Summary: Fred Weasley x slytherin!reader -> A rivalry that has been going on for four years suddenly begins to change when you help Fred's little sister.
Disclaimer: Mentions of periods and womanhood. Rivals to friends to lovers, little bit of pining, Arthur loving muggles, jealousy, 'she's not you' trope, oblivious idiots.
It had all started when the youngest Weasley started school.
You were in your fourth year at the time, along with Fred and George – the Twin set of Weasley’s that caused more trouble for McGonnagall since the Marauders. And, even if you hadn’t been in their opposing House, you had a strong feeling your relationship with them would have been the same.
Pure annoyance turned to loathing.
Mostly the loathing was left for the eldest of the two. Fred Weasley. He’d been the bane of your existence since First year. He was disruptive, rude, loud and just plain annoying.
Though you couldn’t say the same for their youngest and only sister, Ginny.
“Stop!” You shouted to the three girls running through the hallways when they should have been inside their study groups at the library.
The three girls stopped and turned around quickly as you approached. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to run through the hallways-”
“But, you don’t understand-”
“Besides you should be in study groups-”
“It’s our friend!” One of them shouted.
Only then did you notice their rather panicked expressions as they looked between each other. From your judgements, one had been told not to say anything, the other didn’t want to hurt either friend and the other spoke up.
“What is it?”
The third one, a brown haired girl, knocked her lightly. “Shush. Ginny said not to tell.”
“But she might be able to help,” the blonde haired girl whispered.
From their house colours and the name Ginny, you knew exactly who they were talking about.
“What’s going on?” You asked.
“Sarah, don’t.”
Sarah looked between her friends before looking back at you. Then she gave in. “Ginny’s in the girl’s bathroom, crying. She said to go and get her brothers.”
“Why is she crying?”
She might have been a Weasley, but she’d never once acted out like her brothers. And you, too, had once been the first year crying in the bathroom.
“She’s…she’s started.”
You looked between the three girls.
“Started?”
They all nodded.
“Alright. Her brother’s won’t be much help with this.”
“But-”
You nodded. “Still go and get them. Fred and George should be inside the Great Hall. You,” you pointed to the quiet girl at the end. “Come with me. We’re gonna help Ginny.”
Five minutes later, you were inside the girl’s bathroom. You could hear the shaky sniffles of Ginny from the end cubicle.
“Guard the door. Wait for your friends.”
The young girl nodded, taking her role very seriously as she waited for her friends and Ginny’s brothers.
You knocked twice. “Ginny?”
“I-I…yes?”
“It’s Y/n,” you told her, your voice calm and soft. “I found your friends in the hallway.”
“I said not to tell anybody!”
“Don’t blame them,” you told her. “Blame me. I forced it out of them.”
“Where are my brothers?”
“They’re on their way, don’t worry. I figured you might want to talk to a girl first. We tend to know more about these things than boys do.”
You heard Ginny sniffle again. “I-I just felt it and I didn’t know what to do. My mum said it wouldn’t happen for another two years.”
“Well, sometimes these things don’t exactly go to plan. But it’s nothing to be scared of. It just means that for one week every month or so, you’re just able to eat as much ice cream as you want and can spend the entire weekend in bed.”
“Y-Yeah. My mum said…she said something about that.” The young girl sniffed again. “But…I don’t know what to do. It’s…I think it’s stained…”
You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll wash right out. Do you have any pads?”
Ginny shook her head behind the door. “N-no.”
“No bother,” you said before pulling out your wand and laying your bag on the floor. “Accio.”
From the depths of your bag, a square tin came flying up. Catching it before it clattered onto the ground, you opened it up before passing her a pad under the door.
“It’s pretty easy to understand. Just open, peel and stick.” You explained just before you heard thundering footsteps.
“Ginny?!”
“Let him in, Orla,” you called out to the young girl by the door.
Rounding the corner, you saw Fred Weasley standing at the end of the cubicle hallway. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping. Give me your robes.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Pulling the long black robes from his body, revealing exactly what you expected to find – a messy uniform – you called back to Ginny.
“Ginny, your brother is here. I’m gonna hand you his robes. Just wrap them around yourself when you’re ready to come out.”
“What’s going on? The kids froze when I asked.”
“She’s started her period,” you whispered to him. “She’s a little scared, and probably in pain. Take this,” you said as you handed him your emergency period kit. “There are extra pads in there. If she starts in pain, send one of the girls to Madam Pomfry. She’ll get her some pain medication. And, if it gets really bad, a hot water bottle always helps with the cramps.”
“What?”
You sighed, “Fred, honestly. It’s natural. She’s earlier than she expected, but she’s going to be perfectly fine. You don’t need to do much besides be there for her if she wants you.”
“No, I know that. But…you helped her?”
You nodded. “You’ll be surprised to learn that girls help each other when it comes to these things, no matter the rivalries they have with their older siblings.”
Fred stood in shock as you packed up your things. “Ginny, I’m gonna leave you with your brother, but if you have any questions…feel free to come and find me.”
“O-okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bidding Fred a silent goodbye, you took your leave and headed back towards the Great Hall, passing a slightly panicked George on the way.
“Down the hall and to the left. Fred is already there. Ginny is fine, just don’t make a loud fuss.”
George nodded. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
Even though you’d told Ginny to come and find you if she had any questions, you hadn’t actually expected her to. Quite frankly, you thought after you left, Fred might have scolded her into accepting your help, telling her you’re nothing more than a Parseltongue Slytherin.
Surprisingly, he didn’t. Or, maybe he did, but Ginny decided to make her own judgement.
You were walking out of your dormitory when you heard the end of Draco saying, “...filthy Weasley.”
“Draco!” You shouted as you spotted him standing at the door. “Find something more useful to do with your time before I send your mother a letter about your behaviour. No doubt she’ll send you back a howler.”
Draco turned pale and stalked away with his friends as you turned towards the door to find, “Ginny!”
“I-I’m sorry. I just…I’m sorry.”
She took off running in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” You called after her, leaving the Slytherin door to close itself. “Ginny, wait.”
Eventually, she stopped and turned around to face you. “I-”
But where maybe she had expected you to be mad at her, you just smiled warmly. “How about we go for a walk?”
Ginny nodded, falling into step beside you as you took her on the quieter walk through the school and towards the benches outside the courtyard. She asked you a million different questions, and you explained everything to the best of your ability.
How periods were different for everyone, pain could be small or it could be too much to handle. You explained the biology behind it and why sometimes she might feel angry for no reason, or sad for no reason. You also told her how it’s not something she should be embarrassed about, and if she ever is in need of some help, any girl in the bathroom will help…apart from Moaning Myrtle. Mostly because she’s a ghost and can’t do much.
“I asked Fred and George but they just…went quiet.”
“That’s a first.”
Ginny chuckled. “They’re not so bad. I mean…they tried. How come you know all about this stuff? There isn’t exactly a muggle biology class.”
“You’re right, there’s not. But, I went to a muggle school.”
“You’re a half-blood?”
You nodded. “My mum was in Ravenclaw when she was at school. Taught me everything I know.”
“Even about…this stuff?”
You nodded. “Not because she was a Ravenclaw, but because there was a chance she’d have a muggle daughter. If I wasn’t at Hogwarts, I’d be at an ordinary high school where they teach about it a little more than they do here.”
“Really?”
You nodded. “But just because you know, doesn’t mean you’re not scared. I got mine in my first year, too. But I didn’t have any friends or brothers to help me.”
“So what did you do?”
“Cried.” You answered honestly. “But once I stopped long enough to breathe, I started thinking resourcefully. If I was at muggle school, I’d be in the same predicament. It was no different here than there.”
Ginny nodded, listening to your every word.
“You’ll find it gets a little tedious eventually. But, you’ll also find it has its own superpowers. Like shutting your brothers up if they’re being far too annoying for you to put up with.”
Ginny giggled and looked out to the empty courtyard. “Thank you, Y/n. It’s nice to have a girl to talk to about this stuff. I have mum but I don’t exactly have sisters.”
You smiled. “If you ever need any help, just come and get me. Don’t be afraid, Ginny. And if Draco starts, just tell him to piss off. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s more scared of his own shadow.”
Ginny laughed again before spotting her friends. She thanked you once more before running back to her friends, but not before she turned around and surprisingly hugged you, tight.
“Bye.”
Joining her friends, you sat back for a moment, taking in the quiet and the fact that Ginny had hugged you. You’d always wondered what it would have been like to have younger siblings to help. Was this the feeling? The…happiness?
But it didn’t last long, because barely thirty seconds later, Fred Weasley was jumping over the back of the bench and sitting beside you.
“Did I just see my sister hug you?”
You turned and looked at him. “What do you want, Weasley?”
“Whoa, hey, hold the hostility for a second. I just wanted to thank you. For helping Ginny yesterday. Like you said, we might have a rivalry of sorts, but…she’s my little sister and you helped her. So…thank you.”
You were slightly taken aback. In the four years you’d known Fred Weasley, not once had your words with him been calm ones. Let alone nice ones.
“Oh. Well…you’re welcome…I guess.”
“And not to sound like some ‘bone headed, misogynistic ass’ but…you should smile more.” Fred smiled. “Smiling suits you more than scowling. Have a nice day.”
For the first time, you’d heard real sincerity in Fred’s voice when he talked to you. And, quite frankly, you didn’t know how to react beyond stunned silence and the overthinking of, “What the hell does that mean?”.
Over the course of the year, more and more of those moments started happening between yourself and Fred Weasley.
First it was with Ginny, then it was with Snape’s potion class and essay; a Slytherin boy had accused him of cheating. But Fred had been stationed at your table the entire time. He hadn’t cheated once. He was…just really good at potions.
Then came the real change.
Throughout the year, more and more first and second years came to you for help. They wanted to actually know what was happening to them. So, after the tenth girl came up to you, you’d asked if you could hold a small talk for the girls after classes.
McGonnagall and Madam Pomfry agreed, even making some different and up-to-date pamphlets on the situation. But, the longer the talks were held, you found a few boys lingering outside the classroom.
At first, you and some of the other older years figured it was so they could snigger and mock the girls. That was, until one afternoon during set-up, you found Fred Weasley sat on one of the rows.
“What are you doing in here?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond, already feeling tired. “Look, if you’re here to take the piss-”
Fred stood, walking over to you. “I’m not here for that. I wanted to talk to you. About it.”
“About it?”
“This,” Fred gestured. “And about some of the boys. Look, I understand why this is for girls, but I was more in the dark than Ginny was when she started. And I know a lot of the guys in this school have younger sisters or even nieces. They wanna learn, too. They want to know how they can help. It’s not like we’re born with this information, and because we don’t have them, we’re not told about them. I think…I think that should change.”
You were shocked at Fred’s sentiment. But, deep down, you agreed with it.
“One boy takes the piss and-”
Fred smiled. “I’ll chuck him out, myself. You have my word.”
Your eyes narrowed at him as he held his hand over his heart, though there was no true malice in your glare. “That seems to be true the longer I know you, Weasley.”
“Told you,” Fred smiled. “I’m not all loud and reckless.”
“No, I guess not.” Your voice came out a little distant, as if your mind was making a decision far away from the situation. Then, rather abruptly, you said, “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I misjudged you. I still think you’re reckless…and have a tendency to be loud. But…you’re a good guy, Weasley. Even if you do still get on my nerves every now and again.”
The corners of Fred’s mouth turned up slightly as his own gaze flicked across your face. “Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want everything to change between us.”
Ignoring the new change of energy between yourselves, you turned away and started laying out leaflets and pamphlets on the chairs, handing Fred half of your pile.
“Since you’re here, you might as well help.”
Over the week, more guys turned up to the talks. And Fred was true to his word. A third year boy found the entire thing too hilarious, pointing and snickering at the first year girls in the front row.
So, from the back of his collar, Fred, along with George, hoisted the boy from his chair and set him outside the classroom.
By the end of the week, and the final talk, Fred was pulled out early by McGonnagall. Though you didn’t know why, part of you felt…sad? Lost?
For a guy that had annoyed the hell out of you for four years, you were starting to feel something about not having him by your side or at least in your line of vision.
“Is everything okay?” You asked him, relieved to see him when he waltzed inside as you were stacking the chairs back.
But he just smiled and held out a letter. “It’s for you.”
“Why are you collecting my mail? You know in the muggle world, it’s illegal to open someone’s mail.”
“It’s illegal here, too.” Fred said. “But it came with my letters from home. And I haven’t opened it.”
“Who’s it from?”
“How would I know? I haven’t opened it.”
Turning it over and opening the wax seal, you unfolded the letter to find Mrs Weasley had written to you. First thanking you for taking care of her daughter, next for teaching her sons and then a final thank you for teaching other kids, too.
“How does she know?”
Fred shrugged. “Maybe Ginny told her or…” He struggled to find a new lie.
You watched Fred for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, my god.”
“What?”
You smiled, almost beaming. “You wrote to your mother about me?”
Fred flushed red. “W-what? No.” He tried to laugh it off, but you saw right through him.
“You wrote to your mother about me.”
“No, I-I didn’t.”
“Whatever you say, Weasley.”
Fred chuckled. “Alright, Y/l/n. No need to be so smug.”
You smiled down at the letter addressed from Molly Weasley. “Nobody’s ever written to their mother about me before. Bad or good.”
Fred felt something warm in his heart. He was proud to be the first.
“I think they’re still serving tea in the Great Hall,” Fred mentioned casually but quietly. “Want to get some?”
For the first time since knowing him, you didn’t have to overthink your answer.
“Sure. Love to.”
That night, a small part of your history…or maybe your future…changed. Fred Weasley not only became your friend, but he also became something more. Something that didn’t exactly have a label. Well, not yet at least. But it was there. The…feeling.
“You sure you’re okay?”
If a year ago, somebody had told you you’d be studying with Fred Weasley, for your OWLs, in the Gryffindor common room, you’d have said they were mad. Insane, even.
But it was true.
A year on from what turned out to be the Diary from Hell for Ginny and other not so dramatic but equally life-changing things, it was true.
You nodded, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Fred asked you again. “You look like somebody kicked you under the table in Potions today.”
“Felt like it,” you mumbled, trying to concentrate on your coursework.
You didn’t say much after that, but you did grow concerned a little when Fred stood up, also without a word. If he did something, he usually spoke about it first.
And he disappeared for seven whole minutes. Thankfully, a lot of the Gryffindors were used to finding you in their common room, knowing Fred wasn’t too far away. So if any came in, they wouldn’t question your presence.
“Here.”
Fred returned, suddenly, holding out a hot water bottle.
“It might help.”
With a relieved smile, you thanked him.
“Better?” He asked as he sat down.
“Much. Thank you.”
“Maybe you should go to Madam Pomfry. They’re getting worse.”
“I’m fine, Fred. Really.”
Fred just nodded, turning back to his own coursework. But when you gave up on trying to focus on your work, laying on the sofa behind Fred, you sighed.
“Can you tell what this says?”
Picking the piece of parchment from Fred’s hands, you recognised the writing right away. “Fred, this is your handwriting.”
“I know. Can you tell what it says?”
“How can you not know what you’ve written?”
“Please?”
You read it aloud. “Due to the increasing level of pain being experienced, I suggest the best course of action…Fred. I’m not going to Madam Pomfry.”
“It was worth a try. Just…promise me, if it gets worse, you’ll go. Or else I’ll drag you there myself.”
You laid a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”
As the years went on, the friendship and whatever the unspoken thing was between both of you only seemed to grow until eventually you found yourself in a similar position, lay on one of the patchwork sofas in The Burrow.
“Fred, you really need to get neater with your handwriting,” you said as you turned the page upside down for the third time. “Even I can’t tell what this says.”
“Well…it’s not my fault.”
You gave him a deadpan look. “We all went to the same school. Even George’s handwriting is neater than this. I swear, you need to make up your own spell to figure out what this says.”
From the kitchen, Ginny stood beside her brother. “How long have they been like this?”
“Arguing? Years.” George answered. “Lay that close together? Hours.”
“Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”
“Fred’s handwriting? If Y/n can’t figure it out, nobody can.”
Ginny sighed, hitting her brother. “Not that. The other thing?”
“That they’re hopelessly and forever bound together in the spell of unspoken love?” George asked as Ginny nodded. “No, not yet.”
Ginny groaned before moving on and heading up the stairs.
“For a guy that is running his own business, you should be able to read your own handwriting.”
Fred shrugged. “For someone that is able to run rings around some of the top lawyers in the Ministry, so should you.”
“Mum says ‘hi’ by the way,” you mentioned to Fred. “She says the papers for your new product should be ready for you to sign on Monday.”
“What time are you heading into the office?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Meet you outside of the shop at 8? I need to pick up an order at Flourish and Blotts.”
Fred nodded. “Great. We can grab breakfast if you’d like?”
“Yes,” you said. “But I’m picking the place this time. There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”
“It’s not gonna be filled with stuffy, uptight lawyers is it?”
You chuckled. “No. Just stuffy, uptight muggle public.”
“Muggles?” Arthur popped his head around the corner. “Bloody love Muggles. All their inventions. A multi-coloured pen. Sensational.”
You smiled before turning to Fred who had the same expression on his face.
Since the very first time you’d met Arthur Weasley, he’d been enamoured with the information you held about Muggles. Apparently he’d met your father once, when he surprised your mother at the Ministry for their Anniversary.
“Fantastic chap,” Arthur had told you.
“Here,” you chuckled as you handed Fred his paper back. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
His eyes trailing after you and a light smile spread across his lips, your eyes locked with Fred’s as you climbed the stairs towards the bathroom. Only once you were out of earshot did George lean over the sofa and hit Fred on the back of the head.
“Oi,” he whispered. “When are you gonna tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
“That you want to marry her and have children with her and live out that fantasy dream of your own Burrow home with her.”
“Bugger off.”
“I’m being serious,” George whispered. “Besides, you’d make a great girl dad.”
“George. If she comes down here, she’s gonna freak out and start physically running back home.”
George just smiled. “That’s what you think. I think she’d run into you arms and-”
“She’s not that kind of girl.”
“Please, every girl is that girl.”
“Y/n’s different.”
“She loves you. And, you, my dear brother, love her, too.”
“George.”
“I don’t hear you denying it,” George sang as he walked away, just in time for you to come back down the stairs, fixing the clasp on the dungarees with random patchwork squares.
Playing Quidditch in the summer with the rest of the Weasley clan one year had resulted in lots of laughter and randomly torn holes in the dungarees you were wearing.
Now, they were patched back together with random pieces of fabric that, even when washed, still somehow smelled of the comforting scent of the Burrow on a fresh summer’s afternoon.
“Denying what?”
“Oh, just that Freddie here-”
“George.”
“Needs to go back to school. Fix that handwriting of his.”
By the time Monday rolled around, you were dragging Fred down a busy London street towards your favourite cafe. Despite it being one of London’s busiest times in the morning, the cafe was practically empty compared to those on Westminster Bridge.
“What can I get for you, dears?”
Placing in a double of your usual order, you left Fred to his own devices. Only, when you returned to him, handing over his to-go bag and tea, you found a woman standing in front of him.
She was flirting with him.
“Here you go,” you told Fred as you gave the stranger a rather withering look.
She smiled, perkily. “Hi, I was just saying to your friend here that he looked a little lost. I’d be more than happy to give him a small tour if you’re in a rush.”
“No,” you answered. “Not in a rush. And he’s not lost. He’s with me.”
“Oh,” she looked between both of you before asking, “Really? I’m sure you’re a nice person but…really? Wow.”
“Okay, we’re leaving.”
Taking Fred’s hand in yours, you practically dragged him out of the cafe. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing.”
“She was just trying to be nice.”
“She was flirting.”
“No, she-” Fred turned and looked at you. He knew the woman was flirting with him, she’d asked for his number. But Fred couldn’t think why you’d reacted so harshly. Until he looked at you, and it hit him.
“Oh, my god,” he chuckled. “You’re jealous.”
Your brows furrowed quickly. “I’m not jealous.”
Fred couldn’t help but laugh a little more. “You are insanely jealous. I already told her I don’t have a phone.”
“She asked for your number?!”
Fred smiled as you turned and looked at him, almost as if someone had tried to brand your heart.
“You-” You cleared your throat, trying to act normal. “Not that I care.”
As the street grew quiet and the red post box came into sight, Fred pulled you aside. “Hey, there’s no need to be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
Fred just smiled. “I wouldn’t have said yes. Other than the fact that I thought she was rude, especially to you. She wasn’t…”
“She wasn’t what?”
Swallowing his pride, Fred finally spoke his truth. “She wasn’t you.”
It took a moment for you to register what Fred was actually saying. “Oh. Oh.”
Fred nodded.
“Well…I…”
“Look, you don’t have to answer it now. Or…ever. You’re my closest friend, and I don’t ever want that to change, and if this does so. Especially if it does so for the worst…I’d rather be by your side just the way we are. You know, if you didn’t…if you don’t…”
“I do.” The words fell out quicker than a golden snitch could fly. “I do. I just…wasn’t expecting it to happen on a pavement in London before…before our meeting.”
Fred felt himself smile. He hadn’t scared you off, so he was off to a good start.
“Can…can we talk about it after work?”
Fred nodded. He’d waited nearly five years. He could wait a few more hours.
“Of course.”
“Okay then.” For a moment, you continued walking with Fred walking behind you. But then you stopped and turned back. “Are you sure? About…about me?”
Fred nodded. “My feelings haven’t changed since fifth year. I doubt they’re gonna change now.”
“Okay.” You sounded a little more confident the second time, even though he could still hear your brain trying to process the whole thing. “Okay, then.”
“This really is a good cup of tea.”
“Told you.”
You could be normal for a couple of hours, acting like you usually did with Fred. Just before lunch, he had to head back to the shop and you kept working through some of the upcoming cases. Though, despite the boring case work, you couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from your face.
Fred felt the same.
And it was just a matter of time before that unspoken feeling you’d held for him for years, finally would have a name.
A/N: Fred Weasley has always always ALWAYS been my fav and I love reading fics like this but I decided to add extra gooey lore and molly angst bc bae went thru a lot
Warning(s): Fred being protective, Arthur basically being scared of his wife, mentions of death and loss. Reader is a pureblood from a rich family, distant relative to the blacks and distant cousin of draco (all purebloods are related somehow)
Word Count: 3.3K
Credit to @diviniyae for the dividers!! <3
“Baby, c’mon.”
Fred had been pleading with you for weeks now to spend your summer vacations at the burrow. Ever since the two of you started dating in your fourth year, you’d grown impossibly close to all his siblings, even Percy, for Godric’s sake. That’s how perfect you were for him.
He was known for being reckless, impulsive, and uncontrollable. He still was, but his storm had mellowed ever since he’d been with you. Pranks made to entertain instead of embarrass, jokes without singling out. He was still the same flashy, charismatic showman; now he was more mature, more reasonable. Loud as ever, no doubt of it, but he’d finally been balanced.
You were like wind to his fire; you might amp it down or fuel it, but you were always there. Your snarky remarks and witty comebacks offered him the perfect challenge; he’d hit the jackpot. You two could joke and laugh without offence or insecurity, without late nights wondering if a joke had a hidden meaning behind it because you read each other effortlessly. He never thought he’d fall for a Slytherin, especially not one with a family like yours.
You were part of the sacred twenty-eight and additionally were a very distant relative of Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, and Andromeda Tonks. They were your second or third aunts. Purebloods always married within their circle; people had complex relative histories. It even technically made you Draco’s distant cousin. The thought alone should’ve driven him away, but he wasn’t like that. Even if you were Bellatrix’s own daughter, he’d go up to you, because that’s how he is; what he does. He was fearless in a way that made one question whether it was rooted in stupidity, naivety, or maybe possible genius.
“Freddie,” you breathed, eyes soft with guilt. “I’m not sure I should, you know, your parents aren’t very fond of me,” you said softly.
It hurt you immensely that his parents had a distaste for you despite your best efforts. You saw it in the way Fred never showed you any letters his mother sent him unless he was sure you weren’t mentioned once in them. His mother wasn’t exactly subtle.
You couldn’t blame them for it, though a part of you was still bitter. Your family name was loud, your parents were sharp-tongued and prejudiced against anything that wasn’t a rich pureblood elitist. People heard your name and already drew conclusions that lingered; impressions of a cold-hearted, calculating, ruthless heir without empathy or tolerance.
Because of these assumptions, no one bothered to disprove them, opting to avoid you instead. Everyone but Fred. People called it stupidity, a death wish. But all those whispers and anticipation of a hex hitting his chest were eliminated after you threw your head back in a cackle, not even ten minutes after he came up to you.
The image was broken as soon as your laughter was heard; saccharine and normal like any other girl in the castle. And just like that, people came up to you more, returned smiles in the hallways, and didn’t stiffen when you walked past. Hogwarts turned comforting, more like home than your own. Fred stuck to you through it all, and you slowly won over each and every one of his siblings over the past seven years. You won over Charlie before he graduated when you were in your third year, and Percy warmed up to you when he caught you tutoring the twins in your second year. Ron was the toughest to break, but you finally got him when he was in his second year and you in your fourth, right after you and Fred began to date. He had passed the courtyard on his way between classes and saw you and Fred sitting out there, together. You were going on a tangent, hands on your hips as you scolded him for something he didn’t hear, but what really did it was how Fred reacted.
Fred Weasley, his big brother, was affected by nothing, brushing off punishments and detentions like dust on a coat, was pouting, head hanging as he stared at the floor, hands behind his back in compliance as you chided him. Ron decided something that day; if Fred let someone do that to him, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Ginny was by far the easiest to connect with. The poor girl screamed and nearly cried when she saw you, yelping about finally having another sister. You didn’t dare correct her. You even charmed Bill when you met him at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup Finals between Bulgaria and Finland.
You hadn’t realised Mr and Mrs Weasley themselves would be the toughest nuts to crack; they were stereotypical. It’s unsurprising given their age, but their persistence was staggering. Firmly written opinions sent to all their children about you, and long, long lectures Fred had to sit through about deceit and how people are images of their parents. It didn’t matter how much Fred defended you, how much his siblings vouched for your character; Molly was clear, and Arthur never opposed his wife.
“My love, light of my life, honeybear,” Fred continued, his hands travelling further up your arm as he pulled you closer to him. You let him with a lingering pout. “My parents can bugger off for all I care; they can’t do or say anything if I’m there. Trust me on that,” he continued, his eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t play with you; you were the most important thing in his life, and he made sure you were treated like such.
You went silent, thinking about it, but you were weak; you knew that. Fred Weasley, knowingly or not, was your weakness. You weren’t smiley, friendly, or easy; with him, you turned impossibly soft. It was almost a sickness; he calmed your rage within seconds, and you shut down his life-threatening pranks with a single look. “Okay,” you relented. He lit up completely with a gasp, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, face in your hair.
“Ginny might cry when I tell her.” He said with a breathy laugh, making your heart swell. God, you loved that girl. “I’ll tell her myself.” You mumbled back, turning your head to kiss his neck before pulling back.
You were a bundle of nerves the entire train ride to the Burrow, everyone noticed. Ginny offered up her skincare, Ron passed you extra chicken from the lunch he packed from Hogwarts, even George didn’t try to slip you a nosebleed nougat; he had more sense than that.
Fred kept you close the entire time, tucked into his side. You saw the tension in the hard set of his jaw as he looked out the window. His hands flexed from where they were on your waist, squeezing the soft flesh every once in a while merely to assure himself of your presence.
When you reached, one thing became abundantly clear: Molly and Arthur had certainly not been told of your visit. You saw it in the way her beaming smile harshly fell from her face once she spotted you next to Fred. She grabbed him, pulling him away.
You felt nauseous, smiling politely at Arthur as he gave you a forced smile in turn, his hesitance to shake your hand only added to the twist in your stomach. Ron took your suitcase, and Ginny took your hand, squeezing it in support as she tugged you to the car.
You turned your head to see Fred now proper scowling at his mother before he simply turned and walked off in the middle of her rant, face changing when he saw you look over, giving you as soft a smile as he could manage.
It didn’t get better at the burrow. Molly never looked directly at you, spoke to you through her children. ‘Ginny, she’ll sleep in your room.’ ‘Is she going to eat, Fred?’ ‘Ron, will she need her very own sheets?’ You saw the way Arthur winced, but said nothing. He himself was incredibly awkward near you.
You didn’t like it, Fred absolutely didn’t. Glaring and hissing a sharp “why don’t you ask her herself?” that Molly always promptly ignored. It went on for two weeks; Molly stopped laughing when you entered a room, and Arthur found excuses to leave. Whenever you were with their kids, something always came up. You and Ginny giggling and eating ice cream in bed? Molly needed her help sewing. You and Percy discussing the NEWTS? Arthur needed him to proofread something.
Fred was the main victim. Suddenly, he was needed all around the house as soon as the two of you were able to be together. The dishes, setting the table, helping with lunch, and helping load the laundry. It was so targeted and so obvious.
It all shattered during dinner one night. Fred and George decided this was the perfect time to talk about the fact that they’d be dropping out to open their own joke shop. Everyone knew Molly wouldn’t support it; she’d faced poverty. The thought of her sons not completing their education to start a shop made her all kinds of angry.
So, on went the screaming. Arguing at the table as George and Fred quite literally fought for their business with their mother, while Molly kept screaming about homelessness and how they’d never succeed.
It reached a point where she looked at you for the first time since the railway station and growled a low “You.”
You stiffened; everyone did. “You did this, didn’t you? Think it’s amusing, girl, making these two believe they can make it? Without suppliers? Investors? Nothing? You’re ruining my son's life!” She hissed, screaming the last part. You flinched, eyes widening.
“M-Misses Weasley, I don’t– I just want him to be happy-” You choked, but she slammed her hand on the table with a scoff of outrage.
“You don’t understand anything. People like you, sheltered, protected–you’ve never had to work for anything a day in your life, never struggled. ” She continued, the rage in her voice something no one at the table had ever heard before. “Rich, pompous, overconfident people like you are exactly the folk we don’t want to get mixed with—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up!”
Everyone whipped their heads around to Fred, the usually cheeky and unserious boy, now straight scowling. “George and I are doing this with or without your approval, Mum. I truly don’t care about what you say in accordance with the business, nor about your hopes for our success, but you will watch it when you talk to her.” He hissed, pushing back his chair with a harsh screech before throwing his napkin on the table, grabbing your hand to pull you up as well.
Molly was mortified, and Arthur looked like he’d been spat on. “Frederick Gideon Weasley, you will sit–”
“Mum, please!” Ginny huffed, making your heart clench. The poor girl looked close to tears. She sniffled, turning to hug George’s arm. Molly’s scowl broke at the sight of her only daughter in such peril.
Fred dragged you up the stairs to his room. He’d gotten his own ever since Charlie moved into his own cottage somewhere in Scotland, closer to the dragons had been his only justification before taking off.
Your eyes were wide, heart pounding horrifically loud in your chest. You looked at the back of his head the entire walk to his room until he finally slammed the door.
“Fred!” You whisper-hissed, hands trembling with adrenaline. He dragged a hand down his face as he turned to you, the other wrapping around the small of your back. “This doesn’t help my whole image with your mother, she’s gonna think I’m manipulating you against her or something—”
“She’s not that manic.” He mumbled, ducking his head into your neck before taking a deep inhale. “Hopefully.”
He hugged you around your waist, tugging you into him as he leaned into you. You could feel he was doing this more to calm himself than offer any comfort, but you didn’t mind much, dragging a hand through his hair. You felt the breath leaving him.
You could hear the thud of footsteps climbing up to his room, and feel the way his shoulders tightened. He nudged you behind him as he turned to the door, half expecting his mother to come bursting in, but all he heard was three soft knocks.
“Fred?” Came a soft, older tone. His father, Arthur.
He didn’t hesitate opening it, letting the lesser of two evils in. Arthur looks guilty, almost hesitant, when he steps in, mouth open, before he shuts it. “Fred, my boy, your mother— both of us, we want the best for you. The shop, I-I’m not saying you shouldn’t follow your dreams, but you can’t expect her to be okay with it.”
“That’s not why I stormed out of there, Dad.” Fred huffed in turn, narrowing his eyes as he grabbed your waist, pulling you to stand next to him. “You know that.”
His father clasped his hands together, glancing towards you for a moment. It was clear he was choosing his words as carefully as he could. “Freddie, she– she’s not what we had in mind for you.” He said delicately, you could see Fred’s shoulders tighten.
“Her family, people like her, haven’t been good to people like us.” He continued, you took Fred’s hand as a reminder to keep himself regulated. It was odd, having to regulate his anger instead of him regulating yours. “Do her parents even know about you?”
That made you stiffen, hanging your head. You hadn’t told your parents, certain they’d forbid you from seeing him. You’d talked to Fred. He understood. Still, admitting he was a secret boyfriend was degrading.
“It doesn’t matter whether she’s told her parents. I trust her, that’s my choice. She’s brilliant, dad, you and mum would know if you gave her a singular chance.” Fred muttered, venom dripping from each syllable. Arthur felt the bitter truth in his words, nodding solemnly.
“No, you’re.. You’re right. I know.” He relented, looking at you apologetically. “I’m sorry, dear.” He all but breathed. You just offered a soft smile, nodding.
“It’s– We have lived through a lot, Fred.” Now it was Fred’s turn to stiffen. “Your mother lost Fabian and Gideon in the war. To people from families like.. Well, hers.”
Fred sighed, squeezing your hand. “I know about them. She’s told us. But, Dad, things are changing. Times are changing. She can’t be bitter forever. Your mother was Cedrella Black! Does that mean she hates that part of you?!”
Arthur stammered. That was enough. “Why is it different for y/n, huh? Haven’t you been cruel enough? I’d like you two grown adults to realise you’ve been bedevilling a girl who’s nearly three times younger than you!” Fred continued, finishing with a scoff. He knew he was loud—knew the whole damn house probably heard. He couldn’t find it in him to care; he almost hoped his mother heard.
Arthur just nodded, unable to gather the words to continue the conversation, exiting the room.
You shuddered, Fred pulled you in.
Safe to say, no one minded if you spent the night in Fred’s room that night.
Morning rolled around, the tension still present like a living, breathing presence. Fred didn’t leave you for a single second, and no one tried. Neither Arthur nor Molly pretended he was needed anywhere; they knew Fred wouldn’t entertain it.
To his credit, Arthur really did seem like he was trying. Wished you good morning, offered you tea when he was making any, even went as far as to ask for your future job plans. Fred was already grateful, smiling whenever he heard it. He eased up on his father, let himself relax around you when his father was near.
But Molly was a woman on a mission. She made sure it was known that Arthur was alone in his acceptance. She let you serve yourself during meals, dramatically moved away from you like you had Spattergoit. You chose to ignore it, a smaller, pettier part of you made you extra nice to her in turn.
All of the Weaslings (apart from Bill and Charlie) were around the coffee table, playing exploding snap. The air was filled with hysterical giggles and pure orange-haired competitiveness. Arthur was off at work, and Molly was serving snacks, very pointedly placing the plates as far from you as she could.
You shot her a smile dipped in honey. “Oh, thank you, Miss Weasley! You’re so good to me. I couldn’t be more grateful.” You cooed, making Fred stifle a snort. His mother looked appalled, muttering a quick ‘no matter’ before rushing back to the kitchen.
You’d come to accept it, almost took it as a sad fact of life. Ready to fight Molly Weasley for the rest of your life.
Then came that fated night.
You couldn’t sleep. George thought it was genius to watch some low-budget horror movie. You crept down the stairs of the burrow to the kitchen to take a glass of water and, potentially, a cookie Molly made.
You filled the glass before the light flicked on from behind you, startling you. Damn you, George.
“Oh.” Molly mumbled when she saw it was you, hesitantly walking into her kitchen to grab something from the fridge. It was rather early, four am. You didn’t think she’d be up so early.
There was a horribly awkward moment where neither spoke; you simply drank your water at the counter. Then, the silence was shattered.
“I had brothers, you know.” She mumbled; you immediately knew where this was going. You looked over at her; her expression was something you couldn’t pick apart.
You nodded, she continued.
“They joined the order. First Wizarding War. I’m sure you’ve met Harry. They met his parents there. Young, stupid and ready to fight.”
Her voice thickened, your heart sank.
“Twins. Like my Fred and George. Good people, amazing to me.” She kept going, unwrapping dough she got from the freezer. “Died when I was pregnant with Percy.” Her voice broke around the word died and you suddenly felt like a monster.
“Took five deatheaters to kill them. Antonin Volohov was the only one who was named in the report, the rest having taken their own lives once captured.” It was unsettling, the things this woman had gone through. It made your heart ache for her.
“Volohov worked closely with Bellatrix. I guess I just… can’t accept that a trace of what killed my brothers lives in you.”
You felt your throat tighten, tears stinging your eyes as the woman placed the small balls of frozen dough on a baking tray.
You cleared your throat, moving to wash your hands, drying them, then wordlessly assisting her.
“My mum once killed my pet mouse because attachment was a weakness to her.” You mumbled, and she shifted to make room for you. Not to get away, but to make space. You noticed.
“I cried to my father, but he offered no solace. He said nothing should be important enough to bring me to tears.” You rolled the dough into a ball, passing it to her. “Met Bellatrix once. I was.. Maybe seven. She threw her shoes at me when I touched her wand, grabbed me by the hair and presented me to my parents like a fox she killed.”
Molly hummed in acknowledgement, but there was something softer. A sympathy.
“I may not hate her as much as you do, I may never will, but I truly despise and loathe her very being. She’s hurt you much more than she hurt me, but her cruelty to more and more people gives me more and more reason to be as different from her as I can.”
The room settled into comfortable silence after that. She put the cookies in the oven, and you washed your hands.
As soon as you turned to leave, she took your hand. It was gentle, not like she was trying to restrain you. You turned, and she placed a kiss to your forehead before walking away. “Goodnight, dearie.”
You bit back the smile growing on your face, sheer joy filling your chest.
synopsis - a Slytherin student finally notices how... hot Harry Potter has gotten over the summer.
Based, of course, on Sabrina Carpenter's song When Did You Get Hot?
word count: 2,2k
a/n: no use of (Y/N), little to no description of the reader (tried my hardest). a couple of curse words and there are a few comments about burning at the stake or hanging, but as a joke! English is not my first language so there might be some mistakes.
other works
It felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes the moment they settled on his. Somehow, the grey sweatshirt he was wearing made the green in his eyes stand out more. Suddenly, his hair was somewhat styled in a way that didn’t look like he had just gotten out of bed. His jawline was sharper, his shoulders were broader. She could feel how his right hand, the one he’d used to grab her after bumping into her, scorched the skin of her arm through her clothes —surely, he’d set up her hoodie on fire if he didn’t move it—.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he adjusted his glasses with his other hand. The way he’d said her last name after apologizing almost made her salivate, almost.
It happened again during the feast. He showed up after Dumbledore had already delivered his welcoming speech with what looked like a broken nose because of the bloody rag he was pressing against it. Merlin, how could she think he was hot when there was blood running down his face? And, most importantly, how could he have this new effect over her after not seeing him over the summer?
“Who are you staring at?” Damien asked from the seat facing hers.
“No one,” she replied almost too quickly. Damien turned his body towards the other tables and tried to find the person she was so busy ogling at that she hadn’t even finished her favourite dessert. She risked another glance at Harry, entirely out of greed, but she could only see his back now that he had taken a seat beside Ginny Weasley.
“Merlin help you if it’s a Gryffindor.”
“Oh, he definitely is,” Mary Ann said with a grin on her face so big it resembled the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. Great, betrayed by her own cousin. There was nothing she could hide from Mary. “Gryffindor's most famous student.”
Damien stared at the both of us, his face changing once the name seemed to settle on his brain.
“Oh, you cannot be serious.”
“Hey, he’s nice and it’s not my fault he’s gotten hot over the summer!” She raised her arms as if in self-defense.
“Half of this table would have your head if they saw you with him,” Damien reasoned. Mary Ann nodded in agreement as she took her fork to her mouth.
“As if I’d ever care about what this lot of fools had to say about me, or us!” Damien knew this to be true. Her and Mary Ann had been one of the few Slytherins to not care about his muggle parents, cursing Malfoy and his puppets or any other blood supremacist prick whenever it was needed. They had created their own little club of ostracized snakes while also including members from other houses that weren’t so quick to judge Slytherins.
“Even then, he probably hates us by association,” Mary Ann mentioned with her mouth full. “Last year was just an exception.”
She rolled her eyes at that, “That’s so stupid. We cannot be burnt at the stake for Malfoy’s awful beliefs only because we wear the same tie colour."
“I’m sure he’d like to burn you at the stake if he could read your mind and find out what you’ve been thinking about his arch nemesis,” Damien laughed. “Potter, really? Though I have to admit, he has gotten hotter.”
A smile settled on her face as she entered the Potions classroom. She was ready to enjoy one of her favourite subjects without Professor Snape waiting for her to make a mistake. Even though he was known for favouring his Slytherin students, the truth was he was more inclined towards helping those whose views aligned with his. This was the reason why she had tried so hard at Potions, to prove him wrong. In the end, ironically, she ended up loving the subject.
Professor Slughorn was already in the classroom when she arrived, “Miss, I saw your mark in Potions in your O.W. L.’s last year. I must say I’m glad to see that such a dedicated student belongs to my house. I’d like to invite you, then, to my club. We meet sometimes for dinner, I’ll send you an owl with all the details.”
Proud that her efforts had been —finally— recognized, she didn’t hesitate to accept his proposal.
Somehow, Harry Potter not only had gotten more handsome over the summer, but an expert at Potions, too! He had succeeded in Slughorn’s ‘contest’ and had won Felix Felicitis as a reward. The satisfied smile on his face made her insides soar, and she was careful to stay away from the cauldron filled with Amortentia in case the smell of his cologne —she was sure she’d get a whiff of it if she came close enough— emerging from it would make her more lightheaded than she already was.
She didn’t know whether to hex Slughorn or raise a statue in his honour in the Courtyard. He was the one who suggested she’d sit next to Harry, and, of course, she wouldn’t want to displease a teacher. She prayed none of the other invited students had noticed her rubbing the sweat of her palms with her jeans, she prayed he hadn’t noticed.
Harry turned to her when the chair she was about to sit on made a scraping sound against the floor. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head and a soft whisper of her name, “It’s been a while, apart from bumping into you on the train. Sorry about that.”
She didn’t realise he was actually talking to her after a few seconds when he cleared his throat, probably in embarrassment after not receiving an answer.
“Oh! Yes, yes, it’s been a while,” she said as her face heated up. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” You and your ridiculous face and gentle eyes and funny smile, that’s what’s gotten into me.
“How are, um, Mary Ann and… and, um…”
“Damien?”
“Yes! Damien, sorry. Haven’t seen them since our last meeting with the DA.”
Dumbledore’s Army, Merlin, it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since her and her two friends were introduced to the group by means of Jeanine, a Hufflepuff friend. Jeanine had fought tooth and nail against the prejudices of the rest of the members to include them. Harry had agreed to let them join once Luna Lovegood told him the three of them had been the ones to defend her against Crabbe and Goyle’s insults. What sealed the deal was Hermione’s comment on how they’d been calling out Malfoy’s blood supremacist shit since first year.
“They’re fine, though they wouldn’t stop complaining about how I was leaving them for the night,” she said, looking everywhere but his green eyes.
Slughorn’s dinner party wouldn’t have been as… exciting (and anxiety-inducing) if she hadn’t sat beside Harry. Next to her had been Hermione, who looked like she was ready to start running away from Cormac McLaggen any second now and with whom she’d made some conversation to, mostly, make the Gryffindor girl ignore his uncomfortable stare (and, to be honest, her own nerves with Harry so close to her).
The next time she saw him was before Gryffindor’s Quidditch match against her own house. She had stopped by Gryffindor’s table to greet Luna and compliment her lion’s head that she’d probably made from scratch.
“Came to wish us luck?” Harry asked from his seat, a few places down the table. She didn’t know whether it was the Great Hall’s lightning or his red and gold jumper that made him look so… good.
“Oh, you wished, Potter. I might want to hex half of our team, but I still want Slytherin to win.”
He shook his head, taking his cup filled with pumpkin juice and bringing it to his lips. “Such a shame,” he mumbled before drinking from the cup and setting his eyes on hers. It was then she realised that they matched her uniform. Her breath itched and she was sure that she could see Hermione’s eyes moving from her, then to Harry, and her again. A curious and intrigued look finally settled on Hermione’s face. “Red would sui— nevermind. Try not to hate us too much when we beat you.”
“If one of your beaters makes Zabini fall off his broom, I won’t even get mad if we lose,” she said, trying to ignore whatever he was about to say first. The chuckle that escaped from his mouth at her comment made her knees go weak. With a smile on her face, and trying to ignore the lightheadedness she was starting to suffer from, she went back to her own table.
“Girl, you need to get it straight,” Mary Ann grumbled while dusting her clothes of any crumbs. “I could almost hear your sighs from here.”
“I was definitely not sighing.”
Mary Ann and Damien share a knowing look and both of them shake their heads at the same time.
“Sure, sure you weren’t,” says Damien, patting her shoulder after rising from his seat.
Hang her for treason, she couldn’t care less, but a part of her was thrilled at seeing Gryffindor (Harry) win the match against Slytherin. Mary Ann nudged her to stop a grin from creeping in her face, and she was pretty sure Damien was ready to jinx her hands so they wouldn’t start clapping.
Getting out of the stands took them quite some time, although both of her friends knew she was being slow on purpose just to get a glimpse of Harry down at the Quidditch pitch. He was celebrating with his team, a grin on his face while discussing something with Ron.
They were finally on their way to climb the small hill out of the pitch and towards the castle when they heard someone shouting her name. Mary Ann and Damien exchanged looks and teasing smiles, they all knew that voice. After a semester of hearing it repeating and demonstrating spells it was impossible not to.
“Remember not to sigh too much,” Damien whispered in her ear. She rolled his eyes at him, but a laugh escaped her mouth anyways. “We’ll meet you in the Common Room.”
“If you kiss him while he’s all sweaty, you’re definitely mental!”
“Please, as if you wouldn’t kiss an all sweaty Jeanine, Mary Ann.”
“How dare you!”
Harry calling her again made her realise he’d gotten closer to them while they’d been busy teasing each other. She turned around and greeted him before any of her friends thought of doing something that’d end up embarrassing her.
“See you, love,” said Damien. The pair of them said their goodbyes to Harry and continued on their way up to the castle.
When she turned to look at Harry again, he had a strange look on his face, almost like a frown. “You okay, Harry?”
“Yeah, sorry, just – just thinking,” he answered quickly. “I wanted to make sure you Slytherins weren’t about to start shedding some tears.”
“Don’t get too cocky, Potter. It might suit you, but it’s not a good look for Gryffindor’s most beloved student.”
“Right, sorry,” he smiled, and she could swear that that boyish look on his face would be the death of her. “Listen, I –um–, I wanted to ask if you already had a date for Slughorn’s Christmas dinner party.” Quickly, his confident facade started to crumble (which made him even more attractive in her mind). “I thought, well, I thought that because we’re both part of his club, we could, yeah, we could go together. If, you know, you don’t have a date already. I, um, I know you and Damien are close.”
“Wouldn’t us going together cause an uproar among Gryffindors? You’d probably stop being their most beloved student,” she said with a smirk on her face, desperately trying to conceive the state in which his proposal had just put her in. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she worried he’d be able to hear it.
“I don’t really care about what they have to say about me.”
“Good,” she whispered. Her feet, as if by some magnificent force, carried her closer to him. “And, for the record, I’m not dating Damien.” Harry exhaled almost too happily, too relieved. She could see his eyes dropping to her lips, now caught between her teeth in an attempt to conceal a grin. And even though she was dying to press their lips together and kiss him until they’d both frozen under the relentless and unforgiving Scottish weather, she contented herself with a sweet kiss to his cheeks. She’d swear that the pink on his cheeks and neck had nothing to do with the cold wind blowing round them.
“You better be dressed for the occasion, Potter.”
The hallway leading to the Slytherin Common is dark, only a few lamps offer a dim greenish light, illuminating it enough so as one doesn’t trip with their own feet. It’s almost depressing, Harry thinks. However, his thoughts regarding the corridor quickly leave his mind upon seeing her leave the Common Room. He approaches her slowly, taking in every detail of her dress, the makeup adorning her face and the way her hair is styled.
“You look… you look stunning, love,” Harry says, an awestruck look on his face.
“Please, Harry, you can barely see me with these lights.”
Harry grabs one of her wrists at the same time he presses his lips against her cheek. Then, a single red rose appears in her hand.
“Didn’t think you were the romantic type,” she whispers. Apart from them, the hallway is deserted. For a moment, the only sounds to be heard are their breaths, their faces so close together that they meet in the space left between their mouths. Harry wonders if he should wait till the end of the night to kiss you; he wonders if he can even reach the end of the night without actually doing it.
He’s not willing to wait in order to find out.
One of his hands settles delicately on the cheek he’s just kissed, his forehead presses against hers. He’s about to ask her when he feels her barely nodding her head, afraid, maybe, that any sudden movement will ruin the moment. His lips are on hers before he starts wondering again. They lock almost too perfectly. Harry almost sighs when her arms snake round his neck and bring him even closer to her.
thank you for reading! divider is not mine, but by @bronzewasp
concussions and interruptions au
summary: in the guise of having a sleepover with daphne, you go over to harry's house, where you can finally take this stupid dress off.
wc: 1.5k+
featuring the marauders
Standing at the front of the Potters’s doorstep, you felt more nervous than anything else, the ache in your feet almost forgotten. Sure, you had been invited by Harry to come after the Parkinsons’s ball, but the night had barely gone well, and you were still dressed in your ridiculously fancy gown.
Harry jumped up from the couch when a knock was heard from the front door. You hadn’t given him an estimate for when the ball would end, but he knew it would be late, so he sat with his parents and uncles, awaiting your arrival. James laughed as Harry raced to the door, slipping on the rug, but he slammed a hand on the wall to stabilise himself before swinging the door open. His jaw dropped.
“You look… You’re, woah.” You laughed at Harry’s words, a tired look in your eyes. “This dress is so stupidly heavy.” You complained, and Harry smiled softly, moving out of the door way to let you in.
From the living room, Lily Potter patted her husband’s thigh, and she said. “I’m going to go say hi.” “I’ll come too!” Lily walked towards the entrance of her house just in time to see you leaning on her son as you bent downwards, taking your tall heels off. You sighed in relief as you freed your feet from the pain, straightening up to be hit with a wave of nerves as you saw Harry's mum. “Hi, Mrs. Potter.” You greeted, dropping your heels by your feet to return the hug she was already pulling you into. “You look beautiful.” She muttered, holding you at arms length. But her compliment was immediately flipped around by her husband, who welcomed you with “You look so uncomfortable.”
“Trust me, Mr. Potter, I am.”
Harry slithered his fingers around your wrist, tugging you closer to him before letting go and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You smiled at him. “Oh dear, which family was it this time?” Your head shot up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, but you immediately recognised the man as Sirius Black. “The Parkinsons.” You replied with a playful roll of your eyes.
Sirius made a noise of disgust, adding. “It’s always them who have the most elaborate balls too.” “I know!” You exclaimed, glad to have someone who understood as you leant down to grab your shoes “And for what!? It’s not like anyone cares anyway! Everyone is bored out of their minds and keeping themselves busy trying not to show it!” You felt your cheeks heat up at a foreign laugh, and spotted Remus Lupin leaning against the wall. “Professor Lupin.” You greeted shyly, hoping he hadn’t told Harry’s parents of the unfortunate situation he caught you in. He echoed your name.
“Um, I’m sure my lovely girlfriend would appreciate it if you didn’t corner her like a pack of wolves, so we’re going to go upstairs, yeah?” Harry turned towards you at the end of his little speech, ensuring you actually felt that way, and you nodded eagerly. He snaked his fingers into yours, tugging you towards the stairs, but you warned him to slow down as they got closer. Harry pouted when you let go of his hand, but at the sight of you lifting your dress up to walk up the stairs like a princess, his eyes literally formed into hearts, staring at you with adoration. “Are we going or..?” Harry nodded, turning to rush up at stairs. He opened the door to his room before returning to you, letting you at the top of the staircase to guide you deeper into his childhood home. “Welcome to my room.” Harry said, gesturing around the room. He walked around you, closing the door softly and leaning on it, staring at you for a long moment.
“You can give me the tour and everything, but my first priority is getting out of this dress. So, can you untie me?” You spun around, the skirt of your dress rippling around you. Harry stared at your back with his jaw dropped as you moved your hair out of the way. “You’re asking me to… undress you?” You shot Harry an unimpressed yet amused look over your shoulder. “Oh please Potter, it’s nothing you haven’t done before.” He shut up at your retort, fingers finding the bottom of the lace up of the corset. “All of it?"
“Well, enough to get me out.” Harry hesitated, unsure where to start. You sighed, “It’s fine, I’m sure I can do it myself.” Harry shook his head, forgetting that you couldn’t see his response, and undid the bow at your lower back. He removed the lace string from the first hole. You stiffened. “Harry…” Your boyfriend hummed. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?” “Is there a way to get it wrong?” His nervous chuckle had you moving out of his grasp and you repeated “I’m sure I can do it myself, it’s fine.”
“I’ll ask my mum to come help-“ “No, don’t do that, Harry!” Two knocks on his door sounded. You both froze. Harry shuffled towards the door, opening it softly. His shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh good! Mum could you help?” “Harry!” Lily laughed at your scolding of her son, entering the room. She was carrying a tray with an array of snacks and drinks. “Oh, Mrs. Potter you didn’t have to!”
“That’s nonsense, what can I help with?” “Um can you undo me, please? Harry was doing it wrong.” Your voice was shy, quiet. Lily smiled, gesturing for you to turn around. You did, and she looked at the back of your lace up corset and laughed. “Harry, were you seriously about to untie her entire corset?” “She asked me to untie it!” Lily shook her head with an amused scoff, and began loosening your corset up. You held the dress up from the front, eyes beginning to tear up at the intimate moment.
You’d never had one of those with your mother.
Lily patted your shoulder, mumbling “You’re good.” and you sniffled, thanking her softly. Both Harry and his mother were immediately alert at the sound of crying in your voice, and Lily asked “Darling, are you alright?” You quickly wiped the tears from your face, spinning around and nodding with a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine! Perfect.” Lily tilted her head to the side before walking towards you and gently wrapping her arms around you. She brought her voice down to a whisper so Harry couldn’t hear, and said “I’m here if you need anything. Ever.”
And with that, she was strolling out of the room, leaving you teary eyed in your boyfriend’s room. Harry furrowed his eyebrows, watching as you sat down on his bed. He moved as much of your dress near you so he could sit as close to you as possible, one hand caressing your back softly. “My love, are you okay?” You nodded, looking at Harry and leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I wasn’t kidding when I said getting out of this is my priority.” Harry chuckled, though he still sounded worried as he gathered the pyjamas you had owled him in a parcel last night. “Okay, how do we get you out?”
You laughed at Harry’s cluelessness, standing up and shuffling the dress down your body until it went past your hips and fell to the floor, pooling around you. “Oh.” Harry sat with wide eyes at the sight of you in nothing but a thong, and he internally begged for you to turn around so he could get a view at your bare chest. He shook himself out of his daze, frantically grabbing the top of your pyjama set. He stood up behind you, whispering a “Don’t get scared.” Before he pulled the fabric over your head. You slid your arms in the proper holes, turning around to snatch the cotton trousers off his bed. You slapped Harry’s arm, his eyes still glued to your ass.
“Sorry, sorry!”
“Sure you are.”
But Harry knew your words didn’t hold any actual annoyance in them because you were quickly placing your hands on his chest and pushing him down on his bed. He bounced softly on the mattress and you giggled, climbing on his lap and leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Harry was immediately cupping the back of your head, keeping you close to him as you swiped your tongue on his bottom lip.
“Missed you so much.” Harry panted as he opened his mouth, his words muffling as you glided your tongue against his. He gripped your hip with his free hand and you rolled your hips onto his with a sigh. Harry moaned, bucking his hips up into you. “I missed you too.” You finally replied, sitting up straight. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, wondering why you had pulled away so suddenly.
He whined when you stood up again, and you sent him an apologetic smile.
“Sorry sweetheart, my second priority is taking my makeup off.”
Your boyfriend followed you up, placing his hands on your hips and pressing himself into your backside. “And third?” He whispered, prompting you to say him. You grinned, looking at him over your shoulder and muttering “Hair.”
May I request Tom Riddle with a reader who’s a snake animagus? I feel like it could be pretty interesting, Since he can speak parseltongue and I feel like since the reader can turn into a snake they can also understand it, at least in their snake form.
Also with the fact that Peter is described to have some rat features that are tied to his animagus form, I feel like it would be possible for the reader to have some snake-like features too, maybe their eyes are similar to a snake? You can decide if you want to add that or not!
Snake Eyes
💌 Tom Riddle x Snake Animagus!Reader
💭Mostly SFW: No smut but heated makeout session at the end, lots of tension, Tom being a subtle stalker.
A/N: This request was super creative! Loved writing it. I’ll also be updating my master list tomorrow with the new fics bc i haven’t done that yet… Oops.
—
He notices your eyes first.
Not in the way the others do—swooning over some imagined depth, conjuring metaphors that don’t exist. No, Tom Riddle does not romanticize. He analyzes. And your eyes are wrong.
Slitted pupils.
Barely. Subtle. Most would chalk it up to a trick of the light, or a curious charm gone awry. But Tom knows better. He watches too closely to be fooled. There’s no spellwork at play here. No illusion. Just something innate—inhuman, almost. Reptilian.
He thinks, at first, that you might be a vampire.
You’re pale enough. Cold in a way that isn’t unkind, but distant. You don’t speak unless there’s a reason, and you smile like it costs you something. And then there are the teeth—fangs, if he’s being honest. You hide them well, but he’s seen them. Once, when you laughed at something Slughorn said—an unguarded moment. They flashed.
Definitely fangs.
But you don’t avoid sunlight. You walk the grounds in the early morning with ink stains on your cuffs and parchment under your arm. You lean into the sun, even. A vampire would hiss, recoil. You simply close your eyes and tilt your head back like you’re listening to something the rest of them can’t hear.
—
He sees you again in the library.
Not unusual. You spend more time among shelves than people. But tonight, you’re in the restricted section—which is where things start to interest him.
You’re not reading anything dark. Not yet. Not quite. It’s not blood magic or soul binding or anything else that would set off alarms in the average prefect. No—you’re reading about transfiguration theory. Ancient, obscure, exhaustively complicated. Things even most seventh years wouldn’t touch, and here you are—sixth year, alone, copying equations in a notebook already overflowing with ink.
He watches from the shadow of a shelf, silent. Not because he’s hiding—he doesn’t hide—but because he doesn’t want to interrupt.
You don’t notice him at first. Or maybe you do, and choose not to react. He can’t tell. That unsettles him.
Eventually, he steps into your line of sight.
“That book is typically reserved for Mastery candidates.”
You don’t look up immediately. When you do, your expression is neutral. Not startled. Not shy. Just… mildly curious.
“Is that a warning, Riddle?”
His name from your mouth doesn’t sound cautious or impressed. Just stated. Like a fact.
“It’s an observation,” he says smoothly.
“Noted.” You return to your notes, as if that’s the end of it.
“Most wouldn’t understand half of what’s in there.”
“Most don’t try.”
“And you?”
“I try.”
That smile again. The polite one. The one that seems genuine—but just barely.
You never ask what he’s doing in the restricted section. You already know.
—
He catches you on patrol.
Late. Past curfew. The castle is asleep, but he isn’t. He doesn’t sleep much these days.
His footsteps are silent against the stone as he rounds a corner near the library’s hidden entrance—and stops. There you are. Walking calmly, deliberately, the hem of your robes brushing the floor. You don’t flinch when you see him. You just look up, eyes gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
There it is again.
That serpentine glint in your gaze. And the faintest curve of fang when your lips part in greeting.
“Riddle.”
Your tone is polite. Respectful. It infuriates him.
“Out late, aren’t you?”
“So are you.”
You both pause. It’s quiet in the corridor—too quiet. He glances at the bulge in your bag, where the spine of a thick book presses against the fabric.
“Studying?”
“Of course.”
He steps closer. You don’t move.
“From the restricted section, I assume.”
“Assume what you like.”
There’s no fear in your voice. No shame. You meet his stare, unblinking. You’re taller than most of the girls in your year. Not by much—but enough to stand level with him when he draws near.
His head tilts slightly. “You’ve got a strange look about you.”
You raise an eyebrow, a sly smile on your face, not offended in the slightest. “Do I now?”
Tom continues, “Eyes like a serpent. Skin like ice. Fangs, if I’m not mistaken.”
A beat.
“Makes one wonder…”
He leans in, just a fraction, “…are you out here because you’re thirsty? Hunting for a midnight snack?”
You don’t react right away. Just blink—slow. Then you smile. That same quiet, self-assured curve that always makes something tighten low in his chest.
You lean in until your mouth nearly brushes the shell of his ear.
“It sounds like,” you murmur, breath cool against his skin, “you’re just looking for an excuse to get bitten.”
He doesn’t move. Can’t. Every muscle in his body coils, frozen somewhere between rage and fascination.
You pull back, still smiling. Then, with a graceful step back, you nod once.
“Goodnight, Riddle.”
And you walk away.
Calm. Unbothered.
Like you didn’t just set his veins on fire.
—
He follows you into the forest next.
It’s late. The kind of late where even the portraits sleep, and the wind outside the castle howls like something sentient.
Tom’s known for days that you’ve been sneaking out. He doesn’t report it. Doesn’t confront you. Just… waits. Watches. Shadows your steps like a predator stalking another.
Tonight, you leave earlier. You think the castle’s still awake enough to mask your footsteps. But he notices. Of course he does.
He follows you past the greenhouse. Past the edge of the Black Lake. Into the woods.
And he wonders, again, if he’s about to catch you feeding.
That would explain so much, wouldn’t it? The eyes. The fangs. The stillness. Some quiet little half-vampire secret you’ve kept tucked behind polite smiles and ink-stained sleeves. Maybe you’ve glamoured the truth away. Maybe you slip out here to find some poor creature and drink it dry.
But what he sees is something else entirely. Something he hadn’t accounted for.
You pause in a clearing. Look around, silent. Then—gracefully, effortlessly—you slip your wand into your robe and kneel in the grass. Your fingers move with purpose. A whispered incantation under your breath. Magic hums in the air—thick, ancient, alive.
And then—
You change.
It’s not violent. Not grotesque. It’s quiet. Elegant. Your limbs melt into scales. Your body coils, lengthens, smooths out into the form of a sleek, silver serpent—long, iridescent, hypnotic. A creature of venom and beauty. You glint like moonlight on polished steel. Your tongue flicks once. Twice.
And you bask in it. Like it’s natural. Like it’s freedom.
Tom doesn’t breathe.
He takes one silent step forward, eyes fixed on you.
He whispers, in Parseltongue:
“You’re not a monster.”
You freeze.
Your head lifts. Your tongue flicks toward him, tasting the air.
He speaks again.
“You’re magnificent.”
You slither toward him—slow, deliberate. Not threatening. Just… watching. Measuring. You circle him once, twice, brushing his robes with cold scales. He can feel your magic humming beneath your skin, ancient and wild and precise.
Then you stop.
And shift back.
It’s over in seconds. You rise from the forest floor, grass clinging to your cloak, moonlight catching the edges of your cheekbones. Your expression is unreadable—but your eyes? They burn.
He steps closer.
“You’ve been hiding this.”
You say nothing.
“Why?”
Your voice is quiet, steady:
“Because it’s mine.”
He should feel insulted. But instead, all he feels is the quick, shallow sting of awe—of envy. Because he’s never seen anyone else do something like that. Not at your age. Not without help.
You’re powerful.
And worse—you’re not flaunting it.
You turn to go. He catches your wrist.
“You understand me, don’t you? In Parseltongue?”
You nod once.
He releases you.
“We’ll talk again,” he says.
And you smile—quiet, cool.
“We always do.”
—
He returns to his dorm late one night.
Prefect rounds had run long. Some poor fifth-year sobbing over a misplaced love potion. Utterly beneath him. He’s still irritated when he steps into his room, already rehearsing the moment he’ll collapse into bed—
And stops short.
There’s a snake curled on his sheets.
Not just any snake. You.
Coiled lazily in the center of his bedspread like a crown jewel on velvet. Your scales catch the firelight—silver threaded with darker markings now, beautiful and unmistakably you.
You don’t react immediately. Just lift your head slowly, tongue flicking once as if to say oh, you’re finally back.
Tom stares. Cold. Calculating. Silent.
Then, in Parseltongue:
“Comfortable?”
You shift, coils brushing the edge of his pillow.
“You didn’t lock the door,” you hiss back.
“You broke into my room,” Tom says plainly.
“Did I?” You respond, head tilted slightly. Tom can sense the coy tone in your voice even like this.
“Why are you here?”
A pause.
Then, a dry flick of your tongue.
“If I didn’t know better,” you murmur in that silky, serpentine rhythm, “I’d think you liked me more like this.”
He doesn’t respond. His expression doesn’t change. But his mind is racing.
You’re teasing him. Provoking him. And he’s not sure what’s worse—
That you’re right.
Or that you know you’re right.
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, stopping just at the edge of the bed.
“You think this is a game?”
You uncoil slightly. Slither forward. Lift your head until your eyes are level with his, glinting like starlight on obsidian.
“Only if you’re playing too.”
The air between you hums. Magic, tension, something older.
Finally, he speaks again.
“Change back.”
You tilt your head. A pause. And then—
Your body ripples. Lengthens. Shifts.
And there you are.
Kneeling on his bed, hair loose, eyes dark.
Looking up at him like you hadn’t just shattered whatever boundaries were left between you.
“Hello again, Riddle.”
He’s already undoing the top button of his collar.
“You’re a menace.”
Your smile is slow. Lethal.
“You like that about me.”
His collar is unbuttoned. His breath is shallow. Your knees press into the mattress, and he’s still standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like he hasn’t quite decided whether to hex you or keep you.
You smile.
“What’s the matter, Riddle?” you murmur, voice low and full of smoke. “Snake got your tongue?”
That’s what does it.
He moves—sharp, precise, and then your mouth is on his, all tongue and heat and teeth.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
It’s possession.
A warning.
A challenge.
He kisses like he brews poison—carefully, deliberately, with enough heat to scald. And you match it. Bite for bite. Breath for breath.
Your fingers curl into the front of his robes. His hands never touch you, not really—just hover near your jaw, as if gripping you would be surrender. But his lips part against yours, and that’s enough.
You pull back just enough to drag your tongue—slowly, deliberately—along the sharp line of his jaw. A single flick. A taste. Like a snake testing the air.
He shudders.
You feel the tremor in his body and smile against his skin.
“Sensitive,” you whisper.
Then, fangs.
Just a hint—you nip his bottom lip, the sharp edge of a fang catching him just enough to sting. Not to hurt. To tease. The kind of bite that says I could sink deeper if I wanted to.
His breath catches.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice rasping with restraint. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”
You lick the faint trace of blood from his lip and smile again.
“I think I do.”
For a moment, all he can do is look at you.
Like he’s seeing something ancient. Something powerful. Something that slipped through the cracks in his armor and slithered straight into his spine.
And when he speaks again, it’s quiet. Dangerous.
“Get off my bed.”
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t stop you when you lean in and kiss him once more, slower this time, and then crawl backward off the bed like a queen giving back her stolen throne.
You disappear through the door without a word. Without a glance.
And Tom Riddle is left alone.
With the taste of you on his lip.
And a hunger in his chest he doesn’t know how to name.
summary: Merlin knows that he didn't even have to lift a finger because Y/N Black would always choose Severus Snape in a heartbeat
words: 11.3k
────────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─
Severus Snape sat in the stands, his black eyes fixed on the emerald blur darting across the sky. Y/N Black, his best friend, was captaining the Slytherin Quidditch team for the second year in a row, and as their Seeker, she was ruthless—fast, strategic, and relentless.
He knew her well enough to see past the composed mask she always wore. The way she clenched the handle of her broom just a little tighter and the sharpness in her turns. She wanted to win and she wanted it badly.
Sirius Black, her older brother and his tormentor, was in the Gryffindor stands, shouting her name in a mix of taunts and encouragement.
The contrast between them was stark.
While Sirius played for Gryffindor’s team with reckless, cocky confidence, Y/N’s approach was different. She was focused, calculating, and played to win rather than to show off.
Snape wasn’t usually one for Quidditch, but he had never missed a match she played in. He would never admit it, but watching her chase the Snitch, defying gravity with a smirk on her lips, was one of the few things that made Hogwarts bearable.
A flash of gold appeared near the Gryffindor goalposts, and without hesitation, Y/N shot forward, her broom slicing through the air. Snape leaned forward instinctively, heart pounding despite himself.
“Come on, Black,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the fabric of his robes as she closed in on the Snitch.
The Gryffindor Seeker, a wiry seventh-year, was just a few feet behind her, pushing his broom to its limit. But Y/N was faster. Snape had seen her fly countless times, had even watched her practice in secret when she thought no one was looking.
He knew her style. She didn’t lunge blindly for the Snitch. She was patient, calculated.
And then, just when it seemed like the Gryffindor Seeker might overtake her, she swerved at the last second, forcing him to adjust. That split-second hesitation was all she needed.
With a sharp dive, she stretched out her gloved hand, her fingers closing around the Snitch.
The stadium erupted into noise, but Snape barely heard any of it. His eyes were locked on Y/N as she straightened up, wind whipping through her hair, her triumphant smirk unmistakable even from a distance. She held the Snitch high as the Slytherin stands exploded in cheers.
Across the pitch, Sirius Black groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Bloody hell, Y/N! You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor at heart!” he yelled, though there was a grudging sort of pride in his voice.
Y/N turned her broom sharply toward the Gryffindor stands and, without missing a beat, flipped her older brother off.
Severus let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head.
That was Y/N Black. She was unapologetic, sharp-tongued, and effortlessly brilliant.
He found himself smirking as she landed, her teammates swarming her in celebration.
Part of him wanted to go down there, to congratulate her before the rest of Slytherin stole her attention. But instead, he simply watched from his spot in the stands, arms crossed, as she basked in her victory. She didn’t need his words to know he was proud. She would just know.
As Y/N landed, her teammates swarmed her, shouting, clapping her on the back, and ruffling her hair. She barely acknowledged them, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd instead.
Then, without a word, she pushed past them.
“Oi, where’s she going?” one of the Chasers muttered.
“She’s probably off to rub it in her brother’s face,” another laughed.
But they were wrong.
Y/N wasn’t heading for Sirius. She wasn’t even acknowledging the rest of Slytherin’s celebration.
She was walking straight toward the stands, straight toward him.
Severus Snape sat frozen for a moment, his arms still crossed, before hurriedly schooling his expression back into indifference. His heartbeat, however, betrayed him.
Y/N reached him, standing just in front of where he sat, her broom still clutched in one hand, the Snitch resting in the other. She tilted her head at him, her smirk sharp and teasing.
“You gonna congratulate me, or are you too busy sulking about whatever it is that you sulk about?” she taunted, breathless from the match.
Snape rolled his eyes. “As if I care about Quidditch.”
Y/N scoffed. “Oh, please. I saw you watching me.”
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You always do.”
Severus’s grip on his robes tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You fly like an idiot. One wrong move, and you could’ve broken your neck.”
“Ah, so you were worried,” she teased, grinning.
“Hardly,” he muttered, but there was no venom behind it.
Y/N studied him for a moment before extending her hand, the one holding the Snitch. His brow furrowed in confusion as she placed it in his palm.
“A souvenir,” she said, shrugging. “For sitting through an entire match just for me.”
Severus stared at the Snitch in his hand, then back at her. His fingers curled around the cool metal, and for once, he didn’t have a sharp remark ready.
Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Come on, Snape. Walk with me before the team kidnaps me for some over-the-top victory party.”
And just like that, she turned, expecting him to follow.
With a sigh, one that was far too fond for his liking, Severus tucked the Snitch into his pocket and stood, trailing after her.
As they walked away from the roaring Slytherin crowd, Severus fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his robes. The Snitch sat in his pocket, its tiny wings twitching now and then, but he ignored it.
Y/N strode forward with that effortless confidence of hers, broom over one shoulder, head held high like she owned the castle. And in some ways, she did.
She was a Black, a Slytherin, a bloody brilliant Seeker. Everyone either admired her, feared her, or wanted to be her.
And yet, here she was. Choosing to spend her post-victory moment with him.
They reached a quieter corridor, the distant cheers fading behind them. Y/N finally exhaled, tilting her head back against the cool stone wall. “Merlin, I thought that match would never end.”
“You made quick work of it,” Severus muttered, leaning beside her. “Wasn’t even a challenge, was it?”
She smirked, eyes glinting. “Not even close.” Then, nudging him with her elbow, she added, “You enjoyed it, admit it.”
He scoffed. “I tolerated it.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but let it slide. Instead, she turned to him fully, studying him with an unreadable expression.
“You know,” she mused, “you’re the only one I actually wanted to talk to after that match.”
Severus swallowed, caught off guard. “Why?”
“Because you don’t treat me like I’m some bloody trophy,” she said simply.
“Everyone else is off celebrating me—but you just… I don’t know.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “You see me. Not just the captain, or the Seeker, or ‘Sirius Black’s little sister.’ Just me.”
Severus felt his throat go dry. He looked away, unsure what to say to that.
Y/N didn’t push him for an answer. Instead, she grinned, leaning closer. “So, since you’re such a dedicated fan now, you coming to my next match?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I must.”
She laughed. It was bright, unapologetic, and it was the kind of laugh that made even his cold, guarded heart warm just a little.
“You must.”
Y/N pushed open the door to an empty classroom, stepping inside like she owned the place. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls, the only sound the faint echo of the ongoing celebration down in the dungeons.
Severus followed, closing the door behind them. “Skipping the victory party entirely, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Y/N tossed her broom onto an abandoned desk and hopped up onto another, swinging her legs.
“Please. If I stay any longer, they’ll shove Firewhisky down my throat and make me listen to Mulciber’s tragic attempts at flirting.” She smirked. “I’d rather be here.”
Severus leaned against the opposite desk, arms crossed. “With me?”
“With you.” Her voice was softer now, less teasing.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked down, pulling the Snitch from his pocket and watching it twitch in his palm.
Y/N’s eyes flicked to it. “Like it?”
Severus huffed. “You forced it on me.”
She tilted her head. “But you haven’t given it back.”
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the Snitch. The truth was, he liked having it. A reminder that, out of everyone in that bloody Quidditch pitch, she had chosen him to share her moment with.
Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with his silence. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Rolling his eyes, Severus flicked his wand at the candles, dimming them slightly. The atmosphere shifted into a quieter and more intimate setting. The usual playful edge between them softened, replaced with something unspoken but heavy in the air.
She watched him carefully, then sighed, leaning back on her hands.
“You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t care about Quidditch,’ you sure looked invested today.”
Severus exhaled sharply.
“I wasn’t invested—”
“You were leaning forward in the stands.”
“I was watching.”
“You muttered something under your breath when I went for the Snitch.”
“That doesn’t—”
“You were worried about me.” Her voice was light, teasing, but there was something searching in her gaze.
Severus clenched his jaw. “…You could have broken your neck.”
Y/N’s smirk faltered just slightly. “But I didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
She studied him for a long moment, then hopped down from the desk, stepping closer.
“Sev.” Her voice was softer now, almost careful. “You do care.”
He swallowed hard. It was infuriating, the way she could see right through him.
“…You’re so annoying,” he muttered.
She grinned. “And you love it.”
Severus refused to dignify that with a response, but he didn’t move away when she plucked the Snitch from his hand, rolling it between her fingers before throwing it back at him. Severus put it back in his pocket.
Silence settled between them, warm and heavy.
After a moment, Y/N smirked. “So, since we’re skipping the party, what do you suggest we do?”
Severus glanced at her, at the flickering candlelight dancing in her eyes.
“…Stay here,” he said finally. “Talk. Until they give up looking for you.”
Y/N hummed in approval. “Sounds perfect.”
And so they stayed.
Severus sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed as he fixed Y/N with a sharp look. “Have you even read the new Advanced Potions textbook yet?”
Y/N, who had settled comfortably into the chair beside him, legs draped lazily over one armrest, snorted.
“No, Severus, I thought I’d just wing it on my N.E.W.T.s.”
He sighed dramatically, pulling the book from his bag and flipping through the pages with an irritated sort of reverence. “Then you haven’t noticed the absurd number of errors in it.”
Y/N quirked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Errors? In the Slughorn-approved textbook?”
Severus scoffed. “Slughorn wouldn’t notice an error if it exploded in his face. Which, frankly, some of these might.”
He jabbed at a particular page with his finger. “Here. Draught of Living Death. Ridiculous instructions. If you follow them as written, the potion will be unstable and potentially lethal.”
Y/N leaned forward, peering at the text. “It says to stir counterclockwise seven times.”
“Exactly.” He flipped a few more pages aggressively. “And this one—Babbling Beverage? Why in Merlin’s name would they suggest stewing the rat spleens first? That ruins the consistency completely.”
Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”
Severus paused, caught off guard. His fingers, which had been poised to flip to yet another grievous offense, hesitated over the pages.
“…It’s logical,” he said finally, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Precise. Potions do what they’re supposed to if you follow the right process.”
Y/N studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. Then, she reached out and plucked the book from his hands.
“Oi—”
“Relax, Sev,” she drawled, skimming through the pages. “If you hate this version so much, why don’t you just rewrite it yourself?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You already know what’s wrong with it. Fix it. Make notes, change the instructions, do whatever you do with your creepy little personal experiments.” She smirked.
“Merlin knows you’d probably make a better textbook than this rubbish.”
Severus stared at her, lips parting slightly in surprise.
“…You might actually be onto something,” he admitted.
Y/N laughed, tossing the book back at him. “A rare moment of brilliance, I know.”
He rolled his eyes but tucked the idea away, running his fingers over the cover thoughtfully.
Maybe she was right.
Y/N smirked as she watched Severus flip furiously through the pages of the textbook, muttering to himself.
“This is completely wrong,” he grumbled, tapping the page with the tip of his wand. “They’re telling students to add crushed asphodel before the infusion of wormwood. That completely alters the reaction time. If anything, it weakens the potion instead of enhancing it.”
Y/N continued to rest her chin in her palm, watching him with amusement. “And what would you do instead, Professor Snape?”
Severus shot her a glare, but his irritation was undercut by the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’d start with finely ground asphodel. Not crushed, because consistency matters. Then, let it steep after the wormwood infusion. That way, the properties mix properly instead of counteracting each other like whatever idiot wrote this thinks they should.”
Y/N whistled. “You really do think this book is a personal insult, don’t you?”
“It is an insult,” he snapped, flipping to another page.
“This is supposed to be advanced potion-making, not first-year-level incompetence. Look at this. Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The instructions say to stir clockwise the entire time. That’s idiotic. You need to alternate clockwise and counterclockwise to balance the infusion properly, or it’ll be too volatile.”
Y/N couldn’t help but grin.
There was something fascinating about the way he spoke when he got like this. It was sharp, passionate, as if the entire world should care about potion-making as much as he did.
“I have to say, this is the most passionate I’ve ever seen you about anything that isn’t glaring at my brother.”
Severus sighed dramatically. “If I didn’t have to waste my time dealing with him, I could actually focus on things that matter.”
Y/N chuckled. “So potions matter to you, then?”
He hesitated. “…Obviously.”
She tilted her head, watching him thoughtfully. “Then why don’t you make your own notes? Your own version of the textbook? You know more than half the idiots who’ll be using this, anyway.”
Severus was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the cover. Then, slowly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a battered old notebook, its pages filled with scribbles, corrections, and improvements in his precise, slanted handwriting.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already started, haven’t you?”
Severus cleared his throat, flipping through the notebook as if he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I just thought it would be useful to have the right information written down. For myself.”
Y/N smirked. “And for anyone smart enough to steal your book.”
He scoffed. “As if I’d let anyone get their hands on it.”
She grinned. “You’re a genius, Sev. You know that, right?”
He faltered for just a second, gripping the book a little tighter. “…Hardly.”
But Y/N just shook her head, leaning back. “Well, I think so.”
Severus didn’t respond, but he didn’t argue, either.
Instead, he went right back to ranting about the next mistake in the textbook. This time, something about a disastrous bezoar dosage and Y/N just listened, secretly enjoying every second of it.
Severus was mid-rant about improper bezoar usage when he noticed Y/N staring at him, a slow grin tugging at her lips. Her head still rested on her palm, her elbow propped lazily on the desk, eyes bright with amusement.
He faltered. “What?”
Y/N’s grin widened. “Nothing. Just enjoying the show.”
His brows furrowed. “I’m not performing.”
“You are,” she teased, tapping her fingers against her cheek.
“A very passionate, very angry performance about the dangers of incompetent potion-making. Quite riveting, actually.”
Severus rolled his eyes, closing the textbook with a sharp thud.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are, ranting to me instead of to your cauldron in the dungeons,” she pointed out.
He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the desk. “Because you actually listen.”
Y/N’s expression softened slightly. “Of course, I do.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Severus shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, not used to being looked at like that. Like he was worth listening to.
“…You’re staring,” he muttered.
“Observing,” she corrected.
He scoffed. “And what, exactly, are you observing?”
She tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting puzzle. “Just that you get this look when you talk about potions.”
He narrowed his eyes. “A look?”
“Mhm,” she hummed, lips curling. “Like the rest of the world disappears, and it’s just you and whatever ridiculous mistake you’re trying to fix.”
Severus hesitated, unsure how to respond to that. He’d never thought about it before. But the way she said it made his chest feel strangely tight.
Y/N smirked at his silence. “It’s kind of nice, you know. Seeing you actually care about something.”
He huffed, looking away. “You make it sound as if I don’t care about anything.”
“Well,” she mused, “besides potions, glaring at Gryffindors, and being thoroughly unimpressed with everyone else…”
She tapped her chin. “No, can’t say I’ve seen you care about much else.”
He shot her a flat look. “Hilarious.”
She grinned. “I try.”
Another pause. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows across the old classroom.
Then, Y/N’s voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “I like when you talk about potions.”
Severus glanced at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone.
Y/N shrugged, still watching him. “It’s nice hearing you talk about something that makes you happy.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came. Because no one had ever said that to him before.
After a moment, he cleared his throat, looking back down at his notebook.
“…It’s not happiness,” he muttered. “It’s just—logic.”
Y/N just smiled knowingly. “If you say so, Sev.”
And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.
Severus sat back against the desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the cover of his notebook.
After a moment, he sighed and said, almost begrudgingly, “You played well today.”
Y/N blinked, then grinned. “Was that a compliment from Severus Snape? Merlin, I must be dreaming.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, I definitely will,” she teased, leaning back in her chair. “Go on, say it again. Just so I know I didn’t hallucinate it.”
Severus huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not repeating myself.”
“Pity,” she sighed dramatically. “Would’ve been nice to have it burned into my memory forever.”
He shook his head, but his gaze lingered on her, something softer in his usually sharp eyes.
“You were impressive,” he admitted after a moment. “Even Slughorn wouldn’t stop talking about how Slytherin finally has a proper Seeker.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Slughorn, huh? What about you? Were you impressed?”
Severus scoffed. “I’m always impressed by competency. And considering the rest of the team is mediocre at best, it’s fortunate you know what you’re doing.”
Y/N laughed. “High praise, coming from you.”
He glanced away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It was… entertaining. Watching you completely humiliate Gryffindor.”
Y/N smirked. “So that’s what you enjoyed.”
“Obviously.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I am the best.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “Now you’re pushing it.”
Y/N only grinned, nudging his knee with her foot. “Admit it, Sev. You liked watching me play.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I admit it, will you finally stop pestering me?”
“Maybe,” she teased.
Severus exhaled, looking at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “…You were good.”
Y/N’s grin widened. “Knew it.”
He shook his head again, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite hide the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.
Severus pulled his hand from his robe pocket, the small golden Snitch resting in his palm. The tiny wings fluttered weakly against his fingers, as if reluctant to leave his grasp.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding it out to Y/N.
She looked at it, then at him, and instead of taking it, she just smirked and leaned back in her chair. “Keep it.”
Severus frowned. “What?”
“Keep it,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “So you’ll always remember me.”
His fingers curled slightly around the Snitch as he processed her words, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “…Why would I need something to remember you by?”
Y/N grinned. “Because, Sev, someday I’ll be famous. Hogwarts’ best Seeker, a legend in the making. And when that happens, you’ll want to say you knew me first.”
He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it.
Severus looked down at the Snitch in his palm, the tiny wings brushing against his skin. He could have argued. He could have insisted she take it back. But instead, he closed his fingers around it and slipped it back into his pocket, letting the weight of it settle against him.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll keep it.”
Y/N smiled. “Good.”
And for the first time that night, Severus didn’t have a single complaint.
The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, but Severus barely paid it any mind. He sat at the Slytherin table, absently picking at his breakfast, still adjusting to the idea of carrying a Snitch in his pocket. Her Snitch.
And then, like clockwork, Y/N slid into the seat beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Morning, Sev.”
He huffed, not looking up from his plate. “You’re awfully cheerful.”
“I did win a match yesterday,” she reminded him smugly, grabbing a piece of toast. “And, you know, got a very rare compliment from a certain grumpy Potions prodigy.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to regret it.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” She smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Did you sleep well? You and your new prized possession, I mean.”
He stiffened slightly, but kept his expression neutral. “It’s just a Snitch.”
“My Snitch,” she corrected, taking a bite of her toast. “Did you put it somewhere safe?”
Severus exhaled through his nose, reaching into his pocket and subtly showing her the small golden sphere resting in his palm before tucking it away again. “Satisfied?”
Y/N grinned. “Very.”
He shook his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast, but he didn’t push her away when she leaned comfortably against him.
Narcissa Black sat gracefully across from them, her sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N with mild curiosity as she stirred her tea.
“You weren’t at the victory party last night.” It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, one laced with subtle judgment.
Y/N smirked, casually buttering her toast. “Oh, you noticed?”
“Of course, I noticed,” Narcissa replied, arching a perfectly shaped brow.
“You were the star of the match, and yet, no celebratory gloating? No basking in the glory of your own success?”
She tilted her head slightly. “Very unlike you, cousin.”
Severus huffed quietly, hiding his amusement behind his goblet of pumpkin juice.
Y/N shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Narcissa’s eyes flickered between the two of them before landing back on Y/N. “You did disappear rather quickly after the match…”
Y/N smirked. “What can I say? Had better company.” She nudged Severus with her knee under the table, earning an unimpressed glance from him.
Narcissa’s gaze sharpened, her lips curving slightly.
“I see.” She rested her chin on her hand, watching Y/N with something between amusement and suspicion.
“So, instead of celebrating with your adoring fans, you spent your evening somewhere, locked away with Severus.”
Y/N gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on her chest. “Oh, forgive me, dear cousin, for prioritizing meaningful conversation over drunken debauchery.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Please, you love the attention.”
“True,” Y/N admitted easily. “But I love annoying Sev more.”
Severus scoffed, not looking up from his plate. “How fortunate for me.”
Narcissa observed the two of them for a moment, then smirked. “Well, I do hope he made it worth your while.”
Y/N’s grin was immediate. “Oh, he did.”
Severus stiffened, glaring at her. “Don’t say it like that.”
Narcissa chuckled, sipping her tea. “Interesting choice of company, Y/N.”
Y/N just leaned back, perfectly unbothered. “Best choice, actually.”
Severus didn’t say anything but under the table, his fingers curled around the Snitch in his pocket.
“Anyways…Sirius came looking for you yesterday. Something about introducing you to his best mate, Potter. I think he fancies you,” Narcissa said, her tone light, but her gaze sharp as she watched Y/N’s reaction.
Y/N snorted, tearing off another bite of toast.
“James Potter? Fancies me? Please, Cissy, don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I’m serious,” Narcissa pressed, twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers.
“Sirius wouldn’t shut up about it. He kept saying how he thinks you and Potter would ‘get on brilliantly.’”
Severus, who had been silent up until now, suddenly gripped his fork a little too tightly. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, staring at his plate as if it personally offended him.
Y/N sighed dramatically.
“And yet, somehow, I doubt James Potter would be terribly interested in me, given the way he practically worships Evans.”
Narcissa waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, well, maybe he’s expanding his options. You are the Black everyone actually likes, after all.”
Severus scoffed, finally breaking his silence. “Potter is an arrogant, brainless git. You’d sooner find a Kneazle getting along with a Manticore than have an intelligent conversation with him.”
Y/N smirked at his tone. “Aw, Sev, that almost sounded jealous.”
His scowl deepened. “I don’t get jealous.”
Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Right. And yet, you look like you’re about to hex your plate into oblivion.”
Severus set his fork down with deliberate care, clearly restraining himself. “I simply find it unbelievable that anyone would subject themselves to Potter’s presence willingly.”
Y/N chuckled, nudging him with her elbow.
“Don’t worry, Sev. If I ever lose all sense of self-respect and go anywhere near James Potter, you’ll be the first to know.”
His expression didn’t soften, but the tight grip on his robes loosened ever so slightly.
“See that you don’t,” he muttered.
Narcissa just smiled behind her teacup, watching them both with interest.
“As if Potter has a chance…” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Did he really think I’d choose him over Severus? He’s literally a bully, just like that Gryffindor of a brother of mine.”
Severus, who had been gripping his goblet a little too tightly, stilled at her words. His dark eyes flickered to her face, searching for any sign that she was joking. But she wasn’t. She had said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Narcissa, however, only hummed, looking thoroughly entertained. “Oh? So you are choosing Severus, then?”
Y/N smirked.
“Obviously.”
She leaned into Severus slightly, her shoulder pressing against his. “Why would I waste my time with a Potter when I already have the best company?”
Severus swallowed hard, his face carefully blank but his fingers twitched slightly against the table. He knew better than to read into her words, but for the first time that morning, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.
Narcissa’s smirk widened. “Interesting,” she mused, tilting her head.
“You’re lucky, Severus.”
Severus huffed, finally recovering enough to roll his eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “It is.”
And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.
Narcissa took a slow sip of her tea, her smirk never wavering.
“Well, that settles it, then. I suppose I’ll have to break the tragic news to Potter—he never stood a chance.”
Y/N chuckled. “Oh, please do. And be sure to tell Sirius that I’d rather hex myself than date his insufferable best mate.”
Severus let out a quiet breath, his fingers still curled around his goblet.
“Speaking of your Gryffindor brother,” Narcissa continued, setting her cup down with a soft clink, “he was in quite the mood when I saw him last night. Apparently, he’s rather upset that you’re still spending all your time with Severus instead of ‘better company.’”
Y/N rolled her eyes, stealing a piece of fruit from Severus’ plate.
“Right, because his definition of ‘better company’ consists of Potter and Lupin and that other friend of theirs. No, thanks.”
Severus sneered at the mention of them, his grip on his goblet tightening again. “Black should concern himself with his own miserable existence and stay out of yours.”
Y/N smirked, popping the fruit into her mouth. “Agreed.”
She turned to Severus, nudging him with her knee. “But if he ever tries to drag me to the Gryffindor common room, do me a favor and curse me unconscious, yeah?”
Severus gave her a flat look. “I’d do it regardless.”
Y/N laughed, completely unbothered, while Narcissa shook her head in amusement. “You two are ridiculous.”
“And yet,” Y/N said, resting her head on Severus’ shoulder, “you’re still sitting with us.”
Narcissa merely smirked, watching the way Severus stiffened at the sudden contact, his ears just barely tinged red. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Once Narcissa had finished her tea and had her fun at their expense, she stood gracefully, smoothing out her robes. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.” She shot Y/N a knowing look before glancing at Severus with the same amused expression. “Try not to let her get you into too much trouble, Severus.”
Severus merely scowled, but Y/N grinned. “No promises.”
With a quiet chuckle, Narcissa turned and left the Great Hall, her blonde hair swaying as she went.
The moment she was out of earshot, Severus finally spoke, his voice quieter than before.
“You didn’t have to say that.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Say what?”
Severus shifted slightly, his fingers brushing over his pocket where the Snitch still rested.
“That you’d choose me over Potter,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t believe it.
Y/N rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her palm. “But I would.”
He frowned, clearly skeptical. “It’s not a competition.”
“Well, if it were, you’d win.”
Severus looked at her then, really looked at her, as if trying to find the punchline in her words.
But there wasn’t one.
Y/N was being completely serious.
“…Why?” he asked after a beat.
Y/N tilted her head, her gaze softening just a fraction.
“Because I actually like spending time with you, Sev.” She nudged his knee under the table, smirking. “And because you’re my favorite.”
Severus swallowed, looking away as a faint redness dusted his pale cheeks. He wasn’t used to being anyone’s favorite.
“…Idiot,” he muttered, but there was no venom in his voice.
Y/N grinned. “That’s me.”
And for the first time that morning, Severus let himself relax, the weight of the Snitch in his pocket grounding him as he sat beside the only person who had ever truly chosen him.
After finishing breakfast, Y/N and Severus stood from the Slytherin table, grabbing their books and making their way toward the dungeons for Potions class.
Severus walked beside her, his usual scowl in place, but Y/N could tell he wasn’t actually annoyed. If anything, he seemed more thoughtful than usual, his fingers idly drumming against the spine of his Potions textbook.
Y/N bumped her shoulder against his. “What’s with the brooding? Thinking of new ways to make Potter’s life miserable?”
Severus scoffed. “I don’t need to think of new ways. He’s miserable enough just existing.”
Y/N laughed. “That’s fair.”
They arrived at the dimly lit Potions classroom, where students were already filing in. Slughorn, ever the enthusiastic professor, was scribbling today’s instructions on the blackboard.
Y/N and Severus slid into their usual seats at the back, setting their books down.
“Another partnered assignment today,” Y/N observed, glancing at the board. “Think Slughorn will have the audacity to separate us?”
Severus smirked slightly, his dark eyes flickering toward the front of the room. “He wouldn’t dare.”
And, as if proving his point, when Slughorn finally addressed the class, he didn’t even bother reassigning partners.
“Excellent, excellent! You may stay with your current partners,” Slughorn announced. “Today, we’ll be brewing a Draught of Peace! A rather delicate potion. One mistake and it won’t work at all.”
Severus rolled his eyes as Slughorn droned on about the potion’s properties. Y/N, meanwhile, leaned toward him, grinning. “Bet I’ll finish mine before you.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even cut ingredients properly.”
“That’s slander.”
“That’s fact.”
Y/N huffed but still smirked as she flipped open her textbook.
“Fine, Professor Snape, you do all the chopping, and I’ll handle the brewing.”
Severus sighed as if this was the greatest burden in the world, but he didn’t argue. He never did when it came to her.
And so, as the rest of the class struggled, Y/N and Severus worked seamlessly, the usual banter filling the space between them as they brewed yet another flawless potion—together.
As usual, working with Severus was effortless. While other students fumbled with their ingredients, misread instructions, or hesitated over their cauldrons, Y/N and Severus moved like a well-oiled machine.
Severus meticulously chopped the ingredients, his precise, practiced movements ensuring uniform slices. Y/N, despite her usual teasing, took the brewing process seriously, stirring at the exact pace and adding the ingredients only when Severus nodded in approval.
“Steady,” he murmured as she carefully poured in the powdered moonstone.
Y/N smirked. “You act like I’m about to botch the whole thing.”
“Because you would,” he replied dryly.
Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Rude.”
Severus merely shook his head, a rare, almost amused look flickering across his features. “Just keep stirring.”
They continued working, the soft bubbling of their potion filling the space between them. Around them, students groaned in frustration as some had cauldrons emitting faint purple smoke, while others had turned a worrying shade of green.
Slughorn made his way around the room, peering into cauldrons and offering words of encouragement (or, in some cases, looks of deep disappointment). When he reached their station, he beamed.
“Ah, exquisite work, as always!” he declared, clapping his hands together. “Perfect color, perfect consistency. Well done, well done!”
Severus merely inclined his head, while Y/N grinned. “Naturally.”
Slughorn chuckled. “I daresay, the two of you make quite the brilliant team. Perhaps I should have you brewing for me.”
Severus scoffed, but his lips twitched slightly. “I am brilliant. You’re just lucky you sit next to me.”
Slughorn let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, you remind me of myself in my youth, Severus! Such confidence, such talent! If you ever have any interest in pursuing Potions beyond Hogwarts, I would be more than happy to offer guidance.”
Severus gave a polite nod. “Thank you, sir.”
Slughorn turned to Y/N. “And you, Miss Black. Remarkable work as well! Though I must say, I’m quite surprised you didn’t celebrate your Quidditch victory last night.”
Y/N shrugged, glancing at Severus briefly. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Slughorn raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, well. More dedicated to your studies, I see! Excellent priorities, my dear.”
He gave them both a final pleased nod before moving on to the next station.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Y/N turned to Severus. “See? Brilliant team.”
Severus exhaled, shaking his head as he began cleaning up their workspace. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Too late.”
And for the rest of the class, while their classmates struggled, Y/N and Severus sat back, their potion already perfected—just as always.
Severus sat with his quill resting idly between his fingers, his gaze flickering between his parchment and Y/N as she leaned over to copy his notes.
She didn’t even bother asking anymore. She just slid his notebook closer, turned her own to a blank page, and began copying down his meticulous handwriting with lazy, fluid strokes.
Severus should have been irritated. Should have snapped at her to take her own notes, to pay attention instead of relying on him.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he watched as she absentmindedly chewed the end of her quill, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration. A few strands of her dark hair fell forward, brushing against the parchment, and every so often, she tapped her fingers against the desk in an offbeat rhythm.
She had done this a hundred times before. Stealing his notes, ignoring her own half-written ones, leaning just a little too close without realizing it. But for some reason, today, Severus couldn’t look away.
“Sev,” Y/N suddenly said, not looking up, still writing.
He blinked, straightening slightly. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
His grip on his quill tightened. “No, I’m not.”
Y/N smirked, finally glancing at him from beneath her lashes. “You are.”
Severus scoffed, shifting in his seat, his expression settling back into its usual scowl. “You’re copying my notes. I’m simply making sure you don’t ruin them with your atrocious handwriting.”
Y/N gasped in mock offense, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest.
“Atrocious? Excuse me, I happen to have flawless handwriting.”
Severus snatched his notebook back, flipping it shut.
“It’s a disgrace.”
Y/N laughed, resting her chin on her palm as she gazed at him, entirely unbothered. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep taking notes for me forever.”
Severus rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched slightly. It was just enough for Y/N to catch.
─ ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ──────────
The Slytherin common room was quiet that night, the usual chatter of students fading as most had either gone to bed or were off doing Merlin-knows-what in the castle. The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit space, casting long shadows across the stone walls.
Severus and Y/N sat side by side on the emerald-green sofa closest to the fireplace, books open on their laps.
Well, Severus was reading. Y/N was halfheartedly flipping through her textbook, occasionally tapping her fingers against the spine, clearly bored.
After a few minutes of silence, she let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head to look at him.
“Sev.”
He didn’t look up from his book. “What?”
“I’m bored.”
Severus exhaled sharply, still not looking at her.
“Then go to bed.”
Y/N ignored that completely and shifted to rest her head against his shoulder.
“Nah. This is fine.”
Severus stiffened for half a second before forcing himself to relax. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, but it always caught him off guard.
“You’re distracting,” he muttered, eyes still on his book.
“I’m existing,” she corrected, smirking against his shoulder.
“Exactly.”
Y/N chuckled, and the sound was warm, familiar. She didn’t move away, though, and after a moment, Severus found himself leaning into it.
They sat like that for a while, the only sounds being the flickering of the fire and the occasional turn of a page.
“I’m stealing your notes again tomorrow.”
Severus sighed, closing his book. “Of course you are.”
And when she smiled, drowsy and content, Severus simply shook his head.
The common room grew quieter as the fire burned lower, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Severus had long since stopped reading, though his book remained open in his lap.
Y/N had gone still beside him, her head slipping from his shoulder. He glanced down just in time to see her shift, curling up slightly as her head now resting against his lap.
Severus tensed.
His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid as if moving even an inch would somehow wake her. But Y/N didn’t stir. She simply exhaled softly, her face peaceful, her arms tucked beneath her head as she settled deeper against him.
For a long moment, Severus just stared.
Her hair spilled over his robes, the firelight casting a warm glow on her features.
She looked… comfortable. Completely at ease.
He should wake her up. Tell her to go to bed.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he swallowed hard and carefully set his book aside. His fingers twitched as if debating whether or not to move, to touch her, but he quickly clenched them into fists, keeping them at his sides.
Merlin, she was infuriating.
Did she even realize what she did to him? How she invaded his space so easily, so effortlessly, like she belonged there?
Severus exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to lean back against the sofa. He couldn’t (wouldn’t) wake her.
Not when she looked like that.
So, instead, he sat there, unmoving, his heartbeat entirely too loud in his ears. And as the fire crackled beside him, Severus Snape did something he never allowed himself to do.
He let himself enjoy the moment.
Severus hesitated. His fingers hovered just above Y/N’s hair, as if touching her would shatter the quiet, fragile peace of the moment.
But she was there, asleep on his lap, her breathing slow and even. The firelight cast soft golden hues across her skin, making her seem almost unreal like something delicate and untouchable.
Severus exhaled, then, before he could think better of it, finally let his fingers brush against her hair.
It was soft. Softer than he expected. His movements were tentative at first, barely there, but when she didn’t stir but simply nestled deeper against him, he let himself continue.
He didn’t know why he did it. He had never been one for tenderness, never the type to comfort or soothe. But with Y/N, it felt natural.
His fingers threaded through her hair again, and his breath caught when she shifted slightly, a faint hum escaping her lips.
Severus stilled, his heart hammering against his ribs. But Y/N only sighed in her sleep, her body relaxing further against him.
His hand lingered for just a moment longer before he withdrew it, resting it tensely on the armrest.
This was dangerous.
She was dangerous.
Because if she kept doing this, kept looking at him like that, touching him like it meant something, falling asleep on him like he was someone safe, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend he didn’t want her.
And that terrified him more than anything.
────────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─
The wind was crisp as Y/N and Severus made their way down the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, the chatter of students filling the air.
It had been a few weeks since that night in the common room—since Y/N had unknowingly ruined Severus with her presence, her warmth, the feeling of her hair slipping through his fingers.
And now, here they were, walking side by side, the snow crunching beneath their feet as Y/N tugged on his sleeve.
“Come on, Sev,” she said, linking her arm through his as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You walk so slowly.”
Severus stiffened at the contact, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second.
She was touching him again.
And not just touching but rather clinging. As if she belonged there. As if she didn’t even have to think about it.
Y/N didn’t seem to notice his internal crisis, though. She simply grinned, leaning slightly into his side as they made their way toward Honeydukes.
“I don’t know why you even agreed to come,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder. “You hate sweets.”
“I don’t hate them,” Severus muttered, keeping his gaze firmly ahead, pretending that the warmth of her arm against his wasn’t distracting him.
“I just don’t see the point in wasting my money on sugar when I could buy something useful.”
Because Y/N was still holding onto him, and Merlin help him, he liked it.
The second they stepped inside Honeydukes, Y/N all but dragged Severus through the shop, pointing at various sweets with an excited grin.
“Oh, you have to try these,” she said, grabbing a handful of Chocolate Frogs.
“And these—” She tossed a few Sugar Quills into her basket.
“Oh! And definitely these.”
Severus sighed, crossing his arms as she piled more and more sweets into her basket.
“You do realize I never asked for any of this.”
Y/N grinned, completely unfazed. “That’s the best part. You don’t have to ask. I just know what you need.”
Severus scoffed. “And what exactly do I need?”
“Sugar.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “I—”
Before he could finish, Y/N grabbed a small chocolate and unwrapped it. Then, before he could protest, she held it up to his lips.
“Open,” she ordered.
Severus stared at her, unimpressed. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” She wiggled the chocolate in front of his face. “Come on, Sev. Humor me.”
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
And yet…
He begrudgingly parted his lips just enough for her to pop the chocolate into his mouth.
Y/N beamed.
“See? Not so bad, right?” she teased, watching him closely.
Severus chewed, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he muttered, “It’s fine.”
Y/N gasped. “Fine? This is premium chocolate, Severus. Premium.”
Severus just shook his head, swallowing the chocolate. “Idiot.”
Severus sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. But when Y/N lifted the next treat to his lips, he didn’t resist.
By the time they left Honeydukes, Y/N had practically stuffed half a dozen different sweets into Severus’ mouth. Each time grinning triumphantly whenever he reluctantly accepted them.
Now, as they strolled back through Hogsmeade, Y/N happily munching on a Sugar Quill, Severus still tasted the remnants of chocolate and caramel on his tongue.
“I don’t know why you’re acting like you hated it,” Y/N teased, bumping her shoulder against his. “You ate everything I gave you.”
Severus shot her a flat look.
“You shoved it in my mouth. What was I supposed to do? Spit it out?”
Y/N smirked. “You could’ve said no.”
Severus scoffed. “Like you’d listen.”
She grinned. “Exactly.”
They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the cold winter air crisp against their skin.
Then, suddenly, Y/N stopped in front of a small tea shop, peering through the frosted windows. “Oh, let’s go in here for a bit. It’s freezing.”
Severus followed her gaze, immediately recognizing the shop. Madam Puddifoot’s.
His face twisted in disgust. “Absolutely not.”
Y/N turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because,” Severus muttered, glaring at the couples visible through the window, “this is practically a breeding ground for lovesick imbeciles.”
Y/N burst out laughing. “You would say that.”
Severus crossed his arms. “I refuse to set foot in there.”
Y/N, still grinning, hummed thoughtfully. “Alright. How about The Three Broomsticks instead?”
Severus hesitated, eyeing her warily. “And what’s the catch?”
Y/N linked her arm through his again, smirking. “No catch. Just butterbeer. And maybe, maybe, I’ll stop feeding you sweets for the day.”
Severus exhaled through his nose, pretending to be completely unaffected by the way she clung to him so easily.
“…Fine.”
Y/N beamed. “Good choice, Sev.”
And just like that, she pulled him along once more, her arm still wrapped around his.
The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with students escaping the cold. As soon as they stepped inside, Y/N led Severus toward a small table near the corner, away from the loudest groups.
She let go of his arm (much to his dismay, though he’d never admit it) and slid into her seat.
“I’ll order for us,” she declared before he could argue, already making her way to the counter.
Severus sighed, rubbing his temples. He should’ve known letting her drag him here would mean losing every battle.
A few minutes later, Y/N returned with two steaming mugs of butterbeer, setting one in front of him.
“There,” she said proudly, sliding into her seat. “A drink and a break from my relentless generosity. You should be thanking me.”
Severus rolled his eyes but accepted the mug anyway. “I didn’t ask for your generosity in the first place.”
Y/N smirked. “Quit your whining, Snape.”
Severus huffed but took a sip of his butterbeer. It was warm, sweet, and undeniably comforting, not that he’d ever say that out loud.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the warmth of the tavern settling over them. Every now and then, Severus found himself watching her like how her fingers curled around her mug, how she tapped her nails idly against the wood, how her lips pursed slightly as she took a sip.
It was maddening.
She was maddening.
Y/N suddenly looked up, catching him mid-stare.
Severus immediately looked away, clearing his throat.
“What?” he muttered.
Y/N tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You were staring.”
Severus scoffed. “I was not.”
“Liar.” She grinned, leaning forward slightly. “See something you like, Sev?”
Severus choked on his butterbeer.
Y/N burst into laughter, her eyes shining with amusement as he coughed into his sleeve.
Severus opened his mouth but before he could, a familiar voice interrupted them.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Y/N turned in her seat, her smile vanishing as she spotted the person standing beside their table.
Sirius Black.
And behind him—Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew.
Severus clenched his jaw, already bracing himself.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, little sister,” Sirius drawled, his lips curled in amusement. “And with him, no less.”
Potter elbowed him. “Guess she has questionable taste.”
Severus scowled, but before he could snap back, Y/N spoke first.
“If you came all this way just to be annoying, then congratulations, you’ve succeeded,” she said flatly, leaning back in her chair.
Sirius chuckled. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You could be sitting with anyone—and yet, here you are, stuck with old Snivellus.”
Severus’ fists clenched under the table, his face carefully blank.
Y/N, however, just laughed.
“You’re so predictable, Sirius,” she said, shaking her head.
“You think I care what you lot think?” She gestured between them lazily.
“If I wanted to sit with idiots, I’d let you all join us. But I’d rather not lose brain cells, thanks.”
Sirius raised his brows, clearly surprised by her sharpness.
Lupin sighed, giving her a wary look. “Y/N, you really don’t—”
“I do,” she interrupted, her tone unwavering. “Now, if you don’t mind, we were in the middle of something.”
Sirius scoffed, but Potter pulled at his sleeve. “Leave it, mate. Let her sit with her pet snake if she wants.”
Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “At least he’s not an arrogant, self-obsessed git,” she shot back.
Potter’s smug expression faltered.
Sirius let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t realize you hated us that much.”
Y/N crossed her arms. “I don’t. But I hate this. The way you always think you can tell me what to do. Who to be around.”
“Sirius… I’m not you,” she murmured. “I never was.”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine. Whatever.” He turned to leave, pausing only once. “Don’t come crying to me when he betrays you.”
With that, he walked away, the others trailing behind him.
A heavy silence hung in the air.
Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Merlin.”
Severus, who had been deadly quiet through the entire exchange, finally spoke.
“…Why did you do that?”
Y/N looked at him, confused. “Do what?”
“Defend me,” he muttered, his voice oddly unreadable. “Against them.”
Y/N frowned. “Severus, I’d defend you against anyone.”
The words were so simple, so obvious to her. But to him…
Severus stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.
And then, slowly he reached for his mug again, taking a long sip of butterbeer to cover the unbearable warmth spreading through his chest.
“…You’re an idiot,” he muttered.
Y/N grinned. “Maybe. But I’m your idiot.”
Severus scoffed, rolling his eyes.
But he didn’t argue.
Severus watched as Y/N slumped back in her chair, exhaling a tired sigh.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Y/N twirled the handle of her butterbeer mug between her fingers, her gaze distant.
“I was just thinking…” She hesitated, then let out a humorless chuckle. “I wonder how long I have before my father pushes me to some pureblood boy.”
Severus stiffened.
Her words settled between them, heavy and unspoken.
It wasn’t surprising, really. It was expected for someone like Y/N, from a prestigious family like the Blacks. Arranged marriages, strategic unions, keeping the bloodline pure.
But no lie, the thought of Y/N being forced into a life she didn’t want, with someone she didn’t choose made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
He swallowed, his voice carefully neutral. “…Do you have anyone in mind?”
Y/N scoffed. “As if it’ll matter. It’s not like I’ll get a choice.”
She tapped her nails against the table, sighing again. “I’m sure my father already has someone lined up. Probably some arrogant pureblood twat who thinks he owns the world.”
Severus’ grip on his mug tightened. Of course he does.
“You don’t have to do it,” he said quietly.
Y/N gave him a knowing look. “You know that’s not how it works, Sev.”
He clenched his jaw. Of course it isn’t.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, with a wry smile, Y/N nudged his foot under the table.
“Unless you want to marry me, Snape.”
Severus nearly choked on air.
Y/N burst out laughing at his reaction, but there was something in her expression like she was only half joking.
Severus forced himself to breathe.
“You really need to stop saying things like that.”
“Why?” she teased. “Does it make you nervous?”
Severus huffed. “It’s infuriating.”
Y/N grinned. “Good.”
But as she took another sip of her butterbeer, Severus noticed how her fingers curled slightly tighter around the mug. How her smile, bright and teasing as always, didn’t quite reach her eyes.
And he hated that.
Hated that she felt trapped.
Hated that, no matter what she wanted, the world would still try to dictate her fate.
Without thinking, he muttered, “I’d rather it be me than one of them.”
Y/N stilled.
Slowly, she set her mug down, her eyes meeting his.
“What did you just say?”
Severus hesitated. He hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t even realized he’d said it aloud.
But now that he had…He didn’t take it back.
Y/N blinked at him, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no laughter.
Severus exhaled sharply and looked away.
“Forget it.”
Y/N, however, did not forget it.
Instead, she just kept staring at him, something unreadable in her gaze.
Something dangerously close to hope.
Severus’ breath caught in his throat.
He turned to look at her, but Y/N was already staring at him with her eyes unwavering.
“No,” she said, voice quiet but firm.
“Tell me, Severus. Because I swear… if I heard whatever it is that I think I heard, then…”
She swallowed, her fingers curling against the table.
“I’d give it all up.”
Severus’ heart stopped.
For a moment, all he could hear was the low hum of The Three Broomsticks around them—the chatter of students, the clinking of glasses, the distant sound of rain beginning to drizzle outside.
But right now, none of it mattered.
Not when she was looking at him like that.
Like he was something worth choosing.
Severus exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak.
“Y/N… don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” she challenged, leaning closer.
“Because it’s impossible? Because you think I wouldn’t do it?” Her voice softened, gaze searching his.
“Because you don’t want me to?”
Severus clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists beneath the table.
Of course he wanted her to.
But she was a Black. She had a future already planned—one that had nothing to do with him.
But then, she was here.
Offering, choosing him, despite it all.
“Y/N… if you say something like that, you can’t take it back.”
Y/N gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to.”
Severus hated how much that affected him.
Because the truth was—if things were different, if the world wasn’t what it was…
He’d choose her, too.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached across the table, his fingers barely brushing against hers.
“Y/N…” His voice was quiet, unsteady.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
But she only turned her hand over, letting her fingers lace through his.
“Sev,” she murmured, “I do.”
Severus stared at their intertwined fingers, his breath unsteady.
She wasn’t letting go.
Did she understand what she was saying? What she was offering?
Giving up her family’s expectations—for him? Throwing away a life of power, wealth, and status because of a quiet, half-spoken confession he hadn’t even meant to say?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
His grip tightened slightly around her hand, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You’d really do that?”
Y/N exhaled, something relieved in her expression.
“I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Severus felt something in his chest ache.
“I don’t want you to regret it,” he murmured.
“I won’t,” she said immediately. “But you have to tell me, Sev… if I gave it all up—my family’s expectations, the stupid arranged marriage—if I walked away from all of it…”
She hesitated, then asked, softer, “Would you want me?”
Severus inhaled sharply.
The answer was yes. Of course it was yes.
But admitting it and saying it aloud would make it real.
And if he let himself have this, let himself believe that someone like her could choose someone like him…
“I—” His voice faltered, thick with something he couldn’t name. “Y/N, this isn’t fair to you.”
Y/N let out a soft, exasperated laugh. “Severus, I’m the one making this choice. And I’d choose you. Every time.”
Severus felt his world tilt.
Every time.
He looked at her then and for the first time in his life, he let himself want.
Slowly, hesitantly, he raised their joined hands, pressing his lips lightly against the back of hers.
It was the smallest, softest thing.
But Y/N inhaled sharply, eyes widening because she knew. She knew what it meant.
Severus pulled away just slightly, his lips barely brushing against her skin as he whispered, “Then I’d choose you, too.”
Y/N’s breath hitched.
He held her gaze, his fingers still curled gently around hers, his lips still tingling from where they had touched her skin.
Y/N swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Say it again.”
Severus exhaled shakily. He didn’t need to ask what she meant.
“I’d choose you,” he murmured.
Her grip on his hand tightened, like she was trying to ground herself. And then, without thinking, Y/N surged forward, wrapping her arms around him.
Severus stiffened but only for a second. Because as soon as he processed what was happening, he melted into it.
His arms hesitated before slowly wrapping around her, his hand coming up to rest on the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.
She smelled like fresh strawberry milk and ink and something inherently her, something warm and safe and entirely forbidden.
“I meant it, Sev,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“I don’t care about any of it. I just—” She pulled back slightly, her hands gripping the front of his robes.
“I want you.”
“Y/N…”
She shook her head.
“No, don’t try to push me away again. You want me too, I know you do. So tell me, Severus Snape—do you want me enough to fight for this?”
He would burn the entire world if it meant keeping her.
His grip on her waist tightened as he exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for it.”
Y/N’s lips parted slightly, eyes searching his. “You mean it?”
Instead of answering, Severus did the one thing he’d never allowed himself to do.
He leaned in, slowly and carefully, giving her a chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
And when their lips finally met, it was soft and tentative, like the two of them were still learning how to have this, how to believe in it.
But then Y/N sighed against his mouth, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer and suddenly, there was nothing hesitant about it.
Severus kissed her like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life and didn’t know if he’d ever get it again.
Because maybe he wouldn’t.
Maybe the world would take this from him.
But not today. And maybe not ever.
Today, she was his. Tomorrow, she’ll be his.
Severus tightened his grip on her waist, searching her face as if trying to make sense of her words.
“You know you’ll get disowned for being with a half-blood,” he muttered.
But Y/N only laughed. A soft, amused sound, like the thought of it didn’t bother her in the slightest.
“At least my mother would have the pleasure of blasting my face off that stupid family tree,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s been dying to do it for years, anyway.”
Severus frowned. “Y/N—”
“No, Sev.” She reached up, brushing a strand of his dark hair away from his face.
“I mean it. My family doesn’t control me. Not my mother, not my father, not Sirius—no one.” Her voice softened as she cupped his cheek.
“I choose you.”
Severus inhaled sharply.
He had spent his whole life being a second choice. An afterthought. Someone people tolerated but never chose.
But Y/N… she wasn’t hesitating.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” he whispered, barely trusting his voice.
Y/N smiled. Smirked, actually. “I do.”
She leaned closer, eyes flickering between his lips and his gaze.
“Now, are you going to keep questioning my life choices, or are you going to kiss me again?”
Severus let out something between a sigh and a laugh before giving in.
He kissed her.
And this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing.
Because, for once in his life, someone had chosen him.
As if she hadn’t just turned his world upside down, Y/N pulled away, settled comfortably beside him, and asked,
“So, tell me about that new potion you were working on.”
Severus blinked. “What?”
She smirked. “You were ranting about it last week, remember? Something about stabilizing the Wolfsbane formula? I was listening, you know.”
Severus stared at her, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The kiss, the way she had chosen him so effortlessly. And now, she was acting like it was just another normal afternoon between them.
But that was Y/N Black. She had always been like this. Unshaken. Unbothered. Acting like she hadn’t just kissed him like she meant it.
And Merlin help him, but Severus loved that about her.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
Y/N just grinned.
Severus rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Fine. If you must know…” He turned slightly, getting into his usual lecture mode. “The problem with the Wolfsbane Potion is its volatility when stored improperly. The key is stabilizing the aconite concentration without diminishing its effects—”
And just like always, Y/N listened.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded in quiet interest, and let him speak.
And for the first time in his life, Severus felt like someone truly wanted to hear what he had to say.
They had been deep in conversation—Severus explaining the intricacies of potion stabilization, his voice passionate, his hands gesturing slightly as he spoke.
And then, out of nowhere, he said—
“And did you know, for the longest time, I have had my eyes on you and you don’t even realize that I’m so in love with you.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.
She turned to him, eyes wide, searching his face for any hint that he was joking. But Severus was dead serious.
His dark eyes held hers, unwavering, like he had needed to say it. Like it had been clawing at him for years. And for once, he didn’t look like he regretted speaking.
Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again, completely caught off guard.
“You—” She let out a breathless laugh.
“You just say things like that in the middle of a potions discussion?”
Severus smirked slightly, but his voice was softer when he said, “I suppose I do.”
Y/N shook her head in disbelief, a grin tugging at her lips. “Sev—”
“I mean it.” His fingers twitched where they rested against the table.
“I have for a long time.”
Y/N’s chest ached.
Slowly, she reached over, threading her fingers through his.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m so in love with you, too.”
Something in Severus’ expression softened.
He squeezed her hand.
“Good,” he murmured.
Severus furrowed his brows as Y/N suddenly pulled away, tilting her head at him with a knowing smirk.
“Where’s my Snitch, Sev?” she asked.
Severus hesitated for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his robes, fingers brushing against the small, familiar golden ball. He had carried it with him every day since she gave it to him, unwilling to part with something so hers.
Wordlessly, he handed it back.
Y/N took it with a quiet hum, running her fingers over the cool metal before pressing it open with ease.
Severus watched as the delicate wings fluttered, revealing a small folded note inside. His stomach tightened—he had never opened it before. He hadn’t even realized there was something inside.
Y/N didn’t say anything. She simply pulled out the note, unfolded it, and turned it around for him to see.
Severus’ breath hitched.
There, in her familiar handwriting, were three simple words:
“I choose you, Severus Snape.”
His heart stopped.
And then it raced.
His lips parted slightly as he stared at her, eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.
But she only smiled, pressing the Snitch back into his palm.
“Keep it for me, won’t you?” she murmured.
Severus swallowed hard, fingers curling tightly around the Snitch, holding onto it like a lifeline.
He had never been given something so precious before.
playing dirty
oct 20 ⋆ locker room / hate sex
rival!james potter x slytherin!reader
summary: angrily storming into the gryffindor locker room has an unexpected outcome ♱ 2.5k
warnings: 18+ mdni, fingering, unprotected p in v, pulling out, biting, hate sex, choking (briefly), no aftercare, are locker rooms considered semi public? fem!reader, james is taller, hogwarts university au
kinktober masterlist
note: not sure how i feel about this but i hope yall still enjoy <3
A chorus of laughter echoes through the room, James’s arrogant cackle booming above them all as if he lives to be the center of attention. It makes your blood boil as you stomp into the steamy locker room, still adorned in your heavy Quidditch robes, a flash of green in the sea of red. Your presence goes unnoticed until you’re face-to-face with the golden boy himself.
“What the fuck was that, Potter?!” you shout in his face, shoving his shoulder harshly.
The Gryffindor team grumbles in protest at your intrusion. James’s mouth curls into that smug smirk, and you’d like nothing more than to smack it off.
Your last name slips from his lips far too warmly to be that of his biggest rival. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” he asks, squaring his shoulders, recovering so quickly from your shove that it’s like you never laid a hand on him.
You hate James Potter. It pisses you off to no end how he has this school wrapped around his little finger. Professors favor him, and your peers adore him. But to you, he’s just an arrogant prick with a charming smile that you see right through.
The rivalry started early in your academic career. He’s your match in the classroom, and you’ve been competing for top student since the start. But the day he spilled pumpkin juice on your Transfiguration notes before a big exam, it took a turn for the worse. You swear he did it on purpose. To his credit, he let you borrow his notes to copy down all that was lost in the sticky mess. But the extra time spent on that dug into the time you should have been completing your practice essays. You weren’t going to let that go, which is why you didn’t return his notes until five minutes before the exam. The academic sabotage only escalated from there.
How each of you manages to stay on top of the rigorous coursework while scheming against one another is a mystery to many. Especially since you each continue to be the students with the highest marks in the class.
When you joined Quidditch, it was no different. It doesn’t help that your two teams have a long-standing rivalry—one far bigger than just you and James. The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams are already in fierce competition on the field. But it goes much deeper than that for you and James. You compete for the best stats, the best technique, the fastest maneuvers. Your dedication to outshining one another even landed each of you the role of captain of your respective teams, which only added fuel to the fire.
“You are a dirty cheater!” you shout, sticking your finger in his face.
The tips of James’s ears redden, a surge of anger coursing through him at the accusation. He bites the inside of his cheek to maintain his cool.
“Come on. Don’t throw around accusations like that just because you’re a sore loser.”
The game was in your favor right up until the end. Slytherin had such a far lead that even catching the snitch wouldn’t save Gryffindor from defeat. Not unless their chasers could score and their offense could keep Regulus Black from the little golden ball. And Regulus was closing in, his fingertips were grazing the wing of the snitch, when a bludger whizzed by his head. A warning shot. He had to dive sharply to escape the two that followed, allowing the Gryffindor seeker to surge forward and take his place tailing the snitch. None of this was illegal, but the broom maneuver James pulled off to get his quaffle through the hoop just before his seeker caught the snitch was far too similar to an illegal move that lost the Holyhead Harpies the cup fifteen years ago. Not similar enough for it to get flagged, and only a true fan of Quidditch would recognize the similarity to begin with. So of course you recognized it. And it made you see red.
You scoff. “That move was borderline illegal!”
A laugh rumbles in James’s chest. “Borderline being the operative word, sweetheart. Come on, if you really believed I actually made an illegal move, you wouldn’t be in here. You’d be talking to an official.”
“Maybe it’s not about the rules, Potter. Maybe I thought you wanted to win fairly, not by making cheap shots. It’s shameful. Your team should be embarrassed.”
Some of his teammates step forward, ready to come to their captain’s defense, but James stops their advances with a simple raise of his hand. Without breaking eye contact with you, he juts his chin towards the door. His team clears out without a word of protest.
“Sending them away so they can’t hear another word of the truth?” you bite.
Something a mix between a scoff and a laugh slips past his lips. He gazes down at you for a long while before he speaks.
“You know, you’re cute when you’re mad.”
You blink. It feels like your brain short-circuits. You were expecting outrage at the accusation, maybe some cheap name-calling. Not that. He’s never said anything like that to you before.
“What?” you ask when you finally get over your initial shock.
“Your nose. Scrunches up like an adorable little bunny,” he muses, eyes trained on your nose as you instantly smooth out your features.
The comment feels condescending, but he sounds so genuinely taken by you that you don’t know what to think.
“Did I miss you taking a bludger to the head?” you ask, bewildered. “Because I will be seriously disappointed if I missed something like that.”
“Come on, lighten up. Why don’t you let me help you blow off some steam?”
“What the fuck has gotten into you?”
What’s gotten into James is that he’s tired of pretending he’s not stupidly attracted to you. He’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want you. And he’s tired of all the foreplay—the arguments, the sabotage. Of getting all worked up after a screaming match, and jacking off in his dorm to the thought of you screaming his name in another context.
But don’t get it twisted. He’s not secretly in love with you or anything. This isn’t one of those “he’s mean because he likes you” cliches. He really does hate you. He just also happens to think you’re hot as fuck.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t at least thought about it,” he says in a low, velvety voice as he steps closer.
You take a step back. Your expression says that you find that notion ridiculous, but there’s something in your eyes. A certain flicker that betrays you. So James keeps going, walking you back until you’re wedged between him and the lockers.
“I have,” he murmurs. “I think about it all the time. What you’d look like under me, what you’d sound like… what you’d feel like around me.”
“You’re disgusting,” you gasp, ignoring the way his words ignite a certain heat deep in your gut.
James shrugs. “Maybe. But I think if you didn’t like it, you’d have hexed me half to death by now.”
You swallow hard, trying and failing to convince yourself that he’s not at least on the right track. You’re not blind, after all. You know James is attractive. Really attractive. Especially when he’s angry, and his sharp features are hardened into a scowl as he argues with you. But regardless, if someone asked you earlier today if you’d ever hook up with him, you’d surely have either laughed your head off or been sick at the thought. But now? With him looking at you like that, standing so close, towering over you. All broad shoulders and tousled hair… Now, your mind is going other places.
Still, he finds a way to remind you how much you hate him.
James presses a hand against the cool metal beside your head, halfway to boxing you in. “Listen, I’m on a high from winning, and I wanna bet you’re feeling pretty low from that loss. Let’s face it—that was brutal. What d’you say we find some way to channel all this emotion?”
His tone is dripping with that arrogance you hate so much, almost like he expects you to fall at his feet instantly.
“Come on, don’t act like you’re not dying for the chance, anyway. You’re lucky I’m even offering.”
Your anger is back, but this time it’s a blinding rage. How dare he speak to you like that? He’s so bloody full of himself, and you have an intense urge to put him back in his place. Without a second thought, you raise your hand and slap him hard across the face.
James is taken aback by the sudden blow. His hand comes up to his cheek, rubbing at the stinging skin, hot to the touch and already blooming pink. His narrowed eyes fall back on you as he rolls his jaw.
For a moment, you both stare each other down, hot breaths mingling in the small space between you.
Then, you both surge forward at the same time, lips smashing together in a heated kiss, hands flying out to grab at each other anywhere you can reach. The kiss messy. Mostly teeth and tongue as you scramble to get each other out of your robes.
You forget all about how he sickens you as his large hands push under your shirt and his lips trail down to your jaw. Hot and heavy breaths fall from his lips as he mouths at your skin. James bites down on your jaw, and the moan that falls from your lips is less than dignified.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” you say, your voice coming out breathier than you wanted it to as James trails his lips down to your chest as soon as he gets your top half bare.
“Obviously,” he grunts, taking you by the hips and spinning you around. You gasp when he presses you firmly against the cold metal of the lockers. He continues nipping at your neck as he grinds against your ass. The press of his bulge has you biting down on your lower lip. You’re mildly annoyed at how big he feels against you, knowing it’s just another thing he lets get to his head, but you’re more distracted by how good it feels than anything else.
James hooks his fingers in your waistband, pulling your panties down with your trousers in one go. You’ve barely stepped out of them before his hand is between your thighs, running his fingers through your soaked folds.
You feel his smug smirk against your neck as he plunges two fingers into your pussy.
“Should’ve known you’d be this fucking wet. What happened to hating m—”
“Shut the fuck up and fuck me already before I turn around and slap you again,” you interrupt sharply. If you’re really doing this—stooping this low—you’re not letting him get a complex about it.
James scoffs, but he removes his fingers from inside of you to push his trousers down, freeing his aching cock. He pumps it with his hand a few times, spreading your slick from his fingers down his length, before he lines up with your entrance.
To his dismay, James is skipping a few steps. Namely, he wants to taste you—worse, he’d already be on his knees if it wouldn’t be so terribly pathetic of him. And if you hadn’t sounded so hot when you told him to fuck you. Like you needed it. Still, he hopes he gets the chance some other time as he sinks into you.
“Fuck,” he groans into your neck. You’re so tight around him that it makes him feel lightheaded.
You were right about him being big, definitely bigger than you’ve ever had. The stretch has you gasping, and you can’t quite catch your breath, especially when he starts pounding into you with no remorse mere seconds after he bottoms out for the first time.
His big arms snake around your body. One hand travels up, closing around your neck tight enough to give you a head rush. The other dips between your legs, quickly finding your clit to rub fast circles against.
You try to muffle your moans, pressing your lips firmly together, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing you fall apart on his cock. But he’s not having it. He moves his hand from your neck to your face, squishing your cheeks until your mouth falls wide open.
“Come on, let me hear how good I’m making you feel,” he pants into your ear. “You’re making me feel amazing,” he adds, because he knows you won’t be the first to give in, and he’s just about willing to do anything to hear the sounds you can make.
His actions are rewarded with a long, whiny moan that nearly makes him cum right then and there. He curses under his breath, slowing his thrusts to regain some semblance of control. Even so, neither of you lasts very long. Maybe the arguing and competing really is a good form of foreplay, because you both are clearly pent up.
James turns your head, capturing your lips in a kiss as your orgasm crashes over you. He moans into your mouth as your walls clench around him. Fuck, he wants to cum inside you—he almost does at the idea. But you’d probably do worse than kill him if he did.
He curses as he pulls out of you, finishing himself off with a few pumps with a shaky hand, shooting hot ropes of cum onto your ass, a chorus of groans spilling from his throat.
When you both come down from your highs, he has the decency to hand you a towel, but after that, he goes right back to being the dickhead you know and hate.
“Mind getting the fuck out of our locker room? I need a shower.”
“You’re a fucking asshole, Potter,” you mutter, hurrying to pull your clothes back on once you’ve wiped yourself clean. Part of you can’t believe you just did that. But you can’t say you regret it either.
As you head for the exit, James stops you with a call of your name.
“Hey, wait.”
“What?” you ask in a bored tone, ready to get into a shower of your own.
He flashes you a toothy grin, “Same time next week?”
You flip him off and leave without another word, swearing to yourself that it won’t happen again, no matter how much you might’ve enjoyed it.
Spoiler alert: it happens again.
You start to realize you’re in trouble when James starts calling it your “post-game tradition,” and instead of rolling your eyes, you actually quirk a smile.
every reblog and comment means the world <3 i’d love to hear your thoughts
sypnosis: two different personalities falling in love. so in love that it consumes you.
warning: not proofread. lowercase writing. definitely ooc.
i tried to make this angst but i figured the album's already devastating. i hope you see what i did here with lorenzo and an OR song
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your red ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
attention came naturally to lorenzo berkshire. the entire school is drawn to his optimism, his confidence, and the way he manages to make friends with anybody. originally, you thought that maybe it was too good to be true. until you saw him in his element: music and quidditch.
he was passionate. and he was very talented
the first time you saw it was at a quidditch game. lorenzo soars into the air, a huge grin on his face as he shoots the quaffle into the goal the tweny-fourth time since this game started. he played like someone who loved the game more than he loved to win. each swerve and dive was reckless, the type only he could have the confidence to do. some girls behind you swoon as lorenzo effortlessly passes the quaffle to theodore, swiftly dodging the gryffindor's bludger.
you were in awe. you barely even understood who won, you assumed it was slytherin by the way the gryffindors next to you looked. staring at him, hyperfocused, you noticed the way he settles onto the grounds. he smiles, giving high fives to the younger years in their team. his warmth was contagious
the next time you witnessed lorenzo Berkshire in his element was at a party in the slytherin common rooms, one where pansy parkinson had to convince you to come. parties are not exactly your scene, telling her "i'd rather be in bed, pans." but pansy always finds a way. and you're grateful she did.
because by the time you joined the party, lorenzo is on the makeshift stage in the middle of the room with three other people. his electric guitar resting on the top of his hip, attached around his body with a thick strap. toying with the strings of the guitar, his face focused with his teeth chewing on his lower lip. you barely even payed attention to the rest of the band.
lorenzo never stood in the center of the room, yet he drew the attention effortlessly. his fingers moves with ease that made it look seamless. his head is dipped whenever he smiled to himself, the tune of his guitar supporting the lead guitar's solo. the way his curls fall into his face, shaking them away without missing a beat. he looks up, smiling widely at the crowd of slytherin, ravenclaw, and hufflepuff students dancing and jumping to the beat.
lorenzo grins, laughing when mattheo, theodore, and blaise cheer him on from the other corner of the room. the sound is bright enough to slip through the music, it was impossible to look away and you were falling before you know it.
my blue 𓂃⋆.˚
the last few days of fall was your favorite part of the year. before the school gets covered in a blanket of snow, you took every chance you got to study or read by the black lake. what you were unaware of, was that lorenzo had started to take notice of you, too.
he flies forward on his quidditch broom, his hair slick with sweat as he completes his quidditch drills with the rest of the group. lorenzo looks around, taking a breather mid-air, when he sees her. he sees her from a far, scarf all the way up to her cheeks as she flips through a book he couldn't decipher from above. lorenzo's interest is piqued, the rest of the practice he couldn't help but focus on you in his peripheral vision.
since that day, he noticed you in that position every practice. lorenzo berkshire was charming. the attention came with a reputation, and talking to you was what stumped him. it took him a total of three weeks and four days before he could muster up the courage to talk to you.
"hey! y/n, right?" he asks, catching up to you on your way to class, a bashful smile on his face. "i see you from practice sometimes, studying by the black lake."
you looked at him, stunned. you had barely registered the fact he was talking to you because, well, he was talking to you. "hello, yes... do you need something?" you spoke, confused. why was he talking to you? you two were like on different sides of the same universe.
he smiles wider, even, you were so sure yoh were making a fool of yourself. "i've been meaning to introduce myself. and say hello." he adds, letting out a small huff of laughter.
you barely even realized you were returning a smile back. "everyone knows who you are, lorenzo." you said and his neck turns red. he shook his head and smiles. "i.. guess you're right. but i still wanted to introduce myself... and maybe get to know you?"
you could've sworn you were dreaming.
𑣲purple
you couldn't tell when it happened. or how it happened. you and lorenzo fell in love with no warnings. he had been promoted to captain of his team two years later, on your last year at hogwarts. dating him was simple. easy. it felt almost like breathing.
dating him was sitting on the stands during quidditch practice, waiting for him to finish practice, just to walk together to your dorm. it meant sitting through every rehearsal, trying your best to study with music in the room.
"i have to study, baby." you pouted softly at his attempt to pursuade you to stay the night at his dorm. his hands resting on your hips, yours around his neck. he groans, dramatically, and shakes his head.
"then let me come with you." he pleads. "i missed you."
"i missed you too, but i can't focus with you in the room." you chuckle softly, shaking your head. "we'll see each other tomorrow." and lorenzo scoffs at that, hating that he'd have to wait twelve more hours to see you.
it happened before you even knew. the quidditch pitch became a regular for you, you don't remember when it started, but it quickly became a part of your weekends. they were loud, crowded, and incredibly chaotic. but lorenzo played amazingly. and he loved how you waited for him after the game. the afternoons you've spent with his band's rehearsals, watching him play and waiting for him to finish up. the lines blurred into a circle.
you don't remember the last time you went to the black lake alone, two spots instead of one occupied the willow tree nearest to the edge of the lake. the library table by the south entrance you love for its quietness became a table for two, you saved a seat for him even without realizing it.
his world became yours, and yours became his.
lorenzo smiles, his arms snaking around your waist from behind as he settles his head on your shoulder. you could feel his breath on your neck when he asks, "how's my girl?"
it was two in the morning after one of his rehearsals, you smiled tiredly, shaking your head. "sleepy."
grinning, he peppered kisses on your neck gently, squeezing you. "m'sorry practice ran late." you hum, nodding.
"i liked the book you recommended me. it's very you." he hums into your ear quietly.
"hm? when?"
"the other night."
you smiled, surprised he even found the time. for something you enjoyed.
your lives intertwined, finding each other again and again, until two lines stopped looking so separate.
