#hogmarch2025

You huffed under your breath, gripping the heavy crate of practice Bludgers tighter as you trudged toward the equipment shed.

James was beside you, carrying the other half, his usual, infuriating grin still plastered across his face despite having spent the last two hours barking orders at the team.

“Y’know,” he said, effortlessly adjusting his grip like the crate weighed nothing, “if you weren’t so busy glaring at me during practice, maybe you’d actually manage to listen to the strategy I was explaining.”

You shot him a glare that could have set his broom on fire. “Oh, sorry, Captain. Next time I’ll be sure to hang onto every brilliant word that comes out of your mouth.”

James just laughed, completely unaffected, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. “That’s all I ask.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you reached the shed. He had this way of getting under your skin—like an annoying little itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a talented player or a natural leader or that he made Quidditch look so damn easy.

No. It was the fact that he knew all of this, and he enjoyed pushing your buttons about it.

The two of you set the crate down inside the shed, the worn wood creaking under the weight. You turned to grab the last few Quaffles, and James, ever the show-off, tossed his into the storage bin without even looking.

“That was luck,” you muttered.

James smirked. “That was skill, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, when—

Click.

The sound was so quiet that it almost didn’t register. It wasn’t until you turned back toward the door, reaching to grab another broom, that you realized it had swung shut behind you.

You frowned.

James frowned too, as if the same realization was dawning on him at the exact same moment.

Slowly, you reached for the handle and twisted it.

It didn’t budge.

You twisted harder.

Still nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

James blinked. “Did you just—?”

“It’s locked,” you said flatly.

James let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s funny.”

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

Another pause.

Then—like the absolute idiot that he was—James reached for the door handle himself, as if that would make a difference. He twisted. Pushed. Pulled.

Nothing.

He let out a sheepish cough. “Okay. So it’s… properly locked.”

You stared at him, unamused. “Brilliant deduction, Potter.”

“Well, no need to panic. Just grab your wand and—”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

James stopped.

You saw it—the exact second he realized.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping into something close to horror. “No, no, no—tell me you have your wand.”

You didn’t answer.

“Tell me one of us brought their wand.”

Silence.

His face fell.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

You let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We left them in the locker room.”

“Because Quidditch robes don’t have pockets,” he finished, nodding grimly.

More silence.

Then, James turned to you, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I mean… at least we have each other?”

You deadpanned. “I’m going to kill you.”

His grin widened. “That would be counterproductive.”

You groaned, slumping against the wall of the shed. “This is your fault.”

James raised his eyebrows. “My fault?”

“You’re the Captain. That makes everything automatically your fault.”

He scoffed. “That’s not how it works.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, because I’m not Captain.”

James let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you still salty about that?”

You glared at him. “I hope someone finds us in here tomorrow.”

James just laughed.

And, Merlin help you, you hated how much you liked the sound of it.

Because for all your irritation, for all your sharp words and glares and gritted teeth… you didn’t actually hate James Potter. Not even a little.

And that was the real problem.

James stretched his arms behind his head, utterly unconcerned about the fact that you were well and truly stuck. You, on the other hand, were pacing a tight line along the cramped space of the shed, trying to think of a way out.

“Maybe if we both threw our weight against the door at the same time, we could—”

“Shatter the entire thing?” James cut in, amused. “Brilliant idea. McGonagall would love that one.”

You whirled on him, scowling. “You got a better plan, Captain?”

James, to his credit, pretended to think about it. “Not really. But if we are stuck here, we might as well make the most of it.”

You gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

James smirked, leaning lazily against the wall like this was all just a minor inconvenience, like you weren’t actually trapped inside a tiny wooden shed with only old broomsticks and deflated Quaffles for company. “Well,” he said, voice infuriatingly casual, “we could always sit and have a nice chat.”

You let out an exaggerated groan. “I’d rather take my chances with the door.”

“Come on,” James said, tilting his head at you. “I’m trying to be civil.”

You shot him a glare but begrudgingly slumped against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

“Alright, since you’re so interested in chatting,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm, “why don’t you enlighten me? What is it, exactly, that makes you so insufferable?”

James laughed, bright and easy. “Dunno. It’s a talent, I suppose.”

You rolled your eyes. “You would think that.”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. But then, to your surprise, the amusement in his expression softened just a fraction.

“Alright,” he said, a little more serious now. “Your turn. What is it, exactly, that makes you so mad at me?”

You scoffed. “Oh, where to begin?”

James just raised his eyebrows, waiting.

You hesitated.

Because, really—what was it?

What was it that made your blood boil every time he smirked at you? What was it that made you grind your teeth when he swooped past you on his broom, looking like some Quidditch poster boy? What was it that made you so incredibly bitter about him being Captain, when, deep down, you knew he was actually pretty damn good at it?

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re just… you,” you said finally, though even you knew it was a weak answer.

James hummed. “Right. And that means…?”

“You’re arrogant. You’re annoying. You think you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”

He grinned. “I am the greatest thing to ever happen to Quidditch.”

You gave him a look. “See? That. That right there.”

James laughed, but his hazel eyes stayed fixed on you, sharp and searching, like he was seeing something beyond your words. Like he knew there was more to it.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

James leaned in slightly, his grin never faltering. “You know, I think you secretly like it.”

You snorted. “Like what?”

“The way I get under your skin.” He tilted his head, watching you closely, like he was trying to read you. “The way I push your buttons.”

Your stomach did an annoying little flip. You ignored it. “Oh, please.”

James smirked. “You wouldn’t glare at me so much if you didn’t care.”

A silence stretched between you, not quite tense but not entirely comfortable either. The shed was small—too small—and now that you weren’t moving around, you were painfully aware of how close the two of you were.

James must have noticed it too, because his smirk softened, something flickering in his hazel eyes. “Listen,” he said, a little quieter, “if this is about Quidditch—about me being Captain—I didn’t take it to spite you.”

You frowned. “I never said you did.”

James gave you a knowing look. “You didn’t have to.”

You looked away. Because, maybe he had a point.

Maybe it wasn’t just about the title. Maybe it was the fact that when McGonagall had announced James as Captain, your heart had twisted in a way you hadn’t expected. Because you had worked so hard, and yet—James had gotten it without even breaking a sweat. Like everything else.

And maybe it stung because James—golden, charming, ridiculously talented James—had always been just one step ahead of you.

You exhaled, crossing your arms tightly. “I know you didn’t take it to spite me,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “It’s just… frustrating.”

James watched you, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, after a beat, his mouth curved into a slow, lopsided smile.

“Y’know,” he said, voice teasing but warm, “for what it’s worth? You’d make a bloody brilliant Captain.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it with a scoff. “Yeah, yeah. Flattery’s not gonna get us out of here, Potter.”

James grinned. “No, but it might make you like me a little more.”

You rolled your eyes. But this time, it was harder to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

James must have noticed the way your mouth twitched because his grin widened. “Was that a smile?”

You scowled on instinct. “No.”

His eyes sparkled. “It was.”

“It was not.”

James hummed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “It’s alright, you know. You can admit it. You like me.”

You scoffed, leaning your head back against the wooden wall with a dramatic sigh. “Being trapped in a storage shed with you has made me delirious, that’s all.”

James chuckled, and for once, it wasn’t the teasing, self-satisfied kind of laugh that usually made you want to throw a Bludger at his head. It was softer. Warmer.

And that was almost worse.

Because James Potter was supposed to be arrogant and annoying and completely, utterly insufferable. He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that—like he actually wanted to understand you. Like he wasn’t just playing a game.

You exhaled, shifting slightly where you sat. “I do take Quidditch seriously, you know.”

James tilted his head. “I know you do.”

“I don’t just get annoyed at you for the sake of it.”

“Well,” James said, smirking, “maybe a little.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just—Quidditch is the one thing I’ve always been really good at. And then you come along, and you’re just… better.” You hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

James blinked. “Wait—do you actually think that?”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “I—shut up.”

James stared at you like you had just told him the sky was green. “You think I’m better than you?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I said anything.”

“Not a chance,” James said, still looking mildly offended. “You’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen. I mean it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, skeptical. “Even better than you?”

James grinned. “Obviously not.”

You let out a strangled laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Git.”

James just laughed, but then his expression softened. “You know I admire you, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

James shrugged, like he hadn’t just casually thrown that out there. “You work harder than anyone. You make plays even I wouldn’t think of. And you never back down from a challenge. It’s kind of impressive.”

Your throat felt oddly tight. “Oh.”

James smiled. “And a little terrifying.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Good.”

A comfortable silence settled between you. The shed was still small, still cold, still locked. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as unbearable anymore.

James shifted, bumping his knee against yours. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think McGonagall gave me Captain because I’m better. I think she gave it to me because I’m loud and she wanted me to yell at people so she wouldn’t have to.”

You laughed. “That does sound like her.”

James grinned. “And you would’ve been a nightmare. Can you imagine? You’d have us all doing drills in our sleep.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“Fair point.”

Another pause. Then James nudged you again, his voice quieter this time. “Hey.”

You glanced at him.

His hazel eyes were even softer now, searching. “I really don’t want you to hate me.”

You swallowed. “I don’t.”

He held your gaze, like he was waiting for you to take it back. But you didn’t.

And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned your head against his shoulder. Just for a second.

James stilled. You could hear his breath catch, just slightly, before he let it out. Then, slowly—hesitantly—he leaned his head against yours.

You sighed, closing your eyes. “If you tell anyone about this, I will deny it.”

James chuckled, quiet and warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And for some odd reason, you almost didn’t mind being stuck with him.

Masterlist

“Damn it. The potion will go bad and we’ll have to restart the whole thing if it sits too long,” Blaise grunts, shoving at the door as it scrapes stubbornly against the floor.

The two of you had been taking advantage of the extra credit assignment offered in your potions class, staying late to brew a simple calming draught. All would have been well if not for a certain poltergeist with a penchant for causing mayhem.

It had started with Peeves serenading the both of you with an almost 30 minute long rendition of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. In opera. When it was clear you both still had most of your sanity in tact, the poltergeist switched tactics to swiping your ingredients when you weren't looking. But this, this really took the cake.

Really you probably should have seen it coming. It was right up Peeves' alley to pull a stunt like this, yet, like fools, you and Blaise had stupidly walked into the ingredient storeroom together in search of another crocodile heart as Peeves had sent the last one flying out the window. As soon as you were inside, the door was swung shut with a loud clang and a gleeful shriek from the meddlesome poltergeist.

“That stupid little- Peeves let us out!" You shout, banging on the door.

It's no use however as you here the poltergeist's laughter fade away.

"I should've let Draco and Matt hex that bloody ghost when they had the chance” you huff in annoyance.

Turning, you light your wand as you browse the shelves. “Aha!” Reaching up, you pluck a wrinkly, rock looking item off the shelf. “One crocodile heart.”

“Wonderful. Lot of good it’ll do us while we’re in here, and our potion is out there.” Blaise mutters, pointing his wand at the door’s lock again.

You ignore him, going instead to examine the door yourself.

“It’s not locked, just jammed shut,” Blaise says, leaning back.

“How cross do you think they’ll be if we just blast the thing off its hinges?” You ask, examining the rusted metal.

“You’re joking. You’ve been spending far too much time with Matt and Draco. That’s a horrible i-“

“Diffindo”

With two clean flicks of your wand, the door is off its hinges and on the ground with a loud thud. The both of you look at the door, then at each other.

“Well, at least we won’t have to start the potion over,” you say finally, stepping over the fallen door and making your way over to the potion station where your project is still a glistening shade of blue.

“Bloody hell,” you hear Blaise mumble as he joins you.

You almost miss the sly smile he tries to suppress.

“Do try not to get yourself all locked up,” Mattheo shouts after you with a cackle as you make your way toward the old shack that housed the Hogwarts quidditch supplies.

“Oh remind me why I volunteered to help you again?” You shout back, flipping the boy off. Rancid bastard.

Ever since you and Blaise had, against both of your better judgement, told your friends what had happened that day in the potions classroom that landed you both a week’s detention, they hadn’t let you forget it. Propping the door open with an old broom, you begin digging through the old junk. You didn’t even know why they found it so amusing. Realistically the whole situation had only lasted a few minutes at most, hardly note worthy in your opinion. On top of that, it had been several weeks since the incident. Initially you had thought it would blow over rather quickly, but here Mattheo was, still poking fun at it.

The only silver lining of the whole situation was that you and Blaise had actually begun seeing each other outside of group settings in order to escape the near constant teasing. It was strange. You couldn’t remember another time they were this caught up on a bit.

“Need help?”

Feeling a light tap on the shoulder and with the sudden noise, you let out a yelp, backing into the rack behind you. A box of quaffles goes flying, dislodging the broom holding the door in place, and slamming the door shut.

“Sorry,” Blaise says awkwardly, glancing around the cramped shed guiltily.

“Oh it’s fine. Just spooked me a bit is all. Didn’t hear you come in,” you reply as you continue your search through the jumbled supplies.

“I’d be surprised if we actually find any more beater’s bats in here. Mattheo has been running through the things lately. Has to be the third one broken this month,” Blaise comments as he begins to help rummage about.

“Maybe he should start taking notes from your book then. You haven’t busted through a single bat yet this season, but somehow Mattheo is single handedly running Quality Quidditch Suppiles out of supplies,” you reply in exasperation.

Blaise lets out a small laugh. He’d been doing that a lot more lately; and every time, you could feel your heart start pounding in your chest.

“That’s what I’ve been telling him, but you know how he is. Doesn’t listen to shit. Oh look!”

Before you have the chance to turn to see what he’s on about his chest presses against you as he reaches up and over you. Out of the corner of your eyes you can see his toned, muscular arms around you and you try not to stare.

“Probably the last set in this dump,” Blaise says, pulling a box of the very top shelf.

You take a gulp, composing yourself.

“Oh perfect. Let’s get out of here,” you reply, turning to open the shed door.

It doesn’t budge. You try again, harder this time. Nothing.

“Oh for Salazar’s sake,” Blaise mutters, dropping the box on the floor as he too tries shoving the door open.

“They are so never going to let us live this down,” you groan as you both pound on the door.

After a minute you both slump to the floor, staring up a the blasted wooden rectangle. You look at the door, then at Blaise, and slowly begin to reach for your wand.

“I could always just-“

“Absolutely not. One week of detention with Snape was enough for me, thanks,” Blaise interrupts, snatching your wand from your hand.

“Oh, I was only joking. Mostly. I’ll be careful this time,” you protest, leaning over to snatch your wand back. “Come on, give it back.”

Blaise just leans away further, another laugh escaping him as he holds your wand further out of reach.

“Blaise, please,” you laugh, leaning into him further.

It only takes a moment for your eyes to meet his, and for his eyes to flicker down to your lips before you realize just how close the two of you are. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he lets out an awkward cough, pulling away slightly.

“Sorry.” Blaise clears his throat, handing your wand back. “Anyway, we’ve been gone a bit, the others’ll come looking for us. No point blasting the door down.”

“Right,” you agree, suddenly finding the ground to be rather fascinating.

Shockingly, it doesn't take the rest of the day for your friends to come and rescue you, but you don't particularly care for the look on Mattheo's face when the door to the shed is finally pried open.

"Not one word Riddle."

“Do you hear that?” You ask, stopping in your tracks as you try to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

“What, the cat screaming bloody murder?” Blaise asks seeming rather uninterested.

The two of you were on your way down to the library to study for the upcoming charms exam. And also to escape the chaos that seemed to follow Mattheo and Draco wherever they went.

“Yes, but listen. That’s Pansy’s cat. Darn thing probably got itself stuck in one of the passage ways again,” you sigh, making your way over to the wall of paintings that the meows of distress seemed to be coming from.

“That sounds like Pansy’s problem if you ask me,” Blaise says, but he still follows you over.

“You see a cat sneak through here?” You ask a painting of a rather disgruntled looking knight.

“Yeah. Blasted thing ‘as been screaming behind ‘ere for ages,” he replies.

“We’ll get him, open up.”

“Wouldn’t if I were you, but suit yourselves,” the knight says matter of factly before swinging open to reveal a narrow passage way and Pansy’s cat scratching manically at the walls.

You gesture for Blaise to follow you as you step over the threshold, coaxing the cat towards you. It only takes a bit of convincing before the grey tabby is securely in your arms. As you go to leave however, you find that your feet are strangely locked in place.

“What the-“

Next to you, Blaise tries taking a step towards the exit as well, only to find that he too was locked in place.

“For the love of fucking Salazar, you’ve got to be joking,” he says finally after a bit of struggle.

“What do you think it is? Epoximise?” You ask, straining to try and see if you could see anything sticking you in place.

“Likely. Would be nice right about now to be studying for that charms exam so we knew how to undo it.”

You’re about to cut your losses and begin screaming for help when the portrait door swings open once more revealing one Mattheo Riddle. His smug grin falls when he sees the two of you glaring back at him. You were going to murder him.

“Oh shit.”

“What in Salazar’s name did you do Riddle?” You ask between gritted teeth.

“Okay hear me out, let it go on record now, this wasn’t intended for you two,” the boy says sheepishly. “Blaise’ll thank me later though,” he says under his breath, quietly enough that you don’t quite catch it.

Blaise does however, and you see his hand tighten around his wand.

“Cut to it Riddle,” he snaps.

“Sorry, sorry! I might have been playing a little prank on Pansy. And Malfoy. They started it though! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Mattheo-“

“Alright! I was messing around with that sticking charm from class, did a little meddling, made it so I could set it up like a little, ah, what’s it called? A mouse trap! But with the cat instead of cheese. Obviously.”

“Just tell us how to get out! Salazar Matt, we didn’t ask for your whole evil plan,” you exclaim in exasperation.

“Oh! Real simple, just need a kiss!” Matt replies, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Really Matt? A kiss?”

“It wasn’t meant for you two! It was for Pansy and Draco!”

“Oh my god, you’re not even creative. Mistletoe. You just made magical mistletoe,” you say in frustration.

“What?”

“Nothing! It’s a muggle thing.”

Before you can lose your nerve, you reach up quickly, grabbing Blaise’s tie and pulling him down. Your lips are only touching for a few seconds before you let the boy go and, with your newly freed feet, rush out of the passage way.

“Immobulus,” you mutter as you stomp past Mattheo who freezes in place.

As soon as you’re out, Pansy’s cat leaps from your arms, scurrying off.

“We really just going to leave him there?” Blaise asks, following you out.

“That sounds like Mattheo’s problem if you ask me,” you reply, hoping Blaise hadn’t noticed quite how flushed your face still was.

He just lets out another low laugh as the two of you continue on your way to the library, both trying to ignore the way your fingers kept brushing as you walked.

"That's a muggle game. I thought you lot were supposed to despise everything to do with muggles. Wait, actually, where did you all even learn what seven minutes in heaven is?" you ask in confusion, watching with bewilderment as your friends situate themselves in a rather crude looking circle.

Your eyes can’t help but find Blaise who looks completely unbothered by all this, despite his usual aversion to these little games that Pansy so loved to drag everyone into. You weren’t quite sure what was going on between the two of you, and you weren’t entirely sure if you desperately wanted to be locked in the closet again with the boy, or if you wanted to run the hell away.

Pansy places an empty bottle of fire whisky in the middle and beckons you to take a seat next to her.

"Does it really matter where we learned it from? Come sit," she says, brushing off your concern.

And that's how you had ended up here. Pressed up against the wall, in the dark, with your arms wrapped around Blaise's neck, his hand covering your mouth as he pressed kisses down your throat.

One moment you were both protesting as your friends all shoved you into yet another closet, confiscating your wands, and locking the door. And the next, Blaise was whispering in your ear as his hands made their way to your waist and you melted into him.

It was definitely not what you had expected to happen. You had no idea where the sudden burst of confidence from Blaise had come from, but you weren’t about to complain.

"If we're going to be stuck here, we might as well make the most of it, no?" he had murmured, tilting your head up with one hand, forcing your eyes to meet before slowly, carefully pressing his lips to yours.

You didn't pull away and that seemed to be all the encouragement Blaise needed as he pressed your bodies together. You could feel your heart trying to beat out of your chest as his lips moved against yours, warm and soft, mind turning to a muddy haze.

You barely register the gasp that escapes your lips as Blaise begins to trail kisses down your neck, and don't even bother to fight back as his hand presses against your mouth with a low laugh before he continues back up, finally meeting your lips again.

It all comes to a shattering stop though when the banging starts.

"Hey! Knock knock love birds! Time to open up!"

And just like that, you're momentarily blinded as light rushes back into closet and you hope to Salazar that you're some semblance of put together.

It had been a long fucking week and all you wanted to do was collapse onto your bed and cuddle your damn boyfriend. Was that too much to ask?

"Go, go, go, go, go," you hiss, racing into your dorm room, Blaise hot on your heels.

As soon as you're both in the room, you slam the door shut and turn the lock with a hasty "Colloportus".

"Think they saw us?" Blaise asks, pulling you onto the bed and into his arms.

"I don't care. I just want like, ten minutes without hearing Draco and Mattheo and Theo and Enzo fighting like wild grindylows," you groan, burying your face in the boy's chest.

The boys had begun trying to drag you into their latest scheme and you simply wanted nothing to do with it. You weren’t even entirely sure what the whole plot of their scheme was as you had been actively ignoring most of what they were saying at dinner. All you knew was no matter how many times you or Blaise told them that locking Draco and Pansy in a closet together on purpose was actually a horrible idea, they wouldn't listen.

"At least you're not the one who shares a dormitory with them," Blaise remarks with a laugh. “They were going on about how I’m ‘an expert’ at not knowing how to properly function a door earlier.”

"Yoohoo! We know you two are in there!" Matt's voice calls from the other side of the door.

"And here we see Blaise and y/n in their natural habitat. A locked room." Theo quips as the other boys fall into a mix of laughter and other jabs.

"Maybe if we pretend we died, they'll get bored and go away," you mutter, hoping the obnoxious train wreck outside your door couldn't hear.

"Perhaps we didn't properly appreciate all the time we spent all locked up. Only way to get some peace and quiet in this castle," Blaise agrees as the knocking on your door continues.

"Alohomora!"

The door slams open revealing a very smug looking Draco surrounded by his accomplices.

"Oh good, we were worried you might being doing something nasty," Enzo says, inviting himself and the other boys in.

Oh perfect, the circus had arrived with its clowns.

"As we were saying before you two so rudely escaped, we were thinking, since my whole cat trap didn't exactly go as planned, do you two have any ideas on how we can get Pansy locked up with Draco? Since it worked out so well for you?" Matt asks.

You glare at the intruders.

"Get. Out."

"Fine, fine, just asking! Thought you might want to help a ferret out," Matt says, raising his hands in surrender as he now has you and Draco both glaring daggers at him.

"Out."

"We're going, we're going," he replies as he and the other boys slowly begin filing out.

"And lock the door behind you!" Blaise calls out as the door finally slams shut. "Salazar those buggers don't know when to shove off."

"I don't even want to think about them," you reply rolling your eyes before pressing your lips to his.

You really needed to start looking into a better locking charm.

In your first year, when you tripped down the last few steps of the dungeon staircase and sent your books flying, it was Theo who had crouched beside you, silently gathering them up, not a single snide remark on his lips as 11-year-old boys were prone to hand out. No, all you got was a faint smirk as he handed them back to you without a word, all while you gaped gormlessly at him.

In your third year, when you missed a week of classes after a particularly vicious stomach bug, it was Theo who had slid his notes across the table in Potions, muttering “don’t ask me to explain any of it” out the corner of his mouth. All the same, with every mildly incoherent word in his slanted, cursive handwriting, he was surprisingly cooperative in deciphering it for you.

In your fourth year, when you got hexed in the middle of the corridor and spent the entire afternoon with bright green hair, it was Theo who had walked you to the Prefects’ Bathroom, rolling his eyes as he mumbled something about how he “might as well supervise” before you inevitably made it worse.

And this year - your last year - he’s always there.

You don’t understand it. You don’t have the kind of friendship where you confide in each other, where you talk about things that matter. But somehow, Theo always seems to be around when it matters - watching with those observant, calculating eyes of his, offering help without making a big deal out of it, like he knows you wouldn’t take it if he did.

It’s a running joke now - one you always throw at him with a grin. You just can’t get rid of me, huh?

And every time, he huffs a quiet laugh. Apparently not.

The next time you get stuck with him is over spring break. Naturally, all your friends wanted to do was laze around the Common Room, half-dozing. Eventually, someone proposed the brilliant idea of fetching a game for a little intellectual stimulation, like Uno. Unfortunately, no one wanted to actually get up to get it other than you and Theo.

“This isn’t going to work,” you said. You and Theo were standing in an empty corridor on one of the higher floors, one where the Room of Requirement was rumoured to appear. He shushed you impatiently, his eyes still screwed shut as he thought long and hard about a deck of uno cards.

You sighed, waiting for him to get this over with. This close, you could see every individual eyelash of his, all of which were unfairly long. Really, it was a waste of a beautiful feature on a perfectly mediocre boy.

He finally opened his eyes, which almost immediately found yours. You hadn’t realised you were standing so close to each other. For a brief moment, you were struck by how pretty his eyes were - marbled, watercolour eyes that lent a softness to his otherwise strong, harsh features. Momentarily speechless, you looked away, following his line of sight over your shoulder.

Well, I’ll be damned, you thought. A door. An actual door.

Sure enough, it opened to a narrow, cavernous room filled to the brim with every board game you could dream up. The two of you wandered in, weaving in and out of stacks upon stacks of games. Once you picked out a suitable deck of Uno cards, you both meandered back to the entrance. Or what was the entrance.

You turned the corner of a stack, back to where the entrance was, only to see Theo standing with his back to you, his face hidden, fingertips ghosting a blank stretch of stone.

“Theo,” you started, stating the complete obvious, “why is there wall where the door is supposed to be?”

"I don't believe it," you heard him mumble disbelievingly under his breath. "It was here just a moment ago."

"You lost the door?" you cried out. He was starting to look a little green around the gills, his eyes darting to the other walls. He gave a weak, unconvincing laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous."

“Do something, Theodore!”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Theo winced. “Quit yelling, would you?”

You sat down, slumped against the opposite wall, dragging a hand across your face. “Great. This is just perfect. We’re going to grow old and die and shrivel up in here and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault? If you had just waited by the door like I asked - ”

"You didn't tell me the door was going to disappear!"

"Yeah - well - it's never happened before." Theo dragged his hand out of his hair, now wildly sticking up in all directions, fingers trailing up the wall as if trying to feel for a hidden door. You scoffed.

"I told you we should have gone down to Hogsmeade to buy a deck, but no, you didn’t want to walk all that way.”

“Unlike you, I actually know how to work the Room.”

Theo turned just in time to dodge the Monopoly figurine you had hurled at his head.

"Then work it. Get us out of here."

--------

"Stop chucking things at me."

Grudgingly, you paused your assault. Half an hour ago, you had been ready to climb the walls and tear them down to get out of this place. Now, the craze had passed, so you settled for pelting Theo with all the tiny games figurines you could get your hands on while he paced wearily, trying to think of a solution.

“I’ll stop when we have an exit.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Theo turned back to the blank stone wall, muttering something under his breath as he pressed his palm against it. When nothing happened, he shoved both hands through his already-ruffled hair and swore under his breath.

Your eyes tracked his movements critically. “You have no idea how to get us out of here, do you?”

“Of course I do,” Theo shot back, a little too quickly.

"Right."

Five minutes later, he finally admitted defeat. He joined you where you were slumped in a corner, unsuccessfully trying to juggle the chess pieces. To your credit, you didn't say it, but your whole body language hummed with an undercurrent of I told you so.

"The Room's going to let us out when it wants to let us out," he said finally. "All we can do is wait till it feels like it."

He sounded so defeated you were starting to feel a little bad for being so hard on him. You sighed.

"I just can't believe we're stuck in here when everybody else is...you know, out there."

“Yes,” he said drily, “because there’s so many better places to we need to be. Merlin forbid we fall behind on our couch-rotting hours.”

You grinned as he picked up the deck of cards on your lap, starting to shuffle them.

"Might as well make the most of it while we're stuck here."

You raised your eyebrows as he started expertly manipulating the deck.

"Shuffling's the newest panty-dropper, eh?"

The corner of his mouth ticked upwards as his eyes remained fixed on the deck. "You'd be surprised."

You can practically see him puffing out his chest on the showier tricks he does with laser-focused concentration. It makes you want to laugh, his almost childish need to be impressive. To impress others. To impress you.

But, for reasons that eluded you, you were impressed. Not once had Theo ever let you down. It was as though he was incapable of it. You didn't exactly rely on him, but when he was around, his deep, self-assured voice was guaranteed to soothe your frazzled nerves. Even now, when all you wanted to do was bitch and moan about how you were never going to see the light of day again, he somehow managed to distract you, amuse you. Theo always knew how to turn a bad situation around and, well, to someone as catastrophic as you, what could sound more appealing?

Game after game, time began to blur. The cards whispered as they slid over each other in his hands, a hypnotic rhythm filling the silence between you. You let your head tilt back against the wall, exhaling slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.

Your head lolled against your shoulder as you lazily watched Theo shuffle the cards for the umpteenth time.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you noted, tilting your head toward him.

He didn't look up from the cards. "A novel concept, I know."

You nudged him in the ribs and he gave an exaggerated wince.

"Watch it. There's no exit and I'm more than capable of beating your ass."

Theo laughed at that, openly and unabashed.

"You're going to beat my ass?"

"Just said I would, didn't I?"

Theo snorted, mumbling something somewhat affectionate under his breath. You turned away, hiding your grin. Your cheeks were pink and your eyes glittered with the thrill of being Theo's company - the only person who could keep up with you.

He continued shuffling the cards, a little slower now.

“I’m thinking.”

You looked back at him, once again interested. “Dangerous.”

He flicked a card at you without looking, and you batted it away with a grin. “Thinking about what?”

His shuffling slowed to a stop. “Nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something.” You leaned even closer to him now, your knees brushing against his thigh. “Something broody and dramatic, I bet. Come on, spill.”

Theo exhaled through his nose. “Drop it.”

“Not a chance,” you chirped. "Just tell me what it is. Unless you’re scared.”

That got him. His jaw ticked, fingers tapping on the deck.

“Didn’t peg you for a coward, Nott,” you goaded, bumping your knee against his. “You can tell me.”

Theo let out a slow breath, his shoulders tensing. He shuffled the deck once more, but this time, his movements weren’t just for show. They were measured, thoughtful, almost like he was buying himself time.

You covered his hands with yours, stopping him. He glanced down to where the two of you were practically holding hands.

“If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.”

You nodded. "Did you kill a man."

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "No."

"Is it about the shuffling? Were you secretly roped into an underground gambling ring over the summer? Is that where you learnt all those tricks?"

You could tell he desperately wanted to smile but was stopping himself. "No," Theo said, his grip on your hand tightening.

"You started an underground gambling ring? Without me?"

"Do you ever shut up?"

You dropped your eyes to his crotch for a fraction of a second.

"Ach - not like t - that's not what I meant."

"I'm just messing with you." You ran a hand through his hair despite his desperate, one-handed attempts to bat you away. "Tell me already."

Theo hesitated. You became suddenly aware of how quiet the Room was. You felt an awful, sinking feeling in your stomach that maybe Theo was right. You weren't going to like what he had to say.

“I don’t mind being stuck here.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

He shifted beside you, tapping the deck of cards against his knee.

“I mean, yeah, it’s a bit ridiculous how we ended up here, but…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world. Being here. Being stuck here. With you.”

You stared at him. His eyes shone with that stupidly optimistic sincerity of his that you only saw glimpses of from time to time. He meant every single word.

His grip slackened. Wordlessly, you retracted your hand. How were you to bear this?

"You're right," you said in a voice thick with unshed tears. "That is absolutely ridiculous. It's downright - " your voice quivered. You brushed a hand across your eyes. "Downright laughable."

A sobering silence followed. You wondered if Theo was kicking himself for having opened his mouth in the first place. You wondered if you should say something.

"You really don't mind this?" you started hoarsely. You tilted your head to face him. "You don't mind me? I mean, I pelted you with Monopoly pieces while yelling abuse at you. I messed up your hair."

His mouth curved into that faint, breezy smile of his.

"'Course I don't mind it."

"Why not?" You should.

"'Cause it's you." It's you. It's always been you.

Your eyes fluttered shut. You felt the exhaustion of being trapped in here catching up to you. You rested your head on his clavicle. Hesitantly, he turned his head to press his lips to your temple.

"I have to be honest, Y/N," he muttered against your hair. "I don't know if we're getting out of here."

"S'alright." You pressed a tiny kiss to his shoulder. "There's nothing I'd rather than do, either."

Hogsmeade in spring seems like something out of a fairy tale — cherry blossoms float lazily in the air, petals carried by a gentle breeze that smells of rain-soaked earth and fresh blooms. The aroma of warm butterbeer and honey pastries lingers in the cobbled streets, the golden afternoon sun casting long, dappled shadows through budding trees. Everything is soft, warm, alive.

James walks beside you, close enough that your hands brush now and then, lingering just a second too long. He’s talking animatedly, reenacting a Quidditch play with wild gestures, his voice full of the kind of boundless energy that makes the world around him seem brighter. The way he grins when he tells a story, the way he runs a hand through his already-messy curls — it’s a dangerous kind of charm, the kind that makes you forget to breathe properly.

This is your first date — or rather, something that isn’t quite a date, but isn’t just a walk either. The Marauders had gone ahead ages ago, no doubt causing trouble at The Three Broomsticks, but you and James had slowed your pace, stretching every second, as if neither of you wanted this moment to end. The space between you is thick with things left unsaid — glances that linger too long, fingertips that brush like a promise, whispered conversations in the common room, tangled under a single blanket.

It’s been like this for a while. You’re not sure when it started. Maybe it was always there, humming just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to be brave enough to reach for it.

And to think, just months ago, James Potter had been little more than an acquaintance — a boy you saw in passing, another Gryffindor in your year. Until one day, he quite literally dropped from the sky and into your life.

You hadn’t even wanted to be at that Quidditch match that day. It wasn’t your scene, but your best friend had been relentless, insisting that the view would be worth it. “Handsome boys in uniform,” she had teased, nudging you toward the stands. But the weather had been miserable — bone-chilling wind, thick fog that swallowed the pitch whole — and after half an hour of watching blurred figures dart through the sky, you’d had enough.

That’s when the Bludger found you.

One moment, you were turning to leave. The next, a force like a cannonball slammed into your side, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stumbled, the world tilting violently as you tumbled over the railing, nothing but open air beneath you.

And then — bam.

You didn’t hit the ground.

Strong arms caught you, firm and unyielding, and when you opened your eyes, you were met with the wild, grinning face of James Potter. His hair was a windswept mess, his cheeks were flushed from exertion, and his hazel eyes — lit up with something bright and reckless — were looking right at you.

"Gotcha," he had said, utterly pleased with himself.

You’d been too stunned to reply, still breathless, still processing the fact that you were not dead. But James had just grinned wider, his arms still around you, as if he had all the time in the world to hold you there.

And maybe that was the moment everything shifted. Maybe that was the moment you started looking at him differently, or maybe it was the moment he started looking at you. Either way, nothing was the same after that.

And now, months later, as you walk through Hogsmeade beneath a sky painted in soft pastels, you feel that same breathless sensation. Like falling, only this time, you don’t know if James will catch you.

But part of you thinks he will.

Part of you thinks he always will.

After the accident, James started appearing in your environment more and more often, filling everything with himself. At first, you thought he was messing with you out of guilt. But when the count went from days to weeks and from weeks to months, and James was still with you, you began to wonder if it was all guilt from the start. 

And now you were walking with James Potter, almost touching his hand with your fingers, watching how the nature around you comes to life and how something inside flutters from each of his looks. 

And then — it starts to rain.

At first, it’s a whisper, a barely-there drizzle that dusts your cheeks and clings to your lashes. But within moments, it becomes a downpour, cool droplets soaking through your cloak, slipping beneath your collar, running down your skin like melted silver. Around you, students scatter — darting under awnings, diving for cover in shop doorways, shrieking at the sudden chill.

You’re ready to do the same, lifting your arms over your head in a feeble attempt to shield yourself, already half-turning toward the nearest awning-...

But James doesn’t move.

He stands there, still as anything, his glasses speckled with rain, his hair curling into damp, unruly waves. And then, he smiles — that reckless, boyish grin that always means trouble.

"Come on, sweetheart, are we really going to let the rain ruin our day?"

You barely have time to roll your eyes before he grabs your hand and pulls you forward.

"James!" you yelp, but he’s already spinning you into the open street, into the rain, into him.

The world narrows.

Just the two of you. Just the downpour, the blurred golden light from shop windows, the cobblestones slick and shining like spilled ink beneath your feet. Water drips from his glasses, his clothes cling to him, and his hair — Merlin, his hair — is an absolute mess, sticking to his forehead in dark, wild curls. But he doesn’t care. He’s laughing, full and uninhibited, dimples deep, eyes burning with something too bright, too alive.

And it hits you — all of this, this moment, this feeling — it reminds you of the day everything changed.

That day, it had been the sky swallowing you whole, wind in your ears, your breath ripped from your lungs as you fell. Today, it’s the earth beneath you, steady and firm, but you still feel like you’re falling.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is him.

The way he holds onto you — strong, warm hands wrapped around you like you’re something precious, something that belongs to him. The way his grip tightens, fingers curling over your wrist, over your waist, as if to say, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.

You hesitate for half a second — because this is ridiculous, because you’re soaked, because the logical thing to do would be to run for cover — but James Potter has never been logical when it comes to you.

And maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to be logical either.

So you let go.

You let him spin you, your shoes slapping through puddles, rain slipping between your fingers as you stretch your arms wide, laughing, breathless, weightless. The air smells of damp earth and blooming flowers, of fresh beginnings, of spring itself. And when you turn back to James, he’s already looking at you — like you’ve just performed magic right in front of him.

Like you are the miracle.

By the time the two of you finally stumble into The Three Broomsticks, drenched and breathless, laughter still bubbling between you, the warmth of the pub wraps around you like a thick blanket. The scent of butterbeer, firewood, and cinnamon clings to the air, and golden candlelight flickers against the rain-streaked windows.

Heat rushes to your skin the moment you step inside, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in James’ gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his breath still uneven, droplets of rain slipping from the ends of his curls. And for a moment — just a moment — he looks at you like he never wants this to end.

Then you notice the house elves.

They appear beside you, tiny arms crossed, eyes narrowed, their expressions an unspoken reprimand. Their large, unblinking eyes sweep over you both — your soaked cloaks, the puddle forming at your feet, James’ hopelessly dripping curls — and the silence is so heavy with disapproval that you have to bite back a laugh.

James barely holds back a chuckle as he snatches a towel, rubbing it through his hair before nudging you with his elbow. His voice is a low murmur, lips close to your ear.

"I swear, the house elves are judging us."

One of the elves exhales, long-suffering, muttering something about “wet floors being a hazard, young Master Potter” before bustling off toward the back.

You press your lips together, shaking your head, trying — failing — not to laugh when James sighs dramatically, shaking out his damp curls.

"Unbelievable," he huffs, running the towel over his face. "No appreciation for a little romance."

That word — romance — knocks the air from your lungs.

Your fingers tighten around the towel, heartbeat stumbling. The pub is still bustling, the rain still patters against the windows, but all you can focus on is him. The way his eyes flicker over your face, the way he lingers just a little too close, like he’s waiting.

And then-

"Oi! There you two are!"

Sirius' voice cuts through the moment, loud and teasing, dragging you both back to reality.

You turn toward the booth in the corner, where the Marauders are sprawled out, butterbeers in hand, all of them grinning like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment. Remus smirks behind his mug, Peter’s eyes dart curiously between the two of you, and Sirius — Sirius looks outright delighted.

"What took you so long?" he asks, not even pretending to be innocent. "Got lost in the rain, did we?"

James rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your wrist as he tugs you toward their table. Your clothes are still damp, your hair still clings to your cheeks, but you don’t care. Not when James is still smiling at you like that.

Not when you know — if he asked, you’d do it all over again.

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                                    – your santi 🪐

Of course Mattheo wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. The bottle was enchanted even before he sat down in the circle. You had a suspicion when Mattheo gave you a lobbed smile. Trademark Slytherin Trouble. 

You nervously watched as Pansy gave the bottle a spin. You could feel your face heat up as Mattheo’s eyes kept finding yours. You missed Pansy’s blush when the bottle landed on Blaise Zabini, because you were too busy wondering if you would get a chance to kiss Mattheo. Surely your brother couldn’t be angry about a simple game of spin the bottle. 

Mattheo eagerly reached for the bottle, claiming this turn. His eyes once again moving to you right before he spun the bottle made it clear to everyone in the circle that Mattheo’s intentions were set on you.

However, to everyone’s surprise there was no worry to be detected in your eyes, but rather a hint of anticipation. 

By the time the bottle had magically landed on you, both of you were too occupied with each other to notice Theodore calmly watching with his arms crossed. Surely, Matt knew to not try anything funny. If it was Enzo, then Theo would’ve already intervened. But Mattheo, he trusted. Theo was confident that Mattheo would give his little sister a peck on the cheek and say something witty to blow off any comments from bystanders. 

You both crawled over to each other, meeting in the middle of the circle, and to your brother’s horror Mattheo’s hand went to the back of your head as he pulled you in for a long and passionate kiss. A kiss that you didn’t want to ever end, so you softly bit his lip, lengthening the kiss by just a few seconds.

Enzo who had seen Theo walk in, just as the game of spin the bottle became very heated, ignored the flirty girl in front of him and gave Blaise, who now sat next to him with Pansy, a shove. “This is bad.” Blaise turns just in time to see Theo pull Mattheo from the circle. “Theo, no!” Your protest echoes through the common room as your brother’s fist hits Mattheo’s nose.

“No, no, no, no.” You protest as you get up, reaching to push yourself between the two. But Blaise, always quick to react, pulls Theo away and puts some distance between him and Mattheo with one forceful shove. 

“Calm down T, it’s just a game.” Blaise barks, while using all his strength and weight to keep Theo back. Blaise hopes that the doubt he feels about his argument was not heard in his voice or seen in his eyes, because he had been worried for a while now that Mattheo struggled to keep his eyes off you. 

“Game or not! Paws of my sister, Riddle!” Theo spits with a venomous growl as he swung an angry arm out, still held back by Blaise.

“Or what?” Mattheo’s voice wasn’t just angry, it was cold and dark. Within the blink of an eye you saw Mattheo’s wand pointed at your brother and Blaise who was still holding him back. Mattheo’s hand didn't shake, he was radiating confidence as he patiently waited for your brother to give the wrong answer.

This time you did intervene and without hesitation despite your fear. Mattheo tried to stay away from his family’s habits as much as possible, but he was and would always be a Riddle when it came down to it. 

“Matt, it’s Theo.” Your eyes carried so much pain in them for having to remind Mattheo who he was threatening: his friend, your brother and the guy who had stood by him more than any other. 

But your words didn’t register, not until you laid your hand on his stretched arm. His eyes flickered to you, his jaw still clenched. Slowly he lowered his wand and it was like the room could breathe again. 

Blaise could finally let go of Theo, since he had calmed down to the point where his breathing was steadying but his furious eyes were still focused on Mattheo.

Draco, whose eyes watched Theo carefully to assess exactly how explosive the situation still was, handed Mattheo a handkerchief. “Go clean up.” He said to Mattheo, getting Mattheo out of the room with a good excuse seemed like the best way to defuse the tension. 

Without a word or any emotion to you, Mattheo left. He disappeared in the crowd that had looked on and would surely gossip about this for weeks. Salazar, I hate this place.

The bleeding had stopped but he still looked crappy when he arrived at the astronomy tower. When Mattheo saw his brother there, he sighed and rolled his eyes. The urge to turn around was there, but he had no place to go. Tom looked from the corner of his eyes, not amused either that he had a visitor on this quiet night, but he immediately turns to his younger brother when he notices the blood.

After a moment of silence, Tom takes a last drag from his cigarette and speaks up calmly. “Care to explain the blood?” Mattheo, now seated on the ground leaning against a wall and watching the stars, simply shrugs. Tom turns back to the night view and glances with annoyance when there’s no response. 

“I kissed (y/n).” Mattheo sighs, disappointed with himself for betraying Theo and disappointed with Theo for not seeing that this could be a good thing. Tom has a pleased smirk on his face as he turns his head to his brother. Why does he always do reckless things like this?  “Was it worth it?” Mattheo is caught off guard by this question, but he immediately knows the answer. “Yeah.” Mattheo’s voice is soft, showing the vulnerability and softness that he usually hides from everyone. 

Tom flicks his cigarette bud into the distance and heads for the stairs, but not before stopping where his brother is sitting to give some brotherly advice. “Make sure she knows that and make sure he knows as well.”

Mattheo thinks over his brother's words as he hears his footsteps fade away, but before they have fully faded they stop. “Yeah, he’s up there.” Mattheo’s hard starts racing as his brother’s steps fade but new ones approach.

“Matt!” The relief when you see Mattheo makes your eyes a little watery. You sit down next to him, a gentle hand strokes his face. “I’m so sorry about this. I-” A heartfelt kiss interrupts you, but you don’t mind. You can taste the longing and you love it. How badly you have been wanting Mattheo to long for you, to feel his passion and now it was even better than you had imagined. 

When Mattheo finally parts your eyes are dreamy and his are gentle. “I’m not sorry, (y/n).” He whispers, his voice raspy.