#head boy

As I began to climb the stairs, my footsteps echoed against the endless shuffle of student shoes. I dodged a group of third-years arguing about who lost the latest House points, then passed rushing first-years and second-years in a panic because their scrolls had flown away—thanks to Peeves, who cackled as he sent a rain of parchment fluttering down the hall. One unfortunate second-year chased hers as it hopped frantically down the corridor, having turned into a frog mid-sentence after a stray spell gone wrong in Charms. Someone shouted “Finite!” but only succeeded in turning the frog-scroll bright blue. A pair of twins dueled with Jelly-Legs Jinxes, their legs wobbling comically as a professor sighed and righted their wands with a flick. I remembered getting hexed and such in my first year—fond memories, like the time Filch made me scrub cauldrons for sneaking into the kitchens after curfew. The scent of toast drifted from the Great Hall, and I heard distant cheers—probably someone celebrating a Quidditch win. Finally, after weaving through a knot of Ravenclaws discussing O.W.L. revision and dodging a pair of enchanted gobstones rolling underfoot, I found the heavy door to the front of the castle. I pushed it open and walked into the light; the breeze was warm, and the sun was out. How lovely. I walked over to the fountain in the middle of the entrance courtyard and began to watch the quiet life hum around me: a pair of Gryffindors practiced levitation charms on chocolate frogs, a Slytherin fourth-year scribbled the answers to Slughorn’s latest riddle, the faint scent of honeysuckle drifted from the Herbology greenhouses. Beth caught up and grinned, producing a Fizzing Whizbee from her pocket—“Don’t tell Filch,” she whispered conspiratorially. A group of Slytherin students strolled past, laughing too loudly as they boasted about their latest prank on the Ravenclaws. Someone tossed a handful of Fizzing Whizbees into the air, and they sparkled through the sunlight, popping and fizzing while a prefect scolded them from across the courtyard. Their Head Girl, badge gleaming, chided them with a look, but it was the Head Boy—Tom Riddle himself—who actually got them to quiet down with a sharp word. Everyone knew Slytherin ruled these halls after dark, and Tom Riddle was the reason why. Soaking in some sunlight after this week was much needed, until a shadow fell over me. I could feel the looming presence, so I opened one eye and sighed. Tom.

I sensed Tom before I saw him—the air always changed, thickening with the sharp, dark scent of ink and winter air, something cold and unyielding that clung to my skin and burned in my lungs. Every time he was near, I felt it first, a warning and a promise.

“Do you mind?” I asked, as if he were a bug on my shoe. Tom’s eyes flickered, assessing, but he just offered a smile that was too sharp to be sincere. “Going somewhere?” he asked, his tone light, but there was a certain intensity behind it, as if he was cataloging every detail about me—what I wore, how close I stood, whether I flinched when he leaned in.

The first time he cornered me after Potions, I had nearly choked on his scent—so close, so overwhelming, it left me dizzy and aching in a way I hated to name. He offered help I didn’t want, hovering a little too close, and seemed genuinely surprised when I turned him down. Since then, it had been a game: his pursuit, my resistance, and the wild, sick thrill that pulsed beneath my skin every time our eyes met.

“And why does the prefect care?” I hum as I stand to look over his shoulder. “Simply. I’m ensuring you are not breaking rules,” he replies, his voice smooth but his eyes glinting with something more than schoolyard authority. For someone who loves rules so much, he seems awfully interested in where I am going. “No,” I reply, catching the way his gaze lingered after my answer—a flicker of frustration at my evasion. When my friend finally appeared, looking dead on her feet from studying, I sighed and turned my attention back to Tom. My heart always skipped when he was near, though I refused to let it show. I wished I could tell myself it was just annoyance that got under my skin, but it wasn’t that simple. Sometimes it felt as if I was caught in the pull of something dangerous and rare, the way he could make everyone else fade into the background with just one well-aimed glance. Maybe it was how easily he got under people’s skin, or how every word he spoke felt loaded with meaning I could never quite decipher—equal parts invitation and threat. There was a sharpness in him that both warned and compelled me, the promise of secrets and the thrill of being singled out by someone who hid so much. I told myself he was nothing but trouble, but I could not ignore how every encounter left me restless, wanting to know what lay beneath his careful mask. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to notice what others missed, or how his confidence was both infuriating and magnetic at once, pulling me into his orbit even as I tried to resist. Underneath all of it, what I truly wanted was simpler and a thousand times harder: to belong, but on my own terms. Not just to a House or a name, not to someone else’s expectations, but to a group who saw all of me and still called me friend. Sometimes I wondered if I would even like the real Tom, or just the version of him I let myself imagine—the clever, misunderstood boy in the shadows, not the snake with secrets.

Beth catches my eye and gives me a look that says, “Are you alright?” but she doesn’t say anything in front of him. I wonder, fleetingly, if she’s noticed the strange tension between us—or if she’s just worried I’ll get caught up in Tom’s schemes. Later, she’ll nudge me and whisper, “What’s his deal with you, anyway?”

Beth is the kind of friend who notices too much. She’s cautious, always warning me not to get close to Tom, calling him “snake-charming trouble” and rolling her eyes at my half-hearted denials. Once, after a run-in with Tom in the library, she cornered me in the corridor. “You know he’s only interested when he wants something,” she’d said, her voice low. “Just… don’t let him get in your head, okay?” I’d laughed it off, but her words lingered longer than I’d admit.

Go find your fan club, Riddle, I say, exasperated, with an annoyed look. As I push past him, his hand lingers at the edge of my sleeve. It’s not gentle; it’s possessive, cold, as if he’s reminding me I’m still within reach. I move to hug my friends and hook my arm through theirs, but I can still feel Riddle’s presence, a shadow just behind us. His gaze isn’t longing—it’s a calculation, a silent warning that he does not like to lose.

Beth, my friend from Hufflepuff, turns to look only to see Tom following close behind, but not enough to be seen as part of our group. She stiffens, her fingers tightening around my arm, and her voice drops to a whisper: “I didn’t realize Tom was coming with us.” There’s a note of fear in it now, brittle and thin. I sigh and roll my eyes. “He’s not,” I reply bitterly as I glance back at him. Beth subtly shifts to put herself between us, pulling me just a little closer. It’s almost funny—someone so in control can’t seem to help trailing after someone who won’t fall into step. Maybe he’s just curious, or maybe there’s a reason he always seems to be hovering just a little too close. I catch his eye for a split second; there’s nothing there—no warmth, no anger, just an emptiness that makes my skin crawl. I look away quickly, unsettled.

As we walk, my friend runs off as she sees her favorite candy in Honeydukes. Suddenly, I feel an arm wrap around mine, firmer this time. The cold brush of his fingers is deliberate, a claim. Annoyance flares, but beneath it is something like dread. I don’t dare react.

“Don’t be so cold, my dear,” Tom murmurs, his voice pitched so only I hear it. There’s no affection in it, just a cool threat: he’s reminding me that I’m still under his watch. I don’t need a babysitter, I huff, forcing a casualness I don’t feel. He hums, not as an answer but as a dismissal, like my words are already irrelevant. What do you want, Tom? I ask, trying to sound bored, though my heart pounds. Up close, I can smell ink and something darker, something that’s entirely him. For a moment, I wonder if he’s keeping tabs on me for reasons that have nothing to do with school rules. If I let him in, if I rely on him for even a moment, I could lose more than just my pride. People whisper he can make or break anyone’s future here. But if I push him away, I risk becoming a target, or worse, losing my friends to the kind of manipulations only Tom can pull off with a word behind closed doors. “Why? I’m simply curious: why do you never need your prefect help?” he asks, voice low, the words stripped of any real interest. I get the sense he’s less offended by my resistance than bored by it, like a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet, and might discard if it takes too long. Unlike your goons, I study,” I reply with a bitter tone. Tom’s laugh is quick and sharp, more mockery than amusement. Don’t sound so sure, he says, and the threat is unmistakable.

For one wild moment, I wanted him to kiss me, just to prove to myself that all this wanting wasn’t only in my head.

I sigh as I pull my arm free of Tom’s grip, feeling the ghost of his touch long after. Tom’s brow pulls together as if he’s offended I wouldn’t stay by his side; first years swarm him, asking how they can be as good as Tom at potions. A few are there just because they find him attractive—many do. He knows this but never does anything; if he does, it’s for his own gain. As they gush and pull his attention in various ways, I shake my head and smile as I watch him suffer with them. He’s fuming because this happens way more than he’d like, though his eyes keep darting past them, searching for me in the crowd.

The noise of the village was a welcome relief after what felt like years of studying—people, how enjoyable. Beth emerged from Honeydukes with a bag full of peppermint toads and chocolate frogs; she looked guilty, as if she stole the whole stock. The air outside was bright with laughter and chatter, the scent of treacle tart wafting from the bakery and the distant clatter of hooves as a Thestral-drawn carriage rattled past. We passed Zonko’s, where a group of fourth-years set off a cascade of Fizzing Whizbees, and the joke shop windows were crowded with enchanted displays.

The short walk to the Three Broomsticks was filled with snippets of conversation—someone boasting about a Quidditch win, another groaning about Dumbledore’s latest transfiguration essay. Beth and I stepped inside, and warmth hit us, butterbeer-sweet and buzzing with House banners overhead and students pressed shoulder to shoulder. There was Kyle—three butterbeers down and chugging a fourth. His pouch was filled with pumpkin juice and new dragon skin gloves. A post-game errand.

“Hey, still recovering?” I ask as he slams down the glass. He looks up at us and smiles. “I’ve never been better,” he replies, tapping his chest. Beth, a sweetheart as always: “You fell 30 feet in the air.” He laughs loudly. “I’m the best, obviously,” he jokes, his ego as big as the Quidditch pitch, motioning for two more butterbeers. Beth rolls her eyes as we sit. “You haven’t even begun on potions,” she huffs, as the noise suddenly grows loud, many voices cheering for their house’s win.

Tom Riddle

She laughs with her friends, sunlight catching the angles of her face, utterly unaware of the way she draws the room’s attention—and mine. From my vantage above the main floor, I watch her. She doesn’t seek me out, doesn’t glance up, and that should be beneath my notice, but it isn’t. It infuriates me. Others clamor for my help, for a scrap of my time, and she simply… does not. She talks with that Hufflepuff girl, her voice low, hands animated, a smudge of chocolate on her thumb from Honeydukes.

But she is not just any girl. Her family traces back to the earliest council of wizards, their crest tangled in the roots of these walls, their names whispered in the Great Hall’s highest rafters. There are whispered stories about her bloodline: it was her ancestor who enchanted the hidden vault beneath the castle, and some say a single word from her family can bend lesser wards. Last year, a rumor went around that her great-uncle once turned aside a curse meant for an entire House with only a flick of his wand. Even now, magic clings to her; every time she walks through the old doorways, the castle seems to recognize the signature of her blood—wards that sometimes shimmer at her touch, a trickle of light along the stone when she passes, portraits tilting slightly in silent greeting. She once absentmindedly summoned a lost book from a sealed faculty shelf, the charm barely whispered, the lock unraveling itself like it remembered her voice. Those old bloodlines carry powerful connections, the kind that could open doors even I cannot force. There is strength in legacy, and she holds it so carelessly, as though it’s nothing more than another schoolbook or trinket tucked into her bag. If she would only realize what we could accomplish together…

I could make this easy for her—solve her little problems with a word, if only she’d ask. But she won’t. She acts as though she doesn’t need me, and each time she refuses, it sharpens something inside me. I could offer her the answers she’ll want for Potions, the trick to Slughorn’s ridiculous riddle—she must know I have it. Instead, she leans on the Quidditch brute, lets him boast and preen, as if his empty bravado is worth more than what I could give. Her resistance is as captivating as it is maddening.

I grip the polished rail so hard my knuckles pale. Below, a fourth-year’s spell fizzles and his cauldron belches out a foul green smoke. The boy coughs, panicked—until I lock eyes with him and offer nothing, not even a warning. He sees my smile and falters further, his potion ruined, and I savor the way fear lingers in the air a moment longer. Power, real power, is knowing I could help but choosing not to.

She is a locked door, not a prize. I could call her over, force her to need me, but I will not stoop. Not yet. Let her struggle. Let her try to work things out on her own. She will falter, and when she does, she’ll have to come to me. Once she does, once she’s mine, I won’t need to try anymore. She’ll be useful until she isn’t.

She laughs again, unaware, and I watch, silent and unseen, as she chooses everyone but me. It is intolerable, but the outcome is already decided. She will come to me. They all do.

Somewhere above, on the second floor, I feel a prickle at the back of my neck. I glance up to spot Tom, half-shrouded in shadow, watching from the balcony—a silent, uncomfortable presence, eyes fixed on me even as he pretends to listen to the students around him. No matter the distance, his attention is a weight, cold and possessive, threading through the crowd. I try to ignore the way my heart stutters under his gaze. There’s a darkness behind his eyes—a warning. It’s not affection, not really; it’s hunger, a need to possess, to consume and control. In that moment, I realize that being wanted by Tom Riddle is not a fairytale. It is a curse, a test, a question I am afraid to answer: what would I give up just to keep being seen by him?

His shadow lingers, unsettling and inescapable. I wonder if the portraits whisper about us now, if the castle itself is watching, waiting to see whether I will run or turn toward the darkness that keeps calling my name. Something in the air feels taut, as if every glance and silent dare between us is winding tighter with every passing moment. I can almost sense the storm gathering, as if one secret slipped or one careless word might shatter the careful balance between us. Maybe it will be the next time we cross paths alone, or when one of Tom’s bargains goes too far and drags me in, but whatever it is, the moment is coming. Sometimes I think a single act of kindness from my friends, or a reminder of who I am beyond school and House, might anchor me to the light. Other days, when the fear of being ordinary feels too heavy or the promise of finally understanding what makes me different calls to me, I am not sure. One day soon, I know this tension will break, and when it does, it will change everything. There are choices waiting—whether to trust the people who see my scars and still pull me into the sun, or to reach for the shadows that promise control when I feel helpless. A part of me thrills at the promise of power, secrets, and a world opened by choosing Tom, but I can feel, too, all the warmth I might lose: laughter with friends, the sunlight I crave, the trust that makes this place home. And I am not sure, when the time comes, whether I will choose the light, or follow the darkness, even as it costs me everything I once thought I could never give up.

You’re heading straight to the library from the Potions Classroom. Potions N.E.W.T. class had been a nightmare. Libatius Borage’s Advanced Potion Making had been released only recently, but Professor Slughorn already decided to start the lesson with a nasty pop quiz on it – and right after Christmas holidays for Merlin’s sake!

You didn’t have the book yet, since Flourish and Blott’s were sold out, but your father had promised to send you a copy as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Professor Slughorn made sure that everyone in the class heard that you had decided to attend the first Potions lesson of the year totally unprepared. As result, you received a ton of extra assignments that are due to tomorrow.

“Hey”, someone catches up to you even though you’re almost galloping like a wild horse towards your safe place – the library. You recognize him as the Head Boy of Slytherin. He’s taking the same Potions class as you and he probably saw every bit of your humiliation. “Are you okay?” the boy asks with a compassionate look on his face. It doesn’t look sincere to you.

“Fine, thank you”, you reply with a cold tone, your pursed-up lips indicating that you’re not in the mood for talking. You’re well aware that the Head Boy is a real favorite of Professor Slughorn. Top of the class. Popular among the girls, too. You heard your roommates yakking about him all evening again. Tom Riddle. He’s the last person you want to see right now.

You step into the library, which is busy at this time of the day, and he follows by your side. You find the shelf you’re looking for. B as in Borage. You’re not surprised to see that the brand-new Advanced Potion Making hasn’t reached the shelves of Hogwarts Library yet. His older work would have to suffice for now.

“Look, Slughorn can be a massive knob head sometimes”, Tom Riddle says while leaning against the hardwood bookshelf. “Oh, you think?” you reply dryly, your eyes still scanning the line of books on the middle shelf. You run across a couple that seem like worth reading and you pile them up in your arms. Borage’s Asiatic Anti-Venoms. Zygmunt Budge’s Book of Potions. Some Phineas Bourne.

“I think it’s because he can’t see past your pretty face”, he says with a flattering tone. You feel like rolling your eyes as he continues. “I mean, you’re obviously very beautiful, but there’s more to you than just that. You’re excellent in Potions. He shouldn’t have picked on you like that.” He puts his hand on your shoulder. It’s weird because you don’t know him, but it would be rude to shake it off, so you let him do it.

“Look, I've got a lot on my plate today, so…”, you hug the heavy pile of books and turn to meet his dark eyes. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay then, Potion Princess”, he says amused and leaves you to your books. A nickname, yak! You’ve always felt like there’s something off with him. He’s too smooth, slick almost – even more so after he got appointed as Head Boy.

The musty air of the library fills your lungs as you take a deep breath. Serpent is the wisest of creatures, you try to remind yourself. You’ll find a way to finish the extra assignments in time, for sure. You discover a perfect study spot by the windowsill. The rain beating against the window has a calming effect on you, and soon enough you find yourself immersed into the world of Alchemy and Potions.

The sound of you roommates’ giggles carries from inside the dorm room. You sigh and rub your face, trying to brace yourself for the girls’ annoyingness. You’ve been toiling away at the Potion assignments all day, and you’re quite ready to slip into something more comfortable and hop into bed. Agatha and Dorcas are the worst. Prudence is sometimes bearable. Frankly, you’re not in the mood for any of their giggles and tittle-tattle.

As you open the door, you find two of your roommates sitting on Prudence’s bed and one on the floor, legs crossed. You’re surprised to see Tom Riddle in the room, sprawling between Agatha and Prudence. Tom is not supposed to be in the girls’ dormitories at this hour, but rules get broken in the Slytherin Dungeon all the time, especially among the seventh-year students. Not so often among Head Boys and Girls, though. Your roommates barely even notice your arrival, but Tom instantly sits up straight and nudges Agatha’s hand away from his hair.

“Potion Princess”, he greets you. The girls are not too happy to see you since you’re clearly interrupting their playtime. They just love flirting with anything that moves. “Hi girls”, you greet them. “Head Boy”, you add and nod at his direction. Your dorm room seems awfully crowded and you decide to head back to the Common Room instead. Comfy clothes would have to wait. Tom hops up from the bed and follows you to the corridor, leaving the three girls sitting in the room with dissatisfied expressions.

“Wait”, he sings out. “I actually came to see you.” He reaches out to touch your shoulder, forcing you to stop. The Bloody Baron passes the two of you in the hallway and Tom takes a step closer to you, giving way to the Slytherin House Ghost. The dim lighting of the hallway makes Tom look even paler than usual, but other than that, you must admit that he is quite handsome. Handsome and Head Boy – no wonder the girls are all over him.

“Why?” you ask, sounding a bit more pungent than intended.

“Well, I thought you might need this.” Despite your incredulous look, he offers you a book. The cover is dreadfully familiar. Advanced Potion Making. “It’s my copy but you can borrow it.” He holds the book, and you take it reluctantly. “We Slytherins look after our own”, he adds with a wink.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m okay. I’m getting my own next week at the latest”, you try to explain. It feels awkward to borrow something from him. You don’t even know him. You don’t particularly like him.

“Keep it”, he insists. “I only ask for one thing in return.” He smiles and leans in for a kiss. It’s so sudden that you don’t even have time to react. Your heart seems to skip a beat. You should pull away, but your lips automatically respond to the kiss. His lips feel pleasantly cool but soft. It’s a good kiss.

You can hear a group of girls approaching the hallway, their footsteps and laughter echoing somewhere nearby. Tom pulls back, and before you even know it, he’s gone. He walks past the group of students entering the hallway to the dorm rooms and someone in the group greets him. You’re too distracted to even recognize the faces of the girls. What on earth just happened?

After he’s gone you open the front cover of the book.

Clock Tower, Tuesday 7 p.m.

“Oh, you came!” Tom sounds surprised as you step into the top floor of the Clock Tower. You try to locate the source of the voice, but the only light in the room is the moonlight shining through the glass clock face. “I didn’t expect you to show up”, he admits as he steps out of the shadows. “Yeah, me neither”, you reply. Your heart is beating fast, but you’re not sure whether it’s from climbing up the stairs or from seeing him for the first time in days. Tom uses the Wand-Lighting Charm to light up the dark room. His eyes are so dark that you can’t tell apart the pupil from the iris.

“I actually just wanted to return this.” You hand over the book you borrowed. Your father’s owl had finally arrived yesterday, and you want to get rid of the Head Boy’s copy of the Advanced Potion Making as soon as possible. Professor Slughorn could probably make another scene if he heard that you stole the book from his favorite student.

“So, you showed up just to return this?” he asks amused. You shrug. Returning the book seemed like a good enough reason to show up. The kiss had messed with your head, and you wanted to see him again to get some clarity in your feelings. As you look at him now, you come to the same conclusion as before: he’s handsome, but there’s something about him that makes you feel uneasy. You don’t trust him. He smells good, though, you find yourself thinking.

“Or perhaps…”, he starts and slowly takes a step closer, “you showed up for this.” His eyes are eager and this time you’re more prepared when his lips press onto yours. The kiss is stronger than last time. It’s no longer soft and cool, but warmer and more determined. More passionate. You’re surprised by the feelings evoked in you as you kiss him back. You’re not supposed to like him, but your body does.

A Wand-Extinguishing Charm turns off the light from his wand and the room gets dark again. It doesn’t matter because his palms find your cheeks and you close your eyes. He holds your head still as he kisses you again, his tongue brushing against yours. He’s holding you so that you couldn’t pull back even if you wanted to. He starts to lean in more and you’re forced to take a step back. Your back presses against the cold stone wall of the Clock Tower.

“Tom…”, you chuckle as you feel his hand tracing the side of your thigh and lifting the hem of your skirt. He plants kisses on your neck, your body still pinned between him and the cold stone. He’s almost sucking the delicate skin of your neck. “What?” he chuckles innocently, his breath tickling the skin of your neck. His fingers find the fabric of your underwear and he starts pulling them down.

“Tom”, you say again, a bit more seriously this time. This isn’t what you expected. His fingers slip swiftly underneath your panties, and you inhale sharply as his index finger touches the soft skin between your thighs. He finds the most sensitive spot and rubs it.

“Stop. This isn’t me”, you finally say, realizing that you shouldn’t allow him to make you feel this uncomfortable. You push his hand away from under your skirt. He removes it reluctantly. “I don’t do this. I’m not like my roommates”, you add with more confidence. You twist yourself free from under his body and leave the Clock Tower before he gets the chance to say anything.

You’re startled awake in the middle of the night to the feeling of Tom Riddle’s palm pressing on your mouth. Your eyes fly open. It’s dark inside your dorm room, but you can see his index finger lifted on his lips as he shushes you silently. You can hear the girls breathing heavily, sound asleep, and rain beating against the dorm room windows. He climbs on your bed, straddling you, pinning you down not only with his palm but with his whole body. You reach out to your wand, but a quick spell binds your hands together rendering you defenseless.

“Chasing you used to be fun, Potion Princess, but now I’ve grown tired of it.” Tom leans in to whisper in your ear. He takes a deep breath, sounding very disappointed. His breath feels warm against your cheek. His hand reaches out to unbuckle his belt while, the other palm still pressing your mouth shut. “Let me go this instant”, you hiss as he removes his other hand from your mouth to pull out his manhood from his pants. “Shut the hell up”, Tom growls and places himself on top of your thorax. His erection is huge as he pushes himself in your mouth.

The tip of his penis hits the back of your throat making you gag. He tastes salty. You should yell or bite him or do something – anything at all – but still, you find yourself sucking him and surrendering to his dominion. He thrusts in again, this time slower, enjoying your tongue moving on his shaft. You can hear the girls breathing heavily in the same room, oblivious to what is going on in their roommate’s bed. He pulls out leaving you gasping and swallowing hard. He throws your blanket on the floor rustling it so loudly you’re afraid it might wake the girls.

Tom forcefully pulls your Slytherin pyjama bottoms down exposing you completely. Your hands, tied together by wrists, reach down trying to cover the naked skin, but he immediately grabs them and pushes them away. He places his wet tip on your opening and watches your expression change as he slides himself in. Your walls stretch abruptly trying to accommodate his whole length. You whimper. “That’s a good girl”, he murmurs, praising you. You try to relax your body as he starts moving. His thrusting is fast paced, but the sound of the pouring rain somewhat covers the creaking of the bed.

His breathing changes from panting to more uneven gasps. You know that he is getting close. He reaches out to rip open your buttoned pyjama shirt, detaching some of the buttons. He pulls himself out, leaving you aching, and jerks himself off above your naked breasts. Hot fluid starts falling on your chest as he cums. Some lands on your face, on your lips, your hair, your neck. “Bloody hell, it feels good to be the Head Boy”, he whispers as he comes down from his high.

“I’ve had a really tough day,” Lily announced, walking in to the common room she shared with James and sagging on to the couch in a dramatic slump. 

The Heads Common Room was inviting and warm, immediately enveloping its occupants in a delicious hug. Lily’s body sank into the plush sofa that was positioned before the prime spot, in front of the fireplace. The walls were lined with bookshelves, ranging from ancient tomes of magical theory to the latest muggle romance. In the corner of the room, a large oak desk was piled high with parchment, quills and ink bottles and was usually Lily’s home on a Tuesday night.

Lily had been afraid the room would be overrun by pranks and mischief, but it had become a sanctuary for both of them. A palace of comfort, laughter and love.

James’ concern that had appeared at her words, softened to amusement as he took in her pout.

“And what would you like me to do about it Lily?” he asked, trying to ignore the blood that was flowing south at the sight of her soft lips pursed for him.

“I was hoping for a kiss.” Lily murmured, her tone leading as her lips tried to fight the slight upturn James could see tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“A kiss, hmm?” James said disbelievingly. “Somehow I think you have some other reward in mind for your tough day.”

“Well I didn’t say where I wanted your kiss,” Lily smiled, miraculously overcoming her fatigue to swing her leg over him and settle on his lap. “Oh, so you do like the idea,” she taunted, pushing her hips against the delicious feel of his hardness.

“You already knew that love,” James huffed as he pulled her tighter, conveniently closing the distance between them so he could steal a kiss. James ran his tongue over her lips in a slow drag, eliciting a soft whine from Lily as she snuggled into him.

When James was eleven years old, he didn’t think there could be anything better in the world than soaring through the sky on a broom. The wind rushing against your face and the freedom of an untethered existence always provoked a rush of exhilaration and joy straight through James’ body. But kissing Lily was even better than soaring through the sky. It provided James with a feeling of liberation, like he was unencumbered by the constraints of gravity, unruled by the laws of the physical world, even though his feet remained planted firmly on the ground.

Lily smiled at the groan that escaped James as she moved her hips again, weaving her fingers through his hair and tugging at the strands as she hit his scalp.

His hands crept up her legs, pushing aside her robes so he could feel the soft skin of her thighs. His fingers rubbed a gentle pattern on her skin as he crept higher and higher until he dusted the edge of her knickers.

Lily sighed into his mouth, feeling him throb under her as he circled his fingers back for another pass.

“James, I want–

“Shhhh,” he hushed, breaking the kiss. “You’ll get your reward eventually, Lily.”

Her eyes popped open to glare at him as he withdrew his hand and began kissing down her body.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Ignoring her glare and undoing the buttons on her top so he could bury his face in her décolletage. His lips felt hot against her breasts, licking and nipping their way around the edge of her lace bra before sweeping across her nipple through the lace.

“James please,” Lily whined as he dragged his tongue across again.

“You sound…Merlin,” James groaned, reaching for where he was straining against his trousers. “Fuck, Lily.”

“Take it out,” Lily whispered. “I want to see what I’m doing to you.”

James stared up at her, his gaze dark, as he make quick work of his belt and zipper, hissing as he pulled his erection out, which bobbed up at the sight of her. The slightest drop of precum was gathered at the tip and Lily couldn’t help herself as she drew up to her knees, moving in front of him so she could run her tongue over the head of his cock.

“Gahh,” James hissed at her touch. 

She licked around, enjoying the taste of him before taking him softly between her lips and sucking, her hand moving further down his shaft to encircle him.

“Stop, stop,” James muttered regretfully, pulling at his hair as he looked down at her. “Stop Lily, you first.”

“It doesn’t always have to be me first,” Lily said taking another gentle lick of him, enjoying the way he shuddered under her touch. “You can go first once in awhile.”

James shook his head. “No, I’m better at this before I cum,” he reminded her, gently pushing her away as he claimed her lips once more.

“Let me make you cum Lily,” he whispered against her.

Well how could she argue when he said it like that…

Lily lifted her hips towards him as he traced his hot tongue down her body, stopping to pay his respects to her nipples before continuing down her naval to where she was wet and aching for him.

“Do you want me to make you cum Lily?” he asked huskily, staring up at her from between her legs.

“Fuck please,” Lily whined, thrusting her hips up slightly in an effort to get them closer to his evasive tongue.

“Please what?” James teased, restraining her hips as he sucked at the flesh of her inner thigh hard enough she’d probably have a hickey there tomorrow.

Lily looked down at him. The flush on his cheeks and stream of precum hanging from his tip told her he was enjoying the agony he was subjecting her to as he waited for her to beg for it. 

His cheek was soft against her, his beard absent in the summer as he moved turned his cheek and blew a harsh breath against her. 

Lily whimpered, arching into him as a shiver shot through her body, her legs closing to trap his head as she gave in. 

“Please James, fuck, please lick me.” she begged, squirming under his hold, desperate for his tongue against her.

Fuck, have mercy was the first and only thought that crossed Lily’s mind as James pressed his lips against her clit, his tongue moving swiftly against her as his hands slipped inside her, curling at the joints to reach the spot she – oh.

“James,” Lily cried out desperately as she drew closer to her peak. “Fuck, baby please.”

She was going to cum. Lily felt the telltale tingling start in her core, felt her muscles tense in anticipation and then–

Fuck the bastard.

“Nooo,” Lily cried as his mouth drew back. “James I want to cum, I want to cum,” she babbled repeatedly, trying to rut against his hand that held her down in a desperate attempt to chase her release.

“Merlin you’re…merlin fuck” James muttered as he watched her, moving up so his lips could dust hers, one hand still preventing her from tipping over the edge.

“You want to cum baby?” he growled, his hands tight around her thigh.

“I want, I want,” Lily assured him, letting out a low whine that had him pressing harder against her for his own bit of release. 

“How badly do you want to cum?” James asked, his voice low and gravelly with arousal. “Are you right there on the edge for me baby?”

“Yes I’m so close,” Lily cried. “Please James, just one touch.”

“Look at you,” James murmured reverently. “You’re so close for me, aren’t you baby?”

“One touch,” Lily repeated desperately against his lips. 

“Okay, one touch.” James agreed huskily and Lily cried out in relief as his body was suddenly everywhere she wanted - his fingers on her clit, his lips around her nipple and she felt the scorching heat of his erection part her folds as he slammed into her.

She felt her ears wince and realised she’d screamed. 

“That’s it Lil,” James growled as he moved on top of her, keeping the pressure on her clit as he sank deep inside her, prolonging her orgasm with the long slides of his member inside of her.

Lily felt like asking for mercy for the second time that night because the tingles in her body felt raw, she thought she might be overwhelmed with pleasure as his pelvis rubbed against her, his erection deep inside her.

“Too much,” Lily gasped, her mind foggy as she gasped for breath. Every single nerve felt like it had exposed to the feeling of James pressed against her, inside her.

“Cum again for me baby,” James commanded hot in her ear, rocking his hips against her until she saw stars. 

“I can’t” Lily murmured, overwhelmed.

“Yes you can Lil,” he whispered. “One more for me. Just one more baby.”

When she came again for him, because James somehow coaxed more out of her than she’d ever been able to pull out of herself, he leapt over the edge with her, groaning out her name in a low throaty voice that sunk through Lily’s haze as she fluttered around him.

And then he kissed her gently, easing off of her as she trembled in the afterglow.

“Was that reward enough for you?” he asked, smiling at her hazy smile that was just sweet enough to not be mischievous.

Lily exhaled shakily as she snuggled into him. “That was amazing, I’ve never cum from–

“I know,” James murmured, his eyes shining at her. “You were amazing. I’m never going to forget the look on your face.”

"Hey, Y/N. You ready for another night of hall duty?"

I smiled as Bill Weasley, the Head Boy of Hogwarts, walked towards me down the hallway. It was just after curfew, which meant he and I (as Head Boy and Head Girl) were officially on the job.

"I'm so ready," I said, and this time, I meant it. A few weeks ago, some idiot had decided to prank my head of house, Professor Sprout. Since then, I'd been doing my own investigation and working under the radar to find out who'd done it. If everything went according to plan, I'd know tonight.

That person was going to seriously regret their choice of prank target.

"You look absurdly happy," said Bill, smiling as he came to a stop in front of me. "Especially for someone who has to be in the corridors at night instead of sleeping or studying for N.E.W.T.s. It makes me think you're up to something."

"Up to something? Bill, come on. I'm a Hufflepuff."

"Yes, you are. And I realized our fifth year that you use that as a cover to get away with all kinds of cunning plans."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, grinning as the two of us started walking. If I wanted to catch the person behind the pranks on Professor Sprout, we couldn't be late.

"Alright, that's officially the least convincing thing you've ever said," he laughed. I smiled, but didn't respond. After a few seconds, Bill spoke up again. "So, where are we headed?"

"I thought we'd head towards the first floor, maybe do a little sweep by Professor Sprout's office..."

"Ah ha. So that's what all this is about."

"Excuse me?"

"The prank someone played on Professor Sprout," he said. "The one you spent an entire night of hallway duty ranting about? You're trying to catch the person who did it."

I sighed. "Well, yeah. I mean, I can't just let whoever it was get away with it, you know? What would you do if someone had pranked McGonagall?"

"Watched and ate popcorn while she burned the culprit to the ground," he said. I laughed and shook my head.

"Alright, fair enough. But Professor Sprout's not like that. So, I'm gonna be like that for her."

Bill nodded thoughtfully, and we walked a few more steps in silence. I could tell he wanted to say something else to me, and after a moment, he apparently figured out how to say it.

"What makes you think we're going to catch them tonight? It probably would've been a safer bet to stake out Sprout's office every night, if that was your goal," he said. I smiled. Honestly, I'd kind of been waiting for this question.

"I might've done a little work to make sure the person I'm looking for would be here tonight," I said. I glanced over at Bill, and he just raised an eyebrow at me, so I continued. "I've made friends with a lot of people since I've been here, and there's a pretty big network of Hufflepuffs who want to protect Professor Sprout. I might have organized an effort to spread some misinformation about when and where authority figures would be tonight, as well as some general challenges and mutterings of doubt that the pranker would be brave, cunning, or smart enough to pull it off again."

Bill's mouth had dropped open part way through my explanation, and now he huffed a shocked laugh as he stared at me.

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope! It's been a few weeks in the making, and I'm not about to let anything keep me from catching whoever it is tonight."

"Y/N, has anyone ever told you you could be in Slytherin?"

"Actually, no," I said. "I'm loyal to Professor Sprout, and setting all this up was all about patience and hard work. I'm the biggest Hufflepuff you'll ever find."

Bill fully laughed now, smiling and shaking his head as we got closer to Sprout's office.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said. I felt my face heat up, and I ducked my head to try and hide the smile on my face. I'd had a crush on Bill since we'd both made Prefect in my fifth year, and it had only gotten worse as we'd worked together over the years.

I couldn't bring myself to respond to him, and we walked the rest of the way in only slightly awkward silence. Finally, we got to Sprout's office. I led Bill just a little bit past the office, then pulled back a tapestry to reveal one of Hogwarts' many, many secret passageways. It provided the perfect hiding spot to watch Sprout's office.

"Wow. You really though of everything," mused Bill as he stepped behind the tapestry. I followed him, trying not to let myself think about just how close we had to stand to peek out from behind the tapestry together.

"Hey, when someone messes with my Head of House, I'm not just going to let that slide."

"Fair enough." We stood there for a few minutes, waiting patiently and in a much more comfortable silence than earlier, before Bill spoke up again. "So, any guesses who it is?"

"Honestly? I have no clue. I know it's not a fellow Puff, but outside of that, I don't have the faintest idea," I paused. "I'd say I don't think it's a Gryffindor, but that would be a lie. It could easily be somebody out of your house."

Bill laughed. "Fair enough. I guess we'll find out soon enough, assuming your plan worked."

"Oh, don't you worry, Bill. It worked."

Bill just smiled next to me, and I caught myself glancing at him out of the corner of my eye more and more often. I seriously needed to get a hold of myself if I wanted to catch this troublemaker.

Finally, we heard footsteps coming closer from down the hall. Bill and I instantly perked up and moved even closer together as we peeked out of the smallest possible gap in the tapestry, so whoever was approaching wouldn't catch us.

My heart pounded as we waited for the person in question to arrive, then finally, they came into view. Oscar Baker, a Ravenclaw sixth year, crept towards the door to Professor Sprout's office, looking over his shoulder before turning the handle and stepping inside.

Bill took a step forward, but I quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Bill gave me a questioning look, and I paused to double check that Oscar was nowhere in hearing range, then answered Bill.

"We have to wait until he plants the prank to get him," I whispered. "Right now, he went into Sprout's office, but that's all we have proof of. If we wait until he's already set up the prank to catch him and call the teachers, he gets in trouble and we might get solid proof that he was probably the one who did the last prank, too, depending on how he sets it up."

"Damn. That's... that's actually a great idea."

"You don't have to act so surprised."

"I'm not! I promise, I'm just... awed."

I whipped my head around to look at Bill, and he met my eyes with a soft smile. My heart sped up, especially as I realized I was still holding his arm, and I suddenly couldn't remember what we were doing here in the first place.

"Uh... Bill-"

Before I could continue, the door to Professor Sprout's office creaked open again, and I got dragged back to reality. I dropped Bill's arm and whirled around to see Oscar creeping back down the hallway.

"Got him," I muttered before stepping out from behind the tapestry. "Stop right there Oscar!"

Oscar whirled around and looked at me in shock, like I'd just appeared out of nowhere with Bill behind me. And, I guess if he didn't know about the passageway behind the tapestry, it probably would've seemed that way.

"Y/N! What- What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Catching you in the act," I said as Bill went to carefully open the door to Professor Sprout's office. Oscar scowled at me, but I just smiled right back and waited for Bill's report.

"Yup, there's a prank set up in there," he said as he carefully closed the door and came back to me. "My little brothers are only ten, and yet that decade's been long enough for me to spot a prank from a mile away."

"Bullshit," growled Oscar. I was about to snap back at him, but someone else beat me to the punch.

"Watch your language, Mister Baker."

Oscar's face went white as a sheet when he heard Professor McGonagall's voice behind him. I grinned as she walked around him, nodded to Bill and I, looked in Professor Sprout's office, then looked back at Oscar with a frown.

"Fifty points from Ravenclaw, Baker," she said, back straight and eyes locked on Oscar like a laser. "And you will come with me to discuss further consequences like detention with your head of house and Professor Sprout."

"Yes, Professor," he managed to choke out, still looking terrified. I just smiled even wider as she led him away. He didn't even have it in him to shoot one last glare over his shoulder at me.

"Well, I think that went well," I said, putting my hands on my hips and staring down the hallway. "Don't you?"

"Incredibly. Although, I have to ask. Why did you get my head of house to come instead of yours?"

"Because Professor Minerva McGonagall is the most terrifying person in this castle, in the absolute best way possible," I answered, grinning as I turned to face Bill. "I wanted Oscar to have the most terrifying experience he could, and that's McGonagall."

Bill grinned right back at me as he nodded.

"You know, despite how long I've known you, I never would've guessed you could be this terrifying. And honestly? I like that in you."

My heart skipped a beat. It felt like a heart attack. Bill was staring right at me, his blue eyes staring right into mine. My brain short-circuited and I couldn't stop myself from glancing down at Bill's lips. I quickly stopped myself, ready to face the embarrassment, until I noticed he was staring at my lips too.

"Bill?" I breathed.

"Y/N... I'm sorry, I know we have to work together every day, but... I have to ask," he said, his eyes snapping back up to meet mine. "Would you be at all interested in going on a date with me?"

My face broke out into a smile. Bill started to look a little more relaxed, but not all the way, like he still doubted what my answer might be.

"Bill. I've had a crush on you since fifth year. I'd love to go on a date with you."

"Really? That's fantastic!" he smiled and wrapped his arms around me, then leaned down like he was going to kiss me. He stopped short though, like he'd suddenly remembered himself, and met my eyes again. "Is it alright if I kiss you?"

"Absolutely."

He grinned, then finished closing the distance between us. We stayed like that for a few moments, then reluctantly broke apart.

"I wish we could just keep doing this, but we should probably go back to doing our actual jobs," said Bill.

"Yeah. That prank in Professor Sprout's office isn't going to take itself down, after all. And I'm gonna need your experience with the twins to help me get rid of it."

"At your service," he said, pulling back from me with a smile and a mock bow. Bill took my hand as the two of us headed into Sprout's office together, and I was absolutely walking on air.