Chapter Text
˚☽˚.⋆ ✮⋆˙
The rain drizzled lazily over the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express, the faint hiss of steam mingling with the chatter of students on the platform. The September air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of wet stone and excitement.
Charles adjusted the strap of his satchel over his shoulder, green eyes flicking anxiously over the sea of unfamiliar faces. His uniform was pristine, the Gryffindor crest not yet sewn onto his robes — not until the Sorting Hat made its final decree. He clutched his wand tightly inside his pocket, knuckles white with nerves.
He knew it. His father went to Gryffindor, his brothers went to gryffindor, he just knew that anyother house wouldnt be enough for him.
He hadn’t expected Hogwarts to feel quite so... immense. The towering castle loomed in the distance, its windows glowing faintly against the grey sky. The whole scene felt plucked out of a storybook — something distant and enchanted, not entirely real.
A sharp nudge jolted him out of his thoughts.
“Move.”
The voice was low, tinged with a Dutch accent, carrying that kind of bluntness that made Charles stiffen immediately. He turned, eyes narrowing at the boy who had pushed past him without so much as a glance.
Blond hair messy beneath the drizzle, robes slightly crumpled as if they’d been stuffed into a trunk at the last minute. The boy’s blue eyes flicked back towards him — cold, calculating, as if sizing him up.
Charles straightened his shoulders, chin lifting just slightly.
“You could’ve asked nicely.”
The boy’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile — more like the ghost of one, lingering on the edge of mockery.
“Didn’t think I needed to.”
Charles’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He wanted to fire back — something sharp, something clever — but the words caught on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he stepped aside, letting the boy brush past him, his shoulder deliberately bumping against Charles’s as he passed.
“Thats Max Verstappen” a voice said next to charles. The brunnete boy jumped in his place and looked to the oher boy. He was tall, probably a few centimeters more tall than charles, but he was right. He had brown hair and brown eyes “Im oscar, Oscar piastri” he said giving his hand to charles so he could take it.
“Im Leclerc, Charles Leclerc” he took oscars hand “You’re not from england right?”
“What gave me away?” Oscar laughed, “Im not, im from Australia, my dad is a muggle, mom is a witch, little bit a nasty shock for him when he found out” they both laughed. “I couldn’t help myself and looked to your stuff, are you sure you’re going to be in Gryffindor?”
Charles smiled and nodded, “Yes, all my family were there, im going to be very dissapointed if i end in Hufflepuff, you know?” Oscar nodded. “What about you?”
“Don’t know, I've been told i have a huge IQ, so probably ravenclaw, but i hope we can still be friends” he smirk.
“You and me oscar? Till seventh year” Charles smiled.
And that was it, they were inseparable since then.
“So, whats up with that guy?” Charles asked as he ate a chocolate bar from the trolley and shared it with oscar”
Oscar took a piece and put it in his mouth “Who? Verstappen?” Charles nod “He’s just a dick” Charles choked and started laughing.
“Oscar! You cant just say that!” they both laughed
“It’s the truth! My mom worked with someone close to the family, but his dad is the worst” he said licking his fingers with the remained chocolate.
“You don’t say” Charles looked through the window and saw this guy, stupid and horrible guy. As if the blond felt the other boy's gaze, he looked where Charles was.
They didn’t know each other’s names yet, but something shifted in that moment — something unspoken and electric.
Enemies before they even knew what they were fighting for.
˚☽˚.⋆ ✮⋆˙
By the time the Sorting Hat roared out “Slytherin!” for Max, Charles was still sitting at the Gryffindor table, hands curled into fists beneath the long wooden bench. Their eyes locked across the Great Hall, the crackling candlelight casting shadows over both of their faces.
Charles told himself the quick twist in his chest was nothing more than annoyance.
But the smirk that Max shot him — quick, sharp, and knowing — made him wonder if it was something else entirely.
˚☽˚.⋆ ✮⋆˙
The first week at Hogwarts passed in a blur of classes and corridors, but the memory of that smirk stayed with Charles — carved into the back of his mind like a splinter he couldn’t quite remove.
It was in Potions class when everything finally boiled over.
Professor Snape had barely given the instructions before the room filled with the sharp scent of chopped ingredients and whispered incantations. Charles stood at his station, meticulously slicing lacewing flies, trying to ignore the way Max’s presence loomed just a few tables away.
“Careful, Leclerc.”
Charles’s knife slipped, the blade nicking his finger at the sound of that voice. He hissed under his breath, pressing the cut against his robe.
Max was watching him — leaning lazily against his desk, arms folded, that same infuriating smirk playing at his lips.
“You wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect little potion, would you?”
Charles’s jaw clenched. Heat prickled at the back of his neck, but he forced his hands steady.
“At least I’m not hiding behind someone else’s work,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the bubbling cauldron in front of him.
He didn’t expect Max to hear — but of course he did.
The next second, Max was right beside him, close enough that Charles could feel the heat of him through the thick wool of their robes.
“What did you say?”
Charles’s heart hammered in his chest. He refused to flinch.
“You heard me.”
For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved — the room around them fading into a blur of flickering candlelight and quiet murmurs. Then Max’s hand shot out, knocking over Charles’s vial of powdered moonstone. The delicate glass shattered against the stone floor, white powder spilling everywhere.
“Oops.”
Charles’s breath caught in his throat. Fury coiled tight in his chest, his wand already half-drawn from his pocket before he could stop himself.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
Snape’s cold voice cut through the tension, making both of them freeze. Charles’s fingers twitched around his wand, itching to hex that smug smirk right off Max’s face.
“No, Professor,” Max said smoothly, voice like silk. “Just an accident.”
Charles bit back the retort burning on his tongue, but the glare he shot Max could’ve set him on fire.
That was how it started.
By the end of their first year, everyone in Hogwarts knew one simple rule — if Max Verstappen was in the room, Charles Leclerc wouldn’t be far behind, glaring at him from across the way.
A rivalry carved into stone from the very first moment.
˚☽˚.⋆ ✮⋆˙
Seventh year
Seven years later, the castle halls felt smaller. The air thicker. The tension heavier. Hogwarts was a beautiful place, he couldnt believe this was their last year here, and then both are going to have jobs, families, and spend the rest of their life being independent.
Oscar sat beside Charles in the Library, quill scratching against a parchment. His dark hair flopped into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice — entirely absorbed in his Transfiguration essay. “How was your summer” asked Charles.
“Meh, nothing much, we went to south america this year” oscar said
“Really? And how was that?” Charles started to move his wand through the couch they were sitting and a few pillows started to fly across from them.
“Fine, we visit Argentina, mom wanted to see the culture, you should come with us next summer, mom loves you” oscar said blowing the lock of hair in his forehead.
“And i love your mom, and I probably should come with you, I never went to south america, this summer was bloody boring”
“Pff you always said that and you go to the most beautifull places on earth” Oscar frown into his paper.
“Thats not true!” Charles screamed recieving some “Shh” from the students there.
“Oh yeah? And where did the prince went this summer?” Oscar said nearly whisppering mocking Charles.
“Thailand” Charles said smirking.
“You fuck!” Oscar laughed, and he threw a pillow to Charles head, now both laughing and receiving a lot of looks.
Charles sighted and clean everything, something – or more soemone- caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re staring again,” Oscar muttered, not bothering to look up from his parchment.
Charles blinked, snapping his gaze away from the firelit shadows that danced on the far wall, where Max stood chatting with a group of Slytherins. His laugh—low, lazy, and infuriating—carried across the room, as though it were meant for Charles alone.
“I’m not staring.”
Oscar snorted softly. “You’ve been doing it for seven years. Why stop now?”
Charles flushed, turning back to his own parchment with a scowl. The rivalry hadn’t faded—in fact, it had only sharpened over time. Max was infuriating. He always had the best grades in class, just like Charles. He was on a Quidditch team, just like Charles. And he was a complete Dick—unlike Charles.
“And what about you, Piastri?” Charles retorted. Oscar looked up, his eyes widening.
“What about me?” he said, pretending to feign disinterest.
“You’ve been staring at Norris for seven years. Got something to say about that?” Charles raised an eyebrow with a mischievous grin.
Oscar flushed and looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Charles smirked, sipping his lukewarm coffee. The library was dimly lit, the heavy scent of old parchment lingering in the air. Outside, rain pattered against the high windows, casting soft shadows along the rows of bookshelves. The seventh year was supposed to be their most important—O.W.L.s, career consultations, and yet… nothing had really changed.
Norris—Lando Norris, to be precise—was a seventh-year student, like them. But he was in Slytherin, like Verstappen. They shared a group of obnoxious, troublesome students who made life miserable for anyone who dared walk the halls. Lando was Max’s best friend, and the pair were insufferable together. Somehow, Lando had decided that Oscar would be the subject of their jokes, just as Max had picked Charles back in first year.
But Norris and Oscar had history. They’d known each other since kindergarten. Their families were friends, but Lando despised Oscar for something that had happened years ago. Oscar returned the feeling, and neither could stand the other.
As Charles think, Lando was part of the same infuriating crowd as Max. Slytherins through and through. Together, they made everyone’s life miserable, especially Oscar’s. But what Oscar never said out loud—what Charles suspected—was that Oscar had always seen Lando differently. Hate and longing were such thin lines.
Charles didn’t have that problem.
His hatred for Max Verstappen was pure, undiluted loathing.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
They had been at each other’s throats since first year. It was childish at the beginning—shoving shoulders in the corridors, whispered hexes during Potions. But as the years passed, the animosity hardened. Max always had to be better, always had to win. He played dirty, he played smart—and worst of all, he made it look easy.
They were fire and ice, two sides of the same coin. And they fucking hated it.
“Yeah, right. Play dumb, like I'm not your best mate ever,” Charles said, sipping his coffee.
“I’m not playing dumb, I’m stating a fact. Norris can suck my ass, and I wouldn’t be any more bored.”
“So you think about him sucking your—” Charles didn’t finish, as Oscar threw a pillow at him. Charles tumbled off the couch, and a pillow fight broke out, only to be interrupted by a voice.
“Mr Leclerc?”
Professor McGonagall stood at the door, eyes narrowed beneath her square spectacles.
Charles scrambled to his feet, Oscar following suit like a guilty puppy. “I’m so sorry professor. We will be quiet now”
“That’s not why I’m here, Mr Piastri,” she said coolly. “I need you to come with me, Mr Leclerc.”
Charles glanced at Oscar, who shot him a wide-eyed look that clearly said What the hell did you do?
“Nothing!” Charles whispered back before following McGonagall out into the hallway.
The walk to her office was long and silent, the stone corridors echoing with every step. Charles’s mind raced. He wasn’t exactly a saint, but he was careful. He never got caught.
“Professor?” he asked finally, his voice low. “Did I… do something wrong?”
McGonagall’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Not at all, Mr Leclerc. You’re here because of your… potential.”
That didn’t ease his nerves.
When they reached her office, Charles’s stomach dropped.
Professor Snape was already there, standing by the window like a looming shadow. And sitting in one of the chairs, arms crossed, legs sprawled out lazily—
Max Verstappen.
Charles’s heart clenched. He would recognise that blond mop of hair anywhere. The bastard didn’t even look up.
“What’s he doing here?” Charles snapped before he could stop himself.
Max’s head lifted slowly, blue eyes flicking over him with that same familiar disdain.
“What are you doing here, Leclerc? Shouldn’t you be off in the library with your books? Like the bastard lion you are?”
“Mr Verstappen, language,” Snape said coldly.
“Sit down, Charles,” McGonagall added, her voice firm.
Charles stiffened but obeyed, lowering himself into the chair next to Max. The tension in the room was suffocating.
“Well,” McGonagall began, folding her hands neatly on her desk. “After much discussion between the heads of houses… we’ve decided to appoint both of you as prefects this year.”
Charles’s mouth fell open. Max’s head snapped up.
“What?!” they both shouted at the same time.
“No fucking way,” Max muttered.
“It’s not a question, Mr Verstappen,” McGonagall replied smoothly.
“Professor, I don’t have time for this!” Max protested. “I’ve got Quidditch practice until late—I can’t babysit Gryffindors!”
“I have O.W.L.s!” Charles added, speaking over him. “I need to study!”
“Enough.” Snape’s voice sliced through the air, sharp as a blade. Both boys fell silent. “This is not a negotiation,” he said softly. “Your patrol schedules will be given to you. No complaints. Understood?”
Charles clenched his fists beneath the table, his nails digging into his palms.
“I said, understood?” Snape repeated.
“Yes, Professor,” they muttered in unison.
“Good. Now get the bloody hell out of my office.”
They both stood abruptly, chairs scraping against the stone floor.
Max stalked out first, his long legs carrying him towards the dungeons. Charles followed, heart hammering against his ribs.
Halfway down the stairs, Max spun on his heel so suddenly that Charles almost crashed into him.
“This is your fucking fault,” Max hissed, eyes blazing.
Charles blinked, caught off guard. “What the hell are you on about?”
“You probably begged McGonagall for this—perfect little Gryffindor, always needing to prove himself.”
Charles’s temper flared. “I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
“Right. Because studying for exams nine months in advance makes you such a legend.”
“At least I care about my future, Verstappen! Not everyone’s trying to run away from their daddy issues on a broomstick.”
He regretted it the second the words left his mouth.
Max’s eyes darkened—like a storm about to break. Before Charles could react, Max shoved him—hard. Charles’s back hit the cold stone wall, knocking the breath from his lungs.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Max was close now, too close. His breath ghosted against Charles’s lips.
Charles’s heart was hammering in his chest. His mouth went dry.
“You heard me.”
There was a beat—one electric second where neither of them moved.
Then Charles shoved him back, slipping out from under Max’s arm.
“See you on patrol, Verstappen.”
He stalked away without looking back, ignoring the way his heart was still racing.
Ignoring the fact that, for one terrifying second—
He hadn’t wanted Max to let him go.