Archive of Our Own

You returned to Hogwarts with a clear mind, a packed trunk, and a personal oath to avoid any unnecessary craziness.

The first days of summer at Granny Josephine’s had been its own kind of magic, the quiet sort. The world beyond her herb garden didn’t seem to matter much when you were surrounded by the scent of basil and smoke, with the sun warming your back and a book in your lap. You’d spent entire afternoons perched under the twisted apple tree near the edge of the property, practicing complex spells and letting the bees buzz around your ankles.

Just as summers past, you’d eventually fallen into a languid rhythm without thinking. Chores in the morning, magic practice by midday, and long walks down the gravel path behind the cottage when the sun dipped low. Caleb spent most of his time fixing up Granny’s old broom collection or teaching the neighbor’s kids how to throw a Quaffle. He always came back smelling like sap and wind.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you from the porch while you read, a lazy kind of smile tugging at his mouth like he knew something you didn’t. And sometimes, though you’d never admit it, you watched him too. Just... observation. Like a nature study. Like identifying a strange, too-handsome bird that wouldn't stop chirping in your general direction.

Granny never asked questions. She just handed you another cup of nettle tea and said things like, “You’ve got too many thoughts, my dear. Go chase some of them out.”

You’d tried. But some thoughts had Caleb’s stupid smile in them, and those were harder to outrun.

It was easier near the end, after Caleb shipped himself off to a Quidditch training camp for the remainder of the summer. Gone were the fleeting moments with him that plague your mind. You’d finally outrun him.

You had. Or at least, you thought you had.

By the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, you felt almost new again, rested, centered, and resolved to coast through your fourth year in Slytherin with no crushes, no drama, and definitely no distractions in the form of charming, too-good-for-his-own-good Hufflepuffs.

And then you saw Caleb.

He stepped down from the train that had arrived just ahead of you, his broom slung over one shoulder like some sort of poster boy for Quidditch Weekly. His robes were creased in that perfect way that suggested they’d been carefully kept. The breeze caught in his hair, of course it did, and his newly earned prefect badge gleamed against his chest like it had been polished by actual fairies.

You’d barely blinked when a group of third-year girls trailing behind him erupted into a flurry of giggles, each one whispering louder than the last.

“Oh my god, is that him?”
“He got even taller!”
“I heard he got named Hufflepuff Captain over summer!”
“Do you think he’d go with me to Hogsmeade if I asked?”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

It wasn’t that Caleb had changed so much, no, it was that everyone else had finally caught up. He’d always been so… charming. Patient, kind, maddeningly attractive in a boy-next-door-meets-knight-of-Hufflepuff sort of way. You’d known him since you were five. Back then, he’d had a crooked smile and a missing tooth. Now, apparently, he had fan girls.

He waved at them like the whole world was a meet-and-greet. You muttered under your breath, “Shoot me.”

“Hmm?” Gideon asked, glancing sideways at you as he moved to haul both his and your trunks onto a carriage.

“Nothing,” you mumbled.

It only got worse once you were back in the castle.

The Great Hall looked the same, floating candles, banners fluttering overhead, the faint smell of roasted pumpkin drifting through the air. But the moment Caleb walked in, all eyes snapped to him like he was the Chosen One. A cluster of third year Hufflepuffs followed him in like ducklings. Two second years at the Gryffindor table actually sighed. And then, just to add salt to the wound, Lisa Evergreen, a sixth year Ravenclaw bombshell who once hexed a boy for talking to her, glided up to him like she owned the tiles under her feet.

You were halfway through your mashed potatoes and already regretting everything that had led to this moment.

Lisa flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and leaned down, mouthing something to Caleb that made his lips twitch into that too-perfect grin. He chuckled.

Chuckled.

Your fork clattered onto your plate.

“He’s going to give someone a nosebleed if he keeps smiling like that,” you muttered.

Gideon didn’t look up from his stew. “Still not over it, huh?”

“Over what?” you asked, entirely too sharp.

He raised an eyebrow. “Your Caleb allergy.”

You scoffed. “I’m not allergic. I’m just resistant.”

“To Caleb? Sure.” Gideon finally glanced up, his spoon pausing mid-air. “Resistant,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “Like how some people are resistant to thinking.”

You shot him a glare, but it bounced off his maddeningly unaffected expression. “Not funny.”

“Mm.” He went back to eating, unhurried. “Because you definitely don’t look like someone who’s mentally cataloging every single time he laughs at her jokes.”

“I’m not,” you started, then stopped, realizing just how defensive that sounded.

Your eyes flicked back across the dining hall. Lisa was now laughing, her hand casually resting on Caleb’s forearm. He didn’t move it away.

You stabbed a piece of broccoli with unnecessary force. “She’s probably just flirting to get him to carry her transfigurations project again.”

Gideon hummed. “And if he does?”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Finally, you muttered, “Then I hope he throws his back out doing it.”

That actually got a real laugh out of Gideon, quick and surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to say it.

“I’m just saying,” you added, voice a little too high, “someone’s gotta be immune to the ‘Caleb Effect.’ Of course it’d be me.”

“Of course,” Gideon agreed, an unconvinced smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though you might want to work on hiding your symptoms better.”

You shoved the rest of your broccoli in your mouth before you could say something reckless.

Across the room, Caleb glanced your way.

And smiled.

You watched across the room as another girl, a nervous-looking fourth-year with ink smudged on her robes, handed Caleb a folded note. He took it politely, tucked it into his bag, and said something that made her grin like she’d just won the Triwizard Tournament.

Your stomach twisted.

Nope. Not jealous. Just... observational.

Gideon popped a piece of bread in his mouth. “He does seem to be building a fan club.”

“Fan cult,” you corrected.

And the worst part? Caleb didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t mind. He just kept being charming and thoughtful and patient and polite, like he was personally auditioning to be the face of some magical boy band called The Hufflehunks.

Every time he laughed at someone’s joke, or held open a door, or helped a first year with directions, you felt your jaw clench tighter, Not because you were hoping for him to stop, but because he didn’t even realize what he was doing. That was the real problem. Caleb didn’t flirt, he just existed. And apparently, that was enough.

You swore you weren’t going to let it bother you.

You’d had a calm, drama-free summer. You’d eaten fresh strawberries from Granny Josephine’s garden and fallen asleep under patchwork quilts that smelled like lavender and old spellbooks. You had goals this year. Good grades, passing potions, not losing your mind.

But instead, you were sitting at dinner, watching Lisa Evergreen lean closer to Caleb’s ear, whisper something with a smirk, and laugh when he smiled back at her.

🍎

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. Caleb’s popularity. The endless parade of admirers. It was just a part of life now.

But it didn’t take long for your patience to start wearing thin.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, or in this case your resolve to let things be, started innocently enough.

An innocent, accidental spill in the middle of the courtyard.

You were on your way back from the library, arms full of books you absolutely meant to read, when you spotted Caleb in the Entrance Hall, chatting with Professor Wesly near the staircase. His Hufflepuff robes hung loosely around his tall frame, still damp at the hem from the morning rain. You barely had time to register the familiar tilt of his head, the way he laughed with his whole face, warm and easy, when it happened.

A third year Slytherin darted out of the crowd. Small, but prominent freckles scattered across her cheeks, holding a goblet in one hand like she’d never seen one before. She collided with thin air in the most unconvincing trip you’d ever seen, and the pumpkin juice launched from her hand in a spectacular arc.

Right into Caleb’s chest. Everyone who witnessed the incident gasped, including you. Juice dripped down his robes in sticky orange rivers. He blinked, blinked again, and then looked down at himself like he was trying to process how gravity had turned against him.

“Oh nooo,” the girl squeaked, dramatically horrified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there, I was just. Oh no!”

She covered her mouth dramatically with both hands, peeking through her fingers as if surprised to find her juice had landed exactly where she’d wanted it to.

You waited for Caleb to frown. Maybe let out an exasperated sigh. Something. Anything. But nothing of that sort ever came. He just laughed.

“It’s all right,” he said with that cursed smile. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

Anyone. Anyone. Like it hadn’t been a precision strike worthy of a Quidditch playbook.

You had to physically restrain your eye roll.

The girl beamed at him, visibly vibrating. “You smell like cinnamon now,” she giggled, and then ran away before you could hex her on principle.

Caleb looked down at himself again, still laughing. “Do I really smell like cinnamon?”

“You smell like you just bathed in spiced pumpkin cider,” you muttered as you passed him. “Which, to be fair, is probably an improvement.”

He grinned at you, completely unbothered. “Thanks for the honesty, pipsqueak.”

You bit your tongue so hard it hurt.

🍎

By the next day, it had escalated.

You were walking outside towards Care of Magical Creatures when you saw her, a Gryffindor fifth year, leaning casually near the broom shed like she just happened to be passing by. Her hair was curled in perfect, spiraling waves, and she wore a maroon ribbon tied just so around her wrist.

She waited until Caleb walked by, then reached out and gently. Gently! And tucked a folded piece of parchment beneath the handle of his broomstick. A heart-shaped note. Enchanted, of course. You could see it pulsing softly like it had a heartbeat.

He didn’t notice until he mounted the broom. He pulled the heart free, turned it over, and read it. Then, without any real reaction, he sighed, stuffed it in his bag, and kicked off into the air.

No blush. No stuttering. No scandalized expression. Just a shrug.

Like this was his new normal.

You stared after him in disbelief, watching him disappear into the sky with the ease of someone who was apparently used to being admired like a prize at the end of a difficult challenge.

You didn’t even realize you’d been standing there until Gideon appeared beside you, looking far too calm given the messy appearance of his Slytherin robes. You’d bet two galleons he had just woken up from his daily nap.

“You look like you just witnessed a murder,” he said.

You didn’t blink. “I did. My disbelief. Dead and gone now, I fear.”

🍎

You were doing your best to keep it together. Really, you were.

Then dinner happened.

You were seated beside Caleb and Gideon at the Slytherin table, picking at a slice of apple pie while he retold the story of a second year accidentally charming her cauldron into singing lullabies. You’d just snorted when a new voice interrupted.

“Caleb.”

You froze bite. That voice was unmistakable, smooth, sharp, and utterly full of itself. Lisa Evergreen.

You turned slowly. There she was. Sixth year Ravenclaw perfection. Her robes looked freshly pressed, her hair curled into a dramatic wave over one shoulder, and in her hands, a sleek red box tied with a glittering gold ribbon.

“Oh,” Gideon muttered. “Here we go.”

Caleb blinked, caught off guard. “Lisa. Hi.”

She offered him the box like it was some sort of ceremonial offering. “I thought you might like these. Just a little… sweet encouragement before the Quidditch season.”

You could practically smell the enchantment oozing off the chocolates. Love potion. Sloppily disguised under a faint citrus glamor.

Caleb looked surprised, but not enough. He reached for them, ever the polite gentleman.

And that was it. You’d reached your limit.

You scoffed, loud and clear. “Wow. Giving someone else’s boyfriend love potion laced chocolates in front of his girlfriend? Bold choice.”

Silence.

Caleb’s hand paused in midair.

Lisa blinked. “I- I didn’t realize-,”

You smiled, all teeth. “Sure, you didn’t.”

She stammered something about “mistaken assumptions” and “miscommunication,” then fled with her pride in shreds.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Caleb turned to you, eyes wide. “Boyfriend?”

You scooped another bite of pie onto your fork like nothing had happened. “Dummy Caleb. She was trying to drug you. You were about to take it. What would you do without me?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought for a moment.

“Probably spend the evening hopelessly in love with Lisa Evergreen,” he laughed.

You made a face. “I would’ve dunked your head in the fountain before it came to that.”

He laughed loudly and bumped your shoulder. You pretended not to notice the way your cheeks warmed. It didn’t mean anything. Just banter. Just a joke.

A joke.

🍎

That night, a familiar fluffy face made its way to your dorm. Selene, Caleb’s cat, jumped up to your bed. You pet her before she settled next to her brother Sol.

It took you longer than you cared to admit to notice the note carefully tucked under her collar.

You sat up in bed, shoving your pillow aside, and opened the parchment carefully. Caleb’s handwriting was rushed but still unmistakably his.

“Let’s pretend, for now, that we’re dating. Just like tonight. You’d be helping me out. And besides, you are very convincing.”

You stuttered. You read it again, twice, then flopped back onto your bed and stared at the ceiling like the answer might be scrawled there.

Fake dating Caleb.

Of course, because nothing could possibly go wrong with that.

🍎

You sat at the Slytherin table the next morning, not quite awake and definitely not mentally stable enough to be facing Caleb after receiving his offer last night.

Thankfully, you’d learned that said golden boy was pre-occupied with an early Quidditch practice.

Gideon sat beside you, slowly dissecting a quiche like he was performing surgery. You’d barely touched your oatmeal.

“I still don’t understand why they called us to the hall this early in the morning,” he groaned, flicking a crumb from his sleeve. “We’re barely even functioning humans before noon. Caleb’s lucky he had an excuse.”

“Who knows,” you muttered, stirring your spoon clockwise, counter-clockwise. “Not that he’d mind, most Hufflepuffs are up early morning anyways.”

“And too loud,” Gideon said as he glanced at the only lively table in the room. “But I guess that makes us the emotionally repressed house.”

You chuckled. “Sure, emotional repression is exactly what I need right now.”

He smirked faintly, but it faded as he tilted his head at you. “You’re acting weird. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, watching your spoon sink slowly beneath the surface of your tea.

“Caleb asked me to fake date him.”

Gideon stilled. Even his usual habit of bouncing his leg underneath the table halted. “Fake date?”

“Mmhm.”

He leaned back slightly, as if needing physical distance just to process it. “And you said yes?”

“I haven’t said anything yet,” you said quickly. “He asked me through a letter last night.”

“Of course he did,” Gideon muttered. Then, after a pause, “And you’re actually considering it?”

You pressed your lips together. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He sat up straight, buttering his toast with the movements of someone who overthought everything. “You’ll need a story to pull this off,” he groaned. “You’re lucky I’m the only one that knows you two were practically raised together.”

You blinked. “Is that really important?”

Before he could respond, the chatter of the Great Hall dulled to a hush as the doors at the head of the room opened.

Headmaster Thorne, who could silence an entire room just by walking into it, stepped up to the podium. He gave a nod to the staff table before speaking, voice echoing with quiet authority.

“Before we begin morning announcements, I’d like to welcome a new student starting with us this term,” he said. “Sylus Qin. Fifth year transfer. He’ll be joining Slytherin House.”

The name hit the room like a whispered spell.

You watched as the tall figure strode in from the side entrance with the kind of confidence you didn’t often see outside duels or drama clubs.

Sylus moved like he had every right to be stared at. Tall, fit, with silver hair, pristine robes, and black gloves tugged snug on his fingers. His hair fell in that carefully tousled way that made it look like he hadn’t tried at all. He scanned the room once, like he was reading everyone’s secrets for fun.

And then, of course, he walked directly to your table.

Directly to you.

He sat beside you like the seat had been reserved. His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, before a lazy, knowing smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Well,” he said, voice low and velvety, “aren’t you a pretty little thing to start the morning with.”

You scoff. “Bold opening. Is that how they do things at your last school, or are you just set on making enemies early?”

He hummed, clearly amused. “I heard Slytherins appreciate confidence.”

You met his gaze, cool and curious. “Most appreciate results. Big difference.”

Sylus smirked like he wasn’t the least bit fazed. “So this is what passes for hospitality? No wonder they had to import talent.”

Your brow arched. “If you're the talent, I want a refund.”

He laughed, quiet, smug, annoyingly pleasant. “You’re fun, kitten.”

Gideon made a strangled sound beside you. “Oh no,” he muttered.

Sylus leaned an elbow on the table, gaze fixed on you like he’d found something particularly fun to toy with. “So. What’s your name, kitten?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you said, grabbing your toast like a weapon. “And stop calling me kitten, I don’t like it.”

His grin deepened, all teeth and trouble. “You didn’t deny you were a kitten. Just that you didn’t like it.”

You turned fully toward him, brows raised. “Are you always like this?”

“Depends,” he said, studying you with eyes that were too sharp, too knowing. “Are you always this fun before breakfast?”

You opened your mouth to respond, probably with something scathing, when Professor Hawthorne walked past and casually dropped a class schedule in front of Sylus.

“Welcome to Slytherin,” she said, sounding suspiciously tired already. “Try not to set anything on fire.”

“No promises,” he said, not looking away from you.

When the professor left, Sylus turned the schedule lazily in his hands. “Maybe we’ll have a class together. I’ll save you a seat, kitten.”

“I’ll sit somewhere else.”

“Not if I get there first.”

You made a noise halfway between a groan and a threat.

Gideon leaned toward you as Sylus turned away to inspect a goblet of pumpkin juice like it had insulted him. “You attract chaos,” he whispered.

You sighed, knowing fully well he wasn’t wrong.

🍎

It was afternoon in the courtyard when you and Caleb sat down to negotiate your future in lies.

The stone bench beneath you was still warm from the sun, and the last of the summer breeze tangled in your hair as you flipped open a fresh parchment notebook. Caleb sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms folded like he was trying to look casual. But his foot was bouncing with the energy of a golden retriever pretending to behave.

Just because you were paranoid, and because Hogwarts gossip traveled faster than light, you murmured a charm under your breath and tapped the edge of your quill.

The air shimmered faintly around you, the sounds of nearby students dulling like someone had turned the volume down on the world.

Caleb tilted his head. “Was that… a Muffliato variant?”

“Improved version,” you said, satisfied. “It muffles outgoing sound and repels eavesdropping spells. You can thank Granny Josephine’s paranoia for that one.”

He stared at you for a long second, then grinned. “You’re scary. In the best way, pipsqueak”

“I’m efficient,” you said, trying not to react to the compliment.

He nudged your foot with his. “Same thing.”

“All right,” you said, clicking your self-inking quill. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. Structure. Guidelines. No chaos.”

Caleb gave you a look. “Do you really think this will be chaotic?”

You raised a brow. “You’ve had three girls try to flirt with you just today, and one of them licked her lips when she asked to borrow your quill.”

He blinked. “She was just nervous.”

“I’d bet five galleons she was thinking about nibbling on your pen.”

Caleb choked on a laugh. “Okay. Fair. Rules it is.”

You adjusted the parchment and wrote across the top in neat block letters:

Dating Contract.

Beside the title, you drew a small skull and crossbones for dramatic effect.

“First rule,” you said. “Public affection only when necessary. This is to sell the act.”

Caleb nodded, mock serious. “No unnecessary handholding, longing gazes, or spoon-feeding each other apple pie.”

“Exactly,” you said, ignoring the strange twist in your stomach at the phrase longing gazes.

“Second rule: no actual feelings involved. We don’t do romantic spirals. This ends clean.”

“No catching feelings,” Caleb repeated, but his voice was a little quieter.

You glanced at him, but his expression gave nothing away. You cleared your throat.

“Third rule,” you said, scribbling it down. “Absolutely no kissing. Unless required for dramatic effect, public doubt, or sabotage reversal.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“You’ve met this school.”

Caleb smiled, sunlight catching the edge of it. “All right. No kissing, unless theatrically necessary, got it.”

You sat back, rereading the list. “Three rules. Feels solid.”

“Should we sign it in blood?”

You chuckled. “This isn’t a binding blood ritual. A simple signature will do.”

You reached into your satchel and pulled out your wand. With a quick flick, you cast a minor enchantment on the parchment that signed your name. It glowed softly before sealing itself with a faint snap. Caleb followed suit.

As the charms finished doing their thing, Gideon appeared at the far end of the courtyard like a ghost summoned by your collective idiocy. He approached slowly, looking between the two of you, then at the parchment on your lap.

“Oh no,” he said flatly. “You made a contract?”

You waved the parchment. “We’re establishing boundaries.”

Gideon stared like he was witnessing a tragic prophecy unfold in real time. “This is going to end in me needing therapy.”

“Your support means the world to us,” Caleb said cheerfully.

Gideon didn’t respond. Just turned on his heel and walked off muttering something about “fake dating disasters” and “self-inflicted emotional doom.”

You leaned back on your elbows and looked over at Caleb. “So. We’re really doing this.”

He looked at you, sunlight filtering through the courtyard arches, golden on his skin. “Yeah,” he said. “We are.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The courtyard was quiet in that strange in-between way Hogwarts sometimes got, like it was holding its breath.

Then Caleb offered his hand.

You stared at it.

“What,” you said. “You want to shake on it?”

“No,” he said. “We’re fake dating. You’re supposed to hold my hand now.”

You gave him a look. “We’re alone.”

“Not for long,” he smiled.

You rolled your eyes but slipped your hand into his anyway.

It was warm. Solid. Familiar.

🍎

Dating Caleb, fake dating, you had to remind yourself, should have been a full-time inconvenience.

Instead, it felt disturbingly natural.

On the first morning after writing the contract, he waited for you outside the Slytherin dorms. Leaning casually against the cool stone wall, arms crossed over his Quidditch uniform, grinning like he wasn’t about to walk into chaos.

“What,” you said, stopping short, “are you doing in the dungeons?”

“I thought I’d escort my girlfriend to breakfast,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You narrowed your eyes. “You know we could’ve just met at the Great Hall, right?”

“But then I wouldn’t get to do this.” He offered his hand with exaggerated flourish.

You sighed, slid your hand into his, and immediately regretted it. His palm was warm. His grip steady. Too steady. Your fingers fit perfectly between his. Like you’d done this a hundred times before, which you had, for years before now, when it meant something completely different.

You made it approximately twenty steps before the staring began.

Two Slytherin second years paused mid-argument to gawk. A group of Ravenclaws walking ahead of you tripped over themselves craning their necks. A Hufflepuff girl in Herbology robes let out a squeak like someone had hexed her with the Tickling jinx.

“Oh my god,” someone whispered behind you. “They’re holding hands.”

You kept walking. You could survive this. Probably.

By the time you reached the Great Hall, Caleb had received three double-takes, one fluttery wave from a Gryffindor fifth year, and a particularly loud gasp from a boy at the Ravenclaw table who clutched his heart like he’d just watched his future husband marry someone else.

Caleb just smiled through all of it, completely unbothered. You, on the other hand, were calculating how long it would take to flee the country.

You dropped his hand when you walked to sit at your own table, but the damage was done. Half the Slytherin bench stared at you, eyes wide in disbelief.

Across the hall, Caleb caught your eye and mouthed, “that wasn’t so bad.”

You mouthed back, “dummy.”

He winked.

You stabbed your eggs like they’d personally betrayed you.

🍎

Later that day in during self-study, Caleb pulled out a chair beside you without hesitation.

“You’re supposed to sit with Hufflepuffs,” you hissed as he opened his book.

He shrugged. “My girlfriend’s here.”

Professor Flint, bless him, seemed delighted. “Young love!” he chirped. “How very charming!”

The groans from the students around you were immediate.

“I will hex you in your sleep,” you muttered.

Caleb just leaned closer, voice low and amused. “You’re adorable when you’re threatening.”

You kicked his ankle under the desk.

And then, just to make things worse, he started passing you notes.

Folded bits of parchment floated subtly across the desk with small charms and big opinions.

You doodle skulls in your margins. Very pipsqueak like.

Do you always chew the ends of your quills when you’re annoyed?

I think I just caught a Slytherin glaring with actual murder in her eyes.

You’re doing great.

You tried not to smile. You really did.

But when he handed you a note with a moving stick figure drawing of the two of you holding hands, with the caption Excessive PDA Level 4: Immediate Expulsion, you snorted so loudly that Flint turned to look.

Caleb grinned.

You kicked his ankle again.

🍎

By Friday, the entire school knew.

You were halfway down the corridor toward Potions when a pair of third year Hufflepuff girls stopped in their tracks and whispered, “That’s her,” as you passed.

A group of Gryffindors boys at the foot of the stairs gave Caleb an actual thumbs-up.

And in History of Magic, two Ravenclaws were caught charming your names together in floating script.

You erased it with a flick of your wand. Caleb winked at you like it was a personal compliment.

“This is weirdly working,” Gideon said one afternoon as the three of you passed the greenhouse.

You and Caleb were holding hands again, more out of habit than strategy at this point.

“Thank you,” Caleb said brightly.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Gideon muttered.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Gideon,” you said with a laugh.

“I’m not jealous. I’m horrified. There’s a difference.”

Caleb laughed and swung your joined hands between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was easy to fall into rhythm with him. Your steps synced. Your banter clicked without thinking. You weren’t supposed to enjoy this.

You were't supposed… feel so giddy about it.

And yet.

When you walked into the Great Hall later that evening and Caleb was already there, waving you over with a smile that made half the girls at the Hufflepuff table deflate, you went to him without hesitation.

He stood up until you had taken a seat. You rolled your eyes.

“You’re really leaning into this whole boyfriend thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m just being nice,” he said innocently. “It’s what boyfriends do.”

You eyed him. “uh huh.”

He said, grin too bright. “don’t you think we’re pretty convincing?”

🍎

You were minding your business.

You really were. Sitting on a stone wall just outside, legs swinging, pretending to study, pretending not to care that Caleb was over fifteen minutes late to your scheduled “relationship appearance” by the greenhouse. You were busy. You were calm. You were absolutely not checking the sundial every two minutes like a lunatic.

So naturally, that’s when Sylus appeared.

“Skipping dates already?” he said smoothly, dropping onto the wall beside you like he had been summoned by fate.

You didn’t look up. “What do you want, Sylus?”

“Company. Conversation. A better view of your face perhaps.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet, here you are, still talking to me anyway.”

You finally turned to him. Sylus looked completely unbothered, dressed rebelliously in his Slytherin uniform, unlike your first encounter. Shirt collar undone, green-and-silver tie loose, black gloves tucked into his pocket. He had a book in one hand and an orange in the other, which he peeled slowly, methodically, like he was performing surgery.

“You’re not subtle,” you said. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of Caleb, it’s not going to work.”

“Who says this is about Caleb?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, and then scowled. “You’re impossible.”

Sylus smiled, sharp and amused. “I’ve been called far worse, kitten.”

He offered you a slice of orange. You stared at it like it was poison.

“I’m not eating anything you hand me,” you said.

“I didn’t lace it with a love potion, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes flickered briefly, just enough that you knew he’d heard about the chocolate incident.

You took the slice anyway, just to prove a point. It was sweet. Infuriatingly so.

“Why do you keep flirting with me?” you asked finally. “Aren’t there easier targets?”

“Probably,” Sylus said. “But you’re more interesting. Most others flinch when I talk to them.”

“I roll my eyes.”

“And it’s delightful.”

You glared at him. “You know I’m dating someone, right?”

“Oh, I know,” he said, his smile going soft around the edges. “But it doesn’t look very real.”

You blinked.

He added, “I can tell the difference between pretending and feeling. And you, kitten... you’re somewhere in between.”

“You’re reading too much into things,” you said, brushing imaginary lint from your robes.

“Am I?” he asked, leaning a little closer. “Because if this whole thing really is fake, then you won’t mind this.”

He reached out, slow, deliberate, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You froze.

You weren’t sure if it was the gesture itself or the fact that it mirrored something Caleb had done just yesterday in the exact same hallway. And it felt different. Not better. Just… different. Sharper. Hungrier. More dangerous.

Sylus dropped his hand but didn’t look away.

“You deserve something real, kitten,” he smirked.

And with that, he stood, tossed what was left of the orange in the bin, and walked away like he hadn’t just made your stomach flip.

🍎

Caleb saw it.

He wasn’t meant to, not the way Sylus touched you, or the way you stared at the ground after like you were trying to bury something, but he did.

He was across the corridor, having just emerged from Professor Flint’s office with a stack of lesson parchments and a decent excuse for why he hadn’t met you on time for your plans at the greenhouse. He froze mid-step, just out of view, and watched Sylus lean in toward you like it was his god given right to.

He saw the look on your face. The flicker of something almost shy. He saw you take the orange slice from Sylus. And then Sylus tucked your hair back.

Caleb gripped the stack of parchment tighter than necessary.

“Wow,” said a voice beside him. “That’s a new shade of murder on you.”

Gideon. Of course. Caleb didn’t respond.

“You know, she’s allowed to talk to other people, right?” Gideon added.

“Yeah,” Caleb said, too quickly. “Obviously.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“He saw you,” Gideon added.

“I know.”

Caleb’s jaw clenched. “He’s doing it on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

Caleb exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. “It’s fine.”

“You sure about that?” Gideon asked, tilting his head. “Because you look like someone just flirted with your soulbond.”

Caleb didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Gideon sighed. “You’ve been in love with her for as long as I’ve known you, Caleb. Probably even longer.”

“I said it’s fine,” Caleb said again.

But Gideon saw it, the way his hands shook slightly, the tightness in his shoulders, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off the space where Sylus had stood.

Caleb wasn’t the type to lash out. He didn’t yell, didn’t curse. But his silences were louder than anyone’s temper, and right now, he was made of thunder held behind teeth.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t angry at you. No, he was angry at himself, for waiting too long, for pretending this didn’t matter, for thinking that fake dating you would be a good idea.

And now Sylus was there. Doing things Caleb hadn't dared to do without the pretense of a false relationship. Doing things Caleb had only let himself imagine.

So, he turned away from the corridor, handed the parchments to a first year passing by, and walked back toward the pitch, because flying was the only thing that made sense when the ground was suddenly shifting beneath him.

🍎

You really should’ve known better than to go anywhere Rafayel invited you after sunset, especially when he called it “a night to remember” and flashed that look that said someone’s secrets are going to be sacrificed tonight.

The Astronomy Tower was already crowded by the time you and Caleb arrived, lit only by enchanted lanterns floating lazily overhead, casting moody shadows across a sea of velvet cushions, Butterbeer bottles, and at least two couples not-so-subtly making out behind telescope tripods.

“I call this gathering to order!” Rafayel sang, standing on a crate like he was hosting some grand event. “Tonight, we celebrate the ancient and honorable Hogwarts tradition of teenage chaos: truth or dare.”

A cheer went up from the cluster of mostly fifth and sixth years lounging around the circular balcony. You spotted Sylus leaning against a pillar with one hand in his pocket, smirking like he’d already predicted how the night would end.

You slid into a cushiony corner beside Caleb, far enough from the center to feign nonchalance but close enough to be seen. That was the point, after all.

The game started innocently enough, someone dared a Gryffindor to sing their favorite song (he did, very badly), a truth revealed that two Ravenclaws had been secretly dating for months, and someone tried to sneak in a kiss dare five minutes in but got shot down by Rafayel.

“Too soon,” he drawled. “We must build to the drama.”

You rolled your eyes and watched as the game continued.

Caleb leaned toward you. “How long do we have to stay before it’s rude to leave?”

“Fifteen more minutes of pretending we’re having fun,” you whispered back.

But, of course, Rafayel had other plans.

The moment he saw your hand grab Caleb’s under the blanket you shared, Rafayel’s eyes glinted.

“Oh, Hogwarts favorite power couple,” he purred. “Let’s give the people what they want. Truth or dare?”

You cursed yourself for not bringing a distraction spell.

Caleb glanced at you. “Dare,” he said, voice easy. But you felt the tension in his thigh where it pressed against yours.

Rafayel didn’t miss a beat. “Kiss your girlfriend.”

The silence was instant.

Even the couples behind the telescope stopped mid-kiss.

You felt your stomach swoop, not just from being put on the spot, but from the way Caleb looked at you. There was something unreadable in his eyes. Not panic. Not even nerves.

Something quieter. He didn’t blink.

You raised a brow at him, just a little. Giving him an out. We don’t have to. We can laugh it off.

He didn’t take it.

Caleb turned slightly on the cushion and slid his arm around your waist. The movement was slow. Gentle. Like a question.

Your breath hitched. The air around you tightened.

His face was suddenly close. Not comically close. Not performative. Not theatrical.

Just… close.

You could count every freckle. You could smell the apple in his shampoo. You could feel his fingers, warm, steady, at your hip, like they belonged there.

You leaned in. Just a little. Enough that someone gasped behind you. The corner of his mouth tilted upward like he’d heard it too. And then, he kissed you.

But not quite.

He broke path at the last second, your forehead pressing to his temple, your lips barely brushing his cheek.

Someone let out a frustrated groan.

“Ugh, that shouldn’t count,” a Ravenclaw whined.

Caleb leaned back slowly. But his hand didn’t move from your waist. It stayed there like an anchor, protective, even as the game moved on, even as the chatter returned and Rafayel called someone else to the center.

You tried to focus on anything else, but your skin still buzzed where he touched you.

You caught Sylus watching from the shadows, unreadable.

🍎

You sneezed just once the next morning. Sharp, unglamorous, and absolutely freezing.

Caleb didn’t say anything at first. He just glanced sideways at you as the two of you walked across the courtyard toward Transfiguration. Then, without a word, he began to unwind his scarf.

“You don’t hav-,” you started, but he was already looping the yellow-and-black fabric around your neck, the ends brushing your collarbones, his fingers grazing the line of your jaw.

You went completely still.

“There,” he said quietly, adjusting the knot like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t want my girlfriend catching a cold.”

You stared up at him.

It was a joke, obviously. Part of the act. But his voice was too soft. His gaze lingered too long. He hadn’t said it like a line, he’d said it like a wish.

Your heart thudded stupidly, traitorously, against your ribs.

“I’m perfectly capable of casting a warming charm,” you said, but it came out uneven.

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You just walked, scarf tight around your throat, warm in all the wrong places. His scent lingered in the wool.

A group of fourth years passed you and immediately started whispering. Someone giggled. Someone else said, “They’re so in love,” and you felt Caleb glance sideways at you.

You looked away.

The scarf shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it did.

Later, in class, you kept fidgeting with it. Tucking it tighter. Loosening it again. You hated that you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. And yet, when his knee bumped yours beneath the desk… When he passed you a note that just said, You okay?… When he smiled and it reached all the way to his eyes…

You felt everything.

🍎

You didn’t expect to feel nervous at a Quidditch match. You weren’t even on the pitch.

But there you were, half-frozen on the Hufflepuff bleachers, wrapped in Caleb’s scarf like it belonged to you, and absolutely not staring at the sky in search of him every five seconds.

The scarf still smelled faintly like him, something warm and sharp, something unnamable, something so familiar it was difficult for you to name. Your fingers curled into the wool like you were holding his hand instead.

The crowd was already buzzing. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. High stakes. House pride on the line. It was loud, fast, chaotic, the way Quidditch always was, but it felt different today. You liked Quidditch well enough, had even followed a few seasons of the Tornadoes when you were younger, but you’d never screamed yourself hoarse over it before. Not until now..

Caleb looked... ridiculous up there. In a way that made your chest ache. Confident, focused, golden in the sunlight. His broom cut through the air like an arrow, his body leaning into every curve and dive with the kind of grace that didn’t feel fair. His hair whipped behind him in messy waves, the clothes on his back blurring as he flew after the Quaffle with that trademark grin he wore like armor. Unshakable. Untouchable.

You caught yourself grinning too and immediately stopped, face burning.

“Look at you,” Gideon sat beside you, voice dry. “Cheering like a real girlfriend.”

You elbowed him. “Shut up.”

But you couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop the way your breath caught every time Caleb shot into a dive, reckless and sharp. Couldn’t stop the little flutter in your stomach when he scored a goal and pumped his fist toward the stands, toward you, and for a second it felt like the entire pitch narrowed to just that moment. Just him. Just you.

As if he was doing it for you.

And maybe, in some twisted corner of your brain, you wanted it to be true.

The match was neck and neck. Ravenclaw wasn’t going down easy, but Hufflepuff had momentum, and Caleb was relentless. The crowd rose and fell with every pass, every save, every near miss. Beside you, Gideon was scribbling something in a tiny notebook, you didn’t ask what, but even he looked up more often than usual.

The game ended in a spectacular dive that nearly took your heart with it, and when the Snitch was finally caught, the final score rang out: 210 to 160.

A Hufflepuff win.

The stands erupted. Yellow and black flags waved, students screamed, someone in the row behind you dumped a whole cup of Butterbeer on their shoes. You were clapping, heart still sprinting, cheeks aching from how hard you’d been grinning. It should have been enough.

But then Caleb landed.

And he didn’t stay with his team. He didn’t stop to celebrate. He didn’t even look at the rest of the crowd.

He headed straight toward you.

You blinked, body going still, frozen despite the roar of the stands.

“Oh no,” Gideon muttered, lowering his notebook. “He’s actually going to do it.”

“Do what?” you asked, but you didn’t get an answer.

Because Caleb was climbing the stairs two at a time, sweat-soaked and flushed, golden in that infuriating way of his. His eyes never left yours. Not once.

Then, before you could say a word, before you could even think, he reached for you. Then he was pulling you up in the air, into a spin, and then towards him, just enough for the world to tilt.

And then?

He kissed you. In front of everyone.

His hand came up to the back of your head, his palm steady holding you close. The other slipped behind your back, grounding you. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t staged. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t anything you’d rehearsed or agreed on or even talked about.

It was soft. Certain. Intentional.

Too real.

Your eyes fluttered closed before you could stop them. The noise of the stadium bled out into static. The only thing you could feel was him, his mouth, the careful pressure of his lips, the warmth of his fingers anchoring you in place like you belonged there.

Like he wanted you there.

The bleachers screamed. Someone shouted his name. Someone else dropped their drink again. Laughter and cheers and gasps rolled across the crowd like a wave.

But all you could hear was your heartbeat. All you could feel was Caleb.

And then he pulled back. He didn’t say a word.

Just looked at you, really looked at you, like you were the only thing that made sense in the entire stadium. Like this wasn’t a game. Like maybe it had never been a game at all.

And then, with a crooked little smile that undid you entirely, he turned and jogged back toward his teammates.

Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just turned your entire world sideways.

You stood there, frozen, the scarf clutched in your hands, the ghost of his lips still tingling on your skin. Gideon stared at you, mouth slightly open.

You sat back down slowly, like moving too fast might break whatever had just happened.

“You okay?” Gideon asked, cautiously.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

And you didn’t. Not really. Because your heartbeat didn’t slow down for a long time.

Not even close.

🍎

The next morning, Caleb skipped breakfast.

You noticed immediately. He wasn’t outside your dorm to walk you like you’d become accustomed to, and when you finally did get to the hall, his usual seat at the Hufflepuff table sat empty. A jacket folded neatly on the bench, untouched toast on a plate, but no Caleb.

No lopsided grin.

No “pass the juice, pipsqueak.”

You told yourself it was nothing. He probably overslept. Or needed time to decompress after the match. Or maybe he was in the showers, washing the sweat and spotlight off his skin.

But he didn’t walk you to Charms either. Or Defense. Nor was he at the library at your usual table after classes. You even loitered outside the greenhouse, hoping to catch him, pretending to examine a venomous fig bloom until a seventh year asked if you were lost.

You weren’t lost. Just… left behind.

You didn’t panic. Of course you didn’t. That would imply you cared. And you weren’t letting yourself go there.

But by dinner, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

Because Caleb sat at the far end of the Hufflepuff table, next to some fourth-year Beaters and across from a grinning girl with hair like maple syrup, and he didn’t even look at you.

Not once.

He laughed. He nodded. He peeled an orange with his wand. And he didn’t meet your eyes.

Not even when you stood from your seat at the Slytherin table and passed behind him on the way out of the Great Hall. Not even when you paused, just slightly, long enough that he would have to feel your presence.

Nothing.

Like you were a ghost.

Later, you found Gideon in the Slytherin common room, slouched on the couches and eating jellies with a melancholy air like the moon had personally offended him.

You flopped down beside him and stole one from his lap.

“I hate this,” you muttered.

“Ah,” he said, not even looking over. “So you’re finally admitting that it was real?”

You didn’t answer.

“You’ve got the ‘I’ve made a terrible, irreversible mistake’ look,” Gideon added, chewing thoughtfully. “Kind of like the time I let Patrick cut my hair and ended up looking like a sad shrub.”

You rested your chin on your knees. “He kissed me in front of the whole school.”

Gideon snorted. “Yeah, I was there. I distinctly remember the spilling of pumpkin juice from the force of the collective gasp.”

You glanced sideways at him. “And now he’s… gone. Like I imagined the whole thing.”

Gideon unwrapped another jelly. “You didn’t. I’ve known Caleb since he had a lisp and an irrational fear of ghosts. That kiss? That wasn’t fake.”

You threw your head back and groaned. “Then why is he pretending it was?”

Gideon was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t know, probably because he’s terrified. Because you’re terrifying.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You. Are. Terrifying.” He gestured vaguely at your face. “You’re brilliant. You could make a basilisk flinch with one look. And then there’s him. Golden boy Caleb who’s been in love with you since we were all four feet tall and trading chocolate frogs for favors, I suspect probably even before that. He thinks he’s going to mess it up.”

“He is messing it up,” you muttered into your hands.

“Only because he thinks it’s the safest thing to do.” Gideon turned to face you. “You made rules. PDA all across the school, but no feelings and no kissing. He broke those last two. And now you’ve gone and accidentally turned your fake relationship into an emotional minefield.”

You were quiet for a long time. Then, “I didn’t mean to feel anything.”

“I know,” Gideon said softly. “But you did. You both did.”

You closed your eyes. The air was sharp and cold, biting through your robes. Caleb’s scarf was still wrapped around your neck, he hadn’t asked for it back. You didn’t know if that meant anything anymore.

“He’s ruining it,” you whispered.

“He’s freaking out,” Gideon corrected. “And so are you.”

You didn’t argue.

You sat in silence, the kind that pressed close around your ribs, the kind that felt like missing someone who wasn’t even gone.

Later, alone in your dorm, you held his scarf like it was a secret.

You did so for the whole week. thinking about him every night.

And that? That was the part you couldn’t stand.

🍎

Caleb was in the Quidditch club room, alone, hurling a ball at the wall when Gideon found him.

It was just past curfew, the school mostly quiet, but the clang of the ball against stone echoed through the changing room like thunder. His robes were half-off, sweaty and tangled.

“Good,” Gideon said from the doorway. “You’re in your Self-Destructive Spiraling phase. I was starting to worry we wouldn’t get here.”

Caleb didn’t turn. Just leaned against the bench, breathing hard, eyes on the floor.

“What do you want, Gideon?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he replied. “Just wanted to ask if you’ve completely lost your mind.”

Caleb finally looked at him, face tight. “I’m fine.”

“You’re throwing things at walls, skipping meals, and ghosting the girl you’ve been in love with since you were six.”

“That’s not-,”

Gideon stepped closer. “You kissed her like the world was ending. Then spent the next week pretending she doesn’t exist. Do you have any idea what that’s doing to her?”

Caleb flinched.

“I’ve watched you pine after her for years. You think I don’t get it? You're so obvious, every time she walks into a room, your whole face lights up like Christmas. Every time she rolls her eyes at you, you look like someone handed you a sunrise. You’re in it, and you have been since before you understood what that even meant.”

“I can’t,” Caleb said quietly. “It wasn’t supposed to be real. She made rules.”

Gideon stared. “Caleb. She’s been wearing your scarf to sleep.”

That shut him up.

“You two are turning a fake relationship into an emotional crisis, and I, for one, did not consent to being in the middle of your romance novel,” Gideon added. “I’m a supporting character at best. I am not equipped for this.”

Caleb sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “What if I ruin it?”

“You’re ruining it by running away,” Gideon said. “All because you’re too scared to admit what you want.”

Caleb didn’t respond.

The silence stretched.

Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

Gideon crouched beside him. “Don't be stupide. She does.”

Caleb looked at him.

“She wouldn’t have kissed you like that if she didn’t,” Gideon said. “She wouldn’t look so wrecked every time someone mentions your name.”

Caleb’s voice broke slightly. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“Then don’t,” Gideon said. “Tell her the truth.”

🍎

You didn’t mean to end up alone by the Black Lake.

But the library had been too quiet, the dorm too stuffy, and the Hufflepuff table? Off-limits. So you wandered, and ended up perched on a rock, watching the ripples across the dark surface of the lake while the wind toyed with the ends of Caleb’s scarf still wound around your neck.

You should’ve taken it off.

You should’ve burned it.

Instead, you held onto it like it could still mean something.

“I figured I’d find you here,” said a voice behind you.

You turned.

Sylus.

He wasn’t wearing his robes, just a dark coat and a casual smirk.

“It’s not like I was hiding,” you muttered.

“Didn’t say you were,” he replied easily, moving to sit beside you without asking.

You eyed him. “What do you want, Sylus?”

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Just curious.”

“About?”

“That kiss.” He tilted his head, watching you. “The one during the Quidditch match. The whole school’s still buzzing.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh, for goodness sakes,”

“That kiss,” he said, voice low, “didn’t look fake.”

You stiffened.

Sylus didn’t look away. “It looked like a boy who’s been waiting years for a reason to kiss you.”

You scoffed. “And what would you know?”

He smiled, slow and sharp. “I know how people look at someone when they’re in love.”

Your throat tightened.

Sylus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve seen Caleb watch you like you’re something he’s not allowed to want. Every time you walk into a room, he forgets how to breathe.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The wind curled around your ankles, cold and cruel.

“I’ve also seen you,” he said. “Pretending you don’t buzz when he’s near. But I think,” he added, voice gentler now, “you’re just as wrecked, kitten.”

You looked away, blinking fast. “This isn’t any of your business.”

“Maybe not,” Sylus said. “But it’s starting to look like no one else is going to say it.”

He stood then, brushing off his coat.

“Just… don’t lie to yourself, yeah?” he said. “Lying will do you no good.”

And then he walked away, leaving you alone with the wind and the scarf and the unbearable weight of your own chest.

You closed your eyes.

You didn’t know what scared you more, that Sylus was right…

…or that Caleb might not say anything at all.

🍎

It had been over a week.

A full, slow, aching set of carefully timed exits and avoided corridors. Over a week of pretending everything was fine, while every inch of you screamed that it wasn’t.

Caleb had disappeared behind late Quidditch practices, prefect duties, and early breakfasts. You had hidden behind homework, long walks, and Sylus’s annoyingly consistent presence. Gideon gave up sighing audibly every time he saw the two of you and Caleb in the same room and instead started narrating your relationship in third person like a tragic wizarding memoir.

You’d taken to walking the lake path by yourself after classes. The cold helped. It numbed things. Made the silence in your chest a little easier to carry.

But none of it, not the cold, not the silence, not even the sarcasm, prepared you for the letter.

It came by owl, of course. But not one of the school’s. This owl was old, snowy, and unmistakably hers.

You untied the ribbon from its leg with slow fingers, then unfolded the parchment. Granny Josephine’s handwriting was unmistakable, sharp loops, slanted slightly left, a few smudges from the inevitable ink-stained teacup.

It read:

Don’t get too caught up in a flurry of thoughts. You and Caleb are both so stubborn.

You two often forget that you don’t need blood to be family. And there are no rules to love.

 Your gran

You read it once. You knew someone must had told her, Gideon most likely.

Then you read it again.

Then you just sat there, motionless, in the empty common room with the letter in your hands and the fire crackling like nothing had changed. It hadn’t. Not really.

She knew. Gideon knew. Sylus knew. Everyone seemed to have figured it out before you did.

You didn’t cry, instead something inside you settled.

You realized, all at once, that you were tired of pretending.

🍎

It was cold.

The kind of cold that pressed into your coat, your boots, your spine. But you didn’t care.

You stood under the massive, looming branches of the Whomping Willow, frozen in place and unsure if you were ten seconds too early or ten days too late.

The air smelled like damp leaves and winter magic. Your breath fogged the air. The sky above was streaked with lavender and soft gray, dusk falling slow and steady across the grounds.

And then he came.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him. Caleb always walked like he was worried about startling the earth. Soft, careful. Like even now, after everything, he didn’t want to cause harm.

You turned just as he stepped beneath the protective perimeter of the tree.

His hair was windswept. There were dark circles under his eyes. And he was wearing a scarf you immediately recognized, one you had knit with mismatched yarn and love woven between the stitches.

He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets. His voice was quiet.

“You came.”

“I almost didn’t,” you said. 

That made his brow twitch. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but everyone said I should. Even granny sent a letter. She said there are no rules to love.”

Caleb looked down, then back at you.

“I’ve been trying to follow all of them,” he said. “Every single one. The ones we made up. The ones I thought would keep you safe.”

“And?”

“And I broke them, pip.”

His voice cracked on the last word. The wind moved through the willow’s branches, making them sway like they were holding their breath.

Caleb stepped closer.

“I didn’t mean to ruin it,” he said. “Us. I thought if I ran away, it would go away. I thought running away would stop me from saying something that would hurt you.”

You tried to keep your voice steady. “And what were you trying not to say?”

“That I love you,” he said, just like that. He kept going. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, chasing frogs and hexing each other with sugar quills. Since you dared me to jump into the freezing pond and called me an dummy when I did.”

You blinked hard, but the tears welled up in your eyes anyway.

He reached out, gently, and tucked your hair behind your ear. His hand lingered.

“I’ve loved you through everything,” he said, softer now. “Through you rolling your eyes at me, through the way you pretend you don’t care, through every smile and laugh. And I’m so… so sorry I made you think any of this was pretend.”

You swallowed. “I hate the way people looked at you.”

“I know.” His breath hitched.

“I hated that I had to fake it to be close to you,” you continued. “And then I hated how easy it became. For how badly I wanted something I thought I wasn't allowed to want.”

“You were always allowed,” he whispered. “I just didn’t think you wanted me back.”

You let out a laugh that felt like a sob. “Gods, you’re such a dummy.”

“I know.”

“You make everything so complicated.”

“I know that, too.”

“Caleb-,”

He stepped forward.

“No more rules,” he said. “No more pretending. I don’t want to fake anything ever again. Not with you, pip.”

And then, finally, finally, you kissed him.

Not because someone dared you. Not because you had to. Because you wanted to. Because everything else had been waiting for this.

His hands were warm on your waist. Your fingers curled into the collar of his robes. You tasted wind and apples and the kind of magic that didn’t need a wand.

When you pulled apart, your forehead rested against his.

His eyes were soft. Soft and open.

“So,” he said quietly. “Are we dating?”

“Dummy,” You scrunched up your nose and pouted. “I’ve always been yours.”

🍎

Gideon had been through a lot.

He’d survived Potions with exploding cauldrons, years of babysitting duties for Josephine with absolutely no pay, and even the horrifying aftermath of a school-wide prank that had filled the Slytherin common room with frogs that only responded to interpretive dance.

But this? This was worse.

This was you and Caleb, in the middle of the courtyard, wrapped in each other like a pair of lovesick idiots, entirely unbothered by the fact that other people had eyes.

Caleb was sitting behind you on the stone bench, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, chin resting lightly on your shoulder like he’d invented casual intimacy. You were leaning back into him, laughing softly at something he’d whispered. Occasionally, he’d tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear or kiss your temple with the subtlety of a romantic novel’s climax.

And Gideon?

Gideon was suffering.

He stood a few paces away, expression blank, holding two cups of cocoa and witnessing things.

Unwillingly.

“Right,” he said flatly. “Because we’ve all just collectively decided that subtlety is for cowards now.”

Neither of you looked up.

Caleb hummed something under his breath. You giggled. There may or may not have been a nose nuzzle involved. Gideon’s left eye twitched.

He held out the cocoa like a peace offering, or a bribe to make it stop. “Here, I brought you this so you’d have something to do with your hands that isn’t each other.”

You reached for one cup, still not leaving Caleb’s embrace. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being traumatized. There’s a difference.”

Caleb grinned against your shoulder. “You’ve known we liked each other for ages.”

“Yes,” Gideon snapped, “but honestly? I had hope that you two would keep it repressed until graduation like healthy, emotionally constipated teenagers.”

Caleb just chuckled and kissed your cheek in open defiance.

Gideon made a sound that could only be described as an exhausted wheeze and looked toward the sky, if only to ask the universe why it hated him.

“You know what this requires?” he said, eyes narrowed. “Therapy. This is exactly what I predicted back when you made that ridiculous fake dating pact. I knew it would end like this.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, biting back a smug smile. “Well, good news, Prophet Gideon. You were right.”

“I hate being right,” he muttered.

You took a long sip of your cocoa. Caleb laced his fingers through yours, resting them lightly against your stomach.

Gideon stared at you for a beat longer, then held up his hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Just… keep it PG-13. And for the love of god, don’t even think about making me the godfather of your inevitable lovechild. I’m sick of babysitting.”

You burst out laughing. Caleb smiled, lips pressing light kissing against your neck, clearly pleased with himself.

Gideon turned and walked away, grumbling under his breath.

“…should’ve transferred to Durmstrang..."