Summary: Jake Jenkins (OC) shares a story sharp enough to unsettle the darkness itself, haunting the fragile line between tale and truth.
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Tags: Quidditch Practice, Ghost Story, Banter, Storytelling, Angst and Atmosphere, Original Characters, Friendship.
Content Warning: Dark Themes, Mentions of Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Psychological Horror Elements.
★ word count: 1.6k
The stadium was hushed, save for the thud of a Quaffle against leather and the faint rush of broom bristles through cooling air. Twilight draped the stands in long shadows, the last threads of sunlight slipping down behind the towers. The Slytherin team had already trudged back to the castle, their laughter fading into stone corridors, but Valentine Black lingered, circling the pitch in stubborn arcs.
She pressed forward, jaw set, each pass through the hoops a dare against her own fatigue. Her lungs burned, her arms ached, her palms stung where the Quaffle bit into skin. But she wasn’t done yet. Not when she was still the newest Chaser on the roster. Not when every clean shot was proof she belonged, not a fluke, not a replacement waiting to be cut loose.
The silence pressed in, so thick she could almost hear the ghost of the crowd—roars, jeers, the phantom echo of what it might be like to matter. She chased that echo the way she chased the hoops, sharp dives and narrow throws carving determination into the dusk.
A clean arc, a sharp snap through the center hoop. Val exhaled, pushing sweaty strands of hair from her cheek, already angling for another run.
“Merlin’s pants, you Slytherins really don’t know when to quit.”
The voice cut through the quiet like a stone through glass, rich with amusement, too loud for the settling dark. Val didn’t need to look; only one person bled confidence that thickly into every syllable.
Her grip tightened on the Quaffle. She threw anyway, deliberately ignoring him. The ball smacked through another hoop, defiance echoing in the hollow clang.
“Say something interesting,” she shot back, dry, “or shut up. Please and thank you.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him swagger closer, broom tucked lazily beneath one arm, the last streaks of sunset catching in his hair. Jake Jenkins, grinning like he owned the whole bloody pitch.
“Wow. So polite of you, Black,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Been practicing your manners? Or saving that sharp tongue just for me?”
Val’s lips twitched before she crushed it flat, keeping her eyes on the hoops, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a smile. His voice still vibrated in her ears though, annoyingly warm, like it could take root there if she wasn’t careful.
Jake lingered at the edge of the pitch, his smirk widening with each perfect throw she refused to let him interrupt. When at last she slowed, sweat cooling against her skin, he tilted his head and called out, voice dripping with mischief.
“May I fancy you with a scary story?”
Val raised a brow, Quaffle balanced in her grip. “How scary?”
Jake’s grin sharpened.
“Scary enough you might start disliking humanity more than you already do.”
That earned him a pause. Against her will, her pulse skipped. She hovered a moment longer, then sighed and guided her broom down. Dust rose around her boots as she touched down, dropping the Quaffle with a dull thud.
“You’ve got my attention, Jenkins.”
“Of course I do.” He sprawled across the grass like the pitch belonged to him, eyes glinting with that infuriating sparkle of challenge.
Val leaned back onto her hands, stretching her legs across the grass. The night air cooled her skin, tugging away the heat of training.
For once, Jake didn’t immediately fill the silence with noise. He tipped his head skyward, letting the moonlight slide across his face. The smirk never fully left his mouth, but something in his expression sharpened: still, deliberate, almost ritual.
“You’re really setting the mood for this, huh?” Val muttered.
His grin curled slowly. “That’s the point, Black. A good story’s got to crawl under your skin first.”
And then his voice dropped, threading smooth through the chilly night air.
“Let me tell you,” he said, “the tale of a boy who borrowed someone else’s life, and wore it so well, no one remembered the face he buried to get it.”
The words seemed to thicken the air. Val’s fingers curled unconsciously into the grass.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived underground. Not in comfort, not in secret, but in chains of soot and hunger. A miner’s son. The dark was his cradle, the earth his tomb. His nails split before he could write, his lungs filled with black dust before they could fill with laughter. His parents didn’t look at him, not really. To them, he was another tool. A shovel with bones.”
Val’s throat tightened. She imagined the reek of smoke, grit grating down her throat, the press of darkness so total it could smother thought itself.
“One night, the mine screamed. The timbers snapped like bones, and fire poured down like rain. The ground opened its mouth and swallowed everything. His sister’s cry. His mother’s face. His father’s silence. All of it smothered in ash, smothered in smoke. And the boy crawled out, blistered and choking, reborn in flame and ruin.”
Jake’s smile twisted, too sharp.
“But the world above didn’t care for ghosts. He wandered the streets with coal still in his hair, and the city did what cities do—it chewed him up. A rat among boots. A shadow that stole crusts from bins and coins from pockets. He learned fast that hunger is louder than pride, and sharper than fear. Still, hunger doesn’t stay quiet long.”
Val could almost smell it: sour rot of bins, piss-slick stone, the copper tang of blood where teeth gnawed skin. She swallowed, hard.
“So one night, the boy was caught. Cornered in an alley, piss and rot thick in the air. A knife pressed against his throat. The man wanted blood. Wanted to see a rat bleed out on the cobblestones. And then—” Jake’s hand flicked through the air like smoke escaping fingers, “—the boy slipped free. Vanished. A miracle, they called it. A curse, more like. He walked away untouched, and from then on, they whispered of the Lucky Boy. But luck, Black…” his grin curved razor-sharp, “…luck always comes with teeth.”
The pitch was deathly quiet now. Even the breeze stilled, grass bending as if to listen.
“And sure enough, luck drew the eye of a man too rich to starve and too broken to live. A man with coffers overflowing but no heirs left to bear his name. A man who saw in the boy a blank slate. A vessel. A mask.”
Jake’s voice slowed, reverent, like a priest uttering a curse.
“So the boy shed his skin. Washed the soot from his hands until the water ran black and red. He practiced a new smile in broken mirrors until it fit his face like a blade in a sheath. He learned to laugh at the right moments, to talk like he belonged in parlors and not in pits. He became what they needed him to be. And soon, no one remembered the rat. No one remembered the screams in the mine. No one remembered the boy at all.”
Val’s stomach churned. Her nails dug crescents into her palms, grounding herself in the cold grass. A shiver threatened to climb her spine, but she refused to give him that victory.
“They only remembered the mask. And somewhere, beneath all that polish and shine, the boy waited. Still waiting. Still clawing at the inside of that skin, trying to get out. And if you listen closely—” Jake tilted his head, voice dipping to a whisper that crawled between heartbeats, “—you can hear his fingernails scratching against the bone. Wondering if the mask will crack… or rot with him inside.”
Silence.
It stretched long, heavy, pressing on her ribs until she could hear her own heartbeat too loud in her ears. The moon had climbed higher, spilling cold silver across the grass, hollowing Jake’s grin into something wolfish.
Val sat very still, heart drumming against her ribs. Her palms pressed into the damp grass, grounding her, as though movement might break the fragile line between story and truth.
“Do you always tell stories like you lived them?” she asked at last, voice steady but low.
Jake tilted his head, moonlight cutting his grin into something smug and dangerous.
“I’m just that good.”
“Or just that insane.”
Before he could retort, a familiar voice cut through the night.
“Oi, Jenkins! What’s got you out here, practicing your brooding face?”
Finn Moran strode out of the shadows, broad-shouldered, gait loose as if he owned the night. Beside him, Ellie Crawford kept pace, her scuffed boots crunching over the grass. She shot him a warning glare sharp enough to slice through the dark, as if daring him to charge headlong into trouble anyway. Arms folded, chin tilted, she radiated that quiet defiance only she could pull off.
Jake didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin sharpened, like he’d been waiting for this.
“We were sharing a ghost story,” he said, eyes flicking to Finn with something heavier than the words themselves.
Finn slowed, his expression flickering for just a heartbeat; something sharp and knowing flashing through before his usual mischief slammed back into place.
“A ghost story?” he echoed, throwing his arms wide with mock horror. “Merlin’s beard, Jake, you’re scaring the poor girl.”
Val scoffed, tossing the Quaffle into the air and catching it with a snap. “Please. I’ve heard scarier sounds coming from the Slytherin lavatories.”
Ellie snorted. “Not a high bar, Val.”
Finn laughed too loud, too easy.
But Jake leaned back into the grass, eyes never leaving Finn’s. In the silver wash of moonlight, the glance they shared said more than words ever could.
Because only the two of them knew—sometimes the scariest ghosts are the ones still wearing a heartbeat, clinging like smoke in your lungs until every breath feels borrowed.
And in the hush that followed, Val couldn’t shake the feeling that the Quaffle lying forgotten in the shadow of the hoop wasn’t the only thing abandoned on this pitch tonight.
[additional notes:]
🔥 thank you so much for reading! i hope you got the chills! 😏😆❤️🔥
🔥 non-native english speaker here, so advance pardon for the errors 🙇🏻♀️
🔥 i'm adding links to the mentioned ocs above, just in case you want more info! (Jake, Val, Finn, Ellie)
🔥 shout out to my platonic wife @accio-bagel for letting me include her beautiful children! (Finn ♥️ and Ellie 💚)
Made a collage of the friends Marti’s made so far.
Left to right top to bottom they’re Finnick -Finn- Moran ( @ljthebard1 ), Vixen Macmahen ( @cleverglitteryfoxtrot ) Cato Reese ( @catohphm ) Lyra Wilson ( @cursebreakerfarrier ) Henry Maclarnon ( @that-ravenpuff-witch ) Marti’s in the middle space and then Sara O Donell ( @unfortunate-arrow ) Cara O Donell ( @unfortunate-arrow ) Ryan O Donell ( @unfortunate-arrow ) Carewyn Cronwell ( @carewyncromwell ) and Connor O Donell ( @unfortunate-arrow )
Abby is an energetic social butterfly who enjoys being the center of attention and life of the party. She can effortlessly brighten up a room and make any situation fun, loves making others laugh, and has an overall zest for life. Headstrong, emotionally expressive, and bold, she is unapologetically herself. Her cheerful attitude, gift for gab, and acceptance of all kinds of people make it's easy for her to find new friends everywhere she goes, as do her myriad hobbies and clubs. Having a bubbly personality and optimistic outlook might make some people underestimate her, but she's an intelligent, creative, unexpectedly sassy girl who’s not at all naïve about the darkness of life - she just prefers to focus on the brighter side. Abby abuses the tickling charm on Sam, but she's always there for her brother and doesn't tolerate anyone bullying him (except for herself and their family, of course.)
Last but not least, their older step-brother, Finn Moran
Name: Finn Moran
Birth date: 7 December, 1873
Birthplace: Donegal Town, Ireland; moved to Dublin later
Nationality: Irish
Blood status: Pureblood
House: Gryffindor
Sign: Sagittarius
MBTI: ESTP
Moral alignment: chaotic neutral
Orientation: token straight
Gender: wizard
Patronus: spotted hyena
Finn's favorite pastimes include anything active or adventurous, reckless behavior, parties, flirting, and generally causing chaos with friends & siblings. He's that popular, charming, cocky, outgoing jock - an asshole you probably either love or hate or hate to love. He's known by everyone and chatty with anyone, but his inner circle is small and tight-knit. He may be the token straight of my children but his masculinity is nontoxic, don’t worry. Honesty is also a virtue and he tends to favor blunt truth over careful tact, but he's also capable of startling sincerity (rarely.) Impulsive, confident, and so brave it borders on stupid, he would never dream to turn down a dare nor an opportunity to explore new experiences. Being his friend includes some light bullying and his humor may not be for everyone, but he's fiercely loyal to those select few and he'd go to extreme lengths to cheer up someone he cares about. Despite spending his early life as an only child, his protective older brother instincts developed rapidly once the families merged and he won’t stand for anyone messing with them.
Finn's best friend and favorite person is another OC by the name of Jake, who belongs to my platonic wife @savingsallow ❤️🔥❤️
That's all for now! Thank you for reading 💚💕
dividers by @rypnami | templates by @kiwiplaetzchen
Finn’s birthday was December 7 🎂🎉 but I had 0% energy to spare during the month, so here are some shots of him being a goofy dude in the snow as a very belated tribute
I was sending these out in individual asks, but Tumblr stopped letting me and I don't want to get a weird shadowban or accidentally miss anyone, so I'm wishing a happy Valentine's Day to all my beloved mutuals and followers and everyone in the HogLeg community!
