#avatrice as hogwarts teacher

[noteveryoneis]

Avatrice as Hogwarts teacher

This is not about my fic, and I desperatly need sleep before my exam tomorrow but I just spent the last five hours writing this so enjoy

Hogwarts is Heaven's Place on Earth, witches and wizards say, thinking dreamily about their younger years and how the world was just on the palm of their hands.

Their children would snicker, looking at each other with playfulness in their eyes and irony sitting on their lips. Because, yes, Hogwarts still is and will always be the best place on Earth, but someone has made it their life goal to be the embodiement of mischief.

That certain someone is Hogwarts' Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ava Silva. For someone who is known to have battled the darkest wizards and witches in America before even reaching the age of twenty, Professor Silva has way too much joy and energy, and even a bunch of pubescent teenagers cannot keep up with her. Her ecstasy would bubble up and rise with every passing second, a devouring smile plastered on her face, short hair bouncing around her head, before exploding with a loud 'Bang!', leaving everyone fighting for cover in her wake. Sure, Professor Silva is chaotic and messy and disorganized, but she is also kind and tooth-rottingly sweet and so good at her job her student would probably all pass their Auror's entrance exam with flying colors.

What makes her so popular is also the playful (on her part) rivalry she entertains with their Charms Professor, Beatrice Young.

Professor Young's default setting is solemnity, never having a single hair out of place, shirt buttoned all the way up and hands folded behind her back. She is known for her rigor, her commitment and her profound disdain for her colleague Professor Silva. But Professor Young has also shown a certain sense of devotion to her students, and she is probably one of the most supportive teacher there is in the world. She believes in them, every single one of them, with undeniable faith and the most sincere certainty that drive her students to give the best version of themselves to the world, in and out of her classroom.

But beside the love they have for both teachers (and the rest of their teachers, in fact) Hogwarts' students absolutely adore every single interaction they can witness between the two professors.

At least once every couple of days, Professor Silva's door would swing open after a very loud explosion probably caused by her chaotic way of teaching, and Professor Young would be standing in the doorway, absolutely fuming with rage, jaw clenched and her hand gripping her wand so hard they were afraid it was going to snap in half.

"Once again," she would say, voice sharp and dripping with disdain, "you have found a way to disturb my teaching, Professor Silva."

Yes, because Headmistress Superion had had the brilliant idea to put their classrooms on either sides of a hallway, and there was no way they can't hear each other — especially when Professor Silva is that dedicated to give Headmistress Superion gray hair.

But Professor Silva is always unphased by her keen tone, flashing one of her sunny-kissed smile at her colleague.

"Come on, Bea," she would respond, bouncing on her toes. "Just take a seat, if you're so eager to see what we're doing."

Professor Young would never take a seat.

"Don't call me that."

Professor Silva would never stop.

And Professor Young would storm out, mumbling angry rants under her breath, and Professor Silva would wink at her students, continuing with her lesson and making a point of being the loudest person around.

Some people believe they are competing for the 'Best Teacher' title, which doesn't even exist (officially), some think they simply have different beliefs and views.

Some cheeky students whisper that perhaps Professor Silva has the hots for Professor Young (they know she is attracted to women, if the dozen conflicting pride flags in her pencil jar is anything to believe) and that this is just some weird flirting.

But they know it's impossible, because Professor Silva is very happy and in love, thank you very much. A simple golden band sits on her ring finger, and she sometimes like to slip little words about her wife when everyone leaves for holiday.

She's going to visit Castelbruxo, the brazillian school of witchcraft and wizardry, where she is from, with her beloved wife during spring break (she promises them Hogwarts is the best, but makes them swear not to tell anyone she ever said that because her wife can't know — nobody has the heart to tell her they don't know her wife either). She gives them a paper exam right before Christmas break, telling them she needs a reason not to visit her in-laws, and they laugh and ask if her wife is okay with that and she scoffs, 'Of course she is, who do you think came up with those questions?' (the test is so simple and they have such good grades that Professor Silva is called into Headmistress Superion's office who suspects they are cheating — they're not). She tells them, sitting cross-legged on her desk and pouting like a fretful child, that her wife forbid her to ever adopt a dragon, and they all send quiet thank you to her wife because they don't think they could handle a fire breathing version of Professor Silva (however, she lets her adopt a Bowtruck that sits happily on her shoulder one day, its arm wrapped into a strand of her hair — 'His name is Halo,' Professor Silva says, buzzing with happiness and excitement. 'My wife says it's a fitting name and now I'm trying to find a way to marry her again.') One day she comes into class red-eyed and with a running nose and they're all ready to go to war to whoever made her this sad until she tells them that she lost her wife's favorite scarf and dramatically plops on her chair repeating that she is a failure and a disgrace to womankind (they all breath in relief and tell her to buy her a new one and just spray her perfume on it when she argues it won't smell like her anymore — she comes back the next morning with rosy cheeks and a bright smile on her lips, wrapped in a sweater that is definitely not hers, and gives them the funniest class ever as a thank you).

Their conclusion is that Professor Young must have given her the impression that she was annoyed by her when she started teaching at Hogwarts — Nobody remembers when it was, Professor Silva just spawned on a random day and they don't remember ever having to watch her introduce herself to anyone — and Professor Silva saw it as a challenge.

And Merlin does she seem to love to provoke her.

She runs into the hall discheveled and covered in dirt after an eventful encounter with a Thestral (it's not a surprise that she sees them, Professor Silva has made the news in America at the age of thirteen for fighting Dark Wizards, they checked the library) , and collides with Professor Young, sending all of her books flying on the ground. She immediately apologizes profusely, picking up her books and papers and shoving them back into her hands before running away once again, living muddy footprints behind her and a sticky piece of meat into Professor Young's hand. It takes all of Professor Young's willpower not to chug it back at her running figure, and she simply straightens, grasps her books with a firm hand and crosses the expanse of grass towards the Forbidden Forest to give the meat back to the Thestral that is waiting for it at the edge of the woods (Professor Young also sees Thestral, but nobody knows who died in front of her and nobody dares to ask).

She makes a show of kicking down the Great Hall's door the time that Professor Young is having a bad day, barging into the room and yelling out 'To freedom!' before releasing a bunch of tiny birds that fly out into the fake ceiling, as she laughs maniacally. Professor Young buries her face in her hands, eyes closed, as Professor Lilith Villaumbrosia rolls her eyes, Professor Camila Delcán lets her jaw fall to the ground and Professor Michael Salvius absolutely bursts out laughing, like he always do whenever Professor Silva does something crazy. Professor Silva looks down at her shoes and doesn't answer when Headmistress Superion reprimands her publicly, and they catch the tiniest of smirks on Professor Young's lips as she lowers her hands, apparently pleased to see her rival finally being scolded for her behavior.

She sneaks up into the late evening class that Professor Young teaches, Ancient Runes, sitting at the back with her feet propped up on the table. Most of the time, Professor Young sees her immediately, and points sternly to the door. 'Get out,' she says, and Professor Silva skips happily to the door, sometime spinning on herself before exiting and yelling out 'Be good for boo-boo, kids!', and Professor Young slams the door in her face and they hear her giggle down the hall. But sometimes, Professor Young's wishful thinking makes her not-see that Professor Silva is here, or perhaps she chooses to ignore it. Professor Silva then makes a challenge of raising her hand in the middle of the class and asking the most out-of-pocket questions ('Would you rather be a Thunderbird with no wings or a Demiguise that can't disappear?', 'Do you think I could have taken Lestrange in a fight?', 'Would you love me if I was a worm?'). Every single question is met with a wand pointed at the door, and a stern 'Get out' and Professor Silva always does, always obeys and leaves.

But on the one time Professor Young doesn't see her rival, and Professor Silva doesn't try to tease her, they see another side of the whole banter. Professor Silva falls asleep with her arms crossed on the table, nose scunched into her elbow, and Professor Young doesn't say anything, doesn't awknowledge it, just takes off her tweed jacket and wraps it around her colleague's shoulders, not even stopping in her lesson. Professor Silva sleeps until the end of the class, and the students linger in the doorway, watching as Professor Young goes up to her table, and (softly) slams her hands on the table. Professor Silva wakes up with a start, looking around with wild eyes and messy hair, as Professor Young giggles — giggles! —, looking mockingly at her colleague.

'It seems like you fell asleep, Professor Silva.'

Professor Silva just buries her face back in her arms, giving her the middle finger, and Professor Young ushers them out when she realizes they're still here.

That's the weird side of the whole thing. Because their banter and teasing and yelling match in the Great Hall is being challenged by other things they do.

Like that one time Halo falls from Professor Silva's shoulder and she all but flings herself out of the window to catch him, gripping the edge at the last second. It's the first year that she's teaching at that moment and they all start yelling and screaming and try to pull her up but they're just eleven year old with scrawny bodies and even thiner arms. The door bursts open, slamming on the wall behind it, and Professor Young makes her way throug the students, iron hands on their shoulders to push them away. How she even know where Professor Silva is is beyond them, but she leans over the opening, letting the edge bury itself into her stomach, grips Professor Silva's wrists and pulls her up, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her jacket, of her belt, not even wasting a second to mock her. Professor Silva falls to the ground, panting, and Professor Young kneels next to her, putting her hands on her shoulder and looking at her in the eyes. 'Are you okay?' She asks. Professor Silva nods, and that's when the yelling begins. Professor Young doesn't even seem to notice that her students have left her classroom and are now calming the first years down, rumors and whispers swirling into the room. Professor Silva doesn't listen, she pats herself until a whistle answer her, and Halo emerges from one of her pockets. 'He flew out of the window,' Professor Silva explains, and Professor Young stays quiet for a few moments. 'So what,' she says, 'If Halo jumped off a bridge, would you follow him?!'. She grumbles and groans and Professor Silva doesn't answer, quiet for once, and the students look at each other with surprise, because not only does Professor Young know the Bowtruck's name, she uses it like she's done it before.

There is also the time where, for once, it's Professor Young's door that swings open, but it's a man that enters. He has Professor Young's eyes and her freckles and he immediately starts yelling and Professor Young just looks at him, quiet, rendered speechless by shock. All Hell breaks loose when Professor Silva runs from her own classroom and jumps into Professor Young's and all but tackles the man to the ground. That's when everyone starts screaming, the students rise and panic, Professor Young orders for them to leave in between frantic 'Ava!' as Professor Silva grabs the man by the collar and hits and Professor Young slams the door behind them. They know they should leave and not stay in front of the door, but everyone wants to be ready to fight too, if needed. Headmistress Superion makes her way down the corridor, all of the teacher arguing behind her (Professor Villaumbrosia yells things like 'I'm going to kill that bastard!' and Professor Salvius tries to reason with her as Professor Delcán cheers her on and Mary — Hogwarts gamekeeper whose real name has been lost in time — is being physically held back by her wife, Professor Shannon Master, as Professor Amulet asks how he even got in). When they open the door, the man is already gone, and Professor Silva sits on Professor Young's desk, swinging her legs as she's performing healing charms on her. Professor Young looks annoyed, mad and tired, but Professor Silva seems calmer, sweeter and also a little bit insane, like she's planning a murder in her head. (Rumours would later reveal that that man is Professor Young's brother, who works at the Ministry of Magic at a very high position and they all promise each other to make his life a living Hell, if they ever were to work in the same department as him.)

There is also that one time when Professor Silva takes them into the Forbidden Forest to practice some ground training and they get attacked by an acromantula. They all make it out without a scratch, except for Professor Silva, who throws herself straight into danger to make sure that none of them will even be touched by a single thing. She promises that she's okay, but she still needs to lean on Diego to walk, the boy letting her put an arm around his shoulder and almost carrying her out. When they make it out of the woods, Professor Young is running towards them, wand gripped between her fingers, some strands of hair flying around her face as she crosses the expance of grass. They don't even know how she knew where they were or that they had gotten attacked, but it doesn't matter as she screams 'Ava!', voice breaking and tearing the air around as soon as she realizes who Diego is carrying. Professor Silva straightens up, she lets go of Diego right as Professor Young catches her in her arms, panicked, terrified. Professor Silva keeps saying that she's okay, but Professor Young doesn't let her out of the infirmary for three days (they sneak her chocolate and 'get-well' cards and ask if her wife is going to be okay without her — Professor Silva laughs so hard her ribs hurt and Professor Young enters the room and yells at them for being here).

They learn about Professor Young's family one fateful Thursday morning, when she enters the room smelling faintly of smoke and with bags under her eyes, a single strand of hair escaping of her bun and framing her face. She's wearing the sweater of a Quidditch team with a curupira for a mascot that they all know is not hers (She might be the smartest person in this school, but the woman doesn't know shit about Quidditch, no matter how much good will she put into learning). She starts the lesson just like she usually does, and if their silence weirds her out, she doesn't awknowledge it. It's Rose Granger that takes one for the team and shyly raises her hand. 'Yes, Miss Granger?' Professor Young asks. 'I'm sorry if it's innapropriate, professor, but are you okay?'. They're all hanging to her lips, and she looks around, wondering if dismissing the question would really bring her peace.

She sighs, rubs the bridge of her nose.

"My wife tried to set the kitchen on fire last night."

She freezes as soon as the words have left her mouth, suddenly blanching and looking up at them, wild panic in her eyes and her chest still, as if she has stopped breathing. Nobody says a word, until...

"Did she do it on purpose?" Diego asks, raising his hand but not waiting for her solicitation.

Professor Young looks around, chest still unmoving.

"I... Don't think so. She's... A really bad cook."

They all laugh at that, and Professor Young grips her wand like she's about to bolt out the door.

"You should introduce her to Professor Silva," Rose suggests.

"Are you crazy?!" Lorcan Scamander says, eyes wide with fear. "They would burn Hogwarts to the ground!"

Everyone laughs even harder, and even Professor Young laughs a little, bringing a shaky hand to her mouth as if trying to retain her smile. But she's breathing again and colors have made their way back onto her face and she sits down at her desk because she looks like she cannot stand on her wobbly legs, but nobody says a word.

"That would be a really bad idea," she says, before continuing with her lesson.

Of course, they are children, they don't let their teacher off the hook that easily.

They eat up every single information they can get on Professor Young's wife, even if she doesn't say much. They know that she likes Quidditch and she has a tendency to spill things on Professor Young's clothes. They know she's trying to bully her into getting a Niffler and that she wants to use said Niffler to wreak havoc into her brother's office, like Professor Young says it relutanctly, it seems, looking away from them as if she's too scared to see their reaction .

How Professor Young could even live with someone that chaotic is a mystery, a miracle. She can barely survive when Professor Silva drops a muddy pair of gloves on her spotless desk, how can she live through someone going through her closet and stealing every single one of her clothes? But Professor Young loves her wife, they see it in the glimmer in her eyes when she talks about her, how she shyly tucks her non-existent loose strand of hair back, blushing slightly like a schoolgirl and then squinting suspiciously at them when she realizes they managed to lose five minutes of their lessons getting her to talk about her wife.

Professor Young's admission is like a fire being lit up; suddenly, some students who were once too scared to admit who they are, to show who they really are are getting the courage to do so and only receive kindness as an answer. The Slytherins hold a 'gender reveal' party for a boy that just came out, Hufflepuffs start a business of colorful flags and pins, Ravenclaw gather money to buy a transgender girl her fist skirt and Gryffindors start taping little notes of encouragement on the walls. An ungoing jokes runs around the castle, and everyone is wondering who will be the next to come out or to start dating someone. Professor Salvius blurts out that he's dating Hogsmead's bartender when they tease him, and it takes them a few seconds to realize Hans is definitely not a girl's name, Professor Amunet lets out a gay joke in the middle of the class and then tries desperately to get them to quiet down as if she is going to get in trouble, Professor Delcán says that she doesn't have a preference for any gender when asked like it's the most natural thing in the world. Mary flips them off when they tease her for being completely smitten with her wife, earning herself a slap on the back of the head from said wife, yelling at them that they are just jealous because her wife is hot and they can't yell back because Professor Matters is undeniably pretty.

They know the world has changed when they see a little rainbow flag hidden in the corner of Professor Young's blackboard.

And when Professor Villaumbrosia catches them talking about sending a 'mockery pride flag' to Professor Young's brother, she doesn't report them. She just gives them his address.

Professor Silva keeps working her magical chaos until she comes in one day tired and nervous and disheveled like she slept in her clothes.

Usually that means that she has convinced her wife to do something crazy and unhinged like suddenly decide to 'run away together' ('When life gets too hard, you gotta know when to take a break,' she had said wisely when explaining that ritual 'The first time I asked her to run away, she refused, and both of us regretted it very deeply after that.'). Usually they would pack a few clothes and pretend to never be coming back, just for a few hours, and go wherever they wanted (the mountains in Switzerland, the beach in Spain, a lake in France or some remote village in Portugal). They would always come back, once the world seemed brighter and lighter, and Professor Silva would always be much more calm (which helped Professor Young too, apparently, because then she didn't have to yell at her to stop blowing things up) ( there was also the scandalous rumor that Professor Silva would also be 'getting laid' during those days, but hey, they were teenagers, rumous were their best form of entertainement.)

But that day, she comes in barely human, looking like she just crawled out of an Occamy's nest, and they all know that something is deeply and profoundly wrong.

"My wife is sick," she admits after looking at the bare board for five minutes without finding the chalk in her hand. "I had to fight her to stay at home today."

They all know she would rather be with her today, and so they do what kids do best: they make stupid decisions. She only teaches Gryffindor that day, and so they all gather around and use a Wealsey's Skiving Snackbox and soon they are swarming the infirmary with fake illnesses. Headmistress Superion herself comes down to see what's going on, and sighs deeply.

"It seems like there is a flu going around here," she says. "Truly tragic. It looks like you won't have any students attending your classes today," she tells Professor Silva who looks like she doesn't know whether or not to panic or thank them.

She runs back to her mysterious wife and Headmistress Superion looks away when they all start getting better fifteen minutes after she left.

Professor Young too, seems to be getting down with the flu. But she's not here for them to tell her it's a fake illness.

The secret is broken during an uneventful summer, as Diego is being dragged by his dads to a bar in Hogsmead. He whines and says there is no way he's getting any closer than sixty-thousand feet to school during summer break, but his fathers don't falter.

And that's how he ends up sitting in front of a Butterbeer (which is not really that bad) in the middle of a bar, with his parents talking to some of their friends as he sulks in a corner (later, he'll wonder why he was even mad at all, there weren't any bad side to that adventure).

He's gulping down the content of his glass when something catches his eyes and he can't look away.

It's Professor Young, sitting at a table with her hands folded onto her lap. She's wearing a short-sleeved button-down and her hair is down and she looks younger, softer and lighter, like every worry that was once crinckling her brow has melted away, only leaving a young woman trying to enjoy her life. She doesn't seem out of place, because Professor Young is never out of place, but it feels strange to think of her as Professor Young, like the title is a coat she sheds off when going home. She's playing pensively with the alliance around her finger, lost in her own thoughts.

Diego is thinking about whether he really values his own life before going up and saying hi, when the world breaks.

Because a woman plops down next to her, so close she's almost onto her lap, putting two glasses onto the table and Professor Young smiles and laughs as she catches the drinks and makes sure they don't spill. She wraps her arm around Professor Young's shoulder and throws her head back and laugh, short hair bouncing around her head, and Professor Young looks at her, looks at her like she's the only thing in the world, like she's a fire and Professor Young is a salamander reaching for warmth.

And Diego knows he sould stop staring, knows he should look away, but he can't, mouth hanging open.

Because, halfway on Professor Young's lap, losing her own cardigan and rambling like she's reciting a goddamn novel is Professor Silva. Professor Silva and her clumsiness, Professor Silva and her ability to set things on fire, Professor Silva who knows exactly which buttons to push and how to get away with it.

Curupiras are the brazilian Quidditch team's mascot, and Diego cannot believe how stupid teenagers are. Because all this time, the answer was right in front of their noses.

And as he watches the way they look at each other, he realizes that this is perfect just the way it is. Perhaps they don't want all of their students to know. Perhaps they're just playing their own tricks on them.

It doesn't matter. Diego is happy, and his heart swells in his chest and he feels like he can take on the world.

He doesn't know who sees him first, Professor Young or Professor Silva, but suddenly they're looking at him, surprised to see him there. Professor Young blushes and buries her face into Professor Silva's shoulder, who laughs and raises her arm to wave at him, nearly knocking their drinks that Professor Young catches without even looking, like she has built muscle memory around her wife's clumsiness.

He raises a finger to his lips, he won't tell a soul, and Professor Silva smiles as she wraps her arms around her wife, and sends him a knowing wink.

Professor Silva keeps disrupting Professor Young's classes, and her wife loves her for it.

("Good luck," Diego would tell his little sister years later, watching from the corner of his eyes as two women with matching alliance would try to convince a child to get into the train and not into the baggage wagon. He wouldn't even try to explain himself as his little sister would look at him like he had lost his damn mind. "And tell Professor Silva to go easy on her wife this year. I don't think we can all survive the three of them in the same school.")

[noteveryoneis]

i built a home (for you; for me) aka Avatrice as Hogwarts teacher part 2

I'm alive. Barely, but hey, what else is new? If you want to read this on ao3, the title is the same.

Also, I wanted to tell you guys about the lovely art @hamusammich has made on twitter based on the first part. It made me go feral with happiness, not gonna lie

Specifically, this is the thread, go check out their account!:

Anyways. I don't speak portuguese so feel free to correct my mistakes. I wrote this while agressively listening to Little Girls by Cameron Diaz, it's an actual bop.

I have no idea what this is.

...

...

...

Thisisn'tthelastparteitherbye!

Beatrice walks into the room and knows immediately that this is going to be a long night.

The lights are bright and cold and white and it hurts right behind her eyes. People are talking, fake smiles plastered on their faces, chin raised with their sufficient expression like they know that their family's blood is as pure as water. Everything reeks of money and gold and dark magic and Beatrice already feels nauseous. The dress her mother chose for her is itchy and she feels like a child who played with their mother's makeup, and she wants to run and to hide and to burn that dress and let the ashes smear her face.

Bernard is gripping her arm so tight she can see spots of white slowly fading away in her flesh when he lets go. 'Behave,' he says, but he doesn't say it like Beatrice used to when Melanie was drunk and trying to kiss her in front of everyone with giggles.

She feels their parents cold gaze on her when they enter the room but Beatrice doesn't have the strenght to fake a smile on her face. She settles for looking around in silence, nodding politely when someone greets her.

Beatrice is nineteen years old, and she already feels like she has ruined her own life. She's trapped. Everything in her screams to run away, that this is wrong, terribly and profoundly wrong.

She knows why they're here, but she doesn't understand how her presence is required.

They're in America, and they're here for business. Magical business, faith business, deciding-of-the-faith-of-the-world business.

There has been rumors of a girl. A girl that fought Dark forces before she could even drink (legally), that dueled with dark wizards before she even had her first period, that has powers no one has ever heard of. The Young family has been sent as high-placed guests, but really they're just here to make sure this isn't another Harry Potter situation.

Harry Potter has saved the world, but a lot of people think that there would be no saving needed if it wasn't for him — Beatrice's family, mainly. The British Ministry of Magic would rather be caught dead than dealing with another Harry Potter. 'The New Areala', they whisper in the corridors of the Ministry, because that's what people in America call her, comparing her to another brazilian witch that shook the magical world's core a long time ago. Beatrice wonder what it would feel like to have their own name whispered instead, and not just 'Areala' or 'the Young girl'.

A boy with the word 'Pure-Blood' written on the wrinkles of his face tries to talk to her and Beatrice does what she does best: she avoids. She retreats by the table and watches as bubbles of champagne rise to the air.

A soft hand lands on her arm and she jumps a little, but it's a girl, tall and with the face of a model, that looks like she could be anywhere but here. 'Here, honey,' she says, shoving what seems like a glass of Firewhisky in her hand and her voice is deep and calm and Beatrice doesn't shy away. 'You look like you need it.'

And then she's gone, the clicking of her heels echoing in Beatrice's head and she doesn't ask why she's even here, she who could do way better than that.

She looks at the contents of her glass, hesitates. She's never drunk alcohol, no matter how many times Melanie tried to get her to. She didn't want to end up like her, she couldn't let her guard down and anyways, they needed someone to take care of Melanie when she was like this.

Before she can even realize what she's doing, she's tilting her head back and drowning the whiskey. Her throat burns and her eyes water and she coughs into her fist.

A hand grabs her arm violently and Beatrice's eyes are too blurry to see but she knows who it is. 'What are you doing?' Bernard stabs into her heart.

Beatrice doesn't know what to answer, she just wants him to let go of her, her arms already hurt from earlier and he's just putting more finger-shaped bruises on top of the others.

Suddenly, he is hit from the side and lets go of her and Beatrice takes a step away.

"Desculpe!" A girl says, bringing a hand to her mouth and then onto Bernard's arm, squeezing apologetically, and Beatrice sees the tip of her wand in her sleeve, and there is a big stain of whatever was in her glass on Bernard's immaculate shirt. "Sinto muito! Eu não tinha visto você, estava muito ocupado com a batida do seu—"

"Alright, alright, I don't care," Bernard huffs in annoyance before turning to Beatrice. "You, don't move."

That's all she is now. A 'you', not a little sister who needs his help.

He walks away, probably going to wash his shirt, and the girl puts her glass back on the table.

Beatrice feels a hand slip into hers.

"Come one," the girl says.

She doesn't have time to ask how she can speak English, that the girl is pulling her away, grazing the wall until she finds a window and opens it, jumping into the night. Beatrice looks at the distance between the edge of the window and the ground — There's a terrace so it's not that big — and back to the room where her parents are talking to a man with gray hair and glasses, then onto the girl who beckons her to follow, a smile on her face.

Beatrice swings her legs outside, drapes her dress over her arm and lets herself fall on the terrace. The girl laughs, leading her to the stone stairs, and sits on a step and Beatrice sits next to her, keeping a reasonable distance between them.

It's chilly out there but the Firewhisky coursing through Beatrice's veins keeps her warm, almost too warm. She's burning up.

The girl next to her is young, probably a little younger than Beatrice herself. She's wearing a strange dress that sparkles into the night and dips into her chest, exposing her neck and her collarbone. Her hair is messy, untidy, so much that Beatrice thinks it might be a conscious choice, but her face is one of an angel, with dark doe eyes that hold all that is good in this world.

"Oh uh... Hey, is this yours?" The girl asks, fumbling with her words and her hands, voice leaking with a delicious accent that Beatrice cannot place, before reaching into her sleeve and extricating a wand that Beatrice recognizes as hers from her sleeve.

Bernard took it that morning.

"Yes I... How did you—" Beatrice says finally, reaching out to take it back, and it feels like she can breathe a little better.

"The guy that was with you. He already had his wand pocking out of his pocket, pretty sure he only needs one."

Beatrice cradles her wand to her chest, like a child that she has lost.

"Thank you," she whispers into the night, and the girl smiles, and suddenly it's not night anymore. It's summer and the world is bright and warm and full of noise.

"No problem. No offense, but he seems like a douche."

Beatrice can't stop herself fast enough from letting out a snort of laughter. She quiets down immediately, retreating back onto herself. The girl's smile turns upside down in a grimace.

"Sorry. I put my foot in my mouth again, like you English say. I'm Ava," she says, and she presents her hand towards her.

Beatrice hesitates, she's not supposed to talk to people unless she's being watched closely by a family member. Yet, she reaches out into the sun and puts her palm into Ava's.

She doesn't believe in love at first sight. Melanie had told her that French people talk about 'coup de foudre', like love is a thunderbolt that hits unexpectedly and mercilessly. She doesn't believe in that either.

And yet, when Ava smiles as she squeezes her hands, Beatrice feels like she's being pulled under the sun too.

"Beatrice."

Ava wiggles from where she's seated, and Beatrice realizes that the girl is always moving (eyes, hands, shoulders and feet and hips).

"So, you come here often?"

Beatrice doesn't even have time to react that the girl is already burying her face in her hands, mumbling something like 'Porra JC, sua vadia estúpida', before looking back up.

"Sorry. Chanel says I always lose my ability to act human around pretty girls and I keep proving her right."

Pretty girl?

Beatrice's brain screams and jumps against the walls of her skull and she wants to bolt into the night and never look back.

"Have you been hit with a Babbling Curse?" Is all that comes out of her mouth.

Ava pauses for a second, then she laughs, and a shiver runs along Beatrice's uncovered spine.

"Nah, sorry, this is just my default setting. Uh... Wait a second."

She vaguely turns around to give herself some privacy, but Beatrice still sees her reach into her cleavage and hold out a folded napkin containing something, and when Ava unwraps it, she's presented with a small pumpkin pasty.

"Uh... Peace offering?"

Beatrice looks at the food in front of her, wondering when Ava is going to laugh and explain that this is just a well imagined joke ('But from who?' Beatrice wants to ask.) but she doesn't, looking at Beatrice with a lopsided smile and Beatrice gives in.

"Won't you go hungry?" She asks, and Ava smirks, like she knows every secret in the world.

"English," she says, and the nickname makes the hair on the back of Beatrice's neck stand up as Ava reaches once more into her cleavage and Beatrice looks away, quick quick quick, "I've got two boobs."

Beatrice turns back to her and Ava is holding two pumpkin pasties wrapped in napkins, giving her her mischevious grin, and Beatrice can't help it, she laughs. She laughs as she hasn't in weeks, months, years. She laughs because she's outside with a girl she doesn't know, hiding from her family that would kill her for just doing that, and that the girl is the strangest and most beautiful thing that happened to her in the last few months.

She laughs and she takes the extended pasty in her hand and Ava grins as she thanks her.

Ava keeps talking and Beatrice keeps listening, and it's like they both feat in each other's space, like the world around them adjusted itself to let them be in each other's presence.

Ava tells her about her childhood and the stains on the ceiling that looked like David Bowie (Beatrice has no idea of who that is but Ava laughs and therefore so does she). She tells her about the orphanage she was in, skipping quickly to a brighter time. She tells her how she was paralyzed for most of her life but that one day, she woke up in the middle of the night needing a glass of water and simply got up to get it. She only realized what was happening when she got to the sink, and promptly fainted. The nuns found her the next morning right as 'Professor Vincent' showed up to take her to Castelobruxo ('Thank God he did,' Ava says, licking pumpkin from her fingers. 'I was living with nuns. Don't think the whole Jesus thing would have stuck with me.')

She tells her about the golden rock that was Castelobruxo and how she became friends with the Caipora and raised Hell with her other friends. How they would fly to the top of the castle and have picnics and yell their sorrows into the wind. How they raised each other, because nobody else was doing it for them. She tells her that she used to play Quidditch and asks if Beatrice has ever played, and Beatrice barely whispers that she hasn't flown in a while.

Ava paints colors in front of Beatrice and lights up the sun into the night and Beatrice just watches, quiet and peaceful, for once.

Ava unclips her shoes and leaves them on the stone of the stairs as she rises, waving her hand as she explains that her friends followed her right into the world and its dangers. 'But really,' she says, laughing like it doesn't matter, like it's funny, 'they just came for the food.'

She doesn't realize how much time has passed until she feels something fall on her shoulder and roll down her back — cold and wet and fluid. There is rain slowly starting to pour over them, and Beatrice freezes, because she can already feel her mother's palm hitting her face when she'll find out she has ruined the dress she forced her to wear. She needs to find shelter before things get worse, before the world ends and Beatrice falls right back into Hell.

But Ava laughs, spreads her arms out and spins, her strange dress flowing around her.

"Rain!" She yells into the night. "Fucking rain!"

Beatrice doesn't even think about chastising her for her language, she just smiles as Ava whirls around the terrace, standing on her tip-toes, light and airy and wild. She watches and she wishes she were that free.

Then Ava twirls back to her, extends her hands.

"Come on!"

Beatrice's senses come back to her and she shakes her head.

"I don't dance."

"Everyone can dance, trust me, I was paralyzed for most of my life."

Beatrice purses her lips.

"Mother says it's unproper."

'For women to dance together,' she wants to add, but doesn't find the strength in herself to do so. She is an adult woman and yet she sounds like a child.

Ava pretends to look around, her hand shielding her eyes.

"I don't see her there."

And so Beatrice takes her outstretched hands in hers, kicks off her heels and laughs as Ava spins them around, light on her toes. Ava lets go of one of her hands, taking a few steps back to bow respectfully to her, bringing Beatrice hand to her lips to leave a feather-like kiss on her knuckles.

"Milady," she says, rising up with a teasing smile and Beatrice burns bright red even through the cold rain. "Will you do me the honor of granting me this dance?"

"Stop it," Beatrice hisses back, and Ava laughs.

She puts a hand on Beatrice's shoulder, leading hers onto her shoulder and keeping her other hand in hers, arms to the side. And they begin to dance. There is rhythm, no rules or custom, they just trip on each other's feet, laugh and stumble as they catch themselves to each other. Ava takes her hand off Beatrice's waist and makes her twirl while holding her arm out over her, and Beatrice just melts.

She forgot the taste of her own smile on her lips.

When Ava trips and swears and throws her arms around Beatrice shoulders, latching herself onto her body to keep herself upwards, she doesn't push her away. She blames the alcohol still in her system as she wraps an arm around her waist, laughing.

It's as she looks into Ava's doe eyes that the world explodes once again.

Because there are flakes of snow in her eyelashes and as Beatrice reaches out to take them off, she realizes that snow if falling onto them.

It’s June.

She shivers into the cold, watching as Ava's face looses her smile and her eyebrows knit together.

"Is it always this cold this time of the year?" She asks stupidly.

Ava looks at her with a nervous look in her eyes.

"English. This is New York. Not Washington."

Beatrice's teeth are clattering together now as Ava looks around and she feels her stomach drop, for some reason.

"Fuck," Ava says. "We gotta get you back inside."

She drags Beatrice to the glass door, trying to turn the handle and then muttering spells when it doesn't open.

"Fuck," Ava repeats. "Fuck. This is not good."

"Ava," Beatrice says.

"JC!" Ava yells, pounding her fist on the door. "JC, you fucker, open!"

"Ava."

"JC! Zori, Randall, Chanel! Need some help here!"

"Ava."

Finally, Ava turns to her and Beatrice raises a shaking hand to point a finger towards the park.

Figures covered in black are floating over them, riding the waves of freezing cold that is settling into their bones, dark capes drifting behind them.

"Fuck!" Ava says. "Fuck!"

Beatrice is frozen on the spot by both cold and fear as Ava grabs her by the arm and literally throws her behind her, placing herself in between the dementor and Beatrice as she raises her wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A ball of silver light shoots from her wand and barrels into the chest of the first dementor that flies away with a low shriek.

"Expecto Patronum!" Ava yells again as another takes its place, still trapping Beatrice in between her own body and the wall.

The light misses the dementor this time and Beatrice reaches out to put a hand on her back, muttering her name under her breath.

Ava stills for a second with Beatrice's hand between her shoulder blade, stuttering.

Ava is so warm the ice melts off of Beatrice's fingertips.

And so Beatrice finds the strength to raise her wand with a shaky hand and mutter the words: "Expecto Patronum."

A silver cat jumps from the stream of light and chases after the dementor, but Beatrice is too busy trying not to freeze to death to feel ashamed — 'It should have been a dragon, an Abraxan or at the very least a snake, not some ridiculous cat.'

The cat jumps gracefully around them, warding of the dementors as Ava gasps, looking at it with wonder and amazement in her eyes. It only lasts for a few seconds. One moment Beatrice is gathering all her energy into the spell, grasping for happy memories that she cannot find —the girl she's laughing with doesn't have Melanie's face anymore and she doesn't understand why —, the next she's falling, Ava calling her name in panic as she tries to catch her.

The floor is freezing cold under her bare back, and Beatrice can't even appreciate the sight of Ava looking over her, her name on her lips, as the dementors close in.

"Shit, fuck, shit!" Ava yells. "Stay with me, Beatrice, stay with me!"

She's terrified and she wants to cry, but her tears just turn into ice behind the barrier of her eyes. Ava puts a knee to the ground, next to her waist, and grips Beatrice's hand in hers, the other holding out her wand to the air as the dementor start circling over them.

"Please don't freak out," she whispers for Beatrice, before looking up at the sky. "Expecto Patronum!"

Light shoots out from her wand, flying up and charging towards the dementors.

It's a Thestral. Beatrice knows because she was the only twelve year old to scream and run and hide in her prefect's robe when she made her way back to the castle that second year. Because she's been drawing them inside her minds since that moment, remembering every angle of their skeletic forms. Because she's one with the Thestral and they are one with her and she has wished too many times to be one of them.

Ava screams as she holds out her wand in the air, directing the silver Thestral to chase after the dementors, still squeezing Beatrice's hand.

She's glowing, enveloped in a golden haze and Beatrice can only look, amazed and astonished as Ava yells her rage into the night and doesn't stop before all of the Dementors are gone. Only then does she falter and almost fall on Beatrice, blowing out an exhausted breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against Beatrice's cheek. "They were here for me."

A cry echoes around them and a boy falls from the first floor's window, followed by a few other young men and women.

"Help is on the way, dear!" He yells, raising his wand as they make their way to Ava and Beatrice has the feeling the phrase has a meaning she can't decipher.

"Ava!" Another says, dropping to his knees beside them. "Are you okay?"

"Stop fretting over her, pretty boy, she can take care of herself," someone says, and Beatrice recognizes the girl that gave her the Firewhisky.

"JC, about time," Ava groans, helping Beatrice sit up.

"The doors were locked from the inside, there was nothing we could do," the boy says, and he has dark hair and dark eyes that look over Ava, searching for wounds, before falling on Beatrice. "Hi. Do we know you?"

"Nah, look at her," another girl says. "She's from the Englishs."

"Zori, seriously," the girl with the model face says.

"What were you guys doing?" Ava says, a hand ghosting over Beatrice's hair, as if she is blindly trying to find injuries.

"Well," JC says, "we saw the stunt you pulled to get the girl out of here — impressive, by the way, I feel like a proud mama duck — and we thought you deserved a break with a pretty girl."

"The pretty girl would like to get up now, please," Beatrice says, and surprises herself at how firm her voice sounds, even after almost fainting because of Dementors.

Ava chuckles at JC's surprised face and they all rise to their feet, helping each others. Ava's knees almost give up under her and Beatrice and JC both reach out to help her at the same time — she hears the other boy (Randall?) sneering from a few steps away.

"What's going on here?!"

Beatrice feels a terrifying shiver going up her spine as wizards and witches exit the building onto the terrace to observe the disaster of melted ice left by the Dementors, her family all but charging towards them.

Ava must feel the waves of fright emanating from her as she steps up, and when she staggers, Beatrice lets JC catch her without moving a single finger.

"It was me, ma'am," she says, and all eyes turn on her. "Dementors came for us."

"Are you sure?" A man asks, and Beatrice recognizes the man with the graying beard and round glasses that was talking to her parents.

"Professor Vincent," Ava breathes out in relief. "Yes sir, Dementors just straight up spawned in the park and tried to suck out our souls or something."

"You need a soul for that," Randall chips in, and the tall girl (Chanel, Beatrice thinks) smacks him in the back of the head.

Professor Vincent shakes his head and Beatrice's heart thrums in her ears because she realizes Ava has no reason to be here and yet she is, yet she just told her her whole life story and Beatrice still didn't connect the dots.

"Ava Silva," he says, "you always find a way to get yourself in trouble."

Ava giggles.

"More like trouble finds me, sir."

"Ava Silva," Beatrice's mother repeats. "As in 'The New Areala'?"

Beatrice's stomach drops and she tightens her grip against her wand as Ava's face breaks for a second, showing an annoyed expression, before quickly hiding behind a polite smile.

"In the flesh, ma'am," she says.

"Ava," Professor Vincent says, frowning like Ava really shouldn't be calling her 'ma'am', "this Mr. and Mrs. Young from England, as well as their son and well— I believe you already met their daughter."

All eyes turn to Beatrice in her ridiculous dress, still drenched from head to toes with icy water, and she wants to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself here. Ava sends her a surprised look and they both think the same thing 'Well played, you got me here', before turning back to Beatrice's parents.

"Oh, right! Thank God your daughter was here, I would have been either frozen to death or turned into a soulless corpse if it wasn't for her!"

They all know it's a lie, but nobody is going to refute 'Areala''s words, after all. Her father frowns.

"But Beatrice doesn't have her—" He starts as Bernards pats his blazer to find her wand that Beatrice is tightly gripping, but her mother stops him, an iron hand on his arm.

"Oh. I found it on the ground," Ava says. "It must have fallen from her... Dress?"

Again, nobody believes it, but Ava's lies are too big to fight against.

"Alright, well, we better go. Let's go, Beatrice," she hisses at her daughter, and Beatrice hesitates for a quarter of a second.

Ava and her friends are all looking at her. 'Please,' she wants to scream. 'Please get me out of their claws. I won't survive this.'

"Beatrice," her father repeats, and Beatrice puts her weapons down.

She walks up to them, eyes lowered to the ground not to see the look of pity on Ava's face and to blink away the tears that threaten to spill.

She feels warmth on her skin as she passes in front of Ava, but it's gone the next step.

She does get slapped for ruining the dress and embarassing the family and smelling faintly of alcohol and she gets sent to her room like a disobeying child. She cries as she takes off her dress, but smiles when she finds a tiny piece of napkin tucked into her sleeve, with a little smiley face drawn on it.

[noteveryoneis]

i built a home (for you; for me) aka Avatrice as Hogwarts teachers part 4/?

Literally crying as I post this chapter because I feel like you guys' expectations of me are waaaay too high and that you guys don't know that I'm actually a wild raccoon living in a dumpster and that you really have to lower your expectations because this is just a silly little fic that I write in my goddamn Wattpad drafts because this is the only app I know how to use to organise my shit Anyways. LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS I AINT NO SHAKESPEAR (SHEAKSPER? SKEASPAR? SLEEP I NEED SLEEP)

Beatrice doesn't understand why the spells to heal injuries don't soothe the pain too. Or maybe there are spells that do both, but neither Bernard nor her know them. Or maybe Bernard does, but decided not to use them on her.

She thought he was being kind — her big brother, her Bernard, the boy that stole her favourite doll after Father confiscated all of her toys when she was seven and snuck it back to her, putting a finger to his lips and telling her to hide it —, as he unlocked the door to her room during the afternoon, quietly making his way over to where Beatrice was hiding behind her chest of drawers, making her raise her head to look at him. He almost looked mad for a second, when he examined her swollen eye and the blooming bruises on her cheek. She can't remember why Father had gotten mad in the first place, perhaps she hadn't been fast enough to stop herself from letting out a witty comment, perhaps she had been looking at the burned holes in the family tapestry for too long, perhaps she had asked for her wand back.

Does it matter in the end?

Bernard healed her, making the bruises disappear and leaving her as good as new, to the outside eye, at least. For a single short second, she thought he was back to his senses, back to her, that he was going to tell her to hang on until he could find a way to get her away from here, away from them. But then her Mother had called, telling her she needed to get dressed for the soiree, and Beatrice had realised she had been the one to send him here. 

And so here Beatrice is, wearing a dress even more ridiculous than last time, shivering in the cold air of the ballroom. She looks like someone's dead great aunt, just as she had whispered when her mother had had the amiability to ask her for her thoughts. Her mother had gripped her wrist, burying her nails in her flesh, and hissed in her ear: 'Behave. Do not disgrace this family again. You already know the consequences.', but she could have sworn she heard Bernard chuckle. 

Beatrice is simply trying to survive through the night, one day at a time. One hour, one minute, one second. One breath after the other. 

"Hi," a voice says, and Beatrice has to stop herself from jumping as she turns around, finding Chanel in a beautiful golden yellow dress, her smile fading away as she looks at her. "Mercy Lewis, what happened to you?"

"What?" Beatrice bites back. 

No vulnerability. No kindness, no pity. Young's only inspired respect and fear. That was the law.

"You look... Like you're about to die, honey. Are you okay?"

Beatrice hates how kind Chanel is, how her voice just wraps her up in a warm embrace, and how weak she is to it. She hates that she's not strong enough to repair the broken window that is starting to let people into her family's empty house. 

"I'm fine," she dismisses with a wave of her hand, like it's nothing, like she's not having trouble being alive. "I am," she insists when Chanel raises an eyebrow.

She wonders if Chanel can see through Bernard's spells — It's impossible, but people are not supposed to be able to levitate without their wands either.

Randall is charming an old witch in the background, pretending to listen to her talk about her lineage as Zori is stuffing food into her pockets, sending a look that says 'I dare you' to Beatrice when she catches her watching. 

"Okay, well, Ava asked me to talk to you."

Beatrice whips her head back towards Chanel, pretending not to notice the girl's smirk, as if she knows something. 

"What do you mean?"

"She's... Well she's gonna do something weird and kinda scary and she's afraid you might bolt so I'm supposed to stop you from running away," Chanel says, bringing her flute of champagne to her lips. 

Fear swirls in Beatrice's stomach, her heart missing a beat in her chest. That information only makes her want to make a run for it, because what could Ava do that would scare her that much?

"Is she going to drop from the ceiling?" She asks breathlessly.

Chanel snorts out a laugh.

"I wish."

There is a movement in the room and Beatrice's attention drops from Chanel's smile to the staircase that conveniently stops right at the beginning of the ballroom. 

For a few seconds, Beatrice forgets to breathe.

Ava is wearing a little red dress that shows as much tan skin as it can without being indecent, vulgar, but Ava makes it perfect, angelic. Holy, almost. She is beautiful, incredibly so, with her wild brown hair down her back, her red lips eased into a pout, her doe eyes sparkling under the lights of the chandelier. 

If Ava had been born a god, Beatrice would have become a nun right away.

She slowly goes down the staircase, her hand into JC's elbow as he leads her down, his white shirt buttoned almost all the way up. Professor Vincent meets her at the end, presenting his hand to her and Ava takes it graciously, with her most angelic smile plastered on her face. Beatrice knows it's fake. Ava's smile is big and sunny and warm, and she's seen that smile so many time before — on her mother's face, on her brother's face, on the reflection of her cup of tea as her father read a journal with the name of a new dark wizard (Adriel) written all over it, on her own reflection in the window of the living room as one of her uncles tried to convince her she was only good for marriage — she practically learned every curve of it. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the New Areala," Professor Vincent says, quietly, but somehow everyone hears and whispers swirl around the room as Ava smiles.

Beatrice has to stop herself from letting out a snort at the way one of Ava's eyebrows rises, JC tightening his grip on her hand like he's afraid she'll jump at Professor Vincent's throat.

"As you all have heard, Miss Silva here has shown prowess of magic for years now. She is one of the brightest witches of our academy, if not the most gifted, dare I say."

"You're too kind, Professor Vincent," Ava says, and her voice is perfectly controlled, malleable, sending shivers into Beatrice's spine.

JC looks away, looking like he is trying really hard not to laugh, and Ava pinches his elbow without even looking away from the crowd.

"There is a bright future ahead of Miss Silva," Professor Vincent continues, "And ahead of the whole wizarding world, if I dare say so myself. I truly believe that she will guide us towards a brighter future, just like many other talented witches and wizards have done before."

Somehow, Beatrice feels something akin to worry as she hears those words echo in the ballroom. Because there is something dangerous to this type of speech, something that the world has seen before and will keep seeing again and again until the end of time. 

"Indeed," Professor Vincent announces, "Miss Silva comes from a long lineage of powerful witches that fought against the Dark Forces and she is, as some have guessed it, the descendant of Areala who will take up the family torch and end the fight of Good against Evil magic."

Beatrice hates how much his words sound carefully chosen, how this all seems like a well-practised show that is completely unlike Ava. But Ava doesn't know or she chooses to ignore it, instead staying immobile as Professor Vincent turns towards her, nodding. She pouts, frowning and fretting like a child that doesn't want to do something. Professor Vincent whispers something to her, and she rolls her eyes but starts walking towards the empty circle in the middle of the room. 

Chanel gestures for Beatrice to take a step back, but Beatrice doesn't, clutching the fabric of her dress as whispers swirl around the room. 

Ava takes off her heels, looking at Professor Vincent straight in the eyes — she will do what he asks, but under her own conditions —, and shoves them into JC's hands, making him almost stumble backwards, and Beatrice cannot stop the chuckle that makes its way past her lips. 

Ava walks barefoot to the middle of the room, and Beatrice can hear a few scandalised scowls at her indecency, but Ava doesn't seem to care, throwing her hair back, smoothing her skirt. 

She stands with both feet settled into the ground, her elbows at her side, her hands outstretched in front of her, palm to the sky, as if ready to receive a deity's blessing. Her gaze searches the crowd, finds Beatrice's.

Ava doesn't smile, Ava doesn't throw a joke at her. Ava opens her mouth slightly, and mutters a word that Beatrice cannot even read.

Every candle in the room dies suddenly as they plunged into darkness, a few screams of surprise echoing in the room. Beatrice clutches her dress in panic, trying to find something, anything, to hang onto, but light finds her before she does.

When Beatrice thought of Ava as the sun, she didn't think she would actually see her become one. And yet here Ava is, tanned skin producing a golden glow so strong the whole room is suddenly lit up, and Beatrice finds Chanel standing next to her, an unimpressed pout on her face as she claps lightly with the rest of the crowd. 

Ava doesn't stop here. Her eyes are closed, but Beatrice sees her mouth a word, quiet against the rumours of the ballroom. All of the light leaves her body and shoots out of her chest, in between her outstretched hands. 

Beatrice expects — and dreads — a Thestral, but it's a child made out of light that runs straight in front of Ava, before disappearing in a puff of sparks that fall like snow to the ground. 

"Necromancy?" Beatrice breathes out, not even registering the words before they come out of her mouth.

"Worse," Chanel whispers next to her. 

With one hand still in front of her, Ava gestures around, and this time the windows break all around them, glass falling from the ceiling as the crowd screams. Beatrice raises a hand to protect herself, to no need: all the shards of glass have stopped over their heads, still as they recover from their surprise as best they can. 

Ava is still standing in the middle of the room, eyes closed, but her breathing is faster, erratic and hoarse. Beatrice expects her to change the glass into something, anything — sand, rain —, but it's snow that lands softly into her hair, and she can't help but shiver at the memory of the Dementors — and Ava's hand in hers. 

Transfiguration.

As she looks up she realises that Ava is doing much more than that. The sun rises from where it had fallen, making its way backward into the sky until it falls again, and night envelops them before it starts again, faster and faster and faster.

Time magic.

Ava holds the sun in the sky for a moment, not even seeming to hear the exclamations of admiration, then releases it and it starts turning and turning again, rising and falling until it stops, back where it was.

Snow rises from their shoulders and out of their eyelashes, transforming back into shards of glasses that gather together to form a mosaic of broken glass. With a wave of Ava's hand, all of the cracks assemble and all is left are the windows and the glass ceiling just as they were. 

Beatrice hears shouts and turns back to Ava, only to see figures of light make their way through the crowd to stand behind her, one after the other, in a long line of luminescent women. Ava seems to have lost every ounce of control she once had, her hands trembling in front of her as she shakes like a leaf.

The women take a step forward, merging into her, and Ava gasps as she stumbles forwards, opening her eyelids and the warm brown of her eyes is gone, replaced by a blinding light that is gone the next minute when she blinks.

Candles light up once again around them, and Ava straightens up, her hair hiding her face. She turns around, ignoring the gaping mouths and hesitant claps of the crowd, walks back to JC and rips her shoes from his hands, whispering something to Professor Vincent before making her way back up the stairs without a single look behind her. 

A hand brushes against Beatrice's arms, and Chanel is raising an eyebrow.

"Breathe, Young."

Beatrice inhales a gulp of air through her open mouth, stuttering as she tries to regain composure.

Around them, wizards and witches are whispering to each other, some of them going as far as yelling, and Beatrice feels fear resuming its grip on her.

"What the Hell was that?" She grits out.

Chanel shrugs.

"Vincent needs people's support after the latest murders, Ava is just out of Castelobruxo, people still think she's a kid that wants the attention on her. And well... We can't fight when we don't have any weapons."

"Murders? What murders?"

Chanel looks at her up and down like she's never seen her in her life, and Beatrice crosses her arms over her chest in defence.

"Do you live in a cave?"

"Something like that," Beatrice mutters, thinking about the newspapers her father doesn't allow her to read and that she keeps trying to steal before he burns them. 

"Eight wizards and witches dead somewhere in Mexico. They didn't even have time to draw out their wands. Women. Children," Chanel grits out. "With the sentence 'Praise Adriel' written on their forearms. The fucker is signing his crimes now."

Beatrice wants to ask why Aurors aren't doing anything, why the MACUSA or the British Ministry of Magic isn't doing anything, or even why Ava has anything to do with this, but her parents are approaching, and she shuts her mouth. She thinks about running for a short second, about shaking Chanel by the shoulders and screaming that this is not normal, but she can't. 

She stays frozen and her Mother and Father make their way to her, and only when she realises that JC is standing next to them does she allow herself to breathe.

"The New Areala is requesting your presence, Beatrice," her father says, poison in his voice and curiosity in his eyes, and Beatrice looks at them all with wide eyes.

"Me? Av— Miss Silva wants to see me?"

Melanie has always told her that she was a bad actress, Beatrice thinks that she's been pretending since she was seven. 

"Yes," JC says, interrupting her mother before she can even begin to speak, and Beatrice wants to laugh at that. "Just you," he adds, not quite looking at her parents but clearly talking to them.

"Alright, show me the way," Beatrice says, throwing her skirt over her forearm to walk faster.

"Beatrice," her mother hisses more than she says. "Don't be ridiculous. You need a chaperone."

And oh right, etiquette. Unmarried women are not allowed to be left alone in the presence of a man, blah blah blah. Beatrice fights the urge to roll her eyes, instead extending her arm towards Chanel, looking at her mother straight in the eyes as she says:

"Shall we?"

Chanel gladly takes the extended arm, and her mother gapes at her as they walk past her, but what can she say? Explaining why Beatrice cannot be left alone with a girl either would be defeating the whole purpose as to why she needs surveillance.

"Damn," Chanel chuckles as she guides her up the stairs and into a hallway. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Beatrice simply hums as an answer, too focused on the fact that Ava directly asked for her instead of finding a way to sneak her away. It was important.

Chanel stops in front of the door, and Beatrice sends her a questioning look.

"You're not going in with me?"

"Like JC said, she only wants you. Knock first, though," she says, turning her back to the door.

And so Beatrice does, knocking and waiting for a muffled 'Come in' to enter the room.

From what she understands, this place are some sort of MACUSA issued headquarters where Ava managed to drag her friends in with her, and even though there is a ballroom, Beatrice didn't expect Ava's room to be so big — 'Not everyone has chandelier hanging in their living room, Young,' Melanie had told her once. 

Sure, it is modestly simple, and it's spacious and full of light but somehow it doesn't seem like Ava. Ava is messy, Ava is sunny and lovely and this room has too much space, it is empty. There is just a bed way too big for her in the centre and a couple of chairs but everything is too impersonal and it reminds Beatrice too much of her own bedroom. 

Ava is sprawled on the ground, the little red dress thrown in a heap next to the door. She is only wearing a t-shirt and sleep shorts, cradling a bottle of Firewhisky against her chest like it's a baby, and Beatrice instinctively starts folding the dress, trying really hard not to think about the fact that it is still warm under her fingers.

"English!" Ava squeals, before erupting into a feat of giggles.

"Ava," Beatrice greets back, putting the folded dress on a chair. "You asked for me?"

"Yeah," Ava slurs, wriggling from where she's seated. "All the others are meeean!"

She pouts, pressing a kiss to the bottle and Beatrice raises an eyebrow.

"Are you drunk?"

"Nah."

"Are you lying?"

At this, Ava seems to hesitate for a long second, and Beatrice raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," Ava whispers finally, like a disobedient child.

Beatrice doesn't know if she should cry or laugh.

"So!" Ava yells. "Whaddaya think?"

"Think of what?"

"The show! The magic and the — whoomp shee! — pizzazz!"

"Well, it sure was something," Beatrice says carefully. 

"Ha! You don't think it was good," Ava says sadly, bringing the neck of the bottle to her lips.

Something is lying on the ground next to her, and Beatrice has seen many of those things before without figuring out what they are — they look like headbands with strange devices for the ears and cords connected to them.

"I think," Beatrice says, kneeling in front of her, "that you didn't do it because you wanted to, and that takes the beauty of it."

Ava nearly chokes on her mouthful, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. 

"See? You see soooo many things and it's not fair!"

"How much have you had?" Beatrice asks, eyeing the bottle suspiciously.

"Not enough," Ava says, raising the bottle to her lips, but Beatrice grabs it before she can take a sip.

"Ava."

"English! Come on, you're no fun."

"I know."

"You don't know shit, English," Ava suddenly laughs, and Beatrice sets the bottle on the chest of drawers next to them. "Nobody does! Nobody knows anything or well, they don't care."

Beatrice kneels back next to her, awkwardly arranging her dress around her.

"Then why don't you tell me?"

Ava seems to really think about it for a second, perhaps she is wondering if Zori was right in her assumptions. 

"I have to stop him."

"Who?"

"Adriel. He's a bad guy, a grade-A asshole, a dick. He needs to be stopped, and I'm just here, parading in my little dress, making a show of my powers so that those fuckers will help me stop him. Meanwhile he's killing people in the street."

She's playing with the cords of the things Beatrice doesn't know the name of, and Beatrice can only look from where she's seated at a reasonable distance.

"It's not your fault, Ava."

And Ava laughs, even though it's not funny, and Beatrice waits for an explanation that never comes.

"Alright," she sighs. "Let's get you into your bed."

"Nu-uh, gotta put that away first," Ava says, handing her the thing, like she doesn't trust herself to get up without falling back.

Beatrice fiddles with the headband, the little transparent box at the end of the cords.

"What is that?"

"'S a walkman. My mom. You put music in there," she explains vaguely, gesturing to the transparent box. "Top drawer, into the pink sock. You put it in there with the other tapes."

And so Beatrice does, opening the drawer and trying not to think about the facts that this is probably Ava's most cherished possession and yet she is hiding it, and that she trusts Beatrice to put it back in its hiding spot.

She shakes the thoughts away as she closes the drawer and walks back to Ava.

"Alright. Let's get you to bed."

Ava makes grabby hands at her as Beatrice bends down to put her arms around her waist, lifting her against her.

"Whooo you're strong!" Ava sings-songs as she leads her across the room to the bed. 

Beatrice fails not to smile as she puts her into the bed, trying to move Ava to put the blanket over her. But Ava keeps trying to touch her face, giggling to herself.

"Ava, stop."

"But you're so pretty. It's not fair!"

"What is not fair, Ava?" Beatrice asks, trying to distract her long enough to grab the sheets.

"That you're so pretty and you're so kind and you say good things to me and it makes me want to kiss you."

Beatrice's heart stops in her chest, her body freezes in its spot, and for a second she is back in the darkness, back in the cold and the fear and Death. She wants to scream, she wants to cry, she wants to open the window and jump into the void and she wonders if she has ever felt that terrified in her life — she knows she has, but somehow, in the moment, it all seems insignificant compared to the deep and freezing fear that sets itself into her bones.

She grabs Ava by the shoulders, eyes wide with panic.

"Ava. Ava, you can't say that. You can't say those things."

But Ava just hums as an answer, her head lulling to the side --- she is already asleep.

"Ava?" Beatrice shakes her, but she doesn't react. "Ava, you can't say that. They'll kill you. They'll kill you, Ava. You can't go to the mausoleum," she chokes out, before being silenced by her own sobs. 

She cradles Ava into her arms, begging for her to stop without knowing if her pleas are answered anywhere in the universe, like they never have been. When she feels the mirror cracking, she puts Ava back against the pillows, covering her with the blanket and stands on wobbly legs as she staggers to the door.

Chanel's face on the other side is closed and stern, her jaw is clenched, and Beatrice covers the door with her own body, ready to be brave, ready to be bold, if it means she can save Ava. 

"Listen here, Young," Chanel says. "I get that we don't agree on everything, and frankly I don't know what Ava sees in you, but I won't sit there and listen as you say shit like that."

Oh. Oh, no.

"This is the 21st century, and maybe it's time that your family starts living in the real world, because that is some bullshit," Chanel spits out. "If you can't deal with the fact that the girl likes chicks, you better start moving away before I do it for you."

"It's not like that," Beatrice mutters out, before she can stop herself.

"Then what is it?"

Beatrice makes a mistake right there and then, standing in the lit up corridor in front of a girl she barely knows: she looks to the side, to the voice and the laughter they can hear from the ballroom. It only lasts a second, but it's enough; when she looks back at Chanel, the girl knows.

All of her anger melts away, her eyes turning sad and sorry.

"Oh God, no," she says and Beatrice breaks.

For a quarter of a second, she lets the mirror shatter and ducks her head as tears spill out, like blood from an open wound. Chanel wraps her arms around her, Beatrice grips the golden fabric of her dress like an anchor.

"It's gonna be okay, honey," Chanel whispers, but Beatrice knows it's a lie.

"Beatrice!"

Bernard rounds up the corner and Beatrice steps away from the girl just as quickly, building the mirror back to its original self. She is Beatrice Young. She is cold and she is sharp and she will be the perfect daughter, even if she has to die in the process.

Thankfully, Bernard doesn't seem to have seen anything, but he looks suspiciously at Chanel's absolutely destroyed face.

A part of Beatrice wants to punch some sense into her. If she doesn't get a grip of herself, her brother will know.

"Come, we're leaving," Bernard says, and Beatrice nods, stepping into his shadow as she follows him.

She turns back towards Chanel to send her daggers through her eyes, and the girl shakes her head.

She won't tell anyone.

Neither will Beatrice.

[noteveryoneis]

i built a home (for you; for me) aka Avatrice as Hogwarts teacher part 3 (???)

Don't ask me where we are going with this. I have no idea whatsoever.

Slowly rolling down the hill towards a burn out.

Send help.

The second time they meet, Beatrice has managed to ditch the dresses and is wearing pants, and like Ava said when explaining how she survived her time in the orphanage 'It's the little victories'. She is still wearing a white blouse buttoned all the way up her neck, and long sleeves that hide everything from her knuckles. 

It's another one of those 'diplomatic meetings' where Beatrice is just here for show, standing quietly behind Bernard and just nodding politely whenever someone notices her presence. Some sort of strange instinct makes her wish she were back home, but she snorts at the thought. Everything is better than being locked in her room at the manor, or freezing to death in the park in the hopes of having a few minutes to herself. 

Professor Vincent is here, and she can feel his indecipherable gaze on her as she looks down at her shoes. His presence only means one thing, one single little thing that somehow makes Beatrice's stomach flip no matter how hard she tries to stop it.

Ava is here. Ava is somewhere around here, but somehow she managed to avoid going to the meeting, and Beatrice envies her and wonders how she can be that free. 

"Let's move to the meeting room, shall we?" Professor Vincent says, and looks pointedly at Beatrice, with an intensity she can't understand.

All of the high placed witches and wizards nod their agreement and start migrating towards another golden room with expensive paintings and furniture that Beatrice doesn't understand the costliness. She follows in Bernard's footsteps, hiding in his shadow. She likes to think of herself as that: a little shadow, hiding in the darkness and pulling the strings from behind the scene. That's all Beatrice is these days: a shadow ; of her family, of the world, of herself. 

Just as she is about to walk through the door behind her brother, hands grab at her shirt and she is yanked away under a tapestry, her scream muffled by a hand that slams itself onto her mouth. 

"Shhh," a voice whispers right onto her face. "Don't make a sound."

She recognizes Ava's voice just as she buries the tip of her wand in between her ribs, and Ava gaps.

"Is that your wand, or are you just happy to see me?"

Beatrice burns bright red and rolls her eyes at the same time, slapping Ava's hand away from her mouth. On the other side of the tapestry, witches and wizards keep walking, buzzing in quiet conversations and neither of them move, too afraid of being discovered. 

"What are you doing?" Beatrice hisses more than she whispers, and realises in doing so how close Ava is, practically flushed against her body.

"On the other hand, I am happy to see you," Ava replies dryly, a hint of bitterness in her voice. 

A little pinch of guilt makes its way into Beatrice's heart, but she dismisses it, shaking her head. Ava's breath smells of alcohol and not the bitter wine Beatrice found in her parents' cabinet. 

"Ava."

"English."

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop being so... British."

She giggles and Beatrice can only feel her leaning over, her eyes still blinded by the darkness. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were her? 'The New Areala'?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were the Young's daughter?" And Beatrice can practically feel her sticking her tongue out at her. 

Beatrice shuffles nervously on her feet.

"I didn't think it was that important."

Lie. Lie lie lie lie lie. She didn't want to be associated with them. She wanted to be herself, just for a few minutes.

"Same," Ava says, shrugging.

"Are you drunk?"

"Nah. Not yet, anyway."

"Alright, well, I have other business to attend to."

'And I can't be found hiding with a pretty girl again,' she tells herself, trying to move Ava away without being noticed from the other side of the tapestry. Of course, that's the moment when she hears the door close behind the last guest, and freezes, mind screaming against the walls of her skull.

If she opens the door to come in late, every eyes will turn to her and she will be told that she is embarrassing the family, at best, deprived of dinner, at worst.

All because a strange girl decided to kidnap her. 

She turns around, pretending not to notice Ava's low cut shirt and her tight jeans that make her look like anything but a high witch with everyone's expectations on her shoulders. Her hair is less messy than last time, but it still falls down her back in unruled golden waves. 

"You made me miss the meeting!" She hisses in a slightly strangled and panicked voice. 

Ava shrugs.

"What were you going to do in there anyway?"

"I don't know!"

"Listen to them talk about my future while I'm not even around to decide for myself? Watch them fight about whether or not I'm a liar? Or even better: hear them whisper that they gotta keep the Catholic Church out of the story 'cause they're starting to hear about me?"

Beatrice doesn't answer this time, because she doesn't have anything to say. What could she say? Ava is right. She didn't even want to come to this meeting for starters. And from what she's being told, it would have been a trial in itself.

"Oooor," Ava says, wriggling on her spot, hands tied behind her back with a smile on her face. "You could be building bridges between your family and the famously known 'New Areala', yours truly," she says, bowing, and Beatrice blushes when she remembers the last time she bowed to her — and how lightly she kissed her knuckles. 

"I— I'm not sure..." Beatrice stutters, and she hates herself for it.

"Come oooon," Ava whines, pouting. "It'll be fun. My friends are waiting for us right now."

And so Beatrice gives in.

"Fine."

Ava does a little victory jump, bouncing with excitement.

"Sweet! Come on, follow me!"

And Beatrice forgets all about her protests as Ava grabs her hand and starts pulling her along corridors and galleries. They run past attendants and Aurors that Ava doesn't even seem to realise are here. Finally, they exit in a courtyard and Ava turns around, back to the building, looking up. 

Four people are settled on the roof, jumping and yelling and cackling when they see Ava, waving at her. Beatrice recognizes Ava's friends from last time. 

"Ava, come on," Randall yells, hands cupped in a megaphone. "Zori is eating everything!"

"I'm not!" Zori yells back, throwing what seems to be chocolate frog at his face and he shrieks in horror. 

Ava giggles, taking a couple of steps back and extending her arms, beckoning Beatrice closer.

"Come on," she says, but Beatrice simply looks at her, confused. "Here," Ava finally says, putting Beatrice's arms around her shoulder and wrapping her own around her waist.

"Ava—"

"Hold on tight, spider monkey," Ava giggles to herself.

And then she's levitating, carrying Beatrice with her as she does. She can only yelp as her feet leave the ground, gripping desperately at Ava's shirt. 

"Oh, Merlin's beard!" She swears, closing her eyes tightly and burrying her face against Ava's shoulder without being able to stop herself.

"It's okay," Ava giggles. "I got you. I won't drop you, Beatrice."

Beatrice still keeps her eyes closed, clutching Ava's shoulders and holding onto her for dear life, as Ava rises slowly, not even faltering when the wind wraps itself around them, and then lowering herself until Beatrice can feel firm ground under her feet. 

"Open your eyes," Ava whispers right into her ears. "It's okay."

And so Beatrice does, because what else can she do than what Ava says? She opens her eyes and she is standing on the enhancement that encloses the roof. She lets go of Ava and drops to her knees, putting her hands flat against the warm stone. She's shaking too much to ask how Ava can even do that.

"Thank you, Lord," she whispers.

"Why does she gets a steady ride and all we get is a fucking rollercoaster?!" Randall asks, offended, and Chanel nudges him with her elbow.

"Because she's a pretty girl and you're not."

"I could be! I would be the prettiest girl of them all!"

"Nah, that's me," Zori replies, throwing her hair over her shoulder. 

Beatrice hugs the stone, her heart drumming in her chest, and she doesn't care how ridiculous she looks; Ava is laughing, and that's the only thing she can hear against the thump of the blood in her temples.

"Come on," Ava says again, helping her up.

They make their way to Ava's friends, Beatrice slowly finding her footing back as she climbs up the roof, Ava's hand hovering over her just in case.

"Here," Chanel says, throwing a piece of chocolate that lands on Beatrice's lap. "You look like you need it."

"You said that the other time," Beatrice remembers. "Except you were giving me Firewhisky."

"We can still work on that," JC says, holding out a bottle, but Beatrice shakes her head, chocolate in her mouth. 

If her parents find her smelling of alcohol in the middle of the day, she's done, chipped off to another mausoleum and she knows she won't survive this. 

"So, Ava," Zori says expectantly, "aren't you going to introduce us?"

"English, the gang. The gang, English," Ava simply says, shrugging as she takes a sip from a glass that Randall gave her. 

"Wow, that's helpful," JC sneers.

"I know your names," Beatrice says, suddenly bold and brave. "You," she says, pointing to Chanel, "are Chanel, and you are JC, and you two are Zori and Randall."

"How the fuck does she know that?" Randall asks as Ava giggles behind her hand.

"Ava said your names last time. I guessed."

"I told you she was smart."

Beatrice looks down at her lap, cheeks burning, trying to look away as they all grin at each other. 

"Well, we don't know your name," Chanel says softly, and Beatrice decides that she is perhaps her favorite.

"Beatrice," she mumbles back.

They all mumbles different versions of 'Hi Beatrice', like children forced to greet their parents' guests, and Beatrice has to stop herself from smiling. 

"So, Beatrice," Zori says, leaning on her lap to look at her over Randall's head. "When are you going to drop the act and tell us — tell Ava — why you are really here?"

"Zori!" Ava hisses, sending her daggers through her eyes.

"What? It's true. They think they're so subtle but who are they fooling?"

"Leave it, Zori, let the girl breathe," Chanel intervenes as Ava shakes her head. 

"I— What do you mean?" Beatrice asks, both confused and playing dumb.

"Your mom is pratically drooling over Ava's magic," Zori says bitterly. "You aren't really here just for vacation or shit, am I right?"

"Zori, fuck off," Ava replies, standing up and throwing her head back to drown the contents of her drink.

Beatrice shrugs.

"If it makes you feel better, I am really here for 'vacation', as you say. I didn't have a say in this. I didn't have a choice. And I'm just here for show. My parents don't ask anything of me, so don't be scared that I'm spying on you," she bites back.

There. There she is. She knows that situation. The bites and the barks of teenage girls, she grew up with it, she can deal with it.

"See?" Ava says. "Stop being a dick, Zori."

She hears Zori whisper something under her breath, but at least she stopped jabbing at her.

"Well, good news for you, you are officially going up the social ladder around the New Areala, and you are already being presented with its privileges," JC says, throwing a package of candy at her. "Free food!"

At that, Ava laughs, stealing from his candy and sliding down the roof to perch herself on the enhancement.

"So I guess the sex meant nothing to you?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Silva!" He yells back, and Ava whirls around laughing, as Beatrice's stomach knots into itself with anxiety. 

"She's not going to fall, is she?"

"Meh," Randall simply answers.

"What does that mean?"

"Meh."

"What does that mean?!"

"It means," Chanel says, pushing Randall away, "that Ava has a taste for the theatrics. She might jump just to— Oh well she just did."

"What?!"

Ava just disappeared from her spot on the edge of the roof.

"Ava!"

Beatrice skids down the roof like it's a playground slide, heart drumming in her chest as she catches herself on the enhancement, leaning over the edge to look at the void in front of her. Ava is cackling as she rises up again, covered in a golden glow that warms up Beatrice's skin as she reaches her hand towards her. Behind her, Ava's friends are laughing and fighting for a chocolate frog. 

She lowers herself until she gracelessly falls on the stone, her foot hitting the roof with a thud and a groan from Ava.

"Are you okay?" Beatrice asks, carefully balancing herself to kneel next to her.

"Yeah, sure, it's just a joke," Ava promises, rising to sit with her legs on both sides of the enhancement. "I'm good. Sorry I scared you."

Beatrice doesn't know what to answer. On one hand, she wants to scoff that it takes more to scare her, but that would actually be really sad rather than some ridiculous bravado, on the other, she hates how her heart is still drumming in her chest from when Ava reached out to brush her fingers against her shirt. 

"Don't traumatise the girl too much, Romeo!" Chanel yells behind them, and Ava raises her middle finger at her, a smile on her face.

"They seem used to it."

"Yeah," Ava says. "I used to fling myself from the window when one of my teachers was being boring, just to annoy them."

Somehow, the fact that Ava was a class-clown fits just right in the idea that she had of her.

"It's not new for them, I guess."

"Lucky them," Beatrice mumbles under her breath, and Ava laughs, hair bouncing around her head.

"You really thought I was going to die?"

"Well, you did jump from a roof, excuse me for being worried."

"Awww, you were worried about me?" Ava coos, nudging her shoulder with the tip of her index.

Beatrice burns bright red, lowering her eyes to the ground. She's used to mockery, she's used to reproaches, she's not used to teasing. It disappeared the day Melanie did.

Ava laughs a little, then she quiets down, swinging her legs on either side of the enhancement. 

"I was serious, earlier. I can get you some connections with the—" a wave of her hand, "The high placed people. For some reason they all think I'm some sort of magical messiah, so, if it can help get your family off your back, I can help you with that."

Beatrice wants to scream.

Because there are so many things wrong with that statement she doesn't even know how to react. A part of her panics, because Ava knows something, she has felt something in the way they treat her, and if she knows, if she does something, they're going to kill Beatrice. Kill her and bury her body in the family mausoleum and tell people how much of an ungrateful and petulant child she was and it makes her skin burn with shame and anger. Another part makes her throat tightens, because Ava doesn't know the extent of the whole thing, she doesn't know and Beatrice wants to tell her, to watch the scandalised light in her eyes so she can remember that she is not crazy, that this is not normal. 

Another grabs Ava's hand, and makes Beatrice look at her right in the eyes, searching for her gaze, for her to understand.

"Ava. Don't associate yourself with my family. They're not good people."

"Yeah, I know, the whole pureblood thing is not exactly a---"

"No, Ava," Beatrice says, shaking her head putting a couple of fingers under her chin to make her raise her head, make her look at her in the eyes. "They are not good people."

Please, she wants to scream, please run before they get you too. Please take your sun and take it away from them, before they suffocate it with their darkness. 

She wonders if telling her about the mausoleum would make Ava convince her that this is not normal or if it would be exposing herself to the big question: what did you do to deserve it?

"Oh," Ava says, and Beatrice wonders if she knows, if she guessed. 

"Don't trust them. Don't believe a single word they say," she presses her. "Don't give them anything, not even lies. They'll turn it into their pitchforks."

"Like you do?"

"No," Beatrice says, shaking her head. "Not like I do."

They got me, she wants to say. It's too late for me.

"I trust you," Ava answers, squeezing her arm.

"You shouldn't. I am not a good person either."

"I don't believe that," Ava says, with undying faith that makes Beatrice's heart skip a beat. "You're kind, Beatrice. And you're good. Don't let anyone take that away from you."

Beatrice opens her mouth to scoff, to roll her eyes and tell her sharply she doesn't know her. But a voice cuts through the light wind around them, and she freezes.

"Beatrice!"

Bernard is standing outside, chin raised as he looks up at them, a scandalised look on her face.

"Get down from here, now!"

Beatrice hears Ava's friends mumble things like 'Party-pooper' and she's very tempted to give her brother the middle finger, like they did to each other earlier, in a childish act of rebellion — If they want to treat her like a child, then so be it.

Ava seems to feel her revolt, as she smirks at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Looks like the party's over."

"Should we jump?" Beatrice proposes.

Ava throws her head back, laughing.

"As much as I'd love to give your brother a heart attack, Professor Vincent would beat my ass up."

Beatrice shrugs, as Ava stands, beckoning her closer, and Beatrice wraps her arms around her shoulders willingly this time, looking closely at her brother's face when his eyes practically bulge out of his head, Ava chuckling in her ear.

"Ready?"

Beatrice nods, and they jump slightly into the void. Bernard shouts, and Beatrice laughs, wind swirling around them as Ava slowly lowers them down until their feet touch the ground, and only then does Beatrice let go of her, turning to her brother who is gaping at them, completely outraged. 

"Where were you?" He finally hisses.

"Building bridges with the New Areala, sir," Ava answers, cheeky and cocky and full of mockery. 

Bernard's gaze darts toward her, shooting daggers at her face.

"How dare you—"

"Bernard, enough."

Beatrice doesn't realize she spoke until she hears her own voice echoing in between them, and she shivers at her own boldness, feverish with terror and anger. 

"Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

Ava's friends are looking over at them from where they are hiding on the edge of the roof, whispering to each other like naughty children.

"Mother and father are waiting for you."

"Good," Beatrice says, and surprises herself with the firmness of her own voice before she turns to Ava, and Ava's face is lit up with joy and a contained laughter. "Ms Silva. We'll see each other next time."

"Sure thing, Ms Young," Ava says, playing along. "And don't forget what I told you."

Beatrice has a friend now, and she holds her chin up as she walks back to her parents, with Bernard trailing behind her.

She's not his little shadow anymore.

For now, at least.

[noteveryoneis]

Hogwarts AU (help)

GUYS HELP WHAT ARE WARRIOR NUNS CHARACTER PATRONUSES???

I think Ava's should be a phoenix you know, with the 'whole rising from the ashes (death) thing' but it could also be a thestral for her relationship with death??? Or an over excited dog?

Beatrice??? I could see a cat or a bat cause it's funny and she's giving black cat energy?

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK URGENTLY

[noteveryoneis]

I know I don't do this often but I was writing the Avatrice as Hogwarts teachers AU and I don't know if I'll be able to finish it (hello academic pressure and weariness of everything I enjoy) and I already had a vague idea for the plot but then BOOM! I was hit with a huge plot twist and I literally gasped out loud and turned back in my chair towards my friend (she had been reading over my shoulder as I wrote for a few minutes and giggling when it was getting flirty over there) and I told her about my two ideas.

That bitch is straight af but she looked at me with her mouth open and eyes sparkling and she was like "DO IT" so I'm gonna do it

also i'll create two separate tags to separate my two fics

anyways bye.

[noteveryoneis]

Just finished rereading Hogwarts Avatrice 😊It's really really good!!!

Any chance we can get more snippet about them?

Hi! Thank you so much for reading and I'm glad you liked it!

To answer your question, I'm actually getting bullied by my own brain which keeps giving me more ideas and literally writing it in my head so I know that I'll need to write it down if I want some peace and quiet, but it probably won't be as good as that little piece of story (because writing from the pov of other people was a first for me and I found that I really liked it) so... I'm gonna say yes?