#i would like to inform you all that in true sirius fashion not a single gif of rob reading a book exists

[ssiriussly]

who: open!  where: the grounds when: a week or so into the term

Finding Sirius Black lounging somewhere outdoors on a nice day was not unheard of. Far from it. He got antsy when he was inside for too long. The sight of him leaning against a tree near the lake, his things strewn haphazardly around him, was almost a fixture every since he was a teenager.

What was unusual was to find him reading. He’d charmed a thick, illuminated tome to hover next to him, leaving his hands free to eat an apple as he perused the text. It was in French - worse, in Old French. He occasionally noted down words to look up later in a little notebook he kept off to the side. But he was interested in the story in front of him, the reactions playing out on his face.

As someone moved into his periphery, he spoke up. “You’re blocking my light.” They weren’t. But if it was someone that wasn’t worth talking to, that would be enough to keep them moving. He took another bite of his apple and turned the page of his book.

[eleonorebirk]

Little Blessing

Harry stepped out of the door of the little cottage he’d bought, planning to enjoy the early morning sun before he had to go get ready for Auror training. He stopped short, staring at the step. There was a baby. A baby in a basket. He hesitated a moment, then pulled his wand, checking baby and basket for any traps or other spells.

Nothing. Just a baby in a basket. Left on his doorstep.

That was not suspicious in the least. He looked the basket over for any hint who might have left it there. The only thing he found was a piece of parchment.

‘Please keep her safe.’ Nothing else. The writing was smudged and untidy, as if whoever wrote it had been in a hurry.

“Harry?” Ginny had noticed him still standing in the open door. She’d been spending the night again, to start figuring out how she would make the cottage their home, as she liked to say. “What’s the matter?” She came closer. “Oh.”

“What am I supposed to do with her?”

Ginny shrugged. “Take it to the Ministry. They can deal with it.”

He nodded. “You’re right.” Hopefully they would be able to find the little girl’s family and figure out why she had been left on his doorstep.

 “Harry! Oh, who’s this little darling?” Hermione greeted him when he arrived at the Ministry. It seemed she had also just arrived. It was not unusually for them to encounter one another in the atrium in the morning. His training as auror and Hermione’s in the different departments started around the same time in the morning.

“I have no idea. I found her on my doorstep this morning.” He showed her the short note. “I’m taking her down to the Auror Department, see if they can figure out where she’s come from and who left her there.”

Hermione frowned. “On your doorstep?”

He recognized the tone of her voice. “I figured they’re trying to manipulate me, yes.” Thanks to Rita Skeeter, everyone knew now how he had been left on a doorstep after his parents died and they could imagine that he would not abandon a child left on his doorstep. He looked down at the little baby. “I figured I’d take her down with me and let the other Aurors figure out who she is and who left her with me.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Harry ignored everyone’s eyes on him. He was unfortunately familiar with the sensation. He kept walking until he reached the middle of the Auror Department, then he carefully placed the basket down on one of the desks.

“Potter?” Gawain Robards, the Head Auror, came out of his office when he noticed the commotion as everyone tried to catch a glimpse of the child. “What’s going on?”

“She was left on my doorstep. And I have no idea where she’s come from.”

“There is no chance she might be yours?” Robards asked.

Harry flushed. “No, impossible. I haven’t... I’ve been careful.” In fact he had not had sex with anyone in a while. Ginny had offered repeatedly but the few times he had taken her up on it, he’d used a condom and a contraceptive spell to make sure.

“Is there a way to find out who her parents are?” Hermione asked. “A DNA test or an ancestry test, perhaps?”

“What is a DNA test?” Robards asked but then changed his mind. “Never mind. Jones, take it to Gringotts and have them make an ancestry test.”

Harry stepped back, letting Kerry Jones take the child. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the basket again. It was silly, he knew Jones would not hurt a child or allow it to be harmed but, after everything he’d gone through at Hogwarts, he had a hard time trusting people.

 “Any news?” Hermione asked as they met up for lunch. Neville and Ron were there as well. Ron was training with him to become an Auror while Neville was in an apprenticeship with Pomona Sprout. That meant he was normally at Hogwarts but he tried to join them regularly.

Harry quickly filled the other two men in on what had happened this morning, then answered Hermione. “It’s strange. The ancestry test showed nothing but she has magic.”

“A Muggleborn?” Hermione asked.

“Then how could she get to my home? There are spells on the property to keep Muggles away,” Harry pointed out.

“There is another possibility,” Neville said. “It might be that the ancestry test showed nothing because she has been magically disinherited. It would fit with the new patient at the Janus Thickey Ward.” He looked around, noting the confusion on Harry’s and Hermione’s face and the way Ron avoided looking at them. He sighed. “There is a... practice among some very old-fashioned purebloods – light and dark, mind you – to not directly disinherit a girl with too much magic to be considered a squib but too little magic to be trained at Hogwarts.”

“Like Merope Gaunt.”

Neville nodded. “The families hope that the girls will ‘breed true’, as they call it, and have magical sons with a powerful wizard.”

“‘Breed true’?” Hermione repeated. “You mean...?”

“They’re not asked if they want to have a child with them, yes. They’re pressured or potioned usually. It’s possible that she ran when she gave birth to a girl instead of a male heir and the parents then disinherited her and the baby.” Neville took a sip from his water. “When I was visiting my parents today, healers were talking about a young girl who had been disinherited.”

“I’ll tell Jones, she can interview her.”

Neville shook his head. “She won’t be able to. She was so weak magically that the disinheritance damaged her core. She’s unconscious and unlikely to wake up again.”

“That can happen?” Hermione demanded to know.

“It’s very rare today. Few families do it anymore and those that do would never admit to it, the practice is not considered acceptable.” He snorted. “Of course it’s not because of the poor girls but because of the shame of having to resort to that.”

They all grimaced.

“If we have a potential mother, they can do a DNA test,” Hermione said. To Ron and Neville, she explained: “It would prove that she is her daughter.”

“You can suggest it,” Neville said. He doubted however that the Aurors would care overly much.

 “Have you found out anything?” Harry asked Jones as he prepared to go home that evening.

“No and we won’t. I talked to an Unspeakable about that DNA test. We can prove that the patient at St Mungos is the mother but not who they are. The disinheritance changes their genes so a DNA test would not work.”

“What will happen to the baby then?” Harry asked.

Jones shrugged. “We’ll drop her off at an orphanage.”

“There are magical orphanages?” Harry had not heard about that before.

“Oh no, we don’t have any of those. We’ll drop her off at a Muggle orphanage.”

“I thought she has magic.”

“So?”

Harry frowned. No, he was not abandoning her to the Muggle system.

 “What were you thinking?” Ginny shrieked. She had never reminded him more of her mother than in this moment.

“I thought that a Muggle orphanage is not equipped to deal with a magical child,” Harry said. “So I volunteered to take her.” And didn’t it say a lot about the ‘care’ the magical society showed for children, that no one had asked if he was able take care of her properly?

“What about us?” Ginny asked.

“I realize that we’re young. And I should have asked you before offering to adopt her –”

“You want to adopt her?” Ginny interrupted. “That would give her the same rights as any child you and I have.”

“Well, of course.” Harry didn’t understand why she was so worked up about that.

“I’m not going to raise some other woman’s child,” Ginny said. “She’ll take up space, time and money that should be for our family.”

“Ginny, you know I inherited quite a bit from my parents and from Sirius. Even with another girl, we won’t have to worry about money.” In fact even if he decided not to work, they would still have enough to live comfortably.

“And that money should be for us and our children, not some freeloading freak.”

Harry froze at her words. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out! Now!” He watched her toss her hair and apparate away, then dropped heavily into an armchair. He could not believe what Ginny had said. Didn’t she understand that he could not abandon a child? Didn’t she understand why her calling that innocent little baby a freak was unacceptable to him? He had told her about the Dursleys.

“Harry?”

He looked up at Hermione’s voice. “‘mione?”

“I was at the Burrow when Ginny came home,” she explained.

“What did...?” Harry trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

“Ron agrees with her, says you should concentrate on building a family with Ginny. Molly thinks you’re too young to make such a decision and should give her away. Arthur’s on your side, at least.”

“Now what?”

“Now we gather information,” Hermione said. “I can ask my parents. But we should also ask a wix, someone who knows how to deal with a magical baby.”

“How about we talk to Neville? He might know something or be able to point us to someone.” The only witches they knew better, aside from Ginny and Molly, were Luna and Andromeda Tonks. Andromeda was still grieving and raising Teddy and Luna, well...

Neville readily agreed to step through the floo when Harry called him. “Veeny!” he called after listening to their story. A female house elf popped into the room, looking at him expectantly. “Please get everything needed to take care of an infant.” When she was gone, he turned back to Harry and Hermione. “Veeny is a nanny elf. She bonded with my family when my mother fell ill soon after my birth. She’ll know what this little darling needs.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“I’m not sure yet. I know I want to adopt her.” Harry paused. “I’ll have to change my career, right? I can’t work as Auror as single parent.” He smiled at Neville. “Perhaps you can take my place in training.”

Neville shook his head. “I’m not interested in becoming an Auror. I’ve come to accept that I’m not my father. He was an Auror, yes, but I know now that I have to find my own path and live my life, not theirs.” He noticed Harry flinch slightly. It confirmed a suspicion he had had when he’d learned that Harry was dating Ginny and planned to become an Auror. “Harry, have you ever considered what else you can see yourself doing?”

“No, not really. Umbridge sat in on my career advice meeting and McGonagall supported my becoming an Auror.”

“Which subjects did you enjoy the most?” Neville asked. He had an idea but he did not want to influence him.

“Charms, Transfiguration. DADA when we could get a competent teacher.”

“Broom making companies will be eager to hire you, I expect. You’d have to start out as test flyer since being broom maker requires at least basic arithmancy knowledge, but you’d hardly be the first wix to learn arithmancy after graduation. You could apply for a Charms apprenticeship, work for one of the companies or shops selling charmed objects. Not jewellery, mind you, the goblins are far better at working with metals and it requires advanced knowledge of runes and arithmancy. You could join Hermione in getting to know the other branches of the Ministry, if you can stand working for them. Or you can come with me to Hogwarts. Either to have the other professors give you proper career advice – they know more about the requirements and options than I do – or to get trained to teach DADA.” Seeing Harry staring at him, eyes wide, he smiled slightly and added gently: “Or you can just wait a bit. You’re not dependant on a job, so you can take your time before deciding.”

“I need to give it some thought.”

“Of course. I’ll check with my grandmother if there is anything to consider with the adoption, but it should be as simple as intentionally accepting her and naming her family.” Given how Harry was refusing to put her down, Neville suspected that he was already well on the way to accepting him into his family.

 Harry sank back in his armchair with a sigh, gratefully accepting a bottle for Mara and a cup of tea for himself from Neville. He smiled briefly at him and took a sip, then concentrated on his daughter. Amaranth Liliana Potter was doing well. Nothing remained to remind either of them of how she had come into his life.

“Long day?” Neville asked.

Harry sighed. “They had me hold the lesson for 7th year Gryffindor and Slytherin on my own today.”

“I understand.”

Harry knew he actually did, they shared that experience after all. He had gone with him to Hogwarts to talk to the professors. Headmistress McGonagall had finally offered him the necessary training for him to become professor for DADA and he had accepted. The other professors had also offered their help in watching Mara while he had lessons. Veeny was also a great help. Harry was happy that Neville had insisted on her serving as Mara’s nanny. She really was a great help.

Contrary to what Ron and Ginny had thought, he did not regret the different path his life had taken now. In fact he found himself happier than he had been in Auror training. He had been trying to life his father’s life, the life that had been cut short because of a prophecy about him, he knew that now after some conversations with Neville. And that was another thing. In the year he was back at Hogwarts, he had talked more to Neville than in the six years they had been in Gryffindor together. They spent a few hours every day in either of their apartments, correcting essays or just talking. Mara liked Neville as well. When he and Pomona had been away for a week-end to get new plants from the continent, Mara had been rather grumpy.

“Have you written to Hermione already about the week-end?” Neville asked.

“I talked to her briefly in my free period this morning. She wants to meet up in Hogsmead.”

Neville nodded in understanding. “Less chance of running into Ginny or Ron.” Ron and Hermione had broken up soon after Harry and Ginny. Harry knew that his decision to adopt Mara and change careers had been one of things they had fought about but Hermione had told him clearly that their relationship had been getting worse before that.

“She’s been to that event with the other European Ministries, right? Do you think she met someone?” Harry asked.

“Hannah and Susan hinted at it.” Hannah occasionally helped out in the infirmary as part of her practical training. Her fiancée Susan worked at the Ministry as well and had gone with Hermione.

“It would be nice for her to have found someone. I know she gets lonely sometimes.”

“What about you? Are you ready for a new relationship?”

Harry looked down at Mara. “I guess. I’m just not ready to go out and look for someone. Not that I have time, between my apprenticeship here and Mara.”

“Do you want to? Go out and look for someone, I mean?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally he said: “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you would like to go a date with me?”

Neville smiled. “Friday night? My rooms? That way you’re not far from Mara.”

“It’s a date.”

[ladycibia]

Hogwarts Mystery Asks

So yeah, I’m going to answer the ones I’ve got in one, single post so I won’t bother anyone with my constant spamming ahahah it’s a long post though...I don’t know what’s the worst shut up cibia

2. How did you come up with your MC and Jacob’s backstory (family, where they’re from, their relationship with each other, etc.)?

This is a tricky question (and it’s only the first one, hurray!) because I don’t know if I actually did that AHAHAH- well, they are my OCs, but only up to one point; they belong to an already-established fictional universe and so I personally like to connect those few, canon information we know about them to my own personal ideas! And those usually come at random :’) and change pretty often AHAHAH I’m a mess. For example, some months ago I turned their father (who died…for now?? I DUNNO) into an Arithmancer given Silaxiv’s name’s connection to numbers!

3. How did you come up with your version of Jacob?

My MC started off as a self-insert and so I took inspiration from my own older brother (for his physical traits at least - pale skin, black hair, blue eyes). At the beginning of the game we didn’t know almost anything about him (we still don’t…but that’s ok), but I’ve always liked the idea of Jacob being a sort of Ulysses from Dante’s Divine Comedy (extra points if he’s a Ravenclaw, like mine!) :)

4. How does your MC cope with everything they’ve endured with Jacob, R, and the Vaults?

Uh, I love this question. Well, the thing with Xiv is- she’s very unpredictable and you can’t read her that easily. She suffers from the “shonen hero syndrome” and she’s usually very optimistic and happy-go-lucky, but those events did affect her. Her best way to cope with everything that happened so far is to keep herself busy with various activities (first of all, the duelling club – she also used to be its vice-president, but she had to give up her position during Year Five :( that was part of her punishment, sigh), but sometimes, she would just lock herself somewhere in the castle (Jacob’s room or the Owlery hi Talbott) and think and be a little sad for a while (also, the fact that people call her crazy, psycho, ecc. doesn’t really help). However, she also puts other people’s happiness before her own and so, even if she’s starting to have doubts whether this adventure will have a happy ending or not (remember: she’s also very naïve and she trusts people too easily), she’d keep that to herself. For example, she would never express her sadness over Jacob’s disappearance with her mother; she’d rather act as the ‘strongest one’, giving her mother all the support and reassurance she needs. “Don’t worry, everything will be alright. Trust me.”, she’d say, smiling.

8. Does your MC have any sentimental items? | 9. Does your Jacob have any sentimental items?

I’m putting these two questions together because the answer is basically the same! Yes, they both have a sentimental item, and that’s their “XIV” pin. As I’ve already said, their father was an Arithmancer and he was obsessed with the number 14 (he’s the one who decided Silaxiv’s name, much to his wife’s disappointment. She wanted to call her Rachel :’)) and he gave them both one as a gift. A silver one for Jacob and a golden one for Xiv.

5. How does your Jacob cope with Duncan’s death?

I’ve still have so many doubts regarding Jacob and I still wonder what to do with him (help me, game) BUT even if my Jacob is a manipulative, sassy bastard, he’s not 100% evil (yet). He was extremely curious and he had an insatiable thirst for knowledge (as I’ve said, Dante’s Ulysses – with magic) to a point that he actually betrayed his friends. However, I think Duncan’s death (and Olivia – was that her name? – too? Maybe? What happened to her?) made him realize his mistakes and R’s true nature. He’d claim the contrary, but, deep inside, he regrets for what he did. Too bad it’s too late now…

17. Which Marauder is your MC most like?

Mmmmmm…sorry, no one. I mean, you could say Sirius or James, but that wouldn’t be correct. Sure, Xiv is confident and determined, but not in an arrogant way; she would never go bragging about her adventures in the search of the Cursed Vaults or about her duelling skills and she would never, never bully or make fun of anybody. She can be pretty direct sometimes (“HEY GREY LADY HOW’S THE BARON”), but there’s no malice in her actions or words. Her determination comes from the desire of improving herself and her own abilities: she’s competitive, but in a very healthy way (as I’ve already said, shonen hero syndrome, ahah!) Also, she finds no fun in the act of rule breaking itself, she doesn’t get pranks or jokes and she treats the school staff with respect (in a very cheerful way, but still- she respects them. All of them!)

21. Something your MC and Jacob like to tease each other about and use to embarrass each other?

Well…Xiv’s smart, but she’s also way too oblivious and naïve and she probably wouldn’t even realize she’s been teased (besides messing up her name, but you don’t want to do that), ahah…(she gave first-years Merula a hard time with this kind of attitude). She gets a bit shy around Barnaby, but she’s usually never embarrassed (and she does have a big crush on Lockhart – which she doesn’t hide,so). Jacob’s another story. :’) big guy’s a bit touchy AND A SORE LOSER. Xiv always managed to beat him in every game they played (and she’s always been much stronger than him, ever since she was a little kid) and that was unacceptable. Considering he acts big and tough like he’s the most perfect individual in the whole world and then he gets crushed at Uno by his little sister.

(thank you!) 1. How did you come up with you MC’s name?

Oh dear, I’ll try my best not to get all nostalgic :’) alright, as I’ve already said, Xiv started out as a self-insert, but I never use my real name and I usually go for Cibia or (less often) Silaxiv. You see, I used to be a HUGE Kingdom Hearts fan when I was younger, to a point that I had proclaimed myself as the fourteenth member of Organization XIII (long before KH 358/2 Days came out, ahah). If you’re not familiar with the saga, the Organization comprises beings called “Nobodies” and each member’s name is an anagram of their original name, with the letter “X” added to it. My name is Silvia, and so I came up with Silaxiv, which is even cooler because it has the 14 roman numeral incorporated in it ~ I thought it suited MC best ^^ As for the last name, it has nothing to do with Lily Evans, despite the red hair I picked it at random and that was my first result and being myself a Luke Evans fan I was like ALL RIGHT ALL ABOARD.

14. What is your MC’s fashion style? | 15. What is your Jacob’s fashion style?

Despite Xiv’s passion for duelling, scary magical creatures and cursed vaults, she’s no tomboy; she loves skirts, cute dresses & accessories and pink, light blue and pastel colours in general! If wizards knew how to use internet, she’d probably google “cute kawaii outfit”. As for Jacob, he would usually opt for a simple, yet elegant, style! He could have been your handsome, young professor, but it had to f*ck everything up :(

[icarianfate-blog]

Something that’s very important to me and I don’t budge on is Regulus’s continued attachment to his family and connections in the elitist pureblood society. There’s a few reasons for this, which I’ll go into here.

1. Life is Messy

Did Regulus grow thanks to his exposure to the darkest parts of his community, the reality behind their beliefs and his views become less bigoted over time? Yes. But the fact he no longer views muggleborns as filth doesn’t eradicate a lifetime of indoctrination, a need for human connection, a justified fear of rejection, still loving your family even when they’re awful, or utterly pragmatic needs like business partnerships. He’s not Sirius or Andromeda, for Regulus utterly removing himself from the society they were raised in is not an option. Life is messy and sometimes you’re the liberal-ish gay cousin at christmas dinner trying to fend off war flashbacks because your baby cousin just said the word “lake”. 

Regulus -- like Draco -- became a Death Eater at 16 and in canon died at 18. By the end of the second war Regulus is 36. He saw and did terrible things at an incredibly young age, then had to totally restructure his whole world view alone with no one to really talk to about it and rebuild his entire life-- all while dealing with the physical, psychological and social consequences of his actions. While it doesn’t take him long at all to mellow out, it does take him longer to defrag his ideology and figure out what the hell he does believe now and how to express those new beliefs accurately. Basically the man’s a mess and that’s really to be expected.

2. Portraying the Spectrum

I also feel it’s very important to have people who fall more on the “Bad Side” who are well, not so bad. While on paper these topics are very black and white in reality they’re not always so clean cut. Something I’ve always hated about Harry Potter is that until about the last 2 books there’s basically not a single “Good” Slytherin even mentioned let alone seen. Yes there are people like Severus who are there from the start, but he’s not revealed to be a “Good Slytherin” until the very end, the rest of the time he’s portrayed as one of the worst ones. This always just pissed me off so much, it’s just such an unnecessary and trite demonization of a whole group-- worse, a group of children. Yes it’s the most likely place for the Dracos of the world to end up, but that doesn’t mean every single child who was ever sorted into it is a Death Eater in the making. But we never see those Slytherins and it really, really pisses me off.

Regulus is not a “Good Person” in the sense he was always secretly good and eventually ~~broke free of the evil mind control and is now Pure again~~. I hesitate to even call him a good person honestly, even though his last and only canon acts speak to someone who is unwavering good and self-sacrificing. In his youth he genuinely believed in some truly terrible things but he had his own inherit limits and morals he could not sacrifice even for his family and their beliefs. That’s important, not everyone on that side is a Bellatrix, and while being less awful than Bellatrix doesn’t exactly earn you a medal it does speak to the spectrum. He’s not the best, but he’s definitely not the worst. 

By the time the first war is over Regulus is on a knife’s edge at the near perfect center of the spectrum between acceptance and bigotry. He’s proof that a Slytherin coming from the most stereotypical, toxic pureblood upbringing with all the classic Slytherin traits can still buck a lot of the script and actually manage to not be a complete bastard. 

3. Never Burn Bridges You Could Still Use

In true Slytherin fashion, we come to a manipulative, Game of Thrones-y  reason. This is one of the key reasons for him IC and also one of the things I think can be difficult for people to get or swallow. Where most people likely feel that the only correct option would be to pull a Sirius and disown the family-- that they themselves could never stomach putting up with all the heinous things these pureblood types say and cannot imagine someone who doesn’t believe it doing just that for any reason-- the fact is that’s not always the right move, and that there are people who can do it just fine. 

Regulus isn’t a fool. He’s the well-educated, intelligent son of a rich, prominent pureblood family with lots of connections all over the place in the wizarding community who got sorted into the “win or die trying” house. Publicly renouncing half or more of those connections is frankly a terrible idea for him to do on so many levels. He loses a LOT of power, access and leverage he could actually use to do things that could actually be a boon in the long run. While unlike Severus he wasn’t --and likely doesn’t become a spy ( though that is up for debate )-- those connections could be vital for his continued survival and provide a means of keeping tabs on enemies. 

Why on earth would he run around making enemies of everyone he could still use? How does that help anyone? Especially when he’s already mastered the art of placating and maneuvering these types of people.

4. Love, Sentimentality and Loyalty are just as Powerful Weaknesses as Strengths

Something we actually get from canon is that Regulus is an unquestionably loving, loyal and compassionate person. When he has Kreacher take him to the cave he drinks the potion, he sacrifices himself. This is not something someone who is not at their core compassionate, empathetic and loving does. He saw the effects the potion had on Kreacher, he heard what he had gone through, and when the time came he refused to make the elf go through that again. 

"And he order-- Kreacher to leave-- without him. And he told Kreacher -- to go home-- and never to tell my Mistress-- what he had done-- but to destroy-- the first locket. And he drank-- all the potion-- and Kreacher swapped the lockets-- and watched ... as Master Regulus ... was dragged beneath the water ... and ..."

"[...] that Regulus changed his mind ... but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus's family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all." "[...]  I've said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did ... and so did Sirius." [...] I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's ...

This core of kindness and empathy is both what ended up causing him to defect and also what keeps him tied to what family and friends he has left. It’s hard, especially when you are so loyal and loving to cut out people who you’ve known your whole life, who you love and love you back. Bellatrix is a monster she’s easy to cut out but Narcissa? How could he really cut ties with one of his only living relatives, who’s likely his favorite cousin? Who is herself a fiercely loving and loyal woman? It would take a lot for him to finally cut ties with his loved ones still in the purist community and it’s frankly one of his greatest failings. 

5. No One likes a Former Death Eater

The cruel fact of the matter is that regardless of your reformation most people will not accept or acknowledge it and treat you like you are still a monster. Regulus could try -- and does try-- to integrate more with the mainstream, but it’ll always be met with mixed success at best because he was a Death Eater. Unless he moved to a different country, it’d be difficult to really start over again completely with any real solid success. The majority of the wizarding world socially ostracizes him while still engaging with him on a business and political level because of his status. The only people who still want to have a cuppa with him are all in the same boat as him, bigots or purist sympathizers. 

He’s human, and however much he’d like to gripe about people and wanting to be left alone forever to become a hermit he craves interaction, especially since he himself is an intensely social extroverted person. If he cuts these people out of his life he basically has no one to talk to anymore and he’s left totally isolated, which would frankly lead to much worse and dangerous places for him. 

6. Someone here has to be the Voice of Reason

Having literally no one in that community who isn’t a total nightmare is asking for trouble. Not only because it allows the toxicity to stew and intensify unchecked but it also means no one is there to try and help the younger generations break free of the cycle. If he just left like Andromeda and Sirius he’s just making it worse by removing a more moderate voice from the communal discussion. It’s not even about trying to show them the error of their ways, that’s in fact a terrible way to go about things with people like this. It’s about diluting the toxic ideology, providing the less dangerous paths and laying out the framework that can act as the basis for someone else’s journey out of the quagmire. 

For example, when looking at cults and hate groups, the worst way to reach those people is by trying to point out everything wrong and arguing with them, it only entrenches them more. You make more progress by staying close and quietly slipping in the information and tools they need to work things out themselves. Telling someone they’re in a destructive cult will get you nothing, but telling them about this book you read about some terrible cult and all the signs of one you learned from it and isn’t that just wild? These people are bad news huh? Here give it a read yourself-- Is far more effective in the long run. 

By being there he acts as a moderate, neutral adult figure who the children can both model and look to for support. He’s much safer than most of their families and willing to be the sounding board for their own debates and give advice from a place of having literally been right where they are now. He can act as a mid-point between the extremely insular and toxic pureblood community, the mainstream wizarding world, and thanks to his time in hiding, the muggle world for purebloods looking to escape or just broaden themselves.

[amorremanet]

2, 10, 42, 47

asks for fanfic writers

well, no. 10 and no. 42 are over here, but!

2. things that motivate you

* The stereotype that autistic spectrum people are only good for STEM-related things. Like, for all of the folks on the spectrum who are good at STEM things, that’s great and I wish them all the best — but I suck at math and I can’t do anything science-related without turning it into, “how can I make a sociopolitical sci-fi critique out of this” or, “but do gay aliens believe in me,” so nah, I’m gonna pass on doing anything STEM-y.

I’d much rather give a big middle finger to everyone who has this ridiculous notion that autistic spectrum people are completely and utterly uncreative, and that we are only ever good for STEM things, and I’d like to do it by being successful in my chosen creative pursuits, please and thank you.

* Tangentially? Temple fucking Grandin. I don’t actually have any problems with her, herself — but I have a lot of problems with how allistic people hold her up as The One True Way To Be A Successful Person Who “Suffers From” Autism™ and how about fuck that, no. I want to be a successful autistic writer who is nothing like Temple Grandin, apart from both of us being white autistic women/dfab people who are going to be identified and treated as women by other people irl regardless of any wibbly wobbly messy gender feels on our part.

* Talking with people about my projects. On one hand, it’s a way of getting feelings kind of like validation. On the other, and way more importantly for me? I love getting feedback from people, or hearing the questions they come up with — like, on NYE, my aunt and I chatted back and forth about my novel while playing a weird card game with one of my cousins, and Aunt Kelly asked some questions that got me to put a few ideas I’ve been playing with into words more concretely, which was super-helpful — and I get a lot of motivation to work from getting jazzed up about things through talking with people.

* Totally a petty thing, but? Getting cranky with JK Rowling over all of the Good Ally Cookies she doesn’t actually deserve to claim, or all of the characters of hers who Deserved Better (lol, uh. today, my therapist learned that I get Upset about Percy Weasley very easily and about my longstanding hate-on for his parents, and bless her heart, when I went, “uh, I just over-identify with Percy Weasley a lot and there’s a good deal of projection going on here but I also don’t think I’m wrong,” she kinda smiled and nodded and went, “I can tell :)” — she’s great, I love her)

or how, even ignoring all of the #Problematic things about her body of work in the Potterverse, there’s SO MUCH GOOD SHIT in the HP series but she’s so clearly invested in the plot as she envisions it and the story she wants to tell for Harry, to the exclusion of all else, that she ends up completely short-changing basically every other character who is not named Severus Snape or Hermione Granger (most of the time, but not 100% of the time)

Like, I’ve said it before and I will say it until everyone is completely sick of me saying it, then I will continue saying it anyway: JKR views all of her characters — barring Harry, and sometimes Snape and Hermione — as plot devices more than she views them as characters.

She’s a bit better about some of them (Remus, Sirius but not as much as Remus, Ron and Luna but not as much as they deserve, Neville and Draco but not in the ways that they deserve)

but she’s really bullshit about most of them (this is not a complete list, but: Cho; Ginny; Cedric; Tonks; Fleur; Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana; Voldemort — not in that I need her to be sympathetic toward him but ffs, some 101-level consistency in his characterization would be nice; Kingsley; Percy; Wormtail; James; Lily;

Lockhart — “I’m not bitter about JKR’s ableism and victim-blaming with regard to Gildylocks,” I say bitterly, with a bitter expression, while hanging up informational posters about how bitter I am; Andromeda and Ted — deserved better, this is not a question or a debate, I want to say that it’s not even an opinion, but tbh, I know that it is, so hmph; Regulus; Barty Crouch Jr. because he is my Favorite and I can’t make this list without mentioning him;

Bellatrix — again, I don’t need her to sympathize with Bellatrix because how about no? but Bellatrix Black Lestrange is one of the shittiest villains I’ve ever read, in terms of HOW she was written, and I think a lot of the flaws in how JKR wrote her could have been remedied if she actually did anything to make Bellatrix a fully realized character, which would’ve made her a more effective and meaningful villain, and not a shrieking Saturday morning cartoon caricature;

Molly and Arthur — I’m not going into full detail about why I hate them today, you lot can just go read my tag on the subject if you want to know, and I don’t think that JKR’s “plot device first, people second” method of characterization is the only problem? But I think it’s a major contributing factor to The Problem Of Molly And Arthur, because she presents them as this image of Idyllic Domestic Perfection even when their actions and the internal fabric of the Weasley Family, don’t support that claim, and it sucks)

—basically, JK Rowling motivates me by fucking up a lot, because she was one of my idols as a kid and as a teenager, and she was a relevant and immediate source of inspiration because Oh My God You Can So Too Write Novels For A Living And Make A Difference In People’s Lives, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that she saved my life a few times, albeit mostly in indirect fashions…… but she fucks up a lot, and this is motivating for me because it makes me want to do better than her.

It’s not even exclusive to HP fic, either. Like, she’s one of my biggest sources of motivation to work on my novel and put thought and love and heart into making it the best that it can be — because I want to do better than her and even if I never have her kind of money (which lol, never gonna happen), I still want to beat her at something. Once I earn it, I will happily accept beating her at artistic integrity and commitment.

Is it petty? Yes, definitely. But hey, man, fish gotta swim, dogs gotta eat, and sometimes, I gotta think about my issues with JK Rowling to remember that I need to do better than her and motivate myself to do the work

* You know those, “do it for her/him” memes based on that one thing from The Simpsons that people make with their fave characters and/or celebs? Yeah, I kind of want to make one for myself with Oscar Wilde. Because there’s a lot about him that wasn’t ever perfect (he was a white guy in Victorian England, even accounting for his Anglo-Irishness, so…… yeah), and there are several points on which I don’t agree with him (like, for example: if you are such a shit to your wife that your boyfriend, who is so completely up his own ass that it’s a miracle he hasn’t found a way to Narnia, notices and calls you out on it? I’m kinda thinking that you might want to reassess how you treat people and stop being like that, bub)

—but I also want to be a fabulous gay Slytherclaw social satirist who uses that #aesthetic and the popular tropes of the day to do my own thing and redefine outside the box, and hey, if I ever get a, “wit and wisdom of…” book published with some of my coolest quotables in it? That would be an awesome bonus.

* “Okay, but seriously: how obvious can I be that Yael and Elizabeth are a big, ‘fuck you’ to Marvel about all of their queerbaiting with Charles and Erik before I can get sued for it? Because while Yael and Elizabeth are still characters in their own right, their original inspiration was, ‘hey, what if I flipped the bird to Marvel about all of their fucking queerbaiting with Charles and Erik, and did it with extra lesbians? that’s be pretty fucking cool,’ and I don’t want to be sued, but I also don’t want for my point to be missed here”

—or more generally, “I can’t die before I finish my novel, I have a lot of people to piss off and call on their crap through the magic of the written word *makes a sparkly rainbow with my hands like Spongebob going, ‘imaginaaaaaaaation!!! :D’*”

* So, there’s this one bit in Dry, Augusten Burroughs’ memoir about the early parts of his struggle with alcoholism and addiction. In his rehab, one of their assignments for group therapy is to write letters to people in their lives and feel their feelings about these relationships. He writes to Pighead, his best friend/“it’s complicated,” who is HIV-positive.

Reading the letter at group, Augusten finds himself crying, then shares the whole tangled-up backstory that he and Pighead have together, from how they first met on a phone-sex line, to how Augusten fell hard in love with him, to how they were friends with benefits and then he told Pighead that he was in love with him and Pighead plays the, “I love you but I’m not in love with you” card (that is verbatim what he says in the book, and the way Burroughs reads it in the audiobook kills me every single time), so Augusten dates other guys and tries to fall out of love with Pighead, only for Pighead to come see him first when his HIV test comes back positive and realize that he’s In Love with Augusten only, “after he became diagnosed with a fatal disease”

—which gives us the great line, “Part of me felt deep compassion. And another part felt like, You fucker.”

(Which is seriously one of my top ten lines in all literature, ever. tbh, it’s probably top five, but the top ten list would be hard enough to come up with to begin with, and I’d have to parcel things out into Poetry, Prose [possibly split into Fiction and Nonfiction, at that], and Dramatic Writing just to get it down to ten things on each list, and? It’s just a perfect line, oh my god)

At the end of it, Augusten has a moment with Kavi, another one of the patients at his rehab, who is addicted to cocaine and sex. Kavi tells him about how he left his lover who was HIV-positive after his diagnosis, so that he wouldn’t be the person getting left for once, and about how he feels like cocaine never leaves him. And we get: “Suddenly, I want to drink.… I don’t want to drink in a jovial ‘Highballs for everybody!’ way. I want to drink to the point where I could undergo major knee surgery and not feel so much as a pinch.”

I just.

There is so much about this section of the book that fucks me up so hard, but in ways that I love so much — and there’s a lot that I love about it for a lot of reasons, but like?

Speaking entirely with my writer hat on right now?

That part is just immaculately written. Every word is perfectly chosen, and they are strung together just right. Burroughs chooses the exact right images and scenes to characterize his and Pighead’s developing relationship, and his moment with Kavi, and it’s just

This part of the book makes me remember why I write. Because I have been reading and rereading this book since high school — I have had my battered up and taped together paperback copy with the yellowing pages since Easter 2005 — and this part STILL fucks me up, every. single. time. The audiobook version of it still fucks me up every. single. time.

Back in high school when I first read it, it hit me so hard because I had a habit of falling in love with girls who were straight and/or just did not like me back (and it would get worse, because the girl I was in love with who dared me to write D*rarry just to see if I could? Would go on to put me in the position of being her Girl Friday while I got to watch her love everybody but me, and praise the creative work of everybody but me, and go on about how two of her other friends were totally brilliant and misunderstood creative geniuses because they were incomprehensible and it was totally bourgeois for me to want to write to be understood but it was okay she knows I’m ~mainstream like that, but then still call on me — which made the whole Augusten/Pighead thing hurt so much more for me because I was kind of her, “I love you, but I’m not In Love with you”)

(I will say this about that relationship: I didn’t handle it well, either. I was petty and jealous, and waaaay more damagingly? I hadn’t yet grasped the idea that you sometimes have to just let people be messed up at you about the shit they’re going though without trying to fix everything for them, especially when there’s nothing that you can actually do to fix it. In retrospect, it’s kind of hilarious that I loaned her a copy of Perks of Being A Wallflower that I never saw again, because the whole idea that you can’t just constantly put someone else’s needs before your own and call it love, and the related concept that doing this is actually kind of a form of selfishness, in a way?

………yeah, that was VERY relevant to how I handled that relationship, and she rightfully called me on a lot of shit related to those ideas, and I spent a lot of time having an unfair chip on my shoulder because I was jealous on one hand, and indignant about how her other friends got to be Real Artists™ because their shit was incomprehensible but I got to be a Poser Artist™ because I wanted to be understood and not just fap around with some neo-Dadaist nonsense — and as seen here, I still do have a chip on my shoulder about Dadaist anything, but in fairness, I’d have that with or without any of this story because Dada is the worst — and I’m not saying that I was totally pure or innocent in anything here.

But at the time, I cried a lot over Augusten/Pighead feels because I felt that whole, “I love you but I’m not in love with you” situation and trying to fall out of love with someone only to crumble when they needed you and resent them for needing you but hate yourself for resenting them — I felt all of that so hard.)

My appreciation for this part of the book has evolved and changed over time, and it’s deepened — as I’ve learned more about LGBTIQ history, I’ve come to appreciate the context of the story more and gain more of a sense of reverence for the LGBTIQ people who came before me and actually fought through the early days of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and it has changed how I read this part of the book more than anything else (c.f., my passive-aggressive addition of the REST of the quote to one post of the, ‘deep compassion vs. you fucker’ part because I was really annoyed with a bunch of straight people who were reblogging it without the full context and acting like they actually had any idea what it’s like to be gay and in a situation like Augusten is with Pighead here) — and I just

The biggest thing about this part of the book that’s made it stick around for me? is that no matter how I’ve appreciated it at any point, and no matter which parts of it have been the most important to me at any given moment, and no matter WHY it’s fucked me up — it’s still fucked me up so hard every. singled. fucking. time…… but in a way that has always made me feel a lot less alone in the world

It’s sort of similar to something that one of my fiction profs in undergrad once said about creating characters: we were talking, in one of our biweekly one-on-ones, about a story I’d brought in with one of my more off-putting characters (his name is Emerson, he’s an abrasive little shit who does a lot of very fucked up things and was kind of influenced by the Kurt/Karofsky plot back in season two of Glee because that was happening on TV at the time and I had a lot of feelings about it that I didn’t have any other way to deal with because I didn’t want to write Glee fic about all of it. He was more similar to Karofsky than Kurt)

I was convinced that everyone would hate him (not least because he an asshole to basically all of the other characters and assaulted the guy he had a crush on while he was high). Instead, he was actually really popular and one of my classmates, who I admired because her writing was so lyrical and confident and she was a great person, said that she found herself identifying with him, especially during some of his worst moments in that draft. While I was boggling about this, Professor Lucy said that one of the reasons why Emerson went over so gangbusters in workshop was that, instead of going the route of creating a tabula rasa character like Stephenie Meyer wrote Bella Swan to be, I’d given him so many clearly defined character traits and behaviors

According to Professor Lucy, the specificity is what makes it easier for people to identify with characters and feel for them, because it makes them more fully realized. (The, “according to” is just for the sake of attribution because this is a point that I’ve taken to heart and that I do totally agree with Professor Lucy about.) And I feel that a lot with the Augusten/Pighead part of the book because it’s so specific and it’s so grounded and it’s so REAL

And that’s a huge part of why it’s always gotten to me emotionally, and why it’s stuck with me after all this time, and why it’s consistently made me feel less alone and irreparably freakishly weird

Anyway, this got way longer than I intended to get, but the ability to affect someone so deeply with your work — that’s a responsibility that I take very seriously when it comes to writing, with regard to all different aspects of how you can possibly do this with the written word — and this part of Dry is such a source of motivation for me because it’s such a great example, for me, of How To Do An Emotionally Affecting Writer Thingy Well

I use technical language like this because I am such a Serious Business Writer, oh yes I am

47. how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

I usually don’t count, because it’s usually a lot and not all of them are really guaranteed to ever be properly finished, oops.

[gedwimora-arc]

Reposting this instead of just reblogging this from Regulus’ main bc it’s Very Long and I originally made the choice to not cut it because of its importance, which was fine for his main but on here it’s a bit much imo. So naturally I’ve had to repost in order to cut.

Something that’s very important to me and I don’t budge on is Regulus’s continued attachment to his family and connections in the elitist pureblood society. There’s a few reasons for this, which I’ll go into here.

1. Life is Messy

Did Regulus grow thanks to his exposure to the darkest parts of his community, the reality behind their beliefs and his views become less bigoted over time? Yes. But the fact he no longer views muggleborns as filth doesn’t eradicate a lifetime of indoctrination, a need for human connection, a justified fear of rejection, still loving your family even when they’re awful, or utterly pragmatic needs like business partnerships. He’s not Sirius or Andromeda, for Regulus utterly removing himself from the society they were raised in is not an option. Life is messy and sometimes you’re the liberal-ish gay cousin at christmas dinner trying to fend off war flashbacks because your baby cousin just said the word “lake”.

Regulus – like Draco – became a Death Eater at 16 and in canon died at 18. By the end of the second war Regulus is 36. He saw and did terrible things at an incredibly young age, then had to totally restructure his whole world view alone with no one to really talk to about it and rebuild his entire life– all while dealing with the physical, psychological and social consequences of his actions. While it doesn’t take him long at all to mellow out, it does take him longer to defrag his ideology and figure out what the hell he does believe now and how to express those new beliefs accurately. Basically the man’s a mess and that’s really to be expected.

2. Portraying the Spectrum

I also feel it’s very important to have people who fall more on the “Bad Side” who are well, not so bad. While on paper these topics are very black and white in reality they’re not always so clean cut. Something I’ve always hated about Harry Potter is that until about the last 2 books there’s basically not a single “Good” Slytherin even mentioned let alone seen. Yes there are people like Severus who are there from the start, but he’s not revealed to be a “Good Slytherin” until the very end, the rest of the time he’s portrayed as one of the worst ones. This always just pissed me off so much, it’s just such an unnecessary and trite demonization of a whole group– worse, a group of children. Yes it’s the most likely place for the Dracos of the world to end up, but that doesn’t mean every single child who was ever sorted into it is a Death Eater in the making. But we never see those Slytherins and it really, really pisses me off.

Regulus is not a “Good Person” in the sense he was always secretly good and eventually ~~broke free of the evil mind control and is now Pure again~~. I hesitate to even call him a good person honestly, even though his last and only canon acts speak to someone who is unwavering good and self-sacrificing. In his youth he genuinely believed in some truly terrible things but he had his own inherit limits and morals he could not sacrifice even for his family and their beliefs. That’s important, not everyone on that side is a Bellatrix, and while being less awful than Bellatrix doesn’t exactly earn you a medal it does speak to the spectrum. He’s not the best, but he’s definitely not the worst.

By the time the first war is over Regulus is on a knife’s edge at the near perfect center of the spectrum between acceptance and bigotry. He’s proof that a Slytherin coming from the most stereotypical, toxic pureblood upbringing with all the classic Slytherin traits can still buck a lot of the script and actually manage to not be a complete bastard.

3. Never Burn Bridges You Could Still Use

In true Slytherin fashion, we come to a manipulative, Game of Thrones-y  reason. This is one of the key reasons for him IC and also one of the things I think can be difficult for people to get or swallow. Where most people likely feel that the only correct option would be to pull a Sirius and disown the family– that they themselves could never stomach putting up with all the heinous things these pureblood types say and cannot imagine someone who doesn’t believe it doing just that for any reason– the fact is that’s not always the right move, and that there are people who can do it just fine.

Regulus isn’t a fool. He’s the well-educated, intelligent son of a rich, prominent pureblood family with lots of connections all over the place in the wizarding community who got sorted into the “win or die trying” house. Publicly renouncing half or more of those connections is frankly a terrible idea for him to do on so many levels. He loses a LOT of power, access and leverage he could actually use to do things that could actually be a boon in the long run. While unlike Severus he wasn’t –and likely doesn’t become a spy ( though that is up for debate )– those connections could be vital for his continued survival and provide a means of keeping tabs on enemies.

Why on earth would he run around making enemies of everyone he could still use? How does that help anyone? Especially when he’s already mastered the art of placating and maneuvering these types of people.

4. Love, Sentimentality and Loyalty are just as Powerful Weaknesses as Strengths

Something we actually get from canon is that Regulus is an unquestionably loving, loyal and compassionate person. When he has Kreacher take him to the cave he drinks the potion, he sacrifices himself. This is not something someone who is not at their core compassionate, empathetic and loving does. He saw the effects the potion had on Kreacher, he heard what he had gone through, and when the time came he refused to make the elf go through that again.

“And he order– Kreacher to leave– without him. And he told Kreacher – to go home– and never to tell my Mistress– what he had done– but to destroy– the first locket. And he drank– all the potion– and Kreacher swapped the lockets– and watched … as Master Regulus … was dragged beneath the water … and …”

“[…] that Regulus changed his mind … but he doesn’t seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus’s family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.” “[…]  I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did … and so did Sirius.” […] I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’s …

This core of kindness and empathy is both what ended up causing him to defect and also what keeps him tied to what family and friends he has left. It’s hard, especially when you are so loyal and loving to cut out people who you’ve known your whole life, who you love and love you back. Bellatrix is a monster she’s easy to cut out but Narcissa? How could he really cut ties with one of his only living relatives, who’s likely his favorite cousin? Who is herself a fiercely loving and loyal woman? It would take a lot for him to finally cut ties with his loved ones still in the purist community and it’s frankly one of his greatest failings.

5. No One likes a Former Death Eater

The cruel fact of the matter is that regardless of your reformation most people will not accept or acknowledge it and treat you like you are still a monster. Regulus could try – and does try– to integrate more with the mainstream, but it’ll always be met with mixed success at best because he was a Death Eater. Unless he moved to a different country, it’d be difficult to really start over again completely with any real solid success. The majority of the wizarding world socially ostracizes him while still engaging with him on a business and political level because of his status. The only people who still want to have a cuppa with him are all in the same boat as him, bigots or purist sympathizers.

He’s human, and however much he’d like to gripe about people and wanting to be left alone forever to become a hermit he craves interaction, especially since he himself is an intensely social extroverted person. If he cuts these people out of his life he basically has no one to talk to anymore and he’s left totally isolated, which would frankly lead to much worse and dangerous places for him.

6. Someone here has to be the Voice of Reason

Having literally no one in that community who isn’t a total nightmare is asking for trouble. Not only because it allows the toxicity to stew and intensify unchecked but it also means no one is there to try and help the younger generations break free of the cycle. If he just left like Andromeda and Sirius he’s just making it worse by removing a more moderate voice from the communal discussion. It’s not even about trying to show them the error of their ways, that’s in fact a terrible way to go about things with people like this. It’s about diluting the toxic ideology, providing the less dangerous paths and laying out the framework that can act as the basis for someone else’s journey out of the quagmire.

For example, when looking at cults and hate groups, the worst way to reach those people is by trying to point out everything wrong and arguing with them, it only entrenches them more. You make more progress by staying close and quietly slipping in the information and tools they need to work things out themselves. Telling someone they’re in a destructive cult will get you nothing, but telling them about this book you read about some terrible cult and all the signs of one you learned from it and isn’t that just wild? These people are bad news huh? Here give it a read yourself– Is far more effective in the long run.

By being there he acts as a moderate, neutral adult figure who the children can both model and look to for support. He’s much safer than most of their families and willing to be the sounding board for their own debates and give advice from a place of having literally been right where they are now. He can act as a mid-point between the extremely insular and toxic pureblood community, the mainstream wizarding world, and thanks to his time in hiding, the muggle world for purebloods looking to escape or just broaden themselves.

[tripstations]

Short stay: Jumeirah Lowndes Hotel, Belgravia, London, UK

By Paul Johnson on Jun 22, 2019 in Accommodation, Attractions, Europe, Featured, Food and Drink, Going Out, Hotels, Regions, Restaurants, Travel Miscellany, United Kingdom, Western Europe

Jumeirah Hotels & Resorts is widely regarded as one of the most luxurious and innovative hotel brands in the world. With more than 20 hotels in key locations across the globe, the brand’s five star Jumeirah Lowndes Hotel is perhaps atypical of many in the group. Hidden away in a discrete but central location and housed in a Belgravia mews house, it is worlds apart from the likes of the Jumierah’s famous Burj Al Arab Hotel in Dubai and has little in common with many other hotels within the brand, but for the group’s consistently keen eye for quality and careful attention to detail.

The welcome

From the moment I arrived and the doorman greeted me and offered to take my case, I was welcomed with smiles and instantly felt at home. This positive first impression continued as I was offered a hot towel and made to feel a valued guest by Neil on reception who dealt with the check-in process in a swift and efficient manner.

The room

My superior room was relaxing and uncluttered. The bed was very comfortable and the room had everything you would need for a true home-from-home experience.

The room looked out over a small square to the rear of the hotel, close to a number of eateries.

A turn-down service was offered each evening, with a sleep spray left on the bed and slippers laid out nearby. In-room reading material included a Jumeirah-curated magazine titled ‘The Beauty Issue’, Business Traveller, Belgravia and The English Home magazines. Complimentary newspapers were available at breakfast and a digital newspaper could be read on the in-room tablet (which also has info on concierge services, in-room dining and an A-Z of guest services).

On my first night, I did arrive quite late – and had work to do – so opted for the comfort and convenience of dining in my room. Executive Chef Martin Gabler has especially designed an in-room dining menu that offers an enticing selection of dishes. The menu highlights healthy and hearty options, as well as a number of signature dishes. The curries and beef burgers are firm favourites, but freshly made stone-baked crispy pizzas are also a speciality.

I had the prawn and avocado salad – sautéed king prawns with sliced avocado, mixed leaves and cherry tomatoes, finished with a sesame soy dressing that was full of flavour.

For my main I chose from the ‘Flavours from the East’ section of the menu and opted for the signature dish of chicken tikka masala with basmati rice, cucumber raita and warn naan bread.

The bathroom

The bathroom offered ample space with a bath with a shower over it, a single basin and WC. Thick, white bathrobes were supplied as well Temple Spa toiletries.

The facilities

Breakfast is served each morning in the Lowndes Bar & Kitchen between the hours of 7am and 11am, with a choice of Continental and cooked options that included the full English or lighter alternatives such as poached eggs and avocado on toast.

Dinner is also served in this brasserie-style restaurant, with the focus of the menu being on modern British cuisine.

When dining there I had the crispy duck and watermelon salad with cucumber, minted leaves, mint, coriander, toasted cashew nuts, sesame seeds and Hoisin sauce. New to the menu, this is a very refreshing salad, light but full of flavour, and with the duck still warm.

For my main, I had the grilled sea bass fillet, which had a wonderfully crisp skin, and was served with green asparagus and an orange hollandaise. Additional sides such as tender stem broccoli, buttered green beans and rocket Parmesan salad are available as optional extras. As well as the mains on the menu, there is a changing menu of weekly specials available from Monday to Friday.

I didn’t have space for dessert but diners could choose from temptations such as strawberry and pistachio nut pavlova with whipped cream and a raspberry coulis, warm chocolate fondant with Madagascan vanilla bean ice cream and apricot and almond Frangipane tart with a passion fruit coulis and crème Chantilly.

Guests staying at the Jumeirah Lowndes Hotel also have unlimited access to The Peak Health Club and Spa at the nearby sister property, Jumeirah Carlton Tower, which is just a two-minute walk away. It’s open 7 days a week (24 hours a day to guests) and is equipped with state-of-the-art facilities, including a 20-metre indoor swimming pool which is something of a rarity for hotels in London. There’s also a spa offering a range of luxurious and exclusive treatments ton ensure you are feeling renewed and rejuvenated, as well as osteopathy and physiotherapy services available. However, please note that this facility will be closed for renovations from 1st September until the Summer of 2020.

Location

The hotel is just a 5-minute walk from Knightsbridge Underground station on the Piccadilly line. This is a busy and fashionable shopping area, close to the likes of Harrods and Harvey Nichols.

I was in area for a work event being held at Chelsea Football Club which was easy to reach by taking the Piccadilly line to Earl’s Court, and then the District line to Fulham Broadway.

Tourists exploring London will find themselves centrally located for exploring the city’s many attractions and museums, with Hyde Park and the West End within easy walking distance, and Buckingham Palace and the Victoria and Albert Museum both less than a mile away.

Other nice touches

In my room was a personalised welcome letter from General Manager Ian Richardson, along with some practical ‘need to know’ information. Complimentary water, chocolate-coated dates – perhaps a small nod to Jumeirah’s Middle Eastern routes – and a plate of fruit were all provided.

Finally, another nice touch is that they even have bespoke red, white and blue Belgravia bicycles that you can borrow during your stay.

Cost

Superior rooms start from £186 and suites from £314 when purchased in advance.

Guests staying at any Jumeirah property can join Jumeirah’s SIRIUS loyalty programme where you can collect points and redeem them against a variety of products and services.

The best bit

For me the location was both central and beautifully quiet; rarely do you find both at the same time and this suited me perfectly, particularly for a business trip.

The final verdict

With 88 luxurious rooms including 12 suites, this chic, contemporary hotel still feels intimate and personal, and retains the individual touch that is often lost by much larger hotels. High standards are carefully and consistently maintained throughout the hotel

Disclosure: Our stay was courtesy of the Jumeirah Lowndes Hotel.

The post Short stay: Jumeirah Lowndes Hotel, Belgravia, London, UK appeared first on Tripstations.

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[harbourstarwilling-blog]

The Marauders and the Hollow Hill - The Beginning

"Accio."

Through the window, she watched the mailbox rattle. A long silver thing, more decorative than most, perched precariously atop an iron rod bent strangely in different directions, like some kind of animal spent it's free time bashing its head against it. She felt herself smile. True, her little boy spent most of his time zooming around on his toy broomstick, and, yes, most of the time, he found himself smashing into the rusting rod more than he would like.

She was proud, of course, very proud of her son. Her only child. For a very long time, she feared that she wouldn't be able to bear children, but, sooner than she expected, her and her husband's wishes came true.

She remembered the day he was born. A Thursday. A drizzly March evening. She didn't remember much, besides distant claps of thunder and a baby crying. Her baby.

Her husband had burst through the double doors leading to the bedroom, delayed by the gaggle of midwives attempting to hold him back. But she had dismissed them with a weak but thankful smile. Her husband had pushed his way forward anxiously. He was worried, frightened, even. She could tell. But she watched his gaze fall on the bundle wrapped tightly in her arms, and all the age and worry seemed to melt from his face. He had looked younger than he ever had.

She felt herself grin wider at the memory of passing the baby to her husband's arms. A tiny thing. Chubby arms, bright hazel eyes. Like his father's. She recalled gently stroking the baby's head. Delicate, thin hair grew there. Black. Like his mother's.

Her husband smiled with delight and excitement, watching the baby stare up at him, cooing softly. Then looked up at his wife, crying silent tears of joy.

She met his gaze, crying too. "We have a son, Fleamont," she remembered whispered. Then he had kissed her, whispering her name in her ear, "Euphemia darling, thank you, thank you, Euphemia…" She had returned the kiss, for she was equally grateful. For a moment, they just sat there, embracing, sobbing into each other's shoulders. The rain pattered lightly on the windowpanes, while the baby let out a cry, seeking some kind of attention.

Finally, Fleamont had pulled away, and glanced down at the child in his arms, who was waving his fat fists frantically. "He's an energetic little fellow, isn't he?" he had said.

She remembered smirking at him. "Just like his father," she replied fondly.

He looked up at her again, eyes sparkling with the tears that shone there. "You're so beautiful," he had murmured, reaching out to stroke her face. The baby wailed again, clawing at Fleamont's jacket, who glanced down at the baby in surprise. "You won't give us a moment's peace, will you?" The baby howled again.

Grinning slightly, Euphemia had eased the child back into her lap. "Not for a while, he won't." She watched affectionately as the baby yawned, stirring a bit in the blankets. "What shall we name him?" Her gaze had flickered up to her husband's. "After your father?"

"Henry? No," Fleamont had said immediately. Then he chuckled. "To be honest, I've never really liked the name." He paused for a moment, keeping his eyes fixed on the child in her lap. His son. "What about your father…"

"James?" She had been startled for a second, then relaxed. Almost relieved. "James," she had said again, in a light whisper. She reached out and grasped her husband's hand. James. Their son had a name.

James Potter.

She felt something warm and wet slipping down her cheek. A tear. She was crying.

Quickly, she wiped it away. Their son. It was a miracle, of course. They had almost given up hope on ever having children. They had been prepared to accept that the mansion Fleamont had inherited from his father would almost always be empty. No longer.

James grew quickly. He was a skilled little boy, quite gangly, but fast, both on his legs and on a broomstick. Neither his eyes nor his hair changed color; his eyes remained as bright as ever, while his hair seemed to grow alarmingly fast in different directions. She had difficulty making it lie flat.

But he was their son. Their only son. With hazel eyes behind thin glasses, a big smile, and very untidy jet-black hair. James Potter.

The mailbox shuddered again, this time, spitting out a series of envelopes that zoomed flew towards her in a great cluster of parchment, each letter attempting to reach Euphemia first.

Sighing, she hurried towards the window and threw the window open. "Alright, one at a time, one at a time!" she shouted. Promptly, the letters halted, rearranged themselves according to when they had been delivered and continued towards the window in a floaty, dreamy fashion as if nothing had ever happened.

"That's better," she muttered, seizing the first letter and tearing it open. A magazine, for Sleekeazy's hair potion. She rolled her eyes. Henry Potter, Fleamont's father, had invented the stuff, and they received ads and notifications about the potion almost daily, despite the fact that Henry had sold the company almost ten years ago.

She tossed the magazine aside, and ripped the next one open. From her sister. Euphemia felt herself smile as she scanned the letter. Then sealed it again and stuffed it into her pocket. She would reply later.

Two more Sleekeazy magazines. A letter from the Ministry for Fleamont. A large mysterious envelope addressed in green ink…

Addressed to James Potter.

She felt her breathing quicken as she flipped the envelope over, her heart practically in her throat. Could it be…?

The Hogwarts crest stared back up at her. A swooping feeling in her stomach made her swell with pride and glee. In all her eagerness, she was filled with a desire to open the envelope and read it herself, but she instead stowed the letter in her pocket. They would read it together, as a family, once Fleamont got home from work. But she couldn't stop smiling as she turned away from the window. Her little boy… going to Hogwarts at last.

Further north, a similar situation was occurring. But not nearly as pleasant.

"Your Hogwarts letter arrived today," Orion Black said stoically, glancing over at his son from across the table. The boy didn't even look up as he pushed the vegetables around and around on his plate. He seemed extremely disinterested.

Orion cleared his throat, and exchanged a dark look with his wife, Walburga, who just rolled her eyes. "Your Hogwarts letter arrived today," he said again, a bit louder.

The boy sat upright, so fast his elbow sent his pumpkin juice flying, staining the drab wallpaper a deep orange. Shaking his long dark hair out of his eyes, he shouted, "Let me guess. You've burnt it. Or you're going to send Regulus to Hogwarts pretending it's me. I expect you will."

Regulus, the boy's younger brother, flushed a deep maroon and picked at his sprouts, pretending he had heard nothing. His mother, however, practically swelled with fury. "How dare you speak to your father that way!" she screamed, raising her hand as to slap the boy across the face. Orion spoke quickly.

"No!" he boomed; Walburga caught his gaze and lowered her arm, her face still contorted with anger. Orion turned once again towards the boy. "No, we haven't burnt it - and we are not going to send Regulus to Hogwarts a year early." His tone suggested otherwise. "You're going to Hogwarts this year."

The boy's eyes widened, then narrowed with suspicion. Something wasn't right.

"Here is the letter," Orion said quickly, reaching inside his robes, and pulling out a slightly wrinkled envelope addressed in green ink. The boy took it and read in wonder.

Sirius Orion Black

12 Grimmauld Place...

He wasted no time. Hastily, he flipped over the envelope and tore open the seal, which, surprisingly, hadn't been broken yet. He unfolded the letter as fast as he could and eagerly read aloud.

Dear Mr. Black,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Sirius didn't even bother to hide a shout of excitement. Finally! Off to school, off to Hogwarts, off to a magical place where his despicable parents could torment him no longer. If he shut his eyes, he could just imagine it... he could spent Christmas and Easter there, away from his family... perhaps the headmaster would even let Sirius stay for the holidays! He could only dream of it. Seven blissful, uninterrupted years away from the disgusting monstrosity his parents called home...

"Sirius," Orion muttered impatiently. Then shouted. "SIRIUS!"

Sirius nearly fell out of his chair, still grasping his Hogwarts letter like it was a lifeline. "Yes, father?" Cool, collected. He might've never been startled.

"Now, before we head to Diagon Alley and buy your things," Orion started. "I want to set a few things straight."

Sirius tensed, rigid in his seat. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It tended to be that way when his parents were so nice. Especially to him.

He watched his father twirl his fork between his fingers. "First of all, you shall not accommodate or associate yourself with blood traitors, half-breeds, Mudbloods, or anything of the sort," Orion began.

"Especially Mudbloods," Walburga hissed, shuddering obviously.

Sirius's mouth was a thin line. He bit his tongue, but said nothing. His parents had gone on about this for ages, it seemed, perhaps their whole lives. They were, the whole Black family, in fact, purebloods, which meant they didn't have a single drop of Muggle (non-magical) blood in their veins. And they wanted to keep it that way. For some reason, they seemed to think that having even the tiniest bit of non-magical blood was a disgrace to wizard kind. "Half-bloods are to be avoided," his mother always said. "And Mudbloods should be ignored entirely." Perhaps, if his mother had his way, she would have all the half-bloods tortured, the Mudbloods killed, and all the Muggles utterly destroyed. And he couldn't even imagine what she would do to the Squibs. God knows.

The pureblood tradition had been passed down through generations of Blacks, and not once had a single person broken the wizard line. Not once had a single half-blood, Mudblood, or Muggle entered the Black family tree.

His mother and father were determined to carry on this tradition.

And Sirius was determined to desecrate it.

All this ran through his mind as he turned to face his parents. "Yes, father," he agreed solemnly.

"You are to treat the Hogwarts teachers and staff with the utmost respect, unless their blood-status proves otherwise," his father ordered, staring down at his son.

Sirius stared right back. Fat chance. He had an eye for pranks, a talent for trouble, as it was often called. He would treat the Hogwarts professors the way he thought they deserved to be treated. And, by God, if any of the teachers were anything like his parents, he would make sure that they would retire in less than six months.

He smiled sweetly at his father. "Alright."

At that moment, his mother jumped in. "And you must be sorted into Slytherin," she demanded, an almost evil smile forming on her lips. Sirius felt the smile melt from his face; he saw his mother sneer distastefully. "Oh, yes," she snarled. "Every single person in the Black family has been sorted into the Slytherin for the past one hundred years. You will not break this tradition, do you understand me?"

Sirius's mind raced. Of course he would break it, along with every other Black tradition that ever existed. What could he say? It was practically his destiny. But.. perhaps this would be something that he couldn't change. His family's house. Slytherin. Every single person in the Black family. Slytherin. One hundred years. How could that be something he could change? He was just a kid. A kid whose parents hated him and whose whole family despised him.

Sirius felt himself grin, and he shoved some potatoes into his mouth. It was perfect. But what house to be sorted into? What house would embarrass his parents the most...?

His grin widened as he swallowed. If he could just convince the Sorting Hat to put him in Gryffindor...

Another letter was received just south of London.

"Peter! PETER!" A crash and a bang as a short, round woman with pale blonde hair ascended the steps of her cottage. It was a fairly-sized cottage by normal standards, with too many rooms and not enough windows. It seemed large, sometimes, especially during the holidays, since there was just Peter and his mother to occupy it. Peter's father had abandoned the family some time ago, but they had done well ever since. Better than they thought they would.

"PETER!" His mother shouted again. Furtively, Peter dashed out of his room towards the stairwell, smashing into almost everything as he went. Peter was clumsy, and both walked and ran heavily, due most likely to his size and statue. He was plump for his age, not fat, with small watery eyes and mousy brown hair. Peter often stated that he was unhappy with his appearance. His mother often replied that she thought he looked adorable.

Finally, he slammed up against the railing, panting hard. "What is it, mum?"

"There's a letter for you!"

"A what?"

"A letter!"

"A WHAT?"

"A - oh, for goodness's sake-" He saw her yank something out of her pocket - her wand, he guessed - and point it at the flat, white object she was holding in her opposite hand. Abruptly, it zoomed upward with the speed of a bullet and smacked Peter hard in the nose.

"Ouch!" he hollered, stumbling backwards and landing hard on his backside. The white thing (an envelope) however, fluttered gracefully to the floor beside him.

Swearing under his breath, he picked it up. Addressed to him. Curious. He almost never got letters. He turned it over. A strange seal was stamped there, a large "H" surrounded by four animals: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake. Peter frowned at it, and racked his brains. Nothing there. But he swore he had seen that seal before...!

Eventually, he gave up. With a loud snap, he broke the seal and tugged out the letter.

Dear Mr. Pettigrew...

With every word, his eyes grew wider and wider, until finally, he couldn't contain himself any longer. He let out a scream of mirth and sprinted downstairs to celebrate with his mother.

The final letter was to be delivered out west, to a tiny little cottage on the outskirts of one of the largest forests in Great Britain. Unlike the Pettigrew's cottage, this cottage was practically a shack. There were only six rooms, and a small basement dug out below the house. From the outside, it looked about ready to fall apart. Made of wood and bits of metal, it gave the impression of a very tired and very exhausted man that was ready to give up. Just like the man who was living there. Lyall Lupin.

Lyall sat outside the door on the dewed grass, not bothered by the wetness of it. As long as there was no one around him. No one at all. He just wanted to be alone.

He tugged his pipe out of his jacket pocket, and, instinctively, reached for his wand in order to light it. Then stopped himself. No. He and his family were using Muggle things now. Muggle devices. Uneasily, he brought himself to bring out a pack of matches instead. He struck one against his boot and lit his pipe, watching the flame flicker before his eyes.

"Fascinating," Lyall heard himself say, as he gazed at the fire, watching it dance. Almost like it was taunting him.

Monster, monster, monster, monster-

With one breath, he extinguished the flame. But he knew it was right. He was a monster. Along with his son.

Forcefully, he brought the pipe to his mouth, inhaling the thick fumes of tobacco. His life was ruined. His son's life was ruined. Only because he had tried to do the right thing. He exhaled; smoke furled from him lips into the colourless sky. He watched it dissipate, angry with himself. He had tried everything, but there was no cure. No spell, no potion that could rid his son of that... disease. It had contaminated him. It would drag him down, stay with him. Forever.

Lyall puffed on his pipe again. He felt cursed. His only son could never be fully healthy. He could never go to school, he could never make any friends, real ones, anyway. And with every year, his son's condition worsened. Now, at age eleven, he couldn't even leave the house. No one could see him. Then they might suspect, and Lyall, his wife, and his child would have to pack their things and move away, for the fifth time in three months.

He hates you, Lyall told himself, watching the smoke vanish again, blending in with the clouds hanging over him. He doesn't know, a voice in his head told him nastily. Lyall shook his head, trying to clear his mind of these thoughts. He couldn't argue with himself, not now, not with everything going on-

At that moment, he noticed something white hovering near the edge of the forest. He squinted. A figure. A person. How long had they been standing there? Was it a Muggle? Or, worse, a wizard, who knew of his son, Remus's condition? Had he come to drive them away?

Remus! Lyall thought. Hastily, he pushed himself to his feet and sped into the house, shutting the door firmly behind him. With a wave of his wand, a series of complicated locks locked themselves.

"Lyall?" His wife, Hope. At his side in seconds. He would've thought she would be in tears by now what with everything that had happened, but her face was surprisingly set. "What is it?"

"Dad?" His son called from the other room. "What's going on?"

Lyall grabbed his wife's arm. "Get Remus to the basement."

"What's happening?" Hope was bewildered.

"Someone - outside - watching us - get Remus to the basement," Lyall panted, all in one breath. He was suddenly exhausted.

Hope protested. "Lyall, it was only yesterday... he's very weak-"

"Get him to the basement NOW!" Lyall roared. White-faced and worried, Hope obeyed. Lyall watched his wife rush away. He knew she would've argued more, but they didn't have the time; he often didn't always have enough explanations. She was a Muggle, after all, and sometimes didn't understand all the things that went on in the Wizarding World... but he loved her with all his heart...

Through the window, he could see the figure advancing. With the glass dirty and cracked as it was, Lyall could make out only so much. Pale clothes. White hair and beard. Brandishing a wand.

A wizard! From the Ministry, perhaps. Coming to take his son away from him. Lyall's grip tightened on his wand. He couldn't. He wouldn't let him.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Pounding at the door. Lyall stayed where he was, pointing his wand one-handed at the center of the door. "Leave!" he shouted with as much bravery as he could muster; his voice cracked.

"Just go, and you won't be harmed. I say this for your own-"

Crack. Startled, Lyall almost dropped his wand. Then listened. Silence. Furtively, he hurried towards the window to glimpse the wizard standing outside his door.

No one. Nobody there.

Remus's voice drifted in from what Lyall guessed was the sitting room. "Would you like a crumpet, sir?"

Reading aloud again. Damn the boy! Won't he listen to his father for once and just do as he's told? Didn't he realize that he endangered everyone around him, every second, every minute, every day-

A different voice, unfamiliar to Lyall. "Why yes, Remus, thank you."

Lyall's heart pounded so heart, bruises must've been forming on his chest. Someone else in the house! How? There was no back door. All of the windows were locked and barred; he had heard no sound of breaking glass anyway. Not to mention that the whole cottage was surrounded by powerful protective enchantments! Lyall advanced cautiously, carefully peering into the sitting room. Horrified, he saw a tall, white-haired stranger in a pale traveling cloak sitting on the floor with his back to Lyall. Nearby sat a plate of half-eaten crumpets, the ones Hope had just finished making that morning. And facing the stranger was Lyall's son, Remus, lying on his stomach and staring at the space a couple inches in from of him. Anxiously, Lyall shifted a few feet... in order to see what he was looking at...

Gobstones. Lyall's mouth fell open. A stranger and Lyall's son were on the floor of the sitting room, eating crumpets and playing Gobstones.

Lyall let out a squeak of surprise; Remus's head was up in a flash. "Dad!" he exclaimed, both in relief and surprise.

The stranger turned round. Lyall's heart leapt up into his throat...

"Dumbledore?" he thundered, nearly falling over from surprise and suspense. The stranger just smiled, his eyes twinkling cheerfully behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Lyall!" he said, taking a step towards him with his hand outstretched. "Long time, no see..." He paused. "I believe that is the Muggle phrase; am I right?" He looked questioningly over at Hope, who was sitting straight-backed in a rickety armchair, grinning painfully. Lyall could read the bewiderment written all over her face.

Lyall stared down at Dumbledore's hand, but didn't shake it. "Er," he said.

"And this time, the phrase shall be taken literally," Dumbledore said airly, taking Lyall's hand and shaking it gently. "It has been a long time, in which I have not seen you."

Lyall did not reply.

Dumbledore frowned vaguely at him. "Are you aware that the Hogwarts start-of-term is drawing nearer?"

Lyall gave a start. What was he doing, Dumbledore, here? And where were Lyall's manners? "I am," Lyall murmured, wringing his hands nervously behind his back. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you," Dumbledore replied, taking back his seat on the floor. Lyall stared down at him.

"Er - will you be wanting a chair?"

"Very soon, perhaps, but not now, thank you," Dumbledore twittered brightly, almost like a bird. Then his expression turned stony. "And you are aware that you have requested that young Remus here not be enrolled in Hogwarts this year?"

Remus leapt to his feet, looking utterly betrayed. "Dad!" he almost yelled. "Dad, is that true?"

Lyall felt his cheeks flush red with shame. He found himself unable to speak properly. "I-it..." He hesitated, wearily running a hand through his own hair. "It was... for your own good. To preserve - the safety of the other... other students..."

Remus's face fell, but Lyall could see that he understood. And even if the other students and staff didn't discover his secret at the beginning of the term, they would more than likely guess it by the end. It was like fate. They would be constantly on the move, constantly on the run. Remus would never get a proper magical education. In the armchair across the room, Lyall saw Hope's face whiten. She had realized it too. For a while, she had refused to give up, always telling Remus that it would be alright, that a time would come where he could go to school, make some real friends. But now… everything was revealed to her. He watched as her gaze sank towards the hands in her lap. With a start, he realized that he hadn't told her that he had forbidden Remus to attend Hogwarts. He wished he had. Lyall and his wife were drifting further and further apart. And Remus stood in the midst of it.

"Now, now," Dumbledore chided softly, clearly aware of the tension between Lyall and his family. Despite this, his eyes still sparkled like two stars behind his half-moon spectacles. "Things aren't as dark as they seem." He turned towards Lyall, his face completely unreadable. "Remus will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Lyall's gut wrenched. He felt his breakfast threaten to make a reappearance. "Wha- no… n- he can't…" His words faded as his gaze fell upon Remus, who was sitting there on the floor, staring wide-eyed at his father, clutching a Gobstone in one hand and a crumpet in the other.

He might've been good-looking once, perhaps even handsome. Hope always said that he was the spitting image of his father. Wavy gold hair, huge gray eyes that seemed to absorb everything they saw. But ever since the accident, his features seemed more… sunken. His hair looked like it had gone through a blender, and his eyes were now lifeless, but moved constantly, up and down, side to side, over his shoulder again and again. Always anxious, always nervous. Always fiddling with the hem of his baggy T-shirt that hung too loosely on his tiny frame. Remus had been small ever since he was born, but his condition made his body seem smaller than it actually was. And the scars. Cuts, bruises, and scratches covered Remus's body. Hundreds of them. Cursed wounds. They would never fully heal.

Lyall actually had to turn away from his son. It saddened him.

But Dumbledore, to Lyall's astonishment, just chuckled. "I assure you, we have taken all the necessary precautions."

Lyall noticed his wife perk up in her armchair. "Really? What would-"

He was quick to shoot her down. "No!" he yelled; Hope shrank back; Dumbledore's frown deepened.

"Lyall, please refrain from shouting at your wife," he requested, giving Lyall a dark glance. "I am doing this for Remus."

Everything was happening so fast. Lyall collapsed clumsily onto a stool, hiding his face in his hands. Hot and wet tears were streaming down his face. He couldn't tell if he was sobbing with fear or joy.

"Dad?" Remus took a few hesitant steps towards his father. Lyall opened his eyes, revealing his son's white heart-shaped face, framed by shredded golden hair. His eyes were pale, almost transparent, but somehow, still full of feeling. Remus was worried. Worried about his father.

Lyall felt Dumbledore's warm hand on his shoulder. "Do it for the boy, Lyall," he whispered softly, so that only the two of them could hear. Lyall's heart was beating so fast. Had Dumbledore found a place? A place where his son could live in peace…?

He nearly choked. "W-what about the other students?" Lyall muttered, his chin pressed into his cloak. "The teaching staff?"

"All the precautions have been made," Dumbledore repeated calmly, patting his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "And the staff shall be informed."

Remus was looking from Dumbledore to his father in bewilderment. Hope, however, understood almost immediately. She let out a cry of relief and covered his mouth with her hands, not bothering to hide her grateful tears.

"What's going on?" Remus cried, still aware of the whole situation. Dumbledore just smiled, and tugged something out of his traveling cloak and handed it to Remus. He took it, examining it thoroughly. A slightly worn, yellowed envelope. Addressed in green ink.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore proclaimed cheerfully. Then turned once again towards Lyall. "I believe a 'thank you,' would be in order…"

"Thank you," Lyall whispered shakily, slowly getting to his feet.

"Don't mention it," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Do you have any more of those crumpets, Hope? They're absolutely marvellous…"