Boxer!Mathheo whose got a hugee size kink and swears he can make it fit, after all he's not a quitter so why would his Gf be? (NSFW CONTENT MDNI!)
Mattheo is constantly in the ring which means he’s always gaining or shedding weight in accordance to his next opponent. Bulking for heavyweights. Cutting for speed. Living in a body that is never quite still, always adjusting
He never realizes just how big he truly is or how freakishly little you were in comparison.
That is not until he's struggling to get halfway inside you—veiny fingers gripping your thighs as he folds you into a mean mating press—and you're gasping, shaking, and trying not to cry again as you do your best to take all of him.
“Matty, I—it’s too big i cant.” you whine, making his heart melt.
“I know love, I know, almost there.” he reassures, kissing your cheek.
He's dazed, eyes glossy as he watches your body stretch around him. "Look at you princess—Just takin' it like a fuckin' champ, aren't you?"
Your reduced to a moaning mess, arms winding around his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer despite the delicious but burning stretch.
he always apologizes for it always showers you in love, whispering sweet little words of encouragement, 'You're doing so good doll kno' its a big stretch,' or 'That's my strong girl.'
Though he never really stops. not when you're gripping him like you were made for each other not when your practically gushing around his length, even if you can barely take it.
you feel everything down to the vein he's impossibly deep— cock dragging against every tender spot, until your back is arching off the bed and nails are clawing at his back for purchase.
"Fuck," he moans, voice cracking. "i swear.... I'm tryna go slow, really I am—jus' the way your sucking me in you feel too good."
his hips roll again, deeper this time. you whimper into his chest, and he feels it—the way your body tenses, the warm wetness gliding down his skin. then he pulls back, enough to get a good look at you and—.
There, he see's the watery unshed tears brimming your lust blown eyes, his brows lift. And you see the shock on his face— then the way he softens.
his palm slides to your cheek and pace slows almost to a stop "You cryin' baby? need me to stop pretty girl?"
you shake your head weakly. your voice is a mess when it comes out. "D—Dont you're just so deep, Theo feels too good."
something in him shifts maybe its his ego expanding or his heart on the verge of exploding.
But those words? coming from his favorite girl? it was too much. Any remnants of composure your sweet boyfriend had disappeared with that sentence
another thrust—deeper. his hands grip tighter, lifting you higher, hitting that spot and making you see stars. “Mattheo, fuck!”
you cry out. his hand slips under your back, holding you close as he groans against your throat. "can't help it," he pants
Of course not cause HOW is he expected to keep it together after hearing that???
More Boxer!Mattheo
Omg I missed writing for this character badd send me so Boxer!Au requests!
✦ Who would endlessly stare at you in class, his hand rubbing your lower thigh. He would multitask, of course, writing neat notes about the class's contents, just in case you got too distracted. And, if he couldn't sit next to you, he'd pass you little notes that never failed to make you smile.
✦ Who would talk about you to his friends almost to the point of exhaustion. He was obsessed, truly. He couldn't shut up about you, and Mattheo had never heard Theo open his mouth so much.
✦ Who would always save a seat for you right next to him in the Great Hall, and, if you were going to be late, he would grab extras of your favorite foods so you wouldn't go without.
✦ Who was quiet in spoken word, but loud with his actions. He was always bringing you gifts, sometimes they were big and ostentatious, other times they were small things he saw in passing in Hogsmeade—no matter what, each one was meaningful.
✦ Who would take you on weekly dates, always making sure he was your outlet for your stress and worries. He left nothing unsaid, making sure you knew he was going to be there and that he loved you more than words could say.
✦ Who would watch you get ready for class, for parties, for date nights with rapt fascination, not just to admire your beauty but to make sure he knew what products you were running low on so he could replace them before they ran out.
✦ Who never really knew how to handle all of the public words of affection you would give him, so he would take them with shy smiles and pink cheeks he would try to hide.
✦ Who would surprise you at your house over the summer after realizing letters wouldn't suffice for two long months. He would show up at your door, a rare, wide smile on his face as he took in your shocked expression. He'd pull you into a tight hug, kissing you silly.
✦ Who would take you back to his villa in Italy, showing you off to his neighbors, who always asked about the girl he talked about so frequently.
summary: you and theo are academic rivals and spend many days trying to compete with each other with every task, no matter how minuscule. one night you get detention with professor umbridge and she punishes you with the blood quill. after you leave, theo finds you and doesn’t hesitate to show you how much you mean to him.
contains: fluff, little smut, blood, violence, minor injury, badass fmc, sorta hurt/comfort.
hazza speaks: my first fic for theo and hp world! requests are open, not proof read, xo.
• slytherin masterlist || requests
• requests status: open.
~~~
Academic rivals. That what you and Theo are, there is nothing more or less to your relationship. It's simple, platonic and sometimes might not even be considered a relationship with the amount that you two bicker.
Both Slytherin, both extremely competitive, sly and will manipulate the competition to win. The two of you are always on top the best of the best, some argue you should've been a Ravenclaw until they face the wrath that is no doubt come from a Slytherin.
Theo and you are always competing for top marks, constantly knocking each other from the top position, it's been happening for years. So, long in fact you don't even remember how it started, it's just the norm.
Although, the two of you reside in the same friendship groups it doesn't matter, the rivalry is the main part to your somewhat friendship. It's not always about who can garner the highest marks, it used to be, yet now it's somehow merged into more.
Who can run for the longest, who can answer the question first in class, who can smoke the most, who can finish the assignment first, who gains the most praise from their professors, who gets the first mug of coffee.
Sometimes the rivalry can be considered banter, but their friends know that it is so much more. The fact is, Theodore Nott has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, he competes for the top marks to be worthy of you, yet you just thought he was constantly trying to best you.
Yes, he loves the competition and loves when you put him in his place arguably more than winning, yet for someone so smart you never seem to notice. The longing glances, the smirk he gives you when you celebrate your win, the prideful look in his eyes when people talk about you being the best, how he constantly whispers remarks in your ears to watch you get flustered or the subtle eyerolls when you go over the top.
Theo is infatuated with you, yet you never see him like that. You see him as a rival, sometimes friend, sometimes foe. Other people wouldn't even assume you'd be friends if it wasn't for you tight knit and very protective friendship group, that it more family than friends.
So, whilst Theo is desperately in love with you and is constantly competing for your affection you view it as a playful game. You never have any ill feeling towards Theo, you just view it as a bit of fun and Theo doesn't know what's worse. Draco and Mattheo constantly make fun of him for it whilst Pansy and Enzo tell him its sweet.
Although there were times when Theo genuinely annoyed you, you could never hate him, he's your close friend after all, even if at times you pretend that you do.
And Theo, well he doesn't know what's worse.
~~~
It's morning, you've never been a morning person which makes Theo's bright smile being the first thing you see even more irritating. So, far this morning you haven't been able to escape him, not when you snuck some early morning coffee or when you went for a run, he seemed to be there trying to best you.
Although you won't admit it, going for a run with Theo in the morning is arguably your highlight of the day, it's the one time where there is no bickering there is just an understanding between the two of you. Theo knows you hate mornings and he's not stupid enough to rial you up before breakfast.
Yet what you don't realise is that the only reason that he loves mornings is that he gets to see your face, the way you tiredly rub your eyes as you drinking your coffee and sneak in a cigarette or the way that you where those tight fitting shorts swigging on some disgusting smoothie that is supposedly good for 'gut health' or something like that.
Even when your curled up in the common room reading through your notes at a ridiculously early time just to make sure you stay on top— okay maybe he doesn't like that bit as much as he hates the way that you push yourself.
Point is he loves the way that your so unguarded, too tired to care what the world thinks of you until later on. The change between first thing in the morning and how you act during breakfast is marvelling. As soon as you sit down in the great hall the facade is up for the day.
Well, not completely as he watched you comfort Draco this morning during breakfast over an argument he had with Potter about Quidditch or the way you immediately hand over the sweetener for Mattheo because you know he can't cope without his coffee being ridiculously sweet, or the way you share softer moments with Enzo knowing that he struggles sometimes with what entails with being a Slytherin, or hyping Pansy up or even putting up with Blaise's fake macho facade as you know he feels like an extension of the group but most importantly knowing when he's having a bad day and not pushing him too hard.
It's all the things the rest of Hogwarts doesn't see. This softer side to you, the caring one, it's one the world doesn't deserve to see. Everyone views Slytherin as the enemy and your group as the extension of the devil, but you, perfect you are always there to help even though your deemed one of the worst of the bunch.
Theo notices, Theo notices everything and sometimes it's a curse because it just makes him want you even more, yet you never seem to notice. He doesn't understand how someone so observant could miss what's in front of them.
It's when the dark thoughts begin to cloud his judgement, your intelligent, your observant and you notice everything so maybe you just don't care to notice and that hurts all the more.
~~
Your day was going perfectly so far, you beat Theo in potions which is something practically unheard of as it’s his best subject and now your sat in defence of the dark arts with your friends, it’s the one class that you all share together. Although you don't notice Theo's subtle sulking as the two of you nearly always sit next to each other as you constantly try to one up the other, but today Draco has stolen his seat.
So, instead Theo is stuck sitting opposite next to Mattheo of all people, he loves his best friend, but he's not exactly known for caring about his grades. Thus, being one of his favourite classes, due to it being your favourite and how excited you get, is seemingly never ending as he's sat so far from you, missing the attention that is effortlessly being handed to Malfoy.
He can barely hear the professor droning on and on as he stares at you, beautiful you, consuming his whole attention as the mere few feet between you feels too much. You, on the other hand are paying full attention, making sure that you don't miss a thing, and you never miss a trick in your best subject.
Professor Umbridge, the devil herself is one of the worst teachers in your school. You don't hate many people, well okay, you don't hate many professors, but she is one of them. She somehow tries constantly to ruin your favourite subject with her boring drool, making one of your favourite classes less desirable.
Her eyes are sharp and cruel, yet you don't care, not when you spot a mistake and see the opportunity to one up the evil bitch, I mean witch. so, when you notice the factual mistake, you don't think twice about raising your hand and letting her know.
"Excuse me, Professor" Your voice feigning innocence, but Theo notices the smirk gracing your lips.
He knows your hatred for this woman, but he also knows that there isn't something quite right about her either. Theo would never call you stupid, but he begs to you to put your hand down before you get yourself in trouble.
"I do believe that you've made a mistake" as the words fall from your lips Theo's face falls even Mattheo gives you a look, you don't question Umbridge ever.
As the woman's cruel eyes lock onto you, judging your every movement Theo wishes he could grab you and take you away, even Draco nudges your side and shushes you in an attempt to save you from the wrath of this woman.
"Thank you dear, but you are wrong. Don't interrupt me again" Professor Umbridge begins, in an attempt to embarrass you and that is not a good sign as the anger and defiance flairs in your eyes.
"I'm not wrong, I wouldn't suggest it if I thought—" your arguments fall on death ears, or more so a death eaters’ ears, Theo winces.
"See, this is my class, and I know you may think that your special but you’re not. I'm the professor my word is law" Professor Umbridge practically spits the words at you.
Theo's reaches for his wand only for Mattheo to grab his wrist earning him a glare, no one speaks about you in that way, not Umbridge, no one. He watches as you clench your knuckles under the desk as Draco attempts to quieten you fails miserably.
"Well, that's just factually incorrect like your work" you tilt your chin showing defiance, the mean curl of your lip as you glare at the woman in pure hatred.
"I'm not wrong, I am never wrong. You do not get to try and argue with your betters. Your actions and attitude are simply unacceptable" Umbridge leers peering down at you with a look of mania in her eyes.
"Detention. I will see you in my office tonight and perhaps then you'll understand to respect those who hold authority" she snarls, her lip upturned in nothing but disgust before promptly turning on her heel and continuing her lecture.
Before you can utter another word Draco finally hushes you, whispering something in your ear as Theo watches helplessly, by some miracle you finally stay quiet and no longer argue with the psycho woman in front of you, but the damage is already done. His stomach drops whilst you seemingly just groan unbothered by what has just happened.
You can feel Theo's eyes burning into the side of your head, but you can't look at him right now. Assuming he's going to rub the detention in your face and your scathing anger is not helping, no matter what you friend tries to say.
~~~
Evening comes around to quickly for your liking and although Theo has been clinging to you ever since your detention for once he hasn't rubbed it in your face. Dinner in the great hall comes and goes and your friends have to practically pull the Italian off you so you can make your way to Umbridge’s office.
You keep your head held high nonetheless, knowing that this woman is going to inflict something cruel on you, it's just her style. You've seen others leave this office bawling and that will never be you, so you stay calm and collected as you knock on the devil herselfs door.
"Good evening, dear. Please take a seat" she speaks with faux niceness, but the excitement in her tone couldn't be hidden.
You sit down, looking entirely unbothered surrounding the decision. Even if her odd persona and somehow weirder decorate room throws you off you try to keep your act in place.
"You’re going to be writing some lines" Umbridge states, you barely conceal your groan as you reach into your bag to grab your quill, but the professor is quick to grab your arm 'tsking' as she does so.
"Oh, no, you won't be using your own quill. You'll be using my special one" her excitement now is noticeably present as she goes to fetch the quill from her desk.
As soon as she places the piece in front of me, I know that this isn't any ordinary quill, the scent of dark magic is potent. I try not to let my eyes widen as I stare at the quill then back up at the dead look in the woman's eyes.
"I want you to right 'I must respect authority of those better than me'" Umbridge says, and I barely conceal my scoff as I roll my eyes trying to state as polite as possible, yet it seems to only egg the woman on more.
"How many times" I ask wanting to get this over and done with especially as Mattheo and I are supposed to be sparing after this and if I want to fit that in before my late-night smoke with Theo this needs to hurry up.
"As long as it takes for the message to sink into the little brain of yours" her words only seem to anger me more as I try my best to hide it.
"May I have some ink, professor?" I ask only for the woman to let out a short laugh.
"You won't be needing it dear" she simply responds before turning her back to me and sitting on the desk as if she wants to watch this happen closely.
My jaw clenches as I pick up the quill slowly realising what's about to happen. As I begin writing on the fresh piece of parchment the burning pain appears in my palm, just like I suspected, dark magic.
I don't give her the satisfaction of looking at my hand as I already know the words that are appearing on my palm, I must respect authority of those better than me, will no doubt be branded in my skin. A look of annoyance crosses the professors face as she doesn't garner the reaction that she quite clearly wanted.
She should know who my parents are, who their affiliations are with, if she thinks she can scare me with this simple brand of torture then she won't succeed. I can push through this pain, just like I'm trained to do.
The silence that takes over the room is deafening and Umbridge looks furious at the lack of reaction begins to walk over to me. wanting to see at least a hint of pain in my face as I desperately try to school my reaction refusing to give her the satisfaction.
"Is there a problem, dear" Umbridge asks her tone now filled with her anger, teeth gritting together as she forces the words out.
"No, problem professor" I respond but I keep my head down this time, not wanting her to see the look on my face.
"That's right there isn't a problem because you know deep down that you deserve to be punished, isn't that, right?" She asks, needing the upper hand, needing to see the look of defeat.
I know now that if I want to make it out of this office I'm going to have to give in to some extent. So, I swallow my pride giving her a small nod as I continue to write, swallowing my urge to scream, from pain and anger.
~~~
2 and a half pages later, written in your own blood, before she finally releases you. The witch having given you extra lines due to the lack of reaction she got, and she only released you then due to you almost passing out. She asked if you learnt your lesson and although you nodded, she knows she has yet to break you and she will enjoy doing so.
You close the door, barely making it a few steps before having to stop. Sweat beads drop down your pale face as blood drips from your throbbing hand. You briefly look down looking at the words carved in your skin by your own hand, anger and pain flooding your body.
You blink hard refusing to cry, Slytherin's don’t cry. Especially not in a dark hallway, you've not only missed sparing with Mattheo but also your late-night smoke with Theo and you just want to crawl into bed your body feeling drained.
You slide the sleeve of your jumper down, trying to hide your hand and the evidence of what had occurred before continuing to walk. You need to get to your dorm quickly before you pass out.
I'm barely paying attention as I turn the corner that would leave to the Slytherin common room. In fact, I don’t even notice the frantic Italian searching the hallway, looking for you, knowing that you never break routine and that something bad must've happened.
The two of you collide on the fault of you entirely, you land on the floor and Theo immediately begins to scold whoever dared interrupt his searching only to find your pale face looking back at him. He goes to open his mouth for some sort of response but fails as the sight of you makes him feel sick.
I look up at Theo feeling the internal dread because of all people I had to bump into tonight it just had to be him. I watch as he freezes and you want nothing more than to curl up in his arms, to be comforted by the man you want the most but what falls from your lips is something else entirely.
"Watch where you're going Theodore. I don't need to be dealing with your clumsy ass tonight" I spit out, anger still flooding through my veins, but the words come out exhausted.
My attempt of a smirk fails entirely as my lack of energy is present. I don't have the power to go back and forth with him tonight, but I’ll be damned if I don't go down without a fight.
Theo looks hurt, as he bends down quickly wanting to help but he ends up just sitting on the floor in front of me, helpless not knowing what to do and that's somehow worse. It's like he's willing to take my anger as long as he knows I’m alright.
"What's crawled up your ass? Missed me too much because I didn't come to the astronomy tower" I snarl as I attempt to stand but sway immediately causing his arms to wrap around me tightly.
Theo doesn't react. Just holds me close and I feel myself begin to break down a single tear sliding down my face before I quickly brush it away causing blood to smear down my face. I push out of his grip and although it pains him Theo lets me go until he stares at the blood on my face.
His eyes drift downwards to the blood also dripping on the floor and his stomach drops. He immediately goes to move closer as he watches with a pained expression as I move backwards, defence immediately up.
"You're bleeding" Theo states, trying to keep his voice even and calm but the pain is clear as he speaks.
I freeze momentarily before schooling my expression. I pull my sleeve back down not noticing the drying blood on my face as I attempt to walk past him, but Theo has no plans on letting me go.
He may respect my space but there is no way he's allowing you to walk away not when you look like I'm about to pass out and I'm clearly injured.
"Nott, just stop it—" I try to fight but I’m tired and it just falls on deaf ears anyway.
He turns my hand over watching in anger as the blood drips down from my hand the words that are branded into my skin now on full display for him to see. Theo feels sick, he wishes he had done more to stop the detention when he had a chance and now, I’m suffering the consequences.
His chest tightens as he watches as I try to conceal the pain, try to put up the same facade that they are all forced to wear but it won't fly, not with him.
Silence falls between us, my tired eyes looking at his pain filled ones, and I don’t have the energy to try and decipher any of this right now. My head feels light, and I slowly begin swaying on my feet, Theo notices, of course he does.
His arms come around me right away and this time I don't try and push him away.
"What the fuck did she do to you?" He's angry but his voice isn't loud.
No, Theo's fury is quiet and dangerous, the type of guy who you underestimate. You assume he's quiet and calm, but his fury holds no bounds, not when it comes to you, and no one sees him until it’s too late.
I attempt to pull away once more to at least say I tried but his grip remains firm, he doesn't play, not when it comes to you.
"It was just detention. A punishment, we've all had them, hell your best friend has been in them the most" I try to feign in difference, but words are beginning to slur.
I know I need to leave and now, my energy is depleting rapidly, and I don’t have the emotional capacity for this right now, but Theo is an unmoving bolder. He's stubborn and strong willed and he's not one to easily deter.
"I deserved it, it's fine. Don't make it any worse than it already is, I just need to sleep it off" I attempt to plead with him, but it doesn't work.
"Please, Teddy" My voice is quiet and desperate, I hate begging but I’m at my wits end.
Theo lets out a shaky breath as he holds me closer tears gathering in my eyes that I desperately try and push away. You never have to beg not with him but if you think he's leaving you alone your sorely mistaken.
"No, I can't I'm sorry, amore mio" Theo's voice is sincere as he holds me tightly placing a kiss to my head.
"There's no way you're fine, your act might fool most people but not me, never me. Let's get you cleaned up" Theo's speaks softly but there's no room for negotiation.
I don't get the chance to respond or blink before my feet are being swept from underneath me and I'm getting carried to the Slytherin common room. The fight having completely left me.
~~~
Theo's dorm is silent as he finally puts me down, Mattheo is nowhere to be seen. He immediately leads me to the bathroom before closing the door behind him not wanting his best friend to come back early and see me so vulnerable.
"Sit" his voice holds a command as he watches me sway, he motions for the sink knowing it will be the easiest place for him to clean me up.
I stare at him, having expected none of this and I don't know what to do. A part of me wants to run and hide but the other wants me to allow the comfort, to let him help me.
"Please, bambina, let me help you" Theo's voice is soft again, softer than I've heard it in years.
"I can't—" I’m about to admit defeat, as I try to push myself onto the sink by my body is weak, having lost a lot of blood.
Without missing a beat Theo lifts me onto the countertop before turning on the faucet and grabbing a clean cloth. His eyes barely leave my body, scared I'll disappear if he turns his back for too long. he runs the cloth under warm water before turning to me.
"Can I see your hand?" He asks quietly, scared to break the tension in the room.
I hesitate briefly, not wanting to show anyone any weakness, but eventually I lift my hand up. allowing Theo to see the extent of the damage. It's only Theo, I remind myself, trying my best not to allow my fight or flight to kick in.
Theo's jaw clenched as he pulls back my sleeve looking at the bloody cuts marring my skin. His fury is palpable, he will deal with Umbridge later right now he needs to focus on his girl.
He begins to wipe at my skin as the adrenaline finally begins to leave my body. The stinging sensation returns, and I barely hold back a wince as he begins cleaning, Theo notices of course he does.
"Sorry, principessa" Theo, however, doesn't seem to notice the nickname that falls from his lips effortlessly, but I do.
His grip is soft as he wipes the cloth over my skin as gently as possible. He treats me with the up most care and that somehow hurts more than my hand, I don't know how to feel I don’t do emotion like this very well.
"You don't have to do this" I whisper, my voice holding my gratitude as I don't know what else to say.
I bite down on my lower lip not being able to look at him anymore, the pain in my chest begins as the faint feeling fades. Theo looks up a deep frown forming on his face, there's nothing that Theo hates about me, but the way that you look after others and never allow anyone to help you is something that is close.
"I don't do anything I don't want to do" Theo says sincerely, he places a hand on my chin forcing to look at me.
"Contrary to your own belief, you don't deserve this" Theo begins, addressing something that no one else in the group would dare too.
"That woman is fucking insane, and she will be dealt with later, but right now I need to know that you don't think that this is okay" Theo's voice holds his emotion, laying it bare for me to see.
I feel overwhelmed, yet somehow okay. I shrug not wanting to think about this right now, not with my body so weak.
"Why are you even helping me?" I ask trying to change the subject.
Theo's frustration is evident with the topic change, as he reaches into the cabinet for a bandage. His movements are precise and careful, I almost think he's avoiding the question before he finally speaks up.
"I'm supposed to say it's not a big deal, right?" Theo begins, looking at me with a look I can now finally place, one that I never could before because I've never seen it…
Love.
"I'm sure it isn't—" I attempt to shrug off the emotion not sure if I can deal with the change in friendship as I flex my now fully bandaged hand.
"Well, it is a big deal to me. It's not about me needing to keep the competition in good shape it’s because the love of my life is hurting, and I did nothing to stop it" Theo speaks honestly.
The truth is now out in the open and Theo doesn't know what I'm going to say, he looks into my eyes searching for something and when he finds it relief seems to settle.
"Theo, I care about you too but—" but Theodore doesn't want to hear any more excuse not now, not when anything could've happened tonight not when everything is so fresh.
Theo shuts me up with a searing kiss. His mouth is warm, and he smells like bonfires, expensive aftershave and spearmint. It sucks all the excuses out of me, rendering me dizzy. His body feels strong, hard and foreign yet so familiar. I mould into him my arms wrapping around him like an octopus.
He darted the tip of his tongue out, parting my lips. When I opened them eagerly, his satisfaction reverberated in my stomach. I knew I should put an end to this; to not mess up the group dynamics but I’m selfish, I’ve wanted this for too long and when he cupped the back of my neck to deepen the kiss I was gone. His tongue fully in my mouth now, exploring the grounds like it was conquering every inch.
The bite of freshness from his spearmint gum filled me with the tinge of smoke lingering from his panicked smoke earlier when he failed to find me. He tasted delicious, applying just the right amount of pressure.
Just like that, the excuses from earlier paired with my stony exterior melted into the passion, fire and depraved promise for things he didn’t know if he could handle. He's waited so long for this and now that he’s got it, it almost feels like too much and as if it would never be enough.
His cock aches as he tries to remember if anything he’d ever done has delt like this before. He knew the answer was no and it would never feel like this again unless I will let him in. Theo feels as if he’s in completely knew territory, uncharted waters that makes him want to dive in. He’s kissed people and fucked around a fair few, but nothing could compare to this.
A whimper escapes between us, and I don’t know if it came from me or him as I yank the collar of his shirt, my tongue chasing his. I’m not thinking about the future just me and him right here right now.
My hands roam the sleeves of his shirt, clutching the expensive material and sinewy muscles beneath it. Theo has an athletic build without looking bulky, Lord, he was beautiful. Cold smooth and imperial as marble as if somebody breathed just enough soul into a Roman statue to make it move.
Theo only meant for it to be a small kiss, a promise for later when I was healed up, but neither of us are willing to pull away, to stop devouring each other. My once shaking hands begin to roam, reaching under his shirt to outline the ridge of his six-pack. Theo groans into the kiss, the thought of waiting completely leaving him as my hands venture downwards. Wait until Pansy hears about this, she’s going to cry horny tears.
Theo pushes me against the mirror wrapping my hair around his hand as he tugs, the kiss begins to turn rough, more lustful but not less passionate. Theo tugs harder causing a moan to slip through my lips as he deepens our kiss. His erection digs into my thought, pulsating with heart and need.
A thrill shoots down my spine, but a wince falls from my lips as my arm gets knocked in the process. Theo stops immediately, worry swimming in his eyes as he pulls back, as if remembering why we were here in the first place. His hands soften in my hair, his forehead resting against mine placing a softer kiss to my lips.
“We should–“ Theo takes in a sharp breath; my hands tighten in his hair gripping him tightly in warning before my nails caress his scalp.
His grip tightens momentarily as he tries to collect himself, but the truth is Theo is ruined, he can’t go back to being friends, academic rivals or whatever the fuck you wanted to call them. He’s selfish and he wants this all to himself, no one else should get to experience this. However, he can wait, he needs to have control–
Yet he feels it slipping as if unravelling him comes naturally to me, he’d never put me in danger, but he can also never say no to me. Not now, not ever.
“I don’t want to hurt you, bambina” Theo’s voice cracks as he tries to calm down.
“You won’t, you can’t” I whisper back, not wanting to think of the multiple meanings to that sentence.
I move my hands down clawing at his shirt, I was not about to stop now, this has been going on for too long. The tension in the room grows thick enough that you couldn’t find a spell strong enough to cut through it. I know Theo cares and it’s one of the things I love about him but right now he’s going to fuck me here.
“We can continue later, when your-your, healed” Theo stumbles over his words as I lean forward moving his hands downwards getting a handful of my ass.
I guide him further down spreading my legs further, moving his index finger to slip under my sheer tights so he can feel the top of lace panties, a groan breaks free from his lips. His hands now touching being able to feel the heat of my skin, his grips my ass unable to stop himself as I swoop forward placing another kiss to his lips.
“Or we can continue this now…” I whisper seducing him in closer, my lips brushing his once again, “I mean who knows if this will happen again?”
Theo feels his need increasing, oh it’s happening again because he’s sure as shit not letting anyone else come near me, not now, not ever. This is it for Theo and he knows deep down I feel the same way.
“Oh, it’s happening again. You think I’m letting you go now, principessa” Theo’s voice deepens, his Adam’s apple bopping as he swallows, possessiveness swirling in his eyes.
“You sound so sure” I tease, leaning back slightly to stop his lips from actually touching mine, “How about you either fuck me against this counter or I find someone else who can.”
Theo’s anger presents himself as his hand shoves between my legs covering my heated centre with his palm, he squeezes hard. Possessiveness, jealousy and everything in between swirling through his green iris’s. He knows that I’m testing him, knowing exactly which buttons to press to get what I want.
He shouldn’t give in, key word is shouldn’t, but Theo can’t stop himself from biting.
“That’s never fucking happening” Theo all but growls as he pulls me into a searing kiss earning a smug smile to grace my lips, “I really ought to fuck the sass out of you, you and your smart mouth.”
Theo only swears when he’s really angry, more than heated and somehow that turns me on even more. I arch my back into him as I plaster myself into his hand, searching for more contact.
“Mmm. Sounds good to me” I try to sound cocky, but it comes out more breathless than planned.
I never normally melt for a man as I value control too much, but Theo makes me lose it and I know I do the same to him as he strokes my slit through my panties, drawing an oval around it with his fingers without really touching it. His touch is unhurried, fleeting, and designed to drive me wild, my panties dampen.
Sweet torture, it’s amazing really, the effect he has over me, one that I tried to desperately hide but am completely failing to now.
“Only I can make you feel this way, Tesoro, only me.”
Theo doesn’t let me answer as he kisses me and has graduated to trying to drive me nuts by stroking my pussy. He soon pulls back wanting to stare down at me, to watch as he drives me insane. I should walk away, knowing that if I don’t soon, I won’t ever be able to because he’s right.
“Yours.”
As soon as those words leave my lips Theo’s resolve breaks and he no longer holds back, he pulls me in closer and tighter. Our tongues fighting for dominance, yet for once neither of us care about winning. I begin tugging at the bottom of his shirt and he soon gets the message quickly yanking it over his head, ripping the shirt in process as he refuses to stop to do buttons, before rushing back as if I was his oxygen, as if he couldn’t breathe without me.
His hand move, this time over my chest unbuttoning my shirt, his hands rough yet delicate when they come to me a stark contrast to the state of his shirt on the floor. We’re so lost in the moment, my shirt slowly slipping down off my shoulder revealing the matching lace.
Another groan falls from Theo’s lips, he’s sure he died and went to heaven because nothing has ever felt like this before. His lips move to my neck, biting down hard as he leaves open mouthed kisses that gradually go lower.
My head falls back against the mirror hand gripping his hair as he moves down my chest. Eyes shutting as I lose myself in the moment almost completely until a noise brings my awareness back, but it wasn’t from Theo know he’s lost in his own world sucking in my scent as he literally sucks on my chest. I force my eyes open, a gasp in shock falls from my lips as my eyes meet another brown pair—
Mattheo, who is stood in the doorway looking way to smug as he watches his best friend ravage his other best friend. Theo pulls away worried he’s done something wrong as he feels my body tense and not in a good way. His head swivels around following my line of sight and anger floods his chest immediately.
He quickly stands pulling my shirt closed, Theo doesn’t share, and Mattheo isn’t seeing anything of his girl’s chest. He yanks my shirt closed shouting profanities in Italian at Mattheo who looks way to smug right now.
“Mattheo, get the fuck out you fottuto stronzo, prima che ti uccida” Theo slips into Italian as he screams at Mattheo.
“Relax, Theo. She’s all yours, I was just trying to come home after having to train on my own” Mattheo states as his eyes drift between us.
“Sorry Matty, got caught up with something” I say trying to break the tension as my hands run through Theo’s hair causing him to turn to me with a smile.
“Got caught up or– “Mattheo begins about to tease until he sees the glare now sporting on both of our faces.
“GET OUT!”
Mattheo takes his leave but we both know it’s not going to be for long as he actually does need to shower and go to bed, the moment now broken, yet not ruined as Theo’s eyes finally turn to look at mine when he hears the bedroom door close. His hands loosening in my shirt yet not willing to let go not yet.
“Y/n, I–“ I cut Theo of with a kiss not willing to let him finish his sentence, not wanting him to have to say it twice.
“I love you too, Theo” I speak softly against his lips, earning a rare smile because it’s a real smile from Theo.
There’s no point in hiding it anymore, he’s got the love of his life in his arms admitting that she loves him too and that’s enough for Theo. He doesn’t need anything else, just this, always this.
And by the time Mattheo got back he found the happy couple sound asleep in rumpled sheets, fortunately completely clothed. A soft smile finds his lips as he watches Theo pull his girl closer in his sleep, glad that his friends finally found each other.
⭑ summary: You spent six years at Hogwarts perfecting the art of invisibility. No friends. No enemies. No one ever looked close enough to notice you, to question you. To see you. You learned to embrace the arms of loneliness in the hallways of Hogwarts, and now, in your final year, you thought it would be no different. You would focus on your studies, drown in your quietness, and make it out of the hellhole you called home. Get a job as a healer apprentice. Get a place of your own. You had it all planned out. But once you catch the eyes of the infamous Tom Riddle, everything changes. Catching the eyes of the devil leaves you tangled in webs of dirty little secrets, ambition, and now that you've unlocked the monster's cage, he won't stop until he's corrupted you. Now it's only a matter of time before you'll give in to the darkness or let it swallow you to your destruction. MINORS DNI PLEASE. please remember to reblog and leave a comment if you can, it helps a lot. thank you ♡
⭑ pairing: tom riddle x reader
⭑ genre: series, eventual smut, angst, dark, 18+
⭑ warnings: ominous tom riddle, reader is a loner and some dark shenanigans, a lot of potion talking (i tried my best to be accurate).
⭑ word count: 9k
⭑ links: series masterlist 𝜗ৎ my masterlist 𝜗ৎ inbox 𝜗ৎ part one
⭑ author's note: hey, loves! i'm sooo sorry for taking so long to update, life has been crazy :') hopefully i'll be able to pop out more frequent updates, love you all ♡ ps this is not beta read and english is not my first language, so forgive for any mistakes <3
⭑ if you would like to recieve formal updates, i have it cross-posted on wattpad and ao3 ♡
Tom scanned you in a way that sent shivers plucking each bone of your spine. You’ve never been so thoroughly looked at before, as if he were picking apart every part of you on a cellular level, seeking to understand the enigma that built you.
It was the way you looked at him in the courtyard.
“I’ve been watching you,” Tom says in a dry tone. Blood left your chapped lips at that brief moment, your brain scrambling for answers. For a reaction.
You knew it already—the heaviness of his gaze lately was impossible to ignore. But saying it out loud let all speculation burst into the air of reality, one that hit your chest so hard, breathing seemed like a faraway concept.
“Why?” That was all you could formulate. Your brain was still mush, still not comprehending reality as it formed around you, and Tom only blinked in response. He noticed your confusion, your daze—now that you were standing right in front of him, he did not need to make an effort to seek your reactions out in the darkness.
“A personal….interest of mine.”
You couldn’t fathom it. It was like an alien concept—interest. In you. Tom Riddle had a personal interest in you. Was this another dream? Or perhaps a nightmare? And yet, it all seemed too real to be your mind playing tricks on you again.
You blinked, red painting the skin of your ears as your eyes shook. You physically couldn’t form words, but Tom didn’t need them. It was like he looked right through you, or tried to, for a purpose. Your curiosity now burned inside you to understand. And for the first time, you let it create arson inside you.
Tom, then, made a swift move to grab the idling potions book in your hand, “Too advanced. You have no skillset like this yet.” He made a movement with his wand and put the book back, and you followed it with shaken eyes. You were about to open your mouth when, “You follow everything by the book, don’t you? Breakfast, lunch, classes, and even curfew. You never did step out, did you?”
Your lips moved, but it seemed your voice was held in a tight knot at the depths of your throat. You couldn’t fathom how he could gather so much information about you, observe you, within two days of school. It shouldn’t be—
Your eyes grew wide then, when realization dawned upon you like an ice-cold bucket. Tom paid no attention to you anymore, his gaze now diverted to the infinite wall of books behind you, his fingertips caressing each spine with a delicate caution.
“You—how long have you been watching me?” Your voice came out faint, but Tom didn’t flinch. Paid no mind to it, really, and continued searching.
“Since last year.” He said it with uneasy neutrality as he continued to focus on searching for whatever book he needed to. An invisible fist punched the air out from inside your lungs at his response.
Since last year.
Tom Riddle had been watching you since last year. The concept was so absurd, you almost chuckled. Almost.
But the sound died before it reached your lips, because Tom’s tone had not been one of jest. And it wasn’t laced with strings of unnoticed cruelty, either. It had been factual, precise. Denoting an incident like a desensitized surgeon.
You hadn’t felt his gaze on you for almost a year. You always observed him like you would stars, tried to place him as you did with constellations, and yet you hadn’t solved the one right in front of you: his eyes on you. Burning you. For almost a year.
A goddamn year.
You hadn’t felt it. His gaze certainly didn’t prickle your skin as the sun did. It was far away, you concluded, like a quiet satellite observing your world from light-years away.
Had your mind been playing tricks on you for seven years? Were you not apt for the art of observation? Was your body not made of the shadow you were certain plagued you?
“A—a year?” The question tore itself out of you again. Tom paid no mind to you, treating you like a spirit roaming behind him, as everyone did. But he knew you—now you definitely knew he did.
Your lips parted—was this how he tricked you into thinking you were a ghost in his life? A light breeze not worth the attention? Perfecting the art of ignoring you? You thought his ignorance of your existence was natural, like every other student, not a Shakespearean-worthy theatrical performance you had just witnessed.
“You cannot—it can’t be possible! I would have felt you gazing at me for a year—“
“Ah, here it is.” He ignored your chatter and grabbed a purple book at the corner.
You licked your lips, dry as parchment. “You can’t mean—”
Tom finally turned, the purple book balanced easily in his hand, and fixed you with that same impenetrable stare. It couldn’t be possible to not feel such a gaze like his. It was a magnet, it pulled you into the abyss of dark oblivion of his pupils. It just—it wasn’t possible.
“Do you believe observation requires permission?” His tone was soft, steady, but sharp enough to carve into your nerves.
You blinked, his words holding a place inside your head. “Well, certainly not, but people feel gazes on them—“
“You’ve observed people intensely, but they never felt your gaze, now did they?” He stepped forward. The creak of wood, his impenetrable stare, his mere presence thickened the air with that familiar green poison that choked any oxygen inside you. Tom tilted his head, “Why should you ever be an exception to another’s stare?”
Every word from his lips wormed into your mind, eating every memory of your observations, unraveling the careful vines you had wound around it.
How many hours had you spent staring at people, dissecting their ticks, their subtle tells—the way Darya’s lips twitched when she was jealous, the way Ophelia’s eyes twinkled in insecurity, or the way Slughorn’s eyes flickered toward his favorites like fireflies to honey? And none of them had ever noticed. They lived on, unaware, as you quietly stole pieces of them and placed them carefully into your collection of details.
But you would have never thought you would ever be a muse.
You were the quiet artist who painted other people's lives with your soul closed and lonely hands. Never the muse.
It seemed you were so convinced of your invisibility that you let it crack right under your nose, and the dark eyes before you were the only ones who heard it. Saw it. Investigated shards that led to you.
“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath. But still, what curiosity could ever spark an interest in you of all people? Your life was quiet. It was boring. Not even poets could ever romanticize the mundane out of your grey days.
And so, the question came out again, “Why?”
“You certainly ask many questions for someone who thinks of themselves as quiet.” A faint curl tiggen on his lips, questioning you like he knew you.
Without another word, he extended the purple book toward you, his fingers still loosely gripping the spine. “Here,” he said, voice quiet. “Have it. Study it. Thank me later.”
Your breath caught as the book pressed into your palms. Its leather was worn, edges frayed, but when your fingertips brushed the cover it thrummed faintly, like something alive lurked within the ink. You looked down at it, then up again—only to find his cloak already swaying, his back turned as he began to walk away.
For a heartbeat, you stayed frozen, trapped between disbelief and the lingering venom of his gaze. The world blurred, soundless, as if he’d dragged you into his orbit and then left you stranded in the stillness he carried with him.
Then it hit you.
“Hey!” Your voice cut through the hush of the library, louder than you intended. You bolted after him, clutching the book to your chest, your shoes echoing on the stone floor. “I watch you, too, you know.”
Tom stopped suddenly and looked back. His eyes froze your veins, and with a willpower pulled from the devil underground, you forced out the words stuck inside you, “You don't follow rules, do you? I mean, to others it may be that you do—you're good at hiding.” Words came out smoothly before you could cut them with a knife, “Today, in potions. You didn't follow the rules on the potions book. You grabbed other ingredients.
Tom smirked. There was a twinkle of intrigue in the way he looked at you, one dark enough to dismantle souls. You preferred when he was ignorant to your existence—or at least pretended to be. His attention created knots in anyone’s existence, and in yours, he would be a hazard for your uncomplicated goal.
“Ah, quite observant of you. Perhaps you are less daft than I give you credit for.” He said your name in the end, and the way it sounded on his tongue was now etched on every wall of your brain, stitched into the fibres of your memories.
It sounded wrong and right at the same time, dressed in silk and knives.
Your grip tightened around the book. “You’re avoiding the point. You didn’t follow the instructions in Potions.”
“Oh?” he asked, almost lazily. “Didn’t I?”
“You didn’t,” you insisted, before your courage slipped away. “The roses—you didn't grab them as everyone else did. Instead, you grabbed moonstones. And the—” you inhaled, “—the Jobberknoll feathers. You didn’t stir them clockwise. You waited.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then another.
Tom liften one eyebrow. He looked almost intrigued, and perhaps, for the first time, surprised by actions of another. “My, my, you do watch,” he murmured.
You swallowed. “So how? You can’t just guess with Veritaserum. One wrong step and it’s useless—or worse.”
Tom tilted his head slightly, as if considering how much rope to hand you. “You’re making a mistake,” he said at last.
You bristled. “Excuse me?”
“Do you really think a textbook provided by a school that censors certain types of spells is reliable?” he took a step forward, and you gulped thickly, your lips going dry once more.
Tom’s shadow stretched over you like something sentient—calculated, patient, waiting. His voice dropped into something softer, yet still sharp enough for goosebumps to appear all over your delicate skin.
“Do you truly believe,” he murmured, “that Hogwarts of all places would ever allow students access to the real method of brewing a potion the Ministry itself fears?”
Your breath stilled.
“Slughorn’s class was merely a performance of sorts. To make passive students not dare to think they are being choked by limitations.” Tom’s eyes narrow and his voice gets thicker, almost….venomous. “The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping—“
“Is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison.” You murmur, and Tom raises an eyebrow once more.
“Hm, so you know Dostoyevsky?”
You fight the urge to squirm under his intense gaze, your mind still under the hazy effect of his voice and his dark yet magnetic eyes. You stare at the bookshelf behind him, avoiding the heaviness of his pupils on you, “Yes.”
“One of the few muggles that ever piqued my interest. A shame he was cursed for a life so….ordinary, really.”
A quiet breath escaped you, barely audible. “Why are you telling me all this?”
His head tilted like a cat regarding something newly alive under its paw.
“You wouldn’t…” your voice faltered, tightening around the truth you feared, “say these things to just anyone. Would you?”
A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. “Smart girl,” he said softly, the praise somehow feeling like a hand closing around your throat. “No. I certainly wouldn’t waste my breath on just anyone.”
Your fingers tightened around the book again. “Then—what is it you want?”
He stepped closer.
The air changed.
It thickened. Burned. As if every book behind you was aflame and you were choking on its carbon monoxide.
Tom leaned in with the deliberate grace of a predator who never rushed for his kill. The proximity pushed the breath from your lungs, leaving your ribs tight and trembling.
You weren’t used to this. To such proximity by another human being. The most you’ve gotten were slaps from your insufferable aunt, while she screamed how much she hated you. And when you kissed your crush in a Muggle school when you were ten, and he screamed to the teacher that the witch had tried to kidnap him.
Another so close to you should have repulsed you. Should have triggered your instinct to take flight and never look back.
And yet not a bone in your body moved because it felt…exhilarating. New. Alien.
“What do I want?” he echoed, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate.
“I want to tutor you.”
He leaned back, expression as neutral as always. You didn’t catch a smirk, not even an eyebrow twitch. It was as if the moment never happened. And perhaps it was all in your head, your touch-starved hormones sending false signals to your body.
You blinked. Once. Twice. As if the floor had just tilted under you.
“Tutor—me?”
A faint curl touched his lips. “You certainly need it. If you continue on your current path, you won’t receive more than an Acceptable in Potions. If that.” His gaze dipped briefly to the book pressed to your chest. “And you want to pass with at least an Exceed Expectations in your N.E.W.T’s, or am I wrong?”
“You are not wrong, but…..” Heat rushed uninvited to your ears. “What’s in it for you? You never tutored anyone, not that anyone knows of.”
Tom’s eyes sharpened, darkening like ink poured into water.
He didn’t smile this time.
“A favour,” he said simply.
Your stomach dropped. “What kind of favour?”
Tom blinked, his face as impassive as ever, stone cold. No smirk, no eyebrow lift.
“I will tell you when I need it.”
You gulped thickly, heat spreading through your neck. You’ve heard of this—men taking advantage of vulnerable women like you for sexual favours. Just last week, you heard your roommate saying a Gryffindor man tried bargaining a Quidditch favour for nights with her.
Men were becoming too audacious, and you couldn’t submit yourself to such a nightmare. You were quiet, but you had self-respect.
“I am not a whore.”
The words tumbled out louder than you meant, sharp enough to slice the silence between the shelves.
Tom Riddle’s expression shifted.
A flicker of surprise cracked through that perfect composure—the faintest widening of his eyes, a subtle stutter in the set of his jaw.
“A whore?” he repeated, as though tasting the word on his tongue.
Heat flooded your cheeks. “I do not want your help for you to use me for sexual favours—”
Tom cut you off with a soundless exhale, something halfway between disbelief and irritation.
“Do you truly think I need to bargain for sex?”
The contempt in his tone was so understated, so cleanly delivered, that it made your shame burn hotter.
He stepped forward—slowly, deliberately—until the distance between you felt perilously thin.
“If I wanted a warm body,” he said, voice low with an edge of ice, “Hogwarts is full of desperate, shallow-minded girls who would throw themselves at me with no hesitation.”
Your throat tightened.
“I do not barter for things I can acquire without cost,” he continued. “And certainly not for something as… trivial… as sex.”
Your heart hammered so violently you wondered if he could hear it.
Tom leaned back, his face impassive as he looked at you up and down, eyes heavy with judgment and something almost like…disgust.
“And you,” he added, eyes sweeping over your unnervingly precise features, “are certainly not someone I would approach for that.”
You weren’t sure whether the sting that followed was relief or an unexpected bruise.
You wanted to ask what he meant by that, but you shut your throat before the words could tumble out. Questions lead to answers your ears didn’t want, and you certainly learned your lesson with the ones that spilled out from you today.
You stood quietly, ignoring the embarrassment from moments ago, and pondered on Tom’s proposition. You needed a good grade on your N.E.W.T’s; that was one fact you could not deny. To reach your destiny as a healer, you needed a chunk of good grades, and potions were a necessary one.
On the other hand, help from Tom Riddle was like bargaining with the devil himself. Tempting, and perhaps could lead to your success, but at any time, he could pull the strings to your own doom and watch you fall with a smirk on his face.
And yet…
Your mind flickered back to Slughorn’s voice announcing the upcoming evaluation, to your cauldron stained with failure, to the roadmap of your future splintering if you couldn’t pass the one subject that mattered most.
It wouldn’t be forever. And once this tumultuous time in your life passed, even if your invisibility could be tarnished for a second, the road would turn straight again, with no distractions. As if this sidetrack never existed in the first place.
And finally, you made up your mind.
“I accept your offer, then.”
Tom smirked and shook your hand. You felt it burning under his palm and your chest felt hollow, as if you’d temporarily sold your soul to him. To the devil.
His grip was deliberate, controlled, and far too steady for the chaos erupting in your chest. A chill climbed your spine, then heat flushed in its wake, blooming under your skin like ink spreading through water.
It felt wrong.
It felt dangerous.
It felt… inevitable.
“Wise decision,” he murmured. “We start tomorrow straight after class. Meet me in the astronomy tower.”
You opened your mouth—perhaps to agree, perhaps to protest—but Tom had already turned, cloak brushing the stone floor with surgical precision as he moved deeper into the library’s shadows.
He didn’t look back.
You swallowed thickly and clutched the book in your hand to your chest, as if it could save your fast-beating heart.
Your mind then wandered—had you sealed your doom or opened your fate?
You couldn’t decide which was worse.
The ground shook under you. You could feel the pathway you so intricately planned for your future cracking right underneath your nose. The sphere of what you deemed reality shattered, and you were now vulnerable to the whispers of questioning.
No, you couldn't let his silky voice worm inside your head. Tom Riddle was solely a parasite that you could easily cure within a week. You certainly weren't interested in keeping his eyes on you for longer than that, and so, you would get over with his tutoring and swiftly do his favour—just get it over with so your paths can never cross again.
You shook your head, running away from your thoughts and walked to the table where your bag resided. You were about put the book Tom gave to you inside, but you hesitated for a second. You traced the beat-up cover with your fingers, your thoughts running wild, dissecting every word, every second of your interaction.
You weren't daft, you knew this was a part of some bigger plan inside his head. Observing Tom the way you did, for as long as you did, you knew everything he did was deliberate. Every move, every smile, every word that came out of his sultry lips was a chess move in a bigger game inside his head.
But you just couldn't figure out what he wanted with someone like you. The no-face, the invisible background character that served as a void in important people's lives.
You sighed and placed the book inside the bag—there was no way you would be able to focus on studying potions after the day you had. You knew your brain would be distracted dissecting your interaction with Tom Riddle to pay attention to instructions on how to brew a potion.
That night, sleep became a foe once more, and when it came time for amends, you dreamt of sultry lips and fangs.
The next morning bled grey through the dungeon windows. A bitter light shone on you, determined to remind you of the hollow in your eyes. Your body moved on autopilot, pulling on robes, knotting your tie, brushing your hair back into a disguise of normalcy.
Acid pooled inside your stomach as a new feeling submerged—uncertainty.
Before, your day was predictable. Every step was the same, every interaction could be molded into a short and boring script no writer would ever bother to read.
But now it was a blank page.
Your hands twitched at the thought. You hated it. Blank pages meant risk; it meant anything, and everything could happen. And the fact that a dark ink called Tom Riddle would stain those same pages made you uneasy. Weary of your surroundings.
The corridors hummed with the morning rush, but their rhythm felt different. You kept your eyes low, watching polished shoes click against the flagstones and chatter pollute the hallway. You usually slipped into that current unnoticed, but today it was as if the tide threatened to pull you under.
You entered the dining hall swiftly as you always did, but the air felt heavier. Your eyes immediately found a certain Slytherin, who sat at the far end corner with other ambitious and pure-blooded peers. He ate quietly, but you saw his gaze—he was observing his surroundings. Like a hawk. Like you.
You went to your regular seat at the sidelines and grabbed the bread you always did. The hall buzzed with noise, yet every sound rang muted—too far, too hollow. You pretended to study the surface of your plate, but your peripheral vision was traitorous. It kept flicking toward him.
His presence was always a heavy one, but now it called your eyes like a siren whisper, one you could not resist. You just had to look at him. Perhaps you were waiting for something to happen, now that it was revealed he knew you. Observed you.
Your mind whispered reminders of yesterday, of his voice wrapping around your name like a clandestine spell. Tom Riddle had carved his presence into your bones—every step you took, you would scan if his eyes were watching you. Breathing your invisible presence in.
Tom sat at the far end, surrounded by the same orbit of polished, ambitious Slytherins that always trailed behind him like obedient shadows. Lestrange, Rosier, Avery—they filled the air with laughter, but Tom sat in his usual ominous silence.
He lifted his cup with deliberate grace, lips brushing its rim, eyes scanning the hall. For one terrible heartbeat, you thought his eyes would find yours. A flicker for more than a second perhaps, an evidence that the events of yesterday were not a figment of your imagination.
But he didn't look your way.
You looked back at your bread and straightened your posture, trying not to seem like you were waiting. Your hands trembled against your lap as you rehearsed a neutral expression.
You understood. Your presence was quiet. Invisible. It wasn't heavy like Tom Riddle's; it didn't call attention. Perhaps he needed to put in an effort to find you in the crowd, one he wasn't interested in doing at 7 in the morning.
Time passed, students strolled through the halls back and forth, when, finally, through your peripheral vision, Tom stood.
He moved through the hall, and the air seemed to thicken whenever his steps were near. His robes brushed the edge of your table. You could smell that faint, sterile scent of parchment and clove.
Your chest tightened. He was close enough now—close enough that one word could reach him.
Your lips parted, a breath catching before sound could form.
But he didn’t look.
Not once.
You stared down at your untouched plate, the weight of the bread still heavy in your hand. Something cold and ugly twisted in your chest—a mix of humiliation and relief.
You cursed yourself for thinking he would ever acknowledge your presence—for wanting it.
You had forgotten what his attention meant, the poison it would bring to your peaceful life, corrupting every thread you've built over the years. Tom Riddle's eyes on you meant you would be seen by everyone else, and there was nothing more dangerous than being acknowledged.
You were dragged out of your pit of thoughts by an annoying, high-pitched voice you unfortunately came to know.
“You look quite desperate, you know.” Ophelia sat beside you and quickly grabbed the bread from your plate.
Your jaw tightened. “Good morning to you too,” you muttered.
Ophelia hummed and continued to take a bite from your bread. “Indeed a very good morning. I mean, it was a boring morning, so I came here to see some…entertainment. And my, my, you certainly delivered.” Her eyes glinted with vicious amusement as she turned fully toward you.
“You came to me for entertainment?” You raised one eyebrow and Ophelia chuckled.
“My boredom was just too great this morning.” Ophelia yawned and grabbed a cup of water from the table, “You know, you really should stop letting your eyes wander off to Tom Riddle, or one might think you might have a…crush on him.” Ophelia sipped on her drink and you scoff.
You took a rather rough bite of your bread as you replied , “I already told you, I do not have a crush on him.”
“Everyone has a crush on Tom Riddle, darling, so, forgive me for not believing you.” Ophelia snorted and sipped her water, “Well, even if you don't, here's some friendly advice: stay away from him.” She leaned her head, her lips touching your ear, as if she were to conspire a coup against an empire. “He is bad news and dangerous. I wouldn't want to have you tangled in his…business.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, but before questions could blurt out of your mouth, Ophelia placed her drink on the table and smiled, as the moment before had just been a figment of your wild imagination. You stared at her, bewildered, but most of all…curious.
“I'm going to be late for my first lesson. I'll see you….around.” She didn’t wait for a response—she never did. Her heels clicked against the stone floor as she melted back into the crowd, leaving behind the faint scent of something floral.
You remained seated for a moment longer, staring at the space she’d occupied.
Bad news and dangerous.
The words echoed, aiding the vines of curiosity to grow even deeper into your mind. They were poisonous for your future, for your dreams of tranquility, but their glimmer was too hard to ignore. You couldn't help but wonder what Ophelia could possibly have meant. Did she know Tom so personally that she was in her right to give warnings? Or was she basing herself on rumours?
But what rumours?
You were a ghost through Hogwarts halls, and could hear the whispers through its walls. You knew almost every rumour—you heard every sneer, every gossip when students thought they were away from prying eyes, because well, you were a wall to them.
And you had never heard of such a rumour. Tom was regarded with rose-coloured eyes by every student, save for those who spat his name in envy of his natural talents and charm. Most were men, of course, who eyed him like competition for their fragile egos.
You pushed yourself to stand and forced the lingering thoughts out of your head. Now was not the time to enter the maze your curiosity trapped you in, and perhaps it never would be the time. As Ophelia said, you couldn't et entangled within Tom Riddle's web. Deeper than you already were anyway. If you had any hope of escaping and continuing down the path you were always meant to tread.
The bench scraped softly against the stone floor. The Great Hall felt too open now, too full of eyes, even if none of them truly saw you. You slipped away with practiced ease, letting louder presences swallow the space you left behind.
Classes passed in a haze.
Charms dissolved into murmurs and wand movements you copied by muscle memory alone. Even Herbology, the class that always seemed to pique your interest, failed to anchor you. Your quill moved when it was meant to, ink forming neat lines you barely remembered writing. You nodded at the right moments, turned pages when others did, and laughed when laughter was expected.
But your thoughts were elsewhere.
They lingered on the way Ophelia’s voice had dipped when she warned you. On the word she used—dangerous. You figured she must have passed some time with Tom and his circle since she was related to one of them, but how deep into their circle was she?
During potions, your eyes couldn't help but shift toward the enigmatic figure that haunted your daydreams, the seed of the very vines that corrupted your thoughts. He was watching Slughorn as he entered one of his lectures on how potions were vital for every witch and wizard's life on the future, and you could see there was no flicker inside his pupils. No darknes. Just…boredom.
You sighed as your hand struggled to register the words of your professor. It was as if your mind had detached from your body, going rogue so it could run into the forbidden cavern of thoughts that, in which a shadow awaited for you with enigmatic eyes and a smirk from the devil himself.
Your eyes, though, were a servant to your rogue brain, and found the shadow hidden in the dark caverns of your mind once again.
Tom Riddle stood perfectly, as he always did, and listened to Slughorn the way a king might entertain a jester.
You forced your gaze back to your notes.
“Potions are the backbone of practical magic” Slughorn boomed, voice warm and round. “They teach discipline, intuition—”
Your eyes moved again, and you noticed how Tom’s quill didn’t move.
Yours, and everyone else's, did in an automatic way. Almost robotic. You wrote what was expected, even as a strange tension coiled in your chest. You stared back at your notebook, and decided to force your eyes to stay fixed where it were safe, even if your mind wasn't.
You thought of the night before, and an uneasy feeling crept its way into your stomach. You couldn't fathom what favour he would ask of you when the time came, but if the feeling inside you were to be right, it was not going to be any good. You unconsciously bit the feather of your quill—had you just made a deal with the devil? How were you supposed to know, when he had a face of an angel and the voice of a siren?
Well, no way to back down now. Besides, you needed good grades on your NEWTS, and perhaps you could learn to make your potion skills be as half as good as Tom's. It would certainly already be a great advantage.
After classes went by, you would usually take your free time to continue your book in your dorm, drowning yourself in the comfort of solitude and lost in the words of Dostoyevsky.
But that day, by the time the sun began its slow descent, staining the windows with amber and gold, you turned away from the familiar paths.
It was a subtle, and you were sure no one would notice, because who would? Everyone preferred to read about their worlds than take their eyes off their own book and read another's. Especially one as boring as yours. But still, your pulse quickened as your feet carried you up narrow staircases you rarely used.
You counted your steps without meaning to. Not because of where you were going, but who you were going to.
Every step was one closer inside the dangerous cavern. To Tom Riddle.
The higher you climbed, the quieter it became. The murmurs of students dissolved into echoes, then into nothing at all.
When you reached the Astronomy Tower, the door was already ajar.
You hesitated only a second before pushing it open, the hinges whispering rather than creaking. The tower greeted you with open sky and wind sharp enough to bite.
A dark figure stood near the edge, back turned to you. You turned to his side, and caught the presence of two cauldrons sitting on the floor, as well as ingredients for whatever potion he might teach you today.
Tom Riddle’s figure looked carved from the night itself, like a shadow waiting ominously for its meal. He was crushing something on the wood with a knife, and you flinched when his voice boomed through the room.
“You’re late,” he said sharply without turning.
“I’m not,” you replied quietly, closing the door behind you. “You’re just early.”
A pause choked the air before he turned, slow and precise, dark eyes settling on you with unnerving focus. The corner of his mouth lifted—not into a smile, but something close enough to unsettle you.
“Fair,” he said.
He gestured toward the space beside him before going back his ministrations. You moved there without thinking, your bag resting at your feet as the wind tugged at your robes.
“Won’t we get caught?” You gulp as you tread slowly toward Tom, “I remember headmaster Dippet explicitly saying the astronomy tower was off limits this season. With…Grindelwald and all.”
Tom didn’t look away from the ingredients as you spoke. His hands continued their precise work, blade rising and falling in a smooth rhythm.
He was calm. Too calm. As if the prospect of getting caught never crossed his mind.
“Dippet says many things,” he replied coolly. “Most of them are meant to soothe fear, not prevent danger.”
“Is that so? What about the dementors, then? I'm sure they're not roaming around Hogwarts trying to soothe fear.”
Tom stopped his movements for a brief moment, and once his head turned, your breath hitched for the faintest moment. You had forgotted how alluring, how dangerous his gaze on you was.
“Dementors,” he said at last, tasting the word with quiet disdain, “are not here to protect anyone. Do you really think a powerful wizard like Grindelwald wouldn't find his way through some meek dementors?” He turned back to the table, resuming his work as if the interruption had been no more than a passing thought.
You furrowed your eyebrows, gulping down the acid that formed in your throat, “Then why…?”
Tom talked once more, and his words held a viciousness that cut through the whispering wind. “I am not here to give you a lesson in how the ministry works. I am here to make you a master in potions.”
You opened your mouth–once, twice, but nothing came out of your throat. You couldn't form words, you couldn't form a question. You cleared your throat, and finally, your voice found its place. “Just...I'll ask again, and you need to answer me—what if we are caught? What will you do, then, Tom? What’s your grand plan to not get us in detention?” You crossed your arms, feeling your erratic heartbeat inside your chest. “Or worse, expelled.”
He finally set the knife down and turned to face you fully. Up close.
The night sharpened his features—hollowing his cheeks, darkening his eyes until they looked almost endless. An infinite pool one could easily drown in.
“No one will come,” Tom said. “And even if they do, I am head boy. I’m certain I could think of something…convincing that would get us out of trouble.”
Your stomach tightened at the ease with which he said it. Head boy. He was supposed to be righteous in his position; only the best of the best students ever achieved such a high-ranking status within the school. Some students sought their whole academic lives to be where he is. And yet, here Tom was, talking of lying and utilizing his power as a means to escape as if it were…nothing.
“And if that doesn’t work?” you pressed on, hating the way your voice wavered despite your effort to keep it steady.
Tom studied you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then—slowly—he smiled.
Not kindly. Not reassuringly, but….Confidently.
“Oh, it will. You can trust me.”
You scoff lightly, a small amount of courage sparking the words outside of your throat, “I don't know you, Tom.” You take a step towards him. Slowly, cautiously. “I mean…I know what everyone else sees, but…something tells me you're much more than what you let people see of you. It's like asking me to trust a stranger.”
“Now that's a smart observation, little witch,” Tom said softly. “Indeed, you don’t know me. But you can analyze the facts. I would be faced with consequences just like you—if not more—if we were caught inside this tower. If you go down, I go down. And do you really think I would put my position in jeopardy?” Tom raised one eyebrow, and you sighed.
He made sense, damn it.
“Fine. You make sense.” You squinted your eyes, “But I do not trust you.”
“Ah, you do well in not doing so,” Tom smirked, and it was as if his eyes opened their grey fog and made way for a small spark of amusement. “You do impress me a bit more as time goes on, little witch.”
Your breath hitched, “What does that even mea–”
“Now,” Tom interrupted you by swiftly turning around, his robe following him as he walked toward the part of the wooden floor where two empty cauldrons stood. He turned toward you once more. “Tonight, you will brew Amortentia. But not the Hogwarts version, full of its restraints to make meek students fail.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “Amortentia? Isn't that a 6th-year potion?”
“Do you observe everything but class?” Tom groaned as he rolled his eyes, “If you were to put your observation skills where they really mattered, instead of worthless students’ lives, you would know that Slughorn has tells whenever he is explaining a quiz.” Tom grumbled, “Since NEWTS are about everything we have learned, he is trying to surprise us with a potion he knows most people have forgotten the first ingredient it takes to make it.”
You bristled. “Learning about others is not worthless.”
Tom paused mid-step. Just for a fraction of a second, but you caught it. His shoulders stilled, the air around him tightening like a held breath.
“Most are,” he corrected coolly, turning back to you. “You just have to pick the right ones to dissect. Most of our peers live in ignorance—they drift through Hogwarts believing that their effort alone will make them exceptional. It won’t. I mean, do you see every student with O's or EE's on their tests?” Tom chuckles slowly, “Well, awareness gets them there. Observing the right things, you start to notice patterns, and just how…deceiving tradition really is. But everyone is too busy looking over their own lives to observe the reality around them.” His eyes flicked to you pointedly. “You have that gift, you know. But you squander it.”
Your jaw tightened, irritation bleeding into something uncomfortably close to the truth. But then, a moment of thinking, of digesting his words, your eyebrows furrowed as a crippling sensation traveled down your spine. “And how do you even know what I observe?”
Tom’s face never changed. No twitch. No confident, eerie smirk. He simply stared sinisterly. “It is logical, really. Were you to observe classes, you would have noticed Slughorn’s pauses. The way his voice dipped when he mentioned Amortentia, as he was listing the possible potions for the pop quiz. The way he overexplains so no one questions what he does.”
He stepped closer—not abruptly, never abruptly. You stared at him back, “And you never follow his explanations, do you?”
Tom grinned, and seeing his eerie smile sent an ominous feeling down your spine. “Correct, little witch. I don’t live by the confinements dictated by Hogwarts books. I make my own, and everyone one day shall know it.” You were about to ask what he meant when he then gestured toward the cauldron on the left. “Come. I shall teach you to do the same. It is my part of the deal, after all.”
You hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. The stone beneath your shoes was cold, the wind licking at your ankles as you stopped beside him. Tom pointed at the cauldron, then at the ingredients laid out with meticulous care.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
“The ingredients for Amortentia, I suppose?” You raised one eyebrow, and Tom nodded stoically.
“Correct. And what do you know about this potion?”
You licked your lips before clearing your throat, “It's the most powerful love potion there is. It makes the person who drinks it fall in love with—“
“Ah, you’re already wrong, little witch.”
Blood went up your cheeks as you frowned, “What? But that’s the description—“
“Of the 6th year potions book?” Tom sighed in disappointment, and you looked down. Somehow, even though you barely knew him, his approval sparked something inside you. And his disappointment led to a slight fog of shame sinking into your stomach.
“You’re thinking inside the box, just like every other sheep inside this herd.” Tom walked from side to side, his hand tied behind his back. His deep voice boomed through the tower, “Amortentia isn’t really a love potion, now is it? It makes the person obsessed. There is a keen difference that not many people can decipher. The potion isn’t meant to create love, but obsession.” Tom’s eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing. “Desire, passion, lust—but not love.” He said emotionlessly, “Love is a slow, irrational surrender built over time that makes you weak. Amortentia is nothing more than an illusion of that weakness. No potion could ever imitate that raw, pathetic human feeling.”
You raised an eyebrow, “You seem awfully well-read in love.” You smirked, “Have you ever been in love?”
Tom’s posture immediately went rigid, and he looked at you with the eyes of a snake, puncturing every inch of your soul with its fangs. “Love?” Tom repeated slowly, as if testing the shape of the words on his tongue, finding it distasteful.
“I have read about it. Not because I was fascinated by it, but because people, when under its influence, had me curious.” He said, his tone almost eerily calm. “They grow so weak and predictable it's almost laughable. And they make that choice. They choose to be vulnerable for the whole world to stab a knife into their back.”
Tom chuckled, but no humour was laced in his voice. It was dark, so foreboding that it made your pulse want to scream. “So, no. I have not been in love. And do not want to be in love. I am better than to let myself surrender to such pointless attachments.”
The words hung between you like frost.
“That sounds… awfully lonely,” you said before you could stop yourself.
“Loneliness,” Tom huffed, “is a word invented by those who are scared of their own presence when licked by silence.” He stepped closer to the cauldron again, “Now, shall we continue, or do you want to waste our time even more with pointless questions?”
You stayed silent for a few moments and sighed. It was best not to waste your time asking questions about him, as it would only lead to dangerous paths. You had to find a way to keep your mouth shut and curiosity at bay if you wanted to come out of this deal unscathed.
Learning about the devil would only get you burned, after all.
Your gaze dropped to the ingredients laid before you: crushed rose petals, moonstone dust, and a curl of Jobberknoll feather resting beside a slender knife.
“So…about the potion. Were all the books—all the potions we made in class wrong?” you asked.
“Not wrong,” Tom corrected. “Just incomplete. You really think they would let the ingredients for one of the most dangerous love potions out in the open for reckless teenagers to abuse them? And so, a watered-down potion creates nothing dangerous.” His mouth curved faintly. “But I prefer accurate results, even if it means a little danger is sprinkled inside.”
The wind shifted, sweeping strands of your hair across your face. You brushed them back, stepping closer to the cauldron.
Tom moved behind you—close enough that you felt the warmth of his presence at your back. His touch never came, instead what you felt was a ghost of skin that sent goosebumps up your spine. His hand reached past your shoulder and whispered, “Incendio”, making a small fire start.
“First, you will forget what the book taught you,” he said, voice low near your ear, “Now…look at the ingredients. Tell me what you see.”
You frowned, scanning the cauldron. “Moonstone shavings. Crushed rose—not petals, the stem too. Peppermint, but dried longer than usual. Powdered pearl. Ashwinder egg.” You glanced at him. “That’s not the standard—”
“No,” he cut in sharply. “It isn’t.”
You gulped thickly, his presence behind you overbearing to your nerves, “I…how did you even get your hands on such ingredients?”
“Let’s just say I have my ways.”
“In other words, you stole them.” You turned to him and crossed your arms. Tom immediately took a step back, as if standing too close to you for too long was poison to his skin. You frowned slightly, but masked it with the same impassive face he mastered.
“I can't understand where this false sense of morality came from, but may I remind you that I caught you sneaking around the castle past curfew? You are not innocent, and I can't fathom why you are pretending to be so right now.”
“I….” You hesitated, a small blush forming on your face, ““I had my reasons for that, Riddle.” You sneered, and he ignored the spines of your words and walked toward the other side of the cauldrons.
“I don't doubt that.” Tom hummed, “But don't go preaching about rules on a moral high ground you clearly do not have.”
“I…” You couldn't answer. Words caught in the back of your throat, and Tom simply sat down on the floor, looking up at you with the most neutral face you've ever seen.
Ah, his impassive look was back.
“Now,” he continued,“ You see this?” He picked up a small jar of crushed rose stems.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Rose stem,” you answered cautiously. “And…thorns, I think.”
“Good.” Tom set it down, then lifted the powdered pearl. “And this?”
“Powdered pearl. It's used as a buffer,” you said. You’d read once in a footnote, but your confidence faltered for a second. “For…consistency?”
“Not bad.” Tom’s eyes narrowed, approving in the smallest way, and for a reason unknown to you, a foggy yet fuzzy feeling brewed in the depths of your stomach.
He then reached for the Ashwinder egg. “Now, pay close attention, little witch. This,” he said, “is where most students ruin it.”
You blinked. “Why? It’s just a heat component.”
“That,” Tom corrected softly, “is what the book tells you.”
He stepped closer to the cauldron and drew his wand with smoothness. It was like him, and his wand was one. Just another part of his fingers.
The tip hovered above the fire, and the fire obeyed him, lowering its flame, as if it were his servant.
“Heat is not the point, see?” he murmured. “It’s timing.”
He set the egg beside the cauldron but didn’t add it.
You frowned. “Then when do you—”
“When the potion asks for it,” Tom cut in, and his eyes met yours. “Not when the book does.”
“What? How the hell are you supposed to know that?” You snorted, “Does the potion talk now?”
“Oh, you'll know, I assure you.” Tom's dark eyes fixated on you, and he tapped the space beside him. “Come on, sit. Put your observation skills to the test. This is where you'll need it most.”
You eyed the space suspiciously, your brain recoiling at the mere thought of his suffocating company so close to yours, yet your body followed his words, addicted to their allure.
You sat right beside him, your eyes never leaving the inside of the cauldron, ignoring the presence beside you that felt like a blade against your throat.
“Look inside,” he said simply.
You did exactly that.
The potion was still, not a flciker of movement inside. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying your best
“What do you see?” Tom asked.
“A potion,” you replied flatly.
His gaze slid to yours. “Try again.”
You swallowed. Your eyes returned to the surface. You forced yourself to find an anomaly. Observe the potion the way you did people—any flicker, any small tell that would serve as a clue to deciphering this riddle.
“The…consistency is changing,” you murmured after a moment. “It’s…thicker than it should be.”
Tom nodded, and you continued to watch as the potion continued to change, but it was so minimal that only an observant eye could spot it. You then see a faint bubble burst, almost in slow-motion, as if the potion were asking you to feed it, and then you exclaimed, “Now. Add…the ashwinder eggs?”
Tom smirked and added three ashwinder eggs to the cauldron, and the potion changed its colour to a faint purple, almost turning pink. You bit your lip, watching every change, every minimal tell, as if the potion was just another Hogwarts student you always deciphered.
You cleared your throat, “Rose thorns…? To make it pink?”
Tom hummed and poured the rose thorns into the cauldron, and the potion turned a strong pink, but still not the faint colour it required. “Your hesitation is pulling you back. You need to trust your words, even if you are not sure they are correct. When you have confidence, a mistake isn't an error, because no one doubts you.”
You gulped, your eyes never leaving the brewing. It shimmered again, the pink deepening, the surface tightening into something almost glass-like.
Observe.
Your eyes narrowed slightly, tracking every shift, every subtle movement, then, finally, it started turning a light pink as he stirred and stirred.
“There. You can stop stirring.” You let out a breath you were holding and turned to a stone-faced Tom Riddle. “Did it work?”
“Only one way to find out.” He gestured to the smoke coming out of the cauldron, “Smell it. If it smells awful, it didn't work. If it smells pleasant, well—you have your answer.”
You swallowed.
Then, slowly, you leaned forward.
You closed your eyes and inhaled. The smell was a breeze of curious scents, and your mouth spoke before you could even decipher what was coming out of it, “I-I…smell a quill’s ink and….the smell of stones after a night of rain and….. something metallic?”
You blinked your eyes open and stared at the potion, “That's weird…I thought it was supposed to smell what attracts you? Isn't it supposed to smell like flowers or something?”
Tom glanced at your face with an eyebrow raised, “Flowers?” he repeated, voice smooth, almost amused. “Is that what you expected?”
You frowned slightly, shifting your weight. “Well…yes. Something like that. Something…normal.”
Tom hummed under his breath, turning his attention briefly to the cauldron. The pink glow reflected faintly against his features, softening nothing, only making him look more unreal.
“Amortentia does not concern itself with what is normal,” he said coolly. “It reveals what you are drawn to. Whether you understand it…or not.”
“Maybe I failed?”
Tom blinked, his eyes moving to stare at the smoke, “No. You got it right. I've done it before.”
“Huh.” You hummed, “Well, what do you smell?”
Tom stays silent for a moment, tension thickening the air and almost grabbing your throat. You almost started overthinking, that maybe you shouldn’t have asked him, but then he broke what he created.
“Nothing.” He said cooly, his eyes fixated on the cauldron, “I smelled…nothing.”
“Huh? How can you not smell anything? Maybe I did do it wrong—“
Tom got up abruptly, causing you to follow suit. “Our lesson had finished, little witch. I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” He muttered something under his breath, and the cauldron and ingredients disappeared. And before you could open your mouth, Tom walked out so fast, you would think he apparated away.
You shook your head, startled, but those venomous vines of curiosity only grew more. It was a parasite in your brain, digging its thorns into your skin, begging you to relieve the pain by indulging in it. But you couldn’t. You already watered it too much today by asking too many questions for your liking, and if you were to make it rain, a storm would pour into your life.
So, you did what you did best: you ignored it and walked toward your bedroom, ignoring intrusive thoughts that wanted to get louder for your attention.
You did your nightly routine, ignoring the chatters of your roommates, and instead of reading before sleep, you let your thoughts drift. You replicated the events of the evening—of Tom’s dark yet alluring eyes, his instructions, his eerily curious lessons.
Until one specific memory came to mind, of Tom making the ingredients disappear….
synopsis : frenemy!mattheo get jealous when fem!reader gets all handsy with bsf!theo after she was sitting on Mattheo’s lap the ride up to the cabin. he decides to make a move on her but he does not really know to. he makes up for it in another way.
warnings! : male!char x fem!reader, mentions of hard on, lap sitting, weight insecurity, innuendo of weight jokes. not really smut but is making out considered it?
part two collection
A car trip up the mountain with a few friends for the weekend was not a bad plan after a whole week of studying and cramming for pre-O.W.L.S. The group could really use the relaxation time.
Being stuck in the car for hours in a overpacked car and squished by bags was the hard part. You could handle the hard part if you kept on reminding yourself that there is a cabin up in the mountain that is calling out your name. But when your assigned seat got taken up by the amount of duffel bags, that is a problem. Well, problems can be fixed with solutions but not for your case.
You stood near the second car, eyeing the mountains as the guys tried to play tetris with the bags so that they could make everyone fit in the car.
"There's too many bags, I told you we shouldn't have brought Pansy." Draco joked, earning a hit on the shoulder from her. He winced and apologised. He pushed the bags more into the car, trying to make space for you. He groaned.
Mattheo, who had been mostly quiet and leaning against the first car, straightened when he noticed what you noticed. There was only going to be one more empty seat in the second car. The first car was filled with Tom, Pansy, Theo and Astoria and bags too so there was no way anyone could fit in that car which is going to probably smell of weed and body odour during the whole ride.
The second car was a tad bigger but still the same problem. Draco clapped once. A huge proud smile plastered on his lips. "Easy," He said proudly. "You can just sit on Mattheo's lap."
Your cheeks turned a light shade of pink and your stomach felt warm. On his lap? Mattheo's lap? She furrowed her brows, her eyes switching between him and Draco. 'It cannot the only way.' she thought.
"What? I don't think—" You get cut off by Mattheo, himself.
"What? No, I'm not letting her sit on my lap during the drive." Mattheo had his arms crossed. "Can't we just leave her here?" His voice sharp like he was the one who was going to be sitting on someone's lap.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll like that, won't you?" You sneered back at him. Earning an eye roll from him. He acts like you are insufferable. His brother butts in from the other car. Door still opened.
A half-finished cigarette hanging in his mouth, "Oh, you'll both survive. It's a two hour drive up." He throws the cigarette butt down on the ground and stepped on it to extinguish it. "Besides, she is not that heavy." He mentioned.
You tilted your head in confusion a little to that last part.
Mattheo scoffed, “You’re not the one that’s going to have her on your lap.” You realised what it meant. You kicked the gravel on the floor in embarrassment.
"Then it's settled then. We have places to be, everyone in." Draco dusted his hands like he did a good job with the seating arrangements.
Mattheo huffed and slides into his seat. Tongue poking his cheek and arms folded. With a reluctant breath, you climbed in and settled awkwardly on his lap. "Fuck me." Mattheo muttered under his breath. You looked down, wondering if he meant that you were heavy or something.
You tightened your core strength so that your whole body weight would not be totally on him. You shook slightly while trying to hover above his lap. Mattheo groans, pulling your waist down. Making you flush against him. You let out a rare sound.
“I can still feel you trying to balance. I’d rather you sit properly than be all shaky and make it worse for me than it already is.” He added. Your back straightened up.
All of your friends could tell that you and Mattheo did not get along well. He would always shoot stares at you when she talks to people, giving the most unwanted attention. He would disagree and insult your opinions when you guys were in a group setting. Now you were here, on his lap in a packed car going up to Theo's family cabin in the mountains.
Your skirt kinds of rode up your thighs. You move your hips up but gravity kept pulling you down every time you did. Mattheo lets a strained sound out softly. You managed to keep your skirt covering half your thighs. You picked at your black lace tights, awkwardly. Your arms folded, not knowing where to put them.
You leaned forward, resting your head on the headrest of the seat infront of you. You could not lean back against Mattheo. He was looking out the window while you shut your eyes.
After a quick break at a rest stop, Draco got into the driver's seat and started the car again.
They were going to Theo's family cabin for the weekend. A weekend of drinking, getting high and making bad choices. Draco drived up the rocky road, making the car bump up and down. "Fuck." You muttered. Your hand held Mattheo's thigh to steady yourself.
"Drive a little slower would ya, Malfoy." You suggested. He apologise but the bumps did not stop. You swore you felt Mattheo stiffening against your ass. His bulge hits her core and you could not help but whimper.
The car jostled again, another brutal bump sending you lurching forward and your hand landed squarely on his thigh again, fingers pressing into the muscle through his jeans. You could feel him tense beneath you, a coiled spring. His hands, still stubbornly at his sides, flexed slightly.
"Try not gripping my goddamn leg like it's a fucking life raft," Mattheo muttered, his middle finger and thumb were rubbing circles on each sides of his temple.
You took your hand off him and held on to the seat in front of you, again. Bending forward. You dreaded how long this was going to take.
Mattheo looked out the window, trying not to focus on your ass on his hardening cock. He kept his groan in his throat. When you bent forward to rest your head against the front seat, he felt himself twitch in his jeans. He cursed himself internally and prayed hard that he does not cream his pants right here.
You feel your eyes getting heavy and you straightened up to refrain from falling asleep because if you did, you would be falling asleep on Mattheo and you did not want. Your head bobs as you felt your eyes shutting. You leaned back and going straight into your precious sleep on Mattheo's chest. He sighed.
Draco looks at the rear mirror, seeing you sleeping on Mattheo's chest and he smirked.
"Comfy there, Riddle?" He asked teasingly. Mattheo fought the urge to growl at Draco's teases.
"She's exactly above my dick." He complained. Draco snickered and shook his head.
“Enjoy it, you know how she is when it comes to guys. No bloke has ever had a chance to shag her since Diggory.” Draco reminded. His hand clenched when he thought about Cedric.
The fact that he was the only guy who managed to shag you. He never told anyone that or showed that he even cared about that but he did.
All Mattheo could think about was the way she smelled like vanilla and strawberries, intoxicating him. His hand brushed against you thigh and you stirred, shivering a little as the both of you were right under the air conditioning.
The way your breathing slowed when you fell back onto his chest. Your hand gripping his sweater’s sleeve like you were going to be taken away if you did not hold onto something.
Something he would not forget or even try to is the way you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck. He felt your soft lips against his skin. It felt like something that was so forbidden. Since you were asleep, he decided to keep all of these to himself to save you from the embarrassment.
After that whole two hour ride up to the cabin, the car made a heavy break and you jolted awake. You gripped Mattheo’s chest, still heavy eyed and tired. You look around and remembered that the lap you were on did belong to someone who despises you. You take your hand off him and clear your throat.
“Welcome to the best weekend of your lives.” Theo smirked, opening his passenger seat door without looking away from the two in the back seat. You blinked. Trying to regain your consciousness.
Mattheo made a sound. You turn to face him.
“What’re you waiting for? An invitation to get off my lap?” Mattheo sharply said. You pulled the door handle and got off his lap. You stretched widely, hips bending to the side and shooting your arms straight out with a loud yawn. It was almost sunset when you arrived.
You looked over your shoulder, seeing a log cabin. Pretty cozy. Theo was already at the door, fishing through his bag for the key while Blaise, Tom and Draco unloads everything from the car. The two other girls besides you were on the porch swing. Astoria with her head on Pansy’s shoulder, eyes shut too.
Theo manages to unlock the door and he pushes the door too hard making the girls on the porch swing flinch. He rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward, apologetic smile.
“Whoops..” He chuckled awkwardly.
You shake your head and went in the direction towards the house after getting a headache from the smell of the gasoline outside. The three girls went in with Theo first. Eyeing everything that is in the cabin.
“Girls, your room is up the stairs to your left. Two beds so one of ‘ya would be lucky.” Theo mentioned. The three girls stared at each other before rushing to the stairs. They raced up and you manage to reach the door first.
You jump of joy outside the door. “I call sleeping alone!”
Pansy and Astoria groaned. You twist the door knob and pushed it in. The room smelled of wood, candles and basically anything that screamed camping.
You sat on the bed, removing your shoes. Girls night in this room is going to be so wicked. Theo and Blaise knocked on the door, Pansy opens it and saw that the two boys had brought up all of the girls bags.
"Thank you, kind sir." You joked. The girls threw their bags onto the bed and unzipped them to find something more comfortable to change into.
Everyone made it downstairs and you were upstairs alone. Taking some things out of your bag. Someone knocked on the door, Theo. You smile. Saying hi to him.
“How was the ride up? I know you weren’t really in the best position.” Theo nudged her shoulder with a smirk. She rolled her eyes at him and hits his chest playfully.
“Shut up, I kind of fell asleep on him. I don’t really wanna know what happened when I was passed out.”
Theo chuckled, pulling you out of the room and downstairs outside to the campfire where everyone else was already at. You sat beside the girls and Theo was on your side with his arm around you.
Mattheo was already throwing daggers with his eyes at you. You could not tell if it was because you sleeping on him or just your presence here. They all sat in their own conversations till Pansy suggested playing games.
“Spin the bottle anyone?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Okay but if it lands on you, I’m not kissing you.” Draco warns her. He jokes. Pansy mocks him and placed the bottle in the middle of the group. Pansy spins the bottle first and it lands on Blaise. She goes to him and he had a smirk on his face. They kissed and it was back to the game.
Pansy nudges your shoulder, signalling that it was her turn. You spin the bottle and lands on Theo who recently moved beside Draco. Shit. You thought.
“Come here.” He smirked.
You looked beside him, it was Mattheo.
You went across to Theo and kissed him. It felt wrong to kiss him but there was no reason. Maybe it was the way that Mattheo was giving the looks. But it’s Mattheo, a guy who despises your guts.
Theo’s hand snakes to your waist, pulling you deeper into the kiss. Draco stops the kiss and he pulls you off Theo. “Alright, snog at your own time.” He said.
Your lips were bruised, wet and sore.
A few turns went, it was your turn again.
You spin the bottle and this time it lands on Mattheo.
“I can spin again—” You tried your best to avoid this situation but the universe was not on your side. You were cut off by Draco.
“You can’t go against the bottle.” Draco smirked.
Mattheo had his eyes on you already. He puts out his cigarette and flicks it behind him. Letting the smoke out of his mouth that had a healing cut on it. “Do you not want to kiss me?”
He tilts his head. You try to get a word out. He stood up and sauntered to you. He nods as a signal for Pansy to scoot over. He sat beside her. Chewing on the inside of his cheek. He pulled your hand and gently guides you onto his lap. Your breath hitched as you sat on his lap.
“This isn’t an unfamiliar situation, love.” Mattheo wiped your lips with his thumb. You were slightly confused on why but you got your answer.
Summary: You and Fred have been together for a while now. Everyone was getting married, except you two. You thought something was wrong, but little did you know that Fred was planning to surprise you.
Warnings: Fluff, mention of breaking up, sadness, Ron x Hermione wedding, slight smut. If you're a minor, please do not interact with this post.
⋆˚ ✿ English isn't my first language, so please be kind! I do not own Harry Potter's characters. This is pure imagination! Do not copy my works, please! Enjoy!
The scent of roses filled the Burrow's garden. Molly was walking back and forth, cooking and preparing the guests' seats at the same time while Ron nervously fixed his tie.
"You've been fixing your tie for the past ten minutes, Ron"
Ginny's voice reached Ron's ears, but it's like the boy was malfunctioning today.
"It's useless, Ginny. Ronald has officially stopped functioning"
Your voice echoed inside the white tent, causing Ginny's head to turn towards you.
"You're probably right. I've never seen Ron this way. It's a first, actually"
"Well, have you perhaps forgotten about the time he became part of the Quidditch's team?"
Ron rolled his eyes, murmuring something under his breath about 'needing to get some air' as if they weren't already in a huge garden. When Ron disappeared from their sights, followed by a very amused Bill, Ginny slowly approached you.
"You look beautiful, by the way. I think Fred will probably combust the second he sees you"
Your laugh tried to hide your shyness despite being way too obvious. You loved Fred... and Fred loved you, deeply.
It all started when you first saw two red-haired young boys sitting on the Great Hall's tables all alone, wearing knitted sweaters. You accidentally spilt black tea on Fred's sweater and immediately broke down in tears, apologising the entire day. And the next? You finished reading a book about knitting and menaged to create a new sweater for him. With a giant and crooked 'F' on it.
7 years later, you and Fred were still together.
But there was something missing.
While you were happy to see your best friends getting married, you couldn't help but think about why Fred hadn't proposed yet.
You were fine, right?
You were happy, in love, sexually satisfied, and you both worked.
Then why were you thinking about him not being ready to spend his lifetime with you?
"Hey, you alright?" Your thoughts were interrupted by Ginny's hand on your shoulder. You menaged to nod absently, biting your lip nervously.
"I am! Why? Do I look like I'm not?"
Those words were too dismissive to Ginny... and she knew you. And she knew her brother, too.
"Is it about Fred, am I right?"
Your shoulder dropped, and a bitter chuckle escaped from your lips because when was Ginny wrong?
"You're... yeah, you're right. I don't know what's wrong with me, Ginny! I should feel happy for Hermione and Ron, but Merlin, I feel like shit."
Ginny's arms wrapped around you instantly, as if she had already understood everything without you spelling it out for her.
When Ginny took you inside the Burrow, away from other people's eyes, she landed you a glass of water.
"It started a few years ago when Bill and Fleur got married," you whispered. "I couldn't understand why I felt hollow on a day that's supposed to be happy"
You blinked away tears, sitting down on the couch while your hands trembled.
"Until we heard about Lee Jordan getting married, then Cedric and Cho got married a few months later... I began to feel this huge burden inside of me that couldn't let me go"
"It must have been hard," Ginny sighed, unable to hide her disbelief. "Do you know how much Fred loves you, right?"
You could only menage to nod slowly, finally breaking down.
"I know that he loves me, but why can't I be the woman wearing a white dress next to the man I love?"
Your sobs echoed inside the kitchen, Ginny tried so hard to comfort you... but nothing seemed to help.
Until Fred walked down the stairs, wearing his black suit with a brownish tie.
"Love? Hey, love... what's wrong?"
He immediately rushed towards you, sinking down on his knees to meet your eyes.
"Why are you crying, darling? What happened?"
Ginny slowly stood up, leaving you two alone.
"I'm fine," you whispered, wiping away your tears.
"Oh, don't you dare say you're fine. Do you think I'm stupid or what? I know you better than anyone else. Please, talk to me"
Even though you tried so hard to hide your tears, Fred was already tilting your chin up.
"I don't want to bother you with my stupid thoughts"
Your voice trembled, unable to stop the fear to say too much. Or to anger him.
"You're not a burden to me. You'll never bother me," a whisper. "You've never kept anything from me"
Just when you were about to finally tell him everything, George walked in, announcing that the wedding was about to start.
During the whole ceremony, Fred couldn't keep his eyes away from your form. You weren't fully there. Your eyes were fixed on the floor, barely looking up at Ron and Hermione.
And whenever you looked? Your mind would imagine yourself instead.
But dreams were only meant to be dreams, and reality was far away from it.
Most people would be against you, telling you that no, you shouldn't be mad or act that way. Because you has everything, right?
You have a man who loves you, a stable job, a beautiful and healthy family, and amazing friends.
'You'll eventually get married' - everyone told her.
Yeah, it was easy for them. For those people who already had a wedding ring on their finger. But no one can really understand the pain of being constantly overwhelmed by other people's weddings, knowing that they would pronounce the exact same word every time.
'You'll get there, don't worry'
But you were worrying.
When the party started, Ron and Hermione opened the dance. Followed by Bill and Fleur, Harry and Ginny, Molly and Arthur. Everyone looked so happy, and you were, too.
Mostly.
Ron and Hermione had always been perfect for each other, and you've seen their love growing every day.
"Dance with me," Fred's gentle voice took you back to reality. His hand stood in the air, waiting for you to take it. And when you placed your smaller one on his calloused hand, a smile formed on Fred's lips.
"You look beautiful in lilac"
But you would have looked happier in white.
"Thanks," a strained murmur. Hands already latching onto his neck. "You look handsome, too."
Fred's lips curled into another shy smile, as if you had never complimented him before.
"I'm serious, love. You're a vision. This dress looks amazing on you. Merlin, you could have worn a potato sack and still be the most beautiful woman in the whole world."
An incredulous chuckle escaped from your lips despite everything because being happy was easy with Fred.
It has always been easy with him.
Maybe that's why you wondered if he wanted to spend his life with you, too.
But then George's words stopped your movement, and your feet froze on the floor.
"Oi, mate. How corny is all of this? Never in my life did I believe this day would come. Ron is getting sappy. If I ever become like him, please slap me"
A laugh. Then Fred joined him, shaking his head.
Why was he even laughing? Didn't he... what if Fred don't even want to get married?
"I... I need some air," you whispered, rushing away from there.
"Hey, wait -" Fred followed you, obviously. "Where are you running to? What happened?"
Distant voices were slowly fading in the background.
"Will you stop running?" Fred snapped, catching your wrist and forcing you to turn around.
"Leave me"
"No! Not until you tell me what the fuck is happening" Fred voice was firm while his eyes locked onto yours, desperate to understand.
"You can't even understand, do you?" A bitter chuckle, then you slipped away from his grip. "Why were you even laughing at George's words, mh? Do you think that a man who marries the woman he loves is sappy and cheesy?"
Fred's frown deepened... because when has he ever said that?
"What? No, I've never - when did you even get this idea?"
"You laughed. You laughed at George's words as if you were disgusted by the mere thought of getting married"
Fred tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth. Too stunned to speak.
"Is this what you truly think of me? Wait, is this why you've been acting all bitchy the entire day?"
Your eyes widened. Bitchy? You've been acting bitchy?
"Excuse me?" You crossed your arms, sending him an icy glare.
"Oh, you know exactly what I mean. You've been acting all weird and sad like a wounded Kneazle"
You bit your inner cheek nervously, patting your foot on the ground repeatedly.
"Maybe if you weren't as obvious as a Troll, I wouldn't have been bitchy the entire day"
Fred poked his cheek with his tongue, shaking his head once more.
"Woah, seriously now? Comparing me to a Troll?"
"You're the one who started it, comparing me to a wounded Kneazle!"
"I was joking!" Fred groaned, running a hand on his red hair, messing them. "Can't you take a fucking joke? After all these years you should know me"
"AND MAYBE YOU SHOULD KNOW ME, TOO"
A yell. You've never yelled before. Not at him.
"IF YOU TRULY KNOW ME, YOU SHOULD KNOW WHY I'VE BEEN SAD THE ENTIRE DAY"
"I DO NOT KNOW!" Fred matched your tone. "HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO UNDERSTAND IF YOU DON'T TALK TO ME?"
You paced back and forth, trying to ease your anger.
"JUST SAY THAT YOU DON'T WANT TO MARRY ME!"
At that, Fred froze.
"What?" he whispered, gulping. "Why are you saying that? Love, I -"
You shook your head, already crying.
"You think it's easy for me? To see other people getting married while I'm here wondering why you can't even propose to me? I don't even know if you want to spend your life with me!"
"STOP," Fred almost yelled. "Don't you dare go there! I love you with my whole heart, and if you ever think that I don't want to spend my life with you... then maybe I failed us"
His hands cupped your cheeks, resting his forehead on yours, but you stepped away.
"Maybe we should take a break,"
Fred's head shook, his lips trembled. "Love, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I can't do this anymore. My mind is full of these thoughts, and I can't seem to stop them even if I want to"
Fred let out a strained chuckle, loosening his tie.
"Merlin, you always have to do it your way, do you? I can't even prepare a fucking surprise for you"
You furrowed your brows, opening and closing your mouth once, twice. But nothing came out.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I thought I could have waited at least until tonight, but hearing you talk about breaking up - Godric, I can't lose you." He fell on one knee, fumbling with his jacket.
A red velvet box in his hands.
"Fred," your voice faltered while one of your hands rested on your beating heart.
"You infuriating, stunning and stubborn woman. I've been preparing this for a while, but you just had to ruin the surprise." A shaky exhale before he opened the box, revealing a shiny silver engagement ring with a Ruby stone on it.
"I thought I was ready, but it's way more difficult than I thought it would be. We've been together for so long, we've been through a lot, and I can't wait to see your face every day, to wake up next to you, to share my everything with you, to call you my wife and start a family with you... with as many kids as you want. What I'm trying to say is that I'm nothing without you"
Tears were already ruining your makeup, and Merlin, you probably looked awful but you couldn't care less because this is Fred.
The love of your life.
"I - I ruined everything! I can't believe that I ruined the surprise, I'm so sorry!"
Fred let out a choked laugh, gulping.
"Love, as much as I want to be pissed off, I'm so fucking nervous and I honestly don't give a fuck about the surprise being ruined now. Will you marry me?"
Your knees buckled, and you stood in front of Fred immediately.
"YES! OF COURSE I WILL"
His hands wrapped around you instantly, hugging you tightly. He slipped the engagement ring on your finger with trembling hands.
"It's beautiful... l think I would have married you even with paper rings"
Both of you chuckled, kissing and laughing at the same time.
"No more doubt, no more crying," Fred murmured against your lips. "You have no idea how much I love you"
Everything happened in a blur. Things got heated, and Fred menaged to lift you up in bridal style. He walked towards the Burrow - and thank Godric, the party was still on, and the house was empty.
He pushed the door of his room open, shoving you onto the bed gently.
"I'm gonna make you mine tonight, tomorrow, and the night after..." Each word punctuated by wet kisses all over your throat and collarbones. "Such a stubborn woman... my woman"
Discarded clothes flew all over the room, leaving you both naked.
"Oh, shut up," you whispered, touching his already aching bulge. "I thought you didn't want to marry me"
Fred let out a breathless groan, grabbing your hips tightly to steady himself.
"You are - ah - completely crazy if you think that I didn't want to marry you and do this to you every single night - fuck, love"
His hands guided you before he pulled off your underwear, caressing your most sensitive spot.
"Fred!" A whimper, followed by a rough groan as soon as he connected with you.
"So fucking tight. How can you be so tight even after all these years?" his thrust became desperate, sloppier. "I'm not gonna last long"
"Me neither"
And with that, you reached your high together, hand in hand.
"Love you," he kept whispering. "Love you so much... and I'm not done with you"
The next day, you definitely received complaints from George, but when Molly caught a glimpse of your engagement ring, chaos exploded in the room. Molly and Arthur were already crying, saying how 'grown-up' their kids were, Ginny hugged you while George yelled a 'about time'
And in the arms of the love of your life, you understood what happiness truly was.
It took me so long to write this, but it's finally here, yay! First, I would like to thank @cursed-carmine for the beautiful dividers♡ It's my first time writing a smut scene, I swear reading it it's way easier that writing it lol but I hope you'll like it☆
Tag list : @aniveraweasley @head-locked
If you want to be added to my tag list or stay permanently on it, leave a comment here!
The roar of the crowd still clung to the air like static as you made your way down from the stands, the late-afternoon light slanting gold across the Quidditch pitch. Banners snapped lazily in the breeze, red and gold blurring together as students spilled from the bleachers, flushed with excitement and victory. Your scarf was crooked, your hands cold despite the sun, your heart still racing from the final goal. Gryffindor had won—again—and the ground seemed to hum with it.
You spotted them near the edge of the pitch almost immediately. Harry was grinning, broom tucked under his arm, Ron talking a mile a minute with that breathless, disbelieving joy he always got after a good match. George leaned against his broom, smirk firmly in place. And Fred—Fred was still vibrating with adrenaline, eyes bright, hair wind-tossed, laugh sharp and triumphant. You were halfway to calling out when the atmosphere shifted.
A voice—sneering, sharp—cut through the noise.
You didn’t catch the words. Only the way Fred’s expression changed.
One moment he was smiling, the next his jaw locked, shoulders going rigid like a bow pulled too tight. He turned so fast it was almost dizzying, broom dropping into the grass as he stepped toward a Slytherin player lingering far too close. George’s hand shot out instinctively, but Fred was already speaking—low, dangerous, nothing like his usual joking lilt.
The shove came first. Then the swing.
Gasps rippled outward as bodies surged, the pitch erupting into chaos. Robes tangled, brooms clattered to the ground, and the air filled with shouted insults and the dull thud of fists meeting fabric and bone. Fred didn’t just shove this time—he swung again, hard, and the Slytherin reeled back into another player. Someone shouted Harry’s name, and suddenly he was in it too, glasses askew, grappling with a boy twice as mouthy as he was tall. Ron followed without hesitation, red-faced and furious, tackling someone who’d laughed far too loudly.
You didn’t think—you ran.
Your voice cut through the noise as you grabbed Fred’s arm, fingers digging into his sleeve as you tried to haul him back. Ginny pulled his other arm though he barely budged, adrenaline making him feel immovable, his free hand still clenched, knuckles already split and bleeding.
“Guys—stop!” you shouted, breathless, heart hammering. “Fred, please—!”
Hermione was there a second later, grabbing Ron and yelling something sharp and furious. George wedged himself between Fred and the Slytherin, swearing under his breath as he shoved his twin back. Angelina and Katie Bell dragged Harry away just as he tried to lunge again, a cluster of students piling in to separate bodies and pull people apart.
Fred froze—not at George’s grip, not at the professors’ voices beginning to thunder across the pitch—but at you.
For a split second, the world narrowed to the feel of him beneath your hands: hot, shaking with rage, breath coming hard. His chest rose and fell as he looked down at you, eyes still blazing, blood smudged across his knuckles. Whatever had been said—whatever had lit the fuse—drained out of him the moment he saw your face.
“Enough!” came Professor McGonagall’s sharp command, cutting through everything like a blade, Snape’s dark form sweeping in behind her.
Students scattered quickly then, muttering and wide-eyed, as the professors took control. But you stayed where you were, hands still curled in Fred’s sleeve, staring up at him as the last of the fury faded into something else entirely—something protective, something raw and aching.
Professor McGonagall’s gaze swept over the wreckage of the pitch—grass torn up, brooms scattered, students still breathing hard with leftover fury clinging to them like smoke.
“That is quite enough,” she said crisply, her voice leaving no room for argument. Her sharp eyes landed first on the Gryffindors. “Potter. Weasley. Both of you. And you as well, Mr. Weasley.”
Fred straightened instinctively, jaw tightening again, though George’s hand stayed firm on his shoulder. You felt the shift immediately—the way Fred pulled himself together, the way he always did when consequences arrived.
Then Snape stepped forward, black robes billowing like a storm cloud. His lip curled as his gaze cut toward the green-clad students still being held back.
“Adrian Pucey. Marcus Flint. Draco Malfoy.” His eyes lingered on Malfoy with particular disdain. “I should have known.”
Malfoy smirked, despite the split lip and the hand still gripping his collar, until Snape’s glare silenced him.
“All of you,” McGonagall continued sharply, “will accompany us to the castle immediately. Detentions will be discussed once we have determined precisely what provoked this… disgraceful display.”
Harry adjusted his glasses, still flushed, Ron muttered something under his breath that Hermione immediately hissed at him to stop. Fred’s hands were clenched again at his sides, scraped and bleeding, his eyes flicking once toward you.
“Ms. Johnson,” McGonagall added, softer but no less firm, “you are to escort the rest of your team back to the tower.”
Angelina nodded and began calling the remaining players to follow her. Georges eyes flicked between Fred and you in something that looked dangerously like understanding as he followed his team off the pitch.
As the professors began herding the fighters toward the castle, you stood frozen, heart lodged somewhere in your throat. Fred hesitated—just a beat too long—before turning to follow McGonagall, Snape’s presence like a shadow at his back.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The corridors were quieter than they should have been, the aftermath of the match still echoing in distant stairwells and whispered clusters of students being shooed along by prefects. You paced near the entrance hall, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, heart still beating too fast.
Then you saw him.
Fred emerged from a side corridor with George a step behind him, Professor McGonagall disappearing the other way after delivering what was clearly a very final warning. Fred’s knuckles were split, one side of his jaw already darkening, a thin line of blood at his brow that made your stomach twist.
You didn’t hesitate.
“Fred,” you said, already crossing the space between you.
George opened his mouth—probably to tease, or warn, or say be careful—but one look at your face made him stop. He lifted his hands in surrender, backing away with a knowing huff.
“I’ll… give you two a minute,” he said lightly. “Try not to start another war.”
You barely heard him.
Fred looked down at you, something uncertain flickering behind his usual grin. “You shouldn’t—”
“Come on,” you cut in, gentler than your words suggested, fingers already curling around his wrist. “Before Madam Pomfrey sees you and makes a whole production of it.”
His hand was warm, rough, trembling just slightly. He let you lead him without protest, footsteps falling into sync with yours as you navigated staircases and turns you knew by heart.
The climb to Gryffindor Tower felt longer than usual. You could feel his eyes on you the whole way—protective, careful, like he was afraid one wrong word might break the moment.
“Did they say anything…?” you asked quietly as the Fat Lady came into view.
Fred exhaled through his nose. “Nothing worth repeating.”
That was answer enough.
Inside the common room, the fire crackled softly, casting gold over the familiar chaos of armchairs and half-finished homework. A few students glanced up, took in Fred’s state, and wisely looked back down.
You guided him to the stairs without slowing, tugging him along until you reached the boys’ dormitory door.
The dormitory was dim and empty, the late-afternoon light slanting in through the tall windows and catching dust motes in the air. The door clicked shut behind you, muting the sounds of the common room below.
“Sit,” you said again, more gently this time, steering Fred toward his bed.
He dropped down with a dramatic sigh, sprawling back against the pillows. “Blimey, dragged off to my own dormitory,” he said, attempting a grin. “If George knew—”
You shot him a look over your shoulder as you rummaged through his trunk. “Fred.”
“Alright, alright,” he laughed, hands lifting in surrender. “I’ll behave. Promise.”
You found what you were looking for—clean cloth, a small vial of essence of dittany, a bowl you filled with water from your wand—and turned back to him. Up close, the damage looked worse than it had in the corridor. His knuckles were scraped raw, one eyebrow split just enough to bleed again now that the adrenaline had worn off.
Your stomach flipped.
“Merlin,” you murmured, kneeling between his knees. “You really went for it.”
He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but you felt the tension in him. “They started it.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“Well,” he added lightly, eyes flicking to your face, “everyone’s usually wrong. I’m not.”
You dipped the cloth into the water and reached for his hand. The moment your fingers wrapped around his, something shifted—electric, quiet, undeniable. His teasing stalled. His grip tightened just slightly before he relaxed, letting you guide him.
You cleaned his knuckles slowly, carefully, your thumb brushing his skin more than strictly necessary. He watched you the entire time, gaze intent, softer than you’d ever seen it.
“You didn’t hear what they said,” he said after a moment, voice deliberately casual.
“No,” you replied. “I didn’t.”
Good, he thought—but he didn’t say it. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he’d never quite solved. “Still ran in like a hero, though.”
You snorted. “Hardly heroic. You’re terrible at stopping when you should.”
“Rude,” he said. “I stop all the time.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Name one.”
He opened his mouth—then shut it, huffing out a laugh. “Alright, fair.”
You moved closer to dab at the cut near his brow, your knees brushing his, your breath ghosting across his cheek. He went very still.
“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.
“Cleaning wounds?”
“Taking care of people.”
Your hand faltered for half a second before you recovered. “Someone has to look after you lot.”
Fred’s lips curved, not quite a grin. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”
Your eyes met.
The air felt thicker somehow, charged. His bravado flickered back on, just enough to keep things from tipping over the edge. “Though if you’re planning on fussing over me every time I get into a fight, I might start picking them on purpose.”
You leaned back, pointedly unimpressed. “Try it and I’ll hex you myself.”
“Ooh,” he said, delighted. “Threats now? Is this a new thing between us?”
You shook your head, but you were smiling despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he murmured, eyes warm, “you’re still here.”
You finished cleaning the last cut, your fingers lingering for just a heartbeat too long before you pulled away.
You shifted closer again, tearing a strip of bandage between your fingers. The sound was soft, but in the quiet dorm it felt loud. Fred watched your hands as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.
“This one’s going to bruise,” you said, pressing the bandage around his knuckles. Your touch was careful, but firm. “You’ll feel it tomorrow.”
He winced—not from the pain, but from how close you were. “Worth it.”
You paused. Looked up at him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend you enjoy getting hurt.”
His mouth tipped into that familiar crooked smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t say I enjoyed it. Just said I’d do it again.”
Your fingers stilled. The tension coiled tighter.
“For what?” you asked quietly.
Fred’s gaze lifted to yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your breath hitch. “Some things,” he said, voice low, “are worth taking a hit for.”
You swallowed and forced yourself to keep working, moving the bandage to his wrist, wrapping it slowly. Your thumb brushed the pulse there, and you felt it jump beneath your touch.
“You can’t keep doing that,” you said. “Charging in like you’re invincible.”
He laughed softly. “You think I believe that?”
You didn’t answer. You reached for his arm instead, lifting his sleeve to check the bruise along his forearm. Your closeness erased the rest of the world—no common room noise, no lingering shouts from the pitch, just the quiet between you and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“You were shaking,” he said suddenly.
You blinked. “What?”
“Back there,” he continued, gentler now. “When you grabbed me. Your hands were shaking.”
You hesitated, then tied off another bandage with more force than necessary. “I was angry.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Looked more like scared.”
Your eyes snapped to his. “I wasn’t.”
Fred didn’t tease you. Didn’t grin. He just looked at you, expression softening in a way that felt dangerous. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
The words settled heavy between you.
You leaned back slightly, but he followed the movement without thinking, your knees still pressed between his. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “You always come running, you know that?”
“And you always make trouble,” you shot back, though your voice lacked heat.
“Maybe,” he said. “But you always stay.”
Your breath caught. Your fingers tightened around the last bandage, your knuckles brushing his skin as you secured it. The proximity felt unbearable now—his warmth, his scent, the way his eyes kept flicking to your mouth like he was fighting himself.
You finished at last, hands lingering uselessly in your lap. “There,” you said. “You’ll live.”
Fred leaned forward just a fraction, close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheek. “Shame,” he murmured. “Was enjoying the attention.”
You scoffed, but your heart was hammering. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he repeated softly, echoing his earlier words, “here you are. Kneeling in my dorm, patching me up like I matter.”
Your gaze met his again, and for a second neither of you moved. The space between your faces was thin—too thin. Your thoughts scattered, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Then Fred exhaled and leaned back, breaking the spell with a lopsided grin. “Reckon Madam Pomfrey would be proud.”
You laughed shakily, grateful and frustrated all at once. “Get some rest, Weasley.”
He watched you stand, eyes following you like he wasn’t ready to let the moment go. “You’ll stay a minute?”
You hesitated—just long enough for him to notice—then nodded, settling beside him on the edge of the bed.
Fred stayed quiet longer than you expected.
You could feel it—the way something heavy sat just behind his jokes, the way his fingers kept flexing like he was still resisting the urge to punch something. You shifted beside him, turning slightly so your knee sat against his.
“You still haven’t told me,” you said softly.
“Told you what?”
“What he said.” Your voice was gentle but stubborn. “Fred. You don’t usually lose it like that unless it’s bad.”
He scoffed, eyes dropping to the floor. “You don’t need to hear it.”
“I do,” you insisted. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
He glanced at you then, a quick look—half fond, half exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
A breath left him, sharp and frustrated. He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “He said—” Fred stopped, jaw tightening. “He said something crude. About what he thought you’d be like. Alone. About how someone like you only looks sweet until—”
“Fred,” you said, very quietly.
He swallowed. “He talked about you like you were a thing. Like you existed for him to imagine whatever he liked.” His voice dropped, shaking now with contained fury. “I’ve heard a lot of rubbish from Slytherins. But that—about you—”
You felt something cold bloom in your chest, followed immediately by heat. Anger, yes—but also something else. Something aching.
“That’s why you fought,” you said.
“That’s why Harry fought,” Fred corrected. “That’s why Ron nearly lost his mind. And that’s why I nearly broke Pucey’s nose.”
You reached for him without thinking, your hand settling over his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your palm, solid and real.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, though your voice trembled.
“Yes,” he said immediately. “I did.”
You looked at him then—really looked. At the way his bravado cracked when it came to you. At the way his jokes fell away, leaving something fierce and unwavering behind.
“I can handle myself,” you murmured.
“I know,” he said. “That’s not the point.”
Silence stretched, thick and charged. Your hand was still on his wrist. Neither of you moved it.
“You scare me sometimes,” you admitted. “The way you rush in like that.”
He smiled faintly. “You scare me too.”
You blinked. “I do?”
“Yeah,” he said softly, turning his hand so your fingers slid into his palm. He didn’t fully lace them—just held on, tentative and careful. “Because you make me want to be better. And that’s… inconvenient.”
Your breath caught. “Fred…”
He leaned closer, close enough now that you could see the tiny freckle near his eye, the faint bruise blooming along his jaw. His voice dropped, losing its teasing edge. “I don’t want anyone looking at you like that. Thinking about you like that. I hate it.”
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
“Why?” you asked, though you already knew.
His gaze flicked to your mouth. Back to your eyes. “You really need me to spell it out?”
You shook your head, barely.
Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to. The air between you felt electric, fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it—or ignite it.
Fred moved first, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.
The kiss was soft at first, almost unsure—his lips brushing yours like a question. Then you answered, leaning in, fingers curling into his shirt as the tension finally broke.
He kissed you like he’d been holding back for years.
When you finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, breath uneven, he laughed quietly. “Well,” he murmured. “That explains the fight.”
You smiled, heart racing, forehead still pressed to his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think it does.”
You lingered because neither of you knew how to leave without making it weird—and somehow that made it worse.
Fred broke the silence first, smirking despite the split lip. “You always hover this close when you’re patching people up, or am I special?”
You tightened the bandage just enough to make him hiss. “Hold still.”
“Ow—see, that’s abuse. I nearly got expelled for you and this is the thanks I get.”
“For me?” You shot him a look. “You got expelled for your mouth, actually.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “Yeah, well. Occupational hazard.”
You finished taping the bandage and didn’t move away. He noticed. Of course he did—Fred noticed everything, especially when you were involved.
“You’re staring,” he said lightly.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Mm. Tragic. Still handsome though.”
You snorted. “Debatable.”
“Ouch. Worse than Pucey, that.”
You reached for another cloth, dabbing at a scrape along his jaw. “You didn’t have to start a fight.”
“I didn’t start it,” he said easily.
Your eyes flicked up to his. “You could’ve walked away.”
“And let him keep talking?” His tone stayed casual, but his gaze sharpened. “Not a chance.”
You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, leaning just slightly into your touch, “you’re still here.”
“Don’t read into things,” you said, but your voice wasn’t convincing.
“Too late,” he replied. “Been doing that for ages.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you like me anyway.”
That earned him another look—longer this time. Quiet. Measured.
He swallowed. “See? That one did it.”
“Did what?”
“Made me want to shut up.” A beat. “Which never happens.”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound easing the tightness in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
Neither of you moved for a moment, close enough to feel the heat, far enough to pretend it meant nothing and for once, Fred didn’t say another word. Both of you left in silence.
Fred broke first—of course he did.
“You know,” he said, eyeing the neat bandage on his knuckles, “if I’d known getting punched would earn me this level of personal attention, I’d have started fights years ago.”
You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d do this for anyone.”
He raised a brow. “Liar.”
You laughed despite yourself, a quick, helpless sound, and that was all it took. Fred’s grin widened, victorious and warm, like he’d been aiming for that exact reaction.
“There it is,” he said. “That laugh. Worth the detention.”
“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.
“And yet,” he replied, softer now, “you’re still smiling.”
He leaned in again, turning your shared smiles into a soft kiss, giggling into each other's mouths, the sound of it muffled and bright between you both. When you pulled back, both of you were smiling like idiots.
