#bc i used to work in the ministry

[jittyjames]

🫵🏻 yall christians/ex-christians this is for you.

how much does you/your family tithe bc i just found out my parents give SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS TO THEIR CHURCH EVERY TWO WEEKS. TF

[0ystercatcher]

school book publishers are such a disgusting mafia essentially like the education system hates parents so much lol its fucking disgusting

[bobluvbot]

late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it)  wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach  a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part. 

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest. 

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort. 

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement. 

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts. 

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world. 

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall. 

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better. 

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did. 

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft. 

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier. 

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it. 

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare. 

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa? 

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal. 

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope. 

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response. 

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell? 

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy. 

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread. 

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back. 

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm. 

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man. 

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him. 

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach. 

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?” 

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.” 

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind. 

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck. 

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence. 

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.” 

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin. 

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought. 

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?” 

[olderthannetfic]

Hi, Spaniard here who is equally fascinated and frustrated about the Squidgeworld thing. Here is the thing: dialects exists, tuteo vs voseo exists, vocabulary and slang differences exist, and yet, nothing that a quick glance at a panhispanic dictionary can't solve (the Royal Spanish Academy dictionary offers definitions that specify dialect and all). Hell, most of the time context is all I need.

Now, my two grains of salt on this matter is that despite the claims that this was requested, I have a hard time believing these were requests by anyone that thought this through. Why? Because as part of my assigned reading at my spanish school, I had to read plenty LATAM authors and poets (Gabriel García Márquez, Juan Rulfo, Pablo Neruda, Julio Cortázar, etc...). I'm starting to think some (non-hispanic) people might be under the impression that we don't read each other at all? Or something along those lines? The Miguel de Cervantes Prize* regularly awards both LATAM and spanish authors. The point I'm making here is that spanish/hispanic literature includes everyone as it isn't spanish/hispanic -> works from spain but spanish/hispanic -> works written in spanish. The semantics are a bit confusing, I will admit.

*which was created by the Ministry of Culture of Spain and whose candidates are proposed by the Association of Academies of the Spanish Language an organisation created by mexican president Miguel Alemán Valdés.

In any case: there isn't any difference in dialect so significant that they are completely unintelligible and should be separated. And as other people have said, LATAM dialects have differences amongst themselves so it doesn't make sense to bag them together but also splitting them is kind of ridiculous as well, not to mention the regional differences in castillian within Spain itself. It's just... this doesn't seem like a decision made by someone who is fluent in spanish.

The only thing that has ever made my comprehension of LATAM spanish difficult at times is the accents, which you cannot hear in text form, and even that is not that much of a hurdle bc after a while you get used to it.

Now, I have noticed that word processors have spanish (es) and spanish (latam) for the spell checking, so that might be where they got the idea that the two should be split. However english also tends to be separated in english (uk) and (us) (as well as (can)? in gdocs at least) so that still doesn't fully explain it.

And just for a bit of linguistic fun: if you put a group of spanish speakers from different regions together they eventually adopt each others linguistic habits. A spanish friend of mine now regularly uses "chama/o" bc she made friends with a venezuelan girl while studying in France (in Spain we say 'tía/o'), an argentine acquantaince uses tú/vos interchangeably, another ecuatorian friend distinguishes 's' and 'c' and her accent comes and goes because she grew up in Spain, younger spaniards use 'güey/wey' and 'weón' now, which wasn't a originally thing in Spain... It goes on and on.

This got long, sorry about that, I'm a language/literature nerd. It's just so puzzling to me.

--

[cursedonyx]

The Bars Between Us

Sebastian Sallow x MC

Oneshot AU in which Sebastian was sent to Azkaban despite Ominis and MC (named Dracaena in this fic because it’s my current favourite name) trying to keep his secrets. Ominis and Dracaena spent the next several years trying to free him, and eventually succeed. Sebastian is not the same, Azkaban has sapped him of everything he once was, but a little TLC from the woman he has always loved sets him back on track.

Word Count – 8.6k

Warnings – Angst, traumatised Sebastian, aftermath of Azkaban, engaged Ominis/MC, Ominis approves MC sleeping with Seb, seriously Seb’s been through the wringer, Azkaban is horrible, nursing Seb back to health, smut (MDNI), handjob M!receiving, oral M!receiving, sub!Sebastian, MC feels a bit guilty bc her boy is a wreck

Six years.

It had been six years since the terrible events of fifth year, and six years since Sebastian had stood trial for the murder of Solomon Sallow. Six years since he was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Six years since Dracaena and Ominis had scrambled to find out who had condemned him, and vowed to make it right.

No sooner had they left Hogwarts, not able to fully appreciate the finality of riding the little boats across the Black Lake towards Hogsmeade station, leaving behind the place in which they had matured into adults, leaving behind the wonders and horrors in equal parts, that they both signed up for jobs at the Ministry for Magic, working in Magical Law Enforcement, searching for some kind of loophole, some kind of law, some kind of anything that would get their best friend released from hell.

After four agonising years, they managed it. Together, pouring over paperwork by candlelight until the small hours for months, they built a solid defence, their unwavering logic and staunch reasoning standing up to the needlepoint scrutiny of the powers that be. Of course, they knew it was a long shot all the same. The Ministry simply didn’t care about extenuating circumstances, considering those incarcerated to be less than human, doomed to serve their time no matter what new evidence came to light.

Ominis had to throw his weight around a bit. Subtle, hissed threats, muttered warnings and an overuse of his famous glare and family name eventually frightened enough people to get those with the ability to make changes to listen. And then Dracaena came in, her fame and her charm the honey to Ominis’ salt, making promises she never intended to keep, assuring those too nervous to make the jump to support them, doing favours that left an unsavoury taste in the back of her throat.

All of it proved worth it in the end. Sebastian’s release papers were handed over, and Dracaena packed a small bag.

“I’ll be a week,” she said to Ominis. “They want him to stay in a sort of halfway house for a while, to make sure he’s not going to go mental and start hexing everyone in sight. Personally, I’m just glad he’s going to get some time to start readjusting to life outside.” She tilted her head. “Won’t you come with me?”

“Best not,” Ominis said, for the fiftieth time, his patience unending. “I don’t want to overwhelm him, and you’ve always known how to calm him down when he gets too… well.”

She chuckled lightly. “That’s assuming he’s not a complete wreck. I hope it’s not affected him too badly.”

“Dove… he’s going to be very different to what we remember,” Ominis replied, resting a hand on her shoulder as she folded her clothes. “He won’t be the Sebastian we knew.”

“I know,” she raised her hand to his, smiling as he looped his other arm around her belly and held her tight. She tilted her head back to rest against his shoulder as he brushed a kiss over her cheek. “I hope he’s forgiven us for not doing more sooner.”

“He’ll have forgiven you,” Ominis said. “He always had a soft spot for you. I rather expect, even after all this time, that he’s still in love with you.”

Dracaena kept her silence. She and Ominis had naturally fallen together towards the end of their sixth year of Hogwarts, their shared experiences and pain leading them to comfort one another, she taking Sebastian and Anne’s place as Ominis’ refuge from his family, moving in together once they’d left the school. In a small way, she was surprised it had taken him as long as it had to propose, presenting her with an elegant ring of emerald and diamond set in white gold six months ago. She’d accepted gladly, though a tiny part of her mourned what that meant for Sebastian.

She loved Ominis with all her heart and more. She adored his gentleness, his respect, his kindness and consideration. She admired his steel, the restrained fury with which he dealt with their enemies, both inside and outside of work, his searing wit and boundless intelligence. She relished his talent as a wizard, and fell in love with him over and over again with each morning they woke beside each other, still spent from their passions, safe in each other’s arms.

But she still loved Sebastian.

Ominis tightened his arm around her.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “I know how you felt about him. I know how you feel. If things hadn’t ended the way they did, I would have expected the pair of you to be married by now.” He brushed a hand over her hair. “Dracaena… he’s my best friend. I want him to stay with us. We have the room, and he’d be safer than if he was just left to try and survive by himself after all he will have been through. I know you and him well enough to know you’re drawn to each other.”

“But I’m yours,” she whispered, moving his hand to brush over her ring. “Remember?”

He shrugged. “I know. I trust you. I know that if you said nothing would happen between you, I would believe you because it would be true. But you’d be unhappy. You both would. I know you’re not going to leave me for him, Dracaena, but I know you also make each other happy. He’s going to need all the love and support he can get once he’s out. I’d hope that you can give that to him.”

She tilted her head. “Ominis… are you giving me permission to… play away with your best friend?”

He chuckled. “Don’t cheapen it,” his elegant fingers found her cheek, tilting her head so he could kiss her full. “I’m telling you that if you two happen to come together again, I support it. Didn’t you once tell me you’d have liked it if you could have had us both?”

“I was drunk!” she protested, giggling as he dug his fingers into her ribs, ticking her gently. “You can’t use that against me!”

“I can and will,” he laughed, holding her tight. “I mean it, Dracaena. I don’t mind at all, so long as it’s only him. He’s my brother as far as I’m concerned, and I trust you both.”

“You might regret it,” Dracaena warned.

“If I do, we’ll talk about it, and find a way to resolve it,” he said, releasing her at last. “Go on now, you need to get to the dock. Send me an owl once he’s settled.”

“I will.”

He brushed a hand over her cheek. “See you in a week. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

_.-~*~-._

The sky was a stormy grey, and the waves below were similarly sullen. They crashed against the side of the boat, sending salty sprays onto the deck as if it was their mission to knock the vessel off course.

Dracaena sat between two stern faced Aurors, her hands folded in her lap. She’d left her bag at the halfway house, a modest, three-roomed bungalow surrounded by similar buildings, grey bricked and dour looking. She had perched on one of the rickety chairs by the small, circular dining table as one of the Aurors explained to her that Sebastian would be under careful watch for the first year following his release, and any missteps would see him sent right back to Azkaban.

She’d only half listened as he went over an itemised list for what she should do during her week’s stay at the halfway house, pinning a sheet of parchment to the wall with the details. She was only to feed him small meals, as he wouldn’t be able to stomach anything more. Nothing rich, nothing too fatty, and no alcohol. She’d frowned, asking why.

“Because the prisoners don’t tend to eat,” he’d said, gruffly. “The dementors have to force them in order to keep them alive.”

She’d shivered then, and she shivered now, remembering. They weren’t allowed to leave the halfway house, except for at specific times each day to walk around the complex for ten minutes at a time, to build up his strength. She had to write a detailed report at the end of each day to give to the Aurors, describing their conversations and activities. She was sternly warned that if she didn’t, there would be Trouble. Said Trouble was left unspecified, and she didn’t have the heart to ask.

Dracaena shifted, watching as something huge, angular and black began to rise from the waves, impossibly tall, impossibly wide, made entirely of stone. Only a few small windows lay in the surface, like knife wounds in flesh. Her hands tightened in her lap as dread began to seep under her skin, a visceral fear prickling over her neck and shoulders. She was only going to be there for a short time, to bring her best friend home. She couldn’t imagine how Sebastian would have felt, seeing that pillar of misery approach, believing he would never leave.

She loosed a soft breath, eyeing the distant, tattered black shapes swooping around outside it. He would leave. He would leave with her, and everything would be alright.

The boat approached a yawning cavern at the base of the prison, the Aurors casting a Patronus each, a mouse and a raven. There was a dock in the cavern, the blackness chased away by sparsely placed sconces in the damp, glistening walls. Standing there waiting was a hunched little man, balding on top with buck teeth and a sickly smile. He had a Patronus as well, something that looked like a cross between an ailing puppy and a wall-eyed rat.

Dracaena stepped off the boat, shivering, the feeling of dread still creeping under her clothes and caressing her skin. She set her jaw, drew her wand, and cast a Patronus of her own.

An elegant panther touched its paws to the stone, gazing around imperiously as the Aurors and the little man raised their brows, the dread vanishing from her chest as if it had never been. From the shadows around the walls, several rattling voices gurgled and hissed, as if angry.

“Where is he?” she demanded.

“Cell 506,” the little man said, rubbing his hands together with a grin that seemed entirely too cheerful for such a place. “Follow me, my dear.”

The patronuses cast silvery blue light on the walls as they ascended a surprisingly wide staircase, their footsteps echoing. Reaching the first floor, the little man produced a set of keys and unlocked a heavy, barred door.

“No need for magic here,” he cackled. “No one’s got their wands, have they?”

They strode into a cell block, and Dracaena recoiled. The scent of filth was overwhelming, but it was the sounds that chilled her. Her Patronus flickered, moving to stand beside her as desperate sobs filled her ears, tortured cries and garbled, gibbering wails singing in a hellish harmony that echoed off the walls.

The sounds died down as the little man and the Aurors encouraged her on, and though she tried to face forward, to ignore the figures in the cells, she couldn’t help but notice how they scrambled towards the bars, their bony, wasted hands reaching through, stretching for the patronuses as the tattered shadows of the dementors fled their presence. The screams began again as they passed, somehow more agonised than before.

They repeated this four more times, ascending rapidly narrowing staircases and emerging into a new cell block, climbing higher and higher, taunting the prisoners with the promise of relief from their misery in their passing. With each step, Dracaena’s heart beat just a little faster, her grip on her wand increasing, the hackles on her panther Patronus rising as she bared her teeth.

By the time they reached the fifth floor, her palms were sweating. How different would he be? Would the Sebastian she knew and loved still be there, somewhere? Would his eyes still sparkle with the mischief he was so adept at making, at once sliding into fury when he was challenged, and softening whenever he looked at her? She knew he’d be different. He’d look different. He’d act different. But she had to believe he was still there.

No matter her provisions, in the following years, Dracaena didn’t think there was anything on earth that could have prepared her for what she saw when she finally reached Sebastian’s cell.

Unlike so many of the other prisoners, he wasn’t screaming or crying, and he didn’t rush to the bars to feel the passing warmth of the patronuses. He huddled by the wall, next to a narrow mattress and ratty blanket laid directly on the floor. His hair was halfway down to his elbows, thick and matted, almost black with grime. He was dressed as they all were, in a filthy pair of striped trousers and shirt, and they hung loose on his frame. His head was on his arms, resting on his knees, drawn to his chest. The hand she could see was almost skeletal, every inch of boyish puppy fat stripped from his body. His nails were bitten to the quick and filthy, as were his bare feet.

Dracaena raised a hand to the bars, her heart shattering as she took him in, watching as he shivered.

“See, he’s one of the tough ones,” the little man said, with a chuckle. “Just keeps to himself, terribly well behaved. Shame to see him go, really.”

Dracaena tightened her grip on her wand to the point she thought it might snap. She turned to the little man, letting her expression say everything she dared not voice, for if she opened her mouth, she would likely find herself in a cell of her own. The little man seemed to understand, because his sick grin slipped, and he hurried to unlock the cell door. She barged him out the way before he’d even pulled the key from the lock, striding inside and falling to her knees before the broken man she had loved.

“Sebastian?” she whispered, her Patronus sitting in front of the door and glowering. He didn’t move. “Sebastian, it’s time to go.”

He stirred, his fingers tightening on his sleeve. She reached out, brushing a hand over his arm, and he flinched.

“Bassy,” she whispered, the pet name she’d given him both foreign and familiar on her tongue. He tensed, finally raising his head. His chocolate eyes, once so full of life, were dull and defeated above hollow cheeks and a beard that reached his collar. Even so he was familiar to her, the rampant freckles scattering his skin like constellations a siren call to their bond. He blinked, focusing, and didn’t say a word.

“Bassy, it’s time to go,” she said again, cupping his cheek, sliding her thumb over the protruding bone, her fingers winding into the thatch of hair at the back of his neck. He flinched away again, his expression becoming fearful, his eyes darting around the cell.

“Happens sometimes,” the little man said sullenly from beyond the bars. “They forget who they are. Forget who they knew. He’s not said a word in five years, so don’t expect him to. He probably thinks this is some kind of joke.”

She shot another glare that could melt steel through the bars, then shifted her position, grasping Sebastian by the arms and standing, heaving him to his feet.

He came up with almost no resistance, and she staggered, almost flinging him into the air, horrified by how light he was. He made a small sound of muted alarm as he left the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, relaxing her grip. She grabbed for him again when he slumped, his legs refusing to support his weight. She glanced through the bars again as the Aurors stirred.

“We’ll have to drag him,” one said. “Prisoners sometimes forget how to walk, or they just don’t have the will.”

“You’re not dragging anybody,” she spat. She looped an arm around Sebastian’s back, bending to catch his legs, lifting him in her arms like a child. He tensed, then slumped, his head lolling against her shoulder. He was so light, so alarmingly fragile, as if he was made of parchment, ready to tear apart at the slightest movement. Her heart broke again, and her Patronus flickered as she cradled him. Without another word, she marched from the cell, heading for the doors, the other prisoners gibbering as she passed, begging her to take them too, to leave her Patronus, to kill them. She paid them no mind, focusing on holding Sebastian tight to her chest, his feet swinging, his breath rushing over her neck. His hands were folded on his stomach, and one of them slid to her, pinching the fabric of her cloak, then holding gently.

She held him all the way to the dock, refusing to release her grip as she settled back on the boat. She raised a hand to his hair, gently running over the back of his head. It left streaks of grime on her fingers, but she didn’t care. A deep, boiling anger simmered in her chest. Anger for what he’d been put through. Anger that anyone was forced to endure such a hellish place. But mostly, she was furious with herself for allowing this to happen, furious with Ominis for knowing what Azkaban was like, and letting him be taken anyway, the word of some unknown person sealing his fate.

It didn’t matter that they’d spent the next six years trying to find a way to free him. The damage had been done. She felt it in his trembling breath, in the way he held onto her cloak so gently, knowing in her bones that it was the tightest grip he could muster. She wrapped her arms around him more securely, resting her cheek against his forehead, whispering soft words of comfort as her collar grew sodden with his silent tears.

_.-~*~-._

Dracaena carried Sebastian over the threshold of the halfway house in much the same way a groom carries his bride. She wasn’t blind to the imagery, and wondered if Ominis would do the same to her once they were married. Would he be able to navigate if his hands were full of her body and not his wand? Probably. He was astonishingly capable, to the point she often wondered if his blindness really was total, like he said. Perhaps he had some Seer blood in him that aided him. It would certainly go a long way to explain how he always seemed to know everything, even things he shouldn’t know.

She kicked the door shut in the faces of the Aurors that had accompanied them.

She eyed the living room of the halfway house, the low sofa facing the kitchenette and dining table. Through one of the doors was a little bedroom, and through the other was a tiny, cramped bathroom. It was towards this that she headed, conjuring a low seat, in which she deposited Sebastian. He was unresponsive as she stood back with a light sigh, gazing down at him and eyeing the stains left on her robes.

She pulled off her cloak and overrobes, standing before him in a simple pair of trousers and vest top, tossing her robes through the still open door, before kneeling down in front of him.

“First order of business,” she said, softly. “We’re here for a week, Bassy. We’ve got a to-do list, but I’ll take care of it as best I can. I’ll need your help, though. Can you do that for me?”

His throat worked a moment, then he gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod. Dracaena loosed a soft breath. At least he was listening to her.

“I think you’d feel a lot better after a shower,” she said, keeping her tone low and soothing. “Would you like that?”

Another miniscule nod.

“Can you take care of that, or would you like some help?”

No response to that. She tilted her head, waiting, her hands on his knees, until he glanced at her, his eyes lighting on hers and flicking away again like a moth fluttering about a lantern. They were still dull and hollow, curtained by the matted strands of his hair. She reached up and brushed a hand over it.

“I think we need to give you a haircut,” she said. “I can’t think of a single brush that can save it, I’m afraid, it's too tangled. Can I cut your hair for you? And maybe this?” she ran her hand over the wild beard. “Much as I think a beard suits you, it could do with a trim, don’t you think?”

A tiny nod, ever so slightly more vigorous than the last. She smiled, and reached behind her, fumbling in the cabinet for scissors.

“I’ll save what I can,” she said, taking a ropey strand of his hair between her fingers. “I can’t imagine you’d enjoy being bald.”

A miniscule exhalation. She tilted her head.

“Was that a laugh, darling?”

He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder. She set the scissors aside a moment and wrapped her arms around his back, alarmed to feel the bones of his spine poking through his skin. She held him gently until his arms rose, gripping the back of her top with a featherlight touch. He shivered, his breath trembling on the exhale. She held him tighter, pressing her cheek to his.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, circling her hand over his back. “You’re safe, Bassy. You’re out. You’re not going back there, okay? Once we’ve done what we have to here, you’re going to come and live with me and Ominis. We’ll look after you.”

She felt his jaw clench a moment, then he sat back, meeting her eyes properly for the first time. He held her gaze a long moment, before it dropped to her hands, resting on his knees again. He touched her ring, his skeletal fingers brushing over the emeralds and diamonds. He sighed, seemingly caving in on himself.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice so quiet she could barely hear it over the rasp of his throat.

She could have cried, then. God only knew what he’d been thinking when he was trapped in that cell. Had he been hoping she’d come for him? That she’d have waited for him? Had he tortured himself with thoughts of other people getting close to her, loving her? Had he known on some level that she and Ominis would end up together, engaged, and soon to be married? Had he loved her as she loved him once, and wished it was he that slid the ring onto her finger?

What would he think if she told him of Ominis’ offer?

“Thank you,” she said. Best not to overload him. She should have taken her ring off, but it was too late for that now. She raised a hand to his hair again. “I… I’ll be honest, I’ve never done this before. It won’t be a brilliant job, but it’ll help.”

He gave another miniscule nod, and closed his eyes. She gazed at him a while longer, then picked up the scissors, sliding them through the matted tangle of his hair before closing them with a decisive snick.

_.-~*~-._

Shorn of his beard and most of his hair, Sebastian was beginning to look a little more like himself, though his face was terribly gaunt, his cheeks hollow, the sharp lines of his jaw standing out above his brittle neck. Dracaena vanished the pile of hair with a flick of her wand, then reached over to the bathtub, turning on the shower and holding her hand in the stream until it warmed to a comfortable temperature.

“Shall I leave you to it?” she asked. “I can give you some privacy.”

He didn’t answer, his hollow gaze turned inward, slumping slightly in his chair. She took his chin and tilted his face to hers, waiting until his eyes focused. “Bassy, do you want me to help?”

He blinked, slowly, his gaze turning distant again. With a light sigh, Dracaena lowered her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, slowly prying them open, one by one. At each, she paused, looking at him until he gave a tiny nod. She withheld a wince with some difficulty as she gently pulled it from his shoulders, able to see each rib through his skin, streaked with grime. Her heart broke a third time.

“Can you stand?” she asked, gently. “We should get these off too.” She touched the leg of his trousers. He didn’t answer, so she tucked her hands under his arms and rose, bringing him with her. He leaned against her, his arms rising to clutch at her back again as she nimbly undid the drawstring. The clothing crumpled straight to the floor, far too large for his frame. She averted her eyes, helping him step under the stream of warm water, lowering him to sit, and he drew his knees to his chest.

How many times in her fifth year had she wondered what he’d look like under his robes? Countless times, lying awake at night, or daydreaming in class. Now he was here it felt somehow wrong, like a violation to take the opportunity to drink in his form when he was so vulnerable. So she didn’t look, focusing on his face as his short hair plastered to his scalp, the water turning black as it streamed over his skin. She pressed a washcloth into his hands, and he held it, but made no further move.

“Come on darling,” she murmured. “Help me out a little bit?”

No response. With a soft smile, she picked up another washcloth and slid it over his back, applying light pressure to the more stubborn patches of dirt. Sebastian closed his eyes, resting his head on his crossed arms as she soaped his back, his grip on his own cloth tightening a little. And even though she resisted, scolding herself silently, Dracaena couldn’t help but look at him properly. Under the steadily vanishing grime, his back and shoulders were as freckled as his face, fading the further her eyes travelled down his spine and arms. He was a lot paler than she remembered, but then he’d gone from an outdoorsy, adventurous nerd to a prisoner in a cell, not a speck of natural light to be found. She’d have to make sure there was a decent spot in the garden for him to relax, once they were all home.

She nibbled her lip, glancing at his slender thighs, once thick. No freckles there. A few on his calves, none on his feet. She wrenched her gaze away before it strayed any further, and she slipped a hand under his chin, tilting his head back so she could get to his hair. He closed his eyes with a tiny sigh as she rubbed suds through the thick strands, massaging his scalp gently until she was sure every speck of dirt was gone. She pressed a hand to his collarbone.

“Sit up straight, darling,” she whispered. “I need to get to your chest.”

He acquiesced, leaning back until he overbalanced. Dracaena caught him with a startled yelp, an arm around his back, spluttering a little as her head and shoulders entered the shower stream. His legs stretched out as he slumped against her arm, his head turning to her shoulder, his eyes still closed. She caught her breath, blinking water out of her eyes.

“You alright?”

A tiny nod.

She took a breath, and keeping her gaze firmly fixed above his waistline, she moved the cloth over his torso, trying not to admire the fine hair dusting his chest, focusing on removing every speck of dirt she could see. She took her time, because at some point, she was going to have to try to convince him, again, to help himself. There was only so far she could reasonably go when he was so out of it, despite what Ominis had said.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look, or to touch… to taste. It wasn’t that she had any problems in taking care of Sebastian in whatever way he needed. It was that he was fresh out of Azkaban, barely four hours free, still confused and addled and traumatised and broken, and she couldn’t assume that he would want anything to do with her at all.

It was still difficult. She shifted, her arm around his back, propping him up as she gripped his shoulder, his head resting against hers, flipping her sodden hair out of her face, her top already soaked. She circled the cloth over his chest a final time, sliding it over his nipple, and he groaned.

The sound was so soft that she thought for a moment she’d imagined it. She paused, swallowed, and repeated the movement. He sighed, tucking his head more firmly against her shoulder, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a stirring.

Dracaena closed her eyes, willing herself to cool the heat rising from under her collar. She was his friend, that was all, helping him after a terrible ordeal. She couldn’t possibly take advantage of him, not now, not when he was vulnerable and needed her to help him. He wasn’t in his right mind. She had to be strong for them both. In time, perhaps she could, but…

She steeled herself and returned to the job at hand, sliding a bar of soap over his stomach and following it with the cloth. The water ran clear over his body, though it still pooled brown and grimy by his feet and legs, and-

She wrenched her eyes back up, glaring at the pale tiles of the bathroom wall.

“You going to give me a hand?” she asked. “I’m getting soaked.”

Again, no response. He slumped against her, his breathing perhaps a little quicker than before. Hardening herself, Dracaena took the washcloth to his thighs, scrubbing perhaps a little firmer than she had before, tucking a hand under his knee to bring his leg closer so she could still support him. Her back was beginning to ache, bent over the bath as she was, but she ignored the dull fire spreading under her shoulder blades, focusing on her task. All the same, she couldn’t help but notice how he shifted, widening his legs with another soft sigh, his hand sliding over her back to grip at her shoulder as she worked. She slid the cloth over the inside of his thigh, and a soft, almost strangled whimper passed his lips as he tilted towards her.

Dracaena had endured many trials in her life. Stopping a goblin rebellion, defeating a power-crazed, dragon-transformed lunatic set on killing her, as well as countless attacks from poachers and Ashwinders, defeating a powerful Dark Wizard in single combat and more. So much more. Still, if anyone had asked her in the later years what she found the most difficult trial of all, she would have said in a heartbeat that ignoring Sebastian’s throbbing erection as she washed him was among the top three.

She did steal a glance or five. She was only human, after all. And by God, he was beautiful. Not quite as long as Ominis, but thicker, a darker shade, the lush pink of Ominis’ love more a light burgundy with Sebastian, and the way he rested against his stomach, his toes curling as the shower stream rushed over him was more intoxicating than heroin. There was nothing more that she wanted than to wrap her hand around his length and draw him to the edge of bliss, to let him revel in the delights so long denied him, to hear him moan and whimper her name…

Again, Ominis’ assurances that he was not only fine with her playing away with Sebastian, but that he expected it ran through her mind. She loosed a soft breath as she moved the washcloth to his hips, his grip increasing on her arm as his breathing rushed past her ear. She set her jaw.

She couldn’t.

“I need to get some things ready,” she said, firmly. “Finish up, Bassy, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She waited until his grip on her arm loosened, helping him sit upright. It pained her to leave him alone, huddled and defenceless as she strode for the door, wringing water from her hair and drying it with a wave of her wand. But she had to. God and Merlin only knew what she would have done otherwise. He was too fresh, too vulnerable. How could she take advantage of him like that? How could she even think it?

Biting her lip, she settled at the small table and drew parchment and quill towards her, penning a short note.

My darling Ominis,

Sebastian is with me in the halfway house, and all things considered, he’s as well as he can be. I don’t want to alarm you, but he’s lost a lot of weight and isn’t very responsive, and I expect it will take some time before he’s better. You were right, he’s not as we remember, but I feel the old Sebastian is still there, somewhere.

I miss you. I love you. I can’t wait to be home with you.

Dracaena.

She wanted to add another line, clarifying that Ominis had meant what he said, hoping he would change his mind, for if he demanded she remain solely his it would be easier to deny the stirrings she felt for Sebastian. But he wouldn’t deny her, he wouldn’t refuse. He’d almost been insistent.

She sealed the letter instead, opening the door and beckoning the owl perched nearby. It took the note in its beak and flew off, soon lost amongst the clouds. She took a breath, noting the dark figures leaning against the walls of the surrounding buildings, the curtains twitching in windows. She made a face and retreated back inside. Christ, with the number of Aurors surrounding them, it was almost like Sebastian was a mass-murdering lunatic, not a broken man who had paid a price far dearer than the death of his horrible uncle warranted.

She tilted her head as the sounds of running water from the bathroom shut off. She waited as a shadow moved beyond the open door. It seemed that Sebastian could get about by himself if he needed to. That was good. She moved to the kitchenette, opening the cupboards and grimacing. Simple foods like porridge oats, rounds of dark bread and rice nestled beside tins of nondescript meat and vegetables huddled on the shelves. Dull fare for certain, and she wished she could use her Ancient Magic to conjure something more palatable, but it didn’t work that way. Sebastian had always been fond of sweet things, and there wasn’t a gram of sugar to be found.

She pulled a few items down and set about making a simple meal of white fish and rice with a side of green beans, careful not to make too much. He’d need time to adjust to eating real food again, and she had no idea what he’d been forced to eat behind bars.

Dracaena turned at a slight noise to find Sebastian standing in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning heavily against the frame, a towel around his waist. He gave her the beginnings of a tired, shy smile, only the corners of his mouth twitching. She left the saucepan and rushed to him.

“There’s clothes in the bedroom,” she said, leading him, an arm around his waist as he slumped against her. “We’ll have some dinner and get you settled for the night, yeah?”

He nodded, a firmer, more decisive action than before. Depositing him on the bed, which creaked, she ferreted around in the old wardrobe, bringing out a selection of shirts and trousers.

“Any preference, or are you not fussy?”

He blinked slowly, his eyes on her, seemingly indifferent about the clothes in her hands. With a shrug, she picked out a dark shirt and pair of trousers, leaving them on the bed.

“I’ll leave you to it, darling, if you need-”

His hand found hers, and she paused, turning to him, finding the corners of his eyes glimmering.

His lips parted, his throat working a moment before his voice found its way out, hushed and rasping.

“This… is real? You’re… really here?”

She knelt before him, taking both his hands in hers.

“Of course it’s real,” she whispered. “Bassy… Ominis and I have spent the last six years trying to find a way to free you. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, you didn’t deserve Azkaban. You’re coming home with us, and you’ll never go back, alright?”

He nodded again, a tiny smile touching his lips.

“You… got me out?”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she said. “We had to bully a lot of people, rewrite some laws, and build a case. It took ages, Bassy, but we never gave up. We just wanted you home with us.”

“And…” he drew a breath, as if the act of speaking fatigued him beyond all reason. “Anne?”

Dracaena hesitated. She knew this would come up, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. The reason for his fighting, the reason for his research, the reason for his mistake. How could she tell him that the curse that plagued his sister had taken her life three years ago?

It would break him. Destroy him in ways that Azkaban never could.

“Time enough for that later,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “What’s important right now is getting you back on your feet, alright?”

It was a poor answer, and she knew it. Sebastian had never been one to let things lie, least of all something as important as his twin, whom she had buried with Ominis on a beautiful hill overlooking Feldcroft on a blossom-strewn spring morning, the pair of them shedding silent tears not just for the senseless loss of life, but because it meant everything Sebastian had sacrificed had been for nothing. But Sebastian didn’t question her further, merely nodding again and releasing her hands, reaching for the clothes.

Dracaena returned to the kitchen in time to put out a small fire that had started in the pan. She swore and pulled out another tin of white fish, vanishing the blackened mess with a wave of her wand.

Sebastian joined her at the small table not long after, clinging to the walls and countertops to support himself until she hurried over, pulling his arm over her shoulders. Though his first mouthful of food was hesitant, he soon fell upon it like a man starved, going so far as to toss his fork aside and eat with his hands. Once he was done, he held himself still, staring at his plate before the hollowness returned to his eyes, and he withdrew into himself, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, staring at nothing as Dracaena pushed her plate aside, her appetite quite gone.

“You should sleep,” she said, softly. She rose and took his hand, drawing him to his feet and tucking an arm around his waist, leading him to the bedroom. She sat him down, helping him unbutton his shirt, pausing as she reached the hilt of his trousers.

“There’s… there’s pyjamas and things in the wardrobe,” she said. “I can get them for you?”

Sebastian didn’t answer, his eyes dragging with tiredness, but his hand snared hers as she rose.

“Stay?” he rasped. “Please?”

It took every ounce of her self-control to refuse.

“You’ll be alright,” she said. “You’re safe here, Bassy.”

His throat worked a moment, and he nodded, his hand sliding from her grip. Dracaena returned to the living room, setting the dinner things to wash and settling down on the sofa, conjuring a blanket and removing her clothes, lying down in just her underthings.

Ominis was on her mind as she settled to sleep, wishing he was here with her. She longed to feel his elegant arms around her, to reassure her, to comfort her as she wept silently for all the pain their dearest friend had endured.

_.-~*~-._

Dracaena work to darkness and agonised, desperate screams.

She bolted from the sofa, her heart in her throat as she tore towards the sound, her mind conjuring horrors beyond mortal imagining as she burst into the bedroom. Sebastian was huddled in a corner, his arms splayed against the walls, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes wild as he tried to press himself through the brick and plaster, cowering away from something she couldn’t see.

“Sebastian!” she dashed over, grabbing for his shoulders, and he lashed out, howling, the side of his hand connecting with her temple, and she saw stars. Shaking herself, she grabbed for him again as he fought against her, yelling wordlessly. “Sebastian, it’s me! It’s alright! Calm down, please!”

He pushed back against the wall, soft, keening sounds wrenching from his throat, his eyes unseeing as she wrapped her arms around him, gasping comforting words into his ear. Eventually, his arms rose to encircle her, burying his face in her shoulder and weeping helplessly.

“It’s alright…” she murmured. “It’s alright, darling. There’s nothing here that can hurt you. You’re safe.”

Sebastian just cried, clinging to her as she settled on his thighs, wishing she could hold him tighter, wishing she had more arms to wrap around him, to hold him more securely than she could, her hand circling over his back, the other wound into his hair as he sobbed into her shoulder.

“It was just a nightmare, darling,” she murmured. “That’s all. Nothing more. You’re alright.”

It took a long time before Sebastian was able to calm down, his frightened sobs becoming whimpers, quietening to harsh breaths as he grasped at her back, shivering so hard she thought he could power a small house.

“What was it?” Dracaena asked, leaning back a little and cupping his face. “Darling, what did you see?”

He shook his head, his face tear-stained, pulling her back to him and resting his head against her shoulder again.

“I-I’m… sorry,” he managed.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she assured him. “Bassy, I’ve no idea what you’ve been through, but I’m here to help you. Tell me what you need.”

“Stay… with me,” he whimpered, holding her as tight as he could, though the strength of his arms was little more than strands of silk. “Please, Drac… Don’t leave me alone.”

With a muted nod, she tucked her hands under his arms again, levering him upright and guiding him to the bed, laying him down and tucking him in, before settling atop the covers. Sebastian turned over, his arm looping over her side.

“Will… you be… warm enough?” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Get some rest, love, I’ll be right here.”

“Come under,” he insisted, snuggling closer to her. “Please, Drac. I… I haven’t touched… another person in… years. I… I-I need to be close… to you.”

She hesitated, and Sebastian huddled up to her, his hands tight at her back, his skin fire against hers.

“Drac… I-I’m sorry, I-I know you’re… with Ominis, I don’t want… to upset you… or spoil that. I-I just need… to be close to you… please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Setting her jaw, Dracaena slid under the covers, wrapping her arms around him as he snuggled into her, his head against her collarbone, his body pressed to hers, almost as though he needed to become a part of her, to meld his flesh with hers, the pads of his fingers digging into her back.

She held him tight as he shivered, wishing she could take the pain he suffered and draw it into herself to shield him from the horrors he had endured. But she couldn’t. She could only lie there, holding him, stroking his hair as he pressed his face between her breasts, his skeletal frame wracked with shudders as guilt seared through every fibre of her being. She pulled him closer, and he groaned softly.

Dracaena couldn’t ignore the hardness that pressed against her, as much as she wanted to. Despite Ominis’ assurances, she needed to be strong, to show him she cared for Sebastian as more than just a vessel for carnal pleasure. She didn’t need that. As she was with Ominis, her own bliss mattered less than that of her partner, her delight being in when she brought him to the edge of paradise and sent him over, soaring on clouds of ecstasy. Would it be so wrong to gift the same to Sebastian, when her fiancée had condoned it?

Sebastian groaned softly, the tip of his erection nudging against the soft flesh of her abdomen, straining against his pyjamas. He nuzzled against her breasts, only the thin lace separating their skin. Dracaena drew a soft breath. No matter her concerns, perhaps this was what he needed. Had she not vowed to care for him, no matter what he needed? Her hand slid over his side, over the ridges of his ribs, gliding over the hollow between them and his hip, coming to rest on the sharp protrusion of bone. Sebastian whimpered softly, tilting his body towards her hand.

“Are you sure?” she breathed. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes…” he whispered, the word ragged, forged from a throat too unused to speaking. “Please…”

Still she hesitated, preferring to caress his body, worried that it would be too much for him, worried that no matter his assurances, Ominis would be hurt if she allowed herself to indulge, but Sebastian clung to her, the little strength he had poured into pulling her closer.

“Drac…” he whined softly, writhing against her as her hand sculpted over his chest and stomach. “Please, Drac… please, make me feel human again. Please, please touch me… please… I’ll do anything… I just… I need to feel alive again.”

And hell, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to make him feel good after everything he’d been through. She cupped his cheek, turning his face to hers, pressing her lips to his with a softness akin to featherdown and satin. But he responded with fire and fury, his hand clamping against the back of her head, pressing her close as his lips worked magic over hers, scattering the last of her restraint as she wrenched him to her.

His breath came in sharp gasps as she pushed his clothing aside, her hand dipping down to caress the length of him. He tensed, a low moan rising from his throat as she graced her hand along him, before his grip at her back tightened, and he flexed his hips, thrusting into her palm, each movement accompanied by a gasp.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Make me feel good, make me feel right… make me feel real, Drac, please.”

Dracaena sealed her lips to his, drawing his breath into her and sending it back as heaven and light, her hand gliding along his throbbing length, her movements careful and controlled. Sebastian loosed a long, deep moan that seemed to rise from the bottom of his lungs, as if such a sound had been too long caged and finally set free. He sank back to the pillows, his limited strength seemingly spent, his eyes rolling back as his lashes fluttered, and she favoured him with kisses that peppered his face and chased over his neck, pausing only at his chest to swipe her tongue over his nipple. Sebastian groaned, his head rolling from side to side, one hand at her shoulder, the slight pressure increasing as she kissed down his taut stomach.

She could take him any way she wanted. She could pin him down and ravage him until he forgot his own name, she could bend him backward and bury his delicious cock in her throat, she could even turn him over and work a magic inside him that she was certain too few wizards had ever had the fortune to experience. But Dracaena bore down on her desires. Too much could break him. There would be months, years, perhaps, in which she could show him all the wonders she had learned since being with Ominis. She could show Ominis what she learned from Sebastian. She could learn from them both, together, but only if she treated them right.

Sebastian moaned like a starved whore when she flicked her tongue over the flushed head of his cock, his head pressing back into the pillows, his free hand grasping a fistful of the sheets as she slowly kissed along his length. She tucked a hand under his hips as she nuzzled the inside of his thighs, taking a moment to savour the desperate sounds pushed up from the depths of his being, the hand at her shoulder moving to the back of her head, his grip weak but insistent.

She couldn’t deny him any longer. Dracaena flattened her tongue against him and drew it slowly to the tip, already weeping with slick, crystal fluid, his ribs expanding and contracting with each rapid, short breath, his stomach hollowing as his hips bucked towards her. Her free hand found his, and she laced their fingers together as she took him into her mouth at last.

Seven years of longing couldn’t have prepared her for the feel of him against her lips, sliding over her tongue, invading her throat, the deliciousness of his fevered skin, the subtle, peppered tang of his love so similar and yet so different to the gentle salt and sugar of her Ominis. Sebastian’s back arched, his legs falling apart, his hand winding into her hair as his grip on her hand trembled, his thighs beginning to quiver as she flicked her tongue over the underside of his head, so sensitive after so many years of neglect, his voice a wordless song of ecstasy. She sealed her lips and drew them along his shaft, rewarded by a series of frantic moans that rose in fever and pitch. She wanted to pull back, to slow down, to make him wait, the dominant side of her fighting for control, but even she was not that cruel. Instead she bobbed her head faster and faster, lashing her tongue against him until he all but screamed, his hips rising from the bed as his back arched in a curve Fibonacci would be envious of, the beautiful, creamy thickness of his passion coating the cavern of her mouth.

Dracaena drained him of every drop as if her life depended on it, relishing the way he quivered and whined, his body tensing and relaxing with each new flick of her tongue until she raised her head at last, his pale, freckled skin flushed a gorgeous rose, an arm draped across his forehead. She slid up his body to lie beside him, brushing his hair back and wrapping her arms around him as he curled into her, panting.

“You okay?” she breathed, and he huffed a breathless laugh.

“If… if I’d have known… if I had to go… to Azkaban for that…” he nuzzled into her. “I’d have… gone… long ago.”

Dracaena chuckled softly, winding her hand through his hair as he relaxed against her.

“Drac,” he murmured. “I… should have… told you. Back then… I should have said…”

“Shh,” she whispered. “You need to sleep, love.”

“I know,” he replied, already drifting. “But… I should have said… I love you, Drac. I… I always have.”

She held him close.

“I love you too,” she breathed as he slipped into sleep. “Forever and always, I love you.”

Masterlist

Part 2

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Did you write about the Dark Mark already? I have to think how it actually works, and why no one knows about it if they can just like search the bodies of dead Death Eaters

Anonymous asked:

why didn't dumbledore tell ministry about dark mark as a tattoo? bc he not want to send snape to azkaban of it? i guess dark mark is a very big secter and only for small inner circle, the best of the best, 'friends', and when snape tells minister about it they don't understand neither sirius when harry tells him about karkaroff and how many people have dark mark? is regulus have it or not? (i rereading the cemetery scene in 4th book and can't normally count the de's, or maybe it is a plot hole by jkr) peter probably get it after 3rd book, after he's proof self 🤔

Okay, so I haven't really written anything detailed. I just mentioned here and there some elements of my thoughts here and there sprinkled throughout other theories.

So, let's talk about the dark mark and how/why it was such a secret

First, as always, we start from what we know:

1. The dark mark is shaped like a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. It is placed on the left forearm of a Death Eater.

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail’s left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail’s robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo — a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth — the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail’s uncontrollable weeping.

(GoF, 645)

2. The mark isn't for everyone and is considered a great sign of honor. Most Death Eaters and their affiliates aren't marked.

“No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got—they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.” Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honor.

(DH, 389)

As for how many are marked, Harry counts them for us:

and what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one?

(GoF, 660)

So we have about 30 Death Eaters in the graveyard + Baty Jr + Snape + Karkaroff + 10 more in Azkaban (Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Rookwood, Dolohov, Traverse, Gibbon, Jugson & another unnamed one I like to call Pyrites) + the dead ones from the first war (Regulus, Evan Rosier & Wilkes). This lands us at approximately 46 marked Death Eaters. So, while it is somewhat of a secret club, it's not that exclusive if you have about 50 members in a society of about 6,200 wizards as a whole.

3. The Dark Mark was kept incredibly secret during the first war and most of the Order (if not all of them) didn't know about it until the second war.

Even Sirius who was in Azkaban with almost exclusively marked Death Eaters, didn't know about the mark.

“He showed Snape something on his arm?” said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. “Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about . . . but if Karkaroff’s genuinely worried, and he’s going to Snape for answers . . .”

(GoF, 532)

4. The Dark Mark allows Voldemort to know where his Death Eaters are and they can "call him" via the mark.

“And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!” And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark. At once, Harry’s scar felt as though it had split open again.

(DH, 404)

5. The mark allows Voldemort to call his Death Eaters to him.

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm. The scar on Harry’s forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail’s mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard. “How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”

(GoF, 645)

6. It likely is able to inform him when a Death Eater is dead. I mentioned in my post about Regulus how odd it is that the Death Eaters seem to know he died when really, he could've run away. But they all knew Voldemort killed him for being a traitor, meaning, Voldemort is the one who told them he died. How did he know? The Dark Mark.

7. And the mark clearly knows when Voldemort is dead.

It appears red when he's in weakened wraith/homunculus form, and then when he lives and activates it it becomes black:

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm. The scar on Harry’s forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail’s mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black.

(GoF, 645)

Becomes clearer when he's getting stronger:

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —” “Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

(GoF, 426)

And a faded scar once Voldemort was dead for good.

8. The Dark Mark can be used for the Death Eaters to communicate with each other:

“Really?” said Professor McGonagall. “And what gave you that impression?” Snape made a slight flexing movement of his left arm, where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin. “Oh, but naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “You Death Eaters have you own private means of communication, I forgot.”

(DH, 506)

How the Dark Mark Works Magically

So, I mentioned it in the past, but I think there is some soul magic involved in the Dark Mark. Considering it is aware of whether its host (the Death Eater) is alive or dead and how they all connect to Voldemort, I feel it's pretty safe to say soul magic is part of it.

The fact Harry feels his scar whenever the mark is used to call Voldemort or used by Voldemort to call his Death Eaters (as illustrated in the above quotes) just strengthens the soul connection since Harry is, as we know, a Horcrux.

I don't think the Dark Mark uses a Protean Charm like the DA coins, but a different method. Mostly since a Protean Charm charm isn't needed. It's what caused the numbers on the coin to change, not what caused them to burn up.

A spell I do want to bring up is the one used to paint the Dark Mark in the sky: "Morsmordre"

(As an aside, that's like, the most evil-sounding spell in how it's pronounced in my opinion. It's all these 'R's)

The spell is most likely comprised of the Latin "mors" meaning "death" and "mordere" meaning "to bite". Literally translates to "To bite death" AKA Death Eater. And I think this spell is the same one used to make someone a Death Eater, or at least to mark them as one.

I also headcanon that only marked Death Eaters (+ Voldemort) could cast Morsmordre on the sky. Like, if some random cast the spell it wouldn't do shit. It makes the whole situation with Winky in GoF more heartbreaking. But also, I don't think anyone there really knew that the spell was limited use, as no one tried to cast it after the first war, probably. But I don't really have evidence for this.

Back to the Dark Mark brand:

The dark mark is mentioned to be burned on one's skin, beside creating a burning sensation when Voldemort calls:

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord.

(GoF, 709)

This makes me think the mark looks burned. Like if you used a hot piece of iron to burn the mark on someone's skin, like a brand.

Now, fire is an interesting element, and, alchemically, one of the elements that corresponds to the soul along with air. Air, though, is also part of the spirit, the fire is only part of the soul as the soul is the one carrying the spark, so to speak.

And I think the idea of them looking like a branding is accurate — because that is exactly what the dark mark is. It's a brand. It's a sign of possession. In various cultures in the past, slaves were branded in a similar way. A sign of ownership that you and your soul, in this case, aren't your own.

So, I think, to mark someone, Voldemort would cast Morsmordre on their arm. This will burn the mark on them, which I assume would feel like a brand being burned on (which is also how it looks, it does not look like a tattoo).

But what does this have to do with the name "Death Eater"?

Well, both the organization and the spell share this language. both meaning to eat death, and I wondered why. So, I looked up various folklore/myths that could refer to a "Death Eater" and I found some interesting ones.

In Ancient Greece and Rome, for example, apparently, Fava Beans were often treated as symbols of death and decay. Some even said the beans contained souls and that eating them was akin to cannibalism. I don't think it has anything to do with the Dark Mark, but I found it interesting.

Of course, there is the Greek myth of Persephone, who is trapped in the underworld by eating pomegranate seeds.

I also considered a connection to sin-eaters. Who were usually poor people invited to funerals and paid to ritualistically eat the sins of the deceased so they could move on to heaven in Ireland and Wales.

However, my favorite theory is one I'm not the first to pose. I don't remember where I read it, but I read a post from someone who mentioned the name 'Death Eaters' reminded them of 'beefeaters'. The term refers to the Yeomen Warders who guard the tower of London. Some etymologists believe the term 'beefeaters' originates from the old English: 'hláf-æta', literally meaning 'bread-eater' but was a word used to refer to a servant, while others argue it could originate from an old French term: 'buffetier' which also means servant.

That, to me, sounded perfect. It fits naturally in with everything.

'Death Eaters' then is then a play on an old English term meaning 'servent', except, the 'bread' from that word was replaced with death, both for Voldemrot's obsession with death and the connection to the life and soul I mentioned earlier.

I also would like to mention that the change of 'bread' to 'death' makes the term sound more permanent. Like they are to remain Voldemrot's servants until they eat death (until they die). It basically marks their soul forever. It brands them.

So, magically, the dark mark makes someone Voldemot's servant for life. It binds their soul to the network of marks that are all tied to Voldemrot's own soul.

This is where that sin-eater connection I mentioned earlier might be relevant. A sin-eater ritualistically eats a person's sins, a part of them in a way. So, I think, with the dark mark, it's something similar. Magically/symbolically, they eat Voldemrot's sins — a part of him.

So, to summarise this section:

The spell Morsmordre is likely used to mark a death eater. The mark is burned and acts as a weak soul tether between Voldemort and all his Death Eaters like a weird network. The mark is a branding, it looks burned and it brands them as Voldemort's servants. The spell 'Morsmordre' literally means to bite death or eat death and refers to the Death Eaters' name. A name that practically calls them Voldemort's servants until their death.

Why the Secrecy

Well, I think this one is pretty obvious. You'd rather the mark that basically broadcasts who's a trusted follower to the world not be common knowledge. Not only that but it's stated by many characters that during the first war, Death Eaters didn't really know who the other Death Eaters were. Everyone knew Voldemort, and only knew each other or about plans on a need-to-know basis.

At least, that's how they operated in the first wat. Death Eaters in the first war are closer to a cult than in the second one.

They operate in secrecy.

All the following and operations revolve around a single leader everyone knows and worships.

Most don't even know each other from how secret they are.

Their clothes — masks, robes, and hooded cloaks all fit in with this cult-like imagery.

In the second war, it was different though. I spoke in the past about how the second war is very different from the first one. How it ran, the number of casualties, the approach of Death Eaters towards the ministry, and vice versa.

In the first war, Voldemort was around, hushing up a lot of their involvement and creating this air of fear and mystery around his cult. In book 5, the DE are just as secretive and hushed up in their operations at the beginning of the first war, but during book 6 and into book 7, Voldemort isn't as present. So, they allow themselves more. They stop hiding because no one is telling them to.

So, in the second war, we see society as a whole is much more aware of the dark mark and the Death Eaters.

How Come No One Tells Fudge

First I want to talk about how they didn't see it on dead bodies of Death Eaters or on imprisoned ones, and, well, I have a guess.

Karkaroff and Snape mention how the dark mark darkened throughout year 4, becoming more and more red. It's possible, that right after Voldemort was defeated, when most Death Eaters were arrested and killed, the mark likely was incredibly faded and barely visible. It looked like an old scar and probably didn't garner much attention and was easy enough to conceal with magic for people like Lucius Malfoy.

As for why Dumbledore didn't tell Fudge in the second war, I think he did tell Fudge. Fudge likely knew about the dark mark and it didn't matter. The whole point of book 5 is that the ministry is corrupt. Fudge knows Voldemort is back, he believes it, he just doesn't want everyone else to think is. He is desperate to show competence and get reelected, Voldemort returning in his time is not a good look.

Basically, I don't think Fudge was ever a convincing problem, he knew Dumbledore and Harry were telling the truth — and he didn't care.

[seriousbrat]

Yes, exactly! I don't think either scenario would ever have crossed his mind. It reminds me of the classic line from Philosopher's Stone: "There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it." Voldemort has no regard for the magical abilities of a house-elf, because to him the mere fact that they don't seek power and are seemingly content with subservience makes them automatically weak. The same would apply to a child who can't use magic outside of school.

It's interesting you bring up the Trace because that could be the explanation as to why the boat doesn't register Harry. The Trace seems like one of the more... inconsistent things in HP lore, but my personal explanation is that it's a sort of "alarm system" that sends instant notifications to the Ministry when an underage witch or wizard performs magic; these are automatically filtered out by a separate spell when an adult witch or wizard is present, which is why Arthur, Tonks, Dumbledore etc could use magic at Privet Drive without triggering the Trace, while Dobby's magic did. However, using the excuse of Harry's protection in DH, the Ministry removed the filters on the Trace notification system just for Harry.

Anyway, a similar thing could apply to the boat: Dumbledore's presence cancels out Harry's magic. Regulus is barely older than Harry when he crosses the lake, he might have been 17 but I doubt he had much more magical power than Harry. (then again there probably isn't a minimum on magical power for the boat, so it might not matter haha)

Since I'm writing about this rn, it has struck me that Dumbledore is willing to drink the potion in the horcrux cave because he believes that Voldemort wouldn't wish to kill the drinker immediately so as to question them... Dumbledore's usually pretty good at guessing Voldemort's thought processes, but as Harry discovers, this isn't true, because the potion causes thirst which leads the drinker to the lake, and then they're pulled down by inferi and die anyway. I'm wondering, was Dumbledore simply wrong, or is this because Voldemort was arrogant enough to believe that he would immediately be able to tell his horcrux was destroyed and get there in time to question whoever it was before leaving them to die? (in DH he does seem to believe that he would be able to tell.)

This is a pretty big flaw in Voldemort's logic if so, because as Kreacher, Harry, and Dumbledore all demonstrated, I think most people would be more likely to take the horcrux and try to destroy it later. Maybe this isn't too hard to believe because Voldemort also committed the major oversight of not realising that a house-elf or an underaged wizard could also be accompanying the drinker (which is extra stupid since he himself travelled across the lake with a house-elf.) I guess it makes a certain sense because Voldemort, who ultimately works alone, who underestimates everyone he considers inferior, might not have been able to fathom the loyalty, trust and love required for Kreacher and Harry to follow Regulus and Dumbledore into the cave.

It's also interesting that Dumbledore creates a very similar situation to that of Kreacher and Regulus-- he expressly makes Harry swear that he will follow any orders without question, he even tells Harry to leave him behind if needs be, which is what Kreacher does in his case. We know house-elves can disobey/work around some orders if they really want to, and in both cases Kreacher and Harry are ultimately following orders not because they have to but because of loyalty and trust. (I know Kreacher is literally bound to obey, but think about it this way- would he have done as much for Sirius, or would he have found a way around it like he does in OotP?)

Really the foreshadowing (or post-shadowing really haha) for Kreacher's tale is so good. It's hinted at when Dumbledore points out that it's Voldemort's mistake to underestimate the less visibly powerful, and I also really like the way that Harry can picture the scene perfectly as Kreacher narrates it-- because he lived it himself, after all.

[tarasmithshifts]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐑 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓 part 1

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐑. 3 years 𝐀𝐆𝐄. 17-20 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏: sirius, remus, james, lily, peter, dorcas, marlene, mainly people from gryffindor and ravenclaw

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒. taken

「 ✦ 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼 ✦ 」

im crying rn. I AM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK IN THIS DR SOME CRAZY STUFF HAPPENED SOOOOO LETS GET INTO IT. THREE YEARS. gosh this is so crazy

— ୨୧₊˚ click here to read part 1 of my last update

— ୨୧₊˚ click here to read part 2 of my last update

i will write this storytime in 3 parts probably, i am noooooooot ready. NOT AT ALL.

be ready for 2 next parts because in this one nothing really happened, there was nothing crazy or something. let's say it's an interlude to the next 2 parts 🌷🌷🌷

「 ✦ 7th year ✦ 」

𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 - 7𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻

summer - sirius got his own place to live

summer- i bought a house in yorkshire

september - june -> final school year

july - odd proposition

okay so as we know we are in year 1977!! my last year at hogwarts with marauders :'( literally one of my best shifting experiences was hogwarts with my boys and girlssss

okay let's go because this is gonna be crazyyyyyyyyyy

ＳＵＭ ＭＥＲ

— ୨୧₊˚ last shift update ended in may and here i just wanted to say that i of course graduated!!! i just don't like wasting space for that info bc it's so obvious lmaoo

okay soooo i bought my house, as well as sirius!!! we got money from Alphard, who passed away and we split the money in half. i afforded a cottage in yorkshire, where i moved on in july, i was contacting with remus through letters, also because war intesified. then one day in the beginning of august he appeared at my front door and i kneeeeeeeeew something was wrong. and i was like "what is going on???" he asked if he can come inside, i said he doesn't have to ask and that he can ofc come inside, we sat in my living room and HOLY SHIT

lyall lupin is dead y'all.

my jaw was on the floor. and he didn't show any emotion while he was saying me that. and i was there. DEVASTETED. apparently death eaters killed him when he helped some aurors with their job outside of london, and he said that he just got the news from ministry.

and we sat there.

in my living room.

in silence.

gosh you should've seen him. i was not prepared to this at ALL. AT ALL.

so uhhh we decided that he will stay at my place for few days (he stayed with me all summer hahaha) the next day we went over to sirius to tell him, as he knew lyall as well. during next week remus planned, but it was right before full moon so i said to him that i will take care of it. i didn't want him to stuggle even more. full moon happened on 16 of july, remus was in worse state that i expected but we got through it :') the funeral happened few days later, it was a small ceremony, without anybody around us. in documents it was stated that lyall had a heart attack so there wasn't any problems with people thinking about how he actually died. he was buried next to hope lupin :(

we spent whole summer at my house, sometimes visiting his to clean up or move some stuff, and sometimes we visited boys and i went over to lily 💗 i don't have much to talk about here so i'm not going to describe anything lmao

and one of the things that we do at my house is listening to remus mum records from the opera 🥲🥲🥲🥲 it’s so cute and i can confirm, his mum was AMAZING

also i forgot to say that during summer sirius and james encountered two Muggle police officers on FLYING MOTORBIKE. are you kidding me LMAO 😭😭😭

S C H O O L Y E A R

in this school year most of the time we spent learning for our finals :')

i needed to pass 5 N.E.W.T.s so i had a lot of work to do, as i wanted to become auror in the ministry.

also many people we knew from ministry was dying because of war, all of them were mentioned in daily propet, we read it DAILY. we didn't care for it earlier, but from that moment we read it religiously.

i think that we were also scared that there will appear a name of someone that we knew personally.

hogwarts was not the same that year.

also james and lily were made head boy and girl of gryffindor! james was super proud of himself and at the beginning he was telling EVERYONE around how cool he is. and lily is super happy with him which i'm so THANKFULLLLLL they are so cute you need to believe me lmao 💗💗

me and remus were helping each other A LOT during this school year, because of n.e.w.t.s i saw that he was super stressed about them :/

alsooo we had inter-house quidditch cup!!! we had some changes in positions, me and sirius took beaters positions (which is pretty funny because years later fred and george weasley had this position too, and they are also twins lmao) arthur browne took the keeper postition, james, geoffrey fawley and marlene were chasers, and phoebe dawson was a seeker.

also regulus became captain of slytherin team, and gryffindor lost match with them, so we were super angry but it is what it is lmao 😭

also boys did not spend that much time with each other, all of them became more serious about their future (okay, maybe except sirius lol) so they were not doing that much pranks etc. i spent more time with lily, she helped me a lot with potions too, also we sat together on potions because slughorn LOVED HER. literally she was his pearl in the eye,he invited her to his partys etc, gave her books she could learn from even more, which helped me not her LMAO 😭😭😭😭😭😭

ALSO from funny things that happened, one night after mine and sirius' birthday, we were sitting down in boys dormitory, me, ofc marauders, marlene, lily and dorcas, there was silent moment and sudenly dorcas went "is it only me or dumbledore is gay" AND WE WERE LIKE "WHAT" and we had full debate if he is gay or not LMAO and yup the verdict was that he is gayest of all gays ever LMAOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭

about n.e.w.t.s - I PASSED 6 SUCCESSFULLY IM SO HAPPY AHHHHHHHHHHH

DADA - i totally slayed this one HA

POTIONS - it went better than i thought, so i'm safe with this one

CHARMS - it went even better after dada exams because i was sure it will be easier than dada one, and i was right

TRANSFIGURATION - thanks to mcgonagall, without her i would be screwed with one lmao

HISTORY OF MAGIC - okay this one went worse than i expected but i still got E

CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES - this one was HELL. literal HELL TO ME because i did not like this subject and learning it for n.e.w.t.s was a torture, but i passed it with E

me and remus decided to move into my house together :')) so did lily and james, they bought a cute house at godric's hollow 💗💗💗

J U L Y

me and remus lived in yorkshire, we used teleportation to see sirius, peter, james and lily from time to time. in the middle of july sirius appeared at our door. we were at home, so we let him in. and he started yapping about some kind of order, he was talking so fast we literally had no idea what he was saying. when we sat him down, he started from the beginnig, and he told us about the order of pheonix. that dumbledore is looking for people that are talented and brave enough to fight against voldemort. and that he wants to prepare us before dumbledore will appear at our door. he said that he already joined the order, as well as peter. he started telling us who already is there, and that he wants to give us more time to think because albus wants immidiate decision.

so after sirius left me and remus were talking for HOURS about what should we say to dumbledore after he will appear. and we both agreeded that joining order will be the best decision for us. we could finally help in war, and not only help other wizards but also save muggles.

in the evening somebody appeared at our door. we heard the teleportation sound outside. out there it was very dark, like every light on the street disapeared. remus told me to stay inside and opened the door by himself with his wand raised, but he only saw dumbledore, and immediately lowered wand. dumbledore looked at him and just said "if it wasn't me, you would be dead already remus."

i stood in the kitchen but observed the whole thing, and finally stood outside so albus would see me too. "you should ask me a question" said dumbledore, still not coming inside. i just stood there and waited for remus to say something, and remus finally spoke "who told severus snape about the secret" obviously he was telling about the prank, dumbledore only smiled and said "oh of course mr. black" and came inside. he looked around and i showed him the way to living room. me and remus sat on the couch, while dumbledore sat on huge armchair that we bought recently. "you need to be more creative next time" he said "they can get such and information" and after that he started to TALK and when i say talk, he talked for like about 30 minutes NON STOP. about the order, about his trust in us, about the need of our magic, about the importance of defeating voldemort. and after he stopped talking, he just looked at us, and we both immediately said "yes".

and from that moment, nothing ever will be the same.

「 ✦ end notes ✦ 」

gosh i finally published this

HELLO IM SO BACKKKKK and i can't wait to tell you more, because this was super short and it was just the beginning of spiral chaos that will happen, so BE READY.

anyways, IM SO HAPPYYYYY and i can't wait to tell you moreeeeeeeeeeee 🌷💫💗

[sitp-recs]

hi! how are you?

so I read a fic some time ago that destroyed me…… like literally. I enjoyed it but at the same time I didn’t. but now I can’t stop thinking about it bc everything on it was so revolting and fucked. how to make a fic get out of our system? is it possible 😅 not to be dramatic but this fic almost made me lose interest in the whole ship lmao I just wanted to read something I enjoy again, you know? and nothing hits :( and when it does I’m almost finishing the fic and something horrible happens (that wasn’t really tagged) and I endure it until the end 💀 anyway if you have any fic that you read recently that is very romantic and monogamous or even if they are exes but they don’t date anyone else because they just can’t move on, pls share with us!! and it doesn’t have to be drarry, it can be anything. Im going through your lists and whole blog tbh looking for something that will save me lmaoooo I’ve read almost everything that interests me and you recced. (btw your break up make up list is amazing!) still I think the spark left me 🫠 ugh sorry for yapping

I’m sorry to hear that, anon :,( I think we’ve all been there at some point, god knows how many times I felt blocked, uninspired or just unable to connect to any fic. Personally, I find it helpful to take short breaks from fandom and focus on other hobbies for a while. Those fics will always be there when and if you’re ready to return! Also, imho you shouldn’t have to “endure” any fics that you find upsetting. I don’t typically have any triggers but I certainly have tropes/topics that don’t interest me much (or at all), and I have no qualms abandoning a fic when they show up unannounced 🤣

Now, it’s a bit hard to rec something randomly without knowing more about your fic tastes, but since you’re interested in romantic/monogamous stories, I thought I’d share some recs along those lines. This is a personal selection that might not work for you, but if it does I’ll be pleased to know that you’ve found that spark again :) Take care xo

Short fic:

Take the Moon by tackytiger (M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

Long fic:

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by nerakrose, dustmouth (T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Who we are in the shadows by Quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

[katakosmos]

Sorry for periodically invading ur inbox and not shutting up but no voldemort au soooooo funny to me bc theyre equally evil but domesticated now. Evan midlife crisis is looking back on his years at hogwarts like “i used to psychologically torment my friends and fellow peers….so much potential wasted…”

Evan has a wife and kids but he pretty much ignores them in favor of periodically cheating with his favoritest specialest dearest boy <33 who now has a nepotism ministry position that is slowly sucking the life out of him (cannot decide if Barty would be married or not either way hes not happy)

nooo i love when you share these 😋😋

also, i have to admit cheaters rosekiller makes me feel things. they have the most heartbreaking, passionate, ruinous relationship, and no one knows about it. even better if they have a bit of an age gap.

like: evan is an unsatisfied-close-to-40 man who has a habit of sleeping with his barely twenty years old assistants because he believes the problem in his relationship with his wife is that he's no longer attracted to her because she isn't young and sexy anymore.

one day, exhausted, he leaves work. and, on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, he sees a young man leaning against the wall of a large building. and yes, that guy is 25 years old barty!!

he's smoking and when he notices evan staring at him, he smiles and exhales smoke. evan waves at him and nods and... yeah, that's pretty much how it starts.

evan spoils barty in every way, and daydreams about him constantly. and barty literally gasps and blushes every time he remembers that he has a boyfriend.

the fact that they have a family and a soon to be wife is just a detail 🙄

[serene-sun]

Okay last thing bc I don’t wanna spam and I’ve sent 2 ideas already but any chance you could do some headcannons or a blurb (whichever you prefer) about a threeway with Ifrit and Omega?

𝖕𝖚𝖑𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖘

warnings: sexual themes but no sex

“Another hundred out of papa's pay check?” You tease softly as the ghoul slides a large bill into the hem of your bra, “If I had known you two were so spoiled I would have charged more.” 

“Are you suggesting our talent doesn't get us any reward?” Ifirt says softly into your ear as his claw trails up your neck.

“Oh no I know the way you parade on stage gets you several…rewards…” You reply with red lips pressing against the soft skin of Omega’s cheek.

The quint ghoul lets out a little grunt as your hand cups his groin, his eyes never leaving your pale thighs as they slightly part.

The ministry was known for its sexual energy, but what some didn't know was that there was a secret brothel that took place on weekend nights. It was an abandoned chapel on the western side of the grounds that was repurposed with tapestries and rugs, pillows and soft furniture and warm lights to the brothel it was now. The sisters and brothers of sin who worked it paid by the hour, some by the minute depending on how sensual they got with clients.

You, a sister of sin, was one of the many who had regulars. It wasn't rare for ghouls to show up, but it was rare for them to truly hold a bond with the whores. 

These nights after black mass, Ifrit and Omega held a common lust for you. They would come after or before mass to see you. 

Omega was a massive ghoul, it was no secret he was the leader of his pack. He was phlegmatic and sensual, his strict demeanor coating his lustful words of praise and pride. Omega had a calming effect from his quintessence, it made women and men swoon over him. 

The ghoul had two large horns with a few cracks and chips made of lapis lazuli and two fiery white eyes that glowed. His tail swayed softly against the carpet, it was black and furry with small strands of white hair across his body. 

Ifrit was also a large ghoul, more on the smaller side but he was also seen as one of the leaders of his group. His horns shiny and polished, the red carnelian crystal of them reflected lights beautifully as he talked with intent. 

The ghouls were truly ineffable in power, their strength scared people and their will haunted others. But some, women like you, sought enjoyment out of the fear. The way their claws could cut through skin so easily, and their ability to know your thoughts and actions spiked an interest in you that made your whole body tingle. But you knew the terrific beasts were sagacious with their lives.

You were fervent for this with the ghouls, this connection they had with you would grow every visit. It would be a lie to say you hadn't had dreams of them at night, or watched them about their day.

An average man would say you were meretricious, having no value other than your outer beauty. But ifrit and Omega made you feel special, like no other sibling there. Sometimes they would bring you gifts like expensive lingerie or wine.

“Tell me my love, how can I please you tonight?” Omega grumbled into your ear as his claw trailed up your leg, snapping against the fishnets threatening to break them. 

His gentle touch sent a shiver down your spine, “Take off your clothes,” You ask as Ifirt licks behind your ear.

You had always ameliorated uncomfortable guests, you never got as far as letting them have actual sex. You would only go as far as being nude and pleasuring each other, ignoring the real sex. But you felt now in the air that these ghouls were growing impatient with this “rule” of yours.

The quint and fire ghoul undressed, leaving just you clothed in lingerie and your hair thrown messily into a clip. 

The room had cleared out, leaving the prostitutes resting other than yourself. The quiet atmosphere raised with heat, not from the crackling fireplace but from the sexual tension as you took the two ghouls erections in your hands.

You felt heat drip into your gut, like molten lava that tempted you to draw you into a dark abyss. The candles flickered, and you closed your eyes focusing on the intense fire that grew between your legs as you felt the net against your legs tear against a sharp claw. You whined unintentionally as the hands roamed up your chest and tugged at the lace of your bra. 

“Have me, please..” You whine, cracking your eyes open to be pushed back against the bed of pillows

The night would continue not like any other, and you would be filled with absolute bliss.

[wrishwrosh]

re: tags on labor in historical fiction post, would be very interested to hear what the four examples you mentioned are!!

ok u know what that tag WAS bait, thank you for taking it. technically speaking these aren't works dealing strictly with labor in historical fiction, they are my four treasured examples of BUREAUCRAT FICTION (so not NOT about labor in history?) i was gonna try to make this post pithy and short but then i remembered how extremely passionate i am about this microgenre i made up. so sorry.

bureaucrat fiction is not limited by genre or format but criteria for inclusion are as follows: long and detour-filled story about functionary on the outside of society finding unexpected success within a ponderously large and powerful System/exploring themes of class and physicality and work and autonomy and what it means to hold power over others beneath the heartless crushing wheels of empire/sad little man does paperwork. also typically long as hell. should include at least one scene where the protagonist is unironically applauded-perhaps for the first time in their life-for filling out a form really good. without further ado:

soldier's heart by alex51324. the bureaucracy: british army medical corps during wwi. the bureacrat: mean gay footman/new ramc recruit thomas barrow. YEAH it's a downton abbey fic YEAH it's a masterpiece. i've talked about it before at length, my love has not faded. the crowning moment of bureaucracy is a long interlude where thomas optimizes the hospital laundry (this actually happens twice or maybe three times)

hands of the emperor by victoria goddard. the bureaucracy: crumbling fantasy empire some time after magical apocalypse. the bureacrat: passionate late-career clerk from the hinterlands cliopher mdang. i reread this book every winter bc it is as a warm bath for my SAD-addled brain and every time i neglect all my responsibilities to read all nine billion pages in three days. it puts abt 93% of the worldbuilding momentum into elaborating all of the ministries and secretaries and audits necessary to run a global government and like 7% into the magic and stuff. there are also several charming companion novellas and an equally long sequel that dives more into the central relationship between cliopher and the emperor which i highly recommend if you like gentle old man yaoi and/or magic, but there's more bureaucracy in HOTE.

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. the bureaucracy: court of henry viii. the bureaucrat: thomas cromwell, the real guy. curveball! it's critically acclaimed booker prize winning rpf novel wolf hall! mantel is really interested in particular ways of gaining and maintaining power in delicate and labyrinthine systems like the tudor court, specifically in strongmen who use both physical intimidation and metaphysical manipulation to succeed. under these conditions i do think my best friend long-dead historical personage thomas cromwell counts as Bureaucrat Fiction (as do danton and robespierre in a place of greater safety. bonus rec.)

going postal by terry pratchett. the bureaucracy: fantasy postal service of ankh-morpork. the bureaucrat: conman, scammer, and little freak moist von lipwig. this is definitely shorter and lighter than the other three entries on the list, sort of a screwball take on the bureaucrat. but the mail is such a classic bureaucracy thing? who doesn't love thinking about the mail? also contains a key genre element which is a fraught sexual tension with the person immediately above the protagonist in their hierarchy, who is also their god-king and boyfriend-dad. you can't tell me vetinari isn't torturing moist psychologically AND sexually.

anyway sorry about all this. if you've read any of these come talk to me about them. bureaucrat fiction recs welcomed with the openest possible arms.

[michael-svetbird]

THE WINGED VICTORY OF BRESCIA: Bronze statue found in 1826 at the Capitolium of Brixia site, Now - one of the symbols of Brescia preserved in the Capitolium museum https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capitolium_of_Brixia 1 AD [H=195cm] "The … restoration of the 'Opificio delle Pietre Dure' [Ministry of Culture restoration institute based in Florence] has established that the statue was cast in the 1st c. AD in a local forge and is not an assembly of different statues but was created to be a 'Winged Victory'. The reference model is to be identified in Aphrodite Urania of the 'Cyrene type', i.e. with the goddess conceived in that specific variation of posture found in the statue of the same name from Cyrene. Other details, such as the twisting of the bust and the shape of the arms are also borrowed from Greek works of the 5th-6th c. BC. … the wings were added to transform the work into the goddess Victoria; in Rome and Constantinople there were similar works [Victory engraving a shield] in the Imperial forums." [txt ©BAP]

Brixia Archaeological Park in Brescia | BAP

Web: https://www.bresciamusei.com/en/museums-and-venues/brixia-roman-archaeological-area

IG, X : @ BresciaMusei

FB : https://www.facebook.com/bresciamusei

BAP | Michael Svetbird phs©msp | 04|05|24 6300X4200 600 [I.-III.] The photographed object is collection item of BAP, photos are copyrighted [Non-commercial fair use | No AI | Author rights apply | Sorry for the watermarks]

📸 Part of the "Reliefs-Friezes-Slabs-Sculpture" MSP Online Photo-gallery:

👉 D-ART: https://www.deviantart.com/svetbird1234/gallery/72510770/reliefs-friezes-slabs-sculpture

.

[chemzee]

A quick sketch of adult designs of Lottie, Morgan and Daniel in Perfumer!AU (it doesn't have a proper name yet, it's called like this bc it initially focused only on Melly, who is a perfumer).

This AU is very self indulgent, it's basically a compilation of alternative character/story development ideas I had and wanted to explore but couldn't fit into my rewrite or any other AUs. So it doesn't have a strong premise of sorts, just alternative paths for each character.

A lil explanation behind each of them

These designs in particular are their appearances as of 2024/2025, meaning they're 27-29 in here.

Daniel Page is a potions-based healer in Saint Mungo's. But he has a secret: at night, he goes to muggle hospitals and cures them with use of his potions and magic. MoM doesn't approve of this weird form of vigilantism, as it breaks the law, but they can't seem to find any clues that lead to any potential suspects' identities... For now, that is.

In Y4, Daniel and Morgan teamed up to take down NOTME together and get them all arrested, even though both agreed with their cause. As of 2024 , they succeeded in taking down the majority of the members, but a few escaped, Elliot among them. Daniel is determined to put an end to this group, especially after what happened to his mother.

Morgan Grimes is an ex NOTME member (unknown to most) and now works as a Ministry investigator under the Improper Use of Magic Office. However, he often uses this position to hide evidence against Daniel Page and to catch the remaining NOTME members.

Unlike the original Morgan, he could tell something was off about the group. He could feel there was more to the organization and their leaders than they let on and concerned for his safety, he wanted to leave, but he couldn't because he knew he would put himself in potential danger. So in order to both leave and prevent the group from doing something irreversible, in Y4 he started to think of a plan to take down NOTME, which lead to him teaming up with Daniel.

Lottie Turner is a journalist for The Daily Prophet, who tries to assure that the stories she writes about stay objectively true and legit, which sometimes isn't all that well seen by her higher-ups. However, she does tend to omit some of the truth whenever she gets a chance to report on a mysterious healer MoM wants to catch.

She, Daniel and Morgan started to hang out a lot together in Y5, forming their own trio of sorts and soon enough, Lottie figured out about their plan to take down NOTME and helped with it. She still helps them with it, whenever she can, especially with her position. She often works along with an ex housemate of hers, Elise Rosewell, who Lottie has certain suspicions about. She can tell she's hiding something... But what?

[sacred-coffin]

Rubbing my grubby little hands together. It's time to bipolar Terzo.

And, one thing for the record, I'm bipolar! So I know what I'm talking about and I'm projecting a little and that's valid

I tried to rewrite my bullet points from my google doc to sound... nicer and more professional, but it didn't feel right. So y'all are getting the raw unfiltered version from when I infodumped about this in a discord chat, hope you like it :)

ONE . He has big overarching aspirations, but also mad depressive episodes. These get in the way of him completing his goals and also make things fuzzy along the way.

He's got this big city, big social change, all of these huge goals and life paths he wants to follow. And there are times where he's really set and driven on working on it! Especially when people are egging him on, like when he was a cardinal. I imagine he had a lot of sustained manic or hypomanic episodes while he was a cardinal.

Being very dead set on a goal, possibly losing sleep over it, putting all of your time and effort on it...Also however you want to interpret the cream pies comment (sexual or food) it both lines up with something a manic person would do. SO.

I think once he's in the ministry again / papa his depressive episodes started getting harder & his manic episodes more. Erratic.

He had less people pushing & supporting him towards his goals / what he was really passionate about, so he was just . Really bitter and pulled away from people. You see a lot more of his irritable and generally temperamental side come out during this time bc like. When he has manic episodes he has so much energy to use up but nowhere for it to go! Sometimes being really angry with something can trigger a manic episode, and I think he might be prone to doing things really excessive/extreme all of a sudden to spite people. If that makes sense. Like the decision to ditch the papa robes, things like that.

Also iirc, when he was a cardinal he was really over indulgent. That is very common for manic episodes; it's very common to  develop substance abuse issues as well. I think he could be a borderline alcoholic, but he's pretty good at hiding it. Definitely better at hiding it than when he was younger, but the habit is worse when he's older

I kinda wanna talk about Terzo possibly being like, a pretty angry person. And this is definitely projection LMAO. He very much presents himself as a guy who probably doesn't have angry outbursts and such, but I think that. Well. If he's bipolar that is NOT true ok. When I thought about this the first time I was like "would he punch walls? No. His mom raised him better than that. But God does he want to break stuff"

I feel like part of his reclusiveness is to keep up this image he has to everyone-- you can't judge him or form an opinion of him in his off time if you don't see it. So you don't see him getting drunk, you don't see him being depressed, you don't see him getting mad, but god it is happening all the time

I just feel like, like, you could argue he has this sudden shift in personality at a certain point. Or maybe at multiple points. In regards to how he felt about his goals at least. Esp bc I resonate so hard with the thought that he didn't want to be the machine-man (from Metropolis, 1927), but he had to, and I feel like being bipolar explains that so so well. Facing adversity he'd get so pissed about it, but he would only let that stop him for a little bit. But he'd also wouldn't be able to make the kind of progress he did before (like drawing up blueprints or plans) because he doesn't have that same well of outside energy & support to tap into

God also. He is so delusional. He is so so so delusional.

I think being Papa ruined his mind .

No offense but like. His goals are impossible. He's chasing them so hard anyways. He's insane. Like. Like.

I don't know I can only compare this in my mind rn to my mom looking at me when I was like, 5 years old or something and telling me she was going to become an archeologist and move to Egypt. Like she was so so sure of herself that it was going to happen. Obviously it fuckin didn't,

Also also. I feel like he's not diagnosed bc I feel like it's more likely to be missed in men. Also I want to give him migraines even though it's less common in men but slightly more common with people who are bipolar and also bc it is GENUINE projection but I think the idea of Omega walking in and seeing Terzo hidden in a bundle of blankets with all the lights off like "is this a depression cocoon or a migraine cocoon" and Terzo just kinda shifts the blanket around and you see him wearing this funny as fuck eye mask. And Omega is like "migraine cocoon, got it" and just fucking leaves

Did he shave his head once and regret it? Yes. Did he get addicted to cocaine? Probably. Did he spend all of his money on model city pieces? At least twice.

I think in the end it's entirely possible he bought into everyone's ideas that maybe he is the one who should be worshiped

I feel like a lot of manic episodes & things can be so warped by the people you surround yourself with and like. Idk. Being the face of a devil worshiping cult can give a normal guy a God complex.

But a guy who's already prone to delusion and God complex??? Oh honey he's FUCKED.

[artemisia-black]

Some of my Writer’s notes for my Regulus fic 

I wanted to explore the impact of Orion’s absence on Regulus. Particularly as I read Sirius’s take on BCS as being partly a projection about Orion and Regulus: 

“Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while ... gotten to know his own son.” GoF

So Regulus is ripe for grooming in Orion’s absence: 

“ felt more real and urgent than anything his father had ever taught him.” 

2. Also the opening scene emphasises how I view the Black’s relationship with Power : 

This idea of power is key to how I view the Black’s relationship to blood supremacy. They enact their ideals through the political/social systems and there is canon evidence for this: 

“Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother’s. . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal.” OoTP

In this example, Araminta wants to ensure what she is doing is legal (that’s not to say she doesn’t do it anyway), and she uses her clout to try and force the bill through. This is interesting for several reasons. It mainly demonstrates that the Blacks want the oppression that flows from their beliefs enshrined in law and that their bloodthirsty tendencies need to appear to follow laws/have a veneer of respectability.

I express this in the fic using the following motif: 

“The Blacks had always believed in keeping a velvet glove on their iron fist” 

3. Regulus also feels Walburga’s absence and this further drives him into Bellatrix’s clutches: 

“His pulse quickened, a rush of heat flooding through him as her dark, intense eyes flashed before him—eyes that burned with a fire both mesmerising and terrifying—a gaze so reminiscent of his mother’s yet far more dangerous.”

4. I wanted Regulus to come across as very sheltered and Naive so I juxtaposed his fantasy of murdering the man from the newspaper with the reality of murder. I chose to have him keep repeating why he was doing it and keep telling himself that he was about to become a man much like a single minded child: 

 “He wasn’t just a boy anymore; he was about to become a soldier. “ 

5. He was specifically instructed to use Avada Kedavra because it causes the most damage to someone’s soul. 

6. I view the deatheaters as a gang who operates on ‘blood in, blood out’ hence murder being the price you pay for admission. 

7. I wanted taking the mark to feel Pyrrhic. Reg vomits up Kreacher’s celebratory meal and feels awkward for having to bow. 

8. The hot mess that is his hookups with Evan Rosier- Reg is so repressed and so fixated on pleasing his family that he doesn’t know who he is.