Slytherin Boys x Y/N Short Stories/Reacts

They Are Sent to Azkaban

Mattheo

Mattheo sat slumped in the corner of his cell, the oppressive chill of Azkaban sinking into his bones. His usual mischievous spark was dimmed, replaced by a hollow anger.

He clenched his fists, glaring at the wall. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Azkaban? For that? Bloody Ministry has it out for me."

When the Dementors came near, he felt the weight of every reckless decision he'd ever made, but one memory cut deeper than the rest—Y/N's tearful face as they dragged him away.

"I'll get out," he whispered to himself. "For her. I'll find a way."

A guard passed, throwing a mocking laugh his way. Mattheo smirked weakly. "Enjoy it while it lasts, mate. I'm not staying here forever."

Theo

Theo sat silently in his cell, his usually calm demeanor masking the storm raging inside. He stared at the cracks in the stone walls, his mind replaying the last words Y/N had said to him: "Be careful, Theo. Please."

He hadn't been careful, and now he was paying the price. The guilt weighed heavier than the cold of Azkaban.

When the Dementors passed, Theo closed his eyes, focusing on her laughter, her smile—the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

"I'll survive this," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I have to. For her."

His determination grew as he gripped the edge of his cot. He would endure whatever it took to make it back to her.

Tom

Tom sat upright in his cell, his posture rigid despite the icy air that seemed to seep into his very soul. Azkaban was nothing compared to the inferno of his anger.

"How dare they?" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "This is beneath me."

The Dementors approached, but Tom's willpower was ironclad. He refused to let them affect him. Instead, his mind fixated on Y/N—the only person who had ever made him feel truly human.

He paced his cell, plotting. "This is temporary," he muttered. "I'll find a way out. I always do."

Tom's eyes gleamed with determination. Nothing would keep him from Y/N—not Azkaban, not the Ministry, not even fate itself.

Enzo

Enzo lay on his cot, staring at the damp ceiling with a bitter smile. "Well, this sucks," he muttered to himself, trying to keep his spirits up.

The Dementors loomed outside his cell, and he shivered, pulling his thin blanket tighter. His thoughts drifted to Y/N, the memory of her warmth and laughter a small beacon in the gloom.

"She's probably mad at me," he said aloud, chuckling humorlessly. "Can't blame her."

But deep down, Enzo's optimism refused to die. "I'll get out of here," he said firmly. "I'll make it right. Just wait for me, Y/N."

Draco

Draco paced his cell, his pristine robes now torn and dirtied. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, muttering under his breath.

"This is absurd," he said, his voice shaking with indignation. "I'm a Malfoy. I shouldn't be here."

But the weight of the Dementors pressed heavily on him, and for once, Draco felt utterly powerless. His mind kept replaying Y/N's expression when they came for him—how she'd tried to shield him, how he'd told her to stay back.

"She's going to hate me for this," he whispered, sitting down heavily.

Draco clenched his fists. "No. I'll fix this. I'll get out of here, and I'll prove to her that I'm not a failure."

Blaise

Blaise leaned against the wall of his cell, his usual cool demeanor intact despite the cold. He stared at the distant sea through the tiny window, his mind a whirl of frustration and regret.

"Azkaban," he said dryly. "How utterly charming."

The Dementors passed, and he inhaled sharply, their presence tugging at his worst memories. But then he thought of Y/N—the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the softness of her touch.

"That's what they can't take from me," he murmured.

Blaise closed his eyes, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "This isn't the end. I'll come back to her. I always do."

Regulus

Regulus sat in the corner of his cell, his arms wrapped around his knees. The cold of Azkaban didn't bother him as much as the emptiness.

He replayed the events that led him here, his mind dissecting every decision, every mistake. But mostly, he thought of Y/N—the one person who had made him believe he could be something more than his family's shadow.

The Dementors drew near, and Regulus shivered, his breathing shallow. He focused on Y/N's voice, her touch, her unwavering belief in him.

"I'll survive this," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. "For her. I owe her that much."

Regulus glanced at the window, a flicker of hope in his heart. "I'll find my way back to you, Y/N. No matter what it takes."