[yoooespinosa]

truth in every lie | d.m

➤ summary: Draco replaces reader, but pays the consequences years later.

➤ warnings: cheating, angst w happy ending

➤ word count: 1.5k

Masterlist | Taglist

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Rumors were a fickle thing.

You can never rely on the sources, always changing the more it gets passed down. Sentences being added and words fabricated.

Yet, there was always some authenticity laced into it, in some form. How else would it even be brought up?

You had never engaged in the rumors that went around hogwarts. You thought them to be immature, with the way one wrong word could ruin one’s reputation.

But when rumors were being made right in front of you, well, it was kind of hard not to perk up and listen.

Whispering hastily, a handful of emotions coming across faces, you couldn’t help when your steps seemed to stall when coming close to the group.

You let your steps carry you slowly. Gripping your books closer to your chest, not giving away your eavesdropping, only letting yourself give a side eye.

The closer you got, the clearer those words became, “Did you hear?”

“Yes, i can’t believe it.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

You were getting closer to passing them, a part of you wanted to snap at them to just spit it out.

“Of course it’s true, i saw it with my own eyes.”

“What happened exactly?”

“Yesterday, when i was passing by that one alcove in the seventh floor corridor, i saw...” They paused, adding to the dramatics, you rolled your eyes inwardly. “draco malfoy making out with pansy parkinson.”

A series of gasps were heard, it was all very impassioned that you almost gagged. Until you processed their words and you swore that you could taste bile threatening to come up.

Your steps faltered, head snapping to the group. Gripping your books so tight, close to cutting off your blood circulation. They were whispering quieter now, hands on their mouth, ever the dramatics.

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend though?”

“Yes, exactly! Pity that.”

You gathered all your senses back and paced out of there, away from the hear-sayers. Trying desperately to sooth the stinging in your chest with deep breaths.

It wasn’t true though, they didn’t know what they saw. They were just desperate to have another rumor boiling up for tomorrow.

You let that thought sooth you, disregarding the part of you that kept repeating the logic that there was always a little bit of truth in every lie.

A forced laugh escaped your throat, barely hiding the anxiousness that intertwined in it. “It’s silly, isn’t it?”

Draco stared at you blankly, he was always good at hiding his true feelings. But right now you were a little nervous of the likelihood that he was hit with an imperious, just by how much his face look like a blank slate.

You had told him about what had just happened an hour ago, filling him in on the rumor that was bound to spread like wild fire tomorrow. Another part of you told him just because you were yearning for solace, the reassurance that he was most certainly not cheating.

The silence stretched. The once faint crackling of the fireplace, growing louder by each second. Echoing around the both of you.

“Right, draco?” Repeating the question, close to whispering this time. He blinks and you think that guilt was shown on his face, but it was gone in a second that you could’ve just imagined it.

He stares at you with those molten silver eyes. Ones that used to be filled with warmth, now holding cold indifference.

Maybe you should have seen this coming.

But, you had made yourself incognizant.

You ignored the stolen glances your lover gave to another. The sinful whispers exchanged when assumed you weren’t around. Became oblivious to the empty side of your bed, the one who once occupied it, warming up someone else’s sheets. You turned a blind eye to the slow replacement of yourself. Pretending that draco wasn’t sullying your trust.

You ignored it for so long that the acknowledgment of his infidelity, was forgotten. It was no longer a possibility in your mind, because you vanished all self aware.

But it all came back when he said, “I’m sorry.”

Because you both knew exactly what he was sorry for.

Sorry for the forthcoming whispers headed your way, because he knew you hated when rumors were centered around you. Sorry for betraying your trust. For neglecting you, when all you did was give him your all. For crushing every dream, every planned future, you had with him, to dust. For going behind your back and doing everything he used to do, with another. For falling out of love with you, when yours for him was growing stronger everyday.

Maybe part of you did see this coming, but that fact didn’t make it hurt any less.

Not when the person you planned to spend your entire life with was planning their own with someone else the whole time.

Draco walked down the cobbled stoned sidewalk, getting closer to his destination with every step.

He entered the bookshop, the smell of parchment and leather basking him in a sense of familiarity.

Looking around, there wasn’t much people occupying the shop, besides some that were browsing shelves in the back that he couldn’t see from where he was standing.

He used to go to this specific shop a few years ago, with you. He doesn’t know what made him come here, he had a hankering for a feeling of nostalgia.

He walked through the rows of shelves loaded with all kinds of books, dragging his fingertip along each one. He closed his eyes, dragging his finger farther, then stopped.

He grabbed the book he stopped on, flipping through the pages. He used to do that with you, mostly when you weren’t sure what to get, it was easier and fun to see what you would land on.

The book wasn’t something he would normally choose, but just by briefing over the words, he could tell that it was something you would enjoy. He wouldn’t be surprised if you read it already.

Putting the book back, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander as he moved farther through the shelves.

Wondering how you were doing now. Wondering what you were doing.

He hadn’t heard much from you after hogwarts, not with you choosing to travel once you were done with school. He remembers wanting to ask where you were planning on going, the sights you wanted to discover, but he would look at pansy and be reminded that it was no longer his place.

Pansy. He was married to her now. He proposed to her after school, at his parents urging. They started talking about children, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready for that step yet. It was a big step, one that he never took the time to consider with pansy, time to consider if he even wanted that with her.

It was fun with her back in school. Even if it was wrong, that only made it better in some sick way. Being with pansy was addicting, it was pure adrenaline in his veins. The possibility of being caught, spurring him on. The fact that he couldn’t have her because he had someone else, making him only want her more.

But now that, that someone else was gone, it was not the same. It was boring and filled him with a sense of dread because she reminded him of the cruel boy he once was.

Being with pansy now, was a reminder that he let go of something that could have made him great. She was a reminder of another sin that he was undoubtedly guilty of.

A hushed laugh broke him out of his thoughts. A laugh that was dear to him, one that he could recognize from anywhere.

It was like a force, bringing him closer to the siren call.

There you were, looking as beautiful as the day he first laid his eyes on you. Your eyes were closed, a soft smile on your face, as you dragged your fingers across the books.

His heart seemed to stutter at the simplicity of it all. But then he heard a deeper laugh, turning his head, his heart seemed to stop all together.

Blaise zabini was watching you with a smile full of affection and eyes that softened at the sight of you and on his hip was a child.

A child that was clearly the creation of you both.

Draco didn’t know what to do with himself, he felt frozen, watching as you opened your eyes and grabbed the book you inevitably chose.

Turning the book this way and that way, he saw a glimmer, bringing his attention to the ring that enveloped your finger.

He brought his attention to blaise’s finger and his heart started again, pounding, as he took sight of his ring. You were married. And had a child.

Married to someone else. Having a child with someone else.

Draco couldn’t see straight, not with the knowledge that he was indisputably replaced. He should’ve known that, with the years that passed, but actually seeing it in real life, was a cruel hit of reality.

The weight of regret was heavy on his shoulders, dragging him to the ground.

Because there you were, with that look of complete an utter adoration, gazing at blaise and your child. The look that he once had the privilege to know, to be looked upon with.

There you were creating a future with someone else. Creating a future that you once planned to create with him.

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[yoooespinosa]

what carries over

➤ summary: On New Year’s Eve, two people who never quite let each other go try to step into a new year together

・.・✫・゜・.・✫・゜・.・✫・゜・.・✫・゜・.・✫

She feels like she’s floating.

She feels as if she’s paused in mid air. Her feet off the ground and this fuzziness taking ahold of her body.

She feels as if she’s jumped and now she’s stuck. Like her body forgot what comes after such an action.

She knows she’s not actually floating.

Her feet are firmly on the ground (the heels she chose to wear are making sure to remind her). And that fuzziness having something to do with the four glasses of champagne she had prior to the fifth in her trembling hand.

Thinking of it, she wishes she could float.

Wishes to mimic the tiny bubbles in her glass. To float upupupup until she disappears up into the surface.

That would be nice, she thinks.

Floating, until she reaches the ceiling. Until she reaches the pretty chandeliers, her fingertips grazing the golden sparkling masses.

She imagines them making a sound once she does. A pretty one, light and airy. Her fingernail taps the glass in her hand, that’s the sound.

Ting.

She does it again, and again and again, in no certain rhythm. A pretty sound that she’s sure would be appreciated by everyone else in this crowded ballroom.

“What’s got you smiling and all?”

She hadn’t known she was smiling, but the familiar voice only made her grin grow wider.

“Can you help me up there, please?”

She doesn’t look at him when she says it. She’s afraid if she does, she’ll just come crashing back down.

Instead, she tips the glass just enough to watch the champagne slosh, the bubbles still climbing like they have somewhere better to be. She imagines them escaping without her.

“Up where?” he asks.

She lifts her chin, eyes tracing the curve of the ceiling. The chandeliers glow brighter tonight, strung with extra lights for the occasion, glass and gold catching every flicker. They look heavier somehow, like they’re holding the weight of the year above everyone’s heads.

“Up,” she says, vague. “There.”

He follows her gaze, then looks back at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he thinks she’s being dramatic. Or drunk. Or both.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” he says.

She hums, not denying it. The champagne has left her feeling light, slightly detached, like her body is a half-step behind her thoughts.

“It’s New Year’s,” she says. “I think it’s allowed.”

He nods, conceding easily. And that small act, how quickly he lets it go, makes something in her chest tighten. He didn’t used to do that. Before, he would’ve teased her, pressed the point, tried to pull her back down to earth when all she wanted was to float somewhere above it.

Around them, the room shifts. People move closer together, laughter growing louder, glasses clinking more often. The air feels charged, like everyone’s waiting for a signal only they can hear. Someone brushes past her shoulder, murmuring an apology before disappearing into the crowd.

Without thinking, he steps closer. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of him at her side. Close enough that it feels familiar and dangerous.

She wonders if he notices it too. If he feels that quiet pull, the muscle memory of a year spent leaning into each other without hesitation. A year that ended, somehow, without ever really ending.

At the far end of the room, a large screen flickers on. The glow shifts, brighter, cooler. A few people cheer prematurely, the sound rippling through the ballroom like static.

Her attention drifts back to him.

He looks different tonight. Not dramatically, just subtly. Quieter. More thoughtful. Like he’s standing in the doorway between what was and what might be, unsure which side he belongs to.

“Do you want another drink?” he asks, voice raised just slightly to cut through the noise.

She glances down at her glass, at the bubbles still rising, stubborn and endless.

“No,” she says after a moment. “I want to remember this part.”

His brows lift, surprised, but he nods. Doesn’t ask what she means. Doesn’t make a joke out of it. She appreciates that more than she can explain.

The screen flickers again, settling into place. Numbers appear briefly, testing, before disappearing.

A low murmur spreads through the crowd. Anticipation tightening, time suddenly louder than before.

She stays where she is, feet planted, body warm and grounded despite the buzz in her head.

Still here, she thinks. Still deciding.

The room feels warmer now, bodies pressing closer as the minutes thin out. Someone laughs too loudly behind her. Someone else starts explaining resolutions no one asked for. It all blends together, a low, restless hum.

She shifts her weight, the heel of her shoe digging into the marble. For a second she imagines what it would be like to leave before midnight. To step outside, let the year turn without her, avoid having to choose anything at all. The thought is tempting. Cowardly. Honest.

She glances at him again.

He’s watching the screen, jaw set, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. He rocks back on his heels, then forward again. A nervous habit. She remembers noticing it the first time they ever waited for something together- tickets, a table, an answer that took too long to come.

He catches her looking.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says, too quickly.

He studies her for a second longer than necessary, then nods like he’s decided not to push. Instead, he pulls one hand out of his pocket, lets it hang between them.

The space between their fingers feels deliberate.

She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing she is. If this moment will end up mattering more than it should. If midnight will make something official that neither of them has fully agreed to yet.

The screen lights up again. This time it stays.

A cheer ripples through the room. People begin to drift closer to whoever they came with. Arms slide around waists. Heads tilt together.

She feels a familiar ache in her chest, not jealousy, exactly. More like memory.

She feels perched. Balanced on something thin.

He clears his throat, glancing down at the numbers, then back at her.

“Hey,” he says, softer than before.

She tilts her head.

“If you want some space,” he adds, “I won’t take it personally.”

It’s such a small thing. An offhand comment. But it lands heavy.

He wouldn’t have said that before. Before, he would’ve assumed. Would’ve stepped in close without asking, confident she’d follow.

She searches his face, trying to decide whether this is growth or distance.

“Okay,” she says carefully. “And if I don’t?”

His lips twitch. “Then I’m here.”

The answer isn’t grand. It isn’t even reassuring in the way she’s learned to expect.

But it’s honest.

The numbers on the screen shift again, brighter now, harder to ignore. The room responds instinctively, voices rising, bodies edging closer, as if time itself is pulling everyone toward someone else.

She becomes acutely aware of where she’s standing. Of where he is. Of how easily she could close the gap between them, how natural it would feel to tuck herself into the space she knows so well.

She doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she watches the clock tick down. Nine minutes, then eight. Each number feels heavier than the last, like it’s asking her a question she isn’t ready to answer.

Last year, she would’ve known. Last year, she would’ve wrapped her arms around him without thinking, certain she’d be carried into the new year without having to choose anything at all.

She remembers how that certainty dissolved. Quietly. Without a fight.

The crowd swells again. Someone starts a chant, then laughs when it falls apart. Confetti cannons sit untouched in the corners of the room, waiting their turn. The air smells faintly like champagne and perfume and something electric, anticipation maybe.

He moves beside her, closer now, though he doesn’t touch her. She feels the warmth of him through the thin fabric of her dress, the way his presence still steadies her even when she doesn’t want it to.

His hand moves again, just adjusting at his side. Restless. Unsure.

She wonders what he’s thinking. If he’s counting down too. If he’s measuring whether this version of them is something he wants to carry forward, or something he’s afraid of repeating.

The screen flashes. Five minutes.

People start pairing off in earnest now, laughter sharpening into something more focused. A woman nearby links arms with her partner, presses her forehead into his shoulder like she’s already claimed the moment.

She feels a flicker of envy.

She glances at him again.

His gaze is fixed on the screen, but his posture has softened, shoulders no longer tight. He looks almost contemplative. Like he’s letting himself feel the weight of this instead of avoiding it.

As if he senses her looking, he turns.

Their eyes meet.

Neither of them smile.

It’s strange how much can pass in a single look. How much history lives there. The year they spent learning each other. The months they spent pretending they could let go. The quiet agreement that brought them back into the same room on the last night of the year.

He takes a breath, like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

She’s glad he doesn’t.

Some things feel too fragile to name before midnight.

The clock drops to three minutes.

Her heart beats a little faster now.

Whatever happens next, whatever she chooses to d will feel intentional. There will be no pretending this time.

The room changes without warning.

It isn’t loud at first. It’s a collective inhale. Voices soften, bodies angle toward the screen, champagne glasses hover forgotten in midair.

One minute.

She feels suddenly too aware of herself, of him beside her, of the thin space that’s been holding all night. The question she’s been avoiding sharpens into something unavoidable.

Is this what she wants to carry with her?

He straightens, rolling his shoulders back like he’s bracing for impact. His hand lifts halfway between them, stops. She sees the hesitation. The choice.

The countdown begins, uneven and shouted.

Ten.

Nine.

Her pulse beats hard against her ribs. She doesn’t look at the screen. She looks at him.

Eight.

Seven.

He’s already watching her. There’s something tight in his expression, something unresolved. Like he’s afraid that whatever happens in the next few seconds will matter more than he’s ready for.

Six.

She thinks of the nights she waited. The mornings she told herself not to care. How loving him used to feel like standing on the edge of something with no railing.

Five.

Her hand moves before she can stop it, brushing against his wrist. Testing. Asking.

Four.

He turns his palm up, meets her halfway. Their fingers slide together, not quite interlaced.

Three.

The room gets louder.

Two.

She steps in, close enough to feel his breath. Close enough that there’s no pretending this is casual.

One.

The room erupts in cheers, confetti bursting, glasses clinking, music surging back to life.

For a second, they just stare at each other.

The year turns.

He leans in first, tentative, like he’s giving her time to pull away. She doesn’t.

Their mouths meet, soft at first, uncertain. Not the kind of kiss meant to impress anyone watching. The kind meant to check something still exists.

She feels the familiar pull immediately. The ache. The comfort. The danger.

He deepens it slightly, hand tightening at her waist, grounding her. She responds without thinking, rising onto her toes, closing the distance she’s been guarding all night.

The noise around them fades.

When they pull apart, it’s slow and reluctant.

She rests her forehead against his for half a second, breathing him in. He doesn’t say anything. Neither of them does.

She knows the kiss didn’t fix anything.

She also knows it wasn’t nothing.

Around them, the new year roars forward, full of promises, full of certainty she doesn’t have.

She stays where she is anyway.

Still here. Still choosing, even if the choice is fragile. Even if it scares her.

[yoooespinosa]

Also have you read any new books lately I remember when we were obsessed with the devils night series😭

i posted i think a month or two ago so no ur not crazy

omg i totally forgot about that series! and no i don’t read anymore like that 😭 for some reason i can’t get into it anymore. have you??

[yoooespinosa]

Same idk why I suddenly decided to get back on here😭 it’s so weirddd everyone is gone

How are you doing tho

ik ghost town fr

i’m doing okay, how are you??

[yoooespinosa]

Just wanted to say that I love re resding your fics:)

aw tyty that means a lot <3

[yoooespinosa]

I suddenly see a post of you on my dash

The nostalgia that just hit me in the face o m g

i know 😭 that’s how i feel everytime i randomly go on this app

[yoooespinosa]

Hi is anyone here

hi

[yoooespinosa]

all that remains | t.n

hi! wrote this a long time ago and have no idea why i never posted. hope this doesn’t flop!

summary: Theo Nott survived the war. So did she. Survival doesn’t always mean healing.

I.

His hair is a right mess, that’s the first thing she noticed.

Curls askew, wisps tickling his forehead and curling around his ears. She thinks it’s a rather odd sight, a young pureblood being allowed to walk around such company, like that.

Although, with a longer look, she thinks that maybe his hair was the least of worries.

Off-balanced is what she would describe him, (she’ll venture the words lopsided and wobbly years later to irritate him) or maybe that’s just the sight of his messy clothes talking. It seems almost like everything is leaning the opposite way. The collar of his shirt is too much to the right, like he had been tugging the fabric. There are a few buttons missing on his shirt and his trousers seem to be too big, the cuffs rolled to show mismatched socks.

She can’t help the low gasp from her throat at the sight.

A laugh bubbles underneath her chest after— the thought of whether his parents just don’t care or if this is just a repeated rebellion against their stiff pureblood manners.

His eyes are the second thing to catch her attention.

Dark and narrowed slightly, hidden beneath dark tresses. Curious and searching.

Then his hand, reaching out for hers.

They are small and soft with youth, like her own. Warm and comforting. Much like his words, “I’m Theodore Nott.”

II.

Her heart is beating out of her chest and she’s sure that every exhale has a hitch interwoven in it.

Do not disappoint us, was the departing words of her parents.

The promise that she wouldn’t was stuck in her throat, growing tighter with every house the sorting hat shouts.

She’s heard of muggle gods before. She discovered a book and kept it tucked away in her bedside drawer, her own little secret to feed her own little curiosities.

She never thought much of the god then— just let the words soothe her need of novelties— she never stopped to wonder if it was true, where it stood in her head.

It’s only until she feels a familiar hand prying her own apart, that she realized she was praying to them.

She lets out a breath as a warm hand slides into her slightly damp one.

“Don’t worry.” The boy next to her whispers.

She looks to her left, meeting dark eyes that shes learned brighten to a shade of amber in the sunlight.

“And breath, will you?” Theo scoffs, she knows there’s no malice in it though. “Looks like you’re about to pass out.”

He squeezes her hand once before letting go.

She feels lighter at the slip of his hand. Its easier to breath at the small encouragement and the mere sight of those eyes she met for the first time years ago.

III.

The snow falls delicately, disappearing before it could hit the heads of the crowd of people swaying around the dance floor.

The Yule Ball was a beautiful sight.

It was a shame that the last of it she saw was through a blurry vision— skirts swinging as she rushed away from the snow and the crystal goblets and the glittering floors and the dancing couples and her dates lips on another— leading into the cold and lonely corridor.

Stupid, foolish boys, was all that she kept muttering through broken gasps and pitiful sobs.

She is fourteen, on the brink of fifteen. And the night before she dreamed of a dress made of the finest of fabrics, of turned heads and possibilities of a night finished with her first stolen kiss.

She hadn’t thought of the way a boys mind worked. She hadn’t thought of how easy it was for another to steal their attention.

Her naivety leads her to her lonesome, perched against a thick windows ledge.

The glass is cold against her back, bleeding through her dress. She can hear the music still, though now its muffled.

Sniffles fill the empty hall and after a few moments of her gathering herself, light footsteps join.

“Pathetic.” She hears, a voice she recognizes as Theo’s.

She flinches at the word, he joins her at her side.

“Me?”

“Never you.” He says before the question fully even leaves her mouth. “Although you shouldn’t have left in such a rush like that.”

“Why?”

“Because now he’ll always hold that over you.” He says in a certain manner that angers her.

Her eyes narrow at their own accord, a scoff escaping her lips like a breath. “Hold what, exactly?”

“Well, you know.” He mumbled, his hand falling limp by his side.

“No, i don’t think i do.”

“Well, you know, vulnerability-“

“Stop talking Theodore.”

She could worry about everything else tomorrow, let the embarrassment flood her when morning comes. But right now, her stomach is knotted and her special night is ruined.

A sigh escapes her mouth, lips tugging downward while she restlessly fiddles with fabric of her dress.

“Stop pouting,” Theodore murmurs, his hands halting hers. “dance with me real quick.”

“Why?” She huffed, not resisting his pulling too much, she feels the coldness of the window disappear and the warmth of the hall soothes her immediately.

“You can’t attend a dance without dancing.”

He pulls her farther from the window, into the middle of the corridor where the moonlight shines down on them, like a spotlight.

She hadn’t danced yet. Her night was spent sitting in the shadows of the great hall, melancholy staining her face at the realization that her choice of date, utterly sucked.

He guides one of her hands to the back of his neck and holds the other against his.

He moves his hand to her waist with a gentle grip, she almost laughs at how cautious he seems with her and her heart swells just the same.

“I’m only going to dance with you because i have nothing better to do.” She murmurs, though she can’t wipe the smile off her face as she leans her head against his chest.

A soft breath puffs against her hair, “Sure.”

They sway leisurely, the music coming from the hall like a low hum echoing against the walls.

Her eyes flutter and she feels so warm against Theodore that she feels she could almost fall asleep just as they are; a pair slow dancing in the beams of moonlight to the muffled music.

It’s not until she’s laying in bed, her mind foggy with exhaustion and cheeks straining from smiling— that she realizes— theodore hadn’t let go of her hand until she was at the door of her dorm.

IV.

Harry fucking Potter.

It was just always Harry fucking Potter.

She glared back at every wandering eye and scoffed at the group of whispers. No one knew how to be inconspicuous if they even tried.

The daily prophet had only been delivered this morning. It was the afternoon now and Potters words and accusations had already been spread like wild fire.

Everyone seemed to believe his words now. The irony was laughable.

Her steps were brisk and her jaw was clenched to the point it ached.

The air got colder the closer she got to the dungeon and farther from the stares, her footsteps echoing through the hollow halls.

The thought of checking on Theo had only crossed her mind for a second before she was up on her feet. Her mind too clouded with concern for the boy, to be worried about the overwhelming urge she had to be close to him.

There wasn’t too many people in the common room, a few scattered about, she didn’t pay attention to any of them though.

She spotted him easily.

She really shouldn’t be able to recognize him from just the length of his back or the width of his shoulders or the curls that kissed the nape of his neck. She had no time to stray on that thought though.

“Hey,” She tried to keep her voice cool, truly, but everything in her seemed to soften at it’s own accord in the presence of him.

He was reading (or trying to), his finger pausing on its way to flip the page, to throw a glance her way.

“How are you?” She asked after taking a seat next to him.

A huff of breath escapes him, fingers choosing to mindlessly toy with the page between his fingers.

“Besides people looking at me like i’m a second away from summoning the dark lord,” He says dryly. “i’d say i’m great.”

Her heart was beating with sympathy and her fingers yearning to comfort him.

“I get it.”

“You don’t.” He shakes his head and if she was anyone else there would’ve been real heat to his words. “Your fathers name wasn’t on that list.”

“Well your name wasn’t on that list either so i’m not seeing the point.”

“That doesn’t matter to anyone and you know it.” He scoffs lightly.

All they needed to see was his last name and all his fathers sins would be thrown onto him.

“Typical really.” His voice is soft and she thinks it doesn’t match his words. “My father makes going home hell, he just had to ruin school too.”

She wishes then that she could hide him away from everything ugly, from everything that hurts. She wishes she could bury him between her arms and that the only thing he’d be able to feel was the way her heart beats for him.

She then wishes to take that thought back. It feels too heavy to feel such feelings for a friend.

Lips pressed tightly together, she says nothing, though looking back she wishes she had.

Instead she lets him go back to reading (or pretending to at least.)

His eyes shift around the battered pages of his favorite book and his fingers twitch every time a noise breaks through the bubble they unconsciously created.

She doesn’t know who reaches out first, it doesn’t matter, but their hands find each other’s. Fingers interlocking like they were never meant to be separated.

She hopes he finds comfort in her touch the way she does his.

V.

Everything was wrong.

This summer was filled with realizations. A dreaded one that turned to something close to hopeful.

Days filled with dazed daydreams and nights filled with muffled desires.

This summer was spent with Theodore on the front of her mind.

And maybe the mere thought of the boy had made her delusional. So much time creating her own made up fantasies in her head, that she had no time to prepare herself for the very real version of Theodore.

She hadn’t expected this quiet boy.

“Teddy?” His finger twitched at the sound of her voice.

She hasn’t called him that since they were young. The word tastes sweet on her tongue, it tastes like a youthful innocence.

He never liked the nickname much. But now the sound of it made his heart ache, a yearning taking over his whole, to be that young again. To be that naive.

He sighed deeply, “What, y/n?”

And he sounded so resigned, so defeated, that dread settled heavily in her stomach.

“Are you-“ She sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

He closed the book that his attention had been on, never once looking in her direction, and she almost flinched.

He didn’t look okay, far from it.

His clothes always had a way of looking messy, hanging off him just slightly. Now, it looked as if his skin was hanging off his bones, his clothes a foolish cover up.

“I’m fine.” He finally answered, his voice firm, like he wasn’t only trying to convince her.

She didn’t believe him for a second. She wished she would have voiced that, but something about the way his jaw was set and the way his clothes laid on him, stopped her.

The only thing she could do was reach out. Her hand ghosting over his.

His eyes met hers at her touch.

Theodore wasn’t cruel. But the way he fled from her grasp, the way he pulled away from her familiar comfort, looked like maybe he wanted to hurt her.

“Don’t touch me.” He said softly, so soft you couldn’t see the sharp edge his words had to it. “I don’t want you ever touching me again y/n.”

She hadn’t thought Theodore was cruel. She wasn’t so sure anymore, she wasn’t really sure of anything.

“Why are you being like this?”

It was small, her voice, carrying her hurt. It went straight to his heart.

He didn’t say anything. Instead he brought his eyes back down to his book, never opening it, just staring at the cover. Like anything was better to look at than her.

“Okay.” She whispers, her eyes stinging. “I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t know just how much comfort that simple sentence brought him that day. She doesn’t know how much it helped him that year.

She watches him from afar the rest of the year. Her heart numb and her fingers cold and an understanding that took too long to take ahold of her.

VI.

She should be dead.

That was the only thought that filled her head as she stood amongst the crumbling stones of what once was Hogwarts.

Ash still floated in the air, soft like snow, it felt cruel and out of place. Blood stained the ground beneath her shoes and the halls she once ran through with laughter felt like tombs now.

The ache in her chest was constant. She didn’t know if it was grief or relief or something worse.

She should be dead.

But she wasn’t. And neither was he.

She saw him before he saw her. A figure hunched at the edge of the ruins, head bowed, shoulders heavy like the sky itself had fallen on him. His robes were torn, dirt smudged across his skin, the unmistakable dark brand of what he’d once chosen still half-visible on his arm.

She almost didn’t go to him.

Maybe it would be easier to leave it like this-two broken things, parallel, untouched.

But her feet moved anyway.

“Theo.”

His head snapped up and for a moment, there was nothing. Just the hollow space between them.

Then this recognition, followed by guilt so raw it made her want to weep.

He stood slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to. She stopped just a few feet away, close enough to see the way his eyes were a thousand years older, but still the same shade of dark, wild brown she had once clung to like a prayer.

Neither of them spoke.

There were too many words and none that would fit. So he did what he had always done.

He reached for her hand. Faltering. Slow.

Like he thought she might pull away.

She didn’t. Her fingers curled around his, fragile, trembling.

And for the first time in months, maybe years, she breathed.

The war was over. The future was unknown. But for now, they were alive. And for now, they had this.

VII.

The war hollowed them out.

Not all at once. Not with explosions and curses and battle cries, but slowly, like rot seeping through old wood.

She found him sitting at the edge of the kitchen table, head bowed, hands wrapped around a cracked mug. The same way he’d sat in the common room once, pretending to read while the world decided what to make of him. The same way he had refused her touch once, when it all became too much.

Now, he didn’t flinch when she entered. But he didn’t look up either.

She hovered by the doorway longer than necessary, feeling the old ache settle in her chest. The one she thought time might have cured.

It hadn’t.

“You always hated warm milk,” she said, her voice brittle with the weight of everything between them.

He shrugged. It barely qualified as a response.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, counting out the seconds of another night neither of them would sleep through.

“You remember the Yule Ball?” she asked, a question that tasted like ash in her mouth.

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I remember you pouted the whole night.”

“I remember you made me dance,” she said, arms crossed tight across her chest. “and that you didn’t let go until you had to.”

Silence pulsed between them, heavy and tired.

“We were stupid back then,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the chipped rim of his cup. “didn’t know what real loss looked like.”

She studied him. The slope of his shoulders, the familiar unruliness of his hair, the way everything about him still leaned wrong, like the world had tilted beneath his feet and never righted itself again.

“Would you go back?” she asked, voice low. “If you could?”

He shook his head once. Sharp. Certain. “No point in wishing for things we already ruined.”

It stung more than it should have. More than she wanted to admit.

She shifted her weight, like the floorboards might give out under her if she stayed too long.

“You never really let me save you,” she said, quieter now.

“You never stopped trying,” he answered, voice flat. “as if it would matter.”

Maybe once, she would have argued. Maybe once, she would have reached for his hand anyway.

Now she just tucked her fingers into her sleeves and held herself.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows. Inside, two people who once knew each other’s hearts better than their own sat oceans apart across a worn kitchen table.

She turned to leave without saying goodbye.

She didn’t need to. Some things didn’t get goodbyes. Some things just stayed, cold and unfinished, like bones buried in shallow earth.

At the doorway, she glanced back once.

He hadn’t looked up.

[yoooespinosa]

the nose stud suits you! I’ve have been wanting one how would you rate the pain?

thanks!

maybe a two for me. it was over pretty quickly and just felt like a pinch. but everyone has different pain tolerances!

[yoooespinosa]

you’re 😭 so 😭pretty 😭

thank you :’)

[yoooespinosa]

Holy freaking shit babes you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen it looks gorgeous on you

you’re my favorite person ever ily 💘💓💗💞💕

[yoooespinosa]

Make sure to wash it with saline or you can always make your own mixture !! Also you’re so pretty :)

yes i already bought a bottle, and thank you!

[yoooespinosa]

oh damn how are u real

you’re so so so stunning !!! 🤧💗

omg stop, thank youuuu!! <333

[yoooespinosa]

we only exist between these hotel walls

summary: these hotel walls watch as she melts before the sun

warnings: cheating. ooc james potter. allusions of sex.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

His name feels holy between her lips.

James, she gasps.

James, she whispers.

James, she moans.

It’s the only word that she can form at times like these (the thought of that makes her laugh after, when she has to force herself to forget his name.)

Baby, he gasps.

Baby, he whispers.

Baby, he moans.

She thinks maybe it’s easier for him to forget her name. She thinks maybe he doesn’t even know her name.

Her lipstick is smeared against his skin, stark red against his tan skin. She kisses his cheek, runs her tongue against his lips, he tastes like her now.

(She’ll pretend it doesn’t hurt when he washes her off him.)

His lips leave a searing path down her neck, (she wishes his lips would leave a permanent mark), she wonders if she tastes like him now.

His hands are holding hers down, a lovely weight against her palms. But she wishes to touch him, fingers tangled in his dark hair, hands curling around his biceps, nails dragging lines down his tensed back.

He feels her hand trying to lift up and kisses her thoughts away. He won’t make that mistake again. (Those nail indentions on his shoulders last weekend were too close, too risky.)

She couldn’t find it in herself to care about the repercussions of getting caught.

She moans against his skin, chocking on her pleasure. (She wishes her voice would sink through his skin, would flow with his blood, she wishes to be that close to him that he would never be able to forget her name.)

His weight on top of her feels like a blessing. He’s warm and bright and he looks golden when he’s on the brink of falling over with her.

Eyebrows pinched, mouth agape, muttering baby and fuck and my god and please (and she think she heard her name) like he can’t find the right words to show how good she’s making him feel.

His gasps of breath after are her revelation.

She thinks he’s made up of sunlight or something beautiful like that.

He’s just so lovely. His hair dark against these white sheets, skin shining, lips swollen, and traces of her all over him (traces that show he was hers, even for a moment.)

She can’t help but stare, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it strains her eyes.

He looks back, dimples deep as he gives her that bewitching grin. (It only makes it a little more painful to look.)

She lays there, basking in his rays, in his gaze.

But it only last so long until he has to leave.

Until he has to wash the lipstick off his lips, cheek, neck. Until he has to brush the taste of her off his tongue. Until he has to wash off every trace of her (until her sounds flow down the drain with the water and soap.)

The hotel walls stare back at her laying in her solitude on the crumpled white sheets. Only judging as she moves her eyes to the window, to the moon peeking back at her.

The shower is running and her (temporary) lover is washing everything she could give, off him.

The shower is running and he’s humming a cheerful tune.

The shower is running, he’s humming a cheerful tune and his ring is laying on the bedside table.

The shower is running, he’s humming a cheerful tune, his ring is on the bedside table and he’s already forgetting her name. (Did he even know it in the first place?)

The shower is running, he’s humming a cheerful tune, his ring is on the bedside table, he’s already forgetting her name and she’s trapped in this reality where the only time she can have him is between these hotel walls.

He walks out like a new person.

She lays there, the walls and moon watching, the sun is a lovely thing she thinks. (a lovely cruel thing.)

[yoooespinosa]

girly you are stunning//!!!

thank youuu! <3

[yoooespinosa]

ahhh ur eyes are so pretty babe!!!!

thank youu <3

[yoooespinosa]

STOPPP ur so pretty holy shit 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

literally you <33