Ardyn Vale

Title: “Crimson Sparks”

At Nineteen, Ardyn Vale stalked the stone halls of Hogwarts like a shadow wrapped in scarlet and gold. Cold, commanding, and composed to the core, she never smiled—never needed to. Her reputation was built on spellwork that bent the very air with raw force and a dueling record so brutal even some Slytherins kept their wands holstered when she walked by.

She didn’t make friends. She didn’t want to. Professors respected her. Students feared her. And yet… she was a Gryffindor.

You couldn’t stop watching her—how she’d stride into class, robes swirling, eyes sharp like frost-edged steel. The way she stood during duels, firm-footed and utterly unmoved. She never spoke unless necessary, and when she did, it was with a cutting coolness that made your breath hitch.

One night, late in the Gryffindor common room, you found yourself alone. Almost.

She emerged from the shadows near the fireplace, the red glow dancing over her sharp features, her uniform undone slightly—tie loosened, top button undone from what must’ve been a long night of studying or practicing forbidden spells.

Her voice broke the silence. “You stare too much.”

You gulped. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did,” she cut in, stepping closer. “You're bold for someone so… average.”

Your heart pounded. She was towering over you now, her presence suffocating and intoxicating. One hand reached for your collar, fingers brushing your neck—not tender, but deliberate, inspecting, testing.

“You want something from me,” she murmured, voice low and rough like thunder behind storm clouds. “But I don’t give. I take.”

And as her fingers slipped down, gripping the hem of your robes, her eyes narrowed with fire behind their chill. “Do you still want me now?”