#She looks like Dobby the house elf

[acannibalisticswordfish]

My dog <3

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[theosbutterfly]

the best thing at this party — t. nott

❝ fighting in only your army frontlines, don't you ignore me i'm the best thing at this party ❞

pairing: jealous!theo x malfoy!reader

context: at yours and draco's annual back-to-hogwarts bash, a pair of weasleys show up uninvited, much to theo's dismay.

words: 2.3k+

warnings: jealousy, somewhat possessive behavior, reader's kind of a bitch, theo's kind of an asshole, marijuana use, alcohol use, vomiting, a little fluff, mainly angst

"so where's the principessa?" you hear theo bring you up in conversation as you and pansy descend the stairs to join the boys in the foyer. "taking extra time to fix up her hair?"

"é un dato di fatto, lo ero," as a matter of fact, i was. you lean a hand against the banister, stopping on the last step, eyes focusing on theo. there's a chance you may or may not have learned italian just to make sure he couldn't insult you without your knowledge—not that it stopped him, but at least this way, you could defend yourself. "it takes time to look this good. but glad to know you noticed my absence."

"ooh, she got you there, mate," blaise chuckles, placing a hand on theo's shoulder, who shrugs it off.

"whatever," he spat, rolling his eyes. "i need a drink."

"finally something i can get on board with," mattheo points a finger at him, and they both turn to head towards the sitting room, pansy trailing closely behind them.

"is pans still trying to get with matt?" enzo asks, tilting his head up at you as they walked away.

"beats me," you shrugged, stepping down the last step and glancing between them. "now, why are you two standing here like a bunch of statues? last i checked, party's over there." you point your thumb towards the parlor, which appeared to be glowing green.

"the gate's still open," blaise shrugs. "draco wants us to watch for 'undesirables'."

"undesirables?" you repeat the word just so he could hear how ridiculous it sounded. "has he gone mad?"

"he wants to make sure no one from the other houses show up," blaise clarifies.

"fuck that," you shake your head. "come on." you link your arms with one of blaise's and one of enzo's, waving a finger up in the air. "colloportus!" the spell causes the front door and front gate to seal shut, as you begin walking with blaise and enzo towards the music. "now, where's dobby?"

your house elf immediately appears in front of you at the sound of his name.

"dobby is here, miss y/n," he looks up at you. "what can dobby do for you?"

you unlink your arms from blaise and enzo's and crouch down to be eye level with him. "fetch me the good liquor from the cellar downstairs, and then come find me when you've got it."

he nods. "dobby is on it miss y/n!"

—

"what are you doing standing here all alone?" daphne greengrass saunters over to theo, who was leaning against the bar, a drink in hand.

"daphne greengrass," theo greets her. "i'm surprised you're here. wouldn't the head girl disapprove of rowdy parties as such?" he waves his drink towards the crowd that had turned the malfoy's parlor into a makeshift dance floor, and she chuckles.

"i'm turning over a new leaf," she shrugs, taking a sip of her own drink. "it is our last year, after all."

"thank merlin for that," you walk between them, and lean over the bar to reach for four shot glasses.

"y/n," daphne's voice is strained as she clears her throat. "nice to see you."

you stand up straight after retrieving what you were looking for and turn your head towards her. "i'd say the same, but i'm not a liar."

theo shifts his eyes between the two of you, slightly amused at the way daphne takes a deep breath to keep her composure while you throw her a close-lipped smile.

"where'd you get the bottle, y/n?" he cuts in to prevent a cat fight from breaking out between you and daphne, and eyes the bottle of fire whiskey in your hand.

you look at him. "i had dobby fetch it from the cellar," you say. "pans and i are gonna drink it dry."

"just the two of you?" he raises an eyebrow, condescension painting his features. "does draco know about that?"

"why?" you challenge. "are you gonna go run off and tattle on me?"

before he could reply, another voice cuts in. "oi, malfoy! are we getting pissed or what?"

you turn your attention away from theo to the one of the weasleys you'd found lurking around the corners. "well, you're quite the impatient one, aren't you, freddie?"

heat rises in theo's chest when he gets a better look of the guy under the green light, and realizes its a weasley. what the hell was he doing here? and why were you allowing it?

"time is of the essence, darling," fred tells you. "george and i are trying to get a taste of this drink you've got before we inevitably get kicked out of here."

"what are you doing here, weasley?" theo speaks through gritted teeth, and looks at you. "you invited them?"

"of course not," you shrug. "they snuck in."

theo's eyes narrow at you. "and you're offering them a drink instead of throwing them out?"

"they ditched their house colors to don ours for the night," you tell him, eyes focused on fred. "i think that deserves them a little taste of slytherin."

theo doesn't miss the way fred's eyes trail over your body, and rolls his eyes. "maybe even more than a little," fred smirks.

you giggle at his words, but before you could walk away with him, theo grabs the back of your arm, pulling you close, his lips right above your ear. "cosa fai?" what are you doing?

you tilt your head up to have your eyes meet his. "mi sto divertendo," i'm having fun. "dovresti provarlo qualche volta." you should try it sometime.

you yank your arm out of his hold and don't give him a chance to respond, waltzing away towards the crowd.

"merlin, she is fit," fred comments, watching the way your hips sway as you walk away. "is she seeing anyone?"

"if she was, it certainly wouldn't be you," theo tells him.

"we'll see about that, mate. excuse me," fred throws him a smirk, before walking away to follow you across the room.

theo watches as he does, bringing his glass up to his lips to finish of his drink.

"do you-" daphne starts, but he doesn't let her finish, slamming his glass down on the bar and walking off.

—

"you all look pissed," pansy stumbles over to the guys, who were seated in a secluded area of the manor that was somewhat devoid of all the noise from the party in the parlor, passing around a joint.

"not as much as you, it seems," mattheo chuckles as she falls beside him, head falling against his shoulder. "where you been?"

"drinking with y/n," she says, eyes slowly fluttering close.

"that was your first mistake," enzo tuts, taking a long drag and inhaling. "that girl can drink double her weight in alcohol."

"mhm," pansy hums, eyes fully closing as her body falls limp against mattheo.

"alright," mattheo shifts, just enough to wake her and get her up on her feet. "look like someone's had enough for the night. come on." he begins to the guide pansy out of the room, his eyes telling the guys that he'd be right back.

"what the bloody hell did they even drink?" blaise asks, shifting his eyes between theo and enzo.

"fire whiskey," theo blows smoke out of his mouth and takes another drag. 

blaise's eyes widen. "and they didn't think to share? bloody wankers."

"they were too busy sharing it with y/n's new conquests," theo replies bitterly, passing the joint off to him.

"seems to me she's sharing more than that," enzo cuts in, raising his silver flask to point at you and fred on the opposite side of the room, where surely enough, you were tucked between him and the wall, one hand beside your head and one hand on you waist.

"oh, bloody hell," theo rolls his eyes, pulling a chuckle out from enzo.

"who is that guy anyway?"

"fred weasley," theo grits out.

"you're bloody kidding," blaise snickers, leaning forward to flick off some ash from the a joint. 

"oh, i'm bloody serious," theo nods. "he's been eye-fucking her since she showed him the tiniest bit of attention. it was quite pathetic, if you ask me."

"what's with the bitterness, mate?" enzo asks, attention shifting to theo. "you jealous?"

theo scoffs. "jealous? please. non durerà in alcun modo." no way that's gonna last. you weren't exactly the "relationship" type.

enzo shakes his head. "no clue what that means, but it didn't sound nice."

"you know how y/n is," theo tells him, hand motioning towards you and fred across the room. "it's nothing but a game to her."

"so what?" blaise asks, handing the joint over back to enzo. "you bitter she won't let you play?"

"who won't let who play?" mattheo rejoins them, and sits back down beside theo.

"theo's jealous fred weasley's got his claws in y/n," enzo catches him up.

"alright," theo stands from the sofa, no longer wanting to hear anymore of it. "i'm done with this shit."

—

unfortunately for theo, the second he headed for the bar and away from the boys, you were also already there with fred.

"alright, freddie, what's it gonna be?" your body was bent over the bar counter, fred's eyes trailing over it as you tried to reach for two different bottles. "rum or brandy?"

"oh, i'm in the mood for something much tastier, love," fred flirts, causing theo to roll his eyes.

"bloody hell," you hear theo mutter, and stand up straight after taking a hold of the two bottles you were looking for. "can't you two do this elsewhere?"

"well, no one's forcing you to stand there and watch," you retort, eyes shooting him an ice cold glare.

"for merlin's sake," he groans, clearly frustrated. "if you wanna fuck him, at least do it in one of the many private rooms upstairs so you can at least keep some of your dignity."

the words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, making you scoff and set both bottles down before getting close to him to make sure he hears you loud and clear. "fuck you."

you walk away from both of them and head for the corridor, while fred looks at theo.

"that-"

"don't fucking say anything, weasley," theo cuts him off, and leaves him behind, legs immediately following after you.

"y/n, wait!" he takes grab of your wrist and pulls to make you stop and turn to look at him.

"get off!" you shake his hand off your wrist, arms crossing in front of your chest as you looked at him.

"oh, smettila di essere una tale stronza," oh, stop being such a bitch. he tells you.

"you know what theo-" you start to give him a piece of your mind, when an uneasy feeling suddenly creeps into your stomach and slides up the back of your throat. 

fuck.

you immediately push past him to head for the nearest bathroom and he follows, as your knees hit the cold tile floor and reminiscents of what you ate before you started drinking came pouring out into the toilet in front of you.

"alright," theo winces, crouching down beside you to take a hold of your hair and gently rub a hand up and down your back. "let it out."

—

"ugh," you complain, swinging your bedroom door open and proceeding inside as you tucked your now messed up hair behind your ears. "this was not how this night was suppose to go."

theo chuckles behind you, closing your door and tossing your heels down on the ground beside your dresser.

"oh, i'm so glad you find this amusing," you spat, undoing your hair and placing the bobby pins down on your vanity.

"i just find it funny that even after two years of drinking, you still can't hold shit down," he says, taking a seat at the edge of your bed.

you mimic his words, but don't actually say anything. "ugh!" you groan loudly when it suddenly becomes much harder to tug your dress off. "why is this not-"

you stop when you feel cold fingers trail across and down your back, your skin feeling like over a hundred degrees. "hai dimenticato di aprirlo, farfalla." you forgot to unzip it, butterfly.

your eyes threaten to flutter close at the deep sound of his voice, goosebumps rising upon your skin, as he slowly unzipped the back of your dress. "theo…"

his hand lingers above your lower back, as he leaned down, lips just right above your ear. "potresti fare meglio di weasley, lo sai?" you could do better than weasley, you know that?

his breath on your ear makes a shiver run down your spine, as your head tilted back against him. "mostramelo meglio allora." show me better then.

to anyone else, this would seem odd. but to the two of you, this was just how you worked. one second you were bickering, and the next, whispering sweet nothings. it was a dance that you both knew all too well.

though the thread he used to keep you at a distance threatened to snap, theo holds himself back—you were draco's baby sister. he wasn't suppose to want you. he couldn't.

"dovresti dormire un po'," you should get some sleep. he lets himself stay beside you for one more moment, before finally pulling away—to your disappointment.

"you're not gonna stay?" you grab at the sides of your dress to keep it from falling down as you turned to look at him.

"non posso," i can't. he shakes his head at you, despite your forming pout. he didn't know what he'd get himself into if he stayed, and a part of him was afraid to find out. "buona notte, farfalla."

good night, butterfly.

part 2 coming soon!!!

re-entering my slytherin boys era bc tension with theo is the BEST kind of tension, and hopefully this didn't disappoint.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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tags: @helendeath @freshlypickledpancakes

[goldenwoods]

I don't want to beat the dead horse of 'Harry Potter's depiction of enslaved house elves is disgusting' but...I simply can't help myself. It still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I made this account to rant, after all.

So, I knew that Harry Potter never solved systemic slavery, nor even condemned it as a system. Treating house elves badly was a big no, but enslaving them in general? Debatable to say the least, says the narrative. But a recent conversation with a friend made me remember some details about just how bad it was.

First of all, though the freeing of elves via socks is a repeated element, information regarding how house elves are enslaved (or indeed, how they are born) are never shown. It's some nebulous 'bound by magic' thing and George said they come with old manors (huh?). The narrative deliberately presents all of them in an already enslaved state. Enslavement is, in the Harry Potter universe, the natural state of elves while freedom on the other hand is something that requires an external 'act', something unnatural. Elves are not shown to naturally possess autonomy which is thereafter systematically deprived, rather, they are born as part of a wizard family's property. This is pretty disturbing and sets the foundation for the narrative's whole "slavery is okay because house elves like it!' thing.

The second problem is Harry Potter himself. Harry is infuriatingly passive in front of disgusting acts of slavery. And it's not because he's a shy or apathetic character. Harry will stand up for people, is quite rash about it in fact, and even at his calmest will issue an appropriately scathing remark. But when Winky, someone who's whole kind has been enslaved and abused for who knows how long, sprouts of stuff she's been conditioned to believe like 'we're not paid, and Dobby wanting to be is unbecoming', or 'we're not supposed to have fun' or 'we do what we're told', Harry doesn't tell her 'No? You are entitled to individual autonomy, enslaving you is wrong.' but he's just like 'eh.....Dobby's cool, let him live his life.' and when Hermione complained about their oppression, the book states, literally, "Harry shook his head and applied himself to his scrambled eggs." and "True, both [Harry and Ron] had paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but they had only done it to keep her quiet." and regarding a professor using house elves to test for poison, Harry simply thought 'welp, guess Hermione's gonna be pissed about that, better not mention it'. (???) What the hell is going on with the good guys here, Rowling? Is this the approved attitude towards slavery?

Thirdly, of course, is the whole 'house elves love being enslaved' thing. Which...silly me for thinking Rowling was trying to critique systemic oppression...and not trying to shove it under the rug after using one poor oppressed elf to characterise bad guy Lucius. I mean, Hagrid's reasoning as to why we shouldn't free elves is absurd, he explains that it's 'in their nature to look after humans, that's what they like', they'd be unhappy to have their work taken away, and they'd be insulted if they got paid. Which is, first of all, a demonstrably untrue statement, because Dobby loved being paid. ('in their nature' generalisations proven to be inaccurate? What a shock!) But even putting that aside, how does this translate to slavery? You could...I don't know, free them and let them voluntarily be cooks, cleaners, servants, whatever, instead of keeping them under a 'magical bound' that makes coerced self-harm possible. They can...take care of you and be your servants if they really want to without being your property. What the hell.

Last but not least is how the only time the narrative made Ron Weasley ('good guy' who's exasperated by Hermione's house elves movement) openly consider the well-beings of house elves is when they wanted to set up Ron and Hermione's big romantic kiss. There's something so gross about Rowling trying to finalise her haphazardly-written romance with her poorly-written slaves, a group that she had, in the last few books, already mercilessly exploited for "comedy" via Hermione's unsuccessful activism. And it's...not even that significant. Ron: 'Hey, don't you think we shouldn't trap enslaved elves in a sieged castle that's about to become a death pit?' Hermione, and the narrative by extension: 'You're amazing, Ron! For showing them basic decency!' *aggressive kissing ensues*

And then Rowling made a whole crowd of house elves (along with a bunch of other systemically oppressed races that she couldn't bother writing properly) rush into battle on Harry/Hogwarts' behalf because wow, isn't he benevolent towards the enslaved? They love him! Like...no, Rowling, you didn't earn the 'all races unite' moment, rather you screwed it over so badly that your feel-good climax presents a picture of slaves rushing to defend their masters, who, I might add, just kind of forgot about them and decided that establishing nuclear families with a bunch of kids and no evil baddie anymore means 'all is well', systemic issues be damned.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Do you think there's a way to keep House Elves in the Harry Potter series without the whole... slavery thing?

Like, make it so they House Elves are like Brownies from British folklore. They like wizards and they like helping them out, but it's clear they can leave whenever they want and if you insult or abuse them they can make you regret it.

It's just the Pureblood families like the Malfoys or Blacks that have found a way to exploit their House Elves but they keep it under wraps so no one else knows about it.

I mean, there's "mysterious things that help you out and you leave milk for them and shit, and you never really see them, and they may or may not do the odd household chores when you're not looking" and there's "live in visible servants who have to follow your every command and aren't given clothes to wear and physically punish themselves if they fail orders because of weird binding contracts".

JKR could have had brownies but those are very different than what she described and what she clearly wanted in her books. (This isn't the first time of this, JKR is dead set on the basilisk being a snake instead of, you know, a rooster-dragon-toad-snake thing, we missed some real chances for Harry to hear mysterious clucking noises from inside the pipes).

As it is, if she did what you describe, then the plot JKR would want to talk about (Harry derp) would get derailed by "oh my god we have to do things about the house elves" which is admittedly what happens in book 4, and Hermione is told to shut the fuck up and sit down already.

JKR clearly wanted house elves to be what they're depicted as, have them as major plot elements in the way she had, but never actually do anything to address this giant societal problem or even admit it is a problem beyond "Dobby died a free elf" (as Dobby dies in a conflict that has nothing to do with him).

I just don't see how we could have a non-problematic house elf plotline. You guys are just going to have to let Dobby go.

[starlingflight]

Drunk prompt for Miss. Starlingflight

Harry gets Dobby’s restraining order processed through the Ministry

or

Dobby challenges Harry Potter to a duel for Ginerva’s affection using carrots as swords

🧟‍♂️

A/N this is officially the stupidest thing I've ever written. Congratulations @dobnny you've show the world the real Holly and she's unhinged:

It had really gone too far this time. 

Harry didn't know what he'd expected when he'd walked into his house to find his carpet strewn in rose petals… well, actually, the problem was that he did know what he'd expected. 

And it wasn't Dobby laid out on his and Ginny's bed draw-me-like-one-of-your-french-girls style, with only a very thin sheet to protect his modesty. And Harry's eyes. 

“Master Harry! You were not supposed to be home yet!” 

This much was true, Harry was supposed to be on a mission for at least another two days by his own estimate, but, for once luck had been on his side and he'd been able to return early. Or at least he'd thought it was luck until the moment he'd opened the door on an almost-naked house elf. 

He sighed, accepting that life would always have a new challenge to throw at him, before inclining his head towards the door. “Dobby, get dressed and I'll meet you in the kitchen.” 

He turned and headed for the hallway without awaiting a response. 

The trouble, as Harry saw it, was that Dobby was Not Like The Other House Elves. He would always find a way to skirt Harry's orders and continue to pursue Ginny. And, really, Harry couldn't blame him, for there was little he wouldn't do for a sliver of Ginny's attention either.

What was any male, Wizard or House Elf, supposed to do in the face of Ginny's allure? 

Ginny would probably say that was sexist. Harry simply thought it was a problem to be solved given Dobby's increasingly unhinged behaviour.

A loud crack permeated the kitchen and Dobby appeared, thankfully fully clothed in a sweater vest, denim hotpants and bright red Wellington boots. 

“You wanted to see me, Master Harry?” 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, eyes casting around the kitchen for anything that might be useful in this situation. He needed to appeal to Dobby's deep sense of honour, without doing anything that might injure the hapless elf. His eyes fell on a bunch of carrots on the counter. “Dobby, I challenge you to a duel. The winner gets Ginny.” 

She would definitely divorce him if she ever heard such a sentence come out of his mouth. 

Dobby looked uneasy at the suggestion. “Master Harry,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice that had definitely not been there ten minutes ago when he'd been trying to seduce Harry's wife. “House elf magic is more extensive than Wizard magic. It would not be a fair fight.” 

Harry nodded, pursing his lips together as though he were deep in thought. “We won't use magic,” he said slowly. “Or swords. We're going to duel by a far more ancient tradition which relies upon one's skill with root vegetables.” 

[dobnny]

@ladiesofhpfest

monthly mini for Ginerva Weasley

Summary: Ginny is being interview by Hannah from Risk-and-Taken, but someone interrupts their conversation.

The interview?

"So, Ginerva-"

"Please, call me Ginny." She corrected the interviewer, with a smile that didn't fully reach her eyes.

"Oh, of course. Ginny, as I was saying how excited are you with the upcoming Quidditch season? Do you think the Harpies has what it takes to win the Quidditch World Cup this year?"

"Well, Han-Han, I definitely believe that-"

"Erm, please call me Hannah," the interviewer from Risk-and-Taken, a new prophet company that was competing with the Daily Prophet.

"Of course, Hannah my apologies." Ginny replied, "I believe that this season the Harpies are certainly going to take a risk and come out victorious at the end. Yes, the odds are certainly stacked against us but there's one thing that we have that the other Quidditch teams lack."

The interviewer leaned in closer, intrigued by the determination in the young Quidditch star. Ginny could tell she was about to ask what exactly makes the Harpies stand out amongst all the other teams. When suddenly the living room became dark, and an unfamiliar muggle song started to play all around them.

Before the lights turned back on, instead of a soft white light, the room the light changed from red to pink. Thick smoke began rising from the ground, quickly spreading throughout the room.

"You don't have to be rich to be my girl. You don't have to be cool to rule my world. Ain't no particular sign I'm more compatible with. I just want your extra time and your kiss."

"Shit." She muttered, her face burning scarlet....damnit. Why now out of all times. She thought to herself, why couldn't Harry take Dobby with him?

Ginny stared at Dobby, who was wearing- wait was that little butter wearing her favorite jersey? She quilted her eyes, and realized that not only was Dobby wearing the jersey that she wore for her first Harpy match, but he was also wearing a pair of Harry’s grey joggers. It was magicked to fit the house elf, yet it didn’t suit him at all. In fact Ginny noticed how Dobby had to continuously hold onto the sides of the joggers in order to keep them up as he danced in a slow circle.

Merlin’s saggy left-

“Oh, it seems as if I’m in the middle of something intimate….I can reschedule this interview at a later time?” Ginny heard Hannah ask from besides her, almost in a strained voice.

Before she could reply to the reporter, Ginny noticed how Dobby had turned around and was staring at her. His eyes were extra wide open and he was watching her like a hawk, he had the audacity to wink at her as if saying, “you like the show?”

“Dobby, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?” She asked, through clenched teeth.

“Ms. Ginerva-“

“It’s Ginny.”

“Oh, yes sorry!” Dobby squeaked out, his face turning a shade of murky green. “Ms. Ginny, I wanted to show my gratitude for letting me serve you.”

She closed her eyes, willing herself to count to ten before reaching for her wand and firing a bat bogey hex to the house elf. After a few deep breaths, Ginny opened her eyes and spoke, “there isn’t a need for all of this, Dobby. Please can you leave? I'm in the middle of a very important interview.”

“But, Dobby needs to express his gratitude! Dobby has been practicing for hours, and this time the socks are clean,” the house elf squeaks out as he gestured to his feet. The pair of “clean” socks that Dobby claimed were a mixture of brown and green. It was also emitting a foul odor from the longer he stood there in front of them. Ginny tried her best to push down the bile in her mouth. Nope, she doesn’t want to even think about what the “dirty” socks even looked or smelled like for the matter.

Another silence stretched between the three occupants, that was until Hannah had decided to break the silence.

“You know what, maybe I should get going. Yes-I will send an owl to your manager and we will fix up a different date.” The reporter spoke with difficulty since she was doing her best to hold in her breath.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll ask Dobby to leave-”

“No! I mean, it’s fine….I’ll make sure to keep in touch with your manager and hopefully we’ll set up another date.” Hannah said as she gathered all her things quickly, “Besides, I believe Donny…?”

“It’s Dobby, Miss,” Dobby replied while attempting to give a lopsided smile to the reporter. It seems as though he tried to get that out of her brother’s Ron’s arsenal, because he would always smile like that to Hermione to get his way. Which worked practically all the time, but the way that Dobby is doing it, it just wasn’t pleasant to see. Ginny wondered if Hannah would end up sending in a restraining order against the house elf, just from the way he was trying to smile.

“Right. Dobby, I believe you two have some sort of conversation to finish, and I truly don’t want to interrupt,” Hannah replied and with that she was already rushing to the floor and before Ginny could even call out to her, Hannah was gone.

“So now that we are alone-”

Ginny pulls out her wand quicker than ever and stuns Dobby into the next realm. That buggering little shit.

[neonscandal]

Random ask, if you sort your top fav characters from BNHA & JJK to Hogwarts houses, which houses will they be (in your opinion)? Why?

I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking for the artist I bought my "Dobby is a Free Elf, F*** TERFS" sticker from (still couldn't find them 😭). Before I jump in, just taking the time to remind readers that we can maintain a connection to media we grew up with but refrain from putting more money in the hands of a creator who actively preaches against and promotes messages that impede upon the freedoms and lives of our trans frans. 🏴‍☠️⚡️

I'll use the lineups from these last asks (because I flip flop, I just love so many of them, okay??).

MHA

Katsuki Bakugo - Slytherin. Slytherin like Draco Malfoy in the sense that he's outwardly and overly confident. But his predisposition for "darkness" scares and frustrates him because he just wants the same recognition of being a good wizard that Izuku gets.

Izuku Midoriya - Gryffindor with Ravenclaw underpinnings. Gryffindor is the one house where anyone can belong if you're only brave enough to ask and he'd totally make a scene muttering to himself under the sorting hat.

Shouta Aizawa - Ooof. This is hard because he has the outward disposition of Snape as a teacher but Aizawa is so soft at heart and incredibly logical. Of the Three Dumbigos, he would be in Ravenclaw. Bonus: Oboro would have been in Gryffindor and Yamada would have been in Hufflepuff.

Shoto Todoroki - Legacy Slytherin but sorted into Gryffindor much to Endeavor's chagrin (and likely to spite him).

Eijirou Kirishima - this is a hufflepuff. ✨

JJK

Nobara Kugisaki - This one was legitimately a head scratcher. She has her Hufflepuff moments from being so in sync with Yuji but I think Nobara's more Ravenclaw or Gryffindor leaning. Especially with that ego. Actually, yea, let's be for real, Nobara would want to be in the place where she can kick the most ass and not from an academic perspective. Gryffindor with Ravenclaw underpinnings though I'm open to hearing other people's takes on her situation.

Yuji Itadori - If he'd had any insight into the houses, any idea that there were such a thing as Gryffindor whose bravery was renowned, he probably would have had the sense of mind to end up there. But buddy boy was just so happy to be included having zero connection to the wizarding world that he rejoiced at his sorting in Hufflepuff. He's well received in their ranks and, of course, is not a stranger to students in other houses. I'm not saying the Sorting Hat didn't see obvious potential, though. If only he'd persisted to ask.

Megumi Fushiguro - Unbeknownst to him, the Zenin's are a legacy Slytherin family. He'd always heard the way Gojo had spoken about Slytherins and was annoyed at the possibility of ending up there (more than how much Gojo annoyed him) so, instead, the Sorting Hat saw fit to put him into Gryffindor after his imperceptible begging.

Kento Nanami - This man is a bored Ravenclaw. He gets through school, aces his OWLs and NEWTs and then becomes something boring in the muggle world because, while magic makes things convenient, the shenanigans and idiocy of his peers and upperclassmen encouraged the pursuit of a life of solitude to recover from the hijinks he suffered while in high school. He'd come back for the Battle of Hogwarts, though. That's a call he wouldn't be able to ignore.

Satoru Gojo - He thought himself smart enough to be in Ravenclaw 👀 but was ultimately damned by his legacy Slytherin family lineage. Dismayed by the Sorting Hat's deliberation, he felt there was more glory to be had in Gryffindor and changed the tide of the Gojo family with this subsequent desire. He had the time of his life. Never told Megumi about how long the Sorting Hat deliberated though... likely forgot, in fact, because once he belonged in Gryffindor, nothing else felt right. Bonus: Shoko was in Gryffindor as the actual Ravenclaw of the trio. Geto was in Gryffindor with Hufflepuff underpinnings. The hubris he developed by this association would still be his undoing and leave him vulnerable to manipulation.

[ashesandhackles]

I was thinking about the house elf and SPEW plotline earlier had some questions. Ron reacts to it by actively dismissing it and this makes sense because he is more prone to push back to Hermione than Harry (at the point of GOF) and he was raised absorbing all of the biases and prejudices of the wizarding world without questioning them much. But I was wondering why Harry was so dismissive of Hermione’s attempts at activism? Is it he doesn’t agree with the way she goes about it, or is it that he doesn’t fully grasp that they are in fact enslaved and need more than just wizards being nicer to them OR is he just following Ron’s lead? What’s your take?

My Watsonian answer is that Harry understands individual wrongs better than systematic wrongs. This is also a reflection of the author who does better writing with interpersonal relationships than with systemic injustice (she can write about classism well, but the rest is not very well observed). To be honest, I actually do think it's out of character for Harry to not react when Crouch was berating Winky (whereas he does involve himself when he sees how Lucius treats Dobby) - he notices it, the narrative notices it, but he speaks up to support Hermione.

Harry's narrative line on this would be similar to Hagrid's: "It's [SPEW] doing them unkindness and it's in their nature to look after humans" (which, given that the storyline is about slavery, so TONE DEAF). So he, like Hagrid, disapproves of Hermione's methods. This, after we get the worldbuilding detail of house elves highest law being their master's bidding ("Don't you see how sick it is, the way they've got to obey?"), which means to enact their own will, they have to go to great lengths (like Dobby having to iron his ears to warn Harry).

My Doylist answer is that house elf plotline is so badly mangled that the end conclusion does end up being: "Be nice to your slaves" and Hermione, the radical one, is the one who has to concede to Harry's ownership of Kreacher.

Basically, if there is one thing I would like to ignore about Harry's characterization, it would be this and I don't actually have an answer for you. XD

[angelinterviews]

Emily In Paris: Hot or Not?

If you know anything about Emily In Paris, it's that her personality makes for an outstanding statement. I call myself a fan of the , even then I have to admit I couldn't stand her at first. What's this lady always so happy about, anyway? Fans suspect it may have to do with her wardrobe, and the fact she always has something new to wear. Seriously, what kind of magic lives in between her dresses? Maybe she has a house-elf, like Dobby but gay. Or maybe she found the wardrobe to Narnia, and a lot of clothing shops have been added since I first read the books. Whatever it is, it sure is making an even bigger statement out of her style. It's also enraging a lot of fashion lovers, so why not take a look at her worst (or best) outfits throughout the show?

1. Accidental, what?

I was very tempted to call this an accidental match or an accidental favourite, but I don't want your first impression of me to be that I'm a liar. Honestly, what was homegirl thinking? The top is orange, which is already a pretty hard colour to style with non-neutral colours, but the design? It's giving Miraculous Ladybug, and I'm not here for it. It COULD look cute with a long black skirt, but of course Emily didn't think about anything black. The shorts are cute. I like the design a lot, but both the top and bottom are screaming: 'LOOK AT ME!' More isn't always better, Em. I'm not even going to mention the coat, I don't see the vision. It's a lovely piece, don't get me wrong, it's just golden and an obvious attention-grabber. I'm gonna say this outfit is NOT HOT.

2. Fancy an easter egg?

I don't quite know what to say except for the fact that she looks like, well, an egg. Or an oompaloompa - that could pass, too. Seriously, I see the vision. The hat is everything, the colours in the dress and the fabric is everything. I just feel like it'd be impossible to focus on anything but Emily's dress. Eyes are up where? Sorry, I was staring at that bag you're drowning in. The plan was great, execution not so great. How did she manage to pull a man wearing THAT? I do have to give bonus points for the comfiness, though. I'd take a great nap standing up in that. Once more, this is NOT HOT.

3. Check, mate.

I don't know how she made all these patterns work, but she did. I don't LOVE the way the yellow colours aren't perfectly matching - the bag really throws me off. The hat works amazing with the yellow accessories though, and this might be the first time I've seen someone rock a bucket hat. I'm not the biggest fan of the skirt patterns either, but the eye-catching opponents on the torso really make it work. Her gloves look incredibly uncomfortable, so I feel bad for her. This look is HOT!

4. You like these pearls?

I don't think I've ever seen my favourite American girl wear anything better than this. Nothing could top the bold belt, Pearl necklace and colour combinations from this outfit. Also, have I mentioned her shirt has bows on it? I know! It pairs perfectly with her red skirt(can't believe I forgot the pattern's name, it's my favourite!) and usually I'm not a big fan of big buttons, but these really combine well with her beige jacket. I'm so here for this summer look! HOT.

5. Babushka, babushka, babushka.

In the best way ever, this look reminds me of an old Russian lady and a very specific Barbie look. I'm living for the glasses paired with the unique dress she's wearing - retro is definitely in! She pairs her jacket well with some white gloves and goes for the smart look with her blue heels. Hear ye, hear ye, the famous sandwich method hath been reinvented by our Lady Emily. I love being a hater when it comes to our girl, but this look is honestly stunning. I say it's HOT!

6. Killed a wasp for this look, WYD?

Seriously, what happened? Did a painter mistake you for being part of the wall he was painting? I can see the vision if I squint my eyes, but the neon yellow? I dislike any yellow but pastel yellow, if you couldn't tell by now. Emily looks like a queen bee,l which if you think about it more, is kind of iconic because bees love their queens, but I'm not loving this two-piece. I just think that and the neon and the random blue that's nowhere else in her outfit and the fur-like things on the end of the skirt are too clashing. It's once again, too much for me. The model of the two-piece is stunning, though. I'm going to say this is NOT HOT, and I hope you aren't colourblind because then my arguments wouldn't make much sense.

7. Zebra-esque is totally in!

I feel like you've either gotta love or hate this look, no in-between. Personally, I love it. The hat and mask are key points in this outfit, yet they don't beg for attention like some of the other accessories Emily's worn. The piece itself is extremely haute couture - I don't think you'd look at her now and say 'ringarde' or 'basic'. She does look a little bit like me when I first found out stripes make you look more thin, but it looks better on her than it ever did on me. Her hands look ai-generated, but not everything can be expected to look amazing when it comes to Emily. This look is HOT.

8. Metallic boots: on.

Unlike a good game face, this statement is something you can't easily turn on or off. Once you style the knee-high boots, you can't turn away from them. I honestly don't like high boots, but Emily makes it work. I also don't like neon orange, but she once again made it work. Seriously, I don't know how her outfits make me feel so unbothered about the non-matching shades, but I've never felt more at ease. The ruffles are amazing, although the puffy sleeves are a tad bit too much. Also, those things dangling in front of her dress? My grandma uses that to tie her curtains with... Overall, I'd say this is HOT but definitely could've been even hotter.

9. I'm from Paris, baby!

Says nobody who's ever worn a beret. Seriously, it's a tourist thing and, as someone who's been around for two seasons, Emily should know better. The outfit is EVERYTHING, but the dress is giving us nothing. I think everything would've paired just beautifully with a simple pair of jeans or just anything without a pattern. I really dislike the dress, I can't stress enough how beautiful the combination would be without the dress. Switch it up, please! It would be HOT with a different layer.

-

So, what do you think? Is Emily a fashion icon or should she get a new wardrobe? Let us know in the comments down below! We'd love to hear your thoughts on these bold looks.

[sunnyie-eve]

6 | One Of My Favorites

Series: Little Things

Paring: Mattheo Riddle x OFC Potter!

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Might be a few mistakes

| MASTERLIST |

"Harry tell your owl to shut it. She'll get Twila going again." I say from my side of the room. Luckily for us Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia let us have Dudley second bedroom. We didn't mind sharing a room since at school we have our own dorms away from each other. 

"Harry Potter!" Uncle Vernon yells for him. 

"Now you've done it." Harry groans at Hedwig. 

"Just say what he wants to hear." I tell him as he leaves the room. 

After a few seconds my name is being called making me groan. "Yes, sir?" I fake a smile. 

"Now, let's go over our schedule once again, shall we? Petunia, when the Masons arrive, you will be...?" He waits for an answer. 

"In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously to our home." She answers. 

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley answers so all three walk clasper to Harry and me glaring at us. 

"We'll be in our bedroom making no noise and pretending that we don't exist." We say together then leave.

When Harry opens the our doors we see an elf jumping on his bed. "Harry and Hazel Potter... such an honor it is." He tells us and Harry shuts the door. 

"Who are you?" Harry asks. 

"Dobby, sir. Dobby the house elf." He smiles. 

"Not to be rude or anything but this isn't a great time for us to have an house elf in my bedroom." I tell him in a nice way. 

"Yes, ma'am, Dobby understands. It's just that Dobby has come to tell you both... It is difficult. Dobby wonders where to begin." Dobby tells us. 

"Why don't you sit down?" I smile at him. 

"S-sit down? Sit down?" Dobby starts to sobbing confusing us. 

"Dobby, shush. She's sorry." Harry tries to calm him down. 

"I didn't mean to offend you or anything." I tell him. 

"Offend Dobby? Dobby has heard of your greatness. But never has he been asked to sit down by a wizard...like an equal." He says making me feel bad for him.

"You can't have met many decent wizards, then." Harry tells him and he said no. 

"That was an awful thing to say." He says before starting to banging his head on the dressed. We try to tell him to stop but he won't. 

"Dobby, please." He finally stops then explains that he had to punish himself because he talked bad about his family he serves. Dobby then tells us he's trying to protect us by saying we can't go back to school. 

Once again Dobby starts to make noise again after saying he has said too much and can't tell us anymore. Harry grabs Dobby and shoves him in the closet as Uncle Vernon comes in. "What the devil are you two doing up here?" He whispers shouts at us. 

"I was just..." Harry stutters while uncle Vernon tells us not one more sound before leaving. 

Harry tries to explain to Dobby that we have to get out of her because it's terrible here. "Friends that don't even write to Harry and Hazel Potter." Dobby says making Harry answer I caught in about how does he know that.

Dobby holds the letter close to him and as Harry goes to get them Dobby runs out of the room. "Dobby! No!" We chase after him. 

We all come to stop as we all look at the cake. Dobby snaps his fingers making the cake levitate and move. "Dobby...please, no." We say his name but he tells us we must say we won't go back to school but of course we don't say it. 

"Harry, you'll make it worse." I say as he goes after the cake. "Dobby, stop this, please." I beg him but he snaps his fingers making the cake fall onto of the woman's head. Dobby snaps his fingers again and disappears. Of course Harry and I hear it after the guest leave and the next day Uncle Vernon puts bars on the window.

While we were trying to sleep we wake up hearing a car noise. "What is that?" Harry and I look out the window to see a car. 

"Hi twins." Ron tells us. 

"Ron, Fred, George." I smile. 

"What are you all doing here?" Harry asks them. 

"Rescuing you guys, of course. Now, come on. Get your trunks." Ron tells us so we quickly get ready to go. 

They pull rip the bars off the window and I tell Harry we need to hurry. "Potter!" Uncle Vernon yells at us. 

"Go, go." Harry lets me go first. 

"Come on, Harry!" I shout at him.

 "I got you Harry." Ron holds onto Harry while Uncle Vernon has Harry's leg. 

"Drive!" I shout and we drive away making Uncle Vernon fall out the window making me laugh. 

"By the way Harry, Hazel, happy birthday." Ron tells us. 

"Thank you."

It was daylight when we made it to the Weasley's house and we had to be quiet going in. I actually loved their house, "It's not much, it's home." Ron tells us. 

"I like it." I give him a smile. 

"Where have you been?" Their mom pops up. 

"Harry, Hazel, how wonderful to see you, dears." She smiles at us then goes off on her sons. 

She tells us it's time for breakfast so we all sit at the table. "It's funny how Hazel could pass for a Weasley with her hair." Fred laughs. 

"Until you remember she's a Slytherin." George adds. 

"Yeah, well she's the only Slytherin I will ever like." Ron adds giving me a small smile. 

"I will gladly keep that title, Ron. So George... You don't care for me?" I mess with him and he gets defensive. 

"I didn't mean it in a bad way! You are a wonderful person!" He starts to ramble. 

"She's only a Slytherin because she's lacks courage." Harry laughs at me. 

"Shut it!"

While we start to eat Ginny rushes in then gets embarrassed seeing Harry so she runs away. Mr. Weasley joins us right after and looks at Harry, "And who are you?" He asks so Harry introduces himself. 

"Oh, and when did Ron get a twin sister?" He laughs. 

"I'm Hazel Potter." I introduce myself to him. 

"Wow both Potters in my house. Ron's told us all about you both, of course." He starts to eat then asks about when we got here so Molly brings up the flying car making Arthur amused. 

The post shows up and Percy gives Harry and me our letters. "There's only one place we're going to get all of this... Diagon Alley." Molly tells us so we all get dressed to go get our supplies.

Ron goes first using the Floo powder to show us how it is done. "Cool. I wanna go first." I go into the fireplace and put my hand out to get my Floo powder. 

"Don't forget to speak very, very clearly." She tells me. 

"Diagon Alley." I say then pop out falling to the floor in front of Ron. 

"You okay, Hazel?" He helps me up. 

"That was cool. Oh, thanks for asking. I'm okay." I laugh getting up dusting myself off.

Soon all the the Weasley come through and tell us Harry didn't say Diagon Alley right so it might take him awhile to show up. First we go to the book shop to get the books we need for this school year. Ends up Molly was excited to see Mr. Lockhart along with many other ladies waits to see him. 

"Mum, fancies him." Ron tells Harry so Molly hits his chest. 

"I don't get it... He's not that good looking." I whisper to Ron. 

"Finally a female who's says that. You keep climbing your way to the top of my favorite people." Ron gives me a hug making me giggle. 

Lockhart ends up see Harry making him get pulled over to him. "Ladies and Gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is. When young Harry stepped into Flourish and Blotts this morning to purchase my autobiography, Magical Me..." Everyone claps making Ron and me make a face looking at each other. 

"He's very full of himself." I lean closer to Ron.

"You are my favorite Potter now." Ron puts an arm around my shoulder.

"You've always been my favorite Weasley." I put an arm around his waist as we continue to listen to Lockhart. 

I get bored looking around and up to see Draco looking down at the crowd. He sees me and gives me a disgusting look because how I was with Ron. When Harry comes back Molly tells us to go wait outside so we all head out. 

"Bet you loved that didn't you Potter. Famous Harry Potter, can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page." Draco walks up to us. 

"Leave him alone." Ginny steps to up. 

"Oh look, Potter. You've got yourself a girlfriend." Draco gets cut off by a man coming up to him and I guess it was his father. 

"Mr. Potter... And Miss Potter." His father looks at Harry then at me since I was between him and Ron. "Lucius Malfoy." He introduces himself to us and then pulls Harry close to look at his scar.

"Your scar is legend, as, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you." He tells Harry. 

"Voldemort killed our parents. He was nothing more than a murderer." I speak up making him look at me. 

"You must be very brave to mention his name, or very foolish." He eyes me. 

"Fear is a name only increases fear of the thing itself." Hermione tells him. 

He says he's hear all about her and her Muggle parents because of Draco. Then turns to Ron calling out the the signs that show he's a Weasley. Arthur comes up and Lucius basically talks crap about how they are poor.

"Associating with Muggles... And I thought your family could sink no lower." I glare at him as he leaves. 

"See you at school." Draco glares at Harry. 

"And I'm associated with them because I'm a dumb Slytherin." I roll my eyes. 

"You are nothing like them, Hazel." Harry rubs my back. 

"Listen, Hazel." Arthur looks down at me. "Yes, most Wizards and Witches in Slytherin are bad and go bad... but that is only because they chose to be that way. You choose your own path whether you wanna be good or bad. You can use your traits in a good way. Do you understand?" He asks and I nod my head. "Good, girl." He rubs my shoulder before we all leave to get school supplies.

When it was time to get to the train we were running a little late so we had to hurry or we would miss the train. Everyone makes it through except Harry, Ron, and me. We run to the wall but we hit it running over each other. 

"What the?" I groan getting up with the boys. 

"Why can't we get through?" Harry whispers. 

"I don't know. The Gateway has sealed itself for some reason." Ron slaps the wall and the clock shows that we missed the train. "If we can't get through, maybe Mum and Dad can't get back." Ron thinks. 

"Maybe we should just go and wait by the car." I suggest but Ron had a different idea. 

"Ron, I should tell you most Muggles aren't accustomed to seeing a flying car." Harry tells Ron as we fly so he presses a button to make the car invisible.

"I don't think driving on the tracks is a smart idea. It could be behind us for all we know." I tell Ron as we hear the horn. 

"We must be getting close." Ron says and I look back. 

"Ron!" I yell then they scream. "Turn Ron!" I scream at him and we twirl around nonstop and Harry falls out holding onto the car door. 

"Harry!" We yell. 

Ron and I reach for Harry and successful pull Harry back in. "I think we found the train." Harry sighs. 

"Yeah." Ron nods his head. 

"No, really?" I sigh in the back. "Next time, listen to me Ron." I lean forward. 

"Will do." He agrees. 

"Also wear your damn seatbelt." I hit Harry. "What if you fell, fell." I keep hitting him. 

"I would have died." I stop then hit him more as we follow the train to school.

[braveclementine]

Part 8

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (However they are very few so those under the age of 18 can still read a majority of this book. However please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. Also, all of Severus and Elizabeths' childrens names are mine and mine alone.I also do not condone any copying of this.

MALFOY MANOR

🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

Elizabeth hesitated, staring at the grand doors of the Malfoy Manor. She could remember gravel digging into her feet, which started to bleed, before being dragged over the steps and into the house. 

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Severus had been nervous about her coming here, especially by herself. But Lucius had never been the problem, and neither had the house or Draco or Astoria. 

Voldemort was dead. There was nothing to fear here. 

She knocked on the door. 

It wasn't long before the house elf entered. It looked much happier than Dobby ever had, and spoke with a slightly more feminine voice. "Hello Miss! Please come inside!" Elizabeth stepped into the foyer, letting the small creature take her coat. 

"You are here to see Master Draco, yes?" She asked. 

"Yes please." Elizabeth said quietly. 

"Right this way Miss!" The house-elf said, quickly leading the way and she followed. 

She breathed in deeply again as she walked down the hallway, the portraits of past relatives on the walls, judging her silently. She couldn't help but notice that Bellatrix seemed to be missing a portrait. 

She walked over the spot where Bellatrix had tortured her before Severus had come to her rescue, breathing in again. She stopped walking for a moment, even as the small elf started to climb up the stairs. 

"Ah, Mrs. Snape." A quiet, older voice said. She opened her eyes, startling. Lucius was standing at the foot of the stairs now, the elf having stopped halfway up. He hadn't changed a bit, just like Severus. He looked forty still, his long blond hair as luscious as ever. His blue eyes were just a piercing, but they looked kinder. 

"Mr. Malfoy." She said softly. 

"Come, I will take you to Draco. Thank you, Cisney." Lucius said, holding his arm out. Elizabeth hesitantly took it and he mostly steered her away from the foyer and up the stairs. "They're in the bedroom." 

"Of course." Elizabeth said quietly, mostly focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, and not tripping on the stairs. 

"Are you alright?" Lucius asked quietly. "This house. . . and I myself-" 

"Knock that off." She scolded. "You did nothing." 

He made a noise of discontent. He knew that she had saved his life when he did not deserve it. He felt that he had violated her, when she believed he had not. How she could be so wrong, he would never understand. But he accepted her beliefs in favor his own since they were far more pleasant. 

She was quiet for a moment and said, "I am not a miracle worker Mr. Malfoy." 

"Please, call me Lucius. You're married to my oldest friend after all and I don't think he would approve if we weren't on first name basis." Lucius said lightly. He and Severus had seen each other a handful of times in the past twenty-one years, though they mostly wrote to each other. He was glad for Severus, and jealous all at the same time. "And my son believes differently." 

"I do not know why." She said softly. 

He stopped in front of the door and pushed it open, letting his arm drop and consequently, hers. "I'll be back eventually." 

Draco was sitting by Astorias' side. The beautiful young woman was laying in the bed, looking incredibly pale. 

"Elizabeth." Draco greeted her tersely. "Thank you for coming. Especially since I know. . ." 

"Draco." Elizabeth said gently. "I'm glad you think I can help, but I'm not sure what you want me to do." 

"Please." He pleaded pulling out files and papers from the nearby table. "Just read through this. See if there's anything you can do." 

She nodded, taking the papers from him and sat in the middle of the floor, starting to focus her mind. She read over every Healers' note, every analysis of her condition. Every medicine, spell, and potion they had tried to use to stop the disease. 

Blood malediction was a rare and unusual disease. It was a genetic defect, passed down generation by generation. In Astorias' case, it was a curse placed on an ancestor by a wizard. Elizabeth scratched the back of her head, before diving in more. Some side-effects included gradually becoming an uncontrollable Animagus that turned the females into a beast-like animal. However, it was uncertain whether Astoria had this. 

It also seemed that the curse only passed down through the same gender, which meant Scorpius would not be affected, but any daughters, granddaughters, great- granddaughters and so forth would be potential victims of the curse. 

To Elizabeth, it seemed that someone needed to learn how to either break or reverse the curse. This wasn't something she could do in a short period of time, certainly not before Astoria was going to die. All she could do now, was try to stop it with a potion of some sort. 

They had used every potion imaginable with Astoria. Everything from simple calming draughts for peace and painlessness, to extreme ones that Elizabeth felt shouldn't even be on the market. In her private opinion, Astoria was lucky to have lived this long. 

Elizabeth sighed, gently pinching the bridge of her nose as she looked around the room again. Astoria was asleep, Draco sitting in a chair looking out the window. The house was quiet, the only noise to be heard the ticking of a grandfather clock. 

"They've done everything, Draco." Elizabeth said quietly. "What do you think I can do?" 

"Something!" Draco exclaimed. "Elizabeth you have made a cure for werewolves!" 

"It's not a cure, it's a treatment." Elizabeth sighed, exasperated. "A cure would be getting-" 

"My point is, you've accomplished something that people said were impossible." 

"Took two decades-" 

"I don't care." Draco emphasized. "I'll pay you if that's what it takes, but you need to do something. Anything!" 

Elizabeth sighed, looking down at the lavish carpeting in the bedroom. It looked like it had never been stepped on before, still fluffy and white, with small, thin lines of brown running through it to make patterns. "I can try." She finally said. "But there are zero guarantees anything I do will work." 

"Thank you." Draco said, relieved. 

"And. . ." She added. "You don't need to pay me." 

Their eyes met in understanding and Draco nodded. 

Elizabeth settled herself down on the floor again, conjuring up her potions set to start. She stared at the empty cauldron for a long time, before her mind started to drift again, random thoughts pooling into her brain. Her hands started to move on their own, without her eyes seeing what ingredients she was putting in, or what she doing. 

Draco watched partially, noticing her glazed eyes and the slightly. . . almost jerky way in which she was boiling the potion. His father stopped in to see what was happening a few times. Draco knew that while his father had never quite approved of the marriage between him and Astoria, his father also didn't want to see her die. Besides, his father had actually softened a little in certain aspects. It was more his mother who still had problems with the marriage and so they saw her even less than his father. 

Finally, Elizabeth paused, seeing that there was a bright pink potion bubbling in the cauldron. It smelled sweet, almost like cinnamon rolls from the bakery. Draco had fallen asleep in the time she had spent, although Astoria was awake at the moment. 

"Draco?" Elizabeth asked softly. Draco gave a start, checking first on Astoria before looking at her. "I believe I'm done." 

Draco didn't move or say anything for a moment before nodding. "How much do we give her?" 

"First, I have to say something. To both of you." Elizabeth said gently, getting off the floor and sitting in the chair nearby. Both of them gave her their attention. "Firstly, in my visions. . . I see you passing away in about three weeks." 

Astoria gave a little shudder intake of breath, but nodded. Draco gripped her hand hard. 

"Secondly, I do not know what this potion will do, understand? I could have created a poison that will kill you instantly, I could have created a placebo that will simply have you die at the same time, I could have created a treatment that will extend your life if you continue taking it- although I'm not sure if I can replicate it-, or I could have completely made a cure that means you'll live forever. I do not know. Which means that this is. . . there is a risk taking this potion. Do you understand?" 

Draco glanced at Astoria. 

"I do." She whispered. "I want to take it. At least try." 

Elizabeth nodded, putting a dosage of it into a cup. "This is seventy-five milliliters, standard dosage. If this seems to be working we could do this dosage once a day." 

She gently handed the cup to Astoria who stared at the bright pink liquid for a moment. "I hope it tastes as good as it smells." Astoria laughed a little and Draco smiled thinly. Astoria sipped it, wrinkling her nose, but downed the whole thing. "Not quite." 

Elizabeth swallowed hard, watching her. At least she didn't die right away. Some colour was coming back into her cheeks as well. 

"I feel. . . better already." Astoria said, amazed. Draco let out a relieved laugh, hugging her. "Thank you, Elizabeth." She smiled at her, "Even if you've only given me a little bit of time, even if I still pass away around the same date. . . at least my last days I will be able to be with my family and not in pain. You have given me the best gift anyone could." 

Elizabeth smiled gently, "You're welcome." 

"I can lead you out." Draco said, standing. 

"No, but thank you." Elizabeth said. "I should head home now." 

"Tell my Godfather I said hello." Draco said. 

"I shall." 

Elizabeth left the room, and found that Scorpius was hovering outside. Elizabeth opened the door a little wider. "Go on in." Scorpius headed into the room and she heard him talking delightedly with his parents. 

"You have a gift." Lucius said, leaning against one of the pillars. Elizabeth glanced at him. 

"Hardly. I'm a healer, that's all. I did my best but I don't know if it will work or for how long if it does." 

"You made her feel better with a new potion in under three hours. Seems like a gift to me." Lucius retorted, walking with her down the stairs. They paused in the foyer once more as she looked around. "Are you alright? This house. . . I'm sure it's not easy. I should have kept my distance." 

"No." She said softly. "You protected me here, even if you didn't realize it. And you weren't yourself Lucius, you and I both know that. I get that you hate yourself, that you feel guilty about it. But you shouldn't. I don't blame you. You couldn't help that you were sick with a rare disease that controlled you. You and I both know that it's the equivalent of a powerful Imperius Curse. So powerful you can't even remember what you did during those moments you're taken over. And it was nearly twenty-two years ago Luc- Lucius." 

Neither of them missed the way she used Severus nickname for him, but they both decided not to comment on it. 

"Tell Severus I said hello." Lucius finally said. 

"Of course." She said, turning and walking away, Lucius looking after her. 

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

I Go On Too Many Dates (It's Miserable and Magical)

Of all people Lavender forces Ron to go on a double date with, it has to be his baby sister and her stupid boyfriend?

Read on AO3 Here!

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It was all Lavender’s fault.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron grumbled to Harry as they were putting away the practice balls after a Saturday afternoon Quidditch practice, “Can’t join you for dinner tonight because Lavender’s making me go on a date.” Harry’s face grimaced in sympathy. “A double date, with Ginny and Dean.” Harry’s eyes widened at this. 

“Oh,” coughed Harry, “I’ll find Hermione then. You guys have fun.”

So now instead of eating dinner with his best mate after a successful Quidditch practice and stuff his face with chicken pot pie, he was headed down to the kitchen to fill a picnic basket with cold turkey sandwiches so he, his girlfriend, his little sister, and her stupid boyfriend could all pretend this was better than eating a warm dinner at the Great Hall. Lavender had the rather stupid, but in her mind brilliant idea during a Transfiguration lesson that they should go on a double date with his sister of all people. And his sister’s stupid boyfriend happened to be sitting next to Lavender when she had this idea and enthusiastically agreed.

He watched as Ginny fervently talked with Dean, probably reenacting one of them many goals she scored on him today in practice. Ron wished he could talk to Lavender about Quidditch, but she thinks it's boring to talk about. She was only interested in the personal lives of Quidditch players. 

Lavender was going on and on all about the latest scandal that was reported in this morning’s edition of Witch Weekly. Some famous singer was seen leaving the Leaky Cauldron with the guitarist of the Weird Sisters when just last week she was seen at a bar in Holyhead with the seeker of the Harpies. 

Ron liked Lavender’s mouth best when it was used for snogging, not gossip.

The two couples made their way to the kitchens, and Ron tried his best to ignore the warm, inviting smell of dinner in the Great Hall as they passed the main entrance, going down the stairs that lead to the Hufflepuff Common Room. 

“And how exactly did you know how to sneak into the kitchens?” Dean asked Ginny.

“Ah, a lady never tells her secrets.”

“Was it Fred and George?”

“I believe I just told you that a lady never tells her secrets,” Ginny said as she tickled the pear at the entrance of the kitchens. 

If Ron thought the smell of dinner was strong, it was nothing compared to the aroma that was coming from the tiny ovens the house elves were cooking at. 

This was an awful date idea.

“Alright!” Lavender said, rallying the group, “Ginny and Dean, can you make some sandwiches for all of us, Won-Won, can you go get a picnic basket, and I will be in charge of dessert!”

A picnic basket. Easy. He could do that. Maybe he could also find a bottle of Winky’s firewhiskey if he was lucky as well. 

Ron looked around the kitchen for a sign of any type of basket he could use. He saw a crate that could possibly work in the back by the sinks, but then he recognized Kreacher washing the dishes, so he decided that he could find a different option.

“Harry’s Wheezy!” Ron turned around to see Dobby wearing a sweater that he assumed Hermione must have knitted running up to him. “You look like you need some assistance. How can I help?”

“Do you have a basket by chance?” Ron asked the eager elf.

After obtaining a perfect picnic basket and dropping it off at the table Ginny and Dean were at, Ron slowly sauntered his way back to the free house elf.

“Hey, Dobby”

“Yes, Harry’s Wheezy?”

Ron was proud of himself for resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Do you happen to have any more of the chicken pot pie that is served tonight?”

“Yes! Anything for Harry’s Wheezy!”

Dobby led Ron back further into the kitchen where there was just one pot left. With a talent that only a Weasley could have, Ron attempted to scarf down the hot dinner before anyone took notice of his absence. 

“Where did you get that?” Ron heard his sister ask from behind him.

“Dohhby” muffled Ron, as his mouth was currently full.

“Do you think there is more? We had a 2 hour Quidditch practice today. A cold turkey sandwich isn’t exactly going to cut it for me.”

“Nope,” Ron swallowed the food in his mouth. “There was only one left. And he said he would only get it for, and I quote, “Harry’s Wheezy”. And since I am Harry’s Wheezy, not you, I get the chicken pot pie.”

Ginny gave Ron a look of confusion, “I don’t think I want to know what that even means.” Ginny turned on her heel and went back to Dean and Lavender who were finishing up packing the homemade sandwiches up at the front of the kitchen.

“You’re just jealous that I am Harry’s Wheezy not you!” Ron shout-whispered after her. Ginny waved her middle finger at him as she walked away.

By the time Ron finished his good dinner for the night, Lavender was just closing up the picnic basket.

“Perfect timing Won-Won! Let’s go find a place to eat!”

The group found an alcove near the Hufflepuff Common Room with a small table to sit at. They ate their dinner (or Ron’s second dinner) of cold turkey and cheese sandwiches and luke-warm pumpkin juice. Ron ignored Ginny’s glare at him when he said he was full after his meal.

“But we are not done yet!” Lavender said, pulling a box from inside the picnic basket. “I got some sugar cookies and frosting! I thought it would be fun for us to decorate cookies!”

Kill me. Ron thought. 

“Tadaa!” Ginny said, brandishing her cookie 20 minutes later. Her cookie was decorated with the three Quidditch rings with a snitch floating between them.

“Fantastic artistry, Miss Weasley,” Dean critiqued. “But you do realize you currently play chaser not seeker?”

“Yes, yes. But a quaffle is just a giant brown blob, I wanted something with a little more artistry.”

“You want to see some real artistry?” Dean challenged, pulling out his own cookie. It was a realistic golden Gryffindor Lion on a scarlet background. Ron looked around, swearing they did not even have that color of red frosting with them. 

Ron looked down at his own cookie. He had just frosted it bright orange and wrote CHUDLEY CANNONS in big font. Or he attempted to. He misjudged the amount of letters in comparison to the amount of space on the cookie, so the C’s were hilariously large compared to the skinny, curled Y and S he had to make to fit it all on the cookie. 

At least Lavender’s cookie was a simple drawing of the night sky.

“It’s a depiction of the night sky from the night I was born. Professor Trewlawney says that it is important to memorize the stars from important dates because they will foresee the future,” Lavender explained. Pausing, she turned to Ron next to her, batting her blue eyes up at him, “Do you know when my birthday is, Won-Won?”

Shit, no.

“Uh -”

“Do you guys want to play a game of Exploding Snap?” Ginny asked. “I am sure that the Hufflepuff’s keep a deck around here somewhere.” 

Merlin Bless little sisters. Ron made a mental note to himself to get Ginny a nice present from Honeydukes the next time he makes a trip to Hogsmeade. 

“You aren’t going to get too competitive are you, Ginny?” Dean asked. “Last time we played you just got super angry at me for not playing correctly.”

“I got mad at you because we were on a team and you took way too long to place a card down, Dean. We kept losing to Seamus of all people.” Ginny got up from the bench and crossed over to a cabinet in the back nook, pulling drawers open at random and digging through them, searching for a deck of cards. 

“Isn’t it Seamus’s thing to have things blow up in his face?” asked Lavender.

“He doesn’t do it on purpose!” Dean defended his best friend. 

“I never said he did. But just last week in Charms, we were working on making water go through all of the phases of the water cycle, and he somehow turned snow into fire.”

Lavender and Dean’s bickering was interrupted by a terrified screech that came from Ginny behind them. Ron turned and found a tall, dark haired man standing over Ginny. 

“Hello Ginny,” the man said slowly walking his way towards her, “I know you have missed me.”

Ginny stood frozen in her spot, gaping up at the man. Eyes widened in fear. Ron stood up, hand gripping his wand from within his pocket. Looking around, Ron noticed that Ginny’s wand lay across him on the table. She was defenseless against this stranger.

“I know I missed you,” the man continued, reaching a hand forward to brush back a lock of Ginny’s hair. “I wish you still wrote to me. We used to talk everyday. Granted you always said the most stupid of things.”

Oh Shit. This random person was a boggart. This was Tom Riddle.

Ginny slowly backed herself away from Tom, but doing so backed her into a corner. Tom continued to walk towards his sister, mocking her.

“Tom, you’re my only friend. Tom, you are the only one that truly gets me. Tell me, Ginny, are all the friends and boyfriends you have had throughout the years filled the hole in your soul that I left? Or are you still just as alone as you were at the age of 11? Because I am the only one that truly gets you, remember? I know just how unloveable, irritating, and lonely you are,” Tom said, punching each word in emphasis. 

Ron sprung up into action. He pulled his wand out from his front pocket of his robes, knocking his cookie on Lavender’s lap in the process. Ignoring his girlfriend’s shriek, Ron shot forward. He wasn’t sure if boggarts could enact the same harm as the real thing, he wasn’t all that focused on Professor Lupin’s lesson, but the first Tom was only a memory shoved inside a diary. If that thing could possess his little sister, who's to say that the boggart couldn’t do the same thing?

“Oi, dick head!” Ron shouted at the boggart. Tom spared a glance back at him before turning back to Ginny. 

“Little Ginevra, still so weak she needs someone else to fight her battles for her?” Tom grinned down at her. “Is Harry not here to save the day? The best you can do is one of your many older brothers? Pathetic.” 

Ron did not take well to being called pathetic by his sister’s own boggart. He stepped in front of Ginny, blocking her from Tom. Tom’s face gave one final smirk before shifting into something more hairy with beady eyes. An Arogog sized spider replaced the spot where the young Dark Lord used to stand. Ron may have known it was coming, but still facing your greatest fear is still scary. 

Taking a deep breath, Ron cast a quick spell. 

Riddikulus.

The giant spider’s legs folded into itself, forming a pretzel. Ron didn’t have the energy to laugh at the comical spider in front of him. He just shoved it back into the cupboard that it came from. Some random Hufflepuff can deal with it, any luck and it would be Zacharius Smith’s problem. 

Ron turned back to his sister. Ginny just stared at the spot that the giant spider disappeared from, Ron saw a look in Ginny’s eyes that he hadn’t seen since Egypt. 

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get someone? Hermione? Luna? Harry?” Ron asked.

Ginny shook her head no. “Can we just go to Madam Pomprey and get some Dreamless Sleep Potion?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

“Of course,” Ron said without hesitating. Ron turned to Lavender and Dean. “Can you guys clean up, I’m going to take Gin to the hospital wing.” And without waiting for a response, Ron wrapped his arms around his baby sister and led her away from the boggart in the cabinet. Dean called after Ginny, but she did not look back, eyes locked on the ground in front of her.

Quietly, the two siblings walked up to the hospital wing. Ron kept wracking his brain for something comforting to say to her, but he knew whatever he said was probably going to be stupid and not helpful. Hermione did tell him he had the emotional range of a teaspoon. 

Ginny was the one to break the silence as they rounded the corner to the hospital wing.

“Thanks for getting rid of him,” Ginny mumbled.

“Hey,” Ron responded, “You’ve always called me an overprotective git, it’s finally time I did something to earn that title.” Ginny didn’t laugh like he was expecting her to. Instead she was looking down at the ground, rather fascinated with a speck of dirt on her shoe. 

“I just froze.” Ginny eventually said, “I froze and then I just ran away.”

“Ginny, no one expects Lord Voldemort to pop out of the cupboard when they are on a double date. And those that do either belong at Saint Mungos or in Azkaban. And sometimes running is the brave thing.”

“Thanks Ron. I really owe you.”

“Nah, you saved me from Lavender for not knowing her birthday, and I saved you from a boggart of Voldemort, I’d say we are pretty even,” Ron said, bumping into her.

“Prat,” Ginny responded, smiling for the first time since they left the alcove. “Can you just wait here, I will be out in just a moment.” 

Ron swayed awkwardly outside the giant oak doors of the Hospital Wing. He hated this part of the hospital because he was never here for a good reason. He had spent many hours pacing this hallway waiting for access to visit Harry after one of his many injuries or in his second year waiting for Madame Pomfrey to finally let him visit a petrified Hermione. He subconsciously rubbed the scars along his arms, remembering last year when he had to spend quite some time in the hospital wing as well. And now he is here because his sister was retraumatized by Lord fucking Voldemort.

Ron’s thoughts were interrupted by Ginny bursting through the doors and storming right past him. 

“Wait! Ginny, slow down!” Running to catch up with her. For someone so short she should not be able to walk that fast. “What happened?”

Ginny turned quickly on her heel to face him, fire in her eyes. Ron took a step back in fear that his own snot was about to attack him. “She!” Ginny stabbed a finger in the direction of the Hospital Wing, “Won’t give me any. Because apparently there is a risk for dependence on the damn Dreamless Sleep Draught and I have exceeded my limits. So unless I want to spend the night in the hospital wing, I can’t have any more. I can’t imagine anything more mortifying than having to spend the night in the Hospital Wing because of the possibility of some fucking nightmares.”

Ron had seen Ginny at all stages of her life, watched various temper tantrums, seen her cry tears of joy, sadness, and frustration, but he had never seen her so frustrated and yet so fragile. 

“Ginny, how many nightmares have you been having?”

“Ugh,” Ginny groaned, flinging her red hair over her shoulders, “O.W.L.s just have me stressed! So I take it to help me sleep! It’s really no big deal, okay?” Giving Ron a very pointed look that if he followed up with more questions, his boogers were going to attack his face. 

Ron took a deep breath, and contemplated his next words. He was always told he never thinks before he talks, but he is trying to work on it. “If,” Ron cleared his throat, “If you do want to ever talk about it, I will be all ears. ‘Kay?” He gave his little sister a look to say please don’t hex me. 

Ginny took a big, slightly overdramatic in Ron’s opinion, sigh. “Okay,” Ginny agreed. “Let’s go back to the common room, and um, hopefully avoid Dean. Not exactly looking forward to explaining this one,” Ginny said quietly, fingers running through her hair with frustration. A habit, Ron noted, that both she and Harry shared. Ginny turned to Ron, eyes wide, “Please don’t say anything to him.”

The last thing Ron wanted to do was talk to Dean Thomas about his relationship with his sister, so that was not going to be a problem for him. “Promise.”

The two made the rest of the way back to the common room making jabs at each other’s decorating abilities. Ginny’s spirit improved slightly after Ron’s joke about the balls on Ginny’s cookie she decorated.

“Look who's talking! Your Chudley Cannons cookie was almost as bad as the Chudley Cannons themselves.” 

Ginny quickly gave The Fat Lady the password and stumbled into the common room. “There is a step there, Dumbass!” Ron called after her. 

Ginny threw up her middle finger back at him, “Night, Asshole!” 

Ron waved his sister goodnight, happy she appeared much happier, and started to head up the stairs to his own dormitory. All in all, Tom Riddle may have crashed date night, but it honestly was not the worst date Ron has had with Lavender.  

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Poshest Bedstead in Islington part 14

Black House – Islington

Inviting the Weasley family and Miss Granger to stay remained the correct thing to do, Sirius thought as he glanced through his morning post. Their friendship with and defense of his godson certainly put a target on the lot of them, and especially on the Granger girl. Sheltering them against threats was the least he could do. Just…he, like so many others, felt stuck in The Servant Problem.

The Problem being, of course, that he couldn’t decently expect Kreacher and Dobby to handle the entire house, catering for a dozen (at least), laundry, the garden, teaching the children, and so on. Kreacher would want to devote his time to the children, as any Nanny Elf would. Dobby seemed to want to deal with the laundry and be left in peace otherwise. And neither of them would countenance the Black Duke or his guests doing the work. He wondered…

“Kreacher, could you spare a moment?” he called, setting his letter down.

Kreacher popped in. “Your Grace?”

“Are any of the houses staffed, and do you think any of them would be willing to send a few people over to help out for the next little bit? As competent and resourceful and you and Dobby are, it isn’t fair to expect you to do triple duty.”

“Kreacher knows that Buckingham House is fully staffed. His Grace Arcturus would have it ready for visitors, always.”

“D’you think the Black Duke being, well, me, would be a problem? Madame Bones seems to think I should be exonerated in the very near future, but I wouldn’t want to put anyone in a sticky situation. Would be bloody awkward, really.” Sirius set his letter from Madame Bones down.

It actually said “If Sirius Black isn’t cleared within the fortnight then I’ll eat my own monocle and resign” but Sirius thought Kreacher’s sensibilities might be a bit delicate for that. Amelia, of course, still thought his position filled by a previously unknown claimant. And still had a delightfully blunt way of speaking. She’d been a bit above his year…more Frank Longbottom’s crowd…but she’d been a fair Prefect.

“Kreacher can pop over to Buckingham House and speak to Mrs. Harris. She is the current housekeeper and is a woman of intellect and refinement.”

Decoded: Kreacher thought her the bee’s knees and she probably wouldn’t balk at concealing the whereabouts of a fugitive. She’d probably consider it part of her regular job, knowing his House.

“Thank you, Kreacher, that would be most helpful. Mrs. Weasley and the children are set to arrive tomorrow morning. I believe she wishes to make a few side-along trips and will send the luggage through the Porter’s Floo.”

“Kreacher will go now. Kreacher will also go tomorrow and assist Mrs. Weasley. The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black will not have guests succumbing to magical exhaustion! Not even secret guests!” He popped out at the last word.

Sirius loathed when house elves did that. Always had to get the very last word. It struck him that Kreacher didn’t even ask which positions he might want filled. Sirius blinked at his tea service. Well, he supposed Kreacher would know. Still, it would be nice to be asked. That was the problem with Nanny Elves—they rarely realized their charges were grown. Ever.

----------

Buckingham House Kitchens

Kreacher popped into the Buckingham House kitchen pantry, startling a kitchen maid mangling a pastry crust. Kreacher sniffed. In his day they had a proper pastry chef, not a half-grown girl doing something unspeakable with flour, butter, and ice water. That would never make a proper crust at all…whatever she meant it to be.

“Head House Elf Kreacher wishes to speak with Mrs. Harris. Kreacher apologizes for the fright. The pantry is usually empty.” Best to be polite, he supposed.

The girl turned wide eyes on him and wiped her hands on her pristinely white apron. He noticed her giving the pastry a sidelong look of total despair before she spoke.

“I could go and get her, Kreacher. Er, I’m meant to be making a pie for the servant’s luncheon, though. Poor Cook is ever so unwell.”

“Your name?” Kreacher resigned himself to fixing her abomination. Thankfully he now didn’t need to ask why the kitchen seemed so abnormally quiet.

Illnesses swept through kitchens just as they did through the nursery.

“Oh, I’m Lissy, Kreacher. I’ve only just started in the kitchen.” She looked to be just out of school. “They didn’t teach us pastry making in school, you know. I can strip and polish a stove in no time, though. I rather expected I’d be a scullery maid to start with.”

Why she felt the need to explain anything to him he’d never know. He remembered when the kitchen maids just bobbed a curtsey and scuttled to do one’s bidding. This one seemed to have been dosed with a jabbering draught.

“If Lissy will fetch Mrs. Harris, then Kreacher will fix…this. How many for luncheon?”

“Er…about forty-five, I think. I’ll go and get Mrs. Harris.” She sped off, seeming much happier to be away from all things pastry.

Kreacher looked into the bowl and sighed. She’d got her proportions all wrong. They ought to have an under cook doing this, not a kitchen maid fresh out of school. Probably one of those new-fangled domestic economy colleges where they learnt to strip and polish a stove but not how to make a pastry worth eating.

She’d probably learnt the theory of pastry, Kreacher sneered to himself and vanished the mess. He set about concocting a delicious series of pies: cheese, vegetable, and onion; steak and kidney; beef and onion; and ham, cheese, and onion. He considered the larder once they were in the giant oven and made a crisp green salad to accompany the pies. He had that covered and in the cold storage with a perfect vinaigrette by the time he heard heels clicking against the floor. He looked up to see Mrs. Harris accompanying Lissy back into the kitchen.

“You’ll be a housemaid in a fortnight if you keep getting others to do your work, miss.” She scolded as they walked.

“I’m just so hopeless with pastry, Mrs. Harris. I can follow other recipes and do all the preparation Cook wants, but pastry is just the outside of enough. I wanted to be a scullery maid and work my way up.”

Mrs. Harris stared just as Kreacher had. Lissy might be the first person in the history of scullery maids to want to be one.

“Well, be that as it may, you’ll do as you’re told for now. Go and set the table.” Mrs. Harris sighed as the girl scampered off. “Now, Kreacher, how can I be of help?”

She tapped the big kettle with her wand, starting the water boiling again, and took down the kitchen tea set. She spooned tea and set it to steep as she listened.

“His Grace has taken up residence in the Islington town house and will be hosting…guests soon. Kreacher was tasked with asking if we might borrow a few servants for the next while.” He spoke carefully.

“And why he didn’t simply come here in the first place I’ll never know.” Mrs. Harris shook her head over it. “And all of us just waiting…well, I wasn’t here while he grew up, but His Grace Arcturus wanted the house kept open for him.”

Kreacher allowed himself a thin smile. “Kreacher believes His Grace thought himself disowned but that he could possibly reside in Islington. Madam Walburga blasted him off the tapestry.”

“Disowned? Didn’t he know how His Grace Arcturus felt toward him?” She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat suddenly. “And His Grace Arcturus being so particular to order everything the way His Grace preferred…before...”

“His Grace will be touched by this, Kreacher believes. Once the current…difficulty is resolved, Kreacher will ensure His Grace visits regularly. And Lord Buckingham.” Hopefully the hint of An Heir would keep her from becoming overly emotional.

Mrs. Harris had never yet failed him. She pulled herself together, a curious gleam in her eye, and went to pour tea for both of them. Kreacher stared down at the elf-sized teacup for a moment, oddly touched.

“That would be well-appreciated, Kreacher. Now, I want to make certain you’ll have all the support you need. How many are currently servicing the house?”

“Just Kreacher and one other elf. With only His Grace and His Lordship to see to, it worked. With seven arriving as guests tomorrow and the possibility of more, His Grace worried that he would ask too much.”

“Of course he did, with your main duty to the children of the house. Will you be needing a Steward, do you think?”

Kreacher thought for a moment. While someone in that position would take some stress off His Grace, he could fulfill the role just as easily.

“Not for the moment, Kreacher thinks. A butler and housekeeper, two valets, footmen, housemaids, a cook, kitchen maids, and a scullery maid should suffice. The children coming are all fourth years and up.”

“Will you need a Lady’s maid? We have a few here who would like to try.” Mrs. Harris spoke off-handedly while pouring milk into her tea.

“There will be two young ladies in residence and one matron. Kreacher isn’t certain, but a lady’s maid or two may be appreciated.”

Far be it for him to stand between a young person and advancement. In any case, it would be good for his Lordship’s friends to become accustomed to service.

“I’ll send two, and the girls can share between them. His Grace and His Lordship will each require a valet?”

“Yes. His Lordship, especially, will need to become accustomed to such assistance. He isn’t yet out of the schoolroom, but he must learn.” His Lordship might possess some democratic feeling that magic made servants and service unnecessary, but Kreacher knew better.

In any case, the Black Family had always paid well and ensured proper working conditions, including a dowry and private accommodation upon marriage or bonding and a healthy pension (cottage or small city flat included).

“Four footmen, I think, especially if the young people would like to go out on occasion. Five housemaids, too, so one can wait on the schoolroom floor. And…three kitchen maids?” Mrs. Harris had summoned a tablet and a quill and made a list as she spoke.

“Three would be appreciated. Five young people would strain any kitchen.”

Mrs. Harris smiled at her tablet. “That they would. Should I call those I think would be the best fit?”

“Yes, Kreacher would meet them, first.”

----------

Arriving back in time to make tea, Kreacher felt the happy glow of a day well spent. A full staff would arrive within the hour so as to be ready for the guests. He lost no time in sending up a full tea tray to His Grace and sending a fresh basket to His Lordship. Both of them needed to eat more and regularly.

Kreacher sighed over that for a moment before he pulled himself together. With Dobby’s help, they could get the servants’ quarters opened again before anyone arrived.

He felt especially smug over snaffling Lissy as a scullery maid. He’d never seen anyone that pleased at the prospect of scrubbing before and likely never would again.

[xknivesandpensx]

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Chapter 6

Summary: What if Harry wasn't the only extra student called upon to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Far from the most popular candidate, Draco not only has to take on the trials but also deal with his unexpected feelings for Hermione. Will he be able to face the challenges as well as follow his heart?

Chapter length will vary. I'll be referencing both the books and movie versions. Some things from what I've previously written will be mentioned, all of which you can find here.

And for those who asked to be tagged: @dayane245love

The last person Hermione expected to see was Draco. Not only were her S.P.E.W. badges scattered across the floor (after spending so much time making them too), the narrowed gaze she received brought about a wave of apprehension.

Probably because his blue eyes lacked the usual gleam of resentment. She knew, obviously, his hate of her didn’t suddenly disappear. His demeanor gave no indication otherwise. Both arms remained rigid at his sides as his lips creased downward in a frown.

He came off a mix of haggard in appearance and distracted given it took a moment for his attention to redirect itself. Maybe angry as well, something Hermione considered to be of no surprise.

Getting a better look though, his complexion took a rather white hue against his already pale skin tone.

“How about you try watching where you’re going!” Draco retorted. He moved past her, not really in the mood to deal with the strange sensation prodding his chest.

“I could say the same to you,” Hermione breathlessly remarked, more to herself. She knelt to gather her things, tossing them noisily in the box.

She shook her head, fighting the urge to say more. The unexpected collision threw off her guard. Hermione intended to head straight towards the common room and tell Harry and Ron about her newest idea, only to have her enthusiasm diminished.

The same routine between them started to grow tiresome. Biting comebacks, staggering silences, or he simply paid her no mind. Sometimes each one happened in the mix of a single day.

Maybe a tiny part of her clung onto a thin thread of hope. She took Ginny’s advice or at least tried to when it came to keeping herself open to other possibilities. Though she lacked any form of anticipation, especially given the school year just started.

Her head snapped in his direction after hearing a cracking sound beneath his shoe. He must have accidentally (or purposely, she wasn’t quite sure which) broken one of her badges. Hermione barely realized they spread so far.

“What’s spew?” Draco questioned, after picking it up and inspecting the letters. His voice echoed in a condescending way, yet not entirely held in an offensive manner.

“It’s S.P.E.W.,” Hermione corrected, gathering the last few, placing the box on the nearby bench. “The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, if you must know.”

“Of course, you’d feel sorry for the house-elves, Granger.” He rolled his eyes but tossed it in with the others. That must be the reason she hurried off to the library every day. The whole thing seemed like a waste of time.

She thoroughly believed in her cause and therefore felt no shame remarking in return, despite her reluctance to quarrel. “Given how your family treated Dobby, I’d hardly expect something as decent as fighting for elf rights would matter much to you.”

“Let me guess, Potter told you all about that, did he?” he asked, raising a brow. He certainly remembered his father’s particularly unhappy mood. “What does he know anyway? He lived under a staircase for most of his life.”

“And so what if he has? At least Harry values the well-being of others.” Perhaps judging Draco’s level of concern wasn’t entirely fair. After all, she knew very little of his inner circle.

“Ah, yes. Let’s congratulate Saint Potter and is overwhelming generosity,” he threw back in a drawling sort of tone. “Associating with blood traitors and Mudbloods alike. How charitable.”

Draco started to wonder if Pansy’s assumption of something going on between Harry and Hermione were true. She never failed to defend him and constantly stuck by his side. The suspicion rose from sheer lack of proper knowledge. But the two seemed awfully close and he happened to notice them head to the library the other day together. Obviously, he knew suspicion led nowhere.

Still, the mere idea irked him, no matter the innocence of a relationship at fourteen may be. And if he outright asked? He’d face a hostile defensiveness alongside the implication of another thing entirely – an obvious announcement that he…

Draco pushed it down. If he even allowed the sensation to flicker, he’d fall straight into whatever every nerve ending in his body screamed at him during moments such as these.

“I think I’ve waisted enough of my time talking to you,” Draco announced after a clearing of his throat. Now all he needed to do was keep walking and she’d no longer possess the ability to control his emotional state.

Hermione already prepared herself for his hasty departure, willing to let him go until her attention locked onto a detail he tried very hard to hide. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Didn’t we go through this already on the train?” he asked, reluctantly coming to a stop. Clearly, she didn’t mean the bruise she pointed out upon their journey to Hogwarts, which faded in color since.

“The other one,” she mentioned matter-of-factly. “Did that happen when you were with Professor Moody?” If so, what exactly gave him cause to think something so vile qualified as a proper punishment? She certainly didn’t need to be told what he used, having overheard Ron’s parents talk about it a while ago. From a distance she spotted the redness of his skin and a rather painful looking stiffness of his fingers.

Draco turned his head a degree, holding back his confusion. “Why do you care?”

“Why don’t you?” she countered in full disclosure of her own puzzlement.

He turned to face her fully, attempting to bypass the gravity of the situation. “My father will hear all about it. I bet he’ll be sacked by next week. The sooner the better, if you ask me.”

He couldn’t fathom writing a letter to Lucius, not after filling nearly three pieces of parchment. He merely said it to save face. Dumbledore favored Moody too much to fire him. Though he might test the theory. He found out a few complaints went a long way.

Hermione approached him, chasing away her hesitancy, and attempted to get a better view of the wound. He pulled away before she got the chance.

“I just wanted to see it,” she complained, huffing slightly. “At least tell me what you were doing. Because if it’s what I think it is, you really should go see Dumbledore.”

Lacking the energy to argue, he settled on providing an answer, hoping to slip away soon after, skipping over the fact that Moody threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse on him. “I had to write lines with some kind of quill from the Ministry. As for a trip to the headmaster’s office. I think I’ll pass.”

Hermione ignored the latter. “Black Quills aren’t allowed. Not to mention strictly intended for signing magically-binding documents in the form of blood, in order to make them legally-binding. It’s highly illegal to use them otherwise.”

“Then I can only hope Moody’s dismissal is made a spectacle of,” Draco affirmed, growing impatient. He wanted to be on his way already. “Are you quite finished pestering me?"

Hermione nearly let him leave, but she held too many qualms. Not on Draco specifically. On Moody as well for his detention tactics.

The question hung between them, levitating in place. She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. Sometimes Hermione wished her feelings for him would vanish, to never exist in the first place. How much easier things would be if that was the case.

But they did exist and Hermione needed to maintain a realistic outlook.

“If you let me, I can help ease the pain,” she offered. Even he shouldn’t have to suffer for something so minor as poking fun at another student, no matter how awful his remarks were. “It looks terribly unpleasant.”

The comment wasn’t offered necessarily to soften the blow of taking his pride down a notch. It happened to be true. Her skills at casting spells came naturally and while she expected a response in full derision, it shocked her to see him hang back.

He reluctantly sat on the bench, because he really was unwilling to stand too close, all the while thinking he must be insane to accept her help in any regard. “Make it quick,” Draco muttered. He brought his hand out to her once Hermione took a seat. Her box of S.P.E.W. badges rested between them, leaving a small gap.

His hand continued to scar as the letters lessened in visibility. It still hurt, however, like needles jabbing into his flesh. Draco saw how her expression changed upon getting a better view.

Pity. How he loathed to be on the receiving end.

Hermione took out her wand. “I need you to keep steady for this to work, it takes precision. Otherwise, I may make it worse. Dark magic is tricky to counter, even using the simplest of enchantments.”

Despite the attempt, Draco found it difficult to remain still. Even if the pain lessened since he left Moody’s classroom, it kept gnawing inward.

Hermione gently grabbed hold of his trembling hand, surprised, even more so than before, that he let her. It felt strange to feel the roughness of his skin against her palm. Sure, Harry pulled her along while they raced the clock to save Sirius and Buckbeak, but this – it casted a calming effect beneath the static of his touch, enveloping her in an affluency of fuzzy feelings.

Hermione spoke the spell in a whisper, unable to meet his gaze after its completion. Her thumb brushed over the marking, now able to get a proper view. “Well, it certainly hasn’t changed in appearance. It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“No.” Draco let her slowly pull away, immersed in an abrupt coldness once her fingers released. Unannounced to Hermione, he experienced the same awareness, though he lacked the ability to compare to another.

She looked down at her feet. “No remark about me touching you or name calling?”

Draco paused for a moment. “I’ll let it go just this once.” He couldn’t thank her or shake the lessons drilled into him. He was taught not to express gratitude to someone of lower standards to himself.

Though he ought to leave, Draco leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, further inspecting the results of her spell, as if simply to do something amid the quiet. He shouldn’t have allowed her to help, the notion in itself came across wrong. Handling pain was child’s play, yet he caved.

In the past he may have gone straight to Madam Pomfrey, complaining all while seeking attention, but the mere thought of people crowding him, especially Pansy, who’s fussing he didn’t necessary mind, deterred him from the start.

Draco’s silent disposition started to unnerved her, especially while alone in his company.

For a second, Hermione imagined pushing the box out of the way and pressing into him. One hand reaching up to touch his jaw. Kissing him without any shyness or particular gentleness. She wanted to know what it felt like to have his lips on hers. If only.

Instead, she logically reflected on their positions and shifted uneasily, choosing to broach a certain memory rather than indulge in fantasies.

“Draco.” It almost felt funny to call him by his first name to his face. Typically, his surname sufficed. “Do you remember the day we met?”

Sometimes she wondered how much he recalled. They were so young, it seemed like eons ago rather than a few years.

He turned, brows furrowing from the random mention. “What about it?”

“Well…” She stopped short, not entirely anticipating a remark free of ridicule. “Have you ever thought back on it? I suppose you regret being nice to me, in your own way, of course. I’m a little embarrassed. I practically invited myself to sit next to you.”

Draco couldn’t figure her out. She went from arguing to offering to help, then into a casual conversation, speaking as if they were on friendly terms.

“You’ve always been a tad too assertive for your own good.” He pushed himself upright, resting his back against the wall. “You were looking for a frog or something of the sort.”

“Toad, actually,” Hermione corrected. Nostalgia washed over her. Their little moment on the train left a fond imprint, even after their second year rolled around and he started to call her a Mudbood.

“Must you always be so precise?” A twitch of a smile formed. It tugged at his heart, mixing seamlessly amongst an ounce of dread for the very thing he thought impossible from the start. That he denied only minutes ago.

He truly developed a sense of attraction towards Hermione Granger. And in acknowledging it, he considered the damage it inflicted on his family, the shame and humiliation he’d cast on his parents. Narcissa may not judge him too harshly (albeit disappointment would reign overall) but Lucius, he’d be furious. Draco, in no means, desired to test his father’s temper.

“Unfortunately, I can’t help myself,” Hermione commented. She hated to spoil their first, however brief, civil conversation in a long while. She feared it’d revert and the preference to maintain a good memory persisted. “It’s nowhere near curfew, though I best get going. Harry and Ron will start wondering where I am.”

She moved to place her wand away.

“The candy I gave you,” Draco slowly added, almost ready to chastise himself. Maybe for right now, until she disappeared, he’d humor his feelings for her. “It’s no longer sold but Honeydukes has some. All you have to do is ask for it specifically, if you still like them as much as I remember.”

Hermione stood and picked up her box, confused by the unexplored reason behind his comment, surprised he remembered the small detail at all. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

He caught sight of the smile she made in mid turn, finally departing. Draco knew going back to hating her after fracturing his predetermined loathing of the girl would be an immense struggle.

[abbatoirablaze]

Secrets, Draco Malfoy

Word Count:  1.2k

“Draco…”

“Get away from him, Hufflepuff!” a plump boy from the year ahead of her growled.  Another boy who was a shade taller pushed her and her back hit the wall.  Her eyes went wide as the two older boys, both Slytherin, started towards her.  She looked nervously to Draco and he pretended not to see her. 

“What, Hufflepuff…lose your words?” one of the boys taunted as they poked her chest, and flipped her tie over her shoulder.  She slapped his hand away and the other boy pushed her back against the wall.

Danica pushed the boy back and he called over his shoulder, “feisty honey badger!”

“Back off, ya knob!” she scolded, pushing the boy yet again as the other one knocked the books from her hands, “HEY!”

“That’s enough…” Draco murmured, shaking his head, “Crabbe, Goyle…come on…we don’t have time to be messing with first years…not when Potter is off making a mess around the school.”

Both of the boys looked at their leader incredulously, surprised that he wasn’t partaking in the shenanigans of harassing another student, “are you serious, Draco?  This little Huff-“

“Enough!” he growled, cutting his friends off, “she’s not worth it.”

“Right!” one of the boys agreed, chuckling to himself, “you’re right, Draco.  As always…”

“Yeah…”

“Come on!” he urged his friends.  He spared the first year a solemn look before turning his attention back to the halls, “and anyways…don’t want to get caught messing about with her…Snape will have our hides…that’s his niece.”

“Bullocks!” one of the boys grumbled, “we should leave!”

“Good looking out, Malfoy!”

Danica sighed as she watched Draco and his two lackeys disappear down the hall. 

Things hadn’t always been like that.

Before either one of them had gotten their letters and started attending Hogwarts, she was a ward to the Malfoys, Mr. Lucious and Mrs. Narcissa looking after her since her uncle taught at Hogwarts and resided there.  The only time she’d been permitted on the grounds was when it was Summer break and there were no other students there.

During prior school years herself and Draco were given the best magical tutors old money could buy.  But ever since Draco became a Slytherin, and she became a Hufflepuff, their relationship had changed. 

No longer would he sneak off to her and they would fall asleep in her bed, cuddled up.

No longer did he give her sweet, home made gifts like poems and handcrafted items.

No longer did he take her on rides on his broomstick around Malfoy Manor’s grounds, the two of them giggling as they hid in the woods from his father and his demands that they stop ‘being children.’

No. 

Ever since she’d been declared a Hufflepuff, Draco had all but ignored her in public.

“Hey…are you okay?”

Her eyes shifted up and she noticed a young woman with frizzy hair.  Her red tie stood out proudly amongst her robes.  Danica felt her eyes go wide as she swept up her books.

“I-I’m fine.  I-“

“I’m sorry about Malfoy…he can be a real nit-“

“Draco’s jus-“

“Draco?”

“I-It’s nothing!” Danica said quickly as she shifted away from the Gryffinder prodigy, Hermione Granger, “I-I should go.  Goodbye!”

“Wait!” she called, trying to catch up with her. 

But the young Hufflepuff started running in an attempt to escape the hard-headed woman a year her senior. 

Just as she escaped the other girl, she ran head on into what felt like a brick wall. 

Her books went crashing down in another frenzy. 

“I’m sorry.  I wasn’t watching where I was going, an-Dobby?”

“Miss. Danica…are you alright?” the house-elf asked nervously, “did Dobby hurt you?  Master Draco will be sincerely upset with Dobby if I-“

“I’m fine, Dobby!” she said quickly, “I-I was running away from Hermione Granger-“

“Dobby does like Harry Potter and his friends,” the house elf frowned.  He seemed to be deep in thought for a moment before shaking his head, “Miss. Danica, Dobby has a message from Master Draco for you…”

Surprise laced her features as her eyes went wide, “Wh-what?  But I just saw Draco, and he-“

“Master Draco sent me with this!” Dobby said nervously, handing over a small package that had his family seal binding the ribbon together, “He-“

“What is it, Dobby?”

“I know not,” he said with a nervous glance, “I was told to bring it directly to you, Miss Danica.  Master Draco was expressly concerned that it be only for you!”

“Me?”

He nodded, picking up her books, before placing them on top of the package, “there is no need for opening it here…you must only open it when you are in your room…”

“I-okay…I will!”

“Good,” Dobby smiled.  He nodded, and in the blink of an eye Danica was standing in the middle of her room, alone.  The fire crackled from the corner and she sighed, knowing that Dobby must have disappeared after getting her back to her dormitory. 

Her heart fluttered at the thought of the package in her hands.

Quickly, she dropped the books onto her bed, and looked at the black and deep green wrapping, with silver and black ribbon, and a silver seal on it.  Pulling on the ribbon, a card fluttered out as the package separated from the paper. 

Picking up the card, she recognized the script that Draco usually wrote in.  Putting the package down, she opened the card. 

D,

I’m only doing this to protect you.  Nothing good comes out of the attention Potter and his friends give me…and I don’t want you on their radar.  But I miss you…more than you know. 

I know your curiosity had you reading my card before you opened the package…but know that it’s enchanted.  Only me and you will be able to see it for what it really is…I hope you’ll wear it at the next Quidditch match…I want to see you wearing my house colors in a sea of yours. Even if we're the only ones that know.

D

She furrowed her brow.  Setting the card on the bed, she reached for the package, and lifted the box.  On top was a black rose and a wrapped chocolate frog. 

She couldn’t help but giggle as her heart fluttered.

Despite Draco pushing her away in public, there was something awfully romantic about giving her a rose and chocolate so close to the muggle holiday of Valentine’s Day. 

But she lit up when she put them both to the side and saw a Quidditch jersey.  It was clearly a Slytherin one, and on the back it had stitching that read Malfoy’s name.  To go with it was a matching hat and scarf. 

“Oh…Draco…” she sighed to herself, looking at the apparel. 

“HEY!”

Danica jumped.

She hadn’t realized a few of the girls had walked into the dormitory room, and were looking curiously about the shirt, scarf, and hat on her bed.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Huh?”

“Where did you get a jersey like that?” one of her roommates asked curiously, “are you dating one off the Hufflepuff Quidditch team members?”

“Is it McManus?”

“Ohhh, is it Diggory?”

“Diggory is married to that gypsy, remember?” another girl chimed in.

“What kind of parents would let children marry each other?”

“Gypsies!” another girl said rolling her eyes.

“Oh is it Fleet?”

“Don’t say it’s Preece…he’s a total troll!”

“Guys…I-I don’t want to say any-“

“Come on, only girlfriends get those!” another girl pointed out, “so spill?”

“O-Only girlfriends?”

“Yeah…so who are you dating?”

A blush rose to her cheek as she looked at the rose and chocolate frog on her bed along with the apparel.

Was Draco secretly calling her his girlfriend?