#Lily is my favorite character obviously | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 7 months ago

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❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.”

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all.

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips.

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly.

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest. “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting.

What a bunch of insufferable fools.

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number.

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.”

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.”

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.”

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock. “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life. “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.”

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.”

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup.

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.”

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.”

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy.

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.”

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards.

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few.

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.)

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire.

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster.

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.”

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother.

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?”

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.”

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?”

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.”

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?”

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks.

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.”

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think.

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance.

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends.

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?”

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?”

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.”

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.”

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work.

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf.

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes.

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance. “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.”

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.)

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless.

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand.

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight.

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins.

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position.

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children.

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?”

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls.

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally.

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the emptiness of your unbroken charade.

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.)

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots. The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you.

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.”

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?”

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks.

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably.

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.”

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?”

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!”

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?”

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.”

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?”

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it.

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow.

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear.

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.”

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought.

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion.

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately!

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails.

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must.

What’s wrong?

The question echoes in your head.

Ha!

You scream inwardly, if they only knew!

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor.

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes.

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.”

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!”

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.”

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side.

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second.

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?”

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?”

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.”

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you.

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt.

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.”

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?”

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders.

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms.

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly.

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.”

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.”

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background.

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!”

Turns out, you are not fine.

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen.

—

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly.

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.”

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly.

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin.

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you.

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.”

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius.

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half.

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.”

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds.

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!”

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights.

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!”

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick.

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.”

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.”

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close.

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair.

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.”

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors.

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.”

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.)

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.”

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase.

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.”

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him.

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway.

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling.

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you.

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior.

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?”

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly.

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others.

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern, as well.”

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades.

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.”

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself.

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you.

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?)

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House.

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?”

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.”

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.”

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more:

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!”

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets.

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary.

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?”

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?”

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?”

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.”

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you.

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.”

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.”

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses.

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders.

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes.

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before?

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words.

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell?

When does duty end? And when does life begin?

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive.

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.”

You want to go to sleep already.

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport.

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.”

You miss your cat.

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.)

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself.

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument.

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!”

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms.

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger.

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask.

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters.

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included.

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy.

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva.

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose.

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.)

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena.

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains.

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire.

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!”

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands.

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes.

“Daphne, get away from there!”

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain.

But there is nothing.

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom.

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes.

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.”

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.”

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat.

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.”

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile.

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side.

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you.

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms.

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor.

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever.

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books.

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to.

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic?

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons.

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else.

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!”

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.”

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw.

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated.

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.”

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold.

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time.

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another.

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies.

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you.

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.”

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?”

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare.

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.”

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.”

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye.

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones.

(Hogwarts is the best!)

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival.

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy.

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in.

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”)

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane.

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor.

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S.

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?”

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his.

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing.

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl.

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.”

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie.

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.)

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her.

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?”

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.”

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching.

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.”

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . . I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly.

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground.

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home.

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak.

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.”

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!”

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.”

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room.

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle.

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents.

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.)

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?”

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.”

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same.

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans.

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain.

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you.

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”)

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time.

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely?

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all.

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders.

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to.

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.”

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!”

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!”

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!”

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!”

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?”

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.”

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life.

You hate her.

You hate her with all your heart.

But even monsters need a heart to breathe.

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor.

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne.

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.)

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks.

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard.

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.”

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death.

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.”

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!”

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation.

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.”

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?”

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word.

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name.

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.”

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills.

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix.

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.)

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours.

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one.

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed.

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams.

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even.

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm.

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him.

Bile rises to your throat.

Tears fall from your eyes.

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.)

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter.

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.”

“I promise. . . you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.”

You pass out in her arms.

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes.

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream.

You are tired.

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give?

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this?

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now.

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you?

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire.

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back.

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit.

Maybe. . .

If you move a few inches forward. . .

If you just fly.

You’d be free.

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.”

I don’t care.

Go away.

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone?

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest.

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with.

You let your weight shift over the window.

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly.

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh.

Maybe tomorrow, then.

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?”

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.”

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.”

You stay silent.

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice.

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.”

You nibble on your bruised lip.

Could you really?

Maybe just this once.

You’re only human, magic as you are.

You take one step forward.

Then another.

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion.

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days.

To do what is right.

To endure.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then.

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve.

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation.

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother.

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands.

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her.

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!”

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands.

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!”

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.”

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.”

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.”

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake.

“Mum, wake up, please!”

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear.

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s.

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!”

There’s a faint smile on her face.

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor.

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle.

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

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tiredandoptimistic · 4 days ago

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TSC Fandom Survey Results

The time has finally come for me to share my data! For those unaware, I've spent the past week running a survey in which people ranked TSC books, characters, and ships. In the end, 50 people filled out my survey, which is way more than I expected! About 23% of the people who looked at the survey filled it out, and everyone who started finished it.

First off I'll post the simple rankings from each category, and below the cut I'll show the more complex results with explanations for why people voted the way they did.

Best series: 1. The Infernal Devices 2. The Mortal Instruments 3. The Dark Artifices 4. The Last Hours 5. The Eldest Curses 6. The Wicked Powers 7. The Secret Treasons

Best main girl: 1. Tessa Gray 2. Clary Fairchild 3. Emma Carstairs 4. Cordelia Carstairs 5. Dru Blackthorn

Best main couple: 1. Will/Tessa/Jem 2. Will/Tessa 3. Clary/Jace 4. Jem/Tessa 5. Julian/Emma 6. James/Cordelia 7. Dru/Ash

Best side couple: 1. Magnus/Alec 2. Simon/Isabelle 3. Thomas/Alastair 4. Kit/Ty 5. Kieran/Mark/Cristina 6. Charlotte/Henry 7. Sophie/Gideon 8. Gabriel/Cecily 9. Helen/Aline 10. Grace/Christopher 11. Gwyn/Diana 12. Lucie/Jesse 13. Ari/Anna

Best side character: 1. Raphael Santiago 2. Lily Chen 3. Maia Roberts 4. Ragnor Fell 5. George Lovelace 6. Catarina Loss 7. Livvy Blackthorn 8. Jessamine Lovelace 9. Luke Graymark 10. Jocelyn Fairchild 11. Maryse Lightwood 12. Eugenia Lightwood 13. Jordan Kyle 14. Robert Lightwood 15. Jaime Rosales 16. Michael Wayland 17. Amatis Graymark 18. Camille Belcourt 19. Nate Gray 20. Charles Fairchild

Best younger sibling/child: 1. Max Lightwood-Bane 2. Rafael Lightwood-Bane 3. Mina Carstairs 4. Max Lightwood 5. Tavvy Blackthorn 6. Alex Lightwood 7. Zachary Carstairs

Best villain: 1. Sebastian Morgenstern 2. Valentine Morgenstern 3. Annabel Blackthorn 4. Malcolm Fade 5. Axel Mortmain 6. Asmodeus 7. Shinyun Jung 8. Benedict Lightwood 9. Tatiana Blackthorn 10. Belial

Best side book: 1. Tales From the Shadowhunter Academy 2. Ghosts of the Shadow Market 3. The Bane Chronicles 4. Secrets of Blackthorn Hall 5. An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters and Denizens of Downworld 6. The Shadowhunter's Codex 7. Better in Black 8. A Sea Change

Huzzah! Putting this all together has been so much fun for me, and I want to quickly thank everybody who participated! I also want to remind everyone that this was just for fun, and no reason to get mad at anybody. We're obviously never gonna agree on everything, we just need to respect each other's opinions.

If you want to know the nitty gritty of how every character was ranked, how the different series measured up against each other across categories, and why people like or dislike various books and characters, then keep reading below the cut! I made a spreadsheet, please come gaze upon my beautiful spreadsheet.

Here we go, time for the real shit!

Be warned, you will probably read mean things about characters you love and nice things about characters you hate. Angry rants about how you can't believe anyone would think that way belong in DMs to your friends, not the notes of my post. I do welcome discussion, just nothing that's targeted at other people. Also, I will be doing my best to explain people's opinions, that doesn't mean that I agree with them. I'm just trying to document. If I'm sharing my genuine personal opinion on anything, I'll make that clear.

You'll be seeing screenshots from my big spreadsheet throughout this thing. Here's your key: Columns represent characters/ships/series, rows represent a ranking. Each cell shows how many people assigned that rank to that character (for example, the intersection of 3 and Sizzy will be the number of people who voted Sizzy as their second favorite side ship). At the bottom there will be the average rank this character received, which was calculated by the program I used for the survey. I have all the columns color coordinated by which series each character/ship belongs to, and each column will have one box outlined which shows the rank that character received most often (as in, the intersection of Sizzy and 3 is outlined because Sizzy got more #3 votes than #1 #2 #4 or #5). Some columns have multiple boxes outlined, in the case of ties.

Make sense?

Alright, let's go!

First off, it's everyone's favorite series. As you can see, TID was significantly ahead of all the others. TMI and TDA were neck and neck, frequently switching back and forth for that #2 spot. TLH was a bit lower than the other three, and TEC, TWP, and TST all ranked dramatically lower.

To explain why they liked TID, people talked about finding the series nostalgic, enjoying how the characters are woven into the plot, the historical setting, and how it expands the worldbuilding of TSC while still working as a contained story. People also mentioned enjoying specific characters like Will, Jessamine, and Gabriel. By far the most common comment though was just that people love Herongraystairs. The only negative comments came from people who said that they didn't find the concept interesting, and were disappointed by the lack of their favorite modern characters.

Talking about TMI, the most common positive comments were that the series was fun, nostalgic, and had the best cast of characters (specifically Alec, Magnus, and Simon). People also enjoy the modern setting, the interpersonal relationships (especially Malec), and how the world is seen to develop from where it was in the historical era. TMI has the fewest haters, but some people said that they just didn't find it as captivating as later series, or that they were put off by the incest plotline. I also received the criticism that the characters are annoying, and that the story could have been compressed into fewer books.

For TDA, a lot of people mentioned finding the characters relatable, enjoying the plot, and liking the Blackthorn family dynamic. The characters and ships who got specific shout-outs were Blackstairs, Kierarktina, and Mark. People also like the modern setting, found it to be emotional, and think that it effectively juggles a large cast of characters. Plus, people appreciate getting autistic representation from Ty. It has a solid number of detractors too, who say that they don't like Blackstairs (especially Julian), Thule, the Cohort, or the focus on Faerie politics. They also say that it has too many plotlines, takes itself too seriously, and that the last book (Queen of Air and Darkness) made them drop the series.

While TLH was ranked last of the main series, I'd like to point out that it has the same number of #1 votes as TDA, signaling that it has a similar number of intense fans. The difference really comes in with the lack of #2 or #3 votes, showing that people don't tend to be casual fans of the series. By far the most popular thing brought up by TLH enjoyers is the characters, and how they build an interconnected web with lots of fun dynamics (including developed family dynamics). People also like the number of queer and POC characters, the cozy vibe, the historical setting, the drama, and the ships (especially Herondaisy). The most common critiques all come back to the plot; that the main story is weak or even incoherent, and the series is stretched too thin across a number of side plots. People also dislike the lack of communication, and think that the characters don't feel like friends. Another complaint is that the world doesn't feel like a natural extension of TID, especially because the characters are so invested in mundane social structures like balls and reputations.

TEC is our first truly controversial series, and the main divide seems to be between people who think it's unnecessary fan service, and fans who feel serviced. The reasons I was given to like the series are the additional page time for Malec and the TMI gang, and that it fleshed out the TMI timeline. On the negative side, people say that it feels like a cash grab and that LBOTW didn't live up to the expectations set by RSOM. Overall though, the biggest reason that people ranked it so low was just that they hadn't read it.

Here's where we get into the series that were doomed to fail in the rankings because none of us have even read them. While TWP has a solid number of prospective fans ranking it in their top three, most people left it at the bottom because it hasn't come out yet. The people who expect to enjoy the series are the ones who enjoyed Dru, Kit, and Ty in TDA, and the ones who expect to dislike it are the ones who didn't enjoy those three in TDA.

So, TST was probably not fair to include in this list because I got a solid number of respondents who hadn't even heard of it, but I'm convinced that if it were ever to come out it would be in my top two series overall, and I want to see what the people think. While it didn't get anybody voting it #1 based on potential like TWP did, there were still some people saying that they would be excited to read it because of Waywood, the Luke/Jocelyn/Valentine drama, and the morally gray characters. On the other hand, there's the people who just don't care about the Circle and don't want to read about them.

For main girls, Tessa, Clary, and Emma were all pretty close in the average rankings. Cordelia and Dru fell a bit behind, but also had their share of committed fans.

When talking about Tessa, people brought up her intelligence, maturity, and their nostalgia for her character. They also like that she's a book lover, has cool powers, isn't annoying, starts out messy before maturing, and is strong-willed. By far though, the most common comment was that they found her relatable. The downside to this relatability is that her detractors say she feels like an obvious reader insert, and is overshadowed by more interesting characters like Will, Jem, and Jessamine.

Clary had the most positive comments, and people love that she's funny, creative, blunt, fearless, iconic, and handles all the bullshit the world throws at her. (My personal favorite comment was the person who called her "my beautiful unhinged princess"). More than anything though, people love Clary for her development. She starts out as a relatable 15-year-old, but over the course of six TMI books and all her later appearances, she grows into a hero. She's also of course incredibly nostalgic, since most TSC fans were introduced to the world by either her or Tessa. On the downside, people say that she works better as a side character than a protagonist, and that she's overshadowed by the rest of TMI. They also think that she made bad choices throughout the series, and find her annoying.

What people love about Emma is that she's strong, funny, complex, badass, and a bit of an asshole. They like that she's allowed to have an attitude and still be treated as a cool and compelling woman by the narrative and the other characters. Plus, she comes across as having a clear voice that makes her feel like somebody they could be friends with in real life. Most of the people with specific complaints about her either didn't like TDA overall, or thought she was treated as an extension of Julian who never fulfilled her individual potential. Some people also found her badass bad bitch persona to be more exhausting than endearing.

Cordelia is probably the most controversial character in this category, with long lists of both positive and negative traits given by the fandom. On the bright side, she's fierce, badass, kind, and relatable. People also like to see a woman of color thriving in 1903 London, and how she embodies the concept of a warrior. Looking to the negative, people largely just don't find her particularly engaging. They say that she's inconsistant, flat, and had no development after Chain of Gold. They also complained about her making bad decisions and having a weak relationship with Lucie.

Everybody had the least to say about Dru, and most people said that they ranked her last just because they don't know enough about her to like her more than the established characters. What her fans do enjoy is that she's relatable, blunt, sassy, and a fat goth girl who's giving 2015 tumblr emo. The only real complaint people had was that they found her annoying in TDA, but everyone who left comments like that also acknowledged that she was 13 in TDA and will probably be more engaging once TWP gives her time in the spotlight.

Moving into the main couples, TID continues to sweep as Herongraystairs takes the top spot (and came incredibly close to taking the entirety of the top three). After that, the couples are spaced out pretty equally and follow the same pattern established by the previous two categories.

Now, Herongraystairs received arguably the most bonkers majority in this entire survey. Nearly half of respondents ranked it as their #1, and only a couple outliers put it in their bottom three. What everybody loves about this ship is the angst, how willing they were to sacrifice for each other, the raw emotions, how perfectly the three balance each other, and the ideas about fate. They also like how all three of them are compelling characters on their own, have unique relationships in pairs (Wessa, Jessa, Heronstairs), and work even better as a complete unit. Will and Jem already loved each other, but they could only fully develop once they had Tessa; creating this tragic yet beautiful cloud of possibility. People also like the polyamorous aspect, and wish that they were a canon three way relationship. More than anything else though, what was commented again and again was simply "they loved each other so much." What else can you say? Well, I can say why a couple of people dislike the ship. The only reasons I was given was that the person didn't like TID overall, and that they prefer Jem and Will with a purely platonic parabatai bond.

Moving on to Wessa, people like their banter, the crazy build up to their relationship, and how they bonded over books. They also love how gutwrenching the relationship is, especially once you get to the epilogue of Clockwork Princess. The only complaint anybody had was that they aren't Herongraystairs, and the relationship is incomplete without Jem.

People of course love Clace for the nostalgia factor and how it's the relationship that introduced them to TSC, but most importantly people like how the two of them are just so horribly down bad for each other. They're cute, fun, and have good chemistry; forming the heart of the TMI gang and of the Shadowhunters world. What people don't like is that they're basic, getting overshadowed by other couples in their own series. The upside is that they get better in their appearances that came after TMI. There are of course also the people who don't like the incest plotline and felt uncomfortable reading about that era of their relationship.

Jessa was solidly in third for most of this survey, but Clace pulled ahead of them in the last day. Though they came in behind the other TID ships, they're still beloved by the fandom. People like their dynamic and enjoy Jem as a character. The downside is that the ship makes them sad because of the tragedy of their situation, doesn't include Will, and gets overused in the modern series.

As for Blackstairs, people see their relationship as beautiful, a good example of friends to lovers/forbidden romance, and worked in well with the plot of TDA. People also like the soulmate aspect. Their haters sure had a lot to say to counterbalance that though, and complained about how the relationship is melodramatic, overly intense, toxic, and codependant. I also got a few respondants who said that they just dislike Emma and Julian as individuals, and that Julian's behavior towards Emma is alarming.

Herondaisy is continuing TLH's grand tradition of coming in near the end while still maintaining a dedicated team of fans. The good stuff is how much James loved Cordelia, and that he spent so long unable to say anything, but once he was free from the Gracelet he never let her forget his devotion. Their love was powerful enough to break a hellish enchantment, but still felt like a friendship built on a shared interests like books and stories. The most common complaint about this relationship was miscommunication, dislike of James or Cordelia as characters, and not understanding why the two like each other (other than mutual attraction). There's also people who just don't like TLH and generally aren't invested in their story. The other main complaint was that the James/Grace and Cordelia/Matthew subplots felt unnecessary and overly drawn out (which of course connects back to the miscommunication issue).

Morgenthorn suffers from the same issue as the other TWP representatives, and largely got low marks because their books aren't out yet. Some people think they're shaping up to be iconic though, while others still aren't sold on the premise.

The side ships are where things start to really heat up. Based on their average rank, the pairs form a couple distinct tiers. First, is Malec, Sizzy, Thomastair, and Kitty (the fan favorites), next is Kierarktina, Chenry, Sophideon, and Gabrily making up the middle of the pack, then we have the less popular Haline, Gracetopher, Gwynburn, and Ghostwriter, and in dead last with by far the lowest score there's Arianna. (Sorry to the u-haul lesbians). I think it's quite interesting how most of the ships are clumped together with other ships from the same series.

I'm guessing we all knew that Malec was gonna come in first. People love the nostalgia factor, of course, and they also love how the ship is queer, iconic, and just generally sweet. It's a case of opposites attract where the two of them help each other grow and reach for things they never thought possible. Both Alec and Magnus believed that they'd never be truly loved for who they were, and yet together they were able to create a life and family. Not a single person had a bad thing to say about these two.

Continuing the popularity of the TMI gang, Sizzy came shockingly close to beating Malec for first. They didn't get as many #1 votes as the other top ships, but they were still voted highly by more or less everyone. On the surface this couple is cute and funny, but what people really love is how perfectly they match each other. While they look like opposites at first, they're actually incredibly well-balanced. Everyone expected Isabelle to break Simon's heart, but he's able to stand up to her without being a dick and he sees her for who she really is under all her defensiveness. Plus, they're great individual characters and encourage each other to grow. They only negative comment they got was one person who finds them annoying.

Next up, Thomastair comes in to prove that there are at least some parts of TLH that are pretty universally adored. People like how Thomas saw the good in Alastair from the start, and watching his schoolboy crush develop into a mature romance. They like how Thomas helped Alastair accept love into his life, and Alastair encouraged Thomas to become confident in himself. The two of them were able to create their own world in Paris, which allowed them to escape the roles they felt trapped in. The characters are of course loved as individuals, and people got especially attached to Alastair and think that he deserves good things. People also like their communication skills, in contrast with other TLH couples. The only real complains people had with the ship was that it's connected to a series they dislike overall, and falls into the bully x victim trope.

Kitty is another ship that anybody who spends any length of time in the fandom will not be surprised to see in the top quarter of this list. They're beloved as characters, and even people who dislike TDA say that they were some of the best stuff in it. Fans enjoy how Kit understood Ty from the start and Ty felt truly comfortable with Kit. They also like how Kit can't make amends with Ty but still keeps his secret (shout-out to the person who described them as being in "doomed yaoi purgatory"). People also say that they have great chemistry and a lot of potential. What people dislike is really just that they haven't had time to fully develop, since TWP hasn't actually come out yet.

The next top ship is Kierarktina, which is where we exit the "pure adoration" tier of this list. People like the characters and all their different dynamics, and think that there's a lot of potential for growth with them. They also like the fact that they're a canonically polyamorous ship. The complaints I got were that the relationship feels rushed, and that Cristina seems to fetishize Kieran and Mark's relationship.

Getting into the TID ships all nicely chunked together in the middle of this list, people like Chenry for their arranged marriage setup, where both of them love each other but saw their feelings as unrequited for years. They also like Charlotte and Henry's combined autistic swag. What makes people hesitate is their lack of pagetime.

For Sophideon, people of course love the individual characters, and especially appreciate how Gideon adores everything about Sophie. The only downside is how little of them we get on the page.

Gabrily came in lower than Sophideon but did receive more #1 votes and fewer #13 votes, proving that they have a higher number of committed fans despite being less popular overall. Those fans like how the two of them loved each other for what they were and always had each other's backs. Nobody had any negative comments about them.

Haline is another mid-tier ship that didn't get many comments. What I did hear is that people like how their struggles were worth it because they had each other, and ranked them low because of their lack of page time.

Gracetopher is probably the most controversial ship on this list. If we were just going off of who received the most #1 votes, they would be fifth overall (that order would be Malec, Kitty, Thomastair, Sizzy, Gracetopher). Unfortunately for them though, we are also factoring in all the people who ranked them dead last. As this form received more and more submissions, I watched this couple gradually climb from second-to-last to the dizzying height of fourth-to-last in the overall rankings. First off, what people like is how they truly see each other. Christopher was overlooked by his friends for his intensity and Grace was only ever treated as a weapon and a seductress, but they genuinely respect each other and bond over their shared enthusiasm for science. Looking at the negatives though, most people saw their dynamic as underdeveloped and unnecessary. Lots of people dislike Grace and don't believe that she should have received any redemption, and even people who are sympathetic towards Grace still dislike that Christopher was so quick to forgive her after how she treated one of his best friends. A few people also said that they like Grace and Christopher's dynamic when it's platonic, but ranked it low as a romance. People were also upset by Christopher's death, and feel that it ruins the relationship for them.

For Gwynburn, the only positive comment I got was a couple people saying they're cute, and the only negative one came from somebody who didn't like Diana because they felt she was an irresponsible guardian to the Blackthorn kids. Most people ranked them higher than the other ships at the bottom of this list, but unfortunately they just didn't have enough extremely high votes to pull them ahead.

Ghostwriter didn't get any specific positive propaganda, though some people clearly do enjoy them. Most of the negative sentiments came from people who just found them uninteresting and generally didn't enjoy TLH. They also see the pairing as having wasted potential, and felt frustrated by the lack of consequences for Jesse's resurrection. They saw Lucie as boring and dislike Jesse for his mistreatment of Grace.

Despite being ranked last, Arianna fans still came in to share what they liked about the couple. They enjoy the characters and Anna's butch swag, and some people who don't like them together still enjoy the concept. What people largely dislike about the two is Anna as a character, and how she treated Ari and all the other women she had flings with. While not everyone was ready to give up on them because of Anna's flaws, they were frustrated by how she didn't resolve her issues or try to be better by the end of the trilogy. There were also people who thought that the ship didn't get enough page time, or who didn't connect with Ari as a character. People were also disappointed in how Ari was punished by the narrative and by Anna for not being ready to come out of the closet when she was seventeen and dependent on her bigoted parents.

Oh boy, time to dig into the biggest category (which still feels incredibly cut down, my original list was over 50 characters). Side characters are obviously a point of hot debate, since everybody has their favorite guy who the narrative forgot about. The most popular overall characters were all old favorites introduced in TMI, then there's George, Catarina, Livvy, and Jessamine (who all swapped around a fair bit), before we get into a large chunk of characters who either inspire mixed feelings or get forgotten entirely, and bringing up the rear is two of the most hated characters in TSC.

First up, we have what I think is the biggest sweep of the whole survey; Raphael Santiago. He got about a third of the #1 votes, which isn't quite as dramatic a majority as Herongraystairs in their bracket, but far more impressive when you consider the sheer number of characters competing against Raphael for the top spot in this section. People think he's funny, iconic, and relatable. They love his sarcastic and grumpy sense of humor and his begrudging responsibility for the people around him. They also like his relationship with Magnus, as explored in "Saving Raphael Santiago" in The Bane Chronicles. The most common comment I got though was that people appreciate him being canonically aroace, and they remember him as their first experience seeing an aspec character in media. He received no negative comments (and few people left him out of their top ten).

Our second place goes to Lily, who got points for her iconic sense of humor, haunting backstory, and compelling relationships with both Alec and Raphael. She received no negative comments.

People like Maia but apparently don't have much to say about her. The only comments I got were that she's hot and a bad bitch, plus she overcame her difficult past.

Ragnor is appreciated how grouchy and melodramatic he is, and how he fits into the warlock friend group with Magnus and Catarina. I'd also like to shout-out his friendship with Raphael, since I love seeing them bond over their haterism. He received no negative comments.

George also didn't get many comments, but people grew attached to him very quickly and felt strongly affected by the tragedy of his death in TFSA, except for the person who said he felt like he got killed off for shock value.

People like Catarina's relationships with the other warlocks. I also want to point out her incredible selflessness and how she's even committed to helping people who hate her. She received no negative comments.

Livvy got the second most #1 votes after Raphael, and yet she's only #7 overall (ranked choice voting strikes again), and it looks to me like people either love her or don't care about her. What they love about her is the tragedy of her death and her relatable sense of responsibility towards her siblings, plus the continuation of her story in TWP. The only negative comment I got about her was from someone who didn't feel sad when she died.

Jessamine is seen as a fascinating and tragic character with a lot of potential depth who deserves more love. She got some low marks from her lack of page time though, and from people who found her attitude annoying.

Moving into some TST characters, Luke is noticeably higher than all the rest of his high school/fascist cult buddies. People like him for his dad vibes, and dislike him for his holier than thou attitude towards other members of the Circle. (Shout-out to my IRL friend who called him a DILF this morning).

Jocelyn didn't get many comments, and none that were positive. I'll chip in to say that I like how fierce and strong-willed she was when she decided to betray her abusive husband and raise Clary alone in NYC, and appreciate that she always tried to do what she thought would protect her daughter (even if it often wasn't actually what Clary wanted or needed). The people of the survey think she's a bad person and don't think that Clary should have forgiven her so easily for the way she lied to her. She moved up pretty far in the last day of this survey, but that was mostly due to other characters dropping in the rankings.

Maryse was behind Robert for most of the time this survey was gathering data, but her fans came in at the end to bump up her score. They like her relationships with her children, especially Jace and Alec, and are curious about her life before TMI when she had to deal with a loveless marriage and losing her brother to the mundane world. The only negative comment I received for her was someone who disliked how she treated Jace while he was being unfairly accused of working with Valentine.

While Eugenia is generally liked by TLH fans because she's funny, feisty, badass, and has a compelling relationship with Thomas; she scored fairly low overall because most people don't feel super attached to her due to her lack of page time.

The only positive comment I received about Jordan was that it was funny when he spent time with Jace and Simon. Mostly, people think that he was a toxic boyfriend to Maia and an awful person overall. They especially disliked that he and Maia got back together, even though he'd previously assaulted her after their breakup. Despite that, he's managed to make his way up from the bottom five of this list.

Robert is more controversial than his ex-wife, receiving more negative and more positive votes than her. People like his relationship with Michael as explored in "The Evil We Love," and how his personal issues with queerness bled into his relationship with his son. They enjoy both the angst of his difficult relationship with Alec, and the hopefulness that comes from his ability to grow as a person and try to be better for the sake of his kids. Folks who are less compelled by the angst just flat dislike him for his bad parenting. His ranking dropped dramatically in the last twelve hours, since I guess the people who can't forgive shitty parenting all showed up at the end.

People who like Jaime enjoy his attitude and see him as complex, and all the negative comments were about the age gap between him and Dru.

Michael is a character who seems to suffer from being nobody's favorite. No one had anything negative to say about him, but the only positive comments were in regards to his relationship with Robert, and the highest anybody ranked him was #4.

Amatis is somebody else who I believe suffered from not having any real fans. The only comment I got about her was that they ranked her low because they don't know much about her. The highest anybody ranked her was #6, and only one other character on this list has a highest rank that's lower than that. Nobody got mad at her like they did with Jordan or Jaime or Camille, but no one loves her like they love those three, so she ended up lower than them overall.

Camille got a fair number of high votes from people who enjoy her dramatic diva energy, and a lot of low ones from people who think she's just an awful person.

And here we have the first of the two most hated characters in this list. While he was dead last for almost an entire week, Nate finally managed to claw his way up to 19th place. Nobody had anything nice to say about him, and nobody ranked him higher than #7. I'll say that I find him interesting as an extension of Tessa's character and arc. People didn't have particularly complicated complaints, they just think that he's selfish, mean, awful, a traitor, a liar, an asshole, and completely irredeemable. Oof.

Even though he ended up in last place, Charles is distinct from the rest of the characters ranked this low because he actually does have a handful of fans who put him at #2 or #3. They think that he's an interesting character to study, even if he's an awful person. They also find his relationships with Alastair and Matthew to be compelling (though unhealthy) and relate to his place as an older sibling burdened by high expectations. As for the negatives, there's a whole laundry list. People see him as gross, annoying, selfish, awful, and boring. They hate his predatory relationship with Alastair in-universe, and which he was handled better by the author out of universe. I got one comment that said he felt like he was written by a straight woman, and in general people don't like how his arc was written.

Now that we're through with two of the largest and most controversial categories, let's move onto the one nobody cares about. I will admit that I included the children in this survey purely out of an interest in hearing if anybody had reasoning for preferring one small child over another.

Also, since we have two Max Lightwoods, I differentiated them using their middle inititals; Max M for Max Michael Lightwood-Bane, and Max J for Max Joseph Lightwood.

Okay, so what I have in the positive column for every single kid on this list is more or less just their association with their parents. People like the Lightwood-Bane siblings because they like Malec, they like Mina because of Jessa, Tavvy because of the TDA Blackthorns, Max J because of the TMI Lightwoods, Alex because of Gabrily, and Zachary because of Cordelia and Thomastair. Negative comments were also often linked to parents, like ranking Mina low because they dislike Jessa, or disliking the Lightwood-Banes because their existence feels like fanservice and they don't believe Alec would be a good father at age 20. Rafe did get the positive comment that his story in GotSM made the respondant cry.

Positive comments for Tavvy focused on people feeling like they know him better than other kids on this list, and being excited to see more of him and his relationship with Dru in TWP.

Max J got comments talking about how much more character he has compared to the babies, and how the tragic end to his story strongly affeced people. People got attached to him from his love of manga, and appreciate how he symbolized the innocence that Alec, Isabelle, and Jace needed to fight for.

Alex and Zachary were ranked last by almost everyone, though they all made it clear that they bear no ill will towards these kids. Zachary did get one committed fan who loves the way he brings Alastair's arc to a close, and is excited to see more of him on Thomastair's BiB story. I think it's noteworthy that they have the same number of #1 votes, Zachary got more #2 and #3 votes, and Alex got more #4 and #5 votes; showing that once you discount the people placing them in the bottom two, Zachary is in fact more popular. (I'm assuming that most people who put them in the bottom two don't actually prefer one over the other).

The villain category was particulary interesting to me, because reading everyone's comments made it clear that many of us are working off of different definitions of what makes a good villain. The biggest question was whether a character being sympathetic made people see them as a great villain or a terrible one. The other cool thing about this category is you can see that almost all the villains from the same series stayed next to each other in the ranking.

For as high as Sebastian ranked, he got relatively few comments. What people do like about him is that he was more relatable and redeemable than other villains because of how Valentine raised him, and yet he still went on to do unjustifiable things. They also think he was funny. The main complaint he got from several people was that the demon blood storyline made him a boring and badly constructed villain, since he had no free will in his own evilness. Also, y'know, the incest thing.

Valentine may not be ranked as highly as his son, but he did get far more specific compliments from people. They love to hate how logical, strategic, and pure evil he could be; as well as the way the story built up to him by showing the impact he had on the world. He was a skilled manipulator who convinced people to sacrifice everything in the name of his twisted values, and worked as a chillingly accurate representation of fascism. He also served the greater themes of TMI by allowing the leads to deny the violence and hatred passed down by their parents. Some people also just enjoy the Circle era characters. The only bad thing anyone said about him was that he's generic, one of a million bigoted middle aged white men in fiction.

Annabel and Malcom switched back and forth in the rankings a couple times while data was being gathered, since most people voted for the two of them as a unit. People like how tragic their storyline was, and how they served as foiled to Blackstairs because they too were people who loved each other enough to burn down the world. Ultimately, it was their sympathetic anti-Clave motivation that got most people to love them. The two points people held against them was that they're too sympathetic and thus not really villains, and that Annabel's potential was wasted in Queen of Air and Darkness. The folks who dislike TDA also dislike them on account of their association with the series.

Mortmain is our solidly mid tier villain. People across the board saw him as a simple pure evil force that the heroes had to win against, and the main question was whether people loved him or hated him for that simplicity.

The only reason anybody gave for enjoying Asmodeus was his association with Alec. The few negative comments he got were all about either his lack of page time or how his motivation being centered on his inherent evil made him uninteresting.

Shinyun is a more complicated character, and her reception was complicated as well. People like that she's associated with Alec through TEC, and that she showed how evil she was by rejecting redemption when it was offered to her. There were also some mixed feelings expressed about her place as a cult survivor, since that's a very human trauma that was not given enough dignity by the narrative. Negative opinions all came down to her lack of page time, and people who either never read or actively disliked TEC.

Benedict Lightwood might be the lowest anything from TID scored in this entire survey. People who enjoy him mentioned how he created realistic angst for Gideon and Gabriel, as a manipulative father they needed to learn to rebel against. What people think makes him a bad villain is that he's not a villain at all, just a generic shitty dad. Also, multiple people commented "worm" with no explanation.

Sadly for the villains of TLH, this isn't the way they were supposed to be the worst of the worst. While some people enjoyed Tatiana for her chaos and irredeemability, especially the way she abused her own daughter for years, overall she was seen as a boring letdown who could have been interesting if the narrative didn't treat her as pure evil. Maybe she could have had potential if she was allowed to be the main villain or if the story acknowledged the ways in which she felt abanoned by the Clave, but that's not the story we got.

As for Belial, nobody had anything positive to say about him. They thought that his plan was stupid (especially for a Prince of Hell), and that he was boring, annoying, and just generally underwhelming. He also received the same complaints as Asmodeus about how demons are uniniteresting villains because their only motive is their own inherent evil.

And here was have our final category: the side books! It's no surprise to me that the short story collections came in first, and that the unreleased books don't have a lot of fans yet.

Our most popular pick was Tales From the Shadowhunter Academy, which people love because of how it followed up on TMI storylines while also expanding upon the world. It gave readers a look into characters they enjoy like Alec, Mark, and James, and of course the most popular comment I got was people gushing about getting time with Simon. They love the Sizzy moments too, as well as Simon's friendship with Clary and the rest of the TMI gang. It also got points for George's heartbreaking death, and for how much fun it was to read when it was serialized in 2015. The two stories people mentioned as their favorites were "The Evil We Love" and "Nothing But Shadows," showing how people enjoyed getting to look at points in the TSC timeline that aren't explored by other series. The only negative comment it got was from a person who finds Simon and Isabelle annoying.

Coming in at a close second, Ghosts of the Shadow Market is beloved mainly for its connection to Jem and Jessa. People enjoy that it served a purpose in the overall TSC plot, and showed how love can be born of tragedy. The stories people brought up were "Every Exquisite Thing," "The Land I Lost," and especially "Cast Long Shadows." It received no negative comments.

While The Bane Chronicles was the least favorite of the anthologies, it still clearly won the love of the people. They enjoy it mainly on account of Magnus, especially for his friendship with the other warlocks and his romance with Alec. They like how funny it is, and feel like it has the same charm as the early TMI books. The only negative comment I got about it was that it's boring.

Secrets of Blackthorn Hall got points for the wholesome and iconic vibes, and the interesting format of being published through tumblr. Someone also described it as a home renovation show in a haunted house, and people brought up being glad to see characters like Mark and Mina and ships like Kitty and Blackstairs. Some people just didn't find it interesting though, and others disliked it because it had so much Julian and Blackstairs.

An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters and Denizens of Downworld probably got the fewest comments in this category. The people who love it appreciate the stunning art and interesting details about the characters, and all the low votes came from people who haven't read it.

The Shadowhunter's Codex is the oldest companion book on this list, and clearly didn't hit like the later additions to the canon. The only positive comments I got were from people who enjoyed Simon, Clary, and Jace's comments written into the margins. Generally people just didn't find it interesting, and saw it as a textbook that didn't even provide new information about the the world of Shadowhunters. There were also people who either didn't read it or couldn't finish it.

Better in Black of course hasn't been released, but people are excited to see their favorite couples back in action. In this survey, I got specific comments from people talking about Herondaisy and Thomastair. It still ranked pretty low overall, mainly because none of us have read it yet.

A Sea Change was most people's bottom pick, just because it isn't out yet. (My theory is that it ranked lower than BiB because BiB got everyone hyped through fandom engagement when we all debated which couples would be included, and that BiB appeals to fans of ten different ships while ASC only has fuel for Matthew fans). Predictably, the people who expect to love ASC are the ones excited to see the next chapter of Matthew's journey.

And with that, we're done! I'd like to once again thank everybody who participated, especially the folks who gave long or detailed comments. I had to simplify and summarize a lot in this post, but I truly enjoyed reading everything you all had to say.

I also want to take some time at the end here to address some questions I got about why stuff in this poll was set up the way it was. First, I got a lot of people saying that Kitty should have been considered a main couple, either in addition to Morgenthorn or instead of them. I get that we (so far) have a lot more Kitty material and that most of the fanbase is far more invested in them, but I'm counting the "main couple" as the one that includes the main girl. I also got some people confused by my choice to include unpublished works like TWP and Seasons of Shadowhunters, and while I understand that perspective I still stand by my decision. I know it's not fair to the series and that people can't accurately rate things they haven't read, but I wasn't trying for that kind of accuracy; I was curious about how much people love or hate things that aren't out yet. I'd love to see how TWP and SoS factor into these rankings once we've all read them, but for now I'm happy just hearing what people expect to think about them.

Also, everyone who left random silly comments or told me their favorite characters and scenes, y'all are the real ones. I did this whole project out of my love for this series and my interest in learning why people think the way they do, and I've been amazed by the positive response. This series and world is so incredibly expansive, and I love that all of us are able to find the different niches of TSC that make us happy.

If you actually read through all this, you're awesome and thanks for supporting my passion for turning emotions into numbers. If anybody has any additional questions, I am here to chat!

Taglist:

@edwinspaynes @helenofblackthorns @whaliensdream @iovelaces @darcyolsson @sankta-wraith @magnus-the-maqnificent @blue-silver-hammer @ineedmoremalec @kingslayerzzzz @thevagabondexpress @cara0765 @uncertified-shadowhunter-14 @elytrianemrald @thomasslightwood @starrieshq @blackthornobsessed @alastaircarstairsismybff @angeldaisies @dissapointmentsrus @bananacakepie

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wintfleur · 1 year ago

Note

Stella has been rejected by guys before so the only person she trust to comfort her about that situation is Trevor. He’s ready to beat this guy up but instead decides to hold her and reassure her that there are other guys out their for her!

ꔫ Boys suck anyway!

��. — pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X Platonic! Trevor zegras )

°. — details ( g; fluff?, angst?, w; original male character is a major jerk, cursing, I think that’s all?. wc; 3.8k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( thank you so much for sending in a request! I decided to turn this into the first fic of of this AU! Stella is 15 in this while Trevor is 18! So happy to write one of my favorite friendships, so sorry that this took so long to get out! I hope you enjoy! please don’t be a silent reader!! )

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

“These are delicious” Trevor practically moaned as he shoved another Annie's cinnamon donut bite into his mouth, licking his lips from the excess sugar. Trevor and the youngest Hughes were walking through the second floor of the mall, wanting to go shopping instead of staying home and playing video games with her brothers and their friends. It was normal for the two of them to go out and do things, most of the time it being shopping or going mini golfing.

“Uh huh” Stella absentmindedly agreed with him, her head nodding along with her words, but her focus was on something else…on someone else. Trevor noticed her emotionless tone and quickly looked at her, watching as her eyes quickly went from in front of them to behind them. Trevor tries to follow her gaze to figure out what she was looking at, but no dice. Trever raised his eyebrow and spoke quickly “Are we being followed or somethin?”

“What?” Stella spluttered out as she quickly turned her head to look up at a confused Trevor. Trevor stops at a table for two, setting the bag of donuts and his bag from hot topic on the table before sitting down. Stella joins him sitting down, her eyes going to the fountain where her attention was being lured too. Trevor opened his mouth to ask what is up with her, but instead chooses to just follow her gaze.

His eyes widening in surprise when he sees what — no who, that had stolen Stella's attention. There sitting at the fountain, now alone; was a boy who seemed to be Stella's age, maybe a year older. Trevor looked back and forth between the two a few times in shock, the look in Stella's eyes was clear, it was obvious Stella had a crush on whoever that boy is. Trevor didn't know how to feel about that, when did Stella even start to like boys? Trevor thought with a confused frown.

Trever pushed that protective urge to the side, and before he could stop himself, he was saying “You should go talk to him.”

“Who?” Stella tried to play it off, acting as if Trevor totally didn't catch her staring at her crush. She quietly panicked, she had tried so hard to keep her crush a secret, only her best friends Lily and Carmen knew about it. Stella doesn't necessarily think Trevor would tell her brothers about her crush, but still, it's embarrassing.

“I don't know bigfoot — obviously the boy you have been staring at like some obsessed fangirl” Trevor snapped, his tone full of sarcasm. Stella feels her cheeks warm up in embarrassment, and she was quick to deny his words. “I was not!”

“You were drooling and everything” Trevor smirks, he was obviously teasing her. Stella’s eyes widened and for a foolish moment she believed him, she brought her hand to her mouth and Trevor broke out into his loud laughter. Stella realized he was just joking and gently kicked his shin from under the table, bringing her hands up to cover her warm cheeks. “Trevor!”

“But seriously, just go talk to him” Trevor speaks up after he was done with laughing, wiping at his eyes where tears almost fell out from how hard he was laughing. Stella rolls her eyes and drops her hands from her face to rest on the cold table, nervously playing with the corner of the plastic bag. “I can't” stella mumbles out with a defeated sigh, her eyes drifting to him one again before looking down at her hands.

“Why not? Does he have a girlfriend? Look at you tiny Hughes, going after a taken man” Trevor smiles cheekily, shaking his head dramatically. Very much enjoying teasing her. Stella's eyes nearly bulge out of her head, and she shouts quietly so the couple at the table near them wouldn't hear “he doesn't have a girlfriend!” Trevor feels a faint smirk form on his lips at how defensive she sounded.

“Then I don't see the problem” his confusion is obvious in his tone. He doesn't have a girlfriend, he's sitting alone, her brothers aren’t here to stop her, it's the perfect chance for her to go talk to him.

“I…i don't know what to say” Stella muttered, so quiet that Trevor almost didn’t hear her. Her voice showed how embarrassed she felt, she didn't have experience talking to boys that weren't her brothers or their friends. Especially popular boys from her school like he is. Trevor lets out a small hum of understanding now getting why she was acting so shy about this. Well, this is his time to shine, knowing that her brothers will not give her dating advice.

“So, this is the plan” Trevor starts, his mind already coming up with a plan that would help Stella talk and maybe even ask the guy she obviously has a crush on, out. Stella listens intently to everything that was coming out of Trevor's mouth, she knew he had experience with dating. Trevor starts explaining the plan as if it was a hockey game plan, and poor nervous Stella tried her best to keep up with what he was saying, but she was getting lost with his hand movements and some terms he used.

“Are you sure?” Stella asked him unsurely, her eyes glancing back to the fountain where he was still sitting, his attention on his phone. He was so different from the boys she was used to, he didn't play hockey, he was on the baseball team, and his personality was completely different from Stella's. Her best friends Lily and Carmen honestly didn't understand why Stella had a thing for him, they didn't really like him. Trevor gave stella a reassuring smile and nod “You'll be fine stell”

“But..But I'm hanging out with you, i don't wanna leave you alone” Stella frowned, not wanting to leave Trevor alone. She came to the mall to spend time with him, not someone else. And she was also stalling. Trever smiled at Stella's words; she really is the sweetest. Trevor waves stella off “Ah don't worry I’ll be fine.”

“Go get him tiger” Trevor gave Stella a reassuring nod, before playfully doing a scratch movement with his hand and if Stella wasn’t so nervous, she would have laughed at his humor. Stella let out a heavy sigh and gave herself a reassuring nod before she got up and slowly walked towards the fountain. Her mind tried to look back on Trevor's plan but all that came up was blank and that's when Stella started to panic, she turned around to go back to Trevor and give up. She makes eye contact with Trevor who's giving her a smile and thumbs up, shooing her off with his hands.

“I can do this” Stella muttered, she turned back around and this time her steps were not as slow, and they were much more confident. She stopped when she was a few steps in front of him, she swallowed the lump of nerves and formed a smile on her lips “Hi Max” Max looked up from his phone and to stella who was standing in front of him, squinting his eyes for a moment as he tried to remember who she is, his mind raked through the memories he had of some of the hottest girls in his school and he still couldn't remember who she is, only realizing when he remembered seeing her with Luke and jack in the halls.

“Oh, Sarah, right? Jack and Luke's little sister” Max had a cocky smirk on his face as he looked at Stella up and down. Max’s words had Stella's smile falter, but she still tried to keep her smile up even though his words hurt a little. “It's stella actually, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join me getting some ice cr-”

“Wait, are you asking me on a date Hughes?” Max cut Stella off, a laugh leaving his lips. He was in shock that she had asked him, he stood up and took a step towards stella. Stella felt so small under his gaze and height, she felt intimidated, and he wasn’t even that much taller than her. Her eyes glanced at the table where Trevor was sitting, hoping that he would sense her panic, but Trevor noticed her head turning and quickly looked away, not wanting Stella to know that he definitely was watching them. Stella started fidgeting with her fingers and her nervousness showed as she stumbled over her words “I…i don't know, i guess.”

“You don't know? You guess?” Max tilted his head as he looked down at her, his tone sounded as if he was mocking her, and he spoke slowly as if he was talking to a child. Stella frowned and looked at him in confusion, why was he being so mean. Max looked away from Stella for a moment and glanced at a pretty blonde girl that was walking out of pink. She had a big grin on her face as she talked with her friends, her makeup looked so pretty on her, she was wearing a short skirt that showed off her nice legs and a crop top. Completely different from Stella, who was a brunette, who had no makeup on, who was wearing a pair of mom jeans and wearing one of her mom's old hockey sweaters. Max smirked tauntingly down at stella “Sorry Hughes, you're nowhere close to my type.”

Stella felt tears form in her eyes as she watched Max walk away from her and towards the group of girls, Stella's hands dropped to her side in defeat and a strong and unexpected feeling of heartache and self-doubt came over her. She turned and sat down on the edge of the fountain, her eyes looking down at her converse that had a ton of doodles on them from her and Luke, she sniffled and tried to stop her tears from falling. Trevor who was watching felt his stomach drop at how defeated Stella looked, he had noticed the smirk the boy had given Stella and immediate red flags went up.

Trevor grabs the two bags off the table and quickly walks over to Stella, guilt in his chest knowing that he was the one to push her to talk to him and seeing by the way he walked off and the way she was on the verge of tears, it did not go well. And man did he want to storm after that cocky fuck and show him what happens if he makes stella cry, but he was more focused on making sure she was okay and how to make her feel better.

“Come on” Stella lifted her head at the sound of Trevor's voice, and she's welcomed with Trevor holding out his hand for her. Stella sniffles and tries to blink away her tears, she didn't want to cry about some stupid boy, a stupid boy that her friends warned her about, she should have listened to them. Stella grabbed Trevor's hand and let him pull her up to her feet and lead her away from the fountain “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to get some ice cream” Trevor smiled as he pulled Stella towards the food court, where the ice cream shop he noticed Stella's eyes brightened up at the sight of, earlier. Trevor didn't let go of Stella's hand as they walked towards the food court. A frown decorated her face “But we just had donuts.”

“No, you had like one donut bite, and I ate the rest of them, who cares anyway” Trevor shrugs before glancing at Stella who still had a frown on her lips, he felt really guilty. Trevor nudged stella’s shoulder with his and gives her a cheeky smile once she looks at him “I'll even get you 3 scoops as long as you don't tell Ellen”

“How are you not getting sick?” Stella questioned Trevor, a slight look of disgust on her face as she watched Trevor scarf down his third scoop of rocky road, she didn't understand how he could eat so much. The two were sitting at one of the tables in the food court, Trevor was happily eating his ice cream and jumping from topic to topic to try to distract Stella from what had happened. Trevor looked up from his dripping cone and across the table where Stella is sitting, she was absentmindedly stirring the ice cream that was in her bowl, she had barely touched her 2 scoops, only picking at the reese’s she had as a topping.

“I have the stomach of a bear” Trevor said with a mouthful of ice cream and waffle cone, Stella grimaces and gives him a look of confusion at his words “What does that even mean?”

“It means if you're not going to eat your ice cream i am” Trevor snaps at her jokingly, as he licks his lips free of ice cream. Stella almost smiled at the goofy look Trevor had given her, he really was trying to cheer her up and she really appreciated it. Trevor looked behind Stella and his eyes lit up with an idea on what to do next, hoping that it would cheer her up. Trevor takes one more big bite of his ice cream before he stands up and tosses the rest of his cone in the nearby trash bin.

“Come on, I have a fantastic idea” Trevor grinned, really expressing the word fantastic. Stella doesn't complain as Trevor also throws away her ice cream, usually Stella would have been pissed if someone touched her ice cream…but she just wasn't in the mood. Stella lets Trevor help her out of the chair and drag her away from the table, following after him and sassily saying “Now that's a scary sentence” Trevor looked back at her and gave her an unimpressed look at her words.

“Ta-da!” He excitedly exclaimed as he pointed towards the stand that had a line of different animals that you could ride, Stella had seen kids ride on them many times whenever she came to the mall. Emphasis on the word's kids, so she was confused on why Trevor would bring her here. Stella voiced her confusion “Trevor what are w ⸺” Trevor cut stella off with a smile and a pat to the shoulder “Wait here, I'll be right back.”

Trevor walked up to the stand and greeted the girl working at the stand with a smile, the said girl looking up from her phone boredly at the sound of approaching footsteps. “We’d like two animals please” Trevor smiles as he tilted his head, motioning his head towards Stella who stood a few steps behind him.

The girl with the name tag ‘Lani’ looked between the two, Stella giving her a shy smile when they locked eyes. Lani looked back at Trevor, “Aren't the two of you a little too old for this?” she asked boredly as she loudly popped the gum in her mouth, her freshly manicured finger pointing towards the sign that had the height limit.

“Listen this dickhead just broke my little sister's heart, so no i don't really care if we’re too old” Trevor whispered quickly as he leaned towards the girl so Stella wouldn't hear. The girl's eyes softened, and she glanced behind him to see Stella awkwardly standing there, looking down at her shoes. Trevor could see the hesitation in Lani’s eyes and he's quick to pull out his wallet from his pocket and hold out a 20-dollar bill “I'll give you an extra 20.”

“You guys can pick your animal” Lani spoke loudly so stella could hear as well, giving stella a smile before looking back at Trevor and speaking quietly so only he could hear “Keep the 20, but here” Trevor slips the bill back into his wallet and watches as she quickly writes something on a sticky note before holding it out for him, he sees a number on the bright green paper and he takes it into his hand and looks up at her, Lani giving him a wink before she moved to go help stella.

He whispers a cheerful ‘Score’ as he slips the paper into his back pocket, he walks over to Stella and smiles when he sees her sitting on a panda, Lani unlocking it for her and turning it on. Stella was a little hesitant about doing this, but Lani was nice and complemented her choice of animal. Stella smirked at Trevor when she noticed him walking over to her, she points to the black and white striped animal “You have to ride that one.”

Trevor rolls his eyes but nevertheless he moves to get on the zebra, it was true they definitely were too tall to ride them, well Trevor was. Stella could comfortably put her feet on the footsteps while Trevor felt his knees already start to ache, but the slight pain was all worth it when he saw the smile on Stella's face and heard the laugh that escaped her lips as she moved past him, she was smaller so her panda could move faster. Something that Trevor loudly complained about.

Stella and Trevor's motives quickly became competitive as they raced around the course. While Stella grinned and led the race, Trevor trailed behind her and laughed as she almost tipped over a few times as she went around the corners. If he wasn't so determined to try to beat her he would have pat himself on the back for taking her mind off the disaster that happened not too long ago. He was relieved to see Stella smiling and laughing, especially because she made it clear she wasn't interested in his idea at first.

After a few more laps the smiling duo got off the animals and Stella went to sit on a bench while Trevor paid. A frown couldn't help but make its way back on Stella's face as she sat there alone and thought about what happened. It was humiliating and embarrassing. Stella looked at Trevor and watched as he happily talked to Lani as he paid and her frown quickly disappeared, she was lucky to have someone like Trevor in her life.

Yes, he could be annoying at times, but he cares for her and that means a lot, and even though it didn't work out, he did spend five minutes trying to help her come up with a plan to talk to a guy she liked, and then spent the next hour after, doing his best to cheer her up and make her feel better. Stella was so lost in thought she didn't notice Trevor walking back over to her and sitting next to her on the bench. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Trevor asked her, breaking her out of thought.

“He’s not worth the words” Stella smiled as she turned her head to face a now grinning Trevor, he was happy to hear her say that because she's right, he's not worth it and he's a fucking idiot for treating her like that, and he wants to make sure she would never let a guy treat her like that again. Trevor rests his arm on the bench and twists his body to face her “Boys suck anyway!”

Stella smiled and let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement, that boy in particular sucked a lot. Trevor gently squeezed Stella's shoulder and gave her a smile, and Stella could see that his eyes didn't hold any humor, he was serious as he spoke “Whatever he said that made you cry, just know that it's nothing but lies. Okay?” Stella nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Thank you trev” Stella broke the silence between the two, Trevor looked away from the small group of laughing kids and their parents and looked to Stella, a confused look on his face. “For what?” If anything, I should be apologizing because I'm the one who convinced you to go talk to him, he thought to himself.

“For getting me ice cream, for making me ride those stupid animals” Stella started, and before Trevor could defend the animals she continued to talk. “And helping me realize that he's just a stupid baseball boy” The look of disgust that comes across Trevor's face at her words is comical.

“He plays baseball. Of course, he's a dick” Trevor scoffs and shakes his in disbelief while Stella rolls her eyes at his dramatics. Trevor continued his rant as he gave Stella a disappointed look “That's where you went wrong tiny Hughes, you gotta go for a hockey guy!”

“I would never!” Stella exclaimed loudly with a look of disgust, quickly shaking her head no in disagreement, a hockey boy?!?!? Stella would never! “Hey what's that supposed to mean?” Trevor asked her, his face showing how offended he is, he rested his hand on his chest in shock. Stella just laughs loudly and gives him a pointed look; he really didn't want her to explain further.

“Mark my words Estella Hughes, you will end up marrying a hockey player” Trevor smirked proudly as he leaned back on the bench, spreading his arms wide to rest on the back of it. Trevor laughed when he saw Stella scrunch her nose up in disgust and shake her head, but she still had a smile on her face, her dimples out on display. They made eye contact and laughter quickly erupted from their mouths.

“Besides I should be thanking you” Trevor smiled as he nudged her knee with his after they both calmed down from their laughter. Stella hummed and turned her head to face him “Why?”

“Who knew girls find boys who are sweet to their little sister so attractive?” Trevor smirks jokingly as he pulls out the paper with Lani’s number out of his back pocket and holds it up. Stella smiles and glances between Trevor and back at Lani who seemed to be getting her things, maybe her shift was over? Lani was nice to her in the tiny time she knew her “She's really pretty, you should go talk to her.”

Trevor smiles at Stella's kindness, she was a great wing woman. Trevor slipped the paper back into his back pocket before wrapping his arm around Stella's shoulder and pulling her closer, playfully putting her in a soft headlock that made her laugh, before resting his arm around her shoulder when Stella slapped his arm. Trevor smiled down at stella who was already looking up at him “Nahh, I'd rather hang with you.”

Stella grins and rests her head on his shoulder, Trevor was a great friend and even better honorary brother. And even though some things she wished she could forget happened today; it was a great day, nonetheless. Trevor was right, boys do suck, with the exception of him of course.

“Ditto”

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I love Stella and Trevor’s relationship so much, they are so fun to write! Max is a major jerk and one my friends who read this over for me mentioned bringing max back for some drama? I’m not so sure, let me know what you guys think! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @juraj-slafkovsky @cixrosie @toasttt11 )

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨👩🏻‍🎨୧˚ stella hughes au!#💌stellahughes!#hockey #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #anaheim ducks #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras fic #hughes brothers #hughes sister #hughes!sister #nhl x reader #nhl fic #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader

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