Deceptively Charming
Yandere Lorenzo Berkshire x reader
“You’re staring at me again.”
Lorenzo didn’t bother denying it.
One arm rested along the back of the couch behind you, fingers tapping lazily against the leather while the common room buzzed around him. Loud, warm, crowded shoulder-to-shoulder after the Quidditch win.
He looked perfectly at home in it.
Hair still damp from the shower. Tie hanging loose around his neck. A fading bruise shadowing the sharp line of his jaw.
People gravitated toward Lorenzo Berkshire naturally. You’d noticed that weeks ago.
Girls smiled at him a second too long. Boys laughed too hard at his jokes. He flirted with almost everyone and committed to absolutely no one.
The sort of person professors claimed to dislike while letting him get away with murder.
Right now, though, his attention rested entirely on you.
Heavy enough to feel.
“You’ve been following me around all week,” you pointed out, eyes still fixed on your book.
“Mhm.”
“You’re not denying it?”
“Should I?”
The couch dipped slightly as he leaned closer.
Close enough for the sharp scent of maple and expensive conditioner to settle around you.
“You’re tense again,” he murmured.
You snapped your book shut. “You say that like you’re my healer.”
“No,” Lorenzo said easily. “If I were your healer, you’d actually listen to me.”
His fingers brushed briefly against your wrist.
Not enough to look intimate to anyone else, but more than enough for you to notice.
“You worry too much,” he continued quietly. “It’s irritating.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “The difference is,” he said, “I’m usually right.”
Across the room, Mattheo yelled out something toward him, drawing laughter from those around.
Lorenzo ignored them.
Which was honestly stranger than if he hadn’t.
Normally, he thrived on attention. Moved through crowds like he belonged at the center of them.
But lately, all of his attention had been you.
“You skipped the afterparty for this?” you asked flatly.
“I skipped the afterparty because Avery kept trying to sit on my lap.”
“You say that like it’s a problem.”
“It was irritating.”
You blinked at him.
Because Lorenzo Berkshire had never once seemed irritated by attention before.
If anything, he invited it.
But now he was watching you with something quieter in his expression. Less performative. Still confident, still maddeningly self-assured, but focused in a way that made something in your chest tighten uncomfortably.
Like you’d become a habit he never intended to form.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked suddenly.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You think people deserve access to you just because they ask for it.”
Your brows pulled together. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
There was something unreadable in his tone. Something that made you look at him properly for the first time that evening.
And instantly regret it.
Because Lorenzo was already watching you like he knew you would.
Like he’d been waiting for you to finally look back.
“You should make people earn you,” he said softly.
Then, after a brief pause,
“Some of them don’t deserve the privilege.”
“You look awful,” Lorenzo remarked, dropping into the seat beside you in Potions.
You didn’t glance up from your notes. “Good morning to you too.”
“It’s becoming concerning, honestly.” His knee bumped yours beneath the table. “Have you considered sleeping occasionally?”
“I hate this class.”
“You hate every class.”
“Not true.”
“Mhm.” Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, spinning his wand lazily between his fingers. “You complain differently depending on the subject.”
“You pay too much attention to me.”
His mouth curved slightly at that. Like you’d said exactly what he wanted to hear.
Around you, students shuffled into their seats while Professor Slughorn rearranged ingredients at the front of the classroom. The dungeon smelled like herbs, smoke, and something unpleasantly metallic.
You rubbed tiredly at your eyes.
The past week had been brutal. Exams. Quidditch matches. Barely any sleep. Most of yesterday had been spent trying not to snap at people for speaking too loudly.
Lorenzo watched you for a moment too long before reaching into the pocket of his robes.
“Here.”
Something silver landed beside your hand with a soft clink.
A ring.
You stared at it.
Plain silver. Heavy-looking. Dark green lettering etched into the underside.
“You giving me jewelry now?”
“You should sound more grateful when people buy you expensive things.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me anything.”
“No,” Lorenzo agreed easily. “You usually don’t ask for things. That’s half your problem.”
You picked the ring up carefully, turning it between your fingers.
The metal already felt warm.
“Why?”
“Because,” he said lightly, “you’ve been having terrible luck lately.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “So your solution was accessories?”
“My solution,” Lorenzo corrected, “was fixing it.”
You looked at him then.
There it was again. That certainty.
Not arrogance exactly, though he had plenty of that too. Something steadier. More dangerous. Like once he decided something, the rest of the world simply had to catch up.
It was part of why people followed him so easily.
On the Quidditch pitch. At parties. In crowded hallways.
Lorenzo Berkshire moved through Hogwarts like the castle belonged to him.
And somehow, you’d ended up caught in his orbit too.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured.
“You say weird things.”
“I say accurate things.”
You rolled your eyes and moved to hand the ring back.
His fingers closed around your wrist before you could. Not rough, but not gentle either.
Just firm enough to stop you.
“Keep it on today,” Lorenzo said quietly.
Your eyes flicked toward him.
Something unreadable lingered beneath the amusement on his face now. Intent.
“For luck?” you asked dryly.
His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist before he let go.
“For me.”
Before you could respond, Slughorn began speaking from the front of the room, and the class shifted into motion around you.
Lorenzo leaned back like nothing had happened.
Like his hand hadn’t lingered against your skin a second too long. Like he hadn’t looked at you with that unsettlingly focused expression again.
You should’ve given the ring back.
Instead, without really thinking about it, you slid it onto your finger.
╰┈➤
By the end of the day, three things had gone strangely right.
First, Professor Flitwick delayed the essay due tomorrow.
Then, your missing Astronomy notes mysteriously reappeared on your bed after being gone nearly a week.
And finally, Daphne Greengrass and Evan Rosier stopped bothering you.
Completely.
Which was strange, considering yesterday they’d cornered you outside Charms to mock your last Quidditch loss and get a reaction out of you.
Today, Greengrass wouldn’t even look at you.
You noticed it during class. She sat as far away as possible, avoiding your gaze so obviously it bordered on awkward.
Then at dinner, the second you sat across from Evan at the Slytherin table, he went still before abruptly standing.
His tray nearly tipped in the process.
Malfoy laughed farther down the table. “Rosier, where the fuck are you going?”
“Forgot something.”
“You’re literally holding your dinner.”
Evan ignored him and left.
You frowned after him slightly.
Beside you, Lorenzo looked entirely unsurprised. Actually, he looked amused.
“You’re smiling.”
“Might just be happy to see you.” He shot back, nudging into your side.
“That’s never reassuring.”
His grin widened.
Across the table, one of the sixth-year girls leaned toward her friend and whispered something while glancing between the two of you.
Lorenzo noticed too.
He looked pleased by it.
“You know,” he mused lazily, reaching over to steal a piece of meat from your plate, “people are starting to think you belong to me.”
You scoffed. “People think that you belong to everyone.”
A few nearby students laughed quietly at that.
Lorenzo didn’t.
His gaze stayed fixed on you.
Steady.
“You say that,” he said softly, “like it’s the same thing.”
Then Lorenzo smiled again. Easy, effortless, beautiful enough to make people stupid.
And just like that, the moment disappeared.
“You kept the ring on,” he noted.
Without thinking, your hand curled slightly against the table.
Lorenzo’s eyes dropped to the movement immediately. Tiny. Instinctive.
You still noticed him catch it.
“See?” he murmured. “Already getting luckier.”
You started noticing him everywhere after that.
Outside classrooms, leaning against stone walls with his tie hanging loose around his neck. Across the Great Hall, surrounded by people while his attention stayed fixed on you anyway. Stretched across the Slytherin common room like he owned the place.
Maybe he always had.
Maybe you just hadn’t noticed before.
“Berkshire’s gotten weirdly attached to you lately.”
You glanced up from your textbook.
Theodore Nott sat across from you in the library, looking deeply unimpressed as he flipped another page in his book.
“That’s a strong word.”
Theo huffed softly. “Is it?”
You sighed, absently turning the ring on your finger. “You and him are becoming insufferable.”
That earned the faintest twitch of amusement from him.
Across the room, Lorenzo leaned against one of the bookshelves, talking to a group of Ravenclaw girls.
Or more accurately, letting them talk to him.
You watched one of them touch his arm while laughing at something he said.
Lorenzo smiled easily in return. Charming. Relaxed. Completely in his element.
Then his gaze drifted lazily across the library and landed on you.
Immediately.
Like he’d been aware of where you were the entire time.
The smile on his face shifted slightly.
Subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice.
The Ravenclaw girl was still talking when Lorenzo pushed away from the bookshelf without warning and walked off mid-conversation.
Straight toward you.
Theo noticed too.
The chair beside you scraped loudly against the floor as Lorenzo dropped into it a second later.
“You look busy,” he remarked, glancing toward your parchment.
“I am.”
“That explains the attitude.”
Theo snorted quietly without looking up from his book.
Lorenzo ignored him entirely.
His attention settled instead on your hand resting against the table. Specifically the ring.
Something pleased flickered across his expression.
“You kept it..” He said softly.
“You’re observant today.”
“I’m observant every day.”
That was true. Painfully true. Lorenzo noticed everything about you.
When you skipped meals. When you slept badly. The subtle shifts in your mood. Which people irritated you. Which subjects stressed you out.
Sometimes it felt less like attention and more like being studied.
“You’ve worn it all week,” he murmured.
You shrugged lightly. “Guess your magic luck ring works.”
“It does.”
“You’re very confident in that.”
“I’m very confident about most things.”
That much was obvious.
Enzo moved through life like failure simply wasn’t something that happened to him.
Even on the Quidditch pitch, he played like the world should move out of his way.
And somehow, annoyingly, it usually did.
“You know,” you said slowly, “people are starting to think you like me.”
Lorenzo looked up immediately.
Not surprised. Suddenly very interested in the conversation.
“Starting to?”
“You have a reputation, Berkshire.”
“Do I?” He tilted his head owlishly.
“You’ve hooked up with half the school.”
A lazy smile spread across his face, completely unashamed. “..Jealous?”
“Repulsed, actually.”
“Liar.” His voice dipped slightly when he said it. Still playful.
He leaned his elbow against the table, watching you in that unbearable way he always did lately. Like he was trying to memorize your reactions before you even had them.
“We have a match this weekend, right?” Theo asked suddenly, cutting through the tension.
Your expression soured instantly. “Don’t remind me.”
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair beside you, one arm sliding along the back of it.
“You’ll be fine.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I’m always right.”
“You literally lost your last game.”
“We lost our last game,” Lorenzo corrected.
“You nearly started a fight with the Hufflepuff captain afterward.”
“He insulted you.”
Theo finally looked up at that. “So that’s why that happened.”
Lorenzo looked entirely unapologetic. “He was irritating.”
You sighed. “It was regular house banter.”
“That’s not the point,” Lorenzo retorted immediately.
The blunt certainty in his tone sent heat creeping unpleasantly up the back of your neck.
Because he still sounded annoyed by it. Over an offhand comment from weeks ago.
Theo studied Lorenzo for a long moment.
Then you.
Slowly, he closed his book.
“I’m suddenly understanding several things,” he muttered.
“What does that mean?” you asked suspiciously.
“Nothing.” Which definitely meant something.
Before you could press further, Lorenzo nudged your knee lightly beneath the table.
“Come to practice later.”
“I have work to do.”
“You can do it after.”
“You’re not even captain.”
“No,” Lorenzo agreed easily. “I’m worse.”
Theo laughed quietly.
You looked between them. “Am I missing something?”
“Yes,” Theo answered immediately.
Lorenzo smiled.
Not the easy, flirtatious smile he gave everyone else.
Something smaller.
Sharper.
Like he knew exactly what Theo meant, and enjoyed the fact that you didn’t.
╰┈➤
Before you could ask, a girl approached your table hesitantly.
One of the Hufflepuffs from an earlier class.
“Uh,” she started awkwardly, “Professor Snape wanted me to give your essay back.”
You blinked. “Already?”
She handed it over quickly.
At the top of the parchment, written in sharp red ink: Outstanding.
You just stared at it for a moment.
That didn’t make any sense.
Last year, Snape barely tolerated your work.
Now suddenly you were getting Outstandings?
Beside you, Lorenzo glanced down at the grade before leaning back with a quiet hum.
“Told you,” he said.
The Hufflepuff girl left almost immediately afterward.
Practically fled.
You noticed Lorenzo watching her leave, his expression unreadable now.
“What?” you asked slowly.
His gaze shifted back to you instantly.
Nothing but amusement left on his face.
“Nothing.” You didn’t believe him.
Not even slightly.
Then Lorenzo reached over and adjusted the collar of your uniform absentmindedly.
Casual. Possessive. Like he had every right.
“You look better lately,” he murmured.
Your brows pulled together. “What?”
“Less stressed.” His fingers lingered briefly near your throat before pulling away. “I prefer it.”
Something about the way he said it made your pulse skip strangely.
Not because it sounded romantic.
Because it sounded like approval.
The weather turned vicious halfway through practice.
Wind tore across the Quidditch pitch hard enough to rattle the stands while dark clouds rolled low overhead, swollen with rain. Most of the team looked irritated by it.
Lorenzo looked exhilarated.
“You’re smiling like a psychopath,” you called from the sidelines as another player nearly lost control of their broom during a sharp turn.
High above the pitch, Lorenzo’s gaze fell toward you immediately.
Then he grinned.
Even from this far away, it looked sharp. Dangerous.
“Maybe you’re bad luck,” he shouted back.
A second later, he dropped. Straight downward.
Your stomach lurched violently, hands lifting instinctively like you could catch him from this far away.
At the very last second, Lorenzo yanked the broom upward hard enough for the tail to nearly scrape the ground before soaring forward again smoothly, like he’d planned the whole thing.
Bloody show-off.
A few younger students watching from the stands broke into applause.
Lorenzo basked in it for all of half a second before looking toward you again instead.
Like your reaction mattered more.
You rolled your eyes at him.
His grin only widened insufferably.
The wind picked up harder after that, rain following soon behind.
Cold drops soaked through your uniform while players shouted over each other across the pitch. Mattheo called for another drill. Someone swore loudly after missing a pass.
Above all of it, Lorenzo moved through the storm effortlessly.
You hated how good he looked doing it.
There was something deeply unfair about the way he flew.
No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just absolute confidence in every movement.
Even the weather seemed to bend around him instead of against him.
“You came.”
The sudden voice beside you nearly made you jump.
Theo stood there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, expression characteristically unimpressed.
“You people need to stop appearing out of nowhere.”
“You’ve been distracted lately.”
You ignored that entirely.
Theo’s gaze drifted back toward the pitch.
Specifically toward Lorenzo, who was currently weaving through two players at once with infuriating ease.
“He’s worse when you’re here,” Theo remarked.
“What does that mean?”
“He plays meaner.”
Almost immediately after Theo said it, Lorenzo slammed into another player hard enough to send him swerving violently off-course.
Not enough to hurt him, but enough to make a point.
You frowned slightly. “That’s normal for Quidditch.”
Theo made a quiet, unconvinced noise.
Then movement flashed suddenly in the corner of your vision.
A Bludger.
Flying far too fast.
Straight toward you.
You barely had time to react before a hand fisted in the front of your uniform and yanked you backward hard enough for your shoulder to slam into someone’s chest.
The Bludger tore past your face a second later.
Close.
Far too close.
Your pulse spiked instantly. “What the fuck-”
“Careful.”
Lorenzo’s voice.
Breathless from flying. One arm still locked tightly around you.
You hadn’t even seen him land.
Rain dampened the curls falling across his forehead while his broom rolled slightly against the ground beside him. His grip on you remained firm.
Possessive, almost.
Like he hadn’t realised yet how tightly he was holding you.
Across the pitch, one of the Beaters looked horrified. “Sorry! I lost control of it-”
Lorenzo looked up. The entire atmosphere shifted.
It happened instantly.
One second relaxed, the next dead cold.
Not loud. Not explosive.
Worse.
The Beater actually took a step backward beneath the look Lorenzo gave him.
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, mostly because the expression on Lorenzo’s face had suddenly become deeply concerning.
His jaw tightened.
The hand on your waist flexed once.
“You should pay more attention,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
“I said it was an accident,” the Beater muttered defensively.
Lorenzo smiled then. That easy, charming smile everyone liked so much.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Did I say it wasn’t?”
Silence.
Rain hammered harder against the stands around you.
Then, slowly, Lorenzo looked back down at you instead.
And just like that, the expression on his face softened.
Like someone flipping a switch.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
It was disorienting.
The sudden gentleness after… whatever that had just been.
You nodded once. “…Yeah.”
Lorenzo’s gaze flicked briefly toward the ring still sitting on your hand.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“There’s that luck again,” he murmured.
You let out a breathless laugh. “You cannot seriously think your ring stopped a Bludger.”
“I think,” Lorenzo said softly, “that you’re safer with me around.”
The words settled heavily somewhere beneath your ribs.
Before you could answer, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your side.
Still holding you there.
Still too close.
“You were miserable before me,” he continued quietly. Not teasing this time. Certain. Like it was simply a fact.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because maybe the unsettling part wasn’t that Lorenzo believed it.
Maybe it was that lately, you weren’t entirely sure he was wrong.
╰┈➤
The second Lorenzo let go of you, the cold hit properly.
Rain soaked through your uniform in freezing waves while the wind tore violently across the pitch. Your pulse still hadn’t settled from nearly getting your head taken off by a Bludger.
Behind him, the Beater who’d lost control of it was currently getting torn apart by Mattheo near the center of the pitch.
“You trying to kill our reserves now?” Mattheo snapped.
“It slipped-”
“I don’t care.”
Lorenzo followed your gaze lazily before scoffing under his breath.
“He’s lucky it hit the post first.”
You looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means if that thing had hit you directly, I would’ve thrown him off his broom.”
The answer came too easily. Not exaggerated. Not even playful. Just honest.
Rain dripped steadily from Lorenzo’s lashes as he looked down at you.
“You can’t say things like that casually.”
“Why?” He tilted his head slightly. “It’s true.”
There was something deeply unfair about the way he stayed calm while saying things that should’ve sounded alarming.
Like his certainty smoothed the edges off them.
Thunder cracked overhead again.
Most of the team had remounted their brooms by now, circling impatiently while Mattheo finished yelling.
Lorenzo still hadn’t moved.
“You should go,” you muttered.
“In a minute.”
“You’re literally in the middle of practice.”
“And you nearly got brained by a Bludger.” His eyes flicked briefly across your face again. Checking. “Priorities.”
The wind shifted sharply.
Without thinking about it, Lorenzo reached up and pulled the hood of your cloak farther over your head before the rain could hit your face again.
The gesture felt strangely intimate.
You looked at him for a second too long afterward.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted.
╰┈➤
Ever since Lorenzo started orbiting your life more aggressively, things had gotten easier in ways you couldn’t fully explain.
People moved around you differently now.
Professors suddenly remembered your name. Students stopped pushing their luck around you. Even small inconveniences seemed to disappear before they could become actual problems.
And somehow, Lorenzo was always there right before or right after.
Like a pattern you couldn’t stop seeing once you noticed it.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he said suddenly.
“I think you’re full of shit.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
He stepped closer instinctively as the wind got heavy, shielding part of it without seeming to realise he’d done it.
Too close.
You could smell rain, polish, and that expensive maple cologne he always wore.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked quietly.
“You ask me that a lot.”
“You keep proving me right.”
You rolled your eyes.
Lorenzo’s gaze flicked over your face once before settling softer somehow.
Quieter.
“You keep acting surprised when people listen to me,” he murmured. “They always have.”
Before you could answer, Mattheo shouted his name again from across the pitch.
This time, Lorenzo finally looked away.
Annoyance flashed briefly across his face.
Then he glanced back at you one last time.
“Stay until practice ends.”
The confidence in his tone irritated you immediately.
“You planning on restraining me if I don’t?”
His gaze drifted lazily across your face.
“No,” he said. “You’ll stay anyway.”
It happened gradually enough that you almost didn’t notice it.
At some point, Lorenzo became the first person you looked for after a bad day.
You started saving seats for him unconsciously. Waiting for his commentary after classes. Looking toward the Slytherin table expecting to find him already watching you.
“You’re getting clingy,” you muttered one evening as Lorenzo dropped onto the bed beside you, still damp from a shower.
“Mhm.” He stole your quill. “You say that like you’re not worse.”
“I’m definitely not.”
“You came looking for me after Charms.”
“That was because Bletchley was irritating me.”
“And who handled it?”
You frowned. Because he had.
Bletchley hadn’t bothered you once afterward.
Lorenzo noticed your hesitation immediately.
His grin sharpened slightly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest.
“There it is.”
“I really hate when you say that.”
“You hate most things.”
“You especially.”
“Liar.” The word came softer that time. Absentminded, almost.
Like he wasn’t even trying to hide how fond he sounded anymore.
It should’ve bothered you more than it did.
That was probably the problem.
╰┈➤
The realisation hit two weeks later.
Slow at first. Then all at once.
An uncomfortable awareness settling heavier in your chest every time Lorenzo touched you too casually. Looked at you too long. Expected things from you without asking.
Stay after practice.
Save a seat for him.
Sit beside him.
Wait for him.
Eat with him.
Let him take care of all your problems.
And every single time-
You did.
“You’re staring again.”
You blinked, setting the ring down against the library table.
Lorenzo lounged across from you, ankle hooked loosely around the leg of your chair like he’d anchored himself there on purpose.
Maybe he had.
“You’ve been acting weird,” you said slowly.
One of his brows lifted. “Weird how?”
Your lips pressed together as you searched for the right words. “I don’t know. Just… weird.”
Lorenzo sighed softly and reached up to brush the hair away from your face.
You leaned back before he could touch you.
His hand lingered awkwardly in the air for half a second.
Lorenzo blinked.
Then went very still.
The shift in his expression was immediate.
Sharp.
You looked away first, gathering your things too quickly.
“Where are you going?”
“I need air.”
“You were fine two seconds ago.”
“I said I need air, Berkshire.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The atmosphere changed instantly. Because you almost never called him that anymore.
It was Enzo now.
“...I’ll walk with you.”
“No.”
Too fast.
Too firm.
For the first time in weeks, real silence settled between you.
Lorenzo leaned back slowly in his chair, watching you carefully now.
Thinking.
“..You’re pulling away,” he said finally. Not emotional. Not accusing. Scarily observant. Like he’d noticed a shift in the weather.
“You’re imagining things.”
“I don’t think so.”
You grabbed your bag before he could say anything else.
Then left.
You could feel him watching you the entire way out.
╰┈➤
The next few days were awful. Catastrophically awful. Enough to wear you down.
Umbridge tore apart your latest paper in front of the class after barely skimming it. Theo cancelled your study plans twice. Someone stole your gloves. Then your notes disappeared again.
By Friday, a pounding headache had settled behind your eyes from sheer frustration alone.
And underneath all of it sat one deeply irritating truth.
Lorenzo had stopped appearing.
No waiting outside your classes. No interruptions during meals. No hand at the small of your back guiding you through crowded hallways.
Nothing.
The absence felt loud.
You hated that you noticed.
“You look miserable.”
Your head snapped up immediately.
Lorenzo leaned against the corridor wall a few feet away.
Your chest tightened before you could stop it. Annoying.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me back.”
The corner of his mouth tilted slightly. “Thought you wanted space.” The words shouldn’t have sounded sharp.
They did anyway.
You looked away first.
Mostly because eye contact with Lorenzo Berkshire had become genuinely hazardous lately.
He looked unfair standing there.
Sleeves shoved up to his elbows like he’d done it without thinking, exposing lean forearms streaked with faint veins beneath warm skin. The kind of arms that looked unfairly good wrapped around a wand, braced against a wall, holding someone close.
His hands were rough. Scarred knuckles, long fingers, a silver ring catching the light every time he moved.
Practice had left him wrecked in the prettiest way possible.
Damp curls clung messily to his forehead and the nape of his neck, still darkened with sweat. A few strands stuck to his skin as he tilted his head back to laugh softly under his breath.
Merlin.
Even his laugh felt dangerous.
Low and warm and lazy enough to make your stomach tighten.
Most people expected someone like Enzo to be beautiful in a cruel way. Sharp edges. Ice-cold stares. The sort of man who looked through people instead of at them.
Instead, his eyes were warm.
Patient.
Rich brown melted with gold whenever the light caught them right, honey swirling through melted chocolate.
The kind that lingered on your mouth a second too long before flicking back up again like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
It was impossible not to imagine those eyes half-lidded with want.
Impossible not to picture his hands sliding slowly up your thighs, his mouth brushing your ear while he murmured something soft enough to ruin you completely.
Everything about him felt unfair.
The broad shoulders stretching thin fabric across his back. The sweat still drying along the column of his throat. The silver chain disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt whenever he moved.
Even standing there casually, Lorenzo carried himself like temptation made human.
Lazy confidence. Heat simmering just beneath his skin.
Like all it would take was one touch for him to come apart completely.
Deceptively soft.
Until he looked at you for too long. Then they became dangerous.
“You’re staring now,” he murmured quietly.
Your jaw tightened immediately. “You started it.”
A grin tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.
There it was again. That horrible confidence.
Like he already knew exactly what effect he had on you.
You hoped he didn’t.
“You’ve had a terrible week,” Lorenzo observed.
“You noticed?”
“I notice everything about you.”
The words should’ve sounded flirtatious.
Instead, they settled low and heavy somewhere beneath your ribs.
Because he meant them.
You could always tell when Enzo was performing for people.
The charming smiles. The lazy flirting. The effortless arrogance.
This wasn’t that.
This felt worse.
Honest.
His gaze dragged slowly across your face before settling back on your eyes.
Studying you.
Like he was checking for damage.
“You look exhausted,” he murmured.
“So whose fault is that?”
A soft laugh escaped him. “Mine, apparently.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag.
“You disappeared.”
“I gave you what you wanted.”
“No,” you corrected quietly. “You punished me.”
Something shifted in Lorenzo’s expression immediately.
The amusement vanished. The teasing with it. Now he just looked at you. Sharp. Focused.
“You think I punished you?” he asked softly.
You let out a frustrated breath. “Everything went to shit the second you stopped hovering.”
His jaw flexed slightly.
Not angry. Thinking.
Then, slowly, Lorenzo stepped closer. Too close again.
You hated how natural it still felt.
“I don’t think you understand how cruel people are when I’m not around,” he said quietly.
The corridor suddenly felt very empty.
Very still.
You stared at him.
Lorenzo held your gaze steadily, expression unreadable now.
Like this was simply a fact you hadn’t accepted yet.
“You say things like that,” you muttered carefully, “and then act surprised when I think you’re insane.”
That finally pulled another smile from him. Smaller this time. Almost tired.
“You think I’m insane because you still believe those people were being kind to you before me.”
Part of you wasn’t sure that they hadn’t been.
“I think you liked it,” Lorenzo continued.
Silence.
Your pulse kicked hard beneath your ribs.
“You liked things being easier,” he said calmly. “You liked having someone deal with problems before they became yours.”
“That’s not tru-”
“You slept more.”
You stopped.
His gaze sharpened, head tilting as he studied you.
“You stopped looking exhausted all the time,” he went on. “You smiled more. People stopped bothering you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“And then you got scared because you realised you were relying on me.”
The words landed too precisely.
That was the problem.
Not his attention. Not even his possessiveness.
It was how easily he’d become part of your life without you noticing the shape it was taking.
Lorenzo studied your face for a long moment, then pushed himself off the wall.
His eyes dropped briefly to your hand.
“You lost something,” he said.
Not a question.
Nothing casual left in his voice now.
You crossed your arms. Defensive. “It’s just a ring.”
Lorenzo looked at you for a long moment.
Then he let out a quiet laugh.
Disbelieving.
“You really still don’t get it,” he murmured.
Something uneasy curled low in your stomach at his expression. Disappointment etched in his tone.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice.
“Every good thing in your life happened because I wanted it to.”
It wasn’t long before everyone around you had stopped reaching out.
Not dramatically. There wasn’t a fight or any warning. Just distance.
Conversations cut shorter than usual. Empty seats left in the library. Eyes that flicked toward Berkshire and scurried off before you could get out a word.
“You’re staring,” he murmured from where he lounged across your bed, flipping lazily through one of your textbooks.
You looked away from the dormitory window. “Theo’s avoiding me.”
“No,” Lorenzo corrected softly. “He’s avoiding me.”
The distinction mattered.
You swallowed.
Outside, rain hammered against the castle windows hard enough to blur the grounds beyond them. Hogwarts felt quieter lately. Smaller somehow.
Or maybe your world had just narrowed.
Class.
Your dorm.
Lorenzo.
Over and over again until everything else started fading at the edges.
You hated how comforting it felt. How caring he acted. Always arriving with something you needed before you asked, watching you too closely to miss when you forgot to eat, when you were pushing yourself too far.
“He was your friend,” you said finally.
Lorenzo glanced up then.
Warm brown eyes, patient. Beautiful.
Dangerous.
“He still is,” he said calmly. “If you need him.”
The wording made something cold slide slowly down your spine.
If.
Not when.
Because he already knew you wouldn’t go looking for Theo.
Just like you hadn’t gone looking for anyone else.
Daphne stopped speaking to you entirely after the incident outside Charms.
Evan physically left rooms when Lorenzo entered them.
Even Mattheo, loud, reckless Mattheo, watched the two of you carefully now. Like standing too close to whatever this had become might get him burned too.
And somehow, through all of it, Lorenzo stayed gentle with you.
That was the worst part.
He wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t angry.
Gentle.
His hand settling automatically at the small of your back through crowded hallways. Fingers brushing your jaw when you looked exhausted. Pulling you against his chest at night like he couldn’t sleep properly otherwise.
Like you belonged there.
“You’re lost in your own head again.”
You blinked.
Lorenzo had crossed the room without you noticing.
His fingers slid beneath your chin carefully, tilting your face upward until you looked at him properly.
“You disappear into your head when you’re unhappy,” he murmured.
“I’m not unhappy.”
“No?”
His thumb brushed slowly beneath your eye. So tender.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because you weren’t unhappy. That was the problem.
Everything was easier now. No one bothered you anymore.
Professors treated you differently. Students moved around you carefully. Your grades improved. You slept through the night without waking up anxious and exhausted and angry at the world.
Lorenzo handled everything before it could touch you.
Like he’d promised.
“You’ve isolated me,” you said quietly.
The words hung between you.
Lorenzo didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.
Instead, his gaze drifted slowly across your face with something almost affectionate.
“No,” he said softly.
His hand slid around the back of your neck. Holding. Steady.
“I isolated everyone else.”
Your pulse stumbled.
Somewhere deep down, you knew he meant it literally.
Not metaphorically.
Not romantically.
Literally.
You thought about the Beater who nearly hit you with the Bludger transferring schools two days later.
About Snape suddenly grading you perfectly after months of disdain.
About people going pale whenever Lorenzo looked at them too long.
About Theo’s silence.
About how every road in your life somehow kept leading back here.
Back to him.
“..I’m scared of you.” You whispered.
Lorenzo’s expression softened instantly. Almost heartbreakingly so.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.
His forehead rested briefly against yours. “You stopped being afraid a long time ago.”
And maybe that was true too.
Because even now, with the full shape of him finally unfolding in front of you, possessive hands, manipulation, and terrifying devotion and all, your body still leaned toward his instinctively.
Still wanted him closer.
And you hated yourself for it.
Lorenzo noticed immediately.
He always noticed.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
Your brows pulled together. “Don’t what?”
“Hate yourself for needing me.”
He said it like it was obvious. Like it was natural. Like the sky being blue or fire being hot.
You should’ve pulled away then.
Should’ve called him insane again. Should’ve run.
Instead, your fingers tightened slowly in the fabric of his shirt.
Lorenzo went completely still.
Watching you. Waiting. Careful in the way predators were careful right before the killing blow.
“You made it impossible not to,” you admitted quietly.
Something dark flickered behind his eyes. Victory.
Relief.
Obsession so intense it almost looked painful.
His hand slid into your hair slowly, like he couldn’t quite help himself anymore.
“I know.”
The honesty of it burned hotter than denial ever could’ve.
You laughed once under your breath. Weak. Breathless. “God, you’re horrible.”
Lorenzo smiled then. Beautiful enough to ruin lives. “I know that too.”
And still yet you tilted your head back when he kissed you.
Your hands still clutched at him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
By the time you realised what had happened, Lorenzo Berkshire had threaded himself through every part of your life so completely that removing him would’ve meant tearing pieces of yourself out with him.
Your habits.
Your comfort.
Your safety.
Your sleep.
Your peace.
Him.
Always him.
The kiss turned deeper slowly. Possessive. Not rushed. Certain.
Like Lorenzo had never doubted this ending for a second.
His hand settled against your throat gently enough to make your stomach twist.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on your face like he was memorising the sight of surrender.
“Mine,” he murmured softly.
The word hit harder than it should’ve. Like he’d been waiting for you this entire time.
Like this version of you: exhausted, dependent, wrapped willingly in his hands, was the one he’d wanted all along.
Outside, thunder rolled across the castle.
Inside, Lorenzo pulled you against him until there wasn’t space left between your bodies at all.
He stayed close, too close for anything to feel ordinary anymore. Until the world outside the room seemed irrelevant, distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely. His arms tightened around you in a way that wasn’t rushed or uncertain, but deliberate, steady, as if he’d decided there was no reason to ever let go again.
He guided you down fully on the bed with him still holding you, the movement careful and unhurried. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, but he didn’t create space between you, not even to settle properly. Instead, he adjusted so you were drawn into the curve of his body, his chest pressed to yours, one arm braced beside you while the other stayed wrapped around your back like a shield.
When he kissed you again, it was slower this time. Deeper in feeling, not in urgency. Like he was memorising the exact shape of the moment. His fingers tightened briefly at your shoulder as if grounding himself there, keeping you close enough that nothing could interrupt it.
And when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because he had to, his breath uneven, his forehead hovering just near yours, as though even a fraction of distance felt wrong now. He didn’t move away. He simply stayed there, caging you gently between his arms, his presence warm and unwavering, like he’d decided without words that this was where he belonged.
Safe.
Trapped. Kept.
Loved.
His mouth brushed your temple gently. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore,” he whispered.
And the horrible thing, the truly horrible thing, was that you believed him.
Reqs open.
Reblogs help more people find the story, comments help me survive writing it.
Was going for something different to my usual style of writing for this one.
