hi I’m so sorry to bother you again, but did you happen to write the chain of power series? 😓 its slowly disappearing on quotev— it’s only available up to third year chap 18
I did not unfortunately, maybe they uploaded on wattpad or ao3 , try inkitt.
Sypnosis : The Marauders were once your world—James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius, a family bound by laughter and loyalty—until the night James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was branded the betrayer; years later, you visit him in Azkaban and leave him screaming in the dark, convinced he is nothing but a monster, retreating into isolation until his escape forces the past back into your life, bringing with it rage, grief, and the dangerous pull of a love you thought had died.
Warning : graphic angst, betrayal, imprisonment trauma, jealousy, toxic dynamics, mentions of death, bittersweet ending.
Sirius Black had once been your world. Him, James, Remus, Peter—you were all one big, reckless, laughing family. The Marauders weren’t just friends; they were the kind of people who stitched themselves into your soul, who made every day at Hogwarts feel like eternity could never touch you. You thought nothing could break that bond.
But eternity did break. It shattered the night James and Lily were murdered. And the one who tore it apart was Sirius.
The betrayal was a wound that never healed. He had sold them out—handed them to the Dark Lord like lambs to slaughter. James, your brother in all but blood. Lily, the heart of your circle. Gone, because Sirius chose treachery.
Now, when you think of him, it isn’t laughter or warmth that rises in your chest. It’s hatred. Raw, deep, unrelenting hatred. You see him not as the boy who once made you feel invincible, but as the man rotting in Azkaban, chained by the weight of his own sins. The world calls him a murderer, a traitor, and you don’t disagree.
The Marauders are no more. The family you once had is ashes. And Sirius Black—the one who destroyed it—is nothing but a ghost in your memory, locked away where he belongs.
The salt spray of the North Sea didn't just cling to your skin; it bit into it, a freezing, abrasive mist that smelled of rotting kelp and ancient, stagnant grief. Azkaban didn't feel like a prison; it felt like a throat, closing slowly around everything living. Every breath you took felt like swallowing shards of ice. You hated the Ministry for allowing this visit, and you hated yourself more for agreeing to it. But the plea had come through the official channels, a desperate, handwritten scrap of parchment that had practically screamed through the paper: Please. Just once. I need you to know.
The guards didn't speak. They didn't need to. The Dementors did the talking, their presence a rhythmic, sucking void that pulled the warmth from your marrow and replaced it with memories of every failure you had ever endured. You walked the corridor of damp stone, your boots clicking a lonely rhythm against the floor.
Then you saw him.
The cell was a concrete box, leaking seawater from the ceiling in a slow, rhythmic drip. Sirius sat on the floor, his back against the freezing wall. He looked less like a man and more like a ruin. He was stripped to the waist, his skin a sickly, translucent pale that made the blood look unnervingly vivid.
Deep, jagged lacerations crisscrossed his chest and shoulders, some fresh and weeping, others scabbed over in ugly, brownish ridges. He was drenched in a mixture of sweat and blood, the liquid clinging to the lean muscles of his torso, making his skin glisten under the dim, flickering light of the corridor.
He was positioned in a way that felt like an invitation and a tragedy all at once. One leg was stretched out straight, the muscle of his thigh taut and trembling. The other was bent, his foot flat against the stone, knee pulled up toward his chest. His head was tilted back against the wall, his throat exposed—a long, vulnerable line of skin that pulsed with every ragged breath.
His hair, once a crown of arrogant, black curls, was now a matted, greasy mane that clung to his forehead and neck. He didn't look at you at first. He just breathed, a wet, rattling sound that echoed in the silence.
"Get up," you whispered, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears, brittle and sharp.
Sirius shifted, a low groan escaping his lips. He winced, his entire body shuddering as the movement pulled at the wounds on his side. He slowly rolled his head to the side, his grey eyes bloodshot and sunken, yet still burning with a feverish intensity that made your heart stutter.
"You came," he rasped. His voice was a ghost of the one you remembered—gone was the melodic arrogance, replaced by a gravelly, broken sandpaper quality.
"I shouldn't have. I should have left you to rot in this hole." Sirius let out a sharp, hacking laugh that turned into a cough, spraying a fine mist of blood onto his chin. He didn't wipe it away. He just looked at you, his gaze roaming over your face with a hunger that felt almost tactile.
"I know you hate me," he whispered. "I can taste it. It's the only thing in this room that isn't cold."
"Hate isn't a strong enough word, Sirius. I look at you and I see the void where James used to be. I see Lily's smile extinguished because you decided you were the only one who mattered."
Sirius flinched as if you had struck him. He tried to move closer, sliding his body along the floor, but his strength failed him. He collapsed back against the wall with a heavy thud, his chest heaving.
"I didn't do it," he gasped, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Listen to me. Please, just... look at me. Do I look like a man who could betray them? Do I look like I could live a single second knowing I had handed them to him?"
You stepped back, the movement instinctive, a physical rejection of his proximity. The sight of him—broken, bloodied, yet still possessing that magnetic, raw masculinity—sent a surge of conflict through you. You wanted to scream at him, to tear the skin from his bones, and yet, a traitorous part of you wanted to kneel in the filth and hold him until the shaking stopped.
"Stop lying," you spat. "Just stop
Sirius tried to lunge forward, his movement sudden and violent. He let out a strangled cry of pain as a wound on his hip reopened, a fresh bloom of crimson soaking into the grey stone beneath him. He slumped forward, his forehead resting against the cold floor, his breath coming in jagged, sobbing gasps.
"Believe me," he moaned, the sound muffled by the stone. "Please. Just... tell me you believe me. I can't stay here if you don't believe me. The Dementors... they take everything, but they can't take the memory of your face. I hold onto that. I hold onto the way you used to laugh. Please... don't let that be a lie too."
You looked down at him, the man who had been your anchor, your protector, your first everything. You saw the blood, the filth, and the sheer, agonizing desperation of his posture. For a moment, the rage flickered, replaced by a hollow, aching grief. But then you remembered the silence of the house after the funeral. You remembered the way the air felt empty.
"You're a very good actor, Sirius. Even now, covered in your own blood, you're trying to play the martyr."
He looked up at you, a single tear carving a clean path through the grime on his cheek. "I'm not acting. I'm dying. I'm dying in here, and the only thing that hurts more than the chains is the fact that you look at me and see a monster."
"I see exactly what you are," you replied, your voice cold and final. You turned your back on him. As you walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoed the closing of a door. Behind you, Sirius began to scream. It wasn't a scream of anger or a plea for mercy; it was a raw, guttural howl of absolute abandonment. It was the sound of a soul finally snapping.
You didn't look back. You walked through the mist, through the Dementors, and out into a world that felt just as empty as the cell you had left behind.
The years that followed were a study in silence. You retreated into a life of curated isolation. You lived in a small cottage on the edge of a village that didn't care for magic and cared even less for the scandals of the Wizarding World. You stopped answering letters. You stopped attending gatherings.
You had cut the last remaining thread of your past: Remus Lupin. Remus had tried, at first. He had sent owls with tentative messages, asking how you were, suggesting that perhaps you could find solace in each other's company.
But you couldn't look at him without seeing the ghost of the Marauders. Remus was a living reminder of the brotherhood that had been slaughtered. Every time you thought of his gentle voice or his tired eyes, you saw Sirius's blood-stained chest in that cell. You saw the betrayal.
You had made an unspoken agreement with the universe: the Marauders were dead. James, Lily, and Sirius were gone. Peter was a mystery you no longer cared to solve.
You existed in a vacuum of your own making, reading the *Daily Prophet* not for news, but to ensure that the world remained as broken as you were.
Then came the morning that shattered the silence. You were sitting at your kitchen table, the steam from a cup of Earl Grey rising in a lazy curl.
The newspaper lay open before you, the ink smudging under your thumb. The headline was printed in bold, screaming letters that seemed to vibrate off the page.
SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN.
Your heart didn't just beat; it hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. You stared at the moving photograph of Sirius—haggard, wild-eyed, looking more like a feral animal than a man.
The article spoke of the impossibility of the escape, the danger he posed, the presumed targets of his vengeance.
"You're out," you whispered, the words tasting like ash. "You're actually out."
A cold dread settled in your stomach. You didn't know if you wanted to find him and kill him yourself or hide in the cellar until the world ended. You spent the day pacing the length of your living room, your eyes darting to the windows every time a branch scraped against the glass. The isolation you had cultivated for a decade suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like a trap.
The knock came at dusk. It wasn't a loud knock, but it was firm. Deliberate. It echoed through the quiet house, pulling you out of your spiral of panic.
You froze, your breath hitching in your throat. You didn't have visitors. You didn't want visitors. You crept toward the door, your hand trembling as you reached for the handle. You didn't open it. Instead, you leaned in, peering through the small gap of the door-knob's eye.
Your breath left you in a sudden, violent rush. Standing on your porch, bathed in the bruised purple light of the twilight, was Remus.
He looked older, thinner, his clothes frayed and worn, his face etched with a weariness that went deeper than skin. He looked like a man who had walked a thousand miles through a storm.
"Remus?" you breathed, your voice a mixture of shock and instinctive distrust. You unlocked the door and pulled it open just a crack, your body poised to slam it shut the moment something went wrong. "Hello," Remus said. His voice was soft, cautious.
He didn't smile. He looked at you with an expression of profound apology, his eyes searching yours for a sign of welcome that wasn't there.
"I know it's been a long time." "A long time? We haven't spoken in twelve years, Remus. Why are you here? How did you even find me?"
"I always knew where you were," he replied. "I just... I respected your silence. But things have changed. Something has happened that changes everything."
You frowned, your gaze shifting behind him. That was when you saw it. Tucked partially behind Remus's legs was a dog. A massive, shaggy black dog with paws the size of dinner plates and eyes that held an intelligence that was far too human.
The dog was panting, its tongue lolling out, but its gaze was locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. The realization hit you like a physical blow.
No," you gasped, your hand gripping the edge of the door. "No, no, no. You didn't. Remus, tell me you didn't bring him here." Remus shifted his weight, giving you a look of desperate pleading. "Please. Just listen for one minute. He's not what you think he is. He's not—"
You slammed the door with every ounce of strength in your shoulders. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot. You leaned your back against the wood, your chest heaving, your eyes squeezed shut. You could feel the panic rising, a tide of old grief and new terror.
Then, there was a sound.
It wasn't a knock. It was a wet, sliding noise, followed by a heavy thud against the door. You opened your eyes just as the door began to creak open. You hadn't locked it. In your panic, you had forgotten to turn the deadbolt.
A hand gripped the edge of the door—a long, pale hand with scarred knuckles. With a slow, deliberate motion, the door was pushed wide. The dog was gone. In its place stood a man.
He was taller than you remembered, his frame leaner but more defined, his presence filling the doorway and blotting out the twilight.
He was wearing rags that barely qualified as clothes, his chest partially exposed through a torn shirt, revealing the remnants of the scars you had seen in Azkaban, though they had faded to silver lines against his skin. But it was his face that stopped your heart.
Twelve years had passed, and the boy you had known was gone. In his place was a man of devastating, rugged beauty. His jawline was sharper, more pronounced, shadowed by a thick, dark beard that clung to his chin and cheeks. His hair was still a chaotic mane of black, falling over his forehead in wild waves, framing eyes that were no longer just grey—they were the color of a storm at sea, swirling with a mixture of agony, longing, and an unbreakable will.
He didn't move. He simply stood there, his body positioned perfectly between you and the exit, effectively blocking the door. He was so close you could smell him—the scent of rain, old leather, and a musk that was purely, undeniably Sirius.
You stared up at him, your mouth slightly open, your breath hitching. The hatred was still there, a cold stone in your gut, but it was suddenly competing with a visceral, electric attraction. He looked dangerous. He looked ruined. He looked like the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
"Get out," you whispered, though the command lacked the fire it had possessed a moment ago. Sirius didn't flinch. He stepped forward, a single, slow movement that forced you to retreat into your own hallway.
He didn't touch you, but the heat radiating from his body was a physical pressure, a warmth that seemed to melt the ice you had spent a decade freezing around your heart.
"I can't," he said. His voice had deepened, becoming a rich, resonant baritone that vibrated in the small space.
"I can't leave until you look at me. Really look at me." "I've seen enough of you, Sirius. I saw you in that cell. I saw the man who murdered his best friend."
Sirius's expression didn't break, but his eyes darkened. He reached up, his fingers brushing against the doorframe, his knuckles grazing the wood.
"I didn't do it," he said, and this time, there was no pleading in his voice. There was only a hard, crystalline truth. "I didn't do it, and I will spend every second of the rest of my life proving it to you. But I can't do that from the rain."
Remus stepped up behind him, his voice soft. "He's exhausted, and he's starving. Just for tonight. Just give him a place to sit, and tomorrow, if you still want him gone, I'll take him myself. I promise." You looked from Remus to Sirius. Sirius was watching you, his gaze tracing the line of your throat, the curve of your shoulder.
There was a hunger in his eyes that wasn't about food. It was a starving, desperate need for recognition, for forgiveness, for a touch that didn't come from a guard's baton or a Dementor's chill. "Why here?" you asked, your voice trembling.
"Why come to me?" Sirius took another step, his chest now inches from yours. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to see him. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.
"Because you're the only thing I had left to lose," he whispered. "And I'm tired of losing." The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the ghosts of the past and the sudden, terrifying presence of the present.
You looked at the man before you—the traitor, the fugitive, the love of your youth—and you realized that the door you had closed twelve years ago had never truly stayed shut. You stepped aside, a slow, reluctant movement. "One night," you said, your voice barely audible.
"Just one night." As Sirius brushed past you to enter the house, his arm grazed yours. It was a fleeting contact, a mere whisper of skin against skin, but it felt like a lightning strike.
You shivered, not from the cold, but from the sudden, violent realization that your sanctuary had just been invaded by the one man who knew exactly how to destroy it.
You couldn’t believe it. After twelve years of silence, after building walls so high even Remus’s owls couldn’t climb them, you had let Sirius Black into your house. The thought gnawed at you as you set plates on the table, the smell of roasted chicken and buttered bread filling the small cottage. You had cooked for two men who belonged to a past you swore you’d buried.
Sirius had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing faintly through the walls. You tried not to imagine him there, shedding the grime of Azkaban, steam curling around his scarred body. Tried, and failed.
When the door creaked open, you caught sight of him—damp hair clinging to his temples, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. He wasn’t wearing his rags anymore. Instead, he was dressed in a shirt and trousers you recognized instantly. Clothes that didn’t belong to him. Clothes that belonged to someone else.
You froze, listening as Remus handed Sirius the bundle. His voice was quiet, but the words carried. “They were… from someone she used to care for. I thought you’d fit them.”
Sirius’s laugh was low, bitter. “So I’m wearing another man’s ghost. How fitting.”
Your stomach twisted. You hated the way his tone dripped with something possessive, hated the way his eyes flicked toward the kitchen as if he knew you were listening.
Remus sighed. “Don’t start, Sirius. She’s giving you one night. Don’t ruin it.”
But Sirius only smirked, tugging at the collar of the shirt, his voice dropping into that dangerous drawl. “Funny. I don’t feel like a guest. I feel like I’ve come home.”
The words hit you like a blade. Jealousy flared—sharp, irrational, undeniable. You clenched the edge of the table, your knuckles whitening, as the image of Sirius in your ex’s clothes burned into your mind. He looked devastating, ruined and beautiful, and the sight made you want to scream.
When he finally stepped into the kitchen, the candlelight caught on the silver scars across his chest, half‑hidden by the borrowed shirt. He looked at you, not at the food, not at Remus—only at you. And in that gaze was hunger, defiance, and something that made your pulse stumble.
The cottage was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your skin. You had retreated to your room, the candlelight flickering against the walls, trying to convince yourself that the day hadn’t happened—that Sirius Black wasn’t sitting in your kitchen, wearing another man’s clothes, breathing the same air as you.
But the knock came anyway. Soft, hesitant. You didn’t answer. The door creaked open regardless.
Sirius stood there, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. His hair was damp, curling against his temples, his shirt loose around his frame. He looked less like a fugitive now and more like the boy you remembered—except older, sharper, broken in ways you couldn’t name.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “But I can’t sleep knowing you’re just a wall away.”
You sat rigid on the edge of the bed, your hands clenched in your lap. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room shrank, the air thickening with the weight of everything unsaid. He didn’t touch you, but the space between you felt charged, dangerous.
“I know you hate me,” Sirius whispered, his eyes locked on yours. “But I need you to know—I never stopped loving you. Even in Azkaban, even when the Dementors stripped everything else away, they couldn’t take you from me.”
Your throat tightened. You wanted to scream, to throw the words back at him, but instead you whispered, “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to love me after what you did.”
Sirius’s jaw clenched, his storm‑grey eyes burning. “Then let me prove it wasn’t me. Let me prove I didn’t betray them. Just give me that chance.”
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You looked at him—the scars, the ruin, the desperate hope etched into his face—and for a moment, the ice around your heart cracked.
But only for a moment.
You shook your head, your voice trembling. “One night, Sirius. That’s all I promised. Tomorrow, you leave. And whatever you think we had… it died with James and Lily.”
Sirius’s breath hitched, his shoulders sagging. He nodded once, sharp and final, though his eyes betrayed the storm raging inside him. He turned toward the door, his hand lingering on the knob.
Before he left, he glanced back, his voice breaking. “Then let me have tonight. Just tonight, knowing you’re here. That’s enough.”
And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. You sat in the flickering candlelight, your chest aching with a grief that felt both old and new.
It was bitter. It was sweet. And it was the kind of ending that promised nothing but more ghosts.
It's my right to be hellish ( I still get jealous)
James Potter x Evan Rosier
Sypnosis : Evan Rosier never meant to fall into the mess of tangled loyalties and forbidden desire, but one collision with James Potter sparks a rivalry laced with attraction that refuses to fade. Between his hidden crush on Barty Crouch Jr., Regulus Black’s manipulative provocations, and James’s possessive fire, Evan is dragged into a storm where every laugh, every smirk, and every kiss carries the weight of betrayal.
Evan Rosier had been in love with Barty Crouch Jr. for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t a passing fancy, not the kind of crush that flickered and died after a term. No, his love for Barty was carved into him like runes etched into stone — permanent, undeniable, and impossible to erase. Barty had been his best friend since their first year, his partner in crime, the one person who could make him laugh even when the world felt suffocating.
It had always been the three of them: Evan, Barty, and Regulus. A trio that moved through Hogwarts like shadows, inseparable, untouchable. They were whispered about in corridors, feared for their sharp tongues and sharper pranks, admired for their brilliance. And beneath it all, Evan carried his secret — the way his chest tightened whenever Barty’s hand brushed his, the way his heart stuttered when Barty’s grin was aimed at him. Regulus knew, of course. Regulus always knew. He’d teased Evan for it, smirked knowingly when Evan’s gaze lingered too long, when his laugh came too easily at Barty’s sharp jokes.
But Regulus was also the same boy who had broken up with James Potter just a week ago, bored of Gryffindor’s golden boy and his endless dramatics. Evan had watched the fallout with detached amusement, secretly pleased to see James left in the dust. He hadn’t expected Regulus to move on so quickly. He hadn’t expected this.
Because now, standing in the doorway of his own dorm room, Evan’s sanctuary, he saw Regulus with his hands tangled in Barty’s hair, lips pressed against Barty’s mouth. In his room. On his bed.
The sight sliced through him like glass. His heart lurched, his stomach twisted, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Regulus’s smirk was triumphant, Barty’s laugh muffled against his lips, and Evan’s world tilted violently off its axis.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the walls down, to demand why, how, when. He wanted to drag Barty away, to shake Regulus until that smug grin vanished. But all that came was silence — the hollow ache of betrayal, the suffocating weight of being the outsider in his own story.
Memories flooded him: late-night talks with Barty, whispered secrets in the library, the way Regulus had nudged him whenever Evan’s gaze lingered too long. They had been a trio, a perfect balance. And now, Regulus had shattered it, stolen the one thing Evan had never dared to claim.
Regulus’s eyes flicked up, catching Evan in the doorway. That smirk widened, cruel and knowing. He knew. He had always known. And now he was rubbing salt into the wound, flaunting the betrayal in Evan’s face.
Barty pulled back, lips swollen, hair mussed, and laughed — oblivious, radiant, devastating. Evan’s chest constricted. He had dreamed of that laugh, of being the reason for it. And now it was Regulus who held it, who owned it.
Evan’s hands clenched at his sides. He wanted to run, to escape the suffocating room, but his feet were rooted to the floor. He wanted to fight, to claw back what was his, but the words stuck in his throat. He was drowning in silence, in heartbreak, in rage.
The Gryffindors had won their match against Hufflepuff, and the castle was buzzing with celebration. Their common room was overflowing with noise — music charmed to play from enchanted gramophones, butterbeer spilling over tables, laughter echoing against the stone walls.
Evan Rosier didn’t belong there. He knew it, felt it in the way Gryffindors glanced at him with suspicion, their smiles too sharp, their whispers too loud. But he had decided to tag along anyway. Because Barty was going, and Regulus was going, and the three of them had always been a trio.
Even after seeing them kiss.
Still, Barty and Regulus weren’t official. Just flings, just stolen moments. Evan told himself that over and over as he followed them into the Gryffindor common room, the noise swallowing him whole.
Barty was radiant, his grin wide as he clapped Sirius Black on the shoulder, already recounting some play from the match. Regulus leaned against the wall, cool and composed, his eyes flicking toward Evan with a small, reassuring smile. That was the thing about Regulus — even when he broke hearts, even when he tangled himself in chaos, he never let their friendship fracture.
Evan moved through the crowd, his chest tight, his mind spiraling. He could still see them in his room, lips pressed together, laughter muffled. He could still feel the sting of betrayal, even if it wasn’t meant to be cruel.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, slicing across the room in golden beams. It landed directly on Evan’s face, dragging him out of sleep with a groggy groan. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry, and his stomach churned with the unmistakable weight of too much firewhisky.
He remembered the chaos of last night — the Gryffindor victory party, the endless drinks pressed into his hand, the laughter that blurred into shouting, the music that pulsed until his bones vibrated. He remembered getting lost in it, letting the noise drown out the ache in his chest, the image of Regulus and Barty tangled together. He had wanted to forget, and for a few hours, he had.
Now, though, the hangover was merciless.
Evan tried to sit up, but something tugged him back down. His brow furrowed, confusion cutting through the haze. He looked down — and froze.
A hand. Draped across his lower waist.
“What—” His voice cracked, hoarse. “Shit.”
His gaze snapped sideways, and the world tilted violently.
James Potter was sleeping soundly beside him.
His dark hair was a mess, his glasses abandoned on the nightstand, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. He looked peaceful, almost boyish, utterly unaware of the storm raging in Evan’s head.
And only then did it occur to Evan that this was not his room.
The walls were wrong — Gryffindor red instead of Slytherin green. The banners, the clutter, the faint smell of butterbeer and smoke. He was in the Gryffindor dormitory. In James Potter’s bed.
Evan’s pulse spiked, panic clawing at his throat. How had this happened? He remembered the drinks, the laughter, the blur of faces. He remembered stumbling through corridors, someone steadying him, a voice coaxing him along. But the details were fractured, broken shards that refused to fit together.
And now here he was, tangled in James Potter’s sheets, James’s hand resting possessively at his waist.
Evan’s panic was a living thing, clawing up his throat, making his pulse hammer so hard he thought it might wake James before his voice even did. He shoved at the sheets, trying to untangle himself, but James’s hand tightened instinctively at his waist — casual, possessive, like it belonged there.
“Potter,” Evan hissed, his voice cracking. “What the hell—”
James stirred, lashes fluttering before his hazel eyes blinked open. For a moment he looked disoriented, then his gaze landed on Evan — and the smirk spread across his face like wildfire.
“Well, well,” James drawled, voice still rough with sleep but smug as ever. “Rosier in my bed. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Evan’s stomach flipped violently. “This isn’t—this can’t—” He scrambled back, nearly falling off the mattress, his head pounding from the hangover. “What did you do?”
James tilted his head, hazel eyes gleaming with amusement. “What we did, you mean.” He sat up, sheets slipping down to reveal his bare chest, utterly unbothered. “Don’t look so horrified. You weren’t complaining last night.”
Evan’s breath caught, his chest constricting. “You’re lying.”
James leaned closer, smirk widening. “Am I? You were the one pulling me down, whispering my name like it was a curse. Don’t pretend you don’t remember.”
Evan’s face burned, his stomach twisting violently. He wanted to deny it, to scream, to run — but fragments of memory flickered in his mind: the taste of firewhisky, the press of lips, the heat of skin against skin. His panic sharpened into rage.
“You’re disgusting,” Evan spat, though his voice trembled.
James only laughed, low and infuriating. “Funny. You didn’t think so when you had your hands all over me.” He leaned back, utterly at ease, like he owned the moment. “Relax, Rosier. No one else knows. Yet.”
The implication hit Evan like a curse. His secret — his heartbreak over Barty, his tangled feelings, his vulnerability — all of it could unravel if James decided to open his mouth. And James Potter, Gryffindor’s golden boy, looked like he was enjoying every second of Evan’s panic.
Evan’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to hit him, to wipe that smug grin off his face. But beneath the fury was something worse — the echo of last night, the way James’s laugh had made his chest ache, the way his touch had burned.
“Bloody hell,” Evan muttered, voice shaking as he grabbed his discarded clothes from the floor. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, too frantic to care if they were misaligned. He needed out. Out of this room, out of James’s orbit, out of the suffocating weight of what they’d done.
Behind him, James stretched lazily, utterly unbothered. “Running already?” His voice was smug, teasing, like he knew exactly how much Evan was unraveling. “You don’t even want breakfast first?”
“Stay out of my way, Potter,” Evan snapped, voice low and dangerous. He turned on his heel, storming toward the door before James could see the tremor in his hands.
But James’s voice followed him, smug and soft, curling around him like smoke. “You’ll be back, Rosier. You know you will.”
Evan froze for half a second, rage and panic colliding in his chest, before he slammed the door behind him.
Sirius was sprawled across the armchair, legs dangling over one side, a butterbeer bottle balanced precariously in his hand. He looked at James with that trademark grin — sharp, amused, and just a little cruel.
“So,” Sirius drawled, voice dripping with mischief, “you fucked your ex’s best friend?”
James didn’t even flinch. He leaned back against the couch, arms folded behind his head, smugness radiating off him like sunlight. “Ex’s best friend, rival, whatever you want to call him. Rosier was practically begging for it.”
Sirius barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his drink. “Merlin’s beard, Prongs. You’ve outdone yourself. First Regulus, now Evan? What’s next, you gonna make a hobby out of Slytherins?”
James smirked, eyes glinting. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
“Oh, I’m impressed,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Impressed you’ve got the guts to poke that hornet’s nest. Regulus is going to lose his mind when he finds out. And Evan—” He whistled low. “That boy’s got enough rage bottled up to hex you into next week.”
James shrugged, unbothered. “Let him try. He looked good in my bed, didn’t he?”
Sirius groaned, covering his face with his hand. “You’re insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. And you wonder why Lily dumped you.”
James chuckled, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Maybe. But tell me you wouldn’t pay good money to see Rosier’s face when he realized where he woke up.”
Sirius grinned, wicked and knowing. “Oh, I’d pay. I’d pay double to see what happens when Regulus finds out.”
The two of them dissolved into laughter, the sound echoing through the common room — loud, reckless, and dangerous.
Evan sat with Barty and Regulus in their usual corner of the Slytherin common room, the fire crackling low as the three of them picked apart the endless web of pureblood traditions. Barty was animated, gesturing with his hands as he ranted about the hypocrisy of their families — how they preached loyalty and legacy but were the first to betray their own when it suited them. Evan listened, half-distracted, while Regulus leaned back in his chair, sharp-eyed and smirking.
“Tradition is just another leash,” Barty muttered, flipping his quill between his fingers. “They dress it up in honor and duty, but it’s all about control.”
Regulus gave a soft laugh, elegant and cruel. “And yet, we all wear it. Even Potter.” His smirk widened, voice dripping with disdain. “Golden boy of Gryffindor, pretending he’s above it all, but he’s just as bound by his family name as the rest of us. James Potter — heir to a line of dramatics and arrogance.”
Evan stiffened, pulse spiking at the name. He forced his expression neutral, but Regulus’s gaze was sharp, knowing.
“You should’ve seen him when we were together,” Regulus continued, tone deliberately cutting. “Always so desperate to prove he wasn’t just another pureblood puppet. Always so loud, so insufferably Gryffindor. Merlin, he thought he was different.” He scoffed, leaning forward. “But in the end, he was just like the rest. Easy to get bored of.”
Barty snorted, amused. “You’re ruthless, Reg.”
Regulus’s smirk curled. “I’m honest. And honestly? Potter’s nothing special. Just another boy who thinks he can rewrite centuries of tradition with a smile and a broomstick.”
Evan’s jaw clenched, his chest tight. He wanted to snap, to defend, to say something — but the words stuck in his throat. Regulus’s voice was a knife, twisting deeper with every syllable, and Evan could only sit there, silent, while Barty laughed and Regulus basked in his cruelty.
The air outside was sharp and cool, biting against Evan’s skin as he slipped through the courtyard archway. He hadn’t meant to leave the common room, but Pandora’s words still echoed in his head — their parents were sick. The kind of sick that made her voice tremble, the kind that carried weight heavier than any pureblood tradition.
He rounded a corner too fast — and slammed straight into someone.
“Oi—” James’s voice broke out, startled but quick to recover, his hands shooting out to steady Evan before he could stumble. “Watch where you’re going, Rosier.”
Evan froze, pulse spiking. Of all people. He shoved James’s hands away, muttering, “Get off.”
James tilted his head, hazel eyes gleaming even in the low light. “Sneaking out after curfew? Didn’t peg you for the reckless type.” His grin was infuriating, casual, like he hadn’t just caught Evan unraveling.
Evan’s jaw clenched. “Mind your own business, Potter.”
James stepped closer, voice dropping. “You look rattled. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re out here sulking about me again.”
Evan’s stomach twisted, rage flaring. “Not everything’s about you.”
James smirked, leaning back against the wall, arms folded. “Could’ve fooled me. You practically ran into me like you were looking for me.”
James smirked, leaning back against the wall, arms folded. “Could’ve fooled me. You practically ran into me like you were looking for me.”
Evan’s chest constricted, grief and fury colliding. He wanted to snap, to hex him, to erase that grin. But before he could, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.
James’s grip tightened on his wrist. “This way,” he hissed, tugging Evan sharply.
Evan stumbled after him, confused, until James pressed against a section of wall and — impossibly — it shifted. A narrow passage yawned open, dark and hidden.
Evan’s eyes widened. “What the hell—”
James smirked, tugging him inside before the lantern light could sweep past. The wall sealed behind them, muffling Filch’s muttering.
The corridor was cramped, stone walls pressing close, the air cool and stale. Evan’s pulse hammered, half from the near‑miss, half from the shock. “You knew about this?” His voice was sharp, incredulous.
James’s grin gleamed in the dim light. “Of course. Gryffindors don’t survive curfew without a few tricks.” He leaned casually against the wall, utterly at ease. “What’s the matter, Rosier? Surprised I’ve got secrets too?”
Evan’s jaw tightened, his voice low. “Surprised you’re not bragging about it to the whole bloody school.”
James chuckled, stepping closer, his tone softer but no less dangerous. “Not everything’s for show. Some things are better kept… private.” His eyes flicked toward Evan, deliberate, loaded.
“You know,” Evan said smoothly, voice dripping with mockery, “for Gryffindor’s golden boy, you’ve got a pretty tragic track record.”
James arched a brow, grin already forming. “Oh? Go on then, Rosier. Amuse me.”
Evan tilted his head, confidence sparking. “First Lily dumps you — Merlin, everyone remembers that spectacle. Then Regulus gets bored and tosses you aside. Honestly, Potter, you’re practically collecting rejections like trophies.”
James barked out a laugh, leaning closer, eyes gleaming. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me, huh? Touching. But let’s get the facts straight — Lily didn’t dump me, she just couldn’t handle the charm at first. And Regulus? Please. He was a hobby, not a heartbreak.”
Evan smirked wider, enjoying the shift. “Funny, that’s not how Regulus tells it. He said you were insufferable, desperate to prove you weren’t just another pureblood puppet. And Lily? She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with you. Twice rejected, Potter. That’s a record.”
James chuckled, unbothered, his grin sharper now. “You’re bold tonight, Rosier. I like it. But here’s the thing — Lily came back, didn’t she? And Regulus? He’s still bitter enough to talk about me. Sounds like I left an impression.”
The wall sealed behind them, muffling Filch’s muttering, and for a moment the corridor was nothing but shadows and the sound of their breathing. Evan had pushed back, sharp and confident, teasing James about Lily and Regulus until James laughed instead of faltered. They’d sparred, traded barbs, neither backing down — and then, finally, they broke apart.
James gave a last grin, lazy and dangerous. “Try not to miss me too much, Rosier.” He slipped off down the passage like he owned it, footsteps echoing until they faded.
Evan stood there, pulse steady now, smirk lingering on his lips. He’d held his ground. He’d made James laugh, not at him but with him. And that was the problem.
As he retraced his way back toward the Slytherin common room, the realization crept in, unwelcome but undeniable: he might actually be catching feelings. For James Potter. Gryffindor’s golden boy. Regulus’s ex. The boy he was supposed to hate.
The thought twisted in his chest, equal parts dread and thrill. He clenched his fists, muttering under his breath, “Merlin help me.”
But the smirk wouldn’t leave his face.
Evan hadn’t meant to linger near the Gryffindor common room, but his feet carried him there anyway. He was restless, still buzzing from the secret corridor encounter, still replaying James’s grin in his head. He slowed when he heard voices — familiar ones.
James. Sirius. Remus.
He pressed himself against the wall, listening.
“…ran into Rosier after curfew,” James was saying, his tone light, teasing. “Nearly knocked me flat. I saved his arse from Filch, dragged him through one of the secret corridors. He looked like he’d never seen Hogwarts before.”
Sirius laughed, loud and careless. “Merlin, that’s brilliant. Did you tell him he’s obsessed with you yet?”
James chuckled. “Didn’t have to. He was rattled, but then he got bold. I like it. He’s finally learning how to spar properly.”
Evan’s chest tightened, heat rushing to his face. Bold? Sparring? Was James mocking him? Or worse — bragging about him to his friends?
Remus’s voice was quieter, thoughtful. “You’re playing with fire, James. Rosier’s not like the others. If Regulus or Barty catch wind of this…”
Evan’s stomach twisted violently. He didn’t hear the laughter that followed, didn’t catch the joking tone. All he heard was James talking about him, Sirius egging it on, Remus warning about Regulus.
It sounded like James was boasting. Like he’d turned their secret into entertainment.
Evan’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He backed away from the wall, heart pounding, jealousy and humiliation colliding. He’d thought — for a moment — that maybe there was something real in their banter. But overhearing this? It felt like betrayal.
The courtyard was alive with chatter, Gryffindors and Slytherins split into their usual clusters. Sirius was loud, Remus leaned back with that calm watchfulness, Dorcas Meadowes sat beside Pandora, who was murmuring something to Barty.
Evan came in last, sliding into place beside his twin and Barty, trying to look composed. But his eyes betrayed him immediately — they found the Marauders.
And there it was. James and Regulus.
Laughing.
The sound carried across the courtyard, sharp and unguarded. James’s grin was wide, easy, the kind that lit up his whole face. Regulus’s smirk matched it, sly and cutting, the two of them leaning in as if sharing some private joke.
Evan’s chest constricted, jealousy twisting hot and ugly. He’d overheard James joking about him with Sirius and Remus, and now this — James laughing with Regulus, the boy who had tossed him aside, the boy Evan had seen tangled with Barty.
Barty nudged him, whispering, “You alright?” but Evan didn’t answer. His gaze was locked, burning.
James threw his head back, laughing at something Regulus said, and for a moment Evan couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just jealousy — it was confusion, betrayal, the ache of feelings he hadn’t wanted to admit.
Pandora’s hand brushed his arm, grounding him, but Evan barely noticed. His mind was already spiraling: Was James mocking him again? Was Regulus feeding him stories? Were they laughing at him?
He didn’t want to sit there, didn’t want to stew. So, without a word, he tugged his shirt off and strode toward the lake. But this time, it wasn’t strange. Others were already in the water, laughter echoing across the courtyard. Evan dove in, the splash blending with theirs, ripples spreading wide.
Barty leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips. “Rosier, you’ve finally joined the fun. Took you long enough.”
Evan surfaced, slicking his hair back, smirk curling faintly. “Maybe I just needed it.”
Barty chuckled, shaking his head. “You? Voluntarily swimming? Merlin, I’ll mark the date. You’re usually too broody for this.”
Pandora sighed, muttering, “At least he’s not sulking in the corner.” Dorcas gave a small smile, watching Evan float with deliberate ease.
Across the courtyard, James’s gaze lingered. He didn’t call out, didn’t make a scene — just watched, grin tugging at his lips, hazel eyes gleaming with amusement. Regulus smirked beside him, saying something under his breath, but James’s attention stayed fixed longer than it should have.
The water was cool, biting against Evan’s skin, but it steadied him. He floated back, hair slicked, smirk faintly tugging at his lips. For once, he wasn’t brooding in the corner — he was part of the chaos.
Then came the splash.
Barty had stripped off his jacket and leapt in without hesitation, the water erupting around him. He surfaced with a sharp laugh, shaking his hair out, eyes gleaming. “Rosier, you think you can have all the fun without me?”
Barty swam closer, grin wicked. “Please. You sulking in the lake alone? That’s practically an invitation.” He flicked water at Evan, smirk daring him to retaliate.
Evan splashed back, sharp and deliberate, and for a moment the tension twisted into something lighter — banter, challenge, the kind of push-and-pull that always left him breathless. Barty’s laugh rang out, unguarded, and Evan felt the ache in his chest shift into something warmer, more dangerous.
On the shore, Pandora rolled her eyes, muttering to Dorcas, “Idiots.” But her smile betrayed her amusement.
James leaned back against the courtyard wall, arms folded, grin tugging at his lips as he watched Evan splash Barty. At first, it was amusement — Rosier finally loosening up, Barty dragging him into the chaos. But the longer he watched, the heavier it sat in his chest.
Evan’s laugh carried across the water, unguarded, brighter than James had ever heard it. Barty was close, too close, his grin wicked, his hand brushing against Evan’s shoulder as he shoved him under with a playful dunk. Evan surfaced, hair plastered to his forehead, smirk curling — and James’s jaw tightened.
Regulus noticed. Of course he did. His smirk was sharp, deliberate, voice pitched low so only James could hear. “Looks like Rosier’s found someone worth his sulking. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
James didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the lake, on Evan’s grin, on the way Barty’s laughter tangled with his. His chest constricted, heat rising, the kind that wasn’t just irritation. Finally, he muttered, “He’s reckless. Barty’s reckless. Rosier doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”
Regulus chuckled, leaning closer, tone dripping with mockery. “Funny. You didn’t care when it was me.”
James’s glare snapped to him, sharp and dangerous. “That was different.”
Regulus tilted his head, smirk widening. “Different, or just easier to ignore?”
James didn’t answer. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Across the courtyard, Sirius was laughing, Remus was watching with quiet curiosity — but James’s gaze stayed locked on the lake. On Evan. On the way his smirk lingered, even when Barty shoved him under again.
It wasn’t just jealousy. It was possession, confusion, the ache of something he couldn’t name. And Regulus’s smirk beside him only twisted the knife deeper.
Evan floated back, hair slicked, grin tugging faintly at his lips. Barty swam closer, water dripping from his lashes, smirk curling wicked. “You look almost human when you laugh, Rosier,” he teased, voice low, carrying just enough to make Evan’s pulse skip.
Evan scoffed, splashing him deliberately. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m laughing at you, not with you.”
Barty lunged, closing the distance, his hand brushing Evan’s arm as he shoved him under. Evan surfaced with a sharp gasp, hair plastered to his forehead, smirk curling wider. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”
“Maybe,” Barty said, grin dangerous, “but you’re still here.”
The words hung between them, heavier than the water rippling around them. Evan’s chest tightened, breath catching, the banter suddenly sharper, charged. He shoved Barty back, but not hard enough to break the moment — not hard enough to hide the way his pulse hammered.
The Astronomy Tower was quiet, the kind of stillness that wrapped around Evan like a cloak. The stone beneath his palms was cool, the night air crisp, carrying only the faint rustle of leaves far below. Above him, the sky stretched wide, stars pricking through the indigo, steady and unbothered.
For the first time all day, his chest didn’t ache. The laughter at the lake, the sharp edges of jealousy, the tangled mess of James and Barty and Regulus — it all felt distant now, softened by the silence. Here, alone, there was no smirk to hold, no banter to deflect, no eyes burning into him from across the courtyard. Just the stars, endless and indifferent.
He leaned against the ledge, exhaling slowly, letting the calm seep in. The tower had always been a place of reprieve, a place where the noise of the castle couldn’t reach. Tonight, it was more than that. Tonight, it was a reminder that the world was bigger than tangled feelings, bigger than betrayals and crushes and rivalries. The stars didn’t care who kissed whom, who laughed too loud, who stared too long. They just burned, steady and eternal.
Evan closed his eyes, letting the cool air bite at his skin, and for once, he didn’t feel restless. He didn’t feel jealous. He just felt… calm.
Then he heard it. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, echoing against the stone floor.
He turned, and the figure emerged from the shadows. James. His posture was casual, hands shoved into his pockets, but his eyes — hazel, gleaming even in the dim light — were anything but casual. They were sharp, fixed on Evan, carrying something unspoken.
Evan straightened, jaw tightening instinctively. “Potter,” he muttered, voice low, steady. “What are you doing here?”
James shrugged, leaning against the opposite wall, gaze never leaving him. “Could ask you the same. Thought you’d be sulking in the dungeons, not stargazing.”
Evan scoffed, turning back toward the sky. “Not everything I do is sulking.”
James’s grin tugged faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped closer, the air between them tightening. “You looked… different today. At the lake.” His tone was casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. “Laughing. With Barty.”
Evan’s chest constricted, but he forced a smirk. “Jealous, Potter?”
James’s jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking, his voice rough. “Maybe I am.”
Evan’s breath caught, but he forced a scoff. “Pathetic.”
That was all it took. James’s hand shot out, gripping Evan’s collar, dragging him forward. The kiss was sudden, hot, furious — more a collision than anything tender. Evan stiffened, pulse spiking, but James didn’t let go. His grip was firm, his mouth demanding, hazel eyes burning even as they closed.
For a heartbeat, Evan resisted — then the fight melted into fire. His hands clenched against James’s chest, not pushing him away, not pulling him closer, just caught in the storm. The stars above blurred, the calm shattered, replaced by heat and chaos.
When James finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his grin sharp, dangerous. “Still think I’m pathetic, Rosier?”
Evan’s chest heaved, smirk tugging faintly despite the chaos. “More than ever.”
But his pulse betrayed him. And James knew it.
The stars blinked overhead, indifferent, as the tower held their secret — jealousy turned to fire, rivalry turned to something neither of them could deny.
So this is for the charecter x charecter fan base, pls pls guys give me fanfic recommendations if you have fic which fall under this tropes , tags and ships
Rosekiller (Barty Crouch Jr x Evan rosier) - an enemies to lovers, hogwarts au, enemies to lovers , no voldamort. (It can be a enemies with benefits, academic rivals, quidditch rivals, soulmate au)
Jegulus soulmate au ( james potter x regulus black) - strictly regulus's pov , no war au, has to be enemies to lovers
Sunrose (james potter x evan rosier) - Evan's Pov, ikik this one is really hard to find. Has to enemies to lovers (It can be a enemies with benefits, academic rivals, quidditch rivals, soulmate au, or maybe accidental fling or kiss)
PLEASEEE PLEASEEE (also there has to be LODS OF YEARNING , GROVELING , ANGSTY AND A TAD BIT OF JEALOUSLY)
So as most of you know I'm Cora/Doe . I just wanted to say that I will deactivate on the 19 of June IST . The reason I'm deactivating is because of severe hate ( I literally have 5989 + hate asks in my INBOX ) and because even though i originally created a tumblr blog to read fics I've become obessed with getting more notes/followers etc because I feel insecure as all of my mutuals are growing so fast while i'm still stuck at 20+ notes a day and 189 followers . I'm really sorry to the people who actually care about me
I'm tagging some people that currently come to my mind - @mxlody-lit-hrrrrt-1128 (also thanks a ton for saving my work) @shinette @thecutestcherub @atetheluck @written-by-music @renlogs @that-one-bitch-sakura @sawafette @kii-kii @ariannagram @arievette @mxriitaesz @cuddlymaus @ecile @dazaisfavbitch @yeotozaki @xoxz-babyy2024 @timeangel @dollsyu @sznmanon @ryuwifes @williamssbabydoll @angelwings-fly @caravalxjurdan240 @letmeliveinelfhame @afararraaaa @sugarstayy @deer-miffy @stargazin-on-mars @haerinriny @dollycoree @fuyunel @roze-latte-zz @justlikejimin @sasgaycumfilledcondom + more
gummygunk
janainaart
blakekathryn
jbbartram-illu
theartofmadeline
jacobvanloon
areudirty
titsay
stormborns
2087
