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rhymingcavanagh · 9 months

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leaked nudes

pt. 2

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while looking at crime scene pictures on your phone, aaron swipes too far left and discovers some … sexy photos.

word count: 1.4k (short one)

warnings: nudes, masturbation, aaron jizzing in his pants like a teen, pervy aaron

This particular case had the whole team restless. Other than one lead that turned out to be useless as the suspect had an airtight alibi, there was nothing else that pointed where the unsub was. Thankfully, it seemed like his time in between kills was increasing, though that did very little to ease the team.

The precinct was almost empty, save for the few officers working the night shift and the team spread out around the conference room. Rossi was nursing a coffee, wishing it was whiskey. Emily sprawled out on the floor, the case file resting on her stomach. JJ sat sleeping in her chair, a blanket laid over her. Spencer was going over the details of the case while Derek stared at his file, unmoving.

You were positive he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Aaron sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hand while he reviewed the case. You had given up trying to focus, taking a break as you played Tetris on your phone. Every few minutes, Aaron would glance at you before smiling and focusing back on his file.

After losing another game, you placed your phone on the table, leaning back in exhaustion. Looking around you, you were certain everyone except Rossi, Spencer, and Aaron were clocked out for the night. Derek was about ten minutes away from smacking his head on the table when his head slips from his hands.

Aaron flips through his file, brows furrowing. He looks around the messy table, searching for something in particular as you watched him with curiosity. “Where are the crime scene pictures from this morning’s victim?”

“Sheriff said their printer broke so they couldn’t print them out. I took a few pictures on my phone if you want to see them.” You motioned to your phone, yawning. Looking over at JJ, you resisted the urge to snatch the blanket from her.

He picks up your phone, swiping. “What’s your password?”

“Twelve thirty-four.”

Aaron paused, his lips twitching as he turned to look at you. “One, two, three, four?”

“It’s not like I have anything to hide,” you grumbled, ignoring his soft chuckle.

He put in the passcode, bringing him to the unclosed game of Tetris you were previously playing. Aaron couldn’t help but be amused at the high score before closing out and opening your photos. In your recents were the crime scene pictures he was looking for.

Aaron had swiped through the photos, trying to find a deviation from the killer’s MO but it looked the same as his previous victims. Maybe you had taken too many pictures of the body because he kept swiping left, looking at all the angles you had taken. The crime scene pictures had to end eventually but he was too sleep deprived to realize he’d eventually come across one of your other photos.

So he wasn’t prepared when he swiped to the left and instead of being met with another photo of the victim, it was one of you in skimpy clothing. Thankfully, he hadn’t been drinking his coffee as he saw it since he still managed to choke on his own saliva. Aaron’s eyes widened at the risque picture, sitting up, suddenly alert.

During him looking at the crime scene pictures, you had gotten up and walked to the vending machines. From where he sat, he could see you kick the machine in hopes of free food. The only one to witness his change of behavior was Rossi as Spencer was too engrossed in his reading, who had raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

In the photo, you were in a lacy black bra with a matching thong, bent over your bed. You had taken the picture facing the mirror, your back arched and ass up–on your knees and your clothing barely covering your essentials. Aaron swore he could see your nipples through the laced bra.

Curious, and driven by his hardening cock, Aaron swiped more. His breath hitched at the site of you topless, with just a pair of boxers on. A pair of his boxers. He remembered you shamelessly asking him for some shorts out of his go bag as you had forgotten to repack your sleep clothes and he had given you his boxers, blushing all the while.

As he stared at your breasts, he grew hard. He knew he should stop and close out, respecting your privacy and all, but he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to look away let alone put the phone down.

He swiped again, this time you covered your bare breasts with one hand. You lay on your bed, naked yet what Aaron desperately wanted to see was covered by a discarded shirt that laid between your legs. The sun hit your body right, sunbeams illuminating your hair and despite the sensual position, he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you are.

Looking up, he saw you were still bullying the vending machine and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He didn’t want you to see him being … perverted was the only word that came to him that described the situation perfectly.

Aaron couldn’t meet Rossi’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, careful to swallow it right. He pushed the chair into the table, concealing his rock-hard cock. His polyester suit pants rubbed against his cock, and he hissed quietly at the friction, wanting to head to the bathroom with your phone in hand to fix his situation.

He remained seated, pulling up your phone again in the hopes that he looked like he was going through the crime scene pictures, the reason you granted him permission to look through your phone.

He’s thinking about stopping, his finger shaking, urging him to swipe one more time while a small part of him screams to stop. Aaron swipes anyways.

His exhale is ragged as he sees your pussy for the first time. The video plays on mute and he almost combusts right then and there as you slowly finger yourself. You’re in a hotel room, your shirt bunched around your tits, a hand playing with a nipple. Aaron watches your index finger enter your dripping cunt, the wetness visible on camera. He has to bite his fist as you slowly slid it in and out, biting your lip at the feeling.

As you take your finger out, he watches your hand pinched your nipples, eyes narrowing at the shirt you had on. As you inserted a second finger into your sopping pussy, Aaron realized it was his shirt. A small, barely audible groan escaped his lips at the revelation. Video you had arched your back, mouth opening as you fucked yourself with two fingers. He could barely keep it together at the thought of you wearing his shirt as you fingered yourself.

He can’t take his eyes off your show, unknowingly palming himself with his free hand. Aaron watches in awe as you pump your fingers faster, unable to decide whether to watch the ecstasy on your face or your pussy swallowing your fingers in greed. The video is a minute from ending and he’s mesmerized at the screen.

So mesmerized he hadn’t noticed you come back into the room with a bunch of snacks in your arms. He jumped slightly as you dropped the snacks onto the table, quickly closing out your photos and placing your phone on the table.

You smiled at him, noticing the redness in his cheeks and ears. “I come back from battle with a feast.”

He nods, subtly fixing his pants under the table. Aaron doesn��t dare speak a word, knowing well enough that his mouth was dry.

Picking up a bag of goldfish, you threw it at Spencer’s face, breaking him out of his own world before getting a bag of Chex Mix and handing it out to your boss. “Here, Hotch.”

Your hand touches his as you give him the snack. From the video, a small touch and you saying his name, he cums in his pants. His hands wrap tightly around the bag, Chex Mix flying to the floor as the bag pops. His climax hits him hard, spurts of his cum wetting his pants and euphoria washing through him in powerful waves.

When he comes down from his high, he sees the whole team wake up, staring at the snack littering the floor and table. You glanced at him, confused, grimacing at the mess.

Aaron cleared his throat, slowly putting the bag on the table. “I don’t like Chex Mix.”

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rhymingcavanagh · 10 months

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“Eddie please I can’t” you’re almost crying at how frustrated you are. You want to cum, you need to cum but you just can’t! Eddie is holding the vibrator to you like it’s his last mission on earth. “You can and you will” his words were firm but gentle.

You’d told him earlier in the night you’ve never been able to cum by the hand of someone else and he was going to fix that if it was the last thing he did.

“Please Eddie… I just… it’s not working” you were squirming. Embarrassed at how long it’s been and how much you wanted this. Your clit was almost numb. The build would happen and then it would disappear again.

“Come on sweetheart, you’re too in your head” Eddie removed the vibrator and leaned down to kiss your neck, light pecks but then he started sucking that one spot.

“Mmmph daddy please” it had slipped out, almost a whisper and before you knew what was happening Eddie’s demeanour flipped.

“Ohhhh I see baby, you just need someone to take care of you don’t you?” He pouts, “Don’t worry Daddy’s got you.” He stroked you face and moved back down to your wet pussy.

“Now baby, look at you, I know you can do this, you’re so wet for me baby you’re already half way there.” He grinned up at you, almost patronizing.

You nod your head pathetically.

Eddie started kissing down your inner thigh, making his way to your dripping core. He gave a small kitten lick to your clit to test the waters. Your body squirmed again at his touch. “Oh baby you’ve been so neglected. Don’t worry I’ll take care you you.” He didn’t break eye contact with your clit. He gently rubbed small circles hitting it each time. Your hips gyrated as he worked his hand.

“How are you feeling baby, use your words”

“It feels so good eddie but… more” you whine.

“More what?” His voice firmer.

“Please daddy I need you, harder”

“Good girl”

An involuntary moan was released from your throat at his words.

“Come on baby, you can be my good girl” he slipped in a finger, than another. He slowly started pumping them until he got a good rhythm going in coordination with his thumb circling your clit.

“Please I need more I can’t” it just wasn’t enough.

This wasn’t the plan. Eddie was never supppse to be here, seeing you like this. You hardly even spoke about sex with one another, never mind having him 3 fingers deep inside you. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the way he offered his bed because he didn’t want you driving home at 1:00am after a night out together. But here you were in his apartment, spread open for him like a book he couldn’t stop reading.

“More?” He raised his brows at you.

You pause and think about what exactly you’re asking of him. You bite your lip and nod slowly.

“Please Daddy. I need it so bad” it was official you’re in the subbiest space you’ve ever been in. A tear rolled down your cheek.

Eddie kissed it away and nodded his head. You looked to him as he stroked his already hard cock. You weren’t even thinking about how this situation was affecting him. Biting your lip in anticipation, shirt already off, he pulled down his pyjama pants exposing himself to you. Your eyes grow wide, sure you’ve thought of what it would look like but you weren’t expecting this. Thick and long, you instinctively reach out to touch him, he punches you back down on the bed.

“You let me know if you want to stop, ok? I mean it. The second you feel uncomfortable tell me, your safe word is Red” you silently nod again. “No sweetheart use your words” his tone firm. “Yes Eddie, I will say Red if I want you to stop.” You whisper. “That’s my good girl” and just like that you were back to grinding your hips for any sense of release.

“I have an idea. Flip over, ass up” you do as you’re told. You feel the anticipation waiting for him to enter you. You think maybe he’s getting a condom, but he knows you’re on birth control and all you hear is a whisper “beautiful” he says under his breath.

“Daddy please” Eddie breaks out of his trance after your word snap him back into reality, seeing you wiggle your ass for him. Finally he grips each globe of your ass in each hand and slides his cock into your dripping pussy. The sound that came out if your mouth as he entered you almost had Eddie cumming right then and there. This was your favourite position, Eddie hit your spot on every stroke.

The bed frame hitting the wall, the moaning coming out of your mouth the grunting Eddie had been letting out, it was rough, it was good, but not good enough. “Please give it to me Daddy!!” he thrusts we’re harder and harder. “That’s it, be a good girl, cum for daddy.” He gritted through his teeth. “More please” you were crying, pleading with him.

He reached over the bed, for what? you don’t know, too cockdrunk to think you don’t even hear the buzzing until you feel it on your clit. Your hands were gripping the bed sheets so hard your knuckles were hurting. The vibrations pulsing through you and you had to scream into the pillow to muffle the sounds.

“Yes!”You could feel the sensation building and building, for once it wasn’t going away. Your head pressed into the matress, Eddie gripping your left hip for dear life you’re sure there will be bruises where his fingers are, his right hand gripping the vibrator not letting it leave your clit.

“DON’T STOP PLEASE” you beg him. He didn’t slow down he keeps pounding into you. The feeling was building more and more, it was so good, you couldn’t help it. “Come on baby, I can feel it, you’re getting tighter, come for me, cum for your Daddy.” His words were what broke your dam, a silent scream caught in your throat. Your body trembled beneath him. Spasming beneath him as he road out your orgasm, not stopping. The feeling was so intense, you’ve never cum this hard before, it was becoming so intense, you’re over stimulated. You reach back for Eddie to grab on to something, anything. You find his wrist beg him to stop. It was too good, “please I can’t no more” “oh little baby can’t take anymore, you were begging for more, I’m giving you more” he kept pounding into you, until your second orgasm built up again. You cried out from the pleasure. He finally released the vibrator from your clit, it was so hot to the touch. Eddie pulled out and unloaded on your ass.

After a few minutes of silent recovery only the sounds of both your heavy panting Eddie broke the silence “holy shit” Eddie got up to get a wet cloth to clean you up. He softly padded back to the room, you’re still laying face down with a stupid smile on your face. “Thank you Eddie” you sighed. “Any time sweetheart. I’ll gladly do that again” you giggled softly and yawned. “Get some sleep baby” he stroked your hair and you fell asleep in seconds.

Wow this one really got away from me, it was suppose to be a paragraph 🫣🫢

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rhymingcavanagh · 1 year

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300

him in cult episodes >>>>

Summary: Reader recalls something Spencer told her months ago when he’s taken hostage by a cult (based on 14x01)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (angst/fluff)

Content Warning: mentions of most of spencer’s trauma

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist | Navigation

Everything’s a mess.

Y/n’s used to the BAU lifestyle, and today is not the first day a team member has been abducted. It’s not even the first time that it’s been Spencer’s life in danger. Last time it was a three-month-long nightmare that seemed never ending during his time in prison.

It was different now. After what he said, everything between them changed.

Keep reading

#this is the cutest thing ever

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rhymingcavanagh · 1 year

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𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧...?

𝐩𝐭.𝟐; 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

warnings: fem!reader, very historically inaccurate, outdated view of women, implied age gap but no ages are mentioned, reader has suicidal thoughts but it's not detailed at all, she also has a lot of anxiety, small mention of reader's parents being physically abusive towards each other, alcohol intoxication, accidental injury, blood, talk of sex, reader is unaware of her sexual frustration and suppressing it. pining and lack of communication. very angsty in a way. enjolras being the man of my dreams.

silly little note: if you catch the lana del rey reference, i'm yours.

part one.

sleepless nights were nothing new to you and neither they were to him. he hadn’t had a restful sleep since that night your father approached him outside the pub.

the words he said still ring in his ears. he was a rebel, fighting for a better future but that didn’t blind him from the calamitous present people experience on their day to day lives, people like you more than any. the way your own father spoke of you as if you were good for nothing scum, insulting his own flesh like he’s getting paid to do it. inadvertently revealing that there’s nothing wrong with you and it’s all his fault, he’s the deranged scum. if anyone other than enjolras heard him, they’d agree with him but enjolras wasn’t anyone. he was the one.

he knew he couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself. you weren’t fighting a fair battle, your father had access to all the weapons his hideous heart desired and you were blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back, stranded on a battlefield of a war you had no anticipation to participate in.

he knew if you left you, you might not survived and he couldn’t imagine living with the guilt of knowing that he could’ve done something to get you out but didn’t. besides, helping you also helps him. the men he idolized would finally take him seriously, they would finally see him as an equal and speak with him as such. when comparing your situation to his, he felt incredibly selfish, conceited like he was using you. he tried to justify it, assure himself that he was doing it mostly for you and despite the fact that he truly was, it still felt wrong, he had failed his own principles and now he had something to prove to himself.

you were one of many but you were the one he could save.

five days.

it’s been five days since your wedding day and enjolras still hasn’t touched you.

you spent the first night sleepless. walking into your new room and closing the door behind you, your stomach growled, reminding you that it’s been nearly four days since the last time you ate. the wedding day and three beforehand, you’re getting married off soon no point in wasting food on you anymore, your husband will feed you, you father said as he took your plate for himself, laughing with cruelty.

you took off your wedding dress and put on the white nightgown you bought a few days ago. it was cotton, a lot softer than anything you’ve worn before but it felt heavy on your body, your own skin felt heavy on your body. you wished you could crawl out of your flesh and bones of prison, with every breath the cell was closing in on you until you were entirely locked in. unable to move, fearful of inhaling too much air at once and running out of oxygen for good. the little fiend in the back on your mind wished you would, a voice you’ve been trying to muffle since you were a child but it’s hard to disregard it when it sounds like the people who brought you up.

as you sat on the edge of the bed, cutting up an apple with the sharp blade in your hands, you noticed that the closet was empty.

“i prepared the room for you” his words reel back in your head. you looked around the room once again and noticed what you failed to see the first time, the room was dull of life. nothing hanging in the closet, nothing sitting on the night stand except the candle you lit up, the bedsheet is free of any wrinkles and there’s only one pillow laying on the bed. he prepared the room for you. he wasn’t going to sleep here.

your realization didn’t put your apprehension at ease. you still couldn’t sleep, rocking your mind with the chance that maybe he’ll change his mind and come in at some point. sure, he showed you some kindness but being a decent person doesn’t automatically make him a good one. around three in the morning you decided you’ve had enough. covered yourself with your rope and slowly twisted the door knob open, taking calculated steps into the living room, tiptoeing careful of not making too loud of a sound.

you found him sprawlled on the couch on his back, one leg and arm hanging off while his other hand is resting on his chest. his lips are slightly parted and if you listened closely, you could hear him snoring lightly. your weary mind decided this is a great opportinunity to look at him, stare and learn his features. he had freckles all over his face, tiny ones. mostly on the left side of his face, on his cheek and by his eye. a scar on his forehead along with the lines, your mind wonders where and how he could’ve gotten it. did he hurt himself as a child and now he’s scarred for life too? you shouldn’t be thinking about this. his lips were a blush shade of pink, they’re shaped so prettily, you thought. he had a fair amount of stubble on his face. not too much like your father’s but enough that you could imagine it scratching you if you kissed him. no.. no.. you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him let alone how it would feel.

it’s hard though, he’s.. pretty. he’s so pretty. if you would’ve met him under different circumstances you would’ve.. well, you wouldn’t necessarily fall in love with him but memories of his face would’ve made your days a little easier. maybe you would’ve lost sleep over him for different reasons. maybe you would’ve created a version of him in your head, a version that could silence that deathly fiend, a version of him that could save you.

but that’s not what happened. now, you’re losing sleep because of him.

the morning after, you woke up to the sound of cultery and you’d be lying if you said you wanted to get out of bed. the mattress beneath you feels like it came straight down from heaven. you can’t remember the last time you slept this comfortably, can’t remember something if it never happened, you thought. unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end and you had to leave the cloud of a bed you were sleeping on.

once you were decent, you left the room and he was immediately in your field of vision, setting the table.

he froze when he looked up and saw you standing there, mirroring him in shock. “i’m sorry.. didn’t mean to wake you, you slept okay?”

you nodded as you walked towards him, touching the walls as you went to make sure you’re really awake and this isn’t a twisted dream or you somehow travelled into the future, a future where men apologize and apparently set tables. “yeah..”

“good morning then.” he smiled, “i’ve made us breakfast. again, don’t know what you like so if you fancy something else..” he pointed towards the counter, silently telling you to help yourself.

us. there’s an us now. you couldn’t even resigster anything else he said after that us but the smell of the food he made hit you and god it smelled so good you couldn’t ever overthink it.

“thank you but you didn’t have to do that, i should’v..”

“i wanted to.” he cut you off before you could finish telling him that you should’ve cooked.

there it is again, that questionable kindness of his. you’ve witnessed it a lot in the span of these future five days.

he cooked because he wanted to, he washed his own clothes because he wanted to, he helped you clean and tidy up after supper because he wanted to.

wanted to, wanted to, wanted to, wanted to

he was kind to you because he wanted to. if you weren’t so cynical you would’ve seen it as a good thing, him choosing to be kind to you but all you could think about was the turning point and when it’s going to happen. when is he going to stop wanting to be kind to you? when will his true colors show? what will happen then? you couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t so sweet, wish he was a monster like your mother said he’d be because maybe then you wouldn’t be up at two past midnight, watching him breathe with his eyes closed and praying the turning point won’t hit you as severely as you’re picturing it would.

two weeks.

life with enjolras has been surprisingly… pleasant. it’s calm and undemanding, it’s hard for it not to be when your relationship is facile. not that you minded it, you didn’t. it’s good like this. you only speak to him when he speaks to you and half the day, he’s out working then the other half, he’s sleeping.

he told you that he works with an old man as blacksmith during the day and you simply said okay. he always asks you if you need something before he leaves the house and you say no then thank him. you greet him when he comes home and he thanks you for dinner than you share your goodnights and sleep in separate beds.

well.. you sleep on a bed. he sleeps on the couch.

he hasn’t brought up your marital situation and never have you, both of you seemed to be in a silent agreement that this marriage isn’t something you want and you will simply not acknowlege it as an actual marriage. you’re just two strangers living under the same roof and eating on the same table. as far as strangers go, you can’t be too mad that he’s your stranger.

today you went to pick up things for the house, you were running low on food and he gave you some money before he left for work which clearly meant he wants you to do your duties of keeping the house standing. what else would he give you money for?

it was nice out, the air was light and the sun was shining. not too much that it melts on your hands but warm enough to kiss them gently.

you’ve watched enjolras closely in the past fourteen days and you bought things accordingly. he ate an apple every night before he went to sleep, he always peeled it, cut it into four pieces and gave you two. you bought apples. he’d grab a handful of grapes before he leaves for work so he can eat them while he walks there. you bought grapes. one time he caught you putting an orange carpel on a piece of bread and eating it and when you offered to make him one, he ate it and said it’s weird but he liked it. you bought oranges and bread then bought other things you learned he likes.

by the time you finished shopping for the house, you still had money left. money you fully intended to give back to him once you got back home but on the way back you saw a book. one you’ve had your eye on since you used to live with your parents but could never touch let alone buy. you shouldn’t. it’s wrong. you shouldn’t spend his hard earned money on your ludicrous things. or you could at least dicuss it with him first.. he wouldn’t say no to you, would he? he hasn’t before but you never really asked for something before so you can’t know. he’s a rebel so maybe he’d find you buying something without seeking permission an impressive act of rebellion? he probably wouldn’t but you’re trying to justify it by any means and it worked, that’s why it’s now six hours later and you’re two hundred and seventy eight pages into your novel.

the second you got home you’ve started reading and it’s been impossible to stop. you kept saying that once you’re done with this page, you’ll get up and get productive but one page turned to ten and ten to you’re almost done with the book.

your attention was nowhere other than the words you’re reading til you heard the door unlock.

he’s home.

he’s home from work and you haven’t done a thing yet.

anxiety fills you up with the possibility of him getting mad at you, fear that the house will lose its tranquillity and the air will be replaced by rage, him by your father and you by your mother.

but that didn’t happen. actually, nothing new happened. he just walked in and greeted you the way he always does. when you told him you haven’t started dinner yet but you’re on it, he said it’s okay and that he wanted to take a shower first anyway.

he didn’t yell. you didn’t cry. no bruised cheeks or slammed doors. nothing was different from usual. he wasn’t your father, he was.. enjolras. still enjolras.

“i’m sorry about dinner, it won’t happen again i promise” you said, an hour later after you two were done eating.

“don’t even worry about it” he gave you one his tight lipped smiles and thanked you for dinner, like he always does. “what were you reading?” he asks, he noticed and you’re relieved he did because you’ve been thinking about ways to tell him all through cooking.

“just a book i.. bought today” you nearly whisper the last two words as if they’re full of shame. “i probably shouldn’t have. i could return it if you want”

he looks at you as if you’ve suddenly learned and started speaking a different language, “why would i want you to return a book?”

“because you gave me money you worked hard for to buy essentials for the house and i went and spent it on a book” you tell him as if it’s the most obvious thing, as if he’s being the unreasonable one for asking. as if you did something wrong and you should accept him to be angry with you.

“darling..” he sounds disappointed.. no he sounds sympathetic. his tone is softer than usual, he sounds like if honey had a voice. “that money isn’t for the essentials. i buy the essentials. that money’s for you.” he says and your puzzlement grows. he could see it on your face so he elaborates. “i’m not giving you money so you can buy groceries or candles, it’s to buy things for yourself. it’s your money.”

nothing he’s saying makes sense to you. this isn’t just him being kind, it can’t be. you’re a stranger who lives in his house for free and now he wants to pay you for it? if this was a weekend, you’d think he’s drunk and speaking nonsense but he doesn’t drink on week days. “why.” that’s all what leaves your mouth, the question that hasn’t left your mind for two weeks.

“because you’re my wife and it’s my responsibility to provide for you. not just provide food and a place to sleep but provide you with things you want, like, enjoy” he declared, “i don’t know you well enough to buy them for you so instead, i provide you with money so you can buy them for yourself.” he understands why you’re in disbelief of his words. he’s seen your family and was suffocated after spending an afternoon with them, he can only imagine what knowing nothing else can do to a person. “this isn’t a prison. i don’t really know what kind of house you grew up in but this is different.” it’s half truth, the false part being him not knowing about your house. “i know it’s no comfort because you see me as i see you, a stranger but i mean this when i say it.. look at me.” you do as he says, staring directly into his eyes for the first time that night. “you’re safe here.”

“thank you.” you say the words you’ve repeated about a million times in the past two weeks, unsure of what else is there to be said. it’s all too much for you and he could tell so he doesn’t push it, instead he dances back to his first question.

“so, do you want to tell me about your book?”

you chuckle nervously, remembering the contents you’ve read just a bit ago. “you wouldn’t want to hear about it. it’s.. a story.”

“hey, i like stories too. color me intrigued.”

so you do. for the rest of the night, you tell him all about your book, pointing out little things that the characters did or said. he’d ask you how these things made you feel and patiently wait for you to voice your emotions. he didn’t interrupt you once, just sat there with his cheek resting on his palm and listened. this is the first time you’ve spoke this much, he thought. he liked the sound of your voice, the sound of your laugh. your real laugh sounded different than the one you let out when you’ve gotten bashful. he watched the way your lips moved when you spoke and scrutinized the way your eyes lit up whenever he showed interest in something you’ve picked on too.

you’re pretty. you’re so pretty. if he would’ve met you under different circumstances, you’d never leave his mind. he would’ve fallen asleep and woken up to vision of your face, he would’ve wished to dream of it too in case he misses you too much in his sleep. he would’ve searched for you until he found you, he would’ve loved you, he wouldn’t mind living on bread and oranges if you were there to peel them for him.

but that’s not what happened. or maybe it did, just not in this life.

two months and three weeks.

he didn’t come home tonight.

it’s not like him to not come home. you don’t know why but you stayed up waiting for him. you tried to convince yourself that you did it because you didn’t feel safe sleeping alone without a man in the house but you knew that’s bullshit. the fiend that’s been festering inside you has enough rage to protect you from about pretty much anything once it hits its tipping point. even though it’s been a lot calmer now that you don’t live in that hell of a house with your birthgiver and her dross of a husband, it’s still there, lingering, waiting for someone, for something to give it the nudge it needed to break out of its cage. so no, you weren’t scared of sleeping alone without a man in the house yet you still couldn’t sleep when he wasn’t home.

by four in the morning, you’ve given up. he wasn’t going to come back anytime soon, he’s probably at a brothel, sleeping next to a woman he paid for her to spread her legs for him after he’s been between them, inside her.

you don’t understand why the thought of that irritates you. you shouldn’t be mad. actually, you shouldn’t feel a thing. it’s not like he’s your husband. well.. not like that anyway. in fact, you should be happy for him if he’s really seeing a prostitute. he’s been nothing but nice to you and you haven’t given him a thing in return, he deserves to get it from some place else. you should be happy for him.

happy for him…

but here you are instead. happy that you heard the key turn in the door. only two people have the key, you and him. you’re home, in bed, so that sound of metal twisting in the keyhole means only one thing,

he’s home.

and so is your bewilderment.

from your spot in the bedroom you can hear his footsteps, he walks with a pattern you’ve memorized then you hear a soft thud of the couch hitting the wall as he sits on it and leans back.

he must be drunk, you think. this happened many times before. usually he’d come home much earlier but it happened before. he comes back drunk and falls asleep like dead on the weekends only to wake up the next morning and apologize to you in case he’s said or done something inappropriate. he never has.

tonight isn’t going to be any different than those other nights, you thought before you heard something fall and hit the floor then heard him,

“bloody bastard!” he nearly yelled. he never yells. this must be something serious.

worry fills you up as you jolt out of bed and into the living room where you see him.. red seeping out from his hand and dripping down to the ground, the ground where a knife covered in blood is laying.

“enjolras..” you call for him and he turns his attention over to you from his injured hand. his eyes are bloodshot, you could see it from a distance. “what happened?” you rush to his side, too startled to even realize that you’re sitting beside him only in your white chemise since you left the room in too much of a hurry to remember making yourself decent by putting on your robe.

“sorry i.. i made a mess” he mumbled, “i tried to peel this apple but nearly sliced my finger off instead”

“can i see?” you ask, offering him your hand and he looks at it with a squint for a few sounds as if it’s a forgein object from outer space before placing his own in your palm.

you grab his wrist with your other hand and move it up so you can examine it up close, his eyes following your every move. the cut isn’t deep but it is big. “it’s not too bad, does it hurt?” he nods mouths ‘not anymore’ and you lay his hand on his thigh before getting up, “stay here and sit still”

your father has been in enough pride driven fights where he got himself cut, bruised and bloodied for you to know how to deal with situations like this. he probably could do it on his own but if he’s too drunk to peel an apple then he’s definitely too drunk to clean the damage he fortuitously did to himself.

you came back with a little burgundy cloth, it used to belong to a dress you’ve outgrown but loved too much to let go off so you took a piece of it and turned it into a scarf, a small bowl of water and a towel. he was still sitting there exactly as you left him with his hand facing palm up on his thigh. “this might sting a little” you inform him as you take his hand into yours again, cleaning the blood that has sunk into the calluses of his skin and the new blood gushing out of the wound. he hisses at the contact a bit but stays still just like you’ve asked him to. “i know.. i’m sorry”

a few seconds pass by in comfortable silence as you clean his hand until the only blood there is the one coming straight out of the cut, you put the white-now-stained-with-red towel away with the bowl on the floor and wrap his hand in the burgundy cloth you’ve brought, applying light pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

he alternates between watching you treating his hand and staring back up at your focused face, you look so darling, he thinks. with your eyebrows frowned and your bottom lip bitten between your teeth. no, no. he shouldn’t be looking at you like this but god you’re captivating. “did i wake you?” he asks, hoping starting up a conversation would give him something else to focus on.

“i couldn’t sleep”

“why not?”

you think of his question before dignifying it with a response. he’s drunk, he won’t remember a word of this tomorrow and even if he did, you can always just deny it. tell him he imagined the whole interaction in a drunken haze. “you didn’t come home.” you tell him honestly as you finish up wrapping his hand in your scarf after you’ve stopping his bleeding before looking up and seeing his eyes peering into you with an emotion you can’t explain it.

“you waited for me?” he asks and you nod then watch that emotion intensify a thousand times. “god i’m a fool” you waited for him. you stayed up and waited for him and he didn’t come home to you. “i’m sorry. i was with some mates and i lost track of time” he hoped you won’t forgive him because he knows he can’t forgive himself.

“it’s okay”

“no it isn’t. it isn’t.” he protests, taking a deep breathe and leaning back on the couch. “i just.. i behaved like a bachelor and it’s wrong of me. i have a wife waiting for me at home, i should’ve considered that”

you watch him breathe, just like you have for the past two and a half months except this time he’s awake.. with his hand still resting in yours, he never bothered to take it and you strangely don’t want to let go of it. “enjolras it’s okay, truly. i don’t hold it against you or anything. i mean.. i’m not really your wife.. right?”

your voice brings his gaze back to you, this time it falls on your arms then up to your shoulders, slowly making it’s way to your neck. he’s staring at parts of you he hasn’t ever seen before, parts that should’ve been forbidden for him to see if you weren’t really his wife, full juxtaposition to your words but he knows what you mean and he knows that he shouldn’t be looking at you like this as he looks down and agrees. “right.”

another spell of silence falls upon the two of you, it’s not as comfortable this time after you’ve been awfully aware of how exposed you are. the thinniest piece of fabric seperating your body from him while he’s sitting next to you, still dressed up down to his shoes. the weird thing is, you’re not uncomfortable. you feel a peculiar sensation in your tummy but it’s not the same at the one you feel when you’re nervous. it’s different, you’d like it if you give yourself the chance.

“i would’ve married you if i wasn’t your husband.” he blurts out of nowhere, still looking down, unphased by the words he said as if they didn’t leave you spiralling.

“what?”

he turns his head to you, his eyes still as soft as honey beyond the red that has taken over them. “if things were different, if we met under other circumstances.. i would’ve married you.” he explains and the sensation you felt in your tummy earlier travels further until it’s nuzzling in your chest.

“yeah? what would those circumstances be?”

he pauses and smiles, picturing how your story would’ve played out if things would’ve been different. “well.. we’d met somewhere.. nice. maybe you’re sitting by the lake, reading and eating grapes. i'd walk past you and.. trip or something and you’d come to my rescue.” he chuckles and you can’t help but mirror the sound.

“let me guess, love at first sight?” you question him, feeding into his delusion part because it’s nice to fantasize and part because his voice is intoxicating or maybe it’s the liquor on his breath.

“love at first sight.” he confirms, “and who could blame me? you’re an angel”

“what happens next?”

“we’d keep meeting there, by the lake. we’d talk, we’d exchange books, we’d eat grapes and one day, i’d ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife..” his eyes never leave yours and if he wasn’t too affliected by booze, you’d think he’d being sincere. “my beautiful wife” how you wish he’s being sincere and how he wishes you knew he is. “we’d have a wedding, a real one. you’d wear the same dress because it was beautiful and the flowers too.. you’d be happy.” he continues, “you’d eat, you’d dance, you’d smile, you wouldn’t look.. defeated and i.. i’m over the moon.”

you don’t really remember how or when you leaned into him like this, all you know is that now you’re close enough for his breath to fan your face lightly with each word that leaves his mouth, “hmm?” you urge him to keep going, keep talking please keep talking these fantasies of what we could’ve been in another life are all i have, you think.

as if he could read your mind, he keeps talking. “we’d come home. i’d carry you to our room and lay you down on our bed..” closer... “help you take your white dress off but keep the flowers in your hair” his sound hand comes up, brushing your hair off your neck as you subconsciously lean your neck to the other side, showing him more of you, giving him more for his eyes to feast on.

“then?”

his eyes travel from your neck to your lips and his own parts, he can now understand why people sin. the way you take his breath away was more addictive then the burn down his chest from any alcohol beverage he could swallow down could give. he wanted more. he craved more. he needed more. “then i’d kiss your lips for the first time.” he confessed with his face dangerously close to yours. he can feel your trembling breath and you can feel the hitch in his.

“then?” stop stop stop, you can hear your brain chanting at you. telling you how wrong this is, you should stop and get away but you just can’t. if he’s not the one you get to experience love with in this life, then you’ll settle for these mindless words.

“then i’d make love to you.” he says without missing a beat. he has thought of this before and he’s letting you know that he did, shamelessly. “je te ferais l’amour jusqu’au lever du soleil.” he repeated, sealing his confession with his native tongue.

“how?” no. no. this is wrong. this is so wrong that your body is screaming at you for letting it happen with an obscure ache between your thighs and tightening at your nipples. the sensation in your chest has made home of everywhere in your body, it’s almost numbing. you can’t feel a thing except that ache but the bizzare thing is, that ache feels good.

“hmm.. i’d leave no part of you untouched with my hands, with my lips, with my tongue..” you would’ve forgotten about his hand in your hair if his fingertips didn’t graze your neck, making the skin beneath them feel on fire. he shouldn’t be doing this, he’s intoxicated, you’re intoxicating and this is a recipe for disasater. “then i’d fill you up.. make you a woman, make you mine, my wife.. make you feel good” stop talking, he thought to himself. telling your wife that if you would’ve met her in a different life you could’ve made her happy when you know she wants nothing to do with you is plain wrong. she wants nothing to do with you, he repeated his thoughts back to himself but just as he did, you leaned your neck onto his fingers.

good. he’d make you feel good like the ache is? because the euphoria you’re feeling right now seems transcendent from anything a creature from this earth could give. “how’d you make me feel good?” his fingers trace up your neck more and more until his palm opens and rests on your jaw making the both of your gasp and breathe in the other’s air, you’re that close to him yet it’s not enough, you want to get closer.

“i would start at your n..”

in an attempt to get closer to him, you maneuver on the sofa a bit and that results in your foot hitting the bowl on the floor and knocking it over, spilling water everywhere. both of you stop moving, frozen in place by the sudden crash until you feel the water wetting your foot and it brings you back from that mystical high so you pull away quickly, making enjolras fall a forward but he catches himself before he could as you stand up to your feet. your legs feel a bit.. funny but you brush the feeling off. enough foolishness for one night, you think as you pick up the bowl and place it on the table before crossing your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself up, suddenly feeling insecure again. “it sounds nice. your umm.. story”

“it does, doesn’t it?” he says, pulling his shoes off and tossing them to the side before laying on his back, still in his trousers and white top. maybe you should help him change? no. that’s enough. you shouldn’t be spending a second more with him, not with the way your body is reacting to him. it’s a bad sign.. right? it must be a bad sign.

“but it’s not what happened.” you remind him, feeling the need to make him distinguish between his imagination and reality as if he’s a dreamful boy who can’t do that by himself.

he stares at you for a few seconds, you really want nothing to do with him, don't you? he shouldn’t care about that, it’s not like he loves you. he can’t love you even if he wanted to. “it could’ve happened.”

“but it didn’t.” you say outloud more to convince yourself than tell him. the stubborn fiend in the back of your mind feeds like a monster that’s been starved, eating up your retrogress.

“i know but it would’ve been sweet if it did.” he answers back almost immediately and when you look at him, you see that his eyes are already closed. he’s probably sleep talking. hell, he won’t remember a thing of this tomorrow morning and you’re back to sleepless nights. can't put the blame just on him this time though, you brought this upon yourself.

“goodnight, enjolras.”

"goodnight enjolras"

“good night, enjolras.”

tags: @thegemaqua @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-four-nipples @goldenbrownanddistasteful @chickensinrainboots @harringtonfan4 @zupajespren @musicmoviestv @ireneeee00 @phyllosilicate-s @userquinn @josephfakingquinn @winniesvane @wren-2-d @p3nope @ggujkie @marveltramp @alyssaaaaa-r @siouxiesiouxtryhard @choke-me-joey @hellfiremunsonn @bug-boy32 @elain00 @ali-r3n @quinnsbower @sw34terw34ther @wickedwitchofwest @xiung @rosepresley @munsonsfairygarden @hbaramas @lifealwayslearning @zestychili @fentiibratzz @histvgirl @joe-quinn-loving-queer @joejoequinnquinn @cinnamoncunt @imawh0r3-86 @foreveranexpatsposts @daysinthephoenix

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rhymingcavanagh · 1 year

Text

Greenhouse//N.L x reader (1)

Request: Hi!! I wanted to put in a request, if you're up for it. How about a Nevill Longbottom x Reader where the reader is Bellatrix's child? Only if you want to, of course.

A/n: I had to break this fic up into different parts I hope that's okay :)

word count: 2.2k

who I write for

request here

First year

The first-year cohort of 1991 was a controversial one, to say the least.

With it came yet another Weasley to walk the halls, the newest heir to the Malfoy name, the son of poor old Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Perhaps the most famous of all is Harry Potter, the boy who lived.

On the flip side to that, though, was y/n LeStrange.

She heard the whispers as her name was announced to the hundreds of students, her parents' names were mentioned almost as much as Alice and Franks.

The room went dark as the sorting hat was placed on her head.

She tended, fearing the worst.

Slytherin, just like her mother, and her aunts and her cousins as far back as the first in the line.

She knew it was inevitable; Slytherin was her destiny; it was in her blood.

“Hufflepuff!”

The hat yelled.

She was stunned.

Unlike the students before her, nobody clapped, cheered, or moved across to allow her room at the table.

She trudged through the rows of seats, taking the last one at the end of the table.

She kept her head down, trying to ignore the glares and whispers from the people around her.

Her cousin was placed in Slytherin, unsurprisingly.

For the rest of the feast, she sat alone in silence.

Andromeda, Teddy and Nymphadora were ecstatic when they heard the news; letter upon letter of congratulations came pouring in from family members she didn't even know.

To the pure-blood side of her family, being sorted into Hufflepuff was a one-way ticket to being disinherited.

Her first semester at Hogwarts was rough; her house ostracised her for being cursed with the name of ‘LeStrange’ and ostracised by the Slytherins she had grown up with for being sorted into Hufflepuff.

It seemed her only escape was the greenhouses.

During their first herbology lessons, Professor Sprout had asked for volunteers, a few willing students who would come down to the greenhouses three evenings a week and on Sunday mornings to help water the greenhouses in order.

She loved watering the plants in the evening and watching the sunset as she went about her half of the greenhouse. It allowed her to be transported somewhere else, where her mother and father hadn’t done what they did, where she was accepted by her peers and not met with ridicule and fear.

It was nice, her little haven untouched by her parents' actions.

That was until the first week after Christmas break.

Her spirits were high on the train ride back to Hogwarts, now adorned with new gloves that Dora had knitted for her. Knitting had become her most recent endeavour; she wasn’t entirely good at it, the edges were kind of wonky, and they were about a size too big, but anything from Nymphadora was a prized possession.

She watched the white fields roll past her reading the new book on magical botany that Ted had gifted to her, the words were long and scientific, but she enjoyed looking at the diagrams.

A loud crash and yelling were heard just outside her compartment.

She drew her wand as a figure came barreling towards her; he slipped right past her into the empty compartment and attempted to flatten himself enough to fit under the seats.

It didn’t work, of course, and he simply resorted to turning away from the door.

“Where is he?” Came the familiar voice of her cousin as he rounded the corner. “Oh, it's you,”

She narrowed her eyes, gripping her wand tighter.

“What do you want, Draco?” she questioned.

He rolled his eyes but stopped when he caught sight of the boy in the compartment with her.

“I can see you in there, Longbottom. Do you think my blood traitor of a cousin to protect you?” he took a step forward.

y/n put her hand out, stopping the boy from entering the compartment.

“Leave him alone,” she stated, moving her body to shield the scared boy.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, attempting to look down at her, which was difficult since she was almost a head shorter than her.

“Or what?” he challenged.

They drew their wands simultaneously, wand tips pointed directly at each other's throats, a silent battle of wills.

Despite the fact that Andromeda had run away and been disinherited when she was seventeen, Narcissa still had a soft spot for her older sister and would have her over for dinner once a month.

y/n had realised at a young age that families were messy affairs.

Although Andromeda hated what Bellatrix had done, she still took y/n in and raised her as her own.

Despite the fact that Narcissa hated that Andromeda married a muggle-born man, she still loved her.

And despite the fact that Bellatrix had promised Y/n to the dark lord before she was born, she felt bad for her mother.

y/n had learned long ago that, even though Draco walked with an air of authority, he was as spineless as a jellyfish as soon as someone challenged him.

Draco folded quickly, like she knew he would. Gesturing for his goons to follow him and leading them back the way they came.

“Thank you,” came the meek voice from behind her.

She jumped; in all the excitement, she had forgotten that someone else was in the compartment.

She turned and regretted it almost instantly.

Neville's expression went from scared to downright terrified. Somehow his face paled even more, and he began spluttering apologies.

“Sorry, sorry, ill go,” he said, running out of the compartment.

She knew why he reacted like that; she would have to be an idiot not to.

Charms, Herbology and Astronomy, were the classes that Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors shared, and she wasn’t sure Neville had even looked at her once during those classes.

She sighed, taking her seat once again.

She breezed through the first week back and waited anxiously for Sunday morning to roll around.

She rose early, before the sun was entirely in the sky, making her way down to greenhouse one. The same greenhouse she had been watering since the first week.

She grinned, grabbing the old watering can and filling it with water after she made her way to the small cabinet, retrieved the nutrient potion, and added a few drops.

She hummed an old muggle song that ted would play all the time while she did her duties.

It was so peaceful.

A scared squeak pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned, seeing Neville in the doorway.

“Sorry,” He said quickly, busing himself with the watering can, “Professor Sprout wants me to help with this greenhouse; some seventh years are starting their N.E.W.T. projects. I’ll stay out of your way,”

He spoke quickly and quietly, pointing his wand at the watering can and muttering ‘aguamenti’, but nothing came from the tip of his wand.

He tried again; this time, a weak trickle of water came from the tip.

She made her way over, ensuring not to scare the boy away. Gently, she took the watering can from him, ignoring his shaking hands.

She tapped her wand at the opening, muttering a quick ‘aguamenti’ and filling the can up from him. She handed it back, smiling.

“The nutrient potion is there; I usually put like three drops in,” She explained, making sure to keep her voice soft and low, “I’ve already done the nocturnal section, so you don't have to worry about that,”

It seemed that in that hour and a half in the greenhouse during that time in the morning when no one was awake, Nevile and Y/n’s dynamic shifted.

They made their way up to the great hall, side by side. Neither of them said a word to the other. But Neville wasn’t shaking in fear anymore.

Gryffindor won the house cup that year.

Second year

Harry and Ron made one hell of an entrance that year, crashing into the whomping willow.

She had hoped that this year would bring some friends; she hoped that the school was over talking about her parents.

She should have known that her hopes were too high.

Halloween evening, she was trailing behind her house, listening to the girls she shared her dorm with chatting about something she didn’t care about.

“The Chamber of Secrets had been open; enemies of the Heir beware.”

Hushed whispers spread around the halls.

Eyes turned to her, her parent's names being thrown around with ‘he who must not be named’

She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her up. Dumbledor showed up and ushered them all back to their dormitories. She walked with her house, silently and making sure to keep her head down. She ignored the slide remarks and the angry stares.

“Her mother was close to the dark lord before he fell,”

“My father told me her parents were in his inner circle,”

“Do you think her mum did the dark lord? Maybe she’s their bastard child,”

Y/n LeStrange, the illegitimate child of the Darklord.

That was the rumour that spread around the school. She didn’t even try to defend herself anymore; she kept her head down and did her work.

Her only escape was the greenhouses.

Professor Sprout had moved her up to greenhouse three at the beginning of the year, with increased responsibility. She knew Neville had also been assigned greenhouse three; they had delegated the new responsibilities between the two of them and even came up with their schedules to come and complete them.

Neville would come down on Monday and Wednesday evenings and Sunday Mornings, while Y/n would come down on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings.

After Collin Creeve was attacked, the harassment seemed to get worse. Everywhere she went, people were hissing at her; she even had a few things thrown at her.

The school was divided into three.

Those who believed Harry Potter was the heir of Slytherin.

Those who believed Y/n LeStrange was the heir of Slytherin.

And Slytherins who were revelling in the chaos.

After Justin was Petrified, Y/n was sure she would be dead if it were up to the students.

She stood in the greenhouse, pruning the mandrakes that Professor Sprout delegated to her. The sun was on the horizon, and she cried harder than ever.

No one would talk to her; no one would even look at her.

The girls in her dorm had hidden her shoes and her homework.

She had tried talking to Andromeda about it, asking her for advice.

As much as she loved her aunt and the woman who bought her up, the most advice she received was;

“Just ignore them; they’ll be proven wrong,”

She had tried going to Professor Sprout about it, but the girls had denied their actions, and Professor Sprout had informed her that, without proper evidence, she couldn’t do anything.

She looked down at the excess leaves, warm tears rolling down her cheeks.

Light footsteps behind her caused her to jump; she hastily wiped her tears before turning around.

“Oh, Neville,” She said, turning back to her work, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming down this evening,”

The boy simply shrugged, but the slight smile faded as he realised the girl had been crying.

“Um, are you alright?” he asked.

She sniffled slightly.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” She said, wiping away the stray tear. “Just, uh, pollen and stuff,” she said weakly.

She turned back, working silently as Neville watered his section of Greenhouse three.

She finished her work, tidied away the cut-offs, and returned the shears and gloves.

She took a deep breath before picking up her backpack.

“Hey, Y/n?” Neville called as she opened the doors.

The girl stilled, turning back to look at him.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe any of those things people say about you,”

y/n smiled.

“Thanks, Neville,”

Despite everything going on and the genuine possibility of Hogwarts getting shut down for good.

Y/n had made a friend.

Neville Longbottom and Y/n LeStrange.

After their interaction in greenhouse three, Neville began pairing with her in Herbology.

They went to the library, where she would help him with Potions, and he would help her with charms.

She wasn’t exactly sure what had changed, what made him want to talk to her. Maybe he saw how her own house was treating her, how she struggled with talking to people.

He probably felt sorry for her, and under normal circumstances, she likely would have rejected his attempt at friendship; perhaps she would even be offended by it.

But at this point, she would have accepted moaning myrtles friendship if she extended it.

Maybe it was her imagination, but since becoming friends with Neville, the harassment had died down a bit. At the very least, the girls in her dorm had stopped messing with her things.

Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater were the last students to get petrified.

After Harry Potter’s best friend was attacked, all the suspicions of harry being the Heir of Slytherin were dropped. People were evening beginning to lay off the rumours about her.

By the end of the year, Y/n had fallen back into her natural place among the students.

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