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im-a-wonderling · 4 months

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Clumsy, Clumsy ~ George Weasley

This is part two of Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It?, so be sure to read that first!

Warnings: bullying

Word count: 2.6k

“Don’t make the mistake of forgetting your essay on Angel’s Trumpet Draught for next class,” Snape said in his cool snarl, the dim shadows of the potions classroom throwing sinister shadows onto his face. “I expect no less than 24 inches of parchment.” After letting his words sink in, he sat at his desk. “Dismissed.”

The other Potions N.E.W.T.s students shoved their textbooks into their bags, chatter filling the air as they filed out of the chairs, leaving their cauldrons where they were.

As I slowly placed my ink bottle into my book bag, I kept my eyes on Cassius Warrington, a massive Slytherin in my year. He had a handsome face, to be sure, but it was his recently updated status as a member of the Inquisitor Squad that I cared about.

Before my detention with Umbridge, I didn’t concern myself with the Inquisitor Squad. Their blatant Slytherin favoritism added with my natural rule-following tendencies made any concern of them irrelevant. But now, thanks to my detention last night, I’d been thrust into the spotlight, and I couldn’t count on that combination any longer. I couldn’t rely on them to simply take away House points either, because taking points away from Slytherin would punish them as much as it would me. They would likely find other, more creative avenues of punishment.

“Y/L/N,” said a cold voice.

“Yes, Professor Snape?” I said, looking up to see the potions master looming next to me.

“Do you have a reason for loitering in my classroom?”

I immediately put my bag strap over my arm, gathering my parchment and my textbook into my arms. “No, sir, sorry, sir.” I ducked my head and shuffled out of the classroom, subtly glancing both ways before following the rest of the students up the stairs to the Great Hall for lunch.

I only made it five steps.

BANG!

I fell forward, only managing to catch myself before my nose hit the edge of a stair. The contents of my book bag, however, were not so lucky. The thuds of my books, the flip of my rolls of parchment, and the crash of my inkpot created a symphony of chaos, but the only encore was laughter.

“Clumsy, clumsy,” said a gruff voice.

I looked up into the leering face of Warrington. Cheeks burning, I reached for my wand to clean up the mess and hurry past, but it’d been in my book bag and was now likely among the mess.

“Don’t go and do anything stupid,” warned the voice of Pansy Parkinson, who flanked Warrington on one side with her arms crossed and her nose in the air while Gregory Goyle stood on Warrington’s other side, a menacing smile on his face.

I lifted my hands, showing I meant no harm.

Warrington’s mouth spread, revealing his perfectly aligned teeth with such malevolence, he looked like a bloodthirsty beast. “Aren’t you going to clean up your mess?” Pansy giggled, looking thrilled at the prospect of watching me collect my stuff.

They wanted to see me humiliated?

Fine.

When one’s greatest care isn’t pride, it costs nothing to grovel.

Staying on my hands and knees, I grabbed my empty book bag. My copy of Magical Drafts and Potions had fallen open to reveal a picture of Arsenius Jigger, the author. I reached out for it. A black dress shoe nudged it out of my reach. I crawled forward another step, reaching again, and again it was pushed out of reach, this time accompanied by derisive laughter.

The third time, the black dress shoe didn’t intervene, allowing me to pick up my potions textbook. After hesitating, I picked up A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration without any intervention from my spectators. And my rolls of parchment. And the few wayward quills.

Soon, the only thing on the stairs beside my knees was the puddle of ink that was gradually flowing down to the bottom of the staircase. If I could just find my wand, I could clean it up with the Scouring charm.

I looked up to see Warrington twirling a thin hickory stick between his fingers.

My wand.

“Oh, d’you want this back?” Warrington asked, feigning as if he’d just realized what he was playing with.

A show, I reminded myself, give them a show. “Please,” I said, infusing my voice with panic. I considered making my chin tremble but decided that was the wrong kind of pathetic to pretend to be.

My wand froze. “Clean up the ink first.”

Mimicking desperation, I looked down at the puddle, as if I hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. Then, I slid my cloak off my shoulders, dabbing at the black cloud. The house elves would be able to clean the ink easily, it was only a momentary situation. I was thankful I left my potion ingredients in the potions room, otherwise it might be frog livers that I was cleaning instead of ink.

Finally, I stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding my dripping cloak with one hand and my bag with the other, looking up at the deviant expressions far above me. “Can…can I have my wand back?” I asked timidly.

“Put your cloak back on.”

I lowered my gaze to the floor to contain my glower at Pansy’s order. Slowly, I set down my bag and threaded my arms through the arms of my cloak. Looks like the house elves would be cleaning my cardigan and skirt as well. I looked up at Warrington again with as pitiful an expression as I could muster.

Warrington’s black dress shoe slid forward. “Kiss it.”

He wanted me to kiss his shoe? I looked down at the article in question. The dress shoes were fairly clean, even if they were clearly polished. The momentary discomfort of the taste of shoe polish in my mouth was tame compared to what I expected them to do, so I knew that wasn’t all he was planning.

If anything, it was highly likely that when I got my face close enough to Warrington’s foot, he’d kick in my nose.

Grimacing, I leaned forward, already brainstorming which spell would be best to set a broken nose.

“What’s going on?”

The familiar voice from behind me made my spine straighten, and for the first time, I felt the shame that Warrington so desperately wanted me to.

“Nothing, Malfoy,” I spat before any of the others could speak. “Go away.”

“Malfoy,” Warrington said with a calculating smile, “come join us, won’t you?”

The inconsiderate blond climbed the steps to join the other three, and I glared up at him. “This doesn’t concern you.” Malfoy hadn’t talked to me since he reported me, though not for lack of trying. I didn’t want to allow a conversation until I’d formed some sort of response to his actions.

Kneeling before Malfoy as he stood beside Warrington, I certainly had things to say, but nothing that would make the current situation any better.

“Y/L/N just took a tumble on the stairs,” Warrington said, looking at Malfoy. “She was about to thank me for keeping her wand safe.” The four Slytherins all looked down at me, Warrington expectantly, Pansy nastily, Goyle bawdily, and Malfoy confusedly.

I tried to remind myself that I was trying to keep my head down and of the merits of complying. But it was one thing to comply with mistreatment when it came from notorious tormentors; it was quite another to comply with mistreatment from a friend. And with Malfoy standing above me, all I wanted to do was curse the lot of them.

“Kiss it,” Warrington hissed, “or I’ll go find that brother of yours and make him do it.”

I forced myself to hesitate instead of immediately throwing myself down onto the stone steps and obeying. While Warrington laid down the winning hand, I couldn’t let him know that particular hand could win all future games.

I inched myself closer to his shoes.

“Is there a problem here?”

I closed my eyes, denying the possibility that the owner of that voice was interrupting this stand-off between myself and the Inquisitor Squad. But no, when I opened my eyes once more, the Slytherins had parted to reveal the boy at the top of the stairs.

George Weasley.

“None of your concern, Weasel-bee,” Malfoy snarled.

George looked down at me, kneeling on stone steps in front of four members of the Inquisitor Squad, and I knew he was planning something dumb. Go away, I ordered him with a stern look. Let me handle this.

George casually stepped down two steps, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall. “Y/N, I thought you were going to meet me in the Transfiguration classroom so McGonagall can help us with our project.”

Clever to mention a seventh-year class that George and I were in but Warrington wasn’t. Foolish to think that mentioning McGonagall would have any sway with this crowd.

“I’ll be right there,” I said through gritted teeth, once again shooting him a look to tell him to get lost.

Once again proving his inability to listen to basic directions, George walked down another step. “I think Y/L/N needs her wand for Transfiguration.”

Did he recognize my wand in Warrington’s hand? Or did he listen before he revealed himself? How long had he been listening? I wrapped my arms around my middle, feeling more vulnerable than I had before.

Warrington let out a short laugh. “It’s four against one, Weasley. Don’t think you’ll win.”

“Maybe I won’t win,” George replied, a cocky grin on his face, “but I can make your winning hurt.” George pulled his wand out. “And it’s four against two actually.”

I shut my eyes, ready to curse every Weasley ancestor for their descendant’s actions. George had clearly allied himself with me. It didn’t matter if I accepted the alliance because the damage was already done. When I opened my eyes again, Warrington, Pansy, and Goyle were still staring George down, but Malfoy was looking at me with a look of betrayal.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Warrington drawled. “And unless you want to make it another ten–”

George slipped his hand into his pocket and then raised his hand high.

BOOM!

The area filled with green smoke and an odor so putrid, I had to cover my nose. A hand seized my forearm, and if it hadn’t had freckles on it, I would’ve clawed at it with my nails. The hand dragged me up the stairs so quickly, I nearly tripped.

Then, once I’d finally gotten my feet under me, the hand dragged me sharply to the right and into a cramped room I’d never seen before.

George slid whatever trap door it was shut, throwing us into darkness.

“Lumos,” George muttered, and a small light threw his face into view.

“I cannot believe you–”

“Shush!” George leaned his ear against the door he’d just shut.

“Warrington still has my–”

Without budging from his spot, George held up his hand, showing me my wand. “Now will you be quiet?” he hissed.

I was getting real tired of getting shushed by George Weasley, but unfortunately, he was always in the middle of misguided heroics when he was doing so. And he was right, now that we were silent, I could hear the shouts outside the door.

I took the opportunity to look around the tiny space. It was about the size of a normal Hogwarts broom cupboard, but there were no cleaning supplies in sight. Despite the lack of contents, the stone interior sported no cobwebs or dust that I could see from the minimal light emanating from George’s wand.

The voices, still audible, grew farther away, and I saw George relax a bit.

“I didn’t need saving,” I whispered, grabbing my wand from George’s grip. “I had it all under control.”

George rounded on me. “Were you actually going to kiss his shoe?”

So George did overhear the conversation before he disrupted it. Suddenly looking in his eyes was much more difficult than a moment before, but I didn’t look away, even as my face flamed. “It’s none of your business.”

His head recoiled, as if physically pushed by my words. “You were.” Anger transformed his face, which I didn't like half as well as the normal easygoing smile. “I can’t believe you’d just lie down and do whatever they say!” His words might not have accused me of cowardice, but his eyes did.

I folded my arms, exasperated. “I weighed the possibilities and made an informed decision.”

“And so you allowed them to bully you?” George asked.

“Just because I didn’t do what you would do doesn’t make my actions wrong!” I snapped.

“Just because you thought about it first doesn’t mean it was the right decision.”

I scowled. “Just because you got to be a hero doesn’t mean that your decision was the right decision either!”

“You’re lucky I showed up when I did!”

“Oh, of course I couldn’t have handled it myself, could I? Guess what, Weasley,” I stabbed a finger into his chest, “I’ve survived over six years at Hogwarts without you, and I will continue to do so without interference.”

“But now you’re not just trying to survive,” George argued, grabbing my hand and holding it away from his chest. “You’re trying to keep your brother safe at your own expense.”

“And there’s nothing you can do about that,” I fumed. “If I decide that submitting is the best way to keep Clem safe, I will let the every single student in this school walk over me and thank them afterwards for good measure!”

George let out a huff, but the longer we frowned at each other with blazing eyes, the more his mouth curled into a wry grin. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to restock on dungbombs and follow you around for the rest of the year.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” I replied acerbically, reaching out to push the door open.

George grabbed my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Not yet.”

I fixed him with a look. “We shouldn’t linger for them to find us. We should go find a better hiding spot, a more secure one that isn’t so close.”

George’s surprise quickly morphed into amusement. “You’ve never been in here before, have you?”

I didn’t like that he clearly knew something I didn’t. “No, why?”

“This door’s enchanted,” George replied. “If the room’s occupied, the door’s charmed not to open from the outside.” George’s words seemed dependable enough, but I didn’t trust the smirk on his face. It was obvious he found something amusing, but the source was not obvious. Unless he was laughing at me.

“What is this place?” I asked warily.

George grinned, but it wasn’t his regular goofy smile where his whole face lit up with enjoyment. His lips stayed closed, and his chin dipped down slightly as he waggled his eyebrows.

There’s only one thing that could mean.

“You dragged me to a make-out spot?!” I shrieked.

The only answer was George’s shoulders shaking with barely repressed laughter.

Ignoring the butterflies that spontaneously erupted in my stomach, I shoved the door open. “I’m getting out of here.” I stepped outside, eyes darting every which way to spy any enemies.

“What, is snogging Warrington’s boot preferable to snogging a friend?” George called from behind me as I stormed towards the Great Hall.

“I don’t snog my friends!” I yelled over my shoulder at him, not bothering to turn around fully.

Maybe I was imagining it, but as I climbed the steps to the Great Hall, I could’ve sworn I heard George say: “Well, that’s a bloody shame.”

Read the next part here!

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #george #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey x reader #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #hogwarts #slytherin!reader

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isalisewrites · 1 month

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TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

TWENTY-EIGHT EXCERPT:

That godforsaken, flaming chicken cutlet was going to be the death of him.

Getting out of bed felt like walking through thick mud. Exhaustion permeated through his flesh, deep into his muscles, down to his very bones. He’d never experienced exhaustion at this depth before. Tom rubbed his eyes, willing them to open through the burn and weight of his eyelids. He hated not getting up before the others. He valued his privacy. These nightmares were going to be the end of him.

Stupid, useless mortal frame.

What day is it?

Something, something… Transfiguration? No, wait. Ancient Runes was before Transfiguration… unless it was Monday, which meant Charms was before Transfiguration.

Tom vigorously rubbed his forehead, trying to think.

It wasn’t Monday. That much he was sure of, since detention on Sunday felt like a distant memory. He’d attended Potions and DADA yesterday - and failed spectacularly at them, too - which meant today was Wednesday.

Salazar, how was he supposed to function in his classes today if he could barely remember the day of the week?

When the dormitory went silent, signifying the others had left, Tom got out of bed. It took five tries with his wayward wand before he gave up on it and attempted, quite begrudgingly, to wandlessly cast the refreshing charms on himself. On his second try, his robes freshened up with a light pine scent. The wrinkles smoothed out and his hair styled primly with nary a curl out of place.

Charms would have to do, instead of the old fashion way. He refused to look out of sorts more than he already was.

He walked out of the Slytherin common room and to the Great Hall in a blurry haze. His steps were wooden; his bag felt heavier than normal on his back. He sat at the table, mind empty and blank. God, he was tired. Tom reached for a pot and filled his mug to the top. He drank half of it before he realized what it was and grimaced at the bitter taste. Blegh. Coffee. Damn. He hated coffee. Tea—where was the tea?

He took another big gulp of coffee, regretting every second of it. He couldn’t hold back the soft groan of disgust. A pinch of pain flushed through his head from the bitterness of the coffee. He set his mug aside, grabbing a drink of water to clear some of the taste.

“Good morning, said Harry softly. Tom blinked. When did he sit beside me? Concern laced through those green eyes. “Are you all right, Tom?”

“I’m fine,” said Tom, clipped. He cleared the hoarseness from his throat and lifted his glass of water in a grimace. “Just drinking some coffee.”

Now leave me alone.

With slow, careful movements, Harry set a different pot next to his plate. He gently pushed the jar of honey closer.

“Here,” whispered Harry.

Tom stared at the pot of tea. His chest twisted; it ached in a strange way. The discomfort slipped to his gut and Tom swallowed through the sudden dryness in his throat. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes as Tom reached for an empty mug and poured himself a cup of tea. He mixed two spoonfuls of honey into it. As he brought the mug to his lips, Tom drew in a deep breath, the scent of the sweet chai relaxing the tension in his body.

Tom swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled softly, nodded, and went back to his breakfast.

Dammit. Why did Tom feel so uncomfortable? He didn’t know what to think any more, what to feel any more. The urge to escape his very self shook his limbs, but Tom couldn’t hide from himself. He wanted to hide, bury his head in the sand, and flee from this strange sensation inside his chest.

#harry potter #tom riddle #harry potter fanfic #tomarry #hp #hp fanfic #terrible but great #harrymort #fanfic #fanfiction #mywriting #isa's writing #harry potter/tom riddle

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orqheuss · 10 months

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For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me)

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Pre!Parenthesis Universe

Summary:

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. “Crucio!” *** The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum.

Word count: 9k

Tags: arguing, violence, cruciatus curse, dark!sebastian (kind of), sexual humor

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

Not a sound could be heard in the moonlit, desolate hallways of Hogwarts. The distant star casted a haunting glow over the courtyard and shone through the grand windows of the Great Hall. Figures long lost to time danced through the paintings lining the hazelwood walls, waltzing to an imaginary concerto. The ghosts floating about chatted quietly about their history, telling tales of cadences forever forgotten in old textbooks. Their whispers shivered the leaves in the trees on the campus grounds, leaving them humming at the fall winds cascading from the sky and turning their once vibrant green spires into a burnt orange. Lanterns lined the Grand Staircase at the heart of the castle, a paragon of regality and the wisdom of the great wizarding school. Baroque styled banisters basked in the glow, expelling person-shaped shadows on the enormous walls lining the mystical architecture. Down the stairs laid an ornate stone door, its architrave adorned with a cosmic silver snake. Two freshly lit braziers framed the entrance and swayed in the steely breeze of the dungeons, its smokey ash pirouetting in romantic couplets towards the ceiling.

A third was sparked to life just down the way. The line of light seemed to lure in anyone who were to walk the halls past curfew; beckoning them with the promise of mischief and pleasure. Standing before the final brazier, basking in its luminescence, were three young students. One leaned against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed tightly against his chest with a sullen look adorning his features. His eyes seemed to catch the light and shimmer like frosted glass on a winter morning. Another stood in front of the boy, directly under the cold stone of the giant candelabra. He was beaming with elation, his eyes glittering with waywardness and intrigue. His brown irises seemed to reflect the fire back in challenge, almost daring it to blaze brighter than he did. Between the two was the final student. A slight frown quirked the corner of their mouth, glancing back and forth between their two friends in trepidation. They could feel each emotion emitting from their companions like a thick fog, coating the hallway and leaving the braziers the lone match shining through the storm. Each felt something different about their quest— had different motives for the scintillating adventure. They all heard the distinct call to the Scriptorium before them, and felt more than compelled to answer. With a great rumble, the stone wall sloughed away and opened up to a chasm leading downward. A spiral staircase slithered from below and attached to the ledge, hissing out a stream of steam in its wake.

The three friends stood in awe at the display, amazed at the grandiloquence of the long dead wizard who made this place. They were about to enter Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, a feat very few could claim as their own.

Sebastian Sallow turned on the balls of his feet and beckoned his friends over, a giddy look twinkling in his eyes and stretching his smile. The prospect of finding a cure for the curse that plagued his sister heavily outweighed any unease he may have had at the daunting entryway. He nearly vibrated with excitement— the need for thrill buried itself deep in his bones. He could taste the tombs of secrets hidden in the enigma before him, feel the leather bound books worn with oil from the fingertips of his house founder. The forbidden magic thrummed in his veins and set his blood aflame like the brightest sunlight. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, something dark.

Ominis Gaunt, the heir of Slytherin himself, flicked his wand from his large robe sleeve and sparked it to life. A red light pulsed from its tip, and the hallway came more into focus in his mind. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked towards the imposing archway, closer to his family history simmering below. He looked striking, noble even, with his even, strong steps. Only someone close enough to be in his own skin would notice the slight tremble in his hands, the sweat that beaded at his brow. Anyone else with his condition could hear the steady hammer of his heart against his rib cage, the fast but even beats swimming in his ears and resting behind his eyes. He thought of his dear aunt Noctua, the last of the Gaunt’s to enter the foreboding mausoleum— how she had disappeared soon after finding its entrance. A shiver ran up his spine and something akin to fear lodged itself in his throat.

You looked on at the two boys. You had no feelings for this moment, nothing to go off of but the words of your two comrades. You peaked down the chilling stairs into the never-ending darkness. It seemed to hiss in contempt at being awoken. This metaphorical pit of serpents had fangs, and each dripped with a deadly poison befitting the strongest men. The blackness crept up your arms and buried itself in your hair— it whispered sweet nothings into your ears, enticing the ancient magic flowing under your skin. You inhaled the titillating aroma of devillment and stored it deep in your lungs. Excitement and worry crashed against your soul and swirled like a hurricane in your stomach, sending ripples of anxiety through your very bones. You truly didn’t know how you felt at that very moment, but you knew, more than anything, that you wanted to protect your friends. Something inside, though, felt familiar. Something was calling out to your magic, and you felt inclined to answer.

You pushed the anxiety aside for now. The two boys, now standing next to you, both had things they needed to learn from the Scriptorium, and you were going to help them find it. The idea of adventure took over your senses at that moment and spread heat through your chest, glowing as bright at the braziers you had just lit.

Even Ominis, a very stoic and reserved boy to most, seemed to have a gleam about his face that shimmered in eagerness. Not many knew, but he most definitely had a taste for chaos— he had to with the company he kept. There was something so intriguing about the Scriptorium to him. Maybe it was something forged in his very being, him being a Gaunt after all. Either way, the young wizard turned his attention towards his companions in a silent confirmation that he was ready to go. You cleared your throat hesitantly, drawing the attention of Sebastian away from the dark hallway before you.

“Alright boys,” you gestured towards the entrance with your hand, “shall we?”

The two nodded in your direction. Sebastian turned to you with a cheeky grin decorating his features. “I haven’t seen a tunnel this big since your mum.”

Another thing about the Sallow boy: he very rarely took anything seriously.

At the unimpressed look you gave him, he held his hands up in a placating manner, chortling to himself, “Aw, come on. That was a good one—”

You reached your hand towards his face and promptly thumped him on the forehead with a flick. Sebastian dropped the troublesome smirk and quickly brought his palm up to rub at the affronted spot, hissing through his teeth in pain.

You looked at Ominis next to you, and as if sensing your disappointment he shook his head while looking up at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “Merlin, help me,” before beginning to walk down the daunting staircase.

You and Sebastian fell into step behind the young Gaunt, trusting his instincts and sentient wand better than your fleeting eyesight. The tunnel was unequivocally dark, even the lumos dancing in front of your face barely pierced the surface. Your shoes made a distinct squelch sound on the wet cement with each step deeper into the pit.

Down,

down,

down you went.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, descending into the fathomless unknown. Each sound echoed off the tightly packed walls, bouncing back and forth like a well crafted game of wizards chess. The seconds ticked by slowly, cascading around you like the steady stream of drips coming from above. The piping loomed imposingly above your heads and drizzled along the black-stone walls. You must be truly under the castle, you supposed. You felt tightly packed like a tin of sardines— three fish wiggling together towards the unknown fate of the stew pot. Ominis could smell your discomfort behind him, and quite honestly, he was inclined to agree. He couldn’t sense the end landing, if there even was one, in the infernal devilry that was the accursed sepulcher. The scent and taste of mildew and stale air coated his nasal cavity and larynx, making it impossible to determine anything else from the two orifices. He would gripe about his lack of sight in situations like this, at least normally, but he doubted that it would make much difference at the current moment. There was truly nothing around them.

Sebastian could taste the unease in the air from his two companions, and he detested the feeling greatly. It was of the utmost disrespect to the boy to turn down adventure; there was absolutely nothing in this world that he didn’t want to poke and prod, to know how it ticked. If there was one thing that his parents passed down to him before they died, it was that. He understood that it was a daunting task, and a very large ask of his dear friends, to take this journey with him, but for Merlin’s sake, it was Slytherin’s Scriptorium! He had only ever read about this monumental library, hiding deep in the caverns of the Hogwarts underbelly. How could he say no to this journey, this discovery? If it helped Anne along the way, what was the harm of it all?

Just as you were beginning to think you would never leave the Hadean staircase, it finally puttered off to a smooth path of river-stones and a dimly lit concourse. Ominis stood at the forefront of the group, his wand casting a small bale-fire and illuminating more of the imposing hallway. Sebastian chuckled lowly behind him. Wrapping his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and leaning his head towards you, his eyes focusing deep into the darkness before him, he hummed.

“Hmph. Dark, ominous corridors. My favorite!” He cheesed at your bubbling laugh, snickering to himself at the obvious annoyance of the other boy.

Ominis bemoaned the statement, groaning and throwing his head back minutely. A hand raised to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “No comment.”

You turned towards your blond haired friend, placing your own hand on his shoulder and leaning in next to his ear, a dangerously coy simper tweaking up the corners of your mouth.

“I certainly love one of Ominis’ corridors.”

The wiry boy wiggled out from under your arms, making a sound of disgust at the comment as his cheeks turned a bright fuchsia. Sebastian desperately held in giggles behind his hand, watching as the boy made an obscene gesture with his middle finger in your general direction. The taller boy stepped closer to the other, gently grasping his arm by the wrist and redirected the gesticulation to face more fully at you instead of a little to the left where it once was pointed. Both of you paused, looking between each other's eyes and the offending finger with barely contained mirth, before combusting dramatically into boisterous laughter. Sebastian leaned against the wall in support, nearly screaming around the laughs that wracked his body. You still stood across from Ominis, doubled over with your hands on your knees. Gasping breaths left your lungs as you teared up in humorous pain. Ominis’ scowl somehow got deeper, and once again he turned away from the pair of you and began to walk down the hallway himself— screw you two hooligans to the sticking place for all he cared.

“Yes, yes. Hardy har, laugh at the blind fellow. Incredibly mature, you both are.”

Sebastian walked up to your hunched form, patting you gently on the back before grasping at your shoulder and helping you stand. You both leaned on the other for support as the last of your giggles tittered into the air around you. Taking a deep, cleansing breath before shakily releasing the air, you began to walk after the tiffed boy. His haunches were raised above his ears, only the tips poked out and were flushed a light pink. You quickly ran to catch up with his quick steps, waving your wand around in front of you to avoid any obstacles in the low lighting. Your arm landed on his shoulders once again, and you sniggered jovially,

“I do apologize. That was terribly coarse of me, my dear Ominis.”

Sebastian slid up on the other side of the boy, wrapping his arm around his other shoulder and resting his hand at your elbow. He accentuated his accent, adopting an incredibly posh vernacular. “Indubitably. Frightfully uncouth of us. Please forgive us, dear friend.”

Ominis growled in the back of his throat, mumbling curses under his breath and shrugging off both of your arms. “Go lick a leprechaun taint, the both of you.”

You both gasped in outrage.

“How dare you, good sir!” Sebastian cried, a hand fluttering over his heart and a scandalized look decorating his visage.

You took a similar stance. “We are children of God! Deviant behavior such as that must be saved for one's wedding bed.”

The two pureblood wizards paused and turned towards you, confusion laced in their eyebrows. The brunette leaned closer to you, arms now crossed in befuddlement, and glanced at you from his peripheral vision like he was about to share a secret.

“What’s a ‘God’?” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth.

You turned towards the boy, finger raised and mouth open with an explanation at the tip of your tongue. You quickly decided against it, though, as you knew it would just confuse them more. Best not try to explain muggle religion to two boys who have never stepped out of their small towns until it was time to go to school. You sighed, lowering your hand and about facing the end of the hall, ambling along ahead of the pack. The two boys shrugged and continued after you.

At the far end of the hallway stood two imposing stone walls, an ostentatious doorway slid into the space between. Looking at the entrance, embellished in the texture of scales and decorated with serpent imagery, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. Each turn in this maze of a catacomb seemed to linger with a foreboding aura, flooding your senses and raising the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned to look at Sebastian, now at your elbow just behind you. He was gazing at the door in pure curiosity, his eyebrows pinched together in contemplation. He ran his hand along the intricate carvings, tracing each snake with delicate precision.

Ominis slowly entered the room, his head tilted left and then right with a pensive look adorning his face. He stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes, seemingly listening to something that only he could hear. Soft hisses slithered through the room from the pipes above, adding to the dreadful vibe. Each hiss caused him to twitch in one direction to the next. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was possessed by a snake itself.

His eyes suddenly snapped open, startling you with his ferocity. He quickly paced towards the door, running his hand along the carvings with Sebastian. The homing signal at the tip of his wand cast an eerie glow on the wood, mingling with the green fire torches lining the walls. He leaned his ear on the door, listening closely to the whispers in the walls. He tilted his head towards the pair of students, gesturing with his chin at the entryway.

“It’s speaking to me.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the boy. “The wall is talking to you?”

He nodded, pressing his ear against the wall once again. You walked towards the blond, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead in puzzlement.

“Are you feeling alright, Ominis? Are you ill? How can the wall be ta—”

“Shush!” He gently grasped your arm and lowered your hand to your side. “No, you numpty. It’s speaking parseltongue, the language of snakes.”

Sebastian leaned away from the door, snapping his fingers in excitement and pointing at the blind boy.

“I forgot you could speak parseltongue!”

Ominis huffed to himself, trepidation coating his tightly spoken words, “Well, I don’t particularly enjoy it. Parseltongue is notoriously associated with dark wizards, something as you know I have tried very hard to disassociate myself with.”

He leaned away from the door, instead resting his hand on the wall beside it. He looked up, unseeing, at the grand archway decorating the edges of the room and listened carefully once again to the hissed whispers.

“I think I need to speak to the door for it to open. Please step back, the both of you. I don’t want you hurt if something goes awry.”

You both took a noisy step back, making sure to alert him since he briefly put away his wand in favor of leaning on the stone wall with both hands.

Ominis sighed to himself, blowing upwards and dislodging part of his hair from his styled quiff. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

From his mouth came a series of lethargic hisses, stringed together as if in a sentence. The sound seemed to fill the entire room, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing back at you from all angles. It amplified steadily as the hisses from above answered in turn.

Three of the decorative serpents came to life within the wood, slithering through the holes of the door and gliding along the edges of its carved trenches. A stream of mist puffed from its outer ridges, silencing the voices floating around you with a defined burst of powerful air. It blew the hairs dangling around your face backwards, tickling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck. Every hair on your body stood on edge and you suppressed a shiver.

The three of you stood silently for a moment, basking in the sudden quiet. It was like a bubble that had mysteriously appeared around your heads spontaneously popped, sending a rush of startling stillness pulsating directly into your ears.

Ominis was the first to break the spell, clearing his throat around the tightness that rested there, his cheeks glowing with a soft rosacea, and gestured through the now open doorway.

“After you.”

Your face broke out into an animated grin. “Ominis, you truly possess a rare ability, indeed!” You gently brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed through the archway. Ominis’ cheeks blushed a darker red, and he reached his hand behind his head, rubbing softly at his neck in embarrassment.

“Oh, er, it’s nothing.”

Sebastian stayed in the back of the group, a scowl on his face and his arm crossed tightly across his chest. He glowered at the door like it affronted him, cursing it for allowing his friend to show his rare gift. Stalking towards the next room, irritation heavily prevalent in his steps, he muttered to himself the phrase you had just spoken in a mocking tone. He wasn’t sure which of you he should feel jealous of— you complimenting Ominis, or Ominis getting complimented by you.

Both, he decided. He was jealous of both.

The three students passed under the bend and entered into the next room of the monolith-lined maze. Once fully inside, the imposing door behind you closed with a loud slam. Sebastian ran at it, pulling desperately at the carvings and pushing with all his strength. Ominis joined him, throwing his weight at it with a grunt. The door didn’t budge.

“Shit!” Hissed the brunette, punching the door one last time before taking in the room behind him. “Guess we’re stuck in here until we find the next room.”

The blond leaned back against the wood, an annoyed puff of hair leaving his mouth. “Until we find the next room? How do we even know that there’s a next room? We could very well just be stuck here until we inevitably die of thirst or hunger, whichever happens first.” Ominis turned his head towards the sound of the pacing boy. “Sebastian, we’re eating you first.”

Sebastian stuttered in outrage, “Why me?!”

“Because it was your idea to come here in the first place!”

“Say that to my face you—”

Tired of listening to the boys argue, you lit the tip of your wand and began to explore the new area you had unlocked. It was a large stone room with a gunmetal gate at one end, a giant lock decorating the middle. Spiderwebs covered every corner, starting from the very far bottom corner and stretching to the upper corner across the room. You shuddered, thinking of the large arachnids you had fought not that long ago. You hated spiders. Making your way closer to the gate, you traced your finger along the lock, noting strange shapes in the metal. It seemed like it wouldn’t take a key like normal, it was a puzzle of some sort.

Turning towards your friends, you tuned back in their argument. They were face to face, arms crossed, with indignant expressions.

“It’s your ancestor that seems to like puzzles so much!”

“Look in a mirror, Sebastian.”

“How dare you!” He stuttered for a moment, wracking his brain for a suitable comeback, “Were you dropped on your head as a child?!”

Ominis scoffed, a sarcastic grin stretching his lips, “Oh, bold of you to assume I was ever held—”

“BOYS!” You shouted for them from the gate. “Can you have your lover’s quarrel later? I found something.”

Their faces instantly softened a fraction at the sound of your voice. They stepped away from each other, embarrassed by their squabble, straightened their cloaks, and walked over to where you stood.

Sebastian came up to the gate, running his fingers along the lock like you did, before grasping at the bars and giving it a good shake. The gate rattled against the ground, scraping at the concrete below, but refused to budge. He took a step closer, craning his head around and looking through the small slits in the metal. His collar dug into his neck uncomfortably. Growling, the boy tugged on the offending cloth.

“This bloody collar—”

The freckled boy stood back, looking at the gate once more for a moment before undoing his robe and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. He shrugged off his jacket and vest next, leaving him just in his white button down and tie. He quickly pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, shaking out his arms in the process, and loosened his tie before undoing a few buttons near the top of his shirt. Grasping his wand between his teeth, Sebastian took hold of one of the horizontal metal rungs in the gate and pulled upwards with all his might. Still no movement.

A blush began to creep up your neck at the display before you, and you averted your eyes from the very attractive boy. You turned towards Ominis, only to find him in a similar state of undress. He was in the process of carefully undoing the buttons around his cuffs and folding the sleeves to his elbow. You noticed he had neatly gathered his jacket, vest, and robe and placed them atop one of the assorted rocks littering the ground. He began to walk towards the other boy, listening to his struggling grunts of effort. Your blush somehow got brighter.

“Let me try.”

Sebastian took a step back and waved his hands in a “have at it” motion. Ominis approached the gate in a similar stance to the other boy, flexing his forearms and pulling upwards once again. You could see his muscles straining under the material; he may have been slim, but he certainly wasn’t unfit. Eyes skipping from one boy to the other, one with his hands on his hips, panting at the effort he had just exuded, and the other now pondering the gate before him, a finger resting on his chin and hand resting on his other elbow across his chest, you suddenly felt like the room had gotten at least ten degrees hotter.

In your flustered state, you took a step back away from your companions. You bumped into something just behind you, a piece of sharp stone slicing through your shoulder. Releasing a hiss in pain, you grasped at the wound and quickly turned around, looking for the offending object. Just over your shoulder stood a large stone statue of a snake poised to strike. It was resting on two circular bases, one atop the other with just enough space between to twist them to different directions. You noticed symbols decorating the rims of each— they were the same shape and style as the two on the gate lock. You quickly crouched down and took hold of the stone, turning it until both bases lined up with the ones on the lock. A loud click sounded through the room and the gate before you opened.

The three of you quickly turned towards the sound, wands poised in front of you ready to strike. Seeing no danger, you all lowered your weapons and turned back towards the statue. You crouched yet again, running your fingertip along the other symbols.

You spoke to the boys over your shoulder, “It’s a puzzle. You have to match the gate symbols to the ones on the snake.”

Sebastian barked a laugh, coming up behind you and gazing at the sculpture. “Absolutely brilliant, you are! Bet I could do that just as well, eh?” He patted you on your shoulder with pride, not noticing your new injury. You clenched your teeth, a pained hiss escaping through the gaps. The brunette drew his hand back in alarm, looking at the small streak of blood on his palm. He took your arm gently, eyebrows furrowed at the medium sized cut in concern.

“Stars, you’re hurt! What happened? Are you alright?”

You placed your hand over one of his, looking at him over your shoulder and forcing a laugh. “That’s how I found the statue in the first place. I’ll be fine, it’s just a scratch.”

He looked at you with doubt, but let it go, releasing your arm and taking a step back. “If you say so.”

You stood, shaking out your arms and shoulders. His hands felt like small fires against the cool air of the mausoleum.

“Okay, Ominis and I will stay here and look for more of these puzzles. Sebastian, you go look in the other room and see if you find anything. Call out if you need backup.”

Sebastian saluted two fingers in your direction before running at the open gate, grabbing at the taller ledge of the other room and heaving himself up. You watched him disappear onto the other floor. You and Ominis spread out, each taking a different corner of the room. It was bigger than you originally expected, going on for at least the length of a classroom. There was another gate at the very center of the room, the same as the other. Your eyes scanned each corner of your side for the distinct shape of Salazar’s sculpt, calling to Ominis on the other side of the room.

“So, why does Salazar Slytherin like snakes so much, anyway?”

Ominis shrugged, “Some legends say that he was an animagus— that his form was a basilisk.”

You whistled lowly, “That’s a big snake.”

The boy chuckled softly, going back to the original silence directly after. Ominis bit his lip, chewing it over what he should say next. He didn’t like the silence, it made him feel like he was back home. The ambiance of the Scriptorium certainly didn’t help, either.

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you truly alright?”

You smiled, moving over to his side where he was feeling along the wall. You rested your hand on his shoulder, a feather light touch that felt like a heavy weight because of his nerves. “I am, I promise. Please don’t worry about me, everything is fine.”

He turned his face towards your voice. “I always worry. About the both of you.”

Your face softened at the confession, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing at the contact. Brushing your thumb against his cheekbone, you felt a surge of nerves in your stomach; butterflies bumping around in the inner lining of your gut. You opened your mouth to speak.

“Ominis, I—”

A short shout cuts through the quiet. You both whip your heads in the direction of the open gate, calling out to the boy on the other side.

“Sebastian, are you alright?”

You hear him fumble around for a moment, calling in return, “The statue bit me! Be careful not to get it wrong!”

Ominis gently grasped your chin, turning it back towards his face. He listened to you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to continue your thought from before. The blond was incredibly nervous, hoping that you couldn’t tell that his hand was shaking. You hesitantly flick your eyes from his irises to his lips, soft and inviting. You wet your own, taking a shaky breath in.

“What were you saying?” Ominis whispered, his face a hairs length away.

Your eyes quickly slid over to the left, feeling incredibly hot under the collar all of a sudden. A strange shaped rock caught your attention, curved at the base like a worm. There it was, the final puzzle. You gasped, fumbling out of Ominis’ hold on you and quickly scurrying over to it, turning the dial to the shapes on the other gate. Just as yours slotted into place, a second click could be heard from the room over. The second gate opened with a loud, rusted creak, leading into a third, and what you hoped was final, room.

Sebastian made his way back over to the two of you, an elated grin stretching across his face as he gazed into the next section of the crypt. Ominis had dropped his arm when you de-tangled yourself, now crossing both in front of his chest with an expression similar to someone who smelled something foul.

The three of you crept into the room, wands poised for any danger that may come forward. The gate slammed shut behind you once more, trapping you there like before.

“Salazar Slytherin isn’t done with us yet,” Ominis whispered, a grave seriousness adorning his visage.

You quietly make your way to the other side of the room where a large, disfigured door lay. It was covered in carvings; scratches marred the corners, flowing dangerously into disturbing images of screaming faces. You felt the air around you grow even colder than before, a shiver running down your spine. There was a flutter of paper to your right, and you swung your wand towards the sound. The tip illuminated an old piece of parchment, covered in dust with sections of it nibbled away by rats. You gently pick up the letter, afraid it would fall apart at the slightest movement. On it was a journal entry of sorts, big looping cursive depicting the fate of the last explorer to make it to this room. You carefully scanned the note, each word filling your chest with dread. Gazing down at the ground near your feet, you quietly gasp at the sight of a decaying skeleton. Its bones were a stark alabaster against the gray concrete floor; spiderwebs weaved throughout the skull and down to the rib cage.

Noctua Gaunt.

You quietly ushered Sebastian over to where you stood, handing him the final journal entry of the woman before you. He scanned it, his eyes growing larger by the second and his face adopting a grim expression. The freckled boy looked at you for confirmation, and you gestured to the skeleton below. He gasped quietly in his throat, looking over his shoulder at the other Slytherin quietly pacing by the gated entrance.

You quietly spoke, sympathy lacing your tone, “Ominis, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. There’s a note over here, next to a body.” You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “It’s Noctua.”

The boy froze his movements, head tilting down towards the ground in sorrow. “What happened to her?”

“The note says she was stuck in here, and that she could only open the door with an unforgivable curse. She didn’t have anyone else in here with her, so she was unable to escape.”

You walked up to the now shaking boy, his hands grasping at his opposite elbows to ground himself. You gently moved your hand to his shoulder, stroking the joint with your thumb. He roughly shrugged your hand away, returning to his pacing; his face morphed into a look of pain. His hands ran through his hair in anguish, mussying it up into a wild mane.

“She died stuck in here, and we will suffer the same fate. We will be stuck down here forever— the next person to enter will find our bodies like we found hers.”

Sebastian bent down to pick up the note you dropped, studying it closely again. He quickly paced towards you both, anxious nervousness rubbing off of him in waves.

“Don’t give up quite yet. She says that she couldn’t leave because she was alone and had no one to cast the spell on. There’s three of us— we can get out! We just have to cast the unforgivable.”

Ominis threw his hands down in agitation, spitting at the other boy, “That’s dark magic, Sebastian! Unforgivables are unforgivable for a reason. You can’t just cast one, you need to mean it, and I don’t particularly want to hurt either of you. Do you?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together in irritation, “If it means getting out of here alive and finding a cure for Anne, I’ll do anything I have to.”

You stepped between the two squabbling boys, holding your hands aloft to keep their distance from the other. This argument was getting heated fast, a darker, more dangerous aura rested under the surface than the argument in the prior room. You spoke to the brunette to your left, “Sebastian, which spell is it? What do we need to do?”

He scanned the note for a third time, eyes alight in a combination of rage and panic. His expression grew grave, and he felt something lodge itself in his throat. He forced the words out from around it, slightly choked with emotion, “We need to cast the cruciatus curse.”

Ominis’ wrath was palpable in the air, filling the room like a thick fog. “Absolutely not! There must be another way out. There is no way in Merlin’s name that I’m letting either of you cast that spell!”

The taller Slytherin growled, throwing the note down on the ground and pacing back to the horrifying door. He ran his hand along the faces, each twisted in pain. He sighed, pushing his anger back down into his chest. It would do them no good to argue with each other.

“I understand that you’re scared, Ominis, but there isn’t another spell. This is the only way out.” He took a deep, steadying breath, before finishing his thought. “You’re the only one here who knows the spell. It should be you who casts—”

“Are you soft in the head!? I would rather die than cast that spell again. I question our friendship just at the fact that you would ask that of me.”

Sebastian pressed his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose, pinching it in exasperation. He turned on the balls of his feet towards where you were, silently watching the fight with fright in your eyes. He walked towards you, placing both of his palms on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes.

“It’s up to us, then.” He paused, searching your face for something. His eyebrows creased in concentration and something else that you couldn’t name. Fear? Anger? Assurance? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. He quickly spun away from you, beginning to pace the length of the room while muttering to himself, tapping his wand against his leg in a sporadic rhythm. You watched from your spot next to the door. It seemed to glow with evil energy, spreading its wicked tendrils around the room like a well-fed devils snare. You could almost feel it crawling its way into your nose and mouth, wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs. Rapid breaths escaped from your lips, your heart pulsing rapidly in your chest. Your wide eyes, absolutely swimming in terror, refused to leave the daunting door. You open your mouth to speak, before a resolute voice cuts you off from your thoughts.

“Cast it on me.”

Your breath caught in your chest, freezing in your veins as your blood ran cold. Surely you didn’t hear him correctly? He wasn’t asking you to—

“Cast it on me, it’s the only way.”

You slowly turned in his direction, meeting Sebastian’s beautiful brown eyes, normally filled with warmth but now cold and hard. He stood directly across from you, the glow of the door casting a striking shadow on his youthful face. His demeanor was all straight lines; tight and unmoving in discernment. There was no changing his mind, he had made his choice— his figurative bed. He would rather take the curse himself than have to cast it on either of his closest friends. You saw the determination in his eyes, in the thin line of his lips and jagged edges of his clenched jaw. He was an immovable force, and who were you to try and bend physics to your will? You closed your eyes, gathering your resolve, before meeting his eyes once again. The fire behind your irises burned brightly, a blazing inferno ready to take the entire world into its flames.

“Alright, if you’re sure. Do you know the spell?”

He looked at the door again in trepidation before meeting your gaze, something unknown still swirling in his irises. “In theory. I can teach it to you.”

The both of you moved through the motions of the spell, repeating it a few times to make sure you knew what you were doing. The movements in itself felt dirty— wrong, even. Like you weren’t supposed to be privy to this kind of knowledge. Your wand arm felt numb, like the cold was seeping into your very bones and inducing hypothermia. You swallowed thickly, before raising your wand to Sebastian’s chest. You stared into the other’s eyes, both filled with intense worry and fright.

“Are you ready?”

The brunette took a deep breath through his nose, clearing his mind and attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the unimaginable pain he was about to experience.

Your shaking voice spoke, mouth feeling weird around the accursed word.

“Crucio.”

A slight red spark shot from the tip of your wand, but no pain came to the Sallow boy. His eyes shot open, looking at you across from him. You were shaking like a leaf, staring confused at your wand and then at him. He knitted his brows in angered confusion.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Ominis spoke from the back corner where he had sat himself, head leaning heavily on the wall behind him and his arms resting on the tops of his knees. His face was riddled with resignation. “I told you, you have to mean it. You have to want to inflict pain on the other person.”

Sebastian growled loudly, his teeth clashing together harshly as he clenched his jaw in anger. “If you’re not going to offer anything helpful, just be quiet.”

You stood in stunned silence at the boy's ferocity. He quickly rounded back towards you, teeth clenched in a near snarl. He pointed at you accusingly,

“Why aren’t you angry? You need to be furious! Yell at me— tell me this is all my fault! Let me have it!”

You stuttered at the boy, hands shaking even more forcefully now. You knew what he was doing; he was trying to make you hate him. He wanted you to be so angry at him that you could easily cast the curse. Unfortunately, the tactic seemed to have the opposite effect on you. Your heart ached for the boy, listening to each word he said and knowing somewhere in your heart that he thought this of himself. Apologies filled your mouth and spilled out like a waterfall of dismay. They splashed against the ground and the droplets sprayed everywhere, bouncing harshly against the echo chamber walls.

Sebastian continued yelling, rage pouring from his being, “Stop apologizing! I brought us down here, it’s my fault we’re in this situation to begin with! I’m the reason you have to cast this spell! You didn’t want to come here at all before I basically forced you and Ominis. Look at him, he’s petrified! I did this, cast it on me!”

Tears gathered in your eyes, horrified terror coursed through your body because of the boy across from you. He was breathing heavily, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring like a bull. You had never seen him like this before. The anger poured from him and swirled around the air like a dense cloud, permeating every inch of the desolate cavern. Ominis hesitantly stood from the corner, intense worry spreading across his face. He slowly approached the two, steps soft and slow, hands outstretched in front of him like he was dealing with a raging animal. He could smell the tension, feel the red hot heat of fury and agitation.

He hesitantly spoke, his voice shaking with a soft timber, “Sebastian, take a step back. You’re scaring them.”

The frenzied boy rounded at his friend, snarling and gnashing his teeth, “No, they have to do this!”

You continued to spew apologies, the words getting swallowed by the thick, maroon fog and evaporating into vapor. Tears cascaded down your frightened face, staring unblinking at your rampaging friend. He was nearly foaming at the mouth in outrage, his eyes wild and hardened. He didn’t look like himself, a complete stranger in his own body. All Sebastian could feel was anger, extremely hot and branding his very soul with a wave of wrath. He could hear your pitiful cries, Ominis’ begging for him to stop. He wouldn’t let you both stand in the way of curing his sister.

“Crucio!”

Your screams filled the small room, ricocheting off the walls and burying inside the duo's ears. Ominis slapped his arms around his head, bending over in pain, his sensitive ears amplifying the violent outburst tenfold. His heart shattered in his chest at the sound of your pain, crushing his soul in its devastating grasp. The sound snapped Sebastian out of his trance, his face morphing into one of absolute horror and revoltion at what he had just done. He dropped his wand in shock, stumbling backwards into the nearest wall and sliding down it. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched you writhe on the floor in never-ending pain. He brought his hands up to his mouth, covering it in distress, and whispered curses and pleading apologies against his skin.

“Oh Merlin, what have I done? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

Pain— that’s all you knew. Your blood was boiling under your skin, the veins feeling like they were going to burst out of you in a shower of blood at any moment. You clutched your abdomen in agony, nails biting into your arms in desperation. Blood ran down from your hands, coating your sleeves and staining them red. Each organ felt like it was dying slowly, decay seeping deep into your body and coating every surface. Your heart pounded harder than ever before, threatening to combust right through your ribs and out of your chest. Every nerve ending fired off in rapid succession, blazing through your body like a wild inferno and leaving intense burns in its wake. Your head was the worst. It felt like someone stabbed a freezing ice pick through your eye socket, retracting it and pushing back in with each pound of your heart against your skull. Bile rose into your throat, evaporating around the force of your wails of pain. You were curled on the ground, arms tight against yourself in protection. It felt like you would never be happy, be well, again. The torment went on for what felt like years, centuries even, wracking your body with heaving sobs and otherworldly screams.

In an instant it was over. Sparks of residual magic shot against your skin, shaking your body to its core. The world around you was dark and silent, your senses absolutely fried. A heavy weight was resting against your back, pressing against you with a relieving, grounding pressure. Your hearing returned first, flooding in like you had just rinsed the water from them.

“Come back to us! Are you alright? Damn it, please say something!” The panicked voice of Ominis filled your electrified brain, the sound grating against your ears. He pressed his palms against your cheeks and raised your head from its spot on the cold ground, wiping the tears from your face. He rested his forehead against yours, listening closely to your shuddering breaths. “Please, give me a sign that you’re still in there.”

A groan eased its way out of your tight throat, pushing past the damage your screams had done and croaking through like a toad. Ominis sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gathering you gently in his arms. He stroked your hair, letting the last of the tremors make their way out of your body. Your consciousness faded in and out, lids fluttering open and closed around the blackness resting just behind your eyes.

“Shush now, don’t push yourself. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ominis gently coaxed your head to rest against his collarbone, his cheek pressing against the roof of your head. He continued his movements along your hair absentmindedly, lulling you into a soft sense of security.

The blond spoke to the distraught boy behind him, voice devoid of any emotion. “We need to get them to the infirmary.”

Sebastian broke out of his morose stupor, panic rising in his voice, “We can’t! She’ll know that we’ve used an unforgivable! Not to mention, we’re out past curfew. We’ll likely get expelled, or worse!”

Ominis sighed inwardly, his head leaning back and smacking against the wall behind him with a dull thunk. He knew that Sebastian was right, no matter how much he wanted to throw the boy to the wolves at that very moment. If they were to bring you to the hospital wing the nurse would ask all three of them questions, and none of them were prepared for that. There wasn’t a single lie in the world that would be that convincing. With a final growl of agitation, he made a decision.

“Fine, the Undercroft, then.” He leveled the taller boy with a harsh glare. “Go get whatever you’re looking for and meet us down there. I hope this trip was worth it, Sallow.”

The clock tower sounded three times, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. Two students rested against the chaise lounge conjured up out of an old shipping crate. Your shoulder had been dressed, the bandage peeking out from under your ripped blouse. The same was done for the indentations on your arms, half moons lining your biceps in a circle from your sharp nails digging into your skin. Ominis gently stroked your hair from where your head rested on his lap. You had fallen asleep not long ago, your quiet whines of pain tempered out and gave way to startling silence. Anger festered under the boy’s skin, warming him to an uncomfortable degree. It burned in the back of his mind, boiling against the memory of your screams and whimpers of immense pain. He had half a mind to curse Sebastian where he had stood in the Scriptorium. Ominis heard his panicked breaths and whispered apologies after he brought you to your knees, truly realizing the damage that he had done and the dangers of dark magic. Good, he thought. Maybe he’d finally stop moving down the dark path that he was so set on. He deserved to beg for your forgiveness.

The metal gate of the Undercroft squeaked open, the sound of heavy footfalls following after. Ominis gently picked up your sleeping head, standing from the chaise and lowering you onto one of the many pillows lining the cushions. He quickly paced towards the brunette, eyes blazing with barely concealed fury. Sebastian paid no mind, flipping through the large tomb he had collected from Salazar’s Scriptorium. He looked up and saw the approaching boy, not noticing the very prevalent anger on his face.

“Ominis, you’re not going to believe what I found—”

The smaller boy slammed into him, pressing his forearm against his neck and shoving him harshly into the nearest wall. His wand was pressed against his chin, glowing menacingly in the candlelight of the hideaway. The blond’s mouth was twisted into a gruesome snarl, teeth looking like fangs in the dim lighting. Sebastian gulped against the arm pressed against his larynx. He dropped the book in surprise, a cloud of dust puffing up from the ground at its harsh landing. Even though Sebastian knew that Ominis couldn’t truly see him, the boy’s heated glare seemed to set fire to his very soul.

Ominis growled at the taller boy in a gravely low voice, his teeth gnashing around each word. “If you ever hurt them again, you will be dead where you stand. This is the last I want to hear of dark magic, Sebastian. You’ve gone too far; people have gotten hurt. Promise me that you’ll stop— you’ll find some other way to heal Anne, or this friendship will continue no longer.”

Sebastian nodded as much as he could around his friend’s arm, squeezing the words out of his crushed throat, “Yes, I understand, I’m sorry!”

The anger seemed to evaporate from the smaller boy in mere seconds, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slumping. He grasped the front of the freckled boy’s shirt, leaning his forehead against his chest with a heavy sigh.

“I almost lost you both today. I can’t do that, don’t make me live through that again. Please, I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t bear the thought.”

His shoulders began to shake, tremors rocking his entire body and sending the tears gathering in his eyes down his pale cheeks. He softly cries into the shirt of his friend, grasping harder at the cotton between his fingers and burying his face even deeper. The freckled boy stands still for a moment, startled by the sudden emotional whiplash. He hesitantly raises his arms and circles them around the shoulders of the crying boy, looking over to your sleeping form with guilt swirling in his eyes.

He had hurt both of his friends today over something he thought was so trivial, so insignificant. He just wanted to find a cure for his sister, not cause undeniable pain to those he loved. He truly was turning into a monster; the dark magic he was so fascinated by had begun to circle around his heart, squeezing it with its thick tentacles. Sebastian buried his head into Ominis’ neck, deeply breathing in his scent. The mildew of the cellar was thick against his skin, but reminisce of his expensive cologne and natural scent, something musky and rich, still lingered there. He focused on it, the familiar smell warming his insides and bringing his heartbeat to a slight increase.

He hadn’t promised the boy that he’d stop exploring the dark arts, instead twisting his words into something that sounded like agreement. Sebastian knew that he would come to regret that decision, but he couldn’t give up on Anne. She was his flesh and blood, his twin sister. She was everything to him. He knew that he would hurt his two closest friends more than words can express with his decisions, but deep in his heart he believed that he was doing the right thing.

With a heavy heart, Sebastian basked in the comfort of the Undercroft and the arms wrapped around his waist, praying to anyone who would listen that this wouldn’t be the last time he felt this safe.

AN: Did I make an "Ominis gets pegged" joke? Yes, yes I did.

***

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cranetreegang · 10 months

Text

Home at Last - Ominis x FemReader

Summary: Ominis finally returns to the Gaunt Estate. It's all that he remembers, except he's the one who's changed. He navigates his parents in search of any clues about Ancient Magic and his ancestors.

Word Count: ~7,200 words

Read my other Ominis Fics Here

Warnings: Child abuse, mentions of child abuse, manipulation

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Standing in front of the iron gate, Ominis clenches his wand tightly in one hand and his suitcase in the other. Despite not having been back to the Estate in years, it all feels the exact same. The gate resonates with layers of protective charms and dark magic. He can barely make out the circular emblem locking the gate in place, which he’s sure has a gaudy ‘G’ etched at the center. The feelings he used to harbor for this place hasn’t changed either as his feet refuse to move to take the final steps forward.

He closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, then finally approaches. The gate shutters open for the wayward heir and he walks towards the manor. Under his boots, he feels patches of grass growing between the once trimmed stone path - occasionally kicking some loose bricks as he passes. The steps leading up to the door aren’t fairing much better, deteriorating under his weight and he hears the sounds of pebbles and debris hitting the ground.

The massive double door is his last chance to turn around. With one last sharp inhale, Ominis flick his wand at the door. It groans and whines as it slowly opens. Ominis steps inside, the smells of old wood and marble greet him along with a scent of dust. The still silence sends a brief chill down his spine then the door slams shut, echoing throughout the manor in a deafening boom and rattling him. His back straightens and he knows there’s no turning back now.

He notes how there’s not as much furniture by the entryway. In fact, as he walks through the manor towards his old bedroom, the place is practically sparse. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought they had moved without telling him. But, he does know the harsh truth of the matter and he can’t stop a scornful smirk at how much his proud family has fallen. Oh, if Salazar Slytherin could see the deteriorating state of his esteemed bloodline now, Ominis laughs to himself. There hasn’t even been a single house elf scurrying through the halls, now that he thinks of it. Indeed, his family is truly in tough times for his Mother to forgo her house elves.

He rounds the corner and heads down the long hallway of the east wing towards the last door on the right. With another flick of his wand, his wards pacify then the bedroom door unlocks and shudders open. Waving his wand around, he’s surprised to find he still has a bed. It seems his room is wholly untouched - his four poster bed on the far right wall, his large oak desk in front of him against the window, then his wardrobe on the left wall.

Setting his suitcase on the bed, creating a cloud of dust in the air, his mind starts to drift back to his days here - his days before the Sallow twins and Hogwarts. A soft sigh escapes him as he heads towards his old desk.

Through the layer of grime, his fingertips find the familiar scratches and knicks exactly as they were. He sits down in the chair and recites a spell to unlock the drawers. Notes, books, amateur drawings, and other various knick knacks are tucked away inside - all as he left it. One journal in particular gets his attention. The leatherbound book is cool against his touch and he flips open to a random page to read.

Each day feels like a struggle, a battle. I don’t know what’s worse - Father when he ignores my existence entirely, or when he does acknowledge my presence.

I yearn for his approval. I try to be the son he wishes me to be. But everytime I try, I’m only met with his harsh, cruel words as he berates me - his words laced with obvious disdain and disapproval. It’s days like today that I’m thankful for my blindness, so as to not see the matching disgust which accompanies these words.

Cimsy was able to procure me the spellbook I requested, and I’ve managed to create charms to protect my room and desk. After the incident with Marvolo, I pray I’m able to find brief sanctuary in my room. It’s a shallow comfort - as these charms are rudimentary at best - but I take it all the same.

Next year, I’ll be at Hogwarts. Next year, I’ll be far, far away from here. Next year, I’ll become just as talented as all the wizards I’ve read about in my stories. I’ll be a hero - rising above adversity and slaying fearsome monsters.

Ominis skims his wand over the entry several times, recalling that day all too well. Many memories he hasn’t thought about start to surface. He gently places the journal on the desk then reaches back inside the drawer. Searching along the underside, he feels a shallow, circular indent - which he presses. A soft click reaches his ears and he smiles, tracing along the side until a protruding piece of wood meets his fingers. He opens it, his fingers just barely touching the hidden contents.

“Young Master.”

Shutting the drawer with a swift movement, Ominis whips his head around with a scowl, which quickly melts into a more gentle expression once he realizes who’s at the door.

“Cimsy,” Ominis grins as he stands. “It’s been too long. How are you?”

The old house elf limps into the room, her bare feet dragging on the marble floor.

“Cimsy is most pleased to see the young Master back,” Cimsy sounds more worn, aged, and tired than he recalls. He holds back his pitying frown as Cimsy continues.

“Cimsy has been quite busy since the others were sold. Cimsy tried to clean your room before you arrived, young Master, but Cimsy could not get in. Clever charms, young Master. Too clever for Cimsy.”

“I apologize. I forgot they were in place before I left,” Ominis smiles, “I’m sorry I haven’t visited you, Cimsy. Truly. I've missed you, and our walks in the garden.”

Cimsy chuckles, airy and weak, “Cimsy has missed the young Master Gaunt as well. Cimsy has been sent to retrieve the young Master. Mistress Gaunt wishes to see you, young Master.”

Ominis’ smile fades into a tight grimace, and he nods, “Very well. I shouldn’t keep her waiting. Lead the way.”

Cimsy bows, then starts her slow shuffle towards the parlor room.

Along the way, Ominis is reminiscent of all the times he’s walked to the parlor - through all the winding, rug covered hallways and past all the portraits no doubt staring at him as he goes by. Cimsy opens the door to the parlor and a rush of warm air hits his face.

“Mistress Gaunt, the young Master is here, as requested.”

Ominis strides into the room, registering the presence of his mother by the window lounging on the chaise. By the way her arm is angled, she’s no doubt holding onto a wine glass.

“Have lunch prepared, Cimsy,” Mother’s voice is cold, detached, and without inflection. It sends a shiver down his spine despite the order not being towards him.

“Right away, Mistress,” Cimsy says, snapping her fingers to apparate to the kitchens.

Mother sets down her glass with a clink then rises from her perch. She slowly turns to face him and Ominis feels her sharp eyes upon him. She flows towards him with soft steps and the air chills once she’s in front of him. He notices that she’s not as tall as she once was as she’s no longer able to loom over him. Instead, it appears he’s at least above eye level with her.

“Oh, my little Ominis,” she coos in a far warmer tone than earlier. The change has always jarred him, but he maintains a neutral expression - even when her cold hands cup either side of his cheeks.

She turns his head, examining him, “My, my, how you’ve grown into such a handsome young man.”

Her long fingers stroke through his hair - landing on the back of his neck to bring him into her embrace. Ominis is stiff in her arms as she places a kiss on the top of his head.

“I have missed you, my darling boy,” she whispers. The stench of tart wine fans across his face. Her strong perfume consumes the rest of his senses.

“I’ve missed your letters, my sweetling. Do you know how much worry and anguish I’ve been in? Do you even care?”

Ominis winces at her sweetly sharp tone, her nails threatening to rip into him. He replies as evenly as he can.

“I apologize, Mother. I didn’t mean to cause you distress. My coursework is quite demanding and it requires my full attention.”

Mother’s hands move to his shoulders, her nails digging into him as she yanks him out of her bosom. The heat of her glare prickles his skin and he does well in keeping his blank expression.

“‘Full attention’?! Are you saying I am not worthy of your ‘precious’ attention? After all I’ve sacrificed for you? After all I’ve done for you! This is how you repay my kindness? My love?” her voice wavers, signaling the beginning of tears starting to form.

Ominis swallows the lump in his throat, “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mother. I know you’ve done much for me. Which is why I’m here now.”

She tsk’s then seethes, “You’ve been running away from your duties. Your responsibilities. I have done everything for you. I have created a path that’s best for you, yet you continue to act like a juvenile. I never should’ve allowed you to go off to that school. It’s pulled you too much away from me.”

“Please, Mother,” he says calmly, “Hogwarts is what’s best for me. You said so yourself. If I’m to be truly worthy as your son, then I must be educated. You know this.”

Sensing her growing annoyance and rage, he quickly adds, “I’ve longed to be here with you, Mother. I… missed you. And I haven’t forgotten my duties. I’m trying to prepare for them - as to make you proud. I only want to be a worthy son to you, Mother.”

She’s silent, her hold on his shoulders relax and she shifts a hand up to cup his cheek once more. He remains stoic and still, suppressing the chills and discomfort behind clenched teeth.

“You’ve changed,” she coos while rubbing her thumb across his cheek. “For the better it seems. It’s good you’ve come to your senses. And for you to return home. Return to me.”

He can’t bring himself to force a smile, so he only nods, “Of course, Mother.”

Mother sighs, letting him go then taking his arm to lead him, “Come. Let us eat. I’m sure you’re starving.”

Ominis doesn’t fight her, he needs her. At least until he finds what he’s looking for. Until then, he’ll play the part he knows so well - the good, obedient son.

Arriving at the dining room, they sit across from one another while Cimsy brings out their meal. A bland watery broth wafts up to his nose along with the welcoming scent of warm, fresh bread.

“Cimsy!” Mother hisses. “Surely this must be a joke. You do have something else prepared.”

He hears Cimsy wring her hands together as she stammers, “C-Cimsy is deeply sorry, Mistress. Cimsy could o-only make this. Mistress did not give Cimsy enough to buy-,”

“Shut up!”

Cimsy silences immediately while his Mother fumes. Ominis grips his spoon tightly, wishing he could speak up. But, he remains silent.

“Leave us. I expect something more worthwhile at dinner,” Mother sneers.

Cimsy doesn’t hesitate to leave. Their meal is in silence, thankfully. Once it’s done, Ominis finally decides to ask,

“Mother, would it be alright if I were to read through some of the records in the archives?”

There’s a long silence and Ominis holds his tongue to keep from groveling. His true intentions are on full display and he worries he may have shown too much.

“Why?” She questions.

“It’s time I’ve learned more of our namesake and heritage. I want to continue family traditions,” he replies quickly with the excuse he’s been repeating in his head since he first arrived.

Another long silence, and his tongue is bleeding from his sharp teeth digging into the flesh.

“I’ve been looking forward to this day,” Mother beams as she stands. Ominis releases a breath, going to stand as she continues, “Our family history is one which many don’t have the privilege of knowing.”

She goes over to Ominis, gripping his arm again as she leads him to the library. He can’t deny his excitement, his curiosity. The implications of his ancestors having a connection to Ancient Magic would give him as many questions as answers. He wonders if his path was always meant to intertwine with his love’s. The thought troubles him - the idea of him and her fated to be together instead of wanting to be doesn’t sit well with him. That his actions up to this point have been meaningless as they were always meant to happen this way. He shoves the idea aside, not wishing to dwell on the possibility any longer.

Mother pulls him through the dusty library to the locked room at the back. She produces her key, the door softly unlocks then opens, and they head inside the musty room. Mother taps a glass object and he hears the soft humming of what he assumes to be lights. Despite not having been in the archives in some time, it’s exactly as he remembers it.

The archives is a long rectangular room, adorned with shelves, cabinets, and display cases. The air carries a faint scent of aged paper and taxidermy beasts - beasts that have long since been wiped to extinction. Framed portraits of ancestors, their watchful gazes keeping a vigil over the room, stare into Ominis. He can imagine the sneers of these portraits as the disapproving mumblings of his blindness reach his ears.

Along the walls, rows of sturdy wooden shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, neatly organized and laden with volumes of journals, diaries, and bound manuscripts. Cabinets with glass doors stand proudly, showcasing delicate heirlooms and cherished mementos. A silver pocket watch, a set of wands, and worn leather gloves are among the treasures preserved.

In the center of the room, a large oak table serves as a workspace, adorned with magnifying glasses, quills and ink, and carefully arranged parchment paper.

The room exudes a sense of order and purpose, meticulously sorted and organized through generations. If there is one thing the Gaunt’s pride themselves on - it’s their family heritage.

“Ah, where to begin?” Gliding around the room, her fingers dance along the spines of journals and tomes until she stops on one. She pulls it from the shelf and flips it open.

“Gormalith will be of interest to you,” she begins then dives right into reading a rather boring account of what Gormalith had for breakfast and the subsequent torture of the house elf which made him said breakfast.

Before she can continue, Ominis interjects, “I was hoping I could find a certain time frame.”

Mother stares at him, shutting the book with a huff, “And what time frame would that be, Ominis?”

“I was thinking upon it the other day, and I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with any of our history during the 15th century.”

He can feel her brow raise, but she hums as she heads to the other side of the room. He follows, and notes when she lingers on a certain row of books.

“I doubt a boy your age would be interested in that era,” Mother dismisses then heads towards another shelf. “You would be far more pressed to know about Aron and his exploits in the east. In fact, he was able to capture a Ceasg during his voyage across the North Sea.”

Ominis’ brows pinch, but he suppresses his aggravation with a stiff nod, “If that’s what you believe is best.”

Mother continues to read to him about the accounts of his ancestors, and Ominis nods along - his mind drifting to the one row which she lingered at. As the afternoon shifts to evening, Ominis senses his mother growing bored of the history lesson.

“We should check on Cimsy to ensure dinner is being prepared,” she shuts the diary and grabs onto his arm.

“I wouldn’t mind staying here for a moment longer,” Ominis states then quickly adds, “If that’s alright.”

Her grip on his arm tightens, “You shouldn’t be in here by yourself, my sweetling.”

“I can handle myself,” he replies far too sharply. Her nails dig into him to confirm as much. “Besides, I’m utterly fascinated by our family heritage.”

“Ominis-,”

“You were saying I’ve been neglecting my duties,” he says as calmly as he can. “Perhaps this is the best way for me to understand my place. To appreciate the path you’ve set out for me, and understand my role in our family.”

Another long pause makes his shoulders tense.

She has a light, amused laugh before she places a kiss on his cheek, “Oh, my curious little boy. Very well, I’ll leave you to it,” she places the key into his palm. “Lock up when you’re done. I’ll have Cimsy come fetch you when dinner is ready.”

Mother leaves, and Ominis lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He stuffs the key into his pocket then heads quickly over to the shelf he’s been dying to investigate all day. He grabs as many journals as he can carry and takes them to the oak table. Plopping down into the worn leather chair, he begins to skim through the diaries.

According to what his love told him, Isidora would’ve been at Hogwarts in her youth around the 1450’s with the latest dates being before 1500 - when she became a professor. He grimaces at how wide of a year range that leaves him, but she also mentioned Headmistress Fitzgerald serving Hogwarts during that time frame. Rackham, Rookwood, and Bakar were also names he could search for. Hopefully, that’ll be enough for him to go on.

He’s barely made it through the first diary when Cimsy informs him of dinner being ready. Ominis is reluctant to leave, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. As he heads back to the dining room, he stops at his room - free from prying eyes. He takes out the archives key and conjures a duplicate. Satisfied, he hides the key in his desk then heads to dinner.

The air in the dining room is tense, and Ominis pauses for a moment as he enters the room. His father is at the head of the table while his mother is sat next to him. Ominis is hesitant as he takes his place across from his mother. The stench of scented smoke and tobacco emanates from his father. Some things truly haven’t changed, Ominis muses to himself.

Cimsy summons forth their dinner, a roast with potatoes and carrots, then she refills his mother and father’s drinks.

Ominis isn’t unfamiliar with the tense atmosphere - especially if his father is near - but it unsettles him all the same. The quiet clanking of their silver utensils hitting the fine china and chewing is the only noises to be heard. Ominis tries his best to not look like he’s rushing to finish eating, but he longs to leave this dinner.

“It seems you received a letter today,” Mother says in a low voice.

Fear clasps around his throat before he tilts his head with feign surprise, “Oh? From who?”

Paper rustles and tears, sending his heart beating frantically in his chest.

“Dearest Ominis,” Mother begins with a terse frown lacing her voice, “I hope you arrived safely. I miss you already. I hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely yours.”

Ominis lets out a quiet breath, thankful she did not write anything too sweet to him.

“Who is this?” Mother questions.

“A friend from school,” Ominis replies with no hesitation.

More rustling of paper as Mother re-reads the letter once again.

“And this friend,” Mother draws out, “who are they?”

“Just a friend. Nothing more,” Ominis counters.

“Friends do not write, ‘I miss you already’.”

Ominis can’t help his smirk, “Perhaps not yours.”

Mother scoffs, igniting the letter on fire - the smoke reaching his nose and making him scowl.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it? This friend?” Mother hisses. “Tell me, are you involved with her?”

“I’ve already said, she’s a friend. Nothing more. I don’t know what else you wish me to say on the matter. I can’t control what she writes. Perhaps she does hold some infatuation with me, but I do not return the affection,” Ominis clenches his jaw, his hand gripping on to his pants.

He hates it. The lies. But, he can’t afford to argue with Mother. Not when he’s only just started his search.

“She’s a Mudblood, isn’t she? It’s why you aren’t telling me her name,” Mother states. “Filthy things. I’m not surprised one is trying so hard to cling to you. She probably sees you as her only real way to any sort of status.”

He sits straighter, suppressing his anger at his mother’s vulgarity, “No. She’s not of pure standing, so you know I have no real interest in her.”

“You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Mudbloods in the first place,” Father’s deep, grating voice interjects with disapproval lacing his words. “Even speaking of them is enough to ruin my appetite.”

“Your father is right. Why are you writing to a Mudblood?” Mother demands. “She’s not worth your time. Not when there are plenty of others you would do well to correspond with.”

“She… has connections,” Ominis states. “Connections I require.”

“What sort of connections? What connections could a lowly half-breed possibly offer you that I cannot provide?” Mother’s voice raises with every word.

“Does it matter? Shouldn’t you be pleased that I’m at least capable of forming connections on my own?” Ominis hates how quickly he’s rising to her goading. But he can’t stop himself. “With how things are going here, it’s a wonder you aren’t praising me for finding anyone willing to associate with us.”

“Do not speak to me that-,”

“Enough!” Father’s voice booms as he slams his hand down on the table - rattling all the dishes. “I grow weary of this discussion and your disrespect. Leave!”

Ominis doesn’t need further prompting and he quickly rises from his chair. Before he can fully leave, his mother’s voice calls out.

“Leave the key.”

He sighs, going through his pockets to produce the duplicate, and slams it at the end of the dining table. Then he quickly retreats to his room. As soon as the door shuts, he falls back against the door with a heavy breath.

He wishes this was the first time a dinner had gone sourly, but alas it isn’t - and it won’t be the last. The dusty smell from earlier has faded and he catches the faintest aroma of clean sheets. Oh Cimsy, he smiles to himself. She does too much for him.

Pushing himself off the door, he heads to his desk to write to his love - since going to the archives now would be risky. The stationary in the top drawer is slick under his fingers, and he enchants the quill to begin writing.

He lays in bed, waiting as time moves slowly by. He hopes to leave soon to continue his reading. With his siblings being mercifully absent, he can somewhat relax as he waits. His mind drifts to her. What might she be up to? He focuses on her, and he senses her worry, concern, and anticipation.

Turning to his side, he reaches out in a vain attempt to feel her next to him - to comfort her. She voiced her displeasure of him going as he left, and her concerns were valid. But, he’s tired of sitting idly by as she wrestles with this Ancient Magic on her own.

The tips of his fingers warm and, for a moment, it’s like she’s touching him back. In his mind’s eyes, he can picture the dip in the bed of her laying next to him - facing him with a soft smile as he traces her face. Despite having just been with her, it feels like they’ve been apart for too long.

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he whispers. “I promise I’m fine, and I’ll return to you soon.”

Feather light touches brush along his cheek and comb through his hair. A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine, and the pull of sleep starts to draw him deeper into her phantom caresses. With a sigh, he reluctantly gets up from the bed and heads to the archives.

Sneaking towards the library is a feat he’s done numerous times. He has all the portraits which would rat him out mapped, and since he doesn’t require the aid of light he can stay hidden in the dark the whole time. Once in the archives, he continues reading the journal from earlier.

He repeats this process over the course of the week, growing more and more frustrated as the days pass. Navigating his mother and dealing with the forced dinners is exhausting enough, but reading through the mundane, sadistic ramblings of his ancestors is a form of torture in itself. He barely sleeps, not that he has any desire to in this place.

Since the letter, Mother has felt it apt for him to truly understand why Mudbloods are ‘lower, primitive beings’. These ‘lessons’ are enough to bring him to the edge. He’s nearly voiced his displeasure on several occasions, if not for the reminder that he hasn’t found what he’s looking for yet. And if he were to go against his mother now, then everything would have been for nought. So, he remains silent, letting his mother prattle on.

He gets a brief solace when Mother is ‘too tired to deal with him’, allowing him to roam about without her watchful gaze. It’s in these moments he retreats to the gardens - overgrown and dying - and he naps in his secluded spot behind the bushes under the gnarly tree.

It’s another late night as he flips through the pages of Amphelisia’s diary, finding her accounts to mirror his own in terms of schooling. It’s during her Fifth Year that things get interesting.

I can’t believe the events that transpired today. By my troth, a student joined Hogwarts as a Fifth Year! Completely unheard of. I didn’t hear her name over Mathias’ prattling, but she was sorted into Ravenclaw. Tragic really, as I would’ve been keen on observing her.

How could someone be admitted into Hogwarts so late - is the question on everyone’s lips. I’m determined to find out more anon.

Ominis nearly rips the page as he quickly turns it to find out more. He skims through the entries until a familiar name jumps out at him.

Isidora Morganach is by far the most ghastly, presumptuous girl I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Not only does she have all the professors charmed, but she has most of the class absolutely enamored. Methinks it’s because she’s new, and, similar to a two-headed beast, she’s a spectacle.

But the final insult was when we had our mock duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts today. She swiftly dispatched my Protego charm as if I didn’t even have it up then she knocked me off the platform. The entire class laughed. LAUGHED! At me! I shan't forget this.

He can’t believe it. He’s finally found mentions of Isidora. He continues his reading until another entry strikes his interest.

Isidora may have her uses after all. In Transfiguration, I struggled with the conjuration of a simple cup. Meanwhile, Isidora had no issue conjuring her own. Before Professor Rookwood could see, Isidora conjured a cup right on my desk. Professor Rookwood was so impressed with me, he used ‘my cup’ as an example for the rest of the class. Perhaps, befriending her may be advantageous to me.

A few entries later, he finds mentions of Amphelisia showing the Undercroft to Isidora as their own private hideaway. He grins as he reads over their growing, albeit reluctant, friendship. But as he finishes the diary, there’s no mention of Ancient Magic. Amphelisia comments on Isidora being gifted in magic, with her spells being quite powerful, but Isidora never discloses the nature of it to Amphelisia.

Ominis searches the shelves, summoning down more of Amphelisia’s dairies. He knows the hour is growing later - with the morning soon upon him - but he’s close. He has to be. It isn’t until Amphelisia is a young woman when Isidora is mentioned again.

I received the strangest owl today. My old friend, Isidora, wrote to me. The contents of the letter were somewhat troubling, but she insisted we meet. I shall see what she wants, and I pray it isn’t a waste of time.

The next entry makes him scowl.

Isidora gave me a book of some kind. Locked, and I have no way of opening it despite my best efforts. Always the clever one. I’m tempted to throw it away as burning it does nothing.

The rest of Amphelisia’s diary makes no mention of Isidora’s book, nor what she decided to do with it. Ominis paces the room, scanning the shelves for any signs of this possible journal. He frowns - cursing Amphelisia for possibly throwing away the one clue he desperately needed. Collapsing in the leather chair, Ominis debates about continuing his reading or leaving. He taps his wand in thought when a familiar vibration makes him pause.

His breath catches in his throat as he turns his wand towards the source. It’s… just like hers. He scrambles from his seat, rushing towards the vibration at the corner. Throwing open the cabinet door, he pulls out the boxes until he’s able to reach the one he’s needing. He tears his way into the box, shoving aside the various knick knacks and trinkets until his whole arm shoots up with magical sparks.

There, in his hand, is a journal. He slowly picks it up and cradles the leather-bound journal in both of his hands as if it were a delicate, priceless jewel. He laughs, almost manically. This is it. It had to be.

Footsteps approach the door to the archive and Ominis can’t spare any more time in rejoicing. He shoves the journal into his coat pocket then he grabs a random object in the box to hold.

The door flies open and Mother storms inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She exclaims as she strides over to where he is.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Mother?” His reply is calm and level.

She stands above him and snarls, “It looks like you’ve made a mess of things in here.”

Ominis places the artifact he’s holding into the box and rises up. He’s practically eye level with her and he doesn’t back down from her scornful gaze. He feels her take a step back.

“H-How did you even get in here?” She questions in a quiet voice.

“I made a copy of the key, obviously,” he replies with a smirk.

“You…,” she falls silent. “You… insolent little child!”

The air parts and the sound of skin hitting skin rings in the air. His cheek blooms in a heated flame and he registers the pain which accompanies it. He turns his head back towards her, unphased.

“If you’re done, I’ll take my leave,” he says in an eerily calm tone.

He doesn’t wait, but instead brushes past her and heads out of the room. He hears her calling his name, but her cries fall on deaf ears. Once in his room, he’s quick to write to his love - informing her of his finding and his soon to be departure. His hand shakes as he commands the quill to write, giddy to be with her once again. As soon as his owl takes flight, it doesn’t take him long to have his bag packed.

Before he leaves the room, he goes back to his desk. So many memories, tucked away - and likely to be burned once he leaves. He sits back at the desk, reaching into the drawer to find the protruding piece of wood. He opens the secret compartment to grab what he’s kept hidden for so long.

He holds the ring delicately in his fingers. The cold metal is intricate with stones inlaid within the band to accent the well-sized jewel at the center. He’s sure it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry. A frown comes over him at having left it here in the first place. Aunt Noctua gave it to him before she left - believing he needed an heirloom for himself since he was bound to not receive any.

Aunt Noctua made him promise to keep it safe. At the time, he was so angry with her leaving him that he threw it in the garden. Cimsy was the one to place the ring on his desk one afternoon, polished and clean of dirt. He hid it in the desk after. Feeling over the ring, a smile starts to form on his lips. He tucks the ring into his pocket then he’s out of his room.

It’s Cimsy which awaits him in the main entryway. He makes out her figure hunched over, scrubbing at the floors. Cimsy looks up to him and stops her cleaning efforts.

“Oh, young Master,” her eyes drift over him and she gasps. “A-Are you leaving? So soon?”

Ominis sets his suitcase down and kneels down to be closer to the house elf.

He nods, “I’m afraid I am. I’ve… gotten what I came here for. And I don’t know when I’ll return. If… I’ll return,” he sighs. “I never gave you a proper goodbye last time, Cimsy. I would like to give you one now.”

He holds out his hands and Cimsy places her wrinkled ones in his. He holds her hands with a soft smile.

“You’ve always been kind to me, Cimsy. Thank you. For all you do. And I wish you the best,” he whispers.

Cimsy squeezes his hands, “Cimsy lives to serve the Masters of the Gaunt family. Cimsy is proud of the young Master. Cimsy… wishes you well, young Master.”

Ominis squeezes her hands once more before he stands. He grips his suitcase and wand.

“Goodbye, Cimsy,” he says as he heads towards the grand double door.

Just as he flicks his wand to open the door, frantic footsteps rush towards him.

“Ominis!” Mother practically cries. “Y-You’re leaving? You’re leaving me!?”

Ominis feels the breeze of the mid-morning air hitting his face. The sun is just out of his reach.

“I am,” he says without turning to face her.

“But, you can’t leave me, Ominis. You need me,” she sobs loudly, the sounds twisting his heart. “If it was because of earlier, I’m sorry. But, you know better than to make such a mess! And to sneak in without my permission-, you’ve never been so disobedient! What was I to do?”

“I know. And I apologize for doing such,” he states flatly. “But, my time here is done.”

“No!” Mother hisses as she snags his arm, her nails digging into his flesh through is clothes. “You don’t get to decide when you’re done. You have duties to fulfill. Obligations and responsibilities. You are my son!”

Ominis closes his eyes, sighing to himself with pinched brows. He turns his head towards his mother.

“I’m leaving. And you can’t stop me.”

Yanking himself free, his first step forward is met with her sharp gasp, then the next is a wailing sob, but once he’s in the sun he’s all but free. Going down the steps, Mother cries out.

“Ominis! Ominis!” Mother’s voice is all but a screeching wail, and it sends shivers down his spine at how angry and desperate she sounds. “You can’t leave me! You need me! I love you. I’m the only one who loves you! My little boy! Come back to me! Don’t do this to me, Ominis!”

Ominis can’t stop smiling. There was a time when he believed her words to be true - that no one would ever truly love him. But now, he knows it to be nothing more than empty words meant to chain him. And as he steps through the gate, the weight of those chains all but fall as he continues towards the ones who truly love him.

-------------------------------

BONUS

She’s putting up the dishes from breakfast when a letter lands on the table. A notable Slytherin crest seal gets her attention. Nearly shattering the plates as she drops them, she rips it open. She’s just reached the end when Sebastian calls out.

“It’s Ominis!”

She’s out the door, finding him walking towards the shop with a bright grin on his face.

“Ominis!” She grins as she rushes towards him.

“Good morning, my-,”

He’s nearly tackled to the ground by her as she throws herself into him. Her arms wrap around his neck and he laughs as he drops his suitcase to embrace her.

“I missed you,” she whispers in his ear, making him hold her tighter.

“And I you,” he whispers back.

She slowly releases him, her hands cupping his face, “Oh, Ominis. You look exhausted.”

Worry bubbles in his chest - stemming from her. He holds her hands, an action he’s been dying to do since he left, and he smiles.

“I’m alright. I promise.”

“Ah, there’s the heroic knight, back from his adventure,” Sebastian grins as he joins them. “Well, have you come back with anything?”

She releases him and steps back while Ominis reaches into his jacket pocket. Producing the journal, she gasps.

“It’s… glowing,” she whispers.

“It is?” Sebastian questions.

“It’s protected by Ancient Magic. It’s how I found it in the first place,” Ominis states as he hands the journal to her.

“Wait, you found it because of the Ancient Magic?” Sebastian wonders. “Does that mean you can ‘see’ it like she can?”

“I believe I may be able to sense Ancient Magic, yes.”

The journal clicks open and she looks up to Ominis with wide eyes, “Amazing. I… I’m happy you were able to find something.”

Ominis gives her a warm smile, but his tired eyes only make her frown. She grabs his hand, motioning for Sebastian to take the suitcase.

“Here, come inside. Are you hungry? I can make you something. Then you should rest,” she says while tugging him inside.

“I wouldn’t mind some toast and tea. Then a nap wouldn’t hurt.”

Ominis sits at the kitchen table, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it filters through the window. He hears her as she bustles about the quaint kitchen, bringing him toast, eggs, and fruit along with his tea. He laughs to himself, but he can’t say he doesn’t mind the attention. Once he’s eaten he heads to her room upstairs, barely able to change himself out of his clothes into something more comfortable before collapsing.

His eyes are heavy, and the soft knock at the door startles him.

“Come in,” he says.

She steps into the room, walking towards him as the door shuts softly behind her, “Is there anything I can get you?”

He chuckles, “No, my dear, I’m quite alright,” he turns towards her then holds out his hand, “But, I wouldn’t mind if you laid with me. At least, until I fall asleep.”

She doesn’t hesitate to take his hand and she crawls into bed to lay next to him. Her lips are on his in another second, and he hums in both surprise and approval. His fingers are quick to tangle in her hair and he smiles into her eager kisses. When they part, it’s a soft sigh. He traces over her cheek with a warm smile.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“And I missed you. Terribly,” she whispers just as quietly back. Her fingers brush his hair from his temple and he closes his eyes at the gentle touch. “I love you.”

A thrill shoots up his spine and his brows pinch. He opens his eyes to direct them towards her.

“Can you… say that again?”

She lets out a gentle laugh, kissing his cheek, “I love you, Ominis.”

A whimper escapes his lips and he presses his forehead to hers, brushing their noses together.

“I could go on about all the things I love about you, Ominis,” she strokes his cheek with a smile, “Shall I tell you?”

What his words could not say, his pleading eyes did.

“I love your smile,” she says while kissing the corner of his lips, “I love your gentle touch,” she kisses his palm, “I love your laugh, and sweet voice,” she kisses his neck, making him gasp, “I love your heart - your kindness and compassion.”

She drifts back up to his face, which is now flushed in a beautiful pink hue.

“I love your intelligence. Your quick and clever mind,” she kisses his forehead then she lingers just above his lips. “But, most of all, I love how you see me. You love me, for me. You accept me as I am, and encourage me to become better. You see all my flaws, and you still choose to love me. With you, I feel seen.”

He kisses her, his passion coming fully forward. Little whimpers and gasps escape him at her matching his intensity. As their tongues tangle and their breaths grow heavy, he hopes this will be enough to convey how much she means to him.

They slowly part once more with soft smiles and heated faces. He tucks her hair behind her ear, finding the warmth of her closeness slowly lulling him to sleep.

She lets out a content sigh, “Get some rest, handsome.”

Feeling her warmth next to him, it’s easy for him to fall asleep.

------------------------------

They wake up from their nap still tangled in each other’s embrace. The afternoon sun begins to shine into the room, and Ominis tells her of how he found Isidora’s journal.

“As it turns out, my ancestor was indeed friends with Isidora. She thought it odd that someone would arrive at Hogwarts during their Fifth year. Remind you of someone?” Ominis grins.

She laughs, “It seems some things never change,” her brows pinch as she hums in thought. “I suppose even us… to a certain extent. Perhaps meeting each other may not have been an accident at all.”

Her fingers play with his hair in deep thought and she finally whispers,

“Do you believe us to be soul mates? That we were destined to be together?”

Ominis frowns for a moment then shakes his head.

“No. I don’t.”

Her eyes widen, but he continues before she can say anything.

“To be bound by fate, means that we were always destined to be together. That we didn’t get a choice in whether or not to love each other,” he states with a growing smile. “But, I choose to be with you. Me. Not fate, nor destiny. It’s because I choose to love you, and you me. And, I would choose you every time.”

Tears well in her eye for a moment before she giggles, “I’m glad to be chosen by you then. For I choose you too.”

He kisses her and smiles against her lips, “And I’m grateful to be considered yours.”

Ominis sighs, the last of his worries melting away in her warmth. He’s thankful to be here - with her.

His home.

--------------

AN: Well... this took forever. But I really wanted to capture the tensions and the 'walking on eggshells' feeling of Ominis trying to navigate around his mother. Idk, i tried lol. Also the bonus is just lil thoughts i had after the fact but I didn't want to expand on them any further than what I had so figured why not just add it to this one LOL

But, yeah I think that wraps up my 5th year stuff. I'll probs post some oneshots/6th year stuff as im writing the BIG 7th year project.

Also, I'm almost at 400 followers which is wild to think about. Was thinking about maybe doing something for it -> but idk what. any ideas would be appreciated <3

Thanks again for reading and feedback is always welcomed <3

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lostmyremembrall · 1 year

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Hiii!! First I wanted to say I absolutely LOVE your writing. You're so slayyy. And secondly I've never requested anything before so I don't really know how this works but I was wondering if you could maybe make a tom riddle x gryffindor reader?? Maybe??? You don't have to obviously but like yea

𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓐 𝓛𝓲𝓸𝓷

Tom Riddle x Gryffindor! Reader Genre: Romance, Hurt&Comfort

Summary: Driven by fear and rage, the muggleborn Head Girl is just about ready to do anything to fight back the pureblood supremacy. When you flee to the Astronomy Tower for some peace, you're comforted by the last person you expected.

Warning: Discussion of discrimination.

"Instead, the boy that stood in front of you captured you with his tender eyes, tussles of his black hair blowing in the wind and occasionally covering those chestnut eyes. The eyes that understood your every turmoil, every regret, every fear and wrath."

Things have really changed at Hogwarts. All of a sudden, it seemed that everyone in the castle lived in either fear or hatred.

You knew about pureblood supremacy, but you never thought it would actually cross the English channel, into Hogwarts. Nobody thought it would.

It was as if some gas has spread to everyone’s mind, clouding one’s judgement.

Every muggleborn was in danger at this time, but as a muggleborn Head Girl who superseded every pureblooded girl clawing to share the title with Tom Riddle jr., you had to say things weren’t roses and rainbows.

“Y/L/N!”

You jumped, dropping your school satchel in the process. It was loud enough to scare other students as well. Your eyes frantically searched around you. You caught a crowd of Lestranges and Blacks who had just come out of the same Charms class, staring at you, snickering. ‘It was only a shout,’ one of them shrugged to the other.

Your eyes fell, swallowing the curses and swears. Instead, you crouched down to pick up your bag. Cognisant of the students that had gathered around you, the attention that you were attracting, you resumed to quickly put away the things into your satchel.

It wasn’t long before you felt a presence behind you. You swallowed hard. Your palms grew sweaty. The sound of your breathing abnormally loud in your ears.

“Mudblood.”

You felt a puff of air on your neck, causing you to jump again. You staggered up to your feet. Your fearful eyes caught a blond, hunched over and cackling at the sight of you running. It was a blur. But it didn’t make a difference. You knew it was one of the pureblooded Slytherin scums and all you wanted at the moment was to flee the probing and curious eyes. You started running, not even bothering with the school satchel that you were leaving behind.

Things have really changed at Hogwarts, you ground your teeth in bitterness.

You ran up the long stairs to the Astronomy Tower, eager to leave the suffocating air behind.

Maybe it was you who changed. You certainly did not feel like a Gryffindor anymore.

The great view of the mountains of Scotland revealed itself to you, stretching to what seemed like infinity. You took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air, steadying your heartbeat. The wind was cold up here, but the warm sunlight indicated the coming of spring.

You gasped and turned on your heels at the quiet approaching sound of a footstep.

It was the Head Boy, who had appeared from behind the steps, his hands raised in an attempt to coax you, signalling to you ‘it’s just me’.

You heaved a sigh, feeling your chest hammering underneath your palm. “You scared me,” you breathed out.

The corners of his lips slightly stirred amusedly. “Why would the lioness be afraid of me?” He turned his teasing eyes towards you.

You huffed frustratingly. You really weren’t in the mood for his jokes. Your eyes wandered away from him, to the faraway mountains. One wayward owl had gone off of the rest from the owlery, fleeing this wretched place.

Riddle was patient in waiting for you. Only walking up to the railings next to you and fully turning his head to look at you.

“I still think about her, you know.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, your eyes flickering down to the Great Lake underneath you. The pale hand that dropped out from underneath the white cotton. The true terror and shock hidden behind her glasses. The wailing parents.

It wasn’t an answer to his question. But you didn’t mind. It seemed that Riddle didn’t either. He took in a long breath as he leaned backwards, his arms extended to the rail to support his weight.

“We need to move on, Y/L/N,” he murmured.

You turned to look at him. You watched him blink slowly up at the sky.

“No, Riddle,” your eyes narrowed, steely, conscientious of where this conversation was heading. “What we need to do is do better.”

You looked down at your hands. “We were given a responsibility, you and I,” you mumbled so quietly that you may as well have been conversing with yourself.

You felt Riddle’s eyes on your profile. Ready to open his mouth any moment to tell you myriads of ways in which you weren’t fulfilling the said responsibility. And you wouldn’t have been able to argue with him. Ever since the incident – ‘the accident’ Dippet liked to call–, your productivity has fallen. You were less focused on Heads meetings. You were less available to the younger prefects that needed you. 'Come down from the clouds, lioness,' Riddle often taunted.

“You’ve done enough, Y/N.”

Riddle’s soft voice brought you out of your stupor. You raised your head in disbelief, doubting your ears. That was one sentiment you hadn’t expected from the impatient Head Boy. Not to mention it was the first time he called you by your–. By your…

As if to acknowledge your shock, Riddle gave a few pats on your arm. The pat that always seemed patronising felt real this time. Genuine.

“We can’t punish ourselves forever, you know,” he breathed out, his stern eyes surveying the distance.

You blinked several times, processing his words, observing the boy in front of you as he turned to you again, gauging your reaction. It was as if you were meeting him for the first time. At least, he wasn’t the usual, snarky, cynic intent on proving himself at every opportunity.

Instead, the boy that stood in front of you captured you with his tender eyes, tussles of his black hair blowing in the wind and occasionally covering those chestnut eyes. The eyes that understood your every turmoil, every regret, every fear and wrath.

After months of persistent belief that Tom Riddle was your archnemesis, the belief was dispelled within those mere few seconds, leaving you to wonder that, at this moment, he may have been the only person in the entire school who truly understood you.

“I know,” you found yourself whispering, staring up at the man in front of you who was capable of showing a surprising level of empathy.

Riddle’s piercing eyes returned your gaze as he pulled himself tighter against the wind. “I know what you’re planning, Y/N,” he dismissed the idea with a shake of his head, “It’s not going to work.”

“And?” you heard yourself responding as you finally managed to pull yourself out of the daze. “What am I planning?”

Riddle allowed a small smile to appear on his lips. “I know you, lioness,” he sighed.

“Barge into Dippet’s office. Demand protective measures. More patrols. More prefects,” he counted on his fingers.

Riddle’s smirk widened seeing you grow annoyed at every word. “Did I read you correctly?”

You scoffed, refusing to meet his knowing smirk. “More or less,” you admitted after a while. “Assaulting them won’t be a bad idea either,” you added.

Riddle’s smirk grew wider, shaking his head. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” he murmured, causing your face to sour.

But, the amusement was quick to disappear behind his cautionary, sombre eyes strained on you. “You’d come under fire. The parents. The board,” he continued, more seriously this time. “Expulsion, Y/L/N. Expulsion.”

You thumbed your palm, watching it leave the skin lighter in its trail before the blood rushed back in. Your expulsion would truly put the nail in the coffin of many muggleborns. You knew he was right. As always.

Had it been the usual Heads meeting, you may have conceded. But, it was different this time. It wasn’t which band to call for the Holiday Soiree. It wasn’t who to pair up for the prefect patrols.

You thought back to the snickers and sneers of the Lestranges, Blacks, and Malfoys.

The bullying that was escalating. The assaults that were becoming a normal, public occurrence. A literal blood-thirsty beast roaming the corridors of Hogwarts.

No, you’d rather roar and get expelled than cower in fear. You couldn’t call yourself a Gryffindor otherwise.

“I have to try,” you gripped your hands together. “If an expulsion’s all it takes.” Feeling your heart sink at the fact that you were fighting this battle alone. No matter how much you raged and protested at the injustice, Riddle was not going to join.

“We don’t always need to jump into the fire, you know,” in its one last nudge, Riddle’s voice had grown quiet, even tired– to what seemed like an insinuation of the volume of the work he had to handle as the sole Head.

Yet, behind those stirrings of sympathy, his eyes were still telling of the undeniably fucked up truth behind all this. Dippet has moved on. The majority of the students had forgotten about the girl named Myrtle Warren.

His eyes urged you: Why shouldn’t we?

Your eyes grew hard in response, intuiting the intent behind his sympathy. “We shouldn’t,” you spoke, your voice coming out stronger and more determined than you expected. “We can’t just forget about her– and the countless other muggleborns.”

“What could we do?” Riddle shook his head slowly, his eyes wandering back and forth as if searching for the answer. “Us. Students.”

You felt your breathing quickening. You didn’t like his tone – as if he’d already given up before trying. Your grip tightened against the rail. “Us,” you corrected Riddle, “the Heads. Surely that gives our voice some weight.”

“We are moving on,” he murmured, his voice determined, emphasising each syllable. It was no longer a suggestion. It was a command.

“It’s the right thing to do,” you mirrored his tone. Your eyes growing cold as steel as they glared up at him.

You didn’t miss his irritated sigh. ‘You Gryffindors with your righteousness,’ he breathed out under his breath, as if it was an inconvenience.

“He won’t listen,” he retorted, revolving on his heels away from you.

“He’d listen to you,” you replied immediately.

“We never saw eye to eye.” You turned around to face him who was now pacing around the large orrery. “We disagreed on every possible thing this past year. And I know I’m asking for a lot. But I’m begging you.”

Riddle gave out an exasperated sigh, turning his head to look at you. From in between the planets, you caught a glance of his eyes. You never liked that look. It was a look of contempt. Annoyance boiling underneath the mask of nonchalance. Maybe even pity. That you weren’t sharp enough to keep up with his thoughts. “There is a time to be smart about things,” he said, as he continued to pace, “This is it.”

“Time?” you couldn’t help but spread your arms at the sheer ridiculousness of his argument. “Time?” you asked again, “if you hadn’t noticed, Tom Riddle, our prefects reported that assaults are at an all-time high. There’s a literal beast hunting us down,” you jabbed a finger towards the stairs. “We’re way past the time to be taking an action, if you ask me.”

Riddle raised his eyes to the heavens. As if he was pleading to the gods. But, you knew him well enough to tell that he was actually cursing them for forcing him to work with you.

“I pray to dear Merlin– You’re not naive enough to believe you can actually make a difference,” he bellowed, taking steps towards you.

“So,” you crossed your arms. “We’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

Riddle was no longer hiding his anger as he towered over you. His eyes had grown stormy, his breathing ragged, agitated, making for an intimidating visage. “Precisely,” he seethed through his gritted teeth that resembled the sneers of Lestranges and Blacks too much for your comfort.

“You snakes,” you pushed his chest away, fury overtaking you. “Do you guys ever care anything besides yourselves–,” your gasp stopped you from finishing the sentence. You bit on your lips, just realising the venomous words that were leaving them.

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, taking a step back. You wondered how it escalated so quickly to this boiling point. At one point, you even remembered the conversation being somewhat pleasant.

You busied yourself with kneading your hands together. You looked down at the hands that pushed Riddle so harshly. You didn’t know what came over you.

You stole a quick glance up at him. Riddle had now sat down on the curb of the railings and seemed to have grown a sudden interest in the wrinkles of his robe. As he leaned forward, his face grew shielded from your sight. Unreadable and distant.

You furrowed. It was a wonder why Tom Riddle jr. bothered to chase after you in the first place, climb those long steps up the tower, and stay with you. His back, however, did not reveal anything.

Moments of silence have passed before you found the courage to part your lips again. “Why do you care?”

Riddle raised his head, meeting your eyes. A flash of realisation crossed his eyes at your question. You waited as he pondered, the locks of your hair hitting your cheeks in the breeze. Riddle leaned back at the rails, squinting slightly in the sunray that caught his eyes.

“I believe it’s been my duty to stop you from doing anything reckless,” he murmured. “I’ve succeeded thus far; I intend to see it through the year.”

A hint of an amused smile managed to show through in the corners of his lips. You felt your own mirroring in your response. But, his smile only lasted for a moment as he furrowed in contemplation.

“I suppose…” he narrowed his eyes at his pale hands that had grown pale in the cold, as if the true reason was to be found in the lines of his palm. “It’s because I need your help.”

His voice grew resolute as he stood up. “I need my Head Girl by my side, Y/N,” he emphasised the word Head Girl. Not a lioness. “Safe and functioning.”

You glanced up at him. You were surprised to find his eyes desperate, almost pleading. Begging you to move on. Begging you to return to reality, and bear the burden of facing the present and the responsibility that came with it.

“I can't, Riddle,” you shook your head, feeling your eyes burning. “I hate not being brave.” You drew in a sharp breath, quickly biting down on your lips as you gazed at your reddened hands. It stung even more, picturing the Head Boy emerge out of the same Charms classroom to find you fleeing from his Slytherin friends.

Riddle nodded, seemingly intuiting what you meant. “In my opinion, Y/N,” he hesitantly bit his lips before continuing, “Expulsion is the least brave course of action.”

There was a pang in your heart at his statement that rang true. “But–,” your desperate eyes suddenly turned to his, searching them in hopes that it was enough to convince him– or yourself. “But, I need to do something. They hate me to shreds and I’m–,” you gasped, noticing Riddle’s eyes boring into your reddened eyes.

You quickly turned away. You opened your mouth, debating whether to continue, before closing your mouth again. “I’m afraid of it, Tom,” you admitted, not even realising that you had called him by his first name.

“And…” dejection welled up in your heart at the thought of Malfoys and Lestranges, whom you grew up with, studied with, and rode the boat with to Hogwarts for the first time in fascination and awe.

“And I’m not sure what I did to deserve it,” you whispered, tears threatening to break loose.

Riddle heaved a long sigh, casting a steely gaze towards the horizon, yet not really looking at the sun that was starting to sink. “It takes very little for a human to hate another, I’m afraid,” he murmured somberly.

You only responded in suppressed sobs, warranting a surprised look from Riddle as the tears started to run freely. You refused to meet his eyes, biting down on your lips so hard in hopes that the pain will help you stop all this emotion from spilling over. You drew in a shaky breath, thankful that at least strands of your hair shielded you from his curious eyes.

All of this, Riddle watched in silence. His eyes wavering back and forth helplessly at a girl breaking down in front of him. Unbreakable and unbending was what you always were. A lioness that roared.

But, what stood in front of him was not just a Gryffindor. Riddle watched your shoulders shake, intent on burying all the emotions within your frame. The transparent drops continued to fall on your hands that gripped the railing. You looked a lot smaller than usual, like this.

Perhaps, you’ve always been something more than just a coat of gold and red. But a person– breakable and bendable just like others. Perhaps, Riddle wondered, you’ve been broken for a long time.

Without a word, Riddle heaved a sigh and revealed a satchel that slung from his left shoulder, rendered completely invisible until just now with his robe. He handed it to you. It was yours: your initials written on the white label on the inside. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “about my friends.”

You took the satchel. Besides that, Riddle did not say much. It was as if he was afraid to speak, his eyes flickering to you every once in a while to survey you through his long lashes, biting down on his lip, mulling over his thoughts. He just stood next to you patiently, waiting. It wasn’t a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold onto. Yet, somehow, the Slytherin Head Boy, whom you fought so often and to some degree despised, was a comforting presence.

Eventually, your sobs melted away and your breathing calmed. You turned towards the sunset, squinting at the sun and letting it dry your tears. His eyes lingered on your profile before joining you. It was beautiful. The clouds that rolled up the rough terrain. Their skin bathed in gold. It was an escape from reality. A pause in time that you wished would last forever– just you and Tom, watching the sun go down.

It was comforting to watch the mountains with Tom Riddle jr.

“There is no good and evil, Y/N,” he suddenly spoke, causing you to tear your eyes away from the mountains bathed in gold.

The man was staring up at the skies above him. In his somewhat disillusioned eyes that almost seemed reproachful, there was not a spark of his usual amusement. “Nor bravery and cowardice. All we could do is to try our best for what we believe in.”

“Is that not also ‘a right thing to do’?” he lowered his head towards you and raised a questioning brow.

It was true. The world wasn’t split into black and white as you liked to believe. You hated to admit it, but you were no longer sure what it meant to be a Gryffindor— to stand by what’s right. Your eyes lingered on his Head Boy badge, shimmering in all its glory in the sunray, wondering what Tom Riddle jr. believed in. For what cause would he be willing to raise his wand, and fight with all his might?

“No harm will come to you, Y/N. I promise.”

Your thoughts interrupted, you looked up, furrowing at his abrupt declaration. Riddle was staring into the distant peaks, his eyes narrowed and his lips pulled to a thin line of determination. His eyes flickered to you, noticing your dubious gaze, wondering how on Earth he was going to keep that promise during a time when your threat wasn’t limited to just his Slytherin friends, but an unknown mythical beast.

His eyes wandered back and forth, his mouth opening and closing again, debating over his words. Perhaps it was the sunset painting his cheeks, but you thought he blushed under your curious gaze.“I’ll make sure of it,” he added, almost as a reassurance.

And with that, he grew silent, apparently deciding to end the conversation. His eyes refused to meet yours, almost as if he was afraid to.

Suddenly, you were caught by a feeling that you were witnessing a very real, raw Tom Riddle. Not the one-dimensional Head Boy that teased and smirked. But a boy, stammering for words at a vow that he will protect the Head Girl forever. You wondered if anyone has seen this side of him.

“Are you ready to go down?”

His gentle voice brought you back to reality. The Head Boy, who had finally found the courage to meet you in the eyes, had already taken a step towards the stairs and held his hand out to you. You looked down at his hand, waiting patiently for yours. You knew taking this hand meant returning downstairs as a Head Girl. No more reckless behaviour. No more ruminating over Myrtle Warren. No more fleeing.

Met with your silence, he quirked his brows. His chestnut eyes, unrestrained and serious yet inviting, searched the depth of your eyes. It was the most sincere eyes you’ve ever seen. Like the kind of eyes that assured you, everything was going to be okay. No matter how, the prodigal Tom Riddle was going to keep you safe.

‘Do you trust me?’ the same eyes inquired.

You felt a small smile returning to your lips. You quickly wiped away your still-red eyes, and took his hand, following his firm hand to start your descent.

A/N: Yay! Thank you so much for the request! This is my first official request, so any criticism is appreciated! @fredweasleyyyyy I really appreciate your kind words! And thanks so much for reading as always <3 So sorry it took so long! I started writing the day you made a request, but it's been nonstop editing and re-editing. I also wrote another more comedy-ish fluff for the lioness Head Girl that I ended up scratching for this request, so I'll be tagging you when I post that as well!

I heard that the major difference between Gryffindor vs. Slytherin is that Gryffindor is loyal to their ideals and Slytherin is loyal to their people. I tried to maintain ambiguity throughout the story. The Head Girl may trust him 100%, but we as readers know that it was Tom who murdered Myrtle. I'm hoping that reading from that perspective, not knowing when Tom is being sincere vs. just persuasive, made for an interesting read.

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tmr #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine #harry potter #tom riddle x gn!reader #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle romance #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle angst #gryffindor!reader #tom riddle x gryffindor!reader #Karenina's requests

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blitheringmcgonagall · 4 months

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@breathing-and-stuff @jfleamont and @practicecourts all requested a snippet from The Big House AU, I think it’ll be called One Star Awake (from the song “She Moved Through the Fair”) 💚🤍🧡

it’s set in the war of independence against the Brits in Ireland in 1920… the bad guys are the local evil landlord Orion Black and the Royal Irish Constabulary main police guy Snape (shock horror etc). Lily is a farmer’s daughter, Sirius is the usual wayward son of the bad landlord, Remus is a poor primary school teacher, James is a rich fellow back home in Ireland on holidays from university in Cambridge.

Very interestingly I just found out that the RIC uniforms were very dark green with a silver belt and the buckle was a silver snake 😱!!?! Can’t get much more appropriate than that?

Anyway, as promised, here’s a snippet of Sirius being difficult with the RIC officers:

‘So you have no idea where those IRA men might be hiding?’ the District Inspector asked again, eyes roaming the room suspiciously.

‘None whatsoever,’ Lord Grimmauld replied, reclining back on the chaise longue with his arms outstretched.

‘I was told you’re friendly with some of the rebels.’ The officer pressed him. ‘That you might be involved in some of these attacks on Slytherin House.’

‘My dear fellow, I’m hardly going to set fire to my own inheritance, am I? Despite appearances, we are not all complete imbeciles.’ He laughed, grey eyes twinkling with amusement.

The man pulled at his high stand collar in evident frustration. One got the impression he did not like the aristocrat’s condescending, amused tone.

‘We’ll be going then, Sir,’ the other officer said, looking warily between his senior and the duke’s eldest son.

‘You might want to note that you are a person of interest as far as the Royal Irish Constabulary is concerned, Lord Grimmauld. We shall be keeping a vey close eye on you.’ The man pulled at his belt, fiddling with the silver snake buckle.

‘A person of interest? I should hope so, District Inspector Second Class, I’ve never been considered tedious in my entire life, I should hate to start now.’ The aristocrat looked mildly affronted.

The man muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like God give me strength.

#OSA #marauders era #marauders au #Irish war of independence #thank you!#loveliest tumblr friends

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heartofspells · 4 months

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAL!!! 🥳🎂🎁

It's officially @tracingpatternswrites birthday by her own timezone, which means it's time to celebrate her! Personally, I think we should spend every single day celebrating her (and i DO), but today is extra special.

To give her just a small piece of the love she deserves on this super fantastic day of her birth, I thought I'd highlight some of my favorite fics of hers that I'll forever love and can always use so much more attention.

(and i totally stole this idea from her because she did the same for me, so how could i not do it for her?)

Presenting just a small selection of the best Mal fics in no certain order:

🥁🥁🥁

1 - over blackened water (E) Jegulus Summary: Regulus knows it as clear as anything. He might be a Death Eater, might be one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted, but Regulus Black belongs only to one other man and that is James Potter.

-- I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I've read this. James is so perfectly grey and the way Regulus thinks about him just sucks you into James' trap along with him. I swear I've had dreams about this fic.

2 - Hanging by a Thread (T) Wolfstar Summary: The Fates does not interfere with worldly things, but that does not mean they cannot see where the road will lead. That is why, when the second boy is born, they look to the star and the moon as they weave their red string.

One end fastened to a boy with raven hair, and the other to a boy with brown curls. Hence they belong together, even though their story will be much too short and their journey will not be an easy one.

-- Mal worked so hard on this one to try a different style of writing and she nailed it. Every word is like a mysterious, omnipotent fairytale rolled into a tragedy that makes me drool.

3 - Prey (E) Wolfstar + Greyback Summary: The man was half-naked, his silk shirt hanging torn over his shoulders. Remus’ gaze snagged on his naked chest, the splatter of ink across porcelain skin. A constellation, Remus could tell, he recognised it as the Canis Major. Greyback had taught him how to read the stars, how to use them to guide his way in the darkness. He wondered briefly what it meant that the man had it painted on his chest.

“For you,” Greyback said, inclining his head towards the man but his yellow eyes were focused on Remus, watching for his reaction.

“For me?” Remus asked, hesitantly, taking a step closer.

“Yes,” Greyback said simply as he leaned against the wall of the cave, watching them both with a predatory shine in his eyes.

-- Hang on. Give me a second while I scream, except I never stop screaming about this one. This fic is soooo twisted and messed up and perfect that I can't ever form cohesive thoughts about it for very long. Just do yourself a favor: read the tags and go read it, then come back and scream with me about it. And what's even better about this one is that Mal wrote it for meeeeeee! I love her so much!

4 - Little Lion (E) Sirius Black/Regulus Black/James Potter Summary: Sirius Black and James Potter are two sides of the same coin. Rivals since the first day they set foot on the Hogwarts Express, constantly trying to beat the other whether it’s on the Quidditch pitch or in the classroom. Together they are the embodiment of the Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry. Regulus Black is caught in the middle, stuck between his older brother and his Quidditch captain.

Everything comes to a head when Regulus’ parents decide it’s time to bring their wayward son back into the fold through an arranged marriage. Refusing to lose his brother and determined to control the situation, Sirius enlists Potter to make sure his brother doesn’t stray, all in the name of doing what is best for his little lion.

-- If there's one thing that Mal does exquisitely (there are numerous things, but we're focusing on this one), it's crafting into existence the perfect Slytherin!Sirius. The entire dynamic in this fic - the rivalry between Sirius/James, the control between Sirius/Regulus - is blindingly superb, but Sirius is like chewing glass into liquid form, spitting it back out, and injecting it into my veins, my god.

5 - A Mother's Love (M) Sirius & Walburga Summary: Sirius might have left, but he was going to come back. He was going to come back. He had to come back.

-- This fic has haunted me since the first time I read it. Walburga's conviction that she's doing the right thing, the imagery with all the fire and smoke, her perceived slow descent into madness as she repeats to herself that her son will return to her...Walburga isn't a great mother, but Mal's writing makes you almost believe she is, that she's right in all that she does, because she does it out of love.

Obviously Mal has a ton of amazing fics, but I really wanted to highlight some of my favorites that have gained less attention than others. Do yourself a favor: take a look at these, then go read everything else she's got. You won't be sorry. Give her the birthday love she deserves. Leave a comment, send her a note through an ask, tell her why you love her writing so much because she's extraordinary.

And I hope you have the BEST birthday, my sweet! <33

#mal's birthday bash!#fic recs #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #regulus black #walburga black #wolfstar #prongsfoot #jegulus #mal tag

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bldreamer · 1 year

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- Hogwarts Moodboard : BL Edition -

Love In the Air PAYU → Ravenclaw: Independent, Intelligent, Curious

▴ Muggle Born. ▴ Seventh Year student. ▴ With his raven looks and insatiable curiosity, there was very little doubt which house he belonged to from day one. He may have the cunning mind of a Slytherin, but above all, his true core lies within his zest for knowledge. What he values most is the desire to learn. ▴ Was voted the new Team Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team but declined as he prefers life behind the scenes than on the pitch. ▴ Instead he offers his services as the unofficial quidditch mechanic, tinkering with brooms when they’re faulty, fixing them when they’re broken, consoling them when their rider gets injured during a game. It’s always been thought that brooms have a personality and even a soul of their own, but no one has ever seen a wizard with such a connection to them before. ▴ Also has a keen interest in architecture. Both muggle and magical. Worked as an apprentice during the summer break for a company hoping to hire him when he graduates. He’s currently deciding which life he’d prefer to live when the time comes, one full of magic and wonder. Or one with far less short cuts and more intrigue in the muggle realm. ▴ Despite his many interests, his main focus as of late comes in the form of one feisty Hufflepuff. They met when Rain was having trouble with his wayward broom (or rather, shouting at it in a garbled mixture of Thai and Korean) and Payu helped him fix it. Out of all of his hobbies, teasing the pouty sixth year is his current favourite. ▴ He thinks he might have pushed the young student too far when he finds out from one of Rain’s friends that he’s flunked the latest exam and he’s in the hospital wing. He’s about to go look for him when he hears sniffles in a familiar corridor. The determination to do better in Rain’s eyes despite his exhaustion just makes Payu fall harder for him.

Requests open for this series :)

#okay but why does Payu have bandages if he doesn't play quidditch?#I'll leave that up to your imagination shall i #also im pretty sure a broom mechanic is not a thing but let me have it okay?#it fits Wizard Payu's style #payu x rain #rain x payu #payurain #lita #love in the air series #Hogwarts au #au hogwarts #hogwarts bl

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

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yes, i’m a squib | part 1.

Summary: Y/N Black has always been a squib, to the dismay of her pureblood family. Cast out to the orphanage at a young age, she thought that was her life. Until her relative Sirius Black breaks out of Azkaban. Suddenly a letter to Hogwarts in thrusted into her hand and Y/N becomes a true part of the magical Wizarding World.

Warnings for the Series: violence, death, light smut, angst, fluff

Pairing: harry potter x black!reader, cedric diggory x black!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

(Series Masterlist)

You sighed as you watched a cloud float through the sky. The grass was soft under your fingertips. You liked that— Mr. Stapius always kept the grass soft and green, even in winter. He did it because he knew you liked it that way. Ever since you had come to the orphanage for wayward witches and wizards, he had started keeping the grass because you were the only child constantly in the back garden. A small smile graced your face as a piece of cake floated to you— the fork and a glass of pumpkin juice floated towards you.

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N)!” Poppy called out from the doorway. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry, it’s alright. You better hurry before you miss the train!”

Poppy gave you a large smile before turning back inside, her Slytherin robe flopping behind her. You squinted when the flash of her prefect badge momentarily blinded you. You took a bite of the cake, smiling wide at the taste. Poppy had a way around the kitchen. She really did mean to stay; but, after making prefect, she was required to show up to the Hogwarts Express earlier than other students.

You sighed with each bite of cake after the initial one. It was another year that all the children in the orphanage went to Hogwarts or maybe even another school far away. You were left alone for the third year in a row. Being the only squib at Mr. Stapius’ House meant that every school year you learned in books at home and not at school. Ever the gentleman, Mr. Stapius bought all the wizarding books he could find every time he went to Diagon Alley. He would always tell you how it wasn’t fair to you and that squibs should be allowed to attend school even without much magic. You appreciated the gesture.

With the cake finished, you set the plate on the grass. In one large gulp, you swallowed all the pumpkin juice and then went back to laying down in the grass. A meow garnered your attention. You sat back up, tucking your legs underneath you. A tabby cat meowed once again and you chuckled.

“Yes, I am (Y/N) Black. Although I’m not sure why a cat needs to know that.”

The cat’s eyes widened and it picked up a letter that had been hidden in the dirt and dropped it in your lap. You turned the letter over to see your name and Mr. Stapius’ address sprawled across the front. The paper was easily torn through as you pulled out the letter. Your eyes scanned over the words not believing what you were seeing.

“This is impossible… I’m going… I’m going—”

“To Hogwarts, yes child.”

You looked up abruptly from the letter. Instead of the tabby cat, you were now greeted by an old woman with beautiful green robes and a very large pointed hat. She pulled out her wand, waving it to make your dishes disappear. As she looked down at you through her glasses, she stuck out a hand.

“Professor Minerva McGonagall. Your transfiguration teacher of transfiguration and fairly surprised that you seem to speak cat.”

You took her hand to pull yourself up. “I’ve had plenty of time to learn how to speak to animals… It’s kind of the only magic I can really do.”

“Well, Hagrid will be excited to have a student such as you. We must be quick. You still need your supplies and the other students are already on their way to school… Have you ever apparated before?”

“Twice.”

You barely finished the word before you were immediately pulled into thin air. Diagon Alley was a bustling place. Professor McGonagall barely gave you enough time to look around as she wandered from store to store. The old woman bought you whatever she deemed necessary, not minding your protests about how much money it was costing.

“Cat, owl, or toad?” She asked.

You looked around the pet store. A toad was completely out of the question but there was a bit of a debate between a cat or an owl. An owl would be convenient for letter sending but you could cuddle with a cat. In the end, the petting factor won out and a carrier holding a cute black cat was set on top of your other school supplies.

“Professor,” you asked as you set the cat’s carrier down. “Is there a reason I am suddenly allowed to go to Hogwarts?”

McGonagall’s lips flat-lined. Her eyes flitted back and forth as she tried to scramble for an answer while you walked. She didn’t have the opportunity to give you one. Your eyes casted up in time to see a poster plastered onto an alleyway that seemed to lead to a part of town that you wouldn’t want to be in. The screaming man on the poster wasn’t hard to identify. There stood your relative, Sirius Black. Out of Azkaban.

“Oh,” you said simply.

The witch behind you sighed. “It is for your protection. Hogwarts has made an exception, he will be coming back fo—”

“He never tried to kill me,” you cut her off.

“(Y/N)…”

“He never tried to kill me. He never tried to kill Harry Potter or anyone.”

The determination in your voice was too apparent for McGonagall to try and tell you otherwise— now was not the time to break your heart. Professor McGonagall guided you into Ollivander’s shop as she said something about getting a trunk for all your stuff. You looked back at her retreating figure before turning to look at the old man in front of you. It was like a dream. You had always wanted to go to Ollivander’s but of course were never allowed. But here you were. Ollivander beckoned you to step closer. He examined you three times before shuffling off to the back and pulling out some wands. Gently, he set the first wand in your hand. Not a second later, it bounced away as if repulsed by the very thought of you.

“Not to worry, my dear. Witches and wizards rarely get it right on their first try,” he said as he saw your frown.

His fingers skipped over the second and third wand and went right to the fourth, placing it in your hand. It didn’t even try to budge and you felt the corners of your mouth lift up. The wand felt right in your grip. Ollivander waited expectantly before suddenly remembering who you were— McGonagall had been so kind to inform him of your predicament before you even set foot in Diagon Alley.

“Well, we can’t test it but the wand always chooses the wizard. Hornbeam, unicorn hair, 10 and ¾ inches, moderately flexible,” Ollivander recited the stats as he gave you a box and a bag for your wand.

“Thank you.”

“I have to say my own wand is Hornbeam. Wands like this are unique to the owner, no one will ever be able to figure out its magic once it becomes attuned to you… a shame to be paired with unicorn hair, that core doesn’t provide with very strong magic.”

“Well, neither do I,” you joked.

Ollivander smiled. “In that case Ms. Black, it is perhaps the perfect wand for you.”

You gave him one last wave before meeting Professor McGonagall outside. With a nod that you were ready, the two of you apparated to Hogwarts. Just because you had seen it in books didn’t make it any more amazing in person. You couldn’t close your mouth if you tried. Sticking close to Professor McGonagall, you listened to her give the opening speech to the first years. Poppy had recited it the first year she came back from Hogwarts on Christmas vacation— recited it so much that you knew it by heart.

A panic went through you for a brief moment when you realized it was time to go inside. You stood next to the professor the entire time, looking at the floor instead of the people around who were already whispering as they wondered who you were. You bounced on the balls of your feet in front of all the first years as you waited for the Sorting Hat to finish its stupid song. You willed it to hurry up. The quicker it went, the quicker you could get sorted and sit down.

“(Y/N) Black.” McGonagall’s voice rang out in the hall.

The entire place suddenly became quiet. Your shoes echoed loudly as you stepped up the small steps and sat down on the school. You weren’t even listening to the hat as it pondered outloud, picking at your fingers instead. You briefly looked up to find Poppy at the Slytherin table whose shocked expression turned into one of genuine happiness as she gave you a small wave.

The hat became heavy and was starting to hurt a bit as it sat on your freshly done braids. Without much thought, you lifted it up for a brief second and adjusted some of the braids before setting it back on your head. The hat chuckled with much gusto causing you to cringe.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Nothing to apologize for,” the hat replied. “Mmm… a shame you don’t have an affinity to magic, I see a great witch that you could be. Still, hard-working, loyal perhaps to a fault. Resilient. And still kind, better be… Hufflepuff!”

You sighed internally. Poppy went on and on about hufflepuffs and now that was the house that you just got. A squib, a Hufflepuff. Could it get any worse for you? That question was answered as all the other tables except for Hufflepuff began laughing quietly.

“Do you mind putting me down, my dear?”

You looked up to see that hat was still on your head. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you quickly moved back up the steps to place the hat on the chair. Without bringing any more attention to yourself, you sat down at the table. A boy, older than you, plopped down in the empty space next to you. You looked at the shiny prefect badge on his cloak.

“Cedric Diggory, Sixth Year Head Boy for Hufflepuff.” He stuck out a hand.

“(Y/N) Black.”

“I know,” he said with a smile.

You let go of his hand as you groaned and smacked your head onto the table with a dull clunk, ignoring the pain. First days were not your strong suit. Not your first day at the orphanage, your first day in daycare, even your first day on earth— your mother didn’t make it through childbirth, although the entire family blamed that on being stuck in America at a muggle hospital right as her water broke. You could hear a little laugh come from the boy next to you. Cedric placed his head on the table and you turned your face to look at him with a slight frown, unsure if he was mocking you.

“It’s my job, along with other prefects, to make sure all the Puffs are comfortable during their time here at Hogwarts. Just remember that,” he said before suddenly shooting up to applaud for a first year that made Hufflepuff.

You slowly lifted your head to add your applause to the crowd. Soon all the kids were sorted and the feast began. Your eyes widened at all the food on the table. As the food began to hit plates, Dumbledore stood up. He garnered everyone’s attention— although no one stopped eating as he spoke.

“First, I’m pleased to welcome Professor RJ Lupin to our school as our new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Your gaze went to the man who raised his hand. That was a name you had heard once or twice, you weren’t very sure. He seemed to look straight at you, causing you to turn back to your food. You didn’t look up again as the headmaster began to talk about the dementors and the reason while they were at Hogwarts in the first place. Everyone’s eyes were on you. You were sure of it. All of a sudden, the food seemed dull. You pushed it away and just waited for the feast to end.

“Are you not hungry?” Cedric asked. You had forgotten that he was still next to you.

“Never could eat very much,” you lied.

“Well, spend a few months at Hogwarts and that’ll change.”

He went back to eating and you just swirled around the drink in your cup. When the feast was finally over, you followed everyone to the common room. Hufflepuffs were right next to the kitchen which, the Head Girl in sixth year informed you, was perfect because of the access to midnight snacks.

“If you’re nice, the house elves won’t snitch if they see you in the kitchen, although we technically aren’t supposed to tell you that,” she said. “Password is that there is no password. Knock on the third barrel from the left.”

She did just that and the barrels rolled slightly away from each other to expose an open corridor. Everyone piled inside. You looked around the common room and decided that you rather liked Hufflepuff and the earthy, home vibe it seemed to give off. As the other kids made their way upstairs, you stayed in the common room for a minute before going to do the same.

“Black,” a girl’s voice called you.

You stopped to see all of the prefects, from fifth through seventh year, standing together and looking at you. You moved back to them, looking around and trying to figure out how you already messed up. The Head Girl from seventh year, Bettie Striker, patted your shoulder.

“What life have you lived, kid? Loosen up, you’re not in trouble.”

“Your rooming situation is a little different,” The prefect boy in fifth year said. “With all of your… circumstances… Hogwarts staff seems to agree that it’s best if you aren’t rooming with the other kids, you know, bullying and all that.”

You sighed. “Because I’m a Black or a squib?”

“Uh, both. We aren’t saying it’ll happen but—”

“Just being safe.”

“Exactly. You’ll be in the Prefects’ Hall with all of us, Bettie agreed to room with Jeannie.”

“Oh no, I don’t want anyone to give up a room for me.”

Bettie shook her head. “Listen, kid, I’m perfectly happy to do so if it makes your life a bit easier here.”

Jeannie agreed with her. You followed the rest of them into the separate Prefects’ Hall and to your room. It wasn’t large but it was better than anything you ever had— that wasn’t entirely true. You remembered the Black Manor gave you the largest room in the house before you were taken to Mr. Stapius at age six when you hadn’t shown an inkling of magic and were tested for being a squib. But since being at Mr. Stapius’ house, you were always sharing a room. Your cat, who you had named Padfoot, meowed when you entered. Ignoring him, you flopped onto the bed. Padfoot walked over your stomach until his nose was right under your chin.

“What am I doing here, Padfoot? Nothing about me belongs in Hogwarts,” you sighed before letting sleep take over.

(Part 2)...

#cedric diggory x black!reader #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter x black!reader #golden trio x reader

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