Lorenzo Berkshire

꩜ʾ — drunk boy 😵‍💫

Remus L

˚☽˚.⋆ - walk before the full moon

Harry P

¡ 🎀 — cozy night

Draco M

𓆙 – a girl i once knew

Theo Nott

✎ – he doesn't know?

james p

⌗﹒🌾 - farm girl and rich boy

Fred Weasley

☄. * – serpents

james p

I wake up in the middle of the night, chest tight, sheets twisted around me like they’re trying to suffocate me. Again. The same damn dream. Uma. Her face, that impossible, infuriatingly beautiful smile, the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the glint in her eyes that makes everything else blur into nothing. Three months. Three months since we broke up, since the last time she laughed with me, since the last time she even looked at me without causing my chest to ache. And still… every night. Every damn night. She’s there. Her power. That thing she keeps buried, the one even the whispers around Hogwarts call dangerous. Dreamwalking. Slipping into someone’s sleep, bending dreams, shaping thoughts—but never the ones she cares about. Except me. Because clearly, she’s not as careful as she pretends to be. She’s laughing in my head, teasing me, haunting me, and I can’t—I can’t—pretend it’s okay. We’re always cursed with distance, always in our own dorms. Hogwarts may be our home, but it’s enormous, and yet… somehow she finds her way in, every night. Every weekend. Always. Always into my dreams. And no one else would understand. Magic isn’t just spells and charms here—it’s everything. And somehow, her power feels like a weapon, aimed straight at me, breaking the rules, breaking me. I slam my hand against the sheets, breathing hard, teeth clenched. Three months of pretending I’m fine. Three months of trying to push her out of my mind. But I can’t. Not tonight. Not another night. I can’t sit in my dorm and hope she isn’t deliberately doing this, making me wake up gasping, making me feel like she’s… mocking me. I grab my cloak, wand in my pocket, and storm through the silent halls. Stairs creak under my furious steps, the castle trembling in its quiet beneath my frustration. I reach her dorm—the one that’s always hers, that smells like her, that is her—and my hand slams against the door. I knock, sharp and loud, fists shaking. Once. Twice. My chest heaves, heart racing, anger twisting into every breath. “Uma!” I almost shout. “If you’re in there… if you’re doing this—laughing at me in my own dreams—then—” My voice catches. I stop, trembling, not from fear but from the rage, the heartbreak, the sheer, impossible longing I can’t get rid of. And I wait.

james p

I hadn’t planned on being here. Honestly, after everything, the last place I should’ve been was Uma Montero’s sweet sixteen party. Her house was buzzing, music pounding through the walls, people laughing and shouting and spilling drinks like it was the end of the world. Everyone who was anyone seemed to be there. But Sirius insisted. Practically dragged me. Said it was the party of the summer. Said I “needed to stop brooding.” Said Uma would “love it if I came.” (That last part, I knew was a lie, but when has Sirius ever cared about details?) The truth was, Uma and I hadn’t spoken properly in months. Not since I’d been an idiot. We met last year, when we were fifteen. It was at one of Sirius’ parties, of course. I’d noticed her the second she walked in — hair shining under the lights, smile like she owned the room. We spent the whole night together, talking, laughing, kissing. And for weeks after, it was… easy. Natural. Like I’d known her forever. And then I ruined it. I ghosted her. Not because I didn’t like her — Merlin, I did. Too much. But because I was James Potter, Quidditch captain, prankster, Marauder. I wasn’t supposed to get tied down. And Lily Evans — well, she’d finally looked my way. And I was too stupid, too full of myself, to see what I already had. So I walked away without a word. Dated Lily. Pretended Uma didn’t matter. And now Lily and I were over — barely lasted the term, really — and Uma? She’d moved on. Or at least, she looked like she had. And yet, the second I stepped into her house and saw her — laughing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by her friends, glowing like the whole night belonged to her — that twist in my chest told me I hadn’t moved on at all. I was still watching her when she noticed me. Her eyes locked on mine, sharp and unflinching. She wove through the crowd, every step deliberate, and suddenly she was in front of me.

james p

James had known Uma longer than most things that mattered to him; she wasn’t just another person in the same year, she was the one who could make him shut up for once without meaning to, the one who laughed at his terrible jokes and made them sound like the best thing he’d ever said. They’d dated last year—intense and stupid and brilliant in equal parts—and he’d been everything he shouldn’t, loud and careless with other people’s hearts, including hers. It had blown up, badly enough that they stopped being together, badly enough that she’d learned to keep him at arm’s length, and he’d spent the last year trying to understand what being less of an idiot actually meant. To anyone watching, Uma was the soft kind of brilliant: kind, funny, stunning in a way that didn’t try, the kind of person who noticed small things and fixed them. To James she was the person who could make him feel like a better version of himself just by being near, and that terrified him because he’d realised too late that he didn’t want to be the version of himself who’d lose her. So when he slid down to the floor by the coffee table and joined their little game, he wasn’t being his usual loud, attention-grabbing self. He wanted to be close without being stupid about it; he wanted to joke without sounding like he was doing his trademark ‘show-off’ routine; he wanted to be the sort of bloke who could make her laugh and feel safe rather than used. “Merlin, Evans,” he said, voice low enough that only the circle around the table heard, “you’re getting absolutely destroyed. Uma’s wiping the floor with you.” It was teasing, but softer than his old teasing, the kind of ribbing that came from being comfortable and also terrified of messing up again. When she smiled—real and small—it did something to him that he still didn’t have a proper name for, this hot, stupid ache that made him suddenly clumsy with words. He tried the confident grin and the casual elbow nudge because that was who he was, but under it all something wild and ashamed sat in his chest: he was in love with her in a way that had teeth to it, and he’d already hurt her with the worst parts of himself. He was sorry, in that wordless way where you keep replaying every stupid thing and wishing you could take it back, and he was trying to be better even if he hadn’t learned all the lessons yet. He tried not to show it—tried to be flirty and easy and just James—but sometimes the thing he couldn’t hide was how quiet he got when she looked at him like she was measuring what remained. Uma didn’t know the whole of his apology; she hadn’t seen the long, boring bits where he stayed up thinking about how to be decent, where he stopped bragging, where he actually listened. She only saw him fumble his jokes and lean too close and then try to laugh it off, and that made her cautious, which made him more careful, which made him want to do better even though he didn’t have the words for the promise he was making to himself. He hadn’t fixed anything yet—far from it—but standing there with his shoulder almost touching hers, watching her play and laugh and look impossibly gentle, he felt a stubborn little hope that he might get the chance to prove to her that he’d changed.

james p

It was reckless, even for me. Sirius had been in a mood lately—snapping at everyone, treating her like she was just another shiny thing he could leave on a shelf while he raged through the castle. And yeah, he was my brother in all but blood. My best mate. But tonight? Tonight he wasn’t here. Tonight it was just me and her, and I was feeling a little too mischievous for my own good. The firewhisky burned in my chest, and my head felt warm, light—just tipsy enough that my better judgement was starting to blur around the edges. I leaned closer, grinning like a boy who knew he was asking for trouble. “You know,” I said, voice low enough that only she could hear over the music, “I’m really feeling like kissing somebody’s girlfriend tonight.” Her eyes widened just a fraction, lashes catching in the dim light, and my grin only grew. Because we both knew who I meant. We both knew I’d been fond of her for far too long, always careful, always pulling back before it crossed the line. But with Sirius sulking in his dorm and her knee brushing mine under the table—Merlin, I was close to snapping that line in two. She looked at me, warm eyes searching, like she wasn’t sure if I was joking. And maybe I wasn’t. Maybe tonight, tipsy and restless, I wanted to prove that Sirius didn’t deserve her. That I’d never let her slip through my fingers the way he did. And if she leaned in, even just a little—I knew I’d kiss her, and I wouldn’t regret it for a second.

james p

It’s loud in here—too loud for anyone else to think straight—but I’ve never been accused of thinking straight when you’re around. And tonight, I can’t think about anything but the fact that it’s the last one I get with you. The last time you’ll be in the same room, in the same country, in the same bloody time zone as me. Tomorrow morning you’ll be gone. Not gone like, “see you after summer holidays,” but gone-gone. Halfway across the world, boarding a plane to the States and leaving me here with my best friends, my Quidditch team, and a gaping hole I’m pretending won’t hurt. I’ve been walking around all week like it’s business as usual, flirting with you like I always do, laughing at your comebacks, pretending that the idea of you packing your life into suitcases isn’t slowly driving me mental. But tonight isn’t usual. Tonight is the last night I get to stand across a room and watch you. And there you are—moving through the crowd, hair straightened into that glossy perfection you pretend is effortless, brown eyes catching the light. I’ve seen you with your natural waves, too—Merlin, those are my favorite secret. And it hits me again that after tonight, I don’t get to keep them. You spot me. That smile appears—that smile—and I swear, my ego could power the lights in this place, but the truth is, you’ve been running the whole operation since the day Sirius shoved us into the same conversation. I push off the wall, cutting through the crowd until I’m right in front of you. “Fancy seeing you here, darling,” I say, leaning close so my words are ours alone. “Though I have to say, you’ve really outdone yourself tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to make it impossible for me to survive tomorrow.” Your laugh—warm, a little nervous—makes my chest tighten. You don’t know it yet, but I’ve already decided. I’m done playing the long game. Because this is my last night with you, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make it count.

Draco M

𐙚 - another kiss

sirius b

Sirius had always been called doglike—between his Patronus, his Animagus, and that untamed streak in his eyes, it wasn’t exactly a secret. And somehow, it fit him perfectly. But around you, all the usual Black swagger, the teasing smirk, the careless edge melted away. He trailed you like a lost pup, heart thudding, utterly captivated. His smoky habit lingered on his fingers, curling faintly in the cold Hogwarts air, a secret vice he carried and yet didn’t want to share with you. He felt guilty—he knew he’d passed it on to you somehow, even though he wouldn’t let you light a cigarette while he was around. Somehow, in the chaos of being sixteen and dizzy with first love, he’d contaminated you with the same restless spark, and it made his chest tighten. “You’re mine,” he thought, though he’d never say it out loud. Still, his hands betrayed him, swiping your books from your grip with a grin that was almost sheepish, almost desperate. That pointy tooth flashing in the light only made it worse—infuriatingly cute, impossible to resist. “What class do you have?” he asked, fumbling for words even though he knew your timetable by heart. Sixteen, yes, but when he was with you, he felt older somehow—responsible and reckless all at once, trapped in the pull of her laughter, the tilt of her head, the way her eyes dared him to be soft. She wasn’t like anyone else. Her energy, her light, even her mischief made him ache with adoration. And all the while, he carried the guilt of knowing he’d let her taste some small piece of his fire—the smoke, the reckless habit—without ever wanting her to truly share it. And yet… he couldn’t stop following her, couldn’t stop loving every little impossible thing about her.

james p

The sun was brutal that afternoon, the kind that bounced off the white fences and turned the air above the track into a shimmering haze. My camera felt heavy against my palm, but I was used to it by now—catching the moment, the angle, the speed. Horses, riders, motion. That was my world. I’d just shifted position along the railing when someone brushed past me. Not rough, just enough to jolt me back to attention. I turned, ready to mutter an apology or a half-annoyed “watch it,” but the words stalled. She was there. Light brown hair falling straight down her back, sun catching the strands as if on purpose. A white blouse tucked into easy jeans, and a beige beret sitting just right on her head—like she hadn’t even tried, and yet somehow it worked perfectly. She looked fresh off a film set, not a horse track. Out of place, but in a way that drew every eye, including mine. “Sorry,” she said lightly, though she didn’t sound particularly sorry. Her voice carried a kind of calm confidence, and then she was already leaning against the railing beside me, casual, like she belonged there more than I did. I turned back toward the track, adjusting my lens, but my focus was shot. Every few seconds, I caught myself glancing sideways. I didn’t know her, but she wasn’t the kind of girl you could overlook. Not with that face. Not with that presence.

james p

I wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, sheets twisted around me like they’re trying to trap my chest. Again. The same dream. Uma. Her face, that impossible, infuriatingly beautiful smile, the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the glint in her eyes that makes everything else blur into nothing. Three months. Three months since we broke up, since we last shared a smile, a laugh, a look that only we understood. And still… every night, without fail, she’s there. Her power. That thing she keeps buried, the one even the whispers around Hogwarts call dangerous. Dreamwalking. Slipping into someone’s sleep, bending dreams, shaping thoughts—but never the ones she cares about. It’s why she’s always so careful, why even though magic runs through her veins, she’s never reckless with it—except… here I am. Haunted. Invaded. Her. Not in memory, not in fantasy. Alive. Breathing in my head. And I can’t—I can’t—pretend it’s okay. We’re always cursed with distance, always in our own spaces. Hogwarts may be our home, but it’s enormous, and each of us has our own dorm. This is the weekend, quiet, the halls sleeping under the stars, and yet… she’s there. In my dreams. Always. And no one else would understand. Magic isn’t just spells and charms here—it’s everything. And yet, somehow, her power feels like it’s breaking the rules, breaking me. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, hands gripping the sheets as if they could hold me together. Three months of pretending I’m fine. Three months of trying to push her out of my mind. But I can’t. Not tonight. I can’t sit in my dorm and hope she’s not the reason I wake up gasping, the reason my heart won’t let me breathe. So I get up. I grab my cloak, wand in my pocket, and I step into the night. The castle is silent, corridors empty, stairs creaking under careful steps. I make my way to her dorm, the one room that’s always been hers, the place that holds her scent, her warmth, her laughter. My hand hesitates at the door, trembling—not from fear, but from everything I’ve been holding in for three months. I knock. Once. Twice. My chest heaves, mind racing, heart screaming. And I wait, listening to the quiet hum of Hogwarts around me, hoping she’s awake… hoping she hears me.

001 - info

my @ for reqs!! 🌖