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iv'e finally managed the decision that i should post on ao3 and there it is! i'm so so excited and i hope that more people from tumblr will read my full fanfictions there since (unfortunately) tumblr doesn't allow longer text.

right now i'm mainly focused on the jinxed trylogy but i will update the fanfictions that i posted here on ao3. if you already like what is here i'm sure you'll love them way more expaned there.

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Chapter 16: Suspicious Kindness

pairing: Fred Weasley x OC synopsis: Esther Black, a Slytherin burdened by her family’s dark legacy, is known as “Jinxed Black” for the trouble that seems to follow her. In her fifth year, she finds unexpected comfort—and love—in Fred Weasley, one half of Hogwarts’ mischievous prankster duo. When news breaks of her uncle Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban, Esther begins unraveling secrets about her family’s past, uncovering a truth that could change everything. Torn between house loyalties, forbidden love, and the courage to stand for what’s right, Esther must defy expectations to forge her own path. tags: romantic, comedy, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst author's note: NEXT CHAPTER

The library was nearly empty, save for the occasional sound of pages turning or quills scratching against parchment. Esther Black leaned against one of the towering bookshelves, arms crossed, watching the lone figure hunched over a table in the farthest corner.

Harry Potter.

She had spent the past few weeks convincing herself that he didn’t need her. He had his friends, his own stubbornness, and an entire castle full of people willing to throw themselves into the fire for him. And yet, she kept watching. Not out of curiosity, not out of some misplaced sense of obligation, but because—whether she liked it or not—she could see the cracks forming.

The way his shoulders slumped under the weight of expectations. The way his fingers twitched in frustration as he scribbled notes. The way his friends, as loyal as they were, couldn’t quite touch the quiet loneliness that lingered beneath it all.

She knew what it was like to be watched and not truly seen.

With a sigh, Esther pushed off the bookshelf and made her way toward his table, careful not to startle him. Up close, she could see the deep circles under his eyes, the furrow in his brow as he glared down at his Potions essay like it had personally offended him.

"You look like you're about to set that parchment on fire," she remarked, sliding into the chair across from him.

Harry’s head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing. He didn’t reach for his wand, but there was tension in his posture, suspicion flickering across his face.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

Esther held up her hands in mock surrender. "Relax, I’m not here to hex you." She glanced at his parchment. "Though judging by the state of your essay, you might wish I was."

Harry scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "If you’re just here to take the piss, you can leave."

"I’m not," she said, leaning forward. "I’m here to help. If you’ll let me."

Harry didn’t reply immediately. He just stared at her, like he was trying to figure out what game she was playing. She could practically hear his thoughts—A Slytherin? Offering to help me? The distrust was obvious, and honestly, she didn’t blame him.

Still, he must have been desperate, because after a long pause, he pushed the essay toward her. "Fine."

Esther smirked. "Good choice, Potter."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was scowling slightly less.

"So, the whole trick to identifying the properties of moonstone isn’t just about its reaction with the Draught of Peace," Esther explained, tapping her quill against the parchment. "It’s also how it interacts with other ingredients. If you mix it with powdered root of asphodel—"

"—it neutralizes its effects," Harry finished, his expression shifting from frustration to realization.

Esther nodded. "Exactly."

He stared at his notes for a moment before sighing. "Snape’s never going to give me a decent grade, even if I get this right."

"Probably not," she admitted. "But at least you won’t embarrass yourself completely."

Harry huffed a quiet laugh—more of an exhale than anything—but it was something. Esther found herself watching him a second longer than necessary before shaking herself out of it.

"Why are you helping me?" Harry asked suddenly, fixing her with a sharp look.

Esther hesitated. She could have given him a dozen answers—because she pitied him, because she was bored, because it was funny watching him struggle—but none of them were true.

"Because I can," she finally said.

Harry frowned, as if waiting for the catch. When none came, he just shook his head and muttered, "Weird."

"Says the boy who nearly died playing Quidditch," she shot back, standing and stretching her arms above her head.

Before Harry could reply, the library doors swung open with an exaggerated bang, making Madam Pince hiss from somewhere behind the shelves. Esther turned just in time to see two identical redheads strolling in like they owned the place.

Fred and George Weasley.

And judging by the way their gazes immediately locked onto her, she was in trouble.

"Oi, Esther!" Fred called, far too loud for the library. "Didn’t get the memo on you and Potter becoming best mates."

George smirked, elbowing his twin. "Since when are you two study buddies? Should we start scheduling double dates with Granger and Ron?"

Harry let out a groan. "Merlin, no."

Esther crossed her arms and leveled them with an unimpressed look. "If you two had half a brain between you, you’d realize I was helping him with Potions."

"Oh, we noticed," Fred said, his grin widening as he leaned against the table. "Didn’t know you were offering tutoring sessions, love. Should I sign up?"

"You’re beyond help," she shot back, ignoring the way her pulse quickened at the nickname.

Fred placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "You wound me, Esther. Truly."

George, meanwhile, waggled his eyebrows. "Should we be worried, Fred? First she’s watching Potter from across the room, now she’s spending late nights tutoring him."

"Next thing you know, she’ll be knitting him a Weasley jumper," Fred added with mock horror.

"Oh, shut up," Esther muttered, pushing past them.

Fred, of course, wasn’t done. He fell into step beside her, his smirk never wavering. "You know, if you wanted my attention that badly, you could’ve just asked."

Esther rolled her eyes. "Don’t flatter yourself, Weasley."

Fred grinned. "Too late."

As they reached the corridor, Esther made the mistake of glancing up at him. There was something different in the way he was looking at her—less teasing, more thoughtful. As if he was seeing something he hadn’t noticed before.

The realization sent an unfamiliar warmth curling in her chest.

She swallowed hard and looked away.

Fred, apparently, wasn’t going to let her escape that easily.

"You really care, don’t you?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Esther hesitated. She could deny it. She could brush it off, turn it into a joke like they always did. But for some reason, standing here, with Fred looking at her like that… she didn’t want to.

"Maybe," she admitted. "A little."

Fred’s smirk softened into something else entirely. "You’re full of surprises, Black."

Esther huffed. "You have no idea."

And before he could say anything else—before she did something stupid, like let herself get used to the way he was looking at her—she turned on her heel and walked away.

She only made it three steps before she heard him call after her.

"Oi, Esther!"

She paused.

"If you ever need a study partner… you know where to find me."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her lips as she disappeared down the hall.

It wasn’t much.

But it was a small step.

Chapter 15: A Promise Remembered

The dungeons were quieter than usual, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows against the damp stone walls. Esther Black sat at her usual spot in the Slytherin common room, books spread out before her, but her mind was far from the neatly written potions notes. Instead, her thoughts lingered on the last time she had spoken to Sirius Black.

Esther didn’t remember Sirius Black. Not really.

She had been three years old when he was taken to Azkaban—too young to recall his face, his voice, or the way he might have looked at her. All she had were fragments, pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite put together. A rough hand ruffling her hair. Laughter—loud, reckless, and warm—echoing in the halls of a house that had long since grown cold. The scent of something unfamiliar, something that didn’t belong in Grimmauld Place.

She hadn’t understood it then, but now she knew: that scent had been freedom.

The only true connection she had to her uncle was through the whispers that followed his name. He was the Black family’s greatest disgrace, the traitor, the murderer, the madman. Her father never spoke of him. Her mother only ever mentioned him in hushed conversations behind closed doors.

And yet, despite it all, a part of her wondered—if she had known him, truly known him, would he have been different from the rest of them? Would he have been the family she had always longed for?

She had never thought it would matter.

But now, Sirius was free.

And for the first time, she found herself desperate to know the truth. At least since he escaped.

And with his escape, whispers followed—whispers of Harry Potter, of danger, of things stirring in the shadows. Esther had spent years keeping her head down, avoiding the tangled web of the Black family’s sins. She wasn’t like her mother’s side of the family, and she certainly wasn’t like the Malfoys, despite sharing blood with them. She was just Esther. And Harry? He had Dumbledore, McGonagall, the Weasleys, and Granger. He didn’t need her.

At least, that’s what she had told herself.

But lately, she found herself watching Harry more than she meant to. The way his shoulders tensed when someone mentioned Sirius. The way exhaustion lined his face, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes. He had friends, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made her wonder—was he as alone as she sometimes felt?

She had been staring at him again during dinner when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"New hobby, Esther? Potter-watching?"

She blinked, turning to find Fred Weasley smirking at her, arms crossed over his chest. George stood beside him, wearing an identical grin.

"Didn’t know you fancied reckless heroes," George added, nudging her shoulder.

Esther scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, please. If I were going to waste my time on reckless heroes, I’d have picked one that doesn’t have a permanent reservation at the hospital wing."

Fred gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me, love. And here I thought you had good taste."

"I do," she quipped, picking up a bread roll and chucking it at him. He dodged it easily, laughing.

George leaned in, lowering his voice. "But seriously, what’s with all the staring? Jealous he gets all the attention?"

She hesitated, fingers tightening around the goblet in her hand. She wasn’t jealous. If anything, she was realizing—against her better judgment—that maybe, just maybe, she had a role to play in all of this.

Fred must have caught the shift in her expression because his teasing faded just slightly. His gaze softened. "You alright?"

Esther nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," he said, nudging her foot under the table.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "You’d know."

Later that evening, as the castle settled into quiet, Esther found herself on the Astronomy Tower, arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the sky. The stars were bright, untouched by the darkness of her thoughts.

"Planning a dramatic escape?"

She turned to find Fred standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, the usual mischief in his eyes tempered with something softer.

"If I were, I’d hardly pick the tallest tower," she said.

Fred stepped closer, his presence warm against the chill of the night. "You’ve been thinking a lot lately. I can tell. You get this little furrow in your brow."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Studying me, Weasley?"

He grinned. "Always."

There was a pause, the teasing settling into something quieter.

"You don’t have to tell me," he said after a moment. "But if you need to talk, I’m here."

Esther hesitated. Letting people in had never been easy. But Fred—Fred was different. He made everything feel lighter, like the weight of her name and its expectations didn’t matter when he was around.

She took a slow breath. "I think I have to help him. Harry, I mean."

Fred nodded, as if he had known all along that she’d come to this conclusion. "Then you will."

"It won’t be easy," she admitted.

"Nothing worth it ever is."

She looked up at him then, realizing just how close he was. The moonlight caught in his hair, turning the usual copper into something almost golden.

"You really believe that?" she asked, voice quieter than before.

Fred grinned. "I do. And I also believe you’re going to do whatever mad, brilliant thing you’ve got brewing in that head of yours."

Esther rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you still tolerate me," he said, leaning in just slightly.

Her heart stuttered.

Fred Weasley was reckless and ridiculous and entirely too smug for his own good. But he had also been the one person who had never treated her like she was cursed. He had never looked at her like she was a Black. Just Esther.

So, for once, she let herself stop thinking.

And when she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his, she realized something else

She didn’t mind being a little reckless, too.

Chapter 14: Not So Jinxed

The castle was quiet at this hour. Most students had retreated to their common rooms, the distant hum of conversation muffled by the thick stone walls of Hogwarts. Esther Black, however, had no interest in returning to the Slytherin dormitory.

Her mind was restless, tangled in the impossible choice she had made.

Sirius Black. A fugitive. A murderer in the eyes of the world.

And yet, the more she replayed their conversation, the more she knew he was telling the truth. Her father, Regulus, had turned against the Dark Lord. Sirius had never betrayed his friends. The Black family legacy, the one she had fought against for so long, was not as simple as she had believed.

Her fingers clenched at her sleeves as she walked aimlessly through the dimly lit corridors, her boots barely making a sound against the stone floor.

She didn’t know where she was going.

Or, perhaps, she did.

Because somehow, when she finally stopped, she was standing outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

And Fred Weasley was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if he had been waiting for her.

Esther stiffened. "Weasley."

"Black," he greeted smoothly, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. His usual smirk was in place, but there was something else in his expression—curiosity, maybe even concern.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than flustered.

Fred quirked an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing. Slytherins don’t normally wander this far unless they’re plotting something particularly nefarious."

Esther sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Not tonight, Weasley."

His teasing faltered. "Alright, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong," she muttered, but even she knew it was unconvincing.

Fred studied her, then suddenly turned on his heel. "Come on."

She blinked. "What?"

He glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward a nearby stairwell. "Walk with me."

Esther hesitated. She should go back to the dungeons. She should let this go.

But instead, she followed him.

They walked in silence at first, down the winding corridors of the castle. The torches flickered as they passed, casting long shadows along the walls.

Finally, Fred spoke. "I know that look, you know."

She frowned. "What look?"

"The one where you’re carrying the weight of the entire bloody world on your shoulders," he said casually. "It’s a very dramatic look, really. Thought that was more of a Gryffindor thing."

Esther let out a huff of laughter despite herself.

Fred grinned. "See? That’s better already."

She shook her head. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you’re still here," he pointed out.

She stopped walking.

Fred turned to face her, his smirk fading as he noticed the way her hands clenched at her sides.

"Fred," she said quietly, looking at him in a way she never had before. Like she was letting him see her, past the sharp wit and the stubborn exterior.

He waited.

"I need to tell you something," she admitted.

For once, Fred Weasley didn’t joke. He just nodded. "Alright."

Esther exhaled slowly, then looked him in the eye. "Sirius Black is innocent."

Fred stared at her.

A beat of silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken.

Then, slowly, he said, "You’re serious?"

She huffed. "That’s an awful pun, Weasley."

Fred’s lips twitched. "I’m coping."

Esther rolled her eyes. "Yes, I’m serious. I—" She hesitated, then pushed forward. She mumbled. "I spoke to him."

Fred’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"He’s not what the Ministry says he is," she continued, voice steadier now. "He didn’t betray the Potters. He didn’t kill those people. And he—" She swallowed. "He told me things about my father that no one else ever has."

Fred didn’t speak right away. He just studied her, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he asked, "And what are you going to do about it?"

That was the question, wasn’t it?

Esther bit her lip. "I don’t know," she admitted. "I want to help him, but if anyone finds out—"

"You’ll be in trouble," Fred finished.

"More than trouble," she muttered. "I could get expelled. Or worse."

Fred was quiet for a moment, then said, "You’re still going to do it, though, aren’t you?"

Esther exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Yes."

Fred’s lips curled slightly. "Knew you weren’t just another Slytherin."

She frowned. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Most of your lot would’ve run straight to Snape or Malfoy’s dad."

"Most of my lot?" she repeated, folding her arms.

Fred smirked. "Not you, though."

Esther rolled her eyes. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," Fred said, stepping just a little closer, "here you are, still talking to me."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

They were close now—closer than they had ever been before. Fred’s gaze flickered over her face, his usual playfulness replaced with something softer.

Esther’s heart was pounding.

This was dangerous. Not just because of Sirius. Not just because of the secret she was keeping.

But because Fred Weasley was becoming something she didn’t know how to handle.

"You’re not jinxed, you know," Fred said suddenly.

Esther blinked. "What?"

"You’re not cursed," he repeated. "Or doomed. Or whatever it is you tell yourself when things go wrong."

She swallowed. "You don’t know that."

Fred tilted his head. "I know you," he said simply.

Esther didn’t know how to respond to that.

So she didn’t.

Instead, she turned away. "I should go."

Fred didn’t stop her this time.

But as she walked away, his voice followed her through the corridor.

"You don’t have to do this alone, you know."

But there was one more thing she didn’t tell Fred about. Harry Potter.

Chapter 13: Loyalties and Lies

The weight of her decision sat heavy on Esther Black’s chest as she made her way back to the castle. The Forbidden Forest had long since swallowed Sirius Black’s hulking canine form, but his words still echoed in her mind.

"You have a choice."

"Your father did."

She had spent years trying to separate herself from her family’s legacy, from the cold, cruel expectations that came with being a Black. But now, everything she thought she knew was unraveling.

Her father, Regulus, had tried to make things right? Had turned against the Dark Lord?

And Sirius—Sirius wasn’t the traitor she had been raised to believe he was?

Her head ached from the weight of it all.

The castle loomed ahead, glowing in the moonlight. Esther picked up her pace, slipping in through a side corridor, hoping no one had noticed her absence.

But as she rounded the corner near the entrance to the dungeons, she walked straight into someone’s chest.

"Oi, watch where you’re—"

Fred Weasley stopped mid-sentence, blinking down at her.

She inhaled sharply, heart still racing from the forest. "Merlin’s beard, Weasley, what are you doing lurking around corners?"

Fred crossed his arms, a teasing smirk already forming. "I could ask you the same thing, Black. Not out causing mayhem, are you?"

Esther forced out a scoff, but it came out weaker than usual. "Like you have room to talk."

Fred narrowed his eyes slightly, his smirk fading just a bit as he took in her disheveled appearance. "Alright, what’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly.

Fred tilted his head, the mischief in his gaze giving way to something softer.

"You know," he mused, leaning casually against the stone wall, "you might be a Slytherin, but you’re a dreadful liar."

Esther glared at him, but her mind was still spinning. The last thing she needed was Fred Weasley analyzing her every move when she had a literal fugitive hiding in the forest.

"I’m fine," she insisted, stepping past him.

But Fred reached out, catching her wrist—not hard, just enough to make her pause.

"You don’t look fine," he said, quieter this time. His usual teasing edge was gone, replaced by something... genuine.

She hesitated.

Fred Weasley was the last person she should be confiding in. He was a Gryffindor. A troublemaker. He loved to get under her skin.

And yet, something about his presence, the ease with which he stood there, waiting, made the lump in her throat tighten.

"Just—" She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It’s been a long night."

Fred studied her for a moment before his grip on her wrist loosened, his fingers brushing against hers as he pulled away. "Well, in that case," he said, his smirk creeping back, "you could use a distraction."

Esther raised an eyebrow. "What kind of distraction?"

Fred grinned. "The best kind. Something to take your mind off whatever’s got you sneaking around in the dead of night looking like you’ve seen a ghost."

She huffed. If only he knew.

"Tempting," she muttered. "But I really need sleep."

Fred placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "Turning down quality Weasley entertainment? I’m hurt."

Despite herself, Esther’s lips twitched. "I’ll survive."

Fred, however, wasn’t done. He took a step closer, dropping his voice slightly. "You know," he said, "you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. But if you ever do want to talk, I’m an excellent listener."

Esther rolled her eyes. "You’re literally the worst listener in all of Hogwarts."

Fred gasped in mock offense. "That is slander, Black."

"It’s also true."

He grinned. "Maybe. But I make up for it by being devastatingly handsome."

Esther groaned. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," Fred said smugly, "here you are, still talking to me."

She couldn’t argue with that.

"Goodnight, Weasley," she said, shaking her head as she turned toward the dungeon entrance.

"Sweet dreams, Esther," he called after her.

She didn’t know if she’d have any dreams that night. But if she did, she was certain they’d be filled with dark forests, restless ghosts, and a pair of mischievous brown eyes watching her far too closely.

Breakfast at Hogwarts was usually loud, chaotic, and utterly impossible to enjoy in peace. This morning, however, Esther barely noticed the noise.

Her mind was still stuck in the Forbidden Forest.

Sirius was out there. Alone. Hunted.

And she had promised to help him.

"You have a choice."

She had made it. There was no turning back now.

Across the hall, the Gryffindor table erupted into laughter, and her eyes instinctively flicked over.

Fred Weasley was at the center of it, naturally, grinning as he waved a piece of toast around dramatically while George groaned beside him.

Esther quickly looked away, cursing the warmth that crept up her neck.

She had more important things to worry about than whatever that was.

Still, when Fred glanced her way and shot her a knowing smirk, she felt her stomach flip just the tiniest bit.

Trouble. He was nothing but trouble.

And for once, Esther wasn’t entirely sure she minded.

Later that afternoon Esther sat hunched over a pile of books, though she hadn’t turned a page in at least ten minutes. Her mind kept drifting back to Sirius. How was she supposed to help him? Sneaking food out of the kitchens was one thing, but anything beyond that seemed impossible.

The chair across from her scraped against the floor.

"Planning something nefarious, are we?"

Esther sighed. "Do you ever go away?"

Fred set his bag down on the table and grinned. "You’d be lost without me, Black."

"Funny," she muttered, flipping a page absently. "I feel quite found."

Fred leaned on the table, studying her with an infuriating amount of amusement. "So. What’s got you looking like you’re about to set that book on fire with your mind?"

Esther hesitated.

She couldn’t tell him. She shouldn’t tell him.

But Fred Weasley had a way of making people want to talk.

"I’m just... trying to figure something out," she admitted.

Fred nodded as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. "Well, if it involves sneaking into restricted areas or pulling off some sort of grand scheme, you’ve come to the right place."

Esther smirked despite herself. "I’ll keep that in mind."

"You’d better." Fred leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the chair beside him. "Though I have to say, I was expecting something more exciting from you. Maybe a secret plot to overthrow Snape."

Esther snorted. "If I had one, I wouldn’t tell you."

Fred sighed dramatically. "You wound me, Black."

She rolled her eyes but found herself smiling.

For the first time since last night, the weight in her chest felt a little lighter.

And that was dangerous.

Because she had a feeling Fred Weasley was about to become another problem she couldn’t ignore.

Chapter 12: The Truth Beneath the Moon

The Forbidden Forest was the last place any sane student would willingly enter, especially alone at night. But then again, Esther Black had never been particularly good at following rules—or at ignoring a lead when it practically begged to be pursued.

Wrapped in her cloak, she stepped carefully over tangled roots, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. The moon above offered only slivers of light through the canopy, casting eerie shadows along the forest floor.

She should have ignored the rumors. The hushed conversation she had overheard in the Slytherin common room—students whispering about a large black dog near the edge of the forest—should not have affected her as much as it had. But something deep in her gut told her it wasn’t just a wild rumor.

She had to know.

A twig snapped behind her, and she whirled around, heart hammering. The forest was full of creatures, some more dangerous than others. If she was caught out here, the least of her worries would be a month of detention with Filch.

Just as she was about to turn back, the bushes ahead rustled. Esther froze, raising her wand.

And then, stepping out from the shadows, was a massive black dog.

It was larger than any dog should be—its thick, matted fur blending into the darkness, its eyes sharp and intelligent. It didn’t snarl or growl. It just watched her.

A chill ran down her spine.

She knew, with certainty, that this was no ordinary dog.

Slowly, carefully, she took a step back. The dog took a step forward.

Her fingers twitched around her wand. “You’re him, aren’t you?” she whispered.

The dog’s ears flicked at her voice, but it didn’t move.

Then—before her very eyes—it shifted.

The transformation was seamless, as if the very air around it warped and twisted. One moment, there was a beast, and the next—

A man.

Sirius Black.

Even though she had expected it, Esther still felt her stomach twist.

His face was gaunt, his skin pale and stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. His dark hair hung in unkempt strands, and his robes were tattered and worn. But his eyes—his eyes were piercing, intelligent, and locked onto her with something unreadable.

Esther didn’t lower her wand.

Sirius smirked, a hollow, humorless thing. “Now, now. That’s no way to greet family, is it?”

Her grip tightened. “You don’t get to call me that.”

His expression flickered, but he only tilted his head. “And yet, here you are. Seeking me out.”

“I didn’t—” she hesitated. Lying to him felt pointless. “I needed to know if it was true.”

His smirk faded. “And now that you do?”

Esther exhaled sharply. “I should turn you in.”

His lips quirked upward, just slightly. “But you won’t.”

She hated how sure he sounded.

Sirius took a slow step toward her. “They’ve fed you all the same lies, haven’t they?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it—something bitter. “What did they tell you? That I was a traitor? That I killed thirteen people with a single curse?”

Esther hesitated, because that was exactly what they had told her.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she admitted.

Sirius studied her for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened.

“You look like him,” he said.

Her stomach flipped. “Like who?”

A pause. Then, quietly—“Regulus.”

She swallowed. Hard.

Her father’s name wasn’t one she heard often. Not at school. Not at home. It had been buried under the weight of the Black family legacy, the same way everything else had.

“You knew him.” It wasn’t a question.

Sirius’s jaw tightened. “He was my brother.”

Something unreadable passed between them.

“He believed in the cause,” Sirius continued, his voice thick with something almost like regret. “I thought he was just like the rest of them. The perfect little Black heir, desperate to please our mother, to uphold the family name.”

Esther’s fingers curled into a fist.

Sirius let out a harsh breath. “But he was just a kid. Too young to know what he was getting into.”

Esther flinched. She had never thought of her father like that—as someone who had been trapped, as someone who might not have had a choice.

She had spent her whole life being judged for her bloodline. For being a Black. For the name she carried. But she had never thought about what it had meant for him.

“What about your mother?” Sirius asked suddenly. “Edith?”

Esther blinked, caught off guard. “What about her?”

“I remember her,” Sirius said. “She never quite fit in with the family, did she?”

Esther let out a hollow laugh. “Walburga Black’s portrait still refuses to say her name.”

Sirius snorted. “That sounds about right.”

For a moment, the weight between them lightened. But it didn’t last.

Sirius’s expression turned serious once more. “I need you to do something for me, Esther.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And why would I help you?”

Sirius let out a breath. “Because you’re not like them.”

Esther’s jaw clenched. She had spent her whole life trying to prove that she was a true Black—that she belonged in Slytherin, that she wasn’t weak.

But standing here, she wasn’t sure if she had ever wanted that at all.

“What do you want?” she asked finally.

“I need you to look out for Harry.”

Esther blinked. “Harry Potter?”

“Who else?” Sirius sighed. “I can’t be there for him. Not yet. But you—you’re close enough.”

Esther frowned. “Why should I?”

Sirius’s eyes darkened. “Because he’s alone.”

She said nothing.

Sirius took a step closer, voice low. “The world thinks he’s the Boy Who Lived. A symbol. But he’s just a kid, Esther. A kid without parents. A kid whose only family is locked in a prison cell for something he didn’t do.”

Something in her chest twisted.

“He doesn’t know,” Sirius continued, voice rough. “Doesn’t know who I really am. Doesn’t know the truth about what happened to his parents.” He looked at her, really looked at her**.** “But you—you can help him, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

The words hit something deep inside her.

Blood.

That was what it always came down to, wasn’t it?

She had been judged for it. For being a Black. For carrying a name that was stained with dark history.

And now, here was Sirius Black—the family’s greatest disgrace—telling her that her blood meant something else.

That it wasn’t a curse.

That it was a choice.

Distant voices echoed through the trees.

Sirius stiffened. “They’re looking for me.”

Esther hesitated.

She could turn him in. She should.

Instead, she stepped back. “Go.”

Sirius blinked. “You’re letting me go?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted.

He studied her for a long moment. Then, he nodded.

Without another word, he shifted—fur replacing skin, limbs twisting back into that of a great black dog.

And then—he was gone.

Esther stood there for a long time, the weight of her choice pressing down on her.

Then, finally, she turned and made her way back toward the castle.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure what it meant to be a Black at all.

Chapter 11: No Turning Back

The energy of the Quidditch match still crackled through the air like static electricity. Gryffindor had barely scraped a victory, but the way they were celebrating, you’d think they’d won the bloody World Cup.

On the other side of things, Slytherin was stewing.

Esther Black could feel it in the very walls of the common room, the way murmurs slithered between students like whispered curses. The dim lighting of the dungeons did little to soften the tension. It was always like this after a loss—Slytherins didn’t take defeat well.

She had just settled into one of the leather armchairs, cracking open her Potions textbook under the pretense of studying, when she heard it.

"They think they can humiliate us like that?"

"Weasley’s got another thing coming."

"Tonight, after curfew—"

Esther’s grip on her book tightened.

This wasn’t just petty talk. She recognized the tone, the undercurrent of vindictive amusement. The kind that meant a plan was already forming, taking shape in hushed words and shared glances.

Quidditch tensions were normal. But an ambush after hours? That wasn’t just rivalry—it was calculated.

She turned her head slightly, pretending to adjust her book as she peered toward the group near the fireplace. Theodore Nott, Adrian Pucey, and a few other older Slytherins leaned in conspiratorially, speaking in hushed voices. Draco Malfoy sat among them, looking smug as ever.

“Something wrong, Black?”

Esther looked up to see Draco watching her, lounging in an armchair as if he owned the place. His silver eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his smirk was infuriatingly familiar.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she said smoothly, turning a page in her book.

Draco’s smirk widened. “I’d have thought you’d be more upset about the match. Or are you too busy consorting with blood traitors these days?”

A few of their housemates snickered.

Esther didn’t flinch. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and gave him an unimpressed look. “I suppose I’m just not as fragile as the rest of you.”

Draco’s expression darkened, but before he could respond, she shut her book with a soft thud and stood.

“Where are you going?”

She smiled sweetly. “To do something more productive than sitting around sulking.”

With that, she strode toward the exit, ignoring the weight of their stares.

She had something more important to do.

The Gryffindor common room was still buzzing when she reached the corridor outside. It was loud enough that she could hear muffled bursts of laughter and the occasional boom of a celebration gone slightly wrong.

Esther hesitated for half a second before knocking sharply on the stone wall beside the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Who’s there?” the portrait asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

“Not a Gryffindor,” Esther muttered under her breath.

A moment later, the portrait swung open, revealing a very smug-looking Fred Weasley leaning against the frame. His hair was still slightly windswept from the match, his grin as insufferable as ever.

“Well, well. If it isn’t our favorite lost Slytherin.”

Esther rolled her eyes. “Shut up and listen.”

Fred arched an eyebrow but made no attempt to interrupt. Before he could say anything particularly obnoxious, George appeared behind him, looking equally entertained.

“Ominous. I like it,” George said. “Do go on.”

Esther exhaled sharply, lowering her voice. “The Slytherins are planning an ambush. If you take the usual route back after curfew, you’re walking straight into it.”

George raised an eyebrow. “An ambush? How flattering.”

Fred’s smirk faded slightly. He studied her, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious.

“And you’re warning us because…?”

Esther hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Because she didn’t want to see him get hurt.

Because despite all the lines drawn between their houses, she had already crossed too many to go back now.

Instead of saying any of that, she simply lifted her chin. “Because I’d rather not listen to you whine about getting hexed for the next two weeks.”

George snorted. “That’s fair.”

Fred, however, took a step closer. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Esther rolled her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t be idiots about this.”

Fred held up a hand solemnly. “On my honor.”

George coughed. “We don’t have any honor.”

Fred grinned. “Right. But we do have this.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Esther didn’t need to ask to know what it was.

“The Map,” she said.

Fred gave a dramatic bow. “Indeed. The Marauder’s Map has never failed us, and tonight shall be no exception.”

George clapped her on the back, causing her to stumble slightly. “Brilliant of you to warn us, though, Black. Who knew you cared so much?”

Esther crossed her arms. “I don’t.”

Fred tilted his head slightly, his grin softer than before. “Right. And that’s why you snuck all the way up here just to warn us?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing particularly clever came to mind.

Instead, she exhaled, stepping back. “Just… be careful.”

Fred’s expression shifted, and for a second, it felt like the entire castle had gone silent. The torches flickered in the dim corridor, casting shadows along the stone walls.

“I mean it,” she added.

Fred studied her, something unreadable in his gaze, before he smiled.

“Alright,” he said, voice quieter than before. “We’ll be careful.”

George clapped his hands together. “Well, now that we’ve all had a touching moment, we should probably get going before we actually need to be rescued.”

Fred, however, lingered for a second longer, eyes still on Esther. “Goodnight, Black.”

She turned on her heel before he could see the unmistakable flush creeping up her neck.

And as she walked away, she knew this wasn’t the last time she would choose them over her house.

Not even close.

Chapter 10: Quidditch and Quiet Confessions

NEXT CHAPTER

The Quidditch stands were buzzing.

It wasn’t just the usual excitement of a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match—no, this time, there was an undercurrent of something far sharper in the air. Tensions between the houses had been simmering for weeks, and with the news of Sirius Black’s escape still looming over the wizarding world, rivalries had taken on a new, dangerous edge.

Esther stood near the Slytherin stands, arms crossed, watching as the teams took their positions in the sky.

Fred Weasley was already circling the pitch, bat in hand, flashing his usual cocky grin at the Slytherin Beaters. George hovered nearby, looking equally amused. From the way they were positioned, it was clear that today’s match was going to be particularly aggressive.

“Bet you’re thrilled to see your little boyfriend get flattened,” Pansy Parkinson sneered beside her.

Esther didn’t bother looking at her. “You sound jealous, Pansy. Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a first-year somewhere who’ll tolerate you.”

Pansy’s expression soured. “At least I don’t have to scrape the bottom of the barrel for attention.”

Esther simply smirked. “Says the girl who follows Malfoy around like a lost Crup.”

Pansy flushed. “I do not—”

But the whistle blew before she could finish, and the game began.

The Quaffle shot into the air, and immediately, both teams went on the offensive. Adrian Pucey lunged for it, only to be intercepted by Angelina Johnson, who darted past him with practiced ease. The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, while the Slytherins booed viciously.

Esther barely noticed.

Her eyes were locked on Fred as he swung his bat at an incoming Bludger, sending it hurtling directly toward Montague, the Slytherin Chaser. Montague swerved just in time, glaring at Fred, who only laughed.

A flash of platinum blonde streaked across the pitch as Draco Malfoy dove, eyes locked on something shimmering in the distance.

Esther’s heart clenched. The Snitch.

Draco was the Slytherin Seeker, and while he might have only gotten the position thanks to his father buying the team new broomsticks, he wasn’t bad. Unfortunately.

Harry Potter was already on the move, the Gryffindor stands screaming as he leaned low over his broom, pushing it to its limits. Draco, smirking, cut sharply in front of him, nearly sending Harry spiraling off course.

“Watch it, Malfoy!” Harry snapped, regaining control just in time.

Draco only laughed, speeding forward.

Esther turned slightly, catching Blaise Zabini’s unimpressed expression in the stands beside her.

“This match is ours,” Draco’s voice rang out confidently from above as he swerved to avoid a Bludger. “Try to keep up, Potter.”

The crowd roared as Harry shot forward, closing the gap between them.

A deafening crack snapped Esther’s attention back to the game.

She turned just in time to see Fred duck a Bludger aimed directly at his head. The Slytherin Beater—Bole—grinned wickedly, already sending another Bludger straight toward him.

Fred didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

Instead, he twisted his bat around with a smirk and sent the iron ball flying back with twice the force. Bole barely managed to dodge, cursing under his breath.

“Animal,” Pansy muttered, watching Fred.

Esther exhaled slowly.

“You’re staring,” Pansy added, glancing at her.

Esther scoffed. “You wish I was.”

The game raged on, but Esther wasn’t paying attention anymore.

It wasn’t hard to find Fred.

During a break in the match, he was grinning ear to ear as he peeled off his Quidditch robes in the empty corridor near the locker rooms. His hair was damp with sweat, and a fresh bruise was forming along his jaw from a particularly nasty elbow to the face, but he looked positively smug.

Esther, however, was far less amused.

“You play like a menace,” she muttered, arms still crossed.

Fred turned at the sound of her voice, his smirk widening. “I am a menace, love. Thought you knew that by now.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

“Came to congratulate me?” he teased.

She huffed. “I came to tell you something.”

Fred tilted his head, finally catching the seriousness in her tone. “Alright. Hit me.”

Esther hesitated, glancing around before stepping closer. “I wanted to tell you that i saw Draco was running his mouth a few days ago.”

Fred snorted. “Shocking.”

“He said something about his father’s Ministry connections.”

Fred’s smirk faded slightly. “And?”

Esther bit her lip, glancing down the hall before answering. “I don’t know, just… It sounded like they know more about Sirius Black than they’re letting on.”

Fred studied her for a moment, then softened. “Come here.”

She blinked as he reached for her wrist, tugging her closer until they were barely a breath apart.

“You’ve got that look again,” he murmured.

Esther narrowed her eyes. “What look?”

“The I’m-overthinking-and-spiraling-into-a-dark-existential-crisis look.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I do not have that look.”

Fred smirked. “You absolutely do.”

Esther sighed, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides.

Fred leaned in, lowering his voice. “Listen, Esther. You are not your family. You don’t owe them anything. And you sure as hell don’t have to carry their mistakes.”

She swallowed, heat creeping up her neck.

She wasn’t used to people saying things like that to her.

Fred’s smirk softened, but there was something else there now—something more serious. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Esther exhaled slowly. “I know.”

She meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, it actually felt true.

Chapter 9: Pages of the Past

The castle always felt different at night. Shadows stretched long and twisted, the torches flickered uncertainly, and every sound—no matter how small—felt magnified in the hush of sleeping students.

Esther Black had never been one to fear the dark, but tonight, she felt a prickle of unease. Sneaking into the Restricted Section was risky, but she needed answers about Sirius Black—the kind of answers the Ministry wouldn’t willingly give.

Which was precisely why she had enlisted Fred and George Weasley.

“You’re sure about this?” she whispered, following them through the dim corridor toward the library.

Fred turned back, flashing a grin that was far too cheerful for someone about to commit rule-breaking. “Esther, love, we’re never sure about anything we do.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” George added.

She sighed. “I walked into that one.”

They reached the massive oak doors of the library, and George pulled out an old, battered piece of parchment. With a dramatic flourish, he unfolded it and whispered,

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Esther’s breath caught as black ink spread like veins across the parchment, forming an impossibly detailed map of Hogwarts. Every corridor, every secret passage—even the moving dots of students and teachers, labeled with their names.

“The Marauder’s Map,” Fred said, catching her expression. “Nicked it from Filch in our first year. Poor bloke’s probably still looking for it.”

Esther’s brows shot up. “You’re telling me you’ve had this the entire time?”

“Of course,” George said cheerfully. “We are criminal masterminds, after all.”

Esther’s gaze flickered over the map. “Marauders…” she murmured.

Something about that name scratched at the edge of her memory.

George didn’t notice, too busy scanning the moving dots. “Filch is two corridors away, grumbling his way toward his office. We’re clear.”

“Let’s move,” Esther whispered. She pulled out her wand and aimed it at the lock.

“Alohomora**.**”

The heavy door clicked open.

Fred let out a low whistle. “You break rules so effortlessly. You’re practically one of us.”

Esther shot him a look. “Let’s not get carried away.”

They slipped inside. The library smelled of parchment and dust, and the towering bookshelves cast eerie shadows across the stone floor. Their real target was the Restricted Section—roped off with a heavy chain and a stern warning sign that, of course, meant nothing to them.

“What exactly are we looking for?” George whispered.

“Anything about Sirius Black before Azkaban,” Esther murmured, scanning the shelves. “They erased a lot of his past, but there might still be something they missed.”

Fred ran a finger along the spines of thick, ancient books before pulling one out. “Here’s something—Notorious Wizards of the Last Century.” He flipped through the pages, then grinned. “Oh, this is flattering.”

Esther and George peered over his shoulder as he read aloud:

“Sirius Black. Suspected Death Eater. Heir to the noble and most ancient House of Black. Expelled from the family line before his incarceration. Ties to an unidentified group of mischief-makers at Hogwarts.”

Esther’s stomach clenched. Unidentified group?

“That’s suspiciously vague,” George muttered.

“They didn’t bother erasing his name completely,” Esther said, frowning, “but they definitely removed details.”

Fred’s expression darkened. “Looks like someone didn’t want the public knowing about his Hogwarts years.”

George had wandered further down the aisle, flipping through another book. “Wait—listen to this. There’s mention of a group of students from years ago—four of them. Called themselves the Marauders.”

Esther’s breath caught.

Marauders.

Her eyes snapped to the Marauder’s Map in George’s hands.

“You think Sirius was one of them?” she asked.

Fred and George exchanged a look.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Fred said. “I mean, whoever made this map knew the castle better than anyone. They were pranksters, rule-breakers, secret-passage experts…” He grinned. “Sounds like our kind of people.”

George was still reading. “It also says the Marauders were rumored to have been highly skilled in Animagus transformations.”

Esther’s pulse quickened. Becoming an Animagus was incredibly advanced magic—far beyond what most students could accomplish. If Sirius Black had been part of a group capable of such magic…

Before she could say more, a loud creak echoed through the library.

They froze.

George’s head snapped up. “Filch,” he whispered.

Fred checked the map and cursed under his breath. “He’s heading this way.”

They scrambled to put the books back, but as they reached the exit, a small, squint-eyed shadow slinked around the corner.

Mrs. Norris.

The cat let out a low mrrrow, her glowing eyes locked onto them.

Fred groaned. “Bloody cat.”

“Move,” Esther whispered urgently.

George fumbled with the map, stuffing it back into his pocket as they darted behind a bookshelf.

Footsteps grew louder.

Fred suddenly grabbed Esther’s wrist, pulling her down behind a desk just as Filch’s lantern cast a glow over the room. She barely had time to react before she found herself practically nose-to-nose with Fred, hidden in the shadows.

“You look nervous,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Esther scowled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, immensely.”

George, crouched nearby, muttered, “Could you two flirt after we’re not at risk of detention?”

Esther felt her face heat but refused to let Fred see her flustered. Instead, she peered around the desk.

Filch was shuffling toward the Restricted Section, muttering about “meddling students” and “troublemakers.”

“Come on,” Esther mouthed, grabbing Fred’s sleeve and pulling him toward the door.

They moved in near silence, slipping past the last row of shelves. Just as they reached the corridor, George swung the library door shut without a sound.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. Then—

“Brilliant,” Fred breathed.

Esther exhaled, resting her back against the cold stone wall. “I cannot believe we got away with that.”

Fred grinned. “Oh, come on, Black. Breaking rules with us wasn’t entirely horrible, was it?”

She shot him a look. “I’m never letting you drag me into one of your schemes again.”

George snorted. “You say that now.”

Fred was still watching her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not as much of a Slytherin as you think, you know.”

Esther stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His grin softened into something different—something she couldn’t quite place. “Just that you’ve got more mischief in you than you let on.”

Esther folded her arms. “And you have more brains than you pretend to.”

George whistled. “Merlin, that might be the first compliment Fred’s ever gotten from a Slytherin.”

Fred only smirked. “I knew you liked me.”

Esther groaned. “I take it back.”

But as they walked back to their dorms, the stolen book hidden safely beneath her robes, she found herself smiling.

She had come looking for answers about her family, but maybe—just maybe—she had found something else entirely.

lalandofarson-deactivated202608

sometimes I wonder why y'all are obsessed with specific characters and I'm like "why them" but then I remember that sometimes its literally not your choice you just look at them wrong and all of a sudden they're taking up your every thought forever

echo-my-cyare

Legit

Chapter 8: The Weight of a Name

The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual, with most students having retreated to their dorms for the night. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls, but the warmth did nothing to ease the growing knot in Esther’s stomach.

Fred and George Weasley sat across from her, both looking thoroughly gobsmacked. The expressions of shock on their faces were, admittedly, kind of amusing. She had expected surprise, maybe even disbelief—but this? This was almost satisfying.

Fred was the first to recover, though his voice was unusually strained. “Right. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Your dad was Regulus Black?”

Esther gave him a flat look. “Yes, Weasley, that is what I just said.”

George shook his head, as if trying to process the information. “Okay, but—hang on—who even was Regulus Black? I mean, we know he was a Death Eater, but aside from that, no one ever talks about him.”

Fred frowned. “Yeah. I mean, everyone knows Sirius Black—escaped from Azkaban, ‘dangerous mass murderer,’ all that nonsense—but your dad? He’s like a footnote in history.”

Esther inhaled slowly. This was the part that frustrated her most. People either didn’t know who Regulus was, or they assumed he had been just another one of Voldemort’s loyal followers, dying for a cause he truly believed in. The truth was far more complicated.

“He was Sirius’ younger brother,” she started, keeping her tone even. “He was sorted into Slytherin, like the rest of our family, and everyone expected him to be the perfect Black heir—obedient, ambitious, devoted to pure-blood ideals.” Her voice grew sharper, bitter. “And for a while, he was that. He joined the Death Eaters when he was barely seventeen.”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up. “Seventeen? Bloody hell.”

Esther nodded. “He was young. Too young. And my grandmother adored him for it. She thought he was everything Sirius wasn’t—loyal to the family, to the cause.” Her lips curled slightly. “It must’ve driven her mad when he started doubting everything.”

George tilted his head. “Doubting?”

Esther sighed. “No one talks about it, but Regulus turned on Voldemort. He saw something—something that made him realize he had made a mistake. He tried to get out, but you don’t just leave the Death Eaters.”

Fred leaned forward, eyes sharp with interest. “What did he see?”

Esther hesitated. She wasn’t sure how much she should say. She had spent years trying to piece together the fragments of her father’s life, but no one had ever given her a full answer. The only thing she was certain of was that he had died alone, betrayed by the very people he once followed.

“I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “But he must’ve found out something about Voldemort—something important. He was smart, good at keeping things hidden. And then, one day, he just… disappeared.”

George frowned. “And no one knows what happened to him?”

“Not officially,” Esther said. “The family was told he was killed on a mission for the Dark Lord, and that was that. His name wasn’t even spoken after that. Sirius was already disowned, so my grandmother put up a portrait of Regulus and acted like he had been some perfect martyr for the cause.”

Fred let out a low whistle. “Merlin.”

George shook his head. “So, let me get this straight. Your dad—who no one really remembers—joins You-Know-Who as a teenager, realizes something’s wrong, tries to back out, and then vanishes?”

“More or less,” Esther muttered. “And people still lump him in with the worst of them. I don’t even know if he knew what side he was on in the end.”

Fred was silent for a moment, which was rare enough to be noteworthy. “That’s a lot, Black.”

Esther let out a humorless laugh. “Tell me about it.”

George whistled under his breath. “No wonder you don’t go around bragging about your family tree.”

“Oh yes, because being Jinxed Black isn’t already enough of a reputation,” she said dryly. “Imagine if everyone knew I was the daughter of a Death Eater and the niece of Hogwarts’ most wanted.”

Fred’s lips twitched. “Would add a bit of flair.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Fred ignored her. “And your mum? What’s her deal?”

Esther relaxed slightly. “My mum is different. She wasn’t from an old pure-blood family, which is probably the only reason I didn’t grow up with a house-elf ironing my socks and being force-fed blood supremacy nonsense. My grandmother hated her.” She smirked. “The only reason Walburga Black’s portrait doesn’t scream at me like it does everyone else is because she thinks I’m my father’s ‘better creation.’ She still despises my mum, though.”

George snorted. “Charming woman, really.”

Fred grinned. “Sounds lovely. Can’t wait to meet her.”

Esther gave him a dry look. “Oh, I’m sure she’d love you, Weasley.”

“Oi, I’m very likable.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Fred nudged her knee with his own. “So, why tell us?” His voice was softer now, more serious.

Esther hesitated. She had spent years keeping this part of herself hidden. But Fred and George—they had a way of making everything feel lighter, like she wasn’t trapped under the weight of her name.

“Because,” she said finally, “I trust you.”

For once, neither of them had a joke ready.

Fred held her gaze, and there was something warm there, something safe. “Well, that’s a terrible decision on your part.”

“Reckless, really,” George added, grinning.

Esther smirked. “Guess I like living dangerously.”

Fred huffed. “What now? Should we swear an unbreakable vow to never tell anyone?”

“I like my life, thanks.”

George stretched. “Well, this has been wildly informative, but I’m off to bed before any more dramatic family secrets come out. If you tell me you’re secretly related to Snape, I’m leaving Hogwarts.”

Esther snorted. “You’re safe there.”

George shot Fred a knowing grin. “I’ll leave you two to… process.”

Fred groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too.” With that, George disappeared up the stairs, leaving just Fred and Esther by the fire.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Fred looked at her again—really looked at her. “You alright, Black?”

Esther let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

Fred nodded. “Good. Because I think it’s about time someone told you—your family history doesn’t decide who you are.”

Something warm curled in Esther’s chest. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as jinxed as everyone thought.

Chapter 6: Echoes of a Distant Sky

pairing: Draco Malfoy x OC synopsis: Selene Volant and Draco Malfoy have been inseparable since childhood, bound by family ties and quiet understanding. But sixth year changes everything. As Draco is pulled into a dangerous task, he pushes everyone away—including her. Refusing to abandon him, Selene offers silent support, seeing the cracks beneath his cold facade. Somewhere between whispered reassurances and stolen moments, friendship turns into something more. But with war looming and choices growing harder, they must decide—can love survive in a world built to tear them apart? tags: romantic, mystery, friends to lovers, slow burn, angst author's note: NEXT CHAPTER

Selene Volant was not someone easily ignored, but Draco Malfoy had been doing a spectacular job of it lately. For weeks, he had withdrawn, his presence in her life reduced to brief glances in the Great Hall, tense silences in the common room, and too many unspoken words.

Tonight, that ended.

She found him in the disused classroom on the fifth floor. The moonlight streaming through the high windows illuminated the dust swirling in the air, casting long shadows over broken desks and forgotten textbooks. Draco sat at a desk, head bowed, fingers pressing into his temples as if trying to keep himself from shattering.

Selene shut the door behind her. “You can’t hide from me forever, you know.”

Draco didn’t startle, though his shoulders tensed at her voice. He exhaled slowly before looking up, and for a moment, she saw the weight of whatever burden he carried reflected in his tired eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

She crossed her arms. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

A ghost of a smirk flickered over his lips, but it disappeared just as quickly. He looked away, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Go back to the dorms, Selene.”

“No.”

That got his attention. His head snapped back toward her, irritation flickering in his expression. “No?”

“You heard me.” She stepped closer. “I know something’s wrong. I know you’re keeping secrets. And I know you won’t tell me because you think you’re protecting me.” Her voice softened. “But I don’t need protection, Draco. I need the truth.”

His fingers curled into fists. He looked like he wanted to fight her, to push her away with sharp words and icy indifference. But Selene had spent years by his side—long enough to see past the walls he built.

Finally, after a long silence, he whispered, “The Dark Lord gave me a mission.”

The words dropped between them like a stone, heavy and inescapable.

Selene’s breath caught, but she refused to flinch. “What mission?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “I can’t tell you.”

She reached out, gently uncurling his clenched fingers. “Then let me help in another way.”

Draco frowned. “Help how?”

“By covering for you in class when you disappear. By lying to Pansy and Blaise when they ask where you are. By making sure you don’t fall apart before this mission even reaches its end.”

Draco let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And what do you get out of that?”

Selene held his gaze. “I get to keep you.”

He inhaled sharply, something breaking in his expression for just a moment. Then, slowly, he squeezed her hand in return. “That’s a dangerous game, Volant.”

She smirked. “Then it’s a good thing I like danger.”

Selene hadn’t realized just how much trouble Draco was in until she started keeping track of his absences. It wasn’t just skipping the occasional class—it was entire afternoons vanishing into nothing, coming back exhausted and hollow-eyed.

She covered for him seamlessly. She was already well-liked by the professors; it wasn’t difficult to offer a few well-placed lies.

“Professor, Draco isn’t feeling well,” she told Slughorn when he inquired about his missing student. “He asked me to collect his notes.”

Slughorn, ever the indulgent mentor to those he deemed worthy, nodded eagerly. “Oh, of course, of course. Poor boy! Do pass on my regards.”

In Charms, she charmed a quill to scrawl his notes while he was nowhere to be found. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, she subtly flicked her wand to jinx Blaise’s parchment when he almost mentioned Draco’s absence to Snape. In the common room, she gave Pansy half-truths to keep her from asking too many questions.

“He’s fine, Pans,” she’d sigh, rolling her eyes as if the entire thing bored her. “Probably brooding in some empty corridor.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

Selene smiled, leaning in conspiratorially. “And you love me for it.”

Then their meeting at the Astronomy Tower in fifth year hit her, a memory wrapped in moonlight and whispered truths—back when they could still dream of escape, before the world had sharpened its teeth.

The night was endless.

The sky stretched above the Astronomy Tower, an infinite abyss of black and indigo, scattered with stars that flickered like dying embers. The wind carried the crisp scent of autumn, the promise of winter creeping in at the edges. It howled softly through the stone archways, rattling the lanterns that lined the castle grounds far below.

Up here, away from the weight of hallways thick with whispers and expectations, Selene could finally breathe.

Her fingers curled over the rough stone parapet, cold seeping through the thin leather of her gloves. She tipped her head back, exhaling slowly, letting the sheer vastness of the sky above consume her. It made her feel small—but in a way that was freeing. As if, just for a moment, she wasn’t someone with a name people expected to mean something.

A sound behind her. A footstep—light, hesitant.

“You actually came.”

Draco Malfoy’s voice was quieter than she had ever heard it.

Selene didn’t turn immediately. Instead, she let his words settle in the cold night air before she replied, “You left a cryptic note in my Arithmancy book.” She finally glanced over her shoulder, arching a brow. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?”

His mouth twitched, something like amusement but dimmed, subdued. “Most people would.”

She turned back to the sky. “Good thing I’m not most people.”

A gust of wind swept through the tower, carrying the scent of rain from the Forbidden Forest. Her robes billowed slightly, and she hugged them closer around her, though it did little to chase away the chill. The silence between them stretched, long and fragile, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Draco stepped forward, leaning against the stone railing beside her. His posture was looser than usual, stripped of the stiff arrogance he carried in the daylight. He wasn’t wearing his school robes properly; his tie was askew, the top buttons of his shirt undone, as if he had left in a hurry. As if he had debated coming at all.

His fingers drummed idly against the stone, restless. The wind tugged at his pale hair, and for once, it was slightly disheveled.

“Do you ever wish we could just disappear?”

His voice was quiet—so quiet she almost thought she had imagined it.

Selene’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers tightening around the stone. She should have expected the question, but somehow, it still startled her. Not because she didn’t have an answer. But because she did.

“All the time,” she admitted.

Draco turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing as if he didn’t quite believe her. “You don’t mean that.”

Selene let out a breathy, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Why do you say that?”

He scoffed softly, glancing back toward the sky. “Because you don’t run from things, Selene.” His tone wasn’t mocking—if anything, there was something begrudgingly sincere in it. “You stand your ground. You fight. You…” He hesitated, fingers stilling against the stone. “You don’t get to wish for escape. You’re—” He gestured vaguely at her. “You’re not supposed to want that.”

She inhaled slowly, considering his words. Considering him.

“I don’t think it works that way,” she said at last.

His jaw tightened. “It should.”

She turned to him fully then, studying his profile. In the dim silver light of the moon, he looked younger. Less like the boy who sneered in the hallways, who carried the Malfoy name like a weapon. And more like someone who was just… tired.

“Why do you want to disappear?” she asked softly.

Draco didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was locked on the horizon, where the moon hung heavy over the distant mountains. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture gave him away.

Finally, he exhaled, the sound almost lost to the wind. “Because I don’t think I have a choice.”

Selene’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

His fingers curled into a fist against the stone, his knuckles turning white. “I was born into this,” he muttered. “A name. A duty. A war I never asked for.” His voice was quieter now, edged with something dangerous. “A future I can’t escape.”

Selene stared at him, a strange pang echoing in her chest.

For years, she had only seen Draco Malfoy as an enemy. A boy made of sharp edges and cold words, a perfect reflection of the world that had shaped him. But now, standing beside him in the dim hush of the Astronomy Tower, she saw something else.

Something that made her pulse stutter.

“I think we all have cages,” she said softly. “Yours just has a family crest on it.”

He flinched, almost imperceptibly, but she caught it.

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “At least you have a choice.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think either of us really do.”

Another silence stretched between them. This time, heavier. Laden with something unspoken.

Draco’s hands unclenched, his fingers stretching against the stone as if he were grounding himself. “Then why do we pretend?”

She didn’t know how to answer that.

A gust of wind swept through the tower again, colder this time. Selene shivered, hugging her arms around herself.

Before she could react, Draco shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

The weight of it was warm—startlingly so. The fabric smelled faintly of something expensive, something familiar and distinctly him. His fingers brushed against hers for only a second, but the touch sent a strange current through her, unexpected and electric.

She looked up at him, startled.

He shifted slightly, glancing away. “Don’t read into it,” he muttered. “You were shaking.”

A small smile ghosted her lips, but she didn’t press him.

Instead, she turned back to the stars, pulling the cloak tighter around herself. They stood in silence, side by side, staring at the vastness above them.

For the first time, the world below didn’t seem so loud.

And for the first time, Selene wondered what it would be like if they really did disappear.

Draco leaned against the Slytherin common room wall, watching as Selene deftly handled Pansy’s questioning, as she whispered reassurances to professors, as she covered for him without hesitation. He should have told her to stop. Should have pushed her away for her own safety.

But when she turned, catching his eye across the room, there was something steady in her gaze, something that made it impossible to look away.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

As Draco disappeared down the corridor that night, Selene watched him go, pressing a hand to her chest where the echo of his touch still lingered.

Maybe they couldn’t disappear. Maybe they couldn’t run. But at least, they wouldn’t be alone.

Chapter 7: A House Divided

Esther Black had always been something of an anomaly in Slytherin. She carried the infamous Black family name, but she didn’t wear it like a badge of honor. While her housemates prided themselves on their bloodlines and ambitions, Esther had spent years trying to outrun hers.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts was a place where reputations followed you like a shadow.

And right now, her shadow seemed to be growing darker.

The whispers had started weeks ago, but lately, they had turned into full-fledged rumors. Esther knew exactly why—her growing friendship with the Weasley twins had not gone unnoticed. Slytherins didn’t take kindly to one of their own being seen laughing in corridors with Gryffindors, especially not the school’s most notorious pranksters.

“You’re practically a blood traitor already,” Pansy Parkinson sneered as Esther walked past in the common room. “Might as well let the Sorting Hat reassign you.”

Esther didn’t dignify her with a response. She had learned long ago that reacting only gave them more satisfaction. Instead, she strode past, her chin lifted slightly, feigning indifference. But even as she walked away, she caught sight of Draco Malfoy watching her from across the room, an expression of distaste—perhaps even disappointment—on his face.

Her younger cousin hadn’t openly confronted her about it, but she had overheard him talking in hushed tones to his friends about how she was embarrassing their family name. That stung more than she cared to admit.

She didn’t belong in their world—not really.

Maybe she never had.

The autumn chill had settled over Hogwarts by the time Esther made her way toward the Black Lake. The wind tugged at her black turtleneck, sending loose strands of her dark hair whipping around her face. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her robes, letting the cold bite at her skin as she approached the familiar spot beneath a tree where Fred and George Weasley lounged.

“Esther Black, ladies and gentlemen! The only Slytherin in history with a sense of humor,” Fred announced grandly as she approached.

George snorted. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure there’s another one somewhere. Probably hiding in the dungeons, afraid to be seen having fun.”

Esther rolled her eyes but smirked as she dropped onto the grass beside them. “Mock all you like, but at least I’m not the one who got caught trying to hex Snape’s chair to vanish mid-lecture.”

Fred clutched his chest dramatically. “Caught is such a strong word. I prefer ‘wrongly accused by a biased authority figure.’”

George chuckled. “Speaking of biased authority figures, word around the castle is that Malfoy and his lot have declared war on you.”

Esther exhaled, leaning back on her hands. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. They’re just upset that I don’t fit their little mold.”

Fred studied her for a moment before shrugging. “Well, if it gets to be too much, we’ve got plenty of material to stage a dramatic revenge plot.”

George grinned. “Oh yes, something involving Pansy, a ton of Dungbombs, and a conveniently placed audience.”

Esther snorted. “Tempting. But I’d rather not start an all-out house war.”

Fred nudged her shoulder lightly. “See, that’s the difference between you and us. We enjoy house wars.”

She laughed, but a flicker of unease passed over her features. It was one thing to joke about it, but she knew that siding with Gryffindors over her own house would have real consequences. And yet, as Fred grinned at her, his eyes alight with mischief, she realized that she didn’t really care.

Unfortunately, the Slytherins weren’t planning on letting her off that easily.

She found that out the hard way when she walked into the Great Hall that evening and noticed several heads turning in her direction. The murmurs were louder than usual, and before she could even sit down, Blaise Zabini smirked at her from across the table.

“Heard you’ve been spending plenty of quality time with Weasley, Black. Didn’t think you had such... low standards.”

Laughter rippled through the Slytherins seated nearby, but Esther simply raised an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are, obsessing over my personal life. Should I be flattered?”

Blaise’s smirk faltered, but before he could retort, Draco spoke up. “You should at least have the sense to act like a proper Black, Esther.” His tone was quiet, but firm. “People are watching.”

Esther stiffened. “Let them watch.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of continuing the conversation. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, heading for the Gryffindor table without a second thought.

It wasn’t until she was halfway across the Hall that she realized just how quiet the room had gotten. Conversations had dulled, and more than a few students had stopped eating to gawk at her. Slytherins stared at her as though she had committed some great betrayal, while the Gryffindors seemed caught somewhere between amusement and mild curiosity.

She ignored them all and slid into the seat beside Fred.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he said, setting his goblet down. “Did we just win you over to our side?”

She huffed. “Let’s just say my usual company is proving to be... insufferable.”

George grinned. “Welcome to the light side, then.”

Fred nudged her lightly, his expression playful but laced with something softer. “You alright?”

Esther hesitated. For so long, she had been used to keeping people at arm’s length, careful not to let anyone get too close. But as she looked at Fred, at the way he was watching her—not with judgment, but with genuine concern—something in her chest loosened.

For once, she didn’t feel like she had to wear the Black family name like a burden.

She nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

And for the first time in a long time, she actually meant it.

Chapter 5: The Vanishing Point

The candlelit corridors of Hogwarts were nearly silent at this hour, save for the occasional flickering torch and the distant rustling of tapestries in the draft. Selene Volant pulled her cloak tighter around her, pressing herself against the cool stone wall as a suit of armor let out a low creak. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, but her mind was made up.

Draco had been slipping away too often, and she wasn’t blind. He was exhausted—hollowed out by something he refused to share. And Selene, stubborn as she was, had never been one to sit back and watch the people she cared about unravel alone.

So she followed him.

Draco moved with careful precision, his pale blond head ducked low as he weaved through the castle’s empty corridors. Even from a distance, Selene could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.

She had been watching for weeks—the way he barely touched his food, how he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle more than usual, how even Pansy’s incessant doting seemed to irritate him. But it was the way he pushed her away that hurt the most.

They had never kept secrets.

Not since childhood, when their families would gather at the Malfoy estate, and they would race through the hedge maze, Draco always two steps ahead but never letting her lose sight of him. We’ll always have each other, he had said back then.

So why was he trying so hard to lose her now?

Selene tightened her grip on her wand as Draco turned down a familiar hallway. Her stomach twisted.

The Room of Requirement.

She waited, breath held, as Draco paced three times in front of the blank stretch of wall. Within seconds, a door materialized.

Selene barely had time to slip in behind him before it closed.

The room was vast, towering shelves stacked with forgotten relics and broken furniture stretching endlessly. Dust hung thick in the air, swirling in the dim glow of candlelight.

And in the center of it all stood an enormous, ancient cabinet.

Selene’s breath caught.

She wasn’t as politically involved as her family, but she had been raised among Purebloods, had overheard hushed conversations between her parents and their associates. She knew what Vanishing Cabinets could do.

Draco stepped toward it, running his fingers over the worn wood. His touch was careful, reverent, but his expression was taut with frustration. Then, without warning, he slammed his fist against the side of it.

The crack of impact shattered the silence.

Selene flinched.

“I know you’re there,” Draco said, his voice sharp and cold—so unlike the boy she knew. “Come out.”

Her heart stuttered, but she stepped forward, folding her arms as if she hadn’t just been caught spying. “You shouldn’t hit antiques, Draco. It’s a very poor way to fix them.”

His expression darkened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, neither should you,” she countered, arching a brow. “Want to tell me why you’re sneaking off at odd hours to fix an old cabinet?”

Draco turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Go back to your dorm, Selene.”

“No.”

His jaw clenched. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know it’s not,” she said, stepping closer.

Something in her voice made him falter.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing, heavy with unspoken words.

Then—

“You remember last summer?” she asked, her tone quieter now.

Draco frowned. “What?”

Selene took another step forward. “At the manor. The hedge maze.”

His expression flickered—just for a second, just enough for her to see past the mask he wore now.

The summer air was thick with the scent of roses and trimmed hedges, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting long golden shadows over the sprawling Malfoy estate. The hedge maze stood at the far end of the manicured gardens, its towering green walls stretching high, a labyrinth of twists and turns designed to ensnare and challenge.

Selene grinned as she glanced at Draco beside her, his pale hair catching the last light of the evening. “One lap through the maze. First one to the fountain wins.”

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You do realize I’ve memorized every turn in this thing, don’t you?”

Selene smirked. “Then you won’t mind giving me a head start.”

Before he could protest, she took off, her laughter ringing through the maze as she sprinted into the entrance.

“Oi! That’s cheating, Volant!” Draco’s voice was both exasperated and amused, and within seconds, she heard the sound of his footsteps pounding against the grass as he chased after her.

Selene ducked around a corner, her heart racing with exhilaration. The cool shade of the hedges brought relief from the lingering summer heat, but the thrill of the race burned in her veins. She turned left, then right, trying to remember which way led to the center.

“Are you even trying?” Draco’s voice called from somewhere behind her. “At this rate, I’ll be waiting at the fountain with a drink in hand.”

Selene didn’t bother answering—she was too busy running, trying to ignore the ache in her legs as she pushed herself forward. But then—

A dead end.

She spun around just as Draco rounded the corner, his smirk already victorious. “Oh, this is embarrassing,” he drawled, stepping closer. “And here I thought you’d actually make me work for it.”

Selene scowled but didn’t wait for him to gloat. She shoved past him, darting in the opposite direction, hoping to lose him again.

But Draco was faster.

He caught her wrist, yanking her backward with just enough force to throw her off balance. Selene let out a startled yelp as she tumbled to the ground, pulling Draco down with her. They landed in a heap on the soft grass, laughter spilling from both of them as the thrill of the chase melted into something lighter, something familiar.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, breathing hard, staring up at the sky through the gaps in the hedges. The sun had dipped lower now, the first hints of dusk settling over the manor grounds.

Selene turned her head to look at him. His chest still rose and fell quickly from the run, his platinum hair was slightly mussed, and there was a rare, unguarded softness in his expression.

“We’ll always have this,” she murmured, the warmth of the evening settling deep in her bones. “Moments like these.”

Draco’s gaze flickered to hers, something unreadable flashing in his storm-grey eyes. Then, so quietly she almost missed it, he said, “We’ll always have each other.”

Selene’s breath caught, just for a second.

It wasn’t the words themselves that made her heart skip—it was the way he said them. With certainty. As if no matter what the future held, no matter how much their world changed, this—they—would always remain the same.

A beat of silence stretched between them before Draco abruptly sat up, dusting off his robes like the moment hadn’t just settled into her skin like an unspoken promise.

“Come on,” he said, offering her a hand. “We’re calling it a draw, or else we’ll be stuck in here all night.”

Selene rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway, letting him pull her up. As they made their way out of the maze together, side by side, she wondered if he really believed the words he had just said.

Because she did.

And she hoped—desperately—that they would still hold true when summer was nothing but a memory.

Draco exhaled sharply, the memory settling between them.

Selene searched his face. “You weren’t alone then. You don’t have to be now.”

His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time since she had entered the room, she saw it—the cracks. The exhaustion, the weight pressing down on him, the fear he would never admit.

“I can’t—” His voice was strained. “You don’t understand.”

Selene reached out, hesitant but firm, brushing her fingers against his wrist.

“Then make me understand.”

Draco’s breath hitched. His gaze flickered to her hand—her fingers warm against his ice-cold skin—then to her face, searching.

The air between them felt fragile, stretched thin by everything left unsaid.

“Selene,” he whispered, and for the first time in months, her name didn’t sound like a dismissal. It sounded like a plea.

She squeezed his wrist gently, grounding him. “I’m not leaving, Draco.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. But then—so subtly she almost missed it—he nodded.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter 6: Shadows of Orion

Fandom: My Hero Academia x The Boys Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x OC Main plot: In a world where heroes are idolized, the truth is far darker. Powerful corporations manipulate the hero industry, and the greatest heroes are not born but made. Seiya Matsui, Project Orion’s ultimate creation, was sent to U.A. High School’s Class 2-A under the guise of training—but in reality, she’s a test for Orion’s next generation of engineered heroes. When top pro heroes begin to vanish without explanation, Seiya uncovers a chilling truth, they aren’t missing—they’re being replaced. Author's note: NEXT CHAPTER

The night pressed in like a living thing.

Seiya stood in the dormitory bathroom, hands braced against the sink, her golden eyes staring into the mirror.

Her reflection was sharp—too sharp.

You are not real.

The thought came unbidden.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made it worse.

Memories burned behind her eyelids, flashing like shattered pieces of glass.

She woke up to white lights.

Too bright. Too sterile.

Cold metal restraints dug into her wrists and ankles, pressing her small frame against the operating table.

Her pulse hammered in her ears.

She had been here before.

She had never left.

“Subject OR-01, conscious.”

The voice of Dr. Mayeda Gina rang out, clinical and detached.

Seiya’s tiny hands curled into fists as she blinked up at the ceiling.

She was eight.

Old enough to know what came next.

The door hissed open, and footsteps echoed through the chamber.

Mayeda’s face hovered above her—a mask of calm efficiency, dark eyes unreadable.

“Seiya.”

His voice was gentle, but it meant nothing.

She had seen him smile at other children, just before they never woke up again.

“I need you to be strong,” he said, brushing white hair from her forehead. “You were made for this.”

She didn’t respond.

He sighed, pulling back. “Begin the injection.”

A sharp, piercing pain lanced through her arm as a syringe buried itself into her vein.

Seiya’s body convulsed.

Fire. Electricity. Light.

It was like her blood had turned to molten metal, her cells splitting apart and reforging themselves in an instant.

She screamed.

Somewhere beyond the haze of agony, Mayeda watched, hands folded behind his back.

“Her reaction speed is increasing exponentially,” a scientist noted. “Heartbeat erratic. Subject may—”

Seiya’s golden eyes snapped open.

For a second, the entire room flickered, as if the universe itself had skipped a frame.

And then—

The restraints shattered.

The monitors exploded.

A pulse of blinding light blasted outward, knocking the scientists off their feet.

Seiya sat up gasping, skin glowing like a dying star.

Mayeda didn’t flinch.

He just smiled.

Seiya jolted back to the present, her breath ragged.

Her fingers dug into the sink.

The memory clung to her, its weight pressing down on her lungs like she had been drowning in it.

She forced herself to breathe.

You are at U.A.

Not Orion.

But the line between the two places felt thinner than ever.

Because heroes were still disappearing.

And Seiya knew—deep in her gut—Project Orion was at the center of it all.

She stepped out into the night, desperate for air.

The sky stretched above her, a vast, star-dusted expanse.

Normally, looking up calmed her.

Tonight, it didn’t.

She wasn’t alone.

Bakugou stood by the railing, his silhouette sharp against the glow of U.A.’s security lights.

His hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders tense, like he was barely holding himself together.

He noticed her immediately.

“Tch. You look like shit.”

She sighed. “Nice to see you too, Bakugou.”

He didn’t reply right away.

Instead, he studied her—the kind of sharp, dissecting stare that made her skin prickle.

Seiya had spent years perfecting the art of hiding herself, but Bakugou had a habit of seeing through people.

It was annoying.

And… unsettling.

“What?” she muttered.

His red eyes narrowed.

“You were there when Aizawa told us about Crust.”

Her chest tightened.

“Kaminari told us,” she corrected.

“Tch.” He scowled. “You flinched. When they said he was missing. Thought that was weird.”

She stilled.

Shit.

“I was just surprised,” she lied.

Bakugou snorted. “You don’t get surprised.”

Silence stretched between them.

His eyes stayed locked on hers, and she knew—he wasn’t going to drop this.

“What aren’t you telling me, Matsui?”

Seiya clenched her jaw.

The truth sat heavy on her tongue.

That she knew why Chargebolt was missing.

That she had seen this before—in Orion, in the labs, in the rows of children who disappeared overnight, only to be replaced by something… else.

But she couldn’t say any of that.

So she turned away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.

Bakugou growled, frustrated. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

She huffed a tired laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

The air between them felt like a live wire—charged, volatile, one wrong move away from exploding.

Bakugou’s back was still turned, but Seiya knew better than to think that meant the conversation was over.

He wasn’t walking away.

He was waiting.

“Bakugou.”

Her voice barely broke the silence, but he stopped.

Didn’t turn around.

Didn’t speak.

But he was listening.

Seiya hesitated.

She hated this—hated how, for all his recklessness and arrogance, he was the only person who had ever looked at her like he really saw her.

It was infuriating.

It was terrifying.

She crossed her arms over her chest, gaze sharp. “You think you’ve figured me out?”

Bakugou scoffed. “I don’t ‘think’ shit. I know.”

Finally, he turned.

His red eyes burned, his jaw tight with frustration.

Seiya met his stare, unflinching.

“Then say it,” she challenged. “What do you think you know?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“That you’re not normal. That something’s off. That every time we fight, you’re holding back, and it pisses me off.”

Seiya’s fingers curled into fists.

“People hold back all the time,” she said. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Bakugou took a step closer.

Seiya didn’t move.

“Yeah?” he said, voice low. “Then explain why you move like someone hit fast-forward on reality.”

Her pulse stuttered.

“I’ve seen speed quirks before. You ain’t one of them. You don’t just move fast—you disappear. One second, you’re here, and the next, you’re halfway across the goddamn battlefield.”

His gaze flicked over her, assessing, calculating.

“You don’t even look tired afterward.”

He wasn’t wrong.

And that was the problem.

Seiya had been made to be stronger, faster, better—but she was never meant to be noticed.

She was supposed to blend in, act normal.

But Bakugou had never been good at ignoring things that pissed him off.

And Seiya Matsui was pissing him off.

“Tell me, Matsui,” he continued, voice dangerously quiet. “How does a first-year transfer from some no-name school end up going head-to-head with me?”

Seiya’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

She had an answer ready—she always did.

But under Bakugou’s piercing stare, the words stuck.

Because he wouldn’t buy them**.**

He never did.

And for the first time, the idea of lying to him felt… exhausting.

She swallowed hard. “Drop it, Bakugou.”

His hands twitched at his sides.

His expression shifted—just slightly.

Frustration.

Concern.

And then—something that made her chest tighten.

“You don’t trust me,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Seiya clenched her jaw.

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, it is.”

His voice was sharper now, edged with something unspoken.

She didn’t know how to respond.

Didn’t know why her throat felt tight, or why his words hit harder than they should have.

Because, logically, he was right.

She didn’t trust him.

She didn’t trust anyone.

She couldn’t.

But when she looked at Bakugou—when she saw the way he stood there, waiting, like he would fight the truth out of her if he had to—she felt something she didn’t expect.

She wanted to.

She wanted to trust him.

And that was so much worse.

Bakugou took another step forward.

Close enough that she could feel the heat of his quirk radiating off him, that his voice was low and rough and too damn close.

“Whatever the hell Orion did to you—”

Her breath hitched.

Bakugou noticed.

His eyes flickered with something sharp, something dangerous.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he muttered.

Seiya’s fingers dug into her arms, her nails biting into her skin.

She forced herself to stay calm, to force distance back between them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, tone carefully controlled.

Bakugou’s lips curled into a sneer. “Bullshit.”

She exhaled slowly.

Then she turned away.

Because this conversation—this entire thing—was starting to unravel too much.

“I’m going inside,” she muttered.

She barely took two steps before his voice stopped her cold.

“If you don’t tell me,” he said, “I’ll find out myself.”

Seiya’s entire body went rigid.

Her mind raced—scenarios flickering through her head at light speed.

If Bakugou started digging—if he got too close—Project Orion wouldn’t just watch from the shadows anymore.

They would intervene.

And Bakugou—stubborn, reckless, doesn’t-know-when-to-quit Bakugou—would be the first casualty.

She turned back toward him.

Her golden eyes burned, her voice dangerously low.

“Stay out of this, Bakugou.”

He just scoffed, stepping closer again, closing the distance she had tried to put between them.

His smirk was sharp—challenging.

“You know that’s not happening.”

And the worst part?

She did know.

Because Bakugou Katsuki never backed down from a fight.

And this?

This was war.

Chapter 6: Shadows and Sparks

The atmosphere at Hogwarts had shifted.

It wasn’t just the dreary autumn rain or the way the wind howled through the castle corridors at night. It was something heavier—something that made the stone walls feel colder, the candlelight in the Great Hall seem dimmer.

The Dementors were changing Hogwarts.

They lurked at the gates, stationed at every entrance, their towering cloaked figures standing motionless in the distance. And yet, even when they didn’t move, their presence was suffocating. They didn’t belong in a place meant for learning, for childhood and laughter, and yet here they were—patrolling, watching.

Esther Black wasn’t the type to admit fear. Growing up in the Black family meant learning how to keep emotions locked away, how to make sure no one could see the cracks. But something about the Dementors unsettled her.

It wasn’t just the unnatural cold or the way they seemed to drain the very joy from the air. It was the feeling that they knew her.

That they were searching for her.

She strode through the courtyard, pulling her black turtleneck tighter around herself beneath her robes, her stormy grey eyes flicking to the front gates where two Dementors hovered. Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag. She wasn’t going to let them get to her.

“Jinxed Black,” a familiar, grating voice cut through the air.

Esther sighed before turning. Pansy Parkinson stood with a few other Slytherin girls, all smirking as if they had just spotted their next source of amusement.

“You’re looking particularly cursed today,” Pansy went on, her tone thick with mockery. “Do the Dementors make you nervous?”

Esther met her gaze with an unimpressed stare. “They make everyone nervous, Parkinson.”

Pansy gave a sickly sweet smile. “Maybe. But I bet they’d love to have a little chat with you. Black blood calls to its own, doesn’t it?”

Esther’s jaw clenched. She’d heard the whispers ever since Sirius Black’s escape—speculation, rumors, accusations. Some Slytherins treated the news with awe, others with disdain, but all of them seemed to think she had some special connection to him.

Before she could deliver a cutting reply, another voice interrupted.

“Oi, Parkinson, is your skull naturally that thick, or did Malfoy lend you his?”

Esther turned in time to see Fred Weasley and his twin leaning casually against a stone pillar, arms crossed, identical grins in place.

Pansy wrinkled her nose as if she had just caught a whiff of something foul. “Oh, look, the Weasley charity cases.”

Fred gasped, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “You wound me, Parkinson. And here I thought we were friends.”

George snorted. “Friends don’t hex friends in the corridors.”

“That was one time,” Fred argued, before waving a dismissive hand. “Anyway, we’re actually here for some quality time with our favorite Slytherin.”

Esther raised an eyebrow. “Since when am I your favorite?”

Fred grinned. “You haven’t tried to hex us yet.”

“Low bar,” George added cheerfully. “But we take what we can get.”

Pansy huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Suit yourself, Black,” she sneered. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you about keeping bad company.” With that, she and the others swept away in a flurry of green and silver robes.

Esther exhaled through her nose, turning to Fred and George with her arms crossed. “I didn’t need rescuing.”

Fred leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Of course not. But you can’t blame a bloke for enjoying a dramatic entrance.”

George held out a small, brightly colored box. “Here. We were going to test these in the Great Hall, but given how grumpy you’ve looked lately, you might need them more.”

Esther eyed it warily before taking it. “What is it?”

“Experimental product,” Fred said vaguely.

“Unstable product,” George corrected.

“Delightful product,” Fred amended with a wink. “Go on, open it.”

Esther hesitated but lifted the lid. Immediately, tiny fireworks—each no bigger than a Snitch—whizzed into the air, twirling and bursting in harmless flashes of color. Deep blue sparks fizzled into the shape of a dragon before vanishing, while a golden one took the form of a phoenix.

She felt her lips twitch despite herself. “Alright, I’ll admit it—that’s impressive.”

Fred bowed dramatically. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Black.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved the box back into George’s hands, but Fred had caught the small smirk she was trying to hide.

For a moment, the three of them stood there, watching the last sparks fade into the air. Then the temperature plummeted.

It was sudden, suffocating. The laughter and chatter of students dulled, swallowed by an unnatural silence as a heavy cold settled over the courtyard.

Esther’s smirk vanished.

She didn’t have to turn around to know what was happening.

The Dementors were moving.

Their skeletal hands gripped the air, their empty hoods scanning the students as though searching for something—or someone.

Her breath hitched. That feeling was back. The one that made her stomach twist, her pulse quicken.

They knew her.

She barely noticed how tense she’d gotten until a warm hand brushed against hers.

She looked down.

Fred.

His fingers barely grazed hers—hesitant, not quite holding, but there. Steady.

“You alright?” he murmured. His voice was quieter than usual, missing its usual teasing lilt.

Esther swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. The Dementors were terrifying, but they weren’t the only thing making her pulse race.

Fred Weasley was trouble. She’d known that from the start. But for the first time, she wondered if maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t the bad kind.

Chapter 7: Phichit’s Perfectly Predictable Chaos

pairing: Yuri Plisetsky x OC synopsis: After a long time Valeriya Nikiforov returns to St. Petersburg to start again with her older brother Victor. She doesn’t expect that her old crush and childhood friend Jurij Plisetsky will also try to change their friendship stage and go further. tags: romantic, comedy, fluff, slow burn author's note:i edited this chapter, i think it makes better "atmosphere" now NEXT CHAPTER

The café was buzzing with quiet chatter and the comforting clinks of coffee cups against saucers. The group outing had been Victor’s idea, his attempt to “celebrate family and friends” with his usual dramatic flair. Yuri Plisetsky had grumbled about the gathering but showed up anyway, mostly because Valeriya would be there.

Valeriya sat at the corner of the table, her petite frame tucked into the oversized chair, sipping on a caramel latte. Her black hair, a striking contrast to her pale complexion, framed her sharp blue eyes that Yuri found far too distracting. It wasn’t helping that every now and then, her gaze would flicker to him, a soft smile playing on her lips. He’d feel the heat rush to his ears and quickly look away, pretending to be invested in his tea.

Phichit Chulanont, ever the social media aficionado, perched across from them, his phone in hand as he scrolled through Instagram. He wasn’t even subtle about observing Yuri and Valeriya.

“So, Valeriya,” Phichit said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, “what’s it like being back in St. Petersburg? Settling in okay?”

Valeriya nodded, her voice light. “It’s been great, actually. Victor’s… Victor.” She shot her brother a teasing look, which Victor returned with an exaggerated wink. “But it’s nice to reconnect. And training with Yakov again feels like coming home.”

Yuri snorted. “Coming home to hell, you mean. Lilia’s probably already plotting how to make us suffer.”

“She’s not that bad,” Valeriya countered with a laugh, the sound soft but contagious. Yuri caught himself smiling despite his better judgment.

Phichit tilted his head, his smile widening. “And how’s the company been? Any special friends helping you adjust?”

Valeriya raised an eyebrow, clearly not catching the bait, but Yuri froze. He could feel Phichit’s eyes dart between the two of them, his inner shipper no doubt screaming. Yuri cleared his throat loudly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuri snapped, trying to keep his voice casual and failing miserably.

“Oh, nothing,” Phichit replied innocently, his fingers already tapping away on his phone. “Just curious, that’s all.”

Victor, who had been half-listening while discussing katsudon recipes with Yuuri Katsuki, turned his attention to the conversation. “Phichit, don’t interrogate my sister,” he said, though his amused grin betrayed his lack of seriousness. “But now that you mention it, Valeriya, Yuri has been spending a lot of time with you. Isn’t that right, Yuri?”

“I—what?” Yuri spluttered, his face going red. “I haven’t— We just— She’s—” He shot Valeriya a panicked look, but she was too busy stifling her laughter behind her hand.

“Oh, please,” Phichit interjected, holding up his phone. “If looks could ship themselves, you two would already be married.” He turned the screen around, showing an Instagram Story featuring a candid shot of Yuri and Valeriya sitting together at a rink earlier that week. In the picture, Yuri was looking at her with what could only be described as soft fondness while she tied her skates. The caption read: “#YuriVera? #YurLeriya? Someone help me with the ship name, but IT’S HAPPENING.”

Yuri lunged for the phone, but Phichit was quicker, pulling it out of reach with a gleeful laugh. “You posted that?” Yuri growled.

“It’s already got 3,000 views,” Phichit said smugly. “The fans are eating it up.”

Valeriya, finally recovering from her laughter, leaned back in her chair. “You have to admit, it’s a good photo,” she teased, her cheeks faintly pink.

Yuri shot her an incredulous look. “You’re not helping!”

Victor waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, Yuri. Phichit’s just having fun. Besides,” he added with a conspiratorial wink, “you do look good together.”

“Victor!” Yuri and Valeriya exclaimed in unison, their embarrassment perfectly synchronized. This only fueled Phichit’s delight, and the sound of his laughter echoed through the café.

As the group devolved into playful banter, Yuri caught Valeriya’s eye again. This time, she didn’t look away, her expression softening as their gazes locked. For a moment, the chaos around them seemed to fade, leaving only the unspoken tension between them. Yuri felt his heart skip a beat, and he quickly looked down at his tea, silently cursing Phichit for making things even more complicated.

The conversation carried on, shifting to skating, upcoming competitions, and gossip about other skaters. Valeriya chimed in with an amused recount of Yakov’s latest meltdown, making everyone at the table burst into laughter.

As the chatter continued, Yuri found himself glancing at Valeriya more often, noticing the way her lips curled when she laughed, the way her fingers tapped idly against her cup. He hated how much he noticed, and he hated even more that Phichit noticed him noticing.

“You know, Valeriya,” Phichit said slyly, “if you ever need a skating partner, I bet Yuri would volunteer.”

Yuri choked on his tea, and Valeriya smirked. “Oh? Would you, Yuri?”

He shot Phichit a murderous glare before coughing into his sleeve. “I— I mean, if you wanted to train together, I guess… whatever.”

“How romantic,” Phichit mused, snapping another picture. “Partners on the ice, partners in life?”

Yuri groaned, burying his face in his hands while Valeriya only laughed harder. Victor draped an arm around his fiancé, clearly enjoying the show. “Oh, Phichit, I like the way you think.”

Yuri sent them both a deadly glare. He was never going to survive this.

But then Valeriya leaned just a little closer, her voice dropping into something softer, more teasing. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer, Yura.”

And just like that, Yuri knew he was doomed.

#fanfiction #x oc #yurio plisetsky #yuuri!!! on ice #yoi #yuri plisetsky #yoi yurio #yuuri on ice #between blades and blushes #figure skating #grand prix

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