#head auror moody

[angelfic]

Howdy! Could I request a Theodore Nott, secret relationship, “don’t leave me… please”. ❤️

here u go!! i actually really like this idea and kind of wanna recycle it for a longer fic maybe.. 🤔 thank u for the request! 💌

theodore nott x reader + secret relationship + “don’t leave me… please”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

You’re stressfully stirring sugar into your tea in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place when Mattheo and Theodore turn up, bruised and bloody in the hands of Alastor Moody.

The Auror had sent a message in advance through his Patronus, alerting members of the Order that he was heading to headquarters with two death eater defectors. An hour of hoping it’s who you think, and three cups of tea later, you breathe a sigh of relief when you realise Mattheo and Theo are alive.

The way Theo is leaning his weight on Mattheo doesn’t slip past you, and as soon as he finds you among the others, you rush forward.

“Hi,” Theo whispers, the greeting reserved only for you despite the numerous others in the dining room. His eyes are drooping slightly as he sways on his feet. Nonetheless, he gives you a weak smile. “I’m okay. I promise.”

You nod slowly, brows furrowed in concern despite his reassurance. Ignoring Moody’s confused stares, along with the whispering happening behind you, you do a quick scan of Mattheo and find that he’s definitely had worse injuries from spontaneous fist fights during your years at Hogwarts.

“Are you okay?” you mouth at him, just in case. He winks at you in answer.

Moody, seemingly snapping out of his confusion, turns to you and raises a brow. “You know these two, then?” he asks gruffly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.

“We all went to school together,” Dean Thomas pipes up, saving you from having to stumble over your words in an attempt to explain your relationship with Theo.

There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone in the room suspects you and Theo are more than just schoolmates, but you don’t move to address anything. The implications of you being in love with an ex-death eater aside, it’s none of their business. Moody doesn’t quite seem to accept this immediately.

”School,” he mutters, nodding begrudgingly. “And how well do you-”

“Alastor,” McGonagall cuts him off sharply. Peering at him over her spectacles, she purses her lips. “You can get to interrogating them about being Transfiguration partners after they’ve recovered. These boys need a healer. Now.”

“Yes, yes,” Moody replies grumpily, reluctantly letting them go to open the door to the hall. “We’ve got Poppy in the living room. She’ll fix them up, nice and quick.”

You step back to give the two boys space to make their way to the Healer, but Theo catches your hand and grips it tightly. “No. No, Y/N can do it. Just give her some of the medicine, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

You open your mouth to object, wanting Madame Pomfrey to assess him properly, but the pleading in his eyes has you hesitating.

“Don’t leave me…” Theo’s voice becomes lower, quieter and earnest. “Please.”

“Okay,” you exhale, cupping his face with your hand and stroking your thumb over his cheekbone. You look over at Professor McGonagall for confirmation and when she sighs and nods, you respond with a grateful smile before turning back to Theo. “I won’t leave you.”

Mattheo clears his throat, popping the little bubble you and Theo have found yourself in and making you look away, cheeks warm. Walking over to where Moody holds the door open, Mattheo gives you both a knowing look before speaking to the rest of the room. “I guess I‘ll be seeing dear, old Poppy alone then. Nothing she hasn’t fixed before.”

Taking this as your cue to leave, you wrap an arm around Theo’s waist to support him as you make your way out of the room and up the stairs to an empty room. You help him to sit on the bed and disentangle your hand from his, dropping a kiss to the inside of his palm. “I need to go get the stuff from Madame Promfrey, I won’t be a minute-”

“Not yet,” Theo pleads, hooking pinky finger around your own and tugging lightly. “I’m not that injured, just… come here for a second.”

Your resolve crumbles immediately due to not having seen Theo since school ended a month ago, during which he was trying to leave the other side of the war without getting himself killed. You sit next to him on the bed, but he immediately reaches over to manoeuvre you by the waist until your legs are wrapped around him in a straddling position. Theo presses a soft kiss to your lips and the pure love radiating from him makes your heart jump to your throat. When he pulls away, he looks more relaxed and content than he has in months.

“Hi,” he says, a gentle smile playing about his lips while he fingers the hem of your shirt where it sits at your back. Tingles run down your spine where his cold fingers brush against your skin and you end up leaning into his chest even more, causing his smile to deepen. “I missed you, darling.”

“What, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t good company?” you tease, tilting your head. Theo scoffs in disgust, lightly tugging on a lock of your hair and looking at you expectantly. “I missed you too, Theo. So, so much. I’m glad you got out.”

“Me too,” he sighs, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. You both stay in silence for a few minutes and you bask in the warmth of Theo’s breaths fanning over your collarbone. He nestles his face into your neck and seems perfectly happy just to stay there when he speaks. “It was torture staying away, you know. I’m never leaving your side again.”

You run your fingers through Theo’s hair, lightly scratching at his scalp and biting back a smile when he lets out a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. “You being glued to me is probably going to make it clear that we’re more than ex-Transfiguration partners, by the way.”

“I bet you anything they all already know,” Theo murmurs distractedly. You frown and sit up straighter to look at him, raising a curious brow in questioning. He looks at you like it’s obvious. “Mattheo is downstairs, unsupervised. If he hasn’t told everyone by now…”

You shake your head, shifting to move off Theo’s lap. A pout forms on his lips, but he reluctantly lets you stand. “I better go do some damage control while I go get the stuff from Pomfrey. Merlin knows what embarrassing things Mattheo is telling them right now.”

“I can think of a few things,” Theo says, his innocent voice contrasting with the devious smirk on his face. “Like the time we were in the Astronomy Tower and you were too loud, so-”

“Right, okay!” you interrupt loudly, screwing your eyes shut in embarrassment as you try your best not to relive that particular memory. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the way Theo is cracking up, you smile sweetly at him. “You haven’t had any injuries to the head, have you?”

“No, love,” he replies, grinning. “Why?”

You grab a pillow and swing it into Theo’s face, knocking him backwards on the bed. Crossing your arms in satisfaction, you falter when he stays laying down and moans in pain.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” you rush out, panicked as you move the pillow out of the way to climb onto the bed and hover over him. Theo cracks his eyes open slightly, his face scrunched up in discomfort and your stomach drops. “Theo, where does it hurt?”

“Here, come closer,” Theo winces, gesturing you forward, closer and closer and you furrow your brows in confusion. When you’re close enough, he snakes his hand around to the nape of your neck and pulls you into a deep kiss, burying his fingers in your hair. You don’t bother admonishing him, your head getting dizzy from the feel of his lips moving against your own. You only pull away when you hear sudden laughter coming from downstairs. Theo doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest when you do. “All better.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” you say, rolling your eyes and sitting up again. You make sure you put all of your weight on the mattress to do so, just in case you actually do end up hurting him. “I’m actually going downstairs now, okay? The idea of Mattheo talking to McGonagall is driving me crazier by the minute.”

“Come back quickly?” he asks lightly, but there’s a hint of pleading in the way his hand circles your wrist. You give him a reassuring smile and another quick peck on the lips.

“Always.”

[petals2fish]

Now I'm imagining the events during Chamber of Secrets, when Hagrid is taken to Azkaban. He’s thrown into a cell across from Sirius Black. They don’t speak, just stare. The dementors aura have reduced Hagrid to a state of silent, wide-eyed terror. Sirius, though gaunt and wasting away after eleven years in prison, recognizes Hagrid. He knows who Hagrid is—remembers him as the one who carried Harry to Dumbledore all those years ago. Sirius knows that Hagrid must know Harry.

But time has changed Sirius. He’s no longer the man Hagrid might have recognized. It’s clear the half-giant doesn’t realize who is sitting across from him behind the bars. A few hours go by and Sirius can’t help himself.

"Is he safe?" Sirius rasps, his voice rough and cracked from disuse.

Hagrid jerks his head up, startled. His thick eyebrows knit together as he stares at the man, the familiarity of his face finally clicking. Recognition dawns, but Hagrid doesn’t speak. Instead, he turns his head away, refusing to meet Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius, ever relentless, doesn’t back down. "A bit of advice from a friendly convict; time passes faster in this hellhole if you talk."

"I’ve nothin’ ter say ter you," Hagrid growls, his voice dangerous.

"I know you think I killed them," Sirius replies evenly. His tone is calm, almost resigned. "I good as did. But the guards whispered before you even got here. They say you’re here because of students being petrified. I’m not stupid enough to believe you actually killed anyone. But something in Hogwarts is targeting the kids." Sirius’ voice drops to a whisper, heavy with desperation. "Is the boy safe?"

Hagrid turns his head again, his voice dripping with disgust. "Unfortunately for you, the boy lives."

"I know he lives," Sirius snaps, his tone sharp. "Is he safe?"

Hagrid hesitates, thinking of Dumbledore’s recent dismissal from Hogwarts. The board of governors voted him out after Hermione went under. Not that the board of governors gave two shits about Hermione. Without Dumbledore there, Harry is exposed, vulnerable in ways Hagrid doesn’t want to think about. Slowly, his anger softens, replaced by a deep, gnawing worry.

“He’s like his mother,” Hagrid murmurs into the gloom of the cells, his voice heavy with affection. “Kind, empathetic, and a bit cheeky when he needs ter be.”

For the first time in eleven years, Sirius feels tears sting his eyes, the words cutting through his despair like a blade.

Hagrid continues, his voice quieter now. “He plays Quidditch like James—only he’s a Seeker. And he’s brilliant at it. Does well in classes, too. He’s got his father’s courage, through and through.”

Sirius’s voice wavers as he asks again, for the final time, "Is he safe?"

Hagrid meets his gaze, his own grief barely concealed. “No,” he says, his words laced with bitterness. “He’ll never be safe again. No thanks to you.”

Sirius remains silent until the human guards return, their heavy footsteps echoing through the grim halls. They stop at Hagrid’s cell, unlocking the door with a loud clang. One of them is an auror Sirius recognized. Moody.

“Harry Potter cleared your name,” Moody says gruffly, “Albus Dumbledore and the board have asked we escort you back to Hogwarts, Hagrid.”

“Harry?” Hagrid gasps, taking in a deep breath. “How?”

Moody flicks a look back to Sirius cell, knowing exactly who Sirius is, before glancing back to Hagrid as the half giant stood up. “It seems Potter has once again defeated a dark wizard. I might as well set up a desk for him at the Ministry, he’s got more balls than half my team.”

No one sees Sirius’ mouth lift into a smile in the shadows.

As Hagrid is escorted out, his massive frame stooped under the weight of the air thick with dementor despair, Sirius finally speaks.

“I’m glad I gave Harry to you that night,” he says.

Hagrid pauses mid-step, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. Moody places a hand on Hagrid’s forearm, glaring back at Sirius’ wasted form. Then, without looking back, Hagrid lets Moody and the guards lead him away into the shadows.

A few weeks later, Sirius asked the Minister of Magic politely for the crossword.

And the rest of this is history.

[iamnmbr3]

So it seems like in the period before his fall in 1981 Voldemort had begun a period of rapid escalation in the intensity/violence of his activities.

In book 5 Moody shows Harry a picture of the original Order. Most of the people in that picture ended up dead. Since Lily and James are in the picture (and are both Order members and not in hiding or still in school) we know the picture was taken no later than 1980 and no earlier than 1978. Thus, all the people in the picture who ended up dead (Benjy Fenwick, Caradoc Dearborn, Dorcas Meadows, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Edgar Bones and his family, Marlene McKinnon etc.) died in a relatively short period of time. (In fact we know from Lily's letter in book 7 that the McKinnons died only shortly before Lily & James were killed).

Furthermore, we know from Sirius that when Regulus joined the Death Eaters, Walburga and Orion were both very happy because at the time they supported Voldemort. However, Sirius says they later got cold feet when they saw "what Voldemort was prepared to do to get power." Clearly they didn't renounce their blood supremacist ideology. But probably plunging the whole of the wizarding world into a bloody civil war in which even purebloods who didn't offer total loyalty and compliance. were at risk, wasn't something they approved of. Regulus died in 1979, having presumably come to a similar conclusion to his parents and consequently turned against Voldemort. Since Regulus would have joined up in 1977 or 1978 this suggests that when he joined, Voldemort hadn't yet begun his escalation but by 1979 it was in full swing.

Going back even further, based on Dumbledore's memory of Tom returning to apply once more for the DADA job, it seems that at that time Tom was already using the title "Lord Voldemort." However clearly at that point he wasn't a wanted man as in the memory he doesn't seem to be hiding his identity at all and clearly has no concern that Dumbledore is going to summon the Aurors and shout, "seize him!" So even if Voldemort was already a rallying point for blood supremacists that early on, he certainly wasn't yet involved (openly anyway) in any type of illegal activity.

So it seems that Voldemort started off slowly, perhaps even as the head of an extremist but still legally legitimate political faction, maybe with his Death Eaters secretly engaging in some illegal activities and then around 1978 or 1979 he initiated a rapid and violent escalation aimed at totally crushing all his opposition and seizing total control by force. (And he may well have been very near to succeeding in that goal when he lost his powers in 1981).

(I will also add that from a shipping perspective there's something else really interesting about this timeline. Alphard died around 1977. Now I'm not saying that Alphard was the last restraining factor that held Tom even somewhat in check or that when he died the last piece of Tom's humanity went with him or that Tom went mad with grief and fully succumbed to his darkest impulses or that he no longer saw any reason to hold back. But also I'm not, not saying that. Alphalord is totally canon.)

[northlt03]

Barty Crouch Jr who had never seen death before Evan's. Who's only connection to mortality had been the neighbor's cat he pet and fed sometimes, who went limp in his arms. Admittedly, his father hadn't explained death very well.

"She's gone" His father said.

"To a better place" His mother corrected, casting him a pleading glance. Barty was only six. "She'll always be with you"

Barty Crouch Jr who grew up utterly and entirely in love with his best friend. Barty Crouch Jr who would have followed Evan Rosier to the ends of the earth and back. But death was one place he couldn't follow him.

Barty Crouch Jr who saw the love of his life die, killed by a curse sent by a mad auror.

Barty Crouch Jr who saw Evan's body hit the floor. Barty who saw his mouth agape, lips pulled back in the beginnings of his signature grin. Barty who saw his blond hair hide his beautiful eyes from across the room.

Barty who died with Evan right then and there.

Barty who stopped fighting entirely, forgetting to throw curses and spells. Only staring at the spot across the room, watching Alastor Moody move away as if Evan's death was a triumph, nothing more than a temporary obstacle.

Twenty years of life gone in the blink of an eye. All promises of a future of them together. All the dreams they had which had been squandered after Regulus died, now further reduced to ashes.

Barty who fully expected Evan to just brush it off and get up like he'd seen him do after a bad fall in quidditch. Barty who got tackled to the ground, dragged by wizard after wizard. They lost, the aurors were saying. Their side lost.

Barty couldn't find it in himself to care.

He never could. Caring was difficult, it required an emotional connection to someone or something. The only people Barty had ever cared about were dead or as good as dead.

"Hey, Rosie!" A chuckle, spitting blood, grinning looking straight in the auror's eye as one of them punched him. A sharp pain, past memories, play fights, their dorm room in Hogwarts. "D'you think we'll get our own cell in Azkaban?"

Barty who was being dragged away, vision blurry, head spinning, confused. "Hey, Rosie!"

"Rosie?"

"Evan?"

Barty Crouch Jr who spent years in Azkaban and didn't care if it hurt his mother in his process to escape.

Barty Crouch Jr who still couldn't believe after years that Evan was gone. Who still talked to him sometimes. The shadow in the corner of his cell. The darkness that took the shape of his lover.

"Fucking depressing mood here"

"D'you think I could get one of those dementor creeps to give me a tattoo?"

"I'd look sick with a rose on my skin, don't you think?"

Barty Crouch Jr who had planned for years. Who ambushed the man that killed the love of his life. Who kept Alastor alive only to hurt him.

Barty Crouch Jr who pretended to be the man that took everything from him. Barty who looked in the mirror for a year and only felt hatred. Who clawed at his polyjuiced skin, at the haunting eye that stared back. The same one that watched Evan fall. The same legs that stepped over his body like he was a pile of trash. The same hands holding the same wand that killed him. The same lips that uttered the killing curse.

Barty Crouch Jr man.

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Dementor

Words: 982

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Remus couldn’t sleep. Something was wrong. He rolled over, taking in the vast empty space on the other side of the bed. He’d known Sirius for ten years. He could be impulsive, arrogant and sometimes even just mean. What he also was, though, was loyal. To a fault, sometimes. Remus just couldn’t recognise the man that he loved in the accusations lodged against him.

Something was very wrong.

He got out of bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold floor. If Sirius had been working for Voldemort, there must be something in their flat to verify that. He started in the spare room, which had originally been Sirius’ room until they realised that he hadn’t slept in there for three months, at which point it became the spare room. It still had a lot of Sirius’ stuff in there, though. In boxes under the bed and the wardrobe. There was a lot to go through.

He started under the bed. He found twelve photo albums, which he couldn’t face looking through, and a box full of very racy-looking romance novels. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but what was the alternative? Just accept that the man who had kissed him on the forehead and told Remus that he was his whole world two days ago had conspired against them and been responsible for the death of three of their closest friends?

The next box Remus pulled out made him stop. In it was a small black chest with an inscription on the lid.

‘This chest, much like mine, will only open for you, Moons.’

Remus choked back a sob as he lifted the chest onto the bed. He ran his finger across the inscription and heard something click within. He was able to open it. He took a deep breath before looking inside. There were several photos of the two of them that Remus was quite glad that Sirius hadn’t put in a photo album and two envelopes.

He opened the first envelope. It was a contract. A contract that passed the role of secret-keeper from Sirius to Peter, and it was dated four months prior. Remus’ head was spinning. That was Pete’s signature, and he could tell from the paper that it had been magically signed too. He needed to take this to Dumbledore, or the Ministry. Someone who could tell if this was real or not. Then he noted the signature of the witness to the contract. Dumbledore. He knew. This made no sense.

He opened the second envelope, hoping for a miracle.

20th September 1981

Dear Moony,

I assume that if you’re reading this, then it’s likely something has happened to me, or maybe you’re just nosier than I thought you were.

I think Pete is the traitor. He became Prongs and Lily’s secret keeper back in June (see attached contract) because he convinced us all that I would be the obvious choice and Voldemort would never suspect him.

Since then I’ve noticed that anything that Pete knows quickly becomes used against the Order. Pete knew that Marlene and her sister would be with their parents last Friday. Only Pete, Dumbledore and I knew that. I certainly didn’t tell anyone, and it would surprise me if Dumbledore did. So that leaves Peter or a very lucky guess from the Death Eaters.

He’s also been in my ear about you. He’s been saying for months how suspicious it is that we aren’t told about your missions in meetings, and how many meetings you miss. I know you, as I hope you know me, and I know that you would never do this.

I have expressed my worries about this to Dumbledore, who knows that Pete is the secret keeper now. He told me that I was being paranoid and that J, L and H are perfectly safe. I hope that’s still the case when you read this.

If something has happened to me, look into Peter. I don’t think Dumbledore will care, so see if Moody will.

I hope I get to see you again.

I love you.

Padfoot

Remus didn’t hesitate before apparating to the Aurors offices.

Alastor Moody got on well with Remus and when he showed up looking distraught in the middle of his night shift, he leapt into action. He took the information from Remus, verified the magic signatures on the contract as belonging to Sirius, Peter and Dumbledore, and left the room. Remus sat in the offices for what felt like weeks, but the sun hadn’t even risen yet. Kingsley had sat with him for a while, telling him what Moody was working on, but Remus couldn’t take much of it in.

Moody appeared after several more long hours. “Remus. We’ve done magical trace tests on the finger we found at the scene. He did that to himself.”

“What are you saying, Alastor?” Remus asked, not wanting to hope too much.

“I’m saying that your man is being released from Azkaban as we speak. The dementors don’t like it, but it’s not their decision. This never should have happened. Shit. He should have had a trial, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how we missed this.”

Remus shook his head, “Dumbledore knew the whole time.”

Moody nodded, “I know. That’s something I urgently need to look into, but I needed to right the wrong first. He’s only been there for a day and a half, but the dementors…”

“I know. I’ll look after him.” Remus said as the fireplace glowed and two men stepped out. Sirius looked pale and his eyes were unfocused. Remus stumbled to his feet and pulled Sirius to him.

“Moons?” His voice was hoarse.

“I’ve got you. You’re alright.” Remus whispered into his hair. “You’re safe.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I know, love. I found your letter.” Remus kissed the side of Sirius’ head. “I never believed it was you.”

[greyeyedmonster-18]

we meet again

(so @arliedraws created a slytherin!sirius universe in which james in an auror and sirius is a death eater (or is he??) and they have unfulfilled homoerotic urges for one another and i...came up with this idea, and it's been in my brain (and @impishtubist's SMS text messages for licherally months). It seemed that arlies most recent day of birth was an appropriate time to drop this. xoxo)

--

James's cheeks hurt from smiling so widely as two first-year aurors brought out a cake, lit with an abundance of candles that shot up into the air spelling out Happy Retirement Auror Potter! To complete the package, the cake was decorated as a tropical lagoon. Crystal blue waters, and yellow sprinkles on top to mimic a sunset. Sending James a final subliminal message to cash in his 30 years of unspent vacation time, aside from a few days here and there, and disappear into the tropics. Off the grid, off radar, off the cases. Officially.

Not that James was one who ever said I cannot wait to retire in passing--because he had loved every moment of his years in the aurors department. His first year in the training program, his first big raid, his promotion to Senior Auror, to Director of the Department and finally in his last year, the ultimate promotion of having the responsibility of training new aurors. He had put in the work, and he could leave the department and rest easy knowing everyone left behind would continue to do faithful and just work for the wizarding world. Including his son, Harry who, after years of telling James no I'm not coming into the department, I don't want to, I'm not following in your footsteps, shove off, Dad and trying a host of obscure occupations just to prove a point (most recently a shop clerk at Florean Flortescue) he finally confessed to James he had applied.

James tried to pretend he wasn't elated. Harry tried to pretend he wasn't equally as excited, both of them concealing smiles on Harry's first day in the department. Keeping it cool as the Potter Men were known to do.

"I can't believe you actually did it," Harry said, as cake was passed around, the retirement party in full swing. James was halfway through his slice, blue frosting magically enchanted to pool around the rim of his plate.

"Did you doubt it?"

"Yes," Harry stressed, alongside Moody and Sturgis Podmore, both chatting within earshot. Harry gave James a pointed look, as if to say see, it's not just me. "I thought you were going to delay it again just last week when you got all weepy about writing the report details for your last training class. 12 pages--"

"It's important to be thorough--"

"And that last one was damp, swear," Harry teased, and James shook his head cutting off another bite of cake.

"Oh, just you wait. You'll be crying at your desk too when the time comes," James told him, teeth tinted blue as he spoke, "and you'll look around and wonder where the time went and wish you could--"

Harry dropped his head to the side, closing his eyes and letting out a small snore, earning a loud laugh from Moody, before pretending to wake up, "Sorry? I must've fallen asleep while you were reminiscing."

"Reflecting," James corrected.

"Much more interested in our vacation--"

"Oh no, you're much too busy," James told him, letting out a low whistle, "I've seen that training curriculum and I don't think you'll have time for much of anything for the next few...years?" James shrugged, "Looks like I'll be seeing Santorini, and Turks and Caicos all by myself. Maybe I'll finally take your advice and," James paused to think for a moment, "What is it you've been telling me? Find--"

James sentence was cut off by the department doors opening, Kingsley Shacklebolt striding in, violet robes trailing behind him, jaw clenched and eyebrows close together. James couldn't help but laugh a little as Harry seemed to straighten up, putting his hands behind his back as the Minister of Magic made his way toward Moody and the other Senior Aurors in the room. James had known Kingsley for years--and by extension, Harry had known Kingsley for years, but everything seemed to shift when Kingsley went from Your Dads Friend with the Cool Tattoos and Earrings, to Minister of Magic and Effectively Your Boss. Harry cleared his throat and gave James a nod, before following the other younger aurors in looking extremely busy around the office. Suddenly papers were all too out of place, and there was much work to be done, when only moments before, they were playing a rousing game of napkin Quidditch.

"Sorry, Potter, this celebration may have to be cut short. Auror Bones just sent a patronus, and that burglary down at Diagon Alley might not be so simple after all," Shacklebolt said, dropping his voice lower, "The owner of the shop confessed to having some...untoward artifacts in the back, and you'll never guess what was taken."

"What kind of artifacts?" James asked.

"You're retired, Potter."

James looked at his watch, "I'm not retired for another two hours, now what kind of artifacts?"

"Reliquaries is how the owner described them. Heirlooms that have been passed down in his family for centuries...which means--"

"Layers of dark magic." Moody mumbled.

"That's not the important piece, I'm afraid," Kingsley continued, "The only reason the owner knew there had been a burglary was because the backdoor was left unlocked. I remember when I was a junior auror here...there was a series of home theft...shop theft...all of them with the back entry way left open and--"

"A note," James cut him off immediately, eyes wide as his heart pounded against his rib cage. He could feel a flush fall over his body, acid rising in his throat.

"Oh no," muttered Moody.

"What did the note say?" James asked again and Kingsley hesitated, sharing a glance with Moody.

"Potter, you're retiring, enjoy your--"

"What did the note say?" James asked again, this time loud enough to catch the attention of other members of the department.

"Finders keepers."

--

James's ears were ringing as he left the auror department, not even pausing after Kingsley had spoken the words on the note. Two single words, and suddenly James couldn't see straight. Couldn't think straight.

Finders keepers, finders keepers, finders keepers.

It didn't matter that James was set to retire in an hour and a half.

It didn't matter he had left a party in his honor. It also didn't matter that his lips were stained blue from cake, or that he had dinner plans with Harry after the party to celebrate, just the two of them. He threw open the door to his office, the walls now barren and the space void of any personal touches, and quickly went toward his filing cabinet.

This case, had been the only one James had be removed from. This case, had been the only one in thirty years that had just been marked closed with no real resolution. A series of home thefts over the course of three months, all seemingly connected, but they came up empty every time, eventually abandoning it. After three months, after James was removed from the case, not a single report.

Every time a burglary had been called in since, James read the file and poured over every detail, hoping for more information. For a reason to reopen the case. But none was ever found. James had the dates memorized. Pulling each report one by one, and opening them to the notes found at each scene.

Finders keepers.

He grabbed the files, shrinking them and shoving them into the pockets of his robes, wand in hand as he left his office once more, closing the door behind him. Moody, and Kingsley were already on their way down the hall, nearly chasing after James, urgency in their footsteps to stop him from doing something stupid.

"Potter!" Moody barked

"Evening, Alastor. I believe I have a party to be getting back to," James said simply, though sweat was dripping down his back, beading on the center of his forehead. He ran a hand through his greying hair, in a way he hoped was nonchalant and not in a way that looked dangerously suspicious.

"Potter, do I need to remind you, you were removed from this case and--"

"I'm retired, w-why in Merlins name would--don't be--no, I-I'm not, and there's no, it's a party! I'm having a great time, have a good night!" James gave them both a wave before resuming his brisk walk-run down the hallway, shoes squeaking on the tile floor, eager to get out of the department

He knew where to go.

He knew he shouldn't be going there.

But.

He had to.

There was a fireplace on the first floor of the Ministry of Magic for floo access. James approached the fireplace, thinking, briefly, that perhaps it was foolish to think that after all this time he might still have access--clearance-- to this location. He grasped a handful of floo powder anyway, closing his eyes as he stepped into the fireplace.

"NUMBER TWELVE GRIMMAULD PLACE!"

--

The sitting room looked exactly as James remembered it.

Sort of.

The curtains had been changed. They were a deep yellow now instead of grey like they were the last time James was here. The carpet had been removed, and James stepped out of the fireplace onto cool hardwood floors.

The pristine black leather couch, and the gaudy chandelier were the same though. So were the end tables, and the armchair in the corner with a hand-embroidered throw pillow. James had laughed at it then, because a crook shouldn't have had something so dainty and delicate so proudly on display in their home. So distracted by the decor, the once familiar smells and sounds of Number 12, he didn't notice the man in the doorway.

"I have to admit, Potter, this is quite the surprise."

James jumped, hand immediately grasping the wand on the inside of his robes, attention turning toward the man in the doorway. Dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, not quite tucked into his trousers; dark hair cut shorter than the last time James saw him. 20 years ago. He was wearing house slippers, which shouldn't have been odd, considering they were indoors and among other names James could've called him, Sirius Black was far from a barbarian, and knew better than to wear shoes around the house. But the slippers were fur lined. And James had to stop the corners of his mouth from grinning--just as they had at the pillow.

All at once, James was in his thirties again. Not his fifties.

And he was staring at Sirius Black. Tall, dark, irritating, criminal , Sirius Black. Thoughts racing, with absolutely nothing to say. Tongue swollen in his mouth.

"I could have you arrested," Sirius remarked casually, tilting his head to the side. "I believe this is what people in your line of work call trespassing, isn't it?"

"Your floo let me in," James responded, sounding much younger, and much more petulant than he intended. It was always that way around Sirius. James had thought that years as an auror would put him in a better position to deal with Sirius Black and his quick tongue. That this time he would be ready, and James would be able to respond with ease and not stare and stammer as he did in the past.

He was wrong.

"Ah, so this is just poor manners? Or did I forget the moment I invited you to my home? Did we have dinner plans?"

"Well, no but--"

"No to poor manners? Or no I didn't forget?"

James rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, "We didn't have plans, Black. I'm not here for a chat--"

"But we have so much to catch up on. It's been ages-- how's your son?"

"Cut the shit, Black. I know you were behind the burglary down in Diagon Alley."

Sirius gasped, pressing his hand to his chest, looking surprised and affronted by James's accusation, "Me? But I've been at home all day. Baking. Would you like a slice of rhubarb, Potter?" Sirius gestured with his head, turning around to walk back through the doorway and down the hall of Grimmauld Place.

James followed.

"Well, don't stand there, you can have a seat. Make yourself at home," Sirius gestured to the kitchen table. Fresh flowers in the center. James took a seat, watching as Sirius waved his wand to begin slicing a pie on the counter, all the while smirking at James with his arms folded across his chest. "Do you still take your tea with cream?"

"No!" James objected, "I mean, I do but don't offer me tea, I'm here--"

"Yes, yes, very official auror business, I remember. Just because you have poor manners and show up unannounced to people's homes--"

"I don't!"

"--doesn't mean that I do, and you're a guest in my home, so I am going to offer you tea. Do you still take it with cream?"

"Yes...thank you," James said, watching as Sirius poured two cups of tea, sending them over to the table, along with the pie before joining James.

Black still had that same damn smile. Not a grey hair in sight, though had more creases under his eyes.

"Thank you," James repeated, looking down at the pie in front of him, something clicking in his brain. "Why...why do you have this pie?"

Sirius smiled slowly. "Why not?"

"Why do you have a rhubarb pie, Black?"

"Well, since you asked. A little birdie told me you were retiring from the auror department and...I just thought I'd...prepare for the occasion. It's your favorite, isn't it?"

[lulublack90]

Prompt 7 - Star

@jegulus-microfic February 7 Word count 743

ok this wasn't meant to be another multi-prompt story but here we are 🤣

CW- someone is tortured but it's not described but you know it's going on.

First part

Sirius had blindfolded him once they’d cleared the building. He could feel Sirius’s face still close to his. 

“We’re going to apparate in a second. Are you going to behave, or do I have to stun you?” Sirius growled into his ear. Regulus tried to twist his head away from his brother.

“Stunning it is.” Sirius sighed before Regulus felt a spell hit him, and then…

***

“Did you have to do that, Sirius?” James huffed as he rearranged Regulus’s limp body on his shoulders. 

“If he messed around, he would have splinched himself, and you might have as well. This was easier.” Sirius shrugged at James as he explained. “Come on, Mad-Eye will want to question him.” Sirius held his hand out to James, and they disapparated to their designated safe house. 

***

Regulus’s body felt stiff like he’d fallen asleep sitting up. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open. He was in a dark room, possibly a cellar. He wasn’t sure. If magic was being used, he could be anywhere. 

He tried to move and found he was strapped tightly to a wooden chair. 

“Ah, so you’re finally awake?” A gruff, gravely voice said from the shadows. Alastor Moody moved so he was just visible in the low light. 

Regulus supposed it was meant to be an intimidation tactic, but it wasn’t strong enough to work on him. The Auror clearly hadn’t asked Sirius for input, as he’d know that after dealing with Walburga Black, nothing these silly little men could do would get to him. 

“Hmmm, braver than you look, hey, Black? Let’s see how brave the lionhearted star really is.” He raised his wand, pointing it directly at Regulus’s chest, and all Regulus could think was this man was an idiot. The Regulus star wasn’t lionhearted. It was the heart of the lion, and as it was, his heart belonged to only one lion, a Gryffindor lion. 

He used thoughts of James to get him through the waves of torture Moody was about to perform.

***

Above them, in the kitchen, James and Sirius paced. Frank Longbottom had his wand on them, and they had been warned that if they tried to get into the cellar, he’d stun the pair without hesitating. So they paced. 

James flinched at every scream, and Sirius ranted and raved about how torture wouldn’t work on him because Walburga had made it her life’s mission to torture her sons until they could endure anything. 

“Just talk to him like I said to. He’s a twat, but he’ll talk more if you don’t piss him off with spells first.” He bellowed at the door.

James couldn’t speak at all. Every cry emitted from Regulus broke a piece of him. If he’d have thought even for a second that the Order would do this to him, he’d have taken him and run. 

Eventually, it went silent, and familiar clunking footsteps pounded up the stairs. The door to the cellar opened, and Mad-Eye walked out, looking tired and not at all satisfied. James and Sirius went to step around him, but he shot his arm out, blocking them. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” He growled at them. “No one is to go near the prisoner.” 

“What the fuck Mad-Eye?!” Sirius cried as he tried in vain to get around him. 

“He’s not talking yet. But don’t you worry, he will.”

“No, he won’t! I’ve already told you, Moody, you won’t break him like that. All you’ve done is piss him off. He’ll never say a word to you now. Let us try. I know we can get through to him. He’ll talk to James and I. Please let us try.” By the end of his tirade, Sirius was pleading with the older wizard. James was glad Sirius had taken over. He was in no fit state to fight Mad-Eye. 

“Go on, Mad-Eye, it won’t hurt to let them have a crack at him.” Frank offered as he tried to defuse the situation and get the head Auror to see reason.

The grizzled wizard grunted something incoherent but nodded before he stomped out of the kitchen. They all understood he meant that James and Sirius could go down to Regulus.  

James stared at the cellar door. He felt sick at the thought that whatever had happened to Regulus was his fault if he hadn’t picked him up. None of this would have happened. 

He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.    

Next part

[whorediaries-09]

can i use you up?

pairing- sirius black x auror!reader warning(s) - angst. a/n- a different take on my style of writing.

little train series masterlist.

sirius wanted nothing more but to punch the wall beside him. his feet were atrociously restless and he felt something within him that he'd never felt before. he was sure his knuckles would turn white with the grip he had on the newspaper.

in a span of a few years, he'd escaped the treacherous hold of his nightmares, been accepted into a place he could happily-safely call home. he'd escaped the prison- the hell hole that bound him down, depriving him of the ever sweet freedom. he had found people he could keep close and call home.

little did he know his home was really only just the town where he'd be arrested.

he didn't know he'd be barricaded to his ghosts, tied together with his pasts and prison. he didn't know he'd been bound by shrieking dementors that'd reminded him of his memories he'd so carefully concealed within the corners of his mind.

and with each passing day, when his trial is put off, he feels his hope blur and the fire of rebellion seeded within the crevices of his heart die.

he feels his last bit of sanity fade.

*-

sirius doesn't get any visitors. he never expected any the moment he'd been thrown away into the cell. so when the dementors rattle down on the cell, he grumbles, turning and tossing onto the stone floor.

'sirius!' moody's loud voice bellows. sirius recognizes it, he's learnt to memorize it and hate it so very well.

'what is it alastor!' he screams back. he fills the rage fill him up again. he likes it when he's left alone - when he's not treated like an animal in a zoo. he feels revolting, it scars him into the very depth of his skin.

'the ministry has decided to look into your case once again.' alastor says. his fake eye moves erratically. sirius has learnt to not let the joy affect him. the dementors don't scare him, no. the memories do. so with lifeless eyes, a true contradiction to the gaze of sirius black, he stares at him.

'i thought the ministry was far too fed with injustice? did their big fat brains come back to senses again? or is today april fool's alastor?' he spits.

'black, mind it. i might change my mind.' he piercingly glares at him. he chooses to stay silent and not give him a reaction upon his statement.

'who's taking on my case?' he asks, silently. he's quietened down. he doesn't want the emotions to overrule his logics.

'i am.' a new voice replies. sirius stares for the source of the voice, suddenly interested.

you appear from the shrouded darkness. staring ahead into his piercing gaze, you stand determined on the floor. as formality you offer him your name. he shakes his head, gazing at your form up and down. you shiver under his cold gaze.

'what interests you in my case, young lady?' he asks. to establish your seriousness, you stare right through his cold gaze.

'the injustice.' you whisper. he stares at you before his face breaks into a mocking smile which turns into a harsh, cruel laughter. his head heats up with rage he's never felt before.

'injustice?' he spits. 'i've to believe suddenly all you have gotten your senses back and you should hold a trial for someone who was arrested without proper evidence?' he waits for you to say something. he notices a shift in your body language as you relax your shoulders and shift your eyes on the ground before staring into his again.

'i don't care if you believe me or not. what i can promise you is that i'll give you your freedom.' you say, so serenely. for a moment, he feels a pang of jealousy at your calm state. but it quickly dissipates when the rage controls him over again.

'is that so? what lovely words! why should i believe that you don't think i'm the killer? what confirmation do i get, young lady?'

'that's a fair point you've got there mr. black. but i believe you because...well there's no way you could've been the cold blooded killer. i can only promise you and give you the surety of my words. if you insist, i can make the unbreakable vow with you.'

'you can't do that,' grunted moody, 'it'll trigger the dementors.'

'fine. if he wants, i can make the vow on the day of the trial.' alastor grunts.

'no.'

'yes,' you emphasize. 'do you want me to make the vow? will you believe me then?' sirius stares at you. he tries to decipher through the curtain of your blank stare.

'yes.' he says, his voice quiet and seemingly calm. within him, however, he breaks. he hears the hurricane with his name on it, coming nearer and nearer. the blood rushes to his ears, and he buries the heat within himself.

so, he does his best to lay to rest all of the feelings that have been in his heart. but in his mind, they sink into a swamp.

*************************************************************

original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

*************************************************************

[tascha-schwarz]

Too Good to Be True

“Mad-Eye” Moody was lying in bed, his body fully relaxed, same as his mind. His only eye leisurely wandered the walls of the room, dimly lit by the light of a new day breaking through the curtains, while his thoughts drifted further. He wondered if all this could turn out to be just a dream? After all, can a person feel so happy outside of a dream? And if this wasn’t a dream, how on Earth then did he deserve to draw such a lucky ticket?

He ran his hand over the creased sheets on the other side of the bed and smiled, listening to the quiet splashing of water coming from the bathroom.

He no longer felt lonely. Since the moment he met her, she had never let him feel lonely again. She accepted him with all his scars and rough edges, with all his oddities and weird traits, and - as she insisted - with numerous virtues. Although Moody thought she was exaggerating, he chose not to dissuade her. The tenderness her eyes emitted as she listed his strong points, trying to prove there were plenty of reasons to love him, disarmed him. If she wanted to consider him a hero, so be it.

The door creaked open, and a neat silhouette of a woman appeared in the semi-darkness. She seemed even more slender in his large shirt that she borrowed. The old Auror’s heart raced. Still a little rumpled after sleep, with crumpled curls carelessly sticking out of the mane of her hair, she didn’t need to look flawless for him to consider her a goddess.

She gave him a gentle smile, so familiar, intended only for him, and he returned it gratefully. They needed no words to tell how much they loved each other - their looks, gestures and touches spoke for them.

With a soft fluttering of affection spreading in his chest, Moody watched her approach the window. She drew the curtains open to let some light in, and, leaning on the windowsill, as she usually did, took a moment to look out on the street.

When she turned around, her face lit up with a wide smile.

“How’s the weather?” he stretched out his hand, inviting her back into his embrace. “Seems fine.”

“It’s perfect!”

With a playful smirk she stepped over his wooden leg - only Merlin knows how it ended up in that corner after the previous night - and returned to bed. She crawled under the blanket, and sank into the hold of a man. He stroked her shoulder, that was left uncovered, and pulled the blanket up, squeezing her tighter. She snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and absorbing the warmth of his body. She had never known a safer place than the grasp of his strong arms.

“I feel so good with you, Alastor,” she whispered.

It would never stop astounding him, how it had happened, but he knew she meant it.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he whispered back, planting a kiss on her forehead.

She looked up at him. Without that magical eye his features seemed so much softer. She reached out to caress his face, streaked with cobwebs of wrinkles and scars, but still attractive to her eyes, and he caught his breath at the tenderness of her touch. She was proud to have the privilege of seeing him in a plain and honest way - caring, delicate, sensitive. The warmth of his glance wrenched something inside of her - every time - and she felt the urge to assure him how much he was needed, how much he was loved - over and over again. She smiled fondly and leaned closer. Her lips covered his with sincerity and devotion, and he responded eagerly, just as tender, savoring her taste, her warmth, her love.

The longer it lasted, the more they needed. The sparks of passion twirling in intermingled flows of their hot breathing kept flaring with growing intensity.

Suddenly, a gust of wind hit the window with a loud clatter. They both flinched.

“So, the weather’s perfect?” Moody rasped suspiciously, displeased it made them break apart.

“It is,” she grinned, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Perfect for staying in bed the whole day!” She rolled over onto her back, drawing him along.

He laughed, doing justice to her successful attempt to outwit him.

“And what do we do then?” quite aware of her answer, he asked suggestively, looming over her.

Her arms wrapped around his nape, she pulled him closer, forcing him to press her to bed with the weight of his body. “Proceed with what we started last night?”

“I thought we left no unfinished business,” he whispered teasingly into her ear, slowly covering her neck with soft kisses, and she let out a sigh of enjoyment.

Fingers tangled into his hair, she held him close, guiding him up to face her. “You sure?”

“Well, I guess, there might be a few more different ways to do this,” he mumbled into her mouth before their lips merged together.

His grip tightened, and she gasped in desperate anticipation.

If this was a dream, “Mad-Eye” Moody wished he would never wake up.

[maraudereestauderelb]

What if you're the defendant in one of the trials after the first War against Voldemort?

Hello everyone,

but a special "Hello" to those who love morally grey characters and who imagine themselves a little more "layered" when it comes to the World of Harry Potter and the Marauders.

We can't all be noble Gryffindores who never make any mistakes or wrong choices, can we?

Don't tell me, you've never imagined yourself using a little...dark magic...

Join me and be part of your very own trial! Sounds like fun, right?!

Are you guilty? What have you done? Who are you on the inside? - Let's find out together!

Oh and if you want a little music to set the tone, I've got a little recommendation.

It was a dark room. The tall walls and floor were covered in black marble tiles with the result that every step taken by one of the wizards and witches and every word said inside the biggest courtroom of the magical ministry was echoing, making the volume almost unbearable. 

The wooden stands at the end of the room were filled with about fifty rather old witches and wizards dressed in plum-covered robes with elaborate silver initials on them, the members of the Wizengamot. Next to them sat one wizard dressed in black at a tribune. His name Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the prosecutor. 

The rows around the circular room overcrowded with spectators waiting for the trial to begin, amongst them a lot of journalist. In the center of it all was one single chair on which a young woman was sitting, magically bound to it. Behind the chair in the center was another bench filled with five witches and wizards, the witnesses. On the left to the bench was a tiny desk with a chair on which another woman was sitting, her lawyer. 

The young woman in the center was nervous, her body slightly shaking, but nobody seemed to notice. On the outside she looked strong and unfazed. But she was worried. Worried she would lose the trial, worried about the two dementors guarding the door, worried she had to go back to the prison which had been her home for the past month, Askaban. 

She had been in the room on the tenth floor of the Ministry of Magic before, but as one of the visitors. The trial back then had been extremely private, the ministry trying to keep everything as secret as possible without getting much attention, but her very own trial was different. The room filled with those who wanted to see another Death Eater and murderer locked away for life. 

Her heartbeat was going crazy and she was on the verge of tears already. She didn’t dare to look back to the witnesses behind her. The people who had her fate right in their hands. The odds weren’t good and she knew it. 

The past month in Askaban had her losing her mind. 

The young witch cringed when suddenly the prosecutor cleared his throat and with magically enhanced voice said: “Case 5895026. The magical ministry against Miss Y/N Y/S/N Y/F/N.” Within the blink of an eye, everybody had gone quiet and Y/N’s heart had stopped beating for a second. 

“Miss Y/F/N”, he continued looking at her with disgust, just like everybody else: “You have been brought here to the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime about betrayal, plotting and murder. You are being charged with the murder of seven witches and wizards including two children of the ages four and three. What do you plead?” 

“Not guilty”, her lawyer suddenly got up from her chair. “The defender Hailey Cornelia Carter”, Crouch said: “And todays witnesses are Professor Filius Flitwick, former teacher of the accused, Y/M/N, mother of the accused, Arabella McKinnon, family member of the victims, Alastor Moody, Auror, and Rabastan Lestrange.” 

The witnesses nodded one after another before Crouch went on: “You’re advised to leave the court room until you’re called.” 

Until each and every one of them had left the room, Y/N hadn’t dared to turn around. She couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t look at her mother. She had no idea whether her mother believed the accusations or not. Y/N hadn’t talked to her for months. What if she believed her very own daughter was guilty? 

“Today we are talking about the events during the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970, where three Death Eaters attacked the McKinnons with Fiendfyre and burned down their house, killing seven witches and wizards. Paul McKinnon, Elisabeth McKinnon, their daughters Marlene McKinnon and Juliana Miller, Juliana’s husband Alfred Miller and their daughter, Pauline, and son, William. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are talking about a crime involving very dark and mighty magic. A forbidden curse. A curse which was purposely used to kill not only adults but two little children as well. On the night of the 26th of July in the year 1970 seven people had to die a horrible and extremely cruel death. It had been a quiet night like every other until their house went up in smoke and fire, because a coward had attacked them from a distance without a warning. And Miss Y/F/N here is accused of being said witch.” 

During Crouch’s speech the young witch in the middle of the room hadn’t raised her head a single time. Her brown eyes were glued to her hands. Never had she ever imagined she could end up in this position. She had been a good kid, a hardworking student, a loyal friend. And yet she was right where she was. In the middle of a courtroom, magically bound to a chair, in front of her the Wizengamot. She didn’t belong there and yet she felt guilt heavy on her shoulders. 

James’, Lily’s and Peter’s deaths, Sirius’s and then her arrest felt like they happened years ago, in another life, but she knew they had only happened a months. Her friends…they were all dead, or worse. 

“And I know what everybody in this room is thinking right now: Why? Why would a young witch do something as horrible as this. And the answer…the answer is simple, ladies and gentlemen, out of love.” 

Sirius. They were trying to blame this on him as well? 

“Miss Carter”, Crouch looked at Hailey: “You have the word.” 

“Thank you, Mister Crouch”, Hailey nodded in his direction and got up with an almost unrecognizable sigh. Y/N knew how nervous she was. This was only her second trial, but she had fought so hard to even get her a trial, although everybody already seemed sure about the outcome. It was hopeless.  

“First of all”, Hailey shrugged and casually leaned against the chair Y/N was sitting on: “Mister Crouch, you were wrong. Not everybody in this room was thinking what you pointed out mere seconds ago, because the question I have been asking myself ever since my client got arrested is: Why now? My client got arrested on the third of November 1971, a month ago, but the crime she is being accused of happened more than a year before that. So, I’ve been wondering…why not earlier? ...And then I knew the answer to it, because you never had the slightest evidence, you never had and you still don’t. My client, a young witch who never did anybody any harm, is suddenly accused of killing not only one person, but seven with a curse so dark, I bet, not even you as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would know how to successfully perform it. How should a twenty year old witch do it then? This entire trial is ridiculous! There is no proof and my client is innocent!” 

“So what you are saying Miss Carter is that your client, Miss Y/F/N, never would have been able to evoke a Fiendfyre? That she is lacking the skill to do so? Miss Y/FN, are you supporting this statement?” But before she was able to answer Hailey said: “Of course she does!” 

“Why don’t we ask someone who could give us a more competent opinion on this. I call Professor Filius Flitwick to the witness stand.” 

Hailey stepped aside as the small figure of Professor Filius Flitwick entered the courtroom. His hesitant steps echoed off the black marble walls, each one punctuating the rising tension in the room. Y/N kept her gaze locked on her trembling hands, unable to meet the professor’s eyes. She had always admired him, had always seen him as more than a teacher—a guide, someone who had encouraged her love for magic before that love became an obsession. 

Flitwick climbed into the witness stand, his expression betraying his reluctance. “Professor Flitwick,” Barty Crouch began, his voice sharp and cutting. “You were Miss Y/F/N’s teacher during her time at Hogwarts, correct?” 

“Yes,” Flitwick replied, his voice soft but steady. “I taught her Charms throughout her seven years at the school.” 

“And how would you describe her abilities?” Crouch leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. 

Flitwick sighed, wringing his hands. “Y/N was… exceptional. She was one of the brightest students I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching. Talented, driven, and deeply curious. In her final years, she was the top of her class in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms.” 

A murmur rippled through the audience. Y/N’s heart clenched as she felt every word like a dagger in her chest. Her gaze flicked up for a brief moment, catching the face of someone she desperately wanted to avoid, seated in the audience. Her former friend’s face was a mask of cold contempt, and Y/N quickly looked away. 

Crouch’s lips curled into a slight smile. “A prodigy, then. Surely, someone with such talent would have the knowledge and skill to perform a curse as advanced as Fiendfyre?” 

Hailey interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Professor Flitwick, in your opinion, would my client ever have been interested in such magic?” 

Flitwick hesitated, his small hands gripping the edge of the stand. “Not at first,” he admitted, his voice laced with sadness. “Y/N had always been eager to learn, but in her last year, I noticed… a change.” 

“What kind of change?” Crouch prompted. 

“She became distant, withdrawn. One day, I discovered a forbidden book in her possession. A text on the Dark Arts. I confiscated it, of course, but… she was different after that. She looked tired, as if something was draining her. She seemed... lost.” 

Y/N closed her eyes, memories flooding her mind. The long nights pouring over that book in the Room of Requirement. The allure of knowledge so forbidden it felt intoxicating. How she had used the Marauder’s Map and Sirius’s Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the restricted section. Her thirst for understanding had felt insatiable, but it was never meant to harm anyone. It was for knowledge, for power over her own destiny, not for destruction. 

“Professor,” Crouch’s voice broke through her thoughts, “do you believe Miss Y/F/N was capable of summoning Fiendfyre?” 

Flitwick’s face crumpled, and he looked directly at Y/N for the first time. She finally met his eyes, pleading silently. But she knew the answer before he spoke. 

“I do,” he said softly, the words falling like a death knell. The room erupted in gasps and whispers, but all Y/N could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Flitwick turned to her, his face etched with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

The words felt heavier than the chains binding her to the chair. For the first time, Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, but she forced them back. Her voice—her defense—felt smaller than ever. 

Hailey stepped forward again, her tone sharp. “Professor Flitwick, isn’t it also true that Y/N excelled in all forms of magic, not just the Dark Arts? That she showed immense skill in protective spells and healing charms? Skills that contradict the accusation that she would ever commit such heinous acts?” 

Flitwick nodded, but his earlier words hung in the air like a specter. The damage had been done. 

As Professor Flitwick stepped down from the witness stand, the tension in the room seemed to coil tighter around Y/N’s chest. Her breath hitched, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She knew who was next. 

Her mother. 

They hadn’t spoken in months—since her arrest, since everything fell apart. But even before that, the rift between them had widened, starting the day her sister was killed. The guilt was unbearable. Her younger sister, bright and determined, had followed Y/N’s footsteps into the Order of the Phoenix. It was unusual for purebloods, but their family had stood firmly on the right side of this war. Her parents had been proud. 

Then came the mission with Marlene McKinnon. 

The night she didn’t return. 

The news had shattered their family. Y/N had stopped going home after that, unable to face her parents. She had joined the Order first, after all, and without her, maybe her sister wouldn’t have followed. Maybe she’d still be alive. 

A rustle of movement brought her back to the present. Her mother stepped into the witness stand, her robes slightly askew, her face pale and drawn. Y/N didn’t dare lift her eyes to meet her mother’s. She couldn’t bear to see the grief, or worse, the doubt. 

“Please state your name,” Barty Crouch instructed, his tone professional but with an edge of impatience. 

“Y/M/N Y/L/N,” her mother said, her voice trembling slightly. 

Crouch nodded. “Mrs. Y/L/N, you are the mother of the accused. Can you tell us what you know about your daughter’s allegiances?” 

Her mother took a deep breath, glancing briefly at Y/N before looking out over the courtroom. “For what I knew… my daughter joined the Order of the Phoenix with good intentions. She wanted to fight against You-Know-Who and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. When her friends had asked her to join them in the order, she had been excited!” 

A murmur rippled through the audience, but it was quickly silenced by a sharp look from Crouch. He stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back. “Which friends are we talking about?” 

“James Potter, Sirius Black-” Gasps echoed through the room. 

“Good intentions, you say. But do you have any evidence to support this claim?” 

Her mother hesitated, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “No. I don’t.” 

Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, and her voice cracked as she continued. “But I know my daughter. I know she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—do something so… so monstrous. I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” 

Crouch pounced. “When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Mrs. Y/L/N?” 

“Months ago,” her mother admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “After her sister’s death… it became too painful to—” 

“And did you notice changes in her behavior?” Crouch interrupted, his tone cutting. “Did she seem… different?” 

“Yes,” her mother said reluctantly. “But the war has changed all of us. It’s taken so much from us. Her sister’s death…” Her voice broke. “It broke her.” 

“And what about her relationship with Sirius Black?” Crouch pressed. “How would you describe it?” 

Her mother seemed taken aback by the question but answered after a pause. “Strong. Impulsive. She loved him deeply, perhaps obsessively, as young people often do at that age.” 

“Could he have influenced her?” Crouch asked sharply. 

“No!” Her mother’s response was immediate, almost panicked. “I don’t believe he would ever…” 

But Crouch wasn’t finished. “Didn’t you just say that your daughter wouldn’t have joined the Order of the Phoenix if not for Sirius Black?” 

Her mother’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake too late. “I—yes, but—” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Crouch cut her off, his tone triumphant. “You’ve made your position clear. If Sirius Black could influence her to join the Order, who’s to say he couldn’t influence her to commit darker acts? Perhaps their loyalty to You-Know-Who was simply well-concealed, a strategy to infiltrate and betray.” 

“That’s not true!” her mother cried, tears streaming down her face. “She’s innocent! She would never—she couldn’t—” Her voice broke completely, and she looked at Y/N, desperation in her eyes. “I’ll get you out of this,” she promised, her voice trembling. “I know you’re innocent, sweetheart. I know.” 

Y/N couldn’t look at her. Her mother’s words cut deeper than any accusation. Innocent. The word felt like a stone in her chest, because she wasn’t sure it was true. She had never intended to hurt anyone, never wanted to stray so close to the darkness. But her thirst for knowledge, her reckless love for Sirius—they had all led her here, to this chair, with her prisoner number inked into her skin like a brand. 

And for the first time, she wondered if maybe she did belong here. 

Arabella McKinnon walked into the witness stand with a presence that silenced the room. Her grief was palpable, etched into her features like a permanent scar. She knew Arabella’s job today wasn’t to present facts—it was to stir emotions, to make sure no one left this courtroom doubting who the villain was. 

Arabella spoke with a quiet dignity at first, her voice steady but heavy with sorrow. She described the McKinnons—their warmth, their bravery, the way Marlene had laughed so easily, even in the darkest of times. She described the children, their lives snuffed out before they had even truly begun. Her words painted vivid, haunting images, and the room hung on every syllable. 

“They were everything to me,” Arabella said, her voice breaking. “And they died screaming. My family burned alive because someone—because she”—her trembling hand pointed directly at Y/N—“decided they didn’t deserve to live.” 

A sob erupted somewhere in the audience, and Y/N felt like the floor beneath her chair was crumbling. She wanted to scream, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt like it was closing, the air in the room thick and suffocating. 

“And for what?” Arabella continued, her voice rising. “For power? For loyalty to that… that monster? You knew them, Y/N! You knew them, and you did it anyway!” 

“I didn’t—” Y/N began to whisper, but Arabella cut her off, her grief giving way to fury. 

“Don’t you dare speak!” Arabella’s voice cracked like a whip. “You don’t get to sit there and pretend you’re innocent. You deserve Azkaban. You deserve to rot there for the rest of your miserable life, with nothing but the screams of my family to keep you company!” 

The courtroom erupted into chaos. Shouts and murmurs filled the air, but all Y/N could hear were Arabella’s words, echoing like a curse in her mind. Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea clawing its way up her throat. She tried to suppress it, to hold herself together, but the pressure was unbearable. As Arabella was escorted out of the courtroom, still sobbing and shouting curses at her, Y/N doubled over. 

She barely managed to turn her head before she vomited onto the cold marble floor next to her chair. The bile burned her throat, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in her chest. She stayed hunched over, her hair falling in a curtain around her face, trying to catch her breath as tears streamed down her cheeks. The courtroom was silent now, save for the faint echoes of her retching. 

Her gaze, blurry and unfocused, drifted upward, searching the crowded bleachers. She was looking for one face. One pair of eyes. She found them, but the expression she saw was ice cold. No sympathy, no compassion. 

Her former friend stared down at her, and Y/N’s heart shattered all over again. The words they had once exchanged, years ago, came rushing back with painful clarity. 

“We may fight for different sides, but I’ll never betray you, Y/N. You’ll never find a dagger in your back held by me.” 

The promise had been made in the shadow of their diverging choices, shaped as much by the war as by the men they loved—Sirius and Rabastan. But now, it felt hollow, broken. Y/N dropped her gaze to the chains on her wrists, unable to bear the emptiness in her friend’s eyes. 

She wasn’t sure what hurt more: Arabella’s fury or the silence of someone she had once called a sister. 

As Hailey stood to cross-examine Arabella’s devastating testimony, Y/N could feel the weight of hopelessness settling deeper into her chest. Her defender was determined, her voice steady as she tried to redirect the courtroom’s focus. But it was no use. The emotions stirred by Arabella’s words hung in the air like smoke, suffocating any attempt to shift the narrative. The damage was done. 

Hailey returned to her seat, her hands clenched tightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw doubt flicker in her eyes. There was no saving this. The audience murmured restlessly as Barty Crouch called the next witness. 

“Alastor Moody.” 

The sound of Moody’s wooden leg hitting the marble floor was loud, deliberate, as he approached the stand. Each step sent another dagger of dread into Y/N’s gut. She knew Moody would bury her. He’d never trusted her, not from the moment she joined the Order. A pureblood with ties to the Black family, the Lestranges? To him, she was a walking liability. What would he say now that Sirius and her had both been arrested? The thought that Sirius was being dragged through the mud, even in her trial, made her feel sick all over again. She clung to the belief that Sirius’s trial, whenever it came, would vindicate him. She knew him better than anyone—it simply didn’t make sense that he’d betray James and Lily. 

“State your name and occupation,” Crouch said as Moody settled into the stand. 

“Alastor Moody. Auror,” he replied, his magical eye spinning wildly, taking in every corner of the room. When it passed over Y/N, she felt as though her soul was being laid bare. 

“Mr. Moody,” Crouch began, “you’ve known the accused for some time, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” Moody said gruffly. “Worked with her in the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“And what was your impression of her?” 

Moody’s lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. “I never fully trusted her,” he said bluntly. “She’s got the bloodline, the connections, and that… feeling about her. You’ve been an Auror as long as I have, you start to recognize it. The way the Dark Arts cling to someone.” 

Y/N’s heart sank. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she avoided looking at the audience. She didn’t need to see their faces to know what they were thinking. 

“Interesting,” Crouch said, leaning forward slightly. “And what do you mean by this… ‘feeling’?” 

Moody gave a sharp laugh. “Dark magic leaves traces. Most people can’t sense it, but after years of chasing dark wizards, you learn to pick up on it. And with Y/N, it’s always been there. A subtle hum, like static in the air.” 

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. And yet, you worked alongside her?” 

Moody shrugged. “I liked her sister well enough. She had a good heart, didn’t deserve what happened to her. But Y/N… I kept my guard up.” 

Y/N stared at the floor, her mind racing. Where is Dumbledore? she thought bitterly. He had promised to protect her, to protect all of them when they joined the Order. But now, with everything falling apart, he was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been there for Sirius either, leaving him to rot in Azkaban. What had been the point of their loyalty if it was only met with abandonment? 

Crouch continued. “Mr. Moody, have you ever witnessed the accused using dark magic?” 

Moody hesitated, just for a moment, before nodding. “I have. In battle. It was during a skirmish with Death Eaters. She used spells that were… questionable.” 

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest tightening. I only ever used it to protect my friends. The memory flashed before her eyes: spells cast in desperation, the heat of battle, the need to keep her friends alive. She thanked whatever shred of luck she had left that Moody hadn’t been there the one time she had crossed the line entirely. 

The Imperius Curse. 

She could still remember the way it had felt—the surge of power, the absolute control. She had forced three Death Eaters to their knees, stopping them from killing Lily. The effort had drained her so completely she had nearly passed out, but for a brief moment, she had felt pride. That single act, if anyone had seen it, would have been enough to condemn her to Azkaban without trial. 

“And what do you make of her capabilities, Mr. Moody?” Crouch asked, his voice sharp. “Do you believe she is capable of casting Fiendfyre?” 

Moody didn’t answer immediately. His magical eye swiveled to Y/N again, and she felt like it was peeling back every layer of her being. “Aye,” he said finally. “She’s capable. Doesn’t mean she did it, but the skill’s there.” 

It was the final nail in the coffin, and Y/N knew it. She didn’t even flinch as he stepped down from the stand. Her thoughts were elsewhere, drowning in regret and anger. 

I did what I had to do, she told herself, but the weight of her choices felt heavier with each passing second. And still, she couldn’t shake the question echoing in her mind: Where is Dumbledore? 

As Rabastan Lestrange strode to the witness stand, his smirk alone was enough to send a chill down Y/N’s spine. He looked far too composed for someone who had been convicted of his own heinous crimes. Y/N couldn’t understand why they had brought him here. What could he possibly add? 

She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her fingers digging into the wood. Her gaze darted briefly to the audience, scanning for her former friend, Rabastan’s wife, and found her sitting stiffly among the crowd. Their eyes didn’t meet. 

The courtroom fell silent as Crouch began the questioning. “State your name and affiliation.” 

“Rabastan Lestrange,” he said smoothly, leaning back in the witness chair. “A convicted servant of the Dark Lord.” 

There were murmurs from the audience, but Rabastan seemed to bask in the attention. His dark eyes flicked to Y/N, glinting with malice. 

“You’ve claimed to have knowledge of the accused’s activities. Please, enlighten us,” Crouch said, his tone cold. 

Rabastan chuckled. “Oh, I know more than a little about Y/N Y/L/N. She and her beloved Sirius Black were always slippery, but I’ve seen through their charade from the start. Working for the Order of the Phoenix? No, no, they were playing both sides, working for the Dark Lord all along.” 

Y/N’s head shot up, her chest tightening. “He’s lying!” she shouted, her voice cracking, but Rabastan barely flinched. 

Crouch raised a hand to silence her. “The accused will remain quiet unless addressed.” 

Rabastan leaned forward, speaking directly to the Wizengamot. “I’ve seen her wield the Dark Arts like a master. I was there the night the McKinnons died. She was wild with rage, casting Fiendfyre like it was second nature. Enjoyed every moment of it, too.” 

Y/N’s vision blurred as her pulse thundered in her ears. “That’s not true!” she cried, her voice breaking. 

Rabastan ignored her, smiling cruelly. “I even offered her that place among us. Told her the Dark Lord would appreciate her talents. She was delighted?” 

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat. The sheer audacity of his lies was almost unbearable. It was true, he had offered her said place, but she had declined. She had hated him from the start—hated everything he and his kind stood for. But she had stayed silent about his crimes, out of a twisted sense of loyalty to his wife. A loyalty that now felt painfully one-sided. 

Her eyes flicked to her former friend. She sat motionless, her face unreadable. Y/N wanted to scream at her, to demand how she could just sit there and let this happen. Her for him. Every time. 

When Rabastan spoke again, his voice was almost gleeful. “I saw her kill them all.” 

Y/N froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach. It was a lie, twisted and reframed, but it wasn’t entirely baseless. There had been a moment—a stupid, reckless moment during one of her secret meetings with her friend—when she had spoken too much, blinded by grief. 

Rabastan’s grin widened. “She’s been playing everyone from the start.” 

“I’m not a murderer!” Y/N screamed, tears streaming down her face now. “You’re lying! You’re all lying!” 

Hailey stood abruptly, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “This is ridiculous! These are baseless accusations from a convicted Death Eater. If he’s so certain, let’s prove it.” 

There was a beat of silence before Hailey said the words Y/N had been dreading. 

“We request the use of Veritaserum.” 

Gasps echoed through the courtroom. Even Rabastan’s smirk faltered slightly. 

Crouch raised an eyebrow. “A bold request. The accused will need to consent.” 

Y/N’s hands trembled as she clutched the arms of her chair. She knew the truth wouldn’t completely exonerate her. The things she had done—the spells she had cast—would seal her fate, even if she hadn’t killed the McKinnons. 

But what choice did she have? 

Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, “I consent.” 

The room fell silent. It was over. One way or another, it was over. 

The vial of Veritaserum sat glinting on the prosecutor's desk, the liquid inside swirling like molten silver. Y/N stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what it would do. It would lay her soul bare, tear away every veil of secrecy she had ever crafted. And there were things—truths—that could never see the light of day. 

With trembling hands, she lifted the vial to her lips. It tasted bitter and metallic as it slid down her throat. Almost instantly, she felt its effects—a strange, floating sensation, as though her mind had been disconnected from her body. She fought the pull, digging deep into her resolve. You can’t lie. But maybe, just maybe, you can choose how much you reveal. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Crouch began, his voice sharp and eager, “did you kill Marlene McKinnon and her family?” 

The words struck like a physical blow, but she didn’t flinch. Her gaze darted to her former friend in the bleachers. There was no sympathy in her eyes, no shared history, no bond of trust. Nothing but cold detachment. 

Y/N’s mind reeled back to that moment—the fateful conversation with her friend. She had been blinded by grief, suffocated by rage. Marlene McKinnon, her sister’s partner on that doomed mission, had survived. Her sister had not. That bitterness, the unjust cruelty of it all, had spilled out. 

“Do you think Marlene deserves to die too?” her friend had asked softly. A simple question, laden with dark implications. 

And Y/N, angry and lost, had nodded. Just a single, damning gesture. 

She didn’t have to say it aloud to know what would happen next. Her friend had treated it like a gift—an act of warped kindness, an answer to Y/N’s unspoken grief. 

But did that make her the killer? 

“I didn’t cast the fire,” Y/N said at last, her voice steady but hollow. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either. 

The courtroom held its collective breath. Crouch’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Then who did?” 

Y/N hesitated, the weight of the serum pressing on her, demanding an answer. She looked directly at her former friend, whose face betrayed no emotion. 

“I believe it was Rabastan Lestrange who killed Marlene,” Y/N said. Her voice rang out clearly, each word deliberate. 

Murmurs rippled through the audience, but Y/N didn’t care. She couldn’t look away from her friend. The betrayal cut deeper than any spell, deeper than the scars she carried. 

“Have you ever cast Fiendfyre?” Crouch pressed, his voice rising with impatience. 

“I’ve never cast it,” Y/N replied, and it was the truth. 

Crouch’s frustration was palpable now. He paced before her, searching for a crack in her armor. “Have you done anything that could send you to Azkaban?” 

Y/N’s heart thundered. She thought of the curses she’d used, the lines she had crossed to save her friends, her loyalty that had tied her hands and sealed her fate time and again. She could feel the truth clawing its way to the surface. But with the last vestiges of her will, she clung to one thought: He has to accuse me first. Don’t give him the power to condemn you. 

Her voice was quiet but firm as she replied, “You will have to accuse me of a crime first if you want to convict me.” 

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Crouch’s face twisted with anger and frustration. He knew he had lost. 

Finally, he turned to the Wizengamot. “There is insufficient evidence to convict the accused of this crime. I am forced to call a verdict of not guilty.” 

The words echoed in the chamber, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt a wave of relief. The chains binding her to the chair vanished, clattering to the ground. 

But as she rose shakily to her feet, that relief turned to bitterness. The cheers from her lawyer, the gasps from the crowd, none of it mattered. James and Lily were gone. Peter was gone. Remus thought her a traitor, just like Sirius. And Sirius... 

Sirius was in Azkaban. Alone, broken, abandoned, just as she had been. 

She turned to leave the courtroom, her gaze falling once more on her friend in the bleachers. No words passed between them, but the message was clear. They were strangers now. Whatever bond they had shared was gone. 

The freedom she had just won felt hollow. What was the point of any of it if she couldn’t save the people who mattered? If she couldn’t get Sirius out of that hellhole, what did this verdict even mean? 

As she stepped into the cold air outside the Ministry, her prisoner number still etched on her arm, Y/N made a silent vow. If the world had given up on Sirius, then she would be the one to bring him back. 

MASTERLIST

[anxiousthoughts365]

Nightmare

'No, please don't, I'm sorry!'

'S'rius?' Remus slurred, his head fuzzy with sleep as he lifted it from the pillow and squinted across to the one beside him. Black curls were splayed over it in a haphazard waterfall, and in the midst of the mess he could just make out Sirius' pale face. Remus hurriedly rose onto his elbow when he realised that his boyfriend's lovely features were twisted with pain and fear.

'Not him,' Sirius murmured, his voice cracking in a way that made Remus' chest ache. He was clearly asleep, but whatever he was living through in his subconscious was evidently distressing him, and Remus had already taken hold of the other boy's narrow shoulder before Sirius added in a whisper, 'Just please, not h-him.'

'Cariad,' Remus hummed, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he fought to keep his voice soft, soothing. Through many nights of trial and error, he'd found that Sirius was always easier to calm if he was woken gently. 'Come on, Sirius, wake up. It's just a dream, Love. Just a bad dream.'

It took a couple more shakes, but then Sirius gasped, his silver eyes snapping open wide. Remus made sure that the smile he pushed onto his face was believable, but all at once Sirius was scrambling up onto his knees, his hands flailing as he reached for Remus.

'You're alright,' Sirius blurted, and he promptly burst into tears as he took Remus' face between his slender hands, holding the taller boy still as Sirius' gaze traversed his body rapidly. Then Sirius was moving again, crowding in to scatter wet kisses all over Remus' cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, before finally brushing their lips together as he murmured, 'Oh, thank you Merlin, thank you Godric, thank you whoever the fuck is listening -'

'Pads,' Remus breathed, taken aback by his boyfriend's almost violent display of affection. 'What -'

'They had you,' Sirius hissed, his face turning sour as he recalled his dream. 'They had you, Moony. The Ministry.'

Remus tried not to show how his stomach flipped at the words. He should have known that this was coming. Sirius had been on edge ever since the Ministry had visited Hogwarts to talk to Remus on his 17th birthday last week. He'd tried to re-assure his boyfriend that everything was going to be fine, that he'd signed the Werewolf Registry with Dumbledore present for a reason.

The Headmaster had made it so that Remus would be free to spend Full Moons wherever he chose, as long as any security measures that were installed were assessed by the Ministry's Auror Department. And once the Ministry officials had left, Dumbledore had informed Remus that it would be his good friend Alistair Moody who would be assigned to his case, and that the man would be ... Guided by Dumbledore, where necessary.

But even this hadn't been enough to satisfy Sirius. He'd been snarling and snapping all week, had been practically circling Remus whenever anyone got too close, had sharply shut down any conversation that James or Peter tried to start about Full Moons, the Ministry, even Dumbledore in some instances.

And now Remus knew why.

'Sirius,' he murmured, lifting his hand to cup the boy's pallid cheek. 'I'm not going anywhere, Love. You're not going to lose me.'

Sirius crumpled, his lower lip trembling as fresh tears welled in his eyes. It was too much for Remus to bear, so he gathered Sirius to him, wrapping his long, scarred arms around the boy he loved so deeply. He held Sirius as sobs wracked his frame, and he rocked them gently while Sirius gulped and slowly came down. Remus was relieved when Sirius finally sat up, leaning back to meet his gaze. Even with his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, even with his face streaked with tears, Sirius was breathtaking.

'I won't let them take you, Moony,' Sirius asserted, his firm tone allowing no room for argument or jest. 'They can't have you. Because you're mine.'

'I'm yours,' Remus breathed, pressing a kiss to Sirius' lips. 'You and me, Pads. Forever.'

'Forever,' Sirius sighed, the smile evident in his voice as he leaned in to deepen the kiss, apparently appeased for the time being.

[v-a-l]

What's your top 10 Harry Potter favorite characters and favorite book?

ten is too many I think XD. I like Sirius, I suppose that's a given, Harry, Ron and Hermione. I adore Moody and McGonagall, Luna, Neville, James even though we don't really get much of him in canon. I'm attached to the universe, I grew up with it, and whilst I imprinted largely on Sirius, I do have significant fondness for most of the characters.

Favourite book, hmmm. Probably Goblet of Fire. I think PoA is lovely for how much we learn about Harry and where he comes from, and OOTP is great for learning about the first war, and Deathly Hallows is great for the resistance movement that exists beyond Harry and the one man war he's been fighting since book one, but I've always had a fondness for Goblet of Fire and the way the stakes are raised and the characters we are introduced to, I loved learning about Crouch and side characters like Bertha Jorkins who though briefly mentioned, add so much colour to the narrative. I love the conversation in the cave,

“How d’you know?” Hermione shot back. “How d’you know where he Disapparated to?” “Come off it,” said Ron incredulously. “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?” “It’s more likely he did it than Winky,” said Hermione stubbornly. “Told you,” said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, “told you she’s obsessed with house —” But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron. “When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry’s wand, what did Crouch do?” “Went to look in the bushes,” said Harry, “but there wasn’t anyone else there.” “Of course,” Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, “of course, he’d want to pin it on anyone but his own elf … and then he sacked her?” “Yes,” said Hermione in a heated voice, “he sacked her, just because she hadn’t stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled —” “Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!” said Ron. Sirius shook his head and said, “She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”

Chef's kiss.

“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” said Sirius. “He’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical — and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side … well, you wouldn’t understand … you’re too young. …” “That’s what my dad said at the World Cup,” said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Try us, why don’t you?” A grin flashed across Sirius’s thin face. “All right, I’ll try you. …” He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, “Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing … the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere … panic … confusion … that’s how it used to be. “Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning — I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic.

We learn so much about Sirius in this one conversation. How strong his morals were, how he definitely did not believe in a binary world where you're either evil and deserve extreme punitive measures or you're good. Here is a Sirius Black who vocally disagrees with the use of Unforgivables against Death Eaters. He is passionately against aurors being empowered to inflict unquestioned brutality during the war. This probably added to why he seemed all the more suspicious to the ministry, Sirius is not one to be silent about his disagreements. And note that the law allowed the use of Unforgivables against suspects. Can you imagine what they'd have done to Voldemort's supposed right hand? Regardless, Sirius here clearly believes in not just achieving victory in war but achieving a victory that is rightful and just and through just means. He doesn't just want to win the war he wants to achieve the objective for which they are fighting this war in the first place. Something he'd be uniquely equipped with as he comes from a lifetime of observing everything that is wrong with Wixen society and actively disagrees with it. He's not a bystander sympathising with the plight of the lesser fortunate, he's a frontline warrior who deeply believes in the cause he's fighting for, enough to give his life for it, his compassion is proactive, which is exactly what makes him a hero. Sadly all these facets of Sirius' character have largely been left behind by fandom and I miss him deeply.

I'd pay good money to read more of Sirius the way he's written here, GoF is Sirius at his best, rats, caves, detective work and all. If this is Sirius a few months out of Azkaban, I can't imagine how he'd have been at Hogwarts or during the first war. Alas. We'll never know.

[dufferpuffer]

Doing a bit of a deep dive on Mad-Eye Moody and straight away it is bumming me out, fr.

Arthur and Diggory are desperately trying to find a way they can get Moody off on a light warning for using magic around muggles. They are working together to twist the rules behind the Ministry's back, because he has collected so many warnings he could be in more serious trouble 'right before he starts his new job'.

Moody lives amongst muggles, doesn't go out, has extensively trapped his home, only drinks from his own flask - he lives so scared of the world... he is mentally ill. He is disabled. And what support does he get from the Ministry...? The best Auror they have EVER had, who filled up half of Azkaban himself and has SUFFERED physically and mentally for his outstanding service...?

Fucking shit all. Some of his friends need to twist the rules to help support him as much as they can.

'Mad-Eye' is even a name he has gotten POST the first wizarding war, it isn't an old chummy name for an old injury. He had both his eyes when Karkaroff was questioned post-war. (I gotta go back over it, but I don't think the Longbottoms nor any of the Death Eaters associated with them were mentioned in that trial? Makes me wonder if Karkaroff's questions was pre-Longbottom, perhaps an initiating incident for it - and Mad-Eye lost his eye in apprehending them. Apprehending the people who tortured his friends after the war was considered over. No wonder he has an eye in the back of his head.)

Everyone just thinks he is a nutter. A capable nutter, who still has a few peoples respect - but society at large writes about him like a washed-up joke of a man. 'Mistakes a handshake for an attempt at murder'. A ridiculous wizard, useless thanks to his mental illnesses. He is also given shit for his prosthetics and physical disabilities.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now, his wooden leg and his magical eye back in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him. Harry couldn’t blame him; Moody’s fear of attack was bound to have been increased by his ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk.

Dear god, the fact he is even THERE amongst a crowd of absolute strangers shows how mentally strong this man is. Then again, how could he go home...? He thought home was safe, he MADE his home safe - and still he was kidnapped and tortured.

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 31

Managed to write one more @jilytoberfest microfic to end the month! Happy Halloween, everybody :) October 31st Prompt: Unintentional couples costumes

It wasn't until just before they'd planned to leave — when she was running the curling iron through her fringe —  that Lily noticed.

She had thrifted the dress a week ago, before she'd taken the plunge on the new haircut. With its itty-bitty skirt and bright purple fabric, the silhouette was a bit dated, but it had been among the cutest looks that she could wrangle for the price — and with the Order sending them out undercover every other day, price was no small concern for Lily when she shopped for Muggle clothes nowadays.

It had only been four months since she, her boyfriend, and half a dozen of their Hogwarts classmates had graduated from school and joined Albus Dumbledore's secret coalition opposing the Death Eaters. Although it had seemed a daredevil decision at first, the Order of the Phoenix had so far set its youngest recruits only to low-stakes missions and a rigorous run of trainings with some of its members from the Auror Department. None of them had yet found themselves in any real fights.

Instead, the intimidating Mad-Eye Moody — whom most of her peers found vaguely terrifying, but whose dry sarcasm had endeared him to Lily — had set his new recruits as spies and lookouts, spending afternoons blending into the crowds at Muggle locations suspected of being vulnerable targets for attack. As the summer blazed into autumn, Lily and her friends paired off in twos or threes to sit in cafés, stroll the zoo, or (in the case of the Muggle-born members) drive back and forth along major bridges, ready to send a message by Patronus in case something went wrong.

It a strangely peaceful way to enter a war. Lily wondered if it could last.

She turned from the mirror, grinning at the silliness of her realization. Sirius was lounging on the sofa in a biker jacket and Led Zepplin T-shirt, but James — who had never been quite as comfortable in Muggle clothes — had played it safe with his disguise, opting for a plain pair of blue jeans and a white, collared shirt. "James," she said, trying not to laugh. "I just realized — we're dressed like Fred and Daphne!"

"Hmm?" James asked, looking down at his own clothes.

"From Scooby-Doo!" James looked back blankly. "The cartoon? I don't suppose you would have seen it, but it was pretty popular show when we were kids."

Lily had loved watching Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! on the BBC when she was nine or ten. She remembered squeezing on the couch between Tuney, prim face scrunched up in grudging tolerance, and Sev, who would often stop over for breakfast on weekend mornings when his own parents' finances were stretched thin. In those days, piling onto the couch and watching cartoons together had been one of the only activities that could sustain a truce between Lily's prissy sister and her shabby best friend.

"A cartoon — that's from the telly-vision?"

Sirius looked up, curious as always. "I don't know if I've heard of it."

"I'll have to find us a re-run," Lily said. Nostalgia warmed her voice. With a swish of her wand, she set about enhancing their accidental costume — adding a touch of blue to James's collar; conjuring herself a pair of heels, a headband, and a green scarf. Sirius snorted when she transfigured a stubbed-out cigarette into a bright orange ascot and pursed her lips, trying to tie it properly around James's neck.

James raised his eyebrows. "Why do I feel ridiculous?"

"Because Mystery Inc. are ridiculous, James!" Lily said, teasing. "This really is too perfect. We won't be the only people dressed up this weekend — it's practically Halloween."

"Ah! Costumes, right?" asked Sirius, unable — as usual — to resist an opportunity to show off his Muggle Studies bona fides.

"I have always wanted to try that," James said.

Lily quirked her head and considered him, fingering her wand thoughtfully. "Do we have time to make you blond?"

Sirius burst into laughter. "Oh, definitely," he said, raising his own. "Let's make it really authentic."

James's shield charm was accompanied by a handful of enthusiastic epithets. Lily giggled and turned back to the mirror, fluffing up her fringe to cinch the look. "Don't worry, love," she said, "I think people will get the gist." Lily tossed on a coat of pink lip gloss. "What we really need," she said, turning back to James, "is a few more Order members. Do you think we could call another girl to join our route?"

James shook his head. "I think everyone is out on assignments today." This wasn't a surprise — Halloween was a major Wizarding holiday, and Moody thought it was a prime time when Voldemort might strike — but Lily still felt a little disappointed. "Why?" James asked. "Do we need more people for the costume?"

Lily shrugged. "We don't really need more people, but...Fred and Daphne are side characters. It would help if we could add Shaggy and Velma — they're the rest of the mystery gang — or if we could add a van, or a dog. Something like that."

James and Sirius exchanged a look.

"A dog?" asked James.

"Mm-hmm," Lily affirmed, pulling on her shoes. "That's what happens on the show — the gang solve mysteries with their dog. Animals are a big thing in Muggle cartoons." She glanced up. James and Sirius were still looking at one another. "What?" Lily asked.

Breaking his staring contest with James, Sirius turned to Lily and smirked.

"Hey, Evans," he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He raised an eyebrow. "Can you keep a secret?"

[spxllcxstxr]

I’m the Fool • N.T

(Gif not mine)

Request: I really love your writing. Could you do a pining after tonks while she loves Remus and it just overall being very angsty? If not totally chill but just wanted to say I love your writing too — anon

Summary: Seeing your longtime crush with someone else leaves your mind spiraling

Warnings: fem!reader (no pronouns used), internalized homophobia (?), Remus x Tonks, kinda panic attack descriptions, a little bit of canon divergence

Word Count: 690

A.N: yes I was thinking about Good Luck, Babe! while writing this lmao, hope you guys enjoy!

•

You’re really trying not to be obvious. Your eyes have been stuck on her figure across the wooden dining table the entire meeting, but honestly how could you not stare? How could you not admire her beauty, especially when it’s right in front of you, nestled underneath Remus Lupin’s arm?

You glance down, fingernails picking at the polished wood as Moody drones on about the Deatheater spies infiltrating the Ministry. Biting your lip you know you should be paying attention; the fate of the the British Wizarding World was much more important than your feelings for your best friend.

And yet, as per usual, she captures your attention.

You had hoped that this infatuation with your best friend would have ended when the two of you graduated from Hogwarts, but when you saw her on the first day of Auror training a few months afterward, you knew you were fucked. Tonks always handled her wand gracefully and the way she effortlessly dueled the other trainees was mesmerizing. Her spells were always well calculated and her flicks of the wrist always confident. The way strands of her colored hair fell perfectly over her face made you just want to brush them away gently.

But you were too scared then, unknowingly throwing away any chance of confessing to her.

Remus had her in the exact way you wanted her.

Your eyes drift back up to the pair, watching the way Remus’ thumb traced circles on her shoulder and how she would occasionally lean her head back in the crook of his neck.

Moody, Snape, and Sirius argue about something but it’s all muffled in the back of your mind. You try your hardest to focus on their voices, but it’s so hard to with your heart beating wildly in your chest.

Haphazardly, you rise from your seat, ripping your eyes away from your friend, instead focusing on the tips of your shoes. “Excuse me,” you mutter, leaving the dining room to hurriedly rush to somewhere less overwhelming. You feel her gaze on the back of your head until the door finally separates the two of you.

Lightly shutting and locking the door to the second floor bathroom you pause to stare at yourself in the mirror, hand over your heart. You will yourself to take deep breaths, to just calm down.

Your clothes feel too tight and your skin itches and all you want to do is forget about this stupid crush on Nymphadora Tonks. These unreciprocated feelings bubble beneath your skin making it harder to catch your breath.

“(Y/N)?” There are light taps at the door, making you grow quiet. “Are you alright, mate?”

The fact that Tonks is just outside checking up on you has your stomach twisting and your mind drawing up blanks.

You could tell her. You could tell her right now and get it over with. Maybe she’d shun you out of her life, you think, being so uncomfortable around you that she’d never want to see your face again.

The little morsel of hope hidden in your thoughts makes you think of the possibility of her kissing you the moment your confession leaves your lips, and she would break up with Remus and the two of you could fly out of England to be together and forget all this war nonsense.

You wish it could be that simple.

“(Y/N)?” Tonks asks again, snapping you out of your thoughts. “If you don’t respond, I’m kicking this bloody door down.”

You snort at that, making sure you look presentable before unlocking and opening the door.

Your friend’s features are scrunched in worry, her eyes darting around your figure searching for any physical explanation as to why you ran out from the meeting.

“Are you ok?”

You swallow down whatever it is you thought of saying only moments before. “Yeah, I was just coming back down.”

“Oh good!” She smiles, lifting your arm up to place it around her shoulders as the two of you descend the staircase.

And from the second floor bathroom to the dining room table, you know what it feels like to be Remus Lupin.

•

[tedwardremus]

Oh!!!!

I got one, Mad-Eye babysitting Teddy Lupin and it’s a complete disaster, moodboard

As always, please and thank you 😊

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody had faced dark wizards, curses, and two deadly wars. He had trained countless Aurors and sacrificed more body parts than he cared to count, all in the name of keeping the wizarding world safe.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

The toddler with blue hair sat across from him, staring at a plate of spaghetti with all the indignation of an Azkaban prisoner. Teddy Lupin was small but fierce, his chubby little face set in a defiant pout, his Metamorphmagus abilities on full display as his hair cycled through a kaleidoscope of colors.

Moody narrowed his good eye at the child, while his magical one spun furiously, keeping track of every potential threat—though right now, the greatest danger seemed to be the cold spaghetti Teddy refused to touch.

"Eat," Moody growled, pointing at the plate. "It's not going to kill you."

Teddy’s blue hair turned a deep red, the toddler's tiny nose wrinkling in rebellion. “No!”

Moody sighed, leaning back in his chair. Babysitting had never been on his list of duties, but when Tonks—his former protégé and the closest thing he had to family—had asked him to watch her son for an afternoon, he hadn't the heart to say no. And honestly, how hard could it be?

Apparently, very hard.

“Right, if you won’t eat,” Moody grumbled, getting to the heart of the matter, “let’s talk about this watch.”

Teddy’s face was a mask of innocence, but Moody wasn’t fooled. Somewhere in this house was Remus Lupin’s old watch—a family heirloom. Tonks had told him Teddy had a tendency to make things disappear, but Moody didn’t expect a toddler to outwit him so easily.

“I know you took it,” Moody said, folding his arms. “You think you can hide it from me? I’m an Auror. I’ve interrogated Death Eaters.”

Teddy’s red hair now shifted to green, his eyes brightening with delight. He giggled and pointed at Moody’s magical eye.

“Spinny!”

The magical eye rotated slowly, focusing on the toddler. “Yes, yes, very amusing. But where’s the watch?”

Teddy didn’t answer, instead reaching over and grabbing a handful of spaghetti, smearing it across the table. Moody winced, his patience wearing thin. He had dealt with rogue wizards and ambushes, but he had never been this outmatched.

“Alright, Lupin,” Moody growled, standing up and pacing around the room. “You’ve left me no choice. Time to bring out the big wands.”

With a flick of his wand, the lights dimmed. The toddler stared at Moody in awe as he waved his wand, creating tiny, glowing orbs that danced in the air.

“Confession time, Teddy,” Moody said in a mock-serious tone. “Tell me where the watch is, or I’ll… turn all your hair brown.”

Teddy gasped dramatically and clutched his head, eyes wide with mock horror. “Nooo!” he squealed.

Moody cracked a rare smile. At least the kid had a sense of humor.

With another flick of his wand, he sent the glowing figures twirling around Teddy, who laughed and clapped in delight. But the moment was short-lived as Moody’s magical eye caught sight of something gleaming in the corner.

The old grandfather clock was slightly ajar. Moody's eye zoomed in, catching a glint of silver tucked inside the mechanism.

“Ah-ha!” Moody strode over, reached into the clock, and pulled out Remus’s watch.

Teddy burst into giggles again, clapping his spaghetti-covered hands.

Moody returned to the table, watch in hand. He wiped it off with the edge of his robe and slipped it into his pocket. “You’re a crafty one, Lupin.”

Teddy beamed as if being called “crafty” was the highest compliment.

“Alright, lad,” Moody said, sitting back down at the table. “You win this time. But next time—next time—I’ll be ready.”

Teddy stared up at him, his hair now shifting back to blue. He picked up a single strand of spaghetti, dangling it above his mouth with great concentration.

“Eat it,” Moody encouraged. “One bite. That’s all I’m asking.”

With a look of intense determination, Teddy slurped the spaghetti noodle into his mouth. Moody raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“Good lad,” he muttered. “Good lad.”

Send me a character/pairing and an aesthetic/concept and I’ll make a moodboard based on the ask!