the amount of things that i've shoved up my ass this year are quite worrying - WAIT NEW ALBUM?!?!? NEW SONGS?!?!? FALL OUT BIRD?!?!?!s that PETE WEnTz rollerskATIng with a crop top?!?!?!?!
➸mbf me
➸MUST FILL OUT THIS FORM
➸must reblog this post- no likes unless bookmarking
➸reblog as many times as you want!
perks
➸girls to fight people who are mean to you
➸group messages???
➸advice on everything
➸html and theme help
➸people to reblog your selfies/edits/writing/etc
info
➸i’ll be picking 10 people
➸and it'll be the coolest of the cool bc this clique is hella
➸i'll pick on december 13th
increase your chances
➸tag things under #greenlghtclique (like edits, posts on why you want to be in the clique, manips of me and ashton idk really)
➸come talk to me??
➸reblog the post a lot!!
So, I've decided to write a Harry Potter AU with 5sos set after The Golden Trio leaves Hogwarts. I hope you'll enjoy!
p.s. i tried to tag all 396 people who wanted to be tagged but they wouldNT FIT
wattpad
chapter 2
When most people think of the phrase “you could cut the tension with a knife”, its paired with almost an awkward kind of feeling. The inappropriate question being asked in front of important people, the accidental slip up while talking to your significant other’s parents, that kind of thing.
This was not one of those times.
The Great Hall was startlingly quiet for the large amount of people in it- Hogwarts students and other schools, alike. Every breath in the hall was held deep in each pair of small, pink lungs; you could cut the tension with a knife. It was probably the quietest that the Great Hall had ever been.
.At the front of the room stood the stillest of the students, a male and a female from each of the neighboring schools. While the girl was tall and broad, very athletic looking, the boy looked small and frail, with gaunt eyes. Both looked frightened, despite any attempts to cover it up. Michael’s heart hurt for them- it was one thing to put your name in the cup, but another freaky thing entirely getting chosen.
Then, suddenly, there was a loud uproar of fire launching itself from the oversized cup in the very front of the room, disturbing the absolute silence and making more than a few students jump. It was followed by the soft whistling noise as the paper floated down on to the floor, or rather, into the hands of a person waiting near it.
A tall man, slender and dark skinned, with a rough 5 ‘o clock shadow painted across his face, and disheveled robes that made him look a lot younger than he was, carefully unfolded the small bit of parchment that the fire had burped out.
His face was solemn as he looked up, dark eyes scanning the room for the bastard that would be participating in the once in a lifetime deal that no one seemed to want to host since the last incident.
“Michael Clifford,” he said clearly, eyes falling on the table that he was (conveniently) sat at. There was an audible, collective sigh from the Hogwarts students whose name hadn’t been called. While it was a relief for them, Michael felt his chest grow tight, and the collective gasps from next to him proved that he wasn’t the only one who was going to be sick out of his mind. “Michael Clifford, please step forward.”
Reluctantly, Michael struggled to push himself up and out of the hard wooden bench that belonged to the Slytherin table; he could feel his legs turning to jelly, and briefly thought that someone might’ve cursed him, cursed the cup, cursed something. It wasn’t unheard of, right? It could be a huge mistake, and he wasn’t a champion at all. He put his name in the cup, but so did Ashton- maybe it was all a mistake, and he was the one supposed to be picked.
The sinking feeling as he stumbled his way up to the front of the room, every single eye locked on to him told him otherwise- he was stuck in this with the other two competitors. The Triwizard Tournaments would begin much sooner than Michael would have liked.
-
"Hey, Clifford, you coming to the Hall with us?" A high, nasally voice called out from Michael's left. "We're gonna sneak into the kitchen and see if we can score some of the food plates."
Under normal circumstances, Michael would've loved to have stolen food from the house elves and snuck back into the Slytherin common room, but he had bigger things on his mind. While his current placement had him sitting on the large, emerald green couch by the fire, his future involved skinny dipping in the nearby lake with a group of total idiots that somehow were his friends.
"Nah," he called back, flashing a grin at the owner of the voice- a lanky underclassmen with brown hair called Max. "Got plans already."
"Aw, come on!" Max whined. "It'll be more fun with you!"
Even if Michael didn't have any plans, he wouldn't have gone. Max was an annoying shit.
"Piss off. Go steal your food, you dildo," snapped Michael, who's light colored eyes were now rolled into the back of his head.
Luckily, Max and the few others just scoffed and muttered choice words that Michael could probably have guessed, and then exited out of the dungeons. Michael was half surprised that Max had left so easily, he never gave up that quickly. Then, with a little glance up at his shaggy fringe (that definitely needed a trim), noticed why; his hair was a fiery shade of red, indicating that he was more than slightly annoyed.
Michael hadn't ever really cared about what people said about him. He hadn't cared when he was younger and had his emotions on full display via his hair, the metamorphmagus traits making it hard to hide what he felt, and he certainly hadn't cared when people had made him into the talk of his small town after he came out as being bisexual. When he got to Hogwarts, he hadn't really minded being called a mudblood. His philosophy was that only he had the right opinion of himself, so why should anyone else's matter?
Unfortunately, very few people thought like that, which is how he ended up with the select few friends that he had.
Hoisting himself off the couch and fixing his robes, Michael pushed away any and all thoughts about how this event was an awful idea.
It was something Luke would lecture him on. He could almost hear the slight stutter in his voice; I-It's probably really cold. You'd get hypothermia or something. It is October.
Michael didn't mind Luke too much anymore, but he was definitely the most undaring of the group. He was always hesitant to go along with pranks, and hardly ever wanted to go out on group outings to Hogsmeade or even to Ashton's Quidditch matches. Michael was pretty sure he'd never seen Luke with a girl the entire time they'd been friends. Which, granted, had only been a few years, but nonetheless, it was weird. The only thing Michael thought Luke cared about was Honor's Club, a nerd organization for kids who "wanted to achieve greater than average". It was total bullshit, if you asked him.
But, for some reason that Michael couldn't seem to figure out, Ashton and Cal liked him, so he stayed. Even though he thought it wasn't fair that Calum had dropped out to persue his Quidditch career and wasn't actually there. His opinion shouldn't count.
"Michael, hey!" suddenly cried a very loud, very feminine voice. "Wait up!"
Michael inwardly groaned- he should've known. At the mere thought of Calum, Hannah had shown up.
Hannah Tanner had been dating Calum for as long as any of them could really remember. When Cal was in school, they all skipped class together, apart from Luke, and most of the time the two disappeared off to make out or fuck, whatever he felt like doing at the moment.
She'd gotten a little lonely, so Ashton gave them a lecture that was too long for Michael's liking, and somehow she'd ended up staying in the group with them. Michael didn't mind too much, but when it came to skinny dipping in the lake in the middle of October, he'd rather she just hang out with her friends or sister or something.
She was hot, though, so he couldn't even really complain about that. Long, brown hair and tanned skin, paired with an athletic build from Quidditch and long, dark eyelashes that had made many a man go weak in the knees, he couldn't deny that Calum was a lucky guy. Her having a twin was a bonus, though; he could pretty much get with her without Calum beating the shit out of him.
"Hi, Hannah," Michael sighed reluctantly, slowing his pace to a painful crawl, waiting for her to catch up. "What's up?"
"Are you going to the lake?" she asked, chest rising and falling softly from the jog over.
"How'd you know about the lake?" He was seriously struggling with not sounding like a total asshole. That was a big challenge for him, specifically.
"Luke told me," came her bright reply. Her dark eyebrows knit together momentairly, eyes scanning over him with a trace of concern. "It is today, right?"
Michael just nodded, but then felt a little guilty. She was probably lonely. "I'm headed out there. You coming?"
Her face lit up for a fraction of a second, and then fell quickly. "If you want.. I mean, I can walk there by myself if you don't want to take me there."
He waved a hand, dismissing her words. "Nah, I'd get lonely walking alone. Besides, wouldn't want a pretty girl walking alone at this hour."
"Shut up," Hannah grinned, pushing him a little with her bony shoulder. "It's like, four in the afternoon, dick."
"Is it?" Michael feigned innocence, looking at her. "Thought it was later."
She giggled softly before rolling her eyes, beginning to walk. "Come on, don't want to be late for this," she told him. "Ash said it was going to be the coolest thing to happen this year."
"Ashton said french toast and pancakes at breakfast was the coolest thing to happen this year." Michael pointed out, following her footsteps in suite.
"I guess we'll just have to see then, won't we?" she smirked.
-
It was cold as fuck.
Michael couldn't remember who's bright idea it was to walk outside in the middle of October and go down to the lakefront with the howling winds, but he wasn't going to vote them back in power the next time an event came up.
"You do realize y-you wanted to do this, right?" came the shaky reply. He hadn't realized he'd said anything out loud, but judging by the shivering blonde to his left, that was not the case.
"Shut the fuck up, Luke," he grumbled, tugging his large Slytherin sweater down at the hems so it shielded parts of his thighs from the harsh wind. Some warmth was better than none.
"Is it sup-posed to be this cold in October?" Luke ignored Michael's comment, instead looking down at him, teeth chattering.
Despite the cold, Michael could feel the slow burning of hate burning in the pit of his stomach, and he was sure his hair was turning a blackish color. "It'd be warmer if you didn't talk."
Beside him, Hannah's dark eyebrows knit together. "I'm not really sure how true that is."
"Just," he grumbled, huffing out, in turn seeing the cold cloud of his breath. "Shh."
Fifteen minutes later and Ashton was still nowhere to be found. He'd told Michael the exact time, planned it out and everything for him (mostly because Michael was lazy), so it didn't make any sense that he wasn't there. Ashton wouldn't abandon plans that he'd made, it just wasn't him.
He was pretty much the golden boy of the school, and Michael kind of hated that he liked him so much. He was generally just a likable guy- funny and outgoing, and being attractive really helped that, he thought. If Ashton didn’t look like he did, with his (dumb) curly hair and light hazel eyes, Michael was pretty sure that he wouldn’t get away with all the stuff he did. He was their go-to for pranks and sneaking out- if he got caught, the most he'd get was a few points deducted from the Gryffindor hourglass. The rest of them, however, would probably get detention and lose Hogsmeade privileges.
Long story short, every guy wanted to be Ash, and nearly all of the straight girls wanted to bone him, not that he was really all too interested; he was oblivious when it came to any sort of relationship. Michael learned that very quickly their first year (11 year old Michael had a thing for blondes. Come to think of it, Michael still had a thing for blondes.)
"Hey!" Hannah exclaimed suddenly, shaking his thoughts. "There he is!"
Sure enough, jogging quickly towards them from the castle entrance was Ashton. His curls flopped against his forehead with each stride, which would've been funnier if Michael wasn't frozen from the outside in.
A few long, cold moments later, Ash was slowing to a stop. His chest was rising and falling quickly, eyes widened.
"Flitwick called a big meeting in the Great Hall, I totally forgot about you guys," he panted apologetically. "Sorry."
"Meeting?" Luke echoed loudly.
Ashton nodded quickly, then glanced back at the castle. "Can we do this another time?"
"No," Michael huffed. "One time was enough."
"We should probably get in," Hannah interrupted. She nudged Luke, nodding towards the castle. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Luke nodded, and with a quick glance at the other two, started off towards the castle.
It was a short walk back into the castle. It would've been silent if Luke hadn't insisted on trying to guess exactly what the headmaster had called the school together for. So far, he'd guessed that they'd get a famous new professor (to which Hannah had pointed out that they already had Professor Potter, who'd been the most famous wizard of his time), a new club ("Why the hell would they call a school-wide meeting for that?" Michael had interrupted), and finally, giving them all a dangerous creature to nurture to see if environment really does affect personality ("I think that's too dangerous, Lukey," Ash had told him kindly.)
Michael would've prefered the silence.
It was near silent in the Great Hall, though, and that was enough for him. The closer they got to the entrance, the clearer Flitwick’s squeaky voice became; it had been an ongoing joke among students, their Headmaster’s voice. It was hard to take him seriously most of the time, even though everyone would reluctantly admit that he was a good replacement for Headmistress McGonagall, who had retired a few years prior to their arrival.
“..and so, I expect every student to be on their best behavior, and to treat our guests with the true Hogwarts welcome.” Flitwick was saying right as they snuck into the area outside the hall, four heads poking in to watch.
“Guests?” Michael echoed, eyebrows furrowing together. A quick glance over at his friends and he saw they were just as confused as he was.
Luke spoke in a hushed whisper first. “I was right, someone famous is-”
“Shut up, Luke,” Michael hissed, fingers reaching up to grasp the wood of the door. He hoped no one would see his bright white hair, but he couldn’t really help that; his curiosity was getting the best of him.
Michael strained to see inside the hall, but there didn’t appear to be any visitors around. He was starting to think that maybe they were microscopic, or maybe some weird breed of intelligent faeries. Were there intelligent faeries? He didn’t really pay attention in Care of Magical Creatures, so he wouldn’t really know. Luke probably knows, he thought. Then, like hell I’m asking Luke.
“Guys,” Luke whispered again. “I think-”
“Luke, you’re gonna get us caught,” Hannah whispered back from her spot behind Michael. “Can it wait?”
Michael didn’t even have to look to know what Luke was doing. Nodding his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat, expression displaying so much discomfort it reminded Michael of the first time he put his dick in a guy’s ass. In other words, very uncomfortable.
Flitwick had stepped down from the large podium chair that he usually resided in due to his short height, transferring himself to another large chair to stand on, this time in front of what Michael recognized as Hogwarts’ choir.
“Guys, I don’t think this can wait.” Luke tittered nervously. Michael glanced back to see his bright blue eyes widened.
“There’s Hazel,” came Hannah’s exciting whisper, ignoring Luke (finally,Michael thought) and indicating that she’d noticed them, too.
Hazel was Hannah’s twin, even though looks were about as far as the similarities went. Hazel was shyer, more reserved in a way, and was in Ravenclaw, verses Hannah’s outgoing Hufflepuff personality. Michael couldn’t really remember talking to her more than a few times, but remembered she went red in the face when he made a dirty joke. She was that kind of person. Like, a less annoying Luke. Hazel, at least, was quiet.
There was a panicked choking noise from Luke, and then his frantic voice saying, “Guys, we need to move, no-”
Luke didn’t have time to finish- it was too late.
There was a collective noise of heels clicking loudly on the marble floors, and in what felt like a split second to Michael, he was knocked against the hard wooden doorframe by what appeared to be a very tall, large blue blurb.
It turned out that there was a mob of them, if mob was the right word. They came so fast that Michael didn’t even have time to process the fact that he was being swept away in the crowd of what felt like large Amazon women in heels that somehow seemed to find his flimsy shoe-covered feet nearly every step they took.
It felt like he was inhaling air directly from a hairdryer set on high heat, with the girls so squished together. Michael had always said he wouldn’t mind being squished in between two girls, but this definitely wasn’t what he’d meant. Not by a longshot.
“Fuck!” he swore loudly, stumbling more than a little in the middle of the mob. It felt like a huge moshpit, something that was usually half pleasant to him. It felt different when he didn’t want to be in it, though. “Why are you all walking so fast?!”
“Ow, that hurt!” came Luke’s whimper, somewhere to his left.
Great, Michael thought, jerking his foot away from the ever so present danger of heels, impeding the pain that was sure to come anyways.
Suddenly, the mob spit Michael out. He stumbled, legs and arms both alike flailing in a desperate attempt to balance himself out, but none the less, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. His feet were throbbing painfully, but at least he could breathe again.
Unfortunately, the surprised squeak of Headmaster Flitwick sounded strangely close to him, bringing his newfound surroundings to his attention.
He was at the very front of the Great Hall. Very. Front.
Luckily, he wasn’t alone; Ashton, Hannah, and Luke were in the same general area, looking just as mortified as he felt, if not more.
“I tried to tell you,” Luke muttered under his breath, staring frozen out at the rest of the Hall, all of whom looked pretty much the same. “But did you listen? No.”
Flitwick looked mortified.
"Everyone to their seats," He squeaked (really, squeaked). "Please!"
Michael didn't need to be told twice. Head ducked down, hair a flushed pink color (same as his cheeks), he took large steps towards the Slytherin house table, while Ashton fled to the Gryffindor, Hannah to Hufflepuff, and Luke to Ravenclaw.
A couple kids slid down when he sat down at the edge, avoiding eye contact with him, mostly.
"What's going on, then?" He whispered to the kid next to him, a second year. Most of the younger ones were terrified of him, so it worked out well.
"Visitors." The kid managed to blurt out, eyes wide and nervous. Michaels rolled back into his head.
"Thanks," he whispered back sarcastically. He sighed again, and then looked down the table briefly, scanning the faces that all seemed to be pretty interested in their nails, or Flitwick's rambling speech about something that was probably an apology for their behavior. Well, all except Max, who had no trouble meeting his gaze, a more than prominent smirk etched into his face.
"Bastard." Michael mumbled under his breath before turning his attention to the front of the Hall where the mob of girls in blue stood. Well, mostly girls.
At a distance, they looked a lot more pleasant than they did while he was being trampled in the middle of them.
They were mostly blonde, some with darker hair, but all with this weird light eye color that Michael couldn't quite squint enough to make out. They looked pretty hot, though, if you asked him.
He was so distracted that he almost didn't notice the large, buff men dressed in some sort of red man-toga. Their expressions were hard, set firmly. They reminded Michael of the first time he visited London and seen the guards at the palace, with their hard, unmoving expressions that wouldn't change in the slightest, no matter how hard he tried.
Michael decided right away he would either leave them alone or try to bed one of them. A cute foreign boyfriend wouldn't be so bad.
"Now that we have all of our guests, everyone should know just what's going," Flitwick was saying, shifting his little feet on his stand. "This year is the first in 30 years that we are hosting the annual Triwizard Tournament!l"
Immediately, there was a loud murmur that rippled through the four house tables. Michael's head snapped around, trying to find Ashton among what felt like hundreds of other Gryffindor kids. His heart felt tight, aching in almost an excited way. He knew that Luke and Hannah wouldn't ever enter alongside him, but Ashton was mostly his partner in crime; he would enter with him.
"The cup will be set in the center of the hall for the next few nights. Any student from any school, aged 17 or older, is allowed to enter, at their own digression," he paused momentarily, cleared his throat, and then continued. "Please be very sure of your commitment to the tournament when you enter. Should you be chosen to participate, there will be no backing out."
A grave silence fell over the room, as if someone had cast a silencing spell. Michael was nearly positive that all of them were remembering the fatality in the tournament nearly 30 years ago. They'd all heard the stories about Cedric Diggory, and how that had been the pivoting point for Voldemort's return.
It was almost like Flitwick sensed it, because he quickly added, “There have been extraordinary precautions taken to ensure that there is no foul play or other unplanned event.”
Even if there was, Michael thought, he’d still want to enter; he’d always thought that he probably could’ve taken Voldemort on as well as Professor Potter had, and probably done it a hell of a lot quicker. Less crying, less emotional talks, more killing curses shot. He wouldn’t ever tell that to his professor that though. He might feel bad or something weird like that.
Flitwick spoke for another few minutes, about things that Michael didn’t know (or care to know) about. He caught a few words in between his thoughts, about Beaubaxtons and Durmstrangs, and hospitality, but all he could focus on was the tournament.
Michael had already decided his fate. He was going to enter, and he was going to win; it was his calling.
