#all my writing playground now no take backsies

[sundogsandrainbows]

It is up to us now, guys :)

DATV Spoilers - What Story We Lost

Posted earlier that I was compiling a list of lore/story threads that have been dropped with DATV's handling of Southern Thedas. The sheer number of things means that I've made this into two parts - this one focusing on all the story threads that have been effectively dropped.

Spoilers for the game ahead, of course.

If you've played the game then you'll know that Southern Thedas - everything from the past three games - was basically swept away by the blight.

A double blight should have catastrophic consequences for the entirety of Thedas, I don’t deny that, it’s nothing short of a mass extinction event – the absolute worst case scenario for all of Thedas.

However, waving away the fact that Southern Thedas - specifically every area you ever traveled to and interacted with in previous games – is gone, devastated by the blight, in a codex entry and line of dialogue makes it abundantly clear that BioWare is attempting to clean the slate so that they can move forwards with the game series with no ties to the previous ones.

The Warden, Hawke, and the Inquisitor effectively accomplished nothing. As I put it in another post: I never expected them to consider every decision in game outside of what options they gave us, but I certainly didn’t expect them to go scorched earth on the possibility of ever seeing the results of those decisions either.

How the lore has been handled in this game, summarized to “the elves did it” and “there’s been a shadowy organization in the shadows pulling the strings on everything” is absolutely devastating to the franchise. The lack of care with which this was treated just bleeds, “There, we’ve answered all questions and finished with this era of Thedas. Moving on now.” At the same time, this destruction absolutely obliterated whatever story threads remained from the first three games.

Could BioWare bring these threads back? Yes, I suppose. But it doesn't change that it was so carelessly thrown aside in the first place.

If they didn't want people to care about their decisions and the impact they made on the world, perhaps they shouldn't have made that a feature of all the previous games.

Story Threads/ Plot Points that were dropped:

Limited my points to what was in the Dragon Age Keep and what points were brought up frequently in codex entries, conversations, etc...

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Dragon Age: Origins

What is the line of succession in Ferelden?

Things are looking very grim for Ferelden's succession and the Theirin/MacTir line if nothing is done. And nothing was done. The entire plot of DAO literally culminated in resolving this issue, yet no one seems to have learnt a thing from it?

- Anora ruling alone is unmarried with no heir - Alistair ruling alone is unmarried with no heir - Ruling together they have no heir - Alistair and a Cousland Queen have no heir - Anora and a Cousland King-Consort have no heir

The only potential candidate that can fit into several of those world states is Kieran.

Fergus Cousland, according to lore, is the second closest to the throne that is confirmed to be alive in DAI - potentially the brother in-law to the King/Queen of Ferelden.

Ferelden's succession with Alistair as King hinges on whether or not the Warden was able to cure the blight. Alternatively, it is hinted that he may be more resistant since he has dragon blood in him from Calenhad.

The potential implications of Kieran being the bastard son of the King of Ferelden.

Kieran being used as a political pawn to depose Anora using the Theirin bloodline.

DAI took away whatever destiny Kieran had with the Old God soul – that didn’t mean that BioWare had to take away everything else too. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Outside of Redcliffe, the rest of the land has fallen to the Blight - it's unlikely that any of this will ever be brought up again.

2. Did the Warden find a cure?

Unknown. Irrelevant.

Ferelden ended up blighted. Denerim fell. If Ferelden rises from the ashes, it will be without any sign of their influence. Any mention of them will likely be their title alone - no mention of their accomplishments.

3. General Questions about the Landsmeet

What happened to Anora if Alistair is named King? Who rules the teyrnir of Gwaren following the blight?

What happens to Alistair if he's exiled? We know Teagan finds him in DA2 but what happens after?

If Leliana becomes divine does that mean that Connor Guerrin is potentially an heir to Redcliffe?

4. Companion Plot Threads

Morrigan's sisters - the many daughters of Flemeth.

Shale's quest to reverse the process of becoming a golem.

Whatever the hell Nathaniel Howe was going on about when you run into him in DA2 in the blighted thaig.

What, if anything, Avernus leaned from spending a literal age or two studying blighted blood.

5. Zevran's Crusade against the Crows

RIP Zevran's one-man crusade against the Crows and their child slavery ring.

DATV messed up immensely by portraying the Crows as more of a ‘found family’ rather than the horrifically abusive organization it was set up to be.

The very same organization that preys on the weak and disenfranchised - honing them to be tools for the nobles/powerful of Thedas - are now the heroic freedom fighters of Antiva.

The literal decade he spent hunting down the Crows and their leaders is up in flames. No mention in DATV whatsoever.

Wasted a perfectly good opportunity to have a schism in the Crows, with Zevran at the helm of kicking out the antaam, taking in Crows who are are sick of what's happening.

6. The Dwarves of Orzammar

The impact of Bhelen/Harrowmont's reign - ruthless progression verses strict traditionalism

The rumours of an uprising of the casteless dwarves in DAI

Will we ever hear of noble House Brosca or Queen/Lady Rica? Nope.

Will we ever hear of the son that Aeducan can have with Mardy? Nope. (RIP Duncan Jnr - I still love you)

The Anvil of the Void and potential links it may have to the Titans.

No more fine goods direct from Orzammar

The entire caste system has been simplified by Harding in DATV to effectively be: 'surface dwarves' and 'deep roads' dwarves.

7. The Magisters Sidereal / Awakened Darkspawn

According to a codex in the Descent: one went mad, consumed another, and the final magister fled into the Deep Roads.

Corypheous + Codex Magister + the Architect (most likely) = 4/5 magisters remaining? Possibly?

Reminder that it's hinted that there's an eighth Old God that was struck from the records of Tevinter.

The Architect and his Awakened Darkspawn.

No, it was all the elves. They're all dead now anyway. Thanks BioWare.

8. The Guardian and the Urn of Sacred Ashes

"Where did you come from, where did you go? Nobody in Thedas will ever knowwwww."

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Dragon Age 2

Dragon Age 2 was pretty self-contained, with most things being tied up in Trespasser or DAI. The worst of the plot points abandoned relate to the companions in the game and the lack of closure/answers about them.

General Questions:

Kirkwalls, apparently, endless line of 'provisional' viscounts and constant political instability since Varric ran off to go after Solas.

According to DA: Absolution the Red Templars are still in Kirkwall...yet the show is set after Trespasser - when Varric is viscount? When he mentions that they threw a parade when getting Meredith out of the Gallows?

Aveline, Varric, Merrill and whoever remains of the Kirkwall crew apparently just allowing red templars take over the Gallows?

What happened to Petrice if she lived?

What happened to Feynriel if he went to Tevinter?

I have a whole list of lore that's also been brushed over: the Sundermount, Corypheous, the Band of Three etc... I decided to put them in Part 2 since I feel they fit in more with 'lore obliterated' rather than 'abandoned plot points'.

2. Companions

Merrill's Eluvian:

Merrill spent years fixing an eluvian with a piece of string, a potato, and some gum - managing to actually do it.

And it meant nothing.

Eluvians are now a fast travel hub - all mysticism and awe at this marvel of magic are completely gone. Whatever sacrifices Merrill went through to save her sliver of elven history is meaningless.

Imagine if Merrill's eluvian aided in the fight against Solas - if having it intact gave you an advantage against him. Imagine Merrill weeping as Bellara fixes every other single eluvian in ten seconds with her magical omnitool.

Fenris and Slavery in Tevinter:

DATV utterly trivializing slavery in Tevinter is abominable.

Disregarding everything Fenris went through, everything he ever thought for, and making it something barely touched upon in DATV is insanity.

You wouldn't know there was slavery in Tevinter if the Shadow Dragons didn't drop a line or two about it. Limiting the conflict to "oops the venatori are being mean again" is absurd.

Fenris' entire story of going to help free the slaves is diminished because no one wanted to show the ugly, dark side of Tevinter in DATV.

DATV has retroactively made this choice for him to be so unfulfilling.

Where is Anders?

What happened with Sebastian's crusade against Anders? Was he ever captured? Was he executed? Are you telling me that no templars ever pursued this man fanatically after what happened in Kirkwall?

Does his fate vary if Hawke was friends/romanced him?

Varric appointing a new Viscount’s Keep healer called ‘Banders’ who just happens to sleep in the same room as Hawke and their children call him ‘daddy’ lmao

Does his fate vary according to who is Divine? Vivienne hunts him down, Cassandra puts him on trial, while Leliana pardons him?

How does he react to Leliana abolishing the Circles? How much does he weep when the rebellion fails and the mages are destroyed? This man instigated the starting event for DAI and drove most of DA2's major plot and he's just...gone.

The Hawke Siblings:

From DAI we know that Warden Bethany/Carver are safe, but what happened to them if they're in the Circle?

Give us Knight-Commander Carver and First Enchanter Bethany Hawke, you cowards! Have them dismantle the Gallows and be the shining examples of human decency we know they are.

What happens to them after DAI and the Mage/Templar War is concluded?

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Dragon Age: Inquisition

What's going to happen to the Red Lyrium that's popped up across all of Thedas?

Ferelden, Orlais, Kirkwall - all areas are reported to have red lyrium on the surface.

What happens to the Red Lyrium in Suledin?

DAI speaks about how they can never stop the spread of red lyrium, only slow it – animals, insects, organisms - whatever life is in the ground is all susceptible to becoming blighted by red lyrium. Suledin Keep in particular was utterly devastated by the Red Templars - what happens to life there?

2. What happened to Corypheous' Inner Circle?

What happened to Samson? How long did he live *if* he’s given the chance to help Cullen? Can something good come from his cooperation?

What happened to Calpernia?

Pulled a Jet from Avatar and no one batted an eye. Looking at previous concept art for DATV she was a companion - freeing slaves, gossiping about Samson & Corypheous. Just...what a waste. Any potential insight we could have gotten into Corypheous is gone.

3. The Mage / Templar War:

How does the world vary if you conscripted vs allied with either?

How do the remnants of what faction was not chosen fit into this new world?

How does the world deal with abominations and weird magic shit now? Is an alternative to the Order made if it's wiped out in DAI?

How is Cullen's templar clinic doing? If the templars still exist, how is Divine Victoria changing/adapting the Order to better support mages/templars?

4. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts:

How do Orlesian politics reflect who was made ruler?

Is Gaspard looking to expand into Ferelden once more? Are the elves being brutalized under his rule like they were by his chevaliers? Does he do away with the grand game like he threatened in DAI?

How does this differ if Briala has collared him? How do his supporters feel that Briala has his balls in a vice?

Do Celene and Briala stay together? Do things improve for the elves and for the culture of Orlais at large?

Do improvements for the elves mean that Solas' arguments to his elven agents are less persuasive?

If Florianne is alive what the hell is going to happen to her? How quickly does she fall on her blade after being forced to wear flat shoes for the rest of her life?

How quickly does shit fall apart if you get all three to cooperate lmao

Friendly reminder that DATV sets up that all of Orlais, except for the Winter Palace has been overrun by the Blight - and that a coup from the Venatori is inevitable, likely resulting in any ruler dying.

5. What is the line of succession in Orlais?!

Why does every noble family in Thedas have no contingency plans for if their head of government dies?!

6. Here Lies the Abyss:

What are the ramifications of having the Warden's exiled verses remaining in the south?

Trespasser literally states that there's a schism in the Order because some Warden's believe they should touch grass more often and not listen to some bloke up in Weisshaupt for what they do down in the south.

How does public perception towards the wardens / King of Ferelden change when they learn they were exiled for committing human sacrifice to demons?!

Give us a warden coup and First Warden Alistair / Blackwall, you cowards!

7. The Well of Sorrows:

What was the point of drinking Mythal's bathwater?!

It's been set up as something that changes you. Bound to Mythal forever?!

DATV does not acknowledge that in the slightest. Such a waste and disappointment of what was made out to be an impactful decision in DAI.

8. DLC Implications:

What happens if Hakkon is not slain? What happens to Southern Ferelden and the Avaar?

How does the rest of Thedas react to the truth of what happened at Red Crossing and the Dales? How do they react to learning that Inquisitor Ameridan - First Inquisitor and leader of the Seekers - was a dalish, elven mage?

What happens if you do not save the mines in the Descent DLC? How badly is Orzammars economy crippled? There are already rumours of riots occurring within Orzammar - it this enough to push the caste system over the edge?

9. Elven Uprising and the War with the Qun:

The elven uprising that was implied to be occuring all over Thedas as a result of years of oppression, systematic abuse, and Solas’ influence.

No, instead lets have him chill in the Fade with no contingency plans, agents, or support of any sort.

The war between Tevinter and the Qun?!

Everyone conveniently forgetting that the Qun literally attempted to assassinate every noble family in Thedas? There would absolutely be blood for this – Tevinter could have attacked the Qun and all of Southern Thedas would have applauded - no one would have differentiated between extremist qunari and the normal qun, especially not after Kirkwall.

The implication at the end of Trespasser that we could convince Solas to abandon his plans? Him saying that he welcomed giving us the chance?!

The difference that the Inquisitors friendship, love, or hatred could have in either convincing Solas to take another path or damning him to go ahaead with his plan, no matter the cost?

10. Divine Victoria!

How does the world of Thedas change with Leliana, Cassandra, or Vivienne at the head of the chantry?

How does Tevinter react to having a mage divine?!

Do things change - do things stay the same??

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No wonder the writers insisted that none of the past choices would have an impact on Veilguard - they literally went scorched earth on everything we ever did.

Ferelden is blighted - any legacy of the warden is gone.

Kirkwall is destroyed - any impact Hawke had is gone.

The hard won peace/order of the Inquisition was rendered meaningless since every single place that you went to and helped is now destroyed by the blight.

Orlais' ruler will likely be assassinated by the venatori who are plotting a coup with the nobles - making whomever you chose obsolete.

AND IT WAS ALL THE WORK OF THE MAGICAL ILLUMINATI FROM ACROSS THE SEA???

[toraffles]

Little Red Flowers [first, possibly only, chapter]

Does anyone remember that one excerpt of a fem!Harry fic I was working on? I had the entire first chapter written out almost two years ago, but knowing myself, I decided not to post it until I’d at least written the second chapter. Lo and behold, that... never happened, and also I realized that I really don’t have much plans for the future of this fic anyway, so here is that first chapter for your perusal. Please don’t expect a continuation, because one won’t be coming. I do have a lot of ideas for this, but I’m not going to write them here because I may salvage them for another fem!Harry fic that @glowssary​ annd I are idly playing with. So, without further ado:

LITTLE RED FLOWERS

CHAPTER ONE

It is both alarming and not when the child is found on their doorstep, with irises of deep teal and wispy hair the vermilion of sunrise. Like a prophecy, she can already foresee that those eyes will brighten into a brilliant green in a few years, and she needs not even glance at the letter clutched in tiny fingers to know whose child this is, because she knows, she knows, and she also knows exactly what this means. She bends down and snatches at the envelope left atop of a pile of soft blankets, carefully avoiding the gaze of the infant who stares at her with those too familiar eyes.

Petunia Dursley née Evans, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, is written on the back in slanted, looping calligraphy that tugs at a memory she has long since banished, for it is mired in the humiliation and resentment that fills her to the brim wherever magic is involved, wherever Lily is involved. The paper is an unbleached off-white, thick and pulpy between her fingers, and skimming the contents tells her little more than what she has already determined for herself.

Lily is dead. Lily, her little sister, her only sister, is dead. And she must be, for there is no other reason for this child, obviously the offspring of Lily and that Potter boy, to be laid out in a little woven basket and left on her doorstep.

Petunia takes a carefully measured breath. She blinks, once, twice. She takes another breath.

Her little sister has been taken away by magic once again, but this time, this time there is no potential for second chances and apologies, this time there is no future for reconciliation, this time she is irrefutably, irrevocably late, no do-overs, no take-backsies Lily is gone gone gone and Petunia never had the chance to tell her why she had been so cruel to her, not even once, and suddenly she is angry, suddenly she is furious, because how dare that girl, how dare she die before Petunia was finally ready to ask forgiveness, how dare she leave Petunia alone as the last of their family, how dare she hoist onto Petunia the burden of caring for her stupid little infant -

Remembering herself, the blonde cants her head to the side and stares into the solemn scrutiny of Lily’s child, fascinated by what must be her little sister’s baby pictures brought to life all over again. The child’s face is wet with silent distress. Salty moisture trails paths over plump cheeks and a pert nose and a puckered little mouth. Petunia brings a hand to brush soft fingers over the child’s brow but it is shaking too badly, and she fears she may catch her nails across those beautiful eyes. She brings the trembling hand instead to her own cheek and when she brings it away it is damp with something like dew.

It takes a few moments, but Petunia is startled to realize that the child is not crying at all; it is an illusion caused by her own tears, crawling down her skin and dripping onto infant features. Somehow, she finds the image too comforting to move away: it seems almost as if Lily herself is crying for Petunia, for her misfortunes and her resentment and her bitter, bitter heart. She never could quite figure if Lily would have forgiven Petunia for everything she had ever said, for every hostile jeer and cutting barb, for every moment she had hurt the redhead and smiled about it. And now she never would. But surely, surely, this child is more than enough to wash away the regret that drowns her lungs, thick and heavy. If it was Dudley in this position, she knows Lily would have taken him in as her own, would have cared for him like her own son, so maybe if she does the same...

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, she thinks, lifting the child in her thin arms and holding it close. Its breaths are sweet and warm against her skin, which has begun to chill in the brisk November air.

“Holly Euphemia Potter,” Petunia says into the empty wind, tasting the words on her tongue. Lily has followed the maternal tradition of naming baby girls after flowers, and this soothes her a little. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

The door slams shut at her heels as she turns inside. It wouldn’t do to linger outside too long; after all, what would the neighbours think?

Holly Potter is a very ordinary little girl. Or at least, she tries very hard to be an ordinary little girl. Not because she finds ordinariness to be particularly compelling, but because Aunt Tuney says there is nothing better than being ordinary and of course Aunt Tuney is right; in her experience, Aunt Tuney is always right.

Except when it comes to Dudley.

Aunt Tuney loves Holly, this is true enough, but she utterly adores Dudley, who equally adores making Holly as miserable as he can. Unfortunately Aunt Tuney refuses to believe any such thing about her Darling Diddlykins, and the few times Holly bothers to truthfully report the origins of the scrape on her knee, or why her pretty new smock has dirt smeared messily on its skirt, or the reason why there are drying tear tracks on her cheeks, a few words from Dudley quickly clears up the issue.

Often, the situation unfolds as such:

"I didn't do it!" Dudley will say, following Holly's accusation.

"Holly Euphemia Potter," Aunty will then respond, her voice sharp. "I did not raise you to be a liar. You must tell me the truth, right away."

Thus Holly is often forced to lie in order to avoid being punished for lying when she only wants to give the truth. And Dudley, having never been told off for bullying Holly, continues to do so without qualm or worry, for he is secure in his mother's trust.

This is how Holly finds herself being chased around on the playground by her large, fat cousin who is brandishing at her a long stick. On the end closest to her there is a snake coiled up tight and hissing angrily; the afternoon sun gives its grey-black scales a menacing sheen.

She is especially afraid because she can hear him - for it is a him - threatening to bite and tear and hurt whichever human he can land his fangs on first. She doesn't want to be hurt, not at all, so she runs and runs as fast as her five-year-old legs will take her.

Eventually, Holly knows she will tire.

She takes a quick glance over her shoulder to gauge if Dudley has begun to sweat through his shirt yet, and shrieks when she sees how close the snake has gotten.

"Stop it! Go away," she cries out.

It is not Dudley who answers her plea, however. Rather, it is the snake who irritably snaps, "Believe me, you moronic little monkey, if I could leave I would in an inssstant."

Holly almost stops to gape at the mean creature, but at the last moment remembers she must keep running if she wants to avoid being bitten. "You said a bad word!" she manages to squeak out through heavy breaths. "Aunt Tuney will wash out your mouth with soap!"

"Foolisssh creature, your threatsss ssscare me not," it hisses back. "I will sssink my teeth into your flesssh and revel in the tassste of your blood. My venom will make you writhe with pain until the life drainsss out of your sssoft, weak body - "

Holly claps her hands over her ears and shakes her head because she cannot bear to hear the cruel thing's threats. She is scared, so very scared - no, no, she is terrified, she's really going to die and go away forever, like her mommy and daddy did, she's never going to see Aunt Tuney again or eat delicious trifles and bombes or wear pretty frocks that make her feel like a princess or even start Primary School and make even one friend, though she's supposed to begin attendance this very September.

I don't want to die, she thinks to herself with desperation that fills her to her toes. Let me get away from here, I want to get away from here, please, please, please, take me away...

Holly squeezes her eyes shut and wishes as hard as she can, expecting nothing to happen.

When she opens them again, she is very, very surprised to find that something, in fact, has happened. And this something is a rather big Something indeed, for she does not recognize where she is in the least.

Holly sneezes messily.

For one, never has she ever been privy to such filth in her short life. This is in small part due to Aunt Tuney's constant crusade for cleanliness, but mostly because of the impossibly thick layer of grime that coats every surface she can see.

The place she has found herself is a hovel in the truest sense of the word. The walls are composed of worn, rotted bricks riddled with holes; the original colour of the stone is indiscernible underneath all the moss and mould that monopolizes it. There is light enough to see but it streams in not through the tiny windows, which are an invariable murky gray-brown and thick with scum, but through the gaps in the tiles of the roof. The building itself seems to sag with age and neglect, as do all surviving articles of furniture. Carcasses of various creepy-crawlers litter the dust intermittently, dried out husks with wings made too heavy for flight and abandoned shells with too many little legs pointed into the air.

Holly glances down and sees that her own feet have made a pair of straight indentations in the grit. The dust rises all the way to her mid-shins, and to the left of her knee is a small green-bodied creature with large filigree wings. It is dead, as is everything else in this little shack, but she's never seen such a kind of insect before.

‘A lacewing fly.’

The words flit through her thoughts, nearly silent and quicksilver fast; she only just manages to catch and hold onto them long enough to make sense of what has been said. The distinct feeling of being not-alone slams into her like a trainwreck, but a quick survey of the shack once more reveals nothing, and nobody, that had not been there previously.

"Hello?" Holly calls out curiously. "Is somebody there?"

Her only answer is a thick silence.

The redhead tilts her head and considers the insect. It certainly does look like a fly, and she supposes that its wings are rather lacy. It's possible that she could have made the name up all on her own, but just as she is beginning to attribute the noise to her imagination, the silence is broken once more.

‘You can hear me?’

Despite the wording this is not so much a question as much as a demand. Holly is caught between the compulsion to give a prompt answer and the desire to keep quiet just to be contrary, because Aunt Tuney always tells her that rudeness should not be rewarded.

But in the end, curiosity triumphs, and Holly replies, "Ye-es? But where are you, mister? I can't see you."

‘... For lack of a more appropriate description, I suppose I am in your head. So to speak.’

In her head? How could he have possibly gotten into there? Holly means to ask, but the voice continues on in a musing sort of way that is not at all conducive to a conversation.

‘How curious,’ says the stranger in her head. ‘The child was not conscious of me before - what was the trigger? The snake, perhaps? Parseltongue is an ability she must have acquired from my residence within her; to my knowledge the Potters are not bound closely enough to Slytherin's line for it to be inherited, and the girl's mother was a muggleborn. The use of an ability so deeply entrenched with my presence, then, may have incited awareness…’

And Holly knows he must be talking to her, for there is no one else for him to be talking to, but oddly it seems to her as if he is not speaking to her at all, not least because she hasn't the slightest inkling what the disembodied voice is going on about. Perhaps he is speaking to himself. In which case she must distract him from his insanities, which Aunt Tuney says is the Proper Thing To Do when she sees somebody acting in a manner that is Not Ordinary and therefore Embarrassing. Of course, Aunt Tuney also said that the preferred method of dealing with Not Ordinary people is to remove herself from their company, but she does not know how to remove herself from her own mind.

"Who are you, then, mister-in-my-head? What's your name? I'm Holly."

'Tom Marvolo Riddle' drifts across the surface of her subconscious like a whisper without sound or words without letters, coalescing into a vague not-quite memory of a thin woman looming over her, graying hair tightly drawn back in a bun and sharp features set in the most hostile expression Holly has ever seen.

'Tom,' the woman snaps. Her voice is cold to the touch and the way she forces out the word makes it sound like the worst sort of profanity; far, far worse than when Uncle Vernon stubs his toes on the kitchen doorway in the mornings. Holly thinks she should be frightened of this old lady with eyes that freeze her through - except how can she be, when it is only too clear that the woman is masking her own fear?

But Holly blinks and the woman is gone. She is once more alone in the dirty shack.

‘I am Lord Voldemort.’

Exempting, of course, the stranger in her head.

"That sounds stupid," she tells him truthfully. "I like Tom better."

There is a loud silence and suddenly her head hurts it hurts it's splitting in half -

‘Do not dare presume to call me by that name,’ says Tom, who sounds so very calm even though she can feel his anger like a knife through her skull.

"Okay," Holly manages to hiss through gritted teeth, bent forward with her hands pressed tightly against her temples. "Okay. Not Tom."

The headache lifts as suddenly as it had come.

"You're really mean," Holly mumbles to the ground with a petulant scowl. "And Voldemort still sounds stupid."

‘You are an irritation and a taint on your blood who doesn’t deserve the Gift,’ rumbles Not-Tom, the cold fury in his words lashing against her nerves like a whip. ‘Always simpering after an "Aunt Tuney" who does not even consider you an actual person as opposed to a reincarnated doll of her sister, and allowing that fat, stupid little oaf to trample all over you, and bending over backwards just for the slightest indication of acknowledgement from the fatter, stupider oaf that damned aunt of yours married, God knows for what reason. You let them use you like a rag and instead of becoming enraged that they dare treat someone magical in such a way, instead of punishing them like the insignificant worms that they are, you find pleasure in it. You bask in whatever attention your darling Aunt Petunia deigns to give when she's parading you around like a show pony in front of her acquaintances, leap to whatever inane chore your imbecilic uncle tosses to you, and do absolutely nothing as your dim balloon of a cousin drags you through a puddle of mud and blames you for getting his clothes dirty.’ As the tirade winds down, Holly is left taking shallow breaths and trying her best to keep at bay the stinging high in her nose. In a final measure of spite, Not-Tom hisses, ‘You, Holly Potter, are a house-elf to muggles, and it disgusts me.’

She doesn't understand why this stranger hates her so much, doesn't understand how his words hurt so deeply. Slowly, through the sharp heat behind her eyes and the ache simmering deep in-between her lungs, she manages to respond, “Aunt Tuney loves me.”

‘She does not, you little fool. She is using you to allay her own guilt towards your mother, and does not care for you personally one whit.’

Holly bursts into tears. Big, wet sobs wrack her body violently, and she wails into the air without abandon, free to cast away years worth of suppressed emotion because there are no Dursleys here, no one to tell her be-quiet and what-would-the-neighbors-say and I-don't-want-to-hear-it. And because Not-Tom must be right, everything he says just feels so right and she doesn't want to think this to herself, not ever, but his words ring with truth and she cannot deny it and it hurts her on the inside.

'Stop it,' the voice snaps frantically. 'Stop your caterwauling this very instant, or I'll - '

Another headache pounds at her temples but Holly only cries harder and stumbles forward in confusion, pressing palms against her closed eyes in an attempt to ease both the pain and her tears. The throbbing in her head quickly withdraws but the dust scattered by her movement does not, and Holly cannot stop from sneezing heavily. Compounded with the tears still blurring her sight and the trembling of her limbs, any sort of balance abandons Holly utterly; she trips over her heels and falls onto her rump.

Unfortunately, she lands on a certain patch of the wooden flooring where the earth underneath had been made hollow years before, with the intention of hiding a highly precious object. Decades of rot have left the floorboards of the shack frail and thin and even the impact of her weight, slight though it is, is enough to crumble what remaining strength there is to be had into dust. Holly falls into the floor with a short shriek, and the result of her misadventure is a massive cloud of dust that rises into the air almost angrily, attacking her eyes and nose and throat with all the ferocity of a dragon roused from slumber.

Holly begins to sneeze uncontrollably, and tears stream down her cheeks for an entirely different reason. Her hands flail at her face in an attempt to bat away the dust, and when this fails she gropes along the dirt underneath her to propel herself up, only to graze something that burns her fingers with a shock of electricity.

'What was that?' Not-Tom demands tersely. 'Open your eyes, I need to see.'

‘I can't,’ Holly thinks at him. She cannot breathe, let alone speak, and she is most definitely unable to do any seeing. ‘The dust…’

‘Get rid of this wretched mess, then. Do you have magic or don't you?’

‘Magic?’

'At your age, accidental magic should not be overly difficult. Merely will it to happen - wish the dust out of existence.'

‘Go away,’ Holly thinks fervently. ‘Go away, go away, go away.’

Nothing happens.

‘You made your way here, somehow, what did you do then?’ says Not-Tom, his voice edging the boundary of impatience.

What had she done earlier? Well, she’d just…

‘Make it go away, please.’ The words are a faint susurrus curling in the corners of her mind, but they thrum down her spine like thunder, like ebullition, like power, thick and heady and entirely hers.

Holly takes a calm breath and opens her eyes.

All around her, the shack looks almost exactly the same as it had before. It looks just as dull and dilapidated as when she had first opened her eyes here - only, all the dust is gone. All the dirt and grime and the carcasses of unkown little creatures have disappeared, as if the rafters, the floorboards, even the air itself, have been scrubbed clean during the interval of a long blink.

‘You...’ Not-Tom begins, only he seems to think better of it and instead continues, ‘Look down.’

She pushes herself to her feet and does so. Within the crack in the floor is a small, rectangular case, plain and black but for the small gold-gilded letters inscribed on the lid - T.M.R., it reads. Unlike the rest of the shanty, the box looks untouched by age, its edges straight and crisp, its paint gleaming and unfaded. Plain though it is, the case is... oddly compelling. It seems to beckon to her, wordless whispers of secrets and her greatest desires granted and the return of lost love. The jolt of pain from earlier all but forgotten, Holly crouches and reaches for the box with stubby little fingers.

‘STOP.’

Holly stops. Her hand hovers midair as she is brought back into herself.

‘You were lucky the first time,’ her disembodied passenger chastises. ‘You will not survive second contact. I have no desire for electrocution, so do not touch the artifact again unless I say.’

The child nods frantically in agreement, too disturbed by the brief loss of self-awareness to have done otherwise anyway.

‘How did you find your way here, of all places?’ murmurs Not-Tom, once more speaking at her, rather than to her. ‘It explains why my presence is magnified enough for coherence, but the questions this situation poses… they do not sit well by me.’

His voice fades off and Holly sits in silence, bewildered and a little scared. She knows that Not-Tom is thinking deeply on something because her mind feels heavy with the weight of his thoughts, intangible to her but for the unfamiliar strain between her temples. She's not sure what she's doing here, and now that the novelty of the situation has worn off, she can feel confusion and fear crawling to the forefront of her emotions, both warring for primacy.

She… she wants to leave. She wants to go back home. Dudley had witnessed her display of strangeness and she'll probably get a thorough scolding for it, maybe be sent to bed without supper, but that prospect is still eons better than staying here, alone in this dilapidated hovel without a single clue where she is and only a cruel, disembodied voice for company.

‘Yes,’ Not-Tom interrupts shortly. ‘Yes, that is a wise decision, present circumstances being as they are. Repair the floorboards and then leave this place, and do not return for as long as you are able.’

That sounds like a perfectly valid plan to Holly. She determinedly imagines the broken flooring beneath her being set to rights and, as politely as she can, asks her ‘magic’ to make it reality. The largest lath of floorboard floats level with the rest of the ground, and shards of wood, thin and grayed with age and use, piece themselves like puzzle pieces along the sharp edges of the break until it seems as if the boards had never been cracked at all.

Once the repairs are finished, she begs to be brought home. Her magic is only too happy to comply, and the moment her feet touch the plush grass carpeting 4 Privet Drive’s front yard, she springs into a dash straight into Aunt Tuney’s apron skirt with a bawl caught in her throat.

Later, when she's up in her room with only a single piece of toast for supper, she realizes that the voice from earlier is nowhere to be found. Her mind feels quieter. Lighter. Emptier. Quite honestly, she isn't sure if this relieves her or not, but she puts it out of mind as a singular occurrence and resolves to never think of it again. That night, her dreams are vibrant and bizarre.

… a snake with filigree wings rebukes her for trespassing into its castle of dust, saying she should have known better… after all, TMR is inscribed in gold on the black banner out front… oh no, why hadn’t she seen that earlier, so sorry… only, the room had been lit as luminously green as her eyes, and it had been so hard to see anything, you understand… if you bite me, mister snake, I will scream, except someone is already screaming…

Holly wakes up the next morning, and remembers little of the previous day’s misadventure. She goes down to breakfast, has fruit and cereal and orange juice, and plays with her few toys before Aunt Tuney calls her to attend a social gathering of the neighborhood children. Life goes on as normal.

And then, on one sweltering afternoon several years later, Holly meets Tom once more.

ORIGINAL NOTES —

What is this. What am I doing. Who am I. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M GONNA DO WITH THIS //AGONIZED SCREM

Unlike the common fan misconception, James Potter’s parents were not Charlus and Dorea (née Black) Potter. They were actually named Fleamont and Euphemia. Honestly, I was going to make Holly’s middle name Lily, but my friends @our-brightest-stars and glossary (sidenote - please go check these people out they are wonderful authors and they helped me figure out my direction with this story so much mwahh such great friends) both gave a great big “No” to that, so Euphemia it is. It's definitely pretentious enough to suit the only heiress of an old pureblood family, and Lily was an awkward fit, in any case. I also struggled between the first names Holly and Harriet, but for the purposes of this story, a flower theme seemed more suitable to further ingratiate Harry to Petunia.