𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓 || нαяяу ρσттєя ιмαgιηєѕ

𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀

House: Gryffindor
Blood Status: Pureblood
(6th Year, She/Her)

Warning/s: Mentions of food (If you are sensitive on that subject, long as fuck, Y/n stealing lines LMAO I WAS LAZY AND IT'S 12:06 AM LEAVE ME ALONE. Also I got too carried away with this so like yeah-)
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"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 — 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦?"
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Harry was puzzled, very perplexed. The words in the wrist don't make any sense. "I hate you." It says. He wakes up just recalling about it. He was never disrespectful to anyone in his life, except for Malfoy. But he doesn't count.

Y/n, however, had the complete opposite. "I love you." She thought it was cliche but it was better than nothing. Her heart flutters at the image of someone other than her mother says I love you to her.

They never cared about their last words to each other and that's what matters. However, there's something about dating Y/n that Harry couldn't put his finger into. It always felt off when they kiss, not saying Y/n was a bad kisser but he just feels like they aren't meant to be. Sometimes, people judge them because of their houses, assuming they'll break up soon enough. They were basically contradictions of each other, Harry's a Gryffindor and Y/n's a Slytherin. People think they were like fire and water, some say but you both think you're the wind and sea.

Y/n loves poetry and Harry likes it too but not as much as Y/n, when she grows up, she wants to be a poet. She'll always write some down and leave it in Harry's bookbag when she had the chance. She loves Harry but Harry didn't like her back. Like said, he felt off whenever he's with Y/n like a piece of him was missing. But he just shoved it off.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

When Harry, Y/n, Ron, and Hermione arrived in the corridor they saw that only a dozen people were progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whomHarry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

"Harry," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags. And how are you, Ron, Y/n, — Hermione?"

Before they could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus moustache curved above his beaming mouth and he greeted Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapours and odd smells. Harry, Ron, Y/n, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws.

This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Y/n. They chose the one nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that was emitting one of the most charming scents Harry had ever inhaled: somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the burrow.

He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.