#greygaunt

Theodore Nott

THEODORE HAD BEEN given special permission from Professor Snape to tutor you using the potions classroom. He was stood in front of you, desperately trying to get you to understand the Wiggenweld potion instructions, as the last three times you had attempted it, your cauldron had boiled over. You sat at the desk, fidgeting with your quill, your attention drifting to the window where the afternoon sunlight filtered through the lake and through the glass. Theodore's words seemed to blur together as you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, oblivious to his attempts to guide you through the recipe. Theodore noticed your lack of focus, a faint furrow forming between his brows as he paused mid-sentence, studying you with a mix of concern and amusement. "Are you with me, cara mia?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm, trying to bring you back to the present. You blinked, realising you had been daydreaming, and quickly tried to mask your distraction with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Theodore," you apologised. Theodore chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "It's alright," he reassured you, his tone warm and understanding. "But if you want to nail this potion, you'll need to pay closer attention." As he turned back to the cauldron to continue the recipe, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not giving him your full attention. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you rose from your seat and stealthily made your way towards Theodore, who was engrossed in stirring the potion. Quietly, you approached him from behind, your hand reaching out to hook around the loop of his belt. Before he could react, you gave a playful tug, pulling him gently towards you. Startled, Theodore stumbled slightly, his back pressing against your chest as he turned to face you, a bemused expression on his face. "What are you doing?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he raised an eyebrow at your antics. You shot an impish smile his way, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you met his gaze. "Just trying to get your attention," you replied playfully, your fingers pulling gently on his belt. "Seems like it worked." You leant up and captured his lips in a cheeky kiss, hands still hooked in his belt loops. Theodore pulled away and cleared his throat as he took in your current situation, your chest was pressed against his, and suddenly the potion didn’t matter anymore. Now he was the distracted one; blushing himself.

Lorenzo Berkshire

LORENZO PACED BACK and forth, his uniform askew and his expression etched with anger. His frustration was evident as he vented about the argument he had just had with Draco. As you approached, you could feel the frustration radiating from him, his words sharp and biting as he recounted the altercation. It was clear that he needed a distraction from his thoughts, something to pull him away from the anger and irritation that consumed him. “That little bleach blonde git-“ Without a word, you stepped closer to Lorenzo, your hand reaching out to gently grasp the Slytherin tie around his neck. Startled, Lorenzo paused mid-rant, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face you. Before he could protest, you closed the distance between you, pulling him towards you with a gentle tug on his tie. And then, with a softness that silenced the storm raging within him, you pressed your lips against his in a tender and lingering kiss. At first, Lorenzo stiffened in surprise, his anger momentarily forgotten as he registered the warmth of your lips against his. But as the sweetness of the kiss enveloped him, he slowly began to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as he melted into your embrace. For a minute, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you lost in the intimacy of the moment. As you pulled away, a sense of calm washed over Lorenzo, his features softening as he met your gaze with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "Wow," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached up to cup your cheek. "That was unexpected." You smiled, your heart swelling with affection as you returned his gaze. "I just wanted to distract you," you admitted, your voice soft with sincerity. "You seemed like you needed it." Lorenzo's lips quirked into a small smile, his anger dissipating as he leaned in to press another gentle kiss against your lips. “Why was I pissed at the ferret?”

Draco Malfoy

IN THE AFTERMATH of a disappointing Quidditch match, the Slytherin common room was abuzz with the tension of defeat. Draco stood leaning against the edge of a worn leather armchair, his brooding gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, lost in his own thoughts. Despite your attempts to engage him in conversation, Draco seemed completely absorbed by his defeat, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and disappointment. You stood beside him, a sympathetic frown creasing your brow as you watched him wrestle with his emotions. Feeling a surge of determination to break through his brooding silence, you took a step closer, your hand instinctively reaching out to gently grasp the belt loop of Draco's trousers. Startled, Draco blinked in surprise, his attention finally shifting from the depths of his thoughts to your presence beside him. Before he could utter a word, you pulled him towards you with a gentle tug on his belt loop, closing the distance between you until there was barely an inch of space separating your bodies. And then, without hesitation, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his in a tender and reassuring kiss. At first, Draco stiffened in surprise, his eyes widening in astonishment as he registered the warmth of your lips against his. But as the sweetness of the kiss enveloped him, he slowly began to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as he melted into your embrace. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached up to brush his fingers against your cheek. "I needed that." You smiled, your heart swelling with affection as you returned his gaze. "Anytime," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "I'm here for you, always." Draco nudged his nose against yours, connecting your lips once more and gently resting his hands on your waist.

Mattheo Riddle

IN THE COSY confines of Mattheo's dorm room, the afternoon sunlight filtered through the lake and through the window, casting a green glow over the space. You and Mattheo had returned from a long day of classes, and now you found yourselves engaged in a playful bout of wrestling on his bed. Laughter filled the air as you and Mattheo rolled around, teasing and tickling each other like carefree children. The stresses of the day melted away as you revelled in the simple joy of each other's company, lost in the warmth of shared laughter and affection. As the play fighting escalated, Mattheo managed to gain the upper hand, pinning you down to the bed with a triumphant grin. You looked up at him, a playful pout on your lips as you pretended to struggle against his hold. "Alright, alright, you win," you conceded with a chuckle, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you gazed up at him. Mattheo's grin widened at your surrender, his gaze locking with yours as he leaned down, his weight pressing against you. In that moment, as you lay beneath him, you couldn't tear your eyes away from his. Without a word, you reached up and gently tugged on the tie around Mattheo's neck, pulling him closer to you. Caught off guard, Mattheo's expression softened, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he met your gaze. And then, with a tender urgency that mirrored the beating of your heart, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a sweet and passionate kiss. The warmth of the kiss enveloped you, leaving only the two of you lost in the sweetness of the moment. Mattheo's eyes shone with adoration as he gazed down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I love you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "I love you too," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity as you reached up to cup his cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his jawline.

Blaise Zabini

Theodore Nott

THE CRACKLING OF the fire filled the Slytherin common room. You were curled up in a knitted cardigan, on one end of the dark leather sofa, fully immersed in your book. Your legs were tucked beneath you, and the soft golden light of the fire made your skin glow. On the other end of the sofa, Theodore Nott sat with his long legs stretched out, a book on potions open on his lap.

Though the two of you sat in companionable silence, Theo hadn’t turned a page in ages. His sharp green eyes lingered on you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips every time you shifted or tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You were his favorite view—not that he’d admit it outright.

Theo liked how peaceful you seemed when you read, but tonight, his usual quiet admiration simmered with an edge. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about the way you were utterly oblivious to him, to the rest of the world, made him want to drag your attention back to him.

The heavy door of the common room creaked open, and Adrian Pucey strolled in, exuding his usual overconfident swagger. Theo’s eyes flicked toward him lazily, but the moment Adrian’s gaze landed on you, a flicker of annoyance sparked in Theo’s chest.

Adrian’s smirk deepened as he approached. “Hey,” he said, his voice dripping with charm.

You glanced up from your book, caught off guard. “Oh, hi, Adrian,” you said politely, offering him a small smile before returning to your book.

But Adrian didn’t move. Instead, he leaned against the arm of the sofa—Theo’s sofa—just a little too close to you for Theo’s liking. “What’re you reading?” Adrian asked, his eyes not on the book but on you.

You held up the cover briefly. “Nothing exciting, just Alice in Wonderland.”

Adrian’s smirk grew. “Must be good if it’s keeping your attention. Though I can think of a few other things that might be more entertaining.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly, closing his book with a deliberate snap. You didn’t notice, but Adrian did. The faint flicker of discomfort in Adrian’s expression wasn’t enough to satisfy Theo, though.

“I could help you pick something better,” Adrian continued, completely ignoring Theo’s glare. “We could even—”

“Pucey,” Theo interrupted, his voice low and even, though there was a dangerous edge to it. “Do you mind?”

Adrian looked at Theo, feigning innocence. “Just being friendly, Nott. Didn’t realize I needed permission to talk to her.”

Theo’s lips curved into a slow, sharp smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t. But you should know when you’re overstaying your welcome.”

You glanced between the two of them, trying to defuse the situation.

But Theo wasn’t done. He leaned back against the sofa casually, one arm draping over the backrest—his fingers nearly brushing your shoulder. “Adrian, I’m sure there’s someone else in the castle who’d appreciate your… charm,” Theo drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “But she isn’t one of them.”

Adrian hesitated, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. He looked at you, as if expecting you to protest, but you stayed quiet.

“Right,” Adrian muttered, stepping back and holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes, Nott.“ He sneered.

When the door shut behind him, the room was quiet again, save for the fire’s crackle. You turned to Theo, eyebrows raised. “What was that about?”

Theo’s green eyes met yours, dark and intense. He didn’t answer right away, instead letting his gaze linger on you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Then he smirked, leaning closer so that his voice was a low murmur only you could hear. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. He doesn’t get to do that.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the possessiveness in his tone. “Theo, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he cut you off, his smirk softening into something more genuine. His hand moved from the back of the sofa to lightly brush against your arm, his fingers tracing a slow line down to your wrist. “You’re too good for someone like Pucey.”

Your cheeks heated under his gaze, and you found yourself struggling to form a coherent response. Theo tilted his head, his smirk returning when he noticed your flustered state.

“You know,” he drawled, leaning even closer, his lips mere inches from your ear, “if you ever need someone to sit with you while you read—or do anything—you know where to find me.”

“Theo,” you said softly, trying to sound scolding, but the way his voice wrapped around your name made it impossible.

He chuckled, his voice low and rich. “What? Just making sure no one else gets any ideas.” His fingers lingered on your wrist a moment longer before he finally pulled back, though the smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already picking up his book again, as if nothing had happened. But the triumphant glint in his eyes and the smug tilt of his lips as he pretended to read made it clear—Theo had no intention of letting Adrian, or anyone else, get between the two of you.

Draco Malfoy

THE GRYFFINDOR COMMON room was roaring with celebration, but the energy in the Slytherin dungeons was an entirely different story. You sat quietly in a far corner of the Slytherin common room, biting your lip to keep from scowling as the bitter sting of Gryffindor’s quidditch victory lingered in the air.

Draco Malfoy sat beside you, stiff and brooding, his arms crossed over his chest and his signature scowl firmly in place. He hadn’t spoken much since the match ended, but you could feel his frustration radiating off him. Every so often, his stormy gray eyes would flicker over to you, softening just slightly before returning to their usual guarded expression.

You hated seeing him like this, especially since you knew how much winning meant to him. All throughout the match, your eyes had been glued to him—his sleek moves on the broom, the determination in his expression. It didn’t matter that Gryffindor had won; as far as you were concerned, Draco had been the best player on the pitch.

Unfortunately, one Gryffindor in particular didn’t seem to share your focus.

Then came Cormac McLaggen’s booming voice as he strolled into the dungeons, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had only been a reserve player in the match. His golden hair was windswept, and his smug grin was practically glued to his face. “There you are—my lucky charm!”

Draco stiffened beside you, his head snapping toward Cormac, who was making his way toward you with the swagger of someone who thought the world revolved around him.

You groaned inwardly, forcing a polite smile as Cormac stopped in front of you. “Cormac,” you said, your tone neutral. “What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?”

“I couldn’t celebrate without thanking the person who made it all possible,” Cormac said with a wink, ignoring the obvious discomfort in your expression. He leaned casually against the arm of the sofa, far too close for comfort. “You must’ve been cheering for me up there, yeah? Felt like I had a bit of extra luck today.”

Your lips parted in protest, but before you could get a word out, Draco spoke.

“Funny,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I don’t recall seeing you do anything noteworthy in that match, McLaggen. Unless you count standing around and looking like an idiot.”

Cormac turned his attention to Draco, his grin faltering slightly under the icy glare Draco leveled at him. “Jealous, Malfoy?”

Draco’s smirk was cold, his gaze unwavering. “Of what? Your uncanny ability to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school?”

You stifled a laugh, but Cormac didn’t seem amused. “I don’t recall you winning the match, Malfoy,” he shot back, though his voice lacked the confidence it had moments ago.

Draco stood, his tall frame towering over Cormac as he stepped between you and the Gryffindor. His movements were calm and deliberate, but the tension in his jaw betrayed just how much he was holding back.

“Count your blessings,” Draco said, his voice low and steady. “Because it seems you have trouble understanding boundaries. She isn’t interested.”

“Draco—” you began, but he silenced you with a gentle look over his shoulder.

Cormac straightened, trying to salvage his dignity. “I was just having a bit of fun—”

“Then find someone else to have fun with,” Draco interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. His gray eyes hardened as he added, “She doesn’t want to be bothered.”

Cormac opened his mouth as if to argue, but the intensity in Draco’s gaze made him think better of it. With a muttered excuse, he turned and strode out of the room, his pride clearly bruised.

As soon as Cormac was gone, Draco turned back to you, his expression softening as he sank back onto the sofa beside you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice quiet but touched with amusement.

“Yes, I did,” Draco replied, his hand brushing lightly against yours. “Watching him try to charm you was insufferable. And he wasn’t taking the hint.”

You smiled, the warmth in his touch sending a flutter through your chest. “You know I wasn’t interested, right?”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, though his eyes betrayed his lingering insecurity. “I know,” he said softly. “But I don’t like seeing someone else try to steal your attention. That’s my job.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Draco’s smirk grew into a rare, genuine smile.

“Draco,” you said, leaning closer so that your shoulder brushed against his. “You’re the only person who has my attention. On the pitch, off the pitch—always.”

His gray eyes softened, and he reached out to take your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Good,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because you’ve had mine for a while now.”

The tension that had been building between you for weeks seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by a warmth that settled deep in your chest.

“Next time we’re at a match,” you said with a teasing smile, “I’ll be your lucky charm instead.”

Draco’s smirk returned, and he leaned closer, his voice low and laced with affection as he replied, “You already are.”

Blaise Zabini

THE SOFT BUBBLING of cauldrons and the tangy scent of felix felicis filled the classroom. You were stationed at a long wooden bench with Blaise Zabini, your usual partner, who always insisted on having you beside him during Snape’s lessons.

He leaned casually against the counter, his sharp features framed by the soft glow of the fire beneath the cauldron. His sleeves were rolled up, flaunting the smooth lines of his forearms, and his dark eyes followed your every move as you carefully added crushed beetles to the shimmering liquid in front of you.

“You’re overthinking again, love,” Blaise murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned closer. His warm breath tickled your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Relax. It’s not going to explode—unless you stir it wrong. Then it might.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Very reassuring, Zabini. Maybe if someone wasn’t busy distracting me, I’d have more confidence in my potion-making skills.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “If I’m a distraction, I’d say you’re handling it pretty well. But if you need more hands-on assistance…” His voice trailed off, a flirtatious lilt in his tone.

You laughed, shaking your head, but before you could retort, a voice interrupted from behind.

“Need a hand?”

You turned your head to find Lucian Bole standing just behind you, his signature confident grin plastered across his face. Blaise’s posture stiffened immediately, his smirk vanishing in an instant.

“I’m fine, thanks,” you said politely, but Lucian was already moving closer.

“Are you sure? That’s a tricky part of the potion,” Lucian said, stepping behind you. Before you could react, his large hands gently wrapped around yours, guiding them to the ladle. His chest was just barely brushing against your back, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he said, “You’ve got to stir counterclockwise—slowly, like this.”

The sudden closeness caught you off guard, and though you didn’t entirely appreciate the intrusion, you hesitated, unsure how to extricate yourself without causing a scene.

Blaise, however, didn’t share your hesitation. His dark eyes burned with quiet fury as he straightened from his casual lean, his jaw tightening. In a heartbeat, he was by your side, sliding smoothly into action.

“That’s enough, Bole,” Blaise said coolly, his voice carrying an icy edge. He placed a firm hand on your shoulder, tugging you gently but deliberately out of Lucian’s grasp. “She doesn’t need your help.”

Lucian blinked, clearly startled by Blaise’s sudden intervention. “Just trying to be helpful,” he said, though there was a faint challenge in his tone.

Blaise shot a sharp, dangerous smirk, his hand lingering possessively on your shoulder. “Helpful? Funny, I don’t recall anyone asking for your assistance.” He stepped between you and Lucian, his broad frame effectively cutting the other boy off from you.

Lucian’s smirk faltered slightly, but before he could say anything more, Blaise dismissed him with a sharp, “Run along, Bole. Surely there’s someone else who might appreciate your expertise.” He rolled his eyes.

Lucian hesitated for a moment before shrugging and walking off, muttering something under his breath.

You turned to Blaise, your cheeks warm and your heart racing. His usual composed expression was back, but there was a flicker of something more intense in his dark eyes as he stepped closer.

“I had it under control,” you said, your voice soft but teasing.

“Did you?” Blaise asked, raising an eyebrow. He reached out, his long fingers curling gently around your wrist as he guided your hand back to the ladle. His other hand rested lightly at your waist, the heat of his touch sending a wave of warmth through you.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his proximity made your thoughts scatter. “I… I could’ve handled it, Blaise.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you shouldn’t have to. Not when I’m here.”

His hands guided yours with deliberate slowness, his chest just brushing against your back as he leaned in closer. “Counterclockwise,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Just like this. See? Easy.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. You felt entirely consumed by his presence—the warmth of his hands, the low timbre of his voice, the faint trace of cologne that lingered around him.

“Blaise,” you managed to say, though it came out more like a breath than an actual word.

He tilted his head, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his smirk returning. “Yes, love?”

You narrowed your eyes at his teasing tone, though the effect was ruined by the faint smile tugging at your lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you seem to like having me around,” he quipped, his hands still firmly in place as he guided the ladle in slow, perfect circles.

Your blush deepened, and Blaise chuckled softly, clearly pleased with himself. He finally released your hands, though his fingers lingered at your waist for just a moment longer before he stepped back.

“Much better,” he said, nodding at the cauldron. Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he added, “Next time someone gets too close, just let me know. I’ll be happy to remind them where they stand.”

You rolled your eyes, but the flutter in your chest betrayed how much his possessiveness thrilled you. “Noted, Zabini.”

“Good,” he said, flashing you a grin that was equal parts charming and wicked. “Now, let’s finish this potion before you tempt anyone else into playing knight in shining armor.”

Lorenzo Berkshire

THE SLYTHERIN COMMON room was alive with the buzz of a Saturday night party. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, goblets clinked, and Blaise had control over the lazy stream of music that wound its way through the air. You were sitting in a circle of your classmates, playing a chaotic game of truth or dare.

Lorenzo Berkshire sat directly across from you, his dark hair tousled in that effortlessly charming way of his, his eyes fixed on you with a playful intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The two of you had been dancing a waltz to the time of friendship and something more for weeks now, flirting shamelessly but never quite stepping over the edge. Every quirk of his lips, every brush of his hand against yours—it all left you wanting more.

You were in the middle of a lighthearted truth about some ridiculous childhood memory when Marcus Flint, seated to your left, leaned in with a foul grin that was just a little too confident.

“My turn,” Marcus announced as the bottle spun in the centre of the circle, eventually landing on him. His gaze flicked to you, and a smirk curled on his lips. “Alright. Dare.”

Blaise, who was running the game with his usual mischief, wasted no time. “I dare you,” he said with a glint of mischief, “to kiss Y/N.”

The room erupted in hoots and laughter, and you felt your cheeks heat as all eyes turned to you.

“Blaise!” you hissed, shooting him a glare, but he just shrugged, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Marcus, however, took the dare as an invitation. He shifted closer, his smirk widening. “Looks like I got lucky,” he said smoothly, leaning in.

You immediately put your hand up to stop him, your heart racing. “No, no, wait—”

“What’s the problem?” Marcus asked, his tone still light but with an edge of persistence. “It’s just a dare.”

“I’m not comfortable with it,” you said firmly, trying to back away, but Marcus’ hand lightly brushed your arm, as if to coax you into it.

Across the circle, Lorenzo’s playful demeanor vanished in an instant. His dark eyes sharpened, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. He leaned forward, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade.

“She said no, Flint,” Lorenzo drawled, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable warning.

Marcus glanced at him, his smirk faltering slightly. “It’s just a game, Berkshire. Don’t get your wand in a knot.”

Lorenzo stood then, his full height adding an air of authority. Mattheo oohed. He moved around the circle with a deliberate grace, stopping directly in front of Marcus and placing himself between you and the other boy.

“She said no,” Lorenzo repeated, his voice low and firm, the playful lilt gone entirely. “And if you can’t respect that, then you’re not just an idiot—you’re a problem.”

Marcus bristled, standing as if to challenge him. “What’s your issue, Berkshire? Afraid you’ll lose your chance?”

Lorenzo tilted his head, a cold smile playing on his lips as he stepped closer, his voice dropping so only Marcus could hear. “The only thing I’m afraid of is losing my temper with someone who doesn’t know when to back off. I don’t need to take a chance on something I’ve already won.”

The tension in the room was thick, the game entirely forgotten as everyone watched the standoff. Marcus hesitated, clearly weighing his options, before letting out a scoff and sitting back down. “Whatever,” he muttered, avoiding Lorenzo’s piercing gaze.

Satisfied, Lorenzo turned to you, his expression softening immediately. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape, and placed your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours sent a flutter through your chest as he led you out of the common room and up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories.

Once inside his dorm, Lorenzo shut the door behind you, his shoulders relaxing now that the chaos was behind you. He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, his voice a stark contrast to the firm tone he’d used with Marcus.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I wasn’t about to sit there and watch him make you uncomfortable.”

You felt your heart swell at the sincerity in his words, and you couldn’t help but tease him slightly. “I didn’t know you could get so protective.”

Lorenzo chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I don’t usually. But when it comes to you…” He trailed off, his eyes locking onto yours, the unspoken feelings between you hanging in the air like a delicate thread.

“Enzo,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering near your cheek. “I don’t like seeing anyone else try to take what’s mine,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “Even if we haven’t… figured that out yet.”

Your breath hitched, the warmth of his touch and the weight of his words making your head spin. “Maybe we should figure it out,” you said, your heart pounding in your chest.

His grin widened, his usual playful charm tinged with something deeper. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in so that your foreheads nearly touched. “Maybe we should.”

Mattheo Riddle

THE MUSIC IN the Slytherin common room pulsed, mingling with the hum of voices and the clink of glasses. The party was in full swing, the dim green lighting casting shadows on the walls, and students from multiple houses mingled, talking and laughing. You stood near one of the plush sofas, sipping from your cup, your laughter ringing out as your friends recounted some ridiculous tale.

But your attention wasn’t entirely on the conversation. No, your gaze kept wandering toward a certain dark-haired boy leaning casually against the wall across the room, his intense brown eyes fixed on you like a moth drawn to flame.

Mattheo Riddle.

The two of you had been circling each other for weeks now, dancing on the edge of something more, but neither of you had quite taken the leap. You felt the heat of his gaze like a physical touch, sending shivers up your spine every time your eyes met. It was intoxicating, this push and pull, this magnetic connection neither of you dared to fully acknowledge.

“You look amazing tonight,” a voice interrupted your thoughts, and you turned to find Ron Weasley standing beside you, his goofy grin wide. His blue eyes scanned you appreciatively, and his tone, though clumsy, and a bit intoxicated, was undeniably flirtatious.

“Oh, um, thanks, Ron,” you replied, offering him a polite smile.

Ron didn’t seem to notice—or care—that your attention was half elsewhere. He launched into a story about Quidditch, gesturing animatedly, his words coming fast and loud as he tried his best to keep your attention.

Mattheo, however, did notice.

From across the room, he watched as Ron edged closer to you, his tall frame leaning in far too much for Mattheo’s liking. He saw the way Ron’s eyes lingered on you, the way his hand briefly brushed your arm as he spoke. The sight made Mattheo’s jaw clench and his grip on his drink tighten.

Mattheo was many things—arrogant, sharp-tongued, sometimes a bit too reckless—but one thing he wasn’t was patient. And watching someone else try to claim your attention? That was enough to send a hot wave of possession surging through him.

He pushed off the wall, his movements slow and deliberate as he crossed the room. The crowd seemed to part for him instinctively, as if sensing the storm brewing beneath his cool exterior.

“Angel,” Mattheo drawled as he reached you, his voice smooth but laced with an unmistakable edge. His eyes flicked to Ron, cold and calculating, before returning to you. “Everything alright here?”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. “Oh, Mattheo. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“Good,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours, though his words were clearly directed at Ron. “Because it didn’t look that way from where I was standing.”

Ron frowned, clearly confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mattheo’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes as he turned his full attention to Ron. “It means you’re standing a little too close to something that isn’t yours.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, heat flooding your cheeks as your heart raced.

Ron spluttered, clearly flustered but trying to save face. “Mate, we were just talking. Relax.”

Mattheo took a deliberate step closer, his taller frame casting a shadow over Ron. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “I’d suggest you find someone else to talk to, Weaselbee. Now.”

The tension between them was palpable, and for a moment, you thought Ron might argue. But one look at the dark fire in Mattheo’s eyes was enough to make him think twice. With a muttered excuse, Ron backed away, disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, Mattheo turned back to you, his intense gaze softening ever so slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his hand brushing lightly against your arm.

“I was fine,” you said, though your voice betrayed how flustered you felt. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “Didn’t I?”

“Mattheo…” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“He shouldn’t have been touching you,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “And he definitely shouldn’t have been looking at you like that.”

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making your knees feel weak. “You’re being ridiculous,” you said, though your words lacked any real conviction.

“Am I?” he asked, his hand sliding down to gently rest on your waist, his touch both possessive and protective. “Because the thought of anyone else thinking they have a chance with you…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if the very idea made him furious.

You stared up at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. The firelight danced in his eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away.

“Mattheo,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly.

He leaned in, his forehead almost brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re mine, whether you realise it or not.”

“Works both ways, Riddle.” You muttered.

Theodore Nott

YOU HAD RECEIVED a clandestine note from Theodore Nott. Scribbled in elegant yet lazy handwriting, the message simply read: “Tower? Sunset. - Nott.” Heart pounding with anticipation, you made your way through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The air was crisp with the promise of impending autumn, and as you ascended the winding staircase that led to the tower, a small chill fell over you like the tickle of a breeze. Nerves, perhaps? Upon reaching the top of the stairs, you found Theodore waiting for you, his figure backlit against the vast expanse of the night sky. His eyes, pools of blue flecked with hints of silver, met yours with a soft recognition that sent a wave of comfort down your back. "Hey," he murmured, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he stepped forward to greet you. "I'm glad you came." You returned his smile with one of your own, feeling the tension between you crackling like static electricity in the air. "Of course I came," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "What did you want to talk about?" But before Theodore could respond, he closed the distance between you with a sense of purpose, his hand reaching out to gently cup the back of your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a jolt of warmth racing through your body, you so desperately wanted him. Without a word, Theodore leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. With a tenderness that took your breath away, Theodore closed the remaining distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was as soft as a whisper and as passionate as a symphony. You melted into his embrace, a soft smile spilling onto your face as you relaxed into his kiss. It was a shock, but one that had been brewing for a while, beneath the surface. “Give me a chance.” Theo whispered, between soft, gentle presses of his lips against yours.

Mattheo Riddle

AS YOU WANDERED the aisles of the library, floating your tomes back to their correct resting places, the soft rustle of pages turning filled the air. A small smile fell across your face as you handed your last book in. You reached the final aisle of old, dusty books and watched as Madam Pince settled at her desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes scoured the area until they fell upon Mattheo, his figure silhouetted against the soft glow of the dim candle light. His eyes, dark and warm, met yours with a magnetism that sent a thrill coursing through your veins. Mattheo's voice, smooth as velvet, broke the silence like a whisper in the night. "What brings you to the library on this fine evening?" A knowing smirk covered his face. You offered him a shy smile, your heart fluttering like a caged bird in your chest. "Just looking for a quiet place to study," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You crossed your arms. Mattheo's lips curved into an impish smirk, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. "Well, you've certainly found the perfect spot," he murmured, nudging his books across the table. You sat down in the chair next to him, barely a breath of space between you. After a few tension-filled, stolen glances and a substantial amount of time spent not studying, Mattheo reached out, his fingers grazing the curve of your cheek with a feather-light touch. Every nerve in your body was alight with anticipation as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “You drive me insane.” Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you closed the distance between the both of you, the rush of adrenaline coursing through you like a wildfire.

Lorenzo Berkshire

YOU WERE NESTLED in the plush armchairs in the common room, engaged in a playful banter with Lorenzo. He was the epitome of charm and wit, his laughter contagious and his smile like sunshine on a rainy day. As you sat together, trading teasing remarks and witty comebacks, a spark of something unsaid ignited between you—a chemistry that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. Lorenzo, ever the master of flirtation, leaned in closer, his gaze locking onto yours with a mischievous twinkle. "You know," he began, his voice low and smooth like honey, "I've been thinking..." You raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress the playful grin that tugged at the corners of your lips. "Oh, have you now? Do tell." With a grin that could melt even the coldest heart, Enzo reached out, his fingers tracing a lazy pattern along the back of your hand. "I was thinking that perhaps we could... spice things up a bit," he suggested, his tone laced with suggestion. You sent a small grin his way as he closed the distance between you with a swift, decisive movement, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as cheeky as it was passionate. It was a bold move, one that took you by surprise and yet felt so right, so natural, that you couldn't help but melt into the embrace of his arms. The playful atmosphere gave way to something more, you knew that Lorenzo wanted more than just friendship—he wanted you, all of you, in every sense of the word.

Draco Malfoy

DRACO HAD WALTZED you away for your regularly scheduled evenings spent in the Room of Requirement. You had met him with a soft hug, he was your comfort. You were draped over a soft sofa, your legs hanging over the arm as you rested your head on Draco’s shoulder. He looked down at you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a flutter of butterflies through your chest. You flushed pink. His silver eyes held a warmth that belied the icy exterior he often projected to the world, and in this moment, there was a vulnerability in his gaze. With a courage born of longing, you reached out, your fingers brushing against Draco's cheek. His breath caught in his throat at the touch, a soft smile curving his lips. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was as tender as a sigh. It was a moment of pure bliss—a moment where time seemed to stand still and the world faded away, leaving only the two of you lost in each other's embrace. Draco responded with a passion that matched your own, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace as if afraid to let you go. In that moment, there was no war, no feuds, no expectations—only the warmth of each other's presence and the overwhelming sense of rightness that filled the air. “What was that for?” He smiled and whispered softly. “We don’t suit being friends, I can’t kiss you as your friend.” You stated, making him let out a breathy laugh.

Blaise Zabini

YOU SIT ACROSS from Mattheo; you love him with all your heart. The library is quiet. The crackling fire casts dancing shadows across the room, adding warmth to the juxtaposing atmosphere surrounding the two of you.

For months now, you've been grappling with a gnawing sense of doubt, a feeling that despite your efforts to shower Mattheo with love and affection, he remains distant and aloof, as if merely tolerating your presence rather than cherishing it.

As you watch him devote his attention to ancient tomes and scrolls, his brow furrowed in concentration, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness deep within your chest. It's not that Mattheo is unkind or neglectful – far from it. He's always treated you with respect and consideration, going out of his way to ensure your comfort and happiness.

And yet, there's a lingering sense of disconnect between you, a barrier that no amount of affection seems able to breach. You long to hear the words "I love you" fall from his lips, to feel his arms wrapped tightly around you in a tender embrace. But instead, there's only silence, punctuated by the occasional murmured reassurance or fleeting glance in your direction.

Unbeknownst to you, Mattheo struggles with his own inner ghosts, haunted by a lifetime of self-doubt and insecurity. Raised in a household where love was a scarce commodity, he finds it difficult to accept the depth of emotion you offer him so freely.

In his mind, he is unworthy of such devotion, undeserving of the happiness you bring into his life. Rather than confront his feelings head-on, he retreats into himself, burying his emotions beneath a carefully constructed facade of indifference. It's not that he doesn't love you – far from it. In fact, his feelings for you run deeper than he ever dared to admit. But he fears that if he were to let down his guard, to allow himself to be vulnerable, he would only end up hurting you in the end.

The distance between you only seems to grow. You find yourself longing for intimacy and connection but your attempts to break through to Mattheo are met with resistance, his walls seemingly impenetrable to your advances. You can't shake the feeling of exhaustion that settles deep within your bones. It's as if you're caught in an endless cycle, trapped in a relationship where your love is met with walls that refuse to crumble.

You've grown accustomed to the ache of disappointment, the sting of unfulfilled longing, as Mattheo continues to keep you at arm's length, his emotions hidden behind a veil of stoicism. And though you yearn for a connection that leaves you full, you find yourself settling for the crumbs of affection he offers, no matter how small they may be, ignoring the pangs of your starving heart.

You see yourself in the waning fire, no longer spitting or dazzling its flames.

You’ve learnt to tolerate It.

Theodore Nott

THE AIR CRACKLED with tension as you burst onto the courtyard, seeing Neville and Luna standing stoic, wands pointed at Blaise and Adrian. You pushed through the crowd. You scanned those opposite you, realising you were stood directly opposite Theodore. Your eyes raked over his figure, tense and hard, like a shield. He looked afraid, but fierce. He raised his wand and pointed it at you, a vindictive smirk crossing his face. You swallowed and looked down at your feet, deeply breathing to quell your anger. Your eyes flitted across the rest of your opposition, acknowledging the dead look in their eyes. You looked back to Theo, his face was once a comfort to you, but you didn’t recognise him. Both of your wands raised in silent acknowledgement of the conflict that had torn your bond asunder. His voice, usually filled with love and laughter, was now laced with a bitter edge as he spoke. "So, you've chosen to stand against us," he spat, his words dripping with scorn. "I didn't want it to come to this, Theo," you replied, your voice tinged with regret. "But I can't stand by while innocent lives are at risk." His anger flared at your words, his wand hand trembling with suppressed emotion. "You always were too soft," he snarled, his facade of indifference slipping for a brief moment. "You think you're doing the right thing, but you're just getting in the way.” Theo launched into attack, spells flying from his wand with a ferocity that shocked you. You defended yourself, each flick of your wand a response to the hollow ache in your chest. Just beneath the surface, there was a timid shadow of grief behind his eyes. Theo's attacks were fuelled by a mixture of rage and sorrow, his movements frantic as he grappled with the conflicting emotions tearing him apart. His eyes grew dark as he shot spell after spell your way, his eyes unwavering as he watched you fall. You struggled from the floor, desperately defending yourself until he hovered over you, casting an intimidating shadow. “I may be a pawn in his game, but at least I’m not a weak little coward.” His words bruised you like rotten fruit, and you sagged under the weight of his hatred.

Mattheo Riddle

YOUR BREATH WAS ragged as you joined Harry and Luna in the courtyard. The air was thick with spells and the sound of clashing metal and distant explosions. In the calm of the courtyard, sides began to form. It was almost as if a ravine had split across the stone, two groups stood facing each other. Amidst the standoff, you found yourself standing at the forefront, surrounded by fellow defenders of Hogwarts. Your resolve was unwavering as you faced the onslaught of dark forces that threatened to engulf the castle in darkness. Across the eerie quiet of the courtyard, you caught sight of Mattheo. His figure stood tall and imposing, his eyes gleaming with a fervent intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He was flanked by a group of dark wizards, their allegiance evident in the way they brandished their wands with aggression. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes with Mattheo, the distance between you feeling like an unbridgeable chasm. In that fleeting moment, you saw the weight of his choices etched upon his features, the conflict waging within him mirrored in the depths of his gaze. Was that… longing? It couldn’t be, your relationship was irreparably ruined. He has made assurance of that. But there was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt. You knew what was right, and you intended to fight for it. With a sigh of composure, you squared your shoulders and raised your wand. Mattheo’s eyebrows raised as you stood so confidently. He wasn’t expecting you to be so ready to challenge him. Mattheo's eyes, once filled with warmth, now glinted with a dark determination. His wand gripped tightly; he raised it. You mirrored his stance, your heart heavy with the realisation that the only way to end this was to face him in combat. Without a word, Mattheo’s face drained of all emotion as he unleashed a barrage of curses. You deftly dodged and countered, the combat techniques he taught you now working against him. "You could have stood with me," Mattheo sneered, his voice cutting through the chaos. "But now you're just another obstacle to overcome." You parried his attacks, your own spells flashing brightly in response. "Mattheo, there's still a chance to turn back. We can find another way, a better way." He was unyielding, his resolve unbroken. The duel between you intensified; the ebb and flow of magic continued. Beneath the surface, there was an unspoken sadness, a shared history that lingered in every bolt of light.

Lorenzo Berkshire

THE CASTLE WAS clouded with bolts of light and screaming. You were running across the bridge back towards the courtyard when a figure blocked your exit. You came to a sudden halt, your eyes tracing Lorenzo’s figure like he was a predator. His eyes were burning with a simmering violence. "I never thought I'd have to face you like this," Lorenzo sneered, his voice laced with bitterness. "I trusted you, believed in you, and you fucking betrayed me.” The air around you was cold as you baited your breath. Lorenzo raised his wand and wordlessly flung spells at you, threatening the bridge you were stood on. "You're a coward," he spat, his words cutting through the chaos. "Turning your back on everything we worked for, everything we believed in. I never thought you'd be so weak. Not fighting back?” You let out a groan of defiance and raised your wand, parrying his attacks with a wild anger. "Lorenzo, it's not about weakness. It's about saving innocent people! There’s another side to this.” He scoffed, his laughter filled with bitterness and vitriol. "Another way? You're fooling yourself. This is the only way, and you're too blind to see it." The spells were flying with vengeance, wands waving and flicking with such disgust. Lorenzo's hurtful words continued to pierce through the chaos, leaving wounds that went beyond the physical. "You were supposed to be my ally, by my side,” he hissed, a dark fire burning in his eyes. "But now, you're nothing. Just another obstacle to overcome. I don't need you. Actually, I’m not sure I ever did. You disgust me.” The bitterness and disappointment lingered like a toxic cloud. You refused to yield. He was not going to win this, he would not best you. His face was cold and detached. You heard footsteps behind you, your head flying to see Harry and Seamus. “Beat it, Berkshire. You sly git.” Seamus yelled, flinging his arms about in a rage. Lorenzo shot you a scornful, hate-filled look and left you with one final seething graze: “I let you ruin me. I take delight in knowing you’ll be gone soon.”

Blaise Zabini

IN THE MIDST of the chaos, you had found yourself unexpectedly face-to-face with Blaise whose heartache and disappointment were evident in his eyes. He stood, eyes blinking slowly as he recognised you, covered in cuts and scrapes. His wand trembled in his hand, his movements hesitant and uncertain, as if torn between loyalty to his cause and the love he still harboured for you. You took a deep breath and raised your eyebrows, shrugging your shoulders at him. "I can't do this," Blaise murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of battle. "I can't fight you." You met his gaze, the weight of his words suffocating you. It took everything for you not to be consumed by your guilt. “Blaise, please," you pleaded, hoping to reach the part of him that still remembered the bond you shared. "There's still a chance to end this madness. We don't have to be enemies." But he shook his head, a mixture of anguish and determination engrained on his features. "I trusted you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I believed in you, and you betrayed me. I can't just forget that. We were supposed to be here together.” With that, he raised his wand higher and misfired spells at you. Blaise's movements were hesitant, his spells faltering as if he couldn't bring himself to truly harm you. You deflected his attacks with ease, each clash of magic a painful reminder of the rift that had formed between you. "Blaise, listen to me," you urged, desperation creeping into your voice. "I never wanted to hurt you. We can still make things right." But he turned away, his expression filled with sorrow and regret. "It's too late for that," he murmured, his voice barely audible in his emotional state. "I can't keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not. I have to go." With that, Blaise fled, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. You watched him run, feeling hollow inside as you realised the damage was truly irreparable, you were finished. Both of you.

Draco Malfoy