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Beneath the Bloodlines (Franco Colapinto) .𖥔 ݁ ˖.

“I don’t know. You seem... different, when no one’s watching.” ✶⋆.˚

Synopsis: You’re a privileged witch from a prestigious wizarding family, and you fall in love with Franco, a Muggle-born student. Forced to end your relationship to protect him, you’re torn between family duty and your own heart, struggling with the pain of your sacrifice as you can’t forget the love you lost.

Genre: Slowburn, Angst, Fluff

AU: Hogwarts!au

Pairing: Muggle!Franco x Pure-Blood!Reader

Warnings: Reader isn't a good person, but she means well. I gave them a good ending here because they lowkey weren't supposed to end up together, but I'm not that cruel I promise.

Note: Back to the Harry Potter fics while I try to figure out the ending to 'Cruising in Papaya' because I have so many things I wanna publish and have so many other fics planned. Anyways, I had fun writing this (aka breaking my own part), I hope you guys enjoy! Don't forget to like + reblog.

You sit at the end of a long dining table, the polished mahogany gleaming under the flickering light of enchanted chandeliers.

The walls of your family’s grand dining hall are lined with portraits of your ancestors—each one draped in regal wizarding robes, their eyes following you as if judging every breath you take.

Outside the frost-laced windows, the grounds of your estate stretch endlessly, blanketed by a soft mist that only adds to the manor’s imposing grandeur.

The clinking of silverware against fine china breaks the silence, but no amount of opulence can dull the sharpness in your father’s voice.

“Y/n, I trust you’ve been behaving appropriately at Hogwarts,” he says, his tone a mix of warning and expectation. His hawkish gaze fixes on you, and you feel the weight of the family name pressing down like the heavy pendant around your neck.

“Yes, Father,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral. It’s easier that way.

Your mother, seated to your left, places her wine glass down with a delicate hand. Her sharp eyes, so like yours, glint with something cold.

“Good. Because we’ve been receiving concerning reports about the school’s... lax attitudes. Headmaster’s leniency has allowed Muggle-borns to overstep their place.”

The word “Muggle-born” rolls off her tongue like a curse, and you’ve heard it too many times to flinch anymore. You’ve memorized the lectures, the justifications, the family’s obsessive need to uphold purity in the wizarding world. To them, tradition is everything.

“We’ve raised you to understand the importance of your bloodline,” she continues, her voice smooth but firm. “It’s not just your legacy—it’s your duty. And to ensure that you fulfill it, we’ve made arrangements.”

Your stomach tightens. You’ve been expecting this conversation, but the confirmation still twists something inside you.

“Arrangements?” you ask, keeping your voice steady, though you already know the answer.

Your father nods, a thin smile tugging at his lips.

“Charles Leclerc. A fine match. His family has the same values as ours, and their standing in the wizarding world is impeccable. He’s talented, from a distinguished bloodline, and will make a suitable husband.”

The room feels colder, despite the roaring fire in the hearth. You’ve met Charles a few times—at banquets, galas, and other events you’ve been forced to attend. He’s everything your parents want: charismatic, handsome, and firmly rooted in the beliefs that bind families like yours together. But to you, he’s a gilded cage waiting to snap shut.

Your mother’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him better when he visits over the holidays. His family is eager to solidify this bond.”

They’ve decided your future, just as they’ve decided everything else. You nod, the weight of your family’s expectations sinking into your chest. You’re the perfect daughter in their eyes, but that perfection comes at a cost.

As the conversation shifts to other topics—affairs of the wizarding world, the latest scandals, and more disdain for Muggle-borns—you retreat into your thoughts. Outside, the mist deepens, cloaking the estate in an eerie quiet.

You wonder what it would be like to escape this life. To be free of the portraits’ judging eyes and your parents’ endless demands.

But then you think of him—the boy with a kind smile, who sees you as more than a name or a bloodline. Franco Colapinto, the one who’s already starting to unravel the carefully built walls around your heart.

Your mother’s voice interrupts again, crisp and demanding. “Y/n, are you listening?”

You straighten in your chair, the mask of obedience slipping easily back into place. “Yes, Mother,” you reply.

But in your heart and in your mind, the storm is already brewing. 

The first time you notice him, you’re standing in the middle of the Charms corridor, your wand clenched tightly in your hand. Around you, students bustle between classes, their chatter echoing off the high stone walls. But you’re stuck—utterly frustrated as the spell you’ve been practicing for weeks refuses to cooperate.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” you mutter again, flicking your wand in the precise motion Professor Flitwick demonstrated. The feather in front of you quivers but stubbornly refuses to rise.

You glance around, hoping no one’s paying attention. A member of your family struggling with such a simple spell? It’s mortifying.

“Try loosening your grip,” a voice says from behind you.

You turn sharply, surprised. Standing there is a boy you don’t recognize—dark hair slightly tousled, his tie a little crooked. He’s carrying a stack of books nearly as tall as he is, but there’s a kind smile on his face that somehow makes the intrusion feel less insulting.

“And why would I take advice from you?” you reply, your tone sharper than intended.

The boy’s smile doesn’t falter. “Because I’ve been watching you try for five minutes, and you’re gripping your wand like it’s about to run off.”

You blink, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. He doesn’t sound mocking—if anything, there’s a genuine attempt to help.

“Fine,” you mutter, adjusting your hold slightly. “Happy?”

“Not quite,” he says, stepping closer. He sets his books down and takes out his own wand. “It’s more of a swish and flick, like this.” He demonstrates the movement with practiced ease, and his feather floats gracefully into the air.

You mimic his motion, this time feeling the spell click into place. Your feather rises, bobbing gently in the air. Relief washes over you, but it’s quickly replaced by a mix of irritation and embarrassment.

“See? Told you,” he says, grinning.

You narrow your eyes. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Franco Colapinto,” he replies, extending a hand. “I’m new this year. Muggle-born.”

There’s a beat of silence as the word sinks in. Muggle-born. Normally, it’s the kind of thing your parents would scoff at, the kind of thing you’ve been taught to look down on. But standing here, looking at his easy smile and his confidence, you can’t summon the disdain they’d expect from you.

“Y/n,” you say finally, ignoring his hand and raising an eyebrow instead. “You’re awfully bold for someone who doesn’t even know their way around the castle yet.”

“I know enough,” he counters. “Like how to help someone who’s too proud to ask.”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. Then, before you can think better of it, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Thank you,” you say, though the words feel strange coming out of your mouth.

Franco shrugs, picking up his books again. “Anytime.”

As he walks away, disappearing into the crowd of students, you can’t help but watch him go. There’s something about him—something different.

You turn back to your feather, still floating in the air. For the first time, the corridors feel a little less cold, the walls a little less confining.

You don’t know it yet, but that moment will change everything.

The library is quiet, the only sounds being the rustle of parchment and the occasional whisper between students.

You sit at a corner table, your usual spot tucked away from prying eyes. Your open textbook blurs before you as your mind wanders to the task at hand—a complex potion formula that refuses to make sense.

“Stuck again?”

You glance up, startled. Franco stands there, a playful grin on his face, a quill tucked behind his ear.

“I’m not stuck,” you say quickly, closing the book as though that will prove your point.

He raises an eyebrow and slides into the chair across from you without waiting for an invitation. “Let me guess. Amortentia?”

You freeze. “How did you—”

“You were muttering ingredients under your breath.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “The trick is to focus on the timing, not the amount. Most people get it wrong because they think adding powdered moonstone too early will speed things up.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that?”

Franco shrugs. “Reading ahead. You should try it sometime.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here I am, helping you.”

Despite yourself, you laugh softly. It’s strange how easy it feels—this banter, this warmth. With him, there’s no need for the polished facade your family expects.

The next time you run into him, the evening air is crisp as the last of the Quidditch practice wraps up. The field is littered with players still chatting and laughing, broomsticks slung over their shoulders. 

The sound of footsteps echoes as they move toward the changing rooms, leaving the pitch growing quieter with each passing second.

You remain where you are, perched on the edge of the Quidditch stands, watching the fading light of the day paint the sky in streaks of pink and gold.

You’re not one of the players—never have been—but something about the energy of the game draws you in. There’s a certain freedom in watching, in being part of something without actually belonging to it.

The seat next to you creaks, and you glance to your left. Franco is there, his broom tucked under his arm, hair slightly disheveled from practice. He’s out of breath, cheeks flushed with the excitement of the game.

“Not heading back to the castle?” he asks, his voice low but amused.

You shake your head. “I like the quiet up here.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, dropping into the seat next to you, his gaze scanning the empty field. “Sometimes, I just need to get away from the noise.”

You don’t respond at first, but the silence is comfortable, more comfortable than you expected. The hum of the breeze around you seems to fill in the gaps.

You glance at him, noticing the way the fading light makes his eyes seem lighter, warmer. He catches your gaze and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“What?” you ask, unable to hide the curiosity in your voice.

“Just thinking,” he replies, his voice quiet. “You’re not what I expected.”

You raise an eyebrow, not quite sure how to take that. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You seem... different, when no one’s watching.”

Your heart stutters for a moment, unsure how to respond to such an honest observation. The words hang between you, vulnerable and real, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the way his presence fills the space beside you.

“Maybe I don’t like being watched,” you say after a beat, looking away, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the bench.

He nods slowly, his expression softening. “I get that.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. You sit in the quiet together, the sounds of the castle now distant and muted. The only company is the soft rustle of the wind, the fading warmth of the sun, and the faint whispers of the past few hours of Quidditch practice.

Finally, Franco speaks again. “You know, it’s funny... I thought being on the team would be the thing that made me feel like I belonged here.” He laughs softly, almost to himself. “But it’s actually the opposite. I feel more myself when I’m not trying to be anything else.”

You turn your head to look at him, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. There’s a rawness to his words, something that feels utterly honest, something you never expected from someone like him—someone who comes from the exact world your family would call “unworthy.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re just playing a part?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Franco turns toward you, his gaze steady and searching. “All the time,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in his tone, just an acceptance that feels almost freeing. “But the trick is not to let it swallow you whole.”

His words settle over you, making your heart beat a little faster. It’s strange, how easy it feels to talk to him, to let down your guard in a way you’ve never allowed yourself to do before.

For a long while, neither of you moves. The field below you is empty now, the stands quiet except for the occasional gust of wind.

And just for a moment, you wonder what it might be like to live like him—to exist without constantly measuring every move, every word, every expectation. To simply be.

But that life isn’t for you. Not in the world you were born into.

Still, you sit there, side by side, feeling the weight of the world shift ever so slightly in his presence.

Finally, as the last light fades from the sky, you stand, reluctant to break the stillness between you.

“Guess I should go,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper.

Franco looks up at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ll walk you back.”

You hesitate but nod. “Alright.”

As you walk side by side toward the castle, his presence beside you is somehow both grounding and unsettling, like a constant reminder of a world you don’t fully belong to, but can’t quite let go of.

The castle is eerily quiet at night, the only light coming from the torches lining the stone walls.

You walk beside Franco, your steps muffled by the thick rugs underfoot, the soft glow from the torches casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone. There’s something almost magical about the stillness, a sense that the world beyond these walls is far away.

“If we get caught, this is your fault,” you whisper, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. You can’t quite suppress the thrill of sneaking through the halls at night, the usual sense of duty and expectation left behind for a while.

Franco smirks, holding up a folded piece of parchment. “Relax. I’ve got the map. We’re fine.”

The Marauder’s Map. You could never have imagined him holding something so rebellious, yet somehow it seems to suit him perfectly.

“You’re entirely too comfortable breaking the rules,” you tease, a playful edge to your voice.

“And you’re entirely too afraid to.”

The words sting, but only because they’re true. You’ve spent your entire life obeying rules, living in the confines of expectations that you never questioned. His way, though, it’s reckless—and yet, it feels free.

You glance at him, his face lit by the faint glow of the torches, and for a moment, you wonder how he can walk so easily in a world that constantly tries to push him down. How does he stand tall with so much weight on his shoulders?

“How do you do it?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Do what?”

“Stay... you. When everything’s against you.”

Franco stops, his expression shifting from lighthearted to something deeper. His gaze locks with yours, the soft glow from the torches flickering across his features, making his eyes seem even more intense than usual. There’s no sarcasm, no teasing. Just quiet, raw honesty.

“Because I don’t let them decide who I am.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it hits you harder than any lecture or reprimand your family has ever given you. In that moment, you feel something shift—like a door cracking open, letting in light where there had only been shadows.

Your heart beats a little faster. You think of your family’s expectations, the path they’ve paved for you, how every step feels like it’s already been written.

You’re expected to be a perfect daughter, the ideal pure-blood witch, but... you’ve never really known what it means to be just you.

Franco watches you, his gaze steady, almost knowing.

“You should try it sometime,” he says with a small smile, echoing his words from the library.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s right. If you should try it.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words and the stirrings of something deep inside you. You don’t answer him right away. Instead, you keep walking, each step feeling heavier now, as though the weight of his question is lingering in the air between you.

Finally, you reach a narrow, quiet hallway—a place where the shadows seem to swallow sound, where no one would dare to pass at this hour. You glance around, feeling the pulse of adrenaline in your veins, the rush of doing something forbidden, yet exhilarating.

Franco leans against the stone wall, his posture casual, but there’s an intensity to him now, something quieter, almost waiting.

“What happens if we get caught?” you ask, your voice a little quieter than before.

Franco shrugs, his gaze lingering on you in a way that makes your heart race a little faster. “Then we deal with it. Together.”

The simplicity of his words sends a strange warmth through you. The way he says it—as though it’s nothing, as though the consequences don’t matter as long as you're not facing them alone. It’s almost enough to make you forget the fears that have been so carefully instilled in you.

You stand there, just looking at him for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling over you. And in that silence, you feel something shift between you—something more than friendship, more than mere companionship.

“You never answered me,” you say softly, breaking the tension. “How do you stay so... sure of yourself?”

Franco’s eyes soften, and for the briefest moment, he doesn’t look like the boy who defies every expectation placed on him. He looks like someone who’s seen the world in all its unfairness but still chooses to walk his own path.

“I don’t know if I’m sure,” he says quietly, “but I’m not going to live my life pretending to be something I’m not.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and honest, and you realize you don’t want to pretend anymore either.

But as your gaze locks with his, you feel the pull of your own truth, the truth you’ve been avoiding—the weight of your family, the future they’ve mapped out for you. The truth that, despite everything, still clings to you, no matter how far you try to run from it.

“I should get back,” you say, your voice a little breathless.

Franco straightens, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he nods, offering you a small, understanding smile.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, but there’s something in his tone—something like a promise, unspoken but felt all the same. “But you don’t have to walk alone.”

You hesitate, the words hanging between you, and for a brief moment, it feels like the entire world might shift in this hallway, in the quiet between you.

But you turn away, your heart pounding, the decision already made.

You may not be able to live your life like Franco yet, but you know one thing for certain.

You don’t want to live it alone.

The days following your late-night walk with Franco seem to blur together in a strange mixture of tension and yearning.

Every glance you steal at him, every stolen word, feels like a rebellion against the life your family has set out for you. But you know better than to make any rash decisions. Your family’s hold on you is too tight—your future already mapped out, carefully planned like the stones in a wall.

Your parents intensify their efforts to push you toward Charles in the following weeks. They invite him to every possible Hogwarts event—dinners in the Great Hall, late-night study sessions in the library where you’re expected to assist him with his work, and even casual strolls around the grounds, as if the whole school should be able to see you together.

“You know, darling,” your mother says one evening, as she surveys you carefully while adjusting your robes, “Charles is such a fine young man. I’m sure you two will have so much in common.”

You give her a tight smile, nodding just enough to appease her. “Of course, Mother.”

She beams at you, oblivious to the knot tightening in your chest.

Charles is everything your family could hope for—polished, handsome, and above all, pure-blood in every sense of the word. He carries himself with the air of someone who has never known a life without wealth or privilege, his polished smile a constant reminder of his family’s legacy.

But as you spend more time with him, you begin to see the cracks in his carefully constructed façade. The charming exterior begins to falter when no one is watching.

At dinner one evening, he’s seated next to you, as always, his elbow resting casually on the table as he talks about his summer. 

“I can’t believe my parents are pushing me to spend my time on all these charity events,” he complains, swirling his wine idly.

“It’s all so tedious. I’d rather be at the Manor, relaxing. But no, they’ve got me running errands for other families who don’t even matter in the end.”

You glance at him, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. “You’re not happy to help?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Charles laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “I’m not happy to do anything that doesn’t benefit me. You should know that by now.”

The words sting, but you brush them off, feeling the weight of your family’s expectations pressing down on you. Still, there’s something in his words—something that feels more human than the polished image he likes to present.

Later that night, you find yourself alone with him in the courtyard, where the moonlight casts long shadows over the cobblestones. The cool air settles over you, and Charles’ voice breaks the silence once more.

“You know,” he starts, his voice quieter now, “Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in all this.” He gestures to the grounds, the towering spires of Hogwarts in the distance. “Everything is decided for me. My future, my connections. My parents won’t even listen to my opinions anymore.”

You study him carefully, surprised by the vulnerability he’s showing. It’s not the Charles you’re used to—the charming, confident heir to a prestigious family. This Charles seems... lost.

“I thought you wanted this,” you say softly.

“I thought I did, too,” he admits, his tone tinged with something like regret. “But now... it’s like I’m drowning in it.”

For a moment, you see the young man behind the title, the boy who is also a prisoner of his bloodline. He’s not just the golden child of a pure-blood family. He’s a person—a person who feels the weight of his own inheritance, who feels the chains that bind him as much as you do.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be free?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He looks away, his gaze distant. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed him too far, but then he turns back to you, his smile weak but genuine.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he says quietly, “to be the perfect heir, always expected to be more than you can be. It’s... it’s suffocating.”

You don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really thought about it that way—how Charles, too, is a puppet to his family’s expectations, bound by the same invisible strings that have always held you back.

“I think we’re both in the same boat,” you finally say.

He looks at you, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something—maybe understanding, maybe a shared truth. “Maybe,” he says slowly.

You don’t know what to make of it. The conversation lingers in your mind, like an unfinished spell.

The reality of it all—Charles’ struggles, his insecurities, his desperation to break free—sits uneasily with you. But even as you understand him a little more, the thought of your future with him feels colder, more distant.

And all you can think about is Franco—the boy who, despite everything stacked against him, dares to be himself.

The more you try to ignore it, the more it becomes impossible to resist. Every stolen glance, every whisper exchanged, feels like a forbidden secret pulsing between you and Franco. 

You’ve come to realize that the rules that once held your life together now feel more like chains—chains that, when broken, give you a taste of something real.

It starts innocently enough, these secret meetings—passing notes between classes, lingering after hours to talk in quiet corners. But soon, it’s not enough. You crave something more, something deeper. Something that, no matter how hard you try, won’t be denied.

One night, after the last bell has rung and the students disperse to their common rooms, you find yourself slipping out of your dormitory, the darkened hallways a comforting refuge. You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one sees, and move quickly through the castle’s winding corridors.

Franco’s waiting for you at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the shadows dancing on his face as he leans casually against a tree. He’s always been good at making danger feel like a challenge, not a threat.

“You’re late,” he teases, his voice low.

“Had to lose a few people,” you reply, your breath coming in short bursts. It’s exhilarating, this secret life you’ve carved out for yourself.

He smiles, but there’s a softness in it—one that you’ve come to recognize as his true self, the one he only shows when it’s just the two of you.

“You’re always running away,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “What if you stopped? What if you just stayed?”

The words hang between you, fragile and tentative. You look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and something inside you shifts. The walls that have always surrounded you seem to falter, crumbling little by little.

“I don’t know how to stay,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to figure it all out now,” Franco says, his hand brushing against yours in a brief, electric touch. “But you can start by being here. With me. Right now.”

You let out a slow breath, as if the very idea of staying—of being truly present in this moment with him—terrifies you. But as his hand lingers in the space between you, you feel the weight of your family’s expectations start to slip away, replaced by something lighter, freer.

And so, you do stay.

The days that follow are a blur of stolen moments—hidden meetings beneath the Astronomy Tower, quiet conversations in the Library’s darkest corners, and long walks through the castle grounds. 

Each time, you feel the world around you get a little bit smaller, the only thing that matters being Franco and the connection that is growing between you.

One evening, after the last of the evening students have gone to bed, you find yourself walking alongside Franco through the Forbidden Forest. The moon casts long, eerie shadows over the path, but it’s beautiful in its silence, away from the eyes that have always watched you.

Franco glances at you, a question in his eyes. “Do you ever think about what we could have... if the world didn’t get in the way?”

You hesitate, your heart pounding. It’s the question that’s been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks now. What if? What if there was a life beyond the walls of Hogwarts, beyond the blood status, beyond the endless expectations of your family?

“I think about it every day,” you admit, the words flowing out before you can stop them.

Franco stops, turning to face you. His eyes are filled with something deeper now—something that goes beyond mere affection. “What would you do?”

The question catches you off guard. What would you do? The possibilities feel endless, like an open sky, but they’re also terrifying.

“I would...” You pause, feeling the weight of it all.

You’ve spent your entire life living for others, living for a future you didn’t choose. But with Franco, it’s different. He makes the world feel like it could be your own.

“I would want to be free,” you say quietly, your gaze meeting his. “Free to choose. To be with you, without anyone telling me I can’t.”

Franco steps closer, his voice low, his hand brushing your cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, too.”

His lips find yours then, and for a moment, it feels like the world falls away entirely. There are no expectations, no rules, no family legacy to uphold. There’s just the two of you—two people bound by something deeper than blood status or societal expectations.

You pull back, breathless, your heart racing. “What if we could?”

Franco’s smile is soft, filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “We could. We just have to believe we can.”

The idea of a life outside the confines of your family’s control lingers in the air, both thrilling and terrifying. You don’t know what the future holds, but with Franco by your side, for the first time, you’re not afraid to find out.

The silence in your dormitory is heavy, punctuated only by the quiet rustling of parchment as you prepare for your next set of classes. The world outside seems calm—everything still seems... normal. But there’s a coldness settling in your chest, a chill that hasn’t been there before.

The weight of your secret feels unbearable now. The hours you’ve spent sneaking around, the stolen moments with Franco—they’ve all led to this point.

And you know it’s only a matter of time before someone catches on.

You’ve been doing your best to keep your distance from Charles, to avoid the forced meetings and the long, drawn-out conversations that always seem to circle back to expectations you can’t bear. But despite your best efforts, your family seems to be closing in on you.

They’re beginning to notice your absences, the way you’re always slipping away from social gatherings, your eyes distracted when you should be focused on Charles.

It’s Charles who finally puts the pieces together.

You hadn’t expected him to notice so quickly, but he’s been watching you—perhaps more carefully than you ever realized. His charm has always been a mask, one that’s cracked in moments when he’s felt threatened. And now, the mask slips, revealing something sharp underneath.

One evening, after dinner in the Great Hall, he finds you alone, standing near the entrance. He approaches with his usual confident air, but this time, there’s a tension in his posture that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been acting strange,” he says, his voice quiet but piercing. “I thought we had an understanding.”

You look at him, heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

His gaze narrows. “Don’t play dumb. I know what’s been going on.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat. He knows. How long has he suspected?

“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?” Charles’s words hang in the air, and for a second, it feels like the entire Hall goes silent around you.

Franco.

Your heart races, and the ground beneath your feet seems to shift. How did he find out?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but the cracks are already forming.

Charles steps closer, his gaze intense. “I’m not stupid. I saw the two of you in the courtyard last week. You thought no one was watching, but I was. You’re spending time with a Muggle-born—Franco Colapinto, of all people.” He spits the name out as though it’s poison, his distaste clear in every syllable.

Your heart sinks. He’s caught you. The secret you’ve worked so hard to protect is now laid bare.

“I told you it wasn’t just about us,” Charles says, his voice laced with bitterness. “You’re betraying everything. You’re betraying your family.”

Before you can respond, a cold, firm voice cuts through the air.

“You’re right, Charles. She’s betraying the family.”

Your head snaps to the side, and there, standing at the edge of the hall, is your mother, her expression stern and unforgiving. Behind her, your father stands like a looming shadow, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The walls of your family’s quarters in Hogwarts feel suffocating as your parents stand before you, their cold eyes locked onto yours.

The flickering torchlight casts harsh shadows across the stone walls, accentuating the severity of their expressions. You can hardly breathe in the heavy silence that follows their ultimatum.

"You have no idea what you've done, Y/N," your father’s voice is low, sharp like a knife. "Do you truly think you can live with the consequences of your actions?"

You stand before them, heart racing, as though you’re caught in some impossible dream—a nightmare where every word they speak strikes harder than the last. The weight of your family’s expectations presses down on you like an unshakable force.

"Do you think the pure-blood wizarding world will stand for this?" your mother adds, her voice betraying a quiet fury. "You’ve sullied your name. You’ve betrayed everything we’ve worked for."

They’re trying to break you, you realize. Trying to make you see the gravity of your mistake.

But it’s too late.

The truth has already made its way into your heart—the truth of your love for Franco. The truth of the bond you share has become more important than the expectations of your family, more important than anything.

But the sting of their words lingers in your chest, tightening with every passing second. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the storm building inside. You can’t let them see how much they’ve shaken you.

You can’t let them win.

"You’ll do what’s right," your father continues, his gaze icy and unforgiving.

"You’ll break ties with that Muggle-born and you’ll marry Charles, as we have planned. You’ll uphold your duty and restore honor to this family."

The air feels too thick. You can hardly think straight. The weight of your family’s demands threatens to crush you, but a single voice cuts through the chaos in your mind.

Franco. The warmth of his hand in yours, the feel of his presence beside you, comforting you, grounding you.

"You have no choice in the matter," your mother presses, her voice growing colder with each passing word.

"If you refuse, we will ensure that he—Franco Colapinto—never sets foot in this castle again. We’ll make sure his reputation is ruined. You don’t understand the power we hold."

The finality of her words hits you like a punch to the stomach. The thought of Franco, the boy you love, being torn apart by the very same people who have always controlled your life—it feels like a weight too great to bear. You can feel your chest tighten, your breath coming faster.

"We can make him a pariah, Y/N," your father adds, his voice dark and cold. "It would be easy. His time at Hogwarts, his future as a wizard—it could all be destroyed with a single whisper."

You feel your knees weaken beneath you. The pressure in your chest is unbearable. 

This isn’t just about your future anymore—it’s about his. Franco, who never asked for this. Franco, who fought for a life in a world that never accepted him, only to have it ripped away by the people who are supposed to be your family.

"You can’t—" Your voice cracks, and you quickly swallow the knot in your throat. "You can’t do that. You can’t hurt him."

The coldness in your father’s gaze sharpens.

"We will. And don’t think for a moment that your connection with him is a secret. The whole school will know what’s going on if you continue down this path. We will destroy him, Y/N. We will make sure his name is mud."

The walls close in on you. You glance between your parents, their hardened faces staring back at you with ruthless certainty. You know they will do it—know they will pull every string they have to ruin Franco’s life.

They’ve always had the power to control things, to bend people to their will. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s him.

"I—I can’t do it," you whisper, your voice shaking, your heart breaking. "I can’t choose between you and him. I can’t."

Your mother’s expression softens, just slightly, before hardening again. "You will make a choice, Y/N. A choice between your bloodline and some fleeting relationship with a boy who can never give you the life you deserve." She steps closer, her eyes never leaving yours. "You’re not a child anymore. You know what’s at stake."

A part of you wants to scream, to reject their demands. But the weight of their words, of their promises to ruin Franco, keeps you rooted in place.

You want to fight, but the image of Franco devastated and broken by their wrath, stops you in your tracks. You’ve spent your whole life running from this moment, but now it’s here—and there’s no easy way out.

“You’ll end this,” your father insists. “Or you will never see this family again.”

You stagger back, your heart racing, a thousand thoughts swirling in your mind. Your world is crashing down around you, the pieces of everything you thought you knew about loyalty, family, and love shattering one by one.

The ultimatum hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Choose," your mother says softly, her voice final, her gaze unwavering. "Choose now, before it’s too late."

The wind is biting tonight, sharp and unforgiving as it sweeps through the trees. You walk through the darkened grounds of Hogwarts, your heart in your throat.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of the decision you’ve made pulling you down, making it harder to breathe.

You reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the familiar shadows of the trees looming ahead. This is where you promised Franco you’d meet him. This was supposed to be a moment of peace, a place where the world couldn’t touch you. But tonight, everything is different.

Tonight, you’re about to shatter both of your worlds.

You spot him standing by the edge of the trees, his dark hair disheveled, his usual bright eyes now searching the horizon for you. When he sees you, his face lights up in a way that makes your chest tighten.

For a brief moment, you almost forget. Forget why you’re here. Forget the ultimatum.

“Y/N,” Franco calls softly, his voice warm despite the chill in the air. He steps toward you, and you almost lose your resolve. 

You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you’ve changed your mind, that everything will be okay. But you know it won’t be.

You stop a few feet away from him, taking a deep breath as you fight to steady your racing heart. This is the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Franco frowns, noticing the distance in your gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. He takes a step forward, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore, Franco.”

His eyes widen in disbelief, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

You swallow hard, biting back the wave of emotion threatening to overtake you. “This—it’s not going to work. I can’t be with you anymore.”

Franco stares at you, as though he doesn’t understand the words coming out of your mouth. His face falls, and the light in his eyes flickers for just a moment. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to hold it together. “I don’t want to hurt you, Franco,” you say, the words feeling like acid in your mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I have to let you go. It’s over.”

There’s a long silence between you, and the air feels suffocating, thick with everything unsaid. His face crumbles, the pain evident in every line of his expression. His hand reaches out toward you, but you take a step back, your heart breaking all over again.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I thought we... we were in this together. You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” you say quickly, your voice breaking. You want to say more.

You want to tell him everything—about the threats, about your family’s cruelty, about how you’re terrified for his safety. But you can’t. You can’t drag him further into this world, into this mess you’ve created. It’s too dangerous.

“I love you, Franco,” you whisper, the words barely audible, “but this isn’t safe. For you. For both of us.”

Franco takes a shaky step toward you. “So, what? Just like that, you’re giving up on us? You’re going to pretend like none of it meant anything?”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill. “It’s not like that. It’s just...” The words catch in your throat, and you fight to keep your composure. 

“I can’t lose you. And I can’t lose everything else, too. I don’t have a choice. You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”

His eyes widen as he steps back, the realization dawning on him. 

“You’re doing this for me? For my safety?” He takes a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re willing to let go of us because you think they’ll hurt me?”

You nod, feeling your chest tighten even more, the pain of this decision almost unbearable. “Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Franco. They’ll ruin you. I can’t let that happen.”

Franco’s expression hardens, a mixture of anger and hurt flashing in his eyes.

“So, what? You’re just going to walk away from everything we’ve built? Everything we’ve shared?” His voice is rising now, but it’s not in anger—it’s in pain, the raw emotion cutting through him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. You have to forget about me.”

He stands there, frozen, staring at you with disbelief and sorrow in his eyes. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze searching yours as though looking for some sign that this isn’t real—that you aren’t really telling him this. But deep down, you know it’s too late.

Finally, he takes a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters, his voice barely audible.

“I thought you were different. I thought... we were different.”

Tears blur your vision as you turn away from him, not trusting yourself to say anything else. The words you wanted to say—the truth about why you’re doing this, about how much you still love him—are stuck in your throat, choking you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, more softly this time, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Franco.”

You turn and walk away, your steps unsteady. You hear him call your name once, and it feels like a knife twisting in your chest. But you don’t turn back. You can’t.

The world feels empty now, a hollow place where everything you thought was real is gone. And the love you had for Franco—your love for him—feels like a wound that will never heal.

The castle felt colder than usual ever since that night, as though the very walls of Hogwarts had turned against you.

Every corner seems to echo with the absence of Franco’s presence. His laughter, his warm smile—things that used to fill the space between you now feel like distant memories. You still feel his absence deep in your chest, the hollow ache where his love used to reside.

You’ve become a stranger to him now, and the worst part is that you’ve chosen to be that stranger.

You avoid him in the halls, in the library, even during meals in the Great Hall. You keep your gaze fixed on your plate, pretending you can’t hear the soft murmur of his voice when he calls your name, the way it wavers with hope and confusion. 

You won’t look at him. You can’t.

You’ve made your choice. You can’t let him know the truth, can’t let him see how much this is killing you. So you keep walking past him, your heart shattering with every step.

But Franco—he doesn’t understand.

Every day, he tries to reach out to you. It starts with tentative glances across the room, his eyes filled with questions he’s afraid to ask. When you’re alone in the library, he’ll approach, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? Did I do something wrong?”

The desperation in his voice cuts you deeper than any words could. But you remain cold, detached, hiding behind a wall of indifference that you’ve built around yourself.

“No,” you say quietly, not meeting his gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just... I need space.”

And that’s all you give him. Space. Silence. Distance. Because that’s all you can offer him now.

Franco’s confusion grows with every passing day. He watches you closely now, like he’s waiting for something, for any sign that you’ll come back to him. But you don’t. The days stretch on, and the weight of his loss begins to crush him from the inside out.

His grades start to slip. The assignments that once came easily now seem impossible. He’s distracted in class, his mind wandering to the painful silence between you two, the way you refuse to acknowledge him.

His friends notice the change. Lando, his roommate and the one person who’s always had his back, raises an eyebrow when Franco stumbles through their shared dorm room late one evening, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Mate, what’s going on?” Lando asks, concern creeping into his voice. “You’ve been off for days now. You’re barely eating, you’re not showing up to practice. Is it about... her?”

Franco looks at him, his eyes empty, the spark that once burned brightly in them now gone.

“I don’t know what happened,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “She won’t talk to me. She... she just shut me out, Lando. I don’t understand why.”

Lando sighs, his expression softening. “Look, I know you care about her, but if she’s pushing you away, maybe... maybe it’s for a reason. Maybe you need to give her space, yeah?”

But Franco can’t give up. Not like this. He can’t accept that she’s just... gone. He spends hours in the library, researching everything he can about the things that might have driven her to act this way. But nothing makes sense.

The silence between you two feels louder than anything he’s ever experienced. And the more time passes, the more he feels like he’s losing control of everything. His world, once so steady and clear, has become a series of questions with no answers.

He starts to drift away from his usual circles. He no longer joins in the conversations during meals or laughs with his friends like he used to. His social life is unraveling, slipping through his fingers as though everything he once held dear was slipping away without him even realizing it.

The other students start to notice too. The once confident Muggle-born who had so effortlessly carved his place at Hogwarts now seems distant, withdrawn, and hollow.

One evening, you see him sitting alone on the steps of the castle, his shoulders slumped and his face turned away from the bustling students. His robes are disheveled, and his normally neat hair is messy, as though he’s forgotten to care about his appearance.

It hurts to see him like this, but you force yourself to look away, to continue walking with your head held high, as though you don’t feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

That’s the moment you know he’s spiraling.

But you can’t reach out. Not now. You can’t risk it. You can’t risk him.

As the days pass, Franco’s presence in your life feels more like a memory than a reality. His messages go unanswered. His attempts to meet you in secret—like the ones you once shared with him—are now nothing more than painful reminders of what you’ve lost.

And yet, even as his world unravels, he doesn’t stop trying. He doesn’t stop believing that somehow, one day, things will return to how they were.

But you know better. You’ve made your choice.

Franco’s heart is breaking, but you can’t save him. You can’t save either of you.

The days blur together in a haze of politeness, forced smiles, and the constant hum of expectations. You’ve slipped back into the life your family always envisioned for you, a world where appearances matter more than anything.

Charles is always there now—by your side during meals, accompanying you to events, and constantly appearing in places you never asked for him to be.

His presence is a comfort in some ways, a reliable and steady force that you can count on when you need to act the part. He’s charming, and he knows exactly how to behave in front of your parents—how to make them smile and nod approvingly at every word that leaves his lips. He’s the perfect candidate for the future they’ve planned for you.

But every time you glance at him, you feel something missing. A hollow spot deep inside that no matter how much you try to fill with your duties, your smiles, or even his touch—nothing works.

The void only grows larger, and you can’t ignore it.

Charles is polite, of course. He never forces himself into your space, but his attentiveness is constant. 

He notices the little things—like how you’ve become quiet during dinner, how you retreat into your own thoughts during conversations. He never pushes, never demands more than what you’re willing to give, but he’s beginning to see the distance between you.

One evening, as you walk side-by-side down the grand staircase of Hogwarts after dinner, your fingers brushing lightly against Charles’s, you feel the emptiness that comes from the space between you two. You look at him, and while he smiles warmly at you, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes, his voice steady but with an edge of concern.

You force a smile, one you’ve perfected over the years, one that convinces even yourself, at least for a moment.

“Just tired,” you say, but the words feel foreign coming out of your mouth. The truth is, you’re not tired. You’re aching, though you can’t explain why.

You both stop at the top of the Astronomy Tower, where Charles often accompanies you to discuss future plans—plans that your family has already laid out in meticulous detail. He’s standing close to you now, his hand lightly grazing your arm, the faintest sign of affection.

You don’t pull away. But you don’t reach out either.

“You know, we’ve got the gala in a few weeks. I’m sure your parents are expecting us to make an appearance,” Charles says, trying to pull you into the moment. His hand slips into yours, and you don’t resist.

You’re so used to this, to him. But it doesn’t feel right.

In the back of your mind, you picture Franco, standing alone by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his eyes full of confusion and sadness.

You haven’t seen him in weeks, but every time you close your eyes, you see him—his hair falling messily into his face, the warmth in his voice when he used to call your name. And every time that memory resurfaces, it hurts more than it did the last time.

You blink, forcing yourself back to the present. “I’ll be there,” you say, your voice lacking the enthusiasm it once had.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice. He squeezes your hand. “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

But in the back of your mind, all you can hear is the silence between you and Franco—the unspoken words, the moments of warmth that now feel like they belong to someone else.

The following day, you find yourself walking down the same corridor where you and Franco used to sneak away for late-night conversations. The walls seem to close in around you as you walk, each step bringing you closer to memories you’re trying to forget. But you can’t help it.

You reach the library, and you see a flicker of movement by one of the tables. For a split second, you think it’s him. Your heart skips in your chest, but when you look more closely, you see it’s just another student. But the brief hope is enough to pull you in.

You stand in the doorway, staring at the empty seat you once shared with Franco. Your fingers twitch, aching to reach for the familiar book you’d always shared between the two of you. A letter, an old note—anything that might bring him back to you.

But instead, you close your eyes and walk away, the sharp pang of regret tightening in your chest. You keep your head down, you keep walking.

The rest of the day is a blur. You smile when you’re supposed to, laugh when it’s expected of you, but nothing feels real.

When you look at Charles, you don’t see the person you’ve convinced yourself you should love. You see a placeholder, a piece in a puzzle that doesn’t fit, and the guilt washes over you like a wave you can’t escape.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t look back, that you’d leave the past behind. But no matter how many times you remind yourself that you made the right choice, Franco’s presence lingers, a shadow you can’t escape.

You lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time since you ended things with him, you let yourself think about him. You wonder if he’s okay. You wonder if he’s moved on.

But most of all, you wonder if you ever will.

Franco’s world has become quieter since you walked away. The weight of your absence presses against him every moment of every day, yet somehow, he forces himself to move forward.

His mornings are filled with the rhythm of textbooks, his nights consumed by late-night study sessions in the library. The constant hum of activity has become his refuge, an attempt to drown out the emptiness that lingers in the corners of his mind.

He’s not sure when it happened—when his academic focus shifted from just surviving his classes to something deeper, something more personal. But now, his studies aren’t just about passing.

They’ve become a way to make sense of the chaos that has overtaken his life. They’re his lifeline.

It’s a late evening when Franco sits at the library table, his eyes scanning the pages of a book on Transfiguration, but his mind drifts. It always drifts. Every time he looks down at his notes, he sees your face. Every time he hears a whisper in the halls, he expects to turn around and find you there. But you’re not.

He rubs his eyes, exhaling sharply. It’s getting harder, the constant ache of not knowing what went wrong. But despite everything, he’s determined not to let it consume him.

He begins a project—an ambitious one. It’s part of his Independent Study in Charms, a project designed to create a charm that allows the user to manipulate their surroundings.

At first, it’s just a distraction—a way to pour his heartache into something productive. But as the days pass, Franco becomes obsessed with it.

It’s not just any charm now. It’s something that represents his fight against the heaviness in his chest. Something to prove that he can move forward, no matter what.

The project starts to take shape, the pieces of magic intertwining in ways that surprise him. He works tirelessly in the small hours of the night, testing each spell and modification until it feels like a part of him is infused into it.

With every flick of his wand, with every calculated movement, Franco feels like he’s peeling back the layers of his grief.

But even amid his work, he can’t escape the haunting reminder of what he’s lost. It’s in the moments when he’s walking to class when he passes the Astronomy Tower—the place where you once laughed together under the stars. It’s in the quiet spaces when the world stops moving, and the only thing left is the echo of your absence.

And yet, despite the ache, Franco presses on. His charm begins to take form—a small, glowing orb of light, suspended in midair, its glow flickering like a heartbeat. It’s nothing extraordinary in the magical world, but to him, it feels like everything. It’s a piece of himself, a mark of his resilience. The ability to create something new, to move through the pain and still build something beautiful.

As the charm comes to life before him, Franco can’t help but feel a mixture of pride and sorrow. His heart still aches for you, the connection between you two that now feels like a ghost he can never reach.

But at least, for a moment, he has this. His project. His proof that he can keep going, even without you.

He sits back in his chair, watching the charm flicker softly in the dim light of the library. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. And in that something, Franco finds a small shred of peace.

For the first time in weeks, he allows himself to think about the future—not the one he thought he’d have with you, but the one he’ll have on his own terms.

It’s a future that doesn’t revolve around your love, but one where he is strong enough to stand on his own.

It’s an ordinary morning at Hogwarts—students fill the halls, the sound of chatter and footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

You walk down the corridor, Charles by your side, his presence a comfortable, almost too-familiar weight. The warmth of the sun filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors.

You’ve gotten used to this life. The life where you smile at the right moments, laugh at the right times and live a life that looks perfect on paper. But every time your thoughts slip to Franco, the warmth fades. The ache never truly leaves.

Today is no different, until you round the corner and see him.

Franco is standing by the wall, his head tilted slightly as he talks to a younger student. The words are too muffled to hear, but you don’t need to. The sight of him—so near yet so far—sends a jolt through your chest.

The hair that once fell in his face now pushed back, and the determined look in his eyes never seemed to fade, even when everything fell apart between you two.

You freeze for just a moment, your heart stuttering.

Franco’s gaze shifts, and in that instant, his eyes lock with yours. The world seems to slow around you.

For a second, everything is silent—every sound, every movement, erased by the weight of the unspoken history between you. The loss. The heartbreak. The love that you both buried.

His expression is unreadable—almost distant—but there’s something in his eyes. A flicker of recognition, a flicker of pain, that mirrors your own. He doesn’t smile, and neither do you. There’s nothing left to smile about. There’s no comfort in seeing him again, not after everything that’s passed between you.

And yet, you don’t look away. Neither does he.

Charles steps closer to you, his presence a reminder of the life you’ve chosen, the life you’ve settled into. You force yourself to tear your eyes from Franco’s, the knot in your stomach tightening. You take a breath, as if bracing for something you can’t name, and look ahead, your steps quickening.

Franco doesn’t move, doesn’t make any attempt to stop you, even though you can feel the weight of the moment between you.

As you pass him, you hear his voice—just a whisper in the air. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. A finality to it, a goodbye that wasn’t really said before, a goodbye that wasn’t really chosen.

You don’t turn back.

Charles speaks beside you, but you don’t hear him. The world feels distant again, the ache of what could have been pressing against your ribs.

Franco’s gaze follows you for a moment longer, then he turns, disappearing down the corridor. His figure melts into the crowd of students, and just like that, he’s gone.

You know you’ll never be the same. Neither of you will.

The months have passed, and graduation looms closer. The corridors of Hogwarts seem emptier now, less filled with the excitement of possibility and more with the weight of your decisions.

The choices you’ve made weigh heavily on your chest, like a stone that never quite sinks to the bottom.

The life you live now isn’t one you ever envisioned for yourself. You’ve kept your head down, followed the rules, and embraced the expectations your family placed on you without question. Or at least, without the kind of question that would lead to a different path.

Your relationship with Charles is… well, it’s functional. There are no sparks, no passion, no fireworks. Just a quiet, cold companionship that mirrors the distance between you and your family. They’ve made their peace with this future for you—Charles is everything they wanted for you, the perfect match of blood status, status, and reputation.

But that doesn’t make it easier. The weight of it presses in every time you look at him and see nothing more than a reminder of what you’ve lost—what you’ve chosen to lose. And the guilt gnaws at you.

You sit beside him sometimes, as you’re supposed to, and you kiss him because it’s expected, but your thoughts drift to Franco. Always. And that gnawing ache never fades, never quiets.

You find yourself walking the halls at night, sometimes alone, sometimes with Charles, but always feeling like there’s an emptiness in your heart that no one else can fill.

The world around you feels like a distant echo of what could have been, and every time you glance at the stars or walk past the Astronomy Tower, your heart tightens in your chest.

You can’t shake the feeling that there’s a piece of yourself you’ve lost—one that will never be found again. You wonder if this is what you were meant to have all along. If your future was set in stone before you even realized it.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments, you let yourself ask: Did I make the right choice?

And the answer is never clear.

Graduation arrives, and Franco stands at the threshold of the next chapter.

The weight of the past is a constant companion, but so is the fire that’s been building inside him since that fateful moment. He knows he can never go back to who he was, and he knows there’s no turning back for you either.

But he’s not going to let the ghosts of the past define him. Not anymore.

Franco steps into the future with resolve, ready to carve out a name for himself in the wizarding world. His reputation as a Muggle-born, an outsider, will not hold him back.

He’ll prove to everyone who ever doubted him—especially those who hurt him—that he is worth something. That he’s capable of greatness, even without the privileges of a pure-blood family.

In the quiet moments, when he’s alone with his thoughts, Franco still thinks about you. He wonders where you are, what your life is like now.

Sometimes, he imagines a different world—one where things didn’t end the way they did, where the two of you could have been together. But those thoughts are fleeting.

Franco’s learned to keep his heart locked up tight, to put his energy into building a life that’s his. He’s spent too long grieving what’s gone, and now he’s focused on what’s ahead.

And yet, as he walks across the grounds for the last time, Franco can’t help but steal one final glance back at the castle—the place where you once walked beside him.

A small part of him will always wonder what could have been.

But he knows better now. Some things are never meant to be.

And so, he moves forward, silently vowing to never forget you, even though he knows that you will never be his again.

Epilogue:

Years have passed, and time has done its work. The world has shifted, as it always does, but for you, something has changed in a way that feels too good to be true.

You’ve finally broken free.

No longer confined by your family’s expectations or the cold, distant relationship with Charles, you’ve stepped into a world where you’re free to make your own choices.

The life that once felt like a cage has crumbled, piece by piece, and now, for the first time, you stand on your own.

Your family, too, has learned the hard way that you were never meant to be a part of their perfectly polished world. You don’t fit the mold they tried to force you into—and you won’t let them control you any longer. The weight of their expectations no longer hangs heavy on your shoulders.

And Charles? He’s just a shadow now—someone who never truly understood you, never truly saw you.

But the past still lingers in the corners of your heart, as memories do. And then, on a quiet afternoon in Diagon Alley, fate steps in.

You’re walking down the cobbled street, the vibrant shops filled with the usual bustle, but your heart feels light—unburdened for the first time in ages.

You’re with a friend, laughing at something trivial, when you hear it. That voice. That sound. It’s not supposed to be here, not after all this time.

You freeze.

And there he is.

Franco. Standing in front of you, just as you remember him—older, wiser, but the same spark in his eyes. He’s no longer the boy you once knew, but somehow, in this moment, he is.

It’s as if time has folded, and you’re back at Hogwarts, the world falling away until it’s just the two of you, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley.

Franco hesitates for a beat, as if unsure of what to say, or maybe afraid of what he might feel. You’re both strangers now, in a way—so much has changed, and yet, so little.

The years of separation, of silence, have built walls between you, but the pull of what was once there, what was always there, can’t be denied.

“Y/N…” he whispers, the sound of your name almost breaking something inside of you. His voice is steady, but there’s a tenderness in it that makes your chest ache.

For a moment, you both stand there, the weight of the past heavy between you. Neither of you speaks for what feels like an eternity.

And then, without thinking, without words or plans, you take a step forward. Your heart races as you close the distance between you, until there’s nothing but the familiar warmth of him in front of you.

Before either of you can stop it, your hands find each other, fingers intertwining in a way that feels like coming home.

It’s like the years vanish. All the pain, all the grief, all the distance fades away in an instant, leaving only the two of you. No words are needed, because you both know.

“Do you remember…” Franco begins, his voice softer now, the question unfinished, but the meaning clear.

You smile, the old, familiar spark of mischief glinting in your eyes. “Of course I do.”

Without another word, you both turn, slipping away from the crowd and into the quiet alley, the same sense of adventure and secrecy that once defined your relationship taking hold of you again.

You walk side by side, as if time had never passed, as if you’re still those young, reckless students sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest.

In the distance, the setting sun casts a golden glow over the cobblestones, but it’s the warmth of Franco’s hand in yours that makes everything feel right. The world seems to open up around you as you step into a future that, this time, is yours to create—together.

For the first time in years, you’re not afraid. You’re not held back by anything or anyone. And neither is he.

Together, you slip into the shadows, disappearing into the night, as if time hadn’t passed at all.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

This makes my heart happy - - - - Creds to whoever made it (:

MASTERLIST - FORMULA 1

Promptlist Requests: open

Stories marked with * indicates smut

Lando Norris - 04

✨ONESHOTS✨ Secret Desires* - F!Verstappen!Reader (requested) Revealed Desires* - F!Verstappen!Reader (sequel to Secret Desires) Untamed Desires* - F!Verstappen!Reader (sequel to Secret Desires & Revealed Desires) Practice makes perfect* - Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri

Charles Leclerc - 16

✨ONESHOTS✨ Secrets unveiled*- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Supposed to be mine* - Charles Leclerc x fem!reader (requested) Racing Pulse* - Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

✨SERIES✨ (RUNNING) Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc x fem!gasly!reader ↳ parts: one, two

Oscar Piastri - 81

✨SERIES✨ (RUNNING) beyond boundaries - OP81 x Female!reader ↳ parts: part one, part two*, part three*, part four*, part five*, part six*, part seven*, part eight*, part nine*, part ten*, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen,

✨ONESHOTS✨ Practice makes perfect* - Oscar Piastri x Lando Norris Extraordinary* - Oscar Piastri x Female!Reader First Kiss - Oscar Piastri x Female!Reader

Max Verstappen - MV1

Burning Rivalry* - Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Daniel Ricciardo - DR3

Forbidden* - Daniel Ricciardo x fem!verstappen!reader

A Beautiful Mess | 3

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Two neighbors who can’t stand each other, until an accidental kiss changes everything.

Word count: 3049

You can read part 1 here and part 2 here.

Right now, I'm shameless Screamin' my lungs out for ya Not afraid to face it I need you more than I want to

The first thing you registered as you woke up was the pounding in your head, like someone was smashing a drum inside your skull. The second was the blinding light hitting your face. You never slept with the curtains open.

"Ugh, my head." You groaned, pressing a hand to your head.

Blinking against the brightness, you forced your eyes open, only to realise, very quickly, that you were not in your bedroom. Your heart stopped and your eyes widened.

You looked around the unknown bedroom. The other side of the bed was unmade and there were clothes scattered on the floor. A pair of pants. A shirt. A man's shirt.

The bedroom door was open, and the distant sound of running water caught your attention.

"Oh my god. No, no, no." You lifted the covers. You were wearing your underwear and that was all you had on. "Noooo!" You groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

What did I do? You questioned yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to piece together the night before. You remembered drinking. Dancing. Meeting a guy at the bar. Eric, right? Had you slept with Eric?

The sound of a door opening, made you open your eyes. You looked up, but you wished you hadn't.

Appearing at the doorway, drying his damp curls with a white towel, was none other than Lando Norris.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He had another towel slung low around his hips, water droplets still clinging to his skin, his toned chest on full display. It could only be a nightmare. Right? Right?

Lando smirked, breaking the silence. "Look who finally decided to wake up. Thought you were dead for a second." You stared, completely frozen. "What? Cat got your tongue?" That snapped you out of your trance.

You jumped out of bed, immediately regretting it when a wave of nausea hit you. "What the hell am I doing here?"

Lando's smirk deepened. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, enjoying your state too much.

"You don't remember?" He asked you, looking you up and down.

You followed his gaze and realised you were basically naked. Yanking the bed covers up to your chest, you shot him a glare.

"Don't need to cover up." He chuckled. "I already saw everything last night." A shiver running down your spine.

"I was drunk!"

"So was I."

Your grip on the sheets tightened. "What happened?" You asked him, not really wanting to hear the answer.

Lando dragged his tongue over his teeth, eyes glinting with amusement. "Come on, you're not that naive."

Your heart nearly stopped. "No."

"Yes."

"No, wa-- Oh my god!" To your absolute horror, Lando dropped the towel that was around his hips. You turned around and squeezed your eyes shut. "What the fuck are you doing, Norris?"

Lando laughed, completely unbothered. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

"I HAVEN'T!"

"You sure? Because that's not what you were screaming last night."

"Shut up!" You turned back around, cautiously peeking through your fingers, but thankfully, he was already wearing pants. Your mind was a chaotic mess. This couldn't have happened. Even drunk, you would never sleep with Lando. "If you tell anyone about this, I swear I will kill you."

Lando chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. No need to tell anyone, I'm pretty sure the whole building heard you last night. Hell, probably all of Monaco."

Your jaw dropped. "You're disgusting."

"A disgusting man you slept with." You grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his face. He caught it effortlessly, smirking. Spotting your dress and purse draped over an armchair, you made a beeline for them, grabbing them quickly. "Not staying for breakfast?" Lando teased.

"Go fuck yourself." Tightening the sheet around your body, you stormed out of the bedroom.

"Hey! That's my sheet!" He shouted, standing up from the bed. You didn't stop. "Y/n?" Before he could say anything else, you slammed it shut behind you, making the frames on the wall tremble.

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. Messing with you was way too much fun.

Lando lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. The room was dimly lit by the city lights outside, casting soft shadows across the walls. The only sound was your slow, steady breathing beside him.

He had told himself he'd leave once you were asleep. That had been the plan. Carry you to bed, stay until you dozed off, and then head to the other room. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to move.

Maybe it was the way you looked so peaceful, completely different from the stubborn woman who drove him insane daily. Or maybe it was the way your face changed every few minutes, like you were dreaming about something.

Lando let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. Just as he was debating finally getting up, you stirred beside him.

You shifting under the covers, eyes barely open, still very much drunk. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your dress and started pulling it over your head.

Lando shot upright. "What the hell are you doing?"

You huffed in frustration, your dress halfway off. "It's hot."

"So?"

With absolutely zero hesitation, you stripped the dress off completely, tossing it somewhere on the floor. Now, you were left in nothing but your underwear in his bed, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Lando swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his curls. This cannot be happening.

"Jesus, Y/n." He averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. "You can't just--" He sighed. "For fuck's sake." Muttering to himself, he grabbed one of his t-shirts from the closet and turned back toward you. "Put this on!" He said, holding it out.

You made a sleepy noise, barely cracking one eye open. "No."

"Yes."

You groaned and lazily swatted his hand away, turning over so your back was to him. "Too hot." You mumbled.

Lando sat there, t-shirt still in his hand, staring at you. "Unbelievable." He muttered under his breath. Then and idea hit him.

Oh, she was going to lose her mind.

You stumbled into your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you, your breath uneven and your cheeks burning from the humiliation.

Sleeping with Lando Norris was the last thing that should have happened. He was a womanizer, a nightmare and a insufferable idiot.

You groaned loudly, collapsing onto the couch and burying your face in a cushion. "Why did this happen?" You mumbled against the fabric before letting out a muffled scream of frustration. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him."

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that when you opened them, the last twelve hours would magically rewrite themselves. But the image of him, half-naked, smirking, teasing, was burned into your mind like a bad tattoo.

Kill me now. You thought to yourself.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself up and pulled your phone from your purse. Six missed calls. Eleven messages. You called the first person on the list, already heading to the bathroom. You needed a shower. A long, scalding shower to wash away the disaster that was last night.

"Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to call you all night!" She practically shouted into the phone, the second she picked up.

You winced. "Sorry, I drank too much and... passed out." You rubbed your forehead, catching sight of your reflection in the mirror. Mascara smudged under your eyes. Hair an absolute mess. "I need to ask you--"

"Passed out where? And why did you leave with Norris?" Your friend interrupted.

You froze. Your brain scrambled to piece together her words. You remembered being outside with Eric and Lando. But just the two of them.

"Wait-- you guys let me leave with Lando?" Your voice rose, panic creeping in. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"Y/n, we didn't know you left with him!"

You frowned. "But—how do you—?"

"There are photos and videos of you leaving with him." She said bluntly. "In his car. They're everywhere." A cold shiver ran down your spine. You felt your legs go weak as you gripped the bathroom counter for support. "I thought you were hitting it off with that other guy." Your friend continued. "How the hell did you end up with Lando?"

You ran a hand through your tangled hair, your mind racing. "I-- I don't know." You admitted, panic settling in. "I don't remember! But we—" You stopped yourself just in time, biting your lip. No way in hell were you telling anyone about what may or may not have happened last night. "I'm never drinking again. This was a terrible idea."

Monday had rolled around again, far sooner than you would've liked. You hadn't seen Lando since you stormed out of his apartment wrapped in his bedsheet, and you had no intention of crossing paths with him anytime soon.

But somehow, his fans had found your Instagram account and the follow requests had been insane.

You'd seen the photos and the videos. And, yeah, it looked bad. Really bad. His hand around your waist, your head resting against his chest. The way he leaned in close, like he actually cared. Anyone looking at those pictures would think there was something more than just hatred between you two.

And then there was that picture. That one that made you blush like a tomato.

Your head rested against his chest, looking up at him, while he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face. He had this soft look, like you were the only person in the world.

You could easily pass off as a pair of lovebirds, but that was far from the truth.

"Miss Y/n?" A small voice interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked and looked down to see Clare, one of the little girls from your class, staring up at you with big and curious eyes.

"Yes, Clare?" You asked, forcing a smile as the rest of the kids ran out for playtime.

She motioned for you to come closer, so you bent down.

"You and your boyfriend look cute together!" She whispered in your ear. Your breath hitched. "My mommy showed me the pictures. She said he looks at you like my daddy looks at her."

The innocent compliment made your cheeks burn and for a split second, your heart fluttered, before the reality of it all came crashing back. Before you could respond, Clare giggled and ran off to join her friends, leaving you absolutely stunned.

Lando leaned back in his chair, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard as he played. The glow of the screen illuminated his focused expression.

"Mate, you're actually terrible." Max groaned as Lando missed another shot in the game.

"Shut up!" Lando shot back, laughing.

There was a brief silence as they played, until Max broke it with a teasing voice.

"So… you and Y/n, huh?"

Lando's fingers froze for half a second before he recovered. "What?"

Max chuckled. "Oh, don't play dumb. I saw the pictures. The whole world saw the pictures."

Lando sighed, already knowing where the conversation was going. "There's nothing going on and you know it."

"Uh-huh." Max said, clearly enjoying himself. "You looked pretty cozy. Hand in her hair, staring at her like she was the last slice of pizza…"

"I was just helping her." Lando muttered, trying to focus on the game. "She was drunk. I wasn't going to let her walk home. I'm not a piece of shit."

"And the part where you like her?"

Lando's character nearly got shot in the game. "I don't!"

Max laughed. "Yeah, yeah, sure. You hate her. That's why you haven't stopped talking about her since that night, right?"

"You're the one that brought her up." Lando groaned. "And if I talk about her because it's because she's annoying!"

Max hummed. "Right, but remind me again, why did you stay in bed with her until she fell asleep?"

Lando gritted his teeth. "Because she was drunk, and I didn’t want her to choke on her own vomit. I'm already regretting telling you that."

Max snorted. "Sure, sure. And the fact that you haven't been with anyone else since that night has nothing to do with her, right?"

"Shut up and play the game."

"I'll shut up when you admit you like her."

"That's never gonna happen."

"Okay, then. Guess I'll just keep sending you those cute photos the fans keep posting."

"Maxxxx!"

You were exhausted. Work had drained every last bit of energy from you, and to make things worse, dinner with your parents had been nothing short of an interrogation.

"So, who is this Lando?"

"Are you dating him?"

"You two look very close in those photos!"

Your mother had shown you the pictures as if you hadn't already seen them a thousand times. Your father, usually indifferent to your personal life, had even said: "He's a race car driver, right? Those guys are trouble."

No matter how many times you insisted that nothing was going on, they wouldn't let up. By the time you finally left, your head was pounding.

All you wanted was to get home, take a shower, and sleep for the next ten hours.

As you pulled into the underground garage of your building, your eyes immediately locked onto your parking spot and the sight of Lando's McLaren sitting right in it. Again.

Your blood boiled instantly. "That prick! He does it on porpuse." You smacked the steering wheel in frustration.

You sat there for a moment, until an idea formed in your mind. With a smirk, you pulled up right behind his car, blocking him in.

Getting out, you slammed the door shut, crossed your arms, and admired your handiwork. Let's see him try to pull out now.

Before you could take three steps, you heard footsteps. Lando appeared, dressed in all black, keys in hand, clearly about to go out. The moment he saw your car blocking his, his expression changed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He snapped, walking toward you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think my parking spot was yours?"

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. "I was only going to grab my phone. I left it upstairs. Relax."

You let out a dry laugh. "Relax?" You gestured to his car. "How about you stop acting like you own the damn building?"

His jaw clenched. "Y/n, move your car. I'm in a hurry."

You tilted your head. "Why should I? Pick another one. It's not like you only own one car."

His frustration was evident, just as much as yours. "I swear it's the last time I park in your spot."

"I don't believe you."

"Move!"

"I don't want to."

Lando stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're impossible."

"And you're an idiot. Stop thinking you're above everybody."

"For a kindergarten teacher, you sure are a nightmare."

"For an F1 driver, you sure are slow."

Lando opened his mouth and let out a sarcastic chuckle. And then, before you could process what was happening, his hands were on your face, and his lips crashed against yours.

You gasped, your body instinctively responding as his mouth moved against yours, rough and urgent. His hands cupped your face, pressing you back against your car as if he was trying to prove something.

And for a second, you let him. Because despite everything, it felt good. Too good.

But then, reality hit you like a truck. You shoved him away hard, breathing heavily. And before you could stop yourself, your hand flew up, slapping him across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the garage. Lando's head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening.

"You asshole." You spat, your heart pounding.

Lando exhaled sharply, his tongue running over his bottom lip. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without another word, you turned on your heel, stormed to your car, and pulled out of the garage, leaving him standing there.

You drove out of the garage like a maniac, the tires screeching against the pavement. Reckless. Impulsive. Exactly how Lando drove.

And then, out of nowhere, tears started spilling down your cheeks.

You didn't remember the last time you had cried, but now the sobs came fast and uncontrollable, a lump forming in your throat so tight it felt like you couldn't breathe. Your vision blurred, and your hands trembled against the wheel.

With shaking fingers, you pulled over and leaned your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to suppress the pain that had crept up without warning.

You couldn't believe. All of this for a selfish prick like Lando?

Lando had canceled his plans. He had barely made it through the elevator doors before frustration consumed him, his feet carrying him straight to his apartment. The moment he stepped inside, he let out a sharp exhale and dropped his keys onto the counter, running a hand through his curls.

His whole body was buzzing with anger, confusion and something else. Something he didn't want to name.

He didn't know why he had kissed you. No. That was a lie.

He knew. Deep down, he fucking knew. He had wanted to kiss you since the first day he saw you, since the moment he moved into the building. But now that feeling he had buried and denied, had come crashing back to life because of that stupid accidental kiss at the school.

Lando groaned, gripping his face as he collapsed onto the couch. "Fuckkk!!!" His voice echoed through the empty apartment. He tilted his head back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. "You don't like her, Lando!" He muttered to himself. "It's just a stupid… crush. Sexual tension. That's all it is." His jaw clenched. "She's never going to like you like that. She hates you."

But, don't you hate her back? A voice whispered at the back of his mind.

Lando swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. And for the first time, he admitted the truth. "I don't!"

Tags:

@lilorose25 @downsideup1989 @anayaverse @ln4-cl16-world @chlmtfilms @444-leqz @joannaln4 @notarshia @willowsnook @goossha-blog @wakasays @linnygirl09 @green--beanie @whisperofthewild @n3versatisfied @rbv3rstappen @guaaafiiburg @fat-meh @freyathehuntress

Finding out that Captain America 3 was originally meant to be a direct sequel the The Winter Soldier and would’ve focused on Steve and Sam’s search for Bucky, with a focus on Steve and Bucky’s relationship, but was scrapped for Civil War because DC released Batman vs Superman has actually ruined my day. Probably my week.

I’m so upset right now, what the hell.

THE NEW AMERICAN

F1 Driver Reader Masterlist

Summary: You join the F1 paddock mid-season alongside fellow rookie Franco Colapinto, stepping in for Lance Stroll after a season-ending injury. This journey is far from sunshine and rainbows, but you’re ready to take on the challenges—and the deep-rooted misogyny of the sport—to prove everyone wrong. Determined to make your mark, you’ll fight to win over the skeptics and earn the respect of the F1 world.

The Debut

The Debut part 2

Azerbaijan GP

Azerbaijan GP part 2

Singapore GP

Singapore GP part 2

Autumn Break

Autumn Break part 2

USA TEXAS GP

USA TEXAS GP part 2

Post Maiden Home Win

Mexican GP

Mexican GP part 2

Brazilian GP

Brazilian GP part 2

Las Vegas GP

Las Vegas GP part 2

Qatar GP

Qatar GP part 2

Abu Dhabi GP

Abu Dhabi GP part 2

End of the Season

I took a month-ish break to help me make sure I had the rest of the story's timeline figured out. Plus I wasn't on my adhd meds during winter break leading to a lot more procrastinating. But now I am back to full focus and time management with classes starting again. I have written about 3 different versions of these, depending on how this one goes, I may edit and finish the other two f1driver reader series stories.

yes hello i love them

Ok but would y’all be surprised if Seb came out as bi after all the gay roles he’s played and all the men he’s kissed? Like I wonder if he’s ever like maybe questioned whether or not he’s maybe bi it gay? Like I wonder if he’s ever felt like that? I mean if he did ever come out it’d be a win for the LGBTQIA+ community 😉 But like what are any one else’s thoughts in this?

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reblog if

- you love hp - you love the marauders - you love lily evans - you adore cedric diggory - you miss the golden trio - you are proud of your hogwarts house