#gryffindor reader

[lqveharrington]

Never Planned | F.W.

summary: you and fred had been friends for so long that it never occurred to the both of you that everyone thought you were dating.

pairing: fred weasley x gryffindor!reader

includes: fluff, the both of you being mischievous, kissing, cursing, the two third years being wingmen when they don’t even know it

a/n: officially working on requests the second this gets posted!

You and Fred had the same routine every Sunday night after dinner. The routine was simple and familiar—so familiar that even the younger students knew it all too well. Every Sunday evening, you would typically read the Daily Prophet or do final touches to your essays while Fred would find a way to bother you until you finally gave into him and give him attention. That’s how Sunday nights would always go.

Except for tonight. For some reason, today felt off and neither of you could place a finger on it. The evening started off normal, but the longer you ignored it, the more the feeling intensified.

You were supposed to be working on your Charms essay, but all you could think about was the small feeling nagging at the back of your mind. You were so absorbed with the thought that you didn't realize you were biting the tip of you quill until Fred pulled your hand away from you, propping his feet up on your lap.

"What's with the face, Faucett? Need help with your Charms essay?" Fred asked, pouting dramatically when you snapped out of your trance and pushed his feet off your lap. "You hate me."

You scoff and roll up your parchment, placing it away on the side table. "I do not hate you, Fred."

“You do.” He teased and angled you to face him, pulling your legs to lay over his lap instead. He watched you rest your head against the cushions of the couch, making him tap your knee in concern. “What’s wrong?”

You huff and play with the threads of you sweater that Molly had made you this past Christmas, meeting his eyes that were filled with more emotion than you could place. “Nothings wrong with me, but it feels like something in this room is, you know?”

Fred looked over at the other people in the room. There were hardly any people in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday evenings. Everyone was out either making use of the last few hours of freedom they had before classes started the next day or in their dorms, trying to cram for any surprise quizzes.

The only people that were in the Common Room were a group of first years comparing notes, some fourth years playing exploding snap, and a pair of third years conversing quietly in a corner, tucked away from prying eyes and voices—such as Fred Weasley himself.

Fred raised a brow at the two boys who looked away quite quickly when they met the older boy's gaze. He turned back to you for a quick second, replying quietly to your previous comment. “Maybe…”

You crease your brows and look over at the pair of boys as well, “What—?”

“Oi!” Fred hollered at the two third years, making the entire room snap their heads over at the sudden boom of a voice. You blew a piece of hair away from your face in exasperation, giving the other students apologetic looks for the commotion.

“What are you blokes whispering about?” He called out, making the third year on the left burn bright red.

You poke Fred's arm when you saw the poor boy's face, not deterred by all his muscles underneath his own sweater. “Fred, stop bothering them."

The same boy looked away from you two, swallowing thickly while his friend pursed his lips in an effort to not laugh at the current situation. While the rest of the room went back to what they were doing, Fred continued to watch the pair, waiting for a response from either one of them.

Finally, after the two boys whispered back and forth—for Godric only knows how long—one of them spoke up, making the red-head beside you perk up instantly.

“Nothing important.” The teen on the right said for the sake of his friend, waving a dismissive hand in your general direction. “Just trying to figure out how to ask this girl out."

The second you both heard those words come out of the boy's mouth, you looked over at Fred who was already looking back at you with a grin that could only be described as smug.

You sighed, knowing you couldn't do much to stop whatever Fred planned on doing. “Freddie, don’t—“

He stood from his spot on the couch, hands placed on his hips like he suddenly knew the answers to everything in the universe. “Luckily, you’ve come to the right man—“

“—Boy—“ You quipped from his side as you followed him to ensure he wouldn't do or say anything stupid.

“Shut up.” Fred half-heartedly pushed you to the side, still catching you when you stumbled over your feet. He stuck his thumb in the other teen’s direction, “Anyway, who does he fancy?”

You roll your eyes at his antics and give them a warm, reassuring smile, hoping it would take their minds off whatever foolishness Fred has in plan. “First, what are your names?”

“I’m Oliver, and he’s James.” The boy on the right said tentatively, the one on the left—which you both now knew was James—nodding in agreement.

Fred clasped his hands together and nodded mindlessly, keeping his eyes trained on the boys. “Alright, I’m Fred and she’s the pain in my arse—“

“Can you focus?” You groan and shove him to the side, laughing loudly when he threw you over his shoulder to get you to stop interrupting—although the two of you knew it was hopeless.

“Oliver, who does James fancy?” Fred asked, ignoring your calls and protests.

You continued to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, huffing when he held onto you tighter. At that point, the rest of the Common Room gave you odd looks, making you flush a bright pink in slight embarrassment.

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, hesitantly as he stared at you and Fred in concern and confusion, unsure what to do in the situation. “Uhm… He fancies this girl in Hufflepuff named Lila—“

You gasped and hit Fred hard in between his shoulder blades, earning a groan as he dropped you from his arms. You spun around and gave James a soft look, knowing exactly who Lila was. You had tutored her last year in Potions—and based on your five minute interaction with James—the would be the perfect pair.

“She’s really bright and gifted in Herbology.” James says softly, making your heart ache at how he spoke about Lila in adoration.

“Have you tried to ask her out before?” You ask and watch him fidget with his hair.

He shakes his head, eyes darting away from your face toward the ground. “I’m too nervous.”

After recovering from you sudden attack, Fred clapped his hand on James’ back, ruffling his hair when the boy looked up at him. “Don’t be, you look handsome and clearly you’ve got the brains for it.”

In an instant, you saw an increase of confidence in the thirteen year old, making you grin at the sight. Maybe Fred being nosy in other students’ conversations wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

You watched for another second before murmuring something to Fred about finally finishing your Charms essay, giving the two boys one last smile. Before you left for the couch, Fred subconsciously pressed a kiss to the top of your head, knowing you were leaving even though he barely listened to you as he continued to speak to the younger students.

“Ask her out to a picnic by the lake or in one of the outdoor gardens—Not Hagrid’s, of course. That would be a nightmare.” Fred clarified with a small smirk decorating his face, leaning back on one of the armchairs behind him as the boys listened intently.

“Thanks, I’ll ask her tomorrow after class.” James replied with a new found determination in his voice.

Finally snapping out of his small trance, Oliver switched his gaze from Fred to your spot on the couch, tilting his head with a raised brow. “How did you ask your girlfriend out?”

Fred copied his facial expression, turning his head to follow the boy’s eye line when they landed on you. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue before clearing his throat, waving a dismissive hand in the air.

“Oh, we’re not dating.”

“Sure seems like it.” Oliver crossed his arms and raised both brows this time, judging Fred like he was a liar. “You can’t give out advice about dating without having a girlfriend yourself.”

“My advice is fool proof!” Fred blurted, almost baffled that a thirteen year old accused him of spreading false information—though he has done that multiple times before to everyone he knew

“Then how come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Fred opened his mouth and shut it, putting his index finger up toward the boys before turning and walking over to you. He stood in front of you with his hands in his front pockets, waiting until you finished your thoughts on the essay before speaking.

“Did you know people think we’re dating?” He said quietly, earning a wide-eye look from you. Based on your reaction, you probably didn’t know either. “Yeah, weird. Those two boys thought we were dating.”

“That’s the weird feeling I was getting in this room.” You say as you twirl your golden charm necklace between your fingers, looking over at the two boys who suddenly looked guilty and mischievous at the same time. You raise a brow and look back at Fred with a small smirk, making him grin back.

“Can you imagine the shock on their faces if they believed it took you two seconds to land a girlfriend?”

Fred bent over by the waist, lips mere centimeters from yours. “And what do you have in mind, Faucett?”

Your smirk widens before you pull him in by the collar of his sweater, lips meeting his faster than anyone could have expected it. As if someone flipped a switch in Fred’s mind, he quickly reciprocated, hands coming up to cup the back of your neck and cheek.

For a second, the two of you were completely immersed in each other that you didn’t realize that—once more—the Gryffindor Common Room stared. This time, they stared only for a brief moment before looking away. It seemed like everyone expected it since the moment you both walked into the Common Room together on any Sunday evening.

You separate after the kiss that lasted longer than you both thought it would last, the two of you slightly out of breath, but still wearing eat-shitting grins at fooling the two third years in their small corner. Fred glanced at them from the corner of his eye, winking at Oliver specifically when he stared with a gaped mouth.

“That’ll be the best piece of advice they’ll ever get.” You laugh quietly as Fred plops down beside you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your abdomen, warm against your skin under the sweater. “You’re not going back to those two boys?”

“Nah, it’ll ruin the fun.” He drawled and looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder unexpectedly. You looked down at him and raised a brow, waiting for an explanation from the one Weasley you liked a little more than the others.

“So, you? Me? Next weekend? Hogsmeade?” He asked with a confident smile, twirling a piece of your hair in between his index and thumb.

You bite back a smile and pat his cheek, his own smile never wavering. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Weasley.”

“Is that a yes?” He questioned, looking between your eyes.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” You say as you go back to finishing your essay, not caring for the blush that rose to your cheeks.

You and Fred have been friends since first year, but it never crossed your mind that you could ever be in the relationship everyone assumed you were in. Not until this year. It felt like you clung to every single word he spoke to you this time, and it felt so different.

All the pranks he would plan with Lee and George was always relayed to you, every gift he planned to give to his family members went through you—you were practically his without officially being his.

“I plan for many things, Faucett.” Fred moved to sit properly and dragged your legs back on top of his lap, messing with the embroidery on your jeans. “But I never planned on someone like you kissing me just to mess with two thirteen year olds.”

“You went along with it.” You clarify, knowing damn well that he also wanted to prank the two teens. Besides, it’s not like it was your first time kissing Fred. Not at all.

Your gaze meets his, “So what, you actually want to take me out on a date now?”

“Yep.” He continued to grin and trace the embroidery.

You carefully tuck away your Charms essay once more, continuing to hide the smile that came with the thought of going out with Fred Weasley. “I guess I’ll go on a date with you.”

Fred didn’t even know his grin could get bigger, but it did. He pulled you as close to him as he could, arms wrapped securely around your waist as he tilted his chin down to meet your eyes. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“You are bad news.” You laugh and melt into him when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You raised a brow at him, “Never planned huh?”

“Nope.” He popped his syllables with a smile so bright you swore the sun would shake in it’s presence. “Never planned.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Theo: I cut my finger

Y/n: I can kiss it, so it'll get better

Theo: That works?

Y/n: Yeah, my mum used to do it when I was little

*later*

Theo: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Draco: Fucking finally

[wbellab]

Switching ties| Mattheo Riddle

summary: It happened with two ties, one red and gold and the other green and silver. It only took one mistake for all of Hogwarts to find out.

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Gryff!fem!reader

0.5 k words

an: i got inspired by one of the 2020 dracotok trend, im sure y’all remember

The door creaked open and in strolled Mattheo Riddle, late as usual. He doesn’t bother to apologise, he just carelessly strode towards his place.

"As usual, Mr. Riddle, when you come in late I would—"

Professor McGonagall stopped mid-word.

The entire classroom fell silent.

Mattheo frowned. Glares, sure. A lecture, obviously. But this? Theodore was staring like he’d seen a ghost. Enzo and Blaise both wore half-hidden smirks, jaws slack with amusement. But the worse was Draco. He looked like he might actually combust, the scowl on his face twisted deep enough to carve stone.

Mattheo muttered, "What?"under his breath.

Then he saw it.


The red-and-gold tie draped loose around his neck. Not his. Yours.

He huffed a breath and before he could properly process what was happening, the door opened again.

You rushed in, a little breathless, freezing instantly when every pair of eyes snapped to you. Gasps rippled across the room. Enzo outright snickered now, Blaise bit down on a laugh. Draco’s disgust was loud enough to fill the silence.

"This is unbelievable." he muttered.

"Bloody hell." Ron breathed.

Confusion rolled thick. Sure, you weren’t normally late, you were actually one of the best students. But this reaction? It didn’t make sense. Until your eyes landed on Mattheo.

Your tie. On. His. Neck.

The world narrowed. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence was suffocating. Then, wordlessly, you crossed the room. He tugged the tie free at the same moment you reached for it, a lazy smirk flickering at his lips. No explanations. No excuses. Just a quick, fumbling swap. His Slytherin green for your Gryffindor red.

You knotted yours back in place, he draped his loosely over his collar, and without another glance, you both retreated to your seats.

The silence lingered like smoke. Professor McGonagall finally shook her head in disappointment and forced the lesson on, but the air buzzed with whispers and suspicion, the entire class trying to process what they’d just witnessed.

"Nice move you pulled out there." Blaise was the first to bring up the subject at dinner, smirk tugging at his lips as he demolished his plate of food.

"A total disgrace." Draco snapped, cutting across him. His voice was sharp enough to slice. "If you want to… slum it with Gryffindors, that’s your business. But walking in there draped in their colours?" His lip curled. "That’s pathetic. A disgrace to Slytherin."

Mattheo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t bite immediately. He let the silence draw out, gaze steady on his cousin until the air felt heavy. Then his voice cut through.

"Don’t talk about her like that."

Draco’s eyes narrowed. "I wasn’t talking about her, I was talking about you. Do you even realize how that looked?"

Mattheo leaned back, his facial expression softening slightly.

"Yeah. I do." A smirk curled at his mouth. "Looked like I just stumbled in after a long night with my girlfriend."

Blaise and Enzo burst into laughter, half the table gasped, and even a few Gryffindors craned their necks to see what the commotion was.

Mattheo just raised his goblet, utterly unbothered, like he, THE Mattheo Riddle, heir of Slytherin hadn’t just admitted to be dating a Gryffindor. Much to Draco’s pure horror

"It’s not that deep Malfoy."

Draco could’ve nearly had a syncope hearing these words.

[slytherinsimp12]

₊˚⊹♡ 𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝔂 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮₊˚⊹♡

Pairing: Harry Potter x Lestrange!reader

Summary: Y/N spent her entire life at beauxbatons. Her whole world turned upside down when her mother she never met escaped Azkaban, forcing her to transfer to Hogwarts in her 5th year for her safety. Harry knows he should stay away. She’s a Lestrange, the daughter of the woman who destroyed part of his world. But the more he sees of Y/N, the harder it becomes to believe that blood decides who we are.

Author’s note: Hey cuties! I wrote this fic in a moment of creativity when I decided I wanted to put my A- levels in english to use. This is kinda different from my usual writing style- it’s more bookish vibes ig. I’m also currently working on the entire story- including Y/n’s point of view- from when she finds out about the transfer to living in Malfoy manor till falling for Harry. Let me know if you guys would be interested in reading that. Happy reading xx.

Update- Wrote a sequel

He noticed her the moment she walked in.

She wore the red and gold like it didn’t quite belong to her yet. Her head was high, her gaze unreadable, but not cold. Observant. Detached. Controlled, almost. She sat at the far end of the table, away from the usual clusters of fifth years. Her plate was untouched.

“Who is that?” Harry asked, squinting slightly. Hermione’s head snapped up like she’d been waiting for the question.

“That,” she said, voice low but intense, “is Y/N Lestrange.”

Harry frowned. “Lestrange?”

“As in Bellatrix Lestrange,” Hermione hissed, like the name might hex the table. “She transferred from Beauxbatons. A week ago. After her mother escaped. Apparently Dumbledore had to step in personally to get her in. No other school would take her.”

Harry blinked. “She’s in Gryffindor?”

“Yes!” Hermione waved her fork like it was part of the argument. “No one knows how the hat made that decision, but people are saying stuff about her… you tell him Ron.”

Ron leaned in with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Total nutter, mate. Looks normal, but I heard she hexed a portrait on her first night because it looked at her funny.”

“Ron,” Hermione snapped. “That’s a rumor.”

“Still. Her mum tortured Neville’s parents. She’s bound to be a bit cracked.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was still watching her.

She didn’t look like someone dangerous. Or unhinged. She didn’t carry herself like someone craving attention, or trying to prove anything. She just… was. Quiet. She didn’t laugh when the first years made a mess. She didn’t even look uncomfortable sitting alone.

She looked up suddenly- maybe sensing eyes on her and her gaze met his. Harry froze. It wasn’t cold. Or hostile. It wasn’t even particularly curious. It was just… calm. Like she’d already figured something out about him, and wasn’t surprised.

He dropped his gaze first.

He felt Hermione watching him and shook his head. “She doesn’t seem like—”

“She’s her daughter, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “That doesn’t just go away.”

Harry frowned, but said nothing.

Because something told him this girl was nothing like the story they were trying to write for her.And whether he liked it or not, he wanted to know why.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Harry rounded the corner toward the Fat Lady’s portrait and nearly bumped into someone already standing there.

Y/N Lestrange.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at him, arms folded. “Why won’t she bloody let me in…” She mumbled under her breath.

Harry blinked. “Um… you have to tell her the password.”

“Password?” A puzzled look spread across her face.

“It’s snargaluff root.” Harry said.

The Fat Lady sniffed. “Well finally. I was beginning to think she was just decorating the corridor.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry… first the staircases try to throw me down three times, and now I need to impress a talking portrait to get to bed. What’s next, a hallway that quizzes me on wand theory or eats my shoes if I get it wrong?”

Harry smiled,surprised; he didn’t expect her to be funny.

The portrait swung open with a dramatic sigh. They stepped into the common room together. It was late. The low crackle of the fire filled the room.

Y/N stretched out her hand,

“I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N Lestrange….” Harry continued, shaking her hand.

“Sorry- I’m Harry.”

“Harry Potter.” She finished.

Harry had seen Bellatrix Lestrange’s face before—smeared across wanted posters, screaming from the memory in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, twisted with madness and cruelty. And yet, no matter how much he stared at Y/N, he couldn’t find even a trace of that face in hers. Her features were softer, steadier. Her eyes weren’t wild; they were soft and kind. There was no madness in her smile. No chaos in the way she was. If anything, she carried herself like someone trying not to be noticed.

Harry glanced at her, curious. “So… you settling in alright?”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “As well as someone with a homicidal mother and a French accent can in a room full of people who think I sleep with a dagger under my pillow.”

Harry blinked, caught between concern and trying not to laugh. “Do you?”

She smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He grinned despite himself. “Only a little.”

“Goodnight, Potter,” she said, already halfway to the stairs.

“Night,” he said, still watching her go.

He sat down on the nearest couch and stared into the fire, frowning.

He didn’t know what was happening.

But he was pretty sure it had just started.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The classroom smelled faintly of parchment, ink, and something burning—probably the result of Neville’s most recent attempt at a Shield Charm. Harry slid into his usual seat in the back corner of Charms, only to realize Ron and Hermione were already mid-whispered conversation across the row.

“He’s doing it again,” Ron muttered, eyes flicking toward the door.

“Of course he is,” Hermione said, sighing. “Three months ago, he barely noticed she existed, and now—”

Harry looked up just as Y/N walked in.

She didn’t make a show of anything. She never did. She just nodded to Professor Flitwick, scanned the room, and made her way toward the empty seat next to him without hesitation.

“Potter,” she said, dropping her bag onto the desk with a small smirk.

He grinned. “Lestrange.”

She arched a brow. “Still not scared of me? You’re losing your touch.”

“Terrified, actually. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

She gave a quiet, sarcastic laugh as she pulled out her wand. Harry caught himself staring again—not at anything in particular, just her. The way her hair fell forward when she leaned over her notes, how her quill moved fast and messy but confident, how she always seemed like she was both in the room and somewhere far away.

Three months ago, she was a stranger with a reputation.

Now, she was… something else.

Class ended too quickly.

As they packed up, Y/N turned to him and said, “Try not to miss me until next period, yeah?”

“You assume I will,” he shot back.

“You always do,” she said with a wink, then disappeared into the hallway crowd.

Harry was still grinning when Ron and Hermione flanked him on both sides.

Hermione didn’t waste time. “You’ve gotten close to her.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah? So?”

Ron frowned. “Mate, we’re not saying you can’t talk to her. Just—don’t forget who her family is.”

“Right,” Hermione added quickly. “We know she’s in Gryffindor, and we’re not saying she’s her mother—but Bellatrix Lestrange isn’t just a name, Harry. She tortured people. She killed people.”

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know who her mum is. Believe me. But Y/N’s not like her. She’s—”

“What?” Ron asked, folding his arms. “Different? Misunderstood? The ‘funny, cool’ kind of Lestrange?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. The thing was, he didn’t have a clear reason. Just… a feeling. A pull. When he was around her, the world quieted down. She didn’t treat him like the Chosen One. She didn’t flinch at his past or parade hers. She was just real.

“I don’t know what she is,” he said honestly. “But she’s not her mother. And I’m not going to treat her like she is.”

Hermione sighed, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press further.

As they walked to their next class, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about that last look Y/N gave him.

The way she smiled—not sweet, not soft, but like she saw him and didn’t care who he was supposed to be.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

Because every time he looked at her, he felt himself slipping.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The library was quiet. A few students sat hunched over textbooks, and Madam Pince watched them all like they might steal the shelves. Harry hadn’t planned on staying long. He came in looking for notes on their DADA essay, but he hadn’t made much progress—mostly because Y/N was sitting across from him.

She was reading, her quill tucked behind her ear, hair falling slightly over one eye as she leaned over her book. She made a face—half confused, half annoyed—and Harry caught himself smiling.Then she looked up.

He dropped his gaze to his own book too quickly. Definitely too obvious.

“You’ve been on the same sentence for twenty minutes,” she said.

Harry looked up slowly. “Just… taking it in.”

She smirked. “That parchment must be very moving.”

He let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. The writer really captured the emotional arc of ‘Wand Movements: A Historical Analysis.’”

Y/N tilted her head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “And you’re surprisingly good at reading people.”

She looked at him for a second. Not teasing. Not sarcastic. Just… quiet.

“I’ve had practice,” she said softly.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but the words came out before he could stop them. “Do you miss it? Beauxbatons?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. She looked down at her hands, turning her quill between her fingers.

“Sometimes. It was cold, the rules were insane, and the food was too pretty to eat… but no one looked at me like I was a walking headline.”

Harry nodded slowly. “We’re good at that here.”

“Yeah.” She gave a dry laugh.

Harry’s gaze didn’t leave her face. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

She looked up again, and this time, she didn’t look away. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“You don’t believe I’m like her, do you?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure he could. Because everything in his life- every reason, every scar, every instinct, should’ve told him to run.

But instead, he said, “No. I don’t.”

Something shifted then. Barely a breath. But it was there. It was there in the way her eyes softened with relief. The way her lips parted slightly, like she might say something else, but didn’t.

Harry’s heart was beating faster than it should have been.

She looked away first this time. “Good. Because I’m tired of pretending I’m not afraid I might be.”

“Then I’ll remind you,” he said.

Y/N looked back up at him, startled.

“Whenever you forget who you are,” Harry said, voice low, “I’ll remind you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Hogsmeade in winter was something out of a postcard—snow lining the rooftops, warm butterbeer fogging up frosted windows, students crunching along the path in thick scarves. For once, Harry wasn’t thinking about the cold, or even the war.

He was thinking about her.

Y/N walked beside him, her gloved hands buried in her coat pockets, cheeks flushed from the wind. She was quiet—but not in the withdrawn way she got around others. It was the kind of quiet that felt easy, like she didn’t need to fill the silence. Like just walking next to him was enough.It was.

They were just passing Honeydukes when the voice came from behind.

“Well, well,” drawled Draco Malfoy. “Didn’t think I’d find a Lestrange slumming it with Potter.”

Y/N stopped, jaw tightening

Draco stepped forward, his smirk already venomous. “Your mum would be so proud. First Gryffindor, now roaming with a half-blood. You’re practically a Weasley in disguise.”

Y/N’s face didn’t move, but her hands curled slightly at her sides.

Draco kept going. “What do you think she’d say if she saw you now? Holding hands with the ‘Chosen one’, cozying up to the very people she wanted dead? Guess blood doesn’t mean much when you’re desperate to belong.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said sharply.

Draco snorted. “What, going to defend your little project? You think she’s some tragic misunderstood soul? She’s just like the rest of her family. She’ll break the second you trust her.”

Harry didn’t think. He just drew his wand.

A second later, Draco was knocked flat on the icy path, skidding backward like someone had yanked the floor out from under him.

He groaned, sitting up and glaring. “You’re going to regret that—”

“Keep talking and I’ll make sure your tongue sticks to the next stone wall,” Harry snapped.

Draco scrambled to his feet and stalked off, muttering curses and clutching his side.

Harry turned back to Y/N. A single tear trickled down her cheeks

“Hey,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. “He’s wrong. All of it.”

They ended up at the Three Broomsticks, a quiet corner table, where no one could see them. Two mugs of butterbeer sat untouched between them, steam curling in the golden light.

Y/N leaned forward slightly. “You didn’t have to hex him.”

“Felt good though,” he said, and she gave a small laugh. There was a pause. And then,

“Thank you…” Y/N whispered.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the steam from their butterbeer curling between them. Her eyes were still a little glassy, cheeks still flushed from anger, from cold, from everything. Harry couldn’t stop looking at her.

Before he could change his mind, Harry leaned across the table, slow but certain, one hand reaching out to brush her hair gently behind her ear. Her breath caught. Her eyes didn’t leave his.And then, he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. Not completely. It was hungry, like the tension between them had finally snapped and neither of them cared what happened next. Her hand came up to his collar, gripping the edge of his scarf, pulling him closer like she’d been holding that impulse in for weeks. Months. She kissed him like she was daring him to regret it.

And he kissed her like he already knew he never would.

When they broke apart, barely a breath between them, her forehead rested against his, her voice low and unsteady.

“You really are reckless, Potter.”

Harry’s lips brushed a smile against hers. “Takes one to know one.”

She laughed quietly, nervous and thrilled all at once, and Harry realized his heart hadn’t slowed down since the second their lips met.

Then, almost a whisper, he said, “You know… they can say whatever they want. About who you are, who she was. But you’re not her. Not even close.”

He tilted his head, brushing her knuckles with his fingers.

“But I’m still a Lestrange…” Y/N trailed off.

“Only by Name.” Harry smiled, pulling her into a tight embrace.

[lexamiele]

Only You

Images ltr: Pinterest here, Pinterest by Elif here, Pinterest by olislcve here | Dividers by @saradika-graphics here

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: 6.7k +

Summary: Against all odds, you and Mattheo are falling hard for each other. However, reminders of your past might have something to say about that.

Warnings/be aware: Gryffindor!Quidditch Player!reader, Muggleborn!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort, Mattheo Riddle being so soft for reader, and also so obsessed with her lol, reader is mentioned as wearing makeup, kissing, nicknames, use of Y/N, mention of reader being laughed at/embarrassed in the past, no blood purity ideologies mentioned, images don’t represent the reader

A/N: And the story comes full circle! This is part 3 of my Desperation mini-series, please read parts one and two before this one for important context xoxo.

The warm breath tickling your ear would’ve been alarming if you hadn’t known exactly who it belonged to.

You sat up from your hunched-over position at a table in the Gryffindor common room, fire crackling beside you as you etched your thoughts on parchment with a quill and onyx-dark ink. A little smile snuck across your features as you glanced up, reaching your hand out to give the head that was resting next to your shoulder a gentle push.

“Mind yours, Riddle,” you teased, knowing that he was taking a glance at the parchment to see what you were writing. Your eyes traveled upwards to see him grinning down at you mischievously. He took the chance to grab your hand in both of his, playing with your fingers as his dark eyes sparkled in the firelight. “How’d you get in here, anyway?” Gryffindor Tower was usually pretty stringent about security. At the moment, though, it was scarcely occupied – the first snow of winter had just fallen, and most students were outside, making snowmen and waging snowball wars.

A little chuckle escaped his lips as he smirked. “You let me in last week, remember?” He winked cheekily and you felt your cheeks heat up. You had let him in the previous week. He’d come to you after Transfiguration and whispered in your ear that he couldn’t keep his hands off you for a second longer, and you’d snuck up to Gryffindor Tower with him while the rest of your classmates were in Potions. You’d spent the afternoon sitting on his lap in an armchair and letting him snog you until your lips were swollen and you were breathless, and even if Hermione had shot you a disapproving look at dinner, it had been much better than spending it in Potions.

“I didn’t think you would remember the password, to be honest.” Your eyes narrowed playfully as you gazed up at him. He was looking good in his uniform, emerald tie loose and ajar as always, his fitted sweater highlighting his well-muscled chest and arms. The feeling of his strong hands wrapped around yours made you more distracted than you’d care to admit.

“Rude. It’s like a steel trap up here.” He tapped his forehead with his pointer finger.

You giggled. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re begging me to help you study for Runes.”

He pulled a face, scrunching his nose at you and making you laugh even harder. “What are you even doing?”

“Writing my parents.” You glanced back down at the parchment. “My dad’s dog has just had puppies, so I want to see how they’re doing, and I need them to send me a couple of old books I’ve left at home.” Professor Lupin had just assigned a project on banshees in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and you wanted to reference the notes you’d left in a few of your earlier Defense textbooks.

“Haven’t you got enough of those?” He shot you a teasing grin. “Between you and Granger, I can’t believe your dormitory isn’t overrun by all your books.”

“Ah, see, but these have all of my old notes in the margins, so they’re better.”

“You write in –” For a moment, he gave you a baffled look before shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m out of my depth.” He turned and hopped up so that he was sitting atop the table, facing you. “Wanna go out with me on Saturday?”

A grin spread across your face. “And do what?” you teased.

“Oh, take a walk to Honeydukes’, stop in at the Three Broomsticks for some hot cocoa, I’ll buy whatever you want at Tomes and Scrolls…”

“Mattheo Riddle, you really know how to charm a girl.” You squeezed his knee playfully. “Yes. Now hop off here, I need to finish this.”

“But I’m bored.”

You laughed. “Go bother Nott, then. I’m sure he’s neglecting his studies.”

“He’s with that girl from Potions,” he whined.

“You know, you could really stand to learn her name.” You rolled your eyes gently. “They’ve been on, like, three dates. Nott knew my name by then.”

Mattheo chuckled. “Everyone knows who you are, princess.”

“Ooh, tell me more.” Giving your hair a playful flip, you made him laugh in earnest.

Eventually, the two of you found yourselves cuddled up on the couch, your legs slung across his thighs as you finished up the last of your letter. He played with the edge of your school sweater as you worked, his fingers occasionally brushing against the bare skin of your back and sending delicious tingles up your spine. Though you chewed your lip in concentration, your mind seemed determined to wander to other topics – namely, the boy next to you.

“Stop that,” you protested lightly, giggling at his touch.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows, trying to feign innocence.

“Distracting me.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

Leaning back against the couch, he trapped your gaze in his dark one. “You’re distracting.”

With a little scoff, you rolled your eyes, though you felt your cheeks heat up at the comment. “You’re not even doing anything.”

“Because you’re too distracting.”

You poked him in the chest playfully. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.”

“Princess, you’re the prettiest girl here and it’s not close.” He pulled you fully onto his lap as your face grew hot. You couldn’t help the little grin that tugged at your lips.

“Mattyyyyy.” Normally it was easy for you to accept compliments. But for some reason, Mattheo had the ability to turn you into a flustered mess every time, and you didn’t know what to do, so you just buried your head in the crook of his neck as your stomach filled with butterflies.

“Here.” You felt the parchment beneath your fingers and the textbook it was resting on being pulled out of your hands, and you couldn’t even resist. There was an audible thud as he deposited them on the end table beside you along with your quill. “That’s better.” You looked up to see him smirking at you.

His darkening gaze made a heat pool in your stomach. You knew what it meant. “Matty, we’re in public,” you protested, a bashful smile on your lips.

“Baby, there’s no one in here.” His eyes flashed with a hint of smugness as he leaned back fully, shamelessly drinking in your form while his hands came to rest on your hips. “Besides,” he continued, his voice lowering, “you can’t call me that unless you want me to do something about it.”

The deep timbre of his voice made your stomach flip. “What?” You gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Matty?”

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation as he groaned softly. “Get over here.” He pulled your thigh across his lap until you were straddling him and you couldn’t hold back the little gasp that escaped from you. His thumbs dug deliciously into your hips as you twined your fingers in his curls.

The moment that your lips connected, everything else ceased to exist.

You didn’t finish your letter to your parents until the evening. Finally, you sent it off with your owl, Mattheo walking in step with you to the owlery to keep you company.

It was two days later when the mail finally arrived – your owl deposited a letter next to your breakfast plate along with a large stack of books and a few photos on Muggle film. She chattered her beak, expecting a treat, and you fed her a small section of toast instead with the hope that it would suffice. Though she looked mildly irritated, she accepted the toast and flew away.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Lavender asked, her voice clear despite the morning chatter. Some days you wished you could be as much of a morning person as she was – no matter how late she’d stayed out the night before, she was always bright-eyed by six a.m. Parvati, Ginny, and Hermione also looked on with interest, though Harry and Ron were paying no attention, having some sort of half-asleep conversation across the table.

“Letter from my parents,” you began, holding up the envelope, “textbooks, and…puppy photos.” Your friends’ faces brightened at your words and soon you were passing the photos around to a chorus of awwws.

Once the chatter died down, you turned your attention to your parents’ letter. They informed you that the puppies were doing well, and they’d decided to name them after characters from Jane Austen novels (yesterday, Lady Catherine had stolen an entire chicken leg from the kitchen counter). They filled you in on some additional news from your countryside hometown, including your neighbor Nancy’s new tulips and the very loud car recently purchased by Dan down the street. Finally, they wished you a good week at school, told you they loved you, and reminded you to please write your older sister, Lauren, when you got the chance. You smiled fondly as you read, thinking about how you were looking forward to seeing them over Christmas break.

Then you turned your attention to the books. There was some information in these books that you really needed for your essay on banshees, you just weren’t sure where. The old lessons where you’d used these tomes were nothing more than faded memories now. Heaving a sigh, you figured you ought to get to it and began flipping through the volumes.

“Hermione,” you began as you cracked open one of the texts, “you wouldn’t happen to know which one of these books has the most information on banshees, would you?”

Beside you, Hermione also had her nose in a rather large book. “I think you’ve got the one.” Her eyes flicked towards you briefly. “Just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll take a look.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Glancing at her, you observed with sympathy that she was trying to work her way through some rather complicated Arithmancy. “I’ll find it soon enough.” As you turned the page, you saw your loopy Third-Year handwriting in the margins of the text. Hinkypunks – disguise themselves as helpful. Grindylows – sometimes kept as pets by mermaids. You hoped that your past self had left you some help.

“Oh, is that for Lupin’s essay?” Parvati asked. “Merlin, I’ve scarcely started. I’ve been so busy tutoring for Divination…”

“Are you free tonight?” She nodded and you glanced around the table. “We should all work on it together in the library, we’ll finish up soon enough.”

Ron, who apparently at some point had started listening, raised an eyebrow. “You sure your boyfriend won’t get lonely? He seems very attached.”

Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny glanced at you with intrigue as you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “Hush, Ronald. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just seeing each other.”

“Well, I’m tired of seeing you snogging on my favorite couch.” He narrowed his eyes at you and you grimaced. Harry and Ginny struggled to conceal their laughter. Traitors.

“Ron, you are so unromantic,” Lavender declared, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she huffed in her ex’s direction. You were glad they were on good terms so you could enjoy both of their dramatics. Their banter faded into the background as you turned your focus back towards the textbook in front of you. You’d finally reached the section on werewolves, which meant that hopefully banshees were nearby. Your younger self’s cursive noted that werewolves completely lose control during the full moon and retain no memory of their actions while they are transformed.

“Wait, Y/N, that’s not the book I was thinking of,” Hermione suddenly interrupted, tapping gently on the page you were reading with her pointer finger. “Here.” She tugged another text from the middle of the pile. “Try this one.”

“Right, thanks.” You hastily flipped to the front of the book you were currently reading. However, before you could close it, something caught your eye. The title page of the book was, strangely, full of your handwriting too. Turning back to it, you wondered if you’d left some notes there. The words that greeted you, though, weren’t Defense notes.

Scrawled across the page dozens of times over was one name: Mattheo Riddle. In big letters, small letters, cursive, print, bubbled text, vertical, horizontal, upside down, surrounded by little hearts…his name was written across your pages.

You inhaled sharply. You’d completely forgotten about the little habit you’d picked up in third-year Defense. When you finished your work early, you’d gaze across the classroom, eyes always drawn to the boy that you dreamed would one day notice you. Then your quill began to trace his name until it was habit, sometimes on random textbook pages, but often here at the front of the book. The memories came flooding back – the way you’d cover the book with your arm to hide the words from prying eyes, the gentle rhythm of Professor Lupin’s voice in the background, the clench in your chest as you watched Mattheo smirking at Enzo or laughing with Theo. You could almost feel the tug of the pink hair clips you’d perpetually worn in your hair and the pinch of your old ballet flats. Almost involuntarily, you slammed the book closed and stood up.

“Are you alright?”

You turned to see Ginny looking at you from across the table with a crease of confusion between her brows. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” It felt as though you were trying to convince yourself. “I just, um…” You glanced down at the books in front of you. “I need to bring these up to the dormitory. I can’t exactly lug them around all day.”

By her expression, you could tell she was skeptical, but she didn’t pry. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay? Have a good day.” She gave your hand a squeeze and you felt a pang of guilt at the worry behind her eyes.

“You too, Gin.” Scooping the books up into your arms, you hurried out of the Great Hall.

When you reached Gryffindor tower, you slammed the door to the portrait hole behind you, chest heaving with panicked breaths. You closed your eyes in the empty common room, struggling to center yourself.

You’re not her, you told yourself firmly. You’re seventeen, not thirteen, and you are never going to be that little girl again. But it was difficult to believe yourself when you thought about Mattheo and your stomach immediately fluttered, a heat rising to the surface of your skin at the memory of him in your common room. Somehow, four years had passed and you were further gone for him than ever.

Steadying yourself, you walked up the stairs to your dormitory. When you stepped through the doors, you threw the books down onto your bed, releasing a heavy exhale. Almost involuntarily, you abandoned the books by your bedside and stepped toward your trunk. Unlatching the top, you balanced it against the foot of your bed and began to root through its compartments. Beneath your large book collection and the warm-weather clothing you’d stowed away when the wind began to bite at your nose sat an array of tri-folded papers that your fingers knew by heart. They were Lauren’s letters, accumulated over your seven years at Hogwarts. The very oldest ones were from your first year, when you still couldn’t believe that you were on your own at boarding school instead of following her to Muggle secondary school. Atop the thick pile, the most recent was from October. You’d both been busy, her with her new job in London and you with NEWT studies, and you hadn’t kept up with your correspondence the way you would have liked.

Your fingers wrapped around a folded piece of parchment that sat somewhere in the middle, closer to the oldest rather than the newest. It was dated February 12th, from nearly four years ago. Pulling it from the collection, you closed your trunk and sat atop the lid as you unfolded it.

Hey, sis,

First of all, let me say that I’m so, so sorry to hear about what happened. I’ve met some terrible boys, but this Riddle bloke seems like a real piece of work. You deserve so much better.

I know it’s hard, but I hope you can start seeing him for who he is – an arrogant, immature git who doesn’t deserve a second thought from you. He sounds like he’s got a lot of his own insecurities to work through. I know his type: him and his friends get whatever they want at school and they walk around the halls like they own the place. Those sort of guys are the worst, especially at your age. They have no perspective on life and no understanding that when they get older, people won’t worship the ground they walk on just because they were popular in school. It’ll be good for him to learn that if he wants a girl’s attention, he has to work for it.

You are everything. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you are. When my friends come over, they’re always talking about how smart you are. Even though I can’t tell them the truth about who you are and what you’re capable of, they can tell that you’re special. I saw the way other kids were looking at you when we went to Diagonally last time – they can see it too. I hope that you can start seeing yourself the way that I see you. You are going to make our family so proud someday, I know it. You have everything you need to live the life you’ve imagined. Keep your head up now and things will only get better from here. Meanwhile, the lives of arrogant guys like Mattheo Riddle have nowhere to go but downhill.

I know what it feels like to have to force yourself to get over a guy (remember Tyler??) and it seems like you’re drowning at first. But I promise you that every day, the water will get less and less deep until one day, you realize that you can stand up. Then it goes down to your shoulders, then your waist, and then before you know it, you’re on the beach. You can make it to the beach, I know you can.

I love you so much, little sister. I can’t wait to see you this summer. Until then, remember that I’m just a letter away.

Also, I went back to that Diagonally place a couple of days ago – the people at the Leaky Cauldron helped me get in once I told them that you were a student at Hogwarts. I went back to the bookshop and asked them for something interesting that would help you out in your classes, and they recommended this one. I’ve no idea what Ancient Runes are, but it looks cool.

All love,

Lauren

You smiled softly at the final paragraph. Though Lauren was a bit confused about certain aspects of magic (like how to spell Diagon Alley), she’d always cared about the wizarding world because she cared about you. That book on Ancient Runes sat on your shelf even now, read through a hundred times, highlighted, underlined, dog-eared, and thoroughly well-loved.

When you were younger, you’d dreamed of being as pretty and confident as Lauren, who’d been popular and fashionable for as long as you could remember. You’d see her friends filling your parents’ house during her birthday parties and hangouts and wonder if you would be as cool as she was in secondary school. It had always seemed like a dream that would never come true. But when you’d read this letter for the first time, you actually believed that you could become that girl you wanted to be. Now, it felt like you were two steps forward and two steps back. You’d grown so much, just as Lauren had predicted. But those memories from the past kept sneaking back like ghosts, haunting you. They reminded you just how vulnerable you were in Mattheo’s arms. He’d broken you before and he could again.

As you glanced up from the parchment, setting it down on the foot of your bed, you realized a few things at once. First of all, your eyes were welling up with tears, and you blinked furiously in an attempt to avoid a full-on cry at eight thirty in the morning. Secondly, you were late for class.

Muscles tensing, you hurried to the mirror and tried to banish the redness and puffiness from your eyes as best as you could. You dabbed the tears from your waterline, mascara transferring to your fingers from your bottom lashes but thankfully, not smudging beneath your eyes. Hurriedly, you smoothed your hair and your skirt, then reapplied your lip gloss. Taking a breath, you steeled yourself. You’re fine. Calm down, everything is fine. You couldn’t quite make yourself believe it, but you picked up your school bag and strode out the doors of your dormitory nonetheless.

One of the most underrated parts of being an excellent student was all the goodwill you’d built up with your professors. Ordinarily, you didn’t really think about it. But on a day like today, when your mind felt full of TV static and it was all you could do to keep it together in public, you were tremendously grateful for it.

When you hurried into Professor Vector’s classroom ten minutes late, your classmates turned around at the disturbance, staring. You expected the reprimand she would give any other student for tardiness, but she merely cleared her throat, redirecting everyone’s attention to the front of the room. After you sat down in your usual seat next to Hermione, the professor shot you a gentle, sympathetic smile before continuing on with the lesson.

“Are you alright?” Hermione whispered softly as she took notes.

“Just feeling a little off,” you replied.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick similarly let you be, looking in other directions for responses to the questions that you typically volunteered to answer. The only professor who seemed irritated at your inability to find mental clarity was Professor Snape. You were the first student that he called on during his lesson, and his lip curled in displeasure when you struggled to tell him the properties of Sopophorous Bean.

“Not now, Miss Granger,” he drawled when she raised her hand in hopes of bailing you out, his dark glare squarely focused on you.

“Sopophorous Bean induces memory loss, and when combined with other ingredients, it can create deep sleep, euphoria, and…and…” You shook your head, grimacing as you struggled. “Sorry…”

“Mediocrity will not be tolerated, Miss Y/L/N.” He was practically snarling at you, and you could feel the tears that you’d managed to suppress all day building up in your eyes.

“Um…” You tried to take deep breaths as you grew more and more panicked. “It also induces…”

“A coma-like state according to some ancient texts.”

A breath of surprise caught in your throat as you recognized the voice that had just cut in. Turning, you saw Mattheo eyeing Professor Snape unapologetically from the back row of the classroom.

“Correct, Mister Riddle, although I do ask that you summon an ounce of this enthusiasm to answer questions when you are called on.” He pressed his lips together as he glared in Mattheo’s direction, though he said nothing more.

You barely heard a word that Professor Snape said for the rest of class, Mattheo’s interjection on your behalf just adding to the tumult of thoughts swirling around in your brain. His protectiveness evoked a frighteningly powerful feeling within you, something warm and tingling that made your head go empty and your heart pound. You glanced down at your textbook as you tried to take notes, your mind devoid of words besides Mattheo Riddle, and you were filled with the sudden urge to etch the letters in the margins of the pages again, like you were just a little girl with a crush.

When Professor Snape finally dismissed you, you rushed out of the classroom, avoiding the concerned glances of your friends.

As your heels clicked against the stone of the dungeon corridors, you felt your chest tightening. You couldn’t get back up to your dormitory fast enough, though you weren’t quite certain what you were going to do once you got there. Maybe you were going to write Mattheo’s name in your textbook a thousand times and maybe you were going to break down crying. Maybe you would reread Lauren’s letter and maybe you would burn it, pushing away memories you’d rather forget. You felt like you were going mad. What’s wrong with me? Dating Roger had never felt like this – like your mind was fixed on him and there was no cure.

You heard footsteps echoing behind you, growing closer. Bracing yourself, you prepared to face Harry, Ron, or Hermione, who would wonder what was wrong. How could you explain it when you yourself didn’t even understand?

“Alright, princess?”

The voice behind you and the gentle touch on your shoulder told you that the figure behind you was neither Harry, Ron, nor Hermione.

“Yeah.” You struggled to keep your voice from breaking, not knowing how Mattheo would react. “I’m just feeling a little off, I’m going to go back to my room.”

“I’ll walk you there.”

Mattheo fell into step with you, taking your books from your arms and intertwining your fingers with his. You couldn’t summon the words to protest, so you accepted the help even as your thoughts swirled and your throat tightened. The feeling of your hand wrapped in his large one made your heart pound even harder, and you tried to steady yourself with a quiet breath.

“Um…thank you for bailing me out during class.” Your voice was quiet as you struggled to meet his gaze.

“No problem.” He squeezed your hand gently. “I’ve no idea what Snape was on about today.”

You gave a weak shrug. “He’s never really liked me.”

Mattheo gave a little chuckle. “Oh, angel, it’s impossible not to like you.”

You swallowed thickly. The words from Lauren’s letter burned in your brain. I hope you can start seeing him for who he is – an arrogant, immature git who doesn’t deserve a second thought from you. Her description was so far from the boy standing before you, carrying your books, murmuring sweet words in your ear to make you feel better after you’d had a bad day. He’d promised you that he’d changed when he’d first asked you out, and that he would prove it to you, and he had. Mattheo had passed every test with flying colors, so why, why, did you still feel so terrified?

“Princess?”

His soft voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you realized that you hadn’t said anything to him in what was probably quite a long time.

“Um, yeah, sorry. Just not feeling great.”

Though his brows furrowed with concern, he said nothing. Instead, he released your hand and rubbed your back gently.

After an abundance of stairs, the two of you reached Gryffindor tower. He gave the password so that you wouldn’t have to, and you realized suddenly that he’d gone completely out of his way to walk you here – the Slytherin common room was all the way back in the dungeons.

“Thank you, Matty,” you murmured, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry I made you walk all the way here.”

Wrapping his free arm around your shoulders, he pulled you close to him, pressing a kiss into your hair. “You didn’t make me do anything. I’m happy to take care of you.”

You had to blink furiously to banish the tears that were in your eyes, and you couldn’t even explain why. Your stomach was full of butterflies at his words, but at the same time, it felt as though you were going to be sick. “Thank you,” you managed to repeat.

“Here, let’s get you up to bed.”

Shooting him a confused look, you frowned. “You can’t go up there. The stairs will kick you out, remember?”

He gave a low chuckle. “You live with Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender. Do you really think one of them hasn’t sorted that out by now?”

True to his word, Mattheo was able to follow you all the way up the stairs and into your dormitory, though the staircase did give an anxiety-inducing squeak of protest at his presence. He set your books down on your bedside table, grinning at your decorations as he glanced around the room. You leaned against your dresser, releasing a heavy sigh. Your eyes stared listlessly into space, exhausted from the emotional weight you’d been carrying around all day.

“You and Granger have got even more books than I thought.” He gave a playful nod toward the shared bookshelf in the room. It was indeed overflowing, with several stacks of books sitting on the floor. “I know you love them, but I don’t think sharing a bed with them would be very comfortable.”

You suddenly remembered the old books sitting on your bed as he picked them up, setting them down in a pile atop your trunk. Then he took a piece of parchment that was sitting atop your covers in between his fingers, cleaning quickly.

“Sorry it’s such a mess.” You winced with embarrassment as you realized that it was his first time seeing your room and it was kind of a disaster.

“What’s this?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you recognized Lauren’s letter in his hands.

“Oh, that’s just an old letter from my sister, just – ” Your voice sped up with panic and you hurried towards him, resting a hand on his forearm in the hopes of separating him from the parchment, but he was already reading.

There was a moment of silence as his eyes moved, his brows gradually creasing as his face fell.

“Mattheo?” Shakily, you lowered his arm.

Finally, he looked up at you, dark eyes unreadable. Your eyes connected for an agonizing moment, your stomach churning.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Your chest tightened painfully at the sound of his hollow voice. “No,” you replied, shaking your head firmly. “No, no, Mattheo, that letter is old, really old. She said those things back when we were kids, if she knew you now, she would never –”

“Then why were you reading it now?” His eyes narrowed, the pain behind them clear. “Is this why you were so upset today?”

You shook your head, legs feeling weak. Retreating, you sat down on your bed. “Please just forget about that. I’m sorry I was reading it.”

“That’s going to be kind of hard to forget.”

The sharpness in his voice sent a pain through your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, your voice breaking.

His lips pressed together and you saw him let out a deep breath, eyes shifting in contemplation. For a moment, you wondered if this was how it would happen. He was going to shatter your heart all over again. He set the letter down at the foot of your bed.

“What’s going on?”

His voice was so unexpectedly tender, his eyes so worried that you just broke. Eyes welling up with tears, you couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer. You held his gaze, though you felt ashamed.

“I’m scared, Matty.”

The weight of the words settled over the room. There was a moment of silence before he stepped towards you, then sat down next to you on the bed. The first tears began to trickle down your face as he looked at you.

“What happened?”

You sniffed, covering your face with your hands. “It’s so stupid,” you groaned. “Like, it’s literally the dumbest thing ever and I have no idea why I’m being like this. You’re going to laugh at me.”

You felt him wrap an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “If it’s making you this upset, there’s no way that it’s stupid.”

“It’s really embarrassing.”

“Hey.” He squeezed your shoulder and you glanced up at him. “I think the world of you, you know that? My friends make fun of me for how often I stare at you from across the Great Hall.” A soft pink blush settled on his cheeks as he grinned sheepishly, and you giggled despite yourself. “And there’s nothing that you could tell me right now that would change that.”

The words warmed your heart. Reluctantly, you let out a sigh. “Go look in that book, inside the front cover.” You pointed to the one on the top of the stack.

His brows raised with curiosity but he followed your instructions, standing and walking over to the trunk. Taking the book in his hands, he opened it as your heart raced.

“Wow.” His eyes traced across the pages while he moved to sit back down. “Oh…oh, wow.” A little smile tugged at the edges of his lips and you hid your face back in your hands, letting out a huge groan.

“I told you it was embarrassing.”

“Aw, princess, hey.” He kissed the top of your head as he gently pulled your hands away from your face, setting the book down at the foot of your bed. You reluctantly faced him. There was a sweet little grin on his face, though, that calmed the churning in your stomach. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s cute.” Fondly, he tucked a section of your hair behind your ear. “What about that got you so upset?”

Chewing your lip nervously, you looked up at him. “I don’t know exactly,” you confessed. “I’d totally forgotten about it. And then it was just there, and I remembered sitting in Defense, doing all of that. I remembered being that scared kid who just wanted you to notice me, and for a second, it felt like I was her. I felt so small.” You swallowed hard, glancing down at your bedspread. “You make me so nervous, Matty. I – I feel things when I’m around you that no other guy has made me feel, and I’m scared. Seeing all of that in my old textbook – I don’t know, it reminded me of how much power you used to have over me. How much you still do.” Around you, your voice rang out, quiet and hollow. “I guess I went back to Lauren’s letter because…I wanted to remind myself that there was a version of me who survived getting my heart broken by you.”

You could feel the intensity of his gaze even as you stared down at your thighs. “And do you think I’m going to break your heart again?”

“I don’t know.” You lifted your head and felt a stab of guilt at the pain you saw in his eyes. “You’re different from the person you were. That guy that Lauren was talking about…that’s not you. But there’s still a little voice in my head telling me that the other shoe’s gonna drop.” He looked confused, almost worried. “It’s not your fault. It’s just that – I felt so in control with other guys. Not controlling, but I was never scared they were going to leave. I knew I had Roger wrapped around my finger, and I almost didn’t care. But with you…I like you so much,” you confessed. “I know you could break me. You’re the only one who ever could.”

“Princess.” His hands slipped around your waist, and before you knew what was happening, he pulled you onto his lap. Your legs slipped apart, resting on either side of his thighs. He leaned back against your headboard, looking you squarely in the eye. “If you had him wrapped around your finger, you have me wrapped around your pinkie.”

The words hit you like a wave of warmth in the freezing winter. Every terrified thought slipped from your mind at once. Your lips parted softly as your heart began to beat faster. “Really?”

A smile grew on his lips as he nodded. “All I want from you is to stay around for as long as you’ll have me.” He glanced down for a moment, his expression growing serious. “I know it must be scary for you. I knew how much I was asking from you when I asked you to trust me again. But you took that chance on me, and I’ll spend every day making it worth your while.”

“Oh, Matty.” The nickname slipped from your lips softly as his words seeped beneath your skin, warming your whole body. Then, you paused, recalling another moment from the morning. “Um…can I ask you something?”

“Anything, pretty girl.”

Might as well get it over with. “Am – am I your girlfriend?”

He chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in an attractive little smirk. “You’re my everything.”

Your heart thundered in your ears. You weren’t sure what to say in response, so you opted to take ahold of his shirt collar and pull him in for a searing kiss instead. He groaned happily into your mouth, pulling you impossibly closer as his hands twined in your hair.

Eventually, the emotional exhaustion of the day caught up with you and you slumped down into the bed, your head resting on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. When you laid down, your eyes caught sight of the parchment still sitting at the foot of your bed and you felt guilt stirring in your stomach.

“I’m so sorry about that letter,” you whispered. “I’ll burn it if you want.”

“No,” he replied, his voice soft but firm. “She was right.”

“That’s not –”

“You are everything,” he murmured, his breath tickling your cheek. “She and I can agree on that.”

A little smile spread across your face as you burrowed deeper into his chest, your legs tangling with his. Then a thought struck you, and you giggled suddenly. “I wonder what she’ll say when I tell her that we’re together now.”

Glancing up, you saw Mattheo grimace. “I’ll brace myself for that one.” You laughed at his comical face as he shook his head.

“It’ll be fine,” you assured him. “She’ll only glare at you for, like, fifteen minutes. After that her contacts will dry out.” At that, he let out a little breath of laughter.

Sitting up, you moved to clean off the bed, tossing Lauren’s letter onto the top of the trunk and then picking up your old textbook. You moved to set it back on top of the book pile, but Mattheo interrupted you.

“Don’t put that away.” You turned around to see him pouting. “I like that one.”

Rolling your eyes playfully and letting out a dramatic sigh, you handed it to him and snuggled back into his side. He immediately opened it back up to the front cover, eyes tracing over the loops of your handwriting as he read iterations upon iterations of his own name.

“I hope you know that if someone told thirteen-year-old me that you would ever see this, I would’ve died of embarrassment.” Even now, your cheeks heated slightly at the sight of him taking it in. “Deceased. Curtains.” You drew a line across your throat with your finger for emphasis.

“I’ll get your name tattooed on me, would that make you feel better?” He raised his eyebrows and you giggled.

“You wouldn’t.”

He fixed you with an unwavering gaze, grinning. “Try me.”

You laughed lightly, though a heat pooled in your stomach at his words. His free hand began to skim across your thighs, sending tingles across your skin. Chewing your lip, you glanced up at him.

“What’s this?” A wide grin spread across his face, and you turned your head back towards the book to see him pointing to a line with his thumb. You squinted. The letters were small, so small that your eyes had skimmed right over them that morning.

Y/N Riddle.

“Oh, Merlin.” Your whole face grew hot as you buried it in his chest.

“Y/N Riddle,” he repeated. You could hear his voice lilting with amusement as he toyed with the edge of your skirt. “I like the sound of that.”

[midnightsunkissd]

Mum and Dad

Fred Weasley x Potter!reader

Summary: Reader and Fred have been dating since fourth year, and Fred is popular amongst the first years and all their friends joke Reader and him both are the mother and father of them all, and over time, they being to embrace the roll. It doesn’t help that reader is the favorite prefect.

First Person

The crisp, old, but familiar air of the common room engulfed me immediately as I walked down, my homework in hand. Once I got down the stairs, I saw the back of a very familiar red head.

“Fred? Or are you George?” I teased, I’ve been friends with the both of them since first year, and I’ve been dating Fred since Fourth year.

“Oh, I don’t know, can’t you tell by my more handsome face?” He said raising his eyebrows up and down, I scoffed and giggled, sitting down on his lap and opening my textbook along with a sheet of parchment.

“Of course. How silly of me.” I took out my quill and ink and began to work on my assignment for Potions class. Fred kept a strong grip around my waist as my wrist moved smoothly across my parchment.

“So, how was your day?” Fred hummed. I smiled and looked at him for a second, then turning back to my assignment.

“It was good, classes were boring, Snape’s always trying to intimidate me, but it all goes in one ear and out the other, you know? Harry says he does it to him as well. And you’ve had to hear the rumors?” Fred looked confused and annoyed that Snape was targeting me.

“That he was in love with your mother? Those aren’t rumors, you know that?” I scoffed, of course I knew they were rumors, I just called them that because I didn’t want to believe it fully.

“I know.” I mumbled. Fred rubbed my hip bones. I sighed, going back to my writing.

“Did you eat lunch today?” He asked, still rubbing my hip bones, I glanced at his face, the full look of love and slight concern.

“Yeah, I ate a little. But I’m going to eat more at the dinner. Don’t worry, love.” I reassured him, kissing his lips and turning back to my work.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“So, how was your day?” I asked, wanting to know his point of view on the day, he chuckled, moving his hands so he was now rubbing my shoulder, something he did often when he sensed I was tense.

“It was good, George and I sold some items to the third years, and I surprisingly got a C- on my charms test.” In my book, a C- means I need to study ten times harder and longer, but for Fred, it was great, I smiled, very happy for him.

“Aw, baby! I’m so proud of you! I guess our studying payed off, hm?” I said, pressing kisses to his neck.

“Maybe I should get good grades more often.” I heard him mutter, I chuckled and let up off of him, turning back to my assignment.

“You should just forget the assignment.” Fred coaxed, still rubbing my shoulders, I rolled my eyes.

“I can’t. I set a goal to get it done before dinner. Now stop distracting me.” I chided, resuming writing down which potion does what.

“You and your goals. Just like Hermione.” I chuckled.

“Well, Hermione is a smart girl—“ just then, footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs quickly, I positioned myself so I was sitting on the couch, but my legs were draped over Fred’s lap.

“Y/n! Y/n you must stop him!” I recognized that voice, it was a first year, Katherine Aldridge, she was always reporting nonsense, but I could tell it made her feel special, so I let her, and that made her cling to me which I didn’t mind.

“What is it, Katherine?” Katherine circled the couch and groaned, looking out of breath.

“Michael! He’s terrorizing the girls again! With those joke toys your boyfriend and his brother sold him!” She complained, I fought a laugh, but gave Fred an angry look anyway.

“Fred! Really? You said third years today?” I said, very annoyed, Fred shrugged sheepishly.

“Mostly third years, love. George and I don’t discriminate.” I scoffed, standing up, I adjusted my Weasley jumper that had a huge F for Fred on it that Fred himself lifted up.

“He’s staring at your bum!” I bursted out laughing, it truly wasn’t funny, but I knew Katherine wasn’t lying.

“Alright, come on Katherine, let’s get to the bottom of this, then we’ll go to the Great Hall together, hm?” Katherine smiled.

“Yes!” She beamed. I smiled and walked upstairs to the dorms to see Michael playing the twins’ game Reusable Hangman, one of their more tame games, but still unsettling.

“What’s going on here?” I interrupted after a few minutes of seeing Michael in charge of the game, and three girls spelling words he gave them, it seemed like the girls were willingly being held hostage in a way.

“Uh, well, Michael invited us to play a game, but we had to agree to play ten rounds! And we don’t want to play anymore! This game is scary!” I found myself fighting a laugh again.

“Okay, well a word of advice next time, always gather information before agreeing to do things, and put the game away anyway, it’s almost time for dinner.” Michael groaned, but the girls hurried and ran back to their rooms.

I looked down at Katherine, she definitely did not forget about my promise. “Come on, we’ll go collect Fred and go to dinner together, you’ll feel like a big kid.” Her smile got wider and she basically dragged me downstairs, I even almost tripped on my white linen pants.

“Fred, would you like to walk down with us?” I asked my boyfriend, folding up my assignment and setting it neatly on top of my textbook, so it was waiting when I got back.

“I wouldn’t pass up that opportunity, but does the little tattletale have to come too?” Katherine gasped, very offended by his words, I swatted Fred’s arm.

“That wasn’t nice! And yes, I made her a promise. Now come on, or we’re leaving you.” Katherine cackled at Fred.

“Yeah! Or we’re leaving without you!” She said sticking her tongue out, I giggled, Fred stood up with an annoyed sigh.

“Whatever. Lead the way, devil child.”

Once we got into the Great Hall, Fred sat on my left and Katherine on my right, my little brother, Harry and his friends were already there, along with most of our house.

“Hello everyone.” I said with a smile, they all greeted me back, Harry eyed my sweater, he obviously knew it was Fred’s, but at the end of the day I’m the older sister and I do what I want.

“What’s with the first year?” Ron asked between huge mouthfuls of food, I looked at Katherine and shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just let her tag along. Believe it or not, I’m quite a popular prefect amongst the first and second years. Right Katherine?” Katherine looked up and nodded with a smile.

“Yes, she gives us candy.” Fred chuckled.

“I like her for other reasons.” I scoffed and hit Fred’s shoulder, he was such an ass.

“Oh shut up!” Ginny giggled, amused at how I bossed Fred around I’m sure.

“It’s almost like you two are her mum and dad.” George said, eyeing the three of us closely.

“What on Earth are you on about, George?” I asked, putting a turkey leg the size of Hagrid’s arm almost. Fred watched me carefully.

“I’m just saying! Those kids are wrapped around your finger. And Fred just happens to be there, like a dad.” I found myself smiling, he wasn’t wrong.

“I guess. That’s a nice way to put it.” I turned back to my meal and ate at my food slowly.

After dinner, which was mostly Fred eyeing me like a hawk to make sure I ate enough to his standards, Fred and I went back to our same spot in the common room which was a bit crowded now, but I didn’t mind, it was mostly first years anyway.

While I sat with my legs across Fred’s lap, I finished up the last of my assignment and set it aside, I looked up to see Katherine telling three of her fellow classmates how she got to sit with the big kids.

“Usually, George is a nuisance who says things before he thinks them through, but he was sort of right. We are kind of like their mum and dad.” Fred looked down at me, still stroking my hair calmly.

“You’re so sentimental, darling.” Teased Fred, I rolled my eyes.

“Am not, you know I love kids.” Fred slapped his hand over his heart, I giggled at his shenanigans, “but I love you more.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek, having to sit up slightly.

When I looked at the clock, it was already two minutes past the time everyone should be in bed, I stood up, clearing my throat which got the kids’ attention.

“Sorry to burst bubbles, but it’s two minutes past your bedtimes.” The kids groaned.

“That’s no fair! You two aren’t going to go to bed!” I gasped dramatically.

“That is just not true. Come on, we’ll be right behind you, come on. Up we all go.” I waited for the kids to go first, then pulled Fred up the stairs behind them.

Katherine and a friend of hers made their way to their dormitory first, I smiled and bid them a good night, but not before they hugged me tight.

Fred and I then walked the two boys to their dormitory, Fred telling them stupid jokes and me pretending not to laugh.

“Okay, well good night boys.” I whispered with a smile, the boys climbed into their beds, not as careful not to wake their dorm mates like the girls, I chuckled softly.

“Good night, Y/n and Fred!” They whispered yelled, I smiled and felt the vibration of Fred’s laugh bubble in his chest.

I turned around to face Fred, a soft smile on my face. “Well, I’m exhausted from all that food. Good night, Freddy.” Fred knew to bend down so I could give him a goodnight kiss.

“Good night, Darling, don’t mind the rat I put in your bed.” I turned around faster than the flick of a wand, Fred laughed like a maniac and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m kidding!” I rolled my eyes but smiled as I walked to the other side to the girl’s dormitory, warmth in my chest.

[radiantdanvers]

The solace he never knew he needed. (Cedric Diggory x Fem! Reader)

Summary: Cedric just wanted to have some peace from all the expectations of being a triwizard champion. Although he didn't expect to finally get the chance to speak with the girl he had always wanted to since the very beginning.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Nothing much, just Fluff and Cedric being a tease. Author's first language is not English so there might be errors. Hope I did justice to Cedric's character.

A/N: I wrote this while listening to Radio by Bershy. Also for this fic, Cedric never died and they lived happily ever after hehe ☺️🤭.

The noise was too much. Cedric needed a place, a quiet place. Ever since he was chosen as the Triwizard champion of hogwarts, the noise grew louder as he was often crowded wherever he went. He didn't mind it before, but this time it was different.

It was in the evening after classes were finished, as he roamed around the castle just to get some peace and quiet. His pace wasn't rushed. Instead, it was very steady. He allowed himself to observe the surroundings and take note of the little things, and it was soothing. Before, he even realised he was outside by the Black Lake. He thought to himself that maybe he should stop walking and head back, but he didn't. There was no one to be sighted and he prefered it that way for now.

Just then, from the corner of his eye, he caught on to a figure. You looked familiar, and he couldn't pinpoint how, and from the looks of it, you looked annoyed. You were pacing around as if you were searching for something. He also noticed how quiet you were. He would've recognised any footsteps nearby, but he didn't hear any. He could also see how you didn't realize he was close by, too.

For some reason, Cedric's body began to move before he could even think twice about it. He also realised how you were about to literally head to the forest. Before you could proceed, you were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder. Cedric grinned at how you visibly jumped a little, startled. He chuckled, "I am so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you, are you alright?"

"Oh, me?" You pointed as you looked around. Cedric stared back slightly amused, then nodded. He realised who you were. You were his batchmate! He remembers you both sharing classes and always wanting to strike up a conversation with you, but never got the chance to.

Now seems the perfect one.

"Oh wait, I- I am so sorry that was -  Yes, yes, I am doing fine actually, wait, why am I lying? Oh -" you replied as you closed your eyes in frustration. You tried not to look rude to him, but given the circumstance, you were a little stressed. And Cedric being here was like adding salt to the wound. He was your crush for merlin's sake, and you were sure you looked so stupid with that reply you gave. If only you could catch that darm niffler-

"You look like you need some help. Would you mind if I offered some?"

You looked at his face in slight disbelief before nodding, "That... would be very helpful, it's just that there is this niffler that stole this very precious necklace I got from my grandmother, who also got it from her mother, which would mean my great moth- I am so sorry for rambling-"

"No, I actually don't mind."

"You're just saying that."

"No, no, I am being serious, really!"

You squinted your eyes a little in mock suspicion. Before shrugging a little, "Then if you wouldn't mind, can you please help me find the niffler?"

"I certainly wouldn't mind." He grinned, and you took a deep breath, desperately trying not to blush.

The two of you searched high and low for this creature, all the while you both grew closer than you could realise. Cedric couldn't help but find you adorable. He was amused at how your lips would pout slightly searching. Why did he suddenly feel like he wanted to wash it away?

You almost wanted to give up. For today. You both took a break as you sat down by a tree facing the lake. You sighed, "I am so sorry, I must've been wasting your time."

"Not really, to be honest, I like this. I have been wanting some quiet for a while."

"We were literally stressing over this niffler a while ago. I doubt that was some tranquillity you were looking for today."

"A change of pace, maybe?"

"I suppose if you put it that way..." You replied as you both stared ahead. Silence enveloped, not that it was awkward but comforting. You then continued after a moment, "So...Congratulations on being hogwarts chosen champion, I suppose you're ready than ever?"

"Oh, thank you, and maybe for the trials, but certainly wasn't ready for these...noises?"

"Noises?"

"All these attention that i've been getting are too... suffocating for my liking ... was the very reason I decided to head outside." Cedric confessed mindlessly, glancing at you while you reacted with an "Oh..."

"Yeah, Oh."

"Well then, I hope you are feeling better now,

...or did I worsen it by dragging you into this hunt?" You asked sheepishly suddenly, feeling bad for the hufflepuff champion, but then you met with a chuckle, instantly relieving you of your past thought. Cedric shook his head, "Nope. Oh, by the way, this was etching in my mind, so I wanted to ask, were you the one who stomped on Toby Silver's foot during our first year?"

"Wha..."

"It was particularly on a weekend, I remember -"

"Wait -

"It was you. Wasn't it!"

"Oh lord..." You groaned with hands covering your face as you remembered the event, very vividly. The only reason you did it was because the boy had been rude to Cedric when they were all first years. Obviously, He would've remembered such events. He wanted you to know how you made his whole week then. You confessed, trying not to smile, "It was only because that boy was being rude to you, you don't, I mean, no one deserves to be treated like that!"

Cedric laughed at your outburst, which you couldn't help but giggle, his laugh being contagious. What you didn't know was that little Cedric's heart at the time couldn't help but flutter a little when you defended him. He replied, looking at you with an endearance in his eyes , "Well, I've wanted you to know that I am very grateful for defending me like that. Truly."

You couldn't help but blush a little all of a sudden before realising Cedric was right in front of you. You turned to face the lake, but it was too late. He saw it. He couldn't help but realise all of a sudden you've gotten beautiful even more if that was even possible. He wants more of this, more of you, even though not much time was spent together. He couldn't help but want to inch closer, but perhaps maybe it was too early for it.

Slow wind blew by as you both hoped this moment couldn't end. Moments later, you two would have to get up and continue with whatever was left behind; your responsibilities and whatnot. Your heart beats in nervousness as you feared that Cedric might not speak to you after now. You hoped that wouldn't be true. your heart did a silent prayer for that. You suddenly felt how your Crush on him felt more...meaningful and deep after today. You gazed at him before speaking, "If you don't mind, I'd like to keep talking to you, I don't want to act as if nothing happened today and move one, if you don't mind of course."

Cedric was slightly taken aback, and for a moment, you thought that maybe you overstepped. Before you could say anything, Cedric grinned as he slowly stood up and offered you a hand as if he was asking for a dance at a royal ball, "I wouldn't want nothing more, milady."

"Milady?!?"

"Should I not say that, Milady?"

"Oh you -" you hissed mockingly as you took his hand with burning cheeks. You desperately tried to hide your flustered state, but it wasn't possible. You puffed your cheeks before mumbling, "I feel as if you are going to be the death of me."

Cedric couldn't help but smile at you while you reciprocated the same energy shyly. You couldn't help but notice that time had indeed passed quickly while the two of you were out. You sighed, "I guess that we might have to head back before it's too late. Might have to resume tomorrow..."

"I believe that won't be necessary."

"Huh?"

And behold, Cedric is pulling out the very necklace that you had been searching high and low for. You gaped, wondering how it was even possible, and that question was quickly answered," It was lying closer to the woods, actually. "

"But, wait, how did you even know that was mine?"

"Because I've seen you wearing it."

"So this entire time we've been wasting time -"

"I wouldn't call it wasting time, Milady?! Do you really hold low regard for our time spent together?"

"Cedric!"

Divider Credits: @strangergraphics

Commenting/reblogging would really be appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcomed. Hope you enjoyed!!

[girlsworldillusion]

I'll fake it until you give up (or will it be me?)

Ravenclaw!Barty - Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: The five times Barty tried to hint at a relationship with you, being actively blocked in the process, and the one time you were the one who did it.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Ella's Notes: This was supposed to be a one shot, yes I know. But it got out of hand and it was so ridiculously long that no one would have the patience to read something like that. So I split it into two parts - but before you kill me, the second part is practically ready, so I'll post it very soon. Let me know what you think of this first part!

In this story I didn't go into any details about the Slytherins mentioned and Barty himself having any association with Voldemort, nor anything about Death Eaters. In fact, you can even pretend that this scenario doesn't exist in this fic, because that was my intention. I wanted to create something independent, an alternative and lighter version of the events. Maybe in a future opportunity I'll write something within this canonical reality, but that's not the case this time.

Happy reading!

Word count: 6,5k

Lovely tags: @just-here-for-ff @amel1ee

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

i.

You felt bad for the blonde girl next to you in History of Magic class, having to put up with your frustrated huffs every few minutes, born of a complete and utter lack of understanding of the subject. Each class made you feel more confused than the last. Which, honestly, was understandable considering who was teaching.

Professor Binns, oblivious to the students dozing off and openly drooling during his lecture, continued to float tediously around the room with his hands clasped behind his transparent body, reciting every tiny and unnecessary detail about the Goblin Rebellion, his favorite topic to lecture on, with the energy of an old and broken vacuum cleaner.

You glance with some irritation at the nearly blank parchment on the table, your meager notes consisting only of dates and names fished here and there throughout the ghost's monotonous and endless speech - nothing that would guarantee you a good score in the upcoming N.E.W.T.s.

You hate with all your might that your impeccable grade record in all other classes is constantly tarnished by this one hellish subject, year after year.

How was it possible that after so much time listening to the same long and exhausting lectures about the damned rebellion, you still hadn't learned anything substantial about it?

It was clear that this was all Professor Binns' fault and his innate ability to put anyone to sleep in ten minutes of class - five if the day was particularly hot.

"And with that, I conclude today's class." The old ghost's dull, drawling voice rings out and for the first time since class began you feel excited by something he says, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "For the next class I expect from each of you a detailed essay on how Urg the Unclean went from a simple goblin to a renowned leader of the XVIII Rebellion, even having his own image on a Chocolate Frog Card."

The smile dies as quickly as it appears and you slam your forehead against the tabletop with an exasperated groan between your teeth, hearing Pandora chuckle beside you, though she’s certainly as bored with the task as you are.

You turn your face away from the cold surface of the table, cheek pressed against the wood and a defeated look on eyes as you glide disinterestedly across the classroom — which looks as ready to kill themselves as you do. Your expression, however, sharpens immediately when you notice him.

Unlike the other students, who are either openly drooling over their desks as they take the best nap of the school year, or rolling their eyes so hard they might as well end up in the back of their heads in exasperation over this class, he remains irritatingly unfazed.

At first you wouldn’t think he was paying attention in class, not with the nonchalant way he rests his face on his hand, elbow propped on the table. His gaze isn't even on the boring Professor Binns, who's still talking (detailing the damned assignment about Urg the Unclean). His face is tilted over his palm, a sly, soft smile on his lips. And he's looking at you.

You keep the side of your face flat on the table as squint at him suspiciously.

You couldn't say when you first became aware of his stares. And even after you noticed it, for a long time you wondered if you were just imagining it. Of course it could only be your imagination. Why, after all, would he be staring at you at every opportunity he got? There was no apparent reason for it in your mind.

But time passed and what was apparently just imagination changed into an irrefutable certainty. You couldn't pretend not to notice his stares, especially since he never tried to be subtle about it; whether it was over the steamy cauldrons in Potions Class, or from the Ravenclaw table during meals, or the piercing gaze he gave you as he skilfully glided through the air on his broom during a Quidditch match, or even from a strategically positioned spot on the table in front of you as you tried to concentrate and study in the library...

Whatever it was, he was always looking.

And it was already disturbing you. Because, no matter how hard you tried, you simply couldn't understand why.

Of course, your mind always ran to the worst possibility of all. Some cruel little game orchestrated with his friends.

Although he was a Ravenclaw, you knew that most of his friendships was centered around Slytherin. Somewhat questionable friendships, such as; Evan Rosier, Regulus Black, Bellatrix, Rabastan Lestrange, Lucious Malfoy, Severus Snape, Wilkes...

Regulus Black and Evan Rosier seemed to be the most 'normal' of the dysfunctional group nicknamed by the other students as the Slytherin Gang; Regulus with his usual superior and disinterested attitude and Evan with the restless and endless energy of a Cornish Pixie. The others, however, were much more openly unpleasant and frightening.

It was not uncommon for you to have to give detentions to Rabastan Lestrange and Bellatrix Black on your nights of patrol as a Head Girl. You would constantly find them doing something they definitely shouldn't, like sneaking out of the dungeons after bedtime to make out indecently in the castle corridors in plain sight, or even cornering some poor younger student to torture with their cruel psychological games - and sometimes physically.

In any case, Barty Crouch's constant association with this group made you automatically label him as one of them, making you wary and suspicious, especially after noticing his stares at you.

Maybe Bellatrix and Rabastan were using him as a channel for revenge on you after all those detentions?

Although, knowing the sadistic and selfish streak of the duo, you doubted they would plan to inflict any torture methods on you through anyone other than themselves.

But anything was possible and the longer he stared, the more paranoid you became.

He smiled a little wider and his stupid crystal blue gaze slowly blinked at you, almost as if he could read your mind.

You blushed, widening your eyes slightly. Could he be a legilimens?

You knew he had the intelligence for it. He was intelligent enough that you were absolutely certain that, even though he didn't seem to hear a single word Professor Binns was saying, he already knew every annoying detail of this subject by heart.

Merlin, he had managed to perform and do ridiculously well in TWELVE O.W.L.s during the fifth year! Which is almost impossible to do, unless you're a damned time traveler, or someone with a level of intelligence and academic commitment that is destined for creatures of superhuman level.

You had your suspicions, and envy, thinking that perhaps he had access to a Time-Turner. But, since Time-Turners were only granted through a direct request from the Head of House to the Ministry, who fully trusted that the student would not use it recklessly, you ruled that possibility out almost immediately. No one in their right mind would trust that Barty Crouch Jr. would not use a Time-Turner to open rifts in space-time and permanently alter events of the past and future for purely selfish reasons, least of all the very sensible and intelligent Head of Ravenclaw House.

Which, of course, didn't help with the question of how he did it.

You yourself had fought tooth and nail, basically living like a living dead person throughout the school year to fit as many classes as possible into your free time during the day, and still managed to complete ten out of twelve O.W.L.s. Of course, at the time, you felt incredibly proud of this, since the standard was for a student, even the smartest, to only complete around seven or eight. Your pride, however, deflated considerably when you discovered that Barty Crouch, a guy with a questionable sense of humor and a worrying level of disinterest in seemingly anything that didn't have a pair of nice legs and a skirt, had surpassed you.

Indignation and envy aside, you felt like you were being pushed to the limit with these constant stares.

Pandora thought he was in love with you. An opinion that, respectfully, you laughed in her face when you heard. There was no way in hell that something like that would happen. Not only was Barty stupidly attractive and therefore completely out of your league - but the mere idea of ​​someone being romantically interested in you made you feel...well, weird would almost be a descriptive enough word.

You didn’t want romance. You never really understood the appeal of it, not at such a young age. Love distracts, it makes people lose sight of the goal, it makes them silly and vulnerable. And you didn’t have time to be silly and vulnerable, not with the weight of so many responsibilities on your shoulders, with dreams and grand ambitions waiting for you in the future. And surely no guy who had trouble keeping himself from cumming as soon as he got in your pants would understand that well enough. You were used to keeping yourself apart, it was almost a defense mechanism at this point. While other girls your age were collecting love, you were collecting good grades in the classes. And that was okay.

Don’t get me wrong, you weren’t necessarily a pessimist (but you certainly weren’t someone who believed in anything; your mother always told you that there was more wisdom in proving it for yourself than in believing in mere whispered words here and there). You just didn’t really understand how this whole love thing could be remotely interesting at your age.

And anyone with half a functioning brain cell knows that Crouch is chaos incarnate: loud, mischievous, and impossible to ignore. He's determined to break every rule ever made by man, but somehow still manages to be absurdly endearing while doing it. It just makes you want to run — to hide. He's definitely the kind of trouble you try to avoid as much as possible in your life.

And that's why the possibility of him being in love with you was definitely not encouraged. In fact, you vehemently refused to even acknowledge it. Simply because it wasn't possible — by any means. Neither would he be interested in you in that way, and much less could you afford to accept any soft feelings from him, on the off chance that they were real. So you cling to the only coherent explanation for all this supposed interest of his: cruel intentions.

Yes, that had to be it.

And it's with that thought in mind that you hurriedly gather your things as soon as Professor Binns finally finishes his almost endless speech and dismisses the class.

You don't look to the side as leave the classroom with brisk steps, but feel his gaze following you anyway.

ii.

Regulus Black was very handsome.

Like, unfairly handsome.

You stare at the Slytherin with a fair amount of jealousy oozing from your pores, a pout on your lips and a furrowed brow. The guy, for his part, doesn’t even seem to be aware of your spiteful gaze upon him, taking elegant, measured bites of the chocolate pudding on his plate, nodding discreetly every now and then to agree with whatever his chatterbox neighbor is saying.

He clearly doesn’t want to engage in any conversation with the boy, but he’s too courteous and polite to make any rude comments about it. Because of course, he’s Regulus Black.

With his aristocratic nose elongated in an undeniably masculine way, but maintaining a delicate curve and a pert tip in a disturbingly cute way - the soft dusting of freckles over the bridge only intensifying the cuteness. His thick, dark eyebrows, drawn in a perfectly symmetrical arch. His pale, smooth skin like the most flawless marble sculpture. His beautiful, onyx curls, framing the sides of his face like he was some ethereal creature from a fairy tale. His eyes, deep-set and beautifully flickering between green and blue, surrounded by the most ridiculously thick curtain of dark lashes you’d ever seen on anyone. And that was just Regulus Black’s face. It was taking absolutely everything in you not to start a detailed analysis of his damn tall, ripped Seeker body.

Now, you hadn’t planned on spending the night cataloging how many unfair ways Regulus Black managed to be more pretty than any other boy you’d ever seen in your life — by Merlin, he was prettier than most GIRLS you’d ever seen, too. You definitely didn't plan on feeling completely humiliated by his appearance that night, as if you looked like you'd been beaten by a Whomping Willow and never recovered from it.

None of that was in the plan, but at some point during Professor Slughorn's endless ramblings and the pretentious comments from the students of this small and select club of supposedly exceptional young people, you found your mind wandering to unwanted places. Unfortunately, Regulus Black was the one sitting right in your line of sight, on the other side of the table - and the poor guy was the victim of your mental fixation to escape boredom.

At first, you saw Slughorn's invitation as an invaluable honor. After all, you had been included in the extremely selective list of the most promising students at Hogwarts. Your body practically vibrated with excitement in the days leading up to the meeting. You picked out a cute dress for the occasion, fixed your hair and even applied a light layer of makeup. Your expectations were admittedly high and you planned to leave the meeting with some good friends and a lot of extra knowledge in your pocket.

But the meeting was nothing like you imagined.

Yes, the students present were all exceptionally talented in one way or another, and the food was quite good too. But the whole thing proved to be nothing more than a parade of superiority and arrogance, so dull and unsatisfying that it drained your energy within the first few minutes.

Slughorn was genuinely proud of having assembled such a group of model young minds, but the students were only concerned with proving who was better than the other. There was no stimulating conversation and extra knowledge as you had imagined - it was just an irritating and inconvenient contest of who had the best and most absurd lived experiences (most of them made up, you were sure) and who, in fact, stood out with it. 

You wanted to leave within the first fifteen minutes of this verbal ordeal, but forced yourself to stay for the sake of Professor Slughorn, who was genuinely elated by the whole thing.

Black and you were the only ones who hadn't shared any stories with the others, resigning yourselves to discreet and scattered comments here and there, just enough to let them know you were present.

To escape the absolute boredom, you let your mind wander. And that's how you ended up hyper-fixated on Regulus Black and his immaculate beauty. The Slytherin proved to be a very effective source of distraction, although his flawless face showed no emotion, remaining as expressionless as a doll - it was clear that the guy also wanted to get rid of this meeting urgently.

Your attention is only broken when a dramatic noise sounds at the entrance of the room, announcing someone's arrival.

Your eyes widen when you see none other than Barty Crouch Junior stumble into the room, spectacularly late. He smiles broadly at the alarmed looks at his indiscreet entrance, walking calmly with his hands in his pants pocket.

There must have been some mistake, you think in bewilderment as you watch him walk over to the table as if he belonged there.

Maybe he was just here to deliver a message?

Your hunch is proven wrong when he seems to notice your presence with a surprised look, his arrogant smile softening immediately to give way to a more natural, more sincere one. Even with a few options open, you sigh in no surprise when you hear him sit down in the empty chair next to yours, sliding in with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, as if he was destined from the start to end up sitting next to you tonight.

You refuse to look at him, turning your face downwards as you busy yourself with sinking the spoon into your own half-eaten chocolate pudding. His audacity to sit next to you only makes you more frustrated - it's not like you're sending out the least bit receptive vibes to his company.

"It's very good to have you with us, Crouch. Even if you arrived later than agreed. It's a shame, I'm afraid you missed some very interesting experiences from your colleagues."

You want to roll your eyes at what Slughorn says from the head of the table, hardly classifying any of those made-up nonsense as remotely interesting, but his presence beside you makes you too tense to do so.

"I'm sorry about that, Professor, I had to finish some important work before I came. I promise I'll be here on time next time."

There's not much sincere regret in Ravenclaw's voice, in fact you swear you can hear something mischievous in his words, which almost makes you want to lift your head to look at his expression.

But, determined as you are to ignore anything Barty would no doubt say to start a conversation, you tilt your head down a little more so that your hair partially hides your face, still showing great interest in the pudding. Crouch, breathing beside you, makes a small sound of confusion at the obvious walls you’ve been putting up, before the sound turns into something akin to amusement.

“You know, ignoring me isn’t going to make me leave,” he says cheerfully — far too cheerfully for someone who’s supposedly (and rightly so) being ignored on purpose.

His recognition of your intentions means you can’t keep up your charade any longer. So, with a heavy sigh, you peer through your hair, already knowing what to expect.

There, right next to you, casually sitting like he was the male protagonist of some clichéd, cheesy romance novel, Batry Crouch smiles.

You feel your eye twitch.

Unlike Regulus, with his ebony curls elegantly arranged around his face, Barty always had that look of someone who tossed and turned all night in bed and didn't even bother to use a comb when he woke up. Locks of light brown hair stuck out in every direction, a mess of strands as chaotic as absolutely everything about him. A few lighter strands stood out among the brown mess, oscillating in a rich shade of gold and honey. And oh Merlin, did the look suit him.

"You look so beautiful tonight. I like that dress on you." He comments, seemingly oblivious to what his words spoken out of absolute nothingness could do to you. Or perhaps very purposefully aware of them. "By the way, you always look beautiful so..."

He's waving his hand in the air as if to emphasize the point that those supposed good looks were normal for you. And of course you get really nervous. It's true, no matter how much you try to deny it to yourself. No matter how much you deny the reasons for being nervous either. You're just not used to compliments, from anyone. Yet you appreciate them very much. Not that you're ever going to admit it, especially to someone as unruly as Crouch.

But you're worried that ravenclaw will notice how nervous you really are anyway, Merlin knows that would only boost his ego and further intensify his apparent commitment to poking you in the most annoying ways. It's a colossal effort to try to calm yourself down while simultaneously trying to stop the blush that was forming on your face. But by heavens, it's really challenging to do so when he's staring at you so openly and intently - oh my, he really doesn't have any respect for the boundaries of proper social behavior, did he?

Your eyes sparkle, cheeks turning pinker as you stare at him with a mixture of shyness and a violent session of anger daggers from beneath your lashes. You’re visibly flustered the longer he stares at you (and unlike you, he’s very comfortable with it), your hands fidgeting with each other on the table in a nervous gesture, having long since given up on poking at the poor chocolate pudding.

Barty blinks briefly at your nervous gesture before returning his eyes to yours. “You know you look so cute when you’re all blushing like that,” he teases playfully. “You look like a little strawberry or something.”

You let out a low, uncomfortable meow in your throat, feeling like you could burst into a ball of flames at any moment. What kind of dysfunctional compliment is that? He’s so horrible at it!

“But then again, I’ve never seen you blush that much,” Barty continues as if the observation wasn’t completely humiliating and unnecessary, his head tilted closer to your flaming face with genuine interest. Your gut churns and protests, seemingly trying to eat itself. What’s with that damn look on his face anyway? “Wait…do I make you shy, princess?”

You hate him. You hate him so much, You swear to Merlin, Barty is the worst. He can’t let a girl blush without drawing undue attention to it?! Sure, it’s a little like baking in your dress from how hard your body is blushing, and yeah, maybe you’ve never reacted like that to anyone else — but that’s no big deal!

Except Barty’s looking at you like it is. Like he wants to cut you open, dissect your insides and see for himself just how deep your supposed secrets are, and it’s doing things to you.

Your face won’t stop burning. “What a stupid ideia, of course you don’t — of course I don’t…” Your sudden, complete inability to form a coherent sentence only makes you more frustrated. “Just shut up, Crouch.”

But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. This is Barty.

“If you’re going to lie about this, at least be convincing,” he smiles wider, a sickly sweet humming sound in his throat, as if the whole situation pleases him beyond words.

You frown, hissing through your teeth as you ball your hands into fists, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Stop smiling, idiot. This isn’t funny.”

The teasing glint in his blue eyes softens to something gentler at your discomfort.

“I’m not smiling to make fun of you little lion, believe me.”

Barty hums, lifting his hand from the table to reach out towards what appears to be, to your complete horror and shock, your face. Any naughty joke dies in your throat, your eyes widening in response, a blush creeping across your skin. A sharp gasp escapes your parted lips and you blink owlishly at those fingers so close to reaching your cheeks.

The boy freezes along with you, surprised by your reaction, his fingers frozen in midair as if he had been struck by a Glacius. You barely notice, though. All you can hear is the anxious beating of your own heart, the electricity that seems to crackle from the fingertips that threaten to brush against your skin.

He’s not…he shouldn’t be touching you. And he’s not, in fact. But then why does that make you feel suddenly dazed and pliable like long-whipped cream? It’s almost a disappointment that he hasn’t extinguished those last few inches and touched your flaming cheeks. You almost regret not knowing what his fingers would feel like on your skin.

What?

The thought comes so quickly, so naturally, that it almost makes you jump.

“Huh...” He breathes and you blink pathetically, coming back to the present with a startled expression and hands strangely damp with cold, nervous sweat. His eyes grow curiously darker, and he realizes, you know he does, you know the exact moment he understands something that not even you are willing to acknowledge, and holy shit, no. Just—no. No.

And when you turn your face away to escape that undesirably intense eye contact (and the equally undesirably feelings that come with it), you realize that damn Regulus Black has finally gotten tired of pretending to pay attention to what the boy next to him is saying. Because now his attention is completely focused on you and Barty and the strange exchange that just happened.

He’s wearing what you’d initially think is a completely neutral expression, but a closer look reveals the slight lift of his eyebrow as he slowly, appraisingly slides his eyes between you and Barty, as if silently contemplating something. For some stupid reason, as he stares at you like that, you feel a lot like a child caught by mom doing something their shouldn’t. He seems to find whatever he’s looking for when he allows a small, almost imperceptible smirk to lift the left corner of his lip, his sharp gaze shining with far more mischief than you’d expect from someone as emotionally distant as him.

You silently wish the ground would open up and swallow you right there, taking you to the deepest abyss - or any fucking place where you can just forget this whole thing ever happened. Your face is so heated with humiliation that you can literally feel your cheeks tingling with red, which only makes Regulus’s smirk grow a little wider.

Your resentment towards Barty Crouch Jr and his colossal guilt in this unspeakable situation grows along with that stupid grin.

“I’m leaving,” you announce abruptly, much louder than necessary, glad that Slughorn is now too engrossed in a conversation with a Hufflepuff in the far corner of the room to notice your cowardly and untimely exit. Before you do, however, you narrow your gaze at Barty while practically hissing through your teeth. “And, by Merlin, you better forget this whole thing ever happened or I swear I’ll spell you and make you vomit slugs all weekend, Crouch. I’m just going to — damn, just...bye.”

And then you’re off, without even allowing the ravenclaw to answer you — he’s already said too much, anyway.

Your stubborn gryffindor streak is trying too hard to sugarcoat the situation and convince you that this was a brave and completely strategic exit, to avoid more trouble. But the truth is, it's just you running, shamelessly running away with your tail between your legs while you can still feel Barty Crouch's gaze burning into the back of your neck and Regulus Black's annoyingly knowing smirk etched into your mind the entire way.

iii.

You never neglected your duties as Head Girl, ever.

So it was extremely unusual that you, on your patrol night, would be hiding in a dark, secluded alcove with a gray cat curled up on your lap while you cried everything you hadn’t cried in longer than you could remember.

You supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later, given the circumstances. But it was really inconvenient that it was on the night of your patrol.

A few days ago you received an owl from your parents with the news that your aunt, probably the person you loved most in the world, had passed away. Despite your intense feelings for her and the absolute shock of reading the letter, you didn’t shed a single tear. Not that night and not in the nights that followed. You grieved, of course; silently and internally. But for a moment you truly believed that this was it - this was all the grief you would ever feel.

Maybe you felt things differently than other people. Maybe you didn’t need to wallow in grief and tears like most people tended to do during their mourning.

And then, as you were patrolling the halls earlier that night, you spotted a cat approaching. At first, there was nothing special about it; cats were everywhere in the castle. Except this cat, furry and gray and with the smug air of someone who was countless miles above you in the social hierarchy, was almost identical to the cat your beloved aunt had kept. The same cat you spent the summers teasing, fluffing its soft, well-groomed fur while the animal gave you its best utter scornful glare — your aunt’s laughter ringing in the background, amused and affectionate.

And that was it.

Before you even realized what was happening, you felt the first tears roll down your cheeks, chest shaking with a shaky sob that fought to escape your lips. Like a burst dam, you felt something break inside you, intense and abrupt. There was no way to control the torrent of emotions that threatened to suffocate you, all you could do was run to find a place where no one could witness your collapse.

The cat, surprisingly, followed your hurried steps all the way, settling between your ankles as soon as you found a safe alcove, wrapping its long tail around your legs as you slid down the wall until you fell to the floor. You cried and sobbed and it purred the whole time; its soft, furry little body rubbing against your skin in a strangely comforting way. It made you feel a little better with its presence, the way it went out of its way to keep you company - as it knew it would do you good at that moment.

Small sobs escape your lips and the weight on your chest threatens to suffocate you for a moment and you choke, covering your mouth.

It's clear that this is undoubtedly a dramatic and unfortunate consequence of trying to internalize your feelings as you always do. But the worst thing is knowing that, when this sudden storm of emotions passes, you'll do it again. Because that's what you always do with your feelings. Run and hide.

The only consolation is knowing that no one other than the poor cat who had the misfortune of crossing your path (or would it be the opposite?) is witnessing this embarrassing moment. You're alone.

At least you think you're alone — until you're not anymore.

The flames in the braziers arranged on the stone walls cast shadows on the floor as someone approaches. And you don't need to look up to know who it is. There's no need to, because you feel the weight of his gaze, the same impossible-to-ignore gaze as always. You know it's Crouch without a doubt and you don't want to be seen like this. Not by anyone, but certainly not by him.

This seems to be enough of a motivator for the cry to die in your throat and suddenly your focus is solely on getting away of here. Get away from him. You need air, space, something.

You stand on shaky legs so fast you feel dizzy, your balance already precarious from the headache from crying so much, and the impact makes you stumble. For a split second, you think you might fall — your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts — and then a strong hand grabs your wrist, another braces on your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground. The cat running away during the confusion.

You don’t process what happens immediately, the abrupt turn and your own reeling mind making it hard to form a coherent judgment. Your mind is still stuck on running away and I can’t breathe, and it takes a second to realize that Barty is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful on your body, his expression wavering between amusement and concern.

“Hey hey little lion, what’s the rush?” He teases as always, but his voice loses its careless tone as he seems to get a better look at your face. And you can only imagine the shitty visual you’re giving off. The flames on the walls highlighting the wet trail of tears on your flushed cheeks, your eyes puffy and red from crying, teeth sinking into a quivering bottom lip, hair messy around your face. You look like hell, and you know it.

It doesn’t help that Barty is still examining your face, his eyes narrowing beneath heavy brows that furrow together.

You pull away from him, a little too quickly, a little too abruptly.

“I’m fine.” You spit before he can elaborate on whatever it is that’s on his mind.

Crouch doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?Because honestly, princess, It's not what it seems.” He tilts his head to get a better look at you. "Did someone hurt you? Tell me who made you feel like this, please, I swear I-"

"I said I'm fine." You cut off the endless stream of words, looking down as you adjust your shirt against your body, shifting the weight to your other foot, ignoring the new wave of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. In the same way that you purposefully ignore how his readiness to solve whatever it is that made you feel so bad makes you feel...things. "Go bother someone else, Crouch."

Barty exhales, something heavy in the sound. You look up at the sound, almost uncomfortable with the change. For the first time, his blue eyes aren't filled with that same joy or mischief its always had. Just something inquisitive, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don't have the strength to deal with right now.

"Why...why do you do this?" he asks, softer now, but no less intense. Your brows furrow in confusion at the question, eyes still bright with unshed tears. He sighs, giving you a look that is nothing short of wistful. “Why do you try so hard to pretend that you don’t need anyone to care? You always act like you carry the whole world on your own and you’re doing just fine.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips tighten. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge how close his words are to the truth. Your throat tightens.

“Why do you care?”

Barty lets out a sigh, tilting his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if you’re something he’s trying very hard to decipher. Then he laughs, low and humorless.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” His voice is lower now, something dangerously close to vulnerability. Your fists clench to the point of pain at your sides. “I care because it’s you.”

You blink at him, unable to understand, unable to accept whatever it is he’s trying to tell you. In fact, something inside you whispers that you do. But it feels like too much, like more than you can handle, more than you can comprehend. You feel impossible, a being made of knots and thorns, too tight in your own skin.

“Please,” you sigh then, tired and tearful, the next wave of tears finally spilling over your waterline to run down your wet cheeks, “let’s not do this now…I just, please—”

“Shhh,” he silences your incoherent protest as he pulls you closer with a firm but still gentle tug on your wrist. Your head sinks into the hard planes of his chest as you follow the pull with the naturalness of a wooden doll, your eyes wide and still leaking water — because, Merlin, he’s hugging you.

Your nose is buried in the white dress shirt of his uniform, and the first thing you notice is how strangely good he feels. Warm and comfortable against the chilly wind that blows in through the hallway’s openings, smelling like the wood that fuels the flames of the many fireplaces around the castle’s many and the fresh mint of the tea you drink before bed. And you don’t know what to do with it, what you’re supposed to be doing here. Your body is stiff and trembling as he gently wraps his arms around you, as if you’re something priceless, leaning in so he can bury his nose in the roots of your hair.

“Relax.”

And as if that small, whispered ‘relax’ was all you needed to pull yourself out of your own mind, you slowly feel every muscle beneath your flesh give way and do exactly what he asked; your body relaxing against his, doe eyes blinking against the softness of his shirt, lips parted as you let his presence comfort you.

He feels safe, trustworthy. And it’s so rare that you feel this way that even though you know it would be over in an instant, you don’t want to, and it doesn’t matter, and…your fingers ache to touch him back. It feels like a lifetime before you allow yourself to and you’re returning it. You wrap your arms around his waist to hug his back, gripping the fabric under your hands so tightly it hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to let go, face sinking into his chest to sob some more. Please, don’t make him let go.

“It’s okay, we’ll have time to talk later,” he murmurs into your hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he doesn’t. He lets you cry and sob into his shirt, completely ruining it in the process. But Barty doesn’t care, not even when you sniffle and move to pull away after realizing how messy you’ve been. He just mumbles, 'It's okay, princess, I just want to help you feel better' - something that makes you blush and cry a little more. Because, good heavens, no one has ever said something like that to you.

At one point, you realize that you're both sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and you're half-sitting on the floor, between his legs, face still against his chest - feeling his deep, even breathing calm you down.

By the time tears stop falling, you're exhausted. You've been exhausted for so long, but this kind of exhaustion is different. Better. You realize that you're lighter now than you've felt in a long time, thanks to Barty Crouch Junior. And you...don't know how you feel about that.

And you're too exhausted to think about it.

But you do know one thing.

You don't hate this comfortable contact with him. You don't hate his fingers gently combing through your hair, untangling knots you didn't even know were there. You don't hate his whispers close to your ear, reciting the name of every constellation visible in the dark sky.

You certainly don't hate this moment of peace, a white flag you've raised to wave lazily between the two of you.

When you pull away some time later, struggling to smooth out your wrinkled skirt and shirt, you mumble a thank you to him with heated cheeks and shy eyes. And when he smiles back with his hands in his pockets and head tilted to the side, telling you not to mind, that it was nothing - and you freeze, feeling...

Disappointed?

It was nothing, really. This could never be anything other than 'nothing'. But for some reason, hearing that from him hits you in a completely unexpected and senseless way.

He notices the change in the shine in your eyes, rushing to rephrase what he said with a series of 'wait, that came out wrong' and 'please, I didn't mean it like that'. But you calm him down, assuring him that everything was fine and that it really was nothing, he’s more than right about it.

Before he can argue with that, you’re walking, smiling over your shoulder as you bid him a hasty goodnight before rushing off to your dorm.

Barty was right. This was nothing.