#emerald witch. ( portrait )

[natalieina]

Emerald Green

The memory of emerald September, of the first timid steps of Autumn, of her gaze, reminiscent of the lake surface. About the serene expanses of mosses and grasses, mysterious paths in the dark forest... September is the abode of tranquility, filled with the cool freshness of forests, where the first sprouts of withering are hidden...

Self-Portrait.

Snake wreath by Tropical Witch Flowers.

Natalie Ina Photography.

August-September 2021.

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[jadeshifting]

🫀 SHIFTMAS

day 10. WHAT’S YOUR DR’S CHRISTMAS CARD LIKE? is it a glossy, glamorous photoshoot with your dr family? a hand-drawn masterpiece that feels personal and sweet? or maybe just a cosy polaroid moment caught by surprise?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

A SLYTHERIN CHRISTMAS PORTRAIT

★⋆. the Slytherin Christmas portrait looks like it was torn straight out of Witch Weekly’s “Most Enviable Holiday Gatherings” spread. draped in emerald velvet, silver brocade, and the occasional pop of enchanted crimson—a calculated nod to the season.

★⋆. — Mattheo and i are front and center, him leaning casually with that signature I-own-the-room smirk, while i lounge with pearls glinting in my hair and a fur-lined cape spilling over my shoulders

★⋆. — Draco stands rigidly regal, one hand tucked into his pocket as if he’s posing for a family tapestry, with Daphne and Astoria flanking him like they’ve got their own holiday scheming brewing.

★⋆. — Pansy strikes a dramatic pose, her mistletoe charm hat perched just-so, while Theo and Blaise exchange subtle grins, looking like they’re plotting the next holiday scandal. Lorenzo’s all rakish elegance, his tie slightly askew and a sprig of enchanted holly pinned to his lapel, while Millicent leans coolly against the grand fireplace, her glittering goblet catching the firelight.

★⋆. the backdrop is pure Malfoy Manor glamour: a towering tree dripping with enchanted silver snow, flickering emerald baubles, and shimmering snakes curling through the branches. green and silver fairy lights cast a soft glow, while the enchanted snowfall swirling behind everyone adds a touch of extra. it’s less of a group portrait and more of a power play, a glossy reminder that no one does Christmas—or confidence—like Slytherins

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[ntoxicatedcherri]

Summary: Sub!Taemin x Dom!Black OFC

Taemin, a human with a deep fascination for the supernatural, willingly offers himself as a blood servant to Desiree, a powerful and enigmatic vampire.

As he surrenders to her intoxicating allure, Taemin discovers a forbidden pleasure in their blood bond and an overwhelming desire for submission. Caught between his humanity and a growing longing to join the vampire world, Taemin faces a harrowing choice that will redefine his existence. "Enthrall" is a haunting and seductive tale of love, power, and the eternal struggle between light and darkness.

This fanfiction contains intense and potentially distressing content. The intended audience is 18+, absolutely no minor allowed. While there are no non-consensual acts depicted, it explores dark themes that may be unsettling for some readers. I advise exercising caution and considering your comfort level before proceeding.

Situations that involve unprotected sex, bloodplay, knife play, dominant/submissive dynamics, violence, supernatural/horror themes, & death are included in this fic.

Please ensure your well-being and mental health while engaging with this fanfiction. Take breaks if needed and reach out to supportive resources if the content becomes overwhelming. Remember, your mental well-being is of utmost importance.

Read at your own discretion.

Chapter One: Desire

The moon hung low over the land of Lunara, its silvery light casting a gentle glow on the stone walls of the manor. The manor's stone facade, weathered through the  centuries yet still imposing, rose proudly against the backdrop of towering oaks.. Ivy clung to the walls, its emerald tendrils weaving an intricate pattern that added to the manor's mystery.

Taemin looked back down at the book he held in hand. The manor was exactly as it was on the page.

The entrance to the manor was grand, framed by two imposing wooden doors bound in iron. Intricate carvings of protective runes and mythical creatures adorned the doors, hinting at the magic that lay within. As Taemin stepped inside, the grandeur of the exterior gave way to the inviting warmth of the interior.

He inhaled the deep, leathery scent of the manor. He flipped the pages of his book to find the image of his desire….

Desiree..

One of the most powerful beings to exist. The only witch to become a vampire and keep her powers.

Taemin shoved the book into his bag that was slung over his shoulder. He couldn’t believe that he was here in her home. He could hear the sounds of the gala coming from down the hall, but Taemin wanted to take his time. He took a deep breath before setting off to explore his surroundings.

The grand foyer was a sight to behold, with a sweeping staircase made of polished mahogany that led to the upper floors. The banister was adorned with delicate carvings of flora and fauna, each detail meticulously crafted. Rich tapestries depict scenes of Desiree’s ancestors and their many accomplishments hang from the walls, their vibrant colors and intricate designs a testament to the family’s proud heritage.

To the right of the foyer, a set of double doors opened into the grand library. This room, with its high, vaulted ceiling, was a masterpiece of opulence and comfort. Deep sapphire blue draperies framed tall, arched windows that allowed streams of moonlight to flood the room, casting a silver glow over everything. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books—ancient tomes and scrolls, alongside more recent volumes—all hinting at the extensive knowledge and magical prowess of Desiree’s family.

Plush sofas and armchairs, upholstered in rich fabrics of emerald green and deep burgundy, were arranged around a grand fireplace. The mantelpiece was adorned with candles and curious artifacts, their origins and purposes known only to Desiree. Above the fireplace hung a grand portrait of Desiree’s mother, her serene expression and regal.

The dining hall, accessible through an arched doorway from the salon, was equally magnificent. A long, dark wood table dominated the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs with intricately carved designs. The walls were adorned with more tapestries, these depicting bountiful feasts and joyous celebrations. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal facets catching the light and casting a sparkling glow over the room.

The manor’s kitchen, though less grandiose, was a warm and inviting space. Copper pots and pans hung from hooks above a large, sturdy wooden table where Desiree often prepared potions and remedies. The scent of herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the warmth from the constantly burning hearth. This was a place of creation and comfort, where magic and the mundane blended seamlessly.

Upstairs, the private quarters were no less impressive. Desiree’s chambers were a sanctuary of tranquility and elegance. The room was dominated by a grand, four-poster bed draped with deep blue and silver linens. A writing desk sat by the window, overlooking the lush gardens below, where Desiree often found inspiration for her spells and potions. The adjoining bathroom was a marvel of luxury, with a large clawfoot tub and an array of fragrant oils and soaps.

Taemin traced the glass bottles with the tips of his fingers. A surge of energy flooded through him. He stepped back out into her chambers and looked out of the window.

Beyond the manor, the gardens were a wonder of their own. Paths of cobblestone wound through beds of rare and magical plants, their vibrant blooms and unusual foliage creating a kaleidoscope of colors and textures. A small, serene pond lay at the heart of the garden, its surface reflecting the moon and stars above, adding to the ethereal beauty of the estate.

The grand ballroom was a spectacle of opulence and grandeur. The ceiling was a high, vaulted expanse, supported by carved wooden beams crafted by master artisans centuries ago. Crystal chandeliers hung low, their prisms scattered light into a million sparkling facets that illuminated the room with a soft, golden glow. The walls were lined with rich, dark mahogany paneling, adorned with antique mirrors framed in gold and silver leaf. These mirrors reflected the light and the movement in the room, adding to the illusion of infinite space.

The floor was a vast expanse of polished marble, veined with delicate patterns of gray and white that shift and shimmer with each step. Luxurious Persian rugs, with intricate patterns in deep reds and blues, were strategically placed to soften the sound of footsteps and provide a touch of warmth to the cold marble.

Everything was just as he imagined and more.

The vampires were dressed in attire of classic elegance. Each outfit was carefully chosen to reflect their status and personality. Their presence exuded an aura of authority and ancient power, their movements graceful and deliberate. Some have pale, almost translucent skin that contrasts sharply with the rich fabrics they wear, while others have a deep, richness to their skin that was only highlighted more by the vibrant colors they wore.

The human attendants, in contrast, were dressed in more subdued, yet elegant, formal wear. They moved efficiently through the crowd, offering platters of gourmet delicacies and glasses of exquisite wine. Their expressions were carefully neutral, but their eyes revealed a mix of awe and apprehension as they served the vampires, who are both revered and feared. 

The food served at the gala is an extravagant array of delicacies, from delicate canapés and foie gras to rich, decadent desserts. Each dish is a work of art, presented with meticulous care and accompanied by rare wines and spirits that were probably as old as the manor itself.

Taemin took a glass from a nearby server and pushed his way through the patrons. He could feel the palpable tension in the air, a mixture of anticipation and the weight of centuries-old power. The soft murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter create a soundtrack added to the atmosphere of controlled chaos and opulence. The energy in the room was electric, charged with the presence of beings who have witnessed centuries of history and are now gathered to witness the audacious offer that Taemin will make.

Amid the swirling colors and the hum of conversation, Taemin’s gaze was drawn to a secluded corner of the ballroom. There, illuminated by a soft, ethereal light, stands Yael. Her presence is magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. She’s the embodiment of otherworldly beauty and power. Her gown, a deep shade of midnight blue with intricate silver embroidery, flows around her like liquid night, and her eyes—crimson and glowing faintly in the dim light—seem to pierce through the very essence of those who dare to look.

Taemin approaches cautiously, his heart racing as he takes in her regal demeanor. Desiree stands alone, her expression a serene mask of composure. The room around her seems to blur into insignificance. As Taemin steps closer, he notices that the air itself seems to shimmer with an almost palpable energy, enhancing the atmosphere of enchantment and danger.

“Are you lost?” Desiree’s voice is a smooth, haunting melody that sends a shiver down Taemin’s spine. Her tone is neither warm nor cold, but carries an undertone of intrigue that immediately puts Taemin on edge.

Taemin swallows hard, gathering his courage. “No, I’m not lost. I came here to find you.”

Desiree raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “And why would you seek me out?”

Taemin takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering despite the intense pressure of her scrutiny. 

“I know who you are, Desiree. I’ve heard stories about your power, your grace. I’ve spent years researching the myths and legends surrounding you. I want to offer myself to you, to become your blood servant.”

A murmur of surprise ripples through the nearby guests, but Desiree’s attention remains solely on Taemin. There’s a moment of silence, during which Taemin can almost feel the weight of her assessment, as if she’s weighing not just his words but the sincerity of his soul.

She steps closer, her gaze fixed on Taemin with an intensity that makes him feel as though she’s looking straight through him. 

“You come here, to this event, and make such an audacious claim. Do you understand what it means to offer yourself in such a manner?”

Taemin nods, his voice steady despite the fluttering in his chest. 

“I do. I’m willing to surrender everything, to give up my will and my freedom. I want to serve you, to be bound to you in every way.”

Desiree’s eyes narrow slightly, a mix of curiosity and amusement flickering across her face. “And what makes you think you’re worthy of such a position?”

Taemin meets her gaze with unwavering resolve. “Because I am committed to this. My desire is not born of mere fascination but of a deep-seated need to connect with something greater, something eternal. I am prepared to prove my worth to you.”

“I have never taken a blood servant. No one has ever proven themselves worthy.” Desiree began to circle Taemin. His pulse quickened at her close proximity to him.

“I know, but I beg you to please allow me to try”

“Beg? You stand in front of me and make claims to ‘beg’?”

Understanding the meaning behind her words, Taemin lowered himself to his knees. He bowed his head in reverence to her.

“Desiree Blackwood, radiant and eternal, I, Lee Taemin, stand before you not as a mere mortal, but as one who has been profoundly touched by the legend of your grace and power. I have wandered through shadows and dreams, seeking the one who embodies the very essence of what I yearn to be. I beg of you, let me be more than I am. Let me serve you not out of mere fascination, but from a deep, unshakable devotion that compels me to surrender all that I am. I offer myself, body and soul, to be your blood servant. I am prepared to sacrifice my freedom, my desires, and my very essence, for the honor of binding my life to yours.

Allow me to be the vessel through which your power flows, to stand as a testament to your eternal might. Grant me the privilege of proving my worth and dedication, that I may walk beside you, in service and in reverence. For in your service, I seek not only to be yours but to find purpose and fulfillment in the sacred bond we would share.”

Desiree’s melodic laugh reached Taemin’s ears. He could feel the warmth creep from his neck to his face. Desiree gently titled Taemin by the chin, so that he was looking deep into her eyes.

“Ah, Taemin, how passionately you lay bare your soul before me. You come to me with such earnestness, like a kitten longing for the warmth of the fire.

But tell me, Kitty, what makes you so certain that you can endure the flame? Many have sought to bask in my light, only to find themselves burned by the very fire they desired. You speak of surrender and sacrifice, yet the path you wish to tread is filled with trials and temptations.

Your plea is enchanting, and your resolve… admirable. Perhaps, I shall grant you a taste of what could be, if you prove yourself worthy. But know this: the journey will be one of both pleasure and pain, and your commitment will be tested in ways you cannot yet fathom.

For now, let us see how well you navigate the shadows and embrace the darkness. Only then will you earn the right to be more than a mere admirer. Show me, Kitty, that you are as steadfast as you are passionate. The flame awaits, and with it, the promise of a bond that could be as sweet as it is perilous.”

Taemin swallowed hard and did his best to hide his nervousness. Her gaze traveled deep down to his soul and sent butterflies to his stomach.

“I hear the challenge you present, and I embrace it with all the fervor of a soul yearning for purpose. I am prepared to face any trial you deem necessary, to endure whatever tests of spirit and will you set before me. My heart is set on proving my worth to you, and I will not fail. 

Guide me through these trials, Desiree, and I will prove myself worthy of the bond we could share. My spirit is resolute, and my will is steadfast. Whatever you require, I will deliver, for I seek only to be yours in the truest sense.”

[whotfletamothhyperfx]

Sonic Wizard of OZ AU master post

Original

Toto in the AU

Sonics tattoo

How could sonic come to this?

Sonic and shadows designs

Tails “mission”

Barry the Quokka

Childhood

How Tails met the others

What did shadow do?

Rouges backstory

Recognise his friends back home

Wicked witch of the East / Starline

Sonic and tails design doodle

Maria and shadow

“Why doesn’t sonic recognise tails?”

“Will sonic ever recognise Tails?”

Maria and Ozma

IDW covers

Tangle and Whisper

Sonics hallucination

Why tails was “killed”

Munchkinland and Emerald City

“Does shadow ever realise the error of his ways?”

Surge and Kit As Kids

Surge and kit before and after Starline designs

Witches backstory

So what’s up with the magic system

Family portrait

Shadow and Tails animatic

Amy animatic

Sonics end goal?

Core fours relationship

Amy and tails fanart

Kit animation

“Whats Tails doll’s deal?”

Chuck and the Baby triplets

[studentalthea]

@shewolfaurea location: Haven, Lysara notes: Preparations must be made! The Iskarans are coming!

Word had spread like wildfire. Iskaldrik had fallen, and there were refugees making their way through the mountains. They would likely come through the swamps of the Lostlands that bordered Haven's western front, and before long it was likely that this city of wolves would be overrun with glorified brutes and witch hunters. There was every preparation that needed to be made, every precaution that had to be seen, and Althea did not have a moment to daddle. The Iskarans could very well be pursued by their attacker and if the King was truly with them, then that only made this all the more likely to be true.

If the Aetherians arrived, Althea would be ready.

She'd commissioned the best portraiture from Sinaria to capture her likeness, a rare, displacer beast had been procured to pose alongside her. It's tentacles stayed fixed in their position and cast her in an ethereal, violet light that elongated the shadows of her form. When trouble came, they would find the depth of her power captured in paint and prominently displayed within her home. Even now her goblin was outside tearing off the crude shingles and replacing them with a spliced hybrid of ironwood. Nobody that came to Haven could say the dreaded Student of Proserpina was anything but someone to be feared - perhaps even revered.

Had Althea not already donned an idle smirk for her portrait, she'd have done so again.

The door swung open and her emerald eyes shifted to see the Alpha standing there.

"Take five everyone." Althea proclaimed, eager to release her neck from its awkward angle and stretch her legs. The artist set their tools aside, his assistants brought down the ambient lighting they'd cast and the displacer beast moved to feed from its bowl of kibble before it tore someone's face off - she was a well-paid actor. More popular in Maferath, but Althea needed to exude a wealth of power and mystery. "Couldn't wait to head out today, could we?" An idle observation, clearly Aurea had been in a great hurry when she'd left that morning. She'd hardly spent any time getting ready at all. Someday she'd get a brush through the Queen's hair.

[churchobones]

DWC Day 4: Vengeance

<<PREV | NEXT>>

“And then... I remember...”

Bruce looked down at his arm. His skin was pale as the waning moonlight, black veins writhing with every weakened pulse of his heart. His head swam, vision dim and distant.

Bruce looked up. “The Red Witch. What do you know of her?”

The little lord pursed his lips.

“The legend of E’Andusore… The whore told you, did she?” The shards of whispering shadow framing his head began to spin, building momentum.  “It’s a tale lost to most of my people.

“She was a vicious crone who haunted a powerful magic circle; she and her nightmare hound, Narral’thix.  The sacred site held the key to Life after Death; the natural cycle made manifest in mana.  A power she used to butcher innocents and turn farmland fallow.

“As the story goes,” the lord smiled grimly.  “She ate the dog’s heart to tap into the circle’s power, raising a mighty tree surrounded by a bramble thicket miles wide that only she could pass through unscathed.

“Until the Lady came with fire.  A mother desperate to save her son.”

“Three times I've asked about that story now. The first time I heard it, She shared Her memory with me-- that old Oak Tree.”

Bruce's jaw set as the plaintive mew of a kitten long passed echoed in his mind. In that mansion, where Zelion’s family portraits lined the walls and an Oak Tree split the marble floors, he'd heard her cries.

Her coat was mottled brown with camouflage not yet shed. Milk teeth flashed in the darkness. Paws too big for her scrambled, begging purchase.

Emerald magicks flared outwards from his touch, along the grooves of the Oak’s bark, scrawling up and down the trunk.  A whistling shimmer grew twice as loud from below, a tremor taking the ballroom floor felt up through the soles of his feet to his knees; enough to require bracing but not enough to steal his legs out from beneath him. The floor splintered beneath the kit’s paws, a desperate cry falling away into the darkness below until there was nothing left to be heard but the burgeoning hum of the awakened tree.

She regarded him with a tingle that remained in his fingertips and pricked at his thumbs.  The Oak spoke only by willing a single word to the forefront of his mind: Vengeance.

Her bark served him as second eyes, racing down Her formidable length past the vine covered, stone walls of the cellars, deeper still past crypts, dirt, stone, bone until they reached where Her strongest roots anchored.  She was framed by a circle of fallen trees, Her roots wrapped protectively over an ancient altar of jasper.  The dead lynx cub’s broken back never made it to the stone.

And then the Oak stood silent.

  “I was wondering if I’m no better off than that kitten when Kallarel--”

The smell of sulfur filled the worgen's lungs. Hellfire: the scent which lingered as the bramble brands crawled into skin; the scent which pierced the air with every lit cigarette. He focused on the sickening sweetness alone.

One by one, the arch over his heart gave way as Kallarel tore into the hallway, a manifested monster hot on her high heels with a blazing green gem alight in a chest once empty.

By the third spout of blighted blood, the witch was upon them; beauty, beast and burden all.

By the fourth, her hands were alight with a green fire to match the flame licking the demon’s panting tongue.

By the fifth, the lord’s prone figure was cloaked in cold shadow, absconded without a trace apart from the faintest flicker of rot against the nostrils before the witch could claim him.

And as the last of Zelion’s void crystals burst in Bruce’s chest, the haphazardly placed shard split in two with a deafening crack.

“I can’t... I can’t have died that night. I didn’t. But I dreamed. I dreamed... I was in a house-- the house in Gilneas. With my wife-- with my dead wife, Sophia.”

It was shamefully small, that old cabin in Gilneas. Sophia had given up everything for him-- lands, titles and inheritance. In exchange, Bruce had built a shack with leaky walls and slept with her on the far side of the kitchen for fourteen years.

Now they sat across from one another at the dinner table.

“I thought it might come to this.”

Bruce felt sick. There was a teacup in front of him, which rattled quietly.

“I miss you,” he said. Her face was just as he remembered it; prominent cheeks smattered with freckles and a button nose.

She rolled her eyes-- big, stormy and blue. The same ones he saw every time he looked at his daughter. “You’re doing fine without me.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be. I mean it. I'm proud of how Lizzie turned out. But if you want, you can join me now. You can rest.”

The knot in his stomach twisted.

“You don’t have to,” she went on. “Not everyone gets a choice, but you will.”

The tips of his fingers felt cold as ice. The table trembled below.

She smiled. It was warm and remarkably genuine-- like a candle in the night. “I know this is what you want, Bruce.”

The support beams above his head cracked. Dust fell in a plume, rippling his tea.

“Just know--” she hesitated, expression soft-- “you’re messing with powers you don’t understand. The Gods may never forgive you for this.” 

His chest squeezed. He couldn’t breathe.

“But I'll help guide you home,” she said.

@daily-writing-challenge

[iguessihavemore]

ROLLCALL PORTRAITS DONE YAY

Chapter 1 Emerald Witches (they won't change much just get 1 👆extra member)

Cameron is from @unironicduncanstan

Manaia is from @tuatara-time

Marina, Stella, Winnifred, and Wilfred are all owned by @faemorningstar

Rosie is owned by @sapphicwizzro

And Tadao is from @explosivoo ^w^

[fuckthisshitimin]

[ID: And intricate and highly decorated digital portrait of Styx from the Night Shift Podcast and his imagined black cat, Stones. They are inside a golden frame, at the bottom of which an emerald plaque reads, "The witch's cat", Stones sitting, her body mostly facing us and looking over her shoulder, so that we see her face's profile. Her profile fits in the middle of Styx's face, each one of their visible eyes lining up. Stones is a lean black cat, appearing mostly brown in this light: there is a jewel at the center of her chest, and falling from her shoulders, a golden collar holds together a drape of vertical, rich blue and green fabrics. Styx, gray-skinned, hair cut short and dyed blonde, adorns two similar collars, from which ocean-like ribbons spread. On the pans of the fabric, several motifs are embroidered, along with the phrase This too shall pass, and Styx's name.

Styx and Stones are both wearing a long earring, of different shapes but matching colors: blood red, cyan and gold. Stone's jewel falls down to her chest, ending in the Flamel cross symbol. Styx's is composed of gems and unversed triangle links. He adorns a second earring, and several round piercings: bridge and snake bite. His lips are painted, and his cold-toned face is splashed by the bright matching red of pimples. He is smiling as a cat. His eyes are black: but as all things black with shadows here, they are decorated with golden spiraling motifs. Stones wears a sort of bracelet on her tail, a red gem matching Styx's acne.

The background is a marble-textured gold, and stylized letters read "Eoin Macnamara."

Signed: Meaningless Mikhaïl. End ID.]

[kingofsummer93]

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 16: The Second Trial

Ao3 Masterlist

** a/n- I'm setting up a tag list, please let me know if you'd like to be added/ removed for this fic, Elucien fics specifically or all fics!

Lucien hovered outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, straining his ears to hear the commotion inside the Gryffindor common room. The dungbombs planted by his friends seemed to be doing the trick, judging from the sound of students scrambling towards the staircases on either side of the circular room, cursing loudly.

The Fat Lady gave him a stern look, unimpressed. “What have you done this time?” she asked drily, rearranging the folds of her frilly pink gown.

Lucien gave her a mock-hurt look. “You wound me. Why would you assume I have anything to do with whatever is happening in there?”

The Fat Lady’s friend Violet giggled into her glass of sherry. Lucien sent her a wink as the Fat Lady continued to stare at him sternly. “Well? Are you going to stand out here all night, then? Some of us have better things to do, you know.”

“But I thought it was your duty to guard us valiant Gryffindors, my lady?”

She scoffed at him, though he could have sworn her plump cheeks deepened to match the color of her dress. “Password?”

Lucien pressed his ear close to the edge of the painting, listening for noise on the other side. Violet giggled again, covering her mouth with a lacy fan. The common room was silent.

“Giggling Gum Drops,” he declared, bowing at the waist.

The Fat Lady rolled her eyes but waved a hand. “Very well,” she drawled, and with that the portrait swung open, revealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

The room was indeed deserted, though a thick, foul mist still hung in the air. Lucien coughed, his eyes immediately watering from the toxic vapors. A clock on the wall struck midnight, and he hurried to the fireplace in the corner of the room, dropping to his knees to stare into the flames. They had burned down to embers, and after a few minutes Lucien began to worry. It wasn’t like Eris to suggest such a clandestine meeting- normally he would have sent an owl or asked to meet him in Hogsmeade. Whatever it was that his brother wanted to talk to him about, he didn’t want the conversation overheard.

The dying embers suddenly came to life, burning red and orange for a moment before turning a bright emerald green. A split-second later Eris’ face appeared in the flames, looking more stressed than Lucien had ever seen him.

“Have you lost your mind?” his brother declared by way of greeting.

“Hello to you too, brother.”

“Please tell me I misunderstood and that you did not send me an owl requesting that I sneak you into the Department of Mysteries?”

His brother’s tone was devoid of its usual lazy humor, and Lucien felt a twinge of guilt. “I didn’t send you an owl asking you to sneak me into the Department of Mysteries?”

Eris sighed, making the emerald flames flicker. “Lucien, I’m serious. You can’t write things like that down, much less send them out by owl. Andras is super recognizable, if anyone intercepted him…”

“Why would someone intercept my owl?” Lucien asked sharply.

Eris winced, as if he had let something slip. “Weird shit is happening at the Ministry, Lucien. People are on their guard. Tense.”

“What do you mean, weird shit is happening?” He remembered what Eris had told him about Mr Koschei going missing. “Has Koschei still not been found?”

Eris shook his head. His mouth was set in a thin line. “He hasn’t. It’s the weirdest thing. I know he’s a mean motherfucker, but you don’t become the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by twirling your thumbs. Koschei is an incredibly powerful wizard. People like that don’t just vanish. Magic leaves a trace, especially strong magic.”

Lucien’s stomach twisted. “What’s the ministry doing about it?” The ministry being code for our loving father.

“Father’s put out a statement claiming that Koschei took a leave of absence. Bullshit, of course. Even our top Aurors haven’t heard from him.”

“And people believe it?” Lucien asked, incredulous.

“I sure as shit don’t. Most of the ministry seems content to go along with it but a lot of people are starting to get suspicious.”

“But Koschei’s always been such a huge supporter of dad.” The word tasted like bile on his tongue. “Hasn’t he? If something actually happened to him you’d think the whole ministry would be in a frenzy to try to find him.”

“Precisely,” Eris simply. “Except…”

“Except what?”

Eris sighed, running a hand through his short hair, the motion making it stand on end. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Eris!”

“There’s been rumors, all right? That maybe Koschei and dad haven’t been seeing eye-to-eye lately.”

“About what?” Lucien demanded.

“I have no idea. I only know because my friend from the Department of Mysteries heard them arguing a few times, and she- get that look off your face, Lucien!”

“But-“

“Lucien,” Eris snapped. “Listen to me. Those giants you saw? There is no record of their movements around Britain. None. Nothing.”

Lucien was so stunned that for a moment he couldn’t speak. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has no idea that they’re there.”

A chill went down Lucien’s spine. “But- we saw them. The others saw them too, they can tell you-“

Eris raised a hand to shush him. “I believe you, Lucien. Merlin, I don’t know why you’d make something like that up.”

“It doesn’t make sense. There’s no way that many giants would go unnoticed.”

“And there’s no way our esteemed father wouldn’t keep track of them,” Eris continued, voicing exactly what Lucien had been thinking.

Their father, who forced every werewolf, vampire, harpy, house elf, goblin, and anyone else who wasn’t completely human to register with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, would very much care about a whole village of giants setting up camp near Hogwarts.

“But…Elain said Professor Spell-Cleaver didn’t seem that concerned. How could the ministry not know if he does?” It didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense.

Eris shook his head again. “Your guess is as good as mine. Although…”

“What?”

“Well, you know how Hogwarts is spelled to be unplottable?”

Lucien recoiled from the fire. “You can’t actually think-“

“It would explain why nobody has heard or seen them, even though they’re…well, you know. Not quite inconspicuous.”

“But why?”

“That I can’t answer. And before you ask, no, they’re not part of the other Trials.”

“Well, thank fuck for that, at least.”

“And speaking of the Trial,” Eris continued. Lucien braced himself for more bad news. “Since Koschei’s gone MIA a lot of people have been suggesting we postpone it.”

“Really?”

“People are saying it’s not right to keep going, seeing as how his department organized so much of it. But you’ll never guess who shut down that talk as soon as it began.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t you?”

Eris smiled grimly, though it looked more like a grimace. “Our father insisted that the Tournament keep going. He was quite livid that people were even thinking of shutting it down.”

Lucien blinked in surprise. “What? What does he care? He didn’t even come to watch the first Trial.”

“Exactly. I don’t think he actually cares at all.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t know. But if you ask me, all this weird shit is not a coincidence. And it’s not a coincidence that a lot of people and resources are currently focused on Hogwarts and the tournament.”

“Meaning…meaning that people are distracted.” Eris’ meaning dawned on him with horrible clarity. “You think dad is up to something.”

Eris glanced over his shoulder quickly, as if making sure that nobody was standing behind him. “Shh! You need to be more careful about saying things like that, Lucien. You need to be careful, period. Stay close to the school, don’t leave the grounds. Whatever those giants are doing there, it’s not just an innocent vacation.”

“Got it,” Lucien said drily. “Sit on my ass and don’t get in trouble while the adults sort it out.”

“Don’t be a git. You know what I mean. Which reminds me- what possible reason could you have for wanting to break into the Department of Mysteries? Nobody even knows what the hell is down there.”

This time it was Lucien who looked over his shoulder to make sure the common room was still empty. “I hope you’re not in a rush.”

Eris stayed uncharacteristically quiet, though his frown deepened the further Lucien got into his explanation. By the time he got to the missing prophecy his brother was rubbing his forehead as though to ease a growing headache.

“So let me get this straight,” he started. “You’re telling me that not only is there a top-secret room beneath the Ministry filled with thousands of prophecies, but Elain would like my help to somehow break into this top-secret place?”

“That’s about it, yes,” Lucien replied with more confidence than he actually felt.

Eris pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You said it yourself,” Lucien soldiered on. “All this weird stuff happening all of a sudden? What are the chances this is completely unrelated?” Even though he desperately wished that it was, and that Elain had no involvement in whatever was brewing. “Elain was attacked during the first Trial, Eris! What if whoever stole that prophecy tries again during the second Trial?”

“They won’t,” Eris said darkly. “Not while I’m watching. I’ll see what I can do about bringing in some extra security. There will be eyes on her- on all of you, at all times.”

“Thanks, Eris,” Lucien said gratefully. “I’m starting to question this whole Tournament, to be honest. It was all fun and games, but…”

“But now not so much. I’ll be at Hogwarts in a few weeks for the second Trial, all right? We’ll talk more then. In the meantime I can ask my friend what she knows about the prophecies. But don’t get your hopes up, I doubt she’ll tell me anything.”

“Anything she knows would be helpful. Elain’s really freaked out by the whole thing. With good reason, obviously.” Lucien swallowed thickly. “I just wish there was more I could do to help her.”

“We will help her,” Eris declared in that tone that left no room for argument. “I can’t believe she’s a seer.”

“Just don’t bring her name up when you start asking questions, alright? She doesn’t want people to know.”

Eris gave him a pointed look. “You think I suddenly forgot how to keep a secret?”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Touché.”

“Speaking of gossips.” Eris grimaced. “You’re not going to like Koschei’s replacement for the panel of judges.”

“What do you mean?” He’d assumed it would be someone from Koschei’s department at the ministry, or another department head.

Eris winced again, but before he could answer there was a scuffling noise behind Lucien. He tensed, whirling towards the doors leading to the dormitories. “Someone’s coming down the stairs,” he whispered.

When he turned back to the fire Eris had already disappeared, the flames back to a merry red.

Lucien barely had time to scramble to his feet before the door to the girls’ dormitory creaked open. Feyre stepped into the glow of the fireplace, her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Prefect rounds,” he lied smoothly, walking to the stairs on the other side of the room.

“I heard voices,” she pressed, looking around the deserted room.

Shit. If she had heard even a fraction of that conversation… “This castle is haunted, you know.”

She rolled her eyes, reminding him so strongly of Elain that he grinned.

“You’ve become even more smug since you started dating my sister, you know that?” She walked to a table near the window and rifled through a pile of discarded homework.

“Just as you like me, right?”

Feyre huffed a laugh and disappeared back up the stairs. “Good night!”

Lucien’s nerves did not settle long after he had made it upstairs to his four-poster bed. His dreams that night were full of giants, and secret underground vaults, and Elain’s eyes, milky-white and all-seeing.

---

Lucien wiped the rain from his eyes, glancing once again at the giant red countdown floating in the grey sky above him. His stomach lurched with a jolt of panic-induced adrenaline. Thirty-five minutes left- almost half his time was already gone.

There was a sudden flurry of noise and movement from the crowd as the assembled students erupted in cheers and applause. Shit. Had another champion already finished the task? It seemed almost impossible, but with the high hedges blocking everything but the path in front of him, it was impossible to know.

Lucien had almost had a heart attack when Professor Amren had escorted him to the Quidditch pitch for the second Trial. His beloved field was unrecognizable, turned into some sort of giant maze, with hedges so tall they almost reached the bottom of the Quidditch stands.

“What have they done?!” he had demanded, gaping at the field in horror. “We have a match in two weeks!”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing Quidditch is played on brooms,” Nesta had piped up drily behind him.

Any thoughts of Quidditch, however, had quickly vanished upon entering the maze. The second Trial was simple- each champion entered from a different corner, staggered according to their current rankings. They had an hour to reach the center of the maze, or risk getting disqualified from the Trial.

It seemed deceptively simple, and might even have sounded fun, were it not for Eris’ warning still marinating at the forefront of his mind. That, and the icy, unrelenting rain currently chilling him to the bone. As if on cue the sky opened up with a flash of lightning, illuminating the path in front of him. He had reached a fork in the maze, both paths stretching out into pure darkness in front of him.

Lucien squinted into the dark, trying to make out anything except the dense hedges. The rain combined with the shadows cast by the maze made it impossible to see anything. It was eerily similar to walking into the Forbidden Forest to retrieve that unicorn hair.

Something moved in the path to his left, nothing more than a shifting of shadows. Lucien took an involuntary step back as the hair rose on the back of his neck at whatever dwelled in those shadows.

After a beat of hesitation he laid his wand flat on his palm and muttered a four-point spell. The wand spun in his hand and then froze, pointing to the path heading right. North. To reach the center of the maze he would have to take the path to the left.

The shadows shifted again, followed by a slithering, hissing sound. Lucien turned on his heel and hurried towards the path on the right. He’d just have to double back at the next fork.

Another glance at the flashing numbers in the sky told him he had just passed the halfway mark. He quickened his step, holding his wand’s thin beam of light higher above his head. He was just considering calling his patronus to light his way when a scream, high pitched and petrified, ripped through the dark. Lucien froze, heart pounding, straining his ears to find the direction of the scream.

This was not the Forbidden Forest, he reminded himself. The champions were in plain view of the packed stands filled with students and teachers. And besides, Eris had promised to keep an eye on Elain.

Still, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as that scream echoed around in his mind. And then echoed through the maze again, somewhere to his left.

Lucien didn’t hesitate before lifting his wand and pointing it to the hedge blocking his path. “INCENDIO!”

Fire erupted from his wand, burning a hole clean through the dense mass of branches. He didn’t stop to consider whether this would be considered cheating before leaping through the singed hole in the hedge and tumbling into the path. There were more shouts coming from the stands now, but whether they were in dismay or excitement, Lucien couldn’t tell.

He took off at a run, his senses focused only on that echoing scream. His surroundings melted away, so much so that when something wrapped tightly around his middle it took him a few beats to realize he was no longer moving.

Whatever was wrapped around his middle spread to his legs, stilling him mid-step. Lucien thrashed, fighting against the tightening hold around him. Something was wrapping itself around him- something slick and damp, thick and powerful. For a wild moment he thought it was snakes, but then he registered the bark under his fingers, the wet, earthy smell wrapping around him. He was being crushed by vines.

His already racing heart doubled in intensity as he bucked and pushed against the vines, but the more he fought, the tighter they wrapped around him. A thick branch slithered around his arms, pinning them to his sides.

He had dropped his wand in surprise, and it lay at his feet, useless. In his panic he forgot about the teachers and ministry members surely watching him get attacked- he forgot about the tournament, and the students groaning in sympathy at his plight. He could think only of Elain, screaming in fright in the distance as he failed to reach her. A million scenarios flashed through his mind, each one more outlandish and unlikely than the last.

Death by botany, he thought with a jolt of panicked-induced hilarity. Elain would have known how to get out of this trap, she would haven’t gotten trapped in the first place, she would have, she would have…

“Relax!” A voice cut through the blood pounding in his ears. A voice he would have recognized through any darkness. Lucien thrashed again, only for a vine to wrap itself around his face, smothering him.

“Relax, Lucien!” Elain cried again. “You have to calm down. If you fight back you’ll only make it angrier.”

Easy for you to say, he thought grimly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to breathe. A bright light cut through the mess of vines surrounding him like a cocoon, and Lucien squinted against the sudden brightness. Through his cage of vines he spotted a familiar four-legged form, prowling the path in front of him.

Moony. The patronus’ light seemed to pierce through the vines, straight to his heart. He forced himself to go still, to stop fighting against the vice around him. Immediately the vines froze, receding enough for him to gulp down a ragged breath.

“That’s it!” Elain urged. “Just relax. Think of something happy. Pretend you’re conjuring up a patronus.”

Lucien relaxed further, his muscles going limp until the vines were the only thing holding him upright. It felt unnatural, but with a lurch he realized the hold on him was receding. He closed his eyes, filling his mind with images of Elain’s twinkling brown eyes and rosy cheeks.

The vines receded at all once and Lucien fell to the ground in a heap. Elain and her patronus were on him in an instant, the wolf nuzzling at his legs while Elain cradled his face.

“Are you alright?!” she gasped, eyes wide with worry. “I thought that thing was going to squeeze you to death!”

“I’m alright,” Lucien said, his breathing still ragged. “Are you alright? You screamed, I couldn’t find you…”

Elain’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Oh, that wasn’t me, it was Nesta. I saw her in a bit of a tussle with some Blast-Ended Skrewts. She’s alright, through.”

Lucien sagged with relief. “Thank Merlin. I thought- I was so worried…”

I love you and I need you safe in my arms at all times.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but the background noise of the chattering crowd brought him back to earth. Right. Not the time or place.

Elain squeezed his arm. “You’re cute. Although if I didn’t know better I might suspect you don’t think I can handle myself.”

Lucien huffed a rueful laugh as she helped him to his feet. “I thought every girl wanted a knight in shining armour?”

“A knight in shining armour, yes.” She looked him up and down, from his sodden hair flattened to his head, to his squelching shoes, and flashed a grin. “I’m not sure that you qualify right now, though.”

Lucien looked her over, his metal eye clicking as he checked for any sign of injury. To his relief she looked unharmed- and also, inexplicably, dry. He shivered violently as a gust of wind ripped through the maze.

“How…”

Elain held up a hand and waved her wand in an arc around him. Immediately he was wrapped in a bubble of blissfully warm air, the icy rain held at bay by invisible walls.

Lucien whistled in admiration. “Neat trick.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress now?” she asked with a smirk.

“Me,” he agreed. “Definitely me.”

“Come on,” she urged, grabbing his hand. “We don’t have much time left.”

Lucien glanced at the floating numbers in the sky. Twenty minutes. He retrieved his wand and hurried after her down the path, Moony trotting along on Elain’s other side.

“Do you think they’ll give me extra points for saving you?” she mused.

Lucien laughed, pulling her to a stop when they reached another fork in the road. “Maybe, but I’ll definitely get points for most entertaining.”

“What do you-“

She gasped as he wrapped an arm around her waist, tangling the other in her hair, and dipped her at the waist. Even in the gloom of the maze he could see her cheeks turning violently pink.

“Lucien!”

He cut her off with a kiss. The crowd erupted in violent cheers above them, and Elain’s lips curved into a smile. Lucien set her upright again, and didn’t give her a chance to say anything before turning towards the path on the left.

“See you on the other side, Archie!” he called over his shoulder. Her laughter echoed around the path long after he was enveloped in darkness once more.

The clock continued ticking down as he walked along the path, his way suspiciously clear of any obstacles. When he had fifteen minutes left he did another four-point spell and saw he was heading straight for the center of the maze. He broke into a jog, grinning as he spotted a shimmering light from around a bend in the path a few yards ahead. As he whirled around the corner he came to a sudden halt.

His path was blocked by a wall of fire. The flames stretched as high as the hedges, completely baring the path. They burned so hot that Lucien felt sweat prickle on his brow.

He pointed his wand to the flames, conjuring a stream of clear, cool water. “Aguamenti!”

The water hissed and turned to steam before it even touched the flames. He tried again, and again, and every time the water disappeared inches from the fire.

“Shit,” he swore.

He glanced at the sky and swore again. They barely had ten minutes left. It wasn’t enough time to turn back the way he came- it would take too long to double back and find another way. Besides, Lucien had a nagging feeling that the flames somehow formed a barrier around the center of the maze. He’d have to find another way through.

He moved to the hedges, wondering if he could somehow scale them and jump over the flames, when something caught his gaze. Pots and vials and bottles, sheltered from the rain in a little alcove in the hedge. Lucien crouched down and looked at the labels more closely. Potion-making ingredients. He glanced back at the flames.

“Shit,” he swore again. Another glance at the sky. “Merlin’s saggy tits!” He had exactly eight minutes to correctly mix a fire protection potion, or else find another way through the flames.

He dropped to his knees, wracking his brain for anything about potions related to fire, shielding, or any sort of protection. Suddenly he regretted all those naps he had taken at the back of Professor Hybern’s dungeon classroom. If he made it through this without getting disqualified he vowed to actually start paying attention.

The crowd roared, followed by the unmistakable sound of enchanted fireworks exploding in the sky above him. His stomach sank, until he glanced up and saw a yellow and black badger, made up of a thousand pinpricks of light. He grinned, momentarily distracted from his task. Elain had made it to the center of the maze, and from the sounds of it, she might have been the first one.

He turned back to the bottles and vials, scanning the labels hurriedly. Armadillo bile, sage, peacock feathers, salamander blood, crushed octopus, all useless. Mushrooms, leech juice- Lucien dropped the bottle of vile liquid. Hopeless. This was hopeless, maybe he’d have a better chance if he simply jumped through the flames and hoped someone would extinguish him on the other side…

Just as he was rolling up his sleeves something snagged in his memory. Potions lesson, he and his friends levitating bursting mushrooms under Professor Hybern’s desk and watching him rage as he looked around for the source of the stink. He turned back to the ingredients, scrambling through them, until- there. Tiny, thumbnail-sized mushrooms the color of dirt.

He dumped them out and crushed them into an empty vial with one hand, gagging at the immediate reek as he riffled through the other ingredients. The jar of salamander blood was warm under his fingers, and it hissed as he poured some out into the jar with his crushed mushrooms. Yes, that was it- bursting mushrooms, salamander blood, and…and…

Lucien raked a hand through his damp hair in frustration. There was something else, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.

With a jolt he remembered the unicorn hair in his pocket. Professor Hybern was always harping on about how dangerous substitutions were, and how disastrous the consequences could be if a recipe was tampered with. The only exceptions were a select few, incredibly powerful magical substances that could be used to override the lack of a certain ingredient.

Another glance at the countdown shimmering in the sky next to the Hufflepuff badger showed he had only four minutes left. It was now or never. And besides, there was no rule about correctly making his way through the flames.

Before he could think too much about it he dumped the shimmering silver hair into the bottle, muttered a quick freezing spell, and shook it, sending up a quick prayer to anyone who would listen. The bottle became cold in his hand, the liquid inside turning the bright blue of a winter sky.

Lucien uncorked it and went to stand in front of the flames. He lifted it in mock salute to the stands around him, and the crowd erupted. The liquid was so cold that it burned on the way down- like drinking liquid ice. A shiver went through him as the potion took effect. It was extremely discomforting, as though there was ice flowing through his veins.

He took a deep breath and held it as he stepped into the flames. The fire wrapped around him, blurring his vision of the maze. But where it should have burned, the fire merely ruffled his hair like a warm summer breeze. Another step and he was on the other side, the ruckus from the Gryffindor stands growing even louder.

He squinted into the darkness, suddenly blinded after the brightness of the flames.

And came face-to-face with Briallyn Skeeter, poisonous smile on her face, acid-green quill poised over her parchment.

---

Lucien jumped to his feet the moment Eris stepped into the champions’ tent. His brother was smiling, though it looked slightly forced.

“What is she doing here?” Elain growled next to him by way of greeting. Eris winced and led them out of the tent, away from the other champions.

Nesta, it turned out, had not won her battle with the Blast-Ended Skrewts, but had still been awarded a few points for her resourcefulness with the other obstacles she faced. Rhysand had managed to get through the fire barrier with seconds to spare, though had somehow managed to light himself on fire in the process. His usually sleek midnight-black hair was still smoking slightly at the edges. Elain had gotten almost top marks, with Lucien close behind, which left the current standings as Elain in first, Lucien second, and Rhys and Nesta tied for third.

Behind a closed curtain Nesta was being attended to by Madam Majda, who had been complaining in an endless stream about the danger of the competition. And in the other corner, sitting in front of a smug-looking Rhys, sat Brially Skeeter, special correspondent for the daily Prophet, and, it would appear, pinch-hitter judge.

“Hello to you too,” Eris drawled once they were back in the icy rain. From the other side of the tent they would hear the ruckus of hundreds of excited students walking back towards the castle. “And congratulations on your victory.”

“Eris,” Lucien urged. “What is that salamander doing here?”

“It was father’s idea,” Eris admitted through gritted teeth. “Press combined with a stand-in judge, wrapped in one.”

“And Professor Spell-Cleaver was ok with this?” Elain asked, voicing what Lucien had just been thinking. He didn’t know why that fact was even more upsetting than her being here, but for some reason it felt like a betrayal.

“From the look on his face when he saw her, I’d be willing to bet he had no idea.”

Elain glared at the tent with such venom that Lucien was surprised it didn’t immediately burst into flames. “I hope she burns in hell.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Eris said with a vicious grin. “But just ignore her, you don’t have to answer her questions. Hopefully Rhys gives her enough bullshit for her article to focus on him.”

Somehow Lucien seriously doubted that would be the case.

“Look,” Eris continued, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “The thing you asked me about-“

Elain visibly brightened. “The Hall of Prophecies?”

“Shh!” His brother looked around them again, uncharacteristically nervous. “Yes. That.”

“Have you found anything useful?” Lucien asked, not daring to hope.

“Well, I’ve managed to, how should I say, get closer to my friend who works in the Department of Mysteries.” Lucien choked on a laugh as Elain clapped a hand to her mouth. “She had some interesting information about the…large friends you asked about.”

“What did she say?” Lucien blurted. Elain’s fingers were a vice around his.

“Well,” Eris glanced around again and leaned in closer. “It turns out there have been sightings of them, but the reports have all been swept under the rug before they could reach certain ears.”

“Which ears?” Lucien asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“Our dear father’s, of course.”

“You’re saying…”

“You’re saying there’s people within the ministry withholding information from the Minister?” Elain asked, stunned.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Eris answered grimly.

“And you had no idea about this?” Lucien pressed.

“Well, you can imagine why people might be a bit reluctant to rope me into a scheme to hide information from the Minister,” Eris replied drily.

Elain winced. “Fair enough. But what does this mean? Why are they there?”

“I have no idea,” Eris admitted, brow furrowed. “But I might have found a solution to our other problem. My friend agreed to help us.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. His brother shrugged casually. “I have my ways. It’s going to take some time though. I’ll send you a signal when it’s all prepared.”

“Our problem?” Elain asked in a small voice.

Eris’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “Pardon?”

“You said our problem.”

Eris’ frown lifted into a savage smile. “You didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you? But in the meantime, for Merlin’s sake, try to lie low, will you?”

“Yea, mother,” Lucien quipped with a grin.

Eris shook his head darkly. “I mean it, Lucien. Something’s brewing, and I don’t like it. And for fuck’s sake, do not leave the grounds under any circumstances. All Hogwarts students are safe within the grounds, but outside…”

Lucien glanced at the Forbidden Forest in the distance, and the mountains beyond. As if he could get a glimpse of the beings that dwelled there, hidden from view. Someone had brought them there for a reason. They were waiting for something, he realized. He just didn’t know what that could be.

And he had a bad feeling he didn’t really want to know, either.

Taglist (taking a guess here, let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!): @labellefleur-sauvage @headcanonheadcase @separatist-apologist @velidewrites @c-e-d-dreamer @queercontrarian

[draqo-pctter]

nostalgia // a dramione drabble

words: 562 / tags: angst, memories are liars, but love lasts forever

Hogsmeade sat mostly empty as Draco made his way down the cobblestone street with his hands in his pockets. Rain fell from the gray clouds above in a soft but persistent sheet, clinging to his clothes and filling his dragonhide boots. With each step he took toward the castle, memories of her jumped at him from behind buildings and beneath trees with faded red and orange leaves.

If asked, he would never admit that he’d only gone to France for a Potions Mastery to get as far away from their memory as possible. And he would lie for days about why he’d accepted a position teaching Potions at Hogwarts, refusing to acknowledge the way memories of late nights in the dungeons still clung to him like the rain.

Draco often managed to push thoughts of pressing Hermione against the side of the Three Broomsticks when they’d been little more than children to the back of his mind. But, sometimes, he couldn’t help but stare at the old stone wall and remember the way her back had arched against his touch and the way her curls got stuck on chips in the wall.

Or the time they’d stopped halfway across the bridge, forearms resting on the railing and shoulders pressed together. They’d spent hours like that – leaning, laughing, falling in love. Planning a future that would never come to fruition with all the ardor that came with being young.

Wet leaves and downtrodden weeds gave way beneath Draco’s feet as he approached the castle, and the courtyard where he’d first considered proposing. He’d been eighteen and smitten beyond belief, thinking that if he didn’t have Hermione, he didn’t want anyone else. Even the Quidditch pitch in the distance was haunted by the memory of her cheering him on during games their Eighth Year, his emerald green scarf woven with her burgundy one around her neck.

Inside the castle, the halls were quiet enough for him to hear the ghost of her laughter bouncing off the bricks and getting stuck behind tapestries. Whispered words and promises that burnt up in the torches on the walls, never to see the light of day. Hope that fizzled out and dissipated slowly, bit by bit, until it crept up on them with a certainty that ripped down any doubt that might have lingered.

Because, of course, Hogsmeade and the bridge and the courtyard didn’t want to remember the jealousy that rippled beneath both of their skins. The Quidditch pitch had forgotten the way Hermione grew frustrated with his return to everyone’s good graces, being stopped by witches and wizards alike on his way out of the locker room.

And the halls and their ever changing portraits had neglected to echo the sounds of their whispered arguments and the times Draco wondered if that would be the rest of his life – arguing with her over a comment someone made that she should have ignored, or fighting the urge to say things he knew would cut too deep to heal.

Nostalgia was a dirty liar that insisted things were better than they seemed. It was also the stuff his bones were made of, and the wind that ruffled his hair. It rested in his desk drawer, waited in the ingredients cabinet, and reared its ugly head every time Hermione’s carefully crafted smile graced the cover of the Daily Prophet.

[daughterofyourdarklord]

Scorpio is hurt, what’s your reaction?

It happened while she was at school. 

Delphini rushed home, of course, the only Third Year that they couldn’t stop from leaving the castle. She’d stormed into the Headmaster’s office in a flurry of emerald robes, eyes immediately on the large fireplace, strutting right past him and ignoring every word of protest the former Potions Master had to offer. She reached confidently for the floo powder, calling for Malfoy Manor. 

It was eerily quiet when she arrived. Delphini didn’t take a moment to ponder it, heeled boots hard against the ground as she made her way to her little cousin's room.

Distantly, she heard frantic voices as she cut down a large hallway, bolting up a set of stairs. 

Likely an urgent meeting of the Inner Circle. 

In any other circumstance she would’ve changed course, followed the voices and finessed her way into another one of the meetings her parents tried so hard to keep her out of. 

Not today. 

She veers around another bend, ignoring the chirping from the portraits lining the wall. At the end of the hall stands a head of long blonde hair. 

“Aunt Cissa!” She calls for her almost involuntarily. “Is he okay? What’s happened?” 

She falls into her aunt’s arms, trying to steady her with a strong hug before pulling away to look into her tearful eyes, hands still lingering on Narcissa's arms. 

Delphini listens as the story spills from her aunt's lips in the same way she watches it play out in her eyes. Once again grateful for her legilimency as it helps to fill the stressed induced holes in her aunt’s story. 

“Draco - if he hadn't gotten to him just in time..” Narcissa is once again nearing tears. “They cast a killing curse at him - at a five-year-old boy!”

Delphini turns from her, hand reaching for the doorknob. 

“No!” Narcissa pushes her back and Delphi has to fight to contain her blooming rage. “He’s resting - Draco and Astoria are with him! We need to let the mediwitch-” 

“You shouldn’t be here!” 

All forms of protest die on Delphini’s lips at that familiar shriek. 

She winces, turning just in time to witness Bellatrix Lestrange storming down the hallway. Lucius is hot on her heels and already reaching to console his wife. 

“I need to be. He’s family.” She answers through grit teeth as the pair reaches them. “You’re the one who always says we watch out for family." 

Her mother’s eyes narrow dangerously at that, reaching out to yank Delphini’s arm just as Lucius pulls Narcissa into his own. Bellatrix drags her halfway down the hall and Delphini knows at this point there's little room for protest. 

“I gave Snape explicit instructions not to let you leave that castle! We haven’t even caught all of the individuals involved - Scorpius wasn’t the only child that was attacked! They’re after all related children.”

All cause-related children, her mother means. Any child related to Death Eaters in particular, perhaps to a complicit ministry worker or other compliant witches and wizards. Any child who isn’t a direct member of the resistance movement, maybe. 

“Why must you insist on disobeying us?” Her mother’s words are a hiss and her tone heated but the look in her eye is worried.  

Delphini knows why. 

Knows that she has a steeper price on her head than any other Death Eater’s child. Knows that the resistance would rejoice in her death, the perpetrator wildly celebrated - hailed a hero. Knows that it just might be enough to cripple her mother.

“No one can hurt me.” She lies, unable to even look the witch in the eye as she says it. Bellatrix leans forward, firm hands that were just locked around her daughter's arm in anger find her face gently, lifting Delphini’s chin to force her gaze.

“You foolish little girl.” The older witch starts, pulling Delphi hard against her. “I will take you out of that school so fast.” It’s an almost empty threat, the pair of them liars. Still, Delphini reaches right back, arms locking tightly around her mother. At thirteen she’s still at least a head shorter than Bella, her mother’s chin rests atop her curls lightly.  

“Is he going to be okay?” She can’t find the strength to ask in anything louder than a whisper. It’s a heartbeat before Bellatrix answers:

“Of course.”

This time, she can’t tell whether or not her mother is lying. 

[burhanprompt]

Positive Prompt:

breathtaking oil painting, 3D cartoon Disney character portrait render. Female witch, raven-dark hair, mid-20s appearance, emerald eyes, pale glowing skin, pointed chin, elegant nose, hourglass figure, black mesh dress, lace trim, pointed hat, silvery moons and stars, slender waist, sheer sleeves, lace collar, mystical aura, bound to the moon's cycle, ancient lineage, nomadic, enigmatic, charming, sharp wit, captivating smile, moonlit beauty, cunning, fiercely independent, protector of the misunderstood, obscure lore enthusiast, rare ingredients seeker, mysterious smile, (halloween themed artwork) , black cat pet, bokeh, 4k, highly detailed, Pixar render, CGI Animation, Disney, cute big circular reflective eyes, dof, (cinematic film), Disney realism, subtle details, breathtaking Pixar short, fine details, close up, sharp focus, HDR, Disney-style octane render, incredible composition, superb lighting and detail, 1girl , photorealistic oil painting, by charlie bowater, fine details, by wlop, trending on artstation, very detailed, hkmagic

Negative Prompt:

clone head, clone faces,long head, long face, multiple faces, multiple heads, double heads, double faces, big head, long neck, ugly, tiling, poorly drawn hands, poorly drawn feet, poorly drawn face, out of frame, extra limbs, disfigured, deformed, body out of frame, blurry, bad anatomy, blurred, watermark, grainy, signature, cut off, draft, amateur, multiple, gross, weird, uneven, furnishing, decorating, decoration, furniture, text, poor, low, basic, worst, juvenile, unprofessional, failure, crayon, oil, label, thousand hands, text, word,<bad-hands-5>,<negative_hand-neg>,<bad-image-v2-39000>

Model:

realDreamLegacySD15_1515 (SD-1)

Width:

1152

Height:

1408

Seed:

3306345961

Steps:

37

Scheduler:

dpmpp_2m_sde_k

CFG scale:

7.5

CFG Rescale Multiplier:

0

High Resolution Fix Enabled:

true

High Resolution Fix Method:

ESRGAN

High Resolution Fix Strength:

0.45

LoRA:advancedenhancer.b8z9 (SD-1) - 0.7

LoRA:epiCRealLife (SD-1) - 0.7

LoRA:MagicBook-V1 (SD-1) - 0.7

LoRA:more_details (SD-1) - 0.6

LoRA:avelinechrismonica-02 (SD-1) - 1

[kitsune024]

Maleficent Fanfiction

Beyond the Black Veil by Thornvale

Part 1. The Treasure of Witches Chapters 11/11

A single raven was just a raven. A group of ravens was called an unkindness. He had not known true unkindness until becoming a human, however, and even then, he had always known better. Diaval knew Maleficent better than anyone, and he’d thought, however foolishly, that they might have been friends after all they had endured together.’ Some time after Aurora’s wedding, Diaval struggles with his place in the Moors and Maleficent’s life. When the Phoenix Emerald, a precious heirloom of the Dark Fae, is stolen by the mysterious Moon Witch, the raven servant finds himself in a position to recover it - but at a great cost.

Part 2. The White Raven Chapters 4/4

Sequel to The Treasure of Witches. ‘There was once a time that Maleficent had considered herself the truest evil in lands all around. As time passed, she realised just how wrong she was. She was not evil because her enormous capacity for love simply would not allow it. It was love that had saved Aurora from her curse and it was love that had healed Maleficent’s old wounds in acceptance of herself and those around her. But Wynne, another faerie of enormous magical potential, was the true portrait of wickedness.’ Maleficent finds herself in a state of unrest. What matters to her more than anything in the world is her family and their happiness, but strain in their relationships and rising political dissent threatens to tear down everything they have so painstakingly built.

Part 3 The Flame of Tech Duinn Chapters 22/?

Sequel to ‘The Treasure of Witches’ and ‘The White Raven’. The Moors are on the brink of war for actions they did not commit. Diaval endeavours to fix any fissures in his treasured relationships, but can’t quite get the discovery he made in the kingdom of Breoslaigh out of his mind. A golden flame, guarded by the mysterious Veiled Queen, said to be the key to ending the invasion of undead across the united kingdoms. There is nothing Diaval would not do out of love.

NOT MADE BY ME

Artwork created by the wonderful @swankkat​, inspired by my Maleval fic ‘The Treasure of Witches’ on AO3!

I’m so blown away and grateful for this beautiful art! If you like it then consider checking out her blog and Patreon!

[syoevergreen36]

Chapter 1: A Dark Omen

In the heart of the sprawling Vaelorian forest, a world veiled by towering ancient trees and dappled sunlight, there nestled a remote village known as Lysandria. The village was a hidden gem, a place untouched by the hurried pace of modern civilization, where the ceaseless march of time seemed to slow and become one with the whispering leaves and babbling streams. It was a place where the mystical met the mundane, where magic and nature coexisted in a harmony as old as the world itself.

As the last rays of dusk kissed the treetops, Lysandria stirred to life with a serene, almost ethereal quality. Wooden cottages with thatched roofs and moss-covered stones seemed to grow with life, seamlessly integrated into the lush surroundings. Vibrant ivy clung to the walls, as if nature herself sought to reclaim what was once hers.

At the heart of this village, within a quaint, cozy cottage adorned with symbols of the natural world, lived a young woman named Syona Nightshade, or Syo, as she was affectionately known by the villagers. She was no ordinary resident; she was the last in a long and illustrious lineage of witches, bearing the weight of a name steeped in history and power.

The Nightshade bloodline was legendary, renowned throughout Vaeloria for its unique connection to the ebb and flow of the world's magic. From predicting the seasons with uncanny precision to mending the wounded and curing ailments that befell the villagers, the Nightshades were whispered of in reverent tones, their powers said to be as boundless as the forest that sheltered them.

Syo herself was a testament to the family's mystique. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back in a wild, untamed mane, a stark contrast to her pale, porcelain skin. Her emerald eyes, the color of the canopy that stretched above her, held a profound depth, hinting at the wellspring of magic that flowed within her veins. At the moment, those eyes displayed a hint of unease, a flicker of doubt that danced beneath their depths. On this particular evening, as she emerged from her cottage, the world around her seemed to hold its breath. Her footsteps were light, barely disturbing the carpet of moss that blanketed the forest floor. 

She wore a cloak crafted from an ethereal silk  that let off a faint glow, it was more than just an heirloom, it was a mantle of responsibility, a symbol of the Nightshades' unique place in Vaeloria's history. The threads of the cloak held the echoes of spells cast by her ancestors, their collective wisdom and power woven into its very fabric, passed down through generations. Small runes, and other strange symbols marked the cloak. Each silken thread hummed with an ethereal resonance, as if whispering ancient secrets to those who would listen. Syo's fingers lightly traced the intricate patterns etched into the silk, feeling the vibrations resonate through her skin. The cloak had always been a source of comfort, a tangible connection to her lineage, but tonight, it felt like more than that. It felt like a conduit to something greater, a bridge to the mysteries of the world.

Syo's unease deepened as she ventured further into the forest, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the natural world around her. The tranquility of Lysandria remained unbroken, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hooting of an owl. Yet, something, an indefinable undercurrent, tugged at the edges of her consciousness, warning her of a change she couldn't quite grasp. The crescent moon still hung low in the sky, its silvery glow casting dappled shadows upon the forest floor. Lysandria lay bathed in the soft, silvery light, a portrait of serenity that belied the unease that coursed through Syo's veins.

Her thoughts invariably returned to the weighty prophecy that had shadowed her family for countless generations. It was said that the Nightshade bloodline held the key to the future of Vaeloria, a destiny that could either usher in a new era of prosperity or cast the world into darkness. The choice, the burden, rested squarely upon her shoulders. With a trembling hand, Syo traced the intricate patterns etched into her protective cloak. The threads of silk hummed with a haunting, melodic resonance—an echo of her ancestors' power, their unwavering dedication to preserving the balance between magic and nature.

She paused by a brook, its crystal-clear waters shimmering like liquid silver in the moonlight. Kneeling down, she cupped her hand, letting the coolness of the stream caress her fingers. In the ripples, she saw the reflection of her own uncertainty, mirrored back at her. The evening breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and a strange sensation settled in Syo's heart. It was as if the very air held its breath, waiting for an ominous revelation to unfold. Her emerald eyes narrowed, her senses on high alert. The forest was alive with ancient secrets, and they seemed to beckon her forward into a destiny she could neither predict nor turn away from.

 Beneath this celestial sentinel, the atmosphere was undeniably eerie, as if the very fabric of reality had been woven with threads of uncertainty. The forest, usually a sanctuary of serenity, held an unusual hush. Leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, their whispers carried away by the night. The branches of ancient trees, gnarled and wizened, stretched toward the heavens, reaching for the enigmatic light of the moon as if seeking solace in its silvery embrace. Yet, for all its beauty, the moon cast long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance to the rhythm of an unseen melody.

Standing beneath the moon's haunting glow, she felt the unease that hung in the air like an unspoken secret. Her emerald eyes, framed by the inky blackness of her hair, gazed upward with a mix of reverence and trepidation. The Nightshade lineage, her lineage, had long been the keepers of an ancient magic, the guardians of a profound connection between nature and the arcane. Tonight, that connection seemed to hum with an unusual intensity, like a chord struck in a forgotten melody. Syo's heart quickened as she scanned the forest around her. She was not alone in her unease, and the very elements themselves seemed to stir with a strange anticipation.

The forest seemed to sigh, leaves shivering in a breeze that carried the scent of ancient earth and wildflowers. It was a night unlike any other, and Syo knew that the tendrils of fate were closing in around her. The unease she felt was not unfounded; it was the tremor that precedes a seismic shift, a signal that her world was on the brink of transformation.

With a final glance at the crescent moon, her emerald eyes filled with a mixture of reverence and determination, Syo took a step forward. The shadows that danced around her whispered of secrets long hidden, and the protective cloak draped upon her shoulders seemed to pulse with anticipation.

In the heart of the woods, where the whispers of ancient trees met the gentle babble of a crystal-clear stream, there was a grove untouched by the passage of time. Here, amid a sacred circle of towering oaks, Syo found solace. The breeze that rustled through the leaves carried the wisdom of countless generations, and the very earth beneath her feet hummed with a connection that transcended mortal understanding.

Syo stood at the center of this sacred grove, the place where she had spent countless hours in communion with nature and the arcane. She felt the pulse of life all around her, from the delicate ferns that unfurled like emerald scrolls to the towering trees that whispered secrets in the wind. But tonight, a sense of unease gnawed at her, a premonition that the grove itself seemed to share.

The prophecy had haunted her family for generations, an enigmatic riddle passed down through the Nightshade lineage. It spoke of a chosen one, a guardian of the balance between magic and nature, destined to confront a great darkness that threatened to engulf the world. The words of the prophecy were etched into the annals of Nightshade history:

"When the crescent moon unveils its hidden face,

A child of Nightshade shall find her rightful place.

With power and purpose, she'll stand alone,

To shield the realm where magic and nature are sown."

Syo had grown up with these verses echoing in her ears, whispered by her parents, Alaric and Elowen Nightshade, renowned magical practitioners in their own right. Their names were synonymous with wisdom and power, respected not only in Lysandria but across the realms. The Nightshades had always been the keepers of the prophecy, the guardians of a delicate equilibrium between the mystical forces of magic and the organic rhythms of nature.

Alaric, tall and broad-shouldered, possessed an air of quiet authority. His eyes were deep pools of wisdom, and his hands, weathered from years of tending to the grove, held a gentle strength. He was a master of earth magic, able to coax life from the soil and mend the wounds of the land with his touch. His affinity for the natural world had earned him the title of "The Verdant Sage" among his peers.

Elowen, his beloved wife, was a luminary in the realm of elemental magic. Her grace and poise were matched only by her unwavering dedication to preserving the balance between magic and nature. With a flick of her fingers, she could call forth flames that danced like living entities or summon torrents of water to quench even the most voracious fires. She was known as "The Elemental Enchantress," and her mastery over the elements was unparalleled.

Together, Alaric and Elowen had been a formidable force, their love and magic intertwined like the very roots of the sacred grove. They had raised Syo with a profound reverence for the prophecy, instilling in her a deep understanding of the responsibility that came with their bloodline.

As Syo stood beneath the canopy of ancient oaks, she felt the weight of her lineage press upon her shoulders. She was the last of the Nightshades, the one fated to fulfill the prophecy and confront the looming darkness. The grove seemed to murmur in agreement, leaves trembling in a breeze laden with a sense of foreboding.

It was not just the prophecy that troubled her but a vision that had visited her dreams—a vision of a world shrouded in shadow, where the delicate harmony between magic and nature had been shattered. In that shadowed realm, a malevolent force known as the Shadowweaver sought to harness an ancient power buried deep within Vaeloria, a power that could either usher in a new era of prosperity or reduce the world to ashes. She had seen herself standing at the precipice of this world-altering choice, torn between her allegiance to magic and her bond with the natural world. The vision had left her with a profound sense of unease, a premonition that the threads of destiny were drawing her closer to a moment of reckoning.

[beautytreats]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Mexican Laguna Lace Agate Gemstone Handmade Ring.

[krshndra]

Beauty in a Portrait

In the land of Pantoran, there lived a maiden whose beauty was exceptional and enticing. With her jet black hair, eyes shining like an emerald, and skin so porcelain, even the whitest feather has no chance of defeating her. It is no doubt that her beauty could allure every man and woman in the land. The maiden was named after her late mother, Imogen, who has a beauty that undeniably surpasses hers. Imogen cherished and admired her late mother, not just because of her looks but because of her soothing voice that never failed to ease her worry, because of her warm hugs that became her home, and because of her heart that never wavered in loving her.

Standing before her mother's portrait, tracing every little detail, from the strands of her hair to the tip of her eyelashes, Imogen admired and longed for her mother, and so she wants to have a portrait of herself hung beside to the portrait of her late mother. Imogen began searching for the best painter who could capture her beauty in a painting but no matter who she asked, all the portrait painters she approached were enchanted by her beauty and mesmerized by her presence.

Imogen soon fell into the pit of frustration and despair as she realized that every painter she encountered was bewitched by her beauty, and not a single one of them could finish the painting as they prevent themselves from falling too deeply in love with her. Many simply abandoned their work, leaving her with unfinished portraits.

Pulling herself from utter darkness, Imogen decided to travel to the valley of witches. She hoped that they would have a way to help her create a portrait and capture her beauty on paper. After listening to her dilemma, the witches decided to grant her wish. But the witches seem to have misunderstood her request. Using a magical spell, the witches transformed Imogen directly into a painting. She was frozen in a beautiful still-life of colors. From that day forth, Imogen was preserved in her portrait for all eternity, hung beside her mother, whom she loved dearly.