sirene aux cheveux grichoux

Mattheo didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Didn’t ask for it, Hufflepuff.”

His voice was low, edged with that familiar bite. Sharp tongued as ever.

Around you, his friends, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchanged looks. Theo smirked into his pumpkin juice.

You shrugged, undeterred, and reached for some toast. “You didn’t have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.”

He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. “Stalking my eating habits now? Cute.” The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.

Across the table, Pansy snorted. “Merlin, she’s at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. He’s not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.”

“I’m not expecting charming,” you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. “Just making sure he doesn’t starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Bold for a Puff. Most of your house would’ve run by now.”

You met his gaze steadily. “Most of my house doesn’t see the point in running from someone who hasn’t actually done anything to them.” Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. “Besides, I like sitting here.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He took the apple though after a long pause and bit into it with more force than necessary.

You counted that as a win.

This had become routine. Weeks, maybe months now, of you orbiting him like a persistent moon.

Good mornings in the corridors, even when he responded with nothing but a grunt or a cutting remark about your “annoying cheerfulness.”

Little things: fixing the strap on his bag when it broke during Transfiguration, saving him a seat in the library (which he ignored and sat somewhere else, only for you to move anyway), defending him when some Gryffindor idiot muttered “Death Eater spawn” loud enough for the hall to hear.

His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.

“Another lap around the Riddle fan club?” Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after you’d somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were “funny” and “harmless”).

“Careful, love,” Pansy had added with a wicked grin. “He bites.”

You’d just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. “I’m not scared of teeth.”

Over time, the teasing softened. You laughed at their jokes, bantered back, helped Theo with Charms homework, and even managed to get Draco to admit your taste in Quidditch teams wasn’t completely abysmal.

You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo… tolerated it.

Or at least, that’s what he showed.

Lunch was more of the same. You slipped into the seat beside him again, ignoring the way Lorenzo Berkshire raised his eyebrows across the table.

“Saved you the last treacle tart,” you whispered, sliding the plate over. “I know they’re your favorite.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “You keeping a bloody list or something?”

“Maybe.” You grinned, unbothered. “Someone has to notice these things.”

Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. “Mate, she’s literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and you’re acting like she hexed you.”

“Shut it, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, dangerous. But his hand closed around the fork anyway.

You chatted easily with the others, Pansy about the latest fashion disaster in the common room, Blaise about the upcoming match, Draco about some pureblood nonsense you mostly tuned out.

Every so often you’d glance at Mattheo, offering a comment or a small smile. He rarely responded with more than a grunt or a sarcastic jab.

He never spoke to you nicely. Not once.

Yet you kept showing up. After classes, in the corridors “How was Arithmancy?” even when he brushed past you with a muttered “Don’t you have badgers to hug?”

You sat with the Slytherins at dinner, laughing when they roasted each other, fitting in like a bright patch on dark fabric.

His friends noticed.

One evening in the Slytherin dungeons, after you’d left (having fixed a rip in Mattheo’s robes with a quick charm and a cheerful “See you tomorrow!”), Theo finally snapped.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Riddle.”

Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. “Problem?”

Blaise chuckled. “She does more for you in a day than half the girls throwing themselves at you ever have. Brings you food, defends your sorry arse, actually listens when you’re in one of your moods”

“I don’t have moods,” Mattheo cut in coldly.

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. “She’s just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the ‘dark’ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “She’s not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And she’s not scared off by your award winning personality.”

“She’s a Hufflepuff,” Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. “Too soft. Too… good. She’ll get tired of it.”

Theo laughed. “She’s been at it for months. Sat through your worst days. Defended you to McGonagall when you got detention for that stunt with the Gryffindors. And you still treat her like dirt.”

He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didn’t do weakness.

“She’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “Just background noise.”

His friends exchanged glances. They knew better. They saw the way his eyes followed her when she left the room, the subtle shift when she sat beside him. The hidden softness he buried under sarcasm and ice.

You, meanwhile, walked back toward the Hufflepuff basement with a small, satisfied smile. He’d eaten the tart. He’d let you sit there. Progress, in your book.

You weren’t naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldn’t imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You weren’t afraid. And you weren’t going anywhere.

Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.

You’d keep showing up until he couldn’t pretend anymore.

———

It was a rainy Thursday when things shifted, just a little.

You were waiting outside the Potions dungeon after class, two umbrellas tucked under your arm (one borrowed from the Hufflepuff common room because you knew he’d “forgotten” his again).

Students streamed past, giving you odd looks. A group of Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands.

Mattheo emerged last, collar up, expression stormy. His eyes landed on you and narrowed.

“Don’t,” he said before you could speak, brushing past.

You fell into step beside him anyway, unfurling one umbrella and holding it over both of you. “It’s pouring. You’ll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.”

“I don’t complain.” His voice was clipped. “And I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”

“Too bad. I’m self appointed.” You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didn’t take the umbrella from you, but he also didn’t speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.

Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.

“Look at that,” Theo drawled. “Domestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?”

Mattheo shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”

You laughed softly. “I already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was… occupied.” You didn’t mention the detention he’d earned for hexing a seventh year who’d called him a monster in the corridor. You’d simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “See? She’s useful. Unlike you when you’re brooding.”

Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.

Dinner that evening brought new company.

A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedric’s old friend, Marcus something, had wandered over to the Slytherin table, apparently on some inter house project nonsense. He stopped right beside you, flashing a bright, easy smile.

“Hey, I’ve seen you around. You’re the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.” His eyes lingered. “We’re having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?”

You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.

“That’s sweet,” you said politely, “but I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.”

Marcus didn’t take the hint immediately. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Less… intense.” He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.

“She said no.” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didn’t even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. “Run along, Gryffindor.”

Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. “Alright, Riddle. Didn’t mean to step on toes.” He left.

Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. “Territorial much?”

“I’m eating,” Mattheo muttered. “Don’t need distractions.”

You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness he’d just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.”

“Clearly.” His sarcasm was sharp. “You were about to agree.”

“I wasn’t.” You poked his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away. “I like sitting with you lot. Even when you’re grumpy.”

Draco snorted into his goblet. “Grumpy. That’s one word for it.”

The real crack appeared two days later.

It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. You’d been dragged there again, this time by Pansy, who wanted your opinion on a dress for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

You ended up staying, curled up on the couch with a book while the boys played a lazy game of Exploding Snap nearby.

Mattheo was in one of his moods. Silent, sharp edged, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him. You knew the signs by now something from his past, or a letter from home, or just the weight of his own name pressing down.

You stood up quietly and disappeared toward the dorms corridor (Pansy had shown you where the spare blankets were kept weeks ago). When you returned, you draped a slightly warmer one over his shoulders without a word.

He tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You looked cold.” You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. “And you always steal the good blanket when we’re down here.”

“I don’t steal…..” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didn’t shrug the blanket off. His fingers curled into the fabric anyway.

Theo watched the exchange with open amusement. Later, when you stepped away to grab drinks for everyone, he leaned toward Mattheo.

“You know she’s in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. “She’s delusional.”

“Or you’re blind,” Blaise added quietly. “She defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think she’s lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when you’re a complete bastard to her. And you still act like she’s nothing.”

“Because she is nothing,” Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.

“She’ll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.”

Draco shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasn’t nothing.”

Mattheo didn’t reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful “good morning” and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t missed meals. And the way you looked at him… like he was worth saving… it terrified him. Because if he let you in, if he admitted how much he’d come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.

A weakness.

And people like him didn’t get to keep soft, bright things without breaking them.

He was possessive. The thought of you smiling at someone else like you smiled at him made magic crackle at his fingertips. Territorial. He wanted you close but he refused to give you anything back. It wasn’t fair. He knew that. He just didn’t care.

Or so he told himself.

The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, “Good morning, Mattheo,” and placing a small vial beside his plate.

“Pepperup Potion,” you explained before he could sneer. “Just in case. You sounded a bit off last night.”

He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.

“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.

You just grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Across the table, his friends shared knowing looks. They were done watching him self destruct in slow motion.

One of these days, Mattheo Riddle was going to have to face the fact that the persistent Hufflepuff had already wormed her way past every wall he’d built.

And when that happened… well. Even he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

———

Slytherin party,

The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherin’s narrow win over Ravenclaw.

Music thrummed from enchanted speakers, firewhisky flowed freely, and clusters of students laughed too loudly, danced too close, and forgot for one night about OWLs, NEWTs, and the shadows hanging over the wizarding world.

You’d shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress she’d “borrowed” from somewhere.

“Blend in for once, Puff,” she’d teased. You’d laughed and gone along with it. By now, no one batted an eye when you appeared in Slytherin territory. You were one of them. Sort of.

Mattheo sat in his usual spot on the large leather couch near the fireplace, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

A glass of firewhisky dangled from his fingers. His expression was the same half bored, half dangerous mask he wore most days.

You had claimed the spot beside him earlier, but the crowd had shifted. Now a Slytherin girl, sixth year, long dark hair, sharp cheekbones and sharper ambition had taken your place.

Literally. She was practically in his lap, one hand trailing down his chest, laughing breathily at something he hadn’t even said.

“Mattheo,” she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, “you really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery… I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.”

She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.

Mattheo didn’t push her away. He also didn’t pull her closer. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, eyes distant, like she was background noise. No smirk, no flirtation, no interest. Just cold tolerance.

You stood a few feet away, watching for a moment. A small sigh escaped you, not dramatic, not heartbroken, just… tired.

You knew this game. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. The dark aura, the dangerous reputation, the undeniable charisma, he attracted them like moths to a cursed flame. And he usually let them hover until they got bored.

You turned away and spotted Theo leaning against a stone pillar, nursing his own drink and watching the scene with clear amusement.

“Hey, Theo,” you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. “Think we’ll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?”

Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. “Doubt it. He’s already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.

You shrugged, leaning beside him. “I’m fine. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Think she’ll last longer than the last one who tried?”

Theo chuckled. “Nah. He’s not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s talking to a statue.”

You laughed softly, genuine and light. Talking with Theo was easy. He had become a real friend over the past weeks, someone who actually listened when you rambled about Herbology or the latest book you’d read.

“I was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but… maybe not. He looks like he’d rather hex the music.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. “You’re really not bothered by that?” He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheo’s arm while he stared into the fire.

You took a sip of your butterbeer. “Bothered? A little. But I’m not going to compete by climbing all over him. That’s not me.” Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. “He knows I’m here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.”

Theo shook his head, half laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.”

You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. “I’m not scared of him, or of this.” You gestured vaguely at the party. “Besides, I like talking to you lot. Even when he’s being… himself.”

Mattheo’s gaze had found you.

Even from across the room, even while the dark-haired girl whispered something in his ear, his eyes locked onto you and Theo. His jaw tightened. The girl’s hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didn’t stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.

He didn’t like it.

Not the girl. Her touch felt like nothing, irrelevant, annoying. But you standing there, laughing with Theo, looking perfectly at ease in his common room, in his world… that twisted something ugly and possessive in his chest.

You were supposed to be orbiting him. Not chatting and smiling at Nott like it was the most natural thing.

Yet he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, brooding.

Later, the girl finally gave up with a dramatic huff and stalked off to find easier prey. Mattheo didn’t even watch her leave.

You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.

“Enjoying the party?” you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink you’d grabbed on the way.

Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. “It’s loud,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. “You and Nott seemed cozy.”

There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Theo’s funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.” You paused, then added, “You could’ve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.”

He scoffed, leaning back. “Didn’t need to. Not interested.” His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. “Unlike some people, I don’t need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.”

You didn’t flinch. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on giving her any competition.” You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.

“You looked bored. Thought maybe you’d want actual company instead of… whatever that was.”

Mattheo stared at your hands on his tie, then at your face. The conflict raged behind his eyes, wanting to snap at you, push you away, and simultaneously wanting to pull you closer so no one else could even look at you the wrong way. He settled for his usual defense.

“You’re too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from your touch.

———

Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.

A letter from his father’s old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t fully escape. Combined with a brutal detention from Snape and losing a Quidditch strategy argument to Draco, his mood was blacker than the dungeons.

The kind of day where the shadows around him felt heavier, and everyone with sense stayed out of his way.

Everyone except you.

You had noticed immediately during breakfast. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.

Still, you slid into your usual seat beside him with a gentle smile, placing a steaming cup of his favorite black coffee (extra strong) in front of him.

“Morning, Mattheo,” you said softly. “Rough night? I brought you….”

“Enough.”

His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than he’d ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.

You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. “I just thought….”

Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. “You thought what? That your pathetic little acts of kindness would fix anything? That I want you here every single fucking day breathing down my neck like some lovesick puppy?”

The words cut deep. His friends froze.

“Mattheo…” Theo started quietly.

“No.” Mattheo didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.

“I’m done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like I’m some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.”

The silence was suffocating.

You stared at him for a long second, heart twisting painfully in your chest. Your eyes stung, but you refused to cry in front of them. Not here. Instead, you swallowed hard and stood up slowly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice small but steady. “I’ll leave.”

You turned and walked away without another word, head high even as your hands trembled at your sides. The Great Hall felt endless. A few people whispered, but you didn’t look back.

Mattheo didn’t watch you go. He gripped his fork until it bent, then shoved his plate away and stormed out. His friends exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing to him. Not yet.

Three days passed.

You kept your word. No more good mornings in the corridor. No more saving seats. No more sitting at the Slytherin table.

You ate with your housemates, smiled politely when people asked what happened, and threw yourself into Herbology and helping in the kitchens, anything to stay busy.

You missed them. You missed him. But you respected his wishes. If he wanted space, you’d give it to him, even if it hurt.

The Slytherin group felt the absence immediately.

Lunch on day one was too quiet. No one to laugh at Lorenzo’s terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.

By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. “This is ridiculous. The table feels empty.”

Theo kept glancing toward the Hufflepuff table where you sat, surrounded by your housemates but somehow looking… dimmer. Less bright.

Day three, Blaise finally said it out loud in the common room: “She’s makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her back”

Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.

He hadn’t spoken much in three days. His mood hadn’t improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. He’d missed dinner once because no one reminded him. The common room felt colder without your occasional presence.

He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. No weaknesses.

His friends disagreed.

On the evening of the fourth day, the group made their move.

Pansy and Theo cornered you after Charms class, blocking your path to the Hufflepuff basement with determined expressions.

“You’re coming with us,” Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.

You blinked in surprise. “Pansy, I can’t. He said…”

“He’s an idiot,” Theo cut in. “A miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Draco’s even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no one’s betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. “Too late for that. Mattheo’s been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.”

After a few more minutes of gentle insistence (and Pansy threatening to drag you), you gave in. You let them lead you down to the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering the entire way.

And there, in his usual spot by the fireplace, sat Mattheo.

He looked up when the portrait hole opened. His eyes landed on you immediately, widening for half a second before the guarded mask slammed back into place. He said nothing.

The others moved casually, like this was normal. Pansy pulled you toward the couch. Theo dropped into the seat across from Mattheo with a pointed look.

“Look who we found,” Theo announced lightly. “Our favorite Hufflepuff.”

You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. “Hi.”

Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. “About time. The silence was getting pathetic.”

You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space he’d demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face.

The conversation started slowly, Pansy complaining about homework, Blaise teasing Lorenzo, but it gradually warmed up. You laughed softly at one of Theo’s jokes, the sound familiar and bright again. For the first time in days, the common room felt alive.

Mattheo remained silent, watching you from the shadows of his seat. His jaw was tight, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. The conflict was clear in his eyes, the same storm you’d always seen, only sharper now. He’d told you to leave. You had. And now that you were back (because of them), the relief mixing with his anger and possessiveness was making his chest feel too tight.

He still didn’t speak to you.

Laughter echoed off the stone walls as Lorenzo dramatically retold his latest failed attempt at asking out a Ravenclaw, complete with sound effects.

Pansy was curled up beside you on the couch, showing you fabric swatches for some upcoming event, while Theo kept sliding in clever quips that made everyone groan or laugh.

You smiled and participated. You really did. You complimented Pansy’s choices, teased Lorenzo right back, and even debated Quidditch tactics with Draco when he dragged you into it. It felt good to be back among them.

They had become real friends, and their obvious relief at having you there eased some of the ache in your chest.

But with Mattheo… it was different now.

You stayed on the far end of the couch. You didn’t slide closer like you used to. You didn’t offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didn’t reach over to fix the cuff of his sleeve when it rode up.

Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you gave a small, polite nod and looked away again. Careful. Guarded. Not cold, you couldn’t quite manage that but no longer shining that bright, effortless warmth directly at him.

Mattheo noticed.

He sat in his usual chair, legs stretched out, nursing the same glass of firewhisky he’d barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansy’s side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.

It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. “Still sore about what the idiot said?”

You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. “I’m here for you guys. Not… not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want the extra stuff from me. I’m respecting that.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s a dramatic prick. He didn’t mean half of it.”

“Maybe.” You offered her a small smile. “But I’m not risking it again. Not right now.”

Mattheo’s grip tightened on his glass. He’d heard enough.

When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheo’s voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.

“Careful, Hufflepuff. Wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.”

You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.

“I’m just helping a friend, Mattheo,” you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. “No big gestures. No hovering.”

You set the drinks down and returned to your spot without another word. No apple. No blanket. No gentle check in about his clearly still terrible mood.

The silence stretched for a beat too long.

Theo cleared his throat. “Smooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.”

“Shut up, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, but his eyes stayed on you. That possessive streak was flaring hot under his skin. You were here, in his common room, surrounded by his friends, yet you were keeping him at arm’s length. It felt wrong.

The next few days followed the same careful pattern.

You sat with the group at meals again, but not directly beside Mattheo. You chose seats between Pansy and Blaise, or across from Theo.

You still defended the group when outsiders made snide comments, your Hufflepuff loyalty ran deep but you no longer singled Mattheo out.

No more personal good mornings whispered just to him. No more saving his favorite desserts. You were warm with everyone else, bright and kind like always.

With him, you were… polite.

“Pass the salt, please?” you’d asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.

He’d slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Later in the common room, when you’d laughed at one of Draco’s rare jokes and bumped knees with Theo accidentally, Mattheo had snapped at Lorenzo over nothing, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.

His friends saw it all.

“You’re an absolute bellend,” Blaise told him bluntly one night after you’d left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). “She’s giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.”

Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. “She’s acting like I’m a stranger.”

Draco snorted. “You told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?”

“I expected….” Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.

He didn’t know what he expected. He’d wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts he’d pretended not to notice were glaringly missing. And worse, seeing her still smiling, still caring, but redirecting all of it away from him… it stirred something ugly and jealous and needy he refused to name.

He was emotionally conflicted on the best of days. This was torture.

A few nights later, the group was studying (or pretending to) in the common room. You were helping Pansy with her Transfiguration essay, heads bent together, your neat handwriting filling the page. Mattheo sat nearby, book open but unread.

You felt his stare again. Heavy. Burning.

When Pansy got up to fetch another book, leaving the two of you momentarily semi-alone, you glanced up. His eyes didn’t waver.

You offered a small, cautious smile. “Need help with anything? The essay’s brutal this week.”

Mattheo’s response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. “Don’t start that again.”

You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. “I’m not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.”

The distinction stung more than he cared to admit.

He wanted to snap again. Push harder. But the words caught in his throat when he saw the careful walls behind your eyes the way you were protecting yourself now, even while sitting in his world.

You waited a beat longer, then turned back to your own work when he stayed silent.

Mattheo Riddle watched you, the same storm raging behind his guarded expression. He was possessive. Territorial. And right now, the girl who had always chosen him was choosing distance, even while staying close to everyone else.

It was driving him mad.

The common room was quieter tonight, the fire crackling softly as most students had retreated to dorms or the library for last minute revisions. Only the core group remained scattered across the couches and armchairs, Pansy flipping through a magazine, Theo and Blaise arguing over chess moves, Draco reading with a bored expression, and Lorenzo half asleep.

You had been sitting with Pansy again, but something had shifted in you. You’d watched Mattheo. Really watched him. The way his eyes tracked you when he thought no one noticed.

The tighter set of his jaw whenever you laughed with the others. The restless tapping of his fingers. He was regretting it. You could see it, the conflict, the stubborn pride warring with whatever softer thing lived under all that armor. He wanted you close again. He just didn’t know how to say it.

Time to test the theory.

You stood up casually, stretching, and moved across the room. Instead of your careful distance, you dropped down on the couch right beside Mattheo, close enough that your thigh pressed lightly against his. The same spot you used to claim every night before the blow up.

Mattheo tensed instantly, dark eyes snapping to you.

You didn’t look at him right away. You simply leaned forward, grabbing a spare quill from the low table and twirling it between your fingers like nothing had changed. “Theo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansy’s essay.”

Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.

As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheo’s. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

He lasted maybe thirty seconds.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. “Decided to test how much shit I’ll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?”

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. There was no flinch in your eyes, only quiet understanding.

You saw it: the regret flickering behind the ice, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but refused to let himself.

“I’m just sitting here,” you said softly, voice even and sweet. “Like I used to. You haven’t told me to move.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldn’t turn off.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have to. Thought I made it clear you’re exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.”

The words stung, but you saw straight through them. His eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on your hand resting near his leg. He wasn’t pushing you away physically. He wasn’t standing up.

He was just… lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.

You smiled. Small. Knowing. “You don’t mean that.”

He scoffed, looking away into the fire. “Don’t tell me what I mean.”

But he still didn’t move.

Emboldened, you shifted even closer, tucking your legs under you so your knee rested against his thigh. You reached over and gently tugged the loose thread on his sleeve that had been bothering you for days, something you would’ve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didn’t pull back.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, “you can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. I’m not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I don’t think you do.”

His breathing hitched. For a moment, the guarded mask cracked completely. Something raw and conflicted flashed across his face, possessiveness, relief, anger at himself, that hidden softness he buried so deep.

His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm, then dropped back down.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness “You’re going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.”

You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”

He didn’t shrug you off. Didn’t stand up. Didn’t tell the group to kick you out.

Instead, after a long, heavy silence, his body relaxed, just a fraction, against yours. His arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. Territorial. Close. Accepting.

Pansy caught your eye across the room and hid a triumphant grin behind her magazine. Theo didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.

Mattheo still hadn’t spoken to you nicely. Not really.

But he wasn’t pushing you away anymore.

Your theory had been right. He regretted it. He wanted you back in his orbit closer than before, even if his sharp tongue hadn’t caught up to that truth yet.

You’d rest your head against his shoulder for a moment here, brush his hand while passing a drink there. He tolerated it all with his usual gruff silence and occasional sharp remark, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.

His friends had had enough.

Pansy caught Theo’s eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.

“Truth or Dare,” Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.”

Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Blaise smirked like he already knew where this was going.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes but said nothing, he rarely backed down from a challenge, even a stupid one.

You smiled softly. “I’m in.”

The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansy’s favourite lipstick.

Draco chose dare and had to charm his eyebrows pink for the next ten minutes.

Theo got asked about his latest failed hookup and laughed it off.

Then Pansy turned her sharp gaze on you.

“Truth or Dare, darling?”

You felt the shift in the air. Mattheo’s posture stiffened beside you.

“Dare,” you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.

Pansy’s smile turned wicked. “I dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.”

The room went still.

Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. “Only if she wants to. I’m not above being used for a good cause.”

You glanced sideways at Mattheo. His hand had curled into a fist on the armrest, knuckles white. His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. Dark eyes burned holes into Theo, then flicked to you, possessive, stormy, conflicted.

Your theory had been right. He was cracking.

You leaned forward slowly, giving Mattheo every chance to say something. He didn’t. He just watched, breathing shallow.

You turned to Theo, cupped his cheek lightly, and pressed your lips to his. It was soft, brief, exactly ten seconds. Theo kissed back gently, more performative than anything, and pulled away with a dramatic sigh.

“Not bad, Puff,” he teased, winking.

You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didn’t look at Mattheo immediately.

The crack appeared.

Mattheo let out a low, dangerous sound, almost a growl. Magic crackled faintly around him, making the fire flare for a second.

“Enough,” he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. “This game is fucking stupid.”

Pansy feigned innocence. “Jealous, Riddle?”

“I’m not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,” he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.

His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. “She can kiss whoever the hell she wants.”

But he looked like he wanted to hex Theo into next week.

You saw the tiny fracture in his restraint. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to pull you into his lap and erase what just happened. The hidden softness bleeding through the anger. He cared. Deeply. He just wouldn’t admit it yet.

The game continued awkwardly for a few more rounds before dying out.

As people started heading to bed or pretending to study, the group quietly regrouped near the fireplace once you’d stepped away to grab water.

“Close,” Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Did you see his face? He nearly lost it.”

“Not enough,” Draco said. “He’s still too stubborn. One little kiss isn’t cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.”

Pansy crossed her arms. “New plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to ‘casually’ flirt with someone else. Or we set up a situation where she has to be alone with one of us and see how long it takes before he drags her back.”

Blaise chuckled darkly. “Or we make him think she’s actually moving on. He’s possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for real…”

Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. “He’s already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.”

They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.

Mattheo’s eyes followed you the entire way, dark and intense. The crack was there. Now they just had to widen it until he had no choice but to admit what everyone else already knew.

———

The Hogsmeade weekend arrived under a crisp, clear sky the first proper snow dusting the rooftops like powdered sugar.

Students poured out of the castle gates in excited clusters, scarves wrapped high and pockets jingling with allowance money.

The Slytherin group had claimed their usual spot near the Shrieking Shack path for pre butterbeer strategy, but today their energy was sharper, purposeful.

The new plan was simple and ruthless : push Mattheo until his restraint shattered completely.

Pansy had looped her arm through yours as you all walked down the snowy path. “Stick close to me at first,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Then ‘accidentally’ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. We’ll make it look natural.”

You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. “You’re really doing this?”

Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. “He needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.”

You exhaled, a mix of nerves and reluctant amusement fluttering in your chest.

Part of you still felt the sting from his harsh words days ago, but another part, the one that saw every hidden crack in his armor, wanted him to finally admit what was so obvious to everyone else.

“Just… don’t go too far. I don’t actually want to hurt him.”

“Too late for that,” Blaise murmured from behind. “He’s been hurting himself plenty.”

Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one you’d been giving him since returning to the group. He didn’t return it, but his gaze lingered.

The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonko’s even louder. The group moved as one at first, weaving through the crowd.

You stayed near Mattheo out of habit, your shoulder occasionally brushing his in the narrow street. He didn’t pull away.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, you all claimed a large corner booth. Firewhisky for the boys, butterbeers for everyone. Conversation flowed easily until Pansy executed the first move.

“I need to check out that new robe shop,” she announced, standing up. “Come with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.”

Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along “for snacks.” That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.

You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. “Theo, didn’t you say there’s a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? I’ve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.”

Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Absolutely. Let’s go before the good stuff disappears.” He stood and offered you his hand.

You took it without hesitation, letting him help you out of the booth. Your fingers lingered in his just a second longer than necessary. “Mattheo, Blaise, we’ll be back soon,” you said casually, like it was nothing.

Mattheo’s entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. “Since when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?”

You shrugged, still holding Theo’s hand. “Since Theo told me they’re fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.” Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.

Theo tugged you gently toward the door. “We won’t be long, mate.”

Blaise stayed behind, nursing his drink and watching Mattheo like a hawk.

The snow crunched under your boots as you and Theo walked down the high street.

You didn’t go straight to Dervish and Banges. Instead, Theo led you on a slow, meandering route stopping at a stall selling enchanted jewelry, laughing loudly at your jokes, standing a little too close when showing you a necklace with a tiny snake charm.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.

Theo grinned down at you. “It’s for the greater good. Look behind us, don’t turn too obviously.”

You risked a glance. Mattheo was stalking after you both, coat flapping open, expression thunderous. Blaise was a few paces behind him, failing to hide his amusement.

Your heart skipped. The plan was working.

Theo leaned in closer, pretending to examine the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your collarbone. “Smile at me like you mean it,” he whispered.

You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheo’s rare good moments. Theo laughed like you’d said something brilliant.

That was when Mattheo snapped.

“Having fun?” His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theo’s hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. “Didn’t realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.”

Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. “Just showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?”

Mattheo’s jaw worked. He looked at you, really looked.

There was that storm again : jealousy burning hot, restraint fraying at the edges, the unwilling mean streak fighting against something deeper.

“You’re really doing this?” he said to you, voice low and sharp. “Parading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw ‘good’ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.”

The words stung, but you saw right through them again. His hands were clenched. He was one breath away from dragging you away from Theo. The crack from the truth or dare game had widened significantly.

You stepped just a little closer to Theo, testing. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. I’m just… spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.”

Mattheo’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a second you thought he might actually hex Theo. Instead, he grabbed your wrist not painfully, but firm enough to feel possessive.

“We’re going back to the group,” he growled. “Now.”

Theo smirked. “Whatever you say, Riddle.”

You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.

He didn’t let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than you’d been in weeks. His thigh pressed against yours. His arm draped along the back of the booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like a silent claim.

He was still being an arse, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath and shooting Theo lethal glares, but he wasn’t pushing you away.

The plan had started. And it was already cracking him open.

Pansy and the others returned shortly after, taking in the scene with barely concealed triumph. Mattheo didn’t speak to you nicely. Not yet.

But the territorial hold on your wrist, the way his body angled toward yours like a shield, and the raw, conflicted heat in his eyes said more than his sharp tongue ever could.

The restraint was dying.

The rest of the Hogsmeade afternoon passed in a charged haze.

Mattheo didn’t release your wrist for a long time. Even after you all returned to the Three Broomsticks, his arm stayed slung possessively behind you on the booth, fingers occasionally brushing the back of your neck like a silent warning to everyone else.

He was still sharp tongued, snapping at Lorenzo for talking too loud, throwing barbed comments at Theo, but he kept you glued to his side.

The group wasn’t done yet.

As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh “It’s getting late. We should head back, but some of us still need to pick up things from Honeydukes. Theo, you mentioned wanting more of that fizzing whizzbees?”

Theo caught on instantly. “Yeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.” He looked straight at you. “Come with me? You’ve got better taste in sweets than these lot.”

You felt Mattheo’s body coil like a spring beside you.

Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile you’d been using. “Do you mind? I’ll be quick.”

His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. “Yes, I fucking mind,” he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.

You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. “Why not? You’ve made it very clear I’m exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. I’m just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.”

That struck hard. Mattheo’s hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way he’d never allowed himself to show.

“You know that’s not ” He stopped, jaw clenching. The internal war was visible, the mean, guarded part of him fighting the part that had grown addicted to your presence, your care, your unwavering light.

Theo slowly, offering his hand again with an exaggerated grin. “Ready when you are, love.”

Pushing further Theo says “It’s just sweets, mate. Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. He pulled you flush against him in one sharp movement, right there on the snowy street in front of everyone. No grand speech. No soft vulnerability. Just raw, irritated truth wrapped in his usual barbed tone.

“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking problem with it.” He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. “You win, alright? Happy now?”

You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. “Win what?”

Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.

“This. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like I’m worth the effort.” His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.

“I told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit… simpler. And I hate how much I’ve gotten used to it.”

He glanced at the group, who were all watching with barely hidden smirks, then back at you. His next words came out gruff, almost annoyed at himself for saying them.

“I don’t want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. You’re annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where you’ve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit you’ve been doing since I snapped at you. Just… be there again. Like before.”

It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t sweet. It was Mattheo, reluctant, possessive, laced with sarcasm and that dark charisma.

He leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear the rest. “And if Nott tries to hold your hand again, I’ll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didn’t stop you.

“Crystal clear,” you murmured.

Mattheo huffed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he slung his arm firmly over your shoulders and started walking back toward the castle, keeping you tucked tightly against his side. The others fell in behind you, Pansy looking victorious and Theo chuckling quietly.

“Fucking finally,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. “Say another word and I’ll hex every single one of you.”

But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didn’t care. He still wasn’t nice, not really, but the walls had come down in the only way Mattheo Riddle knew how.

And you were right where he wanted you.

———

The castle was quiet by the time you slipped through the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering against your ribs.

It had been a long evening after Hogsmeade. Mattheo had kept you close the entire way back, but he hadn’t said much more after his gruff admission. The weight of everything still felt new and fragile.

You were nervous. Actually nervous, for the first time in months around him. Your fingers tightened around the rolled up essay you’d finished copying for him (Arithmancy, due tomorrow).

It was a small thing, an old habit, but it gave you an excuse to see him before bed.

You knocked softly on the door to his dorm. Theo and the others were still downstairs, giving the two of you space.

Mattheo opened it in a loose black shirt and trousers, hair messy like he’d already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.

“Essay,” you mumbled, holding it out. “I know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.”

He took it without a word, stepping back to let you in.

The room smelled faintly of him, smoke, cedar, and that sharp edge of magic that always clung to him.

You lingered for half a second too long, then leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, shy kiss to his cheek before immediately turning to leave.

“Sorry, goodnight,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you tried to rush back out.

A flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking with a sharp click.

You froze, back to him. “Mattheo, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to push, I just”

He was on you in two strides.

His hands came up on either side of your head, caging you against the door with his body. The wood was cool behind your back; he was burning hot in front.

That stern, smug look was fixed on his face, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, one corner of his mouth curved in that dangerous half smirk.

“Do it again,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, still flustered. “I… what?”

“Kiss me again,” he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. “Properly this time. Don’t run.”

Your heart stuttered. The nervousness melted under the intensity of his gaze. You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek once more, slower this time.

Then, gathering your courage, you turned your head and brushed your lips softly against his.

Mattheo made a low sound in his throat, half satisfaction, half relief. One hand left the door to slide into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, claiming your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to do it. Possessive. Hungry. But there was something almost gentle underneath the fire.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. The smug look had softened into something warmer, more private.

“You’re still an idiot for thinking I’d let you run after that,” he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. “Told you earlier, you’re mine. That means you don’t get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.”

You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. “I was scared you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”

Mattheo huffed, pulling you away from the door and toward his bed. He sat down and tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“I regret a lot of things,” he admitted gruffly. “But not this. Not you.” He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. “You make my life easier. Better. Even when I’m a moody bastard. So stay.”

You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. “Because I’m territorial as hell, and I’ve decided you’re stuck with me now.”

From outside the door, you both heard Theo’s muffled voice “Finally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?”

Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Fuck off, Nott!” he called back, but there was no real heat in it.

You giggled against his neck. He squeezed you tighter, a rare, quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Mattheo Riddle looked… content.

Still guarded, still sarcastic, still carrying shadows, but with you curled in his arms, the weight seemed lighter.

You had seen the good in him from the start. Now he was finally letting himself believe it too.

“Yes, just not very hungry,” you said in your pretty little voice, placing your hand over his and pecking his cheek.

He didn’t buy it. “I can track down some takeaway and we can eat in my dorm, if you’d like,” he offered, wondering if the commotion in the Great Hall was a bit too much for you.

You shook your head, another stunning development. You never turned down takeaway. “I’m fine, baby. Thank you, though.”

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make one of these sod’s fetch it for you,” he teased, hoping to get a smile out of you. He didn’t.

Draco sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to the conversation he was in the middle of with Theo and Pansy. He continued to watch you in his periphery as you started to play with his fingers, twirling his signet ring around and around. As much as he enjoyed the mindless contact, the delicate brush of your skin, he knew this was a nervous habit of yours.

He had half-a-thought to excuse you both, but he knew that would only draw more attention to your melancholy state, which would likely make you feel even worse. He could pick your brain later. Right now, he needed to make sure you were fed.

Casually, he picked up his fork, twirling a bit of his own pasta around the tines. Without breaking away from his conversation, he held the fork up to you, hoping you’d take a bite without really thinking about it. It was a small ritual the two of you developed during lengthy family dinners, something you often did automatically if he offered food to you. He felt you shift forward, your mouth wrap around the small bite, and you ate it.

He squeezed your thigh, a flare of affection making his heart pound. Good girl, he thought, but refrained from saying aloud.

The rest of dinner continued like that, Draco keeping your friends talking and distracted while he fed you small bites of his own dinner, your fingers twined with his in your lap. When he held up a bite and you gave small shake of your head, he knew it was because you were actually full, and he set his fork down, satisfied. For now.

That night in the common room, you were curled up in your chair by the fire, a book open in your lap while everyone pretended to study around you. He watched your eyes, your hands curled around the cover, and you were motionless. No pages turned, no lines devoured.

His worry deepened. Blaise seemed to notice as well, and gave him a curious look, dark brow raised. And of course, Theo caught the exchange, but turned back to his work, pretending he didn’t.

A prickle of suspicion climbed Draco’s neck. Typically, Theo was the first one to make a fuss over someone being in a sour mood due to his inability to tolerate negative emotions, but this time, he stayed silent.

Very odd, indeed.

But he could worry about Theo later. Draco lifted himself from the couch and walked over to you, dropping onto the floor in front of your chair. He tilted his head back, resting it against your shins. You reached down, dragging your fingers through his hair while you continued “reading” your book. He let his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and tried to think of a way to draw you out of your head.

Lips pressed against his forehead, your perfume wafting over him, and he hummed in appreciation, reaching up to cradle your face. You leaned your cheek into his palm, and he titled his head back a little further to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

Your lips moved against his, brief and tender, and some of his tension unwound. It didn’t seem that you were upset with him, which was a relief. But, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what exactly was troubling you.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you murmured in his ear, and he blinked in surprise, checking his watch.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“So early, love? Are you feeling alright?” He turned to face you, rising to his knees. The group noticed, but he was too concerned to care. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheek, your neck, but you waved him away.

“I’m fine, D. Just tired,” you said, averting your eyes from his and rising from your chair.

“Baby—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, cutting off his protest. “I love you, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, pecking his cheek one more time before walking towards the girls dormitory and ascending the stairs.

Draco slumped back to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What did you do to her?” Pansy accused after a moment of tense silence.

“Nothing,” he snapped, though it was mostly toothless.

“She was acting strangely at dinner too,” Blaise noted. “She didn’t even have dessert.”

“Yeah, and she loves those chocolate things—what are they called?” Theo chimed in.

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco answered, glaring at them, irked that they were paying that close of attention to you. That was his job.

“Are you going to follow her?” Blaise asked, glancing at the stairs.

“No, he should give her some space,” Pansy said, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing my girlfriend’s needs. Thank you,” he bit, and they fell quiet. He would leave you be, for now, but if you were still in a funk tomorrow evening, he’d be forced to intervene.

You were decidedly still unlike yourself come the following morning, and when he saw you during your shared Potion’s class. He continued to monitor the situation, trying to be patient like you often asked him to be, but that went out the window when you returned from your Herbology class with Theo in tears.

As soon as Draco saw your red and puffy eyes, he was on his feet. You ran straight into his chest, burying your wet face in his robes and digging your chilled hands into his back, trembling as your tears returned in earnest.

“Darling, what’s happened? What’s going on?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn’t respond, just held him tighter as you cried.

Theo tried to slip around the two of you, but Draco pinned him with a glare.

“What happened?” Draco hissed at him.

“Her Flutterby bush is dying,” Theo whispered, and you started to cry harder.

Shit. You’d slaved half the semester over this Flutterby bush in Herbology, it was your pride and joy, and you often stayed after hours with Professor Sprout to tend to it and the rest of the greenhouse. You had the greenest thumb Draco had ever encountered, and that plant was your baby. There was no way it would just suddenly die.

Draco raised a brow, and Theo made a ‘tell you later’ face. He nodded his head to dismiss his friend and turned his attention back to you, his poor, sensitive girl.

“Baby, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on—”

You shook you head. “It doesn’t make sense,” you sniffled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “It was perfectly fine. There’s no bugs or blights, I don’t understand.” You lifted your face, cheeks streaked with tears and lashes spikey, your eyes rimmed with red. The state of you made his heart ache.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs and pressing a kiss to your nose. “If anyone can save it, you can. You’re brilliant, love.” He used his sleeve to wipe your eyes and your nose before bundling you into his side. “Come on, relax for a bit with Pansy. That’ll help you think a little more clearly, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him deposit you on the couch beside your friend, who immediately abandoned what she was doing to fuss over you.

He kissed the top of your head, satisfied that you were well looked after for the time being. “I love you, I’ll be right back, okay?” He murmured, and you nodded again.

Theo was waiting for him in the hall. “Okay, so don’t get mad,” he said, holding his hands up.

Draco’s anger instantly flared. “Don’t give me a reason to get mad then.”

“She told me not to tell you because she knew you’d get all—” Theo gestured vaguely at Draco. “All…this.”

“Out with it, Nott,” he growled, fully prepared to punch his best friends nose through the back of his skull. What could you possibly want to keep from him?

“We think someone poisoned her plant,” Theo said, grimacing.

Draco froze, rage flaring so suddenly it darkened his vision. “What?” he snarled.

“We can’t say for sure yet,” Theo said hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the oncoming storm. “But there’s this one guy—”

“Who?”

“Reinhardt? Renfield? Something like that, I don’t know, he’s a Gryffindor. But he—Draco, where are you going?”

Draco was already halfway down the hall, formulating a plan in his mind about how to find this guy, and how to make him wish he’d never been born.

Theo grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, I have a better idea than storming the Gryffindor common room,” he said, and Draco paused.

“Go on.”

Draco loitered outside the Greenhouse, hidden by some trees, a stupid plastic ear in his hand. Theo had the other tucked into his robes, and Draco could hear Sprout beginning her lecture through their connection.

Draco sighed. This was ridiculous, he should just waltz in there and figure out exactly who this—

“Hey, y/n,” he heard someone mutter, an unfamiliar male voice, and he immediately held up the ear to listen. “Flutterby’s not lookin’ so good. Maybe I could help clear away some of the dead stuff?”

Draco's ears started ringing so loudly, he almost missed your response.

“I'm killing it just fine on my own, Renley, I don't need any assistance from you.”

He heard Theo snicker in the background, and Draco smiled. Atta girl.

“My mandrakes are thriving, thank you,” Renley replied, his voice tight with indignation. “It's a real shame about yours, though. Probably would have gotten you top marks.”

You didn't respond, and Draco gripped a tree branch to stop himself from charging through the glass to get this audacious fucker.

“Fuck off, Renford,” Theo warned, the feed clouded by his robes rustling.

“It's Renley,” the prick corrected, his voice a little louder, and Draco could practically hear Theo roll his eyes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Oh, this fucker was a dead man walking. “I'm willing to stay after and help you out. I'm good with poisons—”

“Poison’s?” You asked, a snarky lilt to your voice, and Draco loosed a relieved exhale despite the implication. For the first time in days, you sounded like yourself. “Who said anything about poison?”

“Oh, I—uh—”

“Reindeer, how did you know her plant was poisoned?” Theo prodded, his smirk audible.

“I don't! It's obv—it’s probably not p-poison!” Renley stammered.

“What's this about poison?” Sprout interrupted at the same moment Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from the treeline.

“Check fucking mate,” Draco mouthed, grinning.

“Professor Sprout, I do believe Renley here just confessed to poisoning y/n’s beloved Flutterby bush,” Theo said.

“Is this true, dearie?” Sprout asked you.

“Yes ma’am, it explains the strange phenomena we noted, as well as the sudden nature of the ailment. Renley’s been taunting me for days, and finally his mouth got ahead of his brain,” you said, poised as a Queen, and Draco was so proud of you it hurt.

Sprout gasped. “Mr. Renley! To Dumbledore's office this instant!”

“Crabbe, Goyle, grab him,” Draco ordered, stuffing the ear into his robes.

The two of them lumbered over the door, staying out of sight until the culprit stepped out into the sunlight, and Goyle grabbed Renley by the shoulders and started to drag him back around the Greenhouse.

“Hey! What the fuck—” his words pinched to a strangled whine when he saw Draco and Blaise waiting a few feet away, arms folded over their chests, completely hidden from the rest of campus.

Goyle shoved him to the ground at Draco's feet, and the coward was already sniveling.

Draco crouched down, nose to nose with the fucker that made his girl miserable, and smiled. “Was it worth it, Renley?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“Look, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—”

Draco didn't give him a chance to finish his paltry excuse and cocked his fist back, slamming his knuckles square in the side of his jaw. The bone crunched under his fist, sending Renley flying sideways in a spray of spit and blood, and Draco rose, clenching and unclenching his aching hand.

Normally, he'd step back and let the others get their hands dirty, but you were his girl. And if anyone was going to defend your honor, it would be him.

“No, no please!” Renley begged when Goyle hauled him back up. Draco punched him again, dead on the nose, then the temple, then the sternum. Goyle let Renley fall, groveling and weeping as blood ran down his face, his eyes already half-swollen shut.

Draco grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up so he could whisper in his ear. “You're lucky it wasn't poison,” he snarled, and dropped Renley’s head into the dirt. “Leave him on the front steps of the castle,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately pulled the boy up and started dragging him back towards the castle.

Blaise chuckled. “That was fucking brutal, mate.”

Draco looked down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, the pain bright and deliciously satisfying, his signet ring splattered with red. “Like I said, he's lucky I didn't decide to poison him.”

The chatter of students filled the air, and he looked up to see the Greenhouse emptying. Theo headed straight for them, glancing at Draco's knuckles and the blood in the grass before breaking out in a wild grin.

“Sorry I missed it,” Theo laughed.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

“Staying behind to administer the antidote. Sprout is leaving her to ensure Renley is dealt with accordingly.”

“Well, she certainly won't be disappointed,” Blaise snickered.

“So she’s alone?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was hoping to clean himself up before seeing you, but wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. Not with his blood still running hot and your smart little voice echoing in his mind.

“Yep.” Theo smirked. “See ya’ back in the common room.” He and Blaise turned and started heading back to the castle, leaving Draco alone.

He rounded the greenhouse, knocking with his sore knuckles so he didn't startle you.

“Draco? What are you—saints, your hands!” You cried, rushing over to open the door for him. You grabbed for his hands, face pinched with worry.

“I'm fine, love,” he cooed, letting you fuss. The air in the greenhouse was thick and warm, coaxing him in like a embrace. It smelled fresh and lush, sweet soil and green leaves, like you.

Merlin, he couldn't think straight with you looking at him like that.

“Who did—” you paused, eyes narrowing. “Renley?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Draco!” You huffed, dropping his hands. “I had it under control!”

“I know you did! You were amazing! I just...accelerated the consequences.”

You glared at him, but he could see you softening by the second.

“Baby, I'm fine. And he'll be fine in like, four to five business days.”

“Draco!” You shouted, but you were smiling. He fucking loved what you called his name in that exasperated but undeniably affectionate voice. “You don't have to get involved all the time. I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, and Professor Sprout was working with me to solve it and—”

Draco reached out, pinching your cheeks with one hand, pursing your pouting lips and dragging you closer to him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucks with you so long as I'm breathing, is that clear?”

You nodded, eyes round and sweet like honey.

He released your face, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and craning your head upwards. “Can I kiss you now? Or would you like to keep telling me off?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a playful, smiley kiss. “Anything for my hero.”

“Anything?” Draco purred, walking you back into the long work table. You gasped, arching against his chest, and he caught the sound with another kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you.

Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his tie to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it.

And he could feel how much you loved it, your hips pressing against his as your hands wandered his chest, unable to pick a resting place.

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he spun you around. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself, your perfect ass pressing back against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Draco,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him.

He tsked, sliding up your skirt, admiring the way his ruined knuckles looked against the soft flesh. “Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling?” He already knew what your answer would be, especially after a few stressful days, but he felt inclined to double check.

You shook your head side to side, pressing your ass back into his hands. “No.”

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “That's my girl. You want me to scare away all those bad thoughts? Turn your brain off for a bit?” He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties.

You nodded, nails scratching along the wood when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle.

“Words, love,” he said, pausing his movement.

“Yes, baby. Please,” you whined, and his cock gave a painful lurch against his thigh.

“Colloportus,” he murmured, flicking his wand to lock the Greenhouse door. “Don't move,” he ordered, then walked over to the sink, washing the blood from his hands and muttering a quiet episkey to fix most of the damage on his skin. Some cuts remained, and his hands were still sore and slightly bruised, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to you, where you remained perfectly still, nibbling at your lower lip. In quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fall around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest against the table.

“There we go,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly.

“Better, darling? Nothing to worry about besides being my good girl.” He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, his signet ring kissing your entrance before he curled his finger up. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out, only to graciously stretch for him when he added a second.

“Fuck, D,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand. “You said you wouldn't be gentle “

He smirked, enraptured with the way your pretty little cunt yielded for his battered hand. “Just so pretty,” he hummed, leaning down to whisper in your ear, pressing you harder against the table. “Can't help but worship you a little.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he slammed his fingers inside of you, drilling into your channel with sloppy, punishing strokes. You cried out, feet sliding around on the floor, but he had you pinned and at his mercy.

“This better, brat?” He growled, nipping at your ear when you keened for him, unable to formulate a response. “Oh, how that fucker wishes he could see you now,” he drawled, straightening while his fingers fucked into you. “What'd he call you? Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Sweet doesn't begin to cover it.”

“How did you—”

He slipped his fingers out to work your clit, the bud swelling under his touch as your orgasm built, and your words twisted into a moan. He tried to stay focused, keep you on the edge until he was sheathed inside of you, but couldn't bring himself to stop just yet.

“Are you sweet, baby?” He asked, swatting your ass cheek, enjoying the way your flesh rippled.

“Only for you,” you gasped, starting to tremble as that knot wound tighter and tighter.

“That's right,” he praised, undoing his trousers and taking his cock in his hand. He was insanely hard, the head a deep pink, pearly precum beading from the slit. He pumped himself twice to relieve some of the ache, then notched himself at your entrance, not pausing his assault on your clit for a moment. “All fucking mine,” he growled at the same moment he thrust inside of you, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, muscles contracting hard around him, and he groaned low in his throat. You were so fucking tight, gooey and supple when you weren't squeezing the life out of him. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your ass cheek in his free hand to keep you spread for him as he pounded into you.

He felt your orgasm hit the second before you did, your cunt clamping down on him a heartbeat before you screamed, your whole body locking up before going completely limp. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook, how much you begged. Your tears left damp spots on the wood, your knees trying to buckle inwards, but he planted his feet on the inside of yours, forcing you to stay upright.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back. “Doing so well for me, sweet thing.” He was panting, the heat of the greenhouse coupled with the exterior making sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. His knuckles burned from the salt, hands ached from being used long past when they should have been bandaged, but he didn't give a single fuck.

“Draco, shit—fuck me so good.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis.

“Give me one more, baby. I know you can. Then I'll water my favorite plant.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled. You were such a little freak, his little freak, and he loved you all the more it.

“You like being my pretty little houseplant? All mine to take care of?” Fuck, he was close, rambling in an attempt to distract himself and spend just a little longer in the delicious heat of your body.

“Yes, yes—fuck!” You were coming again, your whole body convusling as it ripped through you, and he was done for. He came with a yell, hips stuttering against your ass as he pumped rope after rope of release into your spasming cunt.

“Bloody hell, baby,” he moaned, bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, poor thing, were left drooling and trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “Did so good, love. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, throat tight with affection.

“Squishin’ me,” you giggled, squirming beneath him, and he straightened, nearly toppling over himself at the weak feeling in his knees.

“Sorry, darling,” he chuckled, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. He moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

“Mm, how did you know he called me sweetheart?” You asked, peeking over your shoulder at him while he grabbed his wand to clean you both up.

“I have my methods,” he replied, righting your clothes and helping you stand up, relishing in the lingering tremble in your limbs.

“Were you spying on me, Draco Malfoy?” You teased, tugging him down by the tie so you were face to face.

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“What a horrible invasion of privacy,” you snickered, giving him a playful peck.

“You want to punish me for it?” He nipped at your lower lip and you grinned, pushing lightly on his chest.

“Enough you, I have to administer the antidote before my plant gets any sicker.”

“Good thing I already cured mine,” he teased, and you swatted him before slipping out of his arms.

“You're insufferable.”

“And you're adorable.”

You grabbed some items from the shelves and a watering can, then paused, turning to look at him, a deadly serious look on your face. “Can we get takeaway after this?”

He snorted, his heart doing a giddy little flip. “Of course we can.”

First, you unfortunately had to secure your missed notes from someone.

You scanned the crowd until you spotted the guy you were searching for. He was bent over his desk, hard at work, and didn’t even look up as you approached. You smiled wryly to yourself, coming to a stop in front of the table.

“Hey, do you have the notes from Defence yesterday?”

At the sound of your voice, Riddle glanced up, his eyes doing a quick once-over of your figure before sighing and leaning back in his seat. 

“I told you that you would regret skipping class,” he admonished, to which you rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a terrible student and if you had an ounce of common sense you wouldn’t give me the notes,” you deadpanned, holding out your hand. “Anyway, do you have them?”

Riddle was already pulling a scroll of parchment out of his bag. “Here,” he said as he handed it over to you, “I took the liberty of writing you a copy.”

“Huh,” you said in surprise, unrolling the parchment and reading it over. “That’s actually pretty nice of you.”

“Hardly. I was only attempting to ensure you wouldn’t be leaning over my shoulder during our next class.” Riddle assured you dryly, picking his quill back up and dipping it primly in the inkpot.

You snorted, pocketing the notes. “When have I ever done that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a recapitulation in chronological order?” he asked, and you grimaced. 

“Maybe next time,” you sighed. “Speaking of, shall we place a bet on our exam tomorrow?”

“I suppose,” Riddle said, setting his quill down again and fixing you with an expectant look. “Whats your offer?”

You pretended to think. “Winner gets choice of prefect hours. So I can swap my morning patrol for your night.” 

Riddle leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms knowingly. It was no secret how much you detested morning hours– though to be fair, he did too. 

“Intriguing,” he finally said. “I’ll accept it, and look forward to claiming my prize.” 

You gave him a nasty look. “That confident already, are you?”

“I’ve scored higher than you for the past two Defence exams, haven’t I?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “So I wouldn’t call it confidence. Simply pattern recognition.”

You shook your head in exasperation, turning on your heel to leave the library. “Go to hell, Riddle.”

You heard him laugh lightly from behind you. “Good luck to you too.”

༺ ✧ ༻

“Merlin, you’re insufferable,” you grumbled the next day as Riddle dropped his parchment on the desk next to you, marked full points! in Professor Merrythought’s spindly cursive.

“I prefer ‘genius,’ but that works too,” Riddle said dryly, a smirk on his face as he watched you pack up your bag, shoving your books in haphazardly. He extended one hand, snatching up your paper with his pale fingers as his eyes zeroed in on your score- only two points below his, but that was essentially eons worse in Riddle’s eyes. 

“Of course you would,” you muttered with an eye roll, though you couldn’t help but laugh a little at Riddle’s obvious triumph for scoring higher than you. You grabbed up your bag, following Riddle down the narrow aisle of seats to the door. 

“If I had known the essay question would be on elemental abjuration, I wouldn’t have spent so much time covering pyromancy. And then we would’ve scored the same,” you said testily, giving him a small nod of thanks for holding the door open for you. 

“Ah, but you didn’t, did you?” he said wisely as you passed him, falling into step beside you as soon as the door swung shut. “I received a 100, while you received a lowly score–”

“Of 98! Need I remind you that’s what you got on that Arithmacy assignment three weeks ago?”

Riddle’s mouth tightened. “I thought we had conceded that it was an anomaly. After all, you were the one who spilled ink on my parchment–”

“Oh please, it was a drop.” 

“The size of a Sickle.”

“You exaggerate.” 

“Do I?” Riddle shot you a look and you rolled your eyes. 

“Listen, a 98 is a perfectly acceptable score. I will not have you slander me so.” you threatened as you walked towards the entrance to the Great Hall, sidestepping groups of other students as you did. 

“I was doing no such thing,” Riddle countered immediately. “Besides, 98 is perfectly fine. It just so happens that a 100 is better.” 

You threw your hands up. “I give up,” you groaned, coming to a stop beside the door. “Enjoy your victory. We have that Charms exam next week and I’ll be sure to score higher than you then.”

Riddle nodded, looking pleased. “Excellent. I accept your challenge. Shall we meet at our usual time in the library?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you said sarcastically, forcing back a smile as Riddle gave you a little dramatic bow before walking away. He had another class, but you had your lunch period now. You’d reconvene in the library in the afternoon… and in his dorm, later.

Shaking your head, you made your way into the Great Hall and over towards your friends, who were sitting and talking with a girl you didn’t recognize.

“Hey!” Eloise waved as you dropped into your seat, setting your bag down under the table. “You’re a little late.”

“Riddle and I were arguing,” you said as a way of explanation, and both she and Scarlett nodded in understanding. 

“Ah,” Scarlett said wisely. “I’m assuming one of you scored higher than the other on the Defence exam?”

“Yep, and it was him,” you told her, spooning some fruit onto your plate next to your sandwich. “But only by two points.”

“I’m sure that's a lot, to him,” Eloise chimed in. 

“Don’t I know it,” you chuckled to yourself, taking a sip of your water. “It’s alright, though, I’ll just beat him on the next exam.”

Eloise laughed, then her eyes lit up. “Wait! I haven’t introduced you to Stephanie yet,” she said, turning to a girl with long black hair and vivid green eyes sitting next to her. “She’s my cousin and is visiting this week.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, giving her a smile. She smiled back.

“You as well. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, who are we talking about?” Her eyes glittered and you shot her a conspiratorial smile. Clearly, she liked gossip just as much as you did. 

“Tom Riddle,” you said, and Eloise nodded wisely. 

“Her biggest rival. They constantly compete for the top spot of class.”

“Who’s winning?” Stephanie asked curiously. You shrugged, popping a grape into your mouth. 

“Depends on the day. Unfortunately, after the Defence exam, Riddle is in the lead.”

“Only by their standards,” Scarlett interjected. “In the professors’ eyes, they are absolute academic equals.”

“Well, mostly,” you muttered, thinking a little bitterly about Professor Slughorn. He refused to make any clear statement, but it was clear he favoured Riddle. 

“Anyways. They’ve detested each other for as long as I can remember. We steer clear of him too, just to be safe,” Eloise explained. 

“Because who knows, maybe he’d try to challenge us to one of their weird academic competitions,” Scarlett agreed. 

“Oh no, he wouldn’t do that,” you said immediately, right as Eloise spoke too, casting you an unreadable look.

“She’s right. For whatever reason, he only ever challenges her.” 

༺ ✧ ༻

“You’re late.”

The door to Riddle’s dorm room closed behind you as you dropped your bag on the floor, shrugging your cloak off as well. 

“Sorry. I got caught up after dinner,” you explained, walking over to his bed and dropping down to sit on it. He watched you from his desk, expression unscrutable. 

“Doing what, exactly?”

You grimaced, kicking off your shoes and pulling one of Riddle’s dark green jumpers over your head. “Finding a good excuse to slip away from my friends. They wanted to hang out in the Astronomy Tower until curfew.”

“Why in Merlin’s name would they do that?”

“Scarlett has an assignment to chart the position of the planets or something. Anyway, I had to wait until it was late enough that they would believe I was too tired to stay out any longer,” you explained, propping yourself up against Riddle’s pillows as he tidied the papers on his desk. “What have you been doing?”

“Researching for our upcoming Alchemy essay, and–” He gave you a look– “Waiting on you.”

“Sorry,” you repeated with another shrug. “It’s not like I could tell them why I was in such a hurry to get where I was going.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Riddle said, coming over to stand next to the bed. “I know secrecy is of utmost importance to you.”

“To both of us,” you corrected, scooting over on the bed to make room. “We need to maintain appearances, after all. Can you imagine how they’d react if they found out what we’ve been doing?”

“Rather terribly, I should imagine,” he agreed, sitting down in your now-vacated spot and letting his hand toy under the fabric of the jumper, his intent clear.

“I know,” you sighed, helping him pull the jumper further up your torso. “How else are we to keep this up?”

“I can think of a few ideas,” Riddle murmured, lowering his head and pressing his lips to yours without another word. 

The kiss started off gentle enough, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to relish the feeling of his proximity. He smelled of old books and the slight spiciness of cider, a scent so distinctly him that it left no question as to who was slowly undressing you. 

With the jumper now off, Riddle had much more unhindered access to your blouse. You’d pertinently undone the top few buttons before knocking on his door; just enough so the lace of your black bra peeked out. You’d seen his eyes go straight to it when you’d entered, and although he hadn’t said anything then, he was certainly making his satisfaction known now. 

His fingers dipped inside of your shirt’s neckline, feathering down the fabric until he could tug it down far enough to kiss down your neck, his cheek grazing against your lace-covered breasts. You let your eyes flutter closed and held on to the back of his neck as he nibbled your skin, losing yourself to the sensation as his other hand slid under your back and ghosted up under your shirt until he reached the clasp of your bra. 

It came undone with a quiet click and loosened around your chest, giving Riddle ample opportunity to slide a hand underneath and start palming your breast. Your head fell back, arching up into the sensation and the pointed tug of Riddle’s fingers on your nipple.

His other hand slid down your stomach until he reached the waistband of your skirt. He made quick work of divesting you of it, and slipping his fingers into your panties without pretense. You gasped at the sudden sensation, pussy clenching and mouth falling open.

“Already wet, I see,” he hummed, pushing his fingers insistently up against your cunt until you writhed, whimpering in impatience. “You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you rasped, dizzily raising your head. One hand was still palming your breast, and the other had two fingers lazily circling your entrance while his thumb hovered over your clit, just enough to graze the skin but not enough to relieve the pressure you felt there. 

“Then I’m surprised you didn’t manage to slip away earlier,” he said, letting his index finger dip slightly inside of you before retracting it. You groaned in frustration. 

“I couldn’t,” you managed to get out. “They would be– oh– they would be too suspicious.”

Riddle had finally slid one single finger inside of you and began stroking your inner walls, coaxing a rush of desire from you. 

“Yes, too suspicious indeed,” he murmured, his eyes falling to your dripping cunt and increasing the pressure of his thumb against your clit a little more. “We can’t have them know what we do in private now, can we?” He finished this question with a harder touch of his thumb and a second finger added, causing you to gasp out his name and clutch at the bedsheets next to you. 

“Of course, I doubt they would believe us if you told them,” he continued conversationally, his slightly strained tone the only indication he wasn’t being entirely successful at carrying along this supposedly casual discussion. “As far as they are concerned, we despise each other.”

“I never said— I never said that wasn’t true,” you gritted out, your breathing shallowing out as he began thrusting his fingers pointedly in and out of your cunt, at a pace so slow you thought you would combust. “You are an asshole, and I do– fuck!” 

He pulled his fingers fully out and away from your panties, leaving you bereft and keening for more. You struggled up to prop yourself up on your elbows, glaring daggers at him. 

“You fucking asshole–” you began derisively, only for your mouth to go dry as he backed up on the bed and knelt down over your legs, his elbows coming to rest on either side of your thighs and his fingers toying inquisitively with the edges of your panties. 

“Would you like me to stop?” he asked innocently. “Only I rather fancied dessert– and you see, I spent too long studying in the library to try any of that treacle tart from the Great Hall you’re always raving about…”

“God, Riddle, just do it already!” You fell back on the bed in exhaustion as he tugged your panties the rest of the way down your legs and drew his mouth so close to your pussy you could feel his breath against your folds. 

“Oh yes,” he murmured, inhaling deeply and allowing his breath on the exhale to feather tantalizingly against you. “This should do very nicely.”

About as slowly as you’d ever known him to go, Riddle pressed his lips to your clit, sucking the little bundle of flesh into his mouth with such exquisite pleasure you cried out his name. One of his hands moved from the side of your thigh to toy between your folds, stroking you with such a maddeningly slow speed you could’ve screamed. He’d eaten you out before, but never this slowly and never before taking this much care to ensure you felt every single sensation possible. 

His index finger began shallowly thrusting into you while he licked and suckled your clit, responding to your gasps of pleasures with occasionally harder licks. Only when he had thoroughly left you a heaving mess on the bed did he draw his tongue down to your entrance and begin a series of quick strokes of his tongue into you. 

Blindly, you fisted your hands into his hair and groaned his name, overwhelmed by sensation and yet not having enough. He let out a hard breath against your pussy and increased his pace, the tip of his tongue delving deeper inside while his fingers moved to play with your clit again. 

“Fuck, Tom!” you choked out, his first name slipping out by accident. He was quickly losing patience and control, and you were hurtling towards your high faster than you could keep up with. 

He licked into you faster, pressing hard onto your clit with his thumb again and rubbing in tight, rapid circles until you cried out, reaching your peak and coming crashing down so hard you almost lost your breath. He worked you through it, this time with his fingers, until you were a limp heap on the bed, breathing fast and head spinning. 

For a long few minutes, you laid there, detachedly aware of Riddle shifting away from your legs and slowly making his way to the head of the bed.

Settling himself next to you, he stroked a hand languidly up and down your thigh until you’d recovered as much as possible. Only then did you manage to prop yourself up on your elbows and look tiredly to your right, meeting his calm mahogany eyes before your eyes shifted to the very noticeable dent in his trousers. 

“Mm,” you said sleepily, pushing yourself to a seated position and wincing slightly at the tenderness of your cunt, “Would you like some help with that?”

Riddle said nothing as you threw a leg over him, settling down against the bulge and finding your way to his lips. His fingers drifted to your arms as you kissed him, feathering into the sleeves of your unbuttoned blouse as you pulled his own shirt up and over his head. Your hips began a slow rock against his cock as your lips descended down his neck and to his bare chest, dragging your fingertips down until they reached his belt buckle. 

His hands caught your wrists.

“Wait,” he said softly, pausing your movements. You lifted your head with a frown to find him giving you an apologetic look. 

“I have prefect duty in twenty minutes.”

“That’s plenty of time!” you protested immediately, to which he chuckled. 

“Perhaps, but I’d prefer to arrive put-together on time than looking disheveled.”

You sat back down on his legs, causing him to grimace under the pressure against his cock. 

“You aren’t helping,” he gritted out, and you crossed your arms. 

“You aren’t letting me,” you countered. He only gave you a slight shake of his head before nudging you off of him. 

“Another time,” he promised, finally succeeding in getting you off of him. You sighed in defeat and retrieved your bra and panties, along with your skirt. Riddle, too, climbed off the bed and reached for his shirt, which you couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed about. 

As you were fixing your makeup and readjusting your uniform, you caught sight of something in the mirror. On the side of your neck was a fairly large mark, glistening red with slight streaks of purple. 

“Riddle,” you said immediately, your hands falling from your collar. “What’s this?”

“Mm?” 

You turned to face him. He was fixing his hair, his shirt still off but prefect badge already in hand. His eyes fell upon your neck and he raised an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“What about it?”

“It’s a hickey. You gave me a hickey. How am I supposed to explain this to my friends?” you asked in mild irritation, digging through your bag to see if you had your concealer on hand. Thankfully, you did, but after applying the product it became clear you couldn’t completely hide the mark. 

“No one will ask. And if they do, you can simply tell them it is of no concern to them,” Riddle said easily, shrugging into the sleeves of his shirt.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you muttered, but even so, you wrapped your scarf around your neck. It hid the mark well enough, you supposed. 

“I can give you another in a less obvious place, if you would like,” Riddle suggested, beginning to button up his shirt. 

“Oh, stop,” you said, but had to bite back a smile. “You said we don’t have time, and anyways, I should be off. I need to get a head start on that Herbology assignment.”

“You mean the one due on Monday?”

You gave him an exasperated look. “Yes. What about it?”

“I had it finished ages ago, and you haven’t started. But I suppose that will reflect in our grades, won’t it?” He raised his eyes to meet yours as he looped his tie around his neck, baiting you into an argument. You were not going to fall for it. 

“Nice try, Riddle,” you said instead, swinging your bag onto your shoulder and heading towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Riddle agreed, his attention already back on his tie. 

You gave him a nod and left the room, but didn’t see his eyes lingering on your back as the door closed behind you. 

༺ ✧ ༻

You pulled the collar of your cloak up as you weaved down the crowded Hogsmeade streets, following your friends as they made their way to Honeydukes. Since Stephanie’s visit to Hogwarts was coming to an end, Eloise had insisted on joining the group of students going down to the village today. You were supposed to meet Riddle in his dorm in the morning, but had needed to cancel at the last minute. Your friends would have been too suspicious otherwise, since they knew you would never pass up an opportunity for butterbeer. 

“You have to try the chocolate-covered cockroaches,” Eloise told Stephanie as you approached the shop. “They sound gross, but they’re actually pretty–”

“A chocolate covered what?” Stephanie gasped, coming to a stop. 

“Yeah, cockroaches. But like I said, they’re not too bad,” Eloise said, waving her hand dismissively. Stephanie shook her head, taking a step back. 

“Absolutely not! You try to make me eat one of those and I’ll–” She broke off suddenly, her attention turned towards you and frowning at something over your shoulder. “Who’s that?”

Confused, you turned around, only for your stomach to drop when you saw exactly who was coming up behind you. 

“Hey!” you said immediately, nerves making their way into your tone before you could stop them. Riddle had never before dared to approach you with your friends present. You had both agreed it would be better to keep up appearances than to risk it. 

“Hello,” Riddle said politely, his eyes flicking towards the half-empty bottle in your hand. “I see you already secured your butterbeer.”

Despite yourself, you smiled a little. “Couldn’t miss it, could I?”

“Of course not,” he agreed smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Will I see you tonight for our usual study session?”

Today was Saturday, so your usual study session consisted of Riddle’s fingers knuckle-deep inside of you.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you assured him. The corner of his mouth curled up in a smile. 

“Excellent. I will see you later,” he said, and gave you a little nod before tilting his head curiously to the side. “By the way, it appears you have something on the side of your neck.”

Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to stammer out some sort of defensive response, but he had already turned around and was walking away. The slight stiffness of his shoulders was the only indication you hadn’t completely hallucinated that comment.

Already, irritation crept in. You’d both agreed to keep interactions to a minimum, and now here he was, making what was practically a blatant reference to the hickey he had given you on your neck! 

Insufferable man, you grumbled to yourself, but you forced yourself to quickly recover and turn to face your friends again. 

“I swear, Riddle needs to learn to mind his business,” you told them, shaking your head wryly. 

“That’s Tom Riddle?” Stephanie asked, her mouth half-open in shock. You frowned, glancing behind you at Riddle’s retreating form and taking a sip of your butterbeer. 

“Yeah? What about him?”

“I thought you two were dating!” 

You choked on your butterbeer. 

“What?” you gasped when you could finally breathe again. “Dating?!”

“Yes! You seemed awfully comfortable with each other.”

You quickly shook your head. “We’re definitely not dating,” you assured her. “We just study together so often… well, I guess we get used to each other.” You shrugged hoping to dismiss the comment and change the topic. Unfortunately, it appeared she had other ideas. 

Stephanie made a face. “Academic rivals who study together? Aren’t you supposed to… I don’t know, ignore each other except in class?”

“No. How else are we supposed to judge the other’s progress?” you asked, looking to Eloise and Scarlett for backup. To your chagrin, they were giving you odd looks too. “What?”

“Nothing,” Scarlett said, shaking her head but looking unconvinced. “It’s just that… well, you and Riddle do seem to spend a lot of time together.”

You let out what was intended to be a careless laugh, but it came out more nervous. “We just study together; that’s all,” you repeated, but the excuse sounded feeble in your ears. What would they say if they knew about all the other times you saw Riddle that was definitely not just studying? 

“Stephanie is right, though,” Eloise agreed. “You claim to hate him, but…”

“This is ridiculous,” you said stubbornly, ignoring the rising fear that all the times you had ignored that little voice in your head, saying you couldn’t continue fucking Riddle and have things remain the same forever. 

“Is it, though?” Stephanie asked, following you as you took a couple steps in the direction of Honeydukes. You had to move this conversation along, now. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

You scoffed. “No, we hate each other,” you said, like it should be obvious, but you weren’t sure if you believed yourself anymore. From the corner of your eye, you watched as your friends exchanged glances. Your stomach felt like it had bottomed out, and your heart was sinking. 

Why had Riddle felt the need to make that comment about your not-so-obvious hickey? You thought you had hidden it pretty well, all things considered. But now, your friends were beginning to suspect there was more to your rivalry with Riddle than you let on, and you were losing confidence in your ability to keep everything under control. 

Your fist clenched by your side and you forced yourself to keep walking. 

Merlin, you hated him. 

༺ ✧ ༻

The door to Riddle’s dorm slammed shut behind you.

You marched in, dumping your cloak and bag unceremoniously on the floor and stalking over to where Riddle was seated at his desk, studying. He didn’t even look up. 

“What the hell was that?” you snapped, frustration at him finally pouring over. 

With a maddeningly slow speed, he finished writing his sentence and put his quill down, looking up at you with a calm expression on his face. 

“What was what?”

“That shit you pulled in Hogsmeade! Talking to me, pointing out the hickey–”

“Oh, am I not allowed to talk to you? I do apologise,” he drawled, in a tone that made it very clear he was not sorry in the least. 

“Stop playing dumb, Riddle, it’s not a good look. You could’ve blown our whole cover,” you grumbled, crossing your arms and dropping into a seat on the bed. 

“Our cover?” Riddle asked, standing up and coming over to stand near you. “And what would that be? You mean, you pretending to hate me?”

The color drained from your face. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms to mirror your position and giving you an appraising look. “Or are you simply too much of a coward to admit it yet?”

You launched up. “What the fuck is your problem?” you hissed, anger pulsing through your veins. “I thought we agreed that this was just going to be– to be–”

“To be what, exactly?” 

“Just sex!” you burst out. “Nothing more, nothing less. I thought we both understood that it would never go any farther because we didn’t want it to.”

Riddle scoffed. “Are you presuming to tell me that you never wanted anything more than sex? Ever?”

You faltered. Yes, you had wanted more on occasion, but you would have never admitted it to yourself and least of all to Riddle. You knew he would never want the same– plus, you were completely fine with things just staying physical. However much you loathed him, you did have to concede he was good in bed.

“I’m not presuming to tell you anything,” you said instead, artfully evading the question and pressing your hand to your head. A dull headache was coming on. “All I’m saying is that you– that we– should be more careful in the future. My friends are suspicious enough as it is. So maybe we should… I don’t know. Maybe we should take a break, for a while.”

Riddle’s eyebrows shot up. “A break?”

“Just for a little bit. Until things cool down,” you said, hoping the waver in your voice wasn’t detectable. Unfortunately for you, Riddle noticed everything– especially when it came to you. 

“A break,” he repeated, almost derisively. “Is that really what you want?”

“It’s what’s best,” you said stubbornly. Riddle shook his head, beginning to pace in front of you. 

“That isn’t what you want,” he said slowly. “Not at all.”

You scoffed. “Says who?”

“Me. And, of course, your mind.”

You frowned. “My mind–?” Your heart dropped. “You used Legilimancy on me?”

Riddle shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said lightly. “If you weren’t telling me the truth, I knew your thoughts would.”

“My God, Riddle, has anyone ever told you that you are such a prick?” 

“You have, actually,” Riddle interrupted. “Many times.”

“Then I was completely right,” you muttered, anger and hurt simmering in your chest. You grit your teeth as you stood, pushing past him and striding towards the door. Or trying to, at least. A hand on your waist stopped you.

You whirled back around, ready to argue or yell or anything that would allow you to release your feelings without telling him anything else, but the look in his eyes stopped you.

“I do not wish to take a break from you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper but so stern you knew it was not a request. “In fact, I wish quite the opposite.”

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Must I spell it out for you? I–” He grit his teeth and straightened up, looking like this was the most painful conversation he’d ever had. “I enjoy our activities. I admit I was hesitant at first, but it has turned out to be a most pleasurable experience and–”

“My God, get to the point!” you exclaimed in exasperation, taking a step back from him. His hand fell from your waist but he quickly took a step forwards, glaring down at you and clenching his fists by his side. 

“The point is that I would very much prefer we never take a break from each other. Ever. Or at least– at least not in the foreseeable future.” 

“Sorry, Riddle, but are you suggesting we date?” you scoffed, the idea so preposterous you could only laugh. His answer made your stomach drop.

“Yes.” 

All comebacks died on your tongue and your hands fell limply by your sides, unable to do anything except stare. 

“Are– are you being serious?” you asked when you finally got your voice back, half-convinced this was a ploy but losing confidence when you saw the way Riddle’s jaw was clenched, and the way his fingers were twitching agitatedly against the fabric of his robes, like he was having to resist the urge to reach out and touch you. 

You were surprised to realise you would like nothing more than for him to touch you at this very moment. 

“Riddle,” you said breathlessly, then– “Tom.”

You took a careful step forward, waiting until your front brushed up against his to raise your hand and slide it over his jaw. He let out a hard breath, tilting his head downwards until his lips were mere centimeters from yours. 

“Yes,” you whispered, then, slowly, pressed your lips to his.

You’d long ago lost count of the number of times you’d kissed Tom, or he’d kissed you. It had almost always been before or after sex, very rarely during. Aside from your first kiss– approximately seven hours before you’d pulled him into bed for the very first time and started this entire arrangement– you’d never kissed him without any pretense of sex. So this felt different, certainly, but not at all disagreeable. 

It actually felt rather nice. 

You looped your arms around his neck and held yourself closer, shifting slightly against the growing bulge in his trousers with a self-satisfied []. He groaned, his hips bumping into yours impatiently. You laughed and drew back, fixing him with a mock-reprimanding look. 

“Can’t even wait a whole five minutes?” you remarked, earning an eye roll and exasperated sigh. 

“If you recall, last time we met I was left thoroughly unsatisfied,” he reminded you. 

“At your insistence!” you countered. He simply shrugged, taking a step back and leading you to the bed with him. 

“Well, then, it appears we have unfinished business,” he murmured, falling back onto the mattress and pulling you with him. 

“It appears we do,” you agreed against his lips, before he tugged you against him in a searing kiss. 

A/N: I debated extending this last scene but figured I was already at 5.5k so I should leave it, or potentially revisit it in a drabble if anyone is interested. 

general taglist: @viperify @xgloomy-kittenx @sea-lit-stars @kenobi-baby @rvvencrux @beelzebzb @m-mally @s00ty-feet @sophiadauno @cherrytintedlens @lunxrstellx @peony-haze @h0eforjp @mintydew @voldemortcest @coryoslut @frederissa @inlovewithallmusic @priv-rose

“Morning, baby,” he drawls, wrapping his large arms around your torso. “Ready to go?”

You whip around, facing him with wide panicked eyes, more than half of your makeup still incomplete.

He laughs at your expression. “It’s fine, baby, take your time."

"It's only 7:20,” he reassures you, kissing the side of your head before reaching down for his toothbrush.

You sigh in relief, shifting slightly to the side so that you and Mattheo can share the sink.

"What's your first class, baby?" he asks, though it's muffled by the toothpaste in his mouth so it sounds more like: was’ yo firz clas, bavi?

You laugh, glancing at his reflection through the mirror.

"DADA," you answer as he rinses out his mouth. "Without you, unfortunately."

He sighs. "Shame."

He attempts to tame his hair slightly and you stop what you're doing to watch him adoringly, he catches you staring and grins at you.

He turns to face you properly when you reach up expectantly. He bends down slightly while you tiptoe so you can reach his hair, you gently detangle some of his curls.

"Cute!" you compliment when you’re done, he laughs and stands to his full height again. 

"Thanks, baby,” he says, before kissing your nose as to not smudge the lipgloss you just applied. “I’ll go get us a seat first, join me when you're done?”

You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Careful not to get caught sneaking out!” you call out when he’s about to leave your room.

“Please, who do you think you’re talking to?" he calls back smugly.

The door shuts and you shake your head, smiling to yourself.

♡ 8:00 - breakfast

Breakfast opens at 7:30, so the great hall is already crowded and lively when you enter at 8.

Luckily, there’s a seat and a plate saved for you at the Slytherin table.

Your friends greet you when you approach the table. Although they all seem half asleep (and half dead), they try their best to smile and greet you very nicely. You greet them with a bright smile and a cheerful "hello!"

Your energy this early in the morning will never not astonish them.

You take your seat next to Mattheo and he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you closer.

“Sweetheart, settle this debate for us will you?” Enzo calls.

Besides you, Mattheo rolls his eyes at the nickname — he coined it for you first — but turns to look at you in anticipation nonetheless. You turn to Enzo. “What is it?”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Nothing, just their stupid dick measuring contests.”

Your eyes widen.

“Not actually!" Enzo says quickly. "Holy shit, it’s a figure of speech.”

You relax, sighing in relief.

“Alright, then,” you say. “What’s the debate?”

“We want to know who you think would win in a fight between all of us.” Theo says.

“Like, a five-way fight between all of you?" you let out a soft laugh, furrowing your brows. “I don’t know if I’m the best person to ask, I’m really biased—”

Mattheo smirks.

“Hang on, it’s Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo and I.” Theo says, confused. “Who’s the fifth person?”

“Pansy.”

Mattheo laughs at your statement, understanding immediately where your loyalties and bias lie.

“She’s not a part of this.” Theo says. Pansy rolls her eyes.

“Why not?” you say innocently, picking at your fruit cup. “My money’s on her.”

♡ 9:00 - first classes

Defence Against the Dark Arts (a double lesson!), charms & potions. It would be absolute hell if you didn’t have Mattheo next to you for the latter two classes.

You spend the classes drawing hearts on his hand, playing tic tac toe on the corner of your class assignment worksheet & occasionally listening to the professor, definitely!

You doze off somewhere in the middle of Snape's lecture, head resting on Mattheo's arm. He knows that his arm will be numb after the class but he really can't find it in himself to care.

You blink, waking up slowly. You stare, with bleary eyes, at Mattheo’s wrist watch.

"20 more minutes, angel," he murmurs, low enough so you can hear it, an amused smile on his face.

You pout, sitting up straight. You try your best to make sense of the blackboard, narrowing your eyes at the unfamiliar words.

Mattheo nudges his notebook in your direction.

"You wrote notes?" you ask incredulously.

He smirks. "Figured you'd need them, Sleepy.”

You roll your eyes at the teasing nickname, but catch up on the lesson through the familiar handwriting. You notice a small “hi sweetheart i love you ♡” written on the top corner of the page. 

His hand inches closer to your free hand on your lap, interlacing your fingers as his eyes stay trained on the board.

♡ 12:00 - lunch

Per your idea, Mattheo's entire friend group (and now yours, too, really) eats their lunches outside in the grass area — like a makeshift picnic.

"The weather's so lovely, I'm surprised more people don't eat outside," you hum as the group spreads your blanket underneath a shaded area.

"Yeah, who wouldn't want to eat with bugs?" Enzo says sarcastically before wincing when Theo smacks the back of his head over his comment. Your mood is undisrupted, though, as you cheerfully wave to a bird a few inches away from you before it flies away. 

Mattheo puts a bowl of freshly washed (by him, of course) strawberries in front of you. Enzo grins and reaches a hand out, it's slapped away by Mattheo.

"What the fuck, Mattheo?" he whines.

"They're for her," he says with a flat look, gesturing to you.

"I don't mind sharing," you say placatingly, ever the peacekeeper. Pansy snorts.

"Bad idea sharing food with Enzo, you turn around for half a second and it's all gone," she says.

Mattheo nods his head. "Exactly."

"Everyone's protecting her and no one's protecting me," he grumbles under his breath, but he decidedly keeps his hands to his own food for the rest of the picnic.

You laugh, grabbing a strawberry and lifting it to Mattheo's mouth.

He raises his eyebrow at the gesture, you laugh and push the strawberry closer to his mouth. He rolls his eyes but parts his lips for you anyway. 

You smile, pleased, before squealing when his tongue makes contact with your finger.

"Gross, Mattheo!" you laugh, wiping your finger on his shirt.

He smirks and tugs you closer to him. You pretend to fight him out of his grasp before relaxing on his lap.

♡ 1:30 - back to class

The next few classes are harder to get through as they very much lack Mattheo. At least you have Pansy right next to you as you dutifully finish the classwork assigned to you, despite her insistence on distracting you.

“This girl is just so delusional,” Pansy says, twirling her pen.

“That’s mean,” you say, unfocused, eyes still darting back and forth across the page as you try your best to complete the equation.

She raises her eyebrows.

“She spread a rumour about me and called me a ‘slut’ who wanted her ugly ass boyfriend,” she says.

“Oh,” you say, pursing your lips. “Carry on then.”

She smiles, self-satisfied. You turn to her.

“What’d you get for question 5?” 

She looks down at her paper before looking back up at you.

“America?” she says, you frown.

“Pans, this is math.” She shrugs in response.

You huff and put down your pen, deciding you’ve done the best you can do and it’s time for a break. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you bite back a smile. There’s only a few people you haven't silenced notifications from.

matty <3 — sleep over tonight? (15:05) — i’ve got a surprise for you after quidditch (15:06)

You bite your cheek, texting back under the table as discreetly as you can. 

sweetheart ♡ — yes please!!!! <3 <3 (15:08)

Pansy gives you a knowing smirk, spotting the giddiness of your body language.

“I know exactly who you’re texting,” she teases.

“Shut up!” you laugh, shoving at her. 

♡ 4:00 - afterschool

Your energy is almost completely depleted by the time you make it back to your dorm room, so you slip into more comfortable clothes and nestle yourself under the covers to take a quick nap.

When you wake up half an hour later, your groggy vision is half covered by ginger fur. You smile, reaching to curl your arm around your (and Mattheo’s) newly rescued and adopted kitten. You figure Mattheo must have dropped her off at your dorm before he went to Quidditch.

“Hi Honey,” you coo her name, petting her fur. She purrs responsively, nuzzling her face against your palm.

Originally, you had named her Sweetheart. But after you turned your head every time Mattheo called her name, you had to change it to something you were not called. Well, frequently called.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say before teasing. “You like my dorm more than Mattheo’s, don’t you?”

Honey says (or meows) nothing in response. You sigh dramatically.

“I get it, you don’t want to hurt Mattheo’s feelings.”

She meows which you take as a response, you laugh, petting her. “It’s okay, Honey, I think Mattheo likes my dorm more, too.”

You spend the rest of your late afternoon reading your new book, placing post-it notes on the top of one of the pages as a reminder to yourself to tell Mattheo how the love interest reminds you of him. 

♡ 6:00 - dinner

You balance two stacked plates on one hand while scooping excessive amounts of food on top with the other. A girl across the dining table from you gives you an odd look, you smile unabashedly at her.

You sit back down in your seat and begin to separate the portions of food onto the two plates.

“Babe, that’s so sad,” Pansy snorts from across from you. “It’s like no one’s feeding you and you have to ration your food.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s for Mattheo.”

“Well, of course I know that,” Pansy says.

Finally, the Slytherin boys trudge through the door — freshly showered after training and still loud and rowdy with boisterous energy. They make their way over to your table.

“Hi baby, miss me?” Mattheo says, placing a haste kiss on the side of your head before sitting next to you.

“Sure,” you say teasingly to him, before turning to the whole group. “How was quidditch?”

“Killer,” Theo says, “Flint was pissed today, so, apparently, we all have to suffer.”

You cautiously eye the brunette a few tables away.

“Yikes,” you say, sliding the plate over to Mattheo. He digs in immediately before pausing to look up at you. He swallows his food.

“Thank you,” he says politely, you laugh and bump his shoulder with yours.

You frown when you realise your bite of food contains something you hate, you look over at Mattheo, scrunching up your face.

He laughs and signals for you to give it to him, so you happily pile it onto his plate.

♡ 7:00 - movie night with mattheo

After dinner, the two of you sneak your way into his dorm. You change out of your robes and into a pair of shorts you left in his room and one of his muggle band t-shirts. It hits just above your knee and it smells like him. 

Not for the first time, his scent clinging onto the t-shirt brings you back to the first time you met. Who knew that the scent wafting from that cauldron of amorentia potion would be the same one that would cling to everything you own all this time later. 

You lie back in his bed while he gets changed himself, you let your eyes close.

"I'm glad you've made yourself comfortable," his teasing voice rings out. You open your eyes to smile at him, not bothering to get up. He walks over to you and the mattress dips.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say back smiling, you sit up and lean against his headboard. Suddenly remembering the text message he sent you what feels like ages ago. "What's the surprise?"

He grins at the reminder.

"Remember that old muggle movie you wanted to watch last week... what was it called?” he asks as you try your best to recall. “It starred that actress you love." 

You frown in thought before your eyes light up in realisation.

"Oh! Audrey Hepburn," you say.

A week ago, during one of your Muggle Movie Nights (as you call it), Mattheo had admitted that he’d never seen an Audrey Hepburn film and you proclaimed that he absolutely had to start with Roman Holiday. Determined to culture your boyfriend and desperate to rewatch it yourself, the two of you scoured every streaming site to find it — to no avail.

"Did you finally find a way to pirate it?" you ask gleefully, he shakes his head softly before moving to his desk.

"Not exactly."

He opens his desk drawer, pulling out a DVD with the familiar title on the cover. You gasp, reaching to grab it. You trace the red letters on the cover. 

"How did you find this? Where did you find this?” you ask in disbelief, looking up at him. “When did you even have time to look for this?"

His grin is soft with affection for you.

"I found it in a store in Hogsmeade,” he shrugs. “No big deal."

Total lie. In reality, he had dragged Theo and Enzo through the entire village, stopping at every CD/DVD store just to browse the titles. Eventually, after the sky had turned dark and his friends were ready to abandon him on his impossible search, he found a copy.

Not that you had to know any of that. Besides, the huge smile on your face made it all worth it to him.

"Shall we watch it?" he asks, already slipping it into the DVD player connected to his laptop.

You nod, curling into his side. “I can’t believe you have a DVD player, you’re such an old man.”

“Hey, this old man is your knight in shining armour, princess,” he argues, wrapping his arms around you. 

“You’re right, you are,” you murmur, while the black and white title card of Roman Holiday displays on his laptop.

♡ 9:00 - getting unready for bed

After the movie (and after he consoles you, while trying hard to suppress his laughter, when you cry over the ending), he sits on your bed while you swipe makeup wipes across your face. 

As much as Mattheo adores watching you get ready, there’s something he loves so much about watching you get unready. 

There’s something so intimate in getting to see you completely bare and completely yourself.

You gently rub moisturiser onto your face and catch him staring at you through the mirror, you breathe out a laugh.

“What?” you ask.

A year ago, you’d be slightly mortified if he saw you like this. You’re confident enough without makeup but you still like that extra boost a good eyelash day or lipgloss can give you.

Now, you finish your routine and walk closer to him. Stepping in between his thighs. 

His hands come up to rest on your hips, smiling up at you.

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just the prettiest thing on earth.”

You laugh and roll your eyes at his hyperbole, but it's not enough for him. He’s certain you’re the most beautiful being in the universe. 

♡ 10:00 - late night talking with mattheo

You’re lying on your stomach, half of your upper body lying on his chest. Your pointer finger traces his arm slowly, like his veins are braille and his scars are stars.

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” you murmur.

“I’ve thought about it,” he smiles lazily, eyes half closed.

“Yeah? Tattoos would suit you,” you hum. "What would you get?"

“What do you think I should get?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, deep in thought. “I could see you with one of those barbed wire designs or your initials or—"

“Your name?” he interrupts with a smirk.

You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding. I'd do it right now,” he says, only half joking. 

“Mattheo!” you scold, though the effect is ruined by your giggle. “You’re way too young and that is also a horrible idea.”

“First of all, I’m older than you.”

“By, like, a few months.”

“And I would totally do it, in a heartbeat,” he promises. “No matter what happens, I’m yours forever. You already know.” 

You smile. “That’s a little romantic.”

"I'm very romantic, thank you very much," he huffs.

"Yeah, you are."

He glances down at you before looking up at the ceiling again.

“Besides, before you know it, we’ll be eighteen,” he says.

There’s a short lull of silence as you process his words.

“That’s crazy to think about,” you say, leaning your head into his chest again.

“Yeah.”

“I still feel like I'm sixteen years old and six and eight and thirteen,” you admit, hoping he understands what you mean. “I don’t know if I ever won’t.”

“I get that,” he says with a small nod. "I can't imagine you're much different now than when you were six, though."

You gasp half-heartedly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not an insult," he chuckles. "I just can't imagine you ever being anything but yourself."

You look at him properly now, tilting your head up.

“I know what you mean,” you say. “That’s kind of sweet.”

You scrunch your nose when you imagine your younger self.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a princess—”

“Very on brand,” he quips.

“I also wanted to be a teacher at some point,” you say. “An English teacher, I think?”

“You’d make a good teacher,” he says.

“Really?” he nods.

“Thanks,” you yawn. “Did you have a dream job when you were younger?”

He answers after a small beat of silence.

“I wanted to be a great sorcerer.” It’s only partly a lie.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he was younger, the concept of “dreams” and aspirations were foreign to him. Instead, there were expectations. Heavy expectations placed on him by his parents or Death Eaters.

Though, meeting you when he was sixteen has taught him to dream. Maybe one day he’ll tell you that and thank you for it. 

Instead, he adds. “Or a professor — a charms professor, probably.” 

“You’d be so good at that,” you say genuinely. 

His arm curls around your shoulders, pulling you in closer.

You play with the watch on his wrist, counting the watch hands and realising that it’s almost eleven.

“You never take anything off when you sleep,” you murmur. 

He looks down at his hand — at the watch around his wrist, the bracelet you made him, a silver band ring he wears on his middle finger and his signet ring carved with his initials. You fiddle with that last ring. 

Mattheo wordlessly slips off his signet before bringing your hand up. He slips the ring onto your thumb.

He kisses the ring on your hand and you let out a breathy laugh. He locks eyes with you for a moment before shifting so that you’re underneath him.

He places the mass of his body weight on his elbows, but you can still feel him pressing close as he plants kisses down your neck.

Your eyes become half lidded as you melt under him. You fight to suppress a yawn, hoping he doesn’t notice. You want him to touch you like this forever.

He chuckles. “Sweetheart.” 

"Yeah?" you murmur, fighting to keep your heavy eyelids open. He lifts his head to look at you. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” he says.

You shake your head quickly, looking at him with wide eyes. “No, no.”

He laughs. “M’just teasing, baby. We should sleep, it’s getting late.”

“But I want to talk to you longer,” you frown, your lips forming a pout. 

"We have all of tomorrow," he says warmly. "We've got time."

♡ 11:00 - goodnight, sweetheart

By 11, you’re tucked into his side fast asleep. Your hair rollers poke into his chest ever so slightly but he's used to it by now, it's familiar.

He keeps his phone brightness on the lowest setting as he reads to pass the time. His insomnia keeps him from sleeping most nights and, though sleeping next to you helps him significantly, it’s still always there hindering him. 

He doesn’t tell you, though. Because he knows you’d pry your eyes open to keep yourself from falling asleep, just to keep him company. Instead, you get to fall asleep quickly beside him. 

He feels his heart swell when he looks down at you. Your lips part as you snore and he laughs, shaking his head fondly. 

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

Mattheo puts down his phone before carefully flicking off your bedside lamp. He prays sleep will come soon as he lets his body relax close to yours. 

♡ 1:00 - goodnight, mattheo

In his younger years, Mattheo often misunderstood violence for love.

Growing up in that castle, within those cold walls, he learnt that love was pain. Naturally, he wanted to flee from it.

Throughout his teen years, he feared the day he'd fall in love because he believed it would only give a person the opportunity to hurt him. 

Now, he understands he had it all wrong. Love is not loud and frightening like heavy shoes storming through rooms and rough hands slamming doors, love is not the piercing silence between two people.

Love is his rough hand in your soft one, it’s his ring on your finger like a promise he hasn’t made yet, it’s the music the two of you love, it’s the movies you watch, it’s strawberries on a picnic, it's the sound of your heartbeat syncing to his, it’s sleeping beside you — it’s a comfortable thing.

As it turns out, love is a quiet thing that hums louder than real noise. He can feel — more than hear — it everywhere, thrumming through his veins or in his head when he looks at you.

No matter how fleeting, he knows now that loving someone, even at the cost of pain, is always worth it just for this feeling.

But he knows you’ll stay. Maybe forever, if he gets his way. If not? He doesn’t feel that sickening urge to leave claw marks on you to keep you in his grasp, he just wants to be close to you now while he can. 

There’s no place close enough to you, though. So, for now, he sleeps with his arms tight around you and hopes it’s enough to mould your souls together for eternity.

thank you to all my readers — whether you've been here since the first fic, the last one or any in between <3. i hope you caught some of the references and callbacks in this fic & i hope you liked it !! know that you can always send in requests for sweetheart!reader & mattheo because i'll probably continue writing for them as long as this blog is alive ♡

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Michael is your landlord, of whom Lily is constantly wary because his first course of action is always threatening to kick tenants out (though as far as you know, he’s never actually done it). 

“True,” you reply, “but don’t you think he’d appreciate it if I got the presence up here to quiet down? No one’s going to move in if it keeps making so much ruckus.” 

Shortly after the last tenants had moved out, you’d started hearing noises in the unit above yours. Sometimes it’s a light clicking, sometimes a louder thump like something’s fallen, but every time you’ve come up here to check there’s been no evidence of things having moved around. The natural conclusion is that there’s been some disturbance in the spirit world that’s resulted in a new presence squatting here, and you like to make friends with your neighbors. 

You know Lily’s a bit dubious of your theory, but your beliefs often differ from hers. She’s never made you feel like yours are any less valid. 

“Are you sure that making friends with the ghost won’t make it more inclined to make more noise?” she asks.

“Mm, maybe,” you muse, “but I’d like to think that if they like me well enough, they’ll listen if I ask them to keep it down. At least at night, you know?” 

Lily smiles, and the room warms in response. “Worth a try,” she agrees. “How long do you think you’re going to be tied up for? Dinner’s almost ready.” 

“Not much longer. As soon as the candle burns out I just have to look at the shapes in the wax, and then I can go.” 

“We’re going to have to clean up the wax stains before Michael discovers them too.” She leans over to kiss the side of your head, the soft curtain of her hair falling across your cheek, before sitting back on her heels and straightening up. “Alright, love, come down when you’re done.” 

You hum in response, listening to the comforting cadence of her footsteps as they leave. But then there’s another sound with them. A quiet clicking. 

You inhale softly as the flame of your candle flares slightly. “It’s here,” you breathe. “It’s listening.” Lily pauses in the doorway, and you clear your throat, trying to affect your voice to be calm and welcoming. “Hello? Can you communicate with us?” 

The clicking continues. You think—hope, maybe—that it might be growing louder, but it’s difficult to say. 

“Hello?” you try again. “We’re friendly, please don’t be afraid.” 

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure…” Lily takes a few steps toward you, a bemused furrow between her brows. “It sounds like it’s coming from in there.” 

She starts down the hall, and you follow hastily. She stops in front of a closed bedroom door, reaching behind her to grasp your arm cautiously. The clicking does sound louder here. Lily edges the door open quietly, peering inside. 

“Oh.” The syllable stretches as if drawn out from between her lips, sweet as spun sugar. “Hello, darling.” 

She lets the door fall the rest of the way open, dropping into a crouch. Over her, you can see the empty, dusty room, rich light from the setting sun streaming through the windows, and a small white kitten frozen warily in the middle of the floor. 

Lily reaches out a hand, making quiet little tsking noises with her tongue, but you step right over her and gather the kitten in your arms. 

“Hi there,” you say. “Is it you making ruckus every night?” 

Lily laughs, rising from her crouch to come stand by your shoulder. “It’s so unfair how they always come to you,” she complains fondly. “I try so hard.” 

You hum noncommittally. It’s true, animals love you. You scratch the side of the kitten’s face, smiling when it purrs. 

Your girlfriend smiles too. “So you’re our ghost, hm?” she coos, stroking a knuckle down its belly. “Sorry you didn’t get your chance to make friends with someone from the afterlife, sweetheart.” 

“That’s alright,” you say. “This may be more rewarding anyway. You can’t pet ghosts.” 

Lily laughs, dropping a kiss on your shoulder. “No, I don’t suppose you can. Do you want to keep her?” 

You look at her in surprise. “Could we? Michael wouldn’t be happy.” 

She shrugs a shoulder, green eyes flashing with challenge. “There are some things worth incurring Michael’s wrath, I think.” 

You beam, looking down at the nearly sleeping kitten cradled in your arm. “Yeah.” 

“Come on.” Lily gives you a nudge, starting back out into the hall. “Our dinner’s going to burn, and I think we have tuna in the pantry to hold this one over until we can get to the store.”

“Can we name her Ghost?” you ask, following her out. 

When you finally came to, the stark white ceiling of the hospital wing slowly blurred into focus, accompanied by the immediate sound of dull thuds and hushed, aggressive whispering.

Pansy was repeatedly hitting Theodore over the head with a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet. "I said shut up! You're breathing too loudly, idiot!"

"Ow! Pans, stop—oh, she’s awake!" Theodore called out, instantly cutting off the squabble.

In a fraction of a second, a sea of worried faces swarmed your bedside. The sudden movement made your head swim, and your face contorted into a sharp wince as you instinctively clenched your abdomen. A wave agonizing pain bloomed across your stomach, forcing a quiet groan from your lips.

Seeing you writhe, Draco didn't waste a single syllable. He turned on his heel and hurried away, returning a moment later with a highly exasperated Madam Pomfrey trailing behind him.

"I said only one visitor is allowed at a time!" the Matron scolded, adjusting her apron as she marched toward the crowd. "Do I need to report this blatant disregard for rules to your respective House Heads?"

Mattheo didn't even blink, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes with supreme indifference. "Take points, I don't care. Just check her already."

"Like I have told you all for the umpteenth time," Madam Pomfrey sighed flatly, shining a diagnostic light over you. "She is perfectly fine. She has severe pain due to her cramps, and she passed out because of low iron. There is absolutely nothing fundamentally wrong with her, and she simply needs rest—which, with all of you towering over her like a flock of gargoyles, she cannot get." She fixed the boys with a lethal glare.

"Okay, but what if she needs us? What if she passes out again the moment we leave?" Theodore frowned, his brow furrowing with genuine, stubborn anxiety.

"She is in the hospital wing, Mr. Nott," Pomfrey reminded him with agonizing slowness. "I am quite literally paid to ensure she doesn't."

Recognizing that the Matron was a second away from calling the Headmaster, Pansy stepped into action, using her elbows to shove the boys backward. "Just get out, guys. Go on, clear out."

"That includes you, Miss Parkinson," Madam Pomfrey added strictly.

The utter horror that flashed in Pansy’s eyes was almost comical. She stopped mid-shove, her jaw dropping. She looked at the sterile, quiet ward, then down at you looking pale and miserable under the sheets, and firmly crossed her arms.

"That's it. She's not staying here. We're taking care of her ourselves," Pansy declared, her pureblood stubbornness taking full control. She turned back to the boys with a sharp nod. "Go carry her, guys. Let's go."

"She will not be leaving this—"

"I apologize, Madam Pomfrey," Tom's voice cut through the brewing argument, smooth, velvet, and dripping with his usual polite charm. He stepped forward, offering the Matron a disarming smile. "But I think it would be best if she were left in our care. We will ensure she adheres strictly to her bed rest and dietary needs in the privacy of our quarters."

Everyone froze. Even the Slytherins, who were entirely accustomed to Tom's nature, stared at him in slight shock. Hearing Tom Riddle use his terrifyingly polite 'prefect voice' to negotiate a prison break from the hospital wing for a girl with period cramps was a historical event.

Before Madam Pomfrey could even process her bewilderment, Lorenzo cleared his throat, stepping right past her. He carefully slid his arms under your back and knees, lifting you out of the cot in one fluid, surprisingly gentle motion.

You had absolutely no complaints. Everything from your head to your toes ached in deep, and honestly, you knew this possessive crowd would never let you get a second of peace anyway if you didn't just let them take over. You let your head rest against Lorenzo’s shoulder with a tired sigh.

"Would you like to eat something, darling?" Lorenzo murmured softly, looking down at you as he carried you down the stone corridor.

You gave a small, weak nod.

"I'll bring a tray of food down to our common room," Blaise offered smoothly, already mapping out the quickest route to the kitchens.

"No..." you pouted, your voice small but stubborn. "I wanna eat at the Great Hall."

The boys all stopped walking, exchanging a series of weary, reluctant looks. Lorenzo took a step toward the heavy double doors of the Great Hall, and that was when you suddenly remembered a very crucial detail: you were currently being cradled like a toddler in front of the entire student body.

"Wait, let me walk!" you protested, beginning to struggle weakly against Lorenzo's chest.

"And have you pass out cold on the flagstones again? No way, absolutely not," Theodore huffed, walking right alongside you to ensure you didn't try to dive out of Lorenzo's arms.

"I am not going into the Great Hall whilst being carried," you hissed, glaring at them with all the fierce dignity you could muster.

Tom let out a soft, amused chuckle. He stepped forward, placing a firm, grounding hand on Lorenzo's shoulder. "Put her down, Berkshire."

Lorenzo reluctantly complied, carefully lowering your feet to the floor. The second your boots hit the ground, a wave of nausea hit you, and a sharp wince crossed your face as your lower back ached in heavy, painful folds. You slumped slightly, unable to stand up fully straight.

"Stubborn girl," Tom murmured. Without a hint of hesitation, he wrapped a strong, unyielding arm around your waist, pulling your side firmly against his hip to bear the majority of your weight. With his support holding you steady, he anchored you as he helped you walk through the doors and into the Great Hall.

The second you reached the Slytherin table, Draco and Pansy practically sprinted toward the buffet platters. They returned a minute later, piling your plate high with an absurd, mountain-sized assortment of spinach, lean beef, dark chocolate, and every single high-iron food item available on the tables.

"That looks weird," Theodore chimed in, leaning over your shoulder and poking a stray piece of steak with his fork. "Can I taste a bit of it?"

"I'll shove your face directly into your own plate if you keep trying to eat her food, Nott," Mattheo glared, his voice dropping into a dark, venomous warning that made Theodore instantly pull his hand back.

You ate slowly, your stomach turning uncomfortably. Not even halfway through the plate, you sighed and pushed it away. Almost instantly, the human garbage disposal known as Theodore Nott eagerly leaned over and ate everything left on the plate in a matter of seconds, earning a look of profound disgust from Draco.

Once dinner was cut short, the entire group formed a tight, impenetrable perimeter around you, escorting you safely down into the Slytherin dungeons. Back in the cozy warmth of the dorms, Lorenzo sat you down and gave your aching lower back a remarkably skilled, relaxing massage, while Pansy brought over warm damp cloths, cleaned you up, and tucked you into a nest of heated blankets with a fresh hot water bottle.

By your second day, despite the fact that you woke up feeling significantly better, the overprotective crowd still tailed you like a personal royal guard. They were completely relentless, turning the entire castle into a no-fly zone around you.

During Charms, the professor calls for you. "Y/N, can you demonstrate to me the—"

"No, she cannot," Tom interjected smoothly from the seat beside you, not even looking up from his parchment. The sheer, icy authority in his voice made Professor Flitwick visibly flinch at the front of the classroom.

The Professor cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his spectacles. "U-uhm, quite alright! Anyone else care to demonstrate the banishing charm?"

Later that afternoon, the group accompanied you to Care of Magical Creatures. The class was crowded, and Professor Kettleburn, scanning the students, pointed a blunt finger directly at you. "You there! Hufflepuff girl, tell the class—"

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Mattheo spit out, stepping directly in front of you. His dark eyes narrowed into a dangerous, lethal squint that made Professor Kettleburn stop mid-sentence, thoroughly shocked by the student's sheer audacity.

"And she has a name. Use it," Draco added, his voice dripping with cold, aristocratic disdain as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Mattheo, completely shielding you from the professor's gaze. Kettleburn blinked, completely flabbergasted, but wisely chose to call on a terrified Gryffindor instead.

Between classes, you were walking down the corridor when a stressed-looking Ravenclaw girl started jogging toward you. "Y/N, can you help me with the Ancient Runes translation? I'm completely stuck on—"

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, the words dying in her throat. Theodore and Lorenzo had seamlessly stepped out in front of you, both of them fixing the poor girl with identical, unblinking, terrifying glares.

"N-nevermind! I can handle it myself!" she squeaked, spinning on her heel and practically sprinting in the opposite direction.

When lunchtime rolled around, a brave Hufflepuff boy actually managed to sit across from you at the table before the boys could block it off. He smiled, pointing at your dessert. "Ohh, what are you eating? It looks really—"

A heavy silver plate slammed onto the table right beside him with a deafening ring. Blaise smoothly slid into the seat directly to your left, while Pansy aggressively took the seat to your right, effectively boxing you in. Blaise slowly turned his dark eyes to the Hufflepuff, raising a single, smooth eyebrow, while Pansy twirled her wand between her fingers with a wicked smile.

The guy didn't say another word, grabbing his goblet and leaving the table without looking back.

"Guys..." you sighed, hiding your burning face in your hands. "I think you're doing entirely too much. People are terrified to look at me."

"You're still fragile, love. We're just making sure you don't overwork yourself," Theodore smiled brightly, his previous terrifying glare completely vanishing into a warm, boyish grin as he handed you a fresh goblet of pumpkin juice.

"And ensuring that you are eating properly. We can't have your iron dropping again," Blaise nodded smoothly, cutting up a piece of chicken on your plate with meticulous care.

By the third day, you were profoundly thankful that your cycle was on its very last day. The absolute lockdown the Slytherins had placed on your social life was impenetrable; literally no one other than your specific group of boys and Pansy had come within a five-foot radius of you for the entire week.

Masterlist

Another one of those I had no idea how to write I'm sorry :(

I didnt like how it turned out but it wasn't super bad I guess

My period usually lasts for 3 days and my cramps is only intolerable on the first day i get used to it on 2nd and third (usually) so I put this down for my usual cycle

even after your period they didnt leave you alone until they made sure youre good so you were boxes out for a week

I was gonna add a moment about the usual cravings and mood swings that comes with periods but I didnt feel like adding them as i had no idea how to

I just dont see puffy getting mad at them even if shes on her period

hope you liked this anyway ily all <3

-kookiedough

Taglist?

"I find them interesting to look at."

"so you put them on your arms?"

"yes."

"alright then"

You sit in silence for around twenty minutes until you break it to speak again.

"bat?"

"yes tres"

"help me sneak these to panda's dorm"

"Why'd you need to sneak them in?"

"cause that mean seventh year got mad at me last time. Said something about not bringing filthy insects into a common room that isn't even my own."

"bullshit!"

"that's what I said." You agree handing him the insects to hide in his pockets.

On your walk to the slytherin common room, you tell barty all your favourite facts about snails and bowtruckles whilst he makes sure that neither insect had fallen from his pocket.

Once you get there, barty does the password letting you both in. However once you step inside that nasty seventh year is there. You freeze for a second, your eyes widening before you continue to walk, staring at the boy.

Barty notices.

"what on earth are you doing treasure?"

"shhhhhhh" you hiss, putting your finger to your lip.

"what! Lov-"

You try to shush him again but the seventh year turns around and sees the both of you. His eyes level on you.

"oh. You." He says.

You glare at barty for blowing your cover and try to get to Pandora's dorm without any commotion. Before you can get away the seventh year stops you both.

"not so fast." He says, stopping you. "Where are the bugs."

"what bugs?"

"you always have some sort of creature with you. Where is it?"

"don't have one"

"yeah right. What about him?" He says turning to barty.

"I haven't got anything." Barty replies.

"mind if I check?"

"go ahead." Barty says confidently causing you to worry.

However the seventh year checks and finds... Nothing?

"fine." He says "continue."

Once he's out of earshot you turn to barty with a panicked expression. As if he can sense what you're going to say he's starts to talk.

"don't worry, I've still got them." And anything you try to question him he shushed you, saying he has everything under control.

***

You get to Pandora's dorm, entering after hearing her soft voice allowing you to. Her brother, Evan, was there with her.

"hello panda." You say.

"hi, is everything ok. You look worried."

"I gave barty a bowtruckle and snail to look after so that guy I told you about wouldn't yell at me again. But he asked barty if he had any creatures too, which he did but the guy didn't find anything."

"yes, and I told you I have it under control." Barty adds, pulling the bowtruckle from his hair and snail from behind his ear.

You stare at him in bewilderment and slight admiration whilst pandora and Evan giggle. He hands you the insects whilst he's still smirking at himself.

"told you" he says lowly.

"panda do you have any insect containers left?" You ask. "I don't really want to let them go and I don't have any left."

"Love I got you like five last week!" Barty exclaims

"they're full of insects."

Pandora shakes her head in disbelief. "I'm sorry sweets, I don't have any."

"it's alright, thanks panda." You say before heading out, barty following behind like a lost puppy.

"what you gonna do with them now?"

"guess I'll just have to let them go.."

***

The two of you get to Barry's room. When you go inside you find regulus sat on his bed reading a book.

"can you please check you don't have one bat?" You plead. "Just incase I left one here."

"I'll look but no promises."

"what are you looking for?" Regulus questions.

"an insect cage thing, for her new insects." Barty explains. "She doesn't want to let them go, she's attached already."

"ah I see." He turns to you. "What do you have this time?"

Your face lights up at his question. You go and sit on the edge of his bed to show him your snail and bowtruckle and to explain the same facts you had told earlier to barty.

That was until barty emerged from his trunk, a clear plastic cage in hand.

"here you are my treasure." He says handing it to you and opening the top so you can put your insects inside.

***

Around 15 minutes later, the insects are in their case and placed on Barty' bedside table. You're laying on barty's bed watching them whilst he changes into something more comfortable.

"hurry up bat, you're taking ages!" You whine.

"patience treasure."

You pout slightly causing both him and regulus to repress laughter and teasing remarks.

"fineee, I'm ready now."

"you have no shirt bat."

"that's alright isn't it?"

"I guess so.." you say as he climbs in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"these are our children" you yell him whilst looking at your insects.

"they are?"

"yes."

Regulus shoots barty a teasing glance to which barty sticks his tongue out.

"can we go to hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"course we can. What do you need?"

"stuff for my insects."

"I should've guessed. We can go after breakfast if you'd like."

You nod and turn to face Barry, burying your face into his chest and getting ready to sleep.

"love you bat"

"love you more treasure."

"revolting." Regulus deadpans.

He doesn't mean it though. Truthfully he's happy for both of you; you fit together so well. You brought out the soft side in barty and he brought out the talkative side of you. Regulus had never believed in the phrase 'opposites attract' until he'd witnessed the two of you together.

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Thank you for reading :)

This was a very dialogue heavy fic so I apologise if that's not your thing!

Please feel free to send requests!!

Barty thinks for a few seconds before replying. "I'm not sure where it came from.. or why she says it. She just did one day and I guess it stuck?"

"you should ask her." Pandora chimes in. "Maybe there's a really sweet meaning behind it?"

"I've tried to before but you know what she's like, she gets distracted."

"ask her when she comes back, we're all here and we all want to know. It's practically impossible for her to get distracted." Dorcas suggests.

"fine" barty agrees reluctantly.

***

You come back around 20 minutes later.

"sorry I took so long." You say quietly sitting back down next to barty. "My bowtruckle escaped again and got into the snails cage. You know what they're like, very sneaky creatures."

"it's alright treasure." He answers, ignoring the looks he's getting from his friends. However he's also curious so he gives into them and their curiosity and asks. "Lovely?"

"yes bat"

"why is it that you call me bat?"

"I just do."

"oh come on, that's not it is it?!" Evan says, unsatisfied with your answer.

"Evan, leave her."

"are you serious! I ju-"

"Evan!"

That shut him up.

***

Later on you and barty are alone in your dorm. You're attending to all of your creatures whilst barty watches from your bed.

"I call you bat because I love animals." You say not looking up from what you're doing.

"what? What does that even mean?"

***

Once you're both cuddled up in your bed, it dawn's on him. You call him bat because you love animals. You love animals. You've nicknamed him after one of your interests. The thought could've brought a tear to his eye.

"treasure, I love you."

"love you too bat."

"never stop calling me that" he says way too quickly.

"didn't plan on it"

And as he was falling asleep that night could've sworn he heard you whisper to him: "my bat"

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Thank you for reading :)

The Slytherin common room is dimly lit as Draco enters, his movements stiff after a long day of classes. He heads toward his dormitory, not noticing the curious glances from his friends who are lounging on the emerald green sofas.

"Going to change, Malfoy?" Blaise calls out with a smirk.

Draco merely grunts in response, disappearing behind the heavy oak door of his shared dormitory. A few minutes later, Crabbe and Goyle follow, their heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor.

Inside the dormitory, Draco pulls off his shirt, intending to change into something more comfortable. The moment the fabric slides away, three pairs of eyes fixate on his back.

"Merlin's beard," Goyle whispers, his usual monotone replaced with genuine surprise.

Across Draco's pale skin are long, red scratch marks. They stand out starkly against his complexion, trailing from his shoulder blades down to his lower back.

Crabbe steps closer, squinting. "Where did you get those, Malfoy?"

Draco stiffens, immediately trying to cover himself. "None of your business."

But Blaise has already circled around to face him, a knowing grin spreading across his features. "Those look like they came from a rather… enthusiastic encounter."

"Shut up, Zabini," Draco snaps, snatching a fresh shirt from his wardrobe.

"Let me guess," Blaise continues, ignoring Draco's warning tone. "Some Slytherin girl finally managed to get her claws into you? Pansy perhaps?"

Draco's face flushes slightly as he struggles into his shirt. "I said, drop it."

Goyle scratches his head, confused. "But those marks look fresh. Like from today."

Draco's movements become more frantic as he buttons his shirt. "I'm not discussing this with you lot."

Blaise leans against a bedpost, arms crossed. "Come on, Malfoy. Who's the lucky witch?"

"Nobody," Draco insists, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

"Nobody doesn't leave marks like that," Blaise presses. "Unless you've been wrestling with a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest."

Crabbe chuckles at the thought. "Or maybe a hippogriff got hold of him."

Draco glares at them both. "I'm going back to the common room."

"Not so fast," Blaise blocks his path. "You can't show up with mysterious scratches and expect us not to ask questions."

Draco's jaw tightens. "There's nothing to tell."

"Then why are you being so secretive?" Goyle asks, genuinely curious.

Draco sighs, running a hand through his platinum blond hair. "Because it's private."

"Private enough that you don't want us to know who left those marks?" Blaise raises an eyebrow.

Draco remains silent, but the slight pink tint to his ears doesn't go unnoticed.

"Wait a minute," Blaise's eyes widen with realization. "It's not a Slytherin, is it?"

Crabbe and Goyle exchange confused glances.

"Who else would it be?" Crabbe asks.

"Think about it," Blaise says, pacing the room. "Malfoy's been disappearing more often. He's been… nicer, almost. And now these mysterious scratches."

Draco shifts uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"It's that Hufflepuff girl, isn't it?" Blaise declares triumphantly.

Crabbe and Goyle stare at him in disbelief.

"You mean the one who's always helping first years find their classes?" Goyle asks.

"The one who brings you those terrible homemade cookies?" Crabbe adds.

Draco's flush deepens. "Her name is Y/N and she's not..."

"Oh, it's definitely her," Blaise interrupts with a wicked grin. "The sweet little Hufflepuff who blushes whenever you look at her."

"But she's so… innocent," Crabbe says, looking genuinely shocked. "She looks like she wouldn't hurt a fly."

Blaise laughs. "Apparently she's not so innocent behind closed doors."

Draco finally snaps. "Leave her out of this."

"Oh, so it is her!" Blaise exclaims, delighted by this confirmation.

Crabbe scratches his head again. "But how? She seems so… gentle."

Draco's expression softens slightly despite his annoyance. "She is gentle."

Goyle looks utterly confused. "Then how did she..."

"That's enough," Draco cuts in, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But Blaise isn't finished. "Well, well, well. Who would have thought that the sweetest Hufflepuff in Hogwarts has a wild side?"

Draco glares at him. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone..."

"I won't," Blaise promises, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. "But I have to say, Malfoy, I'm impressed. Who knew you had a taste for… spirited Hufflepuffs?"

Draco pushes past them, muttering under his breath about nosy roommates as he exits the dormitory.

Once he's gone, Crabbe shakes his head in disbelief. "I never would have guessed."

"Me neither," Goyle agrees. "She always seems so… nice."

The attic above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes smelled of dust. Not the ordinary sort that gathered on forgotten shelves, but the thick, sleepy dust of old boxes and long-abandoned corners. Old joke products were piled everywhere: boxes of discontinued Skiving Snackboxes, crates of misfiring Extendable Ears, and several suspiciously rattling barrels that no one had bothered to label properly. It was the sort of place employees rarely bothered to climb up to unless they had to, and even then only briefly — long enough to grab something, sneeze twice, and hurry back down to the always chaotic noise and colour of the shop below. You’d worked here for months now, long enough to know how different it usually sounded up here — shouts of laughter from the sales floor, the sharp bang of something exploding, and the distant squeal of enchanted toys testing the patience of whoever had set them off. Come closing time, the attic felt strangely — eerily? — still.

But maybe it was just the effect of your heart pounding like it was trying to get out of your chest, considering you were on your knees between the two of them, the worn floorboards digging into your skin. It was a thrilling ache that was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Fred and George: they’d cornered you here after closing, all teasing grins and wandering hands that promised a different kind of mischief.

“Look at that fucking face,” Fred murmured, just as his thumb, calloused and warm, brushed your lower lip. “Already begging for it, and we haven’t even started.”

George’s hands settled on your shoulders from behind, his breath hot on your neck. “We ought to be gentle, Fred. It’s her first time with us.”

Fred’s grin was pure wickedness. “Who said anything about gentle?”

That was all the warning you got before Fred’s fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you forward as he freed his cock from his trousers. It was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip — the sight made your mouth water. This was what you’d fantasized about, for months now.

“Open up, sweetheart,” Fred murmured. “Let me see that pretty throat.”

You obeyed, parting your lips, and he didn’t hesitate. He fed his cock into your mouth, an inch, then two, then more, until the broad head nudged the back of your throat, and you gagged, your eyes watering.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that. Take it.”

He started to move, shallow at first, then deeper, setting a relentless rhythm. His other hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat.

You could feel him, the rigid outline of his cock bulging under your skin with every thrust. He was fucking your throat like it was his own personal cunt, slathering your spit over his length until it glistened, and the obscene reality of it, the complete surrender, sent a jolt of pure lightning to your own dripping core.

“You feel that, Georgie?” Fred asked, his hips snapping forward. “I can feel my cock right here.”

He stroked your throat in time with his thrusts, a possessive, intimate caress that made you whimper around him.

“Such a good little slut for us. Gagging on me so perfectly.”

Fat rivulets of spit were dripping down your chin now, all messy, slick strings. Fred watched it, his eyes glazed. He leaned down, his face inches from yours.

“Look at you. A fucking mess.”

He gathered a pool of saliva in his own mouth and let it fall, a warm, wet splatter across your cheek. The degradation was like a brand, searing and delicious. “My mess.”

Behind you, George had been busy. His hands had pushed up your top, your bra already undone. His palms covered your tits, kneading, pinching your nipples until they were hard, aching points.

“Her tits are so perfect, Fred,” George murmured.

Then you felt George’s fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt and knickers, dragging them down your thighs. The cool air hit your wetness, and you jerked. Fred used the movement to sink deeper into your throat, making you choke loudly.

“Hold her steady, George,” Fred gritted out.

“With pleasure.”

You felt George position himself behind you, the blunt, hot head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. He didn’t ask. He just pushed in, a slow, stretching, filling invasion that made you choke even more around Fred’s length. 

George’s rhythm was different — deep, rolling thrusts that ground against your clit with every inward stroke. He kept one hand splayed on your stomach, holding you back against him, while the other continued to torture your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” George groaned, burying his face in your hair. “Soaking wet for us. You like being used, don’t you? Our pretty little fucktoy.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but take it, a conduit for their pleasure. The sounds were obscene: wet, sucking gulps from your mouth, the slick slap of George’s hips against your ass, their twin groans and filthy praise. Your world narrowed to the feeling of being utterly occupied.

Fred’s pace was becoming frantic, his thrusts losing their rhythm. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice ragged. “Gonna fill that fucking throat.”

George leaned forward, his chest against your back. “We better move, Fred.”

And so they moved. Fred pulled his slick, glistening cock from your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva and pre-cum still connecting you, and George withdrew from your pussy, leaving you empty and clenching at the sudden loss.

Fred turned you over, pushing you onto your back and kneeling over your face, his glistening and dripping cock hovering above your lips.

You stretched your neck, your tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe up the underside of his shaft. You moaned, the sound vibrating against his skin, and took him back into your mouth, sucking eagerly, wanting that taste.

Somewhere below you, George settled between your splayed thighs. He didn’t enter you again: instead, you felt his mouth, hot and demanding, on your inner thigh. Then the sharp, sweet sting of his teeth.

He bit again, higher, and your legs shook, Fred’s cock fucking into your mouth in time with your movements.

“Look at her, Fred,” George said, lifting his head. His lips were slick, his chin smudged with your wetness. “Marking her up. She’ll feel us for days.” 

He leaned down again, his tongue laving over the fresh, tender bruises before his mouth closed over your clit, sucking hard.

It was unbearable. Fred’s cock stretching your lips, George’s  mouth on your most sensitive spot, the sharp bites on your thighs — all too much. A coil, tight and white-hot, was building deep in your belly.

I’m gonna come, you wanted to say, but it was just a garbled cry around Fred.

Sure enough, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, sending you careening over the edge. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around nothing as George continued to work your clit, drawing out your pleasure until you were boneless and trembling.

As the waves slowly began to recede, Fred pulled back, his cock sliding from your bruised lips. He was still painfully hard. George rose above you, his own cock in his hand, gleaming with your combined wetness.

“My turn in that perfect mouth,” George said.

Before, Sirius didn’t know you could find such happiness in the mundane things. He didn’t know seeing a piling of washing on the side of one of the sofas could spark so much joy. Remus’ jumpers folded among his band tees and your patterned maxi skirts, his bright red socks balled beside your floral ones. And they smell like all three of you; because you all have the same home; the same place you bathe, the same place you eat, the same place you relax.

It belongs to all of you. He glances down at the rug that you had picked—the same one that he and Remus had carried on their shoulders down four roads for you. He remembers huffing and puffing, and how hot it had been that day, and how he wasn’t even sure he liked the rug, but you had insisted he ‘couldn’t see the vision’.

You’d stopped him at one point to take the hairtie out of your own hair and tie his out of his eyes for him, and he remembers how his heart had skipped several beats, and how Remus’d had to call his name for him to stop staring at you and move. Everytime he looked at the rug, he thought of that moment, thus recalling how stupidly in love with you he was. And still is. And always will be—he is sure. 

You were right, of course. The rug looks great in your living room. It sort of reminds him of the Gryffindor common room, especially with the fireplace at the center of everything. 

He runs his hand across one of Remus’ biggest plants, the one that blocks out half the sunlight streaming from one of the large windows. He feels the large leaf between his forefinger and his thumb, and he thinks about how much he complains about it tickling his back when he likes to sit in his favourite chair—but how much pride Remus takes in it, and how much Sirius’ heart had melted when he caught Remus speaking to it once—absentmindedly, when he thought he was home alone—just muttering away as he clipped off some dying brown bits.

Your laugh breaks him from his train of thought. He can hear Remus’ chuckle, deeper than yours, quieter, but not any less meaningful. He hears a draw close, utensils rattling, and he realises that it smells like pancake batter, and his heart flips. 

Suddenly, he can’t stand the distance of the doorframe separating the living room and the kitchen. Sirius hauls himself from the chaise lounge, Remus’ plant tickling his bare shoulder, your rug soft beneath his feet as he pads to the doorway, and leans against it, watching as you use a spatula to try and peel a pancake from the bottom of the pan. 

Both your gazes seem to find him immediately, and he nearly flushes. He holds the wood of the frame, his knuckles nearly whitening as his typical Sirius Black grin takes over his face, and he shakes his head.

“You’re making pancakes?” He asks softly.

“More like crepes,” Remus says, and plants a hand on your shoulder. “Just chuck it in the sink to soak. We’ll get out a different pan. That one’s a lost cause.”

Sirius clears his throat. “I thought you were making egg soldiers?”

“Yes, but pancakes are your favourite,” you explain to him as if it’s obvious, and hand the pan to Remus who dunks it into the soapy dishwater, and hands you a clean one, which you place back on the stove, adding some butter. “I’ll turn down the heat a tad this time.”

“Good idea,” Remus quips amusedly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a fond kiss to the side of your head. 

Sirius can’t help but watch in awe as Remus breaks away from you to grab the fruit pots from the fridge. Coming from such a tense household, he can hardly comprehend how burning breakfast and wasting time hasn’t caused you to fall out with one another. He remembers how hard it was for him to understand at first, and even now, thoughts of what his mother would say flickers through his head. 

“You alright?” Remus asks him gently. 

Sirius nods, and he plants a kiss to Remus’ lips. “Yeah. Why are you making my favourite?” He asks, and leans against the breakfast counter to watch you both. “I’ve not done anything to deserve it. Just been sat on my arse since I woke up.”

“But looking good while you do it,” you tease him, and Sirius can’t help laughing and shaking his head, even averting his gaze to the countertop. 

“We just wanted to, love,” Remus tells him with a small, knowing look. 

Sirius nods. “Thank you.”

“‘S’alright,” you say, “Do you mind slightly stodgy pancakes, Siri? I’m a bit scared of burning them again.”

Remus laughs, putting down the knife and heading over to you. He presses a light hand down on your shoulder, the other moving around you to take the spatula from your grasp. 

“Sweetheart, how about you chop up the fruit and I’ll keep an eye on the pancake mix?” He offers. 

“Fine,” you grumble half-heartedly, and surrender your weapon to move over to the chopping board and the fruits Remus has spread out. 

You lean across the counter and press your lips to Sirius’, picking up the knife to start cutting. He watches you, his silver gaze flickering to your hands where your fingers are clad with rings he’s gifted you over the years. His eyes consequently move up to your neck, where you wear a necklace with his and Remus’ birthstones. 

Your tongue pokes out ever so slightly as you concentrate on chopping the strawberries and bananas. You have this quirk where you like to make sure your chopping is perfect for Remus, who often has you on veggie-cutting duties during dinnertime. Sirius has accidentally discovered your saved videos folder on TikTok before, and seen an embarrassing amount of videos on the correct way to dice an onion, or how to chop potatoes to get perfectly uniform chips. 

He thinks about it then, and it makes him smile fondly, a huff of amused air leaving his nose. He can’t help leaning across to kiss your forehead, and your eyebrows shoot up, a surprised smile crossing your own lips. 

“What was that for?”

“I just really love both of you. So much,” Sirius murmurs. “And I don’t think I say it enough—but I think it all of the time.”

Remus glances over his shoulder and you pause your chopping, the both of you looking at him in such awe that Sirius almost feels embarrassed. You coo, and reach across to grasp his jaw, dragging him into another kiss that he welcomes eagerly. 

“You’re only saying that because we’re making you breakfast crepes,” Remus quips, though his tone is so soft that Sirius knows that Remus knows Sirius is being honest. “We love you, too.”

“So much,” you promise, and stick a strawberry in his mouth, pulling the stalk out when he bites down. You eat the last of it and toss it in the bin. “Nutella on your pancake, handsome?”

Sirius feels so fond it hurts. 

“You know me so well, beautiful.”