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mssadferret05 · 4 days ago

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I just felt like sharing this from this fic i’ve been writing…

idk how long it is but do lemme know what do u think of it…

It had been 3 weeks since I miraculously stumbled here. Glitch in the matrix, eh? At this point, I have come to believe that it is not a slumber, dream, coma or whatever I have been calling it. It’s real. Everything about here is absofuckinglutely real.

Dumbledore says there must be a reason for me to be here and that i hold immense power. Quite sure about the 2nd part I am–not like i could do magic, but i did know the future. At least that’s what I told him. I was so sure that there was no one who knew about Wizarding World more than me, I knew every fact and every theory–canon or fanon. Hell, there wasn’t a single question i didn’t know on Bumble feed’s quizzes.

But here I am–being proved wrong. There weren’t much changes to the naked eyes but–it was quite different.

I mean, let’s list.

1) No Malfoy daughter in canon.

2) Fred & George Weasley being responsible.

3) Hogwarts has an Inter-House Common Room.

4) Hermione freaking Granger isn’t really law abiding.

5) Moonlit-Courting Ball

6) Luna Lovegood. In Slytherin.

7) Remus Lupin’s daughter.

I was taken aback at first.

I mean—okay—Luna in Slytherin is popular enough in fanon, but I never pictured it being real.

And that Moonlit-Courting Ball? Whatever it was, it proved Hogwarts still cared about its founders.

And mooney’s daughter? Daughter? With whom? Sirius wasn’t here. Were they not in love?

And don’t even get me started on Diana. The girl’s something else. Beautifully cruel in a way only a Malfoy could be—not cruel in the cruel way, but just… try waking her up at what she calls “illegal hours.”

Daphne told me once about some family issues. Something about Lucius abandoning her when she was young, leaving her to grow up not even knowing she was a Malfoy until she was eleven. So… very Lucius of Lucius, honestly. Diana now associated herself with the Salvatores instead.

“Hey, Vi.” Mills plopped down beside me—not on a chair, but on the grass under a tree where I’d spread four different subjects across the ground.

“Do you really think theory’s that important?” she asked, peering at my notes.

“I reckon,” I lied smoothly. The truth? I couldn’t tell her that I was hopeless at practical work. Studying theory was all I had—and at least I could be better at wizarding subjects than Asher would’ve been. He’d always been good at Muggle ones. I had to keep up somehow.

“What do you think your boggart’s going to be?” Mills asked distractedly, flipping a page.

“No idea, honestly. But…” I pointed to the line in Volume I: Foundations of Fear & First Counter-Curses.

“It says a boggart doesn’t care about what your mind fears—it’s what your heart does.”

“Sooo, what does your heart fear, Viii?” Mills asked, sing-song and entirely too cheerful. God, she was beautiful. Honestly? I hadn’t seen a single not-beautiful woman here at Hogwarts since I arrived.

“No idea,” I admitted, twirling my quill between my fingers. “I mean, I’m claustrophobic, scared of the dark and of water. Do you think the boggart’s just going to mash them all together? Like—trap me in a tiny space, drown me in darkness, and then fill the whole thing with water?”

Mills blinked. “That’s… wow. That’s dramatic. I like it.”

I huffed. “Not exactly going for style points here, Mills.”

“Yeah, whatever. C’mon, let’s go.” She stood and offered me her hand, and I gladly took it, letting her pull me to my feet.

~~~~

“I hope you’re all prepared to greet your fears?” Professor Mooney asked, standing right in front of my row.

I never sat in the front for any class—except Astronomy and Defense Against the Dark Arts. They were the only two that didn’t demand relentless amounts of practical spellwork. Runes was fine, I guess. But complicated. Like… overly Ravenclaw-coded.

“Nah, not really,” I muttered under my breath.

Mooney heard me anyway. He gave me one of those thin, knowing smiles that made him look like he was in on a secret only he and I knew.

I was on good terms with Professor Mooney by now. One of the few perks of my condition—whatever the official file said. I always got the feeling he saw me. Not just my grades or my attendance—but me. Maybe it was because, according to canon anyway, he saw himself as the outcast too. The other. The one always on the edge of the classroom rather than the center.

“You all very well know the incantation, the pronunciation, and the wand movement,” he continued, voice even and calm like always. “But since it’s your first time witnessing a boggart, I’ll be helping you. All you have to do is try.”

~~~~

Professor Mooney clapped his hands once, drawing all of us to attention. “Alright, who’s brave enough to face their fears first?”

A long silence stretched. Even the portrait of Emeric the Evil looked judgmental.

Then Mills, of all people, stepped forward. “I’ll do it,” she grunted, jaw set like she was about to duel Voldemort himself.

The wardrobe trembled as Mooney tapped it lightly. The door creaked open—and out stepped… Millicent.

Except it wasn’t really Mills. This version wore a pink-ruffled dress, lace gloves, a delicate parasol twirling in one hand, and—Merlin help us all—she giggled like a high-born debutante.

The class erupted into laughter.

Mills didn’t.

Her lip curled. “Oh, no you don’t.” With a flick of her wand, the parasol stretched and twisted into a full battle-axe, glittering ominously. The boggart-Millicent shrieked and exploded into smoke, replaced by silence and a few muffled giggles.

“Excellent form, Miss Bulstrode,” Mooney said mildly, though I swore he was hiding a grin.

Next was Pansy, who stepped up like the stage was hers already. “Watch and learn,” she sniffed.

The wardrobe trembled again, and what emerged made the room instantly colder.

It was Pansy… with no face. Just smooth, blank skin where her sharp eyes and sharper mouth should’ve been.

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she snapped her wand up. “Riddikulus!”

Makeup exploded across faceless-Pansy—bright pink war paint, winged eyeliner so sharp it could kill a man, ruby lips painted across nothingness. The faceless version bowed.

The class clapped nervously. Pansy curtsied, flipping her hair like she hadn’t just fought an existential crisis in under ten seconds.

“Miss Greengrass,” Mooney called.

Daphne stepped forward like a queen accepting her crown. For a moment, I thought she’d breeze through it—until the boggart emerged.

A courtroom—an entire courtroom—materialized in front of her, two shadowy figures screaming in languages I couldn’t place, their words sharp like glass. A younger version of Daphne stood in the middle, holding a snapped wand, looking utterly helpless.

Daphne flinched.

But then she inhaled, raised her wand, and with one elegant flick, silenced the entire room. The snapped wand in her younger self’s hands reformed, whole again, glowing faintly. She drew a circle around herself, steady and unshaken, before saying calmly, “Riddikulus.”

The courtroom shattered like glass, and she walked back into the line without a word, chin high.

Then came Blaise.

The boggart formed into… his mum. Beautiful, smiling, radiant. Behind her stood seven ghostly husbands, each whispering things we couldn’t hear, their eyes locked on Blaise.

He froze. For a second, I thought he might back down—but then he conjured a mirror out of thin air and held it up to his own face.

“I write my own story, thank you,” he said softly, and the ghosts vanished one by one, leaving only the smile of his mum before she, too, disappeared.

Blaise gave a tiny nod—like he’d just won an argument no one else knew about—and stepped aside.

“Mr. Nott?”

The wardrobe creaked, and out hopped… a toy soldier.

A single clockwork soldier, painted in bright red and gold, one arm bent awkwardly, its face smiling in that cold, unblinking way toys do.

The class snickered. “Seriously? A toy?” someone whispered.

But Theo’s face… he went stone-pale. His hands trembled just once before he tightened his grip on his wand. The little soldier kept marching toward him, its tiny gears whirring, the rhythmic click-clack echoing louder than it had any right to.

Theo whispered something I couldn’t hear, almost too quiet for even himself. Then, sharply: “Riddikulus!”

The soldier’s head popped off and bounced away like a rubber ball, its stiff march turning into a ridiculous, floppy dance before it collapsed in a puff of smoke.

Theo stepped back without a word, eyes shuttered, shoulders stiff as though he’d just fought a war instead of a toy.

And then…The Poster Boy.

The boggart burst out before Draco even took two steps.

Narcissa Malfoy and Diana lay sprawled on the ground, eyes open but unseeing, their skin pale as marble. A face mask lay discarded between them, splattered with something dark.

Draco froze, breathing sharp and uneven. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. For one awful moment, I thought he’d forgotten there were spells for this.

“Malfoy,” Mooney said gently.

Draco jerked as if waking from a nightmare, his voice breaking slightly. “Riddikulus!”

The bodies sat up suddenly, bickering about brunch menus of all things, Diana swatting Narcissa with a pillow. It was ridiculous enough to snap the tension, the boggart twisting into a puff of smoke.

Draco stepped back, shoulders stiff, eyes fixed anywhere but the class.

My eyes immediately went off to Diana, she was taken aback too.

“Venus?”

Professor Mooney’s voice cut through the thick fog of my thoughts before I could fully register the shaking in my hands.

I stood. Or maybe floated. My body didn’t feel like mine.

I had known—deep down—I knew the boggart would show me something awful. Something I’d tucked away so deep it only came out in dreams.

But after watching so many classmates face theirs, from toy soldiers to courtroom spectres…

I suddenly didn’t know what I expected.

And that was the scariest part.

Because if it showed Mum dying… or Dad...

If it showed Asher—

God. I’d break. I knew I’d break.

Not in the cinematic way, either. Not in the scream-and-fall-to-your-knees drama. I’d break quietly. In the way people did when grief hollowed them out like a pumpkin left out too long.

I stood in front of the wardrobe, the fake wand clenched in my hand. It felt stupid, plastic, weightless—like it couldn’t possibly defend me from anything.

“Ready?” Professor Mooney asked gently.

I nodded. A lie. But no one could stop it now.

The wardrobe creaked open. The boggart began to shift—flickering and twisting, like it couldn’t decide what shape to take.

Then it settled.

A starry sky.

Silent. Infinite. Beautiful, even.

I frowned. I didn’t fear skies. Or stars.

But then—

One star. Bright blue-white. Pulsing.

It flickered. Dimmed.

And vanished.

Then another.

A soft yellow one this time, blinking like a sleepy eye.

It faded too.

And another.

The stars began winking out one by one, until the sky above me was empty.

Pitch-black.

I didn’t understand.

The other boggarts had meaning—chains, soldiers, bodies, monsters. Things you could name.

This? This was just… stars disappearing.

“Riddikulus!”

Professor Mooney’s voice cut through my paralysis, and the sky—my empty sky—fractured like glass before vanishing into a puff of smoke.

“That will be it for today, class,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “You’re all free to go.”

The shuffle of feet and murmurs filled the room as everyone gathered their things.

“Coming?” Mills asked, leaning against her desk with that easy, unbothered smile of hers.

“Go on,” I managed, forcing my voice to sound normal. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

She nodded and headed out.

“Professor?”

My voice carried softer than I intended, but Mooney stopped mid-step on the staircase and turned back, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Miss Venus?”

I hesitated, staring at the floor, at the faint chalk marks from previous lessons. “I… I didn’t understand it,” I admitted, voice flat. Blank.

He stepped down slowly, his expression shifting—not pity, but that heavy kind of understanding people only wear when they know what pain feels like.

“You don’t have to, not right away,” he said gently. “Sometimes the heart shows us things the mind hasn’t caught up to yet.”

“That was… Leo,” I said slowly, almost to myself. “The constellation. Regulus. And Venus.”

I didn’t know why I was pointing out the obvious, but Mooney’s expression shifted—like he’d noticed too and didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“I don’t get it,” I whispered, shaking my head. “How is Regulus’s disappearance my worst fear? I mean—you know where I come from. I’ve already cried for him. A lot. But I thought…” My voice cracked, embarrassingly soft. “I thought it’d be something with my family. Mum, Dad… Asher.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and strange, and Mooney’s gaze softened the way it only does when he’s holding back a lot of words.

“I’m not quite sure of it, Miss Rosevelt,” Mooney admitted, rubbing at his jaw as if the answer might appear there. “And… I have no idea how much you actually know about Reggi—Regulus.” His voice faltered on the name, distracted, distant.

“More than you do, I’m certain,” I replied, sharper than I intended. The words came out quick, defensive, as if they’d been waiting behind my teeth for too long.

Mooney stilled, studying me for a heartbeat longer before giving a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

“Would you like some chocolate, Miss Rosevelt?”

~~~~

“How would you understand if I don’t tell you, sir?” I asked for what had to be the fifth time during our walk.

Professor Mooney sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he always did when patience was running on fumes. “I’m sure if Dumbledore asked you not to, then there must be a reason, Venus.”

“That old man says whatever he pleases, Mooney!”

He stopped dead in his tracks, blinking at me. “Wha—?”

It took a second too long for me to realize what had just slipped out. My face heated. “Uh… see? I know more than you think I do.”

His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t know that book author had… these details.”

“Yeah. You, Mooney. Sirius—Padfoot. James—Prongs. And I hate Wormtail, sorry.”

He stared at me like I’d just flipped the entire timeline upside down.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought them up!” i cried

“No. It’s okay.” he shook his head, forcing a half-smile.

“Mum was always so pissed off about me getting too deep into this fandom,” I said, almost laughing at myself.

“Mmhm? What did she say?” Mooney asked, brows raised in mild curiosity.

“Oh, you know, the usual—‘Don’t obsess too hard over fictional people, Vi!’ and ‘Don’t fall in love with morally gray people, Sussie!’ Sussie this, Sussie that.”

Mooney chuckled. “Look where that got you.”

“Stuck in a completely different era and timeline. My honor,” I mocked myself, giving a dramatic bow.

He smirked. “Who’s Sussie, anyway?”

“Suzette. My middle name.”

“Suzette?” He repeated it like he was tasting it.

“Umhm, Mum loves French movies.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maya. Maya Rosevelt. You preparing a documentary on me now, Professor?” I laughed.

Mooney smiled faintly, that tired kind of smile only teachers who’ve seen too much wear. “Maya Rosevelt,” he repeated softly, like committing it to memory. “That’s a good name.”

“Mmhm, she’s terrifying and amazing at the same time,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “You’d like her, I think. She’d probably psychoanalyze you, though.”

His brow arched slightly. “She sounds… protective.”

“Oh, she is. Especially about the whole ‘fictional men are not therapy’ speech she gave me on loop.” I grinned, then hesitated, my tone dropping. “But she’s… good. Like, really good. My Mum always wanted me to stay me no matter where I ended up.”

Mooney glanced at me then, walking quietly for a moment before saying, “That’s a rare kind of love. To want you to be yourself, even when it scares them a little.”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. “…That was weirdly deep, Professor.”

“Occupational hazard,” he said with a tiny shrug, but I caught the ghost of something heavy behind his eyes.

“Promise me something, Venus.”

I glanced up at him, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You won’t let the knowledge of our future be a prison for you,” he said firmly, slowing his pace. “You’re not responsible for what happens here, do you understand that?”

I hesitated, chewing the inside of my cheek. “…Umhm. Promise. If—”

“If?” He tilted his head slightly.

“Yeah… I’ve always wanted you to call…” I hesitated, then looked up at him with my best dog eyes. “Uncle Mooney.”

He blinked. “Uncle… Mooney?”

“Yeah,” I said, biting back a grin. “Only if you don’t mind, though.”

There was a pause, then the faintest of smiles broke through his usually tired expression. “I would like that, actually.”

I couldn’t help it—I grinned wide, a laugh bubbling out before I could stop it. “Okay then, Uncle Mooney.”

#random #marauders #dead gay wizard from the 70s #dead gay wizards #james potter #james x regulus #jegulus #life #regulus black #alternate universe #hp fanfic #fanfic #oc x canon #canon divergent

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