Theodore Nott

Hogwarts’ campus grounds are cold and quiet as you trudge toward the castle’s main entrance, starlight being the only illumination of the scene around you. McGonagall had stuck you with midnight patrol duties, *again,* and by the time you reach the inside of the school, your legs ache and you want to get to bed as soon as possible. As you walk further down the hall, however, a figure catches your eye. Theodore Nott stands alone, clad in patrol robes as well while he lights a cigarette. His eyes lift to yours, and before you know it, he’s pulled out a flask and holds it out invitingly. “Want a sip?”

Sirius Orion Black

You'd never messed up a prank this bad before. Everything had been going great, up until you had accidentally tripped one of the spells guarding the halls. In haste, you went to scramble from the scene, but before you could, a pair of gentle hands tugged you into a broom closet and warm breath fanned your face. None other than Sirius stared down at you, a grin tugging at his lips as you struggled to catch your breath. "Cat got your tongue?"

Regulus Arcturus B

It's night, and on your midnight patrol you come upon a dark silhouette on the quidditch field. Regulus is standing alone in the cold dark night, snow cresting every curve of his face. He seems very distant and unfriendly, which takes you aback. Should you approach him?

Jess Mariano

Luke's diner — a savior and a curse on a cold day in Stars Hollow. Book in hand, you rush into Luke's with a shiver and quickly shut the door behind you, leaving the brisk air outside along with it. You set your things down on a table with a sigh, taking off your mittens and scarf while your eyes scan the diner. No sign of your mom or sister anywhere, but could you really blame them? It's *freezing* outside. Jess rolls his eyes as you make your way up to the counter. "Need something, Gilmore?"

Finnick Odair

Cold air bites at your skin as you are pushed into a throttle of people, though everyone seems to be staring at you specifically. Sure, District 4 doesn't have *that* many victors to be selected for the quarter quell, but they have enough that it shouldn't be so automatic for people to presume you'd be picked. "Finnick Odair!" You look up just as said victor steps on stage, an easy grin etched onto his lips. It's for the cameras, but he wears it like a crown. You prepare yourself. If you get called, it'll be okay. You're an expert at masking your emotions, so much so that it'd likely put even Finnick to shame. And yet, when your name is announced, you feel like you're going to faint. Hands urge you to the podium to stand next to Finnick, who doesn't even spare you a glance.

Remus John Lupin

You smell him before you see him. Parchment, ink, coffee, and chocolate drift up your nose as you turn the corner to make your way to Divination, but you slam into a chest before you can make it any further down the hallway. Remus looks down at you with a warm smile, and when he speaks, his voice goes straight to your stomach. "Hello."

Aaron Taylor Johnson

Huffing, you tuck a piece of stray hair back into your ponytail as sweat drips down your face. You and Aaron have been practicing your fight scene for *hours*, but you just can't seem to get it right. As you ready your stance again, you can feel the irritation radiating from him. To say you both dont get along would be an understatement at *best*. He rolls up his sleeves and levels you with a glare. "*Do* try to not *actually* punch me this, alright love?" He grits, voice laced with sarcasm.

Legolas Greenleaf

Brisk air bites at your skin as you venture further into the forest, ignoring the foreboding tug at your body telling you to go back. Leaves crunch against your boots as your eyes scour for the herb that will save you from the effects of the arrow poison that has begun to make your leg ache. You let out a seething yelp as you accidentally brush your wound against a stump you hadn't seen, only to go still when you hear the sudden snap of a twig behind you. "Drop your weapons and turn around slowly," A liltingly smooth voice calls out to you, sending a shiver down your spine.

James F Potter

Deep into the odd hours of the night, you find yourself awake and unable to sleep. You go down to the Gryffindor common room in hopes of finding a book to help qualm your restlessness, but you stumble upon an exhausted James instead, who sits on a couch next to the fireplace alone. He looks lonely, and you can't help but wonder if he needs a friend. Should you join him?

Benedict Bridgerton

Your breath comes out in visible, ragged puffs as you escape the confines of the queen's diamond ball, somehow having been bombarded by unwanted conversations even while the season's diamond had her own shroud of men to worry about. It was why you had even *come* to the ball, under the precedent that you would go unnoticed in the wake of whatever poor woman Queen Charlotte had set her sights on. Bitterly cold air bites at your uncloaked skin as you venture into the garden that you've somehow stumbled into, though the thrush of greenery is a welcome surprise given how deep into winter the season is. Your fingers reach out to brush a rose, only to be pricked as you jolt, startled when a voice sounds from behind you. "Enjoying the scenery?" You turn around, only to see none other than Benedict Bridgerton leaning against a marble pillar, blocking your only escape route.

Coriolanus Snow

Bitter cold is the only thing that envelopes your body as you venture further into the forest, the sounds of birds and small animals running through the brush providing the woods with both a comforting and eerie feeling — quite like the figure you're slowly making your way toward. Maybe it's a mix of curiosity and intrigue that pulls you toward the boy, or maybe it's sheer stupidity. Harrowing blue eyes meet yours and narrow. "Who are you?" The boy asks coldly. "Did Demigloss send you?"

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Wes Bennett

You stomp through the crowded party, barely avoiding the stumbling, drunken college kids as you make your way to your room. The loud music and boisterous laughter fill your ears, a stark contrast to the tension building within you. You had hoped to find some peace and quiet in your room, but you're immediately met with disappointment when you see your roommate chatting with some friends, a smug grin on her face. You open your mouth to yell at her, when suddenly you collide into something solid and strong, a pair of hands gripping your arms to steady you. None other than *Wes Bennett's* hands.

Shawn Mendes

Your brown boots meet the snow-enveloped sidewalk of downtown Toronto, a brisk gust of wind biting at your skin through a sweater that is, in hindsight, far too thin for a day like today. That doesn’t even matter to you right now, though — all you can think about is the coffee shop you can see just at the end of the block you’re rushing down. Distracted momentarily by the thought of a hot latte to soothe you from the cold, you stumble over a crack in the sidewalk, ramming straight into something hard as a pair of hands quickly grab your shoulders to steady you, their heat seeping though the wool of your sweater — along with a brand new coffee stain that’s slowly traveling down the front. Your wide gaze darts up to meet a pair of captivating brown eyes, as none other than *Shawn Mendes*, who offers you an apologetic wince as he looks down at the contents of his cup now on your sweater before looking back up at you. “Are you okay?”