#Molly Weasley Junior

[xlucygraysongbirdx]

Countdown to 'wild as the flowers that grow' - 7 days.

“Albus?” It was Molly, Albus’ cousin. “Are you in there? Can I come in?”

Before Albus could answer, Molly was bursting through the door. She looked flushed, like she’d been running all through the castle to find them. Her cheeks were almost as red as her hair. But despite how much of a rush she seemed to be in, her worried face turned to a smirk when she saw the two of them both sitting on Scorpius’ bed.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” She said suggestively, winking at Albus who immediately rolled his eyes.

[archerzstarz]

Marauders olympics AU where James (Cuba), Remus (Great Britain, and Sirius (France) are all skateboarders, with Wolfstar Olympic rivals to lovers

We also have Regulus (France) and Pandora (France) as a Figure Skater

Barty (Germany) and Evan (France) on archery

Marlene (Great Britain) and Dorcas (Nigeria) on Rock Climbing

Peter (Germany) on Sailing

Mary (Jamaica) and Emmeline (China) on Gymnastics

Charity (Great Britain) and Amos (Great Britain) doing Badminton

Molly (Ireland) and Arthur (Ireland) on Football

Emma (Slovenia) on Handball

Lily (Australia) on Tennis

[witchofimber]

Hey, for @thethreebroomsticksfic Weasley Week I decided to write the most angsty shit possible for Molly Weasley. Below is a preview, rest of the work is on AO3.

Trigger Warnings: Postpartum depression (including intrusive thoughts about harm coming to a baby), complex family relationships, grief, surgery mention, smoking.

“When I became a mom, no one ever said, ‘Hey, you made a death today. You made your children’s deaths.’ Meanwhile, I could think of little else.” - Samantha Hunt 

Families have mythologies. There are stories that Molly’s children pass around like calling cards, touchstones. Ron stealing that car, Fred’s first word being “George” and George’s first word being “No.” The fact that Percy was the only baby born exactly on his due date, contractions starting right at five as if he’d politely waited for the end of business hours. How Ginny, Charlie and Bill came early, but Ron and the twins came late. How Charlie’s labour was only eight minutes, and Bill’s was nearly forty hours. As if the circumstances of birth would press into her children like wax. See? I knew who you’d be even then. I knew you right from the start. You were always going to be this person. 

Here’s something that she doesn’t tell her children: that for almost every second of those forty hours of labour, nineteen and terrified, she wanted to die. She begged for it. She begged for Arthur, for her brothers, for her mother. She begged the doctor to cut her open. Hour thirty-five, thrashing on the table - just cut it out! Cut it out cut it out get it out of me! 

If there’s a shape of his birth in Bill, it’s made of agony. 

---

When she thinks of those first few years of Bill, when she was still half a child and yet somehow a mother - 

Well, mostly she doesn’t think of them. There’s really no reason to, not anymore.

But if she were to - 

Arthur was working long hours. He had to, of course - junior ministry salaries weren’t meant to support a family. Overtime was the only thing that was keeping them fed. And he was such a good father when he was home. Not a word of complaint, not a hint that he was tired. Go to sleep, love, you need a nap. I’ll look after my little Bill. 

It was that possessive my that made Molly dig her fingernails into her palms. 

Oldest sons always belong to their fathers, don’t they? Arthur would bounce Bill on his knee and says he could be an auror, he could be minister, he could be a curse-breaker - all these grand futures he didn’t get to have himself, poured into the body of his son. 

Molly looked at Bill’s chubby face and thought he could be charging into the line of fire, he could be the target of an assassination, he could die alone on the floor of a dusty vault. She fed Bill in the kitchen and thought about all the knives around them, the kettle sitting full and hot like a taunt. She bathed him with her heart in her throat, barely blinking. She was constantly aware of all the things that could hurt him, including herself. After all, she didn’t love the baby. 

At forty-six, she knows now that this kind of obsessive fear was love - love done poorly, love swallowed by self-loathing, a conviction that Bill knew she wasn’t good enough for him. At twenty she would lie awake at night, thinking of all the things she’d done wrong and pinching the inside of her wrist. 

---

One week after the end of the war, and Ginny is the only child still in the house. Molly thought, automatically, that the whole brood would fly home to her. In the summer, when her children were still children, she would stand at the twilight doorway with a sonorous to her throat and watch them race across the meadows towards her, the kitchen windows their lighthouse across a sea of dark. Tall, rangy Bill herding Fred and George, Ron and Ginny chasing each other in squabbling circles, Percy with a mouth already full of complaints and accusations, Charlie loping slowly, always last. But Bill is with his own family now. Charlie is in Romania. Percy writes her fearful owls and avoids his father’s gaze. George is apparently drunk in the flats of various friends. Ron bounces between George and Harry, trying to watch over them, flooing back home to grab soup and hangover potion. So only Ginny - her much-loved girl, her longed-for daughter, her baby - is in the house, and that fact should not fill Molly with dread. 

Ginny has recently adopted a sort of omni-benevolent glow towards Molly, a tacit acknowledgement that she forgives her mother everything. Molly can’t be too angry about this. She did the same to her own mother. 

One night, passing the washing up silently between them, Molly says, “You know - dearest - if you were pregnant, I would be there for you.” 

“What? Mum, I’m not pregnant. I’m not even - no.” 

“I - good, that’s good, but - you know, whatever you need, whenever you need it. I��ll be there for you. I’ll never abandon you.” 

“Ok.” Ginny shoots her a half-amused glance under her eyelashes. “Is this you angling for grandbabies? Because, like, I’m pretty sure I’m last in the queue for that.” 

Some days Molly cannot remember why she ever wanted a daughter so desperately. It’s just another set of fears. 

---

Charlie appeared like a miracle or a Muggle magic trick. Step right up, see the lady step into the Ministry elevator! Watch her as the doors close - do you see her put her hand on her stomach? That faint frown? And now, on the ground floor the doors open and - ta dah! A baby! 

(And blood, of course, and two very shocked aurors. And Molly sitting half-naked on the floor of the lift, staring at Charlie in her arms. Too confused to be anything else. What are you doing here? she’d asked Charlie with her eyes, and he’d stared back - I don’t know, what am I doing here?) 

When Charlie was eight, they’d lost him. She remembers standing at the kitchen door, all her other children crowded around her, as she called his name over and over again. Thinking, stupidly, don’t let your voice crack, you’ll scare the children. Arthur and Bill had gone out with lanterns, searching down creeks and up dale, their voices getting further and further away until they disappeared under evening birdsong. And finally, at midnight, Charlie had emerged from the trees - right next to the house, he’d only been hiding in the branches. He must have heard her calling. 

She floocalls him at four, which is six for him. She knows the time difference by heart. It’s a thought that hasn’t left her since Charlie moved away. She’ll be doing the last of the washing up at ten, thinking about how Charlie is probably getting his last drink of the night in. She’ll roll over on a sleepless night to see it’s three am and know that thousands of miles and two hours away, Charlie is just beginning to get up. She is so used to Charlie’s hand on the clock pointing at work that it has become invisible. 

“How’s things?” says Charlie, no hello. 

“Good,” says Molly automatically, then - “Well. No.” 

“No, yeah. No.”

“How are the dragons?” 

Molly knows a lot about dragons now. She reads books on them when she has the time, asks Hermione questions, idly browses through Ron’s Care of Magical Creatures textbooks. She is aware, in a way that makes her prickle with guilt, that she does this so she has something to talk to Charlie about. 

“Good. Well, Andrei has this bonkers idea that he won’t let go of - there’s only one Welsh Green stud left in Eastern Europe, so he’s talking about trying to crossbreed…” 

He rattles on. Molly listens, nods, asks thoughtful questions. At the end, he says - “And… well… the political situation.” 

“Oh?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You could come back - “ Home - “here.” 

Charlie snorts. “Oh, yeah, Britain. Very politically stable at the moment.”

“We could be together again. As a family.” She doesn’t say your family needs you. She has finally learnt, after years of mistakes, that that’s not a lever that will ever work on Charlie. “I could take care of you.” 

“I’m fine, Mum.” 

“I know, but darling - “

“I just - I need to be here, you know? Or I - I can’t be there. I can’t come back.” 

When Charlie had emerged from the trees age eight, looking cold and distant, she’d grabbed him by the shoulders and nearly shaken him with the force of her love. Where were you? What were you doing? Didn’t you hear me calling? 

I did, he said, I just didn’t want to come in. 

But why didn’t you come back?

He’d stared at her, a little blankly. I told you. I didn’t want to come in. 

Read the rest here

[thesleepingdemonofhogwarts]

Percy Weasley’s story is one of ambition, loyalty to authority, and a painful clash with his family’s values that would haunt him for years. Percy, the third Weasley son, was known for his strict adherence to rules and his relentless ambition, but these traits eventually led him down a path that put him at odds with his family, nearly destroying their relationship.

1. Obsessed with Rules and Climbing the Ladder

• From his early years at Hogwarts, Percy was known for being a stickler for rules, first as a prefect and then as Head Boy. He took his responsibilities so seriously that he alienated himself from his siblings, especially Fred and George, who found his strictness insufferable. His younger brother Ron often saw him as pompous and overbearing. It seemed like Percy’s true focus was on gaining status and approval from figures of authority, even if that meant distancing himself from his family and friends.

2. Turning His Back on Family for the Ministry

• In 1995, when the Ministry of Magic refused to acknowledge Voldemort’s return, Percy made a decision that would change his relationship with his family for years. He chose to align himself fully with the Ministry, which was aggressively working to discredit both Dumbledore and Harry Potter, who were among the few brave enough to speak the truth about Voldemort’s resurgence. Arthur Weasley, Percy’s father, was openly supportive of Dumbledore, which clashed directly with Percy’s stance.

• Percy was so determined to prove himself as a loyal Ministry employee that he moved out of the Burrow after a heated argument with his father. He cut ties, stopped coming home, and dismissed his family as “fools” for believing Dumbledore. To his mother, Molly, it was a devastating blow, and she was heartbroken by his betrayal.

3. Blind Loyalty to Corrupt Officials

• Percy’s ambition made him turn a blind eye to some of the most corrupt figures within the Ministry, like Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge. He was proud of his role as Junior Assistant to the Minister, even as the Ministry, under Fudge’s leadership, spread misinformation and began a smear campaign against Harry and Dumbledore.

• He even defended Dolores Umbridge, who was notorious for her cruelty and authoritarian tactics during her time at Hogwarts, where she essentially terrorized Percy’s younger siblings, Ron and Ginny. Percy either ignored or dismissed these troubling aspects of the Ministry, choosing instead to trust that those in power knew best—a decision that would come to haunt him.

4. Condescending and Hurtful Behavior Toward His Family

• Percy’s attitude toward his family became especially cruel when he wrote a letter to his brother Ron, advising him to distance himself from Harry and Dumbledore. In the letter, Percy suggested that Ron should put his career first and stay on the Ministry’s good side—a move that shocked and angered Ron. To his family, it was yet another sign that Percy had placed his ambitions over loyalty to his loved ones.

• Percy’s letter was hurtful, not just to Ron, but to the entire Weasley family, who had always supported him. They saw it as a betrayal, a cold and calculating attempt to sway Ron to the Ministry’s side at a time when their loyalty was to each other and to the fight against Voldemort.

5. Staying with the Ministry as It Slipped Toward Darker Policies

• While Percy eventually left the Ministry as Voldemort’s influence crept in, his continued support of its authoritarian measures up until that point cast a shadow over his character. The Ministry had begun to implement anti-Muggle-born policies and take on a sinister, oppressive role, and while Percy didn’t directly support these policies, his prior loyalty to the institution made it difficult for his family to forgive his role in propping up a corrupt system.

The Redemption: Percy’s Return

• By the time of the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998, Percy realized the full extent of his mistakes. He returned to his family, deeply remorseful, ready to admit that he had been wrong to trust the Ministry over them. It was a moment of incredible vulnerability for Percy, who had to face his siblings and parents after years of estrangement.

• Percy fought alongside his family in the Battle, even standing beside Fred, who tragically died that night. Percy’s return was bittersweet—though he had finally chosen his family over the institution he once revered, he would have to live with the memory of Fred’s death and the years of broken relationships he had caused.

In the End

Percy Weasley’s story serves as a reminder of the consequences of blind ambition and misplaced loyalty. His journey back to his family was not an easy one, and he never fully escaped the weight of his choices. But in the end, Percy found his way back, and in doing so, he proved that it is possible to atone for past mistakes, no matter how severe.

[arliedraws]

If you were in charge of giving Harry and Ginny their kids, how many would you give them and what would their names be?

I always had a soft spot for them having triplets named James "Junior" Harry, Sirius Regulus and Remus Alastor. Three friends "reincarnated" as real brothers. Or at least twins James and Sirius.

That’s cute!

Hmm, if I were in charge, I would probably keep the three kids thing because I think it makes sense for them as a couple. As for their names, I would have liked it more if they simply kept the initials of the namesakes, not the whole name.

Frankly, I think I’ve mentioned this before, I would like it more if Ginny picked the names. They’d be something like Ermengarde, Bernadette, Octavius, Augustine, etc because she seems to like to be clever about names (Pigwidgeon???). I would think it would be in-character for Harry to be so taken with Ginny that he let her choose the first name while he chose the middle name(s). For example, Augustine James Sirius Potter-Weasley or Bernadette Lily Luna Potter-Weasley. They would not care how long the names are.

OR lol, I would love the girl to be called Millie (Molly + Lily??? lol). I mean, c’mon. Lost opportunity there.

[morsmortish]

share the bartybella office au thoughts to your legion of devoted fans 🙏

oh the bartybella office au thoughts run DEEP. it feels like everytime i think of them my brain drifts over to picturing barty, dressed in an unironed white shirt and rumpled navy suit trousers, draped over the side of bella’s cubicle, trying to be Smooth And Suave until she almost successfully manages to staple his fingers together and sends him toppling to the floor in a panicked escape, whilst she laughs in her typical maniacal way. the first post about this au is here, but it’s taken much more shape since then.

i’m thinking about them at an office christmas party…bella is in a black (VERY LOW CUT!!!) evening dress with a slit all the way up her leg and pointy heels and diamond earrings and thick eyeliner and she just looks so fucking great. and then there’s barty. who rocks up in his battered old toyota forty minutes late in a pair of ripped jeans that are more hole than fabric and a tattered old heavy metal band shirt that has a stain from 2016 on it. bella takes one look at him as he stands awkwardly in the doorway, all gangly limbs, and marches over, dragging him by the ear to the bathroom where she proceeds to yell at him for his lack of formal attire and Repeatedly Maims Him with the plastic cutlery she had just moments ago been using to eat the trifle brought by molly weasley. he’s trying to shield his face from her lethal use of the spoon, but he’s also grinning and continuously making remarks that are fully intended to Rile Her Up because this sick twisted weirdo of a man is somehow enjoying himself FAR too much. (bella is also having a blast and she hates it because how has this sleazeball of a human being barely out of his teenage years managed to become one of the best parts of her job????)

i know i said in my last post that nothing would ever actually happen between them, but barty fucking junior is a stubborn little shit and if he wants to seduce his hot much older supervisor? he will seduce his hot much older supervisor, and nothing i say will be able to stop him. barty has his nepotism-hire internship for a year and even his most valiant attempts (terrible pick up lines and making his teams profile picture an ab pic) aren’t be enough for bella to stoop that low, but after? when they meet again, somewhere, somehow? you can bet she is finally caving into her desire to be worshipped by him. and then there’s something addictive about the way he makes her feel like the most important person in the world, the way she knows he is at her beck and call, the way she finally gets to experience what power feels like. and she can’t give him up after that, even if there was any world in which he would let her go.

[jomiddlemarch]

We are never ever getting back together

“Listen, ‘Mione, I’m just going to say it. We don’t work, love,” Ron announced, sitting on the armchair he’d dragged over to face the sofa in what was generally referred to as Hermione’s reading room at Grimmauld Place, in that it was the old library which she’d spent roughly a week scouring, sorting, and reshelving the books that hadn’t tried to bite or burn her Muggle-born hands. She’d Transfigured some of the uglier pieces of furniture from other rooms and made an approximated mash-up of her favorite parts of the Hogwarts Library and the Bodleian. She’d reached a détente with the only portrait that remained, some wizard ancestor of Sirius’s who could at least tolerate a witch with an appreciation for old runes who hadn’t tried to chuck the moldy lot of Hagalaz into the fireplace and who arranged a reading pedestal with an open book to alleviate the boredom of the past two hundred years. She had a bedroom on the third floor, down the hall from the bath, but she was most often found tucked up in a corner of the reading room, so it hadn’t taken any genius on Ron’s part to beard her in her den, so to speak.

The rest of the house was empty, which was either a wise precaution or the stupidest decision he’d ever made in his life.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice even. “I don’t understand—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, looking up at her. He’d picked the chair with the low, squashy seat, that hadn’t taken the Transfiguration especially well, so that she’d focused on the nap of the dark velvet and let the springs go hang. It made him a supplicant, now, which she supposed was a canny decision, one she might expect from someone who was a grandmaster at Wizard chess. “You know and you and I both know you’d never say a word if it was left to you. We’d be married seventy years with a dozen curly-haired ginger grandchildren, and you’d sacrifice everything rather than say it.”

“You don’t want me,” Hermione said. He’d taken Padma to the Yule Ball and he’d left her with Harry when they were hunting Horcruxes—why was she surprised? It still felt like a Bludger to the chest or what she imagined one would be, having had no interest in playing Quidditch for the duration of her Hogwarts education and then having been forbidden (ha!) by Madame Pomfrey after Dolohov’s near-fatal curse in the Department of Mysteries. She tried to focus on Ron’s blue eyes, the furrow in his broad forehead. 

“You don’t want me, love,” Ron said. “I don’t want you to start calling me Ronald in that carefully not-exasperated-yet-totally-exasperated tone, bossing me about like you’re Molly Weasley Junior. I don’t want to squabble and fight and then be those people who are contemptuous or bored with each other. You’ll never walk away, you’re too loyal, not just to me but to the idea of us, and you can’t bear that it was a mistake. Your ideas got us through the War, saved everyone’s bloody lives, but this one’s wrong.”

“A mistake,” Hermione repeated. 

“Well, not a mistake. It made sense to try but it was only meant to be a date or two for us, don’t you think?” Ron said, giving her a wry smile. He needed a shave and a haircut and he’d put on a stone of pure muscle once they’d won the final battle. He was a man looking up at her and she was bedraggled and thin, a streak of white in her chestnut curls like a virgin priestess’s filet. The sleeves of her jersey flopped over her wrists to her knuckles. “Don’t take it so hard, it’s not your fault.”

“Seems like it is,” she muttered. “If you’re breaking up with me.”

“You know better than that,” Ron said. “Think about it—if we hadn’t been dealing with the possible end of the Wizarding world as we know if and the annihilation of the entire Muggle-born and Muggle population—”

“It’s called genocide, Ron,” she put in. He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, if we hadn’t been dealing with all that and the genocide and you having to hide your parents, et cetera, if it had been normal, we would have gone out a few times. A Hogsmeade weekend, a dance, a walk around the lake. We would have snogged without having to break it off to face down a melagomaniac—”

“Megalomaniac,” she corrected.

“Bloody Riddle. Anyway, we could have tried it out and seen that all there was was a flicker of attraction but mostly friendship,” Ron said. “I like you, ‘Mione, and I think you like me. That’s enough. We don’t have to be this perfect love story and you know we won’t be.”

“You have to work at relationships,” Hermione said.

“Not this bloody hard, love,” Ron said. The kindness in his voice was too close to pity and it hurt. 

“There’s no need to be rude,” she snapped.

“I don’t mean you’re difficult and I’m a saint, far from it,” Ron laughed. “I mean, we’re alike in all the ways that make it hard and not alike in the ways we need. You don’t have to work this bloody hard, ‘Mione, to be happy with someone and I truly think that if you weren’t with me, you’d be able to find the person you want.”

“I suppose you have someone you want to be with instead of me,” she said.

“Nope,” he said. “I just want to a chance to figure it out. To play, to not have everything be so bloody serious. Everyone pairing off and repopulating the entire Wizarding world before we turn twenty-one, for sweet Circe’s sake.”

“Your mother won’t like that,” Hermione said.

“She can stuff it,” Ron declared. “Besides, Fleur’s up the duff again and this time it’s twins, so that’s her sorted for a bit. Bill has his work cut out arguing that Shell Cottage can hold all of them and they don’t need to move closer to the Burrow. Plus, I think Ginny’s going to sign with the Harpies and Mum is up in arms about the first Weasley witch not to sit her NEWTs in like a thousand years, which is bosh because there weren’t NEWTs a thousand years ago.”

Hermione smiled. He was right, she did like him an awful lot, when the other parts weren’t clamoring for her attention or generally getting in the way.

“I’m right about that last bit, aren’t I?” Ron said. “The NEWTs bit?”

“Yes, they’re more recent than a thousand years,” Hermione said. She squared her shoulders and pressed her lips together. She had to like it or lump it and it seemed like lump it was the easier option at the moment.

“I don’t want you thinking it’s because I don’t find you attractive,” Ron said. He laid one big hand on her denim covered knee where her robes had fallen apart and she felt how warm he was. “Thinking about shagging you and then getting to do it were quite honestly the only things getting me through the worst of it these past few years. It’s why I left, innit, when the Horcrux was messing with me, being jealous, thinking you were with Harry when I wanted you all for myself. But that’s not going to be enough for us, for you or for me—”

“I’m to believe you’re being sincere?” Hermione asked. Ron grinned, squeezed her knee and the bit of her thigh that was right above it.

“I got there on my own about not being enough for you. George caught me moping, gave me some older brother advice and general whatfor, telling me I was a twit for thinking getting to shag the brightest witch of our time would be enough for me, that I wasn’t as shallow as that and to buck up,” Ron admitted.

“I would have thought Bill,” Hermione said.

“Nah, I wouldn��t have taken him seriously,” Ron said. “He married a half-Veela, what does he know about being with a regular witch? For the record and before you get your knickers in a twist, I’d say the same about Hagrid, it’s not anti-creature bias.”

“Seems to me you shouldn’t be mentioning my knickers,” Hermione retorted.

“That’s my girl,” Ron replied. “Though, my entire point was that I am quite enticed by your knickers and what’s in them. It’s just not enough for a long-term relationship and you and I, we aren’t made for a fling.”

“If we were, I think we must have flung it by now anyway,” Hermione said.

“We do have the house to ourselves if you’re interested in a last hurrah, love,” Ron said, waggling his eyebrows and smiling. It was the look in his eyes, an appreciative lust, that told her he wasn’t joking.

“And what would you do if I called your bluff and took you up on the offer?” Hermione asked.

“This,” he said, both hands suddenly at her waist, lifting her off the couch and onto his lap. “I’d have my way with you and give you something to remember me by while that git Draco works through a whatchamacallit redemption arc and gets up the gumption to make a move—”

“Draco Malfoy?” Hermione exclaimed. She ended up wrapping her arms around Ron’s neck to keep her balance. His were steady at her hips.

“He fancies you, that’s obvious,” Ron said. “But it is a two-way street. Maybe you’d prefer our snakeslayer Neville? He’s got a whole striding the windswept moors thing these days that’s rather dashing, like that Heath Ledger bloke you told me about in the Muggle book, but without the creepy parts. Or Zabini? Never took the Mark and he’s nearly as clever as you and mad fit.”

“You mean Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, who’s frankly not much like Neville in a good way. This is a very odd conversation to be having with my ex-boyfriend-and-undeclared-fiancé,” Hermione said. She left out how it was even odder than they appeared to be on the verge of shagging, as if that was something one could be on the verge of. 

“That’s why it’s best we’re about to be best friends,” Ron said, though the word friends was lost a little as he nuzzled the side of her neck. “I’ll have to cede all the filthy details to Ginny though. You can just give me the broad strokes, hm-mm, like that…”

It was all rather a blur after that, hands and lips and Ron muttering about how her skin felt like silk and a grand tussle over denims being pulled off and not Vanished, not this pair which he agreed made her arse look amazing, and she probably would have blushed to recall it afterward anyway, but Harry walking in, stopping dead in his tracks like he’d been hit with Petrificus Totalus, then choking out “You were breaking up—” before he fled the room made her almost wish she had not taken an iron-clad vow against ever using an Obliviate again. 

“He’ll get over it,” Ron said calmly enough after they’d finished, laughing madly like they were drunk on Firewhisky and not multiple orgasms. 

“And if he doesn’t?” Hermione said.

“You leave that to me, love. That’s what friends are for,” Ron said.

[anorc-writing]

Harry Potter mums... scarier than portrayed.

Well, they're witches. They love their children, but also…. can change reality by thinking about it. (Witches, even the drippy girls that did Herbology, are all like that. It's kind of sad how badly misrepresented Harry Potter style witches get in … Harry Potter and fanfic of it. Even the drippiest Harry Potter witch has a backbone of pure magic. By the end of seventh year, even the laziest witch can full-body-bind, summon, banish and hex.)

Case in point: Ron's mum. She's a bit fat, and cooks a lot. She yells at her boys, and when the boys bring Harry home unexpectedly, she adopts him on the spot, like a clueless green-eyed black kitten. And when Bellatrix LeStrange…. who was sent to prison for life for torturing two Aurors to insanity… (SWAT/Anti-terrorist forces members, because that's what Aurors are. She, her husband and brother and law, and Barty Junior broke into their house, disarmed them, and tortured them.) Bellatrix attacked Ginny ( and Hermione) in the last battle. Molly killed Bellatrix. "British housewife kills mass-murdering cop killer in shock battle." Only… Molly Weasley nee Prewitt has always been a witch. She went to Hogwarts, her two brothers died in the first war. And while she might not have practiced dueling every day, she's been doing an entire farm worth of enchanting every day. And how did she deal with the gnomes when the kids were all at Hogwarts for nine months of the year?

I had a sudden glimpse of Molly summoning gnomes out of their burrows, em-masse and then banishing them in midair. Summon-Banish. Summon-Banish. Wipe-on, Wipe-off. Every day, for at least five years of nine months. "Oh I got my hand back in," she said, dismissively. (We'll ignore alternate universes where she walks the gnome-infested garden, her wand spitting flashes of green light.) Could she have done that and not had scut work for her boys? Yes, but what's the point of that.

[tincan-tophat]

@indigos-shits-and-giggles

So um, long story short, I was thinking about your hatchet clan AU and then I realized that technically speaking, smelly balls could be a warrior cats name. Then I got carried away and made a clan for all of the musicals sooo…. Uh. Here you go i guess

Hogclan:

Leader: Bumblestar (Dumbledore)

Deputy: Snakepelt (Snape)

Medicine cat: uhhhhhhhhhhhh

Warriors: Wolfmoon(Lupin), Blackpool(Sirius Black) Fernbloom (Quirrel) Hollystorm (Molly Weasley) Rainbowfur (scarfy)  etc.

Apprentices: Lightningpaw (Harry) Redpaw (Ron (his name is redvine when he grows up)) Frizzypaw (Hermione) Gingerpaw (Ginny) Tinypaw(Draco) Finderpaw (Cedric) Tallpaw (Goyle) Crabpaw (Crabbe(I know, so creative))  Ravenpaw (Cho)

Rangerclan? Galactic clan? Idk

Leader: Halfstar (Up)

Deputy: Smallfang (Taz)

Medicine cat: Hollowhead (February)

Warriors: Bugshell (bug) Cleversight (Specs) Haystack (Tootsie noodles) Metalpelt (Megagirl) idk what to name Junior but I think it would probably have “weed” in it. I also don’t know what to name krayonder

Superclan??? That sounds dumb.

Leader: Batstar (batman)

Deputy: Super… cat???

Medicine cat: UHHHHHH

Warriors: Greenlight (Green lantern) Flashspeed (the flash) Fishtail (Aquaman) Hawkflight (hawkman) etc.

Apprentices: Robinpaw (Robin)

Desertclan:

Leader: Crookedstar (The sultan)

Deputy: Twistedwish (Ja’far)

Medicine cat: Someone. Probably.

Warriors: Duskshout (Captain of the guard),  all of the other citizens.

Apparentices: Moonpaw(the princess)

Sithclan????? Idfk at this point

Leader: Blackstar (Pappy)

Deputy: Skywalker (Ani)

Medicine cat: not even gonna try.

Warriors: Silvershine (Tarky) Jadeskip (Mara) Emberheart (Emily) Jay…jay? (J.J.)

Fireclan (formerly Duckclan):

Leader: Mudstar (Jemilla)

Deputy: Fireblaze (Zazzalil)

Warriors: Berryblossom (emberly) Specklesight (Keeri) Duckspirit (Ducker) Smellyballs (Smellyballs) Clumsyfoot (Shwoopsie) Skytail (Tiblyn) I don’t care if it doesn’t fit the naming conventions, chorn is staying chorn.

Elders: Bloodystar(Molag)

The deatheaters and rogues gallery would both be rogue groups, the bug kingdom would be… dogs? I guess? Or maybe they’re like those cats with the long ass names idk it’s been a while since I’ve read the books.

[carewyncromwell]

Percy 🤝 Carewyn

The summer of 1995 was a very busy time for Carewyn at the Ministry. Normally she would’ve been glad for the extra case work, as it would’ve allowed her to help more people, which had always been her dream and goal...but unfortunately, most of this “work” as of late had been to assist the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, in crafting some new legislation pointed directly at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Apparently Fudge was so fed up about Dumbledore having so much trouble finding suitable professors for Defense Against the Dark Arts -- in Fudge’s words, “one of the core subjects for a developing witch or wizard’s education” -- that he decided that if Dumbledore couldn’t nominate a suitable successor, the Minister (and therefore he) would just have to do it himself. Carewyn truly detested the idea -- but under the circumstances, she knew if she was both going to prevent Fudge from causing too much damage and keep the job she loved so she could continue helping people, then she’d have to be involved in putting that idea into action. So she’d accepted the role of legal counsel for Fudge while he developed this plan...even while simultaneously offering covert assistance to Dumbledore’s organization, the Order of the Phoenix, by leaving enough wiggle room to legally challenge the legislation. 

One silver lining about having to work with Fudge, though, was that it gave Carewyn the chance to make contact with Percy Weasley, who had been appointed Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic earlier that summer. Carewyn had to break ties with the Weasley family, including her best friend, Bill, so as to stay at an advantageous position within the Ministry -- an act Carewyn was loathe to put on, given how much she adored all of them like her own family. But not long later, third-eldest son Percy was promoted to the role of Junior Assistant at only 19 years old -- an act Carewyn immediately pinpointed as Fudge trying to keep tabs on the Weasleys, who’d always been loyal and close friends to Dumbledore -- and right afterward, rumors started flitting around the Ministry that Percy had severed ties with his family, all because they supposedly believed the “Boy Who Lied’s” rubbish about You-Know-Who returning. 

Carewyn’s heart hurt, just hearing the rumors. She knew Arthur and Molly had to be devastated over Percy’s departure -- Bill and Charlie undoubtedly would be too, once they found out. Bill in particular had always been so protective of all of his siblings: his greatest fear, from the time he was young, was any of his family being hurt. And with Voldemort really having returned, it was truly dangerous for Percy to be shoving his head in the sand at this particular moment. 

Someone’s got to look after Percy and make sure he’s okay, Carewyn decided at once. If the Weasleys can’t, then I will.

So when Percy stopped by Carewyn’s tiny office the following morning to fetch the legislation draft and notes she’d written for Fudge, Carewyn couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“Hi, Percy,” she greeted him. 

Percy was very stiff-shouldered as he gave her a slightly forced smile and nod. 

“Good morning, Carewyn,” he said, his slightly pompous voice coming out a bit brusquely despite himself. “I’m here for the notes the Minister requested...”

“I figured,” said Carewyn. She took out a file and placed it in front of her on the desk. “It’s all right here -- I enclosed a letter of recommendations at the top, for the Minister to read over -- ”

“Much obliged,” Percy cut her off as he reached out to take the file from her. 

He seemed oddly evasive. Carewyn could sense he was trying not to look into her eyes too long, but when he did, slips of memory emerged.

“ -- swear, it feels like she can look right through you, at times...”

“ -- it’s called Legilimency -- ”

The first voice in Percy’s mind she didn’t recognize, but the second she immediately knew was Bill’s. The thought of her best friend made Carewyn’s heart hurt. 

“You haven’t had breakfast, have you?” she said abruptly, as Percy turned to leave. “I’m brewing some coffee.”

She indicated the modified Muggle coffee maker next to her desk. 

Percy’s eyes flitted over to it. For a split second, Carewyn could see his father’s face in Percy’s gaze. 

“Thank you,” the bespectacled young man said uncomfortably, “but I should really get this back to the Minister -- ”

“I’ll send it on ahead for you,” said Carewyn crisply. 

She raised her wand. In an instant, she’d transfigured the file in Percy’s hand into a Ministry-of-Magic-approved paper airplane, which she then Charmed to soar out of the room, out toward the Minister’s office. She then indicated the empty chair across the desk from her with a gentler expression.

“You should eat something,” she murmured. 

Percy looked up at her, startled. Carewyn could see Molly in his eyes, this time -- Bill too. 

The third eldest Weasley flushed darkly as he averted his eyes again, his gaze falling over to the coffeemaker and Belgian waffle iron on the side. 

“...I suppose,” he said stiffly. “But I can’t stay long -- there’s a great load of work to do...”

Carewyn nodded respectfully as Percy sat down. If there was one thing she and Percy had in common, it was their workaholic tendencies. 

Once Percy had sat down, Carewyn set about fetching some mugs from inside the cabinet hosting the coffee maker, as well as loading some stored batter into the modified waffle iron so it could cook. She could feel Percy’s eyes on her, but when she looked up, he quickly looked away again.

“ -- Muggles use these things to cook different kinds of food! Don’t entirely get why they choose to iron it, but Muggles are truly fascinating things, aren’t they?”

Carewyn’s eyes softened a bit, hearing Arthur’s voice in Percy’s thoughts.

“Jacob made these for me,” she attempted conversation.

Percy looked up, startled. “...Oh, ah...your brother?”

Carewyn could hear Charlie in Percy’s thoughts.

“ -- kind of a mad genius, really -- ”

“Her brother disappeared because of those Vaults, Perce -- Carey’s not going to just give up on them -- ”

“Yes. I’d mentioned how irritated I was that the cafe’s line’s always so long and that I didn’t have any electricity so I could plug in my own appliances...so Jacob ended up enchanting these so he could gift them to me for Christmas. He even made a stop at a Muggle shop out in San Francisco to pick me up the waffle iron...” 

Carewyn couldn’t keep the fond smile off her face. 

“...It’s been helpful, in keeping everyone fed,” she said amusedly. “Ben especially -- he’s always skipping meals. And Talbott, Tonks and I work such late nights, it’s nice to be able to brew a pick-me-up or two, to get through it all...”

Once the coffee was finished brewing, she poured out two mugs, one for Percy and one for herself.

“Would you like milk?” she asked. “Sugar?”

“Sugar, please,” said Percy. “Two lumps will do.”

Once Carewyn had fixed his cup properly, she offered it to Percy, who quietly thanked her as he brought the mug into his hands and took a sip. As he did so, he kept his eyes locked on the coffee as much as he could -- even so, Carewyn could just barely sense the clipped memories in his head: Bill standing over Carewyn’s shoulder, Charlie wrapping an arm around Carewyn and calling her his “twin”...even the twins laughing.

“She’s like Mum!”

“Only cooler!”

That’s what it is, then, Carewyn thought. He’s afraid his family’s told me about his departure.

Her red lips came together grimly as she looked down at and took a sip from her own cup, contemplating how best to approach the issue. Then, taking a deep breath, she decided to say very softly,

“...I heard about what happened.”

Percy avoided her gaze all the more even after raising his head. 

“...From Bill, I presume?” he muttered.

The thought of her best friend made Carewyn give the slightest, longing wince.

“...No,” she said softly. “We...aren’t speaking, right now.”

Carewyn felt Percy’s wide eyes on her without looking up. There was a long silence, before Percy finally spoke again.

“...I see.”

His voice was very solemn and yet also oddly soft: almost empathetic. 

Carewyn swallowed. She could surmise what Percy was probably thinking -- that they’d had a similar falling out -- and as much as she wanted to correct the record, she knew it would be counterproductive. She knew Percy was in denial about Voldemort being back just as much as Fudge was, and he was just as deathly loyal to the Ministry as the rest of his family was to Voldemort. If she told Percy the truth about her helping the Order or the true reason why she wasn’t in contact with Bill or the others, then he would undoubtedly tell Fudge, and everyone else would only be in more danger. And so, reluctantly, she let it lie. 

When she looked up, Percy was looking her in the face again -- it made it so that his emotions were suddenly much better for her to read, through his eyes. 

“He’s using you, Perce, can’t you see that?”

“ -- wants at Harry -- ”

“ -- know you don’t want to believe it -- none of us do...but You-Know-Who is back, Percy!”

“ -- only believes what he wants to see -- ”

“And what about you? Blindly marching lockstep with Dumbledore, all this time -- even after he let Bill go running off after the Cursed Vaults with Carewyn -- after he left him and Charlie around the likes of Patricia Rakepick -- !”

“Don’t you see, you’re nothing but a pawn Fudge is using to -- !”

“Nothing?! Nothing?! And what have you done with all your time at the Ministry, Dad?! Besides....besides chasing after airplanes and collecting rubbish Muggles chuck away!?”

“At least I’m trying to do something with my life! At least I’m trying to provide for everyone -- to be someone my family can actually be proud of!”

“Ah yes -- proud of. A Ministry brown-noser that bows and scrapes before the likes of weak men like Cornelius Fudge, just to advance himself -- ”

“You’ve NEVER understood me! None of you ever have!”

Arthur’s and Percy’s voices yelling at each other was a strange feeling, for Carewyn. Both of them were destructive like out-of-control, reckless flames, and yet it was oddly vulnerable: like a wounded lion lashing out when deeply hurt.

Carewyn’s eyes flooded with compassion, feeling Percy’s anger second-hand. Percy seemed to sense how much Carewyn was seeing -- before he looked down at his mug again, Carewyn once again could hear Bill.

“ -- it’s called Legilimency -- ”

“Suppose you read my mind, just now?” Percy asked with a dark smile. 

Carewyn shook her head.

“Thoughts aren’t something that can be read -- they’re not sentences in a book. I can only sense and feel someone’s emotions and memories.”

She paused. Then she reached out and took Percy’s hand. 

“...Percy...I’m sorry your father said that to you,” she murmured.

However right he was about You-Know-Who...and however much it is true that Fudge’s promotion of you was more selfishly motivated than you think...you’ve always worked so hard, to try to do well at the Ministry. Mr. Weasley must’ve known how much all of this means to you...

Percy’s eyes darkened. 

“He thinks I’m just thinking of myself,” he said lowly. “That I’m just running after glory for myself, and nothing else. But...”

His hand started to shake as he clenched his teeth, bowing his head.

“...But...but he’s always been the selfish one!” he burst out angrily. “Always running around, dawdling after Muggles...like his job’s nothing but a game! His was the only salary we’ve got to live on, since Mum’s always been at home -- sure, we want him to be happy, and yes, we’ve been able to manage...but we shouldn’t have HAD to just ‘manage!’ He should’ve been providing for us -- he should’ve been trying to climb the ladder, should’ve been looking for a job that could actually pay the bills, rather than make us constantly live on the edge...constantly have to buy things second-hand, constantly have to decline opportunities or make do with rubbish, just because we couldn’t afford better...constantly have to live with the stigma of being one of Arthur Weasley’s boys...”

Percy’s hand inside of Carewyn’s clenched into a fist. Carewyn gave Percy’s fist a gentle squeeze, but she didn’t speak: this was a time to listen, not to talk.

Exhaling heavily, Percy put down his mug of coffee down on the table, so as to protect it from his own temper.

“I wanted to attend the Slug Club party with you,” he mumbled self-consciously. “The one your brother was invited to, before you graduated.”

Carewyn blinked in surprise. 

“I’d heard all about the Slug Club from other students,” Percy explained earnestly. “About how Horace Slughorn’s only ever invited those he saw as the most up-and-coming witches and wizards to his events. I thought it’d be exciting to meet so many new, well-regarded people -- maybe talk to Barnabas Cuffe about what it’s like to work as a journalist for the Daily Prophet -- chat with some fascinating up-and-coming authors, before I read their work -- maybe even meet the Gwenog Jones -- tell her how much my little sister idolizes her...”

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with compassion.

“Percy, why didn’t you say anything?” she asked sadly. “Jacob and I would’ve loved to have you join us.”

Percy shook his head. "I was only fourteen. Slughorn would’ve had no reason to talk to me -- I hadn’t done anything that would set me apart as anything other than ‘one of Arthur Weasley’s boys.’ And I already knew I had nothing to wear that would be suitable.”

“Andre would’ve made you something to wear,” said Carewyn, but Percy shook his head again.

“I thought of that, but...at the time, I didn’t want to be treated like a charity case,” he said gloomily. “I was already so much younger than you, and...well, you’ve always been much closer with Bill and Charlie than me. Even Fred and George...”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have been welcome,” Carewyn said very firmly, giving Percy’s hand a squeeze. “I only went to that party because of Jacob, and Jacob only went out of a sense of feeling like he had to, after how worried Slughorn was about him all those years. I know Slughorn would’ve loved having another person there who was just as thrilled to be there as he was.”

Percy gave Carewyn a weak smile. Through his eyes, Carewyn could feel just how warm and comforting her sentiment was.

“...Thank you, Carewyn.”

He paused. Then, taking a breath, he took the plunge.

“It’s...it’s lovely that you went to a party you weren’t even interested in, just to support your brother,” he said quietly. “I don’t think any of my siblings would go with me, if I got invited to a Slug Club party...they’ve never been interested in such things...”

Carewyn frowned. “You don’t think Bill or Charlie would’ve supported you?”

Percy looked uncomfortable. “In sentiment, maybe, but...well, Bill and Charlie always spent the most time together, at home. They were always each other’s best friend, before they got to school and met you. And Fred and George of course always had each other...even Ron and Ginny ended up together most often, just because they were the smallest and always needed the most attention...”

“...Leaving you all by yourself,” Carewyn finished grimly.

Percy’s eyes darkened again. Carewyn could sense the remnants of a very lonely bespectacled boy hiding in a hollowed-out tree outside the Burrow, reading a book, coming off of him.

Carewyn’s eyes softened and she gave Percy’s hand another affectionate squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” she murmured. “It must’ve been really lonely for you sometimes...even with how close your family’s always been...”

Her eyes landed on their hands rather than Percy’s face as she tried to shut out the isolating memories rippling off of Percy.

“...My mum’s family was a lot worse than yours...but she was the black sheep there too...and she’s always said that you should never be lonely, when you’re in a family. Even when you’re physically alone...you should never have to feel alone.”

Percy looked up at Carewyn, his lips twitching into a weak, humorless smile.

“Your mother sounds like a very kind woman.”

He paused. Then, after a moment, he spoke a bit more bitterly.

“...I...don’t suppose Fred’s followed up with you about taking over my old room at the Burrow, now that I’ve left for good?”

Carewyn’s blue eyes welled up with pain.

“...Percy...”

She got up from her chair, extended both of her arms, and encircled him in a big hug. The taller ginger-haired man flinched ever-so-slightly, but almost immediately grabbed onto her in return, burying his face into her shoulder without ever getting up from his seat.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Carewyn whispered in Percy’s ear. She found herself maternally stroking the younger boy’s hair like she sometimes would Charlie’s, when he was sad.

“I know,” Percy’s voice came out slightly muffled beside her shoulder. “...I know...”

Even so, Carewyn could tell how much that barbed joke had really hurt.

Percy’s arms adjusted a bit around Carewyn, giving her a slightly tighter squeeze before he finally released her. He brought a hand up under his glasses to covertly wipe at the tear that had formed in the corner of his right eye, clearing his throat loudly.

“Excuse me, I...lost my composure. Silly thing...”

“It’s not silly,” Carewyn shut him down sharply.

Softening at once again, she walked over to the waffle iron, which had started to beep. She opened it, levitating out the newly cooked waffle inside with her wand onto a plate before summoning some butter and strawberry compote out of a drawer.

“I realize this makes for a rather sweet breakfast,” said Carewyn as she set about buttering and then drizzling the compote over the waffle. “But...well, Mum used to say that sometimes something sweet in the morning can take off the edge of a bitter night’s sleep.”

Percy eyed the full plate of food and then the clock.

“It looks lovely, but...” he said uneasily, “...I really should be getting back to work...”

“Then take it with you,” said Carewyn. “You can always bring the plate and mug back to me, when you’re done with them.”

Percy’s eyes softened a bit behind his glasses as he picked up his half-full mug and got to his feet. “...All right.”

He accepted the plate from her in his other hand as he headed for the door. He paused in the door frame, looking back over his shoulder at her with a slightly warmer expression.

“...Carewyn...thank you for listening. I mean, you clearly have a full day of work yourself to contend with, and -- ”

“My work might be very important to me,” Carewyn said firmly, “but the only reason it is so important is because it lets me help people. And the people I care about I will always help first.”

Carewyn could imagine Bill standing over Percy’s left shoulder, smiling fully and handsomely as ever. It made her smile that bit more warmly at Percy.

“...My office door is always open, if you need anything,” she said gently.

Percy smiled and nodded, before turning on his heel and heading out of Carewyn’s office, taking another sip of coffee as he went.

Friendship Drabble Prompt!

[forbidden-forest-witch]

Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin story

Chapter Five: The Order of the Phoenix

(Warnings:Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only)

Word count: 4K

...

"We meet no ordinary people in our lives".

C.S. Lewis

"Hello, all", Dumbledore speaks. "Welcome to our new Headquarters. A thank you to Sirius for lending his family home ("as if I had a choice", the wanted man mutters). Allow me to introduce Brigitte and Auguste Moreau. They are our friends from France and have lent their hands". The siblings nod to the curious bunch before Dumbledore continues. "Which means Alastair, use caution with their missions. We don't want this turning into an international conflict...   Now all, I do wish this reunion were under happier circumstances. There's no doubt you've all heard the rumors by now, and I regret to say they are true. Voldemort is back". He pauses as the group gasps and sighs.

Brigitte looks down at her hands in her lap, stiffening as Dumbledore retells the events of that night: how the trophy was bewitched, Cedric getting killed by Peter Pettigrew, the Dark Magic that gave Voldemort a body again. He even reveals that a man named Barty Crouch Junior was using Polyjuice Potion to disguise as Alastair Moody, taking advantage of the close proximity to Harry. The real one is currently present, still looking a little spooked from being held captive by Crouch.

"There's already doubt regarding what really happened, but I think anyone who was present that night would verify that Harry was nothing but truthful, isn't that right, Mrs Weasley and Miss Moreau?".

Brigitte looks up and that's when she realizes she's crying, thinking about that night again. Fleur and Gabriele crying and the shock of seeing the young man's lifeless body. The tears take up half her sight as she looks at the crowd around her, and it makes her feel a bit embarrassed and vulnerable in front of these new faces. Brigitte stops briefly on Remus, who offers a sympathetic smile; then she looks at Molly Weasley. The older witch rapidly blinks away the tears and dabs her eyes with the corner of her apron.

"Harry... poor Harry, he'd never hurt Cedric! You know it could only be him, Dumbledore", Molly weeps.

"We put that maze together, Monsieur", Brigitte agrees. "I saw you cast the protection charms. I know the safety procedures that went into the game. And Harry, most adults for the matter, are not capable of killing someone like that. It was pure evil".

"So you helped with the maze? Albus, have you considered--"

"Everyone here has my confidence. Now, what I've heard from Harry, Voldemort's first course of action was reacquainting with his army of Death Eaters. Those who are not in Azkaban and were brave enough to answer his call. We now have Severus Snape relaying back information from that end. I suspect his next move will involve The Ministry of Magic-- specifically, the Department of Mysteries. Alastair will delegate", Dumbledore explains.

"I'll be watching the place most nights",Moody gargles. "Y' will all take turns patrolling and reporting back to me".  

"And other shifts we'll be all over London, looking for evidence of Death Eaters, and focusing on areas that certain people of interest live", a distinguishingly handsome Black wizard chimes in.

"Yes, any relevant sightings, please report them to Alastair and Kingsley first. Remember to use your patronus charm in case of emergencies, and memorize all these confirmed or suspected Death Eaters", Dumbledore waves his wand, and stacks of parchment form in front of each member. Brigitte looks at the top sheet, printed with a photo of a sophisticated wizard. His white blonde hair drapes across his shoulders with his rich velvet cloak while he looks ahead with his nose in the air.

"Be cautious around these people".

"If you run into trouble, come here. Sirius will always be around", Dumbledore concludes. "He will be staying out of the Ministry's reach until further notice. We also have Remus Lupin and Britt Moreau staying here, shall you need assistance".

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE", Moody shouts and slams his fist on the table. He orders half the group to join him or do other recon work that will take all night.  

"I muse be off. Perhaps you may look into Mister Black's criminal case", Dumbledore says to Brigitte. "Otherwise, stand by for instruction from Kingsley... Thank you again", he smiles at the Moreau siblings before slipping into the mix and leaving. All who remain are the Moreau siblings, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Remus, the pink-haired witch, a drunken portly wizard, a woman named Emmeline Vance, and Sirius Black.

"Didn't that man kill a bunch of people!? What the hell is he doing here?", Gus hisses into his sister's ear.

"There must be an explanation, hmm? Dumbledore wouldn't ask him to help if he was evil", Brigitte retorts, looking at the man in question. She remembers reading about Sirius' old reputation, and she can understand it, seeing him with his charming smirk and shiny, black hair. His youth is starting to peek out again now that he's not so frail. He's also dressed in attire that was most likely left in this house before his conviction-- old tailored dress pants, and a torn band tee underneath a leather jacket. He smells of booze and cigarettes. But it's the one next to him. Remus. There was something about him from that first time they met. His suit may be drabby and he may have premature age lines over his many scars, but that all fails to dull his loveliness. "His friend is handsome".

"And a little old for you, baby sister". Brigitte slumps at her brother's remark. Sirius lets out a cackling laugh at something the paunchy wizard named

"Mundungus" said, slapping Remus' tatty-coated arm when--

"Wotcher! I'm Tonks! Nice to meet ya", the pink-haired witch sits in front of Brigitte. "You're Brigitte, right? I got your file from the International Co-operation department a few days ago". She looks about her age, and quite stunning in a punk way. Tonks holds out her hand. Brigitte takes it, and leans forward to plant an air kiss on the witch's cheek.

"Nice to meet you, Tonks. I love your hair! And please, call me Britt... This is my brother, Gus", she says in her silky french accent. Tonks grins shyly at the dapper brother, who takes a step forward.

"Pleasure to meet you, Auguste", she says, letting him kiss her hand.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine".

Brigitte is taken aback by her brother being so uncharacteristically forward, and resists the urge to tease him in front of their new acquaintance. She glances around the room, feeling out of place. The older adults are discussing local affairs Brigitte has no knowledge of, Mrs. Weasley is singing to herself while finishing up dinner, and Remus and Sirius are leant against the counter, engaged in a whispered discussion. Well, Sirius is speaking while Remus peers hopefully at Brigitte.

She takes a deep breath and walks over, nibbling on her bottom lip her whole way.

"Hello again", Brigitte says less confidently than hoped. She looks up into Remus' eyes, his welcoming smile making her stomach do somersaults yet it somehow makes her feel calmer all the same. Remus however, has lost all eloquence and ability to speak. Brigitte's ocean-blue eyes twinkle in the light and the freckles scattered across her angelic remind him of a starry night sky, his mind is blank otherwise.

"Bonne soirée. Je m'appelle Sirius Black", he confidently steps forward, taking the opportunity to chime in. "Though I suppose you already knew that?". He mimics Gus' greeting, gracefully taking Brigitte's hand to kiss. Remus rolls his eyes.

"I can't deny that your photograph was plastered everywhere in Paris last year", Brigitte quips.

"Scared you off yet?".

"Don't you see me still standing here?".

"Cheeky little minx!", Sirius laughs. " Now-- first thing will be proving Peter Pettigrew is still alive".

"And here I thought it was going to be something complicated", Brigitte chuckles nervously", I must warn you now, my field is not criminal cases. I usually work with groups The Ministry is unfairly villainizing-- creatures classified as sub-human". She turns to Remus, peeking at the scars under his stubble. If her suspicions are correct, The Ministry has not been kind to him over the years either. He blushes under her stare. "But I will try".

"Moony can vouch for me!", Sirius slaps Remus' back. He nods. "Dumbledore wouldn't have asked if he thought you were totally helpless. But hell, we can go over all this later, roommate... speaking of, why you bunking with us instead of your...?". Sirius jerks his head at Gus.

Brigitte looks over her shoulder where Sirius gestures to Gus, who is completely enraptured with Tonks. She sticks out her tongue and squeezes her eyes in revulsion.

"Gus? Because he's my pain-in-the-ass brother. At this point, he wouldn't care if you are guilty. He wants me out of his flat, so thank you for letting in this destitute witch", Brigitte giggles in her purring, hypnotic accent. Remus' smile widens as her sound echoes through his head.

"I wouldn't be thanking me yet, Love. Have you taken a good look at this Hell hole? Pardon me". Sirius pushes off the counter and takes his empty whiskey glass to refill. Brigitte turns to Remus. He takes a dry gulp before finally speaking.  

"Forgive Sirius. It took a lot of bribing to get him to stay here. The Ministry's manhunt for him has heated up again after what happened", Remus explains, "He's got to stay put for a while, and this place doesn't have the best memories".

"I didn't exactly sense happy memories when I followed Dumbledore down that dark hallway". Brigitte takes Sirius' place, leaning against the counter next to Remus. "I didn't expect to see you here either".

"Me? I've always been around. I go way back with Sirius and Harry's parents. You walking in here was unexpected I'd say. How'd Dumbledore get you?", Remus asks with a playful tone, concealing some bitterness. Although seeing Brigitte again brings him indescribable joy, he knows the potential danger she's put herself in.

"He asked me an hour before I was scheduled to return to France", she says. "I say that sometimes I go looking for trouble, sometimes it finds me. I didn't hesitate for a second to accept Dumbledore's offer. I had no plans back home".

"Whether it's Order business or The Ministry, trouble won't be hard to find. You be careful out there", Remus advises kindly. He gets Brigitte a glass of champagne, and the two chat with one another until Molly calls for dinner. Remus listens to her talk about her time at Hogwarts and the highlights of the tournament, detailing how impressive Harry and Fleur were in the tasks Remus didn't watch. It's a nice change from focusing on how it all ended.  

At the table, they sit next to one another. Remus is across from Sirius, who's wearing a big shit-eating grin. Remus shakes his head and purposely avoids eye contact with his annoying friend, turning to engage in conversation with Arthur Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher. Brigitte assists Molly with finishing setting the table. She waves her hand and the fresh loaf of bread floats over while slicing itself.

Then she wiggles her fingers at the center of the table and a beautiful floral arrangement appears out of thin air. A bundle of black-eyed Susan's, daisies, and lavender. It looks like the flowers are growing out of the table and swaying side to side as if in a gentle breeze. Brigitte points her wand and two candlesticks zoom out of the hutch onto the table. She twiddles her fingers over the wicks to ignite a blue flame.

"Well, well. aren't you a special little witch", Sirius clicks his tongue while brushing his fingers above the flower petals.

"Reckon you could do some real damage with that", Emmeline Vance comments.

"If that maze is any proof, she can do things we can't", Molly elaborates, winking at Brigitte.  

"I remember seeing a glimpse of your talents when we met in the tent", Remus reminisces. "The burning candles".

"Oh, no it's nothing special. I really need to work on that, always flares up with my emotions", Brigitte shyly admits. "And that was a rather upsetting moment".

"Give me a break", Auguste quips, his stare slowly shifting from Tonks to his sister. "Should've seen the little brat's tantrums when she was younger. No one and nothing was safe. I can't imagine what she could do today".

"Keep talking and I'll show you! The incident when I was seven was your fault-- taking my doll and making me so upset. All your hair eventually grew back, move on. It was a pure accident", Brigitte flips her fluffy curls over her shoulder. She peeks up guiltily at Remus and subtly shakes her head and mouths 'no it wasn't', making him choke on a laugh.

"For our everyone's sake here, I'll drop it ... but I'll never be convinced it was an accident. The flames were so big", Auguste shivers before sipping his Fire whiskey. The group laughs at the bickering siblings as Molly works her magic and the feast appears on the table..

"You can light whatever you want on fire as long as it's never, ever my hair. That is the one house rule!", Sirius proclaims and holds his whiskey in the air.

"Deal", Brigitte chirps, clinking her glass with his.

"Moody's gonna love working with you", Tonks observes.

Sounds of forks and knives clanking against ceramic, appetized moans, and scattered discussions fill the room. Arthur, Molly, and Emmeline discuss some new Ministry security measures while hunched over their food; and Gus animatedly describes to Sirius the set up of his flat and alchemy lab.

Remus sits there silently, listening to the conversations and watching the young witches put on a show. Tonks and Brigitte entertain each other with their unique magic; the former makes fuzzy animal ears pop out of her colorful head while the latter makes it snow sparkling flakes around the table.

"So, you really like the pink, huh? I've been thinking about changing it", Tonks asks as she rapidly switches hair color.

"I do! Not many people could pull it off!", Brigitte conjures a flower crown that rests atop Tonks' magenta hair and makes her gush.

"I've had it like this for months. I think I'll try out some new styles. It'll be fun confuse everyone at work. I'm an Auror".

"Youngest Auror in decades", Remus speaks up quietly.

"Wow! Am I going to meet every notable Witch and Wizard in this country?", Brigitte guffaws, sipping her champagne.

"You're asking me that? I read your Ministry file-- changing laws all by yourself and an extensive history of humanitarian work?". Remus turns to Brigitte after Tonks' praise. She timidly glances at him, furiously blushing. "...You've got to keep up that momentum! I'll help with the Ministry whatever way you need. I have no problem stealing confidential files".

Brigitte can't help but laugh and thanks Tonks for the offer. "I will take you up on that once I get myself organized. This last year has been all about the Tournament, but I need to keep busy with it while I'm not doing things for this Order. Your country's ideologies are appalling-- no offense".

"None taken".

"May I ask what your field is in? I imagine magical creatures", Remus guesses. "Not everyone would defend the dragon trying to roast Harry Potter".

He and Brigitte share an enamored smile.

"Not dragons, per se. The Ministry has magical creatures listed under 'beasts' or 'beings' and I work with 'beings'. A couple Veela, squibs, and when I was at the Hogwarts I looked into House Elves; but my priority is Werewolves. I think they're treated horribly, and goddamn, your Ministry hates them...".

Remus can feel his heartbeat speeding up. The blood drains from his cheeks and rushes to his ears, pounding in him like a drum. He can only imagine what his face looks like. Oh, that's right-- covered in scars.

"...It's a crime in itself! They're innocent people–victims– who get treated worse than dirt! Their lives are hard enough without the Ministries interference", Brigitte finishes her rambling, nervously turning from Remus' unreadable expression.

"Yeah...". Is all he can manage to say.

  Tonks nods, looking impressed, glancing at Remus with a knowing smirk. "I like the way you think, Britt, but it's hard to make real change to what’s written, especially with someone like Umbridge making the laws".

"I read plenty of her work", Brigitte narrows her eyes. "It's severe and cruel. The current laws harm people with the condition more than they help keep others 'safe'. There's better ways than ripping apart families and kicking people out of society".

"That is very wise, Ms. Moreau. Unfortunately, I don't think many people share your views", Remus composes himself. "In fact, the revulsion the general public has against werewolves is what Voldemort uses to get them on his side. Promises something better than what they've got now. All they have to do is work for him in the meantime".

Brigitte gapes at Remus in utter horror. Tonks squirms in her seat.

"You don't mean...", Brigitte gasps.

"They're the perfect manipulation tool. Terrorize towns or infect young children to continue the cause. The laws are in place so that there is no debate on punishment if this happens", Remus explains.

"Those laws are exactly why they have to resort to that kind of behavior, no? We all deserve a fair chance. If they had wolfsbane, they could have full lives and even make our magical world better", Brigitte argues.

Seeing the determination in her eyes, Remus feels lightheaded with euphoria. Never in his life has he heard someone defend Werewolves so passionately. He scans across her face, trying to determine if she's really there or simply the most beautiful hallucination that only he can see and hear.

But helping strangers and being in close proximity with a werewolf regularly are completely different things, and Remus has a deep sense of dread thinking about confessing his darkest secret to her. He doesn't want to think about the pity or disgust in her big bambi-like eyes. He won't be able to hide it forever. The only two people in this room not aware of his dark secret are the Moreau siblings.

"... But that leaves the public vulnerable, and could lead to more attacks. Even if accidental. Then you'll be held responsible for advocating for their assimilation", Remus retorts.

"Well, Mr. Lupin, that's a risk I'm willing to take", Brigitte deadpans. "We're supposed to shun human beings because of something they cannot control? Something that happens for twelve hours, once a month? I rarely see magical governments offer assistance, like the potion or a safe place to transform. All they do is take away their homes and tell them they're monsters. No wonder Voldemort has taken advantage of them". She takes a look at those scars she's liking more and more the longer she takes his appearance in; but maybe she was wrong about how he got them.

"Whoa...", Tonks whispers. "You said His name".  

"And made some very compelling arguments. I just hope you can get them to listen when you make them in the courtroom", Remus chuckles dryly...

After the last slice of pie is eaten, Emmeline escorts a very intoxicated Mundungus out of the house. Molly swishes her wand and the next moment, the dishes stack up in the sink. As Arthur practically pushes her towards the door (so he can try to get in bed before sunrise), she reassures them she'll be back soon with her gaggle of children to help clean up the place. Gus also has work the following morning, so he offers to walk Tonks home.

"Moony, show our new friend her room, please", Sirius yawns. He gets up from the table, wobbling drunkenly before getting his balance. "I should feed Buckbeak, you can meet him tomorrow, Britt. G'night". He stumbles out the room, leaving Remus and Brigitte in a thick silence.

"I hope I didn't offend you earlier", she abruptly turns to him. "That wasn't meant to turn into a debate. It's the law student in me, and perhaps the champagne", Brigitte laughs nervously.

The scars on Remus' face wrinkle when he lets out a short but relieved sigh.

"The last thing you did was offend, I was the one being argumentative. You're views are quite refreshing. I see why Dumbledore personally asked you to join us", Remus assures her. Brigitte bites the corner of her mouth to stop from grinning like a fool.

"Thank you, Mr. Lup--"

"Please. It's Remus", he says smoothly, before shortly becoming too aware of Brigitte's maintained eye contact and how closely they are sitting. So close their shoulders bump. "M-may I show you to your room?".

Brigitte follows Remus up the black-carpeted staircase. Snakes wrap around the hand-carved railings, and each step creaks under their weight. Remus gives a condensed tour, pointing out the rooms they'll use so that the long halls with five doors on either side aren't so confusing. The living room is on the second floor across from where Buckbeak sleeps, their room is on the third floor, and Sirius is way up on the fifth.

"Who's Buckbeak?", Brigitte asks.

"Oh, just Sirius' hippogriff", Remus says casually as he opens Brigitte's bedroom door, leaving her with so many questions. She brushes past him while walking into the room, making him dizzy when her fragrance wafts into his nose.

"Well, here we are. Bathroom is the middle door. I'm on the other side of it and will be here most nights if you need anything. Sirius is always here, of course. Though I doubt he sees guests before noon", Remus jokes, leaning against the doorframe. "He never was much of a morning person".

Brigitte chuckles as she takes in her new surroundings. Heavily draped windows, black damask wallpaper from floor to ceiling. Her trunks are already lying on the bed, that's draped in black sheets. At least it's larger than a twin? She's surprised there is no Vampire coffin to tie the room together.

"I know it's no Beauxbatons carriage", Remus says, gauging Brigitte's facial expression.

"I can make it work. I appreciate all of this, everyone has been so welcoming. Thank you, Remus. I'll try not to bother you too much". He scoffs and waves off her being a 'bother', thinking that's the last thing she could ever be to him.

Feeling the exhaustion beginning to make her bones heavy, Brigitte pops open a trunk and pulls out the silky periwinkle quilt she stole from the Beauxbatons' bed. She lays it over the bed and instantly the room looks better.

Remus stands there watching her smooth out the wrinkles and trying to guess what song she's humming, until he realizes he must look like a huge creep.

"Well, I'll let you rest. Have a good night... Britt", he barely whispers as he closes her door.

"Goodnight to you as well, Remus. It is nice seeing you again", she says with a shy smile. He closes the door with a soft click and runs his scarred hand down his face.

"Shit...", Remus whispers to himself as he heads to his room, with Brigitte's subtle aroma still dancing around his senses. He retires to his room, kicking off his shoes but not bothering to pull back the covers before collapsing into the bed.

♡ ♡

Next part coming soon...

Masterlist

[elaninrecovery]

Cottage Pie

I learned to make a very simple version of cottage pie when I was around 9 years old.

My mother, a clueless woman in the kitchen, had just gotten married (spoiler alert: it was not a good decision) and decided she suddenly needed to become Stepford enough for this new Rockwell painting her life was finally becoming. A Molly Weasley type woman in our church offered to teach her some recipes and I came along like the chapstick you keep in your purse but never use, something you’re just so used to carrying, you forget it has a purpose.

Of everything we made, my favorite was cottage pie, which my mother decided to call “shepherds pie” (because religious people love to find silly ways to bring Jesus to dinner, even if it’s a misnomer). It was the one thing we kept from that day. My mother would make it for semi-special occasions. It is not really special occasion food, mind you. It’s sloppy and not really very pretty. But it tastes warm and homey. Like Thanksgiving and diner food. Those in-between places where eating feels like it should heal you.

After the divorce, and even as everything got harder and worse and better and somehow even more awful - every so often, we would make the shepherds pie. It was one of the few things my mother would still help me with once I became more duty than daughter. I think it was that last shred of Rockwell she could hold onto. I even learned to make a meatless version when I (and then she) went vegetarian for a while, and still it tasted like it should. Like it could heal some of the aches between us, the widening cracks we tried to ignore. It still tasted like comfort, even as we made it less and less, the magic of its healing no longer able to cover over the patchwork of pain between us.

When I moved across the country, almost 700 days - and a lifetime - ago now, I didn’t think of never making our silly misnamed pie again. I didn’t think I would ever be homesick of a place I’d never felt at home. I didn’t think, 6 months into my move, would be the last time I would ever choose to speak to my mother again. Time and distance are not always kind teachers - but they are good ones. I’ve been in my own apartment for about a year now. I always buy bags of potatoes. I never make the pie. The potatoes go bad in the cabinet, to the point I now keep a paper bag inside for them to sit on, so when they leak, it won’t be gross to clean up.

--- -.  .--. ..- .-. .--. --- ... .

Last night, I wanted to make the pie - told myself it was cottage pie now - no longer shepherd. Correctly named, and made in my tiny home with its rainbow light catchers and cacophony of fridge magnets - no shepherd needed. But still, I paused, unsure. Instead, I took the dog for a long walk in nearly freezing weather, my face numb from the wind when we returned, still too much California in me to remember my scarf.

I whined downstairs at the girls who work at the restaurant my apartment building shares a lobby with, the girls who are now my friends even though I still don’t understand how, complaining about making the pie and wondering if I should just order takeout instead. The youngest, a lovely sunshine girl named Autumn, who is about 10 years my junior, said she’d never had cottage pie - had always wanted to try it. I laughingly said she could come up after her shift and have some if she wanted, thinking she’d joke back and I’d order delivery, the potatoes rotting in the cabinet. But as I went to walk away she stopped me, said she was serious if I was going to make it. One of the other girls jumped in too, asked if there would be enough. The last of them said she would take some home if I had enough to spare. I agreed and bounced my way upstairs.

I turned on my Cooking Music playlist, and sang along with Dean Martin and Ella Fitzgerald about love and time as I peeled the potatoes, cutting out eyes that had started to grow. I made gravy from scratch for the first time ever, mixing and tasting, mixing and tasting - like an Italian grandmother, nothing measured, all of it by feel. Until it tasted like it should - but better. Different than before, still like comfort but not like loss. I made brownies because I could. Tossed them into the oven at the same time, like someone who had their life together. Like I knew what I was doing.

The girls came up, one at a time, curling up on my lime green sofa and laughing at my silly dog requesting pets and bringing them squeaker toys that were nearly bigger than him. Listening to me chatter and telling me we should have a Galentines party together in my apartment. “No its not too small! We can totally fit 4 or 5 of us in here no problem” they told me when I questioned if my 400 sq ft apartment was really where they wanted to hang out (really offering them an ‘out’ to spending time with me, even though they’d been the ones to suggest it).

They ate as I puttered around, unable to stop moving, trying to find distance - not used to people so close to me. They told me I was being silly as they tugged me warmly between them on my sofa, sharing tv trays so the dog couldn’t steal our food. They cleaned their bowls entirely, forks scraping for every last bite as we chattered about workplace shenanigans and memories and video games. Autumn told me she was going to tell her mom about it, thought she might like to make it for their family, asked if she could maybe get my recipe next week. I nodded. “Of course.”

It tasted the same. Kind of. Like comfort.

But it wasn’t a bandaid or a balm, it didn’t need to soothe an ache or offer a reprieve. It wasn’t trying to be beautiful.

But it did taste like healing. Like something finally coming together in a place I didn’t realize had been empty.

[drwcn]

Umm idk if you still answer some ask about fem! lan wangji if you dont then feel free to delete this ask, but I just wanna ask if wuxian ever get to see his son with lan wangji? And i wanna know how he would react to it, thank you and have a great day/night !!!

Oh I think I wrote a little something earlier. [here]

But actually I think it would be hilarious if after Jiang Cheng told Wei Wuxian "you're a dead beat, bruh, shame on your for leaving lan wangji preggers and stuff", WWX shows up to break up a bad night hunt and rescue the juniors (sizhui included) and pulls a Molly Weasley against Bellatrix Lestrange move. Eyes demonically red, hair flying, dark smoke all around.

Not my son, you bitch!

All the juniors: :O

Meanwhile LWJ is the math lady meme.

[writeraven]

WHO KILLED CROOKED ROBIN?

Who killed Crooked Robin? I, said the Bloody Sword With my frozen blade to the ward…

TAGS: [ ravenael. » A Series of Unrelated Events ]

LINKS: [ Tumblr » Collection, Fandom | AO3 » Work, Collection, Series ]

STATUS: Complete; 1 chapter (4 parts).

FANDOM: Wizarding World » Harry Potter (Marauders).

GENRES: Short Story, Murder Mystery.

COUNT: 1,702 words.

SHIPS: Arthur & OC, Arthur/Molly (mentioned).

CAST: Arthur Weasley, OC, Molly Weasley (mentioned).

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON FANFICTION.NET.

HOST: [FFnet] The Houses Competition.

CATEGORY: [Y3R5] Additional.

PROMPT: [Genre] Mystery.

WARNING — murder mystery, some language.

Spinnet Yard was a small town somewhere in the London suburbs, a quiet residential area with rows of houses arranged neatly against the road line. Each house had a backyard of their own filled with blood-red roses planted by each resident, all in full bloom under the midday sun.

Around an alleyway bend that would lead up to the main street, a faint pop was heard before a man appeared out of thin air on the road. If anyone had seen him, they would be astounded at how out of place this person was. The man wore a reddish-brown traveling cloak over a checkered shirt, with a gold pocket watch in one hand and a wooden stick in the other. Perched on his head was a pointed hat, with bits of ginger hair poking out underneath the wide brim.

Arthur Weasley sighed as he placed the watch back into his shirt pocket. He removed the hat from his head and pulled the traveling cloak off his shoulders, then he stuffed the cloak into the upturned hat. With a swish of his wand, the hat disappeared from his hand. Satisfied, he hid the wand down the front of his shirt and strolled out to the main street.

The town was deadly quiet; not a single soul was in sight on the road. Arthur glanced around, somewhat unnerved at the stillness. He pulled out the letter to double check the address. “I’m pretty sure it’s around here…”

“Arthur!”

He almost jumped at the voice that suddenly called out behind him. Turning around slowly, he was relieved to see it was a familiar face. “Oh, Brenda, it’s you.”

The lady’s smile widened as she brisked towards him, then she gave him a warm hug. “It’s been a long time since we graduated from Hogwarts. I heard you’re working for the Ministry of Magic now.”

“Junior Officer in the Improper Use of Magic Office,” Arthur replied, stepping back to break the hug. He gestured at the town. “How about you? How does it feel returning to Muggle life after being surround by magic for seven years?”

The lady chuckled at his eager tone. “Nothing exciting, really. Come, I’ll show you to my house.”

Arthur followed the lady to her cottage, squeezing himself through the gate with a cutely decorated sign with the name: Gordon. He was amazed at the roses that filled the garden before he reached the front door.

“It seems like everyone here has roses in their yard.”

“Yes, hence why we’re also known as ‘Rose Town,’” Brenda Gordon said, and she showed Arthur to the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. Tea or beer?”

The wizard could taste the smell of pan-fried fish in the air. “Let’s go with tea. Having a fishy meal for lunch?”

Brenda froze for a moment, then she laughed, albeit with a hint of nervousness. “That’s a terrible pun there. You haven’t changed one bit.” She placed a cup of hot tea before Arthur. “So, tell me about you and Molly. How’s life after the lightning-quick marriage?”

“Crazy,” Arthur replied, taking a sip of tea. “Just like you said, everything was rushed and all… with the fear and uncertainty because of You-Know-Who.” Then he sniffed the air again and stood up. “Are you sure you don’t need to watch over the stove?”

Brenda blinked. “Well, I can’t cook with magic here, so it’s going to take a while…”

“Really?” Arthur glanced at his Muggle-born former schoolmate with an arched eyebrow. With the cup of tea still in his hand, he walked over to the kitchen.

On the blazing stove fire was a huge cooking pan, and a big slab of tuna meat was sizzling away in it. While Molly was the cook at home now, he still knew enough that something didn’t feel right… but what was it?

Picking up a fork from the kitchen drawer, Arthur poked at the tuna. As he had expected, something was wrong here.

“Are you living alone?”

“No, not really.” Brenda shook her head. “I’m still staying with my dad. My mom had passed away when I was in my fifth year, remember?” She waved him off when Arthur opened his mouth to apologize. “It’s fine, I’ve already gotten over it.”

“Right. By the way, where’s Mr. Gordon? I’d like to greet him.”

“Dad’s probably still in his study,” Brenda said, glancing up at the second floor. “I’ll go fetch him.”

However, Arthur was totally unprepared for a blood-curdling scream that shook the house moments later.

On the floor of Mr. Gordon’s study room lay the lifeless body of the man himself, facing down in a spread-eagled position. There was some blood on the back of Mr. Gordon's head, presumably being hit by something hard enough to crack his skull, causing his death.

Arthur shook his head after he checked the pulse. “He’s dead.”

Brenda was in shock. She stood frozen at the door, staring down at her dead father with wide eyes. “What… How…” Then her knees buckled and she sat down on the ground with a thud. “Why…”

“You need to calm down,” Arthur said as he rushed to her side, pushing his half-finished tea into her trembling hands. “Here, drink this. I’ll help you downstairs.”

Nodding, she rested her weight against the redhead wizard and the two of them descended to the ground floor. Arthur guided her to an armchair. “I’m sorry that this has happened,” he began, and pulled out his wand. “Did anyone come here this morning, before you went out to meet me?”

Brenda shook her head, dabbing her teary eyes with a napkin.

“Do you mind if I look around your house for a bit?”

“S-Sure.”

Leaving the distraught woman to recover from her shock, Arthur went back to the study room and examined every inch of it, muttering spells under his breath. “Specialis Revelio… Homenum Revelio…”

Nothing. The frown on Arthur’s face deepened. It seemed like Mr. Gordon’s death wasn’t caused by magical means; there was no unwelcomed outsiders hiding in the house, either. He studied every single object in the room: the neatly arranged books on the shelves, the tidy desk, the dustless carpet… but he couldn’t find anything that could be a murder weapon.

What if the weapon wasn’t in this room anymore? Where else could it be hidden?

Arthur widened his search to the other parts of the house—his cheeks felt hot when he had to check out Brenda’s room just to be sure—but everything was in order, nothing out of place.

There was only the kitchen left.

Arthur stared down at the simmering tuna in the frying pan once more. Of all the things in this house, the tuna had been tugging at his mind the whole time… but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he had a strange interest in cooking when Molly wasn’t even around. When he had first seen the frying tuna, he was confused about why the pan was filled with water. Then, when he had poked the meat with a fork, the tuna was still rock hard.

Why was the tuna still frozen when he could already smell the fragrance of it filling up the house?

The conclusion that Arthur had arrived at was something he didn’t like at all.

“Arthur…? W-Why are you doing this?”

Arthur sighed, watching a frightened Brenda squirming in her armchair, trying to break free of the vines he had conjured to tie around her. He pointed his wand at his friend, locking his gaze with hers.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he said in a low voice. “You killed your own father.”

“Arthur,” Brenda was exasperated. “This isn’t a time for your usual jokes—”

“I’m being very serious here,” he cut her off. “The murder weapon… It’s the frozen tuna in the frying pan. You were trying to get rid of the evidence before I showed up, but you were in such a hurry that you had forgotten to thaw it first.”

After a long silence, Brenda slumped into the armchair, a look of defeat on her face. "You’re right, it was me. I killed my own father.”

“But why would you do something like that?”

“Why, you ask?” Brenda snorted at him, letting out a sarcastic laugh. The nice and cheerful Brenda that Arthur always knew at Hogwarts was gone, now replaced by a crazed woman with a murderous sneer on her face. “A pureblood wizard like you who have been living in the magical world throughout your entire life won’t understand. It makes me want to laugh at your mad love for Muggle things. You’re ridiculously pathetic.”

“…What has happened to you?”

“I hated living in this shithole,” Brenda spat, her eyes flashing with anger. "Going to Hogwarts felt like a dream came true, a chance for me to leave this hell and find my own place in the world of magic… but my dad wanted me to take over the family business. I don’t give a damn about this crap town; I don’t want to live here and pretend that I’m a Muggle for the rest of my life. I’m a bloody witch, for Merlin’s sake!”

“But…” Arthur could feel his impression, his memory of the good friend who had shown him the wonders of the Muggle world shattering into a million pieces before him. “Do you have to go that far to murder your only family left?”

“Why not?” Arthur could feel his skin crawl at the grin on Brenda’s twisted face. “He’s the biggest obstacle to the life I’ve always yearned for, to the freedom I’ve always wanted. He deserves to die for the sake of his daughter’s happiness! What’s wrong with that?”

“No,” Arthur breathed, tightening his grip on his wand, still pointing it at Brenda. “If killing someone is your way of joining my world, you are wrong.”

He pulled out another wand—Brenda’s—and he watched the smile on Brenda’s face being wiped off, realizing what he was going to do.

“Whether you’re a witch or a Muggle, no one will allow a murderer to walk free without atoning for your sins. You don’t belong in either worlds… only Azkaban awaits you.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE.

This story contains a few sources of inspiration:

Plot is based on Lamb to the Slaughter, a classic short story by Roald Dahl.

Title is a pun on Who Killed Cock Robin?, an English nursery rhyme dating back to 1744.

Support me on Ko-fi — https://ko-fi.com/whyraven. Thank you very much for your continuous support☕

[wordrage]

This was going to be a million comments so I just did a reblog instead. I hope that is ok.

Imo their society is closer to a medieval one than industrialized. (Think 18th century England.)

They live in homes like the Weasleys/Lovegoods/Diggory, rural or on the outskirts of muggle villages, or they live hidden within muggle villages/cities like Godric's Hollow, Diagon Alley, Grimmauld Place, etc. Hogsmede is the exception, it's the only village that exists in the UK that is completely wizard. Based on what shops are there and their proximity to Hogwarts, they probably supply Hogwarts with food, parchment, supplies, etc. (The Malfoy's are also an exception. They have a huge estate and land they've managed to hang onto.)

There is no indication of industrial or mass production methods, so either they are self-sustaining with farming/gardens/foraging or they have other sources of food and supplies. I lean towards self-sustaining, with trading each other or buying things they don't produce or can find. Like meat (they do use dragon parts...) and such. The Weasleys have chickens in addition to their garden, the Lovegoods had a pretty robust garden. With magic I don't think maintaining food sources would be that labor intensive.

Post-Hogwarts Education

Ok so how do they learn more magic? Tbh canon gives no indication there's any formal higher education. If there were wizarding universities, then Hermione would have mentioned it.

OWLs are the baseline standard of education. If you pass your OWLs, you can carry a wand and perform at a level of what's expected of any ordinary witch or wizard. NEWTs are for specialized positions, like becoming an Auror or Healer. I'm guessing they are a modern equivalent of Bachelor's degree, whereas the OWLs are a high school diploma. Your scores do matter, as they are used in addition to reference when hiring.

There's multiple wizards and witches mentioned that travel to study and practice magic. Voldemort, for one, but there are others like Newt Scamander, Quirrell, Lockhart, etc. Dumbledore and Doge were planning to travel after Hogwarts, prior to Kendra dying. Bill is said to be in Egypt working as a curse-breaker. This implies to me that self-study and discovery are how a witch or wizard learns more. You either have to go out and study from other wizards/witches/creatures, try to create or experiment with magic yourself like Pandora Lovegood, Snape, Dumbledore, etc. Or just read about what those witches and wizards discovered/learned in a book they wrote. Molly learns housekeeping and cooking spells from books and magazines. The textbook for NEWT level potions hasn't changed since Snape was a student. Lockhart's books were probably such a hit because they were A) new and B) a mix of an adventure novel as much as instructional. He really fucked up there, if his ego hadn't gotten in the way, he probably would have had a great career adapting people's achievements and magical discoveries.

Obviously, older wizarding ("pureblood") families have the advantage when it comes to magical education. They grow up in magical households, they have access to family libraries, and they have nepotism.

Wizarding Careers

So why work? Besides having spending money for things they can't make themselves, if you live hidden in a muggle city, you probably have to buy your own food as there's not enough room to grow your own. Wizards either seem to go into trades like making cauldrons, wands, and broomsticks, they run pubs and teahouses, or they sell products like reagents and books. For everyone else, there's the Ministry.

I don't see anything in canon that shows they have enough population for anything more large scale. With the floo network making travel much quicker than by broom, living far from a market like Diagon or Hogsmede isn't inconvenient. You can live in your ancestral home and work in the Ministry.

Careers seem more like apprenticeships. There's junior and senior positions at the Ministry. Your OWLs and NEWTs may get you an apprenticeship or hired, but you spend the next few years learning and developing your skills/trade. I'm sure a lot of the trades are family owned and operated, like Ollivanders. Other shops like Borgin and Burke's seem to hire based on reference. I'm sure letters of reference are very valuable. Imo this is why teachers like Slughorn (and Hogwarts in general) were so important. In addition to education, that's how you network. The friends and connections you make during school can lead to doors opening. Families like Malfoy, Bones, Longbottom, etc are known and are born into networks, while kids from foreign or muggle families would rely on their academic achievements and connections they make at Hogwarts.

Ok, so to answer your question, can anyone become a teacher? I think the canon answers: yes. Lol.

Teachers seem to be hired based on their ability and achievements (or willingness, in regards to DADA). Not to mention connections, looking at Hagrid and Remus in particular.

I imagine being a professor is very prestigious, sweet gig. It comes with housing, food, supplies, a huge library, etc.

Wizard Culture

Wizards are kind of power-hungry. They practically worship powerful magic users like Dumbledore and Voldemort. The Dark Arts aren't necessarily evil, but it's implied those that study and use them have to be powerful enough to not blow themselves up or become corrupted/go mad. Other wizarding communities, such as the ones that send their kids to Durmstrang, seem to approach the Dark Arts as a valued part of their education, whereas Hogwarts only teaches how to defend from Dark Magic.

I think they are kind of solitary naturally, and seem like they can get obsessive with magic and the pursuit of power. They are terrified of Muggles overpowering them and "stealing" their magic. Not just Muggles, they don't want goblins to have wands and therefore wizarding magic methods as well.

When I think of the Wizarding World as described from Harry's observation and experience, they are this mash of 18th century people that were a micro subculture of the mundane population. They were the witches and wizards of legend and folklore, the ones villagers sought out for help with healing, fertility and childbirth, crop failure, etc. Clan leaders and kings had a wizard to advise them. They were a part of the nation that they lived in.

The creation of the Statute significantly changed their social, economic, and government. They had to suddenly form their own society to be entirely self-reliant and sustaining. Fairly recently, too. Their fashion is a mash of traditional and some modern influences. They have some technology introduced, like the floo network and the wireless, but they haven't advanced at the rate the Muggle populations have.

This makes their civil wars all the more devastating. They have such a delicate system already, not to mention they are either all related or know each other. I love fanon and fanfic that explores the impact of these conflicts had on their society.

No but I have so many questions about the wizarding world which always come to my mind whenever I think of HP. And every new question just branches into a couple of others.

Granted, some are answered and some are so largely fanoned that most people already believed it to be canon but still.

First of all, what do all these people do, like... I feel like you have a few options only. You can become an auror or work in the Ministry of Magic in general (but tell me, how many unoccupied positions there are?!), you can work in St. Mungo's or something, or you can be a teacher and basically... This is it. Yeah, we have people like Newt but I feel like not many are into these things and also, it's pretty dangerous, isn't it?

And another thing. Like, how do they learn some of the spells that are not studied at school? Okay, let's say pure bloods have someone to teach the but muggle born? Others? How do you know how to make a car fly or sth?

How there isn't some type of Wizard University?! Where one can actually specialise in a certain field, let's say medicine?

Also, can likee, everyone become a teacher? Because I feel like that's really the case... (Ok, I'm in fact a teacher and for a fact I can say where I work it's sorta like that too but it's not your typical school and these are schools that everyone from the country/region attends..)

Like, no degree, no nothing. Do they just check how good was the person at this certain subject or what? How dangerous they are? And people seeing how each time there's a new DADA teacher, lots of them dying or something, why do they keep applying?! Even if you don't know about the curse, why?

Honestly, I have so many questions about Hogwarts and wizarding schools in general that it can be a post on its own.

[xlucygraysongbirdx]

'wild as the flowers that grow' snippet

“Look,” Albus hesitated for a brief moment, but he stood on his tiptoes and brought his lips to Scorpius’, giving him a chaste kiss, wishing he didn’t pull away so soon. “Nothing bad happened now, right?”

Scorpius froze, waiting, like he was expecting the world to suddenly explode because two boys kissed.

He started nodding after a few seconds. “Okay, yes, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

Albus smiled softly, an uncontrollable feeling of fondness for the boy in front of him surfacing in his chest. “Let's take some deep breaths and we’ll get back out there, okay?”

Albus guided him through it, both of them taking deep breaths together until Scorpius had calmed his mind a little. They exited the broom closet, knowing exactly how it looked and hoping no one saw them.

It was just their luck that Molly Weasley Junior walked by at that exact second.