#dark albus

[shadowydreamlandwonderland]

Let's be honest, Albus and Gellert ruling the world would have been hot.

[regretismyconstantcompanion]

Tom thought it was going to be hard to carve into bone. It wasn't. First he took to heating up the tip of his blade. Scorching the marks into the ivory. He had already mark out the phrase ahead of time. After of course bleaching the finger bone. The process took some time. After the carving, he rub soot into the words. They shone better in the candle light.

Pour toujours vôtre

Tom took a moment to admire his craftsmanship. Not usually an artist. Had he taken that route, put in the effort, Tom would have been in good company.

Tom place the finger bone in the small tissue line box. Penning the card to go along with it. Hoping Albus would find the gift amusing. More amusing when he finds out who the finger once belong to as well.

Hopefully Albus had a sense of humor. And the other Wizard learn to weld a wand with the other hand. If he had lived his other injurie's.

Surely he had.

Tom sent it off with his owl. All the while smiling. In the mood for bone broth soap all of a sudden.

Albus was quite surprised to receive an owl from Tom. Partially because they were both within Hogwarts grounds and because they had both been careful not to leave a paper trail of their .... involvement. The night at the hotel had been spectacular and while they had been sneaking in moments together, they - in particular Albus - needed to be careful while under Hogwarts roof. A startled laugh spilled from his lips as he opened the box. He knew exactly what it was. A bone. Not an animal bone but a human finger bone to be exact. Whom did it - had it - belonged to? There had been no attacks within Hogwarts grounds - Albus had forbidden Tom from participating in such reckless and dangerous practices at the school but it seemed he had gone beyond these walls and indulged himself. He was caught somewhere between pleased and proud but also displeased at the risks the boy was taking. His foolishness could cost them both, dearly. His index finger stroked over the words carved into the gift. Pour toujours vôtre Yours forever. A powerful statement indeed. Did the boy mean it? Had Tom somehow gone beyond infatuation and playing his cards right and developed feelings for him? He wanted to find out. He needed to find out. Slipping the gift away to keep it from any prying eyes, he went in search of Tom and found him in the library. It was quite, school still on break for another few days so few students were within the castle. That had suited them, it had made it easier to sneak around. "I knew I'd find you here. An hovering so close to the restricted section again." Albus clicked his tongue at him as if to admonish him but he was smiling. "I received your gift. Do I dare ask where you acquired such an unusual present."

[lilithofpenandbook]

Something about Dumbledore being so hard on Snape

Dumbledore being scornful of Snape even when Snape was on his knees

Dumbledore emphasising that Snape made a mistake and must pay for it

Dumbledore who kept reminding Snape of his mistake even when he was grieving Lily

Dumbledore who didn't just let Snape change sides, he needed Snape to change his heart

Dumbledore who made the same mistakes as Snape and has been living in guilt ever since

Dumbledore who realised Snape was following in his footsteps

Dumbledore who may have started out thinking of Snape as cowardly or selfish but soon grew to trust him

Dumbledore who gave Snape half truths because if worst came to worst then Voldemort would have all the information right on his arm

Dumbledore who trusted Snape enough to not lie to him about the fact that he wasn't telling him everything even though he knew Snape resented it

Dumbledore who trusted Snape so much he knew that even if Snape resented him he would not betray him

Dumbledore who left everything he worked for in Snape's hands knowing it would be safe

Dumbledore who asked Snape to be the one to kill him, not just to save Draco's soul but for his own sake

Dumbledore who chose to die but only at the hands of someone he had grown to love

Dumbledore who once saw Snape as a desperate selfish boy that disgusted him

Dumbledore who made Snape his heir

Dumbledore who made Snape his.

[shrimpalbuspotter]

The fact Scorpius and Albus are soulmates in every timeline and even in one's where either one of them don't exist the other is always yearning for something they don't understand

[iamnmbr3]

Me writing meta about Tom Riddle: *checks the book 3 times for accuracy, extrapolates based on the text, clearly denotes things that are just headcanons not specifically supported by evidence*

Albus Dumbledore writing meta about Tom Riddle: lol yeah idk his vibes were just always rancid. no i don't need to "cite my sources" wtf???

[thewitchybookie]

introducing the main characters of my #hogwartsfanfic: ✨the curse of the thunderbird✨ part i

read more on: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55304065/chapters/140299276?fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAabkXCr2E0XWE6AZqNQRB5BPnEhRKd7FIWOgGyyfAmkKBIS9-2lRQfzzujU_aem_o_ciZ2Pg_h_El-eYQyJV5Q%23workskin

[capriddle]

Voldemort is canonically someone who loves to chat. How do we know? With Dumbledore he talks about an old dispute about love, with Barty they probably talked about fathers, with Snape they probably talked about Lily and desire, with Bellatrix they told each other everything. And then again, how many times does Harry talk about superfluous or personal things, like when they were waiting for the Death Eaters in the cemetery? No, Voldemort likes to talk and even gossip.

[regretismyconstantcompanion]

Albus laughed softly as Toms clear disdain. He was such an emotional and needy little thing. It was entertaining to wind him up and relent slightly. "I thought we were much more than friends Tom." Albus knew he sounded so matter of fact. He wouldn't call them friends, although exactly what they were, he wasn't yet entirely sure. Nothing more intimate had happened to them beyond flirtation and a few casual touches. But they certainly weren't friends. "Accidents are a terrible thing indeed. It's much better that those accidents occur beyond the school gates, whether I'm here or not." Albus knew better than to tell the boy not to do something, it would only make him salivate for it even more. He didn't condone cold blooded murder but he could hardly criticise.

@regretismyconstantcompanion​​

Albus remained unfazed by Toms confession. He had already strongly suspected the boy was responsible for the girls death. He wondered if Tom had planned it specifically for when Albus had been away from the school. It had been no secret that he was planning a short trip. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have been so careless as to kill a classmate on school grounds. Surely you wouldn’t have wanted anything to possible tie you to the girls murder.” Albus wouldn’t hesitate to make a move against Tom if he became a problem but for now, it almost amused him as he waited to see what he would do next. “Although it is interesting she was killed so soon after I left for my holiday. If only I was here, I might have been able to prevent it.” Albus ran his eyes over Tom once more. He was such a pretty thing and he was completely aware Tom was trying to seduce him. Perhaps he would let him. “I wouldn’t quite say we were friends.” Albus didn’t pull away from Toms touch, allowing him to explore as he chose to for now. “Support? What would I need to gather support for?” His lips twitched into a small smile.

Tom’s hand drops as if burnt, “Not friends?”

He twists himself way. His thigh brushes a few loose parchment over the edge. Tipping over a jar of ink, thankfully it had its top twist safely on. Tom crosses his arms.  A show of disdain.

“How hurtful.”

His back to Albus.

“Of course, I wasn’t much a friend to that Warren girl.” 

Tom smiled to himself. An unsettling thing. Recalling that night with relish. The steps leading up with his new little beastly friend. 

“Of course that wasn’t personal. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Tom pushes himself off the others desk. Righting his vest and collar, never liking to look unkept.

“Accidents happen, trust it wasn’t a cruel or prolong form of death.” He said, 

[metalomagnetic]

What kind of ✨ toys ✨ would your Voldemort’s partners bring in the bedroom, and what are his reactions?

Ok, so I spent way too long thinking about this.

Bella from Beauty and the Beast sometimes brings rope. Bella from Stop all the Clocks, brings Rodolphus (the world's best service top) 😂 Voldemort is highly receptive in both scenarios.

Tom from Ouroboros doesn't as much as bring a toy, but he transforms the world around them into a toy. I think he likes playing hunter/prey games, with high stakes, chasing each other through some super cursed ruins somewhere. Voldemort thinks this is very childish, but he indulges Tom, and always enjoys a good hunt, especially when his hunter/prey is someone as intelligent and creative as...well, him.

Harry brings himself. He is the toy. He enjoys being at Voldemort's complete mercy. Voldemort will never tire of this, having the bane of his existence submit to him.

Albus brings a chess game. Look, I know that is not technically a sex toy, but they are huge nerds, ok? The games are spectacular, and it stimulates their minds, so they are all hot and bothered by the time it's time for bed. Voldemort is especially bothered if Albus wins the game (and he almost always does). Also, I feel Albus would wear some really colourful lingerie under his robes. Maybe some stockings, too (especially for Lesser Evil Voldemort). Voldemort is 10000% obsessed with Albus (in Meta and in Lesser) so he's up for everything his redheaded man wants. Fawkes wishes he would be blind, and has taken to flying far, far away as soon as the door to the bedroom closes for the day.

Abraxas brings a cock cage. A very expensive, custom made one ( what do you mean he bought it from the filthy muggles? Keep that slander to yourself! Abraxas would never! He *totally* found a wizard that makes sex toys, somewhere in the otherwise very puritanical wizarding world). It has precious gems, and it's made of gold and everything. He thinks he's going to convince/bribe/beg Tom into wearing it. Tom does, and they have sex, and then he puts it on Abraxas, curses it so only Tom can open it, and sends him home to his big Manor and his wife. Good luck trying to explain to your father why you can't get your wife pregnant, Abraxas!

Gellert and Voldemort are into some really crazy stuff. I won't even mention it. Dark artefacts that should most definitely not be used for sex find their way into their bed. Insane spells and potions and whispered plans for world domination.

Sirius brings a leash, of course. It isn't entirely clear who will wear it. Voldemort would accept pretty much anything, because if they're having sex, then that means Sirius can't leave, can he now?

(Sirius from White Bishop will eventually bring some handcuffs, and they both have belts on them at all times, so they're going to be quite busy.)

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

albus severus is the human embodiment of be gay do crime, in this essay I will-

[asexualenjolras]

Thinking about the fact that all Draco Malfoy wanted when growing up was someone to talk to and spend time with, someone that actually cared for him and supported him through school and made him forget about all of the darkness in his life. Draco Malfoy, who wanted something like what Harry Potter had with the golden trio.

He would have found so much peace in finding out that Scorpius found that person on his first day of Hogwarts, in Albus Severus Potter. He found someone to fight the darkness with.

And that's why Draco fought so hard for Albus and Scorpius when Harry said they couldn't be together anymore. Because he knew what it was like to be alone. And he knew Scorpius needed Albus more than anything. And he loved that they'd found each other.

Albus was Scorpius' light in the darkness, and Draco found his life was lighter in the knowledge that they had each other too.

[inkcoveredpoet]

The bastard warrior: Albus York

All images are from Pinterest but the character (Albus York) is from Good Boy Audios on YouTube.

[hxuse-xf-black]

[Pansy, Theo & Draco have been ordered by Voldemort to dig up Dumbledore's grave and retrieve his wand. Blaise is there for moral support] Theo: This is bothering me. Blaise: Well, you are digging up a corpse. Theo: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

[cursedchildsupremacy]

my personal favorite edit i’ve made

[radrattradish]

Palps x Dumbledoor this is my otp

[loevemora]

final | tom riddle

warnings: mentions of blood.

genre: angst.

Tom Riddle strode down the hall. He didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself. He was sure. Always sure of himself. But right now, doubt crept into him, and he did not like it one bit. Go to the dorms. Find the others. There’s a puzzle to be solved somewhere. Just be unobtrusive. Sure, a boy as pale as modest calcite and carrying an almost dead body in his arms wouldn’t be noticed at all. His footsteps scattered to the doors of the Slytherin common room. He remembered what Lestrange had said about witches who overexert their power falling ill or suffering a harsh fatal fate. He felt his robe droop. He looked down to see the blood of Inara’s abdomen seeking into him, weighing his uniform down. He cursed the damned apparition restrictions. He cursed his damned legs. He needed to be fast.

In the fire-lit common room sat Rosier, Nott, Lestrange, Malfoy and Ivanov. At the sound of shuffling, they all turned to the sound. Ivanov gasped at the sight, straightening to a stand.

“Merlin Riddle, what happened?”

The forest served as an escape for Inara. She had made it a habit to sneak into the wooded areas during odd hours of the night when everyone was asleep. This was her lullaby. This was her salvation. She crossed over the barked grounds, her feet light as she trekked and weaved in silence.

The moonlight shone down, illuminating the path for her—it served as mere aesthetic; she could find her way around blindfolded. The gravelled path rolled into a tight lane. The fine curves of the trees walled the passageway, reaching out to the skies. A lake lay in the wake of the path’s opening.

Inara readjusted her wand and stepped gingerly over a decaying rat, the smell causing her to scrunch her nose. Her silken robe billowed faintly, brushing the edge of the wind as she made her way to the corner of the waters. She sat down on the firm earth. She freed the blade that sat obediently in the security of her boot. The night’s light glistened in the reflection of the chrome cutter, and her ears perked at the distant crunch of leaves. He always did follow her.

“Tempting, Riddle, isn’t it?” Inara sat still and looked ahead into the water that mirrored her face. Her eyes, wide and dark, slipped into his green orbs.

“I suppose so.” Riddle unclasped his hands from his back as he strutted forward from the shelter of the shadows. “We might as well indulge it.”

“We?” She gazed up at him. He walked with precision, his posture so elegant she felt like pushing him over, just so he could not seem so close to perfection. She looked back down at her blade. She had almost mastered the lost art of Dark Magic; a feat she was determined to best. That may have been the reason Riddle associated himself with her in the first place. She could see it in his eyes the first time they met. His avaricious eyes practically drank in all of her being once he had discovered her allure to dark magic. Their meeting was inevitable.

“Of course. It’s only fair.” His eyes examined her. The blade in her hand shined arrogantly bright and he found himself wondering where she had found the odd thing.

Inara blew the slightest exhale and gestured to the spot next to her, “Sit.”

Riddle did not like being told what to do, but he found himself sitting anyway.

“This will only sting for a split second,” Inara mumbled, her eyes trained on her blade. In her spot, she turned her body towards Riddle, and sat on her shins. She refused to meet his eye. She needed to focus.

Riddle found himself staring at the witch in front of him. He understood people. He could read people. A skill he had polished and recognised as one of his assets. And if he could not read people, he would trace every line of their minds, whether they allowed him to or not. He did not understand, however, the brick wall that was Inara.

He remembered the day they had met, she was perched on one of the windows along the aisle towards the Slytherin common room. People passed her, never acknowledging her presence, he had almost thought he imagined her. She sat, a leg crossed over another, and traced the lines of her palm with her wand, too entranced in her actions to care for any distractions around her. He found her curious and when she held an unflinching mental barricade against his attempt of legilimency, the curiosity only grew.

“Your head is bleeding.”

“Least of your concerns, Riddle.” Inara reached out for his arm at his side as he sat back on his heels.

Riddle agreed with her. As far as he knew, he did not feel the need to check up on the well-being of anyone. He did not feel. He kept silent when Inara reached for his hand. He kept silent when she sliced his palm. He kept silent when she sliced her palm. Her eyes, wide and dark, identical to her long locks, swayed in the rhythm of the wind, a strand straying in the grips of the blood streak on the side of her head. And when she raised her bloodied hand to rest it on his heart, it took all of him to keep from moving.

She recited an incantation, her eyes spilling into the darkness of his own. His veins stood at a standstill, and he swallowed a hefty breath as his muscles quieted. The air around them swirled near and the crunch of the leaves fell silent. Behind Inara, Riddle could barely make out the red light that hung in the dark edge of the surrounding trees. And when the odd light barreled straight toward him, his reflexes urged him to move. He did not, of course.

Inara’s incantations fell silent, and the happenings of the trees returned back to normal. Riddle tensed and welcomed the newfound weight of magic he felt surging throughout his body. Dark magic; beautiful magic; powerful magic. The sight of the witch before him cleared his sight. Her eyes mirrored the magic heaving through him and her lips were slightly parted to heave an exhale. The magic had taken a toll on her.

“Teach me.” It wasn’t so much a plea as it was a demand. Inara did not appreciate his tone.

“Manners, Riddle.”

At Riddle’s silence, Inara raised a brow. “Don’t get shy now.” She could see the vexation in Riddle’s taut jawline. He was dangerous to look at.

Riddle did not beg. He did not plead. Begging and pleading was a practice for lowly mutants, peasants below him. And yet, the witch before him, in all her smugness, was a temptation he did not mind indulging. He would gladly master the art of Dark Magic just to watch the smug ghost of a smile fall from her face. He wanted to reach out and skim the curves of her dark locks. And then what? He shook his head. She was dangerous to look at.

Before he could voice out a response, the blaring red light identical to the one from moments before had returned, hurdling straight towards Inara. The light connected to her body, illuminating the witch. She seemed at ease. Did she expect this? At once, Inara collapsed forward, and Riddle’s arms wrapped around her instinctively.

He was in the Slytherin dorm room; his gaze tense as he watched Inara’s peaceful figure laid straight on the emptied coffee table in front of the fireplace. The group was alert, Ivanov’s eyes were fixed on the witch before her. The knick knacks she had sent the boys to grab were perched on the space beside Inara. Rosier and Nott sat on the fixtures between the bed and the table. Lestrange sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of Inara’s body, Malfoy welcomed the embrace of the couch nearest to the fireplace, and Riddle stood at the back of Ivanov, scrutinising her every move with his unwithering stare.

In the whisper of Ivanov’s lips lay a prayer before she bared the materials into a mortar; a song she had memorised the choreography to—step by step. This had to work. She would die before she let her friend succumb to her injuries. She grazed the line of Inara’s jaw, tipping her head back so she could pour the finalised concoction into her mouth, then resealed her lips shut.

Silence hugged the standstill of the room and everyone in it. The traitorous flames of the fire waved across Inara’s dark lashes. Slowly, the gaping well of blood in her abdomen began to seal; slowly but surely. Ivanov urged Inara to wake; she did not like the idea of post-Inara-death Tom Riddle. The amplification of an already dark and cruel Tom Riddle. The warmth of the fire did not soothe the shudder that rolled through her. She also just wanted her friend back; her stupid almost dead friend—to wake; her most beloved companion in this group of gross smelly boys. She could not bear their putridness all on her own.

Just as Riddle seemed about ready to turn the school building inside out, Inara’s eyes opened. The unified exhale of the entire group cracked through the suspense and ridded the tension of the dramatic moment.

Ivanov pinched the awakened girl, a hand on her heart as she exasperated, “I thought you were gone! Do not ever do that to me again.”

Inara kissed the knuckle of Ivanov’s hand, “Thank you for waking me, dear.”

Ivanov flushed at the sudden confession. “Oh, don’t be so forward, you twat! It’s quite alright.”

“The witch awakens.” Inara turned and faced the blond boy sprawled on the couch. “Next time you feel like dying, do me a favour and hurl yourself off the Ravenclaw Tower.” Inara glowered at the boy, his face and posture proud of his witty remark. Deep down, she knew he was relieved that she had not died; he was in the room was he not? Either way, she was drowsy and the boy was annoying her. She waved a hand towards him, sealing his lips shut. At the action, Malfoy’s brows raised to an all-time high, his face a scowl of frustration at the coerced silence of his precious voice. Low chuckles sounded around the room at the sight before them. Malfoy was going to get Inara back good—real good.

“Good thing you’re up. We have training at dawn.” Lestrange informed her, a warmth in his hardened stare. His body was toned and he built a figure wider than the rest of the boys. His fox eyed stare withered the mere beings of people but he held camaraderie with Inara. With a brief nod of acknowledgement, he stood up and headed to his dorm room.

Sandwiched in the fixtures, Rosier and Nott exchanged glances with one another. Rosier leaned into Nott and whispered something in his ear. With a barely contained giggle, Nott turned to Malfoy and raised his wand adorned hand. He sent a bat-bogey hex his way and did not wait to feel the wrath of Malfoy before he ran out the dorm room, a loud cackle escaping him while bat-infested-nosed-Malfoy attempted to chase him down.

The remaining cohort Rosier and Ivanov both shared a look. That was all it took for them to take their leave. Inara’s brows furrowed and she tilted her head. “Where are you guys going?” Rosier met her gaze and his eyes flickered from her figure to the space behind her. He exited before Inara could say anything else. The door closed behind them and she turned to find Riddle standing above her, his stare ever solid. “Oh.”

Riddle raised a brow. He stood in the shadow of the corner. Lunatic. “Oh?”

“What do you want, Riddle?”

Said boy drank in the assumed state of the witch before him. The ends of her hair, deeply dark, found solace on the top of the table, waving in curls so immaculate, he wanted to reach out and soothe them. Perched on the table, her legs hung off the edge and she stared up at him, apprehension and annoyance swarming behind those inked orbs. He could drown in them.

“What happened back there?” Riddle’s tone was firm, solid rock ingrained into the earth.

She did not feel like talking about it but by the looks of the boy in front of her, she did not really think he bothered about what she felt. With a sigh, she explained, “I overexerted myself. When the surge of my incantation bellowed beneath your muscles, your veins, my magic gained rule over me.”

“How did you know I felt that surge?”

“I know my magic.”

“Inara.”

“It’s Velor to you.”

Riddle uncrossed his arms and strolled over to the stubborn girl on the table, holding her gaze as he sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. With swiftness, he brought forward the alcohol-polished tweezers beside Inara and pulled her wounded hand forward.

“What are you–” Her query was quickly cut off by the stern glare of the boy before her. She watched his actions as he began to pluck the minute pieces of gravel and dirt from her open cut. His focus reigned in on her wound, meticulously extracting the stubborn articles. It stung like hell but she forced down any sort of reaction to the slight discomfort.

His robe sank from a burdened weight; it looked soaked. Her eyes enlarged. She reached her unharmed hand to the silken material. “Is this my doing?” She asked, slightly jarred. She rubbed the soaked robe between her fingers and pulled back, recognising the red of her blood that the fabric had sponged up. Riddle grabbed her wrist, and with a clean corner of his robe, he wiped the crimson remnants from her blood-stained fingers.

He fixed her wounded hand with a bandage and traced the lines of her veins with the point of his finger all the way to her neck pulse. She fixed her jaw, a determined stare she did not want to break under the withering gaze of Tom Riddle. The rounded darkness of his eyes flickered to her lips for the briefest second before resting on her neck where his hand sat; a lone finger pressed to her pulse.

“Yes, dear, this was all your doing,” and at once, he felt the resurgence of an entirely different magic between the fittings of his bloodstream.

The ghost of a grin painted Inara’s face. Tom took her in. With a tilt of her head, she let a smug smile break out into her face, ignoring the blood that chattered against her teeth. She looked crazed. Tom’s brow lifted. If that wasn’t an invitation…

“Well, hell,” Riddle muttered. He closed the distance between them and took Inara’s face in his hands. He moved slowly, deliberately, kept the kiss quiet, the barest brush of lips, giving Inara the chance to pull away if she wanted to, though he didn’t know what he would do if she resisted. But she didn’t. She drew closer.