fleeting glimpse of Choso, his hesitant gaze finally meeting yours for the briefest of moments. It held a quiet resolve that only deepened your frustration.
“Wait and see,” you muttered under your breath as you were dragged back toward your chambers. “I’ll change this someday.”
That was the last time he ever spoke your name aloud; now, you were only Your Highness and The Royal Princess. It irritated you to no end; you were his friend, not his superior. But he insisted, falling deeper and deeper into the depths of social proprietary and hierarchy his nannies and parents were no doubt pressuring him into. You could only take what you had; if he was refusing your affection, he would at least not refuse royal commands of rendezvous.
Years had gracefully unfolded since that day, and now, as teenagers, your clandestine meetings in the royal gardens had blossomed into cherished rituals beneath the cloak of night. The gardens, adorned with that glowed under the moon's gentle gaze, became the sanctuary where you and Choso could momentarily escape the rigid expectations of courtly life.
As you approached the secluded alcove near the ancient marble fountain, your heart fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement.
And there he was.
Choso waited beneath the willow tree, his dark eyes darting between the swaying branches and the dimly lit path beyond. The shadows stretched long in the garden, and the faint sound of patrolling guards put a furrow in his brow. He shifted on his feet, arms crossed tightly as though bracing himself for some reprimand.
When you finally appeared, dressed in your lighter night robes, he let out a small breath of relief. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t—”
“Can you stop that?” You whine, brushing him off and making a move to sit in the swing right by the tree. You lightly swing your feet, establishing a gentle rhythm while you grin mischievously at him, meeting your lighthearted eyes with his furrowed, slightly worried ones. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Choso. No one’s going to catch us.”
He can only shake his head, for after years of friendship had led him to know one universal truth: if there was one thing, it was that your mind, once resolute, could not be changed. “I don’t know how you keep wanting to risk them discovering this.” Then, he sighs, lamenting weakly, “and why I have to dragged into this.”
You flash him an innocent smile, about to give a cocky response about how you’re the princess and it’s not like Choso doesn’t want this…right? but both of you pause, deadly still, when you hear the undeniable clinks of armor.
Patrolling guards.
Choso’s head snapped toward the sound, his body going rigid. It kind of dazes you, in a way, how his curriculum as a warrior leads him to be so alert. It’s also this moment that you realize how grown you both are becoming; it feels as if you’re stuck as a dainty princess, while he’s steadily growing taller and bigger, a smaller picture of his formidable father.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
You froze, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with him before instinctively ducking behind the grand marble fountain. The cold stone pressed against your back as the guards’ footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the bobbing light of their lanterns.
“Who’s there?” one of them called out, his voice sharp and commanding.
Choso shifted beside you, his breath quick and shallow. Your hand brushed against his arm in reassurance, but it did little to ease the tension radiating off him. The guards’ lanterns swept methodically across the gardens, their shadows flickering on the trees.
“Stay still,” Choso mouthed, his dark eyes fixed on the approaching light.
The guards drew closer, their boots crunching against the gravel path. You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, each second dragging on unbearably.
Then, a faint rustle to your left—a squirrel darting across the underbrush. The guards turned toward the noise, their lanterns swinging wide.
“Must’ve been an animal,” one muttered, though he sounded unconvinced.
“Keep looking,” the other replied gruffly. “The king’s orders were clear—no one’s to linger in the gardens after dark.”
The pair continued past, their voices fading as they moved toward the far side of the grounds.
You let out a shaky breath, but before you could fully relax, Choso grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We need to go deeper,” he said urgently, his voice low.
Without waiting for your agreement, he led you away from the fountain, weaving through the hedges and into the denser parts of the forest. The shadows thickened as the soft glow of the garden lanterns disappeared behind you. Branches brushed against your arms, and the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves filled the air as you ran.
“Choso!” you whispered breathlessly, struggling to keep up with his longer strides. “They’re gone!”
“Not far enough,” he replied, glancing back at you. “We can’t risk them doubling back.”
The forest grew darker the deeper you went, the canopy above blocking out most of the moonlight. Finally, when the sound of your own breathing seemed louder than anything else, Choso slowed to a halt beneath a towering oak.
“We should be safe here,” he murmured, releasing your hand.
You both sank to the ground, the soft carpet of moss cushioning your fall. For a moment, neither of you spoke, too winded to do anything but sit there, catching your breath. Then, a stifled giggle bubbled out of you, unable to contain the absurdity of the chase.
Choso shot you a warning look, but his resolve cracked when you pressed your hands over your mouth, failing to muffle your laughter. A small laugh escaped him in turn, and soon you were both doubled over, trying in vain to quiet yourselves.
“Shhh!” Choso whispered, though he was grinning. “You’ll get us caught.”
“You’re the loud one,” you whispered back, nudging him playfully.
Soon, the laughter slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Choso leaned back against the tree, his expression softening as he glanced up at the canopy. His eyes caught on something above, and he pointed. “Look—fruit.”
Following his gaze, you spotted the cluster of small, round pomengrenates hanging from a low branch. Choso stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, and reached up to pluck one. He examined it briefly before biting into it, his movements unhurried and deliberate.
“Are you just going to eat that without offering me one?” you asked, crossing your arms.
He smirked, holding another pomengrenate aloft. “You want it?”
“Obviously.”
But instead of handing it over, Choso lifted it above his head, his smirk widening. “Come and get it.” You stood up, moving closer to him to make a motion to grab the fruit. Alas, the effort was not fruitful.
“Choso!” you hissed, glaring at him as he kept the fruit just out of reach. You try many things: you grab his shoulder, tickle him on his stomach, and arms. However, it all is in vain.
“You’re the one who wants it,” he said, his head peering down at you in amusement.
You stood, determination written all over your face. “Fine. If you think I can’t—”
You leapt, swatting at his hand, but he easily moved the fruit higher, his height giving him the upper hand.
“You’re insufferable!” you said, laughing despite yourself as you tried again, this time jumping with more force. Still, you missed.
“Perhaps you should’ve been born taller,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Or perhaps you should stop being such a—” Before you could finish, he lowered the fruit suddenly, pressing it into your hand.
“There,” he said, smirking. “Satisfied?”
You took a triumphant bite, your glare softening into a grin. “For now.”
Settling back down, you both shared the fruit in companionable silence, the earlier tension of the night dissipating in the quiet forest. Yet, as you sat side by side, something about the way his gaze lingered on you—or perhaps the warmth blooming in your chest—made you wonder if these late-night meetings were becoming something more.
And then, years later, he left for war. Choso left for the battlefield, summoned to serve alongside his father as the general’s son.
The morning he departed was etched into your memory with painful clarity. The air was crisp, the kind that stung your lungs when you breathed too deeply, and the courtyard was alive with the sounds of preparation. Soldiers moved with purpose, their boots striking against the cobblestones in rhythmic determination. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their breaths rising like smoke in the cold air.
You stood at the edge of it all, your hands clasped tightly in front of you, trying to keep your expression composed. This was no place for a princess to display her feelings, no matter how tightly they knotted in her chest. Your father was nearby, speaking with the general in low, serious tones, his gaze sweeping over the troops with pride. Your mother was absent, as always, too preoccupied with courtly matters to concern herself with the departure of soldiers—even one who had once been your constant companion.
When Choso emerged from the crowd, his figure clad in the red, utilitarian uniform of a soldier, it was as though the rest of the scene blurred. The boy who had once darted through the gardens with you, his hair wild and his hands dirtied by mischief, now looked every inch the man his father had raised him to be. His hair was tied back, his face set in an unreadable mask of calm, and he carried himself with a solemnity that felt foreign.
He always did make you feel like a child. While you were still delaying acceptance of your fate as the princes—future queen—-he had grown into a man, fated to be a war general.
He approached slowly, each step deliberate. When he stopped before you, he did not smile. Instead, he bowed low, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. “Your Highness—”
But you had enough of that godforsaken title. “Why must you leave?” You cried, your voice breaking as Choso stood before you in the courtyard.
The image of the steeled soldier crumbled as his eyes softened in fondness and melancholy. “You know I must.”
You shook your head fervently, as if to vehemently deny what was undeniably the truth. “You know that’s not true.” And it wasn’t, for it would only take an imperial command of yours to bar him from ever entering the battlefield.
But it was his dream; you saw the way he looked at his father. To deny Choso the sword and the glory he was destined for was to chain him down, and you knew that. So instead, you shook off the idea, then blurted, “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”
The question hung in the air between you, heavy with expectation. He hesitated, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before it smoothed back into neutrality. “If time allows.”
That was all he offered. No promises. No reassurances. Just a vague, distant answer that left your heart sinking.
Outraged, and a bit petulant, you exclaimed. “What do you mean if time allows? Will you be so busy that you won’t have time? Are you not at least going to grant me some peace of mi—what is that?”
In the corner of your eye, you see something in his hand catch the sunlight, and glimmer. He hesitates, his hand clenching before inevitably opening his palm. A timid, “For you, Your Highness.”
An instinctual don’t call me that dies out in your throat as he shows you what he was hiding. In it he uncovers a small, delicate object—a pin shaped like a blooming flower, its petals carved with meticulous detail and painted in hues of white and gold.
You stared at it, your hands trembling as you took it from him. “What is this for?”
“It’s a symbol,” he explained, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Of where I’ll always be, even if I’m not here. Keep it with you, and you’ll know that... that I’ll do everything I can to return.”
“Oh, Choso.” Your bottom lip trembled as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your fingers closed around the pin, the intricate craftsmanship biting into your palm. Somehow, the weight of it felt heavier than it should’ve been. “I don’t want a pin, Choso,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I want you to stay.”
His expression softened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to you. But then he stilled, the rigidity in his posture a clear reminder of the boundaries he refused to cross.
Even so, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. The gift, despite your pain, was beautiful, and its meaning wasn’t lost on you. You sniffled, brushing a tear from your cheek with a trembling hand. “But it is beautiful, regardless,” you murmured, holding it up to the light. The golden edges of the petals gleamed softly, like sunlight captured in metal. “Put it in my hair?”
Choso blinked, caught off guard by the request. His gaze flickered between you and the pin, uncertainty etched into his features. “Your Highness, I—”
“Please,” you interrupted gently, tilting your head slightly toward him. “Just this once.”
He hesitated for a long moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he were battling some internal conflict. Finally, with a barely audible sigh, he reached out and took the pin from your hand.
You held your breath as he stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. His hand brushed against your hair and your neck as he carefully gathered a small section, his touch warm and deliberate. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips, earned from countless hours of swordsmanship, yet his movements were painstakingly gentle.
“There,” he said softly, stepping back to examine his work. His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his formal mask cracked ever so slightly. There was something in his eyes—something raw and unspoken—that made your chest tighten.
You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of the pin now nestled securely in your hair. “How does it look?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though the lump in your throat made it difficult.
Choso’s lips parted, but no words came. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting away as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. “It’s beautiful,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The horn sounded again, louder this time, breaking the fragile moment between you. Choso stepped back, the walls of propriety rising between you once more.
“Thank you,” you managed, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.
He bowed deeply, avoiding your eyes. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”
And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the faint scent of earth and steel, the pin in your hair a bittersweet reminder of the distance that now separated you.
For weeks after, you found yourself restless, wandering the garden paths where you had once talked and laughed together. You scribbled letter after letter, pouring out questions and updates, recounting bits of palace gossip and even sending sketches of the places you’d been. But no reply ever came.
At first, you tried to excuse it—surely, he was too busy, too occupied with the rigors of war to respond. Still, you kept writing, sending your letters to the front lines with the faint hope that one day, you’d receive one in return.
“Any news of the general’s son?” you would ask your father over dinner, feigning casual interest.
“He’s doing well,” your father would reply, distractedly cutting into his meal. “His tactics in the northern campaign have earned him commendation. A fine young soldier.”
You pressed further, ignoring the disapproving look your mother shot you. “And... is he safe?”
Your father raised a brow but indulged you. “Of course. The reports say he’s advancing quickly through the ranks. A promotion to captain is already under consideration.”
Your chest swelled with pride at the thought, but it was quickly eclipsed by frustration. If he was receiving such accolades, surely he could find the time to write a simple letter?
“Why do you trouble your father with such questions?” your mother chided later, her tone clipped. “The general’s son is serving the nation. You should focus on more important matters, like preparing for your duties.”
But your concern for Choso only grew. Whenever news from the front lines arrived, you would listen intently, hoping to hear his name mentioned. When you did, it brought a fleeting sense of relief, but it never lasted long.
The silence from him felt heavier with each passing month. You couldn’t understand it—how could someone who had once been your closest companion, who had sworn to always protect you, sever that bond so easily?
And yet, you never stopped writing. Each letter was folded with care, sealed with your personal wax stamp, and sent off with the same unwavering hope. Even if he didn’t reply, even if you didn’t understand why, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.
The city was alive with celebration, a symphony of cheers, music, and the occasional crackle of fireworks that lit up the night sky. The soldiers had finally come home after a long winded war, and you just couldn’t miss out on the excitement. After Choso’s departure, you had grown. Before you were a gangly teenager, but now you were a young woman. With this came you forming your own opinion, independent of our parents, and had developed a habit of frequently sneaking out of the palace.
You couldn’t bear to stay confined to the palace, not when the air was thick with excitement and the news of the army’s triumphant return had set the entire city alight. The soldiers, clad in polished armor that gleamed even in the dim light, strode through the streets in small groups while the people cheered on the sidelines. They carried themselves with the confidence of men who had seen battle and emerged victorious.
Young ladies lingered at the edges of the crowd, their eyes alight with hope as they watched the soldiers pass. Some called out to them, their voices playful and lilting, while others merely smiled shyly, clutching kerchiefs or flowers they clearly longed to offer. The soldiers, for the most part, maintained a stoic demeanor, though a few exchanged grins or nodded in acknowledgment, their faces betraying a mix of pride and exhaustion.
Children darted between legs, waving tiny flags and shouting in delight, while their parents looked on with a mix of relief and gratitude. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced wine wafted through the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the soldiers’ armor. It was a night of unity, of celebration, where the lines between commoner and noble blurred in the shared joy of victory.
Draped in a simple cloak to conceal your identity, you slipped past the guards at the palace gates, your heart pounding with both exhilaration and trepidation. The anonymity of the cloak felt liberating as you merged with the crowd, the world suddenly vast and unguarded in a way it never was within the palace walls.
Laughter surrounded you, the contagious energy of the revelry lifting your spirits as you wandered farther from the familiar confines of royal life. You paused to admire a street performer juggling flaming torches, your cloak billowing slightly in the breeze. But before you could move on, a sudden gust snatched the handkerchief tucked into your cloak.
You gasped, your fingers grasping for it, but the delicate fabric was already airborne, dancing above the heads of the crowd. You watched helplessly as it soared higher, carried by the playful wind. Instinctively, you gave chase, weaving through the throng of revelers as your heart raced with the thrill of pursuit.
The handkerchief drifted out of sight, disappearing beyond the swell of people. Your steps faltered, and you stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd in vain. It was only then that a firm hand shot up above the sea of heads, catching the fluttering fabric mid-air. The sight of your handkerchief, caught in a strong, gloved grip, sent a jolt through you.
Your gaze traveled upward, and there he stood—a figure that was at once familiar and startlingly different. His broad shoulders and proud stance were unmistakable even before he turned, his dark eyes locking with yours.
“Your Highness?” His voice was deep, steady, and entirely too familiar. Then, his eyes went to your hair—you, still wearing the hairpin he gave you that day—and they filled with a conflicted, longing sort of expression.
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze. He looked so much…bigger. He always had muscles due to his frequent physical lessons, but he was so much taller now, his face a lot more sculpted. Before you could interpret what the lurching in your heart meant, he took a step towards you. But before he could take another step toward you, you turned and ran instinctively, the sound of his voice chasing you as surely as his footsteps.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! If Choso knew you had sneaked out, he would send you right back, citing useless things about duty and protecting you. While your traitorous heart started beating faster as soon as you saw him—different, but still undeniably Choso—you knew your liberty was at an end if he sent you home and informed your parents of what you did.
You bolted as fast as you could, your cloak billowing behind you as you darted into a narrow alley. Footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, heavy and deliberate, chasing you down. You reached the end of the alley and stopped, your chest heaving, unsure whether to keep running or face him.
“Your Highness,” the voice came again, closer this time.
You spun around, and there he was. Choso. But he wasn’t the boy you remembered—he was a man now. Broad shoulders filled out his uniform, the insignia of his rank glinting on his chest. His hair was tied back, revealing a face hardened by battle and time. Yet his eyes, dark and intense, still held the same quiet depth you’d known as children.
He dropped to one knee, his hand over his heart. “Your Highness.”
You gaped at his display. Since when did he start kneeling? “What are you doing?”
His voice came out, devoid of the warmth you had once known. “It’s protocol, Your Highness.” His head remained bowed, his knee pressed to the uneven cobblestones, the hand holding your handkerchief resting against his heart.
But you were in denial, scrambling to pull him up by his arms. It was futile; he was way stronger than you, and at your touch, he jumped back, as if stung. Wounded, you urged him. “Get up,” you stepped closer, “Choso, it’s me. You don’t need to—”
“I must, Your Highness.” His tone was calm but resolute, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Unless you are issuing an imperial command, I have no choice but to honor the rules set forth by your station.”
You stared at him, your chest tightening. “An imperial command?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. You didn’t want commands; you wanted familiarity, the easy camaraderie you once shared.
“Yes, Your Highness.” He finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “If you do not wish me to kneel, then say it as such. Otherwise…” He lowered his head again. “This is my place.”
“Your place?” You felt a flicker of anger rise in your chest. “Choso, your place is by my side, as it always has been! Don’t—don’t treat me like some distant monarch.”
His shoulders tensed, and you thought you caught a flash of something—guilt, perhaps?—in the way his fingers tightened around the handkerchief. But still, he didn’t move.
Frustrated, you stepped even closer, your voice rising despite your efforts to remain calm. “Get up,” you said, reaching out and tugging at his arm. “I said, get up!”
“I cannot,” he said softly, the words cutting through your frustration like a blade. “Not unless you order it as my superior.”
You stared at him, a mix of hurt and disbelief swirling in your chest. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “If that’s what it takes, then I command you—get up, Choso. I command you to stand!”
For a moment, the tension lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Slowly, reluctantly, he rose to his feet, towering over you with a presence that felt both familiar and foreign.
But as you looked up at him, your frustration only grew. “This isn’t you,” you said, your voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “You’re treating me like I’m just your princess, like I’m someone you barely know. Do you even know how much it hurt when you never wrote back to me? I kept sending letter after letter, but it was like you didn’t care. Like you forgot about me.”
Choso’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It wasn’t my place to respond, Your Highness.”
It was that damn phrase. “Your place?” you echoed, now even more bitterly. “You were my friend, Choso. My closest friend. Now you stand here, calling me Your Highness like I’m a stranger, like we never ran through the gardens or talked under the stars. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
For a moment, his expression softened, but it was fleeting. He straightened, his demeanor distant once more. “It’s dangerous for you to be here,” he said quietly. “I need to call for a carriage to take you back to the palace.”
Your heart sunk to your derriere. If Choso did indeed send you back, your parents would undeniably discover that you’ve been sneaking out. “No!” you snapped, stepping forward. “You can’t. If my parents find out I was here, they’ll—”
“They’ll ensure your safety,” he interrupted, his voice steady but firm. “And that’s what matters.”
You stared at him, now anger bubbling in your chest. “So you’ll just hand me over like I’m some burden to be dealt with? What about you?” Then, in a strong fit, you bursted out. “Are you going to stay here and fool around with girls while I’m locked away in the palace?”
His eyes widened briefly at your accusation, a flicker of surprise breaking through his stoic mask. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step back. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“Fair?” you shot back, your voice trembling. “What’s fair about any of this, Choso? You’re not even trying to fight for us—for the friendship we used to have.”
He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Then make it simple!” you demanded, your heart aching with every word. “Stop pushing me away. Stop acting like I don’t matter to you anymore.”
For a moment, you thought he might say something—something real, something that would bridge the growing chasm between you. But instead, he turned away, his voice steady and distant as he said, “Wait here. I’ll call for the carriage.”
You watched him walk away, the ache in your chest spreading until it felt like it would consume you entirely. The handkerchief in your hand trembled as you clenched your fingers around it, your anger and sadness swirling into a storm of emotion.
And yet, even as he disappeared into the bustling streets, a part of you refused to believe this was the end. You couldn’t let it be.
Ever since his return to the palace, Choso has been ignoring you.
It’s not that you were spending every hour and every minute with him before, when he was just your childhood friend. However, you would meet everyday, whether it to be sneak off into the gardens at night, or meet for lunch or dinner. Even a request of yours could’ve secured a visit to town, the both of you going to town to eat pastries and street food while accompanied by a chaperone. Of course, that was due to your incessant pleas to your disapproving mother, but you could score an occasional playdate outside the palace every month or so.
But it feels…different. And he feels different.
You oft find yourself daydreaming about him, older and a decorated soldier. And before you can catch yourself, you find your cheeks heated and your heart set aflutter. It’s a bit mind-boggling, really. Ever since Choso left, none of the future dukes and lords had ever caught your attention, even at balls. Their gentle, weak disposition didn’t compare to your Choso, you always thought. Back then, you had always thought of it as pride for your best friend, but now…..
Musing aside, you’re tired of this distance Choso has created between you. So you choose to seek him out.
The castle courtyard was alive with the sharp clang of swords and the rhythmic stomp of boots on hard-packed dirt. You leaned over the balustrade of the upper terrace, concealed behind a stone pillar, watching the soldiers below. It wasn’t the sparring or the strategy that captivated you—it was Choso.
The sun bore down on him as he moved with precision and power, his blade a silver blur as he sparred with one of the veteran knights. His whole torso is bare; damp with sweat, the sun shines against the cords and cords of muscle that then lead to a string of hair that trails into his trousers. The muscles in his arms ripple with every swing and parry. You bite your lip, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks that you stubbornly attributed to the summer heat.
He had changed so much. Gone was the boy who had laughed with you under the willow tree and run with you through the gardens. In his place was a man who carried the weight of war on his broad shoulders, his every movement deliberate, his expression unreadable. And yet, despite the distance he put between you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.
When the sparring session ended, Choso handed his sword to a squire and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. You straightened as he turned, half-expecting him to glance up and spot you. But he didn’t. Instead, he spoke briefly to the knight, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. You couldn’t keep hiding and watching from afar. You had to speak to him, to demand answers for why he had been avoiding you since the day in the alley.
Quickly, you made your way down to the courtyard, your pulse racing as you rehearsed what you would say. But when you reached the training grounds, Choso was already heading toward the barracks.
“Choso!” you called out, your voice echoing across the courtyard.
He froze mid-step, his shoulders tensing before he turned slowly to face you. His expression was neutral, guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something he quickly masked.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. “What brings you here?”
You frowned, frustrated by the formality in his tone. “I wanted to speak with you,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy with training and my duties.”
“That’s a lie,” you said, crossing your arms. “You always find a reason to leave whenever I try to approach you. You didn’t even look at me after the alley—”
“Your Highness,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not proper for you to be seen in the training grounds.”
“Proper?” you repeated, anger flaring in your chest. “Since when do you care about what’s proper? You didn’t care when we were sneaking out or when we were running through the gardens—”
“That was different,” he said, his tone softer now. “We were children. Things aren’t the same anymore.”
“Why not?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why are you pushing me away?”
He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the soldiers milling about in the distance. “I’m not pushing you away,” he said finally. “I’m doing what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can ignoring me and avoiding me be what’s best for me?”
Choso didn’t answer. Instead, he bowed his head again, his hands clenched at his sides. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I need to return to my duties.”
And before you could stop him, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the courtyard, your heart aching with every step he took.
You paced the length of your chambers, clutching the skirts of your dress. It’s been two times that Choso dismissed since his arrival. Did he abhor you so?
It was as if an invisible wall had been erected between you, the builder of it Choso for some mysterious reason. Proprietary aside, it would be okay for the occasional chat, would it not? After all, he was still a noble in his own regard, and a conversation or two wouldn’t be frowned upon. So why was he ignoring you entirely?
You couldn’t take it anymore. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would ensure he had no choice but to stay by your side. If he truly detests it, you will let him go, no matter how painful it would be and how ardently you would mourn your friendship. But you needed to know.
Resolved, you marched to your parents’ audience chamber, where they were seated in quiet discussion. Your father looked up first, his brows furrowing slightly at your abrupt entrance. “What is it, my dear? You seem troubled.”
Your mother glanced at you as well, seated right next to the king, her sharp gaze assessing. “Has something happened?”
You straightened your shoulders, facing them both, willing your voice to remain steady. “Father, Mother, I have a request.”
Your father tilted his head, curious. “Go on.”
You hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I would like Choso to be assigned as my personal guard.”
The queen blinked, her lips pressing into a thin line, and questioned, “Choso?”
“Yes,” you said quickly to prevent your mother from getting a word in. “He’s proven himself in battle, hasn’t he? He’s been promoted several times for his skill and loyalty. Who better to protect me?”
Your father leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “It’s true he’s risen quickly through the ranks. He’s a fine soldier.”
“And he’s someone I trust,” you added, stepping closer. “He’s been by my side since we were children. I feel safer with him than with anyone else. With me growing into adulthood, there would be no one better to be by my side.”
Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with his recent return to the palace, would it?”
You met her eyes, refusing to back down. “It has everything to do with the fact that I need someone I can rely on. Someone who knows me.”
Your father exchanged a look with your mother, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I will speak to the general about the arrangement.” Then, a little wryly, he adds, “Although, I did hear that it was him that reported you when you were sneaking out in public. Perhaps it would be a fine match.” At that, your mother visibly bristled at the memory of hearing that you were out, unguarded.
At the king’s words, relief washed over you, but it was quickly tempered by your mother’s stern voice. “This is highly unusual, you know. A princess requesting a specific guard. People will talk.”
Inwardly, you rolled your eyes, but showing sass to your mother would mean that she would argue further. Instead, you went and showed her your pride. “Let them,” you said, lifting your chin. “I don’t care what they say.”
Your father chuckled softly, knowing you would say something of the sort. “Spoken like a true princess.”
“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head. “Both of you, Father and Mother.”
As you left the chamber, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was your chance—your chance to bring Choso back into your life. Whatever walls he had built between you, you were determined to tear them down.
The water was warm, steam curling gently around you as you leaned back in the large marble tub. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the tiled floor. It was one of the few moments you had to yourself, free from the watchful eyes of attendants and the endless constraints of royal duty. You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the water, allowing yourself to relax—until the door to your bathing chamber slammed open.
“Your Highness, why did you—” At first, Choso raised his voice slightly, storming in. Then, he stopped right in his tracks as he noticed you, and your face, your neck and then the rest of your body engorged in soapy, steamy water. Blushing furiously, he turned, scrambling for the door. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to—”
He was rigid as he stormed toward the exit, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the sight. “Choso, wait,” you called, your voice laced with amusement. He stopped abruptly, halting awkwardly in his tracks. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your new title,” you teased, “I’d prefer if you didn’t barge into the bathing chamber. Let us count ourselves lucky that you had not seen… more.”
It was nearly impossible not to laugh now. Even the back of his neck was flushed a deep crimson, and it struck you as absurdly endearing. The aloof and stoic soldier who had spent weeks ignoring you had crumbled into a shy boy at the mere sight of you in a tub. You supposed it made sense—he’d likely not had much interaction with women, what with his rigid dedication to the army. Still, his reaction felt... exaggerated.
Choso let out a shaky exhale, his voice strained when he finally spoke. “I apologize,” he said, his tone clipped as though to mask his discomfort. “But I must ask—why did you instate me as your guard?”
The answer was simple, and you played absentmindedly with a soap bubble as you replied, “Because there is no one I trust more than you.”
For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint dripping of water. Then, Choso spoke, his voice low and almost pained. “Why must you do this to me? Why must you torment me so?”
What?
His words pierced through the lighthearted atmosphere, leaving you stunned. A pang of hurt welled in your chest at the sharpness of his tone. “Does it torment you to be in my company?” you asked, laughing scornfully to hide the sting.
When he didn’t answer, the silence was louder than any words could have been.
“If it torments you,” you continued bitterly, “then so be it. You have already had my one liberty stripped away. Mother and Father have doubled the surveillance on me, all thanks to you.” The memory of your recent restrictions only added fuel to the fire of your frustration. “Is this not fair? An eye for an eye, then. Perhaps your torment will teach you to stop pretending you know what’s best for me.”
Still brimming with anger, you lifted your chin and gestured to the door. “You may leave now.”
For a moment, he stood there, the weight of his presence filling the room. Then, with a stiff nod, he turned to the door. “Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice cold and formal.
And then, he was gone.
You really do abhor dinner parties.
There’s much wrong with them, and if you had to, you could do a systematic rundown of every single grievance. The first and foremost was the absurd inability to properly enjoy the food. The chefs’ hard work deserved to be indulged in, not nibbled delicately with those ridiculous little spoons. And then there was the matter of breathing, which you could barely manage with your waist cinched so tightly and your bodice forcing your chest up like some cruel display. Sitting down practically demanded you forgo the simple luxury of air.
But the worst part? Having to entertain men.
“And I have acquired double the profits of Lord Gojo,” Lord Naoya declared, puffing his chest like a rooster preening in the henhouse. His voice boomed with self-importance, his words spilling out in a showy, rehearsed cadence.
You couldn’t help yourself—you smiled. And while it appeared to him as admiration, it was born of pure amusement. The man clearly thought you were too dim to know better, but you were well-versed in state finances. Lord Naoya’s exaggerated claims were as transparent as glass.
On your right, Choso sat silently, his role as your personal guard justifying his unusually close position. He had been quiet all evening, his eyes scanning the room more than his plate.
“And surely, a woman as lovely as yourself would agree that business acumen is the truest mark of a man’s value,” Naoya continued, leaning closer to you with a smirk you found utterly punchable.
You giggled, not at his words, but at the sheer absurdity of them. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, but your amusement couldn’t be fully hidden.
When you finally turned to glance at Choso, however, your mirth faltered. He wasn’t looking at Naoya anymore—his dark eyes were locked on you, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
He looked very upset.
You blinked, confused, before glancing back at Naoya, who was still prattling on, utterly oblivious. Was Choso… angry at you?
It didn’t make sense. After you had initiated him as your guard, he’d been resigned after that confrontation in your bathing chambers. Ever since, you’d seen him stoic, protective, and even exasperated, but this—this was different. The weight of his gaze lingered on you like a reprimand, and it unsettled you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.
“Your Highness, I trust you’d agree,” Naoya pressed, oblivious to the charged air.
“Agree?” you echoed, snapping back to attention. You hadn’t been listening, too distracted by Choso’s silent brooding. “Oh, of course,” you said vaguely, waving your hand with a polite smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Naoya looked pleased with himself, but you barely noticed. Your focus shifted back to Choso, who had turned his head forward, his jaw tight. You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Is something the matter?”
He didn’t look at you, his tone curt. “Nothing, Your Highness.”
Your stomach twisted at the formality. The night had already been exhausting enough, and now Choso was acting like you’d personally offended him.
“Choso,” you pressed, your voice softer now, “if I’ve done something to upset you—”
“It’s not my place to say,” he interrupted, finally looking at you. His gaze was sharp, cutting through your defenses. “But if I may offer counsel, I’d suggest not wasting your smiles on men like him.”
You blinked, taken aback. His words weren’t loud, but they struck with the force of a hammer.
“What does that mean?” you whispered, your amusement long gone, replaced by confusion—and something else you couldn’t quite name.
“It means,” Choso said, his voice low, “that he’s not worth it.”
His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication.
Before you could respond, the clinking of glasses drew everyone’s attention, and you were forced to look away as a toast was made. But even as the room filled with polite applause and laughter, your thoughts were consumed by Choso’s quiet but pointed remarks.
When you glanced back at him, his focus was elsewhere, his expression carefully neutral. Yet something about the tension in his shoulders told you that the conversation wasn’t over—not really.
And for the rest of the evening, Naoya’s words became nothing more than background noise, drowned out by the quiet storm brewing in Choso’s eyes.
The air in your chambers was warm, the faint crackle of the fireplace soothing you as your maid finished tugging the laces of your nightgown into place. The fabric was delicate, thin enough to feel the cool evening breeze against your skin despite the room's warmth. With a bow, the maid excused herself, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
Ever since that dinner party with Naoya, Choso had been more distant than ever. Before, it had seemed that he had warmed up to the task of being your guard; whenever you walked through the garden, you eventually warmed him enough that the both of you could converse during the stroll. Of course, it hadn’t returned to what it was like before, but it was still progress. However, now it seemed that all he had to offer was curt responses and avoidant stares.
The change grated on you, more than you cared to admit. You weren’t naïve; you knew something had shifted that night. The way he had looked at you, the way his words had cut—it all lingered, a splinter in your chest that you couldn’t pull free.
Still, tonight was meant to be routine, a brief reprieve from the emotional turmoil. You always ended your evenings with a massage, a small luxury that helped soothe the tension from the day. Summoning Choso to your chambers, you intended for him to call for the maid who usually performed the task.
When he arrived, his expression was as stony as ever. “You called for me, Your Highness?”
“Yes, Choso,” you said, smoothing your hands over the hem of your nightgown. You lazed back on your chaise lounge, head against pillow as you looked at him. “I need the maid for my massage. Could you fetch her?”
He hesitated. “The maids have retired for the night. Shall I summon someone from the servants’ quarters?”
You frowned. The thought of disturbing anyone at this hour felt excessive. Then, your gaze drifted to Choso, his broad shoulders rigid, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual formal stance. An idea struck you, and you spoke before fully thinking it through.
“Then you’ll do it.”
His dark eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief. “Your Highness, I—”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence but unable to fully hide the mischief in your smile. “Oh, come now, Choso. You’re stronger than any maid. Surely, your hands would be better suited for the task.”
For a moment, he simply stared at you as though you’d just declared the sky was green. His lips parted, but no words came out, his gaze darting nervously around the room before settling back on you. “I don’t think that’s… appropriate,” he said carefully, his voice low and strained.
You leaned back slightly, arching a brow. “And why not? It’s just a massage. Surely, as my personal guard, it’s your duty to ensure my comfort, no?”
“Your Highness—”
“Choso,” you interrupted, your tone softening as you leaned forward slightly, letting your hair cascade over one shoulder. “You’ve sworn an oath to protect me. Are you really going to deny me such a simple request? Besides,” you added with a teasing smile, “I trust you. Who better to take care of me?”
His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his shoulders visibly tensing. It was rare to see him so uncharacteristically flustered, and you found it almost endearing. Still, you could see the war waging behind his eyes—the struggle between his rigid sense of propriety and his inability to deny you.
“Choso,” you said again, gentler this time, “it’s just us here. No one else needs to know. Please?”
The word seemed to undo him. After a long, weighted pause, he exhaled sharply, his hands clenching at his sides before he gave a stiff nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
You smiled in satisfaction and shifted, lying down on the chaise lounge with your head resting on your folded arms. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your back and shoulders, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid it no mind. Choso, however, hesitated, his gaze flickering over you before he finally moved to kneel beside you, his movements almost painfully hesitant.
You settled onto the chaise lounge, lying on your stomach and pulling your hair over one shoulder to expose the curve of your neck. The thin fabric of your nightgown clung to your body, leaving little to the imagination, but you paid no mind to it. Choso, however, lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his dark eyes flickering over the exposed skin before quickly darting away.
The tension in the room was palpable, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his hesitation. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until finally, he knelt beside you, his movements stiff and deliberate. His hands hovered just above your shoulders for a moment, as if he were debating whether to go through with it, before he finally made contact.
The first press of his palms was firm, his calloused hands warm against your skin. He worked in silence, but his touch was tentative, almost reluctant, as though every movement was a battle against himself. His fingers found the knots in your shoulders, but his grip tightened slightly as you let out a soft sigh of relief.
“You’re good at this,” you murmured, your voice languid. “I should’ve asked you sooner.”
Choso didn’t respond, but his hands stilled for the briefest moment, his jaw tightening. He resumed a beat later, his touch growing more confident as his fingers moved lower, kneading along the length of your spine. Yet, there was something almost possessive in the way he worked, his hands lingering at the curve of your back, brushing the edges of your nightgown with an intimacy that felt deliberate, even if unspoken.
You couldn’t see his expression, but you could sense the conflict in him—the way his movements wavered between duty and something else entirely. There was a tightness to his breathing, a subtle shift in the way his hands hesitated when they strayed too close to the hem of your gown. It was as if he were fighting an invisible war, one you were only beginning to understand.
Heat pooled in your belly, but the mood shifted when Choso spoke, his voice low and edged with something that made your breath catch.
“Do you let all your guards do this to you?”
Your eyes snapped open, the sharpness of his tone cutting through the haze. You turned your head to look at him, frowning. “What?”
He straightened, pulling his hands away, anger visible on his face. “Do you let all your guards touch you like this, or am I just the special fool?”
The accusation in his voice stung. You sat up on the chaise lounge, clutching the fabric of your nightgown to your chest. “What are you implying?”
“I’m implying,” he said, his eyes dark and filled with something unnameable, “that you smiled at Naoya like he was the only man in the room. That you entertained his nonsense—his lies—like you actually enjoyed it.”
A sharp laugh escaped you, incredulous and hurt. “You think I was flirting with Naoya? That I would ever entertain a fool like him?”
“You did tonight,” Choso shot back, his jaw clenched tightly. “You smiled and laughed at him, as if he deserved it. As if you weren’t above him. The you I knew wouldn’t have entertained someone like Naoya for a second. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
That cut deeper than it should have. Your breath hitched, and frustration welled in your chest, bursting free before you could stop it.
“You don’t know me anymore?” you echoed, your voice trembling with emotion. “Well, Choso, I don’t know you either! You’re the one who left me without a word. You’re the one who never answered my letters, who pushed me away for no reason. You didn’t answer them for years, Choso. For years! How can you stand there and talk about me changing when you’ve done everything you could to shut me out?”
He flinched, as if your words struck a nerve. His gaze fell to the floor, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I didn’t answer because I thought it was better that way,” he said quietly. “Because I knew… whatever this was—whatever we were—it couldn’t last. I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”
Your heart cracked at his words, tears threatening to spill over. “You didn’t want to make it harder for me?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You made it unbearable, Choso! You didn’t just leave me, you abandoned me. Without explanation, without closure. You were my friend, my closest ally, and you just… disappeared!”
“I was avoiding the inevitable,” he said, his tone low and bitter. “I was saving us both from something that could never be.”
“And why not?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why couldn’t we have stayed friends? Why couldn’t you have stayed as someone I trusted, someone I could rely on?”
Choso let out a harsh, incredulous laugh, his head bowing as his hands rose to rub at his temples. When he looked back at you, his eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
“You think I just want to be your ally?” Choso’s voice cracked, his tone harsh and trembling, a storm barely contained within him. He stepped closer, his shadow stretching toward you in the dim light. His dark eyes blazed, raw and unguarded, piercing straight through you.
“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life standing at your side, pretending it doesn’t destroy me every time you smile at another man?” he continued, his voice rising with emotion. “Do you think I want to be some nameless figure in your life, someone who exists only to bow, to nod, to follow orders while the rest of the world gets to bask in your warmth?”
Your breath hitched as he took another step, the space between you shrinking.
“I don’t want to be your ally, your friend, or some loyal servant,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I want you. I have always wanted you.”
His confession struck you like lightning, setting every nerve ablaze. You could see the anguish etched into his features, the way his hands shook as if he was struggling to hold himself back.
“I want to touch you without wondering if it’s inappropriate,” he went on, his words tumbling out, unrestrained. “I want to kiss you without the weight of the crown between us. I want to wake up beside you every morning, knowing you’re mine—truly mine—and not just some unattainable dream I’ve been foolish enough to carry.”
“Choso…” you whispered, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“I want to tear apart every damned rule, every line drawn between us,” he continued, his voice thick with frustration and desire. “I want the world to see that you’re mine—not Naoya’s, not some prince’s, not anyone else’s. Mine.”
He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling further. “But that’s not what the world allows, is it?” he said, his tone laced with venom. “Because I’m not a prince or a duke or anyone worthy of you. I’m just a man—a soldier. And the world says I can’t have you.”
His chest heaved with the force of his confession, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burned with a pain so deep it was almost unbearable to witness.
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “You could have had me,” you said, your voice trembling, tears stinging your eyes. “If you’d just stayed, if you’d let me in instead of shutting me out. We could have figured this out together, Choso. I would have fought for you.”
His expression faltered, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his anger. “And what would you have me do?” he asked hoarsely. “Stand beside you while everyone whispers that I’m unworthy? Watch as suitors line up for your hand, knowing I can’t stop them because it’s my duty to protect you, not love you?”
“I don’t care what the world says!” you burst out, stepping closer, your voice rising with desperation. “I don’t care about duty or station or rules. All I ever wanted was you, Choso. You, as my friend, my ally, my—”
“Your what?” he interrupted, his voice low and rough. “Say it. Say what I’ve been longing to hear and dreading all at once.”
Your breath hitched, tears streaming down your face as you met his gaze. “My everything,” you whispered.
For a moment, the tension between you hung thick and electric, the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Then Choso stepped back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight.
“That’s why I stayed away,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Because I knew if I didn’t, I’d lose myself in you completely. And I wouldn’t be able to let you go. This is why I must stay away.”
For a moment, he lingered there, his hand flexing at his side as if fighting some invisible force. His gaze dropped, and when he finally turned away, it was slow, deliberate, each step a struggle. He didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold, the heavy sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence.
The silence in your room was suffocating. Curtains drawn tightly, the dim flicker of a single candle cast wavering shadows on the stone walls. Plates of untouched food sat on a tray near the door, abandoned by the maids you had dismissed hours ago. The only sound was the faint rustle of your gown as you shifted on the edge of your bed, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold your broken pieces together.
A soft knock broke the stillness, tentative and almost hesitant. You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to see anyone, let alone speak. Whoever it was would surely leave if you didn’t respond.
But the door creaked open.
Your heart twisted. “I told you all to leave me be,” you said hoarsely, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I’m not one of your maids,” came a quiet reply from a voice that was all-too-familiar.
Your head snapped up, breath catching in your throat as Choso stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. His dark eyes, always so steady and unreadable, now held an uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“Get out,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, though the hurt behind it was impossible to mask. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I know,” he murmured, taking a hesitant step forward. He held something in his hands—a small stack of parchment, edges worn and yellowed. “But I have something to say to you.”
You frowned, your gaze darting to the papers he carried. “What is that?”
“Letters,” Choso said, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed hard before continuing, “The ones I wrote to you but never sent.”
You stiffened, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. “Why are you showing me this now?”
“Because I should have given them to you a long time ago,” he said simply. “And because I need you to know… what I couldn’t say before. But what I feel I must say now, for I am done with pretending I am not a selfish, selfish man.”
He stepped closer, setting the letters on the bed beside you. For a moment, he hesitated, then knelt before you, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked up at you with a mixture of guilt and determination, as if he had made a decision. And you fight desperately to not yourself believe that, perhaps, he has changed his mind, that he will finally take you in the way you desire.
But you steel your heart as you cautiously look at him.
“Read them,” he said quietly. “Please.”
Your fingers trembled as you reached for the stack, the paper cool and rough beneath your touch. The first letter was dated years ago, the ink slightly smudged, as if his hand had lingered too long on the words.
My dearest friend,
I’ve written and torn up this letter a dozen times. How do I explain the ache I feel every night I march under foreign stars? How do I explain that even on the battlefield, amidst the chaos, my mind drifts to you? I think of our secret meetings in the garden, the way you’d laugh as you dared me to meet you in the willow tree every night. Do you remember that night we barely escaped the guards? Your laughter, your gown splayed across the forest floor. I dream of those nights—of you leaning close to steal the fruit in my palm, staring up at me, the world disappearing, and wishing I could ask for more. For you close to me not under the pretense of stealing the pomegranate in my hand, but for something more.
Your voice broke as you read, tears pooling in your eyes. Choso remained silent, his head bowed, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
You moved to the next letter.
The scent of jasmine haunted me on the journey here. Every step of the way, I remembered you crouched beneath the trellis, daring me to pluck the flowers despite the gardener’s wrath. When I handed you the bouquet, your smile made me feel invincible, as though I could conquer kingdoms just to see it again. I wished then that I could have told you the truth—that every reckless moment we shared was a reprieve from the weight of duty. I wanted to kiss you in the moonlight, to tell you that you were more than a dream to me. I tried to, in part, with the hairpin I gave you, one that amplified your gentle beauty even more than I thought possible. But how could I ruin what little time we had?
“Choso,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you send these?”
“I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought it was kinder to stay away. To bury how I felt. But it wasn’t kinder, was it?”
You shook your head, unable to speak as you continued reading, each letter peeling away the walls you’d built to protect yourself from the pain of his absence.
When you reached the last letter, your breath hitched.
If I were braver, I’d tell you this to your face: I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time we ran barefoot through the gardens, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I’ve loved you since you bandaged my hand after my sparring lessons, scolding me and treating me gently as if I weren’t a warrior, as if my rough, damaged hands were worth your care. I love you with a desperation that terrifies me, that kept me awake in camp as I replayed your smile over and over. If I lose you now, it will be my own doing. But still, I love you.
Your tears fell freely now, soaking the parchment. Choso rose slowly, his hands lifting as if to touch you but stopping just shy of your skin.
“Say something,” he pleaded, his voice raw.
Instead, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet you. Your lips found his in a kiss that was fierce and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of longing, anger, and love into the connection.
Choso froze for a heartbeat before melting into you. The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own.
His hands moved to grasp your waist, as if afraid you might vanish. Before they could touch you, he paused as if doubting his ability to be able to touch you. To your frustration, the heat of his almost-contact pulled away. “Your Highness—”
“Choso,” you pleaded, grasping his hands in yours and placing them on their rightful place: your body. You dragged his hands down your torso, helping him explore your curves sensually, intimately as he squeezed his brows together, eyes shut, conveying his inner turmoil. His resolve almost cracked as you begged him, “Take me. Please.”
With agitation, he withdrew his hands from your grasp, painfully clenching them by his sides as he groaned. “Your Highness, you’re playing with fire. I mustn’t. Your body is of a thousand gold, and I would never dare to touch you with my hands—”
But you interrupted him by snorting. “If it is of a thousand gold, or whatever archaic term the royal legends have invented, then you are a thousand gold richer.” You gently took his face in your arms, kissing his forehead. “I am yours, and if you believe that anyone will have my heart after you, then you are most grievously mistaken.”
He still looked at you, both kneeling on your bed, with a conflicted expression. You gave him a reassuring look before pressing another gentle kiss to his lips. Then, you teased him softly. “Will you not fight for my hand? Will you truly let me be promised to another man after this?”
His eyes darkened in a possessive manner, as he joined his lips against yourself furiously. “I would never,” he punctuated his interruptions with a searing kiss. “let anyone have you after this.”
With tender hands that heavily contrasted his desperation, he slipped the shoulder of your dress, dragging the hem down and down until your breasts were bare to the air. “So, so beautiful,” he whispered before enclosing your nubs in his mouth, kissing them both tenderly.
You could only but gasp, victim to his ministrations as he sneaked another hand up your legs, gently caressing your thighs until he met your core. He groaned, louder than ever, when he was met with the bare heat, wet with your desire and arousal all for him. With painstaking gentleness, he eased a finger in, drinking in your moans and sounds of pleasure.
He couldn’t help but smile at the small scream that escaped you when he curled his fingers up. It seemed he had found the place that pleasured you most, one that you had stayed unbeknownst to. And he definitely couldn’t stop himself from torturing and repeatedly hitting against it with the way squeals of his name left your mouth whenever he did so.
Before you knew it, an unknown feeling washed over you as Choso kept continuing his touches, one that seemed like worship with how he was looking for your reactions, for your pleasure. A gush of slick escaped you, and Choso kissed your breasts one final time before drawing out his finger.
You peered down at him, flushed, as his eyes stayed trained on you while he slowly drew his finger inside his mouth, seeming to savor your taste. At last, he pulled it away from his mouth and asked, voice hoarse, “how are you feeling?”
You laugh bashfully and look away, blushing. “You know you don’t need to ask that. But,” and you pause, looking at him through your lashes, “you know I want more.”
The flush that was only apparent on his cheeks spread to his entire face and neck and he whines as he buries his face in your breasts once more, now to evade eye contact. “Don’t say things like that. It makes holding back even more arduous.”
You stroke his hair, smiling softly. “Would you have any qualms about taking my…maidenhood if you were my husband.”
His answer is immediate. “Absolutely not.”
“So you want to…make love with me?” You heat up at your own words, nervously looking at him in fear of his rejection.
He pauses, but then slowly nods. “Well, yes, but—”
“Then we shall put archaic traditions aside. Choso,” and you look at him mischievously as he squints at you, “I command you to make love to me.”
The reaction is immediate. As if animated again, he pins you down against your mattress, eyes feral as he takes your lips with his once more. With both hands, a riiiip echoes across the room as he entirely tears your shift in his bare hands. Mind you, it was not weak material, and you lay dumbfounded as he strips his shirt off.
You don’t even have time to admire his bare torso, muscled as you knew it would be. Your eyes automatically trail down to the string of hair that leads down to his v-line as he rids himself of his trousers.
What gets uncovered makes you pray for your life, and you gasp, eyes wide. “How is that even supposed to go inside—”
He says your name, reassuringly, as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I will take the utmost care of you. I promise.” He lines his length with your entrance, and, with another kiss, he pushes in gently.
When his member first breaches you, you gasp, dizzied by the fullness. Then, as he slowly bottoms out, you whine while impaled on his cock. “More.”
Basking in the euphoria of your clenching heat around him, at your request, he curses. He pulls out his length—slowly, gently—and then slams back in, and you squeal, whispering a breathless utter of his name once more.
He continues making love to you, the sounds of his devotion echoing across the room. When you both climax, it is down with a prayer of the other’s name, as a promise. That you are both each other’s, and no qualms about proprietary and status could any longer apprehend either of you.
When the both of you settle down, him having gently cleaned you with a cloth, he collapses next to you in bed, bare arms engulfing you and pulling you closer. As you both lie there, skin to skin, you giggle at your own thoughts.
At the sound, Choso perks up, looking at you in soft amusement. “What’s the matter, my love?”
Ignoring the way your heart fluttered at the nickname, you replied, “I daresay you will be the strongest prince consort in the history of our kingdom.”
The mention of the weak nobles that had ascended the throne in centuries past makes him snicker smugly. “I would agree,” he muses, amused like you. “They would not have been as tall as me, or as strong, or as good in bed—-”
“Choso!” you squealed, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it.
Grinning like a devil, he dodged with ease, catching your wrist and pulling you down onto the bed. Before you could protest, he wrestled himself on top of you, pinning your arms above your head and smothering you in kisses.
After his barrage was over, he turned solemn once more. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his tone softer, more sincere. His dark eyes searched yours, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I’ll protect you, stand beside you, love you until my last breath. You’re my queen in every way that matters. And no matter what, I’ll never leave your side again.”
Your breath hitched, his words settling deep in your chest. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you smiled, warmth flooding your heart. “And I’ll hold you to that, my love.”
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts promise and devotion. It wasn’t hurried or frenzied, but slow, a tangible declaration of everything you both had endured to reach this moment. Here, in the quiet of your chamber, with his weight grounding you and his lips marking you as his, you found the only place you wanted to be—by his side, now and always.
general masterlist
a/n AHH HI POOKIES!! I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED MY FIRST CHOSO FIC?? let me know if i do him justice this was written with my pussy and me having a specific hyperfixation :3 anyways i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys did too :')
“His head remained bowed, his knee pressed to the uneven cobblestones, the hand holding your handkerchief resting against his heart.” [this] says more than i love you in my books!!!!
harry potter x slytherin!fem!reader ― Harry has a crush on a Slytherin, which could collapse the entire school, but he doesn't seem to care much.
slightly inspired by 'message in a bottle' by taylor swift. there could be a second part if anyone's interested in it. don't forget to like, or reblog, or leave a comment! those are always appreaciated.
word count: 1.4k
part two (covered in you)
#masterlist!
Harry was sure that half – maybe even more than half – of Gryffindors House would never forgive him for having a crush on a Slytherin. Yet, Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care. The lot of them had called him a liar just last year, and none of them, friends or not, had the right to tell him who was appropriate enough or not to go on a date with.
It was hard not to miss her when she was one of the few Slytherins in Harry’s year who had never insulted him nor any of his friends. As a half-blood, she didn’t care about ‘blood traitors’ or muggleborns nor was she a member of Malfoy’s gang. Also, the fact that she was best friends with Luna Lovegood made her trustworthy in Harry’s eyes.
Although they had shared many classes during their years at Hogwarts, Harry didn’t know when he’d started to feel this way towards her. Had it been during their third year, after he’d seen her yell curses at Marcus Flint because he didn’t want girls in the Slytherin Quidditch Team? Had it been during their fourth year, after he saw her in an elegant, deep blue gown at the Yule Ball dancing with a Ravenclaw a year older than them? Had it been during their fifth year, after he’d seen her comfort two first years from Slytherin and Hufflepuff that had spent their afternoon in Umbridge’s office? Had these feelings been there since he’d met her on the train in their first year after she couldn’t find her older sister?
Has he always been so clueless?
Now, despite the fact that this recently discovered crush made Harry’s heart almost burst out of his chest any time he’d see her – whether in real life or in his dreams –, it didn’t mean that he would easily hand the victory to Slytherin in the match they were about to play.
Standing face to face with Urquhart, Slytherin’s new Quidditch Captain, Harry tried to avoid her eyes and how imposing she looked dressed in the deepest hue of emerald green. Still, when Madame Hooch blew the whistle, Harry couldn’t help but raise his head in her direction. Her eyes quickly settled on his, and Harry almost punched himself for being the first one to look away.
Up in the sky, a hand on his broom keeping him steady, he thought he’d have a moment of peace from her. But, in his defence, flying round the pitch looking for the snitch and making sure that his team was playing well eventually led him to find the force of nature that was her on top of a broom. Watching the speed at which she flew, Harry was somewhat relieved that she had never intended to become a Seeker. Yet, as magnificent as she was with a Quaffle in her hands, Ron’s confidence that there was Liquid Luck running through his system managed to block all of the shots she’d thrown at him. Anyone could tell from the look on her face and her stance on her broom that she wanted to rip off Ron’s head, probably use it to mark a few points as well. Her kindness, Harry realised then, did not make her less of a competitive hothead.
The match finished with the snitch in Harry’s hands, granting yet another win to Gryffindor. A smile on his face, he let his eyes trail over his team, each with a grin on their faces as big as his. He saw Ron lifting both of his arms, celebrating with the scarlet and gold crowd, and Ginny dive-bombing into the podium from where Zacharias Smith had been calling the match.
Harry looked for her once more, finding her already on the ground with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. He’d started descending when he saw what seemed to be a fight between her and Urquhart. The Slytherin Quidditch Team had a finger pointed to her chest, which she quickly dismissed with a jab of her hand and a hissed that Harry got to hear as a ‘Don’t fucking touch me’. This infuriated Urquhart more, making him get closer to her face, but with only a stamp of her foot, she sent him flying backwards.
Madame Hooch’s whistle blew loudly across the pitch, and the crowd finally caught on what was happening. Harry saw them go from celebrating, or sulking in the case of the silver and green sea of people, to whispering excitedly about the tussle. Urquhart was now marching in her direction, though Harry noticed some hesitation on his pace when the determination settled on her face. He had known, not that Harry spent a lot of time observing her, that she was very capable at wandless magic. In Urquhart’s case, he was always ready to start a brawl, yet he never saw through; opting, instead, to play it cool when he realised that he wouldn’t come out triumphant.
Because of some kind of instinct, Harry drew closer to the Slytherin Quidditch Team, standing a few paces behind her. Zabini observed him, his eyes were narrowed and his arms were crossed; it was clear he wasn’t there to stop his teammates from fighting each other. Suddenly, Snape stood between Urquhart and (Y/N). His face was rougher than usual and with only a few words he sent the Slytherin Captain back to the castle. Then, Snape turned to them, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Harry.
“Potter, shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Said Snape. The mere mention of the word ‘celebrating’ added a layer of disgust to his face. “Or is it that you cannot bear that the attention is not on you?”
Before answering, he looked at her. She had glanced back at him at the mention of his name, clearly surprised that he was here. Their eyes met for a brief second, one in which Harry noted the colour of his eyes was similar to that of her robes.
“I was only making sure that none of the players of your house got hurt. Seeing as Malfoy wasn’t here to play today, to get yet another replacement would surely affect the team.”
“How… heroic. Always ready to save the day, Potter.” Harry smiled sarcastically at Snape’s comment. “Miss, I expect to see you at my office tomorrow morning. We will discuss your detention.”
“Detention? Urquhart was the one to start the fight. He was the one yelling at me and getting all over my face.” Harry was certain that weren’t for the fact that Snape was a professor and the Head of her House, he would have suffered the same fate as Urquhart, thrown back across the pitch. He stopped himself from laughing at the mental picture of that.
“It’s not up to discussion, but if you keep complaining you will do a month of detention rather than two weeks.” With her silence and the matter already settled, Snape started walking towards the castle, Zabini and the rest followed him.
Now that the two of them were alone, Harry didn’t know what to say. The bleachers were emptying, some members of his team had already left the pitch.
“Um, thanks for that, I guess,” she mumbled. It seemed she didn’t know what to say either.
“Uh, yeah, no problem.”
There was another moment of silence where both of them avoided each other’s gaze, looking at their shoes or the brown gloves on their hands.
“What did- What did Urquhart say to you?” Harry asked. He was curious, but he also wanted to keep talking to her.
“He basically blamed the loss on me, saying I wasn’t fast enough or my aim was off, which could be true, but it’s not as if the rest of the team got the same. He said it to me because I’m the only girl, so…”
“So he’s a prick and no better than Flint.”
She laughed at that, softly and probably reminiscing that time she cursed him for not wanting to put her on the team. Harry swore that if he could hear that laugh play in the back of his mind forever, he wouldn’t need anything else. It would be her laugh that’d spurred him on. He thought about running to Dumbledore’s office and using the pensieve to replay this moment over and over again.
“Yeah, at least Montague would yell at all of us.” She mentioned while beginning to play with the strap on her gloves. “Anyways, I think it’s time for me to get back, and you have a win to celebrate.”
“Yeah, yeah, I do. But, um, you played well today. You’re a great Chaser.”
She whispered a small ‘thanks’, biting her lower lip in an attempt to contain the grin that was about to erupt in her face.
remus lupin x fem!reader | she’s a hopeless romantic who loves halloween. he loves her. or at least he very, very, strongly likes her in a way he’s never liked anyone else. enough to wear matching costumes
upcoming content: fluff! mentions of alcohol. lmk if you think i missed anything
authors note: i hope you like this! romeo & juliet is my favorite play and the 1996 film is my favorite movie! and remus is my favorite boy :’)!
word count: 2k
masterlist
remus had been staring at himself in the mirror for so long his reflection was starting to blur, like a watercolor painting made up of the soft brown of his hair, his pale complexion, and shining silver. he felt like a fool. “a lovesick fool,” james would say, but in this moment, he just felt like a fool. period.
“hey moony, have you decided what you’re going to be for halloween yet?” sirius asked as soon as he and james barged into their shared apartment. remus tore his gaze from his book at the sound of his best friend’s unnatural sounding greeting, loud and jilted as if he’d been practicing it.
“…no, wh-“
“well look no further!” james very enthusiastically exclaimed, pulling a brown bag out from behind his back which promptly fell to the ground, the contents now hanging between him and sirius. it was a knights armor. metal shoulder pads atop a slinky silver long sleeve top with chains resting across the chest.
“what the fuck is that?”
“your halloween costume!” james said as if it were obvious.
remus could do nothing but look at his two friends, who he cared for very deeply, as if they were right idiots.
“don’t you get it?” sirius asked, “it’s romeo!”
remus then felt his face red, heat rising to his cheeks all the way to his ears and he knew he couldn’t play dumb to get out of this.
last week at dinner you had said that you were planning on dressing as juliet for halloween. “from the movie of course!”
“isn’t that part of a couples costume?” marlene asked, “are you bringing a mystery man with you to my party?”
at that, remus tensed, his shoulders instinctively rising to his ears and his heart quickened waiting for your response. he hung out with you pretty much every day, you’re tight knit friend group always sharing at least one meal together. he felt like he would know if you had a boyfriend, but he was still feeling queasy waiting for your answer.
“no mystery men with me! i guess it could be a couple’s costume, but it’s so pretty, i don’t mind doing it solo.”
remus felt his body relax and continued to pick at his food, stealing glances at you whenever he could, missing the mischievous looks being traded between james and sirius.
“i am not wearing that,” remus said resolutely.
“why not? girls love this stuff!” sirius responded, tossing the costume on remus’ lap. he refused to touch it, as if any sign that he openly had feelings for you would somehow come back to bite him in the ass. it rested on his legs like an anchor.
“you want me to surprise her with a matching costume? that’s pathetic.”
“it’s sweet!” james stressed.
“yeah, and she’s always so heart eyed over that gooey romance shit, you show up in this and she’ll be begging for it!”
sirius’ crude comments was met with a smack in the head from james and an unimpressed stare from remus.
“remus, i’m telling you, this is a perfect idea! she’s single and dressing as one half of the greatest couples in history, if you show up as the other half, oh it’ll be like straight out of the pictures!” james swooned. remus felt his heart soften at his overdramatic friend, who he knew was just trying to help him be happy, but his nerves overpowered any convincing.
“you do know they both die at the end, right? kill themselves, even. not sure that’s a message i want to send.” remus muttered, standing up from the couch to go to his room, tired of his friend’s antics.
“you’ll never get a date by just staring at her, mate!” james called out, “and she’s well fit, too! you’re time is running out and you know it!” sirius added as remus walked down the hall, the metal costume in tow, only to be shoved in his closet.
but as halloween inched closer and his feelings for you only grew stronger, james and sirius’ words echoed in his head. he could never get the thought of your soft voice and sweet smile out of his mind, he liked you. so much.
you were always the one who kept listening to him when whatever he was saying was drowned out by the group. always spoke to him in dulcet tones, especially when you felt he had a headache. you were smart and funny and kind, not to mention beautiful. beautiful in a way that reminded him of the princesses and angels he would read about in books when he was a child. soft and warm, a glow seemingly always emanating from your figure.
remus would be content with just looking at you for the rest of his life, he thinks (deep down in the back of his brain, terrified of the strength of his own feelings) but it would be nice to do it without the feat of getting caught by your stare, or his friends taking the mick out of him afterwards.
so here he stood, his torso slightly weighed down by the heavy detailing, but it fit him well nonetheless. it was almost time for them to leave for marlene’s and remus could hear his friends in the living room. he had to make a decision soon.
“y’coming, moony?” james asked through the door.
remus took a deep breath, biting off a square of chocolate. he could do this. it was halloween! you’re supposed to be in a costume. and the film was popular enough, he figured, that he could play it off as a coincidence if things went south.
“…yeah, i’m coming.” he stepped out the door and walked down the hall, rolling his eyes at james’ loud gasp.
“oh my god you’re wearing it!” james practically screeched.
“don’t make me change my mind.”
“oh remus, you’re so handsome!” sirius teased in a high pitched voice, “please be my romeo!”
“for it is the east, and juliet is the sun!” james recited.
“that’s it, i’m changing!” remus exclaimed, only to be dragged back by his waist and walked out the door.
remus was hit by the noise of the party as soon as marlene swung the door open. her eyes trailed down james’ superhero outfit, sirius dressed as patrick bateman, and then remus, her face exploding in an open mouth smile. “reeeeemussss!!!!” she squealed, clearly already on her way to drunk, “you’re such a sweetheart!” she cooed, remus’ cheeks reddening more than he thought possible.
“isn’t he just? now let us in marls, it’s fucking freezing out here!” sirius said, and with a pat on the back, he and james were emerged in the crowd.
“she isn’t here yet, remus, but oh my god she’s going to love it,”
as the night went on remus had practically glued himself to marlene’s increasingly wasted side all night, no sign of james or sirius (who he would bet money are upstairs with dates, or each other), and more importantly no sign of you. he was feeling more foolish by the minute, the metal top growing uncomfortable against his sweaty skin.
disappointed was pooling in his stomach as marlene was nodding off on his shoulder, or so he thought, but he was brought out of his thoughts when a loud yelp escaped her. “you’re here! finally!”
marlene jumped up and stumbled over to a vision in white. flowing silk draped over your body, delicate, feathered wings pinned to your back. excess fabric tied around your waist, framing you beautifully. stunningly. remus felt like he was having an out of body experience, watching himself stand frozen in the middle of the living room, mouth slightly agape, willing himself to do anything other than stare.
“REEEEMUS LOOK! LOOK WHO IT IS!” marlene shout-whispered, shoving you towards him.
you felt your breath escape you at the sight. remus, tall and sweet, looking down at you, his tussled hair dancing across his forehead and his long fingers reached up to brush it out of his eyes, hand trembling. you weren’t fully convinced you weren’t dreaming.
“she, she’s pretty out of it,” he spoke softly, referring to marlene who was now dancing with a lamp.
“y-you look, i-i really like your costume, obviously” you murmured, fiddling with your hands, resisting the urge to run your hand down his sculpted cheeks.
ever since you met him, you believed remus was one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen. and then once you got to know him, got to experience first hand his limitless kindness, his witty remarks that always put the boys teasing to shame, and his rare barking laugh that only comes out when he finds something really funny (you elicited it from him once and have spent forever chasing that high).
all your friends said he had a thing for you. that he was always staring at you with soft, hooded eyes, move his plans around for you whenever you asked to study together, rest his jacket on the seat next to him so it would appear taken so no one else would sit down it it until you came.
but you were both famously mild-mannered, shy to a fault, and your feelings never rose to the surface, but the same couldn’t be said for right now.
“oh, thank you,” remus responded, “i thought it would be nice if we could match.”
a giggle escaped you at that and you looked down, unable to meet his eye, you both wearing twin smiles.
absolutely thrilled with your reaction, remus bent his body in half, tilting his head up to catch your gaze, eyes filled with hope, “what’d y’think?”
“i think you look very dashing, rem, i didn’t know you were a shakespeare fan.”
“hmm, not so much,” with a deep breath he let out, “i’m a fan of you, though”
the neon lights flashing over you both contributed to the bubble you found yourselves in. the rowdy guests nothing but white noise as you felt your heart pound against your chest over the soft spoken boy.
“really?” it slipped out. deep seeded insecurity worming it’s way to the forefront as you were positively overwhelmed with confronting your feelings… and that who you had them for.
remus’ heart splintered a little at your warbling ask, “yes” he let out, easy as breathing, “of course.” he placed a large hand on your shoulder, his thumb dancing on the edge of your collarbone.
“i’m a fan of you, too. more than anyone else,” you whispered with a step closer, your white ballet flats lightly knocking against the tips of his black boots, the space between you dwindling.
“aren’t i lucky,” remus murmured wistfully, “to have an angel say that about me”
with that you couldn’t take it anymore and pressed your lips to his, immediately getting lost in the sparks. unsure of what to do with your arms, you awkwardly placed them on remus’ forearms, as if you were holding him still in place. he smiled against your lips, the breath escaping from his chuckle dancing across your face as he lightly dragged your hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders.
you melted as he pulled you in, you gasped as he ran his tongue against your bottom lip, you chased after his lips when he pulled away with a stuttering breath. “y’have to give me a minute angel, or m’heart’s going to give out,”
you giggled, knowing exactly how he felt as he tucked his face into your neck.
“oi oi, c’mon lupin! what did i tell ya! i knew you could do it!” sirius shouted from across the room, thrusting his cup in the air in congratulations.
“oh christ,” remus muttered, his annoyance dissipating with your laugh.
“you are a lover, moony! borrow *hic* cupid's wings and soar with *hic* them above common ground!” james, although very drunk and hiccuping, recited.
all remus could do was roll his eyes, he had everything he wanted right in front of him. after he was done kissing you until the sun came up (and a little bit more after that), he could figure out when the fuck james seemingly memorized romeo and juliet.
summary: remus can’t sleep again. luckily, you come to save him, and he finds his rest in you.
cw/tags: self-deprecation, slight anxiety (?), three little eepy bois and one (1) insomniac, peter pettigrew appears (he’s not corrupted here), hurt/comfort <3
note: 'pahinga' means rest in filipino. its root word, 'hinga,' means 'to breathe/breath.' the 'pa' part can make it literally mean, 'let me breathe.' also, u can never have too much “reader patches up remus after a full moon” fics 🥰🥰
p.s. the vibes are inspired from isa lang (only one) by arthur nery <3
It’s way past midnight in the Hospital Wing, and Remus knows this because his friends are knocked out around him; James is sprawled out like a starfish on a cot to his left, Sirius laid asleep at the edge of Remus’ own cot, and Peter had long since made himself comfortable in the cot on the right, curled up in a blanket.
Usually, they’d be up late with Remus. Something about boys being boys, having an endless amount of energy surging within themselves. But they were also only human at the end of the day, despite being unregistered Animagi.
Remus also knows that he should be asleep himself alongside his best friends, but this particular night had taken a toll on him. Sure, he’s had full moon nights happening every month, every year, ever since he was turned at four years old. But regardless of how frequent they took place, it never became easy to deal with for the lycanthrope. Especially not now while he’s unable to sleep.
Poor Madam Pomfrey—she’d given Remus countless potions to aid him in his condition, time and time again. But it seems like even the Sleeping Draught that was brewed for him earlier just couldn’t work on him either.
Thinking about failing to fall asleep is ironically keeping him from falling asleep. Remus Lupin is, quite frankly, stressing out about not being asleep yet. He knows he needs it, so why can’t he do it? He almost feels immensely envious of how easy it was for his own friends to have fallen asleep quicker than he did, and he was the one who turned into a werewolf that night.
Remus turns his head to get a look at Sirius’ slumbering face where it lay at the edge of his cot. Sirius is a handsome being, whether asleep or not. But right now, his wide-awake friend doesn’t know whether to be glad because he gets to appreciate his friend’s company because he’s asleep, or if said friend should be frustrated for the very same reason.
Before Remus even gets to decide however, he hears footsteps scurrying towards the entrance of the Hospital Wing. He perks up at the sound, attempting to sit up in his cot but failing, wincing as he was reminded of his injuries.
He doesn’t know which comes first: the sound of the double doors being pushed open or the bags of chocolate falling to the ground, coming from your arms.
Remus’ bleary eyes flicker over to your incoming presence - how he knows you’re here for him is needless to say with the bags of chocolate you’re re-gathering in your arms presently. He sees you throw an apologetic glance, mouthing “sorry,” but Remus receives it with a lazy smile, more amused and fond than it was teasing.
“Hope I didn’t wake them,” You whisper to him as you approach his cot, looking warily at the three slumbering boys surrounding him. Remus feels compelled to follow your gaze towards them, address that you didn’t actually wake them (and he’s certain that you didn’t, the lads sleep like a log), but his eyes remain on you as well as his smile.
“What’re you doing here?” He murmurs.
You scoff quietly, giving him an incredulous look. “What, not even a ‘hello, how are you?’ You’ve changed, Lupin.”
Remus’ smile widens at your words, the familiar banter bringing a lighthearted feeling in his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s because of his fatigue mixed with frustration that’s making him feel lightheaded, but he finds himself momentarily entranced by the sight of you as you start to near him in his cot. The moonlight which filtered through the windows finally landed on your features, and Remus was convinced at that moment that he’s met an angel in person: you.
“Anywho, I come bearing gifts,” You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, setting down the array of chocolates beside him. Remus shifts so that there’s more room for you in his bed.
He looks down at the sweets, the corners of his lips quirking up into a lazy smile, then looks back up to you.
“Dark or milk?” Remus asks.
You furrow your eyebrows, giving him an incredulous look to which the boy grins at. “Milk, duh. I’m not dumb, Remus. You only go for dark when you’re feeling fancy.”
It’s true; Remus doesn’t like dark chocolate as much as he likes milk chocolate, which is a classic and a whole lot sweeter than the former. He tries not to think too hard about how you knew that about himself like it was just sitting casually in the place of your mind. He wonders, then, about what else you knew about him, and took care to remember and save for times like this. His heart races at the thought.
“Did you come all the way here to butcher me for my taste in chocolate? Flattering, really,” Remus quips, reaching for one of the chocolates.
“No. I came here to do just that and more actually,” You mirror his actions, unwrapping the chocolate from its plastic shell, popping the whole treat in your mouth all in one go.
It’s a lot more attractive than Remus would like to admit - you being so unapologetically yourself, uncaring about being seen as prim and proper. Here you are, sitting in front of him, munching on the chocolates you’ve brought him and looking like a squirrel stuffing nuts in its mouth for the winter. Adorable, he thinks.
But then your eyes narrow at him, and he’s caught in the act of shamelessly staring at you. It’s only then that he realizes that he has been staring at you.
“See something you like?” You wriggle your eyebrows suggestively, reaching for another chocolate from the dwindling bunch on the bed.
“No,” His voice comes out a little breathy, an octave a tad higher than what’s normal. Remus clears his throat. “Just- it’s amazing how you keep going.”
You pause mid-bite into another chocolate drop, putting it back inside its plastic wrap with a sheepish smile. “Right, I brought these for you. Not for me.”
“S’alright,” Remus smiles fondly at your suddenly shy expression. “I couldn’t finish them all by myself, anyway.”
A soft chuckle falls from your lips, shoulders relaxing from his reassuring words. Even in such a state, Remus still goes out of his way to make sure people are cared for in his own, heartwarming ways. But rarely does he ever take the time to inflict the same kind of treatment to himself.
And, speaking of which—
“I thought you’d be asleep, you know,” You blurt out all of a sudden, fidgeting with the unwrapped, uneaten chocolate in your hands. “coming here. So… why aren’t you?”
“Dunno,” Remus lets out a deep sigh, his fatigue finally coming through in his expression. Your chest tightens at the sight and sound of it.
Finally, he finishes, saying, “I just… can’t.”
Almost instantly, a knot forms between your brows at the same time the corners of your lips turn downwards into a slight frown. Remus hates being pitied. He’s had enough of people apologizing on his behalf, as if he had been a mistake in the first place long before he was given this unfortunate tragedy, a weight he has to bear on his shoulders for the rest of his life.
But with you, it’s never pity that he sees in your eyes when you look at him. It’s something warmer, something that’s coming from a deeper place of intent. Something like care—genuine care, and concern. Perhaps there’s more than that, but Remus is already dizzy enough as it is right now, and he doesn’t want to render himself unconscious just because he’s feeling a little lovesick by you.
“Oh no, I’m keeping you up, aren’t I?” You say, and Remus is a bit startled by it. You don’t notice. “Should I leave? I– I feel like I should leave—”
“No, no. Just—” Stay.
Remus reminds himself to be very careful with his next words, lest he betrays his true feelings and ruins one of the few good things he has in his godforsaken life.
Another thing that he hates is owing people something, or anything really. It’s no big deal for him to go out of his way and be the giver rather than the receiver out of a pair, but it bothers him to no end to think that he’d actually have people do something—anything just for him.
For some reason, it just feels… wrong for him. Almost as if Remus believes that he doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.
But for the love of Merlin, he’d really like to get some sleep, and he really likes you being here with him. And if you walked right out of the Hospital Wing right now, leaving him alone, Remus is certain that he’d be getting no sleep at all.
So, just this once, he’ll be selfish.
“Just… just talk to me. Tell me about your night.”
You furrow your eyebrows, a slightly amused smile coming alive on your face as you ask, “My night? Well, my night’s going pretty well right now.”
Remus rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face betrays his true emotions. “Tell me about your day, then.”
Now, a full-blown grin takes place on your face. “Now that I can do.”
And so, you start telling him about your day in a hushed voice, careful not to be too loud as you recount something that had made you happy during the day so as not to wake the other three boys you’re surrounded by.
Far along the way as you’re speaking to him, your hands—yours and his—drift closer and closer to each other. Remus wonders if you notice this, even as you’ve taken ahold of it now and started to play with his fingers absentmindedly.
Before he knew it, he was on the way to dreamland by the ticklish yet gentle feeling of you tracing the lines of his palm, coupled by the soft timbre of your voice, low and sweet.
It is then that Remus realizes that he finds his absolute rest in you.
A shame that he managed to miss the featherlight kiss you leave on his forehead as you bid him a good night, though.
aaa thank you for reading! (づ￣ 3￣)づ as always, likes, replies, and reblogs are very much appreciated !! <3
remus lupin x fem!reader - set during the events of the First Wizarding War, Remus has a hard time accepting the truth: his partner has been captured by Death Eaters during what was supposed to be a 'low-risk' mission.
inspired by 'If It's True' and 'Wait For Me' from the musical Hadestown, (specifically Dónal Finn's Orpheus).
reader is Moody's cousin because why not?
warnings: angst but happy ending, mentions of torture, violence, death.
#masterlist.
The ringing in his ears overpowered every scream, discussion, or sob that was currently haunting the kitchen of one of the Order’s safe houses. He could feel his eyes watering, yet no tears soared his cheeks. His blurry eyes could barely distinguish the figures moving round the small room. Two shadows were sitting at the wooden table, one with their head between their arms while the other was staring at him, waiting. More shadows were entering and exciting the kitchen through the same door she had walked through just a few hours ago. It was chaos. All of it. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to react.
It was not that he was feeling nothing. On the contrary, it was that he was feeling so much at the same time that he could hardly move. His troubled emotions had taken control over his mind, body, and soul; the confusion and the grief and the pain and the lack of belief, they all paralyzed his body.
Someone’s hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. They must have realised he was in some state of shock.
But how could he? How could he be in shock? It wasn’t true what they had said.
How could he not be in shock?
Was it true what they had said?
He could feel himself spiraling.
He could hear someone calling him from a distance, whispering his name with hesitation at first. It grew louder, it became clearer, it was firmer. Then, he noticed it was not from a distance that he was being called, but that the voice belonged to the same person who was grabbing and shaking his shoulders. James’ voice was powerful and grounding. James’ voice was a beacon casting its shining light on the dense darkness that now plagued his mind.
“I know it’s fucking hard, brother, but I need you to be on your right mind,” James looked him in the eyes. He waited for Remus’ eyes to focus before he spoke again. “Some of the others don’t want me to do this, you’re too compromised or whatever,” – He began to understand what James was trying to get at, yet before he did something that would prove their point, James shook his head and with a hand raised between them that was telling him to calm down, and Remus listened because it was James. He knew he could trust him with his own life as well as hers. “I want to ask you if you’re up to it, but for that you need to clear your head. It’s true that you’re too compromised for this, but if… if it… if it were Lily who had been t-taken, then I know,” James breathed hard through his nose. “I know I’d want to go and do anything, everything, to get her back. So I’m giving you the choice.”
James didn’t really need to hear the answer come out of Remus’ mouth. Some part of James was truly asking, some other part was screaming at him that he was just wasting time while his best friend was probably being tortured; some big part of him knew he needn’t have asked. Some part of him still wanted to. James couldn’t lose the two of them, yet he knew some part of Remus was breaking inside. He could feel Remus’ mind or consciousness, even Remus’ soul, leaving him the moment he heard the news. It had taken some minutes to pull it back in him. James had begun to think he was not strong enough to help his friend.
“Is - Is it true?” It took a second or two for James to realise that Remus had spoken, he had probably never sounded this vulnerable since that night the boys had discovered the truth behind the lies that slipped from his lips every month. The truth was darker this time around. “James, tell me.”
Suddenly, it was James who could no longer speak. He only closed his eyes and that was all the confirmation Remus needed.
Remus had never felt such rage invade his body, nor such motivation and adrenaline pumping in his veins. It was hard to keep the anger from lashing out, but it would do more harm than good. He tried to think of her, what she would say in a moment like this, where his instincts and his rational mind were battling to gain the control of his actions; where he could feel himself slipping back into this almost catatonic state, as mentally lost as she physically was. Where there is a will, there is a way. Her words rang loudly in his head.
Where there is a will, there is a way, he repeated.
“I want the Prewetts to come with us. Dorcas too.” Remus said. James nodded at the same time Remus was getting up from his position against the kitchen counter, it was where he had found support enough to keep himself on his feet when he heard Moody’s grave tone. She hasn’t sent her Patronus. She was supposed to cast it an hour and a half ago. Remus forced himself to forget Moody’s crestfallen expression when he announced the news or else he was sure he was going to be sick.
If it had been up to Remus, he would’ve dashed through the door and gotten his girl back the minute he had regained his senses. Yet, the Order liked to follow certain procedures that, for Remus, were wasting his time rather than helping him. Nevertheless, Moody would’ve never agreed to leave the house without a (more or less) established plan, even when it seemed to be engraving his youngest cousin’s peril; especially, because of her peril would he make a plan that wouldn’t end up with one of them dead. Remus, though, could not seem to wrap his head around planning, and route escapes, and more planning; he was antsy to leave, believing that it didn’t matter how many plans Moody could come up with, they were all going to end up being useless because these days something always seemed to go wrong.
Remus hoped, prayed, begged for things to go right this time. She would have to wait for him, to survive until he got there. He hoped there was some part of her that was still able to wait. He ignored, or tried to, the vivid images of her being tortured that were conjured up by his own mind. Instead, he thought of her shining smile, her bubbly laugh, her kind eyes, her soft lips. Godric, he hoped there was some part of her that knew he was on his way.
James knew better than to say something, but he also knew that her being missing was already costing Remus’ sanity. He didn’t fully comprehend the concept of praying — Lily had tried to explain to him how ‘religions’ worked in the Muggle world — still, James closed his eyes and requested to whomever was listening that she was alive and well. He did not want to lose two of his best friends tonight.
━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━
It had been a gruesome fight.
After hours of searching, Remus had found her. She had been unconscious when Remus and the rest of the group entered the basement where the Death Eaters had been keeping her. It was not far from where she had been stationed during her mission. Never again would Remus allow Dumbledore or any other member of the Order to send her on a solo mission. It was not that he did not trust her abilities, it was that he did not trust himself after knowing what it felt like to almost lose her forever. He didn’t want to think how different all of this could’ve turned out, how he would’ve felt if…
The tears in his eyes had stopped falling now that he was assured she was going to recover. Yet, Remus knew deep, deep down that the sight of blood running down her temple, of the bruises in her arms, of her busted lip and the ragged sound of her breathing would haunt his nightmares and thoughts for many days and nights to come.
James’ hand on his shoulder kept him steady while he limped his way up the stairs and out of the dark house. Sirius, who had come back from his own mission minutes before the group left but had refused to stay behind, carried her in his arms while Moody kept watch of any other Death Eaters that might show up to finish the job. Remus’ whole body itched to be closed to her, to be the one to carry her, but his hurt leg and ankle made it impossible. Nonetheless, he knew his injuries had all been in an effort to protect her from further harm. He would’ve endured many more. Dorcas had done as much as she could to heal him, but the pain didn’t appear to be in any rush to vanish.
At the end of the street, he could decipher the figure of the Prewett twins, each with a Death Eater to be handed to the Ministry, wands pointed to their chests. What good would it do? Remus thought bitterly, but he had already dealt with at least three of them. A fucking ambush. James had found him in a feat of blind rage once the group had realised Remus decided to follow his own plan.
The house had belonged to a Muggle family that hadn’t been as lucky. The group had agreed on splitting into smaller groups of two, with Remus joining Dorcas and Moody’s unit. Remus knew Moody wanted him close to supervise him. He didn’t need a fucking nanny, he needed to find her, make sure she was alright, and get the hell out. As it was expected, Remus ditched the group at the first chance he got. He discovered the basement door because of a noise that sounded like boots stepping on gravel. Either it was a setup or a screwup from one of the Death Eaters. He didn’t care. And it might’ve been the most idiotic thing he had done in his life, but he charged straight on.
Later that night, James would ask him what exactly he had done and how he had been able to not get himself killed. Where there is a will, there’s a way, Remus would think.
Before they could all gather together to apparate near the safe house’s grounds, Remus looked back at her. She was still in Sirius’ arms. She hadn’t disappeared as he’d feared. With the help of the street lamps illuminating the sidewalk, he saw her eyes opening. He was all smiles, sobs, and tears. Not of grief, but relief.
━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━
Back at the safe house, Moody’s eyes inspected him while his mouth was set in a vicious and stern scowl. Everyone else had gone home, and only Remus, Moody, and her remained. She was resting on the main room while Remus cleaned her skin and tended to her wounds.
“Lupin,” said Moody from the doorway, his eyes as hard as stone, “you pull that shit again and rest assured that I will kill you myself.”
Once he disappeared into the dark hallways of the cottage, Remus felt her fingers grasping his wrist. Her eyes were opened and it was clear that she was about to question him on what had made Moody so mad, not that he was known for his unserious character though.
Remus kissed her temple first, then her cheeks, and lastly, her lips. There was nothing any of them could say to him that would stop him from saving her, again and again.
work in progress (will probably be published in the evening).
remus lupin x fem!reader - set during the events of the First Wizarding War, Remus has a hard time accepting the truth: his partner has been captured by Death Eaters during what was supposed to be a 'low-risk' mission.
inspired by 'If It's True' and 'Wait For Me' from the musical Hadestown, (specifically Dónal Finn's Orpheus).
warnings: angst but happy ending, mentions of torture, violence, death.
remus lupin x fem!reader - set during the events of the First Wizarding War, Remus has a hard time accepting the truth: his partner has been captured by Death Eaters during what was supposed to be a 'low-risk' mission.
inspired by 'If It's True' and 'Wait For Me' from the musical Hadestown, (specifically Dónal Finn's Orpheus).
reader is Moody's cousin because why not?
warnings: angst but happy ending, mentions of torture, violence, death.
#masterlist.
The ringing in his ears overpowered every scream, discussion, or sob that was currently haunting the kitchen of one of the Order’s safe houses. He could feel his eyes watering, yet no tears soared his cheeks. His blurry eyes could barely distinguish the figures moving round the small room. Two shadows were sitting at the wooden table, one with their head between their arms while the other was staring at him, waiting. More shadows were entering and exciting the kitchen through the same door she had walked through just a few hours ago. It was chaos. All of it. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to react.
It was not that he was feeling nothing. On the contrary, it was that he was feeling so much at the same time that he could hardly move. His troubled emotions had taken control over his mind, body, and soul; the confusion and the grief and the pain and the lack of belief, they all paralyzed his body.
Someone’s hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. They must have realised he was in some state of shock.
But how could he? How could he be in shock? It wasn’t true what they had said.
How could he not be in shock?
Was it true what they had said?
He could feel himself spiraling.
He could hear someone calling him from a distance, whispering his name with hesitation at first. It grew louder, it became clearer, it was firmer. Then, he noticed it was not from a distance that he was being called, but that the voice belonged to the same person who was grabbing and shaking his shoulders. James’ voice was powerful and grounding. James’ voice was a beacon casting its shining light on the dense darkness that now plagued his mind.
“I know it’s fucking hard, brother, but I need you to be on your right mind,” James looked him in the eyes. He waited for Remus’ eyes to focus before he spoke again. “Some of the others don’t want me to do this, you’re too compromised or whatever,” – He began to understand what James was trying to get at, yet before he did something that would prove their point, James shook his head and with a hand raised between them that was telling him to calm down, and Remus listened because it was James. He knew he could trust him with his own life as well as hers. “I want to ask you if you’re up to it, but for that you need to clear your head. It’s true that you’re too compromised for this, but if… if it… if it were Lily who had been t-taken, then I know,” James breathed hard through his nose. “I know I’d want to go and do anything, everything, to get her back. So I’m giving you the choice.”
James didn’t really need to hear the answer come out of Remus’ mouth. Some part of James was truly asking, some other part was screaming at him that he was just wasting time while his best friend was probably being tortured; some big part of him knew he needn’t have asked. Some part of him still wanted to. James couldn’t lose the two of them, yet he knew some part of Remus was breaking inside. He could feel Remus’ mind or consciousness, even Remus’ soul, leaving him the moment he heard the news. It had taken some minutes to pull it back in him. James had begun to think he was not strong enough to help his friend.
“Is - Is it true?” It took a second or two for James to realise that Remus had spoken, he had probably never sounded this vulnerable since that night the boys had discovered the truth behind the lies that slipped from his lips every month. The truth was darker this time around. “James, tell me.”
Suddenly, it was James who could no longer speak. He only closed his eyes and that was all the confirmation Remus needed.
Remus had never felt such rage invade his body, nor such motivation and adrenaline pumping in his veins. It was hard to keep the anger from lashing out, but it would do more harm than good. He tried to think of her, what she would say in a moment like this, where his instincts and his rational mind were battling to gain the control of his actions; where he could feel himself slipping back into this almost catatonic state, as mentally lost as she physically was. Where there is a will, there is a way. Her words rang loudly in his head.
Where there is a will, there is a way, he repeated.
“I want the Prewetts to come with us. Dorcas too.” Remus said. James nodded at the same time Remus was getting up from his position against the kitchen counter, it was where he had found support enough to keep himself on his feet when he heard Moody’s grave tone. She hasn’t sent her Patronus. She was supposed to cast it an hour and a half ago. Remus forced himself to forget Moody’s crestfallen expression when he announced the news or else he was sure he was going to be sick.
If it had been up to Remus, he would’ve dashed through the door and gotten his girl back the minute he had regained his senses. Yet, the Order liked to follow certain procedures that, for Remus, were wasting his time rather than helping him. Nevertheless, Moody would’ve never agreed to leave the house without a (more or less) established plan, even when it seemed to be engraving his youngest cousin’s peril; especially, because of her peril would he make a plan that wouldn’t end up with one of them dead. Remus, though, could not seem to wrap his head around planning, and route escapes, and more planning; he was antsy to leave, believing that it didn’t matter how many plans Moody could come up with, they were all going to end up being useless because these days something always seemed to go wrong.
Remus hoped, prayed, begged for things to go right this time. She would have to wait for him, to survive until he got there. He hoped there was some part of her that was still able to wait. He ignored, or tried to, the vivid images of her being tortured that were conjured up by his own mind. Instead, he thought of her shining smile, her bubbly laugh, her kind eyes, her soft lips. Godric, he hoped there was some part of her that knew he was on his way.
James knew better than to say something, but he also knew that her being missing was already costing Remus’ sanity. He didn’t fully comprehend the concept of praying — Lily had tried to explain to him how ‘religions’ worked in the Muggle world — still, James closed his eyes and requested to whomever was listening that she was alive and well. He did not want to lose two of his best friends tonight.
━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━
It had been a gruesome fight.
After hours of searching, Remus had found her. She had been unconscious when Remus and the rest of the group entered the basement where the Death Eaters had been keeping her. It was not far from where she had been stationed during her mission. Never again would Remus allow Dumbledore or any other member of the Order to send her on a solo mission. It was not that he did not trust her abilities, it was that he did not trust himself after knowing what it felt like to almost lose her forever. He didn’t want to think how different all of this could’ve turned out, how he would’ve felt if…
The tears in his eyes had stopped falling now that he was assured she was going to recover. Yet, Remus knew deep, deep down that the sight of blood running down her temple, of the bruises in her arms, of her busted lip and the ragged sound of her breathing would haunt his nightmares and thoughts for many days and nights to come.
James’ hand on his shoulder kept him steady while he limped his way up the stairs and out of the dark house. Sirius, who had come back from his own mission minutes before the group left but had refused to stay behind, carried her in his arms while Moody kept watch of any other Death Eaters that might show up to finish the job. Remus’ whole body itched to be closed to her, to be the one to carry her, but his hurt leg and ankle made it impossible. Nonetheless, he knew his injuries had all been in an effort to protect her from further harm. He would’ve endured many more. Dorcas had done as much as she could to heal him, but the pain didn’t appear to be in any rush to vanish.
At the end of the street, he could decipher the figure of the Prewett twins, each with a Death Eater to be handed to the Ministry, wands pointed to their chests. What good would it do? Remus thought bitterly, but he had already dealt with at least three of them. A fucking ambush. James had found him in a feat of blind rage once the group had realised Remus decided to follow his own plan.
The house had belonged to a Muggle family that hadn’t been as lucky. The group had agreed on splitting into smaller groups of two, with Remus joining Dorcas and Moody’s unit. Remus knew Moody wanted him close to supervise him. He didn’t need a fucking nanny, he needed to find her, make sure she was alright, and get the hell out. As it was expected, Remus ditched the group at the first chance he got. He discovered the basement door because of a noise that sounded like boots stepping on gravel. Either it was a setup or a screwup from one of the Death Eaters. He didn’t care. And it might’ve been the most idiotic thing he had done in his life, but he charged straight on.
Later that night, James would ask him what exactly he had done and how he had been able to not get himself killed. Where there is a will, there’s a way, Remus would think.
Before they could all gather together to apparate near the safe house’s grounds, Remus looked back at her. She was still in Sirius’ arms. She hadn’t disappeared as he’d feared. With the help of the street lamps illuminating the sidewalk, he saw her eyes opening. He was all smiles, sobs, and tears. Not of grief, but relief.
━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━
Back at the safe house, Moody’s eyes inspected him while his mouth was set in a vicious and stern scowl. Everyone else had gone home, and only Remus, Moody, and her remained. She was resting on the main room while Remus cleaned her skin and tended to her wounds.
“Lupin,” said Moody from the doorway, his eyes as hard as stone, “you pull that shit again and rest assured that I will kill you myself.”
Once he disappeared into the dark hallways of the cottage, Remus felt her fingers grasping his wrist. Her eyes were opened and it was clear that she was about to question him on what had made Moody so mad, not that he was known for his unserious character though.
Remus kissed her temple first, then her cheeks, and lastly, her lips. There was nothing any of them could say to him that would stop him from saving her, again and again.
work in progress (will probably be published in the evening).
remus lupin x fem!reader - set during the events of the First Wizarding War, Remus has a hard time accepting the truth: his partner has been captured by Death Eaters during what was supposed to be a 'low-risk' mission.
inspired by 'If It's True' and 'Wait For Me' from the musical Hadestown, (specifically Dónal Finn's Orpheus).
warnings: angst but happy ending, mentions of torture, violence, death.
baratheonpilled
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
janainaart
vaporwave
romaincrisis
