#boggart's theory

[letsgethaunted]

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BONUS: The Dodleston Messages - Thoughts, Theories, & Homework Photodump

Image 01: Welcome to the BONUS EPISODE photo dump! Image 02: French newspaper illustration from 1911 describing a poltergeist event that occurred in Algeria involving 14 year-old Therese Selles + Matthew Manning’s bedroom wall with (allegedly) about 600 signatures from different historical figures spanning from the 17th C onward Image 03: Boggart illustration Image 04: Boggart illustrations Image 05: Map of UK Ley Lines + Map showing Dodleston location Image 06: Nine Ladies Stone circle in Derbyshire: Circular formation of upright stones dating to the Bronze Age, popular for walks & scenic views Image 07: Map showing Ley line from Nine Ladies to Meadow Cottage Image 08: Maps showing Meadow Cottage was originally divided down the middle into two separate plots of land in the 1800s. Image 09: Symbol Debbie says most resembles the one on the book Lukas showed her in her dream, Image 10: screenshot of the plainsongs I found - can any of you guys send me links to these songs being sung so I can play them for Debbie?

[writingpandagoth]

Good Evening,

I absolutely love your work and wanted to ask if you have heard of the fan fiction writing topic called Hanahaki Disease? I’ve never seen a take with Severus Snape x reader. I’m wondering if you’d be interested writing this scenario. The reader has hanahaki because she is falling in love with Severus Snape. Something emotionally intense but with a happy ending. Let me know what you think?

Have a blessed day!

The way I SCREAMED when I read your request!!

I absolutely love the Hanahaki Disease storylines!

This was soo much fun to write I hope it makes somehow sense and you enjoy!❤️

Breath Between Blossoms

The war had left behind a quiet sort of devastation. Not the explosive kind, but something heavier—like dust on furniture long untouched. And in the wake of that silence, Hogwarts reopened, a little more fractured, a little more solemn, but still standing.

So were you.

You arrived in September with a battered suitcase and a new title: Professor. Defense Against the Dark Arts, to be specific—though you weren’t sure the title fit. You’d fought, yes. You’d survived. But teaching? That felt more dangerous than battle some days.

You weren’t expecting friendship, least of all from him.

Severus Snape was already a legend of sorts—half myth, half ghost. He had died, they said. Or nearly. Then come back. A hero, in quiet terms. The sort of man whose bravery was discussed in low voices, always followed by “but he’s still a bastard.”

And he was. But not to you.

Not at first, anyway.

It started with shared silence. Faculty meetings where you’d both sit at the far end of the table, offering no more than a nod. You didn’t try to make conversation. He didn’t try to avoid you. That was the extent of it—until the staff lounge incident.

You were grading essays late—curse theory, dry and full of teenage arrogance—when Snape walked in, a book in one hand and a tea mug in the other. He stopped mid-step, clearly not expecting company.

You offered a stiff smile. “I’ll leave.”

He raised a brow. “It’s a communal space, not my personal sanctuary.”

You blinked at him. He crossed the room and sat.

The silence that followed was… companionable, in an odd way. Two people existing in the same space without demand. A rare thing.

That became routine. You didn’t plan it. But somehow, every Wednesday evening, you both ended up there. Him with his tea and endless volumes on obscure magical theory. You with your essays and a tendency to mutter insults at poorly-written arguments.

The first time you made him laugh, you thought you'd imagined it.

One of your students had written that “the best way to deal with a Boggart was to hit it with a chair.” You said it aloud without thinking.

From the other side of the room: a short, startled huff. Almost a laugh.

You looked up. Snape’s lips twitched as he turned a page.

“Creative,” he murmured. “If deeply stupid.”

Your smile lingered longer than it should have.

It took weeks before the rhythm turned into real conversation. He was guarded, yes, but not unkind. He asked questions. Sharp ones. Listened closely to your answers. He never offered compliments, but sometimes he would pause after something you said, eyes narrowing slightly—like he was impressed but too stubborn to say so.

And you found yourself seeking those pauses.

You started noticing things. The way he drank his tea—too strong, no sugar. The faint streaks of silver in his hair. The way his voice softened slightly when discussing certain students, though he’d deny it if asked.

You caught yourself lingering outside the dungeons after staff meetings, hoping he might walk with you. Sometimes he did. Most times he didn’t. But the few times he did, you felt it.

The shift.

And it scared you.

Because somewhere between sarcastic commentary and side-eyed glances, between library arguments and quiet tea, your admiration grew roots. And roots, you knew, were dangerous things.

The night it truly hit you was unremarkable, at least on the surface. You had been complaining about a seventh-year who tried to use a Stunning Spell during a practical on disarming charms. Snape had rolled his eyes and said,

“At least he didn’t hit you with a chair.”

You laughed, loud, real. And he smiled—barely, but it was there.

It was small. It was everything.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep. Your chest ached in a way that wasn’t quite physical. It wasn’t anxiety. It wasn’t fear. It was…

Love. Quiet. Blooming.

You sat up in bed, hand pressed to your heart—and coughed.

It was soft at first, but relentless. You staggered to your bathroom, thinking maybe you’d caught a cold, maybe the castle’s chill had finally sunk in.

You barely registered the wetness on your lip before you looked down.

A single white petal sat in your palm. Frilled edges, delicate veins. It glistened faintly in the candlelight.

No.

Your blood ran cold. You coughed again. A second petal joined the first.

No, no, no.

Hanahaki.

You’d heard of it. Everyone had. A tragic curse, a romantic horror story. Flowers blooming in lungs, fed by one-sided love. Slow and painful. Sometimes curable. Often fatal.

You told yourself it was a fluke. Maybe a transfigured ingredient from your classroom. Maybe a prank from a student. Maybe—

But you knew.

In the silence of your quarters, with flower petals in your hand and Severus Snape’s face in your mind, you knew.

You were in love.

And it was going to kill you.

—

Severus didn’t change much after the war. His sharp tongue remained, his silences just as heavy but around you, something had begun to shift. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sudden. It was in the small things—his dry quips softened at the edges, his voice lowering when he asked after your day, his willingness to listen without biting back.

He brought you tea once after a staff meeting left you with a migraine. He didn’t comment when you looked at him longer than you meant to, only tilted his head slightly, like he was used to being observed but not minding this time. He began co-teaching a few sixth-year lessons, and even when you were certain he could’ve done other things, he didn’t seem to mind helping you. If anything, he waited for you to ask him again.

It was the kind of friendship that crept up without permission. Gentle, unspoken, steady. And every quiet laugh, every shared glance across the staff table, made it worse.

The petals began to come faster.

At first, you’d only cough at night, smothering the sound into a pillow, hand shaking as you wiped away pale, delicate petals. But it didn’t take long before the disease became bolder, less willing to wait. Soon you were stifling coughs during your lectures, casting quick cleaning spells beneath your desk. You carried handkerchiefs charmed to dissolve evidence. You stopped wearing light-colored clothing.

The flowers were no longer soft things. They tore their way out now—thicker, bruised at the edges, stained with blood. Each time you saw Severus, they grew more twisted. Each small kindness from him was another root tightening inside you.

But you didn’t want to stop seeing him.

You still passed him in the halls, nodded in your usual way. You still sat beside him at staff meetings when you could manage it, tried to hold steady when his knee brushed against yours beneath the table. You joined him once more in the staff lounge, though you avoided his eyes most of the time, afraid he might see too much.

You told yourself you could manage it. That it wasn’t as bad as it felt.

One evening, alone in your quarters, you staggered to the bathroom and caught your reflection in the mirror. Your skin was too pale. Your lips had lost their color. You pressed your palms to the sink just as the fit began—your body wrenching forward, mouth spilling petals into porcelain.

Blood followed.

You dropped to your knees and gasped for breath, feeling the burn along your ribs as if the flowers were curling into bone. When it passed, you stayed there a long time, cheek pressed to the cold tile, too exhausted to cry.

You hadn’t told a soul.

The next day, Severus handed you a worn copy of Advanced Hex Theory and said, in that low voice of his, that a recent lecture of yours reminded him of a passage. You took the book with trembling hands and smiled too brightly. He blinked at you, as if trying to place the shift in your expression, the tightness in your shoulders.

You turned quickly, walking away, but a cough burst free before you could make it to the stairs. You covered it with a fake laugh.

“Wrong tea leaf this morning,” you offered. “Choked on it.”

“You’re ill,” he said, not unkindly, but flatly. Observing. As if the fact had just landed for him.

“No. Just tired.” You forced another smile. “Hogwarts air is practically toxic. I’m adjusting.”

He watched you for a second too long, something unreadable in his eyes.

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You lasted another week before you went to Madam Pomfrey.

She took one look at you and her face fell. She didn’t need to ask. The petals in your hand said enough.

“Oh, my dear…”

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t tell anyone.”

She was summoning diagnostic spells with barely controlled urgency. When the spell's green glow passed over your chest, she sucked in a breath.

“I need you to promise me.”

A long silence.

“It’s spread quite a lot,” she said quietly, almost afraid to confirm it aloud. She sighed. “I’ll do what I can to slow it. But you must understand—if this continues, and he does not return your feelings…”

“I know,” you said. You didn’t cry. You were too tired to cry.

“You need help. Rest won't help. You need to tell—”

“I’m not telling Severus.” Your voice cracked like dry glass.

Her gaze sharpened. “So it is him.”

You didn’t answer but you didn't have to.

She gave you a strong suppressants. Spoke in a gentler tone than usual.

“You’re running out of time. If you won’t confess, you must consider surgical extraction.”

You whispered, “I can’t lose the feeling.”

Even if it was killing you, it was still yours. Still real.

Pomfrey didn’t argue. She only touched your shoulder and said, “Then you need to be prepared to say goodbye.”

--

You stopped going to the staff lounge.

It wasn’t intentional—not at first. One week, you told yourself you were too tired. The next, you claimed you had too much grading. By the third, your absence became habit. Avoidance masquerading as self-preservation.

Because every time you looked at him, the pain in your chest surged.

The petals had come again. Not many—just one or two at a time—but enough to remind you. Each time you saw his name on the staff schedule, each conversation in the corridor, each dry remark from across the Great Hall… the ache deepened.

The flowers were feeding off you now.

Your body had become a garden of secrets.

The suppressant Pomfrey gave you helped, for a while. Made the coughing less frequent. Let you walk the halls without feeling like your chest was collapsing. But the petals still came. Smaller now, delicate. You almost convinced yourself that meant you were getting better.

You weren’t.

You started avoiding meals in the Great Hall. You kept your office door locked. You began arriving late to meetings, leaving early. Still, you couldn’t avoid him entirely.

“Professor,” he said one morning, stepping into your classroom just as you were wiping blood from the inside of your sleeve.

You startled, heart slamming.

He frowned. “You look pale.”

You laughed—dry, forced. “Occupational hazard.”

He didn’t smile. “You’ve been absent.”

“I’ve been busy.”

His eyes searched your face, unreadable. “You shouldn’t isolate yourself. It’s not healthy.”

You almost choked on the irony.

“Thank you for the medical advice,” you said, voice tight.

He left without another word.

You collapsed into your chair once the door closed, biting your sleeve to muffle the cough that came after. Three petals. One stained with red.

The turning point came in the library.

You were searching for a book on magical illness triggers, your mind foggy with exhaustion. You didn’t hear him until he was beside you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Severus said, voice quiet.

You froze.

He looked tired too—dark circles beneath his eyes, jaw tense. “If I’ve done something to offend—”

“You haven’t,” you cut in. Too fast. Too sharp.

He paused. “Then why—”

“I just need space, Severus. Please.”

It was the first time you’d ever called him that aloud. His name. No title. Just him.

It stunned him into silence.

You left before he could respond.

That night, you coughed until your vision blurred. A handful of petals. Blood pooling in your throat. You collapsed beside your bed, trembling.

You didn’t sleep.

--

In the days that followed, you slipped even further into the routine of pretending.

You stopped eating regularly. Your clothes hung looser. You developed a quiet tremor in your hands and passed it off as stress. You spent more time at your desk than in your bed, coughing into scarves and praying no one knocked on the door at the wrong time.

The suppressants didn't work anymore but you didn't expected them to.

One afternoon, you were already in the staff lounge when Severus arrived. You hadn’t expected anyone else to come in. You were curled in the chair closest to the fireplace, head aching from the morning’s lecture, your throat raw.

He sat across from you and studied you in silence.

“You’ve been distant even more so” he said after a long pause.

“I just been tired.”

“Liar,” he replied, not with venom, but quiet certainty.

You shrugged, barely looking up.

“You’re pale. You’re thinner. Are you eating?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t look like yourself.”

You stared into your tea. “You wouldn’t know.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, in a tone softer than you’d ever heard from him: “I notice more than you think.”

You couldn’t speak. Your hands tightened in your lap, willing your body to stay calm, to not betray you in that moment.

He stood slowly. “If you need something just—say it.”

And then he left, the weight of his words settling heavy in your chest.

You pulled out a handkerchief the moment the door shut and coughed until your ribs screamed.

The petals were crimson now.

You didn’t know how close the edge was, but you could feel something in your body giving way. Your magic was duller. Your steps heavier. You hadn’t dreamed in days—just flashes of heat, darkness, and the sound of your own lungs drowning in silence.

That's why you showed up again.

You sat beside him at meetings. You walked the same halls. You listened when he spoke and smiled when he looked at you like he didn’t want to look away.

Because you loved him. And that was the truth that bloomed brightest beneath your skin. Whether he ever knew or not.

You would stay near him until the very end.

Even if it shattered you completely.

—

You’d felt the shift the day before it happened. The coughing no longer brought fragments, but full, choking blooms—petals fused together, heavy and wet. It was like drowning from the inside out. Your chest ached constantly now, a dull pressure behind your sternum that no potion could ease.

You stood in front of your classroom, words coming slower than usual, wand heavier in your hand. The blackboard was half-full with chalk notes you could barely read. Your students were watching—most of them too tired to care, a few whispering behind their textbooks.

You tried to ignore the way your hands shook.

You told yourself: Just a few more minutes. Just get through the lecture. Then rest.

But your body was done pretending.

Your lungs spasmed mid-sentence. You gasped—one, short breath—and then dropped your wand.

The first flower came up whole.

It hit your desk with a soft, wet thud. White. A full lily, bent under its own weight.

Someone laughed—thinking it was a trick.

Then you coughed again, harder, doubled over as more flowers spilled from your mouth.

Lilies, Forget-me-nots and Chrysanthemum.

Your knees buckled. The room erupted in noise.

“Professor—?!” “Are you—?” “Someone get help!”

You tried to stand, tried to speak—but your body crumpled sideways, hitting the floor with a hollow crack. flowers scattered across the stone. One student screamed. Another froze in place, eyes wide with terror.

You heard nothing after that.

Only your own heartbeat. Faint. Slowing.

Then—nothing at all.

—

The sound of your body hitting the floor had students go wild. Some of them yelled out terrified alerting everyone.

By the time Professors arrived—wand half-raised, voice cracking with concern—your classroom was in complete chaos. A dozen wide-eyed students pressed against the walls. Others stared at the mess near the front: Flowers scattered all over the floor. Blood. Too much blood.

You lay motionless. One hand curled inward like a fallen petal.

Minerva who had arrived first tried to calm the students down. Flitwick was trying to keep students back while Sprout stared at the flowers in horror.

Severus pushed through the door and past students last trying to make sense of the chaos.

“What is going on?” he demanded, his voice too calm, steady.

Before anyone could say something, he saw it.

The flowers. The blood.

You.

For one awful, suspended moment, he didn’t move. His breath caught in his chest at the sight.

Then after what felt like years:

“Out of the way,” Pomfrey barked. “I need space.”

The second she was at your side, she cast a stabilizing charm, eyes narrowed in silent panic. Her hands moved quickly, checking for breath, for pulse, for any sign of what magic still lived in you.

“Severus,” she said without looking up, “I need you to carry her for me.”

He still stood frozen staring down at you.

"Severus! Now!" Pomfrey turned back to look at him.

He didn’t speak but he stepped forward, knees bending as he reached down and gathered you into his arms.

His jaw was tight as he turned, robes sweeping behind him as he followed Pomfrey out of your classroom.

The hallways were still as he carried you through them—every footstep a strike against the stone, your limp head resting just below his collarbone. A few professors emerged from their classrooms, stunned by the sight: Severus Snape, pale and expressionless, walking fast and silent with your unconscious body in his arms, blood on his sleeve and petals tangled in your hair.

He didn’t meet their eyes.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop.

When Pomfrey shut the Hospital Wing doors behind them, she cast the strongest privacy ward she knew.

Severus placed you on the bed without a word. He stood there longer than necessary, staring down at you like he couldn’t make the shape of your face mean anything logical.

Pomfrey moved around him briskly, casting diagnostic spells and muttering under her breath.

“She’s been coughing for months,” she finally said, her voice lower now. “Stubborn girl didn’t come until it was already advanced.”

Severus turned sharply. “Months?”

Pomfrey nodded once, tight-lipped.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” His tone sharpened.

“She didn't want me to and I honored that. As you would have.”

He went quiet. Not because he agreed. Because she was right.

His eyes dropped back to you. Your chest barely moved.

He swallowed. “Who?”

Pomfrey hesitated.

“Poppy,” he said, low and dangerous.

She looked up. “I don’t know.”

“You just said—”

“I said she’s been sick for months. Not who caused it.”

He stepped closer to her, his voice rough. “You know.”

“She asked me not to tell. I gave her my word.”

He turned away, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of you so still and braced a hand on the wall. His knuckles were white.

“How long did she feel like this?” he asked, quieter now.

“A long time,” she said softly. “Long enough that she didn’t think she’d survive it.”

When she left the room, he stayed behind. Staring at the basin of withered flowers. The deep creases in the bedsheets. The shape of your mouth slack with sleep, but wrong—like life had forgotten where to rest.

He sat.

Then stood.

Then sat again.

And he began to think.

Who was it?

Who had let you get this far gone?

Flashes of memory returned in cruel detail—your smiles, your silences. The times you brushed off questions. The way you stopped looking him in the eye.

He hadn’t thought to ask, not really. You’d been pulling away, yes—but not enough to worry him. Not enough to make him believe this.

Now he traced back every step of your unraveling and wondered how much of it he’d seen—and chosen to ignore.

He imagined you in love with someone else.

A faceless man. Another professor. A ghost from the war. A letter tucked into your drawer that wasn’t his.

The thought of it—of you wasting away for someone who didn’t see you—turned his stomach.

And yet, he never once allowed the idea that it could be him.

Because if it was

He had failed you worse than anyone ever had.

--

Severus didn’t sleep.

He sat beside your bed through the night, then through the morning, then into the gray stretch of day that followed. Hours bled into each other, marked only by the soft ticking of the clock above the infirmary door and the slower, shallower rise and fall of your chest.

Each time he looked at you, he catalogued something new—how your hands lay unmoving atop the sheets, how your cheeks had hollowed. How even now, flowers still bloomed from your mouth in your sleep. Fewer, but full. Fragrant. Silent.

Pomfrey came and went. She said very little. Sometimes she would pull petals and flowers carefully out of your throat that didn't come out themselves. Each one bloody.

He crushed one between trembling fingers. The stem was still warm.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to go back. To the first moment he noticed your laugh. To the first cup of tea. To the goddamn hex theory book he’d left on your desk. He wanted to undo every polite exchange, every flicker of softness he let slip through. He wanted to unmake himself entirely if it meant sparing you this.

But the truth was he didn’t know how to save you.

He didn’t know how to save anything.

He tried to reason through it. To calculate, to deduce, like any other problem he’d ever solved.

Who had your eyes lingered on in the staffroom?

Who did you sit next to, besides him?

Had there been letters? A Visitor? A ghost from the war?

He would have handed you over without protest. He would have let you go.

He hated every scenario. And in each one, he imagined what it would take to pull that love from you, to make it his—if only long enough to save your life.

But the fear—the unbearable, brutal fear—was that there was no one who could save you.

That's when realization hit him. That you had chosen solitude. Silence.

That you’d rather die than burden someone with your feelings.

That was what finally shattered him.

Pomfrey tried to argue that he needed rest but he didn’t leave. He folded himself into the chair beside the bed like a man bracing for war and stayed there, unmoving, staring at you like if he just concentrated hard enough, he could will you back.

Pomfrey gave up after the third attempt to make him leave and walked out the infirmary with quiet grief and closed the door behind her.

You looked almost peaceful. Pale. Cold. A silver basin beside the bed held half a dozen wilted lilies.

“Fool,” he whispered, voice raw. “You foolish woman.”

His hand hovered near yours but didn’t touch it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve told me.”

His voice cracked.

“You don’t even know. Do you?” His gaze flicked to your face. “You don’t know how I looked for you in every damned corridor this week. How I kept trying to convince myself you were fine—when I could see you falling apart.”

He stopped. Shook his head.

“Who is it?” he asked you, even though you couldn’t answer. “Who did you fall for that was worth this? Worth dying for?”

Silence.

“I—I wish it were me,” he said, quieter now. “But I told myself that was arrogance. That it was better if it isn't. That if it was someone else, I could live with that.”

He looked at you again, all that control unraveling.

“You should’ve told him,” he said. “Whoever it is. You should’ve said something. Let him choose. Let him try.”

He looked at you like you might wake. Like you might argue. But you stayed still. He finally reached for your hand letting the silence hold for a long time.

He bowed his head and gripped your hand tighter.

“If it were me…” he said, eyes shining with something he hadn’t let out in years, “If it were me… I wouldn’t have turned away.” 

His voice cracked.

“I would’ve kissed you in the staff lounge. I would’ve told you how impossible you make it to concentrate in meetings. I would’ve stopped pretending I didn’t feel everything you made me feel.”

He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper now, breaking under the weight of it.

“I love you. I love you and I should have said it weeks ago. Months. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I’m sorry I let you carry this alone.“

He exhaled, trembling. Pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes.

“I’m not a good man,” he said quietly. “But I would’ve loved you well.”

No answer.

He looked up again—and something inside him snapped.

“Merlin, please,” he whispered, leaning forward. “Don’t leave me, just give me something. Anything.”

Your chest stilled.

He leaned closer. Panic setting deep into his bones.

“You can’t do this!” he said. “You don’t get to carry all of this and die with it. You don’t get to choose silence over life.”

No breath. No movement.

“Come back,” he begged. “Even if it’s not me. Even if you wake up and say someone else’s name.”

He touched your cheek, gently. Cold.

“I’ll find them for you. I’ll give you the chance to tell them. I’ll—”

His voice broke and a sob forced its way out of his chest. 

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, fingers gripping the blanket as if he could anchor you to the world through sheer force of will. His forehead pressed to the back of your cold hand.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

The words slipped out like a prayer, like a curse. His grip tightened. holding on with everything he had left.

“You can’t—” His voice cracked. “Don’t go without ever knowing how much you mean to me. Without letting me say it sooner. I was too slow. I always am.”

He bent lower, shoulders trembling now, as if years of restraint had collapsed under the weight of one final loss.

His hands slid from the blanket to your arm, wrapping gently, pulling you closer like he could will warmth back into you.

“Don’t do this,” he begged, voice splintering. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me with this. Wondering what it could’ve been.”

His head bowed low beside yours.

“I would’ve loved you,” he whispered. “I do. I love you. Please wake up so I can tell you. You still deserve to hear it. You deserve to know.”

His body shook with the effort of holding everything in — the grief, the guilt, the sheer terror of knowing what it meant if you didn’t come back.

“I can’t lose you,” he said again, broken. “Please, just stay. Just—stay.”

Silence.

And then—

A sound. Soft. Barely audible.

A breath.

At first, he didn’t realize what it was. He was too deep in the ache of it, too lost in the grief pressing hard into his ribs. But then you inhaled again—sharper, steadier—and his head snapped up.

Your chest moved. Your lips parted in a weak gasp.

Severus froze.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just watched, terrified that if he blinked, it would stop again.

Then your head turned ever so slightly, your brow furrowing like you were trying to pull yourself out of something deep, something dark.

And then—

“…Severus?”

Barely audible. More breath than voice. Fragile.

He flinched like he’d been struck.

His eyes met yours—just barely open, hazy, searching—and all the breath he’d held for what felt like a lifetime left him in one broken exhale.

“Don’t ever…” he whispered. His voice cracked. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You blinked slowly, confused. “What… happened?”

He choked on a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. One hand rose to your cheek, thumb trembling against your skin like he didn’t quite trust you were real.

“You nearly died,” he said. “You—Merlin, I thought it’s too late.”

You tried to breathe again — slower this time, steadier. Your lungs ached, but the pain was different now. Less sharp. Like the roots had loosened.

Your voice came soft, fractured. “You were here?”

“I didn’t leave,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t.”

You looked at him, at the way his hand shook in yours, at the tears he didn’t bother to hide. And then—something clicked.

“I’m awake,” you murmured, the words more breath than voice, “and I’m breathing… and you’re here…”

You stared at him, the weight of it landing all at once.

“You love me,” you whispered, like the words didn’t feel real until they left your mouth. „You love me back…“

He just looked at you stunned. Wide-eyed and then he realized.

His breath caught. His eyes flicked down to your lips, to the edge of the basin beside the bed still holding the last of the flowers.

“It was me…” he echoed, barely able to get the words out. “You were dying… for me?”

You didn’t answer.

More tears fell from his eyes and his voice cracked open completely.

“All this time,” he whispered. “You were in love with...me?”

You gave a small nod, and the movement alone nearly broke him.

He looked away, ashamed. “I told myself it would never be me wondering who...”

He turned back to you, devastation softening into wonder.

“And all I kept wishing was that it was me… so that when I said ‘I love you,’ it might save you.”

“you did” you said.

Those two words undid him.

He leaned in and kissed you.

No hesitation. No regret.

It was shaky. Gentle. Real.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead to yours. His voice trembled.

“I love you,” he said again, like a promise. “I’m here. My love. All of it. It’s always been yours. I promise I will never stop saying it.”

You exhaled against him. Eyes closing. Chest steady.

And this time, when you breathed there were no petals. No flowers.

Only air.

And him.

And love, finally spoken.

—

You didn’t remember falling asleep again, only waking to the soft sound of a chair creaking and the unmistakable scent of something herbal — not medicinal, but familiar.

The sun had sunk low, painting golden lines across the stone floor, and the castle had grown quiet in the way it only did after something awful had passed — like the whole place was exhaling.

You lay curled under the blanket that smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment, every part of your body still sore. But not in pain. Not dying.

Just recovering.

And Severus was beside you.

He hadn’t left. Especially since you’d woken.

He sat sideways in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand still holding yours like he hadn’t decided yet whether or not to let go. Like he might wake up and find you gone again.

You turned your head slowly toward him. “You’re still here.”

He looked down at you. “Obviously.”

“Have you slept?”

“No.”

“Eaten?”

“Not hungry.”

You gave him a look. He gave you one right back.

“I nearly lost you,” he said simply, like that explained everything. And it did.

You stared at him for a long moment, thumb brushing against his fingers.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear you say it,” you whispered. “That you love me.”

He swallowed. His voice dropped low.

“I said it to you after...I regretted not telling you sooner”

“I know.” Your smile was small. Real. “I think… part of me heard you.”

He didn’t say anything — just watched you for a moment like you were something fragile and sacred all at once. Then, cautiously, he stood and leaned forward to sit beside you on the edge of the bed.

Your hand didn’t leave his.

“I would’ve said it sooner,” he murmured, “but I was too bloody terrified.”

You turned your face slightly into his palm. “Of what?”

“Of believing you could never love me back,” he said. “And of what it would do to me if you didn't”

You were quiet, and then: “I know that fear.”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “You nearly died with it in your chest.”

“And you brought me back.”

“That was your doing,” he said. “I only… answered.”

You shifted slightly, enough to lean into him. He let you, slowly lowering himself beside you until you were tucked against his chest. His arms moved around you with careful precision — like he wasn’t sure where you were still breakable.

“You’re allowed to hold me like I’m real,” you said.

He exhaled a breath against your hair. “You are.”

That night, you fell asleep in his arms.

No more silence kept between you.

No more secrets blooming beneath your ribs.

And in the hush between heartbeats, where breath once failed—

Love lived instead.

[enbysiriusblack]

I don't know if you've answered this before but what jobs do you think the marauders would have if there wasn't a war

i feel like i have answered this before but oh well, imma give several options i can see

james:

stay at home dad

kids teacher (like yknow wizarding world has no primary school so for parents that work, they'd drop the kids to james who teaches them basic magical theory/maths/english/etc)

quidditch player

quidditch coach

transfiguration professor (tho this would have to be like after mcgonagall becomes the head)

sirius:

mechanic (for both muggles & wizards)

care of magical creatures professor

unemployed & just does random shit that he feels like (mostly hanging out with james)

unspeakable

dueller

remus:

defence against the dark arts professor (a given)

historian

boggart specialist

farmer (i just love farmer remus, okay)

peter:

unspeakable (i think it'd be funny)

barkeeper

executioner

obliviator

lily:

mediwitch

physician

potions professor

potioneer

(ik those are fairly similar but i like her in medical fields or potions fields)

[sitp-recs]

hello!! i love your recs so so much, and i finally have something to ask. what about fics where harry is very good at something beyond just having powerful magic (love that trope tho) like commanding a classroom, solving a complicated puzzle, or idk even whittling. and draco notices and likes it? like competence kink. thank you!!

Oh I love this ask! Such a great concept, and not something I see often (competent Auror Harry is pretty popular though!). I’m sure I’m forgetting a bunch of fics and might add more later, but these are all great:

In Which Harry is Magnetic North and Draco Is An Idiot by bryoneybrynn (T, 13k)

For as long as he can remember, Draco’s been bringing fake dates to his family’s annual Yuletide celebration in order to evade his mother’s matchmaking. This year, Potter’s posing as his pretend boyfriend. But as the party gets underway, it gets unclear who’s playing who, who’s pretending what, who’s not pretending at all, and what the game really is. Confused? Yeah, so is Draco…

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

This is Never Happening Again by hpleems (M, 32k)

“Potter,” Malfoy said, shaking his head. “Do I look like I care about your holiday plans? Trust me: this is *never* happening again.”

Meet Me at Midnight by thestarryknight (T, 57k)

Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse. That is, until he stumbles upon the surreal and beautiful world of a mysterious fae creature…

A Room Up There (And You In It) by thestarryknight (T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit. Featuring a grumpy antiques lover who most certainly did not sign up for this, encounters with a vengeful apparition, and a healthy application of Christmas spirit.

Among Ancient Pines by Theartfulldodger (M, 74k)

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska. Years of hard work have culminated in an opportunity to work with an experimental wandmaker to study the intersection of Healing and wand theory.

Azoth by zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) 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.

[theflikchic]

I really hate that whenever the HP fandom discusses Snape as Neville's boggart, they just rehash the same debate of "Is Snape being Neville's Boggart fucked up or not?" instead of (with everything we now know about JKR) discussing: "What are the implications of Lupin being framed as a good guy by having everyone laugh at a man in a dress because haha men don't wear dresses and especially not THIS man how silly to help a student get over his fear when they all wear robes anyway?"

Because THAT has taken over my brain and despite all the takes that make Harry Potter sound like a hate manifesto and some theories about what MIGHT be transphobia in those books, I'm not seeing ANYONE talk about this (probably because it has to do with Snape).

Genuinely, I think this is the discussion about that scene we as a fandom should be having and we're not.

And this is not meant to be like a "defense of Snape". I'm thinking in the narrative and in real-life: Lupin decided to help Neville get over a reasonable fear by making that fear- a man who bullies him- funny and to make that fear funny, he instructs Neville to crossdress it which is framed as funny by the narrative because "men don't wear dresses" when what Neville's grandmother wears is already very similar to what MOST wizards are shown wearing- the only difference being that she is a woman.

Like, is this not weird to anyone else- especially with what JKR's been spewing. I really find this interesting and I barely see ANYONE talking about it. What are the implications?

[dufferpuffer]

~~ Looking at Lycanthropy ~~

~~ the Werewolves of the Wizarding World ~~

Vers. 1 I've tried to collect every relevant description of Lycanthropy or Werewolves in the books, to get a clear understanding of what this condition is, what it does, how it works and how it is seen. There are also some of my own thoughts and theories in here - I'll try to make it clear what is my own thoughts and what is canon.

If I have missed anything please mention it. I'd like this to be a thorough exploration of the topic. I will edit the posts.

Part 1: Physical Symptoms of Lycanthropy Part 2: Social Perception of Werewolves Part 3: Regarding the 'Full Moon'... (^In which I claim POA's transformation didn't happen on the Full Moon^) Part 4: Long-Term Lycanthropy: The Case of Fenrir Greyback Part 5: Wolfsbane vs Wolf - Theories of Treatments Part 6: Pottermore and More Part 7: Collected Summary

Note: Prisoner of Azkaban used is the Australian paperback from 2000. I typed out every quote by hand, it sucked ass. Order of the Pheonix, Half Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows were all from internet sources of American versions so I could copy and paste.

Other 'Meta'

How Powerful is Albus Dumbledore Dumbledore Was Never Mean to Tom Riddle (Part 1)

How friendly were Sirius and Remus? (1971 - 1981) (part 1...?)

Meta I wanna do so I don't forget: - Alastor Moody character study - Centaur - Vampires/Vampirism - Pre-Statue of Secrecy Wizarding World - What the fuck were you doing in book 1, Albus? - Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions - Boggarts, Dementors, Poltergeists... and more...? - Arthur Weasley character study (the best character in the books) - Snape vs Lupin's teaching styles

[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

do you have any thoughts on how the hogwarts student body perceived remus during his time as professor? ( i've been reading poa again and am unsure whether him being a great teacher or a mysteriously sick weirdo was more important to students. after all hermoine seemed to be the only one who cared enough to figure him out. do you think anyone had a teachers crush on him?)

btw i love your blog!

AHH I LOVE U SKJDSFSL

umm i tried reading through some parts w remus in them but that was taking. so long SO this is from memory i think.

okay so i think everyone did like him a lot, i wish we saw how older students interacted w him like 6th/seventh years bc they'd be a lot chiller and less fanboy/girly but like these third yrs r so cute !! dean def had a crush on him bye, i think if he was a little better looking he'd be on everyone's fuck list but i think a lot of the girls liked him bc what do girls like more than an ugly tall (for a thirteen yo) smart guy yk. but i do imagine a lot of people also didn't like him ??? i think malfoy didn't bc of the snape boggart thing but like idk i think some people'd be like "he's weird"/"he doesn't make us do any theory work"/"he doesn't respect his other teachers" ykyk. but i think these were not popular opinions like i think that year he was a great teach def but i also think he wasn't super duper memorable yk? like he doesn't sit down w individual students (just harry i think?) to understand them and he's very private sooo

the illness thing is so weird bc ????? these kids had astronomy (?) as a subject ??????? like they were doing moon charts did no one realize that he fell sick EVERY SINGLE full moon ?? yeah that's. crazy. so that's why i think a lot of people didn't like him that much ykk. like he was everyone's. second favr teacher. yk? i think the older kids wouldve figured it out but kept it private + i think there were def "rumours" abt his lycanthropy but they got squashed bc ppl were like "no but he's nice!" &also damage control by dumbledore

[maxdibert]

These are the comments you received on the James defense post. I’d love to see your responses to them if you’re interested in answering.

what i don’t understand is how someone defending a 15yo james potter (thus apparently making them a classist which u think is tantamount to death lmao) is better than y’all defending snape? like. how is That not fascism considering mans was a literal DE who agreed w the ideals from a young age and also created torture curses that he used frequently enough to become his ‘signature spell’ and also became an adult who went on to bully literal children from his position of authority (and even becoming a kids boggart as well as actively harming other kids) whereas james was a kid who was a bully and went on to die at the age of 21. snape lived til his mid 30s and never stopped being an asshole. so. being a fascist defender of a racist bigot, how are you throwing stones at classists? also. if you’re talking ‘european cultural context’ pls remember this is not post-industrial britain and is a society of its own separate from the trad class system of the muggle world. money might play a role but so does blood politics and james was considered a ‘blood traitor’ which would’ve been a stroke against him during voldy’ speak war era. snape, on the other end, actively supported and endorsed the rhetoric. that’s just one layer to it. u can’t just juxtapose any theory to any context without considering the difference in that society from the one marx envisioned. that’s just lazy work.

You really talk a lot about class and aristocracy and brag about your experience and education and how much of an intellectual you are, but you still don’t understand that classes in the wizarding world are not the same as classes in our world. You use big words, brag about your experience, and clearly assert your moral and intellectual superiority over others, yet you don’t understand the meaning of “eat the rich”, the concept of class, the accumulation of capital, or even what capital and the means of production are. Or, most likely, you understand, but you just manipulate with these words to defend Snape thinking that no one can see it.(If you want to debate more substantially, I can send you my meta about classes from a Marxist perspective in the wizarding world. ( though you’ll probably say I don’t have enough neurones to write anything coherent😄)

Regarding the first person, I’ve already talked about this many times, and they’re mixing up concepts. First of all, I don’t understand what adult Severus has to do with James, because the relationship between James and Severus is limited to their teenage years. It makes no sense to bring adult Severus into the debate because we’re not talking about that Severus. We’re talking about the teenager in a teenage context with a teenage bully.

And, even so, if we were to talk about the adult, we could discuss how the violence inflicted by James Potter probably influenced his character as he grew up, precisely because it left him with a host of unresolved traumas. These include an inability to manage his emotions or deal with stressful situations as a functional adult, due to a significant developmental delay directly tied to his experiences at school and the importance he still places on them as an adult.

In any case, that’s beside the point. On the other hand, these people seem to be willfully obtuse. Rowling didn’t create a world out of nowhere; her world is the British Wizarding World, and throughout the series, she uses analogies for real-world political and social issues (like discrimination against Muggle-borns, which is supposed to be an analogy for racism but comes off as ridiculous, or Voldemort being a sort of Hitler figure but not even reaching the level of a nationalist terrorist party leader, or the werewolves being a disrespectful metaphor for HIV victims). So, it’s based on the real society she lived in, which is specifically post-Thatcherite Britain. For these people to claim that Severus was some kind of fascist racist and then have the audacity to deny that Rowling’s world is connected to the real world—when it’s closely based on real-world social dynamics and constantly shaped by her bourgeois, reactionary perspective—is as contradictory as it is ridiculous and even shameful.

And I’m sorry, but class is something that permeates everything. Class is the trunk of the social structure from which other branches of intersecting social issues emerge. Homophobia is also tied to class; feminism is tied to class; racism is tied to class. All the problems and axes of discrimination in our society have a class-based foundation because the social pillars on which it is built were based on class castes that date back to pre-Medieval societies. The Roman Empire was a class society; ancient Egypt was a class society. Our cultural references are strictly linked to class. Ignoring this and claiming that Rowling somehow created a completely isolated bubble uninfluenced by the politics of a world closely modeled after ours, and with issues she constantly alludes to in her work, is basically not understanding a thing, having the reading comprehension of a monkey on amphetamines, or simply refusing to acknowledge the obvious to avoid re-examining personal prejudices or deconstructing their neoliberal perspective.

As for the second message... Yes, I mean, I would tell them that not only am I an intellectual, but I also studied Law + Political Science, have two master's degrees, and have worked in unions. So, it’s not a matter of what I think; it’s that I literally have qualifications in this. I’m a criminal lawyer and political scientist. It’s not like I’m drawing my conclusions from a handful of Tumblr posts I came across.

They’re telling me I don’t understand the concept of means of production or capital accumulation to defend a character who literally lived off the wealth of his ancestors and used that economic and social capital (because there are various types of capital) to maintain a position of power over others during his school years. A character who, precisely because of his accumulated capital, managed to sit at the top of the social hierarchy without lifting a finger and who had nothing to lose by acting like a tyrant because he had an economic and familial safety net (another type of capital) to fall back on. All this while the character he attacked was on the opposite side: working-class, with no resources or financial support, and zero accumulated or generated capital.

I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about, and it seems quite incoherent to start posturing as a Marxist intellectual while defending abuses of power by the magical equivalent of an aristocrat against someone from the working class. And I’m sorry, but the social structure of the wizarding world functions exactly like the social structure of any society that still maintains class-based castes rooted in aristocracy. Pure-bloods are basically nobles, aristocrats, members of families with great lineages—they’re essentially lords. It doesn’t take much insight to find the parallel, nor does it require much knowledge of British culture; just a glance at how modern European monarchies work makes it evident.

But anyway, what do you want me to say? They can bring whatever meta they want, but I’m not going to change my opinion. My issue with these people is basically this: one knows what their strengths are, and I’m not pretending to be an intellectual or acting like I know it all. It’s just that I literally have experience in activism, paid work, and university-level studies (master’s level) on these topics.

I’m not going to share my opinions about physics, theories on how spells or magic might work, or whether certain things are plausible from a logical point of view because I don’t have the faintest idea about those things. I don’t know math, I don’t know physics or chemistry, and I don’t know engineering. I’m an absolute illiterate when it comes to equations. But I’m not when it comes to political theory. I’ve earned honors in political theory.

So, as you can understand, these people are hardly going to change the mind of someone who not only has expertise but also has a damn university degree. And frankly, I don’t think degrees are everything, but aside from that, I’ve spent 10 years actively participating in Marxist union activism, leading the university union, and I also worked for a year in the field of labor law after finishing my degree. So, I don’t know—they can say whatever they want, but I don’t care.

[amethystandemma]

Hadlee Euphoric

divider by accio-bagel!

Hadlee Cassandra Euphoric (1977-) is a witch who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the late 20th century. She is able to see glimpses of the future VIA dreams or from physical contact.

She grew up as the only child of Azan Euphoric and Lavina Scamander. Even though she did always want a younger sibling, she was content with her life with her parents and very large family. Some of her favorite memories are of the adventures she went on with her grandfather, Newt Scamander.

When she was seven, she had a repeated nightmare of her mother being blown to bits while at work as a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. Hadlee ended up making herself sick with worry, which caused her mother to stay home from work to care for her. That very same day, there was a large explosion at the bank that resulted in the injury of multiple people.

It was then they knew that Hadlee had inherited her great-grandmother's gift of seeing the future.

In 1989, she started her first year at Hogwarts where she was sorted into Hufflepuff. During the Sorting Ceremony, she brushed hands with Cedric Diggory, and was hit with multiple visions of the future. Their future.

Hadlee tried to fight it at first. She tried to ignore the way his eyes sparkled in the light or the way his hair perfectly framed his face—

She fell for him during her second year.

Luckily for Hadlee, Cedric felt the same way and they started dating at the beginning of their fourth year. Happily ever after for them! Haha just kidding.

During Hadlee's sixth year, she started to have horrifying visions of Cedric dying while competing in the Triwizard Tournament. While trying to figure out what all was happening with her abilities, Barty Crouch Jr. (disguised as Alastor Moody) was trying to kill her so she wouldn't ruin his plans.

On June 24th, 1995, Hadlee went to Barty Crouch Jr. to share with him her theory of the Triwizard Cup being a portkey. She wasn't aware of his role in everything and figured he was there to help.

She was able to hear the commotion of the crowd outside and assumed that she had failed with saving Cedric's life. However, her not being in the crowd prompted Cedric to abandon the task and look for her. She was able to save him.

Biographical Information

Born: October 29th, 1977

Blood Status: half-blood

Marital Status: Married

Nationality: English

Title(s):

Beater

Physical Information

Species: Human

Gender: Female

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Silver

Height: 5'4

Other Distinguishing Features: freckled

Relationship Information

Azan Euphoric (father)

Lavina Scamander (mother)

Cedric Diggory (husband)

Apollo Diggory (son)

Cassandra Diggory (daughter)

Diane Diggory (daughter)

Amos Diggory (father-in-law)

Mother-in-law

William Scamander (uncle, maternal)

Noelani Scamander (cousin, maternal)

Rolf Scamander (cousin, maternal)

Jacob Euphoric (grandfather, paternal)

Zelma Silverthorne (grandmother, paternal)

Newt Scamander (grandfather, maternal)

Evangeline Sallow (grandmother, maternal)

Ominis Gaunt (great-grandfather, paternal)

Rhea Silverthorne (great-grandmother, paternal)

Sebastian Sallow (great-grandfather, maternal)

Althea Moonlace (great-grandmother, maternal)

Helga Hufflepuff (ancestor, maternal)

Salazar Slytherin (ancestor, paternal)

Romance(s): Cedric Diggory (husband)

Magical Characteristics

Boggart: Cedric's dead body

Wand:

-9 3/4 inches

-maple

-unicorn hair core

Patronus: hummingbird

Affiliation

Occupation

Divination professor

House: Hufflepuff

Content

Hadlee Euphoric meets Cedric Diggory (one-shot)

Radiant Glasspetal and the First Quidditch Match (Part 2, cameo)

Times Are Changing (one-shot, cameo)

Gallery

Cedlee comm from giselsann

Hadlee and Nia Nal

[miraclemuncher]

phantasm

001. i know you ain’t a drug

remus lupin જ⁀➴ fem!vampire!oc

summary. Remus Lupin is under the assumption Snape is a drug dealer and his biggest customer is Jubilation Delight

tags/warning. marauders era

notes. i’m tired of wattpad bots so im reposting on here

series masterlist → 2. (do i wanna know?)

sixth year, early autumn

Remus witnessed the trade of contraband on school property. Anyone behind the Fat Lady's portrait would know he's no saint, but this was the chance of a life time: Severus Snape has been continually receiving a few galleons from some girl in exchange for seven vials of a mystery liquid.

This is his fourth time witnessing the exchange, every time it was during Prefect duty for the library. They would meet in the mythical creatures section. At first, Remus found it amusing, Snape harboring some sort of secret lover, but it was far more intriguing than that.

Looking between the gaps of the bookshelves, he saw Snape retract his hand cupping the seven vials just as the girl's outstretched hand reached closer.

Remus could hear, "You're light," from Snape in the faintest whisper. He didn’t know someone could sneer and whisper at the same time until now. Snape was tossing the galleons and sickles in his hands, loudly clinking — taunting her, Remus realized. Snape is so weird! That is no way to treat his supposed lady.

"Come on, Snape. I got Junius paying you triple, don’t. I?" The girl replied.

Junius? The only Junius Remus knew was that adorable second year in Gryffindor, Junius Campbell. Juni's grandmother fell so ill that he had to take several months off school last year. Was he turning to drugs to cope? Not only that, but this girl got him hooked, and Snape clearly had no problem dealing to a child. They might as well be perfect sickos for each other.

"He has lighter doses. You have me making it stronger every month. Slughorn's starting to notice the missing inventory," Snape replied sharply.

From this, Remus deduced that he has been stealing from Professor Slughorn to create these vials. And who knows how many other professors are victim to Snape’s thievery! Sirius, James, and Peter are gonna love the latest installment on their spontaneous Snape Drug Dealer theory bedtime story.

"I'll make it up next week." The girl tried snatching the vials from Snape's hands but he was too fast. He closed his hands into a fist.

"I do not do loans, Delight," Snape said with a bite.

Delight... Who in the world was Delight? Was it some sort of cutie pie nickname and they actually are lovers? Remus would have to ask Sirius later, that boy knew everything about everyone.

"Well how much can I get—" Delight broke off her sentence with a yawn then continued, "with that?" She gestured at the galleons and sickles in his hand.

Snape returned three vials into his inner robes pocket and left four remaining in his hand. They were quickly snatched by the girl and she wasted no time to scurry away.

Snape left shortly after her. Then Remus was relieved of his duties and made his way back to Gryffindor tower to report everything back to his friends: Snape stealing from Slughorn, Snape selling to young Junius because of the mystery girl, and finally placing a name on said mystery girl, Delight.

“Delight..." Sirius repeated, racking his brain for everyone he's ever encountered. Finally, his eyes lit up. "Jubilation Delight! We had Defense with Ravenclaws in third year! We had, er, had that Boggart training."

Remus remembered her now. Her boggart was a werewolf. The form earned shrieks from many of their classmates and then Delight flattened it into a rug after one attempt.

He shot to his feet after recollecting the memory of the blurred face whose worst fear was himself. The same flooding feelings of shame from back then engulfed Remus like it was yesterday.

Without further explanation, Remus stealthily made his way into the second year's dorm. All of them were out like a light. Remus found Junius's bed and carefully opened his bedside drawer. Sure enough, six vials were in a drawstring silk pouch. Holding up one of the vials, he transfigured a loose sickle into an exact clone. Just without the actual potion effects. Remus pocketed the real version and left as quickly as he sneaked in.

Back at his dorm, Remus and all his friends huddled on the floor with the vial in the center, speculating what it could possibly be.

James made a big deal out of taking a sip, slowly inching it towards his parted lips before breaking into shrilling laughter at the last second and pulling it away. He pushed the cork cap back on and tossed it to Peter. Then as if a game of hot potato, they were all tossing it back and forth, screaming when it landed in their grasps. It only stopped once McGonnagall appeared in their fireplace in her fiery form, scolding them and withdrawing House points.

After they were all forced into bed by McGonnagall's scalding scolding, Remus was the only one left awake. He couldn't get Jubilation Delight out of his head.

She was remarkably unmemorable. You'd think Remus would at least remember the face of the girl whose worst fear was himself, but a part of him completely forgot it was her until Sirius' reminder. Who exactly is Jubilation Delight and where has she been this entire time?

[hazyange1s]

MC: Ronan Sharp

Basics

Full name: Ronan Finley Sharp

Nickname(s): Ron (pronounced with a hard o), Sharpie, Prince Charming (by Sebastian)

Gender: male

Species: wizard/Selkie

Date of birth: September 21, 1874

Nationality: English and Irish

Blood status: pureblood

Wand: laurel, unicorn hair, 13 in, reasonably pliant

Appearance

Hair color: dark auburn

Hair style: loose, short waves with some curtain fringe

Eye color: hazel

Skin tone: fair; often with a light tan

Height: 6’1”

Body type: lean and toned

Clothing style: wears all colors (but especially loves light neutrals, warm tones, and black), prefers comfortable and unique fabrics (flannel, cashmere, fur)

Accessories:

Wears the Sharp family signet ring

Enjoys the occasional hat

Keeps his mother’s picture in his pocket watch

Other distinguishing features:

Freckles (of course)

Scar over his right eye (tried to Apparate at thirteen and splinched himself — still has poor vision in that eye)

Personality

Traits: friendly, enthusiastic, fun-loving, clever, sarcastic, perfectionistic, bossy

Likes: shakespeare, comfort food, medicine/biology, fall, making people laugh, generosity, genuineness

Dislikes: superiority complexes, dishonesty (from himself and others), large birds, flakes

Hobbies: chess, healing, charm creation, archery

Fears: the BIRDS man, abandonment, not being good enough

MBTI: ENFJ-A

Enneagram: 2w3 (268) so/sp

Zodiac: virgo sun, cancer moon, sagittarius rising

Temperament: sanguine

Archetype: the Caregiver

Similar characters: Apollo, Cedric Diggory, Richard Gansey, Lily Potter, Padme Amidala, Derek Shepherd

Family/Friends

Father: Aesop Sharp

Potions master and Slytherin alumnus

Stern with high expectations but well-meaning

Married his step mother when Ronan was five

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

Pureblood

Dragonologist, Gryffindor alumnus

Killed when Ronan was 15 — he never got to meet her

Sibling: Raegan DesRosiers

Half-blood (same mother, different father)

Technically twins — Ronan was conceived and born first, but they shared a womb for 7 months

Gryffindor

Don’t meet properly until their sixth year

Pet: Apollo (tawny owl)

Received after his Hogwarts letter

Sort of the “communal owl” that all of his friends “borrow”

Gets into fights with the other owls oops

Friends: Poppy Sweeting, Diana Blackwine, Arthur Plumley, Adelaide Oaks, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Leander Prewett, Natsai Onai

Magic

Boggart: ostrich (lame)

Patronus: seal

Polyjuice: turns light green and tastes like fennel

Amortentia: lemon, butter, sage, frankincense

Special abilities:

Selkie blood — passed down from his father’s side and dilute enough to present rarely in a bloodline. Allows him to hold his breath underwater for extended periods of time; great swimmer, affinity for sea-dwelling creatures

Does not possess ancient magic

Exceptional and instinctual Healer

Backstory

Ronan was born in Cambridge, England in secret. His mother Kassady had hidden him from her abusive husband — as well as the fact that he was the product of a love affair with her former suitor; Aesop. Ronan grew up not knowing his birth mother (or the fact that he had a half/twin sister); raised by his father until Sharp married when his son was five.

He had a relatively happy childhood, though Ronan always felt slightly out of place. He was not the overly studious, serious type, which caused misunderstandings between him and his strict father… especially when Ronan is sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin (the Sharp family’s ancestral House).

But as he grows and learns more about his past and his family, he begins to come into his own as he becomes a Charms prodigy and a guiding light for the next generation of Keepers 😉.

Academics 

Best Subject: Charms, Magical Theory

Worst subject: Ancient Runes

Favorite teacher: Ronen and Kogawa

Least favorite teacher: Sharp (he’s harder on him than the rest oop)

As a student:

Very popular and personable; gets along with pretty much everyone (but isn’t a pushover)

His dyslexia causes him some trouble. Overall his intelligence and hard work helps him find ways around it

Mischievous — sort of a “thief in the night” that nobody suspects

Future

Career: Mediwizard

Ronan desires to make something of himself; to make a difference and be somebody useful in society. After seeing the impact that the goblin rebellion had on people and watching his sister/friends struggle with all manner of ailments (both mental and physical), he changes his career path from an Auror to Mediwizard.

He’d always had an interest in biology and medicine. The job allows him to dive deeper into those fascinations while giving him the adventure and variety Ronan secretly craves — he winds up traveling around Europe after Hogwarts under the employment of St. Mungo’s. Specializes in curses and mental illness.

Future spouse: undecided for now (side note: I’m always open to MCxMC ships! Ronan is pansexual so we’re not picky 😂)

[keepmeinmind-01]

[my opinion/headcanon/theory]

i feel like Leta’s confession was both to save credence and primarily for newt. when newt and leta were young, while they connected with one another deeply and newt saw Leta’s boggart (and maybe knew her brother was dead, but didn’t know why), leta was a little in awe and terrified of newt’s non-judgemental nature when she was still dealing with her guilt so young. and so held onto the secret about her “killing” Corvus to avoid him changing his mind and abandoning her (what she believed would happen, because he was the first person who saw her as more than the disgraced lestrange girl).

so, at the start: it’s well-known corvus is missing. no one knows what actually happened. newt knows leta is traumatised by her baby brother, but not the precise reasons why, and not that she killed him. that’s why, when Albus tells Newt the rumours from the prophecy, Newt says “not Leta’s brother?”. he doesn’t say outright corvus is dead, because he doesn’t know — Corvus is missing.

then, she met and got engaged to theseus, told him about corvus, discussed the records etc. I think she told Theseus that Corvus was dead and Theseus believed her, but maybe had some doubt just as Newt did given the rumours the second time round — only Theseus seems to trust Leta and the records and agrees with her to leave it. I also like to imagine Theseus and Leta discussed her feelings about corvus and her guilt just because of them also being close and preparing for a future together.

at this point, I think she was still terrified of newt finding out because she and newt never seemed to really reconnect after the expulsion, and she was still trapped in the view that newt is “too good” and she’s a monster.

because, at this point: the prophecy’s rumours mean that the wixen world suspects corvus lestrange is back, to fulfil the prophecy, and this puts pressure on leta, because she knows corvus is definitely dead.

which is why she goes to destroy the records in the archives, where she runs into newt and tina (the records that she and theseus knew proved her brother’s death as Corvus, while the majority of the other characters are under the impression that Corvus lives, due to the rumours about the prophecy).

theseus knows about the records and knows they prove corvus’s death, but newt and tina are looking for the records under leta’s name at the same time leta is, because they don’t know, yet.

so i think, for her to have to confess on the spot to save credence’s life, and for newt to finally learn of it and immediately absolve it, would have been a huge relief for her. i feel like that was the secret eating her through the whole movie given her brother was apparently “alive” according to the prophecy — why she goes to the desk and reflects on the initials then immediately talks with albus about sibling death and forgiveness. and her mini character arc in going from trying to destroy her past to confronting it to the people who know nothing about it. instead of it being about an old crush on newt, I feel like it all came back to her guilt and secret and newt’s relationship with that over time in a relationship that had sort of frozen in their school years due to estrangement.

that’s why it built up to — “you’re too good, Newt. you never met a monster you couldn’t love.” it would be melodramatic and unnecessary for her to say that if Newt already knew. I think it’s meant to be a transition from Newt shutting her out at the start (“I don’t remember that”) to this moment of vulnerability, because that’s what sums up their entire dynamic and that’s why Leta looks straight at Newt/Newt is the first to talk, even though lives are literally being threatened in the room.

that’s why Albus essentially tells leta confession is a burden lifted. after she’s looking at the desk with her and newt’s initials. she doesn’t care that much about anyone in the room’s opinion other than newt’s. she needed to confess to newt.

because given the prophecy and rumours and her boggart, Newt knew she had a brother who could have been dead or alive, but this is the final reveal, and that’s why this scene has any point at all for the movie. if it was just a general plot reveal, it changes literally nothing for the plot — but when it becomes Leta’s confession to everyone including Newt, it explains her entire life in a way, and makes her sacrifice (not that I liked it) a gentle culmination of her facing her own guilt and fears.

[also — one interesting thing about these movies I like to believe — Tina, Newt, Theseus (although initially wanting to follow ministry protocol and capture/kill Credence, letting Newt go to chase Credence and warning him the Ministry is watching him), and Leta all contribute in their own ways in rebelling against narratives and expectations and form a part of the attempt to save Credence]

[also, I know Theseus isn’t confirmed to know that Corvus was “killed” by Leta, but I like to believe he does. to me, it just makes sense with how I headcanon thesleta, and how Leta would feel in that relationship, and how it would be different to her relationship with newt and therefore contextualise the “I love you” to them both, giving her a few more layers. I think the “you’re too good” to Newt suggested something.]

[cruelfeline]

I came across this broken-down cart by the side of the road, a single skeleton resting alongside. Upon first glance, it seemed fairly unremarkable, but a moment later I was attacked by a boggart. Which isn't interesting on its own - boggarts are a relatively common form of Breakborn.

What was interesting is that there was only one. One boggart, no others. Which is odd: they normally mill about in a group. This one was all by its lonesome, seemingly associated with this broken cart and its skeleton.

Which made me think. My preferred theory is that the boggarts were once human children. Makes sense, given their small size, propensity for throwing pebbles as an attack, and tendency to group up.

Seeing one boggart on its own, seemingly keeping close to this cart with its skeleton... it makes me think about a parent and child evacuating Avoalet together. Only for the parent to die, for whatever reason. While the child corrupts and becomes a boggart. But said boggart may still retain just a sliver of what made it a person, and that sliver compels it to remain with its dead parent.

There's also a little patch of shore violets nearby. And the bit of loot Frey can pick up from the cart is a single shore violet.

Makes me imagine this little once-child boggart straying only far enough from its former parent to pick them a flower. For reasons it can no longer understand.

...anyway, Athia! Super cheerful place!

:|

[otakufimi]

Re-watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. My thoughts:

In the train, the dementors attack more than one compartment surely, so imagine Remus giving chocolate to each compartment on his way to talk to the driver.

Also, Remus gives Harry chocolate after the Dementors attack because chocolate is known to increase serotonin, and serotonin is known to be the "happiness hormone".

In the professor's table Snape and Lupin sat next to each other, imagine Remus trying to be civil and Snape not having it. (Is that why he enjoys so much seeing Snape in drag, you know in the boggarts class, because he tried to put the past behind but Snape is still in the past?)

When Harry is learning the Patronus charm, Remus uses a boggart as a Dementor. If it's a boggart, why does it have the "powers" of a Dementor??

Harry fearing fear itself + people with anxiety fearing fear itself (I studied this)= Harry has anxiety

There are so many wordless and wandless spells in this movie, especially from Remus.

I know there's the theory that Fred and George saw Peter sleeping with Ron on the map, but, what if they never saw him because they only check out on their siblings (especifically the little ones, Ron and Ginny) if something happened to them. Like when Ginny when misssing, because she was trapped in the Chamber of Secrets.

The first thing that Remus does when he transforms is call his pack (Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail), but they don't come. What if he approached Harry because he saw him as pack? What if he attacked Snape because he saw him "trying to hurt" Harry, his pack?

[sitp-recs]

Do you fics that portray Harry as academic/"book smart" or that are not focused on Harry being a man of action/ physically powerful wizard? I crave a trope reversal :)

Hi anon! Ohhh that’s a great one, I’d love to see more academic/researcher Harry in fic. I got a couple recs for you, you might also enjoy my rec list with odd jobs :)

Forget Our Heritage by dwell_the_brave (T, 16k)

When Harry Potter returns to England to take the All Souls Fellowship Examinations, the last person he expects to see in Oxford is Draco Malfoy. After all these years, has Malfoy truly changed?

Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 30k)

Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.

The Unplottable Time Conundrum by @writcraft (E, 45k)

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska. Years of hard work have culminated in an opportunity to work with an experimental wandmaker to study the intersection of Healing and wand theory. When Draco arrives, he doesn't find the wandmaker, but does find his apprentice, who happens to have ridiculously messy hair, a lightning bolt scar, and a definitely-not-charming smile.

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

[irrevocablecondition]

🤍: Which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think? (would love to hear your thoughts)

ask game

oh we knowwww what i'm about to say. we know i'm about to put on my snape hat right now. we know how i feel about severus, i'm a broken record at this point.

"we need more complex characte-" YOU CAN'T EVEN HANDLE SNAPE 😖😖

and like yes !! he's an ass. he bullies children, he's neville's boggart (though i do actually fw the idea that that's less snape, more figures of authority and not wanting to be inferior? wanting to prove his worth and make his parents proud but snape is a very strict teacher that makes him doubt that but i digress) like yes !! he's an ass but that's the POINT.

i love that he deflects and is still not perfect. it would have been boring for him to deflect and be perfect. the whole point of his character is to show that you can never truly tell what side someone is on just by how they act.

he's instrumental to the war, he risks his life every day by being a double agent, he plays his part so fucking well and i just love him. i stand by my cancelled wife she did all of it but i stand by her. and the theory that he hadn't killed anyone else? "what about mine?" what about HIS soul? what about HIS sould that is still yet to be changed if he kills albus? what about his soul that is still yet untarnished by the killing curse? what about HIS. the idea that dumbledore is his first kill is everything to me.

i've yapped about him so much but ugh. like ofc he joins them??? not to forgive him or anything but OF COURSE. he's abused by a muggle and his magical mum "does nothing" (she's abused too but he's a child ofc he thinks this way), he's told he belongs in slytherin when besides lily he's never had a sense of belonging before, and then he's fed this rhetoric that muggles infiltrate their society and ruin it and he's thinking of his mum standing by and UGH. ofc he does 😖

and a lot of his actions? like yes he's an ass but ong he's living a double life. and whilst i don't think that excuses anything, i can grant him a bit of understanding when it comes to how harsh he is. he's crafted this persona for years, he can't let it crack at hogwarts. he can't risk it. he has no reason to really now that lily's gone, the one person whose opinion he valued. he'd be a shite spy if he was nice to everyone then rocked up the DE meetings, he physically can't change whether that's because of a lack of motivation to or because of his role

he's an ass but he's not evil. he's the epitome of a morally grey character and i do not trust snaters with anything. free my man from the narrative. and also fanon regulus is just snape in a pretty package SORRYYYY

which actually,,, makes sense. because we see the bad things snape does but we don't see the bad things regulus does. so it makes sense that we're more willing to delve into regulus and grant him forgiveness but 😖 my mans 😖