#Dudley’s never say die

[julietcpulet]

gotta say I loved the protective bond of the Dudleys for Guildford, like for once a show didn’t have it be the jealous brother archetype in Stan or the dad kicking Guildford out, they both loved him, protected him and fought for him to succeed, what an awesome trio

[leescheyenne]

✨The Dudley family✨

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[bee-kathony]

Out of the Woods | Jane & Guildford

An alternate first meeting of Jane Grey and Guildford Dudley. What would happen if Jane followed Guildford after the chaos in the tavern?

For the first time in Jane’s entire life, no one knows where she is. 

She is alone and free. She can finally escape, ride north, and create her destiny. 

After thwarting the guards, Jane escaped on horseback promising to return home. But home was the last place she wished to return. Her own mother, now her dear cousin Edward had promised her to a marriage she did not want. 

Jane wanted her freedom to do as she pleased. The last thing she wanted was to be tied to someone else for all eternity. So she fled!

As Jane rode on, she swore she could taste her freedom. But there was something in the woods. A light, and suddenly Jane saw them. Guards, a search party clearly sent by King Edward or her dratted mother. She needed somewhere to hide, somewhere no one would ever think to look. 

Dashing off to the right, Jane rode deeper into the woods and thanked the gods as she approached a small village. As she tied up her horse outside a tavern, Jane took one quick glance around her before rushing inside. 

It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. People were playing dice games, drinking, and laughing. Jane relaxed, leaning against the stairwell as she took everything in. 

That’s when she spotted him from across the tavern. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. This dark-haired stranger. 

Jane couldn’t decipher what argument he was dissolving between his friends, but suddenly he had jumped onto the table.

“And now we’re gonna gut ya!” She heard the man’s friend (or perhaps they weren’t friends) say. 

“Gut me with what?” The dark-haired stranger asked as he reached behind him and grabbed what appeared to be the two squabbling drinkers’ knives. 

“Are you looking for these?” Expertly, he tossed a knife and it landed bullseye on the dart board. And the next right beside it. The entire bar cheered, and Jane found herself smiling as she watched this man. 

“And now I have your attention, shall I torture you with a poem?”

“No!” Shouted the rowdy tavern. 

“Too late,” the man said, shrugging. 

“I have decided to die in a tavern.” He was speaking in Latin. Well, he was attempting, but it impressed Jane. 

“Where the wine will be close to my dying…” he continued, searching for the words and the crowd finished for him. 

“Mouth!” They raised their glasses, drinking. 

Jane was entranced, utterly besotted by the display she’d just witnessed. As she’d never been in an establishment quite like this one before, she wasn’t sure what to do next. 

That was…

Until he laid eyes on her. 

Jane looked around, surely he must be mistaken. This dark-haired stranger that had so easily diffused a fight couldn’t be looking at her. 

She couldn’t remember her feet moving, but it was as if she was drawn to the man, and now she found herself standing directly in front of him. 

“So, do you… come here often?” Two seconds later, judging by his gaze, she instantly regretted that question. 

The man finished off his drink, turned back, and burped in her face.  

“Wow,” Jane said, her opinions quickly changing. 

“Oops.” The man covered his mouth. 

“That’s your response? So you can recite the Archpoet standing on a table in a dirt-floor tavern, but you can’t muster a simple apology?” 

The man shrugged, looking her up and down, “I said, ‘oops’”. 

“You mispronounced ‘vina,’ by the way. It’s ‘Vee-na’’, where’d you learn your Latin? In a ditch?” Jane questioned him. 

“Who would teach Latin in a ditch?” His body turned toward her, but Jane wouldn’t be persuaded. 

“Oh, you’re missing the point.”

“The point being?” He took a sip of his drink. 

Jane crossed her arms. “Your mediocre Latin and disappointing table manners.”

The man looked around, “Are we at a table? No.”

“Again, missing the point.” 

The frustrating man stared down her her, just a breath away, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an insufferable pedant?”

“Oh, where I come from, pedantry is a virtue.” 

“Where I come from amiability trumps semantics.”

“Amiability is for the meek.”

“Amiability is for the amiable.”

They squared off, their words quick as they sized one another up. It was clear Jane had been mistaken about this man. Sure, he seemed charming enough, but he was grating on her nerves. 

“You are the rudest man I have ever met!” Jane rolled her eyes. 

The man raised his glass, “Well, the night is young. Mingle.” 

“Oh, I intend to. Goodnight.” Jane turned to leave, eager to leave him behind and never see him again. 

“Wait!” He reached out for her. “Who are you?”

Jane evaded his question by asking him the same. “Who are you?”

But they were interrupted before either could say a name. 

A soldier burst through the door. “Good evening!” 

Everyone in the tavern hushed, and a few men at the bar looked nervous. Jane only hoped the guards weren’t there for her. 

“Come with me,” the man whispered, taking her arm. 

“As if!” She brushed him away. 

“What?!”

“I said, good evening, my good people. We have it on excellent authority that a certain beast might be in here. Goes by the name of Archer. He’s wanted for robbery, arson, sedition.” 

Jane breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t looking for her. But a beast? 

“Hand him over or we dunk every last one of you.” 

Suddenly a man close to Jane walked forward. “Why don’t you leave him alone, you bunch of thugs? I’m Archer.” 

The guards rushed towards him, “Then you’re coming with me.”

“Not likely!” Just then Archer transformed into a bear. 

“Ethian?” Jane’s eyes grew wide as she froze. 

Everyone began to scream and run, it was complete chaos. Jane felt herself being pulled towards the door. 

“Right. Let’s go!” The man grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the outbreak. 

They dashed through the crowd, Jane was so curious. As she’d never actually seen an Ethian transform before her eyes. That was until just the other day when her maid Susannah had transformed into a hawk.

“This door leads outside,” the man said as they ducked under the stairs. 

“This is madness. I never knew things were like this.”

“You’ve never seen a bear in a bar before?”

“Never,” Jane said softly. 

The dark-haired man pulled her close, his eyes boring into hers. “Last chance. Come with me.” 

“I can’t… I-“, someone smashed against the stairs. Jane screamed, and before she could protest further, the dark-haired man was dragging her outside into the cool night air. The chaos of the bar drifted behind them as they fled. 

“Wait!” Jane struggled against his grip. “I can’t go with you!” 

“I’m not stealing you,” the man laughed, leading them into the forest. “I’m simply making sure that a lady such as yourself doesn’t die. I can’t have that on my conscience you see.” 

“Ah yes,” Jane tore her hand away from his. “I do see. I’m just another pretty girl you lure into the woods. I think I’ll take my chances with the bear!” 

Jane turned to leave back towards the bar. After all, she had lost her sense of direction, and as much as she didn’t want to return home. She didn’t know where else to go at this exact moment. 

“Not so fast, little one,” the man grabbed her arm, twisting her into him. They were face to face, their chests heaving from the excitement. “I know a safe place we can wait.” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jane spoke softly. “Just let me go.” 

The man stared at her, his eyes making an assessment. 

“Seeing as how your conversational skills were so lacking-“ 

“I was not-“ Jane cut him off. 

He held up a finger against her lips. “I’d wager that you’ve never been to a place like that. Never seen something like that before.” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Well, perhaps,” the man let his hand slide down, taking her hand again. “You also don’t know that the King’s guards will be traversing this area all night until they find what they want.” 

Jane couldn’t have that. Maybe staying with this man and letting her lead her somewhere safe was the only way she could make it to tomorrow. 

“Fine,” Jane agreed, stamping her foot slightly. “Take me to wherever you are going. I’ll wait until dawn before I go my own way.” 

“Very well,” the man said, sighing. “Stay close.” 

He kept her hand in his as they walked quietly for another fifteen minutes. The sound of the crunching leaves under their feet was making Jane rather anxious. How did she get herself into this situation? Walking through the woods at midnight with a handsome stranger. 

Jane’s mind kept drifting back to the events of the day. Not only had her mother gone behind her back and arranged a marriage she did not want. Her dearly beloved cousin Edward, who just so happened to be the King of England, had approved of the marriage and given his consent. Feeling worn down, all Jane could do was hope that this mysterious suitor died suddenly of the affliction and she wouldn’t have to attend the wedding. 

“How much further?” Jane whispered. “It’s freezing!” 

“We’re almost there,” the man said. “In fact, here we are.” 

Jane had to squint to see what exactly she was looking at. It appeared to be a small cottage if one could call it that. Perhaps, a shack was a better term for it. 

“Come,” the man said and pulled her along behind him. “No one will find us here.” 

Inside the small shack, Jane was surprised to see it wasn’t entirely falling apart. In fact, there was a cozy fireplace on one wall, shelves of books, and a bed off in the corner. It looked like someone lived here. 

“Is this your home?” Jane asked as the stranger rid himself of his jacket and laid it across the chair by the fire. 

“Maybe,” the man shrugged. 

“It’s so…” 

“Small? Ugly? Strange?” The man offered. 

“No,” Jane looked around once again. “Cozy.” 

“Hmph,” the man looked at Jane quizzically before squatting down to the fire. “We can hide here for a few hours. But I must leave before the sun rises.”

“Oh yes, I had better return home as soon as I’m able,” Jane sighed and took a seat in the chair, watching at the man started a small fire. “If we are to stay here for the next several hours, then will you at least tell me your name?”

“Tell me yours,” he looked up at her through his falling hair. 

Jane rolled her eyes, expecting nothing less. She wanted to tell this man everything. Nothing but the truth, which was odd seeing as how he was a complete stranger. But there was something about him, the way he looked at her and made her feel seen and alive. 

“Elizabeth,” Jane lied. While yes, she felt she could trust him. One could never be too careful. 

“John,” the man put his hand on his chest. Little did Jane know that this man was also lying about his real name. 

They were silent as John finished the fire and sat in the chair opposite her. 

“Do you really live here?” Jane asked, curiosity sparking once again. 

“Sometimes,” John said. “My family…” he started, looking down at his crossed hands. “My family doesn’t provide much peace you see. So I built this place as a sort of refuge to get away every now and then.” 

Jane knew he wasn’t being completely truthful, but she hadn’t exactly been either. Seeing how harsh the soldiers had been on the Ethians in the bar, Jane understood that you couldn’t trust anyone these days. 

“Where did you come from Elizabeth? I’ve never seen you at that bar before tonight.” John questioned. 

Lie or truth?

“I ran away,” she said, deciding to tell the truth. 

“From who?”

“My family,” Jane sighed, sinking into the chair. “They want me to do something, and I absolutely will not! My mother,” Jane growled. “She thinks she can determine my future, but I won’t allow it.” 

John blinked before responding. “Well, they would be insane to go against you. Then why would you return home?”

Jane did not want to go home and admit defeat, but she didn’t see another option. Yes, she could ride off into the night and disappear, but she didn’t have any money, nor any idea of how to get some. It was a nice dream she’d had to determine her own destiny, but perhaps destiny wasn’t something one made for themselves after all. 

“I don’t know what else to do,” Jane shrugged. “I’m a woman, and since I am unmarried I cannot do anything for myself.” 

“A shame,” John shook his head. “I would love to see the man that could come up against you.” 

“I don’t believe there is any such man,” Jane laughed. Certainly not this man her mother wanted her to marry, Guildford Dudley. 

“You should rest,” John said, nodding to the bed in the corner. “I’ll sit watch by the fire here.”

The bed did look awfully cozy. Jane had had a tiring day. An exhausting day of having her hopes and dreams dashed. Betrayed by the very people she thought she could trust. 

“Perhaps just a little rest,” Jane agreed and stood up, only her feet caught under her dress and she stumbled. Right into the arms of John. He was sturdy, and he smelled good, oh did he ever! 

“Oh bollocks,” Jane tried to right herself, but her hand pushed against something hard, and John winced, crying out. It was only then as he screwed his face in pain that she realized she’d pushed against his member. 

“I’m sorry!” Jane blushed, her arms flailing out trying to push against anything else but his body. 

“Elizabeth,” John caught her arms, steadying her as he leaned forward in the chair. “Just relax.” 

Before she could process what was happening, Jane had been swept up into John’s strong arms and he carried her over to the bed, gently placing her down. His hands lingered, caressing her cheek, a thumb running over her lips. 

“John,” she whispered, feeling that same intense pull as before in the bar. 

His lips crashed into hers, and Jane moaned, her arms winding around his neck. This was certainly not what Jane had envisioned when she’d come to this cabin. In fact, Jane had just sworn off all men earlier that day. But John felt so good. He tasted so good. 

“Elizabeth,” he sighed against her lips, pressing her to lay flat on her back. Her head rested against the pillows as John’s body covered hers. Just as her hand had felt him just a few moments earlier, she now felt his hard member against her thigh. 

Jane had no experience with men unless one counted kissing the stable boy when she was twelve. Which Jane did not. 

John slid his hand along her body, over the thick layers of her dress until his hand rested on her neck. His tongue opened her mouth, and she let him in. Jane wanted more of him, more of him everywhere. 

Their breathing escalated as they began to undress. John reached for the laces of her dress, and she reached for the buckle of his pants. As Jane sat back and watched him take his shirt off, she began to get nervous. 

“Wait,” she whispered, not knowing if he’d heard her. 

“What’s wrong?” John tossed his shirt aside, his hands coming to her face, gently. 

“I’ve never…” she said shyly. “I don’t…” 

“Ah,” John smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “That makes sense.” 

“What makes sense?” Jane asked, only feeling somewhat offended. 

John smirked, his thumb rubbing across her lips and down her neck. 

“All that pent-up frustration,” John kissed her lightly. “That spark. No one’s taken it yet.” 

Jane melted against him as he twisted his body and laid down beside her. He kept one hand on her neck, the other in her hair. “I won’t bed you Elizabeth. That honor deserves to be for your husband.” 

“Well aren’t you suddenly a gentlemen,” Jane laughed, feeling relief but also a sense of sadness and regret. While she wasn’t prepared to have sex tonight with a near stranger, she also wanted to do it on her terms. 

“Don’t think I don’t want to,” John kissed her bare shoulder, pulling up the sheet around her. “Gods, I want to.” 

“Will you hold me?” Jane asked, unable to feel him let go. 

John gathered her close, pulling her to his chest as he rested his chin atop her head. Jane pulled the sheet over the both of them. 

“My family wants me to do something I don’t want to either,” John admitted in the silence. Jane couldn’t see his face now, but she listened, feeling his voice reverberate through her whole body. 

“It’s for my protection, and theirs,” he continued. “I only hope it works.” 

“What works?” Jane asked, wrapping her arm tighter around his middle. 

“The solution to all my problems,” he sighed and Jane didn’t want to press further. 

Silence fell on the small shack, the low rumble of the fire flickering as they both fell into a peaceful sleep. Jane had never slept as well as she had those few hours in John’s arms. As she opened her eyes to the cracks of the first light, she noticed she was alone. 

“How chivalrous,” Jane sighed, knowing it was too good to be true. At some point, she had felt John stir next to her in the night, but she’d quickly fallen back asleep. Now she knew he had been sneaking out to leave her. 

It wasn’t as if she knew him, or that they had even been intimate together. But there was something there, something she couldn’t quite place. 

Jane gathered up her few belongings and left the little shack, closing the door behind her. Attached to the front door was a piece of parchment with a nail drive through it. 

“Dearest Elizabeth, 

I hate to have left you alone, you seemed so peaceful. Those few hours in your arms were the most peace I have felt in so long. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance… however tumultuous our first meeting began.” 

Yours, John G.D. 

Jane felt what could only be described as butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Folding the note neatly, she slid it into the pocket of her cloak. The sun had risen now, and lit a path to a nearby road. Surely if her mother and Edward were looking for her, she could find them along the main path. 

As Jane began to make her way through the forest, thinking of her night spent with the mysterious John, she heard a sort of snuffle beside her. 

It was a horse!

A dark brown horse, with a black mane and tail. He was feet away to her left, and he was staring at her. Jane froze, a sense of familiarity striking. Jane began to walk towards the horse, but he shook his mane and ran off deeper into the woods. 

How odd.

[period-dramallama]

I wanted active female mentorship, Anya.

The sword-fighting training scene is so good and it makes me angry that we didn't get an equivalent scene for Elizabeth and Catherine.

I'm not saying I want Katherine to be all sunshine and rainbows. I want a Katherine who is pissed off at being excluded from power. I want a Katherine who would gladly peel Anne Stanhope's face off with fishknife. I don't mind a Katherine who loves Tommy S and enjoys bonking him. I'm not saying I want Katherine to never lose her temper or be cross with Elizabeth.

But you don't train a pawn. You don't mentor a pawn. You want your pawn to be ignorant and obedient. You don't care about your pawn beyond what they can do for you.

"You think I'll always be here to protect you?" John Dudley, for all his hand-throwing, is actively training his sons. It's clear that he's given them many lessons before and he'll give them many lessons in the future. He's thinking in the long-term about his dynasty and his family. They need to have skills to fight for their interests, at court and in the country beyond. He probably has less free time than Katherine does but he invests his time in his sons.

And hitting your children is bad!!! Don't hit children!!! Not good very bad!!! But I think there's a difference between Dudley and Grey. I think there's a lot more love with the Dudleys, and he's protective of his children while Henry Grey really...isn't. (Which fits the historical record, IMHO. What the hell was Grey thinking in 1554??) If you watch the scene where Grey is insulting Elizabeth, Grey is doing the talking but John is watching Robert because he knows Robert will lose his temper and the microsecond Robert moves to hit Grey John is ready to intervene.

It's so frustrating to me to see FEMALE writers succeed at writing a morally ambiguous sketchy mentor who's cunning but loving when the character is MALE but not when the character is FEMALE.

Jane and Elizabeth are in the schoolroom and what's Katherine doing? Arguing with Tommy S and then having sex with him. IN EARSHOT.

No. That should have been a lesson about Tacitus/Cicero/Sallust some Roman political thinker. And Katherine should have been teaching it and if Tommy S came in she should have told him to sod right off, she's busy. I want a sense that Katherine is actively teaching the girls statecraft, and drawing on her experience as regent of a wartime state.

And this could tie into other plotlines. Yes, Katherine doesn't want to believe that Tommy S is capable of abusing Elizabeth. But she also knows that if that were true, Elizabeth would have to leave- and she doesn't want that. Elizabeth needs protection and her political training isn't finished. That's the tragedy: not only is Elizabeth abused under Katherine's nose but she has to go out into the world before she's ready. Katherine and John are mentors who are both taken from their children before their children are ready and their children are left in perilous situations.

Katherine tells Elizabeth off in front of her brother and the whole Council. Katherine should have told Elizabeth before the Council meeting what she would be reprimanded for. She should have scolded Elizabeth for not thinking about the consequences of her actions but she should have talked to Elizabeth about what to say at the Council meeting. And at the Council meeting she should have aided Elizabeth, she should have defended her and said that Elizabeth was being conciliatory and loyal to her brother and that Mary is overreacting. Instead she left Elizabeth out in the proverbial cold. What a shit mentor!

(That letter subplot is stupid anyway but never mind).

Robert is an engaging character, but after the Jane singing fiasco it should have been Katherine reprimanding Elizabeth.

For one thing it's not in character for Robert Ride or Die Dudley to be objective on the subject of Elizabeth. But given Robert is impulsive and only a year older than her, for him to be the sensible one only makes her look more immature.

(It doesn't help that Alicia is too old to play a 13 year old. Game of Thrones season 1 had a similar problem where Sansa was aged up to be 13 but she still acted like her 11 year old book counterpart making her seem disproportionately immature. Elizabeth is already immature compared to her real self, but if she was played by an actor who looks like a kid- someone who looks like they're close in age to Bella Ramsey- then she'd be more sympathetic.)

"It's not about Jane it's about Katherine and Thomas" it should be about Jane!

Elizabeth sees Jane being pushed as Edward's future wife and she worries that Katherine will now give Jane her love, respect, and tutelage. So she sabotages Jane so that she will stay as Katherine's only pupil. Selfish and immature but not spiteful, and not just about attention and certainly not about ffffffucking Thomas Seymour.

I couldn't resist quickly rewriting that scene.

Katherine: What in God's name are you playing at?

Elizabeth: what are YOU playing at? You think you can push Jane at Edward and I wouldn't notice? You think I will just play along?

Katherine: [sarcastically] Well done, you noticed. You discover my plan and immediately sabotage it. Oh yes, that will really make me trust you with information!

Elizabeth: what does it matter what you think of me now? You have Jane, Jane will be queen as Edward's wife, she'll give you everything you want, so what do you need me for? I'm just the useless bastard who makes trouble, so I'll make trouble!

Katherine: so that's what you think? You think I have no plan for you? You think I can only have one daughter, one heir?

Elizabeth: if you have a plan you don't see fit to tell me about it! What is this great plan?

Katherine: I don't know yet! *aggravated sigh* I don't know who you will marry, but he'll be a man who needs a wife who can govern. And I will not teach a girl who torments the weak for sport.

Elizabeth, tearing up: It wasn't sport. So she has no power, I have no power! What about me?

Katherine: no one is ever entirely powerless, Elizabeth! Even if you don't control your circumstances, you can control your behaviour! Don't you think I felt powerless, when your father owned me? Owned me! But I could still control myself. I didn't go around bullying children! I could make the best of things and keep my dignity as an Englishwoman should! God, I begin to fear you've learned nothing from me.

Elizabeth, head bowed: you want me to apologise to Jane.

Katherine, calm now: since you feel powerless, I'll leave you to decide what you do now. *sighs* and in future I will keep you better informed of my plans, if you can show me you're old enough to hear them. Either way, we will speak no more of today's little performance. Yes?

Elizabeth: yes. I'm sorry.

[winnie-the-monster]

“Dudleys never say die!”

[esther-dot]

or that she can singlehandedly Elizabeth the first it…

Sansa could do it, if she really wanted, but the historical Elizabeth did not have an easy time with her decision. She had dozens of suitors and was even on the cusp of betrothal a couple of times. Her privy council nearly lost their minds in fear of her dying without an heir. They were so desperate that for a moment they were willing to accept Robert Dudley as a husband, which was a terrible choice for a number of reasons.

My point is, Elizabeth remains, 500 years later still the only (adult) British sovereign who never married. Her personal and historical circumstances were unique, and have never been repeated. She was an outlier, the exception, not the rule.

Sansa knows her duty is to produce an heir, and I doubt George wrote all that motherhood foreshadowing for nothing.

(about this ask)

!!! And the Starks don’t have a great record here. Think about the previous generation. Rickard and his heir die, then that happens to the canon generation with Ned and Robb, and they’ve lost the other boys too...I mean, the heir issue is just not something that can be dismissed. Especially when the North has suffered so and Winterfell has been taken...there's such recent reminders of how precarious it all is. It wouldn't be reasonable for the Northern Lords ignore the issue.

I don't know what D&D were thinking with the Elizabeth I stuff other than, they had just killed off the two other queens, one in a way that would infuriate fans, so it's possible they thought that framing Sansa that way would help counter what they had to know was coming for them? Right after the show ended some of us speculated that we got a scrambled eggs version of events and that Sansa was to be QitN much earlier.

I have a few hangups when it comes to resolving the Northern succession crisis because it isn’t clear to me which path answers all the issues.

Considering Jon's repressed desire for Winterfell, I don't think he'd ever be able to take it, not after Robb's death and while trueborn Starks lived. Some have suggested that the show's version of he's KitN and Sansa is LoW is the compromise, but if we're basing KitN on Robb's Will, I don't see how the Lords accept and push for him to be king regardless, if he's refusing to inherit? That’s what the will was for.

This is where Jonnel/Sansa comes in and I've said before, Jonsa could be the contrast where the marriage where, rather than taking from the girl, it’s actually the way to give her home back to her/rectify a wrong. And I don't want to dismiss the precariousness of the situation and that Jon (at Sansa's urging) might go along with inheriting or being KitN in order to unite the North and prepare for war, but the guilt. And also, that works in the specific scenario, what of the overall issue of girls being passed over? Is Martin merely pointing it out or will he offer a sign of progress ie the Northern Lords opting for Sansa to inherit or be queen? I mean, Jon will have lots of rumors floating around him post rez, not sure that he could be a unifying force? And the idea of a bastard rising up to lead them...idk.

That brings me to the bastard issue! How society looks at bastards is obviously horribly unfair to the kids, so is Martin gonna progress the North on this issue by them rallying behind Jon or will it be Sansa having a child who may or may not be legitimate but is her heir? As in, she’s still married to Tyrion, will the North say fuck it and have Jon and Sansa marry under their own religion or if R+L=J isn’t widely known yet or Jon is controversial in the North, they secretly marry and Sansa “legitimizes” her child later and that progresses the issue?

[hoursofreading]

One of the Queen’s mottoes, appropriately, was ‘Video Taceo’ – ‘I see all and say nothing’, and like her father, she kept her own counsel. ‘For her own mind, what that really was I must leave, as a thing doubly inscrutable, both as she was a woman and a queen,’ wrote the courtier Dudley Digges. She had learned early on that it was never wise to show one’s hand. Harington recorded that ‘Her wisest men and best councillors were oft sore troubled to know her will in matters of state, so covertly did she pass her judgement.’ As princess and as queen she never knew what it was to feel secure: there was always the threat of poison or the assassin’s dagger, and always enemies seeking to destroy her by one means or another. She knew she might never die peacefully in her bed.

The Life of Elizabeth I (Alison Weir)

[townsenddecades]

1325 – Day 2 – Townsend Farm 1

The middle of winter is, usually, not a provident time for having children; they catch chills easily, and many die for it. Not so Cecily. She is a healthy child; strong, with equally strong lungs. Were it not for Benjamin’s persistent distance, Malika would be glad of it. She should be glad of it. No matter who Cecily’s father is, she has done nothing wrong.

And yet, she knows that her already fragile relationship with Benjamin has worsened since her pregnancy. She can tell that he feels conflicted about Cecily; there is no way to tell from looking at her whether she is his child, and this not-knowing makes him uncertain how to act towards her. He had told her plainly that he wants nothing to do with Clement Dudley’s child, but he also does not want to risk pushing his own daughter away.

She is a beautiful child, that much Malika knows. She is gazing at her, trying to spot either Clement Dudley’s or Benjamin’s features in her tiny face, when her husband approaches her.

“We’ll probably not see any resemblances until she’s older”, he says, following her gaze. “I have tried to tell who she looks like, believe me. But all I see in her is you.”

“Well”, Malika says, holding her tiny fingers, “she is mine.”

Benjamin snorts. “The one fact we didn’t need a confirmation of.”

She flinches, involuntarily. He must notice, because his face softens, just a fraction. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you’re right”, she manages to say. “The only certainty is that I’m her mother. We’ll likely never be able to tell who her father is.” She sighs. “I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, to be honest.”

“How do you mean?”

What she means is that as things stand now, they will at least be able to tell themselves that Cecily is Benjamin’s daughter, that it will make it easier for himself to believe that and treat her like the other children. But she knows in her heart that she will never be able to convince Clement Dudley that Cecily is his– she is unable to tell for sure herself, after all. Any remaining hope of extracting some form of support from him or his brother, who is said to be a man of honour, is gone.

But she doesn’t want to tell Benjamin that, so she merely shakes her head. “I don’t know what I mean. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Well, we’re in agreement about that.” He sits down on the bed, still looking at Cecily. “This entire situation is a tangle, isn’t it?”

He seems more conciliatory, somehow. Something has changed since Cecily’s birth; he is still more distant than before, but not as angry. Tentatively, she sits down next to him, laying her hand on his. “In no small part due to my folly. I can admit that now. But Cecily shouldn’t pay the price for that.”

Benjamin sighs. “It can’t be helped, can it? She’s here now. We’ll figure out what to do with that.”

Prev: 1325, Day 1, Part 2/2 <--> Next: 1325, Day 2, Part 2/3

[ma-lark-ey]

I feel like challenging GOD so in my first ever read of Harry Potter I will be listing all of my headcanons in one big master post and sending it into the void space of tumblr thank you goodbye. I have no concept over which of these are hottakes, which of these are widely accepted, and which of them are just me being batshit crazy because as I write this I have never once looked at the Harry Potter fandom proper and my only knowledge of it is My Immortal and the fact that TikTok thinks Harry's dad and Sirius' little brother should makeout. 1. Ron Weasley is autistic.

2. Neville Longbottom is half-Korean on his mother's side, and also probably wears goofy little frog overalls.

3. Ron is tall, Harry is Short

4. Harry's scar is smattered across his face like a lightning storm and not just one little bolt, that's pussy shit. Make that shit dramatic

5. Ron and Luna probably had a fling at one point. Autism for autism

6. No way this isn't fanon, but Luna Lovegood is autistic.

7. Ginny Weasley is the HOTTEST bitch in Hogwarts and she is AWARE.

8. In Goblet of Fire the entire little Ron and Harry arc happening there was that they had a summer fling and then broke up when Ron had his little pissboy arc and they were both babies about it and then went back to having their regularly scheduled bromance thank you goodnight

9. Harry is actually dating a new person each book, no matter how short-lived it is. Why? Comedy. It's FUNNY.

10. I think Harry and Ginny have a shotgun wedding at like, nineteen.

11. All I know is that in my brief dive into AO3 (re: I looked up this exact tag out of morbid curiosity of it was A Thing), Sirius/Snape were apparently one of the smallest ships with like only 2k fics which is wild to me, because that enemies to lovers??? Thought bitches would eat that shit up. I don't ship it, but it still was wild.

12. Sirius and Remus are in love. (post mortum: I have now dived just slightly in the fic of Harry Potter and realize this is widely accepted fanon.)

13. Hermione wears fun frilly dresses outside of school and actually really loves dressing up and being girly fuck this 'not like other girls' agenda going on with her. Put her in a pretty dress and let her frolic in a field with flowers.

14. Luna is a seer. She goes on to teach divination

15. I was gonna say something about in my little noggin Ginny raised her and Harry's kid as a single mom or whatever and it's a fic I'm gonna work on and also his name is Remus Weasley and he's a Slytherin but APPARENTLY that's just the entire plot of the Cursed Child as my HP special interest having bestie informed me. I just added in a Gryffindor pretty boy for my Slytherin Potter boy to make out with when JKR was too much of a coward to make him gay.

16. RON SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN HUFFLEPUFF.

17. Cedric Diggory lived a very long and happy life and had a lovely spouse - guy who got really attached to this dorky little dude, knowing full well how he died.

18. It takes Harry at LEAST two marriages to women to realize he's gay. The egg takes a very long time to crack.

19. Ron is straight. He's just. He's got such bi wife energy.

20. Ginny Weasley is a raging bisexual, and so are the twins, and so is Bill. And Charlie? I know in my soul that's a nonbinary.

21. Luna Lovegood? NOT a lesbian, sorry lesbians. I'm claiming her for the aromantics. That's right. She belongs to us.

22. Fleur Delacour was a lesbian. LESBIAN.

23. Harry and Dudley reconnect in their like, thirties/forties and actually become good friends I think.

24. Harry often does diy piercings in the bathrooms during fifth and sixth year, Luna helps.

25. Fred and Lee Jordan are boyfriends god bless.

26. Out of spite for JKR, here's a list of trans woman in Harry Potter according to ME: Ginny Weasley, McGonagall, Hermione, Luna, Lily Potter (her and James are t4t), Tonks (that bitch is nonbinary transfemme),

27. I will live, breathe, and die by my personal headcannon that Tonks and Remus are comphet and in a lavender marriage but they lovingly coparent their child together and regularly at parties Tonks goes "where's my husband? Oh, he's making out with his boyfriend okay cool." and moves on.

28. Draco Malfoy's patronus is that white ferret Moody Crouch turned him into in book four.

29. In my perfect world James Potter is alive and I love him most than anything, I'm holding him like a wet cat. i literally bought three stag plushes over the month I was reading this series just because I couldn't stop thinking about him.

30. I am ignoring the implications in the epilogue that Harry did not raise Teddy Lupin, because he did, actually. That was the last promise he made to his beloved Remus Lupin and if Deathly Hallows taught us anything it's that Harry Potter keeps a fucking promise <<3

31. Molly and Arthur heavily assisted Harry in his 'I'm gonna raise this god damn orphan to good y'all won't know what hit him. I'm gonna be such a good dad.'

32. I am literally IGNORING all these implications of the Cursed Child. Draco Malfoy is also a banger dad. i think he goes to counseling and sorts out his issues and tries very hard to not put such high expectations on his own kids. I think he tries very hard to undo the damage Lucius did to him, and the bad choices he made in trying to make his parents proud of him. I think he makes sure his kids know better than anything else, that all he wants for them is joy. He wants them to be good, happy people.

33. Just Lovers - Zerrazapriel says that Sirius' patronus is Moony and that's so fucking real and true of that fucking fic and I live by that now.

34. On a similar note, Molly and Arthur have matching patronus'

35. Fuck this 'hermione minister of magic' nonsense that girl is a leftist and would never join politics did jkr forget her own fucking canon of harry and hermione doing their absolute best to fuck the government over for the last half of the series? whatever the fuck. HERMIONE TEACHES CHARMS AT HOGWARTS.

36. I'm sorry I got so heated on that last one. I had thoughts. Anyways, Draco also goes on to become head of Slytherin and teaches DADA.

37. I was so anti-Draco for the entire first five books and then the last two books Happened and so now I'm just holding him so close to my chest. He needs therapy. And i think it takes him until their mid-twenties or so, but I think he does make amends with Harry and the crew and actively tries to come back from the actions of his youth, and obviously the Golden Trio and co are sympathetic because Harry himself in the books clearly could recognize Draco was acting on the instruction of his trusted adults, trusting they knew better than him.

38. this is not a headcanon but the wandlore of Draco having a unicorn hair in his wand and the unicorn hair wizards being the most difficult to turn evil and his wand ultimately being the one to defeat voldemort is sooooooo. He's such a product of grooming and I think about him. I want to study him.

39. YOU KNOW WHAT. what if I said harry trans woman who unpacks her gender after the war is over and has time to contemplate who she is as a person and her and Draco become a very cute and in love little couple in their early thirties??? what then???? (does this fic exist and if it does give me links)

40. I think the funniest mental image ever is if Harry just shows up to a party or whatever with everyone when they're like, 26 with Draco fucking Malfoy in his arm and is like "this is my boyfriend" with no further explanation or nothing and half of the group is like "no yeah this is an expected development" and the other half is like "THE BITCHBOY????" and yeah.

I will most definitely have more Harry Potter thoughts as time goes on but this is all I'll put into the world. Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.

[snuping]

ideal girl harry to me is almost identical to canon harry partly because i think the dursleys would have essentially raised her as a boy for the first few years, in that they rarely use anything but 'freak' and 'brat' to refer to her and dress her in dudleys things and dont let her outside or talk with her so harry just assumes she is the same as dudley, with petunia only really telling her she is a girl when puberty hits and/or when they are forced to let her start kingdergarten and thus exposed to the world outside the house.

i also think her being a girl would make petunia treat her worse--

(this got long MORE UNDER THE CUT)

--as she becomes even more of a proxy for lily in petunias eyes, on top of harry like. okay a scenario i can imagine is petunia reluctantly sewing one or two of dudleys old shirts into dresses for harry to make sure now that she is old enough to wander outside for groceries etc that she wont be ruining their image by looking like an aspiring transvestite all the time, tomboyishness is only tolerable to an extent. and maybe she even thinks she is doing harry a favor in that as well because petunia would just die if *she* was mistaken for a boy. but harry truly does not care mostly she just wants more food and maybe a new pillow for her cupboard. and when petunia presents the scrappy little dresses to her she makes sure to tell harry she better be grateful because petunia would never spend a penny on providing harry with a nice summer dress like the neighborhood girls have!! she doesnt deserve such pretty things! and harry says she prefers her other clothes anyway. and petunia takes that VERY personally; a rapid train of thoughts like 'what would lily feel about this?' 'she was doomed to be a freak anyway' 'is this my fault?' 'what will neighbors think' 'what will vernon think' etc.. seeing it as harry rejecting not only a dress but femininity as a whole; normalness as a whole. which ofc harry is not even thinking about

ultimately they did not think anything through when it came to 'raising' harry because they kept hoping she would just die in her cupboard one day or wander off on her own. and they treat her with a very contradictory sense of rules/judgements, where she is both a trollop ('lets' dudleys friends chase her, to beat on her, because she likes the attention) and a queer (if she even looks like she was about to make eye contact with any of petunias lady club shit she is forced to cater in the living room she WILL be taken as a predatory threat)

but most importantly she has the anime girl mullet. non negotiable

[dronarryfest]

Dronarry Fest Week 4 (Final Week) Masterpost!

And that's a wrap, folks! In week four of Dronarry Fest, we reminisced over nights of passion, explored cursed magical houses, baked together in Malfoy Manor, and discovered our soulmates, our latent Veela heritage, and our bisexual tendencies. This year's fest might be over (boo) but we certainly went out with a bang, so make yourself comfy and get stuck in to this fantastic selection of fics. Please make sure you mind the tags, and don't forget to leave a kudos or a comment for our wonderful MAs!  

The anonymous masterpost will go up later today, and author/artist reveals will be on Wednesday!!!

[FIC] Try as I might, I could not bring myself to hold you || T || 6.7k

"Happy birthday, myself" writes little Harry on his knee, on his ninth birthday. "Happy birthday, you" answers little Draco on the other, just a few minutes after. "They're bound to die a tragic death" says Molly Weasley, to nine year old Ron, the next morning. CW: mentions of transphobia

Your storytelling is beautiful, I’m hooked on this premise and these reimagined characters! - Schmem_14

This was such a unique, well-crafted look at how complex yet loving relationships could develop between all of these characters. Thank you for sharing! Always fun to see Dudley included! - oknowkiss

[FIC] The Sun, Shining Above You || E || 14.5k

Since joining up with the dragontamers, Draco counts his days in nights. Nights spent drinking in the commune mess, making poor choices he doesn't regret, for once. Nights he doesn't remember, and nights he wishes he could stop remembering. Then there's that night in Spain, caught in the circle of Ron's arms. A year of nights in Norway, caught in the heat of Harry's gaze. His first night at the Burrow, caught in between them both. CW: references to depression and grief, open/ambiguous ending

Omg this is like… if this fic was a person I would marry them. It’s perfect! - Vawobe

Amazing amazing fabulous magnificent. A triumph. - Maesterchill

[FIC] Let Be, Let Be || M || 10k

Ron's never had a place to really call his own, so when the deeds to an ancient magical house in Bulgaria appear in his Gringotts vault, he ropes in his Curse-Breaker best friend (and his Curse-Breaker best friend's Field Healer boyfriend) to come and check the place out with him. What he doesn't expect is wanton destruction, a Veela transformation, and the need for some serious conversations between friends.

And whoever said Draco Malfoy was bad at sharing?! CW: jealousy, opening up an established relationship

Oh my goddddd. Ron being the veela! The house inheritance! The descriptions of Ron's wings! Harry liking both of them being jealous and possessive about him! This was really fun and such a delight. I'm so happy for them! -TheGoblinMatriarch

Help me Jesus, phwoar - Moonflower_Rose

[FIC] Bad Company || E || 86.5k

Draco has a hard time coming to terms with the world after the war. Stuck on house arrest in a rapidly dilapidated Malfoy Manor, he's more alone than ever before. If only his parole officer wasn't Auror Weasley, not to mention the increasing pile of unread Owls from one Harry Potter... CW: suicide of a minor character, infidelity

i just finished this story in one go and this was just so good... you could see the relationship grow, you could feel the bitterness melting, you could feel all the love - simarjotkour

i love your story so far. It’s the perfect storm of angst! - Schmem_14

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Today in Christian History

Today is Thursday, March 30th, the 89th day of 2023. There are 276 days left in the year.

Today’s Highlight in History:

606: (Probable date) Death on Mount Sinai of John Climacus, an Eastern hermit, author, and abbot. He had authored the popular book Scala Paradisi (The Ladder of Divine Ascent). Twelve centuries later, Danish philosopher-theologian Søren Kierkegaard, writing under the pseudonyms Climacus and Anti-Climacus, will parody this work, loathing any suggestion that humans can ascend to the divine under their own power.

794: Repose (death) of Stephen of Mar Saba, who had been something of a hermit and counseled compassion for nature. The Orthodox Church will recognize him as a saint.

1533: Thomas Cranmer is consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury.

1555: Bishop Ferrar is burned at St. David’s at Carmarthen, the chief town of his former diocese, condemned for violating his vow of chastity. After preaching against Roman Church forms he had been imprisoned by Mary and refused to be reconciled with Rome, saying that he had taken an oath both to Henry VIII and Edward VI never to admit the papal supremacy.

1735: The impious Howell Harris changes course, becoming a leading Welsh revivalist.

1771: Repose (Death) of Bishop Sophronius of Irkutsk, who will be recognized by the Orthodox Church as a saint because of his personal asceticism, wise counsel, championship of women’s rights, and labors to uplift the spiritual life of his remote diocese.

1851: Vietnamese Emperor Tú Dúc issues a severe edict against Christianity; it orders drowning for European priests, and says Vietnamese priests must be cut in half, even if they agree to trample the cross underfoot.

1858: Dudley Tyng speaks to a noon rally of five thousand in Philadelphia, taking as his text, “Go now ye that are men and serve the Lord.” He declares that he would rather lose his right arm than fail to deliver God’s message to his listeners. Deeply moved, one thousand men respond to his solemn words. Two weeks later one of his arms is yanked from its socket in an accident, infection will develop, and it will have to be amputated. These measures will not save him and in a few days more he will die. His last words will be “Stand up for Jesus, father, and tell my brethren of the ministry to stand up for Jesus.” This dying exhortation will inspire the hymn “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus.”

1876: Death, in California, of James L. Breck, a successful Episcopal frontier missionary and educator.

1899: The steamship Stella strikes some rocks in a fog while sailing to Guernsey. Mary Rogers, a cheerful, kind, and hard-working stewardess, supervises the escape of a large number of women and relinquishes her own lifebelt to the last of them, giving up her place in the lifeboat. Raising her hands to heaven she cries, “Lord, have me!” as the ship sinks beneath her.

1942: Death in Burbank, California, of Anne S. Murphy, author of the hymn “Constantly Abiding.”

2004: Burial of Wilson Rajil Sabiya, a Lutheran defender of Christians and of oppressed tribes. Among his chief opponents were Islamists who sought to incorporate Sharia law into the Nigerian constitution and to control the government, medical, and educational facilities.

[sciroccoorion35]

“Dudleys never say die!” -Stan, 1x07

omg I am dying laughing. A goonies reference? Really?! 😂

“You were supposed to be this scientist, you were supposed to have this legendary, curious mind.” - Guilford, 1x04

"You were supposed to be this colossus, this great legendary thing, and yet he gains." - The Princess Bride

I can't help feeling like this is a deliberate homage and I particularly like that Jane is being likened not to Buttercup, but to freaking Fezzic