brothers best friend jeongin! x reader fake texts!
summary: your brother doesn't approve of you dating jeongin, but he distances himself from you because he's doing the same thing.
cw: strong language, angst, comfort/fluff
a/n: guyssss it's the last part!! i can't believe this series is finished now 😩 thank you all for your love and support on this and please enjoy the final part xx
masterlist .... series masterlist
taglist: (if your tag is in pink i can't seem to tag you so please let me know if your account name is spelled right!)
summary: It all started because Blaise wanted to prove he could bake.
characters: slytherin boys x bunny! reader
warnings: mentions of weed
word count: 701
It all started because Blaise wanted to prove he could bake.
“No, trust me,” he said that Saturday afternoon in the Slytherin common room, sleeves rolled up, wand stirring a mixing bowl. “I followed the recipe exactly. These are gourmet.”
Mattheo leaned against the counter, unimpressed. “You’re making brownies, Zabini, not a five-course meal.”
“They’re special brownies,” Theo said with a smirk, tossing a smidge of something questionable into the batter.
No one thought much of it. Not until you-the sweet, gentle bunny animagus who everyone doted on like a little sister (or girlfriend, depending on who you asked) -hopped into the room, literally.
You were small and fluffy in your bunny form, white fur dusted with soot from wherever you’d been adventuring this time. Mattheo scooped you up immediately, shaking his head. “Merlin, you’re hopeless.”
You nuzzled into his hoodie pocket, and the boys continued their banter as Blaise finally pulled the tray from the oven. The smell was heavenly -warm chocolate, caramel edges, a hint of something earthy beneath.
“Don’t touch them yet,” Blaise warned, “they need to cool.”
Two minutes later, you-now very much back in human form-peeked over the counter, eyes wide. “Are those brownies?”
“Yeah,” Draco said without looking up from his book, “Zabini’s latest ego project.”
You smiled, already reaching for one. “They smell amazing!”
“Wait-” Theo started, eyes widening.
But it was too late.
You’d already taken a big, happy bite.
Everyone froze.
Mattheo stared. “Tell me she didn’t just-”
“She did,” Enzo groaned, rubbing his face.
Theo winced. “Oh, bloody hell.”
Draco set his book down slowly. “Please tell me you didn’t let her eat those brownies.”
“She grabbed it herself!” Blaise protested. “How was I supposed to stop her?”
“By using words, maybe?” Mattheo snapped.
Fifteen minutes later, you were lying on the common room couch, giggling at the way the torches flickered. “They’re dancing,” you whispered dreamily. “They’re… they’re little fire people.”
Theo crouched beside you, looking horrified and slightly impressed. “Okay, she’s definitely high.”
Blaise leaned against the arm of the couch, muttering, “She’s handling it better than Nott did the first time.”
Theo glared. “Not funny.”
Mattheo knelt down next to you, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, “how you feeling?”
You blinked up at him, pupils wide. “Your hair looks like a cloud.”
He tried not to laugh. “Right. Okay. Cloud hair. Good sign.”
You reached up, gently patting his curls. “Fluffy cloud. Soft.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about incompetence while Enzo slipped you a glass of water. “Here, drink this, bun. It’ll help.”
“Bun?” you echoed, grinning. “I am a bun!”
And before anyone could stop you-you shifted.
A flash of fur, a pop of magic, and suddenly there was a tiny white bunny sitting on the couch, looking very pleased with herself.
Theo groaned. “Oh, perfect. She’s high and transformed.”
Blaise leaned down to look at you. “She’s just… sitting there. Staring.”
“She’s vibing,” Mattheo said, crossing his arms. “Let her vibe.”
You wiggled your nose.
Mattheo sighed, scooping you up carefully and setting you in his lap. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”
You responded by hopping in a little circle before collapsing in his lap, perfectly content.
Hours later, when the effects finally wore off and you turned back into yourself, your head was on Mattheo’s shoulder, his hoodie draped around you.
“What happened?” you mumbled, voice sleepy.
Blaise smirked from across the room. “You ate a felony.”
Theo grinned. “You owe us new brownies.”
Draco just sighed. “And I’m never trusting this group with baked goods again.”
You groaned. “Remind me to never eat anything in this dorm again.”
Mattheo chuckled, squeezing your hand. “Deal. But for what it’s worth…” he glanced down at you, still curled against him, “you make one adorable stoner bunny.”
You giggled, burying your face in his chest. “You’re mean.”
He grinned. “Yeah. But you love me anyway.”
And you did. Even if you’d never, ever look at brownies the same way again.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - The nightly routine begins: one by one, six older siblings kiss their baby sister goodnight
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - requested: this is soo cute babes!! this was so fun to write. "ok!!! this is just a small thought i have and need to share it w u ana 🥹 i imagine after a riddle family dinner everyone is just lounging around the family room but toddler!aurelia has a bedtime so yn leads her to every single one of her siblings + tommy and everyone has a diff way to say goodnight to her in kisses and hugs </333 the way this family loves eo bc of how beautifully u write is forever engraved in my mind. love from canada !"
The clock chimed softly over the quiet hum of the sitting room.
Baby Aurelia rubbed her eyes from where she was curled in Y/N’s arms, her tiny fist clutching the edge of her blanket.
Y/N stood first, brushing a thumb over Aurelia’s soft cheek. “Alright, loves, it’s your Little sister’s bedtime.”
One by one, the siblings rose from their seats, like a ritual they’d done a hundred times and would never grow tired of.
Mattheo was first, already grinning.
He bent down and pressed a kiss to Aurelia’s forehead. “Goodnight, Little Scene-Stealer. Try not to steal all of mum's attention tomorrow too, yeah?” Aurelia giggled, grabbing his finger with a sleepy smile.
Delphini followed, calm and elegant.
She tucked a stray curl behind Aurelia’s ear and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Goodnight, Bubba. Sleep beautifully, darling.”
With a gentle flick of her wand, a tiny silver butterfly fluttered above Aurelia before fading into sparkles.
Marvolo, pretending indifference but watching her with soft eyes, stepped forward.
“Don’t start any disasters without me tomorrow, Little Chaos,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head.
Albus knelt beside her, warm and gentle.
“Sweet dreams, Little Light,” he whispered, gently brushing his fingers over her cheek.
Lifting his wand, he flicked it softly, and a small glowing star appeared above them shimmering quietly in the air before slowly fading away.
Lilith practically skipped over, eyes bright.
“Night-night, Baby girl!” she said, peppering Aurelia’s cheeks with fast kisses until the baby squealed with laughter.
She curled her fingers around hers for a moment before releasing her with a quiet coo.
Silas stepped up last, trying to look serious and failing.
He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Sleep well, BumBum,” before hugging her gently, careful and soft.
Then the room fell quiet.
Tom stood, smoothing his robes like he always did.
He walked over, placing a hand gently at the small of Y/N’s back.
He leaned down to kiss Y/N’s temple, then pressed another to Aurelia’s forehead.
“Goodnight, my youngest,” he murmured, voice impossibly gentle.
Aurelia cooed, sleepily tapping his chin with her tiny hand.
Y/N smiled, heart full as Tom’s arm wrapped around her waist.
The older children lingered at the doorway, watching softly as Tom wrapped an arm around Y/N.
you look.. familyliar (familiar, get it?) — d.m + reader
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ summary ; A mishap with the time turner brought the Malfoy siblings face-to-face with their parents’ younger versions.
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ content warning(s) ; none, let me know if theres any
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ pairing ; draco malfoy x fem!reader
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ authors note ; im halfway done writing part 4, so i might post it tomorrow or so (depends) also sorry if this was short!!
let me know if you’d like to be tagged 💌
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NOV 13, 1996 - HOGWARTS...
The golden sunrays streamed through the Great Hall windows, catching on floating candles and the nervous faces of three out-of-place Malfoy kids sitting at the very end of the Slytherin table.
Lyra stared down at her plate. “This feels illegal.” Scorpius muttered, “That's because it probably is.”
Leo, completely unbothered, poked at his toast.
“Do you think they have chocolate milk yet?”
Across the table, younger Draco was still watching them like they might explode.
Scorpius recognizes the boy beside his father, it was uncle Blaise. It was a very odd sight for Scorpius to see their usually very cool and composed godfather in such a panicked state.
“You're telling me they just appeared out of nowhere? Are you sure they're your children?-What id they're just your distant cousins? One of them said i was their godfather- IM TOO YOUNG TO BE A GODFATHER!”
Draco shrugged helplessly. “Mate, I don't even know where to start.”
Meanwhile, Y/N sat across from the kids, trying to appear calm despite the hundred questions swirling in her mind. She knew it was possible, but she still didn't believe that these were actually her children. In the flesh.
“So” she began carefully, “are you really my children?”
“Pretty much,” Scorpius said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think we're 18 years ahead from this timeline. Give or take.”
“And we're actually—“ Draco pointed between himself and you, “-your parents?”
Lyra gave an awkward smile. “Yep. Hi, Dad. Hi, Mum. Big fans, by the way.”
Draco blinked, utterly scandalized. “Fans?”
Leo grinned. “Mum says you used to be dramatic.”
Y/N bit back a laugh. “Used to be?”
Draco groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
“This cannot be happening.”
“Look on the bright side,” Lyra said sweetly. “You and Mum end up married. Three kids. Fancy house. Loads of money.l
Draco paused. “..Go on.”
Y/N shot him a look. "Really?"
“What? I'm trying to find the positives,” he muttered.
Scorpius sighed, glancing down at the broken Time-Turner resting on the table between them.
“We just need to fix this. Then we'll disappear and never tell anyone you were soft with Mum.”
Draco froze. “Soft?”
lVery soft,” Lyra said brightly. “You literally hugged her earlier.”
“I did not-“ Draco started, but you just smirked at him.
“Oh, you did.” Y/N said.
And somewhere, somehow, Leo reached for another piece of toast and whispered, “I like it here.”
sweetheart!reader can't think straight with mattheo
short little one while i write all your requests <3
masterlist
"I think Astoria doesn’t like me.” You murmur, though you start to lose your train of thought as Mattheo trails kisses down your jawline to your neck.
“Who?” He mutters, continuing with his open mouth kisses.
You roll your eyes before they flutter close.
“Astoria Greengrass, you know her, I’m sure.”
“Sure, what about her?”
“She said- no, Pansy heard from her friend that she, umm, she-” You can feel Mattheo smirk against your skin before his lips ghost over your ear.
“Yeah?”
“Never mind.” You murmur, titling your head back, leaning into him which makes him chuckle.
“You’re cute.”
“You’re cute, too.” You mumble. He snorts.
“Sure.” He pauses his ministrations, giving your poor brain time to think and giving you some space to breathe before he’s whispering in your ear again.
“I like your skirt.” He whispers, his hand playing with the hem from where it was resting on your thigh, “You should wear it more often.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Mattheo traces shapes on your thigh, you swear you feel the shape of a heart, “Please, baby.”
He coaxes you onto his lap and smiles smugly when you nod.
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Sweetheart.”
You make a mental note to wear this skirt again, you quite liked it anyway. Besides, you’d wear bees woven together if Mattheo asked nicely enough.
He finally moves to kiss your lips, making you feel dizzy and fuzzy all over.
Your hands tangle in his hair as you melt into him.
He pulls away, leaving you in a daze.
Mattheo smirks and pats your head after checking his watch. “It’s dinner time, Sweetheart.”
You don’t respond, your mind blanking.
He laughs. “Come on.”
You snap out of your daze, finally.
“I hate you.” You whine.
He laughs. “Sure you do.”
also! i hope you know that for some of your requests i do have them in my drafts already written but i thought that they fit boyfriend!mattheo more so unfortunately we have to wait a little for those
sweetheart!reader is tipsy at a party... mattheo comes to the rescue
content warning: underage drinking, mentions of reader being drunk
thank you to the anon who gave me this idea <3 here's a look into situationship!mattheo !! also gilmore girls/jess mariano reference because i love him
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You're chatting and giggling away at Theo in a secluded corner of the loud Slytherin party, you're two drinks in and much more than a little tipsy.
"It's, like, you don't even understand how sad it is," your hands are moving around wildly, matching your wide, impassioned eyes as you continued to ramble, "Jess was literally perfect for her when he got older 'cause he, like, totally matured! You know? He convinced her to go back to Yale and he read books!"
Theo nods along from his place on the couch, his eyes following your movements as you pace in front of him, he's only half following what you're slurring together, before he catches the eye of his friend.
Mattheo walks over until he's only a few inches behind you.
"Sweetheart." Mattheo calls, you turn around to see him standing behind you with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Matty!" She giggles, practically jumping into his, now open, arms.
"Your girlfriend's a lightweight." Theo muses.
"M'not his girlfriend." You pout.
"Not yet." He corrects, making you beam. He didn't like to give false hope but he knew you most likely wouldn't remember this by tomorrow morning.
As he watched you sway, balancing in your chunky high heels, he wasn't sure you would remember most of this in five minutes.
He turns his attention to Theo. "How much has she had to drink?"
"Not too much, like I said, lightweight." Theo laughs, "I was watching her 'till you came, figured you'd be worried."
You were too enamoured by the hem of Mattheo's shirt to hear what Theo was saying.
"Thanks, man." He says, there's a beat of silence filled only by your quiet giggles at nothing, "Well, I'm here now."
"And! That's my cue to leave." He stands from the couch.
"Bye Sweetheart!" He waves goodbye to you like a kindergarten teacher would to a child, bending a little to the height of your slightly slumped over form. Mattheo nods as a sort of farewell and you wave your fingers absentmindedly, still focused on Mattheo's clothes.
Mattheo turns to you, again, and gently guides you to the couch.
"Your eyes are so sparkly." You murmur, bringing a hand up to his face clumsily.
"Sparkly?" He asks, amused.
"Yeah, it's like there's glitter in it." You say, giggling more, "I love glitter."
He laughs, you attempt to scowl.
"Don't laugh." You whine, "M'trying to flirt."
At least some things never change.
"Well, then, thank you, Sweetheart." Mattheo said, "I think your eyes are sparkly as well."
You squealed at the compliment, too drunk to keep your reactions inside where they were usually kept.
"Matty, Matty, Matty." You call suddenly, tugging on his arm.
"Yes, Sweetheart." He says patiently, putting one hand on top of yours to settle her down.
"I love y-" your words muffle when he puts a finger on top of her lips, you make a sound of protest.
"Shh, you can't say it yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I want you to remember the first time you say it." He says, "I want you to mean it."
You’re too tipsy to understand what he means by that so you simply look up at him with your wide heart eyes.
“You’re so fucking cute.” He says, squinting his eyes at you.
You smile at the compliment, it reminds him of sunshine and sugar.
Your head lolls and Mattheo reaches out, like an instinct, to stabilise it.
"Careful." He murmurs, "You're gonna have to keep that head steady there, Pretty Girl."
"Can't." You mumble, eyes fluttering close, "too heavy."
You lean closer him, at least, you try to. You lay all your body weight on him and almost fall before he catches you with one arm wrapped around you and a laugh.
You gaze up at him, doe eyes all glassy, before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“You’re really nice to me.”
"Well, you're very lovable, you make it easy." He boops your nose once prompting you to giggle again.
"No, m'serious, you're always playing all tough guy around everyone else but you're very, very nice to me."
“You think so?” He asks, with an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me.” You giggle, flirting shamelessly.
Oh, you have no idea.
taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls if your name is crossed out, it’s cause tumblr won’t let me tag you :(
i'm back-ish !!! this is set pre situationship (when they were friends-ish)
masterlist
It’s 4 PM on a Tuesday when Mattheo enters the Slytherin common room.
He’s immediately met by the loud jeering of his friends and he’s never wanted to tape mouths shut more than he does now.
“Hey Mattheo!” Enzo calls, Mattheo ignores him.
He heads straight to the couch, he spreads his legs out, claiming the couch for himself. His friends eye each other.
“Ouch, Matty.” Enzo snickers, used to his “moods” by now. “And how was your day?”
“Shut the fuck up.” He says, voice cold and uncaring.
Enzo just laughs harder, Theo rolls his eyes but hands Mattheo a cigarette.
Mattheo huffs and takes out his silver lighter from his pocket, lighting it. He takes a drag, blowing smoke out of his mouth.
“So what happened today?” Theo asks
“What do you mean?” Mattheo replies sharply.
“He wants to know why you’ve had such a stick up your ass today.” Blaise says, Mattheo glares.
“It’s because Sweetheart wasn’t here all day.” Enzo taunts.
“Who?” Theo frowns.
“That sweet, Hufflepuff girl in Charms.” Blaise describes, “Pansy’s best friend.”
“Can we not talk about her.” Mattheo says.
“Oh! Did I hit a nerve?” Enzo laughs gleefully.
“No, but I’m going to hit a nerve.”
Before a real fight can break out, a flash of black leather and faux fur blurs in Mattheo’s peripheral vision. But instead of Pansy, it’s you.
You practically run down the stairs frantically.
When Mattheo catches a glimpse of your hair, he panics. He straightens his back and tosses the cigarette behind him, sparks fly and land on Enzo’s arm. Enzo yelps at the slight sting.
Not that you notice, you’re too busy — for lack of a better word — fretting.
“Hey Sweetheart,” Enzo drawls, Mattheo dreams of snapping his neck. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are you wearing Pansy’s jacket?” Blaise asks.
“I lost my favourite jacket somewhere in the forest earlier during Potions because, for some reason, Professor Snape insisted we go to the forest to collect the ingredients ourselves — which was actually quite fun! I think I saw a deer. Though, there’s no way of knowing.” You take a breath before continuing to speak, “But now it’s all dark and I’m scared to go into the forest at night because, well, that’s how people die! and I asked Pansy to go with me but she’s feeling under the weather so she lent me her jacket because I’m freezing and.”
You pout, gently petting the fur of the jacket like it's a cat that's curled itself over your shoulder. “Not that I don’t love this but… I don’t think it suits me.”
You put your head in your hands before lifting it to look at the crowd with the saddest eyes Mattheo has ever seen.
“I’d just really like my jacket back.”
The boys watch you in a daze while you weave through tangents and run on sentences to finish your story. Mattheo snaps out of his enamoured state to clear his throat before speaking up.
“I can help you look for it.”
You look at him with delighted surprise, the boys whip their heads to him in shock.
“Really?” You ask with your wide doe eyes. He’s sure there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you right now.
“Sure, s’no problem.” Mattheo feigns casualty, standing up from the couch. He prays there's no lingering cigarette smoke on his clothes.
He does the act of nonchalance so well you don’t notice his hands shaking slightly.
You squeal happily, running over to grab his arm. You drag him out of the common room.
“I love you! You’re an angel.”
His friends share knowing looks with each other while he’s just looking at you.
i might write a part two of them actually trying to find her jacket <3
in which — playing as keeper for the slytherin quidditch team is never easy. yet, when someone places a hex on your broomstick mid-match—almost injuring you—your teammates take matters into their own hands..
contains — five protective boys (mattheo riddle, theodore nott, draco malfoy, blaise zabini, enzo berkshire), a vengeful friend (pansy parkinson), mentions of heights & falling, hexing, a physical altercation & bleeding, appearances from mcgonagall, hagrid, madam hooch, and cho chang
word count — 1.8k
A collective gasp rang through the stands, the audience full of shades of emerald green and navy blue watching in shock. Lee Jordan swore loudly into the enchanted megaphone he held as he commentated the match — the sight so jarring that not even McGonagall reprimanded him over his choice of words.
“What the-,” Mattheo Riddle, who was flying closest to you, hovered his broomstick beside yours.
You, however, couldn’t respond, as you were too busy trying not to fall thirty feet down from your broomstick. You bent downwards, holding onto the handle for dear life.
The Quidditch match had been going smoothly — Slytherin was in the lead against Ravenclaw by 20 points to 0, and the weather conditions were ideal for one of the last match’s of the season.
As Keeper, you maneuvered your broom in front of the three goalposts on your team’s side when suddenly, the broomstick had started moving out-of-control.
Your weight was held precariously on the broomstick which rattled beneath you — twisting and turning in every direction possible. The sight of your green robes swooshing this way and that caused the stands of heads to turn in every direction, trying to locate your resisting broomstick that held you, almost dangling.
Even the Ravenclaw team remained on their own broomsticks, transfixed at the sight — not even bothering with the fact that the goalposts were now deserted of protection against the Quaffle, which now floated around aimlessly.
Theodore Nott made his way over to your other side, before you abruptly turned in the other direction. “Careful, bella,” he said, narrowly avoiding being hit by the tail of twigs from the end of your broomstick.
“Make — it — STOP,” you rasped out, struggling to hold on — the broomstick moving even impossibly faster as it continued to rotate.
“Theo, go tell Flint to call time-out!” Mattheo yelled over the increasingly loud gasps coming from the crowd, as he tried to reach for the handle of your broom to hold it still.
Theo nodded, quickly tilting the hilt of his own broomstick towards the Slytherin captain.
Draco Malfoy, who was too preoccupied by your struggle rather than the golden snitch he was supposed to catch, made his way over.
“Are you alright?” he asked, concern — and mild entertainment — laced in his words.
“Oh — yeah — FANTASTIC!” you roared sarcastically, as your broomstick began to rise upwards and descend a few feet rapidly.
The sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle rang throughout the pitch, as Theo made his way back over to the small huddle of team players that had formed around you. Behind him was Blaise Zabini — Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint behind him a distance away, watching in astonishment.
“How do we make it stop?” Theo asked, as Mattheo was almost knocked off his own broom — the handle of yours colliding with the front of his, sending him spinning.
“Guys!” a voice called from the stands. As you spun, you caught the brief sight of your two other friends who weren’t on the Quidditch team — Pansy Parkinson and Enzo Berkshire.
“Get her off it!” Pansy shrieked out, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands as she thought you were about to plummet to the grounds.
Mattheo and Theo exchanged a silent look with one another, before tilting their brooms downwards. They hovered below where you flew — waiting to catch you if you fell.
“Try a spell or something!” Enzo said, as he began to pull out his own wand, Draco and Blaise following suit.
“Immobulus!” Draco called out. The green sparks that illuminated from the tip of his wand twinkled around the wooden broomstick; he had missed you, as you were moving too fast.
“It’s not working,” he said, growing concerned the more pale your face became with each passing minute of vertigo.
“What is that?” Pansy pointed towards a cloaked figure that stood at the bottom of the pitch, beneath the stands. The figure was staring fixedly at your broomstick, their mouth forming around unheard words.
“Ugh, I’ll be back. Don’t let her fall!” Pansy ordered, before hurriedly making her way through the stands of immobile Slytherins, who stood transfixed at the sight.
Half of your weight was dangling off the broomstick, as you struggled to maintain your balance on the spinning death trap.
The whole stadium was simultaneously drowned in deafening silence and roars of raucous. Many people gasped, others letting out a sob. Hagrid had even covered his eyes from where he stood near the Ravenclaw students.
Your stomach dropped, as you felt yourself free fall. You shut your eyes tightly, bracing for the impact of the hard grounds.
Then, a collective cheer echoed throughout the stands — louder even than when the Quidditch Cup was awarded. You blinked your eyes open, realizing that you hadn’t landed on the muddy ground, yet rather, in someone’s arms.
“I’ve got you,” Mattheo said, as he pulled you onto his own broomstick — Theo holding onto the handle from beside you to ensure that it could support both of your weights.
A sick crunching sound was heard. You looked down, seeing your broomstick, or, what remained of it, as it toppled to the ground.
You stared with your mouth agape, still shaking as you reached to hold onto Mattheo. “You could say I caught you, huh?” he said jokingly, sending a sly wink over his shoulder at you, before heading towards the grounds.
A gleam of gold shining near where your broomstick had landed caught your eye, causing you to gasp.
“Malfoy, the snitch!” you yelled over Mattheo’s shoulder.
You had caught his attention, as well as the attention of Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, and the rest of the stands. Malfoy lurched forward, Chang barrelling towards the snitch from the opposite side of the pitch.
Both teams held their breaths, watching as the two dived towards the remnants of your broomstick. Malfoy fell towards the muddy terrain, rolling for a few meters.
You gasped. You saw a green gloved-hand reach into the air, brandishing a fluttering snitch that fought against his closed fist.
“Malfoy’s caught the snitch. Slytherin wins!” Lee Jordan roared, his own prejudice against the Slytherin team dispersed from the horrors of the match.
The stadium erupted in applause and cheers, as the rest of the team hurdled towards Malfoy on the grounds — your arms still clenched tightly around Mattheo’s mid-section.
“That was brilliant!” Blaise roared, as Theo clapped a hand on Malfoy’s back, earning a wince from him. Enzo made his way over from the stands, followed by the rest of the Slytherin spectators.
“That was-,” he began, before a horrid scream came from behind the stands.
“YOU!” a female voice roared.
Pansy Parkinson came striding onto the field, pulling a sobbing Ravenclaw by the sleeve of her robe behind her.
“This one,” she began, as the girl reluctantly tried to break away from Pansy’s grasp. “Was hexing your broom.”
The girl sobbed, covering her streaming eyes with the sleeves of her robes. “I was t-told t-to. Another boy said h-he would h-hex me if I d-didn’t,” she sobbed.
“Who?” Theo asked angrily, a shared look of fury mirrored on Mattheo’s, Blaise’s, and Draco’s faces from where they’d made their way over to the forming group.
Wordlessly, the sobbing girl pointed to a boy on the Ravenclaw team. Countless heads turned in his direction. You recognized the boy as being in the same year as you — you had even spoken to him on your first train ride to Hogwarts, the two of you anxious about which House you’d be sorted into.
He was already staring at the lot of you, feigning innocent concern. Before you could stop him, Mattheo had stride towards him, pushing him sharply across the shoulders — the boy toppling backwards to the grass of the pitch.
“Don’t-,” you tried to grab Theo’s arm, but he pulled away, following after Mattheo, wand clenched in his hand.
The boy unsteadily tried to push himself back up from the grass, brandishing his wand from the pocket of his Quidditch robes. He was quickly shot back down by Theo’s loud shout of “Expelliarmus!” as he caught the boy’s wand, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his shoe.
A Ravenclaw first-year from the growing crowd on the pitch gasped, covering his eyes with his much too large robes. Many of the Slytherins cheered, encouragements of “Yeah, hex his arse!” spewing about.
Mattheo leaned towards the boy as he laid on the grass, pulling him forwards by the hem of his Quidditch uniform, punching him across the nose harshly.
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” roared an authoritative voice, hurtling towards the crowd that had grown around the three fighting boys. Professor McGonagall had made her way over, Madam Hooch at her side.
“Depulso!” McGonagall roared. The three boys separated from one another — Theo and Mattheo on one side of the group, the Ravenclaw boy, who clutched his bleeding nose, on the other.
“He’s a filthy cheater,” Pansy chimed in.
“That’s enough, Parkinson!” McGonagall said, fury laced in her voice, her top-hat almost falling over her eyes as she shook on the spot with outrage.
“You,” she spoke, pulling the Ravenclaw boy up by his arm, “Go to Madam Pomfrey’s — and 50 points will be taken from Ravenclaw.” The boy quickly hurried away, his head downcast, a trail of blood following him as he left to the sound of whispers.
“And you two,” she spoke, addressing Mattheo and Theo. “25 points each will be taken from Slytherin.”
“Worth it,” Theo whispered, loud enough that only the seven of you could hear. Mattheo silently fist-bumped him.
“And detention,” she continued. She shook her head exasperatedly, before turning her way back towards the empty grounds, mumbles of “honestly,” and “completely unacceptable,” falling from her lips. Madam Hooch followed shortly after her.
“You all right, bella?” Theo asked you, placing an arm around your shoulders.
“I’m fine,” you assured. “My broom isn’t, though,” you pointed towards the remnants of the wooden broom that lay a few feet away.
“You know, that Ravenclaw boy had a pretty nice one..” Mattheo smirked, a glint in his eyes.
“You can’t steal his broom,” Enzo warned.
“Without us,” Draco finished, him, Blaise, and Pansy joining the rest of you.
“That’s not what I meant-,” he started.
“Come on, with any luck, we can hex him before he even makes it to Madam Pomfrey’s,” Pansy said excitedly, breaking into a run across the field towards the castle.
The five of you stared after her.
“Come on!” she looked over her shoulder and signalled for you guys to follow, breaking into a sprint.
Draco smirked, before running after her, his own broomstick clutched in his hand. Mattheo followed with a laugh, Theo reaching for your hand before the two of you sprinted after. Blaise shrugged, before running.
making tom do your homework is an easy feat that shows the rest of slytherin house just how whipped he is for you, reader is a muggleborn yet you always get your way with him (no specific house), knights of walpurgis cameos, their gossip and reactions are funny (to me), fluff, established relationship, christian coulson tom riddle from chamber of secrets is imagined, riddle era. | wc: 1.2k+ | lordlist
most students keep their distance from tom riddle — head boy, the prodigy with something dark lurking underneath that they don’t want to be caught up in. most students anyway.
you, however, are currently sprawled across the green velvet cushions in the slytherin common rooms beside him, dramatically slamming your potions textbook shut with a groan — making the students (largely consisting of some of tom’s weird friends) to flinch for their lives at the abrupt noise disrupting the peaceful quiet.
“slughorn is trying to kill me,” you whine loudly, earning you a few looks. you fail to notice them however — your eyes shut, tipping your head to rest it against your boyfriend’s shoulder.
tom doesn’t even spare you a glance from his own work, quill gliding across parchment with infuriating ease. you peek a single eye open to watch his reaction, but all you see him do is scribble in ink. it really shouldn’t look so attractive, but no normal guy has hands as sexy as that — veiny, big, powerful.
“you said the same thing last week. and the week before.”
“‘cause it’s still true,” you pout.
“or,” he says pointedly, dipping his quill into the pot of ink besides him, “you’re simply hopeless at brewing anything more complex than tea.”
you sit up straight, head leaving his shoulder which makes tom shift a little at the lack of your warmth, gasping with furrowed brows at the jab. he doesn’t care to look your way. you stare harder. nothing. so, you decide to pinch his arm.
tom barely reacts, of course, finally glancing sideways at you — giving you a blank stare in return and an unamused arch of the brow at your childish behavior.
suddenly, an idea pops in your head — one of great brilliance.
“tom,” you coo, dragging your words. he hums, no longer paying you any mind and busying himself with his own work again — but you know he’s paying attention from his peripheral. you bat your lashes once, then twice, eyes wide and pleading. your voice drips in innocence. “will you do it for me?”
the response comes immediately.
“no.”
you huff, vexed. “why not?”
“unlike you, i have self respect,” he answers coolly.
you narrow your eyes, roll them, before smiling as if he made a funny joke. “i’ll give you a kiss!”
tom scoffs. “i’m not that easily bought.”
you lean in closer, eyes glittering, soft lips ghosting near his ear. he intakes a sharp breath when they brush his lobe. “two kisses. pretty please?”
his quill pauses. some of the other students peak over at the both of you at the sudden silence, having been nosy and overhearing the conversation the whole time.
“i’m not doing your entire assignment.”
“so… half?”
“assisting,” he reiterates, albeit, still giving in to your demands. for all that tom is, he appreciated the value of hard work and looked down on cheating… but for you, he’ll let it slide just this once (it does not end up being just once).
“fine. assist me then while i lie here and do absolutely nothing,” you hum in delight, patting a cushion and making yourself comfortable.
tom exhales sharply — a mix between an exasperated sigh from how much you test his patience and a suppressed huff of laughter.
“you are completely unbearable.”
“and yet, you adore me.”
unfortunately, he did.
because tom riddle is the boy who could bend minds with a smile, and yet, for you — he is currently scribbling out your entire potions essay and rewriting it while you sit back and relax as if you hadn’t just gotten the most feared slytherin at hogwarts to do your homework on your command.
across the room, several members of his inner circle — the so called knights of walpurgis — were watching the whole thing in disbelief.
“she didn’t even try,” one whispers.
“he just… did it.”
another scowls. “she’s a mud—”
“shut up,” a new voice hisses. “he likes her. i heard he hexed rosier last week for making a joke about it.”
“…”
“maybe if we get on her good side—”
“enough.” tom’s voice cuts through the air like a knife.
the gossipy murmurs stop immediately. the group clears their throats, looking anywhere else except at the both of you in a very obvious, idiotic fashion. none of them dared to meet tom’s gaze… except you.
you lean over and kiss his cheek sweetly, smug and triumphant and ever so oblivious. “well, i’ll be back later. don’t miss me too much. i’ll give you the other kiss once you’re done as a reward — promise.”
you stand, dusting off your robes, already moving towards the stairs to leave the common room when he speaks out again, low but heard by all.
“don’t stay out too long.”
you pause in your tracks, turning to face him with a tilt of your head.
“why? gonna miss me?”
tom doesn’t answer your tease with what he wants to, not in front of the blithering idiots — but he doesn’t have to. the look in his eyes says yes, i’ll burn this world down if it ever takes you from me . . . but instead, all that leaves his mouth is:
“because your friends are irritating, and i prefer when you’re where i can see you.”
sure, it’s only that, the students in the common room all thought collectively.
extra:
later that night, when the common room had emptied, the knights of walpurgis gathered near the fireplace, voices hushed but urgent.
“i still can’t believe it,” malfoy mutters, poking the embers with his wand. “he ended up doing the whole bloody essay.”
“he didn’t have to,” lestrange points out gruffly. “he chose to. like… a domesticated pet.”
a few of them snort at that.
rosier leans in, whispering like he’s sharing top secret intel. “i swear on salazar’s beard i saw him almost smile when she came back down and gave him three kisses ‘stead of one like she said. he’s whipped.”
“three?” mulciber repeats, incredulous. “yeah, one for each cheek, and then on the lips,” rosier confirms, puckering his own and making kissy sounds. “like a proper fairytale ending, if the fairytale involved a future dark lord doing someone’s potions homework.”
there is a long pause as they all try to picture it.
avery finally exhales a laugh, making them all turn their heads his way. “he’s gone mad.”
“mad?” nott repeats, smirking into his goblet of wine. “yes, mad with love.~”
that earns a few cackles and smoochy sounds — the kind that immediately dies the second a shadow falls across their little group. they slowly and carefully turn their heads to look back.
tom stands right behind them with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, sleeves rolled up to his elbows neatly, the faintest trace of ink still on his fingertips. his gaze sweeps over each of them, cold and sharp enough to make them shudder and bow their heads in submission.
“something amusing?” he asks softly — tone dangerous.
“no, riddle,” they chorus at once, faces pale.
he regards them for a moment too long to make them squirm, then turns away in finality, the hem of his cloak brushing against the rug as he makes his way up towards the dorms.
but just before he disappears down the corridor, they all swear they see it — the slight pep in his step and the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. like he’s fighting a battle — and losing.
Forever together - Younger!Tom Riddle x 'sister/mom' reader!
Summary-anon request from forever ago!; (y/n) is a big sister/mother figure for young Tom at the orphange, taking him under her wing just after he was born.
UNFINISHED, i could just...not figure out how to write more of this and my brain did not want to supply an ending/continuation but i wanted you guys to be able to read it instead of it just-rotting in my files...sorry :c
warnings; uh, Tom being Tom, animal murder? parentification
=
He’d known her for as long as he could remember, she’d been there since before he could remember actually. His first words, his first step, his first everything had been with her-his mother died giving birth to him and the caretakers of the orphanage had pushed him into her care, she was only 11 at the time-but she stepped up, becoming his pseudo mother.
(y/n), easily his favorite person ever, ever since he could remember-she supported him, kissing his scrapes and wounds when the older kids messed with him because he was small and strange. She eased his nightmares, curled up in her side with her blanket and arms wrapped around him-not caring about being in her room.
The hardest time for Tom was when she had to go away for school, only returning for his birthday and during summer-leaving so little time for him to be with her. Even so, it was his favorite time of year-perhaps in another life, without her, his birthday would be something he hated, but with (y/n); it meant her coming back with gifts from her special school and spending a whole two weeks with him.
And right now, he was 4-turining 5 at the very end of year-waiting for his mother to return from her special school. She was only 16 now, turning 17 within the summer-but she was his mother nonetheless, he didn’t consider her as anything else.
Especially since she promised to take him with her when she aged out of the system.
Tom eagerly waited at the window of his mothers room, peering out into the courtyard below-awaiting her return, knowing she was bringing sweets and gifts for him. He stood higher on his toes as he saw a familiar face enter the orphanage courtyard, and he quickly raced out of the room, other children jumping out of his way-half out of fear half to just stay out of his way.
He made it to the doors just as (y/n) opened them and she smiled, laughing as he launched himself at her, burying his face in her stomach. “Mom!” he yelled and (y/n) wrapped her arms around him, picking him up to rest him on her hip-heading back upstairs to her room, the caretakers breathing a sigh of relief since for the next two weeks-there would be no nasty incidents involving Tom and the other children.
“What did I tell you about calling me mom?” (y/n) teased, pinching his side as he nuzzled his face into her shoulder. “You never said anything bout it,” Tom said, gripping her shirt tightly as she set him back down on his feet in her room.
“Yes, I did,” (y/n) chuckled, ruffling his hair, his hands instantly latching to her hand as she pulled away-making her pick him up to walk further into the room. “No, you didn’t,” Tom quipped back, climbing onto her bed as she dropped her bag onto it, Tom already trying to dig through it before the shoulder strap fell.
“Tom,” (y/n) snorted, prying his hands off her bag. “What do you think you’re doing little man?” Tom looked up at her ‘innocently’, making her snort again. “If you want the treats I brought you, ask nicely.”
“Please?” Tom asked instantly and (y/n) snorted again, letting him dig through the bag, but grabbing a wrapped box from him. “What-wait!” Tom said, reaching for the box, but (y/n) held it away from him, putting it in a spot he couldn’t reach.
“It’s for your birthday,” (y/n) said and Tom stared hard at the present, already coming up with plans to try and get that gift but (y/n) pinched his ear. “Hey you already have some stuff to look at right now,” Tom yelped and pouted, rubbing his ear but quickly turning his attention to the treats and smaller gifts (y/n) had brought back with her.
“Qh-what are these called?” Tom asked, holding up a box that had multicolored bug-shaped candies inside. “Fizzing Whizzbees, they’ll make you float, taste like sherbert.” (y/n) said with a smile, chuckling as Tom tore open the box and ate one-floating a few inches off the surface of the bed. “How are they?”
“It pops!” Tom said, feeling the candy fizzle in his mouth. (y/n) chuckled and caught him as the effect wore off, setting him back down on the bed as he dug through her bag again, finding Chocolate frogs, sugar quills, Bertie bots every flavor jellybeans, and jelly slugs. He, of course, shared these with (y/n), making her smile as he broke a sugar quill in half and handed one to her.
“Thank you,” (y/n) hummed, nibbling at the sugary quill feather, tasting similar to candy floss, as Tom opened the chocolate frog box-yelping as the charmed chocolate leapt from the box-(y/n) catching it.
“It jumps!” Tom gasped, reaching for the frog in (y/n)’s hand, who held it out to him.
“Yep, it's only got one jump in them though, the charm wears off pretty quickly,” (y/n) said, the frog in Tom’s hand hardening and turning to regular chocolate. He broke it in half-it was hollow chocolate-and handed one half to (y/n), who smiled at the offering.
She was the only person he shared with, everyone else got no second thought.
When he opened the box of jelly beans, she carefully took them from him, showing him all the flavors on the side of the box. “liver and tripe? Rotten egg? Bile? Gross!? Who would flavor jelly beans like that!” Tom said with a gag, watching as (y/n) took a green jelly bean, tossing it into her mouth-and then shaking her head with a scrunch of her nose.
“Grass clippings.” She laughed, spitting the jellybean out into the small trash can beside Tom’s bed. Tom scrunched his nose, crawling halfway into her lap-stuffing his hand into the box, grabbing a handful, smelling a dark brown jellybean. “They wont smell like anything but sugar, it’s a game of risk,” (y/n) said, snorting as Tom carefully bit the jelly bean, his shoulders very tense.
He relaxed after a moment. “Chocolate,” He said, handing her the rest of the jellybean, she smiled and ate it, Tom carefully biting the other jellybeans, handing good ones to her and throwing the bad ones away.
It had already been late when she returned from Kings cross station, so soon Tom was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed, crawling into (y/n)’s bed once more as she finished up her night routine, buttoning up her pajamas. “Story?” Tom asked, holding up one of her schoolbooks she’d brought back with her.
(y/n) chuckled, taking the book from him-it was advanced potion making-and while she didn’t doubt Tom would enjoy the contents, it wasn’t a good bedtime story. “Sure,” she murmured, grabbing a different book from her bag; The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She slid into bed and Tom scooched as close as he could-cuddled up into her side, her arm wrapped around him-the other holding the book on her stomach.
She flipped through the pages until she found a story she thought Tom might like. “The tale of the three brothers,” (y/n) began to read, and Tom listened intently, reading alongside her and looking at the illustrations intently.
“he greeted death as an old friend, and they departed as equals,” (y/n) murmured as she reached the end of the tale, noticing Tom had fallen asleep-curled up in her side-his fists clutching her shirt. She smiled softly, closing the book and setting it on her bedside table. She waved her hand-her lamp clicking off, leaving the room in comforting darkness-the moon shining through the window.
She turned, wrapping her arm around Tom-holding him closer like a teddy bear-he snuggled into her in his sleep-letting out a soft breath. (y/n) smiled down at him, her gaze soft. He was a precious boy, even if he only behaved for her; she counted down the days till she could leave the orphanage and take him with her-to help him on his journey to become a wizard, she knew he was going to be great-even now at only 4 years old-he was achieving great feats with his growing magic.
She kissed his forehead, holding her pseudo son/brother close, happy to be back with him for two weeks.
-
“Be good, play nice with the other kids-no fighting. Unless of course one of the other kids want to fight; then you gotta kick the other kids butt.” (y/n) said, fixing the lapels of Tom’s orphanage uniform jacket as he let out a small laugh, the wool scratchy against her skin but she ignored it-it was the start of winter now, so Tom needed all the layers he could get-especially since he was so little and got sick pretty easily.
“Okay,” Tom murmured, looking at her with sad kitten eyes and she smiled, pulling him into a hug, his smaller arms wrapping around her neck. “I’ll miss you,”
“I’ll miss you too little man, be good.” (y/n) murmured, kissing his round, flushed cheek, grabbing her trunk as she stood-Tom walking with her to the orphanage gates-he was too young to accompany her to the station, too young to walk back on his own. He waved his mother goodbye, staying at the gates until she was out of sight.
He hated it when she left, not because he was vulnerable-he could take care of himself-but he liked it when she was around, he was her baby; and he hated when she couldn’t treat him like it.
Tom let out a huff-heading back into the orphanage-his expression stormy, making others leap out of his way, he was always in a terrible mood when (y/n) left.
-
He sat under the shady tree in the courtyard of the orphanage, it was mandatory outside time right now, but it usually didn’t matter what the kids did unless they were trying to escape or doing something horribly wrong, so the care takers left Tom alone-allowing him to read ‘The tales of Beedle the bard’ in peace.
Well, until Billy-the resident bully at the orphanage, picking on anyone smaller than him; I.E, Tom, came stomping up-snatching the book from Tom’s hand.
“What's this? A gift from your mommy?” Billy sneered, rough handling the book in his hand, tearing a page. Tom’s eyes bulged, and he curled his lips into a sneer, lunging towards Billy without a second thought.
“Give that back! You rat!” Tom yelled, his fists beating on Billy with all his strength-which unfortunately wasn’t much as Billy laughed-shoving Tom off him. Tom hit the ground-his head bumping the ground roughly and he let out a yelp out of reflex, making Billy and his little gang laugh.
“Aww, you want your mommy, freak?” Billy sneered and Tom glared, hatred clear in his eyes-he stood-dirt stained fists clenching at his sides, rocks lifted from the ground, Billy’s friends saw it-hitting Billy to get his attention but he kept laughing, tearing the book in half-Tom’s eyes widened in horror, his jaw dropping-the rocks fell to the ground, the boy too much in shock to do anything more as Billy laughed again-throwing the destroyed book at Tom’s feet-leaving before anything more happened.
Tom stared down at the ruined book, his brows pinching-throat closing. No-he shook his head, anger rising again, kneeling to grab the two halves and ripped pages of the book. No, he wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t-Billy didn’t deserve his tears. Tom stood, glaring daggers into Billy’s back as he laughed, eyes locking onto the bunny Billy was handed-a bunny Billy handed with tender care.
Billy deserved much worse.
-
It was deserved, Billy had destroyed something precious of Tom’s, so Tom returned the favor.
“NO!” Billy cried-stumbling back into his room-eyes wide, tears already streaming down his face, face pale, bile in his throat. His bunny was dead, hung from the rafters right in front of his room.
Tom smirked at the horrified sound, face buried in another book-in his room. The door was locked, he’d done something else to get himself grounded, an alibi-how could he have hurt Billy’s bunny if he had been locked in his room for the last day?
Billy’s cries echoed down the hall and into Tom’s room, Tom letting out a small, satisfied chuckle.
“Serves him right,” Tom muttered with a cruel smirk, flipping the pages of the storybook (y/n) had given him for his last birthday, this one was of muggle fairy tales, but he didn’t mind, (y/n) liked it, so he did too.
He heard Billy accusing him through the walls but for once-the caretakers backed him up-he’d been in his room the whole day! Including the night before-how could he have gotten out to hang the bunny? Every other child was interrogated, but none fessed up, which resulted in all being punished-except Tom, he was already grounded.
He smiled widely-unnaturally, hiding behind his book, satisfaction running deep in his bones, along with the giddy feeling of getting away with it.
-
Billy remained very suspicious of Tom being the one to murder his bunny, but Tom’s unnerving stare and smirk always sent him running-finally getting the idea that Tom was not the one to mess with. Tom was the freak of the orphanage, the loner, the one who only had his pseudo mother and snakes as his friends.
He did feel some regret in killing the bunny, but only because the bunny hadn’t done anything to him-but it was a tool for revenge, and Tom used whatever he could to get a leg up on Billy.
Meanwhile-Tom tried everything he could to repair the book, trying to sew it back together didn’t work, nor did trying to beg a book binder-they wanted money for it and Tom hadn’t a coin to his name.
So he sulked, storing away the torn book below his bed, hoping (y/n) could repair it when she came back for the summer.
-
Two more years passed before (y/n) returned from her special school for the final time, and that summer was her final summer at the orphanage-she was turning 18 soon-too old to stay at the orphanage, too old for anyone to adopt, and old enough to leave and take Tom with her.
She held his hand as they left wools orphanage together-the caretakers hadn’t fought her, hadn’t tried to keep him-they all wanted Tom gone, and if he was with her-perhaps he’d be a better child. “We’re really going?” Tom asked (y/n), holding her hand tightly, carrying his bag that had his clothes inside, (y/n) had cast an extension charm on her bag-all her belongings resting on her hip. She smiled and nodded, squeezing his smaller hand.
“Yeah, we’re going, c’mon-I was able to save up for a place for us,” (y/n) said with a smile, and Tom smiled back, following (y/n) down the street, away from the orphanage, into a new life with his mother.
-
Tom was woken up horribly by the sound of high-pitched sirens that echoed through the air; dread pooled in his stomach. He sat up in bed, his eyes locked outside the window. He couldn’t move; fear kept him bolted in place. His door burst open, his mother rushing towards him.
“Tom! Get up! we have to go!” (y/n) cried, grabbing his hand as he tumbled out of the rickety bed, just barely able to put his slippers on-his mother waved her wand, several items flew into a small bag and then they were racing down the steps of the apartment complex-colliding with others that were also trying to get out, to get to the bomb shelters.
“Mom!” Tom yelped-losing his grip on her hand-she stopped, crying out his name-another bystander scooped him up; handing him to (y/n). Tom pressed his face to her shoulder, his eyes locked onto the sky, seeing the spotlights searching the dark clouds for the German planes.
Everyone huddled into the bunker, shoulder to shoulder-no room to breathe. Tom was held close to (y/n)’s chest, her arms wrapped tight around him, her wand against his stomach-hidden from view-she muttered spells under her breath, protection charms-to keep Tom safe.
He flinched as the first bomb fell-cries of…everyone rang out through the bunker, children clung to their mothers, wives to their husbands-if they were there. Tom turned, burying his face in (y/n)’s shoulder. She held him tight, muttering assurances.
They’d be okay, their home would be okay, they were going to be okay. Tomorrow would be another day.
-
Tom was 10 when a strange man visited the apartment he and his mother lived in-he knew what the man was, a wizard, and a professor at the special school his mother had gone to for 7 years straight-the same school that took her from him every year without fail.
“What do you teach?” Tom asked before the old man said anything and his brows raised-somehow surprised Tom knew who he was. “my mum’s told me about Hogwarts, told me I was going to go when I was old enough.” Tom said, and Dumbledore raised his brow. He had been told Tom Riddle was an orphan.
He had seen (y/n) in the apartment, she’d let him in even; he’d assumed she was only taking care of Tom; a big sister figure if anything-but it seemed their relationship ran deeper, a mother and her son-adopted yes, but no less meaningful.
So Dumbledore gave Tom a simpler rundown of Hogwarts, yes he told him-it was a magical school where he’d learn to be a wizard and to control his magic, and that he had be on his best behavior there, and that like how (y/n) couldn’t take him with her to school-she couldn’t go with him to Hogwarts. Tom frowned, another 7 years, only seeing his mother every summer and for his birthday, 7 years until he graduated and became a full-fledged wizard.
But he wanted to make (y/n) proud, so he nodded, he’d go to Hogwarts-become a great wizard, (y/n) always told him he would be, that he had amazing potential and would be great in whatever future he chose.
Dumbledore gave Tom his acceptance letter, and left, Tom raced to his mother-(y/n) smiling as he showed her the letter. “Knew you’d get in,” (y/n) said with a chuckle, sitting with him at the table as he ripped open the letter to read it.
The letter read the same as any child’s would when accepted to Hogwarts, Tom showing his excitement eagerly to his mother-who never shunned him for showing them or even being quiet. “It says I can either bring an owl, toad, or cat to Hogwarts-can I bring a snake instead?” Tom asked (y/n) who gave a shake of her head, Tom pouted. “Why not?”
“Because they’re not approved and while I’m sure you would take great care of a snake, they’re not exactly Hogwarts friendly, though I could write to headmaster Dippet to see what he says, no harm in asking.” (y/n) said, tucking a curl behind Tom’s ear as he read through his letter once again.
A week later they were in Diagon alley, getting everything Tom would need for his first year at Hogwarts-Tom’s hand held tight in (y/n)’s. “Are you sure I can't get a snake?” Tom asked for the 7th time that morning, and (y/n) gave an apologetic smile.
“Sorry little man, Headmaster said no, but why don’t we find a cat or owl for you instead? I always wanted one when I was going, I just wasn’t able to since the orphanage wouldn’t let me keep a cat or owl.” Tom let out a small ‘harrumph’, remembering Billy’s bunny-and yet they wouldn’t let (y/n) have an animal that wouldn’t be there 10 months out of the year.
They got Tom’s books, his school uniform robes, and finally-his wand. “Ready?” (y/n) asked softly as they walked into the store-Tom’s nerves bubbling in his chest. He nodded, clutching his mother’s hand tightly as they walked up to the counter.
The shop smelled like carved wood and polish, with walls and walls of wands within their boxes. Tom’s mouth dropped open, looking all over the old shop-it was cluttered yet fascinating. (y/n) led him up to the counter, Tom ringing the bell and an old wizard popped around the corner.
“Just on time,” the old wizard said, hobbling around the corner. He waved his hand around, looking for the perfect wand, sliding one from the hawthorn section. “it seems only yesterday, you were getting your wand miss (y/n),” (y/n) smiled down at Tom and he gave a nervous smile back, taking the hawthorn wand as it was offered to him.
He gave it a flick-and a nearby vase exploded.
Tom looked up at his mother like the wand had personally offended him as the old wizard took the wand back. “the wand chooses the wizard, it’s not always the first one handed to you.” (y/n) said softly, her hand resting on his back.
-I am…TERRIBLY sorry but I’ve got no idea how to continue, finish, or even write more of this im in a terrible writing block again for Tom Riddle so, I guess…all writing of mine will be on hiatus??? PLEASE send in requests if you guys have any ideas so I can possibly get back into the groove but GOD my creative brain just turned off :c-
“in which draco malfoy asks you to the yule ball, and somewhere between the falling snow and his trembling voice, he learns what it means to feel human again.”
❄️ draco malfoy x reader · slow-burn tenderness · quiet undoing
🕯️ midnight corridors · fragile confessions · love thawing through winter’s cold
It began with snow.
Not the frantic kind that howled through the Scottish highlands, but the kind that listened — soft, deliberate, patient. Each flake seemed to know where it was meant to fall. They drifted past the spires of Hogwarts like tired ghosts, brushing against stone and ivy, catching faint glimmers of torchlight before vanishing into stillness.
The castle itself seemed to breathe slower beneath it — ancient and content for once, wrapped in white silence. Even the portraits whispered. Even Peeves, for once, was nowhere to be found. The world had gone quiet enough that you could almost hear the snow landing on the windowsills, a gentle ticking sound, fragile as glass.
Inside, the warmth had thinned to a hush.
You’d spent the evening in the library — hours folded into each other beneath a blanket of candlelight and parchment. The air was full of dust and the faint musk of old ink. Time, in that place, didn’t move forward so much as settle. The only thing that changed was the wax dripping down from the candles, soft as rain.
You didn’t notice how late it had gotten until the clock tolled midnight.
The sound rang through the halls — deep, ancient, resonant. It felt like the castle’s heart was still beating somewhere in its bones.
You gathered your books and slipped into the corridor, your breath fogging in the faint cold that seeped through the stones. The halls were empty, shadows long and unmoving. Somewhere far off, the castle creaked — that peculiar sound of an old body remembering it’s alive.
You turned a corner — too fast, too distracted — and slammed straight into someone.
The collision sent your books scattering like startled birds. You gasped, stumbling back, but before you could fall, a hand caught your arm — quick, firm, gloved.
“Careful,” came a voice. Sharp. Controlled. But there was something frayed underneath it, as if the word had cracked on its way out.
You looked up.
Draco Malfoy.
His name moved through your mind like a held breath. He was taller than you remembered — or maybe it was just that he’d grown into the kind of stillness that felt larger than it should. His hair caught the light from the torches, pale as the snow outside, and his eyes — that impossible grey — watched you with the alertness of someone who didn’t know how to relax anymore.
“Sorry,” you breathed, voice too soft in the heavy quiet.
He blinked, almost startled by the sound, and then — as if realizing he was still touching you — released your arm a fraction too late. His fingers twitched once before he shoved them deep into his coat pockets.
“It’s fine,” he said. The words were meant to sound indifferent, but they didn’t quite make it there. His voice snagged halfway — something brittle, weary, human.
You expected him to leave. He always left these days — ghosted through corridors like he was afraid of leaving fingerprints behind. But this time, he didn’t.
He lingered.
The torchlight shivered against his face — all fine bones and exhaustion. The winter had taken something from him, left a shadow where the arrogance used to be. His skin looked almost translucent, like he’d been carved from marble left out in the cold too long.
“What is it?” you asked finally, the silence too heavy to bear.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, gaze flicking to the frost-edged window beside you. “Nothing.”
“You don’t stand in corridors for nothing.”
That earned a ghost of a smile — faint, self-conscious. “You think you know me that well?”
“Well enough to know when you’re lying.”
His mouth twitched again, like he wanted to be annoyed but didn’t have the energy for it. A long pause stretched between you, filled only by the muffled sound of snow pressing against the glass.
When he spoke, his voice was lower. “I was going to ask you something.”
“All right.”
He hesitated, as though even the question itself might betray him. His fingers flexed once inside his pocket, the fabric rustling faintly.
“The Yule Ball,” he said finally, each syllable careful, deliberate. “It’s next week.”
You nodded, cautious. “So I’ve heard.”
“Well, people usually… go. With someone.”
“Usually.”
That caught him off guard — the way your voice stayed level. His eyes flicked toward you sharply, as if the calmness made it harder for him to breathe.
He looked away again. “Would you—” he began, then stopped, jaw tensing. He tried again. “Would you consider going with me?”
The air stilled. The torches seemed to hold their flame.
You stared at him — at Draco Malfoy, of all people — standing there as if the act of asking had cost him something real. His composure looked fragile, stretched thin over something that trembled beneath it.
“You’re asking me?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, too quickly.
“I’m not surprised,” you said softly. “Just… making sure I heard you right.”
He let out a low, frustrated sound. “This is ridiculous.”
“Most honest things are.”
That startled a laugh from him — real, small, and raw. The sound curled between you, startling in its warmth.
He looked down at his boots, then back at you. “You don’t have to say yes. I just thought—” He paused, swallowed, and the next words came quieter. “You might want to.”
The torchlight caught the silver ring on his finger. His thumb moved over it again and again — a nervous habit, maybe. He didn’t look like someone who was used to asking for things.
“I didn’t think you even liked me half the time,” you said.
“I don’t,” he said automatically, then grimaced. “I mean—Merlin’s sake. That’s not what I—”
You couldn’t help it. You laughed, soft and uneven. “You’re doing fine, Malfoy.”
“Fine,” he echoed dryly. “I sound like an idiot.”
“You sound human.”
That made him stop. His eyes lifted to yours, and for the first time in what felt like years, he actually looked at you — really looked. The kind of gaze that saw through the noise.
“That’s dangerous,” he murmured. “Being human.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He gave a small nod, as if that was the first thing that made sense all night. Then, after a moment: “You think I care about anything?”
“I think you care more than you admit.”
He studied you like he didn’t believe it — or didn’t think he deserved to. “And yet you’re still here.”
“I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to be.”
Something cracked then — not loud, not visible, but felt. His posture softened. His shoulders lowered slightly, like he’d been holding his breath for too long.
“So,” he said after a pause, voice rougher now, “that’s a yes?”
You let the silence stretch, just to see what he’d do. His fingers twitched. His throat worked once, twice. His composure frayed at the edges until he almost looked young again — unguarded, uncertain.
“Yes,” you said at last.
The relief hit him in a breath he didn’t mean to release. His lips parted — and then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Not the smirk everyone knew, but a real smile, quiet and disbelieving. “Good,” he said. His voice softened. “That’s… good.”
You tilted your head. “Try not to sound too thrilled.”
“If I sound thrilled, people start asking questions,” he said, a touch of playfulness threading through the fatigue. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the reputation.”
“Heaven forbid anyone thinks you have feelings.”
“Exactly.” But his eyes lingered on you, and the smirk faltered into something gentler. “You make it difficult not to, you know.”
“Not to what?”
“Feel things.” His voice was almost a whisper now. “Around you.”
You froze. And in that fragile silence, something unspoken passed between you — something that felt heavier than any confession could.
He stepped back first, as if afraid that staying would undo him completely. His cloak whispered against the floor.
“(Y/N)?” he said without turning.
“Yeah?”
He hesitated. The torches flickered, painting gold against the frost.
“You’ll look beautiful,” he said quietly. “You always do.”
He didn’t wait for your reply.
The corridor swallowed him whole, his footsteps fading into the stone.
Outside, the snow kept falling — soft, tireless, endless. You stood there in its hush, pulse thrumming, his words echoing in your chest long after he’d gone.
And for the first time, you didn’t hear the echo of his father’s voice in him. You heard his own.
Not the boy he was raised to be — but the boy he could become, if only someone stayed long enough to listen.
concussions and interruptions au
summary: even after all these years, there are still firsts for you to experience with your best friend. your best friend pansy, duh.
wc: 999
cw: suggestive
The battle versus your hair has only just been won in time to go down to breakfast when you discover your newest problem — one you cannot solve on your own. Pansy has already left the dorm to wait for you in the common room, but without her help you wouldn’t possibly be able to leave the room. So instead, you poke your head out of your door, eyes catching on a couple of first year girls walking down the stairs.
You don’t even need to call out to them before their eyes are on you, eyes wide with wonder. “Will you bring me Pansy Parkinson?” You ask, though your voice leaves them no choice but to agree. They nod and scramble away with loud giggles that bring a smile to your face as they squeal to each other ‘She spoke to us!’
You remember the admiration you had towards older students when you were younger. They had helped you with homework even when you were too afraid to ask and always lent a listening ear when you spoke to them shyly. Now, you wonder if they’d ever spoken to you and then turned to ask their best friend for help in covering a hickey.
It’s ironic — you’re supposed to be the good influence and yet here you sit at your desk, waiting for Pansy to come help you. The hickeys hadn’t looked too bad when you came back to the dorm in the dark last night, but in broad daylight they are so much worse. It wasn’t your fault you had enjoyed the new sensation after Harry kissed you senseless in an empty classroom, letting him litter your skin with love bites. He had you under his spell so hard that you'd even asked him how to give one, and he'd let you practice clumsily on his neck. He had groaned for you, a proud sound unlike the shy moans you had made for him. You wonder if you managed to leave a mark on him too.
The door opens, and unfortunately for you, Pansy doesn’t come alone. Blaise, Theo and Draco are all dressed as they make themselves comfortable in your dorm, causing your eyes to widen in slight panic. You gesture with your head for Pansy to come closer to you and she furrows her eyebrows, taking two steps towards your chair and shrugging her shoulders.
Glancing quickly at the three boys, you ask Pansy in a whisper “Is it normal that a beautification charm won’t work on hickeys?”
“Babe, you’re going to have to speak louder.” Pansy replies in her own stage whisper. You sigh disappointedly before trying again “Is it normal-” You move your gaze to Blaise, Theo and Draco, all of whom are leaning towards you in an attempt to listen to your words. “-For fuck’s sake, I need your help Pansy.”
You move your hair out of the way and Pansy gasps loudly, crying out “No way! When!? You didn’t tell me!?”
Theo stands up to get a look at your hickeys and whistles loudly. “Nice going, love. Not so virgin Mary anymore.” You feel your face go hot, not used to this kind of attention from your friends, and turn to Pansy again, eyes pleading.
She just chuckles to herself, pulling her wand out and pointing it to your neck. “I’ll teach you the spell later,” She tells you before mumbling something latin under her breath. She takes her time covering each individual hickey until she’s finally done, Draco, Blaise and Theo all curiously watching through the mirror’s reflection.
“So are you going to tell us how that happened?” Draco smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. Your face twists in humiliation and you shrugged, mumbling “What is there to say?" But when they all look at you expectantly, you add: "Nothing."
Pansy stands tall, beginning to shoo the boys out of the dormitory until you’re both left alone. She giggles quietly, lifting her shoulder high up in excitement before going quiet.
“Wait, you are going to tell me, right?”
“Oh, for sure.”
But when Harry sits with you in the library during a shared free period many hours later, his eyes dip down to your neck and his eyebrows furrow at the sudden disappearance of the dark hickeys he had left on your skin. "Looking for something?" You ask with a knowing smile, leaning over to press a kiss to Harry's cheek.
"Well, yeah I am, actually." He mutters, gently pinching your chin and moving your jaw towards him so he can glance at the other side of your neck. Alas, the love bites are all gone. "What did you do to them?" He asks accusingly, and you have to shush him before Madame Pince comes looking for the noise. "I didn't do anything to them, I just covered them up."
Harry frowns, brushing his fingers on the side of your neck. "Well, bring them back. I put them there for a reason."
You raise your eyebrows in surprise, feeling your face grow hot. "Everyone will see them." Harry huffs, tugging at the collar of his shirt and turning his head to show you the purple bruise on his clavicle. "Well mine's here for everyone to see."
It takes you a moment to process the fact that you're the one who inked that hickey into Harry's skin, reaching over to brush your fingers over it. When you finally get over your stunned silence, you say "Yeah, but your uniform hides that one. It doesn't even count."
The mischievous look in your boyfriend's eyes should be enough warning for you, but it's apparently not warning enough, because you still have the audacity to gasp when Harry begins undoing your tie and unbuttoning the first button of your blouse. You swat at his hands, but he stays unaffected, smiling wildly before pulling you closer to him and ducking his head down to press kisses on your collarbone.
"I'll give you one that doesn't count." He mumbles, and surely gets to work, except he maybe leave a little more than just one.
A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first post. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did.
Summary: Harry realizes beauty was never in the makeup.
Warning: Just a whole lot of fluff.
Word Count: 465
Growing up without a mother, makeup had always been something of a mystery to Harry. Aunt Petunia wore it on occasion, but he’d never paid much attention—until her.
Now, with a girlfriend of his own, Harry finally got to experience something he had rarely encountered before—watching her apply makeup. Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d ever seen it, but there was something magical about seeing her put on the finishing touches right before his eyes.
As she sat in bed applying her makeup, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. He rummaged through her bag and pulled out a soft, fluffy sponge. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “What is this?” His fingers traced over the plush material, a puzzled look on his face.
She chuckled at his innocent question. “It’s called a foundation sponge.” she explained. “You use it to apply foundation to your face.”
She demonstrated by putting some foundation on the sponge, gently dabbing it onto his hand.
“You put this… on your face?” Harry asked, tilting his head with a puzzled expression.
She chuckled again, looking at him affectionately.
“Yes, indeed I do.” She nodded, a warm smile playing on her lips.
Harry frowned slightly, still clearly perplexed. “But… why?”
She stopped for a moment, pondering how to explain it to him in a way he would understand.
“Well… it just makes me feel a little more put together, I suppose.” she murmured, fingers playing with the edge of her makeup bag.
Harry stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “More pretty?” His voice rose slightly in disbelief. “Love, you’re already the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on.” There was an almost indignant tone to his words, as if the mere suggestion offended him personally.
“Harry—” she said, cheeks warming.
But he cut her off with sudden intensity. “I mean it. You could be wearing literal garbage bags right now and still be the most beautiful woman ever.”
The absolute sureness in his voice made the butterflies in her stomach begin to flutter.
Blimey, she just fell for him even harder.
“No, seriously, love, I—” Harry began, before she cut him off.
As soon as her lips met his, he felt a jolt go through his body. It was intense, overwhelming even. When she pulled away, he was left slightly flushed. Finally, he managed to croak out a simple question.
“What was that for?”
She looked at him with adoration in her eyes, still close enough that he could smell the sweetness of her perfume. With a dreamy sigh, she replied.
“I love you, Harry.”
Harry blinked, still dazed from the kiss. “Blimey,” he muttered, grinning as he tucked the sponge back into her bag. “If this is what makeup does, maybe I’ll stop questioning it.”
Thinking about #that scene in the deathly hallows where Harry is a jealous mess because Krum complimented Ginny. Fyi, that’s the kind of jealousy you’d be dealing with.
He doesn’t say anything at first. But his eyebrows do. One twitch when someone compliments you. Two twitches when they linger. Three twitches and he’s suddenly very interested in rearranging the cushions between you and said person.
He defo gets clingy out of nowhere. If someone’s getting too friendly, arm around your shoulder. Hand on your knee. Head on your shoulder. He’s subtle about it—until he’s not. “You cold?” he’ll ask, already halfway through wrapping his Gryffindor scarf around you.
He might even get passive-aggressive if you complimented someone.
“he’s really funny” you say.
“Yeah”
“Almost as funny as that time he fell off his broom.”
“That… didn’t happen, Harry”
“It could”
I personally think he would be more competitive instead of upset if the person he’s jealous of is athletic/quidditch player.
He’d go:
“Caught the Snitch in under five minutes. No big deal.”
And become very competitive during the matches.
We know he’s a bit dramatic and his jealousy is very clear. He’d say ‘I’m fine’ while pouting.
“Something’s wrong with you, tell me”
“Why was he/she holding your hand like that during Transfiguration?!” He jumps out without warning. You froze and then laugh.
“I was casting a spell and almost fell off, he/she just helped me out, Harry” you say, still laughing.
“I can help you out”
He also kind of waits until you find out what’s bothering him. Drama queen okay.
Eventually, he cracks. “I know I’m being stupid, but I just—he was looking at you like you are the prettiest. And you are. But I want to be the one who gets to say it.”
He also apologizes for his jealousy, clinger than ever “Sorry I got weird. I just really, really like you.“
summary ━━━ in which fred weasley is an absolute cuddle bug, and not at all shameful about it.
pairing ━━━ fred weasley x reader
content ━━━ no warnings, fluff, hogwarts!era, bf!fred, fem!gryffindor!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 0.4k words.
You wake up, unsurprisingly—to the feeling of two thick arms wrapped around your waist and Fred’s soft, restful breaths puffing against your neck.
You’d long since given up on learning how your boyfriend managed to get up the charmed staircase to the girls’ dormitory.
“When there’s a will, there’s a way, lovey.” Had been the only answer he’d ever offered—and you weren’t inclined to push the topic further.
Shifting to get comfortable, you find your movements suddenly restricted by Fred’s arms tightening around you.
You freeze, furrowing your brows gently. “Freddie?”
He groans softly, burying his face further into the crook of your neck as he pulls you closer.
“‘S cuddle time,” he mumbles into your skin, like the statement alone explains everything. “No gettin’ outta bed.”
You breathe out a soft laugh, leaning back into his chest as your hands rest over his.
“Wasn’t leavin', bug," you murmur, rubbing his arm soothingly.
“Good.” His chest rumbles with satisfaction as he nuzzles your skin, inhaling your familiar scent. “Yer no’ allowed.”
“You do realize we’re still here, right?” Angelina’s voice cuts in, her brow raised, arms crossed.
Alicia stands next to her, unimpressed. “Like… we live here.”
“So do I,” Fred replies, voice muffled against your neck as he lazily blinks up at them.
“No, you live in your girlfriend’s ribcage. There’s a difference,” Angelina shoots back.
You can’t help but laugh, tipping your head back onto his shoulder. His lips press a soft, lingering kiss to your neck—and you melt all over.
Angelina and Alicia fade into the background as you turn to face him, hand cupping his cheek.
“Sickening.”
“Absolutely nauseating.”
Their voices barely register. You’re too lost in Fred’s warm brown eyes.
Your thumb strokes over his freckled cheek, smiling when he leans into your touch.
“My cuddle bug,” you whisper.
Fred hums, tightening his arms around you.
“Mhm. We’ll stay like this all day, yeah, lovey?” he murmurs, hands slipping beneath the hem of your sleep shirt—his sweater, technically—to trace lazy circles along your back.
“‘S the weekend,” he continues, voice heavy with drowsy contentment. “Want you in m’arms all day.”
You hum, threading your fingers through his red hair. “Then you’ll have me all day, Freddie.”
He shifts, one hand gripping your waist while the other still strokes your back. His eyes open again, warm and pleading.
“Y’promise?” he mumbles.
You smile, gently massaging his scalp. “Course I do.”
“Better,” he sighs, relaxing again as he buries his face against your neck.
“Love you,” he murmurs, words melting against your skin.
Summary: James is given a letter you wrote to him before you passed.
Past James Potter x Female!reader
wc: 1204
Content Warnings: Angst, ANGST, there is no happiness in this, I apologize in advance, reader is dead, this acually goes against what I said I would write about but I couldn't help myself, James and reader used to be in a relationship, Jily now though, they have Harry already, Dumbledoore is there for a few seconds, wolfstar implied, that's really all I can give without giving it away but as always if you find something I missed don't hesitate to tell me!
A/N: Hey guys! long time no see huh? (I posted my last fic like three hours ago). ANYWAY I decided to take a little turn away from what I usually write and try out some angst, this probably isn't going to be common and I might actually never do this again but I thought I'd give it a whirl for my TENTH FIC! Boom guys I got to ten lets all clap, okay but fr now I hope you guys enjoy it!! And I'll see you next time!! (Also I'm thinking of adding pictures to my fics, do you guys think it's a good idea?)
James has never been as quiet in his life as he has now.
Dumbledore sat in his living room while Lily kept Harry occupied in his room, giving James the privacy Dumbledore had requested. However, after hearing what Dumbledore had just said, he wished more than anything that Lily had never left. In fact, he wished that Dumbledore had never come in the first place.
“James, I know how difficult this is for you to hear, but no one else was willing to confront you,” Dumbledore said, lowering his head. “You meant a great deal to her, and I know she was very important to you as well.”
James furrows his eyebrows as he stares at Dumbledore. “Who? As far as I know, everyone I need is with me now,” he says, gesturing upstairs where Lily and Harry are. But all Dumbledore does is shake his head.
“I’m sorry, dear boy,” Dumbledore whispers as he hands James a letter. “She wanted you to have this. She knew she wouldn’t be here for much longer.” After James takes the letter, Dumbledore stands and gives him one last sorrowful glance before apparating out of the apartment.
James lingers in thought, the joyful laughter of his wife and sons drifting from upstairs. Despite their happiness, a heavy weight settles in his gut. Why would someone send him a letter? Curiosity overpowers the urge to discard it, and with trembling fingers, he opens the envelope.
As he reads the first line, time seems to freeze.
Hey, Sunshine.
The familiar greeting floods him with emotions; you were the only one who ever called him that. His heart races, memories rushing back, leaving him in disbelief and longing after so many years.
I know you’re probably in shock, or something like that. We haven’t talked in a quite a bit, huh? I hope you’re doing well. I heard you have a kid! I think his name was Harold? Harry? One of those.
James huffs a small laugh at the last line. You never did have the best memory.
Anyway, the reason I’m writing this letter is because I know I probably won’t make it to tomorrow. Voldemorts been on my trail for months now, and it’s only about time before we cross paths. And if someone managed to find you and give you this letter, it means we did.
James takes a deep breath. His eyes fill with tears as he grips the paper tightly. This has to be a joke or a prank, right? You wouldn’t be foolish enough to get caught, would you?
These last few months have been hard without you. I know we haven’t spoken since our fight in Seventh year, but now more than ever do I wish I could have one of your hugs. I’ve barely been able to sleep without waking up to a twig snapping or someone's voice close to my tent. Your arms could always help me rest.
James’s breath grows shaky, and his denial is overthrown by his grief.
I’m sorry to bombard you with all of this. I know you’ve moved on and started a new life with Lily, like you always wanted. And I am so very happy that you were able to do that. I know a family was always one of your dreams. You remember that night, on the astronomy tower, when we talked about our future?
How could James forget? That night was one of the happiest moments he shared with you. You stayed up all night, talking and cuddling under a single blanket. James had sworn at the time that he had never been happier.
We talked for hours until the sun came up, and all you talked about was our family. I remember every detail. You wanted two daughters and one son. A dog and a cat for both Sirius and Remus. You wanted to have a little garden full of my favourite flowers, and we would have waffles for breakfast every morning. Our daughters' names would be Annie and Molly. Our son's name would’ve been Harry. Is that what you ended up naming your son?
James couldn’t hold back the tears rolling down his face. He realized that, unintentionally, he had named his son after the name you two had dreamed of when you were kids. As he looked at the letter, he noticed the tear stains and understood that you were likely crying as you wrote it, too.
I miss those times when it was just us. When you would pass me notes in class, or teach me how to ride your broom. When you would sneak me food for when I was sick, or hold my hand before an exam because you knew it made me nervous. I miss the words you would say at night, when it was quiet and Sirius and Remus had snuck off together and Peter was out doing Lord knows what. So it was just us. And you’d hold me close, and whisper in my ear, “I’ll never leave you, you’re always safe with me.” Merlin, could I use that right now? I miss you, unfunny jokes, and the way you would stumble into the door when you weren’t looking. I miss you, James.
James let’s out a whole sob at the last line. He misses you too. More than you will ever know.
I’m not supposed to. We said some really hurtful things the last time we talked. You were paranoid, and so was I. Just kids freshly graduating and already being drafted into the war. We didn’t know what we were going to do, so we did what we both do best. Push each other away. Except this time we wouldn’t see each other in class the next day or at Dinner and have time to talk. We both went our separate ways.
James has to pause his reading for a moment; otherwise, he feels like he might forget to breathe altogether. The giggles of his son break the silence, and he can’t help but wonder if he would sound like them if he were yours, or if he would have your laugh instead. That thought makes his chest ache.
I’m sorry. I should stop this letter now rather than never finish in the first place. I do hope you never get this letter and we can maybe meet up again when the wars over. We could be friends and I can meet your son and we could talk everything out. But if you do get this letter, I just want you to know that I tried my best and I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.
Your Love.
James doesn’t know what to do or how to behave. He never imagined he would face something like this in his life. You were always a constant presence for him, providing warmth he could lean on when he felt cold. You supported him throughout his time at Hogwarts. His friends even knew about you and how much he loved you.
He never thought there would be a world without you. Even after the fight at King's Cross, he always assumed he would see you again. But now you are gone—truly, actually gone.
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