✧[Summary]✧ Reuniting with your childhood bestfriend Theodore Nott. Except, he grew up way faster than you did. Falling behind, you trust him with certain things that are undiscovered under your experience, which also means following and doing everything he asks of. He'll teach you, he says. You should trust him, shouldn't you?
✧[Content]✧ Mature Content, characters are 18+, childhood!bestfriend!theo, pervert!theo, pussydrunk!theo, down!bad!theo, fem!reader, loss of virginity (f), corruption kink, size difference, mentions of masturbation, unprotected p in v, slight overstimulation, oral f!receiving, swearing, praising, mock symphathy, smut with plot, fluff at the start, no usage of y/n, no voldemort universe, sweet theo but he's also a freak..
✧[A/N]✧ First time writing posting fan fics! (It may be shitty but atleast it's not ai!) I really hope you guys enjoy this and let me know what you guys think and what y'all want me to write next! If you end up liking this feel free to fill my inbox with requests as well (I can also write for any of the other slytherin boys) , thats all. Enjoy!! ♡
✧[WC]✧ 3.6k
Your since-birth bestfriend Theodore Nott has always been in contact through letters every day since you got separated. Doesn't matter if he's sick—no excuses, he promised. Even if it was a blank sheet with one word, just a silent reminder that he still remembers.
Its all a blur, really. A little before you two separated was when your parents decided to move out and you both got your letters to very different and distant wizardry schools.
He didn't talk to you for days, upset about the moment. Only a day before leaving each other was when he made that promise.
"I'll write a letter to you. Everyday. Until we meet again. It doesn't matter if you don't write back, I just don't want you to forget about me."
And you wrote back. Every single time. Because not only you love him to death, you wanted to make sure he knew, even if it wasn't the last time you see him again.
Now it's time.
The two of you had graduated just a few hours ago. Though that doesn't really matter, Theo is already rushing down the halls of Hogwarts to get to the slytherin dungeons as fast as he can. For what reason?
To write you a damn letter.
His last day at Hogwarts, spending it to write that letter. The whole day to write one letter? Not that you'd know, it's never visible on that piece of parchment—the effort. The time he takes to think of all the things he should say, what he wants to say, though he never got far. One time he was staring at the unfinished letter like it personally dislikes him, leading him to send it halfway done. You still ended up reading it though.
That was one time. He vowed himself to never send unfinished letters ever again.
This letter he's currently writing is special though. Why? He gets to give it in person. Somewhere in the middle of the same school year, you both agreed to make letters for when you meet up again; which was after the school year ends.
Every school break your parents declined to let you visit each other because distance isn't adjustable. Even if your families are great friends, they all just have to be so busy, until now. Appearantly, at the start of this last school year, Theo's parents gave yours a letter, indicating that a week after graduation, they'll pay a visit and spend a few days in your family's manor.
And that's what led you to this moment.
As Theo was hours into writing, his grip on the quill threatening to snap, mind all over the place, while muttering incoherent words, the feathered stick he held finally snapped, splattering ink more than it could write.
"Fuck!" He muttered under his breath, flinched. Any of his dorm mates would've given him a look, but fortunately he was alone.
He stood from his desk and took large hurried steps to grab a few tissues on his mate's desk. After cleaning up the inky mess on his hands, he mentally prepared himself before looking at the letter properly, hoping the ink didn't mess it up too much.
Thankfully it didn't do much that it could still be read. Except for a certain paragraph that whole heartily explains his feelings to be more than just a best friend to you.
..Yeah.
⏤͟͟͞͞☆
Heartbeat racing, shaky hands, brain malfunctioning, stomach in knots. You were geniunely so nervous. Confused, kind of. You shouldn't be so shaken up just because you were meeting your best friend in merely a few hours, but you were.
The manor is spotless, You had just finished preparing the dining table, ready for guests. The thought of knowing who the guests were.. Not for your weak self.
Busy with overthinking and clenching your teeth, you hadn't noticed your own mother waving a hand in your face, trying to bring you back from whatever alien is in your mind.
"Earth to my daughter?" She looked too concerned, it was almost laughable. Except you realized what was happening and wanted that alien to take you for real.
The door bell had rung.
"We don't want to keep them waiting, darling." She nudged you once before holding the sides of your shoulders with gentle, comforting hands. "What's wrong, my sweetie? Do the heels not fit? Is the dress too tight? I knew I should've took you to shopping instead of your father! He doesn't—"
"Mother, I'm okay! I promise. The dress and heels are perfect, thank you. I'm just.. Nervous? In a way that's also kind of excited, you know?" You rushed an explaination, now acknowledging the waiting guests probably still outside.
The door bell rang again.
She gave you a reassuring smile before taking hold of your hand and leading you to the front door. Her delicate fingers grasping the knob of the large detailed double doors, before twisting it and welcoming the guests.
So many things raise up in your head.
Does he still act like he did back then? Will he be awkward with me? What does he look like now? After seven years he surely has looked so much more different, all grown up. Does he still have those adorable teeth? Those luscious strands of brown hair you were always jealous of? And oh those eyes. Unreal, you always thought. Out of everything, you were sure he still had those.
And you were correct. His powerful brown eyes are very much real, as it burned to yours.
"Star." You heard him speak with a much more deeper voice than you remember. That nickname. He hadn't called you that in years, not even in letters—seven years to be exact. He gave it to you while star gazing, you rambling about how you wanted to be a star in the sky because they look so mesmerizing and shine so bright. He said you were his star.
"Teddy." Your voice almost cracked as the water pooled in your eyes—blurring vision.
Oh how his heart almost broke at the sight. It felt so good to hear your voice, especially with his nickname. You hadn't called him that in years either. The name was given while he was complaining at the absurd amount of stuffed animals you owned. Sweet little baby you, thinking he was just jealous, you said no amount of plushies could ever replace such a special teddy like him. He was your teddy.
Not a even a second more wasted before you two quite literally ran to each other with such short distance, meeting in the middle with the tightest hug ever. He was really tall, wearing a navy blue sweater (one you sent him) with the sleeves rolled up. Your arms wrapped around his neck while his hooked your back, your head buried against his shoulder. He then moved one of his hands to the back of your head as he pressed a firm kiss on the side of your head.
"Kids?" Your mother yelled, "Dinner's at the table, whenever you're ready." She continued as a guiding hand was gestured at Theodore's parents and led them to the dining area.
After a few more seconds of holding one other in each other's arms, you pulled Theo along and went to join the others to eat.
It was great. The food was phenomenal, everyone had a smile on their face. Theo's gaze burning all over you—he wasn't the only one who looked different since then. His knees brushed against yours every few seconds or so. Although, he insisted on sleeping in your room instead of the guest bedroom that's right across the hall, not that you'd mind.
Longing to catch up, Theo dragged you to rush with him to change into sleepwear—you decided on an oversized t-shirt given by none other than Theo himself (he insisted on you wearing it) and some tiny shorts that you refuse to replace because of its 'comfortability and stretchiness' despite it being almost identical to the size of regular underwear—you don't care. Theo just wore a shirt about the same as yours and sweatpants, how cute!
He sat on one side of your bed, facing you as your back rests on the headboard. "I rewrote it so it may look a bit terrible." Theo muttered nervously as he hands the enveloped letter to you.
"Oh come on! I didn't even recheck my letter before sealing it up." Liar. You so reread it a bunch of times. Which was worth it based on his reaction to your handwritten compliments and touching words that struck him like an arrow to the heart and made his face blush.
Your fingers gently opened the envelope, taking out a neatly folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, your eyebrows furrowed, taking in his written words, a small smile appearing every now and then, until...
"I love you? " You whispered softly, looking directly at his eyes, not meaning to embarrass him. But oh, he's embarrassed. His face quickly heats up and his eyes darted away to avoid your stare.
"Oh, teddy." You hook your arms around him, comforting as his hands almost immediately found your back.
"Star, I'm sorry I wasn't—"
"I love you too." You mumbled against his sweater. He tenses up.
"..What?" He pulled back, wanting to make sure he heard that right. "Say it again."
"Teddy, I love you. So much." You mean it. His eyes speak a lot more than what he has to say.
"Again."
"I love you, I love you, I love you." You really looked at him, clueless about the short distance between your faces.
His brain short circuited. Mesmerized by how your lips moved and let out words he adores with a voice he cherishes even better. He's completely oblivious to how he's shamelessly staring at your soft lips even after as they stopped moving.
"I love you too, star." Still staring until his gaze finally met yours. Your breath hitched. He looks so handsome, pretty under the dim light and faint orange shade of your candles.
He found himself in the same situation. His fixation everywhere on your face—mostly on your lips. To him, you define every word that serves as a compliment. Gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, stunning, breathtaking, enchanting, delightful, magnificent, otherworldly.
Not long before he leans in slowly. Calculated movement, knowing when to stop when he needs to and continue when given permission.
"Wait." You pause, so does he, then hesitantly, "I haven't done this before.."
"I can teach you, darling." He responds almost immediately with a calming smile that makes your brain melt.
Carefully, you lean in. Fluttering your eyelids closed, you feel his lips meet yours. Light, gentle, and welcoming. Slowly at first, as if he's teaching you, but making you lead. Then, his tongue grazed yours. Tugging at your waist, lifting and guiding you up to straddle his lap as his back leaned on the headboard along with the silk dressed pillows.
Your hands trembled, flat above his chest as he felt your soft breasts laid on it. You caught yourself in a deep, passionate make out session. Something you've never had before, never knew. Heat pools between your legs, it almost feels like its hurting? No, aching. You've never felt like this before—needy, slightly trembling. Lips still perfectly molded onto his, muffling your whines, a reaction to the unfamiliar feeling. Shifting a bit on Theo's lap, his grip tightened on your waist and thigh. He groaned into your mouth, the vibrations going straight to your desperate little cunt.
You can feel heartbeat racing, was it yours or his? You can't tell. Pulling back to catch some breath, his eyes captivating, wanting needing more. You weren't even sure if he could hear, "Theo, where did you learn this?"
"I know a lot more than just this, sweetheart." He softly chuckles at your cheeks turning into a faint shade of pink, "Don't you hear about it in school?"
You let your mind wander, "Everyone talks about it.. How it's addictive and feels really good."
"Then how come you're so clueless about this hm?" He rasps, following with "Aw, my poor angel. You really don't know how this works do you?"
Your bottom lip jutted out slightly, huffing, "Of course I know." Pants are on fire, not that you had one on. You've never ever put the context outside the text book. Nothing more than just scientific diagrams and pictures. Lowering your voice, "—I just don't know how to execute it." There you go, "Theo, you know I don't speak to anybody besides you. Everyone else is weird." You didn't mean for it to sound like he was the only man in your life, but judging by the forming smirk on his face, he wasn't complaining at all.
"That's the thing, star. It's not exactly something you do with everybody." He pauses for a bit, "It's considered as an act of love. I reckon that's what you feel for me, yeah?"
Its almost as if that sentence snapped you back to what you're actually doing. Warmth still radiating from your body, inner thighs slick with arousal, you instinctively try to close them together, only resulting to Theo gripping your hips down so they're unable to shift even slightly.
Heavy pants fill the room as you whimper and whine at the imprint of his hard length poking just right at your clothed clit.
He inhaled sharply, "I'll stop if you want me to, you know that right, darling?" The grip on your hips softened, holding himself back from just pinning you down and grind against your pretty cunt for some relief.
"Please—" You whimpered, don't even know what you're begging for. Looking for some sort of ease to it, you started to grind on him, slightly. Theo grunted before quieting himself by having a hand on the back of your neck and leaving kisses right below your ear.
Oh my gosh.
You closed your eyes. If you weren't in heaven then where else were you? Moans, whimpers, and heavy breathing could be heard. Thankfully, your room is at the end of the hall, or else you'd have to face the problem of having an unwanted audience at your little freak show.
You're so wet. You can almost hear it as it grinds against his dick. It feels so heavenly. Your stomach starts to knot, in a good way. You speed up your hips—afraid if you'll stop or slow down, it'll go away.
"Oh—fuck, baby don't do that." Theo breathed out, he clearly doesn't want this to end yet. He wants to relish it. With a swift movement, you were laid under him. You whine in protest before he captures your lips in a kiss.
"Are you so sure about this?" He asks one more time. He also hopes you have an idea that if you a agree, he will in fact finish what he started, maybe even more. A winner doesn't stop after winning one race.
"Yes, Theo please—" You choked out, so desperate for an angel. He kisses you again, you're an angel to him no matter what.
He took off his shirt and you couldn't help but stare. He flashes you a grin before helping you take off your shirt too. Being shy, you attempted to cover yourself but Theo's hands are way faster than yours and pulled them away.
"Don't that, baby, you're so beautiful." He kisses you forehead, takes a small glance at your breasts and then fully gawks at them. They look so soft and light pink nipples hardened at his gaze. He takes his time, giving experimental squeezes to get a reaction from you, slow licks, sucking, and kissing—making his way right above the waist band of your shorts.
Your soft moans encouraged him to take them off and reveal your underwear, probably with a wet patch on it. A surprised moan emerged from your throat as he pressed his nose directly on your clit, lips kissing just right below, thin fabric separated the two. You don't even wanna know what's on his mind right now, such perverse thoughts.
You looked down on him, his eyes? Right back at you. Sharp and fiercing gaze as if he wasn't right in between your legs.
"So wet for me, hm?" A sly smirk you can hear just from his voice. "Is that bad..?" Your voice lowered—how cute. Thinking it wasn't a good thing, you try to close your legs except Theo immediately pries them open.
"Of course not. Y'know how long I've been thinking 'bout this?" He mumbles through the thin cloth, vibrating against your heat. "This is s'much better than just jerking off to the thought." His eyes are closed, is he pussydrunk?
He then pressed a firm kiss on your clit before taking your underwear off completely. His lips touches yours once more, then mumbles into your mouth. "Wanna eat you—mmph—you gonna let me eat you, yeah?" His hungry eyes prey at your glistening cunt. You whimper impatiently, "Theo—"
You cut off into a moan as he licks a fat stripe up, then without lifting, he sucked at your clit. "Please—hmmpgh—Theo!" You moan loudly as he positioned his tongue to your opening and began to repeatedly lick the dripping arousal.
Dragging his tongue up to your clit again, he started to alternate between licking and flicking, gaining a new mouthful of whimpers and moans from you. Oh he was enjoying this—making you a moaning mess while thrusting his hips on the mattress, turned on by the filthiest sounds of both your pretty pussy and mouth.
He licked once more before sucking harshly on the overly sensitive bud. "OH MY—" Your vision blurred, eyes at the back of your head, mind starting to spin and melt.
"Mmhmph—tastes s'good, sweetheart." His words vibrate through the rest of your body as your legs start to tremble. "Cum f'me."
He keeps on attacking and abusing your poor sensitive clit until the knot building up inside you finally snapped. Your eyelids screwed shut, crying out his name. Legs shaking, involuntarily twitching.
He pulls back to relish your disheveled self—hair messy, small streaks of tears on your flush cheeks, you looked like a goddess, brows slightly pinched together, watery eyes looked up at him still so innocently. "So fucking beautiful." He goes back down and drags his tongue down to your opening up to firmly press against your pulsating bud. Your legs shook at that—an overstimulating sensation even when he's just pressing it against you. He rises up and pecks your lips. Still resting from your high, you felt poking on your thigh. You look down and—
Woah.
You did not know they can go that big. Your mouth goes slightly agape while your wide eyes moved to look at him. He laughs softly, "Worried?"
You pouted, "Theo.. Thats gonna hurt me.." He gives you a sympathetic look—though you know he's probably mocking you. As if he wasn't big enough, your small frame made it seem like hes a lot bigger. "Poor you. Too bad you're gonna have to take all of me, hm?" He flashes you another grin.
You whimper as he slides his tip up and down, collecting arousal. He slowly pushes in the tip, making you hiss at the burning sensation. It hurts definitely, but the way it turns into pleasure..
In between a sob and a moan, you clung onto Theo's back, digging your nails that earned a groan from him. You whimper and cry when he slides in inch by inch until he bottoms out—staying still for a few seconds, feeling the way your velvety walls swallow him whole. He starts to throw in lazy thrusts, making sure you adjust to his size. It burns. More soft thrusts before you vividly expressed that you're needing more. His thrusts getting harder—skin to skin contact heard within the room. His moaning and whimpering mixed with yours.
Phlap—phlap—phlap.
He felt you clench around him. "Please, please, please—" You choked out. "Just a little bit more for me, darling, please.." Theo panted, he held himself back, not wanting to come so quickly. He hooked your legs on his shoulders, kissing you like he'd crumble if he didn't. The new angle made you feel him in your throat. You sob in his mouth, "S'too deep..!"
Phlap—phlap—phlap.
"Doing so perfect for me, baby." He breathed. You clenched firmly around him again. "Shit—yeah keep doing that.." He leans in for another kiss but the pleasure was getting unbearable, making you two just moaning and groaning in each other's mouths. "Made just for me, yeah?"
Phlap—phlap—phlap.
You moan loudly, the now familiar knot in your stomach pulling to snap in every direction. So close. The way he perfectly grinds against your clit as he drills relentlessly into you, hands planting your hips to the mattress, your fingers grasping his hair, your thighs began to quiver. And then.. His sharp voice.
Phlap—phlap—
"Cum with me."
Phlap!
One last harsh and deep thrust. Loud moans surfaced your throat as he felt your walls ripple and cum on his cock before he stuffs your little cunt full with his warm sticky fluid.
You both stayed still for while. He then kissed your forehead, pulling out. You sighed, exhausted. After laying limp for a few minutes, Theo decided to clean you up with a bath—carrying your tired body to the bathtub, washing your hair, and letting you scrub your own body with soap while he was in the shower in the same bathroom.
After you freshened up (and dried your hair) Theo took space of the whole bed, your solution? Sleep on him. Hes sprawled all over your sheets while you lay on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat, "I love you, teddy." Thinking he was probably asleep already, you started to doze off yourself.
"I love you too, star."
I honestly think they're so cute I wanna make it into a thing (star!reader x teddy!theo) but I'm not sure if you guys would like it.. Let me know what you think! ♡
Work written by me. Some dividers aren't mine and credits go to those who owns them. Please do not copy, translate, or feed my work to AI.
Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me
⋆ pairing : cedric diggory x fem!reader
⋆ summary : you were hogwarts’ golden couple — both quidditch captains, both prefects, both hopelessly in love. until your family forced you to break his heart. a year later, the feelings are still there, stronger than ever, but so are the rumours about cho chang. when cedric is chosen as hogwarts’ champion, you finally speak to him again. not to win him back… just to help him survive.
⋆ wc : 4.9k
⋆ second chance romance, golden couple, aching to touch him / her
The first time she saw Cedric Diggory, they were only third years, barely fourteen, and it was raining. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Well, it wasn’t. She was in the middle of Quidditch practice, the rain was so heavy she could barely see, and that led her to crash into one of her teammates. He managed to cling to his broom; but she didn’t. She plummeted straight into the mud, crashing hard into the pitch. Every inch of her hurt, and when she opened her eyes after the fall, a boy with storm-grey eyes was crouched beside her, worry etched across his face.
“Are you alright?”
The only thing she managed in response was a groan.
“That was quite a fall, we should get you to Madam Pomfrey.”
She soon noticed that the entire Hufflepuff team had gathered around her, curious and concerned. Anyone could have stepped forward. But Cedric moved first. And because of that, one of the most fated love stories Hogwarts had ever seen truly began.
By the time they were sixteen, they were two of the school’s most outstanding students. Prefects, Quidditch captains, always at the top of their class. They were bright, determined, and the kind of couple people rolled their eyes and say “of course they’re together”. The golden students, everyone called them. But no one truly knew them.
No one saw the way she braided his hair when she was anxious about an exam, or how he kissed both her cheeks every morning at breakfast. They didn’t know about the silly good-luck handshake they had before every match, or the way they spoke for hours about their fears of failure, their doubts, their dreams — and how, with each other, none of it felt too heavy to carry. They weren’t just a couple, they were best friends, and they weren’t perfect. But they were safe, and in a world that demanded so much of them both, that was more than enough. For a time, it felt like it would last forever. They were always together. Truly in love.
Until they couldn’t be anymore.
Her family didn’t see love — they saw distraction. She still remembers that letter, and the threats written in it. They made it clear: people with her surname were expected to aim higher, to protect the family name, to never let some teenage boy soften her ambition. They called it a phase and a brief, foolish distraction. They gave her a choice, but it never felt like a choice. Not with the promises they made… not with the consequences they vowed would follow if she disobeyed, and she, ever the people-pleaser, did as they asked. She broke up with him.
It wasn’t quiet, and it wasn’t clean. Her, sobbing in the owlery at midnight, unable to form a sentence. Cedric, heartbroken, begging her to explain. She was too shattered to hold her composure, especially not when she saw the agony in the boy she loved. And when that single tear slipped down his cheek, the only thing that left her lips was, “I’m sorry.” Then she ran, because she knew she wouldn’t survive it if she saw him cry because of her.
It didn’t go unnoticed either. The next day, she didn’t sit beside him at the Hufflepuff table, her eyes were puffy, and Cedric didn’t speak with anyone for nearly two weeks. The rumours flew, ridiculous as always: cheating, competition, and even falling out of love. All of them wrong.
That was nearly a year ago.
She spent the months since pretending it didn’t matter. Her marks stayed exceptional, her Quidditch team soared, and her family couldn’t have been prouder. But nothing filled the void.
She avoided Cedric at all costs. Dodged him in corridors, woke early to skip him at breakfast, sat at the opposite end of every shared class. She was trying so hard to convince herself that it was for the best.
But the feelings didn’t fade. They simply buried themselves deep, and recently, they’ve been clawing their way back up, thanks to the castle’s favourite subject of gossip.
“Did you see him? With Cho Chang. Heard someone say she watched him practise yesterday… and they went to Hogsmeade after. You don’t think—?”
She tries to brush it off, because they’re not together and they haven’t been for nearly a year. He’s allowed to move on, but it still hurts every time she hears his name, because no one has ever made her feel something that real. She swore she’d never speak to him again — for both their sakes, and she kept her word.
Until the Goblet of Fire changed everything.
His name is called, he’s been chosen as Hogwarts Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, and her world becomes blurry. It echoed in her ears, followed by the cheers, the applause, and she blinks, trying to understand what’s about to happen. Everyone stood up around her, jubilant. She stayed seated, feeling her heart beat as fast as if it’s going to pop out of her chest. He walked forward, proud, smiling, and then, for the briefest of moments, his eyes met hers. She doesn’t know what he saw in her expression, because she doesn’t even know what she was feeling — but her hands trembled and her chest ached, so she just looked away.
The next morning, she went to the owlery, ready to send yet another glowing academic update to her family, but just as she stepped inside, something knocked into her, and she slipped. She landed hard on the stone floor. Looked up — and there he was, just like the very first time.
“Are you alright?”
His face was flooded with concern, like that day in the rain, on the Quidditch pitch. She nodded, but her throat closed up, then he offered his hand, so she took it, and when she stood, she made sure to avoid his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Didn’t see you coming.”
“No worries,” she murmured.
The silence that followed was far from comfortable. She felt his eyes on her, pleading silently for her to meet them. The tension increases, and she doesn’t know how to act, suddenly she even forgets how to use her hands, and the letter she was holding slipped to the floor. She hurries to grab it, but he does the same, so their heads collided with a painful thunk.
“Sorry!”
“Sorry!”
They both laughed. For the first time in months, she saw his smile, and it was for her. She felt like her heart could explode right there.
“Congratulations,” she said. “For being chosen.”
“Thanks. Didn’t think it’d be me.”
Another silence threatened to form, but she broke it with a question she was eager to ask.
“Are you scared?” His eyes told her everything, but still, he answered.
“Yes.” Then, after a moment… “Are you?”
The question caught her off-guard. She couldn’t answer, it felt like her voice was stuck in her throat. So she lets her eyes speak for her.
“I’ll be alright,” he said gently, trying to reassure her.
“I don’t know. No one really knows what these tasks will be, I’ve been reading about the Tournament and there’ve been deaths, Cedric. Once, the task involved a basilisk. Do you even know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I’d actually be chosen. But you’ve done your research — why?”
Because the moment she heard he’d put his name in the Goblet, her heart dropped, and even if she prayed he wouldn’t be chosen, her mind prepared itself for the worst. She had to.
“Curiosity.”
“You do know you were always a terrible liar, do you?”
Ever since that encounter in the owlery, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. His eyes, his smile, the way he admitted with complete honesty that he was afraid. It had felt like maybe, just maybe, not everything between them had been completely shattered.
A couple days later, she decided she would just carry on, with no distractions. It was for the best, but when she entered entered into the library and saw him sitting alone at a table, reading a massive tome on magical creatures, she couldn’t help but approach.
“That book’s outdated… look at the year,” she whispered. “They reclassified some of the creatures a few years ago. I’ve seen a more complete version somewhere in here. Green cover, gold edges, and a wampus on the front”.
“Thanks,” he said glancing up at her, a flicker of surprise on his face. “Would you help me find it?”
She knew she shouldn’t, because if anyone saw them together, the rumours would surely start to fly around. But it was late, the library was nearly empty, and they could always find a table hidden in some forgotten corner. So she nodded, and together they walked in search of the book.
They spent the evening writing down potential beasts Cedric might have to face as part of the Tournament. The library was already empty, and the silence between them would only break whenever they came across a promising creature, however, the tension between them was ever present. And that’s how it all began.
It became a quiet habit; studying together for hours, long after everyone else had gone back to their dormitories, surrounded by books and floating lanterns, Cedric’s scent lingering in her senses despite the respectable distance between them. She was only helping him prepare, or at least she wanted to convince herself that it was only that, because every time she caught him watching her, a knot formed in her throat, or when their knees brushed under the table, it felt like a jolt of electricity ran through her entire body.
Being near him made her feel calm, but also on edge. She longed to touch him again — to hold his hand, run her fingers through that soft chestnut hair, or feel the warmth of one of his hugs. Now, more than ever, it was impossible to keep those feelings buried, and the curiosity of not knowing if he was feeling the same way was just killing her slowly.
“Why are you really helping me?” He asked one evening, out of nowhere. She avoided his gaze, and closed the book in front of her. “You don’t owe me anything, and it’s not like your family would approve.”
She looked at him, and for a moment, she lost herself in the candlelight reflecting in his eyes and the perfect curve of his jaw.
“They won’t find out, and if they do, I’ll say I was just studying.”
“Well, technically you are. But that’s not answering my question.”
She sighed, and then let the truth slip from her lips.
“I never stopped caring, Ced. I want you to survive this.”
Their eyes didn’t part for a single second after that, and the smile he gave her in response made her heart feel warm. He dropped the quill in his hand, then slowly reached out, lacing his fingers with hers, gently and carefully, as though the touch itself might burn them both. She held his hand tightly, and wished she’d never have to let him go again.
The first task was only a week away, and their study sessions had become more intense than ever, but between books and scrolls, they began to give in to the pull between them more and more. They sat closer each time, held hands beneath the table, and Cedric made sure to kiss her cheek every time they said goodbye. Sometimes, when she managed to make him laugh loud enough for the librarian to hush them, the sound of his laughter stayed with her for the rest of the week. And sometimes, when she rested her head on Cedric’s shoulder, he made sure not to move an inch so she could stay there for as long as possible—just long enough for him to memorise the feel of her hair brushing against his cheek.
Despite that, they didn’t speak during the day. She had to be cautious, had to keep it secret, otherwise, her family would find out, and once again everything would come crumbling down. Cedric understood, so when she saw him in the corridors, he merely offered her a soft smile, though deep down she longed to run to him, to hold him, maybe even kiss him.
That evening, Cedric had asked her to meet him later than usual in the Restricted Section of the library. Apparently, Professor Sprout had secured them special permission to access books with more detailed information. When she arrived, Cedric was leaning against a wall, reading a thick volume on dragons.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” When he looked up, she noticed something had shifted in him. “Come on, let’s go in.”
He opened the door to the Restricted Section, let her in first, and closed it behind them. He muttered a simple “Follow me,” and strode quickly towards a specific set of shelves.
“Ced…” she called out, slightly uneasy. He seemed rushed.
“Dragons,” he whispered. “The first task is dragons.”
Her heart dropped. Her lips parted, and her expression turned visibly shaken.
“What…?”
“Harry told me. Apparently he saw them. But I’m not sure if we’re supposed to run from them, trick them, or…”
“They can’t expect you to fight a bloody dragon. That’d be mad if that’s what they’re asking.”
“If that’s what they want, I need to be ready. Ready for anything, to distract, confuse, defeat… I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve never even seen a dragon in real life, and I’ve spent the whole day reading stupid dragon books, trying to stay calm, but I can’t—I can’t deal with a bloody dragon. This was a foolish decision, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t…”
He was rifling through all the books in the section when she noticed his breathing start to sound ragged. The words stopped leaving his lips, and his body began to tremble, so she quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face her, just so their eyes could meet.
“Ced, breathe. Just breathe. I’m here. You’re okay, and you will be okay,” she said, cupping his face gently. “Look at me—everything’s going to be fine, alright?”
Cedric blinked rapidly, trying to regain control. He sank to the floor, and she followed without hesitation. Sitting face to face, she took his hands in hers and didn’t let go. His skin was ice cold.
“I’ll help you survive this, we’ll find the perfect way for you to face the task,” she whispered, watching him carefully as he worked to calm his breath again. “I’m not going to lose you. Not again.”
At that moment, Cedric looked up, and the moment their eyes met, she felt her heart pound violently in her chest. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips, and slowly, he let go of one of her hands and placed it delicately on her cheek, drawing closer to her face. She, too, leaned in, struggling to contain the fire that had ignited inside her. Now her breathing was as uneven as his had been only seconds before.
Their foreheads brushed, and Cedric tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, as if trying to see her better, to memorise every part of this moment. Their noses touched, and their lips were so close they could feel the warmth of the other’s breath, but neither dared close the distance. She didn’t, because she knew if she kissed him, she wouldn’t be able to stop. He didn’t, because he wasn’t sure if it was truly what she wanted.
Cedric closed his eyes, and just as he was about to erase the space between them, she pulled away. Only slightly. Just enough to stop the kiss.
“I can’t, Ced…”
“I know,” he answered, quietly, resigned, exhausted, his desire contained and unspoken.
He let go of her face, but wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into him, in an embrace that said all the words they wouldn’t speak.
“Thank you for helping me. Even with everything… thank you for not letting me go through this alone.”
She smiled and hugged him tightly in return.
“It would’ve broken my heart to know you were going through this on your own.”
Cedric said nothing. He simply held her in his arms, wishing this moment could last forever. And when he finally let go, she felt the cold return instantly—like being caught under winter snow with no cloak to protect her.
“We should keep searching,” she said softly.
“Yes. Right…”
They continued searching for information about dragons, but after that closeness… neither of them could truly concentrate.
There was less than a day left before the First Task, and she knew Cedric couldn’t be more ready for it. When night fell, she felt strange realising that Cedric no longer waited for her in the library, and that they probably wouldn’t speak again until they found out what the Second Task was about. She planned to go to bed early, but during dinner she overheard murmurs from people saying no one could find Cedric to wish him luck. Not even Cho Chang had been able to see him. So she immediately knew where he was.
The night was clear, which was rare for late November, and though it was cold, the wind blew very softly. She gripped her broom tightly, and when she stepped into the Quidditch pitch, she saw him in the distance, flying higher than usual. She mounted her broom and flew until she found him face to face.
“You’re not trying to get yourself killed before the task, are you?” she said, hoping to make him laugh. He looked at her and gave her a soft smile, then continued to look up at the sky, as if he might find answers there. “You shouldn’t be out here alone, everyone’s looking for you to wish you luck.”
“I wanted to clear my head, get away from everything.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll go then,” she said still playfully, and he responded with a soft laugh.
“Away from everything, except you… because I knew you’d find me,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “I still remember the first time we met, right here.”
“I remember the pain… and the mud,” they both laughed, nostalgic.
“We should go down,” he said.
She followed him to one of the stands. Once there, they left their brooms aside and sat facing each other, their knees brushing.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like myself than when I was with you.”
“You’re with me now,” she replied, trying to keep the playful tone.
“You know what I mean.” When Cedric looked at her with a serious expression, she knew it was time to stop joking. “I felt like I could do anything if you were by my side. I’ve missed this, all this time. Not just your help — you.”
She wasn’t prepared to hear that. Her heart stopped for a second, and she could feel all those repressed feelings taking over.
“I thought you’d moved on. Everyone says you and Cho…”
“No one really knows what’s going on. She’s kind and sweet to me, and I like her, just not in that specific way, simply because she’s not…”
His eyes met hers. That left her with an expression of confusion, though she knew exactly what he meant to say. Cho wasn’t her.
“Are you scared?” she asked. It was the only thing she managed to say.
“Yes, but not because of the task. I’m scared I won’t see you again.”
She felt something crack in her chest.
“Shut up, Cedric, don’t say that,” she whispered in pain. “Don’t be stupid, don’t say that, please… I already told you I’m not losing you again.”
Without even realising, she leaned towards him and held him by the shoulders. It was an impulse; the tears clouded not only her sight but her mind too. Feeling her so close, Cedric held her by the waist, pulling her gently towards him unconsciously.
“If I don’t make it through the task…”
“Shut up. You will make it. You’re Cedric freaking Diggory, the Goblet chose you for a reason. I know you’ll get through this alive, and you better, because I believe in you.”
“And that’s all I need,” he whispered, and his voice sounded like it was hanging by a thread.
She didn’t answer, just looked at him, a few silent tears rolling down her cheeks — tears Cedric made sure to wipe away. And with that, everything inside her changed completely. After months of wanting to hold him, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel like she was his again even just for a moment… she had the chance for all of it and more. They were getting closer and closer, and the freezing night began to feel warmer. When they were only inches apart, she could swear Cedric could hear her heart beating. He didn’t let go of her waist for a second, and after sharing a look heavy with emotion, she held Cedric by the neck, beginning to close the gap between them.
When their noses brushed, she made sure to be fully present in that moment she’d dreamed about so often. He leaned in, and their lips touched with hesitation, as if still asking for permission — but she made sure he knew he didn’t need it.
It was a soft kiss at first, sweet, as if they were trying to remember how to kiss each other. And once they found the rhythm, something exploded between them; months of silence, pent-up desire, pain, and repressed love. It all surfaced like a crashing wave. The kiss grew deeper, more intense, even desperate, as if they were both afraid that separating would make it all disappear. But it wouldn’t. They were there, nearly burning with longing.
Cedric slid a hand under her jumper, pulling her closer to him with urgent need, and she just kept her hands to his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. When Cedric finally moved both hands down her back, she had no choice but to sit on his lap, her legs astride him. She clung to his shirt, pulling him as close as possible, and she increased the kiss’s intensity when he rested his hands on her bum.
Their lips locked fiercely, their bodies drawn like magnets, and Cedric’s warmth clashed violently with the cold night air — yet she didn’t shiver, but only because he was there, because she was finally feeling him again. So hot, so desperate, just for her.
Cedric moaned softly against her lips when she rocked her hips hard against him, prompting her to bite his lip gently, telling him to stay quiet. She was losing control — the sweet, devoted girl vanished from her body, and in her place was someone full of desire and love for a boy. She began to leave kisses along his neck, and just when she was about to unbutton his trousers, a noise on the pitch stopped them.
Immediately, they ducked down, hiding behind the railing and trying to avoid being seen by whoever might be out there. But they saw nothing, so it remained a mystery — and a supremely annoying interruption. After catching their breath, they exchanged a look of disbelief, then smiled at the same time. She didn’t hesitate to throw herself at him in a hug. He held her by the waist, and they shared a laugh of pure happiness.
“I’ve been waiting for months…” she tried to say, but he interrupted her with a tender kiss.
“I know,” he replied, caressing her face gently and giving her a small smile. “I don’t want to lose this.”
They fell silent for a moment, wrapped in the soft breeze and the starlight. No one else in this school, or the entire world, knew what had just happened, and no one else ever would. This had been a moment for the two of them, and no one else.
“If you promise me you’ll survive the tournament, I promise you’ll never lose me again.”
“I promise I’ll make it out of this tournament alive,” he said, certain and sincere, looking at her in the eyes.
“Then I’ll make sure I never leave your side again.”
Even though it hadn’t been her name drawn from the Goblet, her stomach had been twisting with nerves since the moment she’d woken up. She had never felt fear like this before; her mind wouldn’t stop conjuring up the worst scenarios, and not even Cedric’s words could soothe her now.
Since the morning, she hadn’t been able to clear her thoughts. She knew Cedric was prepared, because they’d read every single book that might be useful, practised spell after spell, again and again. But that didn’t change the reality: in just a few minutes, Cedric would be standing in front of a real dragon, trying to steal a bloody golden egg, and there was absolutely nothing she could do but watch and try not to faint.
The stadium roared with cheers; everyone else seemed so excited they might burst. But not her, she was so worried she thought she might die.
She didn’t take her eyes off the entrance to the field. Any moment now, Cedric would appear, and when he finally did, the world slowed down. Her golden boy stepped into the arena with his head held high, gripping his wand tightly, ready to complete the task. Almost at the same time, the dragon was released — a Swedish Short-Snout. She recognised it by the silver-blue scales and the frantic, azure flames it spat into the air.
She gripped the railing tightly, praying Cedric would find a way to beat the creature quickly. As soon as the dragon spotted him, it rushed to attack him, without hesitation, and a scream tore from her throat before she even realised.
“Run, Ced! Come on, you can do this!”
Ten agonising minutes passed as Cedric tried to figure out a way to outsmart the beast. Ten minutes of ducking, dodging, hiding. Her heart was pounding, palms slick with sweat, her voice barely audible. Fear had taken hold of her body, and she was sure that if Cedric didn’t grab the stupid egg soon, she was going to break down and cry from sheer panic.
Then, he started to run — leaping over rocks, rolling away from jets of fire that nearly caught him. And when he reached a far corner of the field, he finally acted.
From there, he transfigured a massive rock into a dog on the opposite side of the arena. The dragon took the bait immediately, bolting after the illusion. Cedric seized the chance and dashed for the egg. When he finally had it in his hands, he held it up high and sprinted towards the exit, desperate to escape the nightmare.
But just as he was about to reach it, the dragon released a stream of blue fire in his direction. When the flames died down, the entire stadium saw it — the side of his face, glowing red-hot with a vicious burn.
In that moment, she wished she knew exactly how to heal that kind of injury, to erase every ounce of pain he might be feeling. And when she finally saw him make it out of the arena, the crowd exploded into cheers.
He’d done it. And she could finally breathe again.
The instant she saw him pass through the gates, she ran straight for the medical tent, desperate to see with her own eyes — to feel with her own hands — that he was still alive. But just as she was about to enter, she saw Cho Chang slip inside first. Of course. She’d forgotten.
Something inside her twisted, but there was nothing she could do about it. So she simply turned around and made her way back to the stands to watch the other champions.
She barely registered the rest of the task. All she could think about was hugging Cedric, congratulating him… maybe even kissing him out of sheer joy.
Once Harry Potter had secured his golden egg, the stands began to empty. Down below, a crowd had gathered outside the tent to wait for the champions. She joined them, just to be there when Cedric came out.
And when he did, she started clapping, cheering his name.
“Cedric, show us the trophy!” Some shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear them. He stood there, completely still, scanning the crowd.
And when his eyes found hers, he didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her with a huge smile on his face. Her heart started to race, and she thought she might burst when Cedric ignored everyone else, just to get to her.
Where’s the trophy? She hadn’t the faintest idea, because what mattered in that moment was that he just came running to her.
When he reached her, Cedric bent down, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her off the ground. She didn’t even have time to react, because all he wanted to do was kiss her, right there, in front of everyone.
And he did.
He kissed her, sweetly and tenderly, a grin tugging at his lips between each brush of their mouths. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. Cedric rested his forehead against hers, still smiling. His lips were hot, his skin marked by the dragon’s fire, and his eyes… his is eyes shone like she was the only thing he’d won that day.
And there they stood, in the middle of roaring cheers and celebration, with half of Hogwarts watching — but everything else melted away.
It was just them, holding each other in the middle of the chaos, like the world had stopped… just, and only for them.
Hiiii!! I’ve been reading a lot of your work and I love all of it😩😩 the writing is just so immaculate! I know you’re planning to start writing again I wanted to ask hopefully in the future you could write one abt any of the slytherin boys (your choice) and the little things that they try to do to get reader into saying yes to be their Yule ball date! And maybe becoming even more after🤭 I hope that you’re doing great and I can’t wait to see the future works that you create!!
Took You Long Enough.
Pairings ; Theodore Nott x GN!Reader
Summary ; Theodore Nott is determined to ask you to the Yule Ball—but subtle hints, awkward near-confessions, and endless sabotage from his chaotic Slytherin friends turn it into a full-blown disaster. You, curled up in his stolen sweater and completely oblivious, might just be the one thing holding him together… or pushing him over the edge.
A/N ; TYTYTY FOR REQUESTING THIS CUTE LIL IDEA! <3 i really appreciate it. Pleaseee enjoy!
Warnings ; nothing, just PUREEEE fluff and sillyness, and a lil bit of drarry
Word count ; 4.3k
Theodore Nott doesn’t ask people to the Yule Ball.
He doesn’t do asking, in general. He glowers, he broods, he appears silently beside you like a gothic cat in the night and makes dry remarks about the state of your homework or the Gryffindor table’s poor taste in jam.
He doesn’t pursue people.
He prefers if people come to him—quietly, hopefully, and preferably while he’s pretending not to notice them. That’s the arrangement. That’s what he’s used to. It works.
Until you, of course.
You, who somehow slip through the cracks of his calm. Who can talk to portraits like they’re old friends. Who keep forgetting your tie, and lose your quills, and always have ink on your fingers. You who are bright, too bright, and never quite where he expects you to be, and always where he doesn’t realize he’s hoping you are.
He’s ruined.
But even then—especially then—Theodore Nott does not ask people to the Yule Ball.
Which is why he’s sitting across from you in the library, glaring at the blank roll of parchment in front of him like it murdered his ancestors. His jaw is tight, quill clenched in his fist, and his eyes flick up to you every twenty seconds like clockwork.
You, completely oblivious, are humming under your breath as you scribble something in the margin of your Transfiguration book. Your hair keeps falling into your eyes. He wants to tuck it behind your ear and then maybe die from the shame of doing something so cliché.
He’s thinking about that—very inappropriately and not at all helpfully—when Draco Malfoy flops gracelessly into the seat beside him.
Theodore jerks slightly and hunches over his parchment like he’s hiding state secrets.
Draco snorts. “You are so obvious.”
“Am not,” Theodore mutters.
“You’ve written ‘ask them’ and then scribbled it out five times.”
Theodore grits his teeth. “That’s not what I was writing.”
Draco leans in. “It looked like ‘ask them to the—’”
“I said shut up.”
Across the table, you look up from your book, blinking innocently. “Are you two whispering about me again?”
Draco smiles, unbothered. “Absolutely.”
Theodore stiffens.
You squint. “You’re both terrible at whispering.”
“Noted,” Theodore says, voice tighter than his collar.
Draco, far too amused, props his chin in his hand and watches the two of you like it’s theatre. “You’re really not going to ask them?”
“I’m getting there,” Theodore hisses under his breath.
Draco raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You’ve got, what, three days left? They’re going to get snatched up by some Hufflepuff with emotional availability.”
“Six days, actually.”
“Just ask them, Nott. You’re brooding. They like brooding. You’re weird. They like weird. This isn’t complex.”
Theodore stares hard at a nearby bookshelf. “You ask them, then.”
“I would, but Harry might finally strangle me in my sleep.”
“You’d like that.”
“I would.”
You, somehow still not looking up, flip a page and mutter, “You two do realize I’m right here, yes?”
Draco doesn’t blink. “Of course.”
Theodore considers disappearing under the table. Instead, he mutters something about needing to study and tries to focus on the ink bleeding across his notes.
You glance at him, eyes flicking over his hunched shoulders and clenched jaw. “You okay?”
He doesn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
You lean a little closer. “You sure? You’re gripping your quill like it owes you money.”
Theodore, mortified, releases it instantly and clears his throat.
“Studying,” he says shortly.
You hold his gaze for a second longer than comfortable. “All right then.”
And you go back to your book, your foot swinging idly under the table, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve just knocked the breath out of him with a single look.
Draco kicks him under the table.
Later that night in the Slytherin Common Room . .
Mattheo Riddle is sprawled across the emerald green Slytherin common room sofa like he’s auditioning for the cover of Tragic Witches Weekly, one arm draped over his eyes dramatically, the other lazily twirling a Sugar Quill between his fingers. His boots are muddy and kicked off at odd angles, and his half-finished Transfiguration essay flutters sadly beside him as if it too has given up on life.
The fire crackles in the hearth. The lamps are dimmed to a moody golden hue. The vibe is somewhere between a séance and a group therapy session with no actual healing involved.
Mattheo removes the quill from his mouth and props himself up with the enthusiasm of a dying man. “So,” he drawls, eyes glinting with unholy delight. “How’s the ‘Operation Ball Date’ going?”
Theodore slumps into the armchair across from him, every inch of his posture screaming defeat. He looks like he’s aged ten years in three days.
“Don’t start,” Theodore mutters, rubbing his temples like it might erase the memory of every failed attempt.
Pansy, perched like a cat on the armrest beside Mattheo, raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You opened your mouth, forgot how to function, and they walked away wondering if you were cursed.”
“I was close this morning,” Theodore hisses, glaring at the rug like it’s at fault. “I was right there. I was mid-sentence—mid-sentence, Pansy—when the Gryffindor table exploded. Literally. Exploded.”
────────────────
Flashback – That Morning, Great Hall
Theodore had rehearsed it.
Twelve times in his dorm. Five times in the mirror. Once in the corridor—where a first-year saw him muttering to himself and ran.
He spotted you at the far end of the table, hunched over a plate of toast with your head in your hand, eyes still bleary from sleep. You looked vaguely annoyed at the jam as though it had committed a personal offense. Your hair was slightly out of place. Your jumper sleeves were too long.
You looked perfect.
“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, striding toward you with all the confidence of a man walking to his own execution. “You just say it. Just say it. ‘Do you want to go to the ball with me?’ That’s all. That’s—”
You looked up.
Theodore froze. Then sat beside you and cleared his throat. “Hi.”
You blinked. “You look… tense.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re holding your goblet like it’s trying to escape.”
He placed the goblet down. Too hard. It clinked against the table. “Do you want—”
BOOM.
An eruption of red and gold sparks blasted from the Gryffindor table like a cannon. Plates flipped. Porridge flew. A stack of toast caught fire. A Slytherin screamed.
“MERLIN’S—”
“FRED!”
“GEORGE!”
“I SWEAR TO GODRIC—”
Professor McGonagall sprang to her feet, wand drawn, steam practically pouring from her ears as she bolted toward the cackling twins already making a run for the exit.
Chaos.
Absolute.
FUCKING.
Chaos.
You turned to Theodore, wide-eyed. “What were you saying?”
He stared at the smoking wreckage of the Gryffindor table.
“…Never mind.”
────────────────
Present Time . . .
Mattheo snorts. “Fred and George?”
“Who else?” Theodore grinds out.
Draco glides in like a malicious breeze, robes swishing, hair perfect, expression entirely unimpressed. “You know what your problem is?”
“Do enlighten me,” Theodore snaps.
“You’re passive. Hesitant. A snail on a cold morning.”
Theodore squints. “That’s not a real saying.”
“It is now,” Draco replies, flopping onto the opposite chaise. “You can’t just wait for the perfect moment. You have to make the moment. Force fate’s hand. Seduce destiny.”
“I’m going to hex you,” Theodore mumbles.
Mattheo waves a hand. “No hexing until we brainstorm. It’s time for a new strategy.”
“A new strategy?” Theodore asks, exhausted.
“A bolder one,” Pansy adds, twirling her wand.
Mattheo sits up straighter, enthusiasm building like a firework about to blow. “You want theatrics. Drama. They don’t know you’re into them because you’re too busy staring at them like a lovesick ghost. We need impact.”
“I’m not going to throw myself out a window to get their attention.”
“Shame,” Mattheo says without missing a beat. “But fine. Not that. Yet.”
Draco leans forward. “Just ask them. Tomorrow. Before breakfast. While they’re too tired to register what’s happening.”
Pansy nods in agreement. “Sleep-deprived, low blood sugar, emotional vulnerability—it’s the golden window.”
“They’d punch me in the face,” Theodore mutters.
Mattheo claps with genuine excitement. “That’s romance!”
Over the Next Week, The Descent into Chaos
Attempt #1: Help with Potions
The Potions dungeon is dim, as always, filled with the smell of boiling chamomile and something faintly metallic. Professor Slughorn hums happily at the front of the room while everyone else slouches over their cauldrons, silently begging the clock to move faster.
You’re working alone today—not by choice. Your partner caught Spattergroit and is banned from classes until further notice, which left you with a bubbling potion and a half-written instruction sheet. You’re squinting down at your notes, stirring clockwise, trying to remember when to add the powdered fluxweed.
“Clockwise,” comes a soft voice beside you, “but only for six more turns.”
You look up—and there’s Theodore, standing just beside your workstation. He’s watching your cauldron with an unreadable expression, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe like he’s trying to hide them.
“I knew that,” you say, a little defensive.
He shrugs, eyes flicking toward you and then away. “Didn’t say you didn’t.”
You glance at your notebook and then back at him. “Are you… offering to help me?”
He looks like he regrets everything immediately. “If you don’t want me to—”
“I didn’t say that,” you interrupt quickly. “Just… surprised.”
Theodore slowly slides onto the stool beside you. He’s already got his gloves on, and his sleeves are neatly rolled up to his forearms. You can’t help noticing his fingers—long, steady, careful—as he picks up your spoon and stirs the potion with practiced ease.
“You forgot to sprinkle the asphodel before the fluxweed,” he murmurs. “Otherwise the potion thickens too quickly and burns.”
You blink at him. “Since when do you know this much about Polyjuice Potion?”
“I read ahead,” he says, not looking at you. “And I… practiced.”
“You practiced Polyjuice? For what? Planning to sneak into the Gryffindor common room?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “Maybe I just wanted to be good at something.”
You go quiet for a moment. The bubbling of the potion fills the space between you.
“That’s kind of sad,” you say gently.
He finally looks at you—and his eyes soften. “It’s kind of true.”
You don’t say anything, just reach out and offer him the jar of powdered fluxweed. He takes it without brushing your fingers, but just barely.
“You’re good at this,” you say after a beat.
“Only because I wanted to impress you.”
You freeze.
He doesn’t look up, just sprinkles the ingredient into the cauldron.
Silence. Then you ask, half-teasing, half-breathless, “What?”
He stirs once, then twice, then says softly, “Nothing.”
You lean in, lips curling upward. “Are you trying to impress me, Nott?”
He still doesn’t meet your eyes. “Maybe.”
“Because it’s working.”
That gets him. He goes stiff for half a second, then glances at you—just a flicker of a look—and it’s the most flustered you’ve ever seen him. A faint pink colors his ears.
You smile into your notes and pretend not to notice.
And for the next half hour, you work side by side, your hands occasionally brushing, his voice low as he guides you through every step like he’s been memorizing it just for this.
Slughorn walks by at one point and raises an eyebrow. “Mr. Nott! Lending a hand, are we?”
Theodore clears his throat. “Just helping.”
Slughorn smiles. “Teamwork makes the potion work!”
You snort, and Theodore mutters, “That was terrible.”
But he doesn’t move away from you. Not even once.
Attempt #2: Study Session Sabotage
The Slytherin common room is quiet, bathed in the soft flicker of emerald-tinted flames and the dim glow of enchanted lanterns floating above. The underwater windows ripple gently with lake shadows, casting moving patterns on the stone walls. It’s peaceful, unusually so—until the subtle sound of slippers on stone breaks the silence.
You’re curled up in your favorite armchair near the fire, oversized jumper hugging your body like a blanket, and a half-done Herbology essay balanced on your lap. Your hair’s a little messy, your notes slightly smudged, and your brow is furrowed in focus.
Across the room, Theodore watches.
He’s holding two steaming mugs—both of which he enchanted himself. His hand tightens around the ceramic as he takes a deep breath, then makes his way across the room before he can lose his nerve.
You look up just as he approaches, blinking slowly.
“Theodore?”
He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “You looked… cold.”
Your gaze flicks to the mugs. “What’s this?”
He hesitates. “Hot chocolate. One’s for you.”
You raise a brow. “Really?”
He nods, avoiding your eyes. “I charmed it the way you like. Cinnamon, no whipped cream.”
You blink.
He still doesn’t look at you.
You smile softly, reaching out to accept the mug. Your fingers brush his—warm against warm—and he stiffens like it startled him.
“You remembered that?” you ask.
“I remember a lot of things about you,” Theodore says, almost too quietly.
Your heart skips, but you pretend not to notice. Instead, you gesture to the empty space beside you. “Sit?”
He hesitates.
Then—slowly—he lowers himself beside you, settling into the corner of the sofa, leaving a careful gap between your knees. He holds his mug like it’s an anchor. You catch a quick glance at him, his sharp profile, the way his hair curls a little at the edges when it’s this humid near the fire.
He leans in slightly. “Are you working on Sprout’s quiz?”
You sigh and nod. “I’ve read this same sentence six times.”
He glances at your parchment. “It’s because you wrote it wrong.”
You make a face. “What?”
He scoots just an inch closer, tilting your paper so he can read it better. “Spore release in puffshrooms is triggered by humidity, not heat. That’s why they’re so common in greenhouses.”
“Oh.”
His fingers are still ghosting over your notes.
“You’re really good at this,” you murmur.
He shrugs. “I just pay attention. When you’re talking about it.”
You freeze for a second, then glance sideways. “You listen to me?”
“I always listen to you.”
Your chest tightens in the quietest, warmest way. “Even when I ramble about magical gardening for twenty minutes?”
“Especially then,” he says, and you look at him like you’ve never quite seen him before.
There’s a pause, and then you laugh, soft and a little shy. “You’re surprisingly gentle when you want to be.”
Theodore’s jaw tenses, like he doesn’t know what to do with that compliment. Then he mutters, “You should see me with kneazles.”
You nearly snort your cocoa.
“Alright then, kneazle whisperer,” you say, tucking your legs closer to him. “You’re stuck with me now. We’re study partners tonight.”
“I could be stuck with worse,” he replies before he can stop himself.
You don’t answer. But you don’t look away, either.
You just smile—and go back to your notes, heart thudding.
And next to you, Theodore sits quietly, his shoulder now almost against yours, pretending to read while he memorizes the shape of your handwriting and wonders if this—this soft, shared quiet—counts as a small kind of magic.
Attempt #3: “Accidental” Hogsmeade Run-In
The sky is pale grey, snow falling in lazy spirals like the world’s slowed down for a moment. You tug your scarf higher and step around a patch of ice on the cobblestone street, your boots crunching with each careful step. You hadn’t told anyone you were heading to Hogsmeade—not even your closest friends. You just… wanted a bit of space.
And maybe some peppermint bark.
Honeydukes glows warmly up ahead, windows fogged from the inside and little charms floating above the display case. You're just about to walk in when—
“Y/N?”
You stop mid-step, looking up.
And there he is.
Theodore Nott, standing beneath a snow-dusted awning like he was planted there by the universe itself. His hair is windswept, a few snowflakes catching in the strands. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, and in his gloved hands, he’s holding a small, neatly wrapped package.
He freezes for a heartbeat, like he’s not sure he’s real. Or that you’re real.
You blink. “Teds?”
He clears his throat. “Oh. Um. Hi.”
Your eyes flick down to the package. “What’s that?”
His fingers twitch slightly. “It’s—uh—peppermint bark. I remembered you said once that Honeydukes only sells the really good kind in December. I was going to get you some.”
Your chest warms, a slow flood of soft affection breaking through the chill. “You remembered that?”
He shrugs one shoulder, looking away. “It’s not a big deal.”
You smile, stepping closer. “It is to me.”
Silence settles between you as the snow continues falling, lightly dusting his coat, your shoulders. You take the package gently from his hands and hold it between both of yours.
“It’s warm,” you say quietly. “Did you just buy this?”
He hesitates. “…I’ve been holding it for a while. Just in case I saw you.”
Your heart flips.
“You were hoping to run into me?”
He finally meets your eyes, and his voice is soft. “Yeah.”
You stare at him for a moment, the tension building gently in the air. Then you open the door to Honeydukes and tilt your head.
“Walk with me, Teds?”
He follows without hesitation.
The inside of the shop is glowing, every shelf crammed with sweet chaos. Colorful wrappers shimmer under the floating lights, and enchanted candy hops around in its jars. You make your way through the aisles, glancing at different sweets while Theodore trails beside you, hands in his pockets, glancing more at you than the shelves.
You hold up a box of Fizzing Whizbees. “Remember when Mattheo dared Draco to eat five of these at once and he threw up in Professor Binns’ ghost?”
Theodore chuckles. “I still have the photo.”
You giggle and grab a few chocolate frogs before pausing at a shelf lined with delicate, pastel-pink candied roses. You hold one out.
“Try it.”
He eyes it warily but accepts, biting off a petal. The moment it hits his tongue, his nose scrunches.
“It’s… floral.”
You burst out laughing, your hand grabbing his sleeve as you double over slightly. “Teds, your face—”
“I’m being poisoned by a bouquet.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Says the person laughing like a maniac in a candy shop.”
You shoot him a grin. “You love it.”
He huffs, but the corners of his mouth curve upward.
You finally step back out into the snow, both of you carrying small bags. It’s a little quieter now, the sky darkening with the promise of evening. The wind is gentle, and your footsteps echo softly.
A flake lands in his hair, and you reach out without thinking—brushing it off.
He stills under your touch.
“I didn’t expect to see you today,” you say, quieter now.
“I didn’t expect to actually find you,” he says, not quite meeting your gaze.
You turn slightly to face him, snow swirling around both of you.
“You’re kind of sweet, you know.”
He swallows. “Don’t tell anyone.”
You grin. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Theodore looks at you like he’s on the verge of saying something else, something big.
But instead, he says your name—softly—and nods toward the castle. “I’ll walk you back.”
You don’t let him walk behind you. Instead, you link your arm through his.
And he doesn’t say a word about it—just holds on like maybe, for the first time, he's exactly where he wants to be.
Three Days Before the Ball. .
You’re curled up in the Slytherin common room with a book, wearing Theodore’s sweater.
You hadn’t exactly planned to keep it.
One chilly evening in the library, you’d complained about the cold, and Theodore—without saying a word—had peeled it off and gently tugged it over your head, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You’d meant to return it the next day, truly. But then… it smelled like him. Like citrus, clove, and ink. It was warm. It was soft. It was safe.
And Theodore never asked for it back.
So now it’s yours.
The sleeves droop adorably past your fingertips, and the hem hangs lower on you than it ever did on him. You’ve rolled up the cuffs three times, but they still fall when you don’t pay attention. Every time you move, it carries that faint familiar scent, and you feel—just slightly—like you’re wrapped in him.
Across the room, Theodore is watching you.
Or, more accurately, he’s watching you while trying not to watch you. He’s pretending to read, legs crossed tightly, sitting far too stiffly on a velvet chair by the fire. The book in his hands is upside down. He doesn’t notice.
Mattheo notices, though. Of course he does.
“You’re being disgusting,” Mattheo mumbles, lounging beside him.
Theodore doesn’t respond.
“I’m serious. It’s pathetic in a cute way. Like a puppy following someone home from the train.”
From the floor near the hearth, Astoria flips a page of Witch Weekly and hums. “It’s almost romantic.”
Blaise sighs without looking up from his chess game. “It would be, if he’d just ask them already.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for the sweater to propose on his behalf,” Lorenzo adds, rolling a knight across the board. “It’s halfway there.”
Draco, half-draped across an armchair like he owns the castle, lets out a dramatic sigh. “You are actively letting this moment slip away. Look at them. Look.” He points. “They’re curled up in your sweater like they’ve always belonged there. You’re losing your window.”
Theodore bites the inside of his cheek.
He looks over.
You’re nestled on the couch with your legs tucked under you, knees brushing the edge of a plush emerald cushion. Your face is half-lit by the firelight, a book resting gently in your hands. The cocoa beside you has gone lukewarm, untouched for ten minutes. The only thing you’ve moved is your thumb, slowly turning pages—and occasionally tucking the sweater sleeve back up your wrist.
It’s unfair how good you look like that. Effortless. Completely at home.
He swallows.
“Now,” Mattheo whispers.
Theodore stands.
Astoria gasps softly. “Oh, he’s doing it.”
“I’m proud of him,” Pansy murmurs, hand on her chest.
“I’m terrified for him,” Blaise mutters.
“Don’t trip,” Lorenzo calls under his breath.
Theodore doesn’t hear them. Or if he does, he ignores it all, like the world has narrowed to just the space between the fire and the couch.
You notice his approach before he says a word.
Your eyes lift to meet his, brows raised ever so slightly. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
“I might.”
You smile a little. “Should I get Madam Pomfrey?”
“No.”
You sit up straighter, closing your book around a finger to keep your place.
Theodore stands there like he’s forgotten how to be a person. Then, after a silent internal argument, he lowers himself gently onto the arm of the couch beside you. He doesn’t speak yet. Just watches you for a second, almost like he’s trying to memorize you.
You stare back, curious, the firelight dancing in your eyes.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly, concern flickering in your voice.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. His fingers clench slightly on his knees.
Then: “Yes. I mean—no. Wait. Kind of.”
You blink.
Theodore clears his throat. His voice comes out quieter this time, almost shy. “There’s something I’ve been trying to do. And I’ve been putting it off. Because things keep… getting in the way. And I didn’t want to make it weird. But I’m pretty sure I already have.”
You tilt your head, lips twitching.
He’s blushing now, pink blooming just under his cheekbones. “You’re wearing my sweater,” he says quietly, eyes dropping to the sleeves.
You look down. “I am.”
“It looks… really good on you.”
There’s a pause. Then you smile, warm and full.
“You’re rambling,” you tease.
“I know.” He exhales, standing up again just to walk in a nervous half-circle in front of you, running a hand through his hair before finally turning around and blurting:
“Do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?”
It comes out fast. But there’s more behind it—he’s been carrying it for days.
“I mean—if you’re not going with anyone. I don’t know if you are. I didn’t ask, obviously, because I’m not creepy, I’m just… I thought maybe—because you’re great, and I’m…” He gestures vaguely to himself. “…me.”
He takes a breath.
“Well, I mean, I’m not terrible—okay, maybe I am—but I’ve been trying to do this for days and everything keeps exploding or catching fire or turning into a social disaster and I know this isn’t how normal people ask people out but I’m not normal, clearly, and you’re in my sweater, and that has to mean something—”
His voice pitches higher, rushing now like he’s lost all control:
“—So I’m standing here, asking, loudly, if you—would—please—possibly—want to go to the Yule Ball with me, unless you hate me, which is valid, in which case I’ll just go die now, if you don’t, that’s amazing. I just—thought maybe, you might—because we’re already sort of… close? I mean—if you don’t see it that way, I get it. I do. But I’d really like to go with you. Properly. Like a date. If you want.”
The room falls quiet.
From behind, you hear a hushed, hopeful, “Don’t blow this,” from Mattheo.
Theodore is standing there like he’s balancing on the edge of a rooftop.
Your heart beats a little faster.
You set your book down slowly. Your fingers brush over the hem of the sweater.
And then you look up at him—soft, teasing, but unmistakably moved.
“Well,” you say gently, leaning back into the cushions, “took you long enough.”
Warnings: NSFW 18+, p in v, unprotected sex, Oral (female and male giving and receiving), fingering, cumming inside, nipple play, breast play, riding, scratching, choking (not really), restraints, using magic to make a vibrator, squirting, multiple positions, multiple rounds, anal, double penetration, rough sex, multiple orgasms, voyeurism
Yours Truly: THEEEESE TWO- Enjoy!
Taglist: @regu1ar-huh @bellaciao0
Kinktober masterlist
THANK YOU!
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵︵‿୨♡୧‿
The Slytherin common room was shrouded in the perpetual gloom of the Black Lake's underwater glow, casting eerie green shadows. It was late, well past curfew, the fireside reduced to embers that barely warmed the chill air. She, a fifth-year Slytherin with sharp wit and sharper ambitions, lounged on a velvet armchair, her emerald robes discarded in favor of a simple black slip that clung to her curves. She flipped through a potions textbook, but her mind wandered to the two boys who occupied far too much of her thoughts.
Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Both pure-blood heirs, both devastatingly handsome in their own ways—Draco with his platinum hair and aristocratic sneer, Theo with his brooding intensity and tousled dark locks. She had fallen into a friends-with-benefits arrangements with each separately over the past year. Draco's encounters were all fire and possession, his hands claiming her body like it was his birthright. Theo's were slower, more deliberate, his touches unraveling her with a quiet hunger that left her breathless. They knew about each other—Slytherins thrived on secrets, after all—but an unspoken rule kept their paths from crossing: her time with one never overlapped with the other. It worked, mostly.
Tonight, though, fate—or perhaps the devilish luck of Slytherin—had other plans. The heavy door to the boys' dormitory creaked open, and Draco strode in first, his tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He spotted her immediately, a predatory smile curling his lips. "Hey," he says, voice low and laced with intent. "Fancy finding you here alone."
Before she could respond, another figure emerged from the shadows near the stairs—Theo, his prefect badge glinting faintly, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "Malfoy," Theo said flatly, his gaze shifting to her. "Didn't realize you had dibs tonight."
Her heart stutters. She sat up straighter, crossing her legs to hide the sudden flush creeping up her thighs. "Boys," she said coolly, though her pulse raced. "This isn't a queue."
Draco's eyes flicked to Theo, a spark of rivalry igniting. "She's not your property, Nott. I was here first."
Theo stepped closer, his tall frame casting a long shadow. "And? She's not yours either. We've kept this civil so far."
The air thickened with tension, the kind that could snap into a hex or something far more heated. She watched them, a thrill uncoiling in her belly. She'd fantasized about this—both of them, together, their egos clashing over her body. But saying it aloud? That was a risk even for a Slytherin.
"Why fight?" she interjected, her voice steady despite the heat building between her legs. "You both want the same thing. Me." She uncrossed her legs deliberately, letting the slip ride up her thigh. Their eyes followed the movement, Draco's jaw tightening, Theo's breath hitching.
Draco recovered first, a smirk returning. "Share? With Nott? I'd sooner hex myself."
But Theo's gaze lingered on her, dark and considering. "She's right. No point in arguing. Unless..." He trailed off, a sly glint in his eye mirroring Draco's ambition.
"Unless what?" Draco demanded.
"We make it interesting. A competition. Whoever makes her cum the most wins. Loser backs off for a month." Theo's words hung in the air, bold and challenging.
Her stomach clenched at the idea. "And if I say no?"
Draco knelt before her, his hand sliding up her calf, fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind her knee. "You won't. Admit it—you've thought about this."
She had. Of course she had. Theo moved to her other side, his fingers brushing her hair from her shoulder, lips grazing her ear. "Say yes. Let us show you what the two of us can do."
Her resolve crumbled under their touches. "Fine. But my rules: safe words. 'Serpent' to stop. And you take turns—no ganging up unless I say."
They nodded, the agreement sealed with a shared, hungry look. Draco stood, offering his hand. "My room. Now."
Draco's dormitory was all dark wood and silver accents, the four-poster bed dominating the space. She entered first, the door clicking shut behind Theo. The air hummed with anticipation. She turned to face them, slipping the straps of her nightdress down her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. Naked now, her skin prickled under their stares—Draco's appreciative and possessive, Theo's intense and appraising.
"Beautiful," Theo murmured, stepping forward to trace the curve of her hip.
Draco shoved him aside lightly. "My turn first. Rules are rules." He guided her to the bed, laying her back against the cool sheets. His mouth crashed onto hers, tongue demanding entry, hands roaming her body. He cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled hard. She arched into him, moaning into the kiss as he pinched one peak, rolling it between his fingers.
Theo watched from the edge of the bed, his cock straining against his trousers, but he held back, eyes locked on where Draco's hand dipped between her thighs. Draco spread her legs wide, exposing her slick pussy to the room. "Already wet for me," he taunted, glancing at Theo. "Let's see how long she lasts."
He lowered his head, breath hot against her folds before his tongue flicked out, lapping at her clit. She gasps, fingers tangling in his blond hair. Draco ate her out with fervor, sucking her clit into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to sting. Two fingers plunged inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her vision blur. He pumped them relentlessly, his free hand holding her thigh down as she bucked.
"That's it," Draco growled against her skin. "Cum on my tongue. Show Nott how good I make you feel."
The pressure built fast, her walls fluttering around his fingers. She cried out, orgasm ripping through her, slick coating his chin as she shuddered. Draco licked her clean, smug as he pulled back. "One for me."
She panted, body still tingling, but Theo was already there, stripping off his shirt to reveal toned muscles scarred from Quidditch. "My turn." He flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so her ass presented to him. His hands kneaded her cheeks, spreading them to expose her fully. "Such a pretty pussy. Dripping from him already."
He didn't tease; Theo dove in, tongue thrusting into her entrance, fucking her with it while his thumb circled her clit. She moaned into the pillow, pushing back against his face. He added fingers, three now, stretching her wider than Draco had, scissoring to rub her inner walls. His other hand reached around to tweak her nipple, pulling until she whimpered.
"Come on, baby," Theo urged, voice muffled. "Give me one. Let me taste it."
She shattered again, faster this time, her pussy clenching hard around his tongue as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Theo hummed in approval, lapping up her release before withdrawing. "One for me. Tied."
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Not for long." He undressed swiftly, his cock springing free—long and pale, veined and curving slightly. He positioned her on her back again, hooking her legs over his shoulders. "Watch this, Nott." With one thrust, he buried himself inside her, groaning at the tight heat.
She whines, the fullness overwhelming after the oral. Draco set a punishing pace, hips snapping forward, cock dragging against her sensitive spots. He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his hand wrapped around her throat—not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of control. "Feel that? My cock owning this pussy."
She clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails, the edge building anew. Theo stroked himself slowly, mesmerized by the sight of Draco pounding into her, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. She came hard, walls milking Draco's length, but he didn't stop, fucking her through it until she sobbed from the overstimulation.
"Two," Draco panted, pulling out just before he lost control. His cock glistened with her arousal.
Theo wasted no time, flipping her onto all fours facing him. He shed his pants, his cock thicker than Draco's, with a slight upward curve. "My go." He rubbed the head along her slit, teasing her entrance before slamming in. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, the stretch burning sweetly.
Theo gripped her hips, thrusting deep and slow at first, grinding against her clit with each roll. Then he sped up, one hand sliding to rub circles on her swollen nub. "Look at me," he commanded. She did, eyes locking as he fucked her relentlessly. His free hand pinched her clit, the sharp sensation pushing her over.
She came with a wail, pussy spasming, squirting a little onto his thighs. Theo growled, holding her steady. "Two. Still tied."
The competition intensified. Draco claimed the next round, sitting on the bed and pulling her onto his lap, facing away. He guided her down onto his cock reverse cowgirl, hands on her ass as she rode him. "Bounce, darling. Harder." She did, slamming down, his length hitting deep. He reached around to finger her clit, the dual penetration from his cock and fingers sending her spiraling. Her orgasm hit her like lightning, her cries echoing off the stone walls.
"Three for me," Draco announced, voice strained.
Theo took over seamlessly, laying her on her side and lifting one leg high. He entered her from behind, spooning close, his cock stroking her g-spot with precision. His hand snaked around to play with her breasts, twisting nipples while he whispered filthy encouragements. "Cum again. Soak my cock." She did, body convulsing, tying it at three.
Sweat slicked their skin, the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping and her moans. She was a mess—hair tangled, lips swollen, pussy aching but craving more. The boys switched again, Draco eating her out while Theo fucked her mouth. She sucked Theo eagerly, tongue swirling around his head, hollowing her cheeks as he thrust shallowly.
Draco's tongue worked her clit, fingers inside, and she came around them, the vibration of her moan making Theo groan. But he pulled out before finishing. "Four for me."
Theo retaliated by bending her over the bed, ass up, and spanking her lightly before plunging in. He fucked her hard, hand fisting her hair, pulling her head back. "Scream for me." She did, orgasm ripping through as his cock pulsed inside her.
"Four."
The turns blurred—Draco using a vibrating charm on a silver ring from his wand, sliding it onto his finger to buzz against her clit while he thrust; Theo binding her wrists with a soft silk tie, teasing her with feather-light touches before ravaging her. She lost count, each one more intense, her body trembling from the onslaught.
By the tenth—five each—they were all fraying. Draco had her on her back, legs spread wide, cock driving deep while Theo knelt by her head, feeding her his length. She gagged slightly as Theo hit the back of her throat, but the fullness from both ends pushed her to cum again, pussy clenching Draco.
"Wait," Draco gasped, pulling out. "Tie at six? No—wait, that's seven for me if she..."
She came untouched from the intensity, slick dripping. Theo laughed breathlessly. "Call it even. Or keep going."
Her voice hoarse, managed, "Together. Both of you. Now."
They didn't argue. Theo lay back, pulling her on top, impaling her on his cock. Draco positioned behind, slicking himself with her arousal before pressing against her ass. "Relax," he murmured, inching in. The double penetration stretched her impossibly, pain-pleasure blurring as they filled her.
They moved in tandem, Theo thrusting up into her pussy, Draco grinding into her ass. Hands everywhere—Draco's on her breasts, squeezing and slapping lightly; Theo's on her clit, rubbing furiously. She was lost, sensations overwhelming, orgasms chaining one after another until she couldn't distinguish them.
"Fuck—!" Draco came first, spilling hot inside her ass, the clench triggering Theo. He followed, flooding her pussy, their releases mixing as she shattered between them.
They collapsed in a tangle, breaths ragged, bodies spent. No winner declared—the competition forgotten in the haze of satisfaction. She lay between them, sated and sore, a sly smile on her lips. "Best night ever. Rematch?"
Draco chuckled, kissing her shoulder. "You're on."
summary: working at weasleys’ wizard wheezes comes with certain employee perks. some are officially approved. others… very much are not.
warnings: f/m/m threesome, hair-pulling, spit kink, oral sex f and m receiving, face-fucking, praise kink, vaginal sex, marking, porn without plot
word count: 1.2k
a/n: to write a sequel or not write a sequel?
//////
The attic above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes smelled of dust. Not the ordinary sort that gathered on forgotten shelves, but the thick, sleepy dust of old boxes and long-abandoned corners. Old joke products were piled everywhere: boxes of discontinued Skiving Snackboxes, crates of misfiring Extendable Ears, and several suspiciously rattling barrels that no one had bothered to label properly. It was the sort of place employees rarely bothered to climb up to unless they had to, and even then only briefly — long enough to grab something, sneeze twice, and hurry back down to the always chaotic noise and colour of the shop below. You’d worked here for months now, long enough to know how different it usually sounded up here — shouts of laughter from the sales floor, the sharp bang of something exploding, and the distant squeal of enchanted toys testing the patience of whoever had set them off. Come closing time, the attic felt strangely — eerily? — still.
But maybe it was just the effect of your heart pounding like it was trying to get out of your chest, considering you were on your knees between the two of them, the worn floorboards digging into your skin. It was a thrilling ache that was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Fred and George: they’d cornered you here after closing, all teasing grins and wandering hands that promised a different kind of mischief.
“Look at that fucking face,” Fred murmured, just as his thumb, calloused and warm, brushed your lower lip. “Already begging for it, and we haven’t even started.”
George’s hands settled on your shoulders from behind, his breath hot on your neck. “We ought to be gentle, Fred. It’s her first time with us.”
Fred’s grin was pure wickedness. “Who said anything about gentle?”
That was all the warning you got before Fred’s fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you forward as he freed his cock from his trousers. It was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip — the sight made your mouth water. This was what you’d fantasized about, for months now.
“Open up, sweetheart,” Fred murmured. “Let me see that pretty throat.”
You obeyed, parting your lips, and he didn’t hesitate. He fed his cock into your mouth, an inch, then two, then more, until the broad head nudged the back of your throat, and you gagged, your eyes watering.
“Fuck, yes. Just like that. Take it.”
He started to move, shallow at first, then deeper, setting a relentless rhythm. His other hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat.
You could feel him, the rigid outline of his cock bulging under your skin with every thrust. He was fucking your throat like it was his own personal cunt, slathering your spit over his length until it glistened, and the obscene reality of it, the complete surrender, sent a jolt of pure lightning to your own dripping core.
“You feel that, Georgie?” Fred asked, his hips snapping forward. “I can feel my cock right here.”
He stroked your throat in time with his thrusts, a possessive, intimate caress that made you whimper around him.
“Such a good little slut for us. Gagging on me so perfectly.”
Fat rivulets of spit were dripping down your chin now, all messy, slick strings. Fred watched it, his eyes glazed. He leaned down, his face inches from yours.
“Look at you. A fucking mess.”
He gathered a pool of saliva in his own mouth and let it fall, a warm, wet splatter across your cheek. The degradation was like a brand, searing and delicious. “My mess.”
Behind you, George had been busy. His hands had pushed up your top, your bra already undone. His palms covered your tits, kneading, pinching your nipples until they were hard, aching points.
“Her tits are so perfect, Fred,” George murmured.
Then you felt George’s fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt and knickers, dragging them down your thighs. The cool air hit your wetness, and you jerked. Fred used the movement to sink deeper into your throat, making you choke loudly.
“Hold her steady, George,” Fred gritted out.
“With pleasure.”
You felt George position himself behind you, the blunt, hot head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. He didn’t ask. He just pushed in, a slow, stretching, filling invasion that made you choke even more around Fred’s length.
George’s rhythm was different — deep, rolling thrusts that ground against your clit with every inward stroke. He kept one hand splayed on your stomach, holding you back against him, while the other continued to torture your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” George groaned, burying his face in your hair. “Soaking wet for us. You like being used, don’t you? Our pretty little fucktoy.”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but take it, a conduit for their pleasure. The sounds were obscene: wet, sucking gulps from your mouth, the slick slap of George’s hips against your ass, their twin groans and filthy praise. Your world narrowed to the feeling of being utterly occupied.
Fred’s pace was becoming frantic, his thrusts losing their rhythm. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice ragged. “Gonna fill that fucking throat.”
George leaned forward, his chest against your back. “We better move, Fred.”
And so they moved. Fred pulled his slick, glistening cock from your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva and pre-cum still connecting you, and George withdrew from your pussy, leaving you empty and clenching at the sudden loss.
Fred turned you over, pushing you onto your back and kneeling over your face, his glistening and dripping cock hovering above your lips.
You stretched your neck, your tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe up the underside of his shaft. You moaned, the sound vibrating against his skin, and took him back into your mouth, sucking eagerly, wanting that taste.
Somewhere below you, George settled between your splayed thighs. He didn’t enter you again: instead, you felt his mouth, hot and demanding, on your inner thigh. Then the sharp, sweet sting of his teeth.
He bit again, higher, and your legs shook, Fred’s cock fucking into your mouth in time with your movements.
“Look at her, Fred,” George said, lifting his head. His lips were slick, his chin smudged with your wetness. “Marking her up. She’ll feel us for days.”
He leaned down again, his tongue laving over the fresh, tender bruises before his mouth closed over your clit, sucking hard.
It was unbearable. Fred’s cock stretching your lips, George’s mouth on your most sensitive spot, the sharp bites on your thighs — all too much. A coil, tight and white-hot, was building deep in your belly.
I’m gonna come, you wanted to say, but it was just a garbled cry around Fred.
Sure enough, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, sending you careening over the edge. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around nothing as George continued to work your clit, drawing out your pleasure until you were boneless and trembling.
As the waves slowly began to recede, Fred pulled back, his cock sliding from your bruised lips. He was still painfully hard. George rose above you, his own cock in his hand, gleaming with your combined wetness.
“My turn in that perfect mouth,” George said.
Fred’s grin was feral as he moved down your body. “And my turn to taste what all the fuss is about.”
For the first time ever, Fred Weasley finds himself jealous over the only person in the world he needn’t worry a bit about.
Pairing: Fred Weasley x f!reader
Word count: 8k
Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, oral + fingering (f!receiving, (lots of) dirty talk, name calling, praise/degradation, dom/sub dynamic, some nipple play, touch of a breeding kink, possessiveness/jealousy, some toxic themes, established relationship, swearing, drinking, arguing, angst, fluff, sorry if miss any!
first hp fic in a very long time! what better to post than this mess (jealous, possessive, sexy mess). basically pwp—let me know what you think! (Barely edited at all lmao my apologies)
You sat quietly at George’s desk, eyes focused on a piece of parchment as you both tried to break down the recipe George had scribbled down. There was a hiccup, a hitch in the plan of brewing a batch of Euphoria Elixir for the joke shop, and it was pushing back your plans to place them on the shelves this week. After a few hours of quiet deliberation on his lonesome, George decided to seek your help in hopes of speeding up the process.
So, the two of you put your heads together and re-read the ingredient list a million times, wondering how the hell it turned out murky green instead of sunshine-y yellow. The cauldron sat smoldering across the room, a rain cloud above it as the bubbly mixture spilled over the sides. Upon first glance, you had stated the absolute obvious.
“Isn’t that supposed to be a rainbow?” You raised an eyebrow, looking at your brother-in-law as he collapsed in his chair.
“Yes, you git.” George rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. You shot him a sharp look, warning him to be nice if he wanted your help. You knew George didn’t mean any of the insults—he was simply frustrated and maybe even a little embarrassed that he could not figure it out by himself. “Sorry, Y/N.” He conceded, realizing he came on a bit too strong.
“S’alright.” You assured him, stepping towards the desk where he sat. “Where’s the ingredient list? We’ll start there.” You offered, knowing you would help no matter how poor of a mood he was in. You loved George almost as much as you loved Fred, if you had to compare. Even if it was in a different way, you had a hard time refusing him when he used the same charm tactics as his twin brother.
After spending so many years in a relationship with Fred, it would be obscure for you not to have a bond with the closest person to him. Over the years, he’d surpassed a friend and had grown into your own brother. You were certain that no matter where life took you and Fred, George would always hold a special place in your heart. When the two opened their shop in Diagon Alley, you volunteered most of your free time to help them in any way you could, and whether it was tweaking new products or doing some of the dirty work, you never really minded.
That evening in specific, Fred was off on some ‘official business’, which really just meant meeting with a potential product buyer at The Leaky Cauldron. Last month, George took the burden of doing so, and they decided it was only fair for him to do it this time. Unfortunately for you, as much as you loved supporting them, it did interfere with your evening plans with him. So, sulking and trying your best to swallow it down, you distracted yourself with stocking shelves downstairs to prepare for another busy day ahead.
You were actually near grateful when George emerged from the office, calling out to you in desperation. It gave you a break from the monotonous back and forth, and someone to talk to. If it could not be Fred, you decided George was the next best.
“So, what’d’ya think it could be?” George asked, peeking over the cauldron that was still spitting back at him. He dodged out of the way, trying his best not to get any of the splashback on his new jumper.
“Well, from what you’ve told me, seems like you put all the right stuff in.” You deducted, pursing your lips slightly as you read over the list for what seemed like the millionth time. “Sad as it sounds, I doubt we can save it now, even if we figure out what happened.” You said, recalling your potions knowledge that Snape had relayed over the years.
“Right, but I’d like to know what’s wrong before I try again.” He explained, taking a moment to look over your sad expression. His eyebrows furrowed, his head cocking to the side as he tried to figure out where it was coming from. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Your eyes flickered upwards to meet his, your cheeks tinged red from the heat of the room. Your lips dipped into a frown as you shrugged your shoulders, brushing him off so you did not need to explain yourself. “I know you better than that. Come on, now.” He urged, placing his palms flat against the desk as he leaned towards you, a challenging look in his eye.
You narrowed your brows, keeping a stony expression as you met his gaze. “What’s it to you, Weasley?” You shot back, unsure of where your defensive nature was coming from. Perhaps you weren’t willing to discuss your relationship problems with your boyfriend’s twin brother, or maybe it was because you felt foolish for being upset at all.
“Reckon we’re past that, hmm? Your problems are our problems, and all.” He responded, also unsure of why you were being so reserved with your thoughts. Usually, you were an open book, especially with the two of them.
“My problems aren’t your problems, Georgie.” You shook your head, shutting down the ridiculous notion. “Let’s get back to the real problem, yeah?”
“No, I don’t think so.” George disagreed, his concern now over something completely different. “Is it about Fred?” At that, the tips of your ears began to burn and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Ah, I see.” A devious smile crossed his lips.
“It’s not a big deal.” You covered your tracks, tapping the ink-less quill against the worn parchment.
“I have a hard time believing you, considering you just lied to me.”
“Lied is a strong word,” you rolled your eyes, quickly realizing that there would be no escaping the conversation. “I didn’t lie about anything.”
“What’s he done?”
“Nothing!” You exclaimed, a dry laugh leaving your lips. “It’s just… I’m just being dramatic.” And it’s true, you were being dramatic. Well, maybe not fully, but that’s what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I just miss him, I suppose. I know you both have been busy, but I think maybe I underestimated how busy you would actually be.” You continued, knowing it was wrong to confide in his twin brother about your relationship issues. Still, it felt good to get it off your chest, to voice the concern and have someone shoot you down, just so you knew you were being irrational. “This is the third night in a row we’ve canceled our plans. I’ll get over it. It’s no big deal.”
“That’s a big deal.” He hummed, sympathizing with you to make you feel better. “Bloody inconsiderate, if you ask me.” But you weren’t asking him, and somehow his justification of your feelings only made you feel worse. “What? Not allowed to speak my mind?”
“No—“ you let out a defeated sigh, slumping down in your seat. “I know that, but I was hoping you would tell me I’ve gone mad, instead.”
“Blimey, Y/N, you’re allowed to be upset. We're busy, yeah, but you’re still his girlfriend.” George said, jumping slightly when the rain cloud above the cauldron let out a crack of thunder. “If you’d rather, we can forget the elixir and grab dinner instead. I’m not Fred, but I’m pretty damn close.” He gave you a cheeky smile, earning an honest laugh from you.
“S’alright, Georgie. Thank you, though.” You appreciated his kindness, but you were sure it would only make your predicament even worse, considering Fred’s recently acquired short-fuse when it came to you and George spending so much time together. It was odd for him to be so protective, so jealous of the one person in the world he needn’t worry about, but it seemed as though the new trait was permanent. Perhaps it came from the fact he was also missing you due to your busy schedules, and how it sometimes seemed you and George were most often left at the shop alone.
“You know, I have noticed that lately.” George continued, leaning against the desk as he reminisced over the last few weeks. “Always seems to be us stuck here together.”
“Mhm.” You mumbled, slowly realizing that you weren’t as insane as you previously thought if he was noticing all of the same things. “Let’s just figure this out so I can get home.”
So you did. A grueling hour spent recounting George’s every step in brewing the elixir left the two of you puzzled and even more frustrated. By that point in the night, you were hunched over the long list of his steps you had jotted down so you could (hopefully) discover what he missed.
“I dunno, Georgie.” You sighed. “Seems like you did everything—“ you cut yourself off, leaning closer to the page on the desk as you caught something you hadn’t seen before.
“What?” He asked, his head snapping towards you. “What is it?”
“You said when you let it simmer, it was turquoise.” You said, looking up at him.
“Yeah, so?” He replied, confused why it was such a big deal.
“It’s meant to be blue.” You explained, a grin on your face as you relayed the information to him.
“Turquoise… blue… same thing, innit?” He asked, standing and walking over to you.
“Maybe to you.” You giggled, pointing to the piece of paper where he missed the step. “After you add the shrivelfig, you have to stir it until it changes color.” He walked up behind you, placing one hand on your arm as he leaned over your opposite shoulder. He smelled of butterbeer, likely due to the one he’d been nursing the entire time you sat together. You immediately noticed the warmth of his body, how similar it felt to how Fred touched you, but how drastically different it was all the same.
“Blimey, you’re right!” He exclaimed, his voice still soft so he was not yelling in your ear. “What would I do without you?” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, leaning closer and pressing the side of his face to yours in a makeshift hug. His hand dropped to your back, lingering there as the conversation continued.
“It’s nothing, really.” You smiled, closing your eyes to enjoy the warmth for a moment. “So now you know. You can do it again, but make sure to stir it until it’s blue. By tomorrow, we’ll have it bottled and on the shelves just like we planned.”
“Our number one girl, saving the day yet again.” He sighed in relief. “I better get to it—“
Before his thought could finish, the door to the office swung open, cutting him short. Your eyes turned upwards, landing on a slightly drunken version of the boyfriend who’d abandoned your evening plans. The gloss of his eyes and the goofy smile on his lips led you to believe so, and the redness on the apples of his cheeks only solidified it. Only his cheeky grin didn’t last too long when he processed the scene in front of him, how close the two of you were, how heavy George’s hand seemed on your back and how rosy your own cheeks were.
Quickly, his jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as he tried to decipher the whole situation. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his arms raised to cross over his chest. Immediately, you knew what you’d be in for; a long, tiresome argument that changed absolutely nothing. Instead of fighting the silent accusations, defending yourself for no real reason at all, you watched him with the same intensity while you awaited a snide comment.
“So what’s all this, then?” Fred asked, his face clearly conveying all of his emotions.
“Helping Georgie make the elixir while you were off getting sloshed at The Leaky Cauldron.” You muttered, noticing George straighten himself up in hopes of avoiding any further damage.
“I was not getting sloshed, I was doing business.” He corrected, defensive over the fact. “S’pose you were hoping I’d take a little longer, yeah? Give you some more time to cozy up with my brother?”
“Blimey, Fred. If you took any longer, I’d imagine you’d have to move in with the lad.” George took your side on the matter. “At least she wouldn’t have to worry about you missing dinner again.” At that, Fred’s eyes cut to you, immediately understanding where the underlying tension was coming from.
“Is that right?” Fred’s voice was no louder than a whisper, all of the pieces clicking together in an instant. “I don’t suppose the two of you had dinner? Let him fill in for me while I was gone?”
“No, we did not.” You snipped, standing as you gathered the ingredients for George’s second attempt at the brew.
“Yeah, right. What else did he fill in for, sweetheart? Anything you think I should know?” At that, your eyes widened and your face turned red. Your entire body felt like it was engulfed in flames, appalled that he would even think such a thing.
“Piss off, Fred.” You muttered, stepping out from behind the desk as tears stung your eyes. George shot you a sympathetic look as you pushed past his brother and out into the stairwell. You trodded down to the main level, swiping fallen tears away from your cheeks as you rushed out the front entrance of the building.
The cool air of the night was nice, especially after spending so long cramped up in the tiny office space, but it was not as freeing as you might have hoped once you heard footsteps following behind you. Without acknowledging him, you pulled your keys from your pocket, hoping that maybe he forgot his own set and you wouldn’t have to deal with his drunken arguments tonight if you got inside before him.
Of course, you knew that was childish and cruel, because despite being upset with him, loving him was the only thing you knew how to do. You unlocked the front door, holding it open with your boot-clad foot as he stumbled his way behind you. As soon as he passed through the doorway, you continued on your journey to ignore him and tossed your keys on the counter.
“Hey,” Fred reached out, his warm hand landing on your arm, stopping you from running any further from him.
“What?” You snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of your tone. He recoiled at the sound, shocked that you spoke to him in such a way. Usually the two of you saw eye to eye on everything, and in your long standing relationship arguing had never been your thing. Until you left school, you were certain the two of you had never been angry at each other, ever.
“What the bloody hell was that about? I leave for a few hours, and the two of you get on like that? Does that happen every time I step out?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, wondering why this became such a problem in the few short months you’d been graduated.
“Merlin, Fred. You’re acting like you caught us in a broom closet.” You tried again to make your way to the bedroom, unwilling to argue a point he knew was blasphemous anyhow. “We were working, not fucking.”
“Yeah, but I bet you would’ve let him, right?” He grabbed your hand, spinning you back around to face him. He pulled you into him, his athletic build never leaving him even after he stopped playing quidditch. “Bitching and moaning cause I couldn’t be home to take you to dinner… if you were so upset, why didn’t you come to me, princess? Tell me what was wrong?” You could smell fire whiskey on his breath, feeling his chest heaving with anger against your own. As angry as you were, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of arousal run through you. The slight sneer on his face, the fire in his eyes, and the protective hold he had on you was sending your head spinning with thoughts much less pertinent to the topic at hand.
“Maybe I would have if you spared me the time of day.” You argued, finding yourself short of breath as you realized just how much he towered over you. “But, as it seems, you’ve been too damn busy to spare me a second glance.”
“Christ, when did you get so needy?” His rebuttal came easy, like he’d been waiting to have this fight for weeks. “Weren’t satisfied at home, so you thought my brother could do it for you?”
“Are you daft?” You hissed, feeling his fingers tighten on your hips. You hated that the feeling made you forget about your troubles, urging you to push the argument to the side and settle it in a better, more pleasurable way. “If that’s what I wanted, you think I’d be up here arguing with you?”
“That depends, sweetheart. Were you planning on getting caught?” He raised an eyebrow, the thud of his heart against his chest letting you know just how worked up he was. There was no way he truly believed you would do that to him, especially after all you had been through together. You wondered if maybe the lack of time spent with each other was getting to him, souring his thoughts because he missed you just as much as you missed him. “We may be identical, Princess, but he could never give you what I can.”
You hated to admit it, but for some strange reason, jealousy looked really good on him.
“What, a headache and a poor mood?” You decided to play his game if he wasn’t willing to listen to reason. If he wanted to fight, you could do it too. “I’m sure he could manage. In fact, he could probably do a hell of a lot more.” That seemed to strike a nerve in him, pushing him over the edge in an instant and changing the entire mood hanging heavy in the room. He no longer wanted to talk, but rather prove a point.
He took a step backwards, never easing his hold as he pushed you towards the kitchen table. He didn’t stop until your ass hit the edge, a mischievous look in his eye replacing the earlier annoyance. He had you locked in place, no intent to back down as he stared down at you over the bridge of his nose. Then, a small smirk turned the corner of his lips, leading you to believe he was also thinking of a much more simple way to solve your problems.
“Maybe you just need a reminder of who you belong to, yeah?” He asked, his voice quieter than it was before. You felt your mouth run dry, your eyes never leaving his as a dull ache between your legs began to pester you.
That would make you feel better, but he had pissed you off enough that you wanted to refuse him the satisfaction.
“Maybe we should get Georgie up here. According to you, he’d be the one to set me straight.” There was a slight venom in your tone letting him know you wouldn’t be letting anything go so easily. A low chuckle shook his shoulders, his eyes gleaming with a sinister look you weren’t sure you’d ever seen from him before that night. He shook his head ever so slightly, playing into you as he reached one arm behind you.
Your heart raced as you awaited a response, wondering if maybe you pushed him too far and crossed a boundary you could not double back on. You didn’t have to wonder long, because without a second thought, he cleared all of the items littering the table with one swift move of his arm. Papers scattered everywhere, floating through the air and landing all over the floor. Broken products and half finished merchandise for the shop tumbled off the edge, falling less than gracefully onto the tile below. Without ever breaking eye contact, he raised an eyebrow, daring you to say it again.
“You think he can fuck you better than I can?” He asked, giving you the opportunity to change your mind.
“Right now? Yeah.” You spat, wondering if he’d ever drop the act and get on with his day. “Seems like all you want to do is get on my nerves.”
“Yeah?” He challenged, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin. The tip of his nose grazed your own, his normally warm and comforting irises engulfed by his lust-blown pupils. Or perhaps it was anger that gave him the new look—you weren’t quite sure. “You’d rather go home with him at night? Wake up next to him every morning? Is that really what you want, princess?” He taunted, knowing very well that your heart was his, even if he found himself caught up in a few moments of doubt.
Still neglecting to give him any gratification, you nodded your head despite the sickening feeling that washed over you at the thought. As if he called your bluff before you ever said it aloud, he laughed at the certainty in your action, which only seemed to anger you further.
“If that’s the case, seems like I’ve got my work cut out for me tonight.” He responded, brushing the comment off as if it were nothing. If there was one thing Fred couldn’t ever turn down, it was a challenge, and since coming upstairs with you, it was only further proven to him that’s all this was. “Maybe I’ve gotten too comfortable, sweetheart. After so long, you think you’d know that you’re mine, huh?” Before he continued his tyrant, he used his hands on your hips to lift you onto the table with ease. The ache between your legs had grown stronger, more intense and impossible to ignore. You could feel the wetness soaking through your panties, and the thought of his strong arms lifting you so carelessly only made you spiral further. “Maybe I expect too much of you.” He theorized, recognizing the gleam in your eyes because he’d seen it a thousand times before.
He let his hands trail under the hem of your jumper, settling on the button of your jeans as he undid it with ease. You never let your eyes trail from his face, realizing that no matter how upset you were, it could never take away from how much you loved him. He was beautiful, his fiery red hair and the freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose creating a perfect picture. The softness of his complexion and the gentleness hidden deep in his expression assured you that whatever the two of you were doing was nothing more than an act. He knew you were his just as well as you did, but he knew the only way to settle the (admittedly, misguided) fear was to hear you say it aloud.
You helped him pull the fabric from your legs, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your hips from the table. He discarded the clothing on the floor, paying no mind to it as he returned his hands to your bare legs. His eyes searched your face, carefully looking for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he was met with a pleading expression that only seemed to fuel his too large ego even further.
“No matter,” he disregarded his earlier rant, his eyes growing heavy as his hand fell between your legs. His fingertips grazed the thin fabric separating him from your core, a shiver running down his spine as he noticed the arousal that had soaked straight through. “I don’t mind having to show you. Least I’ll get to have my fun too, yeah?” He applied slight pressure to your aching clit, watching to see your reaction. Your eyebrows knitted together, your lips parting slightly as your hips moved forward into his hand, your body betraying your mind and begging him for something more.
At that, a grin encased his face, happy to see that he hadn’t lost his touch, even if your lives were vastly different and ever-changing by the day. He knew exactly how to make you feel good, and he took pride in it.
“See, Princess? She’ll always tell me the truth.” He taunted, his voice quiet as his eyes trailed down to his hand. You swallowed hard, knowing he had you in a stalemate. “Tell me again, who do you think knows how to make you feel good? Who does it best?” He was on a power trip, unwilling to slow down until he heard you admit it. Still, you stood your ground, pressing your lips tightly together so not a single sound could pass through. His grin faded, slowly sinking into a scowl as your disobedience remained clear.
He removed his finger from you, tracing the hem of your panties as he hooked his finger through the side of the fabric resting on your hip. He awaited an answer, giving you the opportunity to change your mind. When you kept your stoicism, he gave one, hard tug on the lacy fabric until it snapped in two. He used his other hand to do it to the opposite side, giving himself easy access to you without hearing a complaint on your end.
“So you don’t care who’s between your legs?” He continued, unrelenting as you stared him down. “Doesn’t matter who, as long as there’s a cock in you? As long as someone’s taking care of your pretty pussy?” Your cheeks flushed, your chest burning as the filthy words washed over you. “Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. When I’m done with you, I’ll be the only person you can think of. Surely then you won’t be able to forget who you belong to.”
His hand connected with your bare cunt, his fingers trailing through your arousal and settling over your clit as he began to trace slow circles into the sensitive area. Your legs trembled at the contact, finally feeling some relief from the nagging sensation that had been taking over.
“Fuck. Fred.” You whispered, giving yourself away immediately. He let out a low hum, pleased with the sound and knowing he was the reason for it. He had you where he wanted you, and now he just had to keep up the pace. You could feel his hardening length against your leg, distracting you completely from the pent up anger and frustration.
“That’s it.” He encouraged, his middle finger sinking inside of you as he let his thumb take over on your clit. “That’s my girl.” He made sure to accentuate the claim, never once letting you forget it. “All you needed was a little help remembering.” Slowly, he pumped his finger into you, keeping time with his thumb as he began to work you towards a climax. “You want to say it for me? Tell me what I already know?” Instead of responding, you let out a whine, your hips bucking forward into his hand. Although it wasn’t what he was looking for, it was just enough for him to keep going.
He curled his fingers as he pumped them into you, begging for a reaction as your hand wrapped around his bicep for support. You felt the tense of his muscles as he worked at you, only pushing you closer to insanity. You were his, undoubtedly and wholeheartedly, and you would be crazy to ever want anyone else.
“Stubborn little thing tonight.” He remarked, his eyes focused on the point in which his hand met with you, never breaking his stare as he watched his fingers disappear into you. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Need more, Freddie.” You replied, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pleasure pulsing under your skin. It had been a long time since you felt him this way, and your impatience was quite clear.
“My little whore needs more?” He teased, applying a little more pressure with his thumb. A gasp fell from your lips, sending your upper half leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. “Asking a lot from someone you aren’t being very good for.” He chastised you for your behavior despite being the one that caused the problem in the first place.
“M’sorry, my love. S-so sorry.” You rushed out, his fingers brushing against the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.
“That’s not what I want to hear sweetheart, and you know it.” His tone was firm, unrelenting as he continued his torment. You let out a groan of frustration, wishing he’d quicken the pace and give you what you wanted, even though you refused to give in to him.
He leaned forward, closing the gap between your mouths as he grew tired of waiting for the words he wanted to hear. He tasted like the whiskey that had been fuelling his poor mood, sweet and bitter all at once as his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You hated how easy it was for him to turn you into a mess, hated how easy it was for him to make you forget you were angry at all. You pulled him closer to you, holding his arm tightly so he would not pull away. You were stubborn, but despite that, you were showing him everything he wanted to see through your actions alone.
You broke from the kiss as a particularly intense wave of euphoria pulled your stomach. Your forehead continued to rest on his, holding you upright as he continued to give you just enough to keep you satisfied.
“Say it, princess.” His voice was low, raspy and laced with desire as he watched you turn into a mess below him. “Tell me you’re all mine. Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.” Instead, you connected your mouths again, letting a desperate moan out at the same time. He drank in the sound, his cock throbbing as his hips jutted forward into nothing. He was almost more desperate than you were, which only allowed for you to take him less seriously.
“G-gonna have to try harder than that.” You found a peculiar pleasure in leaving him on edge, giving him a taste of his own medicine as he continued to torture both of you at once. “Show me why I should say it, Freddie. Seems like you’re all t-talk.” You stuttered, tripping over your words as you tried to keep your composure.
He withdrew his hand from you, making you cry out in frustration from the loss of pleasure. Your eyes met his, desperation written all over your face as you protested his actions. Silently, he sunk to his knees between your legs, pulling you to the edge of the table by your hips. He didn’t spare a single glance at your face before his tongue connected with your core, the warm wetness of his tongue even more pleasurable than the rough pad of his thumb.
You laid back on the table, your hands sinking downwards and tangling in the soft locks of hair. Although you were denying him of the statement he wanted to hear, you could not deny that your last argument was wholly untrue. Fred was determined to prove a point, and he was doing it well.
You weren’t far off from an orgasm, his tongue making quick work at pushing you to the edge. The sounds falling from your lips were telling of your current state, and as delirium began to set in, your defenses began to break down.
He suctioned his lips around your clit, adding his fingers to the mix and returning to his earlier pace to torture you further. Every nerve in your body was ablaze with desire, need seeping from every pore as you realized just how badly you needed the release. Sick of the game, you finally broke in fear he would leave you hanging yet again.
“Oh, god.” You gasped, your legs resting over his shoulders in attempt to stop the constant trembling of the lips. “I’m yours, Fred, fuck!” You exclaimed, a sheen layer of sweat forming over your forehead as the knot in your belly began to tighten. “Only you can make me feel this good. Nobody else.” You whined, your fingers tightening on the locks of hair as you began to tug at the strands. You could feel him smiling against you, happy to finally hear you admit the truth.
Pleased with your confessions, he curled his fingers against your g-spot one last time, generously giving you the very thing you’d been pleading for. In a mess, your entire body tensed as the pleasure took hold. The orgasm washed over you, leaving your heart racing against your chest and your head swirling with filthy thoughts for the boy between your legs. A hum of approval let you know he was more than happy with your performance, and he kept his pace until he felt you relax against the table below you.
Once he knew he’d gotten the most out of you, he rose to his feet, towering over you as you laid below him. In the dim moonlight, you could see your orgasm glistening on his chin, only furthering his cockiness as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip so he did not waste a drop of it.
“Always taste so sweet, princess.” He whispered, using one hand to free himself from his pants and his boxers. “And it’s all for me.” He continued, slipping his shirt from his head. He used it to wipe his face clean before tossing it on the floor to join the growing pile of clothes. With shaky hands, you lifted your upper half from the table and pulled your own jumper over your head. “Isn’t that right?” He stepped toward, settling between your legs as his hands ghosted over your bare thighs.
You let out a whimper, his grip landing on your already sore hips as his eyes raked over your entire frame. Your gaze flickered to his cock, hard and aching for relief as he continued to tease you. His fingers tickled your stomach as he trailed his touch upwards, his palm landing flat against your breast as he gave it a gentle squeeze. He let the pad of his thumb brush over your hardened nipple, sending another wave of pleasure through you.
“Answer me, sweetheart.” He wasn’t playing anymore; he wanted to hear the words, and he was done with your obstinacy. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger,
“Yes,” you huffed, already forgetting the pleasure from your first climax as a whole new wave of need began to take over. “I’m yours, Fred. All yours.” You reiterated your earlier statement, now willing to do whatever he wanted of you to prove the point.
“Tell me how bad you want it.” He shot you a twisted little smile, almost as if he was getting off just from the thought of you begging for him.
“I need it, baby. Need to feel you, please.” You whined, reaching for his arms and pulling him closer. “Want you so bad, Fred. Been waiting all night for it.” You felt the tip of his cock connect with your cunt, his expression faltering as soon as he felt the wetness.
“God, you make it so hard to be upset with you.” He hissed the words through his teeth, using his hand to guide himself through your folds as he sucked in a sharp breath. He settled himself just over your already sensitive clit, pushing his hips forward ever so slightly to apply pressure to the spot. “Sound so pretty when you’re begging to be fucked.”
Slowly, he let his tip run back through your arousal, settling the head just at your entrance. He pushed himself forward, but just barely. You whimpered as you braced yourself for the feeling, only to be let down when he stopped himself from going any further.
“Fred,” you warned, catching his eye so he could see your desperate face. You hoped that if he did, he would stop being such a tease. “Please fuck me.”
“What was that?” He smirked, turning his head slightly so his ear was closer to you. “Didn’t quite catch it.”
“Fred, stop—“ you cut yourself off, letting out a huff of annoyance. You knew chastising him for his actions would only make him less likely to give in, even if it was incredibly hard to hold it back. “I need you to fuck me.” You repeated, clearer and louder in hopes of swaying his decision. “Can’t wait any longer, baby. Please.”
At that, he pushed forward the rest of the way, sending your entire body raising with goosebumps. The stretch as he filled you was exactly what you craved, and as he reached the hilt, his tip brushed against your g-spot so delicately that it almost made you come undone right then and there. Your eyelids grew heavy with satisfaction, focusing on how full you felt with him inside of you, knowing that he for certain would always be the one for you.
“That good enough for you, Princess? This is what you wanted?” He asked, letting himself rest inside you for a moment. He felt your walls flutter around him, pulling him even further and making it harder for him to resist you.
“Mhm,” you hummed, giving him a tired nod of agreement. You could feel him throbbing inside of, desperate for a release just like you had been moments before, but he was still trying to prove his point.
“Nobody else gets to have you like this, sweetheart. You’re mine.” He whispered, now sober from the alcohol but intoxicated by an even stronger, deadlier force; you. “He couldn’t fuck you like this, and you know it.” As he spoke, he withdrew his hips and slammed them forward into you again. The action stole the breath from your lungs, twisting your stomach with pleasure as your nails scratched over his skin.
He began at a pace, slower than normal but the force behind his movements making your head spin. You moaned quietly, lost within the feeling of being so close to him. He never failed to take your breath away, never failed to amaze you with his every move. You were so in love with him it sometimes felt like there was no room within your heart for anyone or anything else.
“Tell me, Y/N.” He ordered, his stare never wavering as he fucked into you. As much as he wanted to succumb to the sensation of you wrapped around him, he found it hard to push the thoughts of your earlier arguments out of his head. “You think he’d fuck you like this? You think he could make you feel this good?”
“No, Freddie.” You gasped, feeling the strength of his thrusts increase, sending the legs of the table wobbling. His fingers tightened on your hips, likely leaving behind angry red marks that would fade into reminders of him for days to come.
“That’s it, Princess.” He panted, his chest heaving as he tried to resist the pull of pleasure. “Don’t you think, not even for a second, that anyone can give you half of what I can.” You both knew this to be fact; nobody in the entire world could ever compare to him. “And why do you think that is?”
“‘C-cause I’m yours,” you managed to stutter out the response, watching him as the statement washed over. He brought his hand to your thigh, your legs wrapped tightly around you as he pulled you back on him with every thrust. His head fell back on his shoulders, the dim light of the room casting a beautiful hue over his already breathtaking features.
“That’s right,” he grunted, slamming his hips forward again. There was a thin layer of sweat sheen on his chest, the toned muscles of his abdomen flexing every time he moved. The exposed columns of his neck made your mouth water, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed back his own groans of pleasure. “Was that why you were mouthing off? You just needed someone to take care of you? Just needed me to fuck you?”
“God, yes.” You moaned, feeling the pressure in your belly begin to reach a peak.
“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? All over my cock?” He smiled, looking down at you so he could appreciate the view. “Come on now, making a fucking mess of it.”
“Fuck,” you whimpered, his words hitting you hard and causing the tightening knot in your belly to tense even further.
“That’s my pretty girl. Just like that.” He continued to encourage you, studying your expression as pleasure began to twist it.
It didn’t take much more for you to descend into another orgasm, your entire body quivering as you cried out for him, singing his name like a hymn and he was the god in which you prayed to. Your throat was raw, raspy from the constant string of moans passing your lips. You were tired, almost too fucked out to continue on, but he was having none of it. He didn’t slow his pace as you came down from the high, instead speeding up and ensuring that he pulled your entire body down on him as he fucked into you.
“Freddie, please.” You breathed, feeling the threat of overstimulation begin to creep in. He would have had sympathy had he known you couldn’t take it, but he was confident in your ability to keep up with him.
“What’s wrong, Princess? Wanted it so bad and now you can’t handle it?” He asked, his eyes glazed over with lust as he felt himself approaching his own orgasm. You frowned at his words, now on a quest to prove your own point as you tried to ignore the stinging beginning to set in.
“I can t-take it.” You huffed, a shiver running down your spine as he reached upwards and palmed your breast. He gave the supple flesh a gentle squeeze, his eyes closing in bliss as he let himself slip out of the persona he had created.
“Being so good for me—just a bit longer now.” He whispered, his voice far away as his eyes settled over your face once more. “Bloody hell, Y/N.” he groaned, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He slipped his hand between your legs, his thumb landing atop your clit. He traced slow circles, knowing you were a bit further behind him and unwilling to climax without giving you at least one more. He could see how tired you were, but it did not deter him from his commitment to pleasing you.
“I love you, Fred.” You whispered, softened entirely by the sweet look in his eyes. All of his previous anger fled, leaving him just as the boy you’d fallen so hopelessly for.
“I love you, sweetheart.” He hummed, his hips stuttering and his stature faltering. “Give me one more, yeah? I know you can do it.” And he was right, your entire body was ablaze with another orgasm much more powerful than the last two.
“Together?” You gasped, reaching up and settling your palm on his cheek.
“Yeah? You want to cum with me?” He encouraged your train of thought. “Want me to fill that pretty cunt? Really show you who you belong to?”
“Fuck yes, please.” You cried, your fingertips tangling in the locks of hair hanging over his ears. Your walls clenched around him, drawing him in and effortlessly finishing what you had started.
You felt his hips stall, a low growl leaving his lips as he pulled you down on him one last time. He managed to whisper your name as he spilled his release into you, the feeling of him filling you completely sending you spiraling on your own accord. You let out a defeated sigh, the tail end of it turning into a whine as your body went rigid. Your nails scratched at the skin of his arm, your hand on him the only thing keeping you tied to earth instead of floating up and through the clouds.
The both of you rode the high together, euphoria infiltrating every nerve in both of your bodies as he leaned down towards you. Ever so gently, he laid his head on your chest, which was still heaving as you tried to catch up from the lack of oxygen. He placed a plethora of small kisses against the warm skin, his eyes fluttering closed as he appreciated the comfort that came with your company.
Silence hung heavy between you for a few moments, neither of you sure where to go from there. You were still strung out on bliss, barely remembering what got the two of you in the position until he spoke again.
“M’sorry, sweetheart.” His voice barely broke through the room, so timid and shy that you almost missed it completely. “I know you’d never do that. Just got in my head, I s’pose.”
“I… I get it.” You sighed, twisting a lock of his hair. “If I walked in on that, after us being so.. you know. I’d likely feel it too.” You confessed. “I was upset that we had to cancel dinner. I am upset, but not at you.” You tried your best to explain yourself despite exhaustion eating away at your mind. “I’m just upset because I miss you. You’re so busy now, and I’m happy for you, really, but I miss you too.”
“You think I was bloody happy about it?” Fred chuckled, the tip of his fingers tracing shapes into your skin. “I’d much rather be here, with you.” At that, you relaxed completely, understanding that you had gotten too far into your own head. “It’s my favorite place to be. Always has been.”
“Mine too, Fred.” You hummed, smiling softly at the thought.
“I reckon I was a bit jealous, ‘specially at the thought of you and George spending so much time with each other. Would rather it be me, you know, sitting at the shop and laughing with you all night… taking you out for dinner… loving you.” Another gentle kiss was placed to your chest, just before he looked up to meet your eyes. The soft, warm, familiar sight made you feel at ease. He was back to being your Fred, the one you missed all along.
“Darling, you have nothing to be jealous about.” You promised, smiling as he placed a quick peck on your lips. “Though, if it means we get to have brilliant sex like that, by all means do what you have to do.” You explained. “Bloody brilliant, at that.” Without any further words, the two of you descended into a fit of laughter and the clouds that previously hung above your head seemingly cleared in an instant, easily proving to him there was really never a need to worry at all.
Imagine Trans!Reg chooses to get pregnant w James’ child (their first child is Harry- obviously Lily and James conceived him and didnt get married). James is like “omg! I hope they get ur eyes” “oh maybe they’ll get our curls” BUT THEN THE CHILD COMES OUT AS A CLONE OF SIRIUS. And they’re all looking at him like omg no. A child that looks like Sirius with Regulus’ intellect and James’ personality.
Harry’s so excited to have a brother and he starts teaching the child all sorts of stuff. This Sirius clone gets into Gryffindor and he tries to outprank the twins.
summary: after weeks of post-holiday pressure, a hogsmeade trip offers a rare moment of escape, until a rumor ignites chaos. cho’s bitterness spreads through the castle, and rita skeeter sinks her claws in at the worst possible moment. but what starts as disaster ends with an unforgettable breakthrough in the prefects’ bathroom, as you and cedric finally uncover the golden egg’s secret.
We'd been back at Hogwarts for two weeks now, and every trace of Christmas had been wiped clean. The garlands were gone. The twinkling lights had vanished. In their place was that strange grey weight January always seemed to bring, like the air itself had thickened, pressing into the stone walls and sinking into our bones.
The halls felt colder, darker. Quieter.
It settled over everything, an ache in the atmosphere, damp and dull and unmoved.
The dorms were the worst.
The windows leaked cold, the corners smelled like mildew, the kind that crept back this time of year no matter how many scouring charms someone used. The scent of damp parchment lingered in the air, tangled up with the musty staleness of old socks and wet wool. It clung to everything.
It was good to be back. Still, the mood had shifted.
The holidays were over.
No more sugared puddings. No more Weasley twins detonating enchanted crackers over breakfast. No more sneaking kisses with Cedric under the mistletoe. No more evenings curled up in front of the fire with Ginny and Hermione, tucked under shared blankets, gossiping like our lives depended on it.
It was all gone now, and in its place was coursework. And pressure. And that cold reality that came every January like clockwork.
Pages and pages of it.
Ancient Runes, a three-foot Transfiguration essay, and Snape's ridiculous demand for three more feet on bezoars. As if we didn't have anything better to do with our lives.
The only thing that stopped me from flinging my books off the Astronomy Tower was the promise of Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of the new year.
I'd bundled myself up in cozy winter clothes, wrapping that familiar black-and-yellow scarf tight around my neck. The same one Cedric had wrapped there after our first night together at the Burrow. It still smelled like him, cedarwood and amber and something warm and permanent, like home.
He'd insisted I keep it. Said it looked better on me anyway.
Most of Gryffindor was already scattered around the common room, slouched across couches, tangled in scarves and boots, waiting for the day to start properly. The fire crackled low in the hearth. The smell of smoke and damp wool drifted through the air. Everyone was bundled up and restless, like we were all waiting for something to snap us out of this midwinter trance.
I was curled up alone near the fire, legs tucked under me, Crookshanks making slow, deliberate biscuits into my thigh like I was the only thing worth kneading. The common room buzzed quietly in the background, but my head was somewhere else, drifting through the past two weeks, half-listening to the argument unfolding across from me.
Harry groaned from the couch, his body thrown dramatically over the cushions, looking like he'd lost a duel to gravity.
Hermione was mid-rant, of course.
"You've had weeks to figure it out," she said, tone clipped. "And now you're acting like the second task is years away. It's not."
"I've got until the twenty-fourth," Harry argued weakly, dragging a hand through his hair.
"That's in, like, five weeks," I muttered.
Hermione scowled. "Exactly. And the way you're going, you'll blink and it will be here, and you'll still be standing there with your mouth open and that egg screaming at you."
She had a point. February 24th had started feeling closer now that the holidays were behind us. Before, it lived in some foggy space after Christmas. Now it was looming. And Harry still hadn't figured out a thing about that bloody golden egg.
Back at the Burrow, I'd heard it enough times to haunt my dreams. Every night, Harry would drag it up to Ron's room, crack it open, and sit there listening. Waiting for it to sound different. It never did. Just the same shrill wailing, like thirty musical saws crying out at once. It scraped under your skin, got in your head.
I'd tried to place the sound. Tried to think of anything I'd heard like it before. But there was nothing. It didn't sound like anything.
I'd even walked in on Harry once, just sitting on the floor with the egg in his lap, yelling at it like it might shut up and give him a real answer.
It didn't.
"But it might take weeks to work it out!" Hermione snapped. "You're going to look like a complete idiot if everyone else knows the clue and you don't. Maybe you should stay behind today. Figure it out while you've got the Tower to yourself."
"Leave him alone, Hermione," Ron cut in. He wasn't even looking up, just picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion with determination.
Harry glanced over at me. "Has Cedric figured it out?"
I shook my head slowly. "He hasn't mentioned anything."
Which wasn't untrue.
His silence said enough. I'd seen the way his fingers kept drifting toward his tie lately, the nervous habit he always fell into when something was weighing on him. He hadn't said a word about the egg, but I'd caught him doing it more than once this week.
I started straightening it for him before he could, smoothing the silk down without being asked. He never said anything when I did, but he always relaxed after. His hands would fall away. His shoulders would let go of whatever they'd been holding.
So no, he hadn't said it was bothering him. But I knew it was.
You wouldn't guess by looking at him. On the outside, he was the picture of calm and collected. Polished. The elusive Triwizard Champion. But he didn't need to say anything out loud.
I could see it anyway.
Fred and George wandered past just as Harry opened his mouth again. Clearly eavesdropping, they veered over without hesitation, each one dropping onto either end of the settee I was lounging on.
Crookshanks gave a grumpy meow and launched off my lap, clearly aggrieved by the sudden intrusion.
Both twins were smirking down at me like they'd been waiting for an excuse.
"I bet you've been keeping him very distracted," Fred said, waggling his brows.
"You little minx," George added, nudging me.
I rolled my eyes, cheeks warming. "Shut up."
It wasn't even worth pretending. More than half the school already knew about me and Cedric, and I hadn't exactly been subtle the night of the Yule Ball. And for the ones who missed that, the quickie on the train had filled in the blanks.
Hermione, sitting across, shot both boys a sharp look. She muttered something about "crude commentary" under her breath and went right back to glowering at Harry.
We were just getting to our feet when a soft chime rang through the common room, the hour bell that signaled the start of our Hogsmeade visit.
Students whooped and clapped. The low buzz of conversation spiked instantly, turning animated and loud as everyone scrambled to gather their things. Scarves were adjusted, boots stamped, bags slung over shoulders.
We filed through the portrait hole in a jostling blur of excitement and chatter.
Waiting just on the other side, like he'd timed it perfectly, was Cedric.
He leaned against the stone archway, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, his cloak hanging open like the temperature didn't bother him at all. His eyes found mine immediately, and the smallest smile curved at the corners of his mouth.
"Top shagger," Fred whispered as they passed him, clapping him on the back.
Cedric didn't flinch. Just offered a polite nod, eyes flicking down to the scarf still wrapped around my neck. His scarf.
When our eyes met again, everything else dimmed.
"Thought we could walk down together," he said, voice quiet, like it was just for me.
Like this really was a date, not a freezing, school-sanctioned field trip layered in thermal socks and Hogwarts-issue gloves.
Still. I liked the way he said it. Soft. Intentional.
Hermione greeted him first, giving a polite nod andtucking her hands deeper into her sleeves. Harry managed something that resembled a smile. Ron didn't even blink in his direction. The performance was almost impressive at this point.
The snow hadn't let up much. It still covered the grounds in a thick layer, the kind that crunched and collapsed under your boots. The sky hung low and dull above us, stretched in grey like wet paper. Every window we passed was fogged over, condensation trailing in slow lines down the glass. The castle looked like it was holding its breath.
We passed the Durmstrang ship on our way to the gates, its hull slick and dark in the still lake water.
Then a flicker of movement caught my eye, up on the deck.
"What the hell," I muttered.
Viktor Krum had stepped out barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of threadbare swimming trunks. His skin looked nearly translucent in the winter light, a pale blade against the slate-grey water. He barely hesitated. Just stretched his arms once and dove off the side of the ship— clean, sharp, and gone beneath the surface in an instant.
"He's mad," Harry breathed.
"It must be freezing," Ron said, staring.
"It's January!"
"It's colder where he's from," Hermione said, a little quieter. "He told me the Black Sea in winter makes this look mild."
I glanced at her, catching how she was defending him without even realizing it. Her voice had softened the way it did when something mattered, even if she wasn't ready to say why.
I smirked. "He told you that, did he?"
Hermione's eyes snapped to mine too fast. Her cheeks flushed pink.
Back at the Burrow over the holidays, late one night in Ginny's room, buried in blankets and half-tipsy from Firewhiskey, Hermione had told us everything.
They'd kissed.
At the top of the marble staircase, just after the Yule Ball. She'd whispered it into the dark like it was a secret too delicate to say out loud.
"He just leaned in," she'd said, her fingers tangled in the hem of her pajama top. "And it was... it was nice."
Ginny and I had squealed. Proper squealed. We buried our faces in pillows to muffle it, but it didn't help. Hermione had blushed all the way down to her collarbones. She told us they'd exchanged a few letters since. Nothing romantic, just sweet. Book titles. Little thoughts. Quidditch scores.
Both too awkward to say what they actually wanted.
It was almost tragic.
And it was absolutely our responsibility to push her toward him again.
Now, watching Viktor resurface in the middle of the lake like some kind of folk legend, I made a mental note: we weren't letting her talk herself out of this again. Not when she still blushed like that.
"He's really nice, you know," Hermione added after a pause. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He said he likes it better here."
Cedric and I exchanged a look.
"You should go say hi, invite him to the village?" Ced suggested, voice light but knowing.
Hermione shook her head instantly, pulling her scarf tighter.
We didn't press it.
Yet.
The path gave way to the slushy High Street, cobblestones half-lost under dirty snow and salt. The scent of baking drifted out from somewhere— warm sugar, cinnamon, vanilla.
And still, the stares started.
I felt them the way you feel wind shift. Heads turned. Eyes narrowed. Boys elbowed each other. Girls scowled. The kind of attention that always came too fast, too loud.
After being intimate with Cedric, I didn't think it could get worse. But it had. If I had to guess, it was because I felt different. More sensual. Confident. Something had changed in me, something others clearly picked up on. The boys had more trouble containing themselves. And the girls? They didn't bother hiding their bitterness.
It was worse this time.
A Ravenclaw boy actually winked. Another mouthed something I didn't want to hear. I tightened my hold on Cedric's hand.
He squeezed back without looking. Like it was automatic.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
"I'm so over being looked at like this", I muttered.
His gaze swept the street once, slow and deliberate. "Let them look. Anyone crosses a line, I'll sort it."
"They're not exactly being subtle."
"They're not exactly worth your time."
I knew he was right. But part of me wanted to turn around and head back to the castle. And I knew Cedric picked up on that, too. We looked at each other, no words, just the kind of quiet communication that had been happening more and more lately. I was still amazed by how easily he could read me.
He paused a beat. Then added, softer, "Let's stay a bit longer, yeah? I want to ask Harry a few things about his egg."
I nodded, grateful that they were going to have that conversation and deciding not to let anyone ruin my weekend.
Soon, Cedric and Harry were deep in as we made our way around the village— careful, quiet talk about the egg and the task ahead.
Hermione and I walked a little ahead, arms linked, our boots crunching through packed snow.
Ron trailed just behind, scowling down at his own feet. Clearly still peeved about Cedric's presence.
I didn't pay him any mind. I was used to it by now, his sulking, his silence. The way he turned passive-aggressive into an art form anytime Cedric was around.
I was just glad Cedric didn't either.
Harry was the first to speak up as the village buzzed around us.
"Wanna head to the Three Broomsticks?" he asked us. "I could use something warm."
Cedric agreed before I could say anything, and I nearly pouted. I'd been selfishly hoping for time alone with him, even just an hour. But I understood. They were trying, both of them. And with the second task closing in like a storm, sitting down somewhere was probably smarter than wandering the streets collecting stares.
The Three Broomsticks was packed, as usual. Warm and loud and crowded, thick with the smell of butterbeer and roasting meat. Scarves were draped over chairs. Steam rising from mugs. The windows were fogged, the floor slippery with melted snow.
We pushed through the crowd toward the bar and placed our orders with Madam Rosmerta, who barely glanced up, she was juggling at least five drinks at once, her wand flicking wildly between trays. We lingered off to the side, waiting, pressed in tight among clusters of other students doing the same.
Cedric stood just behind me, close enough that I could feel the light touch of his arm against mine, hear every word when he leaned in to make some quiet joke under his breath.
Hermione nudged me suddenly, tilting her head toward the mirror behind the bar.
"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" she whispered.
"Who?" I asked, following her gaze.
"Bagman."
I looked.
Ludo Bagman sat hunched in the far corner, talking to a group of goblins. He looked twitchy— nervous. His hands moved constantly in tight little gestures, like he was trying to talk them into something they weren't buying. The goblins sat stone-still, unimpressed.
"He looks rough," I said.
"Same as he did after the Dark Mark," Harry muttered.
Before we could say more, Bagman looked up. His eyes flicked toward the mirror, landed on Harry, and he froze.
"In a moment, in a moment!" he said to the goblins, already standing.
A second later, he was cutting across the pub, far too cheerful for someone who'd just been cornered by a goblin negotiation.
"Harry!" he said brightly. "Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"
Harry blinked. "Fine, thanks."
Bagman's eyes scanned our group, lingering too long on Cedric, then me, then Hermione and Ron.
"Oh, hello, Cedric... Miss (Y/L/N)... Miss Granger, Weasley," he said, like he was trying to remember if we counted as important. "You don't mind giving us a moment, do you?"
Cedric, Ron and Hermione looked at me. I gave a little shrug.
Just then, our drinks slid across the bar. We grabbed our mugs and peeled off without a word, leaving Harry behind as we moved to a table near the frosted windows. The cold from the glass seeped through our coats. Cedric pulled out a chair for me like it was second nature. Before he sat, he leaned down and kissed the side of my head.
My chest ached a little at that.
We'd barely settled, hands still wrapped around warm mugs, when the front door swung open behind us with a gust of cold wind. Snowflakes blew in with it, scattering across the floor before melting instantly. A group of Hufflepuff boys spilled into the pub— laughing, loud, their hair dusted in snow and cheeks flushed from the cold. Their voices rose above the steady din, cheerful and carefree.
One of them spotted Cedric almost immediately and lifted a hand, waving him over.
Cedric's eyes flicked to me. "I'll be back soon, alright?" he said softly, his hand brushing my knee. "Promise."
I nodded. He kissed my cheek and headed over to them, slipping into their orbit with a kind of practiced ease.
I watched him go, trying not to sulk about it.
Tried not to feel like the whole table had dimmed without him there.
He gave them his full attention— nodding, laughing, listening, though I could tell he was still watching me out of the corner of his eye.
I turned away, sipping my butterbeer. The whispers were starting again.
Some weren't even whispering. They were just staring. Like I was something rare and strange and possibly cursed. Like I was going to explode.
I looked down into my drink.
"What's that about?" Hermione muttered, eyes tracking a cluster of Ravenclaws across the room.
"I don't know," I said.
But I did.
I felt it. Something was coming.
Fred and George chose that exact moment to swoop in, cutting clean through whatever Bagman had been saying to Harry. They cornered Bagman with matching grins and a very pointed reminder about the World Cup bet he still hadn't paid back. Before long, they had him squirming in his seat. He stammered a few half-hearted excuses, then bolted, muttering apologies as he hurried out the door. The goblins followed right behind, their expressions unreadable.
Harry returned to our table, looking vaguely annoyed. Cedric was still across the room.
Ron looked up. "What did he want?"
"He offered to help me with the golden egg," Harry said, already bracing for the reaction.
Hermione's head whipped around. "He what? He's a judge! That's completely out of line— Dumbledore would never approve. He's supposed to be impartial!"
"I hope he's offering Cedric the same help," I muttered.
"He's not," Harry said quietly. "I asked."
Ron scoffed. "Who cares if Diggory's getting help?"
I shot him a look, sharp and silent.
Hermione, ever the diplomat, tried to shift gears. "Those goblins didn't look too friendly. What were they even doing here?"
"Looking for Crouch," Harry said. "He's still sick. Hasn't been in."
"Maybe Percy's poisoning him," Ron said, smirking. "Figures he'd think that's the fast track to promotion."
Hermione gave him her best do-not-joke-about-death face.
"Funny, goblins going after Crouch," she said, stirring her drink. "They don't usually work with the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
"Thinking of starting a new cause, Hermione?" Ron teased. "S.P.U.G.? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?"
I smiled into my cup.
"Ha, ha, ha," Hermione said flatly. "They don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to Binns about the goblin rebellions?"
"No," we all said at once.
Hermione huffed, but before she could launch into a history lecture, Cedric returned.
His expression was soft, but serious.
"(Y/N)," he said, "can I talk to you?"
I blinked. "Now?"
He nodded. "Just for a minute."
I stood, suddenly aware again of all the eyes in the room. This time they weren't just curious. They were cruel.
Someone near the bar snickered.
Outside the booth, Cedric reached for my hand. His fingers were gentle. Steady.
"Cho's saying things," he said quietly, scanning my face. "That you used Veela magic. That it's why I dumped her."
My stomach dropped.
"She practically enchanted him," someone said nearby, loud enough for us both to hear.
Cedric's jaw tensed. "I won't let them speak about you like that."
I swallowed hard, but before I could respond, the pub door opened.
And my stomach dropped again.
Rita Skeeter had just walked in.
She was impossible to miss.
Banana-yellow robes, heels clicking like warning bells, and nails painted an eye-watering shade of pink. Her eyes darted around the pub— quick, sharp, and twitching, landing on me almost immediately. Then flicking away. Then back again.
Her photographer trailed behind her like a trained parasite, camera already half-raised.
She wasn't even trying to be subtle.
She stopped by a Ravenclaw girl, touched her hair like she owned it, smiling, whispering something. But her eyes never left me.
That smile curled wider.
I felt the nausea rise in my throat.
"I need to find Cho," I muttered to Cedric, barely hearing myself over the blood pounding in my ears. "Before this gets worse."
Cedric's grip on my hand tightened. "Whatever you need," he said, soft and sure. "I'm with you."
We returned to the table. I downed the rest of my butterbeer in a single gulp. Cedric's hand pressed into the small of my back as I sat, his touch grounding.
Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill was already scribbling beside her like a smug little ghost.
"She's talking about me," I said quietly. "Cho started a rumor, I used Veela magic on Cedric. I guess it's spreading."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "You're joking."
"I wish I was."
Harry shifted beside me, already slumping. I could tell he'd clocked Rita the second she walked in. His whole posture changed, the kind of defeated slump you only see in someone who's been burned before.
The last time he'd mentioned Cho, he sounded hopeful. Said she'd been writing. She'd gone skiing with her family over break, nothing weird, nothing hostile. Just space.
But this didn't feel like space anymore.
This felt like sabotage.
The crowd shifted again.
Rita was gliding toward us.
Her photographer raised the camera like he'd been waiting for a red carpet cue.
Cedric slid closer to me. His arm draped protectively across my shoulders. I leaned into him without thinking.
Hermione went stiff beside me. Ron's jaw clenched.
"Trying to ruin someone else's life again?" Harry said suddenly, cutting the air like a blade.
Heads turned.
The room fell into that hush only a good confrontation could bring.
Rita's eyes lit up. "Harry!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and confirm some comments made about your American friend," she added, her gaze flicking to me like I wasn't sitting right there. Like I was just another name to slot into an article.
I opened my mouth, rage rising like heat, but Harry beat me to it.
"I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," he said coldly.
A few people laughed. Rita's eyes blinked behind her jeweled glasses.
"Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my—"
"Is that what you're calling it now?" I cut in. My voice was syrupy sweet. Mocking. "Funny, I always thought you just printed whatever bullshit got you off."
The pub went still.
"Answer the witch," George called from the corner, grinning. "You don't want to see a Veela upset."
Even Madam Rosmerta froze mid-pour, amber mead spilling over the rim of a tankard and soaking her fingers.
Rita's smile faltered for half a second. Then she straightened it again, snapping her Quick-Quotes Quill to attention.
"How about an interview, then?" she said, eyes turning on Cedric now. "Handsome boy. Triwizard Champion. Tell me, what's it like being enchanted? Or better yet, what's it like dating someone with... unusual influence? Would you say it's been hard to think clearly lately?"
Hermione stood so fast her butterbeer nearly spilled.
"You horrible woman," she said, voice shaking. "You don't care, do you? You'll say anything, twist anything, just to get a story."
"Sit down, you silly little girl," Rita scoffed. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. I'm a professional, sweetheart. I've heard worse than this. I know things that would make your hair curl, not that it needs it."
I stood, fists clenched, ready to lunge.
But Cedric was already pulling me back.
"Let's go," Hermione said through gritted teeth, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
We left, together. All five of us. And every pair of eyes in the pub followed.
Harry glanced back as we reached the door. Rita's Quill was already scribbling at lightning speed.
"She'll be after you next," Ron muttered to Hermione as we stepped into the cold.
"Let her try," she hissed. "First Harry. Now (Y/N). She's not getting away with it."
I didn't say a word. I couldn’t if I wanted to.
My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.
The wind stung my cheeks. But it wasn't the cold making me tremble. It was the shame, the heat of it. The rage. Knowing my name was already halfway to becoming some snide, pun-riddled headline.
I didn't want to cry in front of everyone. Not now. Not after all that.
"I'll meet you back at the castle," I muttered, stepping away from the group.
"Wait, are you okay?" Ron asked, surprisingly gentle. "You look—"
But I was already moving away from them.
Cedric followed.
He caught up without saying a word, crouching a little so we were eye to eye. He always did that, made himself smaller to meet me where I was.
I stared at the cobblestones between us.
"Where would she be?"
He didn't need to ask who I meant. His eyes scanned the square, sharp and quick.
"She likes Madam Puddifoot's," he said after a beat. "Used to drag me there."
I didn't respond. Just turned and started walking fast. Boots crunching through dirty snow, shoulders tight, heart hammering.
A group of boys leaned against a shop wall, laughing too loud. One of them saw me and called out, "You can enchant me anytime, (Y/N). I won't fight it!"
Cedric stopped in his tracks.
"Say that again and see what happens," he growled. Loud. Cold. Commanding.
The boy froze.
We kept walking.
I didn't speak. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it.
If I hadn't been so furious, I might've found it hot.
When we reached the tea shop, I spotted her immediately, Cho, sitting with a group of girls near the foggy window. Her posture was perfect. Her hair fell in neat, silky waves. Her scarf matched her lip gloss.
She was laughing.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn't just kicked this whole mess into motion and wiped her hands clean.
I pushed the door open. The little brass bell above it jingled softly.
Cho looked up. Her expression shifted instantly, smile gone, brows lifted, eyes narrowing like she hadn't expected to see me again, much less like this.
"What do you want?" she asked, not even pretending to be polite.
"I need to talk to you," I said, steady. "Please."
She scoffed. "Why?"
"Because I'm asking."
She held my gaze for a second, then stood. One of her friends leaned in to whisper something, but Cho didn't respond. Her eyes flicked past me, to Cedric just behind, silent and watchful.
I turned to him. "Can you give us a minute?"
He hesitated, just a blink, but nodded and stepped aside to let us pass, his hands in his pockets.
I opened the door again, a small gust of cold air curling around us as we stepped outside.
Cedric just inside the shop. He didn't sit or move far, just stood near the window, where he could see everything. Quiet. Present. Watching.
Cho and I sat down on the little bench just outside, across from each other. The chill bit through my coat. Everything felt sharper out here, colder. More exposed.
Cho sat like she had a wand to her spine. I could see the tension in her jaw.
"What did I ever do to you?" I asked quietly.
She didn't answer.
"I thought you and Harry were getting on," I said, keeping my voice even. "Cedric and I were happy for you."
Her eyes dropped.
"If you're not over Cedric, fine. That's your business. You two can talk that out. But don't drag Harry into it. And don't drag me into it."
Her throat bobbed. "I'm sorry," she said, voice tight. "About Harry. I didn't mean for him to get pulled in. He didn't deserve that."
I waited.
"But I'm not lying," she whispered, staring at her hands. "That's how it felt. Cedric and I... we were getting close. He invited me to his house. I was going to meet his parents."
She sniffed. It was quick, angry. "Then he just... got distant. I didn't know what I did. I went out with Roger. I flirted with Harry. But it wasn't the same."
Her eyes filled. She blinked hard, fast, but it was no use.
Tears started falling, quiet ones. No dramatics. Just wet cheeks and a broken kind of silence.
And the ache in my chest bloomed.
Because if it had been me, if Cedric had just turned cold, pulled away, I'd be wrecked, too.
It would've ruined me.
Without thinking, I reached out and touched her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," I said. And I meant it. "But Cho... you can't say things like that. My life's already turned upside down lately. I'm only just figuring out what I am. Fleur's been helping me, but... do you think I like this attention?"
She looked at me, really looked.
"I get harassed," I continued. "Girls glare. Their boyfriends stare. I feel guilty for just existing sometimes. For being... visible."
I swallowed hard.
"Like I'm some kind of monster. Like just walking into a room means I'm trying to steal something. I get looked at like I'm calculating. Manipulative. And I'm not. I never wanted any of this."
My voice cracked slightly. "I can't change what I am, but people act like I chose it. Like I'm using it. Like I'm dangerous just for being looked at."
Cho nodded, slowly. Her eyes flicked to the scarf around my neck.
The bell over the door jingled again.
Cedric stepped inside, cautious. His eyes went to me first, then Cho.
"Hi, Cho," he said.
She quickly wiped her eyes, blinking hard. Her voice was barely there.
"Hi, Cedric."
He stepped closer, slow. Careful.
"I didn't leave you because of anything you did," he said softly. "And I wasn't enchanted. I wasn't tricked. I just... wasn't the same person anymore. Things shifted for me, and I didn't know how to say it without hurting you."
He hesitated, then added, "Maybe this is all my fault. I should've been honest sooner. I should've communicated better, instead of letting you guess. I'm sorry, Cho. You didn't deserve that. Any of it."
His voice stayed steady, but there was guilt in his eyes. "I never meant to leave you with doubts."
He glanced at me.
Something in his expression softened, like he was seeing me all over again, not just as the person Cho had been comparing herself to, but as the girl standing there, still holding her breath through the aftermath.
My heart skipped.
Cho's eyes followed his, and I saw it, how it landed. How it confirmed everything she'd been afraid of.
She sniffled again, then ducked her head, wiping under her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Her voice was small, uneven.
"Sorry," she murmured, not quite meeting my gaze.
She stood and turned without waiting for a response, her shoulders tight as she walked back into the shop. Her friends looked up, watching her rejoin them like nothing had happened, like she hadn't just cracked open in front of us.
I stayed where I was, stunned by the weight of it all.
Then Cedric moved. Quiet, certain.
He reached out, took my hand in his, and held it like it meant something. Like he needed the contact too. His fingers laced through mine, warm and steady, and for a second, I just let myself breathe again.
"I'm proud of you," he said softly, barely above a whisper.
And I believed him.
I stayed there for a moment longer, hand still in his. The cold didn't feel quite as sharp with him standing close, steady as ever.
Then he gently tugged me forward.
"Come here," he said, pulling me into his arms.
I let myself fold into him, face pressed into the front of his coat. He held me like he meant it, one hand at the small of my back, the other smoothing up and down my spine in slow, even strokes.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I nodded against him, even if I wasn't sure. "Getting there."
We stood like that for a while, the tea shop's noise fading behind the glass, the cold wrapping around us but not sinking in.
Eventually, we started walking back toward the castle, boots crunching through the slush. Our hands found each other again without thinking.
I let out a breath and glanced up at him.
"Well," I said dryly. "That Hogsmeade trip was ruined."
He smirked, stopping mid-step, and reached into his coat pocket.
"Hold on," he said. "Got you something."
He pulled out a slightly crumpled paper bag and gave it a shake. "Fudge. From the tea room."
I blinked. "You bought me fudge in the middle of all that?"
"I had a feeling you'd need it," he said, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing.
He reached in, pulled out a cube, and held it up between two fingers.
"Say ah."
I rolled my eyes, but leaned in.
He popped the piece into my mouth, eyes bright with that playful look he got when he was proud of himself for making me feel better.
I giggled, the fudge melting instantly on my tongue— warm, sweet, and stupidly perfect.
༻✦༺
The library was quieter after sundown. Most students were still in Hogsmeade or dragging their feet back from it, which left the corridors hushed and empty.
Cedric and I had claimed a table in the far back corner, half-hidden behind a crooked brass globe and a leaning stack of Divination books no one had touched in decades. We hadn't planned to stay long, but we'd sunk into the quiet. One small lamp glowed at our table, casting everything in soft gold. It lit the scattered pages between us, the curve of his knuckles, the lines of his face, warm and sharp all at once.
He was helping me study. Or trying to.
One of the perks of being a Triwizard champion was professors cutting you slack. The rest of us? No such luck.
Cedric sat across from me, scribbling something on my Arithmancy chart with neat, looping handwriting. He was left-handed. I hadn't realized that until tonight. He held his quill a little funny, crooked between his fingers like he was still figuring it out after all these years.
I was supposed to be reading.
I wasn't.
My textbook lay open in front of me, but the words had long since blurred into meaningless lines on the page. My eyes kept drifting, inevitably, shamelessly, to him.
Cedric sat across from me, bent slightly over my notes, brows drawn in concentration as he read. His quill moved steadily, the scratch of ink a soft, constant rhythm in the hush around us. He didn't seem to notice I'd stopped pretending.
I had my chin in my hand, elbow propped on the table, just watching him. The slope of his nose. The way his bottom lip curled slightly inward when he was thinking. How his hair kept slipping into his eyes, and how he never bothered to push it away, just leaned in closer to the parchment like the rest of the world didn't matter.
He looked calm here. Peaceful in a way that felt private, almost fragile. Like something only I got to see.
Not the boy on posters. Not the one whispered about in corridors or watched too closely in the Great Hall. Not Hogwarts' Golden Champion.
Just Cedric.
Mine.
He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, a small curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"What?" he asked, voice low, teasing.
I blinked, tried to look innocent, but the grin was already tugging at my lips. "Nothing," I said, drawing it out. "You're just... really nice to look at."
He leaned back in his chair, slow and deliberate, arms crossing over his chest like he was preparing to interrogate me.
"I knew it," he said, mock-offended. "You're using me for my looks."
I snorted. "Please. I've been using you for your notes too."
He gasped like I'd wounded him, hand pressed to his chest. "Unbelievable. Objectified and exploited. Is nothing sacred?"
His smile finally broke through as I tried not to laugh, my cheeks already too warm to hide it. I reached across the table for the parchment he'd just written on.
He grinned and held it just out of reach, arm raised casually like he was playing keep-away with my sanity.
"Cedric—"
I swatted at him, but he only leaned further back, smug and entirely too pleased with himself.
Then, without warning, he stood. Walked around the table in that slow, easy way of his. And dropped the parchment right in front of me.
Before I could say anything, he leaned down and pressed a kiss just behind my ear, light, warm, and maddeningly precise.
My breath stuttered. The air between us shifted.
He didn't move away.
He leaned in again, closer this time, and his voice dropped just enough to make my stomach tighten.
"You know," he murmured, "you're not helping my concentration either, looking like that."
And then he kissed me.
Not on the cheek. Not a tease. A real kiss, slow and warm and entirely consuming, like he had nowhere else to be but here, with me.
His mouth moved to the corner of mine, then lower, brushing the curve of my jaw.
I tried to exhale like a normal person. "Not everyone gets exam extensions, Diggory."
"Mmm," he hummed against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck.
Still kissing. Still completely uninterested in studying.
"Ced."
"Hm?" He sounded occupied, intentionally so.
His fingers brushed my thigh under the table, feather-light, almost teasing. I turned toward him, trying to glare, but it didn't quite land.
"You're distracting," I muttered.
"You're beautiful when you're flustered," he said, like it was just a fact.
I narrowed my eyes. He looked entirely unbothered.
"We could take a break," he offered, nudging his nose along the line of my jaw.
"I haven't even made much progress."
He tilted his head, lips just shy of my skin. "We can finish it later."
And the way he said it— low, certain, lazy with intent, made it very clear that studying was no longer the priority.
"I've got an idea," he said, voice low now— careful, like he didn't want to startle the moment. "Only if you want to. But... there's a place we could go. Warm. Quiet. Somewhere we can stop thinking so hard for a little while."
He paused, then added with a small smile, "Worth hitting pause for. Promise."
I looked at him, skeptical. Not because I didn't trust him— I did, completely, but because I still had homework waiting in front of me. Things to finish. Things to worry about. The responsible choice was to stay and study.
But then again... I was dying to spend time with him.
Curiosity tugged at me, quiet but persistent. And underneath it was something else, something gentler. I wanted him to breathe. To forget about the tournament for a minute. I knew how much the second task was eating at him, even if he didn't say it out loud. It showed in the way his hands fidgeted, in the tightness of his shoulders he kept trying to hide.
He must've seen it in my face, because he didn't push. Didn't explain or try to sweeten the offer. He just waited.
Then, gently, he kissed the corner of my mouth. Not rushed. Not trying to change my mind. Just reminding me he was there. Steady.
"Could help us both relax," he murmured.
I hesitated another beat.
Then slowly, I started closing my books.
He reached out without a word and started helping, gathering my parchment into a careful stack, slipping quills and folded notes into my bag with that quiet focus he always had when he was trying to make things easier for me. His hand brushed mine once, and something in me stilled at the touch. Not because it startled me, but because it felt purposeful. Gentle. Reassuring in a way nothing else had been all day.
I stood before he could say another word.
"Lead the way."
We moved fast and quiet through the castle, keeping to the edges, through narrow stairwells and winding back halls, places only someone who knew the building like a second home would think to use. Cedric didn't hesitate once. I followed without needing to ask where we were going.
A few portraits muttered as we passed. One winked.
Fifth floor.
We stopped in front of a tall statue, Boris the Bewildered, still looking very much bewildered, his top hat on backward, arms frozen mid-gesture like he'd just forgotten what he was doing.
Fourth door to the left.
Cedric didn't explain.
He just stepped forward, leaned in close, and whispered something to the thick oak door.
"Pine fresh."
It creaked open.
And I stepped into heaven.
The Prefect's Bathroom was marble from floor to ceiling, sleek and shining, the white and gold catching the light from a floating chandelier that swayed ever so slightly overhead. The glow was soft and amber-toned, reflecting off the polished surfaces like candlelight. Everything gleamed like it had been scrubbed by hand just minutes before. No dust. No trace of anyone else.
The centerpiece was impossible to miss: a massive sunken bath, wide enough to swim laps in, rimmed with hundreds of ornate, jeweled taps. They glittered like gemstones in the low light, sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby, each one promising something strange and lovely if you dared to turn it.
Curtains hung from high, frosted windows, pulled just enough to let in the blue tint of moonlight. A soft mist drifted across the tiled floor, curling lazily in the warm air. The scent hit me next— vanilla, lavender, and something sweet I couldn't name. Like spun sugar or warm honey. Something meant to make you forget everything else.
Fluffy towels were stacked in neat piles, thick and inviting. Above them, a large stained window of a blonde mermaid snoozed in a shell-shaped chair. Her hair floated up and down as she snored, rising and falling like sea foam on a tide.
I took a few slow steps in, completely stunned.
"Merlin," I breathed.
Cedric grinned behind me. "Told you it was worth sneaking out for."
He set his bag down near the towels, and I caught a glint of gold inside, the egg. Its surface shimmered, catching the light in a quiet flash.
I knelt by the bath, curiosity pulling me in, and twisted a few taps at random. The pipes rumbled softly. Water poured in from three directions at once, one stream fizzed with pink and blue bubbles, another released violet steam that smelled like ripe plums, and a third spilled in thick golden foam, glittering and silky, like it had come straight from a dream.
I stared, then looked over my shoulder at him. "You're seriously allowed to use this?"
He shrugged, "Perks of the badge."
I shook my head and turned back to the bath, a smile already tugging at my lips. Everything felt lighter now. Warmer. Like the weight of the day had started slipping off the moment I stepped into this strange, hidden world.
Cedric handed me a towel, his fingers brushing mine. His eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary— checking in, making sure I was still with him, still okay.
I was more than okay.
Then he started undressing.
Calm. Unrushed. Just a quiet rustle of fabric, the soft scrape of buckles and buttons undone with ease. His uniform fell away layer by layer.
Before I joined him, I dug through my bag and pulled out my Discman, tucked beneath books and parchment like a little secret. I flipped it open, slid in Cedric's CD, and hit play.
Music crackled through the tiny speakers. A sweeping overture, haunting and familiar. Opera House by Cigarettes After Sex. The intro bloomed through the steam, velvet-rich and echoing, as if the marble itself carried the sound.
Cedric glanced over, amused. "This one ours?"
His voice was soft, but his eyes were already hazy, already fixed on me, and said something else entirely.
I just smiled, slow and deliberate, feeling that flicker of power rise in my chest.
He turned back to the bath and adjusted the taps again, testing the water with a sweep of his hand, making sure it was perfect for me. Water rippled golden, bubbles heaped like clouds, and a steady rise of vanilla-sweet mist curled over the surface like breath. It was nearly overflowing now— lush, glimmering, decadent.
His eyes then tracked me like I was gravity itself as I started to undress peeling off my clothes slowly, feeling the room's warmth curl around my skin as I did. The air buzzed softly, thick with steam and candlelight and the faint, sugary scent clinging to the mist.
Seductive, in control, sure of the way his gaze followed every move I made,I stood at the edge of the bath, completely bare now, skin flushed from the warmth in the air.
One hand rested lightly on my hip, the other brushing back a damp strand of hair. I moved with intention, slow and fluid, stepping into the water like it was a stage and I knew exactly what I was doing to him.
The heat wrapped around my legs first, then higher, silken and golden. Bubbles lapped at my thighs. I sank deeper, every motion smooth, enticing, deliberate.
He didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The look on his face, hungry, reverent, already wrecked, told me everything.
The heat sank into me instantly, wrapping around every inch of bare skin like silk. Like I was being held. I let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed as the tension in my body eased.
Behind me, Cedric moved, slow and sure, crossing to me through the water and wrapping his arms easily around my waist, pulling me back into him.
I melted.
It was hard not to.
His chest was warm against my back, solid and steady, the heat of his skin seeping into mine. Water beaded along his collarbones, gliding down the lines of his body, catching the light as it traced muscle and bone. Every angle of him looked sculpted, deliberate, like the bath had been built to make him look this good. His arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer, and the movement alone made my breath catch.
His hands found my hips, fingers moving in slow, grounding circles, warm and firm, his thumbs brushing the curve of my waist with just enough pressure to make my breath catch. Every pass of his touch sparked heat that unfurled low in my belly, steady and sure, like he was drawing me back into myself, coaxing tension out of my spine with nothing but quiet reverence.
It wasn't just grounding, it was claiming, soothing and sinful all at once.
No rush. Just touch.
My head tipped back against his shoulder, and his mouth found my neck, just a brush at first, light enough to make me shiver. Then firmer. Slower. He took his time.
"Better than studying?" he murmured, lips grazing my skin between words.
I hummed, smiling despite myself. "Slightly."
He laughed— a low, soft sound that rumbled through his chest and settled into mine like a second heartbeat.
Then he turned me in his arms.
The water shifted with us, sloshing gently, bubbles clinging to our skin like silk. My knees bumped his beneath the surface. I moved without thinking, straddling him, drawn in by gravity or something stronger.
His hands slid to my hips again, fingers curling tight, anchoring me as he pulled me fully against him.
The kiss started slow.
Intentional.
Like he was memorizing the moment.
But it deepened almost instantly— greedy, consuming, the kind of kiss that stripped away the rest of the world. His mouth moved over mine like he'd been starving for it, each kiss laced with the kind of urgency that came from nights spent dreaming and days spent holding back.
Yet beneath the hunger was a tenderness that made my chest ache, like he was trying to say everything he couldn't put into words, needing me to feel it in the way his lips moved against mine, deliberate and careful, aching with all the things he'd been holding back too long.
My fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer.
The heat between us coiled tighter with every pass of lips, every breath we shared. His hips rolled beneath me, slow, deliberate, maddening in the best way.
I gasped softly against his mouth.
And he kissed me deeper.
Like he was hungry for it.
Like this was the only thing tethering him to reality.
And I kissed him back with the same wild need— mouth hungry, fingers pulling at his locks, thighs squeezing tight around his waist when he ground up into me with a slow, sinuous roll of his hips.
He swallowed my moan, deep and breathless, then chased it with his tongue, brushing against mine with a slow stroke that sent sparks down my spine. I was dizzy with it already, drenched in heat, soaked in want.
Then lower, his lips dragged down my neck, tongue tasting salt and steam, teeth grazing the soft spot beneath my ear that made my whole body flinch.
"Fuck, you sound so good," he rasped, voice low and filthy against my collarbone as his mouth kept moving downward. He worshipped every inch of skin he passed, hot breath and open-mouthed kisses leaving wet trails that had me squirming under his touch.
He paused just enough to look at me, eyes dark with want, water dripping from his lashes. His hands slid to my thighs under the bubbles, thumbs drawing slow, teasing circles that made my pulse thunder.
"You okay?"
I nodded fast, breathless. "More than."
That smile, the one that always undid me, spread across his face. Sin incarnate.
He kissed down my chest next, reverent and greedy all at once, taking his time, dragging his tongue along my skin. My fingers tangled in his hair again, tugging just enough to make him groan low against my breast.
Then his hand slid between us— no hesitation, just firm, practiced fingers finding where I was already throbbing for him. He circled once, twice, then pressed, slow and rhythmic. I choked out a sound, clutching at his shoulders.
"You're always like this for me," he muttered, mouth brushing back up toward mine. "Dripping. Needy. Fucking perfect."
I whimpered, biting my lip hard, as he found the exact pressure that made my thighs tremble.
"Tell me baby," he moaned. "Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," I gasped. "Yours, Ced. Always."
He made a sound, half-groan, half-growl, and lifted me like I weighed nothing. My back met the cool marble of the bath wall, water sloshing around us. One hand guided himself to my entrance, the other cradled my spine like something precious.
And then—
He pushed into me.
Slow. Deep. Stretching me wide, filling every inch until my breath caught and my fingers dug into his arms. He stayed there for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead resting against mine as we both fought to breathe.
"Fuck," he whispered. "You feel unreal. So tight around me. Like you were made for me."
I nodded, jaw slack, eyes fluttering. And then he started to move.
Measured at first. Smooth thrusts that rolled through me like slow waves— each one deeper, heavier, more deliberate than the last. His hips rocked against mine in a rhythm that made my eyes roll back. His mouth hovered near mine, catching every whimper, every curse I tried to swallow.
"That's it, baby," he murmured. "Take it. Just like that. Fuck, you're gripping me so good."
I arched into him, nails raking down his back. The water lapped against our skin, thick with the scent of sweat and steam and sex. Music still played faintly in the background, but all I could hear was the wet slap of his hips and the desperate sounds he dragged from me.
He angled his thrusts slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made me jerk and cry out.
"Right there?" he asked, breath hot against my lips. "You want more of that?"
"Yes! Yes, Cedric, please—"
He gave it to me.
Harder. Deeper. Each stroke driving me closer to that edge but never letting me tip. My thighs shook. My back scraped softly against the tile. His hand found my throat, just enough pressure to ground me, and he groaned at the way I clenched around him.
"You're so close, aren't you?" he murmured, voice low and full of awe. "I can feel it, how your body's trying so hard to hold on for me."
"I-I don't want to yet—"
"Then don't. Hold it for me. I've got you. I could stay buried in this perfect little pussy forever."
He slowed, just a fraction. Long, dragging thrusts that let me feel every inch of him. His hand slipped between us again, fingers finding that perfect rhythm, synced with every movement of his hips.
I was shaking, sobbing his name.
"You're doing so fucking good for me," he whispered, voice rough with need. "Taking me so deep. Look at you, baby. My good little girl. Fucking gorgeous. All mine."
The pressure built again— hotter, harder. I felt like I was unraveling, held together only by the way he moved, the filth he whispered, the way his mouth claimed mine between every breath.
"Fuck, you feel so good, so perfect around me," he groaned, thrusts deeper now, voice wrecked. "My perfect girl. Can't wait to feel you cum, to feel you milk every drop out of me. Gonna fill you up so good, make sure you know who you fucking belong to."
And I broke.
The orgasm tore through me like lightning, sharp and endless. My body convulsed around him, every muscle clenching as I screamed his name into the mist. Cedric held me through it, hips stuttering as he followed with a deep, strangled groan, spilling inside me with a full-body tremor.
We collapsed into each other, panting, water rocking around us in slow, lazy ripples. My legs were still wrapped around him. My fingers dug into his back like I hadn't realized I was holding on so tightly. Every nerve in my body felt rung out, trembling, soaked in heat and something heavier, something holy.
I couldn't move. Didn't want to.
He held me through it, arms banded around my waist, one hand splayed against the curve of my spine like he was anchoring me to this moment. To him. His chest rose and fell beneath mine in steady, shallow swells, the rhythm of his breath syncing with mine as the aftershocks ebbed away.
He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along my temple, down to the damp curve of my shoulder, then lower, his mouth brushing the hollow of my collarbone like he was still tasting me. Still claiming me.
"Holy fuck," he whispered, voice rough and reverent. "You're going to kill me."
I laughed, hoarse and breathless, the sound barely rising above the shifting water.
Then he kissed me again softly, lips brushing mine like a benediction.
The bubbles had started to fade, collapsing in clusters around us. Steam drifted above the surface like mist over a still lake, curling and catching in the dim candlelight. The chandelier above us swayed gently with the warmth, casting gold across his skin, turning the droplets on his chest into liquid fire.
I tucked my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, soap and sweat and something sweeter, something that felt like him alone.
His hand moved slowly on my back, drawing soothing circles, grounding me even now. His other arm wrapped fully around my waist, holding me there like I belonged, like I was home.
His cheek pressed to the top of my head. A hum rumbled low in his chest, soft and content.
"Definitely better than studying," he murmured.
I giggled, the sound slipping free before I could stop it, muffled by the curve of his neck. My whole body felt weightless and heavy all at once, boneless, satisfied, wrapped in warmth that went deeper than the bath. I could've stayed there forever, skin against skin, his breath soft against my temple, the water cradling us like a lullaby.
And so we did.
Tangled and trembling. Wrapped around each other while the world outside the tiles and steam and candlelight fell away.
Eventually, I stirred. Not because I wanted to, but because I remembered why we were here in the first place. We'd come to take Cedric's mind off the egg, to give him a break from the weight of it all, but watching him now, submerged and searching, I felt a sudden urge to help. Maybe if I looked closer, really studied it, I'd see something he missed. Something we both had.
"You brought your egg, right?"
He hummed against my shoulder. Nodded.
I shifted slightly, dragging my fingers lazily through the water. "Can I see it?" I asked, soft but curious.
Cedric groaned, playful, dramatic, not bearing to be away from me for a minute. But he was already leaning in to kiss my temple, warm and quick, like he couldn't help himself.
Then he waded away from me through the slowly cooling water, and I watched him go— watched his muscles shift under the candlelight, droplets tracing the clean lines of his back and shoulders.
When he reached the edge of the bath, he bent to his bag and retrieved the golden egg, cradling it carefully in both hands like something sacred.
Even now, it gleamed like treasure, round and ornate and pulsing faintly with magic, its seams glowing gold beneath the softened light.
He brought it back to the center of the bath.
Instead of opening it himself, Cedric handed me the egg.
Carefully.
Like it might bite.
I took it with both hands, surprised by its weight. It was smooth and cold against my palms, surprisingly dense for something so beautiful. I turned it slowly, inspecting every curve, every etched detail. Gold glinted under the candlelight. I squinted, trying to see if there was some kind of writing hidden along the seam, some tiny mark or rune that might explain what it held.
Cedric watched me from across the bath, arms resting on the edge, his gaze calm but attentive, curious, amused, a little wary.
Without thinking, my thumb brushed over the small, almost-invisible screw at the top.
And I turned it.
The egg cracked open with a click.
And instantly, it screamed.
The sound tore through the air like a curse— high and piercing and shrill, like a banshee let loose in a cathedral. I flinched violently, nearly dropping it right there. Cedric winced, jerking upright, hand half-lifting out of instinct.
Even the mermaid in the stained-glass window behind us clamped her hands over her ears, her face twisting in disgust.
Panicking, I let go.
The egg slipped from my fingers and vanished beneath the surface with a soft splash, sinking like a stone into the golden water. The moment it disappeared, the screeching stopped, cut off as if someone had slammed a door shut on the sound.
The silence that followed was deafening in its own way. We sat still, breath caught in our throats, both of us blinking, the echoes of the screech still ringing in our ears.
Then, faintly, from somewhere below, the water began to hum.
Not with the sharp, violent wail from before, but with something deeper. Lower. Sadder. A sound that shimmered beneath the surface like a secret waiting to be heard.
A melody.
It tugged at the edges of my awareness, strange and sweet and aching, as if the bath itself had shifted into a portal. I turned toward Cedric, wide-eyed. His gaze met mine at the same moment. We didn't speak, didn't have to. The realization passed between us in a heartbeat, silent and charged.
He inhaled, deep and calm, and then he slid beneath the water.
One fluid movement, shoulders rolling forward, arms slicing down. Focused.
I didn't think. I just followed.
The moment I dipped beneath the surface, the world changed.
Sound warped around me, soft and strange, muffled like a dream. Cedric's body moved ahead of me, shimmering in the golden light that filtered through the bubbles. He was already at the bottom, crouched over the glowing egg, hair floating like silk around his face, his fingers braced against the marble floor.
And then I heard it.
Truly heard it.
The melody was no longer just a hum, it had taken shape.
A song, woven from currents.
It filled the water like light, glowing with a magic that wrapped around my limbs and spine and heart, sinking deeper with every note.
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss.
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."
I stared, wide-eyed, the last notes still ringing in my bones. The water shimmered with the echo of the song, golden bubbles drifting upward like they too had heard something sacred.
Cedric burst through the surface with a gasp, water streaming down his face in rivulets, his chest rising and falling fast. His hair was slicked back, eyes bright with something wild, triumph and disbelief wrapped into one.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, panting, voice low and electric.
I nodded, stunned.
He blinked once, then his whole face lit up. It was like watching sunrise happen all at once. His smile spread quick and wide and completely unguarded.
Then he laughed.
Not a chuckle. Not a polite little puff of air.
A full, loud, triumphant laugh that echoed off the marble like celebration.
And before I could react, he lunged forward, wrapped both arms around my waist, and lifted me out of the water. I let out a yelp, half squeal, half laughter, as he spun us in the center of the bath, droplets flying everywhere, bubbles sloshing over the edge in glittering heaps.
"Cedric!" I shrieked, holding tight to his shoulders, laughing so hard my sides hurt.
He kissed me, fast and breathless and smiling against my lips. Then again, slower this time. A kiss that said thank you. That said we did it. That said I can't believe I get to share this with you.
"I could kiss you forever," he whispered, forehead pressed to mine.
My smile softened, heartbeat still wild. "You just might get to."
And there it was again, that grin that broke through clouds. He looked at me like I was the whole reason the bath still glowed. Like the clues, the pressure, the looming second task, none of it could touch this. Not tonight.
Because right now, it was just us.
Wrapped in candlelight and steam, glowing water lapping at our skin, the echoes of an ancient song fading gently into silence.
The mystery had begun to unravel.
But in this moment, we weren't thinking about what came next.
We were just standing in the middle of it, laughing, soaked, kissed breathless and weightless.
And I knew, without question, I'd remember this night for the rest of my life.
♱ 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♱
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