summary: during day two at a chaotic beach day in paros, enzo spends most of his time trying—and failing—to act normal anytime you're near mattheo. between volleyball disasters, unsolicited sunscreen assistance, and completely normal moments of jealousy, it becomes clear than he's completely and hopelessly down bad.
author’s note: jealous attention whore enzo is my favorite enzo. you can't tell me this man wouldn't walk around like a kicked puppy any time you look at anyone but him. after all, he's just a big baby who needs your eyes on him at all times.
♫ obsessed- mariah carey. nav. chapters. more enzo.
Day 2
Golden Cove Beach — Paros, Greece
The beach was already crowded by the time everyone wandered down from the villa.
Rows of striped umbrellas lined the shoreline while bright blue water stretched endlessly toward the horizon. Somewhere farther down the beach, music drifted from a nearby taverna and mixed with the sound of waves breaking against the sand.
Theo immediately attempted to spike a volleyball before anyone had actually assembled teams.
The ball sailed directly into a beach chair.
“Promising start,” Blaise observed.
“I’m warming up.”
“You hit a pensioner.”
Theo glanced over toward the elderly wizard currently dusting sand off his shoulder.
The man gave him a cheerful thumbs up.
“See?” Theo said. “Natural athlete.”
“No,” Draco replied dryly. “You launched a projectile at the elderly.”
The argument continued all the way across the beach while Enzo only half listened. Mostly because he was busy having a completely different problem.
Tragically, you were wearing a tiny blue bikini.
Under normal circumstances, Enzo wouldn’t have considered that a crisis. He had spent years surrounded by beautiful women wearing significantly less clothing without suffering any permanent psychological damage.
Except apparently everything became a crisis when it involved you.
As if he hadn’t already spent most of the morning wanking himself into oblivion like a pathetic prepubescent school boy after you left the shower smelling like lemon and jasmine.
You sat cross-legged on a towel near the water while Ginny animatedly explained something with enough hand gestures to qualify as interpretive dance. Sunglasses balanced on your nose while sunlight caught the gold chain wrapped around your ankle.
Mattheo followed his gaze. The moment he spotted you, understanding immediately settled across his face. “Oh.”
Enzo regretted this conversation instantly. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I really wasn’t.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Mattheo smiled.
“Actually, now I am.”
“Fuck off, Riddle.”
Mattheo looked deeply pleased with himself.
Before Enzo could decide whether murder was socially acceptable before lunch, Hermione appeared beside Draco holding sunscreen and the emotional burden of organizing a handful of emotionally unstable adults.
“Everyone is required to reapply SPF every two hours.”
Theo immediately cupped his hands around his mouth. “Booooo. Tyranny.”
“You almost got heatstroke yesterday,” Hermione scolded.
“I’m too sexy for heatstroke.”
“Too stupid is more like it,” Blaise called from somewhere behind him.
Hermione sighed exasperatedly. “You people have absolutely no regard for sun protection.”
“Nott,” Draco said sternly. “Do as my lovely fiancée says or I’ll wring your bloody neck.”
Theo looked genuinely wounded. “This relationship has changed you.”
“No,” Draco replied. “Years of suffering your presence has changed me.”
Meanwhile, Hermione had already begun distributing sunscreen with military efficiency. Nobody was safe. Not even Pansy, who insisted SPF ruined her glow. Especially not Ron, who somehow managed to sunburn in locations previously believed impossible.
Mattheo took sunscreen from Hermione, then without pausing passed it back over his shoulder before anyone asked.
Theo caught it one-handed without looking up from what he was doing.
Enzo accepted a bottle before immediately spotting an opportunity, or more accurately, creating one. At this point, the distinction felt increasingly irrelevant.
You were still sitting near the shoreline when he approached. The second your gaze landed on him, suspicion appeared across your face. Honestly, that felt fair.
“You have that stupid look on your face,” you informed him.
“What stupid look?”
“The one that usually means I’m about to be subjected to something incredibly idiotic.”
He held up the sunscreen. “I’ll do your back.”
You stared at him. “No.”
The rejection arrived so quickly he almost respected it.
Which, naturally, only made him want to try harder.
“Why not?”
“Because I have functioning arms.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
You lowered your sunglasses slightly. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Excellent,” Enzo replied. “Saves time.”
You glared at him.
Enzo glanced vaguely over your shoulder. “Daphne’s looking at us.”
You turned instinctively. “She isn’t.”
“She will be once she sees how excellent of a boyfriend I am.”
You blinked. “Because nothing says devoted partner quite like aggressively forcing sunscreen onto unwilling victims.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Enzo held up the bottle expectantly. “You signed up for this, sweetheart.”
You stared at him for a long moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”
His grin widened immediately.
“But only because listening to you talk for another five minutes sounds significantly worse.”
“You’re being incredibly critical of my process.”
Enzo smiled.
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
At least, not originally.
Somewhere along the way, however, the excuse had become significantly less convincing. Now it mostly felt like a convenient justification for touching you whenever possible, which admittedly sounded more troubling than he cared to examine too closely.
“Remember,” he said with a grin. “We’re madly in love.”
“I madly want to throttle you.”
There it was again. That sharp little bite in your voice that should’ve irritated him, but instead of annoyance, something hot twisted low in his stomach. He genuinely needed psychiatric evaluation.
“Don’t tempt me with a good time, darling.”
“If I was your girlfriend,” you said sweetly, “I’d smother you in your sleep.”
“If I was your boyfriend,” Enzo replied with a lovesick grin, “I’d gladly let you suffocate me with your thighs.”
“I bet you’re just dying to be used.”
Your voice dropped into a low purr that immediately made every coherent thought abandon his horny little brain.
Enzo paused.
Nearly choked on his own tongue.
“After all,” you continued, “that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it, Lorenzo?”
All the blood in his body rushed straight to his cock.
Quite pathetic on his part, really.
In fact, Enzo was reaching levels of horniness previously unseen by mankind.
You looked annoyingly smug.
“You’ve become very full of yourself.”
You smiled. “No. I’ve always been like this. You just weren’t paying attention.”
The irritating thing was that he had been paying attention. Always. Far more than was healthy.
Before you could continue arguing, Enzo reached for the sunscreen. His fingers brushed lightly against your shoulder and, without warning, the beach seemed to fall away around him.
One second there was sunlight and salt air. The next, he was seventeen again.
The restricted section of the library stretched around you in shadowy rows while moonlight spilled through the tall windows overhead. The castle was quiet at this hour, save for the occasional creak of old floorboards and the distant hum of magic buried deep within the walls.
You were pressed between the shelves and his chest, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle after sneaking past Madam Pince. Your eyes were bright with mischief, your hand still wrapped around the front of his jumper from where you'd nearly dragged him behind a bookcase moments earlier.
“You’re a terrible influence,” you whispered.
“You followed me.”
“You asked.”
“You could’ve said no.”
You tilted your head.
“You would’ve kept asking.”
Fair point.
You'd been standing close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of amber hidden in your irises. Close enough that every breath felt shared. Neither of you seemed particularly aware of the library anymore.
Without thinking, his hand found its way to your cheek. A strand of hair had fallen across your face, and he tucked it carefully behind your ear. The movement was small. Simple. Familiar in a way that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
You'd gone quiet afterward.
Not uncomfortable. Not uncertain.
Just watching him.
The teasing smile you'd been wearing softened at the edges while your eyes lingered on his a second longer than they should have. The distance between you felt smaller now, close enough that Enzo could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears.
For one reckless, hopeful second, he thought maybe you were about to close the gap yourself.
Then somewhere down the corridor came the unmistakable sound of Filch muttering to himself.
Much to his dismay, the mood shifted instantly.
You dissolved into laughter the second Filch’s voice echoed down the corridor.
“Run, Berkshire.”
Before he could answer, you grabbed his hand and took off between the shelves, pulling him after you as your laughter bounced through the empty library. Enzo followed without hesitation, his pulse racing for reasons that had very little to do with getting caught.
The memory faded as quickly as it had arrived.
The library dissolved around him until moonlit shelves gave way to blue water and white sand. The sound of your laughter disappeared beneath the crash of distant waves while warm sunlight settled across his skin once more.
And you were still sitting in front of him.
For a brief second, neither of you moved.
Something shifted behind your sunglasses then. He couldn't quite place it, but it felt familiar. Like you had followed him into the memory for half a heartbeat before reality returned and whatever had passed between you disappeared again.
Then you pulled away.
Too quickly.
Too deliberately.
The movement was subtle enough that nobody else would have noticed, but Enzo did.
Because apparently noticing everything about you had become his full-time occupation.
“I can put sunscreen on myself, thanks.”
Your voice sounded perfectly casual, which is exactly why he knew it wasn’t. Against his own will, Enzo handed over the bottle.
“Suit yourself.”
You took it without looking at him.
He desperately wanted you to look at him.
A few minutes later, Theo found him standing motionless near the volleyball net.
“You’re staring into space again.”
Enzo glanced over. Theo looked concerned. Well, as concerned as Theodore Nott was capable of looking.
“Very alarming behavior,” Theo continued. “Usually there’s at least elevator music playing in that empty head of yours.”
Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’m thinking.”
Theo looked horrified. “You’ve never done that voluntarily in your life.”
“Piss off, wanker.”
Theo immediately grinned. “You’re in shambles, mate.”
Enzo hated how accurate that was.
The volleyball tournament began shortly afterward.
Though calling it a tournament was generous. Tournaments implied rules, organization, and at least one competent person in charge. This was closer to a collection of adults discovering increasingly creative ways to embarrass themselves in the vicinity of a volleyball net.
Theo appointed himself referee despite not understanding the rules. Ginny became frighteningly competitive. Pansy refused to dive for any ball that might inconvenience her bikini.
And somehow, despite what Enzo suspected was divine punishment, you ended up on his team.
The universe was apparently committed to torturing him, and by the third match, Enzo had stopped pretending otherwise.
You moved across the sand effortlessly, quick and focused in a way that made everyone else look slightly incompetent by comparison. Every time you scored, the same expression crossed your face. You'd light up for a brief second, clearly pleased with yourself, before remembering other people could see you and attempting to look normal again.
It never worked.
At least, not on him.
Enzo noticed every single time.
“Stop staring at me.”
You hadn’t even looked in his direction when you said it.
Enzo smirked. “So you admit you’ve been paying attention to me.”
That earned him a look. “I’m unfortunately required to,” you replied. “Seeing as how we’re on the same team.”
He grinned. “Good. I’d hate for my efforts to go unnoticed.”
“What efforts?”
“The relentless support. The unwavering dedication. The emotional labor of carrying this team.”
“You’ve touched the ball twice.”
“Quality over quantity.”
You shook your head and turned back toward the net, but Enzo still caught the hint of a smile before you looked away. Somehow, that made the humiliation feel entirely worth it.
The game continued, predictably, with you winning most of the points. Mostly because you were good. Partially because Enzo discovered, quite embarrassingly, that he was fully willing to throw himself face-first into the sand if it meant earning even the smallest reaction from you afterward.
Which felt like important information. Concerning information. Information he had every intention of ignoring.
The final point arrived with the sun hanging low over the water, the sky bleeding gold into the horizon as the ball sailed cleanly over the net. You moved first, like you always did, a single decisive jump cutting through the noise before anyone else could react. One perfect strike sent the ball crashing into the sand.
For a brief second, the entire beach went still.
Then everyone erupted.
Theo blew a whistle he absolutely had not possessed five minutes earlier.
“We have our champions!”
Before Enzo could think about it, his arms were already around you.
You laughed as momentum carried you straight into his chest, the impact easy and familiar in a way that made something in him tighten immediately. For a moment, neither of you pulled away.
The hug lingered longer than it probably should have. Long enough for him to notice the warmth of your skin beneath his hands, long enough for the noise of the beach to fade into something distant and unimportant, long enough for him to realize he wasn’t remotely ready to let go.
“Don’t move,” he said quietly.
You stilled against him. “…What?”
Enzo swallowed once, forcing something resembling a smirk back onto his face, though it came out thinner than usual.
“Just making sure I receive full credit for my efforts.”
You rolled your eyes, though you didn’t move away any faster than necessary. “You’re such a wanker.”
“But I'm your wanker, love.”
The wink he sent your way was cheeky and easygoing, but Enzo felt anything but.
Because even after you finally stepped back, the space you left didn’t feel like space at all. He could still feel the shape of you against him, like his body hadn’t quite gotten the message that the moment was over.
And judging by the way his chest tightened as he watched you walk away laughing with the others like nothing had happened, this was becoming a much bigger problem than he’d originally anticipated.
Because for the first time since this ridiculous arrangement had started, Enzo wasn’t worried about pretending to be your boyfriend.
He was worried about what would happen when he wasn’t anymore.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to dwell on that particular crisis.
Because Mattheo Riddle was, quite frankly, annoyingly good at volleyball.
Enzo realized this roughly thirty seconds into the next match, watching as Mattheo effortlessly returned a serve that should have ended the point entirely. He moved with an ease that was irritating on principle alone, and the fact that he somehow managed to look attractive while doing it felt entirely unnecessary.
"Right," you said brightly while brushing sand from your hands. "Partner swap."
Enzo frowned immediately. "No."
You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Berkshire."
"I disagree."
"You don't get to disagree."
"I think you'll find I do."
You stared at him for a moment before pointing toward Daphne, who was currently standing beside Astoria laughing at something Pansy said. "Go play with Daphne."
Enzo narrowed his eyes. "So you can play with Mattheo?"
"Exactly."
Something ugly immediately twisted in his chest.
You looked entirely too pleased with yourself.
"Isn't that the point?" you continued innocently. "You making Daphne jealous? Wasn't that your whole master plan?"
The problem was that, technically, it had been his plan. At least, that was what he had told you. At the time, it had sounded clever, reasonable, even strategic.
Now it sounded like the single stupidest idea any man had ever conceived.
Because somewhere between inventing a fake relationship and spending every waking moment around you, Enzo had somehow forgotten Daphne was ever supposed to be part of the equation at all. The entire plan had only existed because he wanted an excuse to be near you in the first place, which, unfortunately, only became more obvious the longer he thought about it.
Which meant, by extension, that admitting any of this out loud would require honesty.
And honesty, as it turned out, sounded entirely unbearable.
"Fine," he muttered.
You smiled—not a huge smile, not even a particularly warm one, just enough satisfaction to let him know you’d won.
Enzo hated how much he liked that.
Twenty minutes later, he found himself standing across the volleyball court beside Daphne while you laughed at something Mattheo said. The sound carried easily over the beach, cutting straight through the noise of the game, and Enzo immediately hated the way it sounded.
Not because Mattheo was particularly funny. Mostly because Enzo hadn’t said it.
"You know," Daphne said casually beside him, "you're acting rather strange."
Enzo didn’t answer immediately, because he didn’t trust himself to.
"I'm acting perfectly normal."
She glanced toward you. "I don't even think you believe that."
Enzo followed her gaze before he could stop himself.
You were brushing loose hair from your face while Mattheo handed you a bottle of water. Something inside him caught fire instantly. Enzo had the vague notion that he should probably get that checked out.
"Mate."
Enzo looked up.
Theo stood near the sidelines holding a beer and the expression of a man witnessing a slow-motion disaster unfold.
"You look like you either want to drown Mattheo or drown yourself."
The shit-eating grin on Theo's face truly made Enzo want to strangle the prick.
"What's the matter, Berkshire? Feeling a little jealous?"
Enzo rolled his eyes. "Are you always this irritating or is Greece bringing out something special in you?"
Theo grinned. "I haven't even started yet."
Enzo glared.
Theo took a slow sip of his drink. "Don't worry,” he added lightly. “Your secret is safe with me."
"I'm not jealous."
"Yeah,” Theo said. “Keep telling yourself that."
His gaze flickered toward the court where Mattheo was currently adjusting your stance while explaining something with far too much enthusiasm.
"I'm sure that'll go brilliantly for you,” Theo added.
Enzo considered burying him in the sand, and the fact that it felt like a genuinely reasonable solution conveyed how far gone he truly was.
The game restarted moments later, though Enzo immediately discovered he had the disposition of a territorial golden retriever that had just spotted its owner petting another dog.
Every time the ball crossed the net, his focus drifted. You diving for saves. You laughing. You rolling your eyes whenever Mattheo got dramatic. You standing entirely too close to him.
It was unbearable.
A serve flew past him before he even registered it. The ball hit the sand near his feet.
Theo nearly dropped his drink laughing. “Berkshire.”
Enzo dragged a hand down his face. “Shut up.”
“You weren’t even looking at the ball.”
“I was.”
“You absolutely were not.” Theo pointed lazily toward you. “You were staring at your girlfriend again.”
Enzo hated that everyone had apparently become amateur detectives overnight.
Across the court, you noticed the commotion immediately. Your gaze sharpened before you pointed directly at him.
“Focus.”
Enzo straightened instantly. “Yes, love.”
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Silence.
Then absolute pandemonium.
Theo folded in half laughing. Ginny shrieked. Pansy actually dropped her sunglasses.
“Oh,” Pansy said, delighted. “Lorenzo is losing his fucking mind.”
Enzo closed his eyes for a brief moment.
When he opened them again, you were staring at him, clearly trying very hard not to laugh, which pathetically made his heart leap in his chest.
The next point began, and Enzo overcompensated immediately. He dove for a save, returned a difficult shot, blocked Mattheo twice, and for approximately forty-five glorious seconds, actually remembered how volleyball worked.
Then Mattheo said something that made you throw your head back laughing.
Enzo missed another serve.
“You know she’s doing it on purpose,” Theo added casually.
Enzo frowned. “Doing what?”
“Giving Mattheo attention.”
He paused. “Or maybe I’m trying to make Y/N jealous by playing with my ex-girlfriend.”
“Except you haven’t looked at Daphne once this entire game.”
Fuck.
The bastard had a point.
“You two are so beyond fucked up,” Theo said, laughing as he turned back toward the game.
And the truly humiliating part was that he was probably right.
Because every time Mattheo got your attention, your eyes flicked briefly toward Enzo afterward, like you were checking whether he’d noticed.
And he always did.
Every single time.
You were playing a very dangerous game.
The worst part was how willing he was to participate.
Near the end of the match, Mattheo scored a point and immediately celebrated by throwing both arms into the air. You laughed, then bumped your shoulder against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Enzo’s eye twitched.
Theo noticed instantly. “Oh my god.”
“You absolutely loathe when Y/N pays attention to anyone but you.”
Enzo opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. Because unfortunately, Theo was correct. Not that he intended to admit it. Ever.
The final point arrived a few minutes later.
Mattheo served. Daphne returned it. The rally stretched longer than expected before Enzo finally spiked the ball cleanly into the corner.
The whistle blew. The game ended. Everyone cheered.
Enzo barely heard any of it.
Because you were already jogging toward him across the sand, smiling.
At him.
Not Mattheo. Not anyone else.
Him.
Something in his chest settled immediately in a truly infuriating way, because his heart had no business betraying him so thoroughly.
You stopped directly in front of him. “Nice save.”
Enzo grinned. “Took you long enough to appreciate my skills.”
“You missed three serves.”
“We still won.”
You rolled your eyes, but then reached up and squeezed his shoulder anyway. The gesture was casual. Friendly. Entirely normal.
Enzo felt like he’d just won the bloody Triwizard Cup.
Merlin.
He was pathetic.
Utterly pathetic.
And somehow, it seemed, only getting worse.
By sunset, Enzo was exhausted.
Not physically, but emotionally.
A fact that was frankly embarrassing considering all he had done was play volleyball and spend three consecutive hours watching your every move.
As evening settled over the island, the beach transformed into something softer. Lanterns were strung between wooden posts embedded in the sand, casting warm light across long tables set along the shoreline. They were covered in food, drinks, and enough candles to qualify as a minor fire hazard.
Music drifted lazily over the water while the wedding party scattered between the beach and the terrace overlooking it, voices blending into the sound of waves rolling in.
Most people looked relaxed.
Enzo, on the other hand, looked like he was actively fighting for his life.
Theo dropped into the chair beside him carrying two beers. "You look awful."
"You’re a consistent pain in my arse."
"You've been glaring at Mattheo for forty minutes."
Enzo accepted the beer. "I haven't."
Theo took a long drink. "Right. And I’m Harry bloody Potter."
Across the beach, you were standing near the water with Mattheo.
Nothing about it was particularly remarkable. Nothing that should have registered, at least. That was the problem.
You were laughing at something he said, relaxed in a way that made your whole expression soften. Your head tipped back slightly as the sound of it carried over the shoreline, easy and unguarded. Mattheo was saying something else, clearly still holding your attention.
Enzo watched it happen and felt something sharp and entirely unreasonable twist in his chest.
The urge to cross the sand and knock the smile off Mattheo’s face arrived so suddenly it almost felt reflexive.
Which was ridiculous.
Obviously.
Probably.
Still… irritatingly persistent.
Theo watched him for another moment before sighing dramatically. "You know what's really funny?"
"By all means, enlighten me in the most irritating way possible."
"You keep pretending this whole thing is about Daphne."
Enzo took a long drink. "It is."
Theo barked out a laugh. "Bullshit."
Enzo glared.
Theo looked completely unconcerned. "If this was about Daphne, you'd be watching Daphne."
Enzo looked away.
Unfortunately, Theo was right.
Daphne was sitting ten feet away talking to Luna. Enzo hadn't looked at her once in nearly an hour. Instead, his entire attention remained fixed on you like some deeply unsettling homing beacon.
"You're obsessed."
"Fuck off."
Theo smiled. "Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve."
Before Enzo could fully settle on the idea of violence, movement near the shoreline pulled his attention away.
You were walking back toward the group with Mattheo beside you. Still talking. Still smiling. Still, infuriatingly, relaxed in his company.
It was becoming a pattern, which in turn, was becoming a problem.
You reached the edge of the gathering carrying two drinks, offering one to Mattheo before taking your place beside him again. He smiled. You smiled back.
For a brief, completely unhelpful moment, Enzo considered walking straight into the sea and taking a nap at the bottom of the Aegean.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Your head turned instantly.
Not gradually. Not thoughtfully. Instantly, like the sound of him had pulled your attention on instinct alone.
Whatever irritation had been building in his chest eased the moment your eyes landed on him. Which was, frankly, humiliating.
You studied him for a second. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Enzo didn’t bother hiding it. “Nothing. Just happy to see you.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You look deranged.”
“You always know exactly how to stroke my ego.”
“I was aiming for bruising it.”
A quiet laugh escaped him as he closed the distance between you, stopping just inside your personal space.
“I'd let you bruise a lot worse than my ego.”
The roll of your eyes only made him imagine all the ways he could elicit the same response out of you under significantly different circumstances.
“You're pathetic, Lorenzo."
A faint shiver chased down his spine, and he had to bite back a grin that threatened to give him away.
"Only for you, love."
You shook your head and made to slip past him, already half turning away, but Enzo shifted at the exact same moment—clean, deliberate—blocking your path without even looking like he was trying.
You let out a quiet, exhausted sigh. “Lorenzo.”
“Yes, love?”
“You’re in my way.”
“I know.”
“Move.”
“No.”
Behind you, Mattheo let out a laugh, clearly enjoying himself.
Enzo didn’t even glance in his direction. He just stood there like Mattheo didn’t exist, which somehow made it worse.
You pressed your fingers briefly to the bridge of your nose. “You’re impossible.”
“You say that like it’s something new.”
Before you could respond, Hermione’s voice carried sharply across the beach.
“Group photo!”
A collective groan went through the entire wedding party like a wave.
Nobody moved.
Hermione’s expression shifted in a way that suggested she was seconds away from hexing someone into compliance.
Everyone moved.
Within minutes, the group had gathered near the shoreline while a very patient photographer attempted to impose order on roughly fifteen adults behaving like they’d collectively escaped Azkaban.
Theo immediately began making inappropriate gestures whenever the camera was raised. Pansy refused to stand anywhere she deemed unphotogenic. Ron looked mildly confused by the concept of coordinated standing. All in all, business as usual.
You ended up beside Enzo.
Unsurprisingly.
Unluckily.
The photographer raised his wand. “Everyone closer.”
The group shuffled in.
At this point, personal space had become more of a suggestion than a rule.
You barely had time to process the fact that you were standing pressed against half the wedding party before Enzo’s hand found your wrist, the movement so quick and smooth it felt almost effortless.
Before you could question it, he pulled you backward and settled you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your breath caught.
“Lorenzo.”
His arm immediately slipped around your waist, keeping you firmly against him as though there had never been another possible outcome.
“What are you doing?”
“Following instructions.”
You stared at him.
“Since when are you so obedient?”
His expression remained completely calm, which somehow made it more concerning. There was no hesitation, no embarrassment, no sign that he realized how ridiculous the situation was.
If anything, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“I told you, love,” he drawled, his gaze locked on you and you alone. “I can be good. You only have to ask.”
The words should not have affected you as much as they did.
Mostly because you knew exactly what he was doing.
Enzo could spend hours pretending he was impossible. He could argue with you until you wanted to strangle him, act like he was above everything, carry himself with that unbearable confidence that made you want to knock him down a few pegs.
But the second you told him what to do?
The second you challenged him?
He listened.
And the worst part was that he seemed to enjoy it.
Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the heat creeping into your cheeks betrayed you.
“And if I ask you to let me go?”
For the briefest second, something shifted in his expression.
“Then I suppose I’d have a problem,” he murmured.
Your eyebrows lifted.
“A problem?”
His hand tightened slightly around your waist, not enough to draw attention, just enough to remind you that he was still very much in control of the situation.
“Because you’re asking very nicely for something I’m not particularly interested in doing.”
The audacity of him.
You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, the photographer called out again.
“Closer, please.”
A laugh nearly escaped you.
Because honestly, there was nowhere left to go.
“I'm perfectly capable of standing.”
“Of course you are,” he said simply, tightening his hold just enough to make it clear he wasn’t interested in debating the matter. “But there’s no need. My lap is a perfectly good seat.”
“And it's exactly where you belong, love.”
The implication settled between you before you even had to ask.
Your eyes flicked over his shoulder.
Mattheo was looking directly at you.
Heat immediately rushed to your face.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he murmured, entirely unbothered.
The worst part was that he didn’t even look guilty. He looked satisfied, like getting a reaction out of you had always been the goal, and perhaps that was the thing you were only just beginning to understand.
Enzo didn’t actually want to win every argument; he wanted you to fight back, to challenge him, to look at him and remind him that, despite everything, you were the only person who could ever make him give in.
You shifted slightly, attempting to adjust your position as if you could somehow make yourself less aware of the situation.
Unfortunately, the movement only made it worse.
It pressed you more firmly against him, your back settling flush against his chest, and the sudden awareness of him behind you stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his hands rested like he was trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t affected—it all made your thoughts go frustratingly blank.
You went completely still.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Then, slowly, you glanced over your shoulder, trying to confirm what you already suspected.
“…Lorenzo.”
The smile that immediately appeared on his face told you everything before he even answered.
“Yes, love?”
You swallowed, lowering your voice as realization settled in.
“Are you…” Your eyes narrowed slightly, even though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Are you hard?”
There was a brief pause.
Then, far too calmly, he smiled.
“Very much so.”
The complete lack of embarrassment was almost worse.
You stared at him, waiting for even a hint of shame, but Enzo only looked more amused by your reaction.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Am I?” His voice dropped slightly, meant only for you. “You’re the one who noticed.”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“I noticed because you made it impossible not to.”
A slow, knowing smile tugged at his mouth.
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the photographer before returning to you, that familiar smugness settling into place.
“That you’re pretending to be annoyed when you’re very clearly enjoying this.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you haven’t moved.”
The observation landed far too close to the truth.
You glanced toward the photographer, who was still attempting to arrange the group while everyone else shifted around you, completely unaware or perhaps far too aware of what was happening.
"Everyone's staring."
“Good.”
His hand settled more firmly at your waist, fingers spreading in a quiet, possessive hold that made it very clear he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.
“Let them.”
The photographer cleared his throat, trying valiantly to regain control.
“Hold still.”
As if there was anywhere left to go.
You immediately felt the heat return to your face, painfully aware of the fact that Enzo seemed to have absolutely no shame about any of this. While you were busy trying to remember how to behave normally, he looked completely at ease, like holding you this close with his erection pressed firmly against your arse in front of everyone was the most natural thing in the world.
His arm tightened again—subtly, but unmistakably—as if answering the photographer’s request on principle.
You glanced up at him, silently pleading for him to act like a normal person for once.
Instead, he only looked amused.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re enjoying this.”
“Love, I am enjoying this.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“That’s not helping.”
“When have I ever helped?”
“You’re shameless.”
“And you’re blushing.”
Before you could come up with a response, the photographer called for everyone’s attention again.
A flash went off.
Then another.
And through all of it, Enzo didn’t let you move an inch.
Eventually, the group began to break apart, laughter returning as people scattered back toward drinks and conversation.
You immediately tried to step away, mostly because you needed to remember how to breathe normally again, but his arm lingered around your waist for a beat longer than necessary.
Not enough to make a scene.
Just enough to make you notice.
Only then did he finally loosen his grip, slow and reluctant, as if letting go was entirely optional and he simply chose not to argue with reality.
You looked up at him, expecting another smug comment.
Instead, you found something different.
For once, Enzo wasn’t looking at you like he was trying to win an argument or provoke a reaction. He was just looking.
And that was somehow worse.
Because suddenly, without warning, something clicked into place.
Mattheo wasn't the problem. Daphne wasn't the problem. The fake relationship, the theatrics, the plan he’d been clinging to like it meant anything at all—none of it was the problem.
The problem was you.
You with your sharp mouth and your stupid adorable laugh. You with your complete inability to tolerate his nonsense for more than thirty seconds. You with your habit of finding him in a crowded room without even realizing you were doing it.
You had spent years getting under his skin.
Somewhere along the way, you had become the only person who could calm him down, the only person whose approval mattered, the only person whose attention he found himself chasing without even trying to hide it.
At some point, without him noticing the exact moment it happened, he had stopped pretending and started wanting instead.
Wanting your attention. Wanting your laugh. Wanting every version of you that you were willing to let him see.
The realisation hit so sharply it felt almost physical, like the air had been pulled out of his lungs and forgotten to come back.
You frowned slightly. “You alright?”
Enzo blinked.
For once, there was no easy answer waiting. No sarcastic remark. No clever excuse.
Just him standing there, completely caught off guard by the fact that the girl who had been driving him insane for years was also the only person who had ever made him feel like this.
Then you smiled.
Small. Barely there. But real enough that it undid him in a way nothing else had managed so far.
And somehow, that was the thing that completely ruined him.
Because suddenly Enzo understood exactly how fucked he was. Not a little fucked. Not wedding-week inconvenience fucked.
Life-altering fucked.
The kind of fucked that people wrote tragic poetry about. The kind Draco would never let him live down. The kind Theo would bring up for the rest of his life purely out of spite.
You nudged his shoulder lightly. “Lorenzo.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
Your eyebrows lifted. “You’ve been staring at me for five minutes.”
“Has it only been five?”
That earned him a look that was somewhere between concern and resignation.
Enzo forced something resembling a smile. “I’m fine.”
You didn’t look convinced in the slightest.
Smart witch.
Then you turned away and walked back toward Ginny near the water, like nothing in particular had just shifted between you and Enzo watched you go, again, because apparently he had learned absolutely nothing.
Theo appeared beside him like a malevolent spirit.
“Fuck.”
Enzo shut his eyes briefly.
“What?”
Theo followed his gaze out toward the shoreline, where you were laughing with Ginny, then looked back at him with an expression that had shifted from amusement to something dangerously close to sympathy.
“the way we fight makes me honestly feel like we're just in love."
word count: 5,729.
summary: on day one, the sun is out, the wine is flowing, and lorenzo berkshire is fully committed to being your biggest problem and worst distraction. what starts as pretending turns into a public spectacle of flirting, denial, and everyone else suffering secondhand embarassment. by the end of the day, nothing is clear—except that lorenzo is enjoying this way too much.
author’s note: we're kicking it off with first day activities. I must say I quite enjoy writing a very unhinged enzo. I feel like he's a pathetic little loverboy down to his core even if he's extremely annoying about it. hope you enjoy x
♫ boyfriend- ariana grande (feat. social house). nav. chapters. more enzo.
Day 1
Kallista Vineyards — Paros, Greece
The first thing you noticed the next morning was sunlight.
The second was your fake boyfriend asleep on the sofa, looking far too comfortable for a man who had spent the last twelve hours actively ruining your peace.
White curtains drifted lazily in the sea breeze, and warm light spilled across the polished floorboards in long golden streaks. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed, followed immediately by Pansy groaning dramatically about being violently hungover and threatening revenge on whoever had convinced her tequila was a good idea.
Enzo groaned softly before dragging a pillow over his face.
“You’re loud in the morning,” he muttered.
You paused in the middle of tying the belt of your robe and looked at him flatly. “That’s interesting considering I haven’t spoken yet.”
The pillow lowered just enough for one hazel eye to peek out. “Your judgmental energy is loud.”
You rolled your eyes and reached for your sunglasses on the dresser. “Get up. Breakfast starts in twenty minutes, and Hermione will absolutely send a search party if we’re late.”
Enzo lowered the pillow properly this time, and his gaze followed you as you crossed the room. It lingered for a beat too long before he seemed to realize what he was doing and looked away with suspicious speed.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But you had spent enough years watching Lorenzo Berkshire pretend he was impossible to read to recognize the cracks in the performance. Whenever something mattered, he smiled too quickly, looked a second too long, and became approximately forty percent more irritating.
It was a deeply unfortunate tell.
“Get your arse up,” you said, opening the balcony door.
He blinked, recovering with practiced ease. “Yes, love.”
The bathroom door shut before you could flip him off.
A few minutes later, you were standing on the balcony scrolling through your phone while the sea breeze tugged at the sleeves of your robe. You didn’t look up when the door opened again, which turned out to be a tactical error.
Because Lorenzo had apparently decided that being the most insufferable man alive was a competitive sport.
He stepped onto the balcony wearing nothing but a towel secured low around his hips, damp hair falling messily over his forehead. The entrance was calculated. The relaxed lean against the doorway was calculated. Even the way he pretended not to notice whether you were looking was painfully calculated.
You finally glanced up, let your eyes travel over him for exactly one second, and returned your attention to your phone.
Silence stretched between you for a moment before Enzo frowned. “You’re joking.”
You glanced up.
“That’s all I get?” He gestured vaguely toward himself. “I swear to Salazar I could walk out here completely naked and you would barely acknowledge it.”
You considered him with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Were you expecting applause?”
“At the very least a little appreciation.”
"Forgive me for not fawning all over you. Shall I pretend to faint to appease your incredibly fragile ego?"
His mouth fell open in genuine offense. “You are remarkably difficult to impress.”
You looked back at your phone, pretending not to notice the way he was still waiting for a better reaction. “You walked out like you were auditioning for a Calvin Klein advert.”
“I’ve actually been in a Calvin Klein advert."
“Yes, I saw.”
“And?”
You shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”
“That’s the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Hm. I must be losing my touch.”
Lorenzo stared at you, genuinely offended. Despite yourself, amusement tugged at the corner of your mouth. He was entirely too easy to rile up.
He pushed away from the doorway and stopped beside you, close enough that you could smell soap and saltwater. “I came out here specifically to annoy you,” he admitted.
“And yet somehow you’re the one who’s upset.”
He narrowed his eyes at you, studying you like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
For a second, he looked like he was going to say something else. Something less irritating. Something honest.
Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched into that familiar grin he always wore whenever the conversation drifted a little too close to anything real.
"How?"
You turned to face him, folding your arms across your chest.
"You have exactly three strategies."
His eyebrows lifted with mock offense.
"Oh? Do enlighten me."
"You annoy me, you flirt with me, or you dramatically pretend you aren't trying to annoy me or flirt with me."
He pressed a hand to his chest as though you'd delivered a devastating insult.
"You make me sound like a cartoon villain."
You tilted your head thoughtfully.
"No. You're more like a golden retriever who desperately wants everyone to believe he's a villain."
His expression shifted almost instantly.
"Did you just compare me to a dog?"
"A very well-pampered, outrageously pretty little pet," you replied sweetly.
The offense vanished so quickly it was almost impressive. In its place was a look of unmistakable satisfaction that made you immediately regret your choice of words.
"You called me pretty."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I'm choosing to take it as one."
You shook your head, fighting a smile.
"You're unbelievable."
"And yet," he said with entirely too much confidence, "you keep me around."
The words were meant lightly, but the way he looked at you took some of the humor out of them. Beneath all the teasing, there had always been something quieter about Lorenzo, something he hid behind easy smiles and endless sarcasm.
He noticed things.
Tiny, insignificant things that nobody else ever seemed to pick up on. The way you took your coffee, the books you reread when you were stressed, the fact that you absentmindedly tucked your hair behind your ear whenever you were concentrating. He collected those little details without ever drawing attention to them, as though knowing you had become second nature.
Maybe that was what made him so infuriating. Lorenzo had an uncanny ability to make you feel like the only person in the room one moment and then make you want to throttle him the next.
It was an impressive talent.
A deeply irritating one.
"Fine," he said at last with an exaggerated sigh. "Clearly the towel strategy didn't work."
"Obviously."
"I'll admit I'm a bit out of practice."
"You mean you've finally met someone immune to your theatrics?"
"I was going to say I'm usually more charming than this."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly, and there it was again—that tiny, satisfied look that appeared whenever he managed to make you laugh. It was never about winning the argument. It wasn't even about getting the last word. Somehow, making you smile had always felt like enough.
That, more than anything else, was what made him dangerous.
"You're incredibly annoying," you said.
"You've been saying that for years."
"Because it remains true."
His grin didn't falter, but curiosity slowly replaced the teasing in his eyes.
"Wait."
You recognized that look immediately. It was the expression Lorenzo wore whenever he'd stumbled across something interesting and had already decided he wasn't going to let it go until he'd picked it apart from every conceivable angle.
"What?"
"You're too calm."
You frowned.
"Because you're wearing a towel?"
"Yes."
"Lorenzo."
"No, seriously."
He took another step toward you, studying you with open suspicion.
"Why are you completely unaffected?"
You stared at him for a beat before answering as though the explanation were painfully obvious.
"I lived in Paris for four years."
He blinked.
"You're telling me living in France somehow made you immune to me?"
"Maybe I just have higher standards now."
He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest.
"Rude."
"Accurate."
For a moment, he simply looked at you, caught somewhere between offended and impressed. Then something shifted behind his eyes, curiosity replacing the theatrics.
"You did something."
You snorted.
"Not everything is a mystery, Lorenzo."
"To you, maybe."
That gave you pause.
"What does that mean?"
He shrugged, though his gaze never left yours.
"It means you've always been weirdly difficult to read."
The words landed harder than you expected.
Not because he was entirely right, but because he was close enough to make you uncomfortable. You had spent years watching Lorenzo pretend he was an open book when he was anything but. You knew the difference between his genuine smile and the one he hid behind, knew when he was joking because he was nervous or pretending something didn't matter because admitting otherwise was too terrifying.
Apparently, he was beginning to realize the same thing about you.
"You are annoyingly persistent."
"And you're avoiding the question."
"You need a hobby."
"I have one."
"Annoying me doesn't count."
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"It's actually my greatest talent."
You shook your head, unable to stop the quiet laugh that escaped.
"You know," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself, "distracting me isn't going to work. I'll just keep pestering you until you tell me."
"For fuck's sake."
You sighed dramatically before meeting his expectant gaze.
"I went to a nude beach."
For several long seconds, Lorenzo simply stared.
His expression cycled through confusion, surprise, and finally naked curiosity, each emotion replacing the last so quickly you almost laughed before he managed to speak.
"You went to a nude beach."
"We've already established that."
"And?"
You looked at him blankly.
"And people were naked, Lorenzo."
"Thank you for that groundbreaking insight."
"You're welcome."
"No, I mean..."
He stopped, gesturing vaguely as though the rest of the sentence might materialize if he waved his hands around enough.
You watched him struggle for the right question with entirely too much amusement to rescue him.
"Were you..."
His hand made another unhelpful gesture.
"Participating."
A slow smile spread across your face.
"Maybe."
His reaction was deliciously subtle. Most people wouldn't have noticed the slight widening of his eyes or the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
You did.
"Maybe?"
"That's all you're getting."
"Absolutely not."
"You don't get details."
"Why?"
"Because watching you suffer is entertaining."
He groaned.
"That's cruel."
"You've said that a million times."
"And I've meant it every bloody time!"
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Enzo shook his head, smiling despite himself. Not the cocky grin he flashed at everyone else, but a genuine smile that softened his whole face and always seemed to appear when he forgot he was supposed to be pretending not to enjoy himself.
"Apparently my weakness is French beaches."
"No."
He looked at you curiously.
"Then what is?"
You held his gaze for a moment, enjoying the anticipation on his face before answering.
"Curiosity."
The answer caught him off guard, if only briefly. It never lasted long with Lorenzo.
"How is that a weakness?"
"Because you can't leave anything alone."
"That's because there's always more to find out."
You sighed, though you couldn't hide your smile.
"You're truly the nosiest little gossip I know, and I'm friends with Ginny and Pansy."
He laughed quietly before looking at you with an expression that was softer than anything he'd worn all morning.
"So there are still things I don't know about you."
This time the teasing was only half there.
Beneath it was something genuine, something that made your chest tighten despite yourself. After all these years, after everything that had happened between you, he still wanted to know more.
He wasn't trying to win.
He was trying to understand.
"I'm going to find out," he said.
"You won't."
"I absolutely will."
"You really won't."
His grin returned, bright and impossibly confident.
"Challenge accepted."
The terrace overlooked impossible stretches of bright blue sea and white cliffs flowing beneath the morning sun. A long table covered in fresh fruit, pastries, coffee, and aggressively unnecessary amounts of champagne stretched across the center while the rest of the wedding party slowly filtered in looking varying levels of hungover.
Pansy wore sunglasses large enough to conceal at least three emotional breakdowns. Theo looked spiritually unwell while Ron was somehow sunburned despite only arriving thirty minutes ago.
Hermione frowned at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “How are you red already?”
Ron looked genuinely offended. “I’m naturally vulnerable to the sun.”
“Like a Victorian orphan,” Ginny muttered.
You and Enzo stepped onto the terrace together, not touching, though somehow that only made everyone stare harder. The conversation slowly faded until the only sound left was the distant crashing of waves.
Theo lowered his coffee cup, looking between the two of you with genuine confusion.
"I'm sorry. I know I drank aggressively last night, but are you two actually dating?"
Pansy lowered her sunglasses with terrifying seriousness.
“Holy shit,” she whispered. “It’s real.”
"Wait, actually?" Ron asked, blinking as though he needed someone to confirm reality for him.
Susan glanced at Ginny, then back at you.
"I genuinely thought Ginny was joking."
Ginny looked unbearably pleased with herself.
"Told you so."
Hermione took another calm sip of her coffee, looking far too composed for someone who had clearly been waiting for this exact moment.
Which, honestly, was a bit offensive.
Whose side was the witch on?
Then Luna, who had been quietly arranging fruit on her plate, looked up with a dreamy smile.
"I always thought you would end up together eventually."
You blinked.
"You did?"
Luna nodded as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
"You orbit each other strangely. Like moons."
That was somehow both whimsical and deeply threatening.
Before you could respond, Enzo stepped closer and slipped an arm around your waist with effortless confidence. The movement was casual, but the look on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Luna is right, sweetheart,” he said lazily.
His gaze met yours as he squeezed your hip.
“I’ve been smitten with you since school.”
The silence that followed lasted approximately two seconds.
Then the terrace erupted.
Theo immediately choked on his coffee, coughing so violently that Mattheo had to pat him on the back.
Ginny let out a delighted squeal loud enough to startle birds from the nearby trees.
Pansy pointed across the table like she had just won a lifelong argument.
"I knew it!"
Ron looked overwhelmed, his eyes moving between the two of you.
"Why does everyone know things before I know things?"
Harry laughed quietly, patting his shoulder.
"Because you usually miss the obvious."
You, meanwhile, could only stare at Enzo.
Because what the actual fuck was he doing?
The bastard looked completely relaxed, like he hadn't just thrown a grenade into the middle of breakfast and watched everyone scramble.
And somehow, that was the most annoying part.
He looked insufferably pleased with himself.
Before you could demand an explanation, footsteps sounded from the entrance of the terrace.
The mood shifted almost immediately.
Daphne Greengrass stepped into the sunlight wearing a pale linen dress and the kind of effortless elegance that belonged on the cover of Witch Weekly. Astoria followed behind her with two champagne flutes in hand, while Mattheo and Neville trailed after them, still deep in conversation.
Daphne’s gaze moved between you and Enzo.
Then she smiled softly.
“Well,” she said lightly. “That explains a lot, actually.”
The shift beside you was barely noticeable. Enzo didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, didn’t do anything that would have given him away to anyone else.
But you still noticed the way he tensed at her words.
Theo suddenly became very interested in his breakfast.
Daphne’s attention returned to you, and the expression on her face softened into something genuine.
"I’m happy for you both."
You blinked, caught slightly off guard.
There was no bitterness. No jealousy. No lingering resentment.
Just understanding.
And somehow, that unsettled you more.
Enzo recovered quickly, because of course he did. Within seconds, he was back to his usual self, pulling out your chair with an annoyingly polished ease that reminded you he had spent years charming his way through every room he entered.
"After you, love."
You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously before sitting down.
Unfortunately, that was only the beginning.
Because Lorenzo had apparently decided breakfast was the perfect opportunity to prove he was the world’s most insufferably attentive boyfriend.
It started innocently enough.
He poured your coffee before you could reach for the pot, added cream, and then followed it with sugar exactly the way you liked it.
You stared down at the cup for a moment before slowly looking back at him.
"Why do you know how I take my coffee?"
Enzo didn’t even glance up as he placed toast onto your plate.
"Because you’re the only person I know who consumes a lethal amount of sugar and still has the audacity to call it coffee."
You stared at him.
Across the table, Theo slowly lowered his drink.
"Oh," he said quietly. "That is deeply concerning."
Blaise looked delighted by the entire situation.
"That man is down catastrophically."
Enzo ignored them both, which somehow made it worse.
He simply continued as though this level of devotion was completely normal. He handed you fruit without asking, adjusted your napkin when it slipped out of place like some aggressively attentive husband from a period drama, and brushed a loose strand of hair away from your shoulder when the wind caught it.
The worst part was that none of it seemed forced.
Every touch, every small gesture, every little thing he remembered felt natural. Like taking care of you had become less of an effort and more of a reflex.
You hated how much that affected you.
The rest of the table, however, was having the time of their lives.
Ginny looked dangerously close to exploding from excitement.
Pansy looked like she had just been handed enough material to torment you for the next decade.
Theo, meanwhile, had the exhausted expression of a man watching his last remaining patience disappear.
"You’re being weird," you informed Enzo quietly while everyone else debated wedding seating arrangements.
He leaned closer, the faintest hint of amusement appearing in his eyes.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
His voice dropped as he moved closer, his mouth brushing near your ear.
"You look very pretty when you’re annoyed with me."
You rolled your eyes immediately, refusing to let him see how easily the comment affected you.
Unfortunately, Lorenzo Berkshire had never been one to stop when he knew he was winning.
"Especially in that gown," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. "I’ve been trying not to think about what’s underneath it all morning."
Heat immediately rushed to your face.
Theo slammed both hands onto the table in disbelief.
"That is disgusting!"
Pansy nearly fell over laughing.
"Say it louder. I missed the first part."
Ginny collapsed against Hermione, wheezing into her champagne glass.
"One meal," Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted one normal meal."
You turned toward Enzo slowly, narrowing your eyes.
"I genuinely hate you."
He looked entirely too pleased with himself as he took a sip of his coffee.
"No, you don’t."
And the worst part was how completely certain he sounded.
By the time you returned upstairs to change for the winery tour, you were genuinely considering the killing curse.
The bedroom still carried traces of sea salt and Enzo’s cologne, the familiar scent mixing with the warmth of the sunlight spilling across the white sheets and balcony floor. Meanwhile, Enzo was sprawled lazily across the sofa, watching you unpack your clothes with absolutely no shame, like staring at you was somehow a completely normal activity.
“You’ve glanced over here three times in the last minute,” you informed him while digging through your suitcase.
Enzo looked entirely unbothered by being caught. “Maybe you’re just impossible to ignore.”
You snorted softly. “Maybe you should fuck off.”
His grin only widened, clearly far too pleased with himself.
You disappeared into the bathroom to change, leaving him alone for all of five minutes before returning and adjusting the straps of your dress. The second Enzo looked up, something in his expression shifted.
It wasn’t casual this time.
For once, he didn’t have enough time to hide the reaction before you caught it. His eyes moved over your bare shoulders, and for a brief second, Lorenzo looked genuinely caught off guard.
You slowly crossed your arms.
“What the hell was that back there?”
Enzo leaned back against the wall with forced casualness. “What?”
You gestured vaguely toward him. “The touching. Feeding me fruit. Whispering pornographic nonsense into my ear in front of everyone.”
A lazy smile tugged at his mouth. “We’re supposed to look like a loving couple.”
“You’re making a show of us.”
He pushed away from the wall then, his amusement fading into something quieter as he moved closer.
The atmosphere shifted almost immediately.
A moment later, he was standing behind you while you adjusted the straps of your dress in the mirror, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him without him even touching you. His eyes met yours through the reflection.
“Even you can’t deny we look good together.”
The reflection staring back at you all but confirmed it.
And unfortunately, he was right.
It was almost irritating how naturally you fit beside him. Enzo looked effortlessly at home in Greece, dressed in a light blue-button down with the sleeves casually rolled to his forearms and linen trousers that somehow made him look relaxed and unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly tousled from the sea breeze, giving him that effortless charm that made it annoyingly difficult to remember you were meant to be irritated with him.
Especially when he kept looking at you like that.
Because apparently, the pale pink sundress you had chosen seemed to have become Enzo's personal weakness. His eyes lingered on you far longer than necessary the moment you stepped out, like he was trying very hard to pretend he wasn't completely distracted. The soft color complimented your skin, the light fabric moved with every step, and for a second, you looked less like someone standing in a bedroom arguing with the most infuriating man you had ever met and more like someone who belonged somewhere along the Greek coastline.
Unfortunately, he looked like he belonged right beside you.
The contrast between you was almost annoyingly perfect. He was all effortless confidence and teasing smiles, while you softened the edges of him without even trying. Standing together, you didn’t look like two people who had spent years arguing over every possible thing.
You looked like two people who had been doing this forever.
Like you belonged tucked into his side, and he belonged looking at you like you were the only person in the room worth noticing.
Which was deeply inconvenient.
Because the reflection in the glass didn’t show two people pretending to be together for the week.
It showed two people who looked dangerously close to convincing everyone, including themselves.
Your stomach flipped once, which felt deeply irritating considering the circumstances.
You exhaled before shaking your head.
“You’re acting like an annoying little prat.”
Enzo’s breath caught before he could stop it.
The reaction was small, but you noticed the faint flush that appeared across his cheeks.
“Did you just call me a brat?”
You stared at him carefully.
“You certainly behaved like one.”
Something clicked together suddenly with alarming clarity.
You turned slightly toward him while continuing to adjust your dress.
“You need to stop flirting with me every five seconds.”
Enzo nodded immediately. “Okay.”
You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“And stop staring at me like you’re trying to undress me with your eyes.”
“Right.”
“And stop saying obscene things in public.”
“Absolutely.”
There was no hesitation whatsoever. No teasing either.
He was agreeing far too quickly, which was suspicious enough on its own.
You turned slightly toward him. “You’re not even going to pretend to fight me on this?”
“Would you prefer I did?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” he mused. “Most people enjoy being listened to.”
“You are not most people.”
“No,” he agreed. “I’m much more handsome and significantly more difficult.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he stepped closer.
Now he stood directly behind you, close enough that you could feel his body heat against your back. Your pulse betrayed you instantly.
Enzo’s gaze dropped briefly toward the back of your dress, and the way his expression changed made it painfully obvious he was losing whatever battle he’d been trying to fight.
“Can I help?”
You watched him carefully through the mirror.
“That depends.”
His eyes met yours.
“Are you going to behave?”
Something about the question completely disarmed him.
For a second, he looked like you’d asked him to perform some impossible task rather than simply tie the back of your dress.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“I can be good.”
The confidence lasted approximately two seconds before his voice dropped lower.
“I’ll be so good for you, love.”
You absolutely refused to react.
Unfortunately, your body seemed determined to betray you anyway.
Because really, what was wrong with this man?
More importantly, why did he sound so sincere?
Before you could form a sarcastic response, his hands moved carefully to the ties of your dress. His expression remained oddly focused, like this was somehow the most important task he’d ever been given, while sunlight spilled softly across the room around you both.
Every few seconds, you caught him watching you through the mirror.
Not the dress.
Not the reflection.
You.
Like he still couldn’t believe you were standing there in front of him.
His fingers brushed lightly against your skin as he tied the fabric, and the reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze darkening as he looked back up at you through the mirror.
This time, he didn’t look away.
Enzo simply stared.
Those hazel eyes held yours with an intensity that made the air between you feel heavier, like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing because he was too busy looking at you. Like he was trying very hard to behave, and failing miserably.
Like if he kept staring for too long, you might realize exactly how affected he was.
Unfortunately for him, you already had.
And unfortunately for you, you were suddenly far too aware of the way he was looking at you.
So you were the one who looked away first.
God.
This man was supposed to be arrogant. Annoying. Impossible.
Instead, he was standing behind you looking completely undone because you were wearing a sundress.
It was going to be a very long week.
The winery sat high along the hills overlooking the sea, rows of grapevines stretching endlessly beneath the unforgiving afternoon sun. The view was breathtaking, the wine was excellent, and somehow, despite the heat, everyone had managed to become slightly tipsy within twenty minutes of arriving.
Theo had somehow acquired two glasses of wine at once and was acting as though this was a completely reasonable decision. Pansy, meanwhile, had already threatened to steal several decorative bottles from the cellar, while Draco looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from committing a crime.
Enzo, unfortunately, appeared to have lost whatever common sense he had left.
“You’d think Greece would’ve invented shade by now,” he complained while tugging irritably at the collar of his linen shirt.
You watched him for a moment before sighing and stepping directly in front of him.
“Stop fussing, Lorenzo.”
His response came instantly.
“Yes, dear.”
You froze.
So did Theo.
Actually, the entire group seemed to pause at the exact same time.
Theo slowly lowered his glass, staring at Enzo with genuine concern. “...What the fuck was that?”
Enzo blinked, clearly unaware that he had done anything unusual. “What?”
Blaise looked delighted, as though he had just witnessed the most entertaining development of the summer.
“Oh, this is fascinating.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly, deciding it had to be a coincidence. There was no way Lorenzo, of all people, had just responded to you like an obedient pet in the middle of a vineyard.
Except twenty minutes later, Theo and Enzo were standing near the wine barrels loudly arguing over something completely ridiculous involving Quidditch statistics and male ego.
“You’re objectively wrong,” Theo informed him.
“You simply lack vision.”
“I think you lack brain cells.”
The look of offense that crossed Enzo’s face was almost impressive.
You watched the argument continue for another few seconds before finally deciding you had enough.
“Lorenzo, come here.”
Enzo turned mid-argument with no hesitation whatsoever. “Coming, sweetheart.”
Then he walked straight toward you.
Theo stared after him in complete disbelief.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “He’s properly gone.”
“Pathetically gone,” Blaise agreed, looking far too pleased with himself.
Ginny looked between the two of you with a hand pressed dramatically against her chest.
“Merlin, you’ve got him trained. He’s like a well-behaved golden retriever.”
Enzo smirked.
“Woof.”
The entire group lost their minds.
You tried to hold it together, but the laugh escaped before you could stop it. The second Enzo heard it, his entire expression softened, like making you laugh was somehow a greater victory than winning any argument.
Which, honestly, was a little ridiculous.
Later, as everyone wandered through another section of the vineyard, the heat only seemed to intensify. Enzo had spent the last ten minutes dramatically suffering, which was impressive considering the only actual hardship he had experienced was walking outside.
“I’m melting,” he announced for perhaps the fifth time. “Tell Draco I died bravely.”
You stopped walking and turned toward him.
“Oh my god, Lorenzo. If you complain about the heat one more time, I swear I’ll gag you with your own belt.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Enzo’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile.
“Promise, love?”
The reaction was immediate.
Ginny practically collapsed against Harry laughing, while Theo walked several steps away muttering something about needing more alcohol. Mattheo nearly choked on his wine, and even Draco looked like he was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.
You stared at Enzo in disbelief.
The bastard only smiled back.
Though the slight flush creeping across the tips of his ears suggested he was not nearly as unaffected as he wanted everyone to believe.
When late afternoon finally rolled around, everyone settled beneath the shaded terraces overlooking the vineyard, sampling wine while trays of chocolate-covered strawberries were passed between the tables. The combination of champagne, sunlight, and the lingering warmth of Greece had left everyone pleasantly relaxed, though Theo was still very committed to loudly informing anyone who would listen that Enzo had officially lost his mind.
You reached for a strawberry without much thought, taking a bite as you listened to Theo continue his dramatic complaints. Unfortunately, the heat caused the chocolate to begin melting almost immediately, leaving a streak across your fingers.
“Bloody hell,” you muttered quietly.
Theo noticed before anyone else did.
“Mate.”
There was no response.
Theo followed Enzo’s gaze toward your hand, then immediately looked exhausted.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
You frowned down at your fingers with annoyance. “Could someone pass me a napkin?”
“No need,” Enzo answered instantly.
Before anyone had time to react, he reached across the table and gently took your wrist. The movement was calm and unhurried, almost as if he had been sitting there trying very hard to behave and had finally decided he was done pretending.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought your chocolate-covered fingers to his mouth.
The entire table fell silent.
For a brief moment, every thought in your head disappeared.
Enzo didn’t look away.
His hazel eyes stayed locked on yours like he was daring you to stop him, like he couldn’t quite decide whether he was being helpful or committing a crime he fully intended to repeat. His tongue dragged slowly along your fingers—unnecessarily slowly—cleaning them with an almost infuriating level of care, like he had all the time in the world and absolutely no shame about how inappropriate this was.
If anything, he looked… pleased.
Like he’d just gotten away with something.
When he finally pulled your fingers from his mouth, it was with a soft, obscene little pop that made several people at the table audibly react in disgust.
Enzo, however, looked entirely unbothered.
He simply leaned back in his chair and brushed his thumb over his lower lip before taking another sip of wine, like he hadn’t just committed an act of public indecency.
Then he smirked.
Slow. Self-satisfied. Infuriating.
Your brain stopped functioning altogether.
“What the fuck?” you whispered.
Enzo leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t just made the entire table question morality itself. “What?” he said lightly, far too calm for someone who had just done that in public. "I cleaned them just like you wanted.”
His eyes flickered briefly toward your mouth before returning to your gaze.
“I fixed it for you, love.”
Theo looked physically ill. “Sweet Salazar, that was unbelievably slutty.”
Hermione hid her smile behind her wine glass while Pansy aggressively fanned herself with a napkin. Mattheo looked deeply entertained by the entire thing.
And across the table, Daphne watched Enzo looking at you.
Like she understood something you didn’t yet.
That should have bothered you more than it did.
Instead, your attention stayed on Enzo and the way his expression softened after the teasing faded. The confidence was still there, obviously, because Lorenzo Berkshire would rather die than stop being smug, but underneath it was something else entirely.
Something warmer.
Something that felt suspiciously genuine.
Because the more time you spent around him, the more obvious it became that he listened to you.
Instantly.
Every single time.
Not because he had to.
Because he liked it.
And somehow, that was far more dangerous.
Across the table, Enzo leaned back in his chair watching you over the rim of his wine glass with lazy satisfaction. Meanwhile somewhere beneath the alcohol and sunlight and catastrophic attraction, one deeply unfortunate thought settled into place with terrifying clarity.
If you asked nicely enough, Lorenzo Berkshire would probably let you ruin his entire life.
And judging by the way he was looking at you, he would probably thank you for it.
“love is never logical. I know I could've stopped it all; god why didn't I stop it all?"
word count: 6,644.
summary: during your sixth year at hogwarts, an unlikely friendship forms between you and the charming, troublemaking lorenzo berkshire. what starts as constant teasing and study sessions slowly turns into something neither of you expected, leaving you to navigate feelings that are far more complicated that n.e.w.t.s.
author’s note: first chapter of my first enzo series! yes i'm quite aware a prologue is supposed to be short and quick, but alas I am a perpetual yapper who has absolutely no self-control, so please enjoy the lore and backstory between these two before things really start ramping up x
♫ logical - olivia rodrigo. nav. chapters. more enzo.
Sixth Year
Hogwarts Castle — Scottish Highlands, Scotland
Sixth year was supposed to be simple.
Study hard. Pass your N.E.W.T.s. Try not to get murdered by Hermione Granger's increasingly aggressive study schedules.
Reasonable goals, honestly.
Unfortunately, Hogwarts rarely cared about reasonable goals.
Breakfast in the Great Hall smelled like burnt toast, strong coffee, and the collective suffering of students surviving on four hours of sleep. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted windows overhead while owls swooped between tables delivering letters, parcels, and occasionally mild chaos.
At the Ravenclaw table, you were busy attacking a piece of toast with far more hostility than it deserved.
Across from you, Ginny watched for a moment before setting down her pumpkin juice.
"Why do you look like someone's spat in your coffee?"
You looked up immediately.
"Because Binns assigned us three essays before nine in the morning."
Ginny snorted.
"You love essays."
"That's not the point."
"You color-code your notes for fun."
"That's also not the point."
A few seats away, Hermione finally looked up from the alphabetized monstrosity she called a planner. She scanned the two of you over the top of her parchment before letting out a long-suffering sigh.
"Honestly, both of you sound ridiculous."
Ginny pointed dramatically across the table.
“See? She gets it.”
“No, I don’t,” Hermione corrected. “You’re enabling her theatrics.”
You pressed a hand to your chest in mock offense.
“Hermione Granger accusing me of theatrics is rich considering you once cried over an Arithmancy grade in fifth year.”
Hermione looked scandalized.
“I got a ninety-eight.”
“Exactly.”
Ginny burst out laughing while Hermione narrowed her eyes at you over the rim of her teacup.
“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Truthfully, breakfast with Hermione and Ginny had become one of your favorite parts of sixth year. Hermione brought structure. Ginny brought chaos. You mostly contributed sarcasm and snacks.
The arrangement worked surprisingly well.
“You’re both avoiding the real issue,” Ginny announced suddenly.
You frowned. “What real issue?”
“The fact the Lorenzo Berkshire has been staring at you for the last five minutes.”
You nearly inhaled your coffee.
Hermione immediately glanced toward the Slytherin table with all the subtlety of a Bombarda spell. “Oh dear.”
“Oh dear?” you repeated weakly.
“He’s absolutely looking at you.”
You grimaced. “Maybe he’s looking at someone behind me.”
“He’s not,” Ginny said.
“He could be.”
“He winked,” Hermione informed you helpfully.
You closed your eyes briefly.
Across the room, the Slytherin table erupted into laughter.
You still did not look over.
You refused to give him the satisfaction.
That was exactly what he wanted.
Lorenzo Berkshire had the sort of laugh that carried across a room. Loud enough to turn heads, charming enough that nobody seemed to mind. Unfortunately, half the female population of Hogwarts appeared to find that endearing.
The truly irritating part was that he was objectively attractive in the same way fire was objectively hot. Widely acknowledged. Scientifically verifiable. Potentially dangerous if handled incorrectly.
He was tall in a lazy sort of way, as though he'd never quite realized how much space he occupied. His uniform was perpetually untidy, sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows and tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd either come from Quidditch practice or a terrible decision.
Sometimes both.
Girls liked Lorenzo because he flirted shamelessly and made them feel chosen. Boys liked him because he was reckless and somehow impossible to genuinely dislike.
You disliked him anyway.
Mostly on principle.
Hermione gathered her books neatly into her bag before standing. “Come on. We’re going to be late for Charms.”
“We meaning you,” Ginny corrected. “Some of us weren’t cursed with responsibility.”
Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The three of you moved through the crowded corridors together while students rushed toward class around you. Hermione walked with purpose like she always did while continuing a conversation about N.E.W.T.-level coursework.
You listened with half your attention until Hermione suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence.
“What?”
Hermione's eyes flickered over your shoulder.
The look alone made your stomach sink.
"You've gained a shadow."
You already knew who it was before you turned.
Sure enough, Lorenzo appeared beside you a second later, grinning like he'd been personally invited to persistently annoy you.
You let out an immediate groan. “Go away.”
Instead of being offended, Lorenzo looked absolutely delighted.
“Good morning to you too, little raven.”
“I’d rather drink Acromantula venom than be called pet names by you.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I’ve had time to think about it.”
Ginny made a loud, delighted sound of laughter, while Hermione—traitor that she was—looked far too entertained for someone who was supposed to be the voice of reason.
Lorenzo glanced between the group before focusing back on you. “You always this friendly in the morning?"
“Only with people I dislike.”
“Ouch.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “That one might’ve actually hurt.”
You finally glanced at him properly. “You’re literally smiling.”
“Maybe I enjoy it.”
“Well, that’s concerning.”
“The insults build character.”
“You seem overdeveloped already.”
That earned a real laugh from him—warm and surprised like he hadn’t expected you to keep up with him so easily.
Regrettably, Hermione noticed it too.
You saw the exact moment something clicked in her expression.
Merlin help you.
Hermione Granger with an idea was one of the most dangerous creatures alive.
“You know,” she said mildly, “I actually think you two would get along if you stopped bickering for one second.”
You and Lorenzo answered at the exact same time.
“No, we wouldn’t.”
The synchronicity alone was enough to send Ginny into hysterics.
Lorenzo looked vaguely offended.
“You wound me, Hermione.”
Hermione smiled innocently.
“Pity.”
“The bullying in this castle has become outrageous.”
“You started it,” you informed him.
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Approximately every time you speak.”
The thing was, Lorenzo shouldn't have been that attractive while carrying three textbooks under one arm and grinning like an idiot.
Yet somehow, tragically, he was.
By the time you reached the Charms classroom, you were already aiming for your usual seat by the window. Safe. Predictable. Strategically far away from distractions.
You had just settled in when Lorenzo dropped into the seat directly beside you.
You turned slowly to look at him.
“There are other chairs.”
“But this one’s closest to you.”
A strangled noise came from Ginny behind you. Hermione looked one second away from completely losing it.
“You’re insufferable,” you informed him.
“Only for you, love.”
Professor Flitwick clapped his hands together excitedly once everyone settled down.
“Good morning, class! Before we begin, I’ve decided students could benefit from collaborative seating arrangements this term.”
Your stomach sank.
Then he called your name.
“You will be seated beside Mr. Berkshire.”
For a moment, the world genuinely felt unfair.
Actually unfair.
Somewhere across the room, Theo Nott made a choking sound while Mattheo Riddle laughed into his sleeve.
Lorenzo turned to you with the expression of someone who had just won the lottery.
“Oh,” he said, delighted. “This is going to be fun.”
At first, it was just Charms.
Then it became study groups that you hadn’t exactly agreed to but somehow always ended up attending anyway.
Then, somewhere between shared parchment and late-night revisions, Lorenzo Berkshire stopped being an occasional nuisance and became a permanent fixture in your life.
It started, technically, with tutoring.
Or more accurately, it started with Lorenzo repeatedly refusing to leave you alone until you finally gave in out of sheer exhaustion.
“Just one hour,” you warned, already gathering your notes as you met him in the library later that week. You made a point of sounding firm, like there was any chance that would matter.
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair looking entirely too pleased with himself, as though he had just won something important.
“Knew you’d say yes.”
You didn’t even look up as you flipped open your book. “You know nothing about me.”
That finally made him pause. His gaze flickered toward you, and something about his expression softened in a way you weren’t prepared for.
“I think I’d like to,” he said.
It was simple. Casual, even.
It shouldn't have affected you the way it did.
Unfortunately, it absolutely did.
The first session was supposed to last an hour.
It turned into three.
Three turned into six over the course of the week.
And before you really had time to notice what was happening, Lorenzo had developed an alarming habit of appearing wherever you happened to be studying.
The library.
Empty classrooms.
Even once by the Black Lake between classes, as if he’d simply materialized there by coincidence and not intent.
At some point, you stopped asking how he kept finding you.
Then, somehow, it became normal for him to sit at the Ravenclaw table during breakfast, claiming he needed help with assignments he very obviously already understood.
“You realize you’re actually smart, right?” you asked one evening while going over Charms theory with him, watching him scribble notes with exaggerated seriousness.
Lorenzo looked up immediately, scandalized. “That’s a horrible thing to say to someone.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He placed a hand over his chest like you had wounded him deeply. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”
Despite yourself, you laughed.
The sound made something in the air shift.
Lorenzo went very still for half a second.
“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly, already looking back down at his notes.
But after that, he looked at you differently.
Study sessions became routine.
Library corners tucked between shelves where no one bothered you. Empty classrooms after hours when the castle had gone quiet. Late nights in the common room when the fire burned low and time seemed to stretch.
You learned things about Lorenzo that didn’t fit the version of him people talked about in the corridors.
The strangest part was that he never seemed interested in proving them wrong.
Around everyone else, Lorenzo performed. He was charming because people expected him to be. Confident because it was easier than admitting when he wasn’t.
But around you, he was different.
Softer.
Almost like he had forgotten he was supposed to be pretending.
Beneath the charm and the arrogance, he was funny in a way that didn’t feel performative when it was just the two of you. Clever in a way people overlooked because he preferred deflecting with jokes instead of proving himself.
And he learned things about you too.
That your sarcasm wasn’t just attitude, it was armor. That you were sharper than you let people assume. That you could keep up with him—word for word, thought for thought—without ever really trying.
What surprised everyone else was how easily he started fitting into your life.
Lorenzo had always been someone people noticed. He entered rooms loudly, left them louder, and somehow managed to make every conversation revolve around him.
But with you, he stopped trying so hard.
He didn’t need an audience.
He didn’t need everyone laughing.
He just sat beside you in the library, stole your notes when he was bored, argued with your theories, and somehow became the person you expected to see whenever you walked into a room.
Somewhere in all of that, something shifted.
You weren’t sure when it happened.
Maybe it was during the nights when everyone else had gone to bed and the castle felt like it belonged only to the two of you. Maybe it was the way he started remembering small things without thinking—how you took your coffee, which quills you preferred, when you stopped talking because you were tired rather than because you were finished.
Or maybe it was simpler than that.
Maybe it was just the way he could make you laugh after a bad day without even trying.
The first time you noticed something was different was when someone else made him laugh.
It was ridiculous, really.
Lorenzo laughed with everyone.
That was what he did.
He was charming and easy and impossible not to like.
But when you saw another girl leaning against the doorway of the library, smiling at him the same way half the school did, something uncomfortable twisted in your chest.
You hated that you noticed.
You hated even more that he noticed you noticing.
Whatever it was, the result was the same.
You stopped dreading seeing him.
Then, worse than that, you started looking for him.
Which was a problem.
Because Lorenzo Berkshire was exactly the kind of person you had spent years convincing yourself you would never fall for.
Too charming.
Too confident.
Too impossible to ignore.
It was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You’re staring again,” you said one evening without looking up from your parchment, though you could feel his gaze from across the table in the library.
“I’m thinking,” Lorenzo replied easily.
“That’s concerning.”
“I think you’re pretty.”
Your quill nearly slipped from your fingers.
Across the table, Lorenzo was watching you like he already knew exactly what he’d done, and worse, like he was enjoying it.
“You can’t just say things like that,” you managed, forcing your attention back to your notes.
“Why not?”
The question came softly, almost genuinely curious.
“Because—”
You stopped.
Because what?
Because it made your chest feel tight in a way you didn’t have a name for? Because Lorenzo Berkshire flirted with half the school without consequence and you refused, absolutely refused, to become another girl who misread it? Because you had no interest in being someone he could smile at once and forget the next day?
You pressed your quill harder against the parchment than necessary.
Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, still watching you.
“Cute,” he said.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He said it so easily, so confidently, like it was simply a fact he’d already decided for both of you.
And the worst part was how sure he sounded.
Like he might actually be right.
The weeks that followed only made things worse.
Study sessions stopped feeling like something you endured and started becoming something you actually looked forward to. Somewhere between arguing over essays, sharing notes, and pretending not to laugh at Lorenzo’s increasingly ridiculous commentary, spending time with him became easy in a way you hadn’t expected.
The days seemed to pass faster when you knew you’d see him afterward. Shared jokes slipped naturally into conversation, inside references appeared without either of you remembering where they started, and small habits formed so quietly that neither of you ever acknowledged them aloud.
Yet somehow, despite all of that, the thing that unsettled you most was how normal it felt.
Lorenzo would save you a seat without asking. You would bring an extra scone to class because you already knew he’d forgotten breakfast. He’d lean over your shoulder to read something and remain there a second longer than necessary. You’d catch yourself looking for him whenever you entered a room.
And somewhere in between all of that, lingering glances started lasting a second too long to comfortably ignore.
By the time Lorenzo invited you to a Slytherin party, saying no felt strangely impossible.
Which was how you ended up making what would later prove to be a catastrophic decision.
The Slytherin common room looked nothing like the library where most of your time together had been spent.
Everything glowed beneath low enchanted lighting that cast shifting shades of green across the stone walls, making the room feel both softer and more dangerous at the same time. Music pulsed through the space while clusters of students crowded the room, dancing, laughing, and making the sort of decisions they would almost certainly regret by breakfast the following morning.
You stayed near the drinks table for as long as you could, fingers wrapped too tightly around a cup you weren’t even really drinking, wondering at what exact point your life had brought you here.
“You look terrified.”
The voice came from beside you.
You turned slightly to find Lorenzo leaning casually against the wall, looking completely at home in the chaos surrounding him. One shoulder rested against the stone while a familiar smile tugged at his mouth, as though he found your discomfort endlessly entertaining.
“I am terrified.”
His grin widened.
“Of me?”
“Of Slytherins.”
Lorenzo dramatically pressed a hand against his chest.
“That’s offensive.”
“You people are deeply unsettling.”
The laugh that escaped him was warm and entirely unapologetic.
Within minutes of arriving, the evening had already unfolded exactly as you’d expected. Pansy had offered you a shot with the enthusiasm of someone conducting a highly unethical scientific experiment. Theo had kissed you directly on the mouth for reasons he refused to explain and then disappeared into the crowd laughing. Blaise had taken one look at you before solemnly warning you to avoid the cupboard near the stairs without offering any additional information whatsoever.
You still weren't entirely sure whether he'd been joking.
Amidst the chaos, Lorenzo stayed close as though you might disappear if he let you out of his sight for even one second.
"You know," he said lightly, stepping closer as the crowd shifted around you, "you're here voluntarily."
You let out a quiet laugh.
“Not my finest moment,” you admitted.
That earned another grin.
"No," he agreed. "But definitely one of my favorites."
Your eyes narrowed.
"That wasn't even remotely smooth."
"It worked though."
Before you could argue, his gaze drifted over you for a moment before returning to your face.
"You look nice tonight."
The words were casual. The effect was anything but. Your pulse stumbled hard enough that you immediately hated yourself for it.
"Don't do that."
His brow lifted innocently.
"Do what?"
"Say things like that and then act innocent afterward."
Something flickered briefly across his expression before disappearing beneath a grin.
"I'm never innocent."
"That's exactly the problem."
His smile softened slightly.
"And yet," he murmured, voice quieter now, "you still came here with me."
You hated how much warmth that sent straight through your chest.
As the evening wore on, the noise gradually blurred together into something distant and indistinct. Time stopped feeling particularly linear. Music, laughter, conversations, and movement all folded together until the entire night felt hazy around the edges.
Through it all, Lorenzo remained beside you.
Sometimes it was a hand settling briefly against your lower back as he guided you through a crowded room. Sometimes it was his fingers brushing yours when he passed you another drink. Sometimes it was the way he leaned slightly closer whenever he spoke, forcing you to pay attention even when you were determined not to.
None of it should have mattered.
Unfortunately, all of it did.
Every touch felt intentional.
Every glance lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.
By the time you realized how isolated you had become from the rest of the party, you and Lorenzo were already standing near one of the quieter staircases, far enough away from the crowd that the music sounded distant.
The sudden quiet felt strangely intimate.
Earlier that night, when you’d been overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd and far too many people asking questions, Lorenzo had noticed before you said anything.
He always did.
He had quietly handed you a drink, guided you somewhere less crowded, and never once made you feel like you were difficult for needing a moment.
That was the dangerous thing about him.
He made it very easy to forget what everyone else said about him.
“You trust me?” Lorenzo asked quietly.
The question caught you off guard.
Not because the answer was difficult.
Because it wasn’t.
You did.
Somewhere between late-night study sessions and conversations that stretched long after they should have ended, Lorenzo had become the one person you never questioned.
“Yeah,” you admitted.
His expression changed slightly.
Like he hadn’t expected that answer.
Like your trust meant more than he knew what to do with.
Lorenzo kissed you carefully the first time.
Like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.
Like he wasn't entirely convinced this was real either.
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt before you even realized what you were doing. His hand settled gently against your waist, steady and warm, and neither of you seemed particularly eager to be the first one to break apart.
The second kiss carried far less caution.
After that, everything became a blur of racing heartbeats, stolen breaths, and the quiet sound of his laughter against your mouth as though he still couldn't quite believe any of this was happening.
Later, when he led you through dimly lit corridors toward his dormitory, you knew you should've felt nervous.
Instead, you felt safe.
Which was somehow far more dangerous.
Because boys like Lorenzo were never supposed to feel safe.
They were supposed to be temporary. Exciting. The kind of mistake you laughed about years later while your friends reminded you they had warned you from the beginning.
Yet every time you looked at him, he seemed impossibly careful with you, as though he was handling something fragile, as though breaking your trust would be the worst thing he could possibly do.
When you finally stepped inside, he rested his forehead briefly against yours.
"Are you sure?"
The question was so quiet it almost hurt.
You hesitated, only for a second, but it was enough.
His expression softened immediately.
"You don't have to do anything," he said at once. "Seriously. We can just sleep. I don't mind."
That shouldn't have affected you as much as it did.
You laughed softly instead, mostly because your heart was beating too fast and you had no idea what to do with your hands.
"I'm fine."
Lorenzo studied your face carefully, like he was searching for something hidden there.
"You'd tell me if you weren't?"
"Yeah."
His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek.
"You nervous, little raven?"
"Just a little."
His smile softened.
"You don't have to be. Not with me. Never with me."
That should have been reassuring.
Instead, it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn't quite explain. Maybe because it sounded sincere. Maybe because, somehow, sincerity felt far more dangerous than charm ever had.
You swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness twisting in your stomach, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.
"I just... haven't done this before."
The silence that followed settled between you almost immediately.
For perhaps the first time in your life, Lorenzo looked completely stripped of every defense he possessed. The usual smirk was gone. So was the teasing confidence he wore so effortlessly. All that remained was a brief, startled stillness.
"Oh."
You immediately regretted saying anything.
"Please don't make it weird."
His eyes widened.
"Weird?" he repeated. "Sweetheart, I'm trying very hard not to go into cardiac arrest right now."
Despite yourself, you laughed.
The sound seemed to pull him back to earth. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he exhaled slowly, and when he looked at you again, his expression had softened even further.
"Do you trust me?" he asked again.
The question felt different this time than it had before.
Earlier, it had been easy—something asked between laughter, lingering glances, and almost-kisses. Now it carried a weight that made your chest tighten.
Because this wasn't flirting anymore.
And the awful truth remained exactly the same.
You trusted him completely.
Probably more than you should have.
"I trust you, Enzo."
Something shifted in his expression at that.
Whatever traces of teasing or performance remained seemed to fall away entirely. He reached for your hand slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away before his fingers finally curled gently around yours.
"We go slow," he murmured. "And if you want me to stop, I stop. Alright?"
You nodded.
"No pretending you're fine if you're not."
"I know."
"You sure?"
A faint smile tugged at your lips.
"You ask that a lot for someone with such an enormous ego."
His laugh was soft and genuine.
Then he kissed you again, and this time everything felt different.
The kiss was slower, more careful, carrying a tenderness that made your chest ache. There was something almost reverent about it, as though he was taking his time, memorizing every detail instead of rushing past the moment.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than anything else.
Because none of this felt casual anymore.
That was the problem.
Lorenzo Berkshire was supposed to be fun—a crush, a fleeting mistake, a cautionary tale you laughed about later.
Instead, he felt real.
Terrifyingly, undeniably real.
And afterward, tangled together beneath dark green sheets while moonlight spilled across the floor, Lorenzo brushed a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that didn't match a single rumor you'd ever heard about him.
"You alright, little raven?"
You nodded sleepily.
His smile softened.
It was the most unguarded you'd ever seen him.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The silence didn't feel awkward. It felt suspended, as though the world had briefly paused and forgotten to keep moving.
His fingers traced absent patterns along your waist while you rested against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.
Eventually, his voice broke the quiet.
"You're thinking too much again."
You smiled.
"How can you tell?"
His fingers brushed lightly between your brows.
"You get this little line right here."
Your stomach flipped.
"You notice a lot about me."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"I notice everything about you."
You turned slightly to look at him.
His hair was messy. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion. His shirt had vanished somewhere into the room without either of you remembering exactly when.
He looked unfairly beautiful.
And for reasons you couldn't fully explain, that realization scared you.
Not because you were afraid of him.
Because you were afraid of what this was becoming.
Somewhere between shared study sessions, stolen glances, and Lorenzo remembering exactly how you took your coffee without ever needing to ask, this had stopped being simple.
And judging by the way he was looking at you now, it had stopped being simple for him too.
That realization settled quietly between you.
And eventually, despite everything, you fell asleep anyway.
When you woke the next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, washing the room in a pale, uncertain glow. For a few disorienting seconds, you remained suspended somewhere between sleep and memory, your mind struggling to place the unfamiliar warmth surrounding you.
Then Lorenzo shifted beside you.
His arm tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest, and your breath caught immediately. The movement was so natural, so unconscious, that it felt intimate in a way you hadn't prepared yourself for.
Merlin.
Everything from the night before came rushing back at once.
His hands tangled in your hair. The softness of his voice whenever he asked if you were alright. The way he had looked at you afterward, with an expression far too sincere for someone like Lorenzo.
That was the part that lingered—not the kisses or the nerves, but the quiet tenderness in his eyes afterward. Something soft and unguarded that felt almost impossible from him, and somehow made your chest ache whenever you thought about it.
Like you mattered.
Like he was seeing something worth keeping.
Panic followed almost immediately.
Because Lorenzo was beautiful and funny and effortlessly charming in the way certain people simply existed in the world without trying. He was the kind of boy girls wrote poetry about in secret journals and cried over behind closed dormitory doors.
And you—
Godric.
You were already halfway in love with him.
The realization settled heavily in your chest, stealing the remaining traces of sleep. Dangerous didn't feel like a strong enough word for it. Dangerous implied there was still time to stop. This felt much worse.
This felt inevitable.
Carefully, you slipped out from beneath his arm, moving as slowly as possible while gathering your clothes from the floor. Every sound seemed amplified in the quiet room. The rustle of fabric. The creak of a floorboard. The nervous rhythm of your own heartbeat.
Lorenzo stirred once behind you, shifting deeper into the pillows, but he didn't wake.
You paused despite yourself.
For a moment, you simply looked at him.
Morning light softened the sharp edges of him. His dark hair was a mess against the pillow, his face relaxed in a way you almost never saw when he was awake. Without the constant smirk and easy confidence, he looked younger somehow. Less like the boy everyone knew and more like the one you'd slowly gotten to know over the past few months.
The one who remembered how you took your coffee.
The one who saved you a seat in the library without mentioning it.
The one who always seemed to notice when you were having a bad day before anyone else did.
For one reckless second, you almost climbed back into bed.
You almost let yourself stay.
Then common sense arrived and ruined everything.
You told yourself you only needed air. Five minutes to think. Five minutes to get your emotions under control before you did something completely humiliating, like confess your feelings to Lorenzo Berkshire after one night.
You weren't leaving him. Not really.
You just needed a few minutes to breathe, to untangle the mess of thoughts and feelings that had somehow taken over overnight. A little distance, a little clarity, and then you'd come back.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
You made it halfway down the corridor before realizing your necklace was still sitting on his bedside table.
With a quiet curse under your breath, you turned around.
The castle was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning as you retraced your steps, your shoes barely making a sound against the stone floor. By the time you reached the corridor leading to his dormitory, your embarrassment had faded enough that you were already mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable teasing.
You were only a few steps from the door when voices drifted through it.
You immediately recognized Mattheo's.
“Well, well,” he drawled, sounding far too amused for this hour of the morning. “Where’d your little raven disappear to?”
There was a pause.
A pause long enough that your heart almost betrayed you.
Because for one impossible second, you thought maybe he would say something.
Something that sounded like he missed you.
Something that sounded like last night mattered.
Inside the room, you heard movement. The rustle of sheets. Someone opening a drawer. The easy, familiar chaos of boys stumbling through another morning.
Then silence.
A brief pause settled over the room, as though everyone was waiting for an answer.
You should've kept walking. You should've turned around and given them the privacy of a conversation that was never meant for your ears.
Instead, you froze where you stood.
And then Lorenzo laughed.
The sound reached you before the words did, familiar enough that your chest tightened instinctively. Yet there was something different about it now. Not cruel, not deliberately unkind, but careless in a way that made your stomach sink. It was the easy, thoughtless laugh of someone who had no idea they were standing on top of a landmine, completely unaware of the damage they were about to cause.
"Don’t know,” Lorenzo said.
The answer came too quickly.
Too casually.
Like he was trying harder than usual to make it sound like he didn’t care.
“Don’t care.”
For a moment, your mind refused to make sense of the words. They seemed to hang suspended in the air between the door and the corridor, disconnected from meaning, disconnected from the boy who had spent the last several months tearing down your walls and becoming an essential part of your life.
There was a strange pause before he continued.
The kind of pause that made you wonder if maybe, for one impossible second, he was going to say something else.
Something honest.
"I got my dick wet and another name in the black book. That's all that really matters."
The world didn't shatter.
That would have been easier.
Instead, it felt as though something inside you simply went silent. Every thought vanished at once, chased away by a sudden rushing noise in your ears that drowned out everything else. Somewhere inside the dormitory, Mattheo laughed. Someone said something in response. A few more voices joined in.
You barely heard any of it.
The corridor suddenly felt impossibly long and strangely unreal, as though you were standing outside your own body watching the scene unfold from somewhere far away.
Because the worst part wasn't even what he'd said.
It was how effortlessly the words had left his mouth.
There was no hesitation. No discomfort. No indication whatsoever that the night you'd spent replaying in your head since waking up had meant anything to him beyond a passing amusement.
Of course.
Of course you'd gotten it wrong.
You had mistaken something real for something temporary.
And somehow, that hurt worse.
You had taken every smile, every lingering glance, every moment of softness and built an entire story around it without realizing you were the only person living inside that story.
Lorenzo had never promised you anything.
He had never asked you to fall for him.
You had simply filled in the blanks yourself.
Another name in the black book.
The phrase echoed relentlessly through your mind, growing sharper each time it repeated itself. Not a girl he cared about. Not someone worth remembering. Just another story. Another tally mark. Another name scribbled into a collection that meant far more to him than you ever had.
You stood there for another second, perfectly still, afraid that if you moved too quickly whatever fragile thing was holding you together might finally splinter apart.
Then, before anyone could open the door and find you standing there, you took a slow step backward. Another followed after that, and then another, each one carrying you farther away from the room, farther away from the boy you'd trusted far more than you should've.
And before anyone could hear it happen, you walked away and let your heart break somewhere else.
The next Charms class felt unbearable in a way you could never have prepared for.
You arrived early, choosing a seat near the middle of the room where it would be easy to stare straight ahead and pretend you weren't waiting for something you already dreaded. The classroom gradually filled around you with the usual morning noise, students chatting as they unpacked books and compared homework, but none of it managed to settle the knot that had been sitting in your stomach for two days.
Lorenzo arrived a few minutes later.
He looked exactly the same as he always did. Relaxed. Effortlessly composed. Infuriatingly handsome in a way that now felt almost cruel. There were no visible signs that anything had changed for him, no indication that the night replaying endlessly in your head had followed him into the daylight at all.
Then he saw you.
His expression shifted immediately, the easy smile disappearing almost as soon as it appeared.
"Hey," he said carefully as he slid into the seat beside you. "You disappeared pretty quickly the other night."
You didn't look at him.
Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the front of the classroom, your posture rigid and controlled. The distance between you felt deliberate now, every inch of it carefully maintained. You were suddenly grateful for the desk separating you because it gave your hands somewhere to hide while your pulse hammered beneath your skin.
Beside you, Lorenzo frowned.
"Y/N?"
Slowly, you turned your head.
And when you finally spoke, your voice came out calm enough to surprise even yourself.
"Well," you said evenly, "you got an easy fuck and another name for your book."
The effect was immediate.
Every trace of color drained from his face as though someone had physically struck him. His entire body went still, eyes locked on yours in complete disbelief.
"In the end," you continued quietly, refusing to let your voice shake, "that's all that really matters, right?"
For the first time since you'd met him, Lorenzo looked entirely stripped of the things that usually defined him. There was no charm, no confidence, no easy grin waiting to smooth everything over. There was only horror.
"You heard that?"
You looked away before he could see anything else in your expression.
"No."
The lie was pathetic. You both knew it.
He leaned toward you immediately, panic flashing across his face. "Wait—"
"No."
"It wasn't—"
"I genuinely do not care."
The words tasted bitter the second they left your mouth. You cared so much it felt impossible to breathe around it.
"That's not true," he said instantly.
His voice sounded different now. Tighter. Stripped raw of all the effortless confidence he usually wore like armor. For once there was no performance in it, no carefully crafted charm. Just uncertainty and something dangerously close to desperation.
"You think I meant that?" he asked.
You stared straight ahead at the blackboard.
"I think," you interrupted quietly, "that you should leave me alone."
And for once, Lorenzo had no clever response.
No joke.
No charm.
No perfectly timed smile to make everything disappear.
Because he had spent months convincing you that he was different.
And somehow, in one stupid sentence, he had proven he wasn’t.
"Little raven—"
"Don't call me that."
The words landed harder than you intended, sharp enough that he physically flinched.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Professor Flitwick swept into the classroom, and whatever chance there had been to fix it vanished.
Lorenzo tried anyway.
He cornered you after class, apologizing before you'd even made it through the doorway. He found you after dinner. Waited outside the library. Appeared after Quidditch practice with increasingly frantic attempts to explain himself.
You ignored every single one.
At first he seemed convinced he could fix it if he just found the right words. Then the days stretched into weeks, and the determination slowly faded into something quieter. Eventually, painfully, he stopped trying.
The year moved forward without him in it.
You stayed with Hermione and Ginny, building a life out of routines and coursework and friendships that didn't require you to think too hard about what you'd lost. Lorenzo stayed with Theo and Mattheo, surrounded by laughter that sounded too easy to mean anything and girls who still looked at him like he hung the stars.
Sometimes, despite your best efforts, you caught him looking at you across classrooms or crowded corridors.
The expression was never the one you remembered.
The smugness was gone. The flirtation too.
Instead, there was something heavier in its place. Something that lingered a little too long to be casual and looked far too much like regret.
It didn't matter.
At least that was what you told yourself.
Because regret couldn't change what you'd heard.
Regret couldn't make you unhear it.
And regret certainly couldn't put back the pieces of something you'd been foolish enough to believe was real.
Then he graduated.
Then you did.
Then life happened the way it always does, carrying you forward whether you were ready or not.
Years passed. Cities changed. People came and went.
And eventually Lorenzo Berkshire became something you learned to lock away carefully, buried beneath distance and time and the stubborn insistence that you were perfectly fine without him.
Until Hermione got engaged.
And suddenly, after nearly a decade of pretending he was just a memory, the boy who broke your heart at sixteen was standing across a ballroom looking at you like he had never once forgotten how to hold it.
