#levicorpus

[bookwormangie]

Claiming that it wasn’t bullying when James turned Snape upside down and exposed his underwear, just because he used a spell Snape created, is pure victim blaming.

[marottesmusic]

Let’s dissociate to this song together 🎶

This is a track off my upcoming about daydreaming and escaping the mundane.

If you want to get rid of your anxiety, meet me under the full moon 🌕:

Pre-save it

[insufferable-know-itall]

saying goodbye to my halloween decor "LEVICORPUS!" #harrypotter #harrypottermerch #wizardingworld #warnerbros #jkrowling #buildabear #bellatrixlestrange #levicorpus #levicorpusspell #darkarts #deatheaters #hogwarts #myharrypotterlivingroom https://www.instagram.com/p/Ck58EwpLUhm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[blitheringmcgonagall]

You really made a good point about their bullying and I definitely agree Snape was horrible to them and it serves him right that they used his own spells against him. But what makes me uncomfortable was in what a humiliating way they did that. I mean James pulled down his pants and if I remember correctly pants mean underwear in the UK so he was hanging him naked in front of all their schoolmates, and not in defence but simply for a laugh. And all of the Marauders cheered him on or at least let it happen in Lupins case. It's moments like that that make me really uncomfortable and I find hard to excuse even as a Marauder fan

So, to start with, Levicorpus was a spell developed by Snape.

It was apparently “very popular” at that time. So if we are going to start talking about humiliating spells, let’s start by naming who came up with it and used it enough to the extent that everyone learnt the incantation. It was always meant to be a humiliating spell. It wasn’t a sweet, funny spell.

Let’s face it, if Snape was happy to use a dangerous spell like sectumsempra on “enemies” I expect he was happy to use Levicorpus on them too.

But nevertheless, the marauders were also using this popular albeit humiliating spell at that time. Like lots of other peers.

That is not a good thing. They were all wrong to use it.

Bear in mind when the book was written and what was considered normal/okay in 1970s UK. This is info on it:

So from the sounds of it some people still think it’s “normal” nowadays. Pantsing was very popular in upper class posh schools and universities as noted above through most of the 20th century. They were weird places… I don’t know, tbh it sounds like they were nasty places with very regular brutish punishments like caning etc. Physical punishment was also considered perfectly normal… it is clear from interviews that JKR has given that Hogwarts was based on British public schools (that means posh private schools, lol), so this all adds up.

There is no indication from interviews JKR has done that she meant this to be taken as anything other than a form of bullying (ie she didn’t intend this to be any form of sexual assault. As you know, she hadn’t exactly thought through a lot of her plot points from the marauders era, at all, which is why the entire HP series is riddled with things that make no sense). As to whether or not James did or didn’t pull down Snape’s underpants, we are not told if he did or didn’t because the memory ends at:

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

Anyway, no it’s not a nice spell to use on anyone and yes, Snape developed it himself so you could call it Karma, but still not excusable to use it on anyone?

See previous post for context

[intotheswollenriver]

A levicorpus kiss

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry Potter is Actually Really Clever

So often, I feel like Harry is underrated in his own series and I want to talk about how much I love Harry James Potter. Harry is my favorite character in the books and I want to showcase some moments of Harry proving the Sorting Hat knew what it was talking about when it comes to Harry possibly doing well in Slytherin and even Ravenclaw.

(I have more moments listed in my notes, and I'm in book 6 in my current reread, so I definitely am not covering everything)

Let's start then with the words of the Sorting Hat itself:

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting….So where shall I put you?” Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin. “Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that

(Philosopher's Stone, page 88)

The Hat says Harry is brave enough for Gryffindor, clever enough and talented enough for Ravenclaw and has the ambition and thirst to prove himself for Slytherin. And the hat isn't wrong about it's assessment of Harry. Harry is clever and talented and I so often find it underplayed in fics, or ones that do include it, acting like it's fanon characterization when it's really isn't.

Harry Potter is canonically a BAMF.

So, here I'm going to talk about his cleverness and give some moments of Harry being clever from the books.

(I'll have a different post for his magical prowess.)

Harry Has Brilliant Memory

So, Harry James Potter practically has close to an eidetic memory, and no one really seems to mention it.

An eidetic memory is described as an almost perfect recollection of images or events. And Harry actually shows himself as being very capable of it:

Angelina: “…Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 379)

In thus scene its raining during a Quidditch match and Angelina asks Harry about a spell he used a year before. Harry remembered that moment, remembered Hermione was actually the one who cast the spell, a spell he himself never cast before this moment, and he then casts it perfectly from memory.

Harry remembers the incantation and wand movement perfectly enough to succeed on his first try.

Actually, almost every time we see him cast spells he gets the wand movement and incantation right on the first try (even his first attempt at a patronus worked, the happy memory just wasn't strong enough)

In general, they moments we see Harry fail at casting spells on the first try is when he overthinks it and fails himself like that.

Harry stared at the letters in brackets. Nvbl . . . that had to mean “nonverbal.” Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with nonverbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every D.A.D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far. Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head. “Aaaaaaaargh!”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 239)

Harry tends to fail potions, and nonverbal spells when Snape is breathing down on him expecting him to fail, though, in this example, the moment Harry feels he can succeed the spell and isn't overthinking it, he casts it perfectly and nonverbally on the first attempt.

He is the same with potions:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favorites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 660)

When Snape wasn't breathing down his neck and stressing him, even without the Half-Blood Prince's superior instructions, Harry is good at potions. He accomplishes the potion to a level of Exceeding Expectations easily. The problem is never his skill, memory, or talent; usually, it's stress, being stuck in his own head, or carelessness (did anyone diagnose him with ADHD?)

Another example of his eidetic memory in OOP:

“Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,” said Hermione fairly. “I suppose something in that snake’s venom dissolves them or something. . . . I wonder where the tearoom is?” “Fifth floor,” said Harry, remembering the sign over the Welcome Witch’s desk.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 508)

When Harry describes St. Mongos for the first time (about a week before the above scene) he reads a sign that describes what is located in each floor of the hospital.

A week later, without reading that sign again, Harry can recall where the tea room is since he has that sign he read once a week ago, memorized.

Harry is Sneaky

Harry is a proper sneaky slythein and actually has more cunning moments than some slytherins in the books. Here are a few examples I have from my notes:

“Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.” Harry had a sudden idea. “Peeves,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.” Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 197)

Harry is a good liar and scared of Peeves like this in his first year.

“…He likes to keep in touch with me, though . . . keep up with my news . . . check if I’m happy. . . .” And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 435)

But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

(Goblet of Fire, page 24)

Again, Harry lying and tricking the Dursleys so they won't hurt him. Leveling Sirius as a threat against them.

“Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess — I let you pass. Answer wrongly — I attack. Remain silent — I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

[the riddle and Harry thinking through it]

“Spy . . . er . . . spy . . . er . . .” said Harry, pacing up and down. “A creature I wouldn’t want to kiss . . . a spider!” The sphinx smiled more broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass. “Thanks!” said Harry, and, amazed at his own brilliance, he dashed forward.

(Goblet of Fire, page 629)

I skipped the sphinx's riddle, now the riddle isn't a hard one, but still, Harry isn't stupid. But he thinks he is. He even tells himself during that scene:

Harry’s stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the center.

(Goblet of Fire, 629)

But it's just Harry and his low self-esteem. He solves the riddle quickly thinking aloud near the Sphinx and he does solve it, and is amazed by it because he doesn't think of himself as smart, even though he is.

Most of the riddles to the Ravenclaw common room are probably along this line of difficulty too. It just goes to show he isn't stupid.

“There,” she said, handing it to him. “Drink it before it gets cold, won’t you? Well, now, Mr. Potter . . . I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.” He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, “You’re not drinking up!” He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody’s magical one, and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy. “What’s the matter?” said Umbridge, who was still watching him. “Do you want sugar?” “No,” said Harry. He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge’s smile widened. “Good,” she whispered. “Very good. Now then . . .” She leaned forward a little. “Where is Albus Dumbledore?” “No idea,” said Harry promptly.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 630)

Harry is clever enough to recognize drinking anything Umbridge gives him is a bad idea, so he doesn't. And he does so without her realizing.

“even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?” “Umbridge’s office,” said Harry quietly. He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could think of no alternative; Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own. “Are — you — insane?” said Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and was watching the conversation warily. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, shrugging. “And how are you going to get in there in the first place?” Harry was ready for this question. “Sirius’s knife,” he said. “Excuse me?” “Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that’ll open any lock,” said Harry. “So even if she’s bewitched the door so Alohomora won’t work, which I bet she has —”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 658)

Harry can and does strategies. He planned how to get into Umbeidge's office. He employed his friends and actually led them. Being a leader and a strategist — rules we see him grow more into later.

Harry’s mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. He had no interest in it. He just wanted to get them all out of this alive, make sure that none of his friends paid a terrible price for his stupidity . . . The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. “You need more persuasion?” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Very well — take the smallest one,” she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. “Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I’ll do it.” Harry felt the others close in around Ginny. He stepped sideways so that he was right in front of her, the prophecy held up to his chest. “You’ll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us,” he told Bellatrix. “I don’t think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?” She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth. “So,” said Harry, “what kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?” He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville’s arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking. He could feel one of the other’s quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 783)

This is a bit of a long quote, but I really like it. Harry gets the Death Eaters at an impasse because they can't destroy the prophecy. Then, when they threatened Ginny, he changed tactics and got them talking to buy time.

And even when he says his mind is blank:

“What?” whispered Hermione more urgently behind him. “Can this be?” said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, “Smash shelves —”

...

“NOW!” yelled Harry. Five different voices behind him bellowed “REDUCTO!” Five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 785-786 and 787)

He's still the one coming up with plans and pulling them out of there.

And if we look at his grades:

(Half-Blood Prince, page 102)

He is very far from failing academically. Actually considering how little studying Harry actually does, he receives very high grades, even for Hogwarts' abysmal education standards. Harry is naturally smart enough and talented enough that with the bare minimum of effort, he can get almost exclusively Es (his failing being in History, an exam he didn't finish, and Divination, which Harry has only been thought bullshit in).

Makes me wish we saw him put in an active effort. I bet it all would've been Os with his memory.

Even Potions, which Harry is supposedly bad at, he got an E...

I just... Harry is just really smart and it kind of frustrates me how I don't see enough fics that treat Harry being clever and with a cunning streak as if it's canon, even though it very much is.

I don't know, maybe I'm just reading the wrong fics...

[sideprince]

**EDIT because @bookwormangie 's tags are SO RIGHT and relevant:

#this is a great theory#but snape didn’t see Lily’s twitch of expression#his robes were hanging over his head when he got suspended upside down

Mulciber, Mary Macdonald and why Lily almost smiled in Snape’s Worst Memory

Note:  I appreciate that this is very long, but hopefully the theory is worthwhile:

Lily’s twitch in Snape’s Worst Memory has always bothered me.  

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, “Let him down!”

Lily’s half reaction didn’t sit well with me when I merely thought she was the best bystander of a bad lot.

It deeply troubled me when The Prince’s Tale revealed that she was supposedly Snape’s best friend at the time.

Ever since The Prince’s Tale gave us some more context, I have not been satisfied by any explanation of Snape’s apparent loyalty to Mulciber.  His best friend tells him that his housemate is a creep, and Snape completely dismisses her.  

I was always confused by both of these reactions between two supposed best friends. 

We’re repeatedly told that Lily is a kind and caring person - so why would she be amused at witnessing her best friend’s humiliation at the hands of his hated enemies?

We also know that Snape cherished his relationship with Lily above all others - so why would he choose this moment to seemingly side with Avery and Mulciber over something so trivial? ��As a consequence, it’s occasionally suggested that Avery and Mulciber had a Marauder-esque friendship with Snape, but canon doesn’t support this position.

However, there is one explanation that makes sense:

The Dark Magic that Lily Evans accused Mulciber of using was Snape’s created jinx of Levicorpus. 

The Half Blood Prince’s Potions Textbook 

Snape’s Worst Memory takes place during his OWLs.  During that scene, we see the use of three spells that later show up in the Half Blood Prince’s NEWT level Potions textbook as scribbled amendments. Snape was the creator of these spells:

the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.

…so Snape must’ve been using the NEWT textbook in his OWL year.  This fits with Snape’s studious nature (as evidenced by him studying his exam paper), and given his apparently natural flair for Potions, it is logical that he would be challenging himself with wider reading.

It also means that his spells probably didn’t get into the public domain by accident; nobody would be borrowing his textbook to work from, as it was for a higher level.

So how did Levicorpus get out?

Harry and the Half Blood Prince’s Potions Textbook

When Harry discovers Levicorpus, he realises that it was a much struggled over spell:

Harry turned the book sideways so as to examine more closely the scribbled instructions for a spell that seemed to have caused the Prince some trouble. There were many crossings-out and alterations…

Look at what happens when Harry first unleashes it:

Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head.

“Aaaaaaaargh!”

There was a flash of light and the room was full of voices: Everyone had woken up as Ron had let out a yell. Harry sent Advanced Potion-Making flying in panic; Ron was dangling upside down in midair as though an invisible hook had hoisted him up by the ankle.

This is really important.  Harry points his wand at ‘nothing’ - and yet the spell finds Ron and hoists him into the air.

With this in mind, it seems fair to say that Snape could not have created this in isolation - even if he intended to; on casting the spell, it seems to pick up on the nearest human.

Who would have been nearest?  Presumably his housemates Mulciber and Avery - so that’s possibly how the spell got out.  

Let’s look at Harry and his housemates’ reaction to the spell:

“Sorry!” yelled Harry, as Dean and Seamus roared with laughter…

There was another flash of light, and Ron fell in a heap onto his mattress.

“Sorry,” repeated Harry weakly, while Dean and Seamus continued to roar with laughter.

Ron’s shock had subsided and he had decided that Harry’s new spell was highly amusing; so amusing, in fact, that he lost no time in regaling Hermione with the story as they sat down for breakfast.

“… and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!” Ron grinned, helping himself to sausages.

“And also,” she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, “because I’m starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy.”

Both Harry and Ron shouted her down at once.

“It was a laugh!” said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. 

“Just a laugh, Hermione, that’s all!”

“Dangling people upside down by the ankle?” said Hermione.  “Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?”

“Fred and George,” said Ron, shrugging, “it’s their kind of thing.”

And there we have it; it’s the sort of spell that’s deemed to be really funny amongst friends.  The boys see absolutely no problem with it - between mates, it’s a bit of a laugh.  Ron compares it to the practical jokes of his twin brothers:  decidedly NOT Dark Magic, but a jokey hex.  

It all comes down to intent:

“Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,” said Hermione, “but he’s not the only one. We’ve seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you’ve forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.”

Harry stared at her. With a sinking feeling, he too remembered the behaviour of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to his aid. “That was different,” he said robustly. “They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh.”

So, we can guess - given that some of Snape’s earlier spells were faintly harmless - that this was created in the same vein.  It was a jokey hex, intended to make people laugh - just like Fred and George creating a product for their shop.

But - like the Death Eaters at the World Cup - it’s how Mulciber uses the spell that causes the problem.  

When Lily confronts Snape, she says:

“I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?”

There is a big difference between a boy throwing another boy in pyjamas up in the air in a friendly ‘having a laugh’ manner between mates in the confines of their dormitory…and a boy throwing an unsuspecting teenage girl - who he may not know very well - in robes up in the air in the middle of the school.

In the dormitory, the boy would be relatively harmlessly turned upside down; the girl may not have much on beneath her robes - and amongst teenagers of 15/16, the “joke” becomes sexual in nature…and becomes, as Lily suggested - creepy.   

If this theory is correct and Mulciber used Levicorpus, it’s possible this is how the spell escaped into the mainstream - and how James et al picked it up.  

Snape had taken great care to remark in his book that it should be used nonverbally, but if Mulciber used it recklessly and Mary heard the spell - well, is it any wonder that one of the Marauders managed to wheedle the incantation out of their fellow housemate?  Maybe they suggested they would gain retribution for her, but needed to know the spell so they wouldn’t fall victim to it.

After all, when Snape is attacked in Snape’s Worst Memory, it is curious that he’s wearing nothing but underpants beneath his robes.  It’s summer, so perhaps he’s hot.  He’s poor and it’s the end of term, so perhaps he’s grown out of his trousers.  

…but mostly, I think he’s entirely blindsided and not expecting other people to know the jinx.  If he had, I think he’d have been wearing more beneath his robes.

When we look at Snape’s reaction to Lily’s accusation, he says:

“That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all – ”

His language is identical to Ron and Harry’s; it was just a laugh. 

Incidentally, the same is true of James, Sirius and Peter when they unleash it on Snape - just like Dean and Seamus, they roar with laughter:

Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter.

But I digress.

The point is, Snape desperately didn’t want Lily to discover that he was the source of the spell that had been used in a creepy manner, because he hadn’t designed it to be used in such a fashion.  

He had genuinely designed it with harmless intent - but he soon saw that it could be used maliciously; and as Hermione pointed out, the Death Eaters continued to do so well into the 90s.

Lily calls the spell Dark Magic:

“It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny – ”

“What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” demanded Snape. His color rose again as he said it, unable, it seemed, to hold in his resentment.

On first read, it seems slightly weird that Snape leaps straight to talking about James Potter - but if we look at Levicorpus as being an ‘innocent’ spell and Lily accusing it of being Dark Magic, it’s easy to see where Snape makes the connection in his head.

After all, look at their next exchange:

“I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.”

The intensity of his gaze made her blush.

“They don’t use Dark Magic, though.”

And that’s Snape’s point; James et al don’t use Dark Magic, but their “jokey” spells are enough to bully him.  When does a spell stop being a joke and start being Dark Magic?

Furthermore, Sirius and James constantly bleat that Snape is a wannabe Death Eater and uses Dark Magic - so Snape wouldn’t want Lily to think that he was the mastermind behind a Dark Magic curse.  

So, Snape defends Mulciber because Snape invented Levicorpus, and he doesn’t want Lily to think badly of him.  

But why does Lily almost smile?

Because when she complained about Mulciber using the spell on Mary, Snape completely dismissed her and told her it was just a laugh.

I think that Lily saw Snape on the receiving end of it and a small part of her - even though he was her best friend - thought triumphantly that her point had been proven, “You see!  Now you don’t think it’s funny!”  

Alas, the irony was lost on Snape - and in his fury, he blurted out the slur that would end their friendship.

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

Spilled Butterbeer

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts Day 2. 1271 words Prompt: A: “If anyone does X I’m going to love them forever.” B: Does X.

———

“You’re insane, you know that?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“A complete nutter. A mad, raving—”

“I think I get the picture, Sirius.”

The pub is loud—hot and sticky with the feel of too many people in too small a room. James and Sirius sit together at a table in the back corner, sandwiched between a group of excessively raucous third-year boys and a young couple who seem to be under the impression that one momentary break from their sloppy snogging might be enough to unravel the entire fabric of the universe. Or something equally dire. 

James takes a quick swig from his butterbeer, missing his mouth just a bit in his haste and sending some of it spilling down onto his cloak. Blast. “I just think,” he says, brushing at the wet fabric with the heel of his palm and grimacing a bit at how hot the butterbeer still is to the touch, “that if we are to truly fancy ourselves experts on subjects of marauding and well-meaning vigilantism—”

“Ugh, not this again.”

“—then we shouldn’t let something as daft as the law keep us from having a little fun at old Minchum’s expense.” 

Sirius leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out into the slim gap between their table and the snogging couple’s. (They still have not so much as paused for air.) “Prongs,” he begins, “as much as I enjoy spending my detentions with you—”

“Soppy.”

“—I reckon being sent to Azkaban would take some of the fun out of our sixth year.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” James takes another sip from his butterbeer, more carefully this time. “They don’t send people to Azkaban for using Levicorpus. If they did, half of Slytherin would’ve lost their souls by now.” He pauses to consider that, lowering his tankard down to the table. “Although,” he reasons. “I s’pose if that did happen, we wouldn’t much know the difference, would we?” 

Sirius snorts into his butterbeer, spraying some of it across the table between them. James grins.

“The problem isn’t the spell, and you know it,” replies Sirius. “I doubt the Aurors over there would see the humor in the Minister for Magic being hoisted up to the ceiling by his ankles.” 

“All the more reason to do it then, yeah?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning. “Like I said. You’re a nutter.”

“Maybe,” shrugs James. “But if anyone does find a way to put that pompous, self-righteous, prejudiced git in his place…I’m going to love them forever. That’s all I’m saying.”

They both turn at that, shifting to observe where the politician in question is still holding court in the center of the pub, gesticulating drunkenly to his table of Ministry glad-handers. Even through the loud hum of conversation that fills the air around him, James can hear the nasal drone of the Minister’s voice as he talks on and on about ‘the problem with the pro-Muggle movement’ and ‘the proper order of a well-structured wizard society.’ 

James scowls. Minchum seems to be under the impression that opposing the Death Eaters’ violence makes him immune to any accusation of intolerance. Far as James is concerned, it doesn’t. Merlin, he hates that man.

A movement behind the man catches James’s eye, then, and he lifts his gaze to find Lily Evans striding confidently forward. She’s holding two teeming pitchers of butterbeer in her hands, and her expression is one of steely determination as she marches purposefully closer to the Minister for Magic. Nearing his table, she lurches—stumbling forward and stretching out her arms like anyone might do when they find themselves on the verge of tripping. In that split second, James is sure he sees her wrists tilt downwards in a deliberate motion right before the full contents of both pitchers come sloshing down over the Minister’s head.

The hum of the pub grows louder, briefly, with the sound of gasps before dropping off steeply to a stunned quiet. In an instant, it seems that all the heads in the room are craned to watch the Minister as he yelps and leaps to his feet. He splutters and gasps, dancing from one foot to the other and wiping frantically at the hot butterbeer that’s still sliding down his face. He is absolutely drenched with the foaming liquid, and—when he begins to dart his eyes around the room—it quickly becomes evident that he is also supremely embarrassed.

Lily, for her part, gives away nothing. She adopts a convincing look of feigned surprise, adjusting her grip on the now-empty tankards so that she can bring a hand up to cover her mouth. (No doubt to hide a smile). 

“I’m so sorry, Minister,” she gushes. “That wasn’t properly orderly of me at all!”

If the Minister detects any of the sarcasm in her tone, he doesn’t show it. He clears his throat when he looks at her, moving to straighten his robes as if grasping feebly at his retreating dignity. “That’s quite alright, miss,” he answers, his voice a bit more high-pitched than usual. “Not to worry, not to worry. I’ll just—” His hand darts up to adjust his necktie, and his face is bright red when he turns to address the stunned Ministry officials around him. “Well, now, I’d best be off, chaps. Lots to do, of course, lots to do…”

He flees the Three Broomsticks at a brisk pace, head bowed as the room fills with snickers. 

“I’ll leave these here, then,” says Lily innocently to the Ministry men. She sets the tankards down on their table and turns away from them, setting off through the crowd. When she draws nearer, she catches sight of James and Sirius and smirks. 

James feels a flurry of something in his chest when their eyes meet. Realizing his mouth is hanging open, he forces it shut.

“Potter, Black,” Lily says, still smirking when she reaches their table. “Bit clumsy, sometimes, aren’t I?” 

James can do nothing but stare at her.

“Do you mind, Potter?” she asks, gesturing to his butterbeer. “I spilled mine, you see.”

James, still speechless, manages to push his tankard toward her. She picks it up and tilts back her head, draining it in one breath. Setting it down, she wipes the foam from the corners of her lips (are her lips always that red?) and meets James’s gaze with an undeniable glint of mischief.

“Marry me, Evans,” James says, without thinking. 

She laughs loudly, swatting at his arm and throwing herself down into the empty chair beside him. “In your dreams, Potter,” she says. 

She settles back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the empty one next to Sirius—who gives her a small smile of grudging admiration and passes her his tankard. “I like your style, Evans,” he says.

She accepts his butterbeer with a nod and takes a few sips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

With a barking laugh, Sirius stands up. “I’d better get you another round,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be empty-handed if Old Minchum shows his face again.” 

He stops on his way to the bar, pausing just long enough to stoop down and whisper in James’s ear: “Congratulations, Prongs. I’ll expect to be Best Man.”

James, his face growing hot, elbows him sharply in the ribs in response. But the move only elicits another snort of laughter from his best mate as Sirius hurries away to fetch them all more butterbeer.

“So,” Lily says, taking another sip from Sirius’s tankard and fixing James with that mischievous smirk again. “You were proposing?”  

[shockinglyangel]

THE BEGINNING OF THE IRRESISTIBLE - TOM RIDDLE x reader

MATURE, Warnings, Virgin!Tom, Virgin!Reader, Unprotected sex, Shit ton of narration.

SUMMERY: You’re doing your DADA homework with Tom when all the sudden he becomes a little less interested in hexes, and a lot more interested in you.

NOT PROOFREAD

You were sat at the desk in Tom's dorm, an organised chaos painting the delicate wood, parchment splayed out, some ink dribbles showing the intension and concentration of what you were doing. You scribbled down another few things, dusting off the side of your hand with your other hand's fingers, not wanting to further smudge the words on the paper.

It wasn't necessarily uncommon for you to be in Tom's dorm, you two were put together in a Defence Against The Dark Arts project, so you'd been spending a fair amount of time by his side throughout the past few weeks. Tom's dorm was always very well put together, he had a lot of space since he had no one to share it with, the walls decorated in a dark shade of green to show the commitment to his house — although Tom rather disliked the scheme. His bed sheets were dark, black to be exact. He'd come into a large sum of money unexpectedly during the summer, when asked about it he told people that it was an inheritance from his late grandparents. With this money he had been able to cover the expensive of some nice silk sheets for his bed, along with some pillows to accompany it.

You turned to look at him, your eyes traveling over his face as he stares at your handwriting on the paper, something he was trying to learn was what someone's writing style could mean — he was critical and observational like that. "Well I think that shall do it for our hexes section, is there a spell you would prefer to focus on for the jinxes?"

Tom lifted his eyes from the paper, moving his head to face yours. His eyes never quite gave away what his emotions were hiding under the mask of his face, but they were a rather nice sight to see. "Impedimenta could be of our interest."

"A spell to slow someone down to prepare an attack?" You paused, bringing the feather of the quill to your lips, brushing it over the pigmented hue in contemplation. "I am not against the suggestion."

The Riddle boy — or more alike to a man, nods his head with one simple movement, not wishing to overdo it and show too much involvement in the work you two are doing together. "Then that shall do it."

"Although," you begin, turning your body on his chair to face him better, wanting to have him a more invested part of the conversation, and figuring your attention was the only way to get him to be so. "I rather enjoy Levicorpus, it may be overused, but it is such a classic."

Tom failed to see such an argument against his option, but he brushed it aside, if you wanted to work on the Levicorpus, then he supposed you would. He didn't want to say anything, he was too busy trying to understand the feelings in his body, the rushing through his veins, and maybe other areas of his body.

His flesh was burning, and he truly wasn't quite sure as to why. Riddle is not incompetent, nor oblivious to those bodily functions, but one so overwhelming, one that he cannot push down or dismiss with a simple thought of something else? Now that was confusing. He felt his breath get tighter in his throat, like it had morphed into a piece of glass and had began to scrape the inside of his oesophagus, such a similar, yet unfamiliar sensation. Too much for someone with little experience.

He thought about it for a moment as you looked away to get back to your work, your hand so delicately holding the quill, the way the feather dances along with your movements; so precious, so graceful. So you. Tom brought his hand up, allowing his heart to take control of his body. He reached out for your face, placing but only a finger to your chin and using the pressure to bring your face back to his.

The act of his finger, even if only one, was so intimate, and intimidating all in one. If the touch made up of only one bone could have your heart shoot up into your mouth, what could two or possibly three do? You dropped the quill, placing it down on the parchment as your head was moved to face him.

Both of your chests had somehow managed to move in unison, like your hearts were beating in a similar rhythm, like everything up to this moment had you so disconnected, but now you are one. Keeping your eyes on him, you watched his move down to his finger which then became two, traveling the intensive digits down your neck and to your tie. He added his thumb, messaging it down the fabric of the green, striped elongated triangular shape.

At this point you couldn't help but look down, his hand making it's journey to the slip of your tie, holding it between his thumb and middle finger, loosening it from around your neck before giving it a pull. You looked closely as the tie was removed from around your colar, watching as he places it on the floor.

It was as if all of your formality had gone from your figure as the piece of fabric was taken from you, something so exciting yet confusing, your body begging for more answers.

Tom's fingers didn't stop, moving back to your shirt and undoing the top button, causing you to lift your head up for better access. He blinked for a moment as the dip of your neck was revealed to him, his newfound mass of blinking making it seem as if he was a victorian man seeing a pair of ankles for the first time. A piece of your skin; so unimportant and small, yet such the thing to affect his put together demeanour.

His eyes shot between yours and the shirt, his fingers not faltering as they continued to undo your buttons, his gaze becoming more fixed on your skin as it was revealed. Tom was a starving man, someone with little to no intimacy, never to know the feeling of a warm body under or beside his, but God, did he crave it.

Riddle swallowed as he undid the final button, unsure of what to say. There were no words he could think of, his brain to scattered and disorganised to find the sentence he should be speaking. You were the same, your chest moving with rasher movements, deeper breaths digging the oxygen into your lungs as if you could consume the scent of him there and then.

You could see in his eyes that there was more than a desire of the simplicity of removing your tie, or the drive for his fingers to unbutton each and every button of your shirt. There was more, always more. You both knew it, and you weren't to be the one to stop it.

You were quick to take the initiative, looking down at his lips before back to his eyes and finally, finally leaning in, the plushness of your mouths crashing together in a feverish dance, a destiny untold in the stars, known to everyone around you, and yet hidden from your eyes.

He breathed desperately against your lips, his hands moving to connect with your cheeks, cupping you in his grasp as if he would lose you if you were to slip out of his touch. His hands were rougher, colder against your skin, the temperature a stark contrast to your own.

Tom's tongue grazed your bottom lip, as if silently asking for the approval of taking things further. You accepted almost immediately, allowing his tongue to enter past your lips and into your mouth, finding yours and fighting with it as if he had something to conquer. You to conquer. He slowly but surely allowed his hands, which were almost trembling from uncertainty to move to your shoulders, pushing your already opened shirt down your arms, his palms taking in the newer feel of your arms and the prominent shoulder blades as he pulls your shirt down, tossing it to the side and leaving your torso in only your bra.

You took his initiative of a sign for you to take action as well, your hands leaving your side of the desk and wandering over to him, to his tie. Your hands fumbled for a moment, struggling to remove his tie before triumphantly pulling it off and letting it fall from your grip to the dorm floor beneath the two of you. Next was his white button up, but you wasted no time to undo it, Tom not allowing you as he pulled away from the kiss after you successfully undid the top four buttons, his impatience getting the better of him as he reached down to pull it up over his head before reconnecting his lips with yours.

It was like he was hungry for you, as if he could not survive without a taste. He allowed not one of you to catch your breath during the kiss, or even in the moments between kisses. Perhaps he thought the added oxygen would make your heads clearer and cause more logic to your actions. He did not want to think logically, he did not want to think at all.

"Get on the bed." His voice was slightly quieter from his usual tone, his lungs reeling in the need of air, but all he needed was you.

You nodded quickly, moving to sit on the bed, him not wasting even a second before following after you, his hand coming down onto your thigh, pushing up underneath your skirt, causing shivers to arise on both of your skins. You both knew where this was going, although neither of you were strong enough to, nor wanted to stop it.

He grabbed you by your hips, his hands sliding up to your waist as he lifted you up, placing you further back on the bed. His mind was filled with the desire of the evening, all the ideas in his mind spinning like an unstoppable wheel of destiny, and it would not stop until he had you, he could not force it to halt until the two of you were corrupted by dark desires and the feel of one another's body.

It had to be you.

He had grown needy in your absence, those nights alone when the only thing that was left to do was to lay in bed with only the memory of you, his hand doing the work that he had so desperately wanted you to do, his mind imagining it was you, it could only be you.

He crawled over you, placing his knee in between your legs to part them, his lips finding yours another time as his hand went back to your thigh, running over the burning flesh of your leg, and oh so desperately wanting to go further. His free hand dipped under your back, causing you to arch it for him, allowing just enough space for his touch to travel down the skin of your back, truly not wanting a single piece of you to miss out from the feel of him.

He found the attachment of your bra, unclasping the material with a slight pop, his lips pulling away from yours to look at you, so open and vulnerable for him, and only him. It was no mystery to Tom that you hadn't done anything like this before, the way you allowed him to guide you, to instruct you and tell you what to do. He knew you were a stranger to the touch of a man, especially a man that wanted you as bad as Riddle did.

His hand made its way back to your front, his large palm placed flag against your upper abdomen before turning around to allow his two middle fingers to hook under the middle part of your bra, pulling it ip in anticipation. You helped him, your own hands going to your shoulders to remove the straps, pulling them down and allowing him to do the rest.

Tom's brain could've short circuited the moment he saw your bare chest, your eyes displaying a look of vulnerability and nerves in them as his eyes revelled in the exposure of your body to him. He traced a hand over one of your breasts, his palm riding over the hardened nipple, his body reacting to the arousal of your own.

The tent in his trousers was all but noticeable, it blended in too well with the black colour, however it was uncommon to see him wear any other colour, he was quite picky like that. Regardless of how visible it was to the untrained eye, he wanted you to know the impact you and your body had on him and his. He reached down for your hand, taking it from your stomach where it rested. He swiped it over his bare chest, trying desperately not to give away how needy he is for you, and how much he desires your touch. Then finally, he ran your hand down to his bulge, his fingers wrapped around your wrist in a commanding way as he allowed you to touch his most intimate area.

Your breath was quick to get caught in your throat another time, even inside the casing of his trousers, behind a whole fabric prison, you could tell how large he was; and how hard you were going to struggle with this — but you were both learning, neither of you had done this before.

Riddle grabbed your skirt, slipping his fingers under the sides of your waistband and pulling in hopes to remove it from your body. You let out a small laugh at his anticipation, the look on his face as he realised he couldn’t pull it from you. “It’s a button up.” You spoke up, breaking the silence that he had created, or perhaps that was a joint task.

He looked at your slightly frustrated before searching around for the buttons, using his fingers as an anchor, waiting for them to hook onto something he could unfasten. “Where the bloody hell is it?” Tom was at his wits end now, he had you so close, yet so far due to these darn buttons. The desire in his body was brewing over, his veins more prominent on his arms.

You moved your hand down to your side, showing him the buttons before undoing them with your fingers, it was only two buttons, but Tom’s feelings were too overwhelming to take the time to find them.

His mind was anything but clear when he slipped your skirt off in a moment of liberation, a small — very small smile across his normally harsher looking face as he removed the fabric from your body, leaving you in only your underwear, shoes, and socks.

Perhaps he didn’t quite think through the order.

One of his feet went to the back of the other as he slipped off his down shoes, his feet then finding yours and successfully removing them, listening to the almost deafening sound of your small heels clattering to the ground, scratching his brain in the worst way.

His mind became more aware as he leaned back up, the buckle on his belt louder than it had ever been, the buttons on his trousers somewhat harder to undo, the ticking of the clock beside his bed almost mocking him for doing this so late. He was only but an adult when he discovered the need to please, and the desire to be pleased anymore.

The ticking started to become louder, more aggressive, and he couldn’t allow himself to waste any more time pretending he doesn’t feel anything, that his apathetic mind was even so far removed from the intricacies of needing another for sexual pleasure. But he wasn’t, and he needed it now.

He removed his boxers hastily, before tapping the outer side of your thigh, silently ordering for you to lift your hips for him as his hands went to the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off in one swift motion and throwing them down to the pile of clothes below.

Tom had never been naked in front of anyone, not since he was a baby anyway. It was somewhat freeing, to have someone see everything he was quite proud of, he knew he wasn’t terrible to look at, he just didn’t prioritise it above other things.

He moved closer to you, placing his hands either side of your head, his arms holding him up over you, his eyes pining into yours as if looking for you to show signs of discomfort or unwillingness, so then he could stop himself from making possibly his greatest mistake. When you showed no emotions of uncontrollable vulnerability he looked down to where the two or you would connect if he was to move just another inch.

And then he did.

You looked at Tom as his eyes bore back into yours, his body finally connecting with your own like a missing key, he had unlocked something in you as his body pushed into yours, entering you seamlessly, your arousal aiding his movements as he did so. Your mind was blocked, as if the only thing you could think about in that moment was the man in front of you, on top of you, inside of you.

It was hard to stop yourself as your mouth fell open, his hips retracting before moving against yours again, trying to figure out for the first time what either of you liked. It was different, and expectedly slightly uncomfortable. His delicacy tearing past your innocence and corrupting you just how he had wanted to.

And yet he was still unsure of what he was doing. Sex is simple when you hear about it, read books about it, learn about it. But not knowing it from experience is something everyone has to learn, even the great Tom Riddle had to teach himself the ways of the body, and it seemed he was doing a fair enough job.

Tom had obviously read about it, how else is one supposed to keep their mind occupied when they do not desire to give into mindless, and meaningless debauchery their peers were so familiar with? It was the only way to keep that last string of remaining semblance and not snap, to not give into what his body craved.

But he failed today.

His body became faster, his movements more intentional and desperate, as if he knew what he was chasing and exactly how to get there. Your eyes closed as he hit those sensitive spots inside of you, the places that brought both pain and pleasure, and you wanted both. Your head tilted to the side, your cheek resting against the cold silk sheets on his bed.

“Look at me.” His voice spoke with a slight rasp along with a shake, his vulnerability almost captivating as you looked back at him, your eyes staring directly into his. His body never stopped its movements, the hair on his head almost bouncing along with his thrusts, tipping forward as if gravity begged his soft locks touch you. He pushed his head forward as his biceps felt your fingers on them, placing his face in the crook of your neck, his lips gracing your skin as he murmured against it. “Merlin.”

It took every ounce of your self control not to find your orgasm in that very moment, the way his lips touched your skin, the sound of his words against your neck, the way his body felt — God, he was captivating.

He pulled back up, moving himself so he could kiss you again, his hips finding a comfortable rhythm as the sounds of his bed grow louder and louder, as if the poor thing was begging not to be fucked upon. Tom showed no care for the bed’s voice, nor for the clock ticking and timing his every move, his mind too torn to focus on anything besides your body on his, the way you felt around him, and how thrilling it felt to be inside of you.

The two of you were nearing the edge, your bodies dancing together as you moved against him, trying to help him find your pleasure points, although he was not doing a bad job at it. You let out a string of moans, his lips continuing their assault against your as his hips picked up their pace, his movements becoming sloppier as he found himself arriving at the peak of pleasure.

You felt the same, your lips failing to move against his as your breath came out in more laboured gasps, your body almost feeling like it’s levitating as his touch took you to another world.

You couldn’t stop yourself when it hit, your mouth opening as your face contorted. Your body shook as your eyes forced themselves shut, the pleasure was becoming overwhelming, you had hit the most anticipated part of the evening, and you had only Tom to thank.

Riddle’s head moved back to your neck, not wanting you to see the face he would make as he finished inside of you, spilling everything he has left from his body, his breath coming out a huff against your skin as he fills you for the first time. He let out another almost groan sounding vocalisation as you arched your back at the feeling of his aftermath stilling inside of you, his body coming to a halt as a wave of realisation washes over him, his mind suddenly more in tune with the sound of the clock ticking, or the breathing of you underneath him.

He had lost his virginity, and he had taken yours.

Neither of you dared to even look at each other, not wanting this to become any more real than it already had, your hands slipping from his arms and onto the bed as you tried to catch your breath, and catch your thoughts along with it.

However, the one thing you did both share in this moment was the knowledge that this was not going to be the first time, that now there was some reason for uncontrollable passion amongst your disliking for one another, and that you now had no excuse not to settle your arguments in a way much more fulfilling.

[extra-venomous-tentacula]

If I remember this correctly, it's Snape's Worst Memory in OotP!

Sirius: "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year."

11 year old Severus: "You motherfucking, shit-stained, cunt-mouthed little prick. Your chin looks like a ballsack and your droopy eye looks like the hood of a clit."

11 year old Sirius (crying): "I'm rubber, you're glue--"

[iamnmbr3]

Just wanted to say that I like your Drarry meta posts. They have really given me a new appreciation for HBP and Draco and Harry's dynamic.

I just have a genuine question about your feelings on Harry.

Part of why Drarry began to leave a bad taste in my mouth was that I found book canon Harry to be very distasteful. He just seemed like a vindictive and unempathetic person. Even his remorse for almost killing Draco in book 6 was short lived and I think that same chapter ended with that awful Hinny kiss.

However, your posts seem to indicate a certain care for Draco. So where did this start? What made Harry transform from the guy who participated in group assaulting Draco end of book 4 & 5 to the guy who is trying to cover up Draco's tracks in book 6?

Thank you so much! Glad you've been enjoying my posts. That's so nice of you to say. I have enjoyed your meta as well btw!

This is a great question. I have a lot of thoughts. They are, of course, my personal interpretation and everyone is ultimately free to read things however they like.

The Context:

So first of all I think it's important to consider the larger context of this scene. Harry and Draco are in a fantastical and heightened setting. They are not simply classmates who don't like each other who got into a fight. They are at this point both soldiers on opposite sides of a war.

Draco is a Death Eater. His father has watched and jeered as Harry was tortured and nearly killed in a graveyard. Harry faced Lucius again in fifth year and fought him and is in fact to blame for Lucius's fall from grace and Draco's resultant punishment. Harry has been tasked with defeating Voldemort. Draco has been tasked with killing Dumbledore (though as a punishment not with the expectation that he will truly succeed). Harry knows that Draco is a Death Eater and believes he is tasked with doing something nefarious on behalf of Voldemort and is intent on stopping him.

This is the context of their fight. These are two people involved in a serious conflict on opposite sides actively striving against each other. This is not a simple spat between two classmates who don't like each other so we can't simply reduce it to that or we miss a lot of vital context. We can't judge it the way we would a fight between two people in a regular school who just don't like each other.

The Fight:

Now. As to the actual fight. Harry doesn't initiate it. He walks in on Draco crying and saying some incredibly incriminating stuff. Draco reacts in anger and humiliation and fear and attacks him. Harry responds in self defense and they use an escalating series of spells. Harry attempts Levicorpus for example which would stop Draco from continuing to attack him but certainly wouldn't hurt him even as much as a stunning spell would. And would, also, have allowed them to speak. Draco does quite a good job of holding his own against Harry and foils Harry's attempts to stop the fight. He then attempts in a moment of pain and anger to use an Unforgivable on Harry which Harry counters with Sectumsempra.

Harry has no idea what the Sectumsempra spell does when he uses it. It pops into his mind in a serious and potentially dangerous duel. Nothing in his education has really strongly impressed on him the risks of using untested spells. And none of the other Prince spells have been dangerous. Remember that originally he was planning to test the Sectumsempra spell on McLaggen. And he originally tested Leivcorpus on Ron. So he didn't know what the spell would do before he used it or view at something with the potential to be seriously hazardous.

He didn't do it out of vindictiveness. In fact, it's rather notable that while Harry can be vengeful he seems to have a particular aversion to hurting Draco even when you'd expect otherwise. Like in the beginning, despite the fact that Draco attacks him and breaks his nose and the fact that he already suspects him of being a Death Eater, Harry's anger towards him is surprisingly short lived and he never even thinks of doing anything to him to get even.

Harry's Reaction:

In my opinion, Harry actually has an extremely strong emotional reaction to nearly killing Draco. He is horrified by what he has done. To the point of a near panic attack. He is so upset that he freezes and just kind of collapses next to Draco.

And this is extremely atypical of Harry. Even in dire circumstances Harry is usually able to compartmentalize and keep a cool head and react well under pressure. Even in cases where he is to blame for the situation. When Ron starts dying from poison right in front of his eyes he is able to spring into action. When he realizes he's led his friends into a trap in book 5 he keeps calm and organizes a defense. When Hermione is being tortured in the Manor because they got captured due to Harry saying Voldemort's name he's able to keep calm and come up with a plan.

Also. Harry doesn't like to hurt people unnecessarily but he's still very formidable in combat and is actually quite willing to hurt people when he has to. He kills Quirrel without much regret and says later that he deserved what he got for helping Voldemort. He refuses to stun Stan Shunpike in book 7 because he is Imperiused but he stuns other Death Eaters even knowing they will likely fall to their deaths. Draco is a Death Eater working for Voldemort who has just attacked Harry.

Given his generally cool head under pressure and the fact that Draco is now an enemy on the other side of a war you might expect Harry to react calmly or even coldly to Draco's injury. But he doesn't at all. He can't think what to do. It's the only time we see him freeze up like that. His initial reaction is one of absolute horror. So much so that for once he can't even think of what to do:

Even after he sees that Draco has been healed and is no longer dying in front of him he can't tear his eyes away and is barely aware of his surroundings:

He's so upset he's literally shaking. And Harry has seen and suffered a lot of bad stuff. So that's saying a lot:

Harry is not someone who is good at expressing or even understanding his emotions. And especially with Draco it's difficult since he probably feels he should see Draco as more of an enemy than he actually does.

But I think his actions after this incident are very notable. Harry continues to believe that Draco is a Death Eater on a nefarious mission from Voldemort. And what he overheard Draco saying in the bathroom only further confirms this.

But after seeing Draco so scared and vulnerable and realizing that pursuing him brought them into a confrontation with each other where Harry ended up nearly killing him, Harry backs off completely.

He stops trying to discover and foil Draco's plan. He stops following him. Even though he is still convinced that Draco is involved in something dangerous he doesn't want to be the one to stop him. He doesn't want to be the cause of more fear or pain. Part of him probably also doesn't want to be the reason Draco is killed for failing.

Instead he distracts himself with other things. And it is in that context that he gets together with Ginny. After ditching her several times throughout the first part of the book to go chase after Draco instead, he gets together with her when he's trying to forget about Draco. Which uh. Sure was a choice on JKR's part.

So yeah I do think Harry actually was extremely affected by nearly killing Draco and regretted it a lot.

Book 4 & 5 fights:

As for the book 4 and 5 fights. Those are less serious but once again occur against the backdrop of being on opposite sides of the brewing war. In book 4 Harry is raw from the horrors of the graveyard and when Draco seeks him out and brings up Cedric he loses his temper as do the people he's with.

In book 5 Draco and co attempt to attack Harry to get revenge for Lucius's defeat and capture and Harry and some of his friends respond. (Draco eventually gets his revenge with the nose breaking incident in book 6).

Also we should remember these attacks occur in a world with magic where most injuries can be fixed instantaneously so they aren't as serious as they would be for one of us. These are, without a doubt, nasty incidents, but they are not one sided nor are they that surprising given the context.

Conclusion:

Drarry is, to me, a fascinating and deeply compelling ship because of how Draco and Harry are so compatible and drawn to each other despite their rivalry which evolves into them literally being on opposite sides of a war. And because of the themes of redemption and forgiveness that are implicit in the ship. With all the reasons they have to hate each other they never can, and when it counts, they always come through to protect each other.

[novelizt]

EXPECTO PATRONUM II ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 17.4k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'dearest vexation', (+'my girl). prefect! lockwood. jessica lockwood lives!! (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader). boggarts, and a lot of unpolished dialogue. QUILL KIPPS. blood and injuries (tending to wounds). mentions of kids and marriage at the end.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

In true Slytherin and Gryffindor fashion, neither of the boys hesitated. Lockwood swung a hex at you. You deflected with a basic protego. He advanced, closing the distance to aim better.

On the other side, Daria flung offensive spells at James. She managed to cast levicorpus on him. He hung upside down, chained in the air. That didn't dampen the flames of his spirit. He threw more charms and jinxes at her. She responded just as quickly.

You almost lost sight of Lockwood before he casted an impressive disillusionment charm on himself. He melted into the background as your blood rushed. You opened your senses and spun revelios in attempt to unveil him.

James's feet found the floor thanks to Lockwood, and the Potter striked a petrificus totalus back at Daria. Instead of turning his attention on you, James nodded to the air and sat like his part was done. He was heaving but smirking.

The hairs on your neck rose and you turned to dodge a stupefy the still disillusioned Lockwood slung at you. You could only hear your breathing and your shoes tapping.

Every hair on your body stood as paranoia sunk in. You're tempted to give up, but you remembered who you were up against and regained your resolve.

You backed against one side of the cage, leaving three directions he could come at you from. In that position, he couldn't catch you from behind.

You'd obviously underestimated Lockwood's growth. The last time you saw him cast a spell as impressive as his disillusionment was the sleeping trance charm he used on the dragon. He used your lack of knowledge against you and you were both impressed and frightened by it.

You remind yourself that you were a Ravenclaw, one of the most highly acclaimed students under Professor Flitwick and the brightest witch of your age.

Everytime you won against Lockwood, it was because you were using your head. Then, it finally clicked for you.

You held out your wand and went on a limb as you spoke, "Accio Prefect Badge."

You heard a gasp to your left and spun your wand to cast revelio. Lockwood's face appeared, speeding towards you, left hand trying to remove the badge he often boasted about. You couldn't help but smile, raising your wand, ready to cast.

His wand rose to rival yours. You heard the beginnings of an explosion spell before adjusting yourself.

Your hand was furious and your lips moved at a speed you didn't know was possible. The beginnings of his firework charm surged towards you before the sound was cut off by the crippling noise akin to metal meeting metal.

The explosion was engulfed by silvery light. It swallowed the flames until all that remained was your patronus.

They say the devil's in the details, and you forgot about one in particular detail. Your smile faded as a silence befell the room.

Your patronus had stayed a crane. Its wings, pearlescent and broad as it hovered, a carbon copy of Lockwood's.

There was static in your ears. Your face drained of colour and your heart plummeted to your stomach.

The patronus's glow casted a faint veil between you and Lockwood. He looked back at you with a shocked but not surprised expression. Neither of you expected James to raise his wand and stupefy you.

—

Everything was all black for a while. You had no dreams. Yet, somewhere in the void, you began to hear giggles, familiar and chilling.

"Come on now," one spoke.

"Stumped by a stupefy!" another added, this one more energetic.

"And by Jamesie, no less."

"Potters are trouble," the other tutted.

The first gasped. "I saw her lids twitch!"

"We know you're awake already."

You cracked your eyes open, and, sure enough, you're greeted by two golden-haired rascals; Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Three years your juniors, they were Ravenclaw's notorious twins who were known to be as caring as they were mischievous.

Your throat dried, your neck stiffened, and you wished the duel was all a dream. You tried to sit up, to no avail.

Lorcan jumped into action, helping you up by propping a pillow behind you whilst Lysander passed you a cup of water. It wasn't spiked with anything, you pleasantly discovered. You finished the whole glass in one fell swoop.

When you shifted to return the glass to the bedside table, you felt a tug on your opposite arm and nearly jumped when you spotted curls of brown crushing your hand. He was slouched but there was no mistaking that resting sad face.

No wonder the twins were so smiley.

You turned to them. "How long has he been here?"

"Asking about him first?" Lorcan grinned.

Lysander cupped his chin. "That's awfully un-rival-like of you."

"Hush. Just tell me."

"Since you asked," Lorcan said with an attitude.

"Tony's been here since lunch," Lysander answered. You laxed. That wasn't so bad, it couldn't have been too long.

"Lunchtime yesterday," Lorcan corrected.

Your soul departed from your body.

"He would have come sooner if Madame Pomfrey didn't keep you under intensive care," Lysander continued, as if that was any better. "No visitors until she deemed you stable enough."

"He's very stubborn, you know."

"I think she knows, Lorcan."

"And you let him?" You kept your voice down but your tone was a borderline shriek.

"He wouldn't let up." Lorcan shrugged.

"Professor Flitwick said the best we could do is bring you two food and drink," Lysander backed up.

Your jaw loosened at the news. "The professors allowed this?"

The pressure on your hand lightened. Your lips smacked shut as Lockwood said, "I'm their best student, they let me do anything."

Say something smart, you told yourself. It's the only right reaction to an egoistic comment like that, but your mental function ceased at the rasp in his voice. His very, very groggy voice that made you feel like you've been hit by lightning.

One hand rested on yours while his other arm lazily held up his head. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again, yet, he looked like he hadn't slept at the same time. Gray swooped under his eyes, he turned more gaunt than the last time you saw him...

Goodness, the last time you saw him. Heat crawled up your neck.

The patronus. The crane, his crane. Now yours, too.

He knows.

The Scamander twins were on the same wavelength because Lorcan hopped onto an empty square of your bed and asked, "So... is it true?"

Lysander crossed his arms and placed them on the bed. "Did your patronus really change?"

"Did it?" Lockwood asked, just to drive the fact home. Though tired, he did that smirk-smile that you've committed to memory.

You blamed your near internal decapitation for your unaligned state of mind. You answered quietly, "It did."

Lorcan and Lysander exchanged looks. Bright-eyed, like they had just discovered a Fantastic Beast of their own. They both leaned toward you, forcing you to lean toward Lockwood to retain some of your personal bubble. He didn't mind, he even squeezed your hand to reassure you.

"How did it happen?"

"What was it before?"

"Did it happen consciously?"

"Did someone cause it to change?"

You didn't know which twin was speaking, their lips were moving at the same time. You processed their words before answering. "It just did. It was a giraffe. No, I didn't expect it to change at all. And I don't know."

The last answer wasn't really a lie. Lockwood didn't do anything special, but your patronus was now miraculously connected to his. He was involved somehow. You would be grasping at straws if you didn't consider your earlier adventures to be the catalyst.

Lorcan and Lysander had a whispery discussion while you drowned in your reverie. When they decided that they were sated with your answers, they waved you goodbye. You faintly hear a muttering of George's name and it all made sense.

George had sent the twins to gather intel because he knew you could never say no to them. That, or he was still upset at you over being dragged into the anti-Amortentia scheme. The bugger.

You sat up despite your aching head, but surrendered the moment Lockwood brushed a finger over your knuckles. It's odd to give in so quickly, but it was too late to go back on it.

Your eyes shifted to him and, just like before, his were already on you. A smile formed on his lips but it wasn't your favourite one. He gave you a tight-lipped grin that matched the ashen grey under his eyes.

"You were stupefied," he said.

You rolled your eyes and pretended not to see his smile grow. The weirdo missed seeing it.

"Unfortunately," he continued. "You had backed yourself too close to Professor's cage. The stupefy basically bludgeoned your skull against the cage and the protective spells sent you in the opposite direction."

Just hearing the technicalities made you grimace. You remained grateful he didn't mention Madam Pomfrey's methods of fixing you up. If you had broken your skull, you wanted to be ignorant of it. Lockwood understood your dread and kept the rest of the details to himself.

That still didn't answer the question that's been at the forefront of your mind. "Why are you here?"

He sucked in an audible breath, eyes wandering. Classic evasive Lockwood move. You already knew he was going to respond with a lie.

"Because I owe you one," he said.

You mastered the art of stoicism, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was harder to practise that time around.

"You don't owe me a thing," you replied, coughing away the dejection that bled into your voice. "We're even. The Romanian Longhorn incident, remember?"

"How could I forget?" He smiled at the floor. Another swipe over your knuckles that sent you into orbit. "But I would have been spell-bound for the rest of my life if you hadn't intervened."

Years—That's how long you'd been avoiding his eyes and how his emotions swam in them, but now, you couldn't convince your angel and devil to look away. Honey in a bottle eyes pried open so raw you physically felt the weight of his words, and then the shackles of your own guilt.

It clawed at your throat, coiling its gangly fingers around your windpipe and choking you until your fears were forced out. "You were spell-bound because of me."

He responded with a frigid laugh. "Are you kidding me?"

Your brows furrowed. "No? Why would I kid about something like this? You were under the influence of Amortentia. It's not the first time a tragedy had come from its misuse. Have we not learned from the story of Vol—"

The cold bit at you as he disentangled his hand from yours, pushing himself back to see you in full. "This is not about the moral of the story or what could've happened. Why are you blaming yourself?" He scoffed. "Sweetheart, you're not the one who tricked me. Some nutter did."

"Listen here," you gave a despondent sigh, crossing your arms and distancing yourself by pressing your back into the pillow. "She wouldn't have done that if you hadn't... been so fixed on me."

"Sorry, is that a sin?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Fancying someone that isn't her isn't a crime. You didn't do anything to hurt me. What she did was the making of her own evils."

"Fancying? Lockwood– Nevermind that. She said—"

"You value her word over mine?"

"No!" Your heart clenched, your mind raced. "Merlin, no. I just mean that you would be better off without me."

Lockwood never looked so frustrated before. Not at you, at least. He pressed his lips together, fists on his hips as he paced.

Your eyes followed in wait. There's not much else you could say. You'd let the biggest resident of your mind go in that one exchange. You didn't take into account how anxious it would make you to see him react.

He stopped, as did your heart. You sat up straighter when he let his arms fall to his sides.

"You are the most despicable woman I have ever met," he said in one breath.

You had a lot to say about that. You were offended, humiliated, and humbled all at once. Yet, he didn't let you say a thing until he finished.

"And I could easily choose some other lovely lady who doesn't give me a migraine every time I speak to them, but I can't. Because I've been taken by you the moment you called me a twat for mistaking a llama and camel even though I am the raised as a muggle between us." He stole a breath to replenish his air. "And I try to make you understand that there is no getting rid of me, but your lack of awareness is equivalent of my lack of failure—"

You rolled your eyes at that and he cracked a smile.

"And if I had to guess, it would take about a million years and triple that of worshipping before I get you to understand that I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you; But I'm already aware, and I'm going to spend all of my mortal years trying, and then spend the rest of our reincarnations doing that over and over just so I can be yours. Don't even try to stop me, sweetheart. You know I never give up."

Your cheeks hurt from trying to repress a smile.

"Come on," Lockwood coaxed. "No need to be shy. You can smile, sweetheart."

And so, you did. But you didn't expect the waterworks to begin.

Salty tears slid down your cheeks and into your mouth. You tried to wipe them away to preserve the rest of your dignity in the face of Anthony Lockwood but it was for naught.

Your breath hitched as your chest constricted, but it's the first time you cried tears of joy. You couldn't help but laugh amidst the pain.

Years of trying to prove yourself to your family. Years trying to meet ungodly expectations just to earn your place at their table—they return to you at the same moment. You cried for every minute you fought for a modicum of love from people who preferred pride, all while Lockwood was right there. You didn't see it until he spelled it out for you.

Lockwood washed away the shattering memories with every swipe that dried your tears, then quelled the rest of your fears as his arms came around you.

He held you fast against him. "I hate to say it, but I love the way you keep my feet on the ground. Snarky attitude and all," he said.

Your head hurt from both the injury and the crying, but you'd never felt so seen, so loved.

It was pure instinct to try and hit him. That time, he let you. Your fist met his chest with a dull thud.

"Would you look at that," he chuckled against your hair. "You got me."

He earned a soft laugh from you, and you didn't see it, but he smiled your favourite smile.

You got him in more ways than one.

—

If you admonished one thing, it was whispering behind your back. The likelihood for people to do just that tripled since the patronus business got out.

You and Lockwood, renowned for butting heads at any given opportunity, had the same patronus. They were studying magic. Of course they knew what that meant.

In the recent days, you'd taken to hiding in the confines of the library. If not, you'd be tucking yourself in your room behind a good novel.

Lockwood had taken up the same hobbies.

You pulled a book out of its space to examine the cover, just to double take and peer between the space it left behind. You'd recognise that smirk anywhere. Only Lockwood would pose all suave against a shelf like that.

He smirked. "Like what you see?"

"I don't know. An ogre is covering a pretty, rebound version of Hogwarts, A History."

He laughed all dashingly then closed the book he pretended to read. He came closer, setting his forearm on the shelf.

"I open my heart to you and you wound me. You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"If you didn't like that about me, you would have handed your heart to someone else."

"Have I told you how much I love your feistiness?"

You cheeks strained from holding back a smile. "Bugger off."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then duly decided to drop the act. "I don't feel like being obedient today. Come with me?"

You squinted at him. "Where?"

"It's a secret. Why, you scared, smart girl?"

You pursed your lips, miffed. "Please. You're the bigger pansy between the two of us."

His smile stretched. "Prove it."

"I will."

You returned the book to its place, locking Lockwood out of view. You heard his laugh and stifled yours as he was reprimanded by Madam Pince.

—

Calling Lockwood a danger magnet was putting it lightly. The man actively sought out danger like it was weaved into his state of being.

Somebody had to keep him in check, and some Higher Being had chosen you to be his keeper. So, there you found yourself, at the margins of the Forbidden Forest in the belly of the night.

"If I die, I want a special coffin in the likely event that my corpse leaps out and strangles yours."

"Sweetheart," Lockwood set his hand between your shoulders, easing you forward. "I'd be torn to bits before I ever let anything touch a hair on your head."

"Very reassuring."

He poked his head over your shoulder just to flash you a smile. "I know."

He chuckled as you shoved his face away.

Even if you were braced in your warmest cloak, the chill of being at the thresh of such a foreboding precinct of Hogwarts was overwhelming. It was like being face to face with a Roman Longhorn, except there were more than two eyes on you. You could already see their glowing irises peering at you behind the foliage.

They scrambled for the dark when Lockwood had casted lumos, lighting up the dirt path ahead. He eased his arm over your shoulder, squeezing you to him, before trudging on.

"What are we looking for?" you whispered. In your mind, the less creatures that knew you were ever in the Forbidden Forest, the better.

Students were punished to walk through the very path you were on, and here you and Lockwood stood, walking it on your own volition. Your reason for being there was to prove an arrogant Slytherin wrong, but you were walking the path regardless.

It took a moment for Lockwood to answer. He was already looking between the branches. "Promise you won't behead me if I tell you."

"I would behead you even if I did promise."

His lip quirked. "A spitfire as always."

You feigned politeness. "May I know now, please?"

"Since I'm doomed either way, I won't tell you that we're on the hunt for a unicorn."

Your feet dug into the dirt, halting Lockwood in his path. Disbelief written on your face. "A unicorn?!"

"Well, 'hunt' is an abrasive word. I suppose 'find' is a more apt verb—"

You slapped his chest, and he turned to you with a grin so blinding it outdid the lumos.

You motioned to the vast forest ahead. "Spotting one is as likely as becoming friends with a centaur."

"It isn't impossible," he quipped, as if that would inspire you.

"Lockwood," You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled, expelling all your murder ideations in the same breath. "You are as reckless as a Gryffindor."

"I take full offence. Gryffindors rush in with no clear goal. I, on the contrary, have a remarkable one."

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. "What would this 'remarkable' goal be?"

He was the picture of youth as he smiled. "To fulfil a childhood dream."

The nuance was lost on you. You trusted him to not have done something so particularly stupid.

He tapped your chin. "Why the face? You're the one who drew them all over your notebook."

You reeled. "Me? When?"

He looked dumbfounded. "When we met. You threw the whole notebook at me, remember?"

It dawned on you slowly. The cogs finally clicked into place, and you shoved him, just for him to catch your hand and grin.

"You remember it now?" he mused.

He let your hands fall between you, refusing to let you go.

Your cheeks warmed. "That was six years ago. Rowena knows where that notebook is now! I haven't drawn a unicorn since third-year Care of Magical Creatures."

He reclaimed his spot by your side, throwing his arm around you once more. "It's a testament to my impeccable memory."

"Your memory won't help if we're torn apart by rogue beasts," you chastised.

You expected a response. A real, apologetic response. But you watched as his eyes fell over your shoulder and simply stared instead.

You scoffed at him. "You are terrible—"

He cupped a hand over your mouth. "Shh!"

"Woat aye you loofing at?" You shook your head, freeing your mouth. "What are you looking at?"

A smile teased at his lips as he pointed over your shoulder. The glow at the end of his wand died, making the presence of the very real, very majestic unicorn prominent. Its coat shined like it was made of moonlight. You almost forgot to breathe as you watched it with the intrigue of a tyke.

Lockwood was much closer than before. His whispers loud in your ears. "Breathe, sweetheart. Can't have you fainting on me now."

You breathed a laugh then snapped to cover your own mouth. The creature craned its head around, allowing you to glimpse midnight blue eyes before it galloped into the trees. A short but worthwhile encounter.

Lockwood tugged on your arm, bringing you back to the present and leading you out of the forest.

You're still at a loss of words when you glimpsed his triumphant smile. "Not impossible," he reiterated.

You're on the brink of a laugh as you agreed, "Not impossible."

As you broke into safer forest, you realised that night wasn't over. Not for Lockwood, at least. His hand slipped down your arm before he twined his fingers with yours.

His smile brightened when you adjusted your grip to hold him tighter.

"We have one more stop before we succumb to sleep," he told you, leading you through the clearing.

Your curiosity grew as you passed Hagrid's hut. "Somewhere within Hogwarts, I hope. At this point, I find it plausible that you're scheming to sneak out to Hogsmeade."

A metaphorical lightbulb blinked above him. "Not yet, but that is a brilliant idea."

"There isn't a moment of peace when you're involved."

His fingers ghosted over your knuckles. It affected you more than you cared to show.

"Sweetheart, we both know we're susceptible to boredom when it's too quiet."

"I suppose," you hummed.

You did enjoy the cracks in the silence being filled by intelligent squabble or nonsensical arguments. But only if they involved one audacious Slytherin.

Your thoughts turned to static as torchlight began to cast a golden glow in the grass. This clearing was the opposite of empty. Torches and cages inflated where the air should have been. What fit in the cages were what stole the air from your lungs.

Lockwood was absolutely joyed that your first reaction was the dropping of your jaw.

The cages were filled by dragons. Luckily, asleep. The same ones that were supposed to be there for educational purposes.

You heard that they were on the loom for being transported back to Romania, but you never thought that they were being kept this close to the castle.

Lockwood led you by the hand, further between the cages. They shrunk in size until you were at the end of the line, facing a chillingly familiar face.

You laid a hand against the grainy bars, close but not too close to admire the sleeping beast. "The juvenile Romanian..."

Lockwood stared down at the nameplate welded against the bars. "Her name's Gorgonzola."

"She's named after a cheese?"

Lockwood chuckled. You felt the shake of his shoulder through your linked hands. "We were almost wiped out by aged dairy."

"It's a good thing we quelled her then." You nudged his side, and he nudged you right back. "Now, we're able to admire her without the impending threat of death."

"If that incident hadn't occurred, you would still hate me," he chuckled. It came out soulless.

You were taken aback. You weren't his biggest fan, but it would be too dire to say you hated him.

"Lockwood, I wouldn't hate you."

"Well," he downplayed the frown in his tone. "we wouldn't be friends."

You turned to face him. The toes of your shoes bumping his. He looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. You were so close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes.

His eyes followed every movement of your mouth. "Sulking over a version of us that doesn't even exist, snake boy?"

The edges of his lips upturned. "Just considering the possibilities, sweetheart."

You recognised that spark of mischief anywhere. You only had yourself to blame when he'd closed the distance even more.

"Besides," He cupped your cheek, drawing you closer. His fingers tickled the underside of your ear while his thumb brushed your cheek. "I like this reality better."

I do, too, you intended to say, but the words died on your tongue. Your lips parted as he inched closer and closer. Honesty lulling you together.

You felt his lips land on the corner of yours, teasing. You hummed in dismay before he drew away, leaning in to finally—

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The dragon's caretaker, most likely. By the sound of it, he wasn't happy to see two miscreant students skulking around.

Lockwood bit his tongue, holding back the urge to call out and tell them to shove off just so he had a moment to kiss you—but the look on your face sobered him quickly.

You didn't have the luxury of being involved in trouble as he did. Your family would know if you got into trouble. The dominos would fall, and a sad you was the kind of thing Lockwood casted spells to avoid.

He tightened his hold on your hand. "We'll get back to this," he promised.

You nodded firmly, holding onto him with the same intensity.

Though the moment was left behind, Lockwood clung to the vision of your eyes fluttering shut. Your lovelorn face seared into the back of his mind, keeping him up all night.

—

You didn't know where you and Lockwood stood at that moment in time. You were walking the line between more than friends, less than lovers. Wherever your feet were, you realised you had a lot to make up for.

If he caught you at the right time, you might just blurt out that you loved him, too. You'd been fortunate enough to have the restraint to keep your confession contained.

The thought of telling him felt like bearing your soul. You were unprepared for it. But there were new ambitions that stirred in your thawing heart. They all centred around one, Anthony Lockwood.

You tried to be subtle, but in Lockwood's eyes, you were as subtle as a gun.

You remained your verbally abrasive self (how he found it enamoring eluded you), but you picked up the habit of awarding him with a kiss on the cheek when he drapes an arm over your shoulders. He's yet to brace himself and melts every time.

In the same time frame, you magically found a way to duplicate your notes so he didn't have to hurt his hands to write them.

His hands were perfectly fine. Lockwood said you're insane for it, but you replied with, "have I ever been sane?"

To that he'd shake his head and smile a smile that encompasses a million confessions.

On another morning, a gaggle of first-years delivered a gift box of his favourite knacks from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and Honeydukes sweets. They told him it was from an anonymous benefactor but one look up and his eagle eyes spotted your poorly done disillusionment charm.

He thanked the kids with a smile and sent them off just so he could tap your disillusioned arse as he passed, then had the gall to chuckle at your yelp.

The rest of Hogwarts progressively became aware of the development. Professor McGonagall purposely seated you apart. Professor Flitwick did the opposite. Professor Longbottom occasionally tipped off ideas like hiding spots and locations with a view.

Even Peeves seemed to be aware that you were unofficially an item. To your utmost surprise, the poltergeist took it easy on you.

Your shenanigans began to pay back Lockwood's six years of unnoticed pining. The man of the hour appreciated them but his heart could not take that much affection. Realistically, it could, but he never passed up an opportunity to be dramatic about it. Especially when he caught sight of you in his colours.

It was the last Quidditch match of the year—his final match as a student of Hogwarts; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

He wholly expected to see you among your housemates, sporting the deep blue you looked so good in or even in red, just to spite him, but his heart stalled when he spotted you in steal-his-heart green.

He knew it was you even from miles away because you were sporting his number and wearing his jersey. The very jersey you said you'd never wear, you wore with a smile so bright it makes the cloudy skies part just for you.

He was just about ready to abandon his broom when you blew a cheeky kiss his way.

"Lockwood!" his teammate called urgently.

Lockwood begrudgingly looked away. He leaned into his broom to chase the Snitch, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from you for too long.

At the tail end of the game, the Snitch hovered right in front of you. You stared at it while Lockwood lunged for it, catching it in his palm and (un)covertly planting a kiss on your cheek.

It sent the stands into uproar and secured another win for Slytherin. He pointed to you as his team threw him up on their shoulders.

—

"You–" He snatched you from your path, beguiling you behind a fluted column. "–are unbelievable."

You smirked when you whirled to face him, resting an arm over his shoulder. The other against his forearm—and you chuckled when you felt him flex his arm to impress you. He couldn't help but smile.

His nose bumped yours, taunting. Judging by the way you raised your head to follow, you wanted the same thing he did.

Unfortunately for you, he was still Lockwood. He pulled his head back to coax that scowl from you. It sent him back to the first time he'd seen that look on your face. The weight of the world lightened every time he saw it.

You're not one to sulk, or beg, or admit you want something. Of course, you changed the topic. "Congratulations on the win, Captain."

"Captain? I like the sound of that." He did his best to remain chivalrous, but the thought of slipping his hands under your—his—jersey to caress your bare waist was meddlesome. It was tempting, and he barely fought the urge by drawing circles over the shirt instead. "Call me captain again, sweetheart."

You must be getting back at him. He had no other explanation for the rapturous grin on your face. "You're being too kind . . . I'm never going to call you that again."

"You are cruel, have I told you that before?"

You laughed, and he felt your breath on his neck. He found it reasonable to assume you're experienced in torturing boys who are in love with you. He clamped his lips when you graced him with a kiss on his chin. So close yet so far. "You love that about me though."

His fingers dug into your sides, keeping you to him even when you tried to pull away. Your fox grin only grew, confirming that you were torturing him on purpose.

He was immediately pardoned from guilt. He slid his hands down, and then up; touching your skin with chilled fingers. His smile reached his eyes as your mouth parted for a gasp.

"I do," he said, playing along and kissing the corner of your lip. "I'm forever harrowed by the very thought of you."

His form of play is quickly dispatched once his eyes meet yours. The mischief died away, leaving something deeper. More amorous. Yearning.

"Anthony..." It's but a whisper, but his fingers grappled to feel more of your skin. You felt them at the curve of your ribs, holding you with the prudence reserved for a fragile thing.

He drew you closer, as if the proximity of your mouths weren't enough to sate his cravings. "Say my name like that again."

"Anthony," you mused.

You're flush to him. If you were any closer, you'd feel his smirk against you, on your lips or your skin. You weren't picky.

His voice dropped to a lower register. "Yes, sweetheart?"

You lifted yourself on your toes. You met his eyes, but they travelled to his lips with intent. His eyes fluttered shut, transfixed on your smell, your hand tangling into his hair, your breath fanning his lip—everything. You drew closer and closer. He almost tasted the satisfaction of finally kissing–

"You better not be snogging behind there!" Kat Godwin, the dementor in disguise. Now, the person you wished to throw into the Black Lake.

You groaned and rocked back. Lockwood held on to your waist, closing the distance and allowing himself the reprieve of pressing his forehead against yours.

"We'll come back to this."

"Third time's the charm," you hoped.

His pulse raced as you snaked your hands up his torso, bracing your hands on his chest. If he didn't love you so much, he would have felt betrayed for the way you shoved him into the open.

"Anthony Lockwood," Godwin tutted. "I should have known..."

He glanced back at you, glimpsed your smile, and decided that he liked you too much to be mad.

He turned back to Godwin with a smirk. "I'm positive I saw a roach run through here." His lip twitched when her eyes darted down the hall.

Lockwood watched you book it for the opposite hall, ducking out of sight and escaping trouble. You blew a kiss before you turned the corner and he found that he didn't mind being your scapegoat.

—

Lockwood was aware that your beauty and brains could charm even the deadest of hearts. Some days, he wished you didn't have the magnetism you did. He dreaded every second watching that Gryffindor boy scamper up to you, a rose in hand.

Lockwood wasn't one to be mean up close, but he found glaring from a distance to be fair game.

You looked up from your book, innocent and unknowing, with a smile made for a princess. You turned the lion boy away, of course. You didn't even glance at the Gryffindor boy's love offering. The sad chap went off to wallow on his own.

Your head turned at the sound of Lockwood's footsteps. A smile coming to you before he even reached you.

"Hello, snake boy."

Lockwood didn't dawdle. "He was chatting you up."

"You were watching?"

"It's hard to miss trollop."

Amusement danced in your eyes. He forgot how gracious you were when he was caught up in his own mind-matter.

You shifted to the side and patted the spot next to you. Like a puppet on a string, he sat. Leaving no space between you, his arm flushed against yours.

"You're jealous," you said, with a lot more merriment than he expected from you.

His brows furrowed. "He's a twat. I'm just glad you had the sense to turn him away."

You crossed your legs and set your hands on your lap, exuding confidence that made him forget his own name. "So, you are jealous."

"Indefinitely," he said mindlessly.

"My poor serpent boy," you cooed sympathetically.

Your hands found his cheeks, and he had no reason to complain. He even nuzzled into your hold.

"You're never this touchy in public," he muttered, appreciating the closeness. He dipped his head to plant a gracious kiss on your palm.

You spoke like the action didn't rile you up. "I know someone adores me enough to be jealous of a boy I don't even know."

You felt his smile against your hand. Yours grew.

He planted one more kiss on your other palm before he drew himself away. He fought the urge to lean down and steal your first kiss right then and there because he had something much more fitting planned for you.

"I know you hate breaking rules but this is the last time I'm coaxing you to, I promise."

"I don't believe that for a second, but if you're so convinced, I don't see why I shouldn't be involved."

He turned your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckle. "The Astronomy Tower, after hours."

"Are you mad? The Astronomy Tower has special protection charms on it's doors."

Lockwood was mischief personified with a grin like that. "Have you no faith in me? I swear by Merlin's name, by the time you sneak out, I'll have the door open for you. I am a gentleman, after all."

It was glaringly obvious that you lost your ability to say 'no' to him.

—

You'd become acquainted with the darkest halls in your recent trysts with Lockwood. You would be lying if you said you weren't sceptical this time around.

The Astronomy Tower, a heavily guarded place following the murder of the previous Headmaster, was Lockwood's idea of a good time.

It was no easy feat to get in, especially when it was dark out and the charms were upped for maximum protection.

You let the glow from your wand guide you through the halls. Once you made it to the base of the stairs, you're greeted by the sight of Lockwood. Suave and plucked from your dreams, he kicked off the wall and pushed the door open with ease. All while wearing your favourite smile. You could have kissed him senseless.

He bowed at the waist, flourishing a hand at the open walkway. "Ladies first."

"You are... unbelievable. You actually did it."

He held his palm out towards you, like an invitation to dance. "Did you ever have a doubt?"

"For a moment," you admitted, placing your hand in his.

"Anything is possible, if you have enough nerve." He punctuated his statement by kissing your knuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. He was luring you in, and it was working. "Shall we?"

You nodded, allowing him to guide you up the stairs, passed the landing before you set foot on the observation deck. The gold accents of the room shone, even in moonlight. The books that filled the shelves vibrated, like they were dying to open themselves and unleash the knowledge they held, and the skyline ceiling was so brilliant, you could reach up and feel it against your skin.

If you spoke the want to touch a star, you had no doubt Lockwood would take a shot in the dark just to make it happen.

"Don't look at the books, sweetheart. Look at me."

"But the books are so pretty."

He grinned, holding back the urge to say something cliché. You could guess what it was.

Instead, he said, "Plenty of time for them later. I have to show you something."

He guided you to the balcony, the night's chill amplifying the feel of his warm hands on yours. It was getting hard to act like your heart wasn't jumping for joy.

The wind tousled your hair, the stars dotted the sky, and Anthony Lockwood made everything look so much brighter.

He rounded until your back was against his chest, pulling you in until you felt the thrum of his heart against your shoulder. Arms wound around you to shield you from the bite of frost than rolled in now that winter was one step through the door.

You found that his pulse was just as eratic as yours. Fervent in every sense of the word.

You'd never been in this position with anyone. The proximity was jarring, but it was welcomed nonetheless. You laxed into him, and he eased into you.

You weren't paying attention to the view as you hummed. "This is nice."

"I know... I was waiting until you didn't want to decapitate me to bring you here."

You turned your body to rest your cheek on his shoulder. "It's not my fault you're insufferable."

"Is that truly your favourite word to describe me? I hear it plenty."

"You tell me, serpent boy. I don't remember every little thing about myself."

"Remembering the little things about you is my job, thank you very much."

You felt the rumble of his laugh through his chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr of contentment. It took everything in you not to bring it up.

All whilst Lockwood was trying to keep himself together. Anything that involved you took a lot of restraint on his part.

Unexpectedly, you broke the silence. Your voice, the song of a lark in the night. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?"

"No, I don't think you have." He hated to put a distance between you but he wanted to see your lips make the words as you said it. "Go on and tell me."

He memorised the way your smile reached your eyes and the softness of your brightened cheeks as the stars reflected in your eyes. You'd always been beautiful, but you were vibrant now. He liked to think he had something to do with it.

"I don't hate the way you know me better than I know myself."

He cracked a smile, cupping your cheek with the tenderness one reserves for their most precious thing. "Come on, you're more eloquent than that, sweetheart."

Your smile widened, and you melted into his palm. "If the world allowed it, I'd like to go back and return every stolen glance, every missed confession, and every chance we lost to be friends sooner."

His cheeks hurt from withholding a smile. "We can move past our regrets. Besides, aspirations have changed. I don't just want to be friends anymore, sweetheart." His thumb swiped against your cheek, printing the image of you into his memory. "I want to be your life's confidant, your harbinger of hope, your worst nightmare, and the object of your dreams. I want to be everything to you, because you are already everything to me."

Of course, he had to outdo you in words.

“Cheesy...” you teased.

His thumb travelled down the curve of your cheek, flitting over the plush of your lips. It took everything not to steal you away as you pressed your delicate lips against the pad of his thumb, like his confession didn't have to be returned in words.

And you didn't seem to be looking for words at all. Your hands found his lapels. With a sharp tug, you finally connect your lips to his. Years fell away as he grasped your neck, holding you to him as your fingers slid into his hair.

You exchanged breaths. A mess of clashing teeth and rushing emotions. Judging by the fervency in his grappling for skin, you got an idea of how long he'd been waiting for this, for you.

Yet, he wasn't savage about it. His movements were eager but equally as careful, savouring every stolen second he had you all to himself.

Even as the air ran short, he couldn't fathom the idea of being too far from you. You broke the kiss, chasing oxygen. He rested his forehead against yours, heaving with a smile that could brave you through your worst times.

His thumb swiped over your lips once more, already missing you. "Would you find it pathetic if I said I've dreamt of doing that?"

"I'd be more flattered, really. What girl wouldn't want to be wanted like this?"

You disarmed him as you cupped his chin.

"Can't imagine," he replied. He bumped his nose to yours, and you leaned into him even more.

Should have known that the world wasn't kind enough to give you much time to yourselves. Both of you jumped into action the second you heard the clicking of shoes coming up the stairs.

Anthony refused to release your hand, even as you rushed for cover. Your whispered urgencies fell on deaf ears. You didn't get far enough to hide fully.

Your back was against the wall, hidden from sight. Anthony was not. You were whispering for him to just duck beside you when he clamped a hand over your mouth and posed for whoever appeared inside the Tower.

"Lockwood?" Lucy Carlyle.

You sighed in relief. You weren't in inescapable trouble after all.

"Hey, Luce! Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing?" A few more steps.

Anthony panicked. "No! Sorry–" He cleared his throat. "I... made a mess of a hex. It's a disaster."

You bit his palm, offended. The way he sputtered was victory enough.

"Really?" Lucy questioned, deep in disbelief. "You look completely fine... Except your hair."

"Terrible winds, really. The mess is off to the side." His smile was so unconvincing you could laugh.

Instead, you started a trail of pecks across his palm, travelling down to his wrist until he choked on air. Your heart swelled and mischief bubbled to the surface. You grew audacious enough to nip at his skin.

Lucy's voice rang out. "I can help—"

"Absolutely not!" Anthony winced at the crack in his voice. "I mean, I have it handled."

You heard a few more steps. Anthony laxed. You assumed Lucy was walking away. "If you say so..."

"Haha. I appreciate the concern, Luce. Let's keep this between us, hm?"

"Sure..." Her steps echoed as she toed down the steps. Before she shut the door, she added, "Say 'hi' to the Ravenclaw for me."

Anthony slumped himself against you, sulking as you laughed. "Not as sly as we thought, hm?"

"I've had better days..."

You ran your hands through his hair, attempting to right the mess you made of it earlier. "Then you're blaming the night?"

He raised his head from your shoulder. "Don't tell me you're about to side with the moon again. I'll start to think I'm competing with it."

"Well, the moon is beautiful."

"Oh, come off it. I'm so much better."

He took it upon himself to prove it, pressing your hips into the wall as he stole another ground-shattering kiss from. You surrendered, musing his hair to your heart's content.

—

Anthony thought that the perfect way to start off a relationship was to demonstrate how you two truly clicked in terms of cruelty. Not that you'd call it that outright. You'd crossed out Lockwood's 'revenge' and wrote 'comeuppance' in its place.

He eyed the plans from over your shoulder. "Does it make a difference?"

"Comeuppance is just karmic debt being repaid. Revenge sounds like it could be a crime."

"It's only a crime if we get caught."

That could very well be Anthony's life motto.

You rolled the scroll up and casted a hasty concealment charm on it, packing it away in the bag of supplies before you looked down the hallway.

"You go cause a distraction."

He guffawed, clutching his cloak like he'd been stabbed. "I came up with the plan. Why do I get distraction duty?"

"Because," you drawled, fixing his tie. "You're a sweet boyfriend who does anything to pacify his vengeful girlfriend."

"Defence is a pivotal subject in the field I'm aiming for. I could lose my career if this goes wrong."

"I can cover all our future living expenses, and we won't get caught. Swish away the pessimism, captain."

"I'm not being pessimistic. I just want to be the one flinging oobleck balloons."

You smiled faultlessly. "We'll miss our chance if we don't time this correctly."

His shoulders sunk, a grumble shaking his chest before he righted himself. "Do what you please. Just... don't turn me into a ferret. I heard a terrible rumour about some other Slytherin being turned into one."

"You have my word."

An enchantment here and a flick of a wand there, and a baby eagle stood in the place of your lover. You cupped him in your hands, cooing cordially as he nipped at your fingers.

If a bird could blush, you assumed he would have. You set him on the window sill.

A ways down, Professor Loathes-Your-Guts strolled by. Unassuming and grumpy as ever.

"As good as I am, it won't last forever. Off you go, Cinderbird."

Anthony squawked indignantly before you shoved him off the sill. He stretched his wings, working out the complexities of flight right before he hit the pavement.

His odd way of flying seized the Professor's attention right away. She caught him in her hands, stopping right where you wanted her.

Anthony freed himself as the first balloon careened down and splat against her head, drenching her in watered starch. You muffled a laugh as she screamed bloody murder. She had yet to get the sludge out of her hair before you dropped three more.

Blood pumping, Anthony flew right up, turning human right as he shot through the window.

"Save some for me!"

You kicked the box of balloons toward him, absolutely riveted by the scene you'd caused below. You looked far too good doing evil, and he was the Slytherin.

He dropped five balloons before Peeves uncovered the plot and took matters into his hands.

The poltergeist bombarded the Professor with the remaining ammunition and left the basket over her head as a consolation prize. While she shrieked at him, you and Anthony booked it—hands connected, boasting matching smiles.

Operation: DADA Comeuppance — Success!

And thanks to the spirit of mischief, you were never caught.

—

Anthony found it ironic that your favourite views were of crepuscular rays; those beams of light that slice through dense foliage or part the clouds to shine on dreary ground, because it's how he often described you—rarely letting the light in but always magnificent when you do.

You were standing under one of those rays as you bowed to a Hippogriff, once again setting an example for the class. It's to nobody's surprise, he's the first to burst into applause.

You glared at him. He mimicked your deep bow in response. The twitch of your lip was reward enough for him.

It wasn't long until the party was assigned to pairs. It was an easy guess as to who leeched to your side the second people broke off into their groups.

You waved your finger at him, as if that would keep him from you. "If you keep tailing me, we'll end up on the Bulletin'."

"I love a good word in. About us, specifically," he replied.

You shook your head, more endeared than disappointed. "Of course, you would."

"If I were you, I'd be showing off my new boyfriend."

"You say 'boyfriend' with so much conviction, you would think we've been going out for years."

"My apologies, m'lady. Would 'husband' suit your tastes more?"

"Lockwood!"

He withheld a smile. "You can call me Anthony, sweetheart. In fact, you can keep my last name for yourself."

Your mouth dropped into an 'o'. "I cannot believe what I'm hearing."

He took a more tentative step towards you, closing distance. "What are you hearing?"

"Nonsense. I hear nonsense," you replied. You were doomed the second your back hit a tree. Anthony wasted no time to trap you against it. "You are..."

He leaned down, bumping your nose with his. It was inertia that drew him close enough to touch lips. "I'm what– Oof!"

He clutched his chest after you pushed him away, smiling like you were faultless. "I'd like a ring if you are seriously talking about stealing surnames. A nice, awe-inspiring ring. Not a common one. Something privy to us."

He rubbed his shirt as he spoke, a smile teasing his lips. "How's about a house to start?"

Your visage changed. Genuine surprise marred your features. "You're serious?"

"It's a big house, and it could use a magical touch."

The way your lips quirked into a smile made him forget himself. A mistake he'll try not to make in the future.

Under the spell of your gaze, he hadn't seen your Hippogriff friend rush for him. He received a headbutt to the side and crashed into a tree. If that weren't bad enough, a fat fruit thumped him right on the head.

For a fleeting moment, everything went blurry. He saw you as a smudge in his vision. When he tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish.

"He's a friend," you explained to the Hippogriff. It gave a ninny and nudged its snout against Lockwood's side as a form of apology.

When he came to, he got a faceful of Hippogriff cheek. You waved the gentle beast out of the way before cradling Anthony's head.

His foul sentiments dissipated. Perhaps he should get bodied by a Hippogriff more often if that meant he got to see you this doting again.

"Merlin, Lockwood... I forgot she was protective."

"That's 'Anthony' to you, sweetheart, and 's alright," he slurred, blinking his vision back to clarity. He smacked his lips, luckily not tasting blood. "I get protective of you, too."

"Not the time to flirt, serpent boy."

"You're holding me. There is no better time to flirt."

"Alright, Casanova."

Your hands travelled to his wrist, assessing his pulse, then pressing into his side to check the extent of the damage. If this was a glimpse of how you'd be as a healer, he was already jealous of the patients you'd be caring for.

The second his brain fog cleared, he patted his pockets in search of his gifts.

You sat back on your calves, staring him down like the wind could blow him over. "Looks like minor damage."

"Excellent news," he rasped. He took your hand and placed a solid metal something in your palm. "This is for, if you choose to accept my invitation." He fished in his pocket for a second object. He placed that into your closed palm as well. "And this is for you in general."

The first object was a heavy silver key. The ornamental kind of key you loved to hold as a child. You stared at it with so much intensity, he was convinced you were trying to set it on fire with your eyes.

"You're just... giving this to me?"

Worry crossed his face. "Yes. If you'd like it, of course."

"I like it," you said urgently. "How could I not? I just... Don't I have to do something to earn this? Like, giving up a handful of galleons or marrying–"

He let go of the breath he was holding.

"Hold it there, sweetheart," he grasped your hands the second he saw your mind going in all different directions. "I want us to live together, no conditions. I want to be close to you." Of course, he had to add, “I know, I couldn't believe it myself.”

Your hands tightened around his. He'd let you squeeze his fingers bloodless if it quelled your worries.

He cracked a smile, relieved to see you giving the effort to return it. He carefully unravelled your hands to show you the second object.

You gasped. As would any girl when they're presented with a ring. It was the metal that complimented your skin best. A solid band detailed in engravings and decadent carvings. Your worry morphed into panic. With tense shoulders, your eyes flit to Anthony's.

"Relax," he mused, turning the ring in his hands and sliding it on your third finger. "It's not an engagement ring. It's a passion project of mine..."

Your shoulders laxed. "Thank Merlin... Hogwarts is not a place to propose."

"Agreed, and I'd never disrespect you by proposing so drably." He chuckled, examining the ring on your finger before brandishing his matching one. "They're a pair, loaded with protective charms and a trace. It functions as a handy portkey, too."

You raised your hand to the light, examining the engravings in full. "Why turn it into a portkey?"

"The trace tells me if you're in trouble. The portkey will take me to you the second you are."

Only a witch like you would fall in love with intricate spell work. It made you susceptible to melting for gestures as thoughtful as Anthony's.

He admired you as you admired the ring. His heart jumped as you quickly turned your head to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered. The raw, unfiltered gratitude in your voice made him fall for you all over again.

His smile reached his eyes. "Anytime, sweetheart."

—

Waiting on the last train out of Hogwarts felt like some kind of catharsis. A journey that spanned seven years felt like a short car ride home. There was happiness doled by sadness, and sadness doled by happiness.

It was in Anthony's nature to look on the bright side, but it was difficult when he hadn't seen you since the awarding ceremony. You outdid him, of course. Bringing home one medal more than him.

His initial plan was to sulk, maybe play kicked puppy and finesse himself a kiss, but his anticipation blurred into worry as the train entered view, but you didn't.

He broke from the crowd, leaving his things with Lucy and George before going off to find you.

He didn't peg you as the type to take a last walk to your favourite spots, but he found you in the dingy Defence classroom. As much as you loathed the lingering stench, you exalted the memories in that very room. The only subject of concern was a boy toying with an empty cage on the far side of the room. Anthony turned a blind eye to the stranger, for how could he look away from you?

Your eyes, that were peering ruefully out the window, snapped to Anthony's. He felt the beginnings of a smile creep up.

Without warning, a wardrobe wove open, the hinges holding it together rasped as a black form ballooned out of it. Your gaze fell on it, and horror replaced the nostalgia instantaneously.

He'd never heard you scream so loud.

Blood rushed to his head. He found his wand.

You fell to the floor, clamping your hands over your ears with your eyes shut tight.

Vision in red, he turned his attention to the boggart that crushed the air in the room. It took the form of four figures; A horrific scene sampled from the many tormented stories plucked from the war...

He paused, finding his own tortured face staring back at him and your anguished one shackled, unable to help. The two remaining figures must have been members of your family, looming over you and watching you without compassion. They were your boggart.

He didn't hesitate to mutter the counter-charm.

The illusion burst. The boggart whirled back into the closet with the wardrobe doors crashing shut.

The boy Anthony hadn't paid attention to stood to reopen it but Anthony threw a stupefy right at him. The boy nearly dented the wall with how hard he rammed into it.

Anthony advanced, fury heavy in his steps. It only heightened as he realised who the boy was. It was the Gryffindor boy you'd rejected all those weeks ago.

"You have got to be kidding me." Anthony scoffed.

The lion boy's nose flared, turning him twice as ugly. Anthony might have felt bad if he wasn't furious.

He didn't give the Gryffindor time to recuperate before he drew him up by the collar and cracked his back against the wall. "You bastard. You couldn't take the 'L', could you?"

The boy's head lulled. Anthony had to give it to him, he thought he'd be out cold with how solid the spell hit him, but the tosser had the resolve to spit at him.

There was no guilt in the way Anthony threw him to the floor. He could have done worse if you hadn't called for him.

"Anthony."

He turned his head, relieved to find that you'd returned to normal. Save the red that rimmed your eyes, you were fine. You were the one thing that kept him from bludgeoning the roach on the floor.

No words were needed.

The Gryffindor laughed, repulsed. "So, you were with him this whole time? Godric... you're a bitch—"

"Quite the mouth for someone who'd stoop low enough to unleash a boggart on a lady," Lockwood said dismally. "I suggest you scat. Before I show you what each of my accolades mean."

Courageous as the Gryffindor was, he was brainless. "Did you hand a few to her for 'favours'? Hm?"

Oh, the number of jinxes the human body could handle before breaking. The boy was lucky you were there. Anthony was gentleman enough not to hex in front of a lady.

He sufficed with carving crescents into his own palms to restrain himself. "Serpents don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. I suggest you stitch your mouth. There is a lady present, if you aren't too blind to see her."

"Kiss up," the Gryffindor simpered.

Patient as Anthony was, you weren't. You hurled a spell at the Gryffindor. After a twitch, his head hit the ground.

You showed Anthony your palms when you were met with inquisition.

"What? Was I supposed to let him speak to you like that?"

Holding back a smile was futile. He was proud. "You're cute."

You stepped over the Gryffindor and returned his smile. "I know." You brushed the imaginary dust off Anthony's shoulders and righted the orientation of his medals before you took his hand. "As I remember, we have a train to catch."

He twined your fingers, bringing your hand to his lips to worship your knuckles. "Shall we, m'lady?"

"We shall."

You exited the classroom, hands intertwined, leaving behind an incapacitated moron. If the rest of your lives were going to be spent like that, you had no qualms with it.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look today?"

"No." You looked at him expectantly. "Tell me."

He pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hand a squeeze as he said, "My dearest vexation, you are a vision. Aphrodite herself would be green with envy."

Definitely no qualms there.

—

"Why is it that you travel by this rather than apparating?"

You were always a sponge for knowledge, but your eyes were particularly bright once the train had delivered you to Platform 9¾. It spat you right out into the muggle world.

Anthony realised that he had never seen you in all-muggle clothes, and he wasn't shy of staring. He was rightfully in a daze until you'd asked the question.

"Cabs take us directly to where we want without raising suspicion from muggles."

"So, they willingly spend their sickles on simply getting home? How impractical, and expensive."

He hid a laugh. "It is the way it is, sweetheart. Nothing we can do to change that. It's best you avoid saying 'sickles' though. It'll confuse them."

"Noted."

Anthony loathed the silence, but he made due with it. He had you for a view, after all. He recounted all of your details, down to the flutter of your lashes as the breeze caressed your face.

Weirdly enough, the ride to Portland Row was much shorter than he remembered.

He slipped out first, flattening a hand at the top of the cab's door and taking the brunt of the impact when you expectedly bumped your head on the way out.

"Sorry."

"Don't mention it. I did the same as a kid."

You kissed his cheek anyway, and he turned his head to the side to make the warmth of his cheeks discreet.

As he unloaded the trunks, you absorbed the Lockwood family estate as it stood: A tall, classical home with wrought-iron fencing leading to the bricked door arch and its charming knocker... the picture of a fine London home.

The only thing out of place was the irritating, freckled face of a neighbour Anthony hoped disappeared.

"Tony! Done with community service?"

You turned to Quill Kipps with a frown. Anthony withheld a laugh. You had never met the man but you obviously disliked him already.

Kipps straightened, realising that you were present. "You have a dame with you... Quite the looker, too."

"I have a name, if you had the mind to ask." You crossed your arms. Anthony found that to be a sign to look away. You had yourself handled. "I suppose the oaf with room temperature IQ has a name, too?"

Quill Kipps's smirk faltered. "He does." His eyes shifted to Anthony before he clicked his tongue. "Just trying to rile up Tony. Hope you stick around though, sweetheart. He could use a backbone."

Anthony soured at the nickname.

You didn't let up your glare until Kipps vanished from sight.

You shifted your heated gaze to Anthony. "Did you hear what he called me? How have you not jinxed him?"

"Trust me, I'm not a fan of him either, but he's a muggle. Trying to fight him would be bullying."

"The lack of justice!"

He snorted. "It's bearable. Now, come on. There's someone who's been dying to meet you."

"I can stupefy the freckled redhead double quick."

"Sweetheart, no."

He seized your hand to make sure you didn't run off and break a law, no matter how entertaining that would be for the both of you.

—

"I'm Jessica Lockwood! Jess is preferable. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Your arm almost fell off from the intensity of her handshake. The older girl was twice as energetic as Anthony and triple times as smiley.

Your boyfriend was the one who saved your hand by taking it into his. "Jess, I like my girl with both her hands intact, please."

"Don't kid. You'd still be smitten if she was cursed into a worm." She slapped her brother's shoulder. You kept in a laugh as he struggled to remain upright. She didn't forget you for a second. "Once Anthony starts talking about you, it never truly ends. I didn't believe he hated you for a second. When he 'complained' about you, he'd use phrases like *'annoyingly distracting'* and *'unfairly attractive'*."

"Jess..."

"The truth was bound to come out." She shot you a knowing look. "You can tell in the smile. He does it without knowing"

"He is terribly obvious," you doubled, holding his hand in both of yours in a pacifying manner.

His mouth fell open. "My word . . . It's been five minutes and the pair of you are already cornering me."

"This is the beginning of something beautiful," Jessica sang. She winked at you before meandering to the door next to the steps. "Now show her your room and unpack before dinner. We're having potato soup. Are you allergic, sweets?"

You smiled until both of your cheeks hurt. "Not at all. I like the sound of potato soup. Before that, I'd like to formally introduce myself–"

"There's no need for it, really. Anthony blabbed about you enough. I'll call you two down when it's ready."

Anthony lead you to the stairs by the shoulders. "Up we go, sweetheart. Before Jess says more than she should."

"I think she's a treat, Anthony. I wish I had a sister like her."

"She kicked me into a lake once. You wouldn't find her very nice if she did that to you, would you?"

"I would kick you into a lake, too, if you were my brother."

"Let's not open that can of worms, sweetheart. I want to be your husband. Obliviate this conversation from my memory."

You laughed, patting his knuckles sympathetically. "Torturing you is just as fun as laughing about it."

"You and Jess get along like a house on fire. That said, I'm not sure how long I'll stay sane."

"I'll save you a room at St. Mungo's." He fought a smile as you stalled on the taller steps. He was a goner the second you turned to wrap your arms around him. "You love it though. And you love me."

He sighed into your hair. "Unfortunately."

His arms wound around you, pulling you close enough for your heartbeats to sync. He nuzzled into your shoulder, and you did the worst thing you could possibly do: you played with his hair. He melted.

The prospect of you being in his forever home made a strange feeling bubble in his stomach. He figured it was what he had been looking for—a sense of fulfilment, or maybe he just needed someone to play with his hair the way you did.

Jessica's voice speared through the tranquillity. "No funny business, both of you!"

"Yes, ma'am," Anthony responded. He stole a chaste kiss from you before leading you to the first door on the second floor.

—

He should have known you'd go straight for the bed. You were always lounging or reclining if you weren't working. Anthony developed a disease that entailed observing you every time you did. He could probably paint a portrait of you, if he only had the artistic talent.

You stretched like a starfish, relishing the softness of the sheets that still smelt of him.

"I could die here, happily."

Anthony kneeled in the space next you to fix the blanket over you. "Sweet as that is, I like you better alive."

"I'll live and die here," you cooed, pulling him down beside you. "So much better than my room... well, my old room. My parents decorated the house like it was a prison. Seeing your mess can make any place feel like home."

"Should I be offended? You just called my interior decorating skills a mess."

"You're ugly enough to distract them from the mess."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Much appreciated."

"You're welcome."

He lowered his body next to yours, throwing an arm over your waist. The brush of his fingers on your stomach did not go unnoticed.

You took the liberty to rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling deeper into the blanket as you did. The perfect plot to hide your warming cheeks.

"Getting cosy, already? In my room?"

"We can share, can't we?" The way you looked at him made the temptation of a cosy cuddle difficult to resist.

"Jess would behead me, and I don't mean metaphorically. We have a collection of axes from pivotal historic events downstairs."

"Just a nap then. We have some time before dinner."

You made a good bargain. There was only so much saying 'no' Anthony could do to you before he bent.

"Just this once."

"Just this once," you confirm with an unconvincing smile.

"I am a gentleman, you understand that? We can't stay here for too long."

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling like that?"

Your smile only grew. "Cause I'll be the barbarian this time. I demand to stay here."

"Sweetheart—"

"My mind's already made up. Sleep, Anthony."

“My sister—"

"Sleep."

He tapped your side in surrender. He dragged the blanket higher to cover your shoulders. "If I am putting my neck out for a cuddle, might as well ask for your input. Though, the idea itself might be absurd."

"Anthony, 'absurd' means 'innovative' in your language. Spill."

"Is it possible to shrink a patronus? I was thinking about the practicality of a smaller patronus after I signed up for the auror training programme."

"It'd be more covert."

"My thought exactly." His expression turned pensive. "I might use it to get into the specialised auror squadron."

"Well," You sat up and wiggled your wand out of your pocket. "Only one way to find out."

He couldn't leave it alone. "First person to do it gets a tick on the Tally."

"You're just bitter I got one more medallion than you."

"What can I say?" He tapped your nose, bringing the smile back to your face. "I love the competition."

—

The spellcasting didn't cease, even after dinner had passed.

You found yourselves under the covers, using the space between you as an arena for your patronuses. So far, every cast came out a regular-sized patronus.

Anthony's eyes drifted to the glint of your ring every time it was your turn. The engravings came to life every time it came into contact with magic. He felt the pulse of it through his own ring. He shouldn't have felt as thrilled as he did, but he couldn't help it.

"Anthony. Are you sleeping with your eyes open?"

"No. Just looking at you."

Your lip curled. "Cheesy."

"You love it."

"No comment."

He laughed before picking up his wand. He concentrated as best as he could, but one glimpse at your face, and it slipped. His patronus emerged as it usually did.

Magnificent, iridescent, and face-slapping. Its silvery sands dissipated as Anthony received a well-placed smack to the cheek.

"That was worse than the last one," you snorted.

Anthony nudged your knee. "I'd like to see you do better."

Even if a million failed attempts already plagued you, you went through the motions. This time, the swishes of your wand were smaller and more slurred—like your wrist was limp as you cast.

Your patronus burst forth. Beautiful and respectable, and the size of a mouse.

"Aha!" You threw your hands up, sending the blanket flying and letting the cold air rush in. "I win! Get the Tally, give me my point."

"Merlin, sweetheart. Careful." Anthony chuckled, gathering the blanket and quickly chucking it over your head before getting up from the bed to fetch the notebook.

Your head poked out of the swaths of fabric, just to prop your chin on his shoulder and watch as he drew another line under your column. Two points more than his.

He leaned his head on yours. "Happy?"

"Very," you quipped.

The patronus trounced over his hand, soaring over your head like a halo before perching on his nose.

"Try it." You coaxed. "Smaller shapes, dramatic flicks."

"You're going to laugh if it fails, aren't you?"

"When do I not?"

The crane flew over to the nightstand, preening it's feathers before cocking its head at Anthony. Urging him to go on.

With a sigh, he gave in and gave it another go. The first attempt was as bad as the last. The second one worked like a charm.

His patronus skipped the usual fly around the room, preferring to head straight for yours, landing next to it and dancing around it before they took off like butterflies in the wind.

Your lips parted for a yawn. Anthony felt your weight press against his side, his arm instinctively finding home around your waist.

"How late is it?" Your eyes were too bleary to read the time.

Anthony found the clock. "A quarter to midnight." He hauled you closer, settling you against the pillows before dimming the lights. "I think we're due for some shut-eye."

"A Slytherin who values a proper sleep schedule . . . Boo!"

He didn't even try to fight you. You were already swaying.

You felt his chest rumble as he spoke. "We can stay up then."

"Your idea, not mine."

Your head rested against him, the steady lub-dub of his heart pounding against your cheek. He felt yours against your ribs as he rubbed circles under your shirt. Even then, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your miniature patronuses.

They lit up the room like restless twin flames. Your eyes followed them, too, but not for long.

The combination of the patronuses' light and Lockwood's gentle massaging proved to be an effective sleeping pill. It wasn't long 'till your earlier words were void and your breath evened out.

"Thought we were staying up," Anthony whispered, more endeared than anything. He couldn't help but place a kiss on your forehead.

The curious thing was... your patronus hadn't disappeared, even as you slept.

The pair of tiny cranes danced in flight. Nipping playfully before beautifully looping around one another.

He observed them for a while more before the drowse began to creep in. He dispelled his patronus, and only then did both of them disappear. Never leaving one without the other.

He cracked a smile as he slipped the blanket tighter around you, blessing your head with another kiss before he, himself, succumbed to the symphonies of sleep.

—

When life spun from essays and practicals to work and elbow grease, Anthony often found himself thinking of the future, of the past and where the two met in the middle.

He wondered if you ever missed the opulence of living in a pureblood home: The fluted columns, the glistening chandeliers, and the sunlight that streamed through ceiling-length windows.

He'd stare at the back of your head, feeling the doubt creep in. Then, you'd turn and chide him about some miscellaneous argument you refused to let rest, then all would be right in the world.

On a particularly gruelling day, he traipsed straight to bed without breakfast, too tuckered out to even lift a finger.

He heard you and Jessica chattering while you cleaned downstairs—moving furniture and kicking the ol' vacuum back to life. Sometime after dusting the bookshelves, you carefully opened the door to your (Lockwood's) room—mindful not to wake him with its creaking. He watched you through lidded eyes. You didn't notice his blinking.

Your hands glided a cloth over the nightstand pictures. When you'd reached the family portrait, you smiled. He found himself holding his breath.

"Your son is a dolt, you know," you snitched as if they'd be ready to gossip with you. You brought the picture to the light and rubbed away a stain on the glass. "Can't even take care of himself these days. He's lucky Jess and I are here to scold him . . . But he is a good man. A polite, romantic, and utterly chaotic one," You took a breath to calm yourself. "but I can't bring myself to hate him more than I... Well, I can't get the word out, but I will eventually. I've only been here for a while but living seems so much easier now. Not to alarm you, but it may have something to do with your son."

It was complete agony to continue feigning sleep after that. You cleaned the other night table, then adjusted the blanket so he was fully covered.

You left the room like you hadn't taken his heart with you.

—

On the dreaded eve of his parents' death, you approached him as he scrutinised the chipping paint and the stick-on stars on the ceiling.

Detached wasn't an apt word to describe how he had been acting all day. He was somewhere else mentally. Not even Jessica could break through to him.

"Jess told me to check on you," you said quietly, trying not to startle him.

All he did was hum in return.

You filled the empty space on the bed. "Anthony . . . Grief is just love with nowhere to go." You set your hand on his cheek, carefully swiping over his cheek, catching tears that have yet to fall. "No need to repress anything in front of me, serpent boy."

He took a shuddering breath. The first time he truly took a breath all day. It shattered you as his eyes glazed over. Even then, he refused to look at you. Refused to show you how torn up he was.

"I just... I miss them, but it's been so many years since they left. I thought–" He sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose just to cover his eyes. "I thought it would be easier. It's supposed to be easier."

You shifted closer, the bed dipping at your weight and bringing him closer to you. He thought he'd seen it all, but he'd never seen that kind of softness on your face. You pried his fingers away and wiped his tears yourself.

He was reduced to a little boy, and you were still sticking around. No barbs, no sharp sarcasm. Just your caring eyes and even more careful hands grasping his cheeks.

"Grief never really leaves, Anthony. They're your parents, of course you'd miss them." You mustered a smile, but it only revealed the tears gathering at your eyeline. "But you don't have to feel it alone. Jessica is here, and she loves you more than anything. It hurts her to see you so distant." He reached up to hold your hand in his. Your melancholic smile stretched. "And I'm here, too. You'd have to be pretty daft to forget your roommate."

He managed a smile, squeezing your hand in silent thanks — just before he had felt his façade fracture.

Anthony sat up, pulling you onto his thighs and wrapping you in a hug that was all-encompassing. He hid his face in your shoulder, and you rubbed his back as he finally let the tears free.

Sobs racked his body, his heart picked itself apart once more, but at least he could breath. Keeping all of the heartache to himself was like holding his breath. There was only so much he could hold before he needed air.

He didn't know how long Jessica had stood at the door before you beckoned her closer. Another pair of arms came around you two, washing away all the misplaced guilt he'd been stewing in since morning.

It didn't make him miss his parents less, but it reminded him that there were still people he got to hold hands with. And you were right, it was easier than doing it alone.

—

The conversation at dinner was a calm one. Less on banter and more on planning what to do in the morning.

The general consensus was to pick up flowers and bring some things to picnic with before visiting the Lockwoods' graves.

Jessica hugged Lockwood extra tight before letting him turn in for the night.

You glued yourself to his side the second he slid into bed. The responsibility of initiating skinship usually was on him, so, the change of pace was heavily appreciated.

He wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your head in unspoken gratitude.

You fought your nature to fall asleep first, just to stay up with him, but your resolve crumbled after your third yawn. You drifted off. Your arms didn't budge, and he was relishing the closeness for what it was.

Though, his mind wouldn't stop turning.

He never heard his parents' story, but he knew his mother had been a half-blood. He wanted to know how they met, if his mother's patronus ever changed, if his father had fashioned something from muggle magic to impress her.

So many questions that would remain unanswered forever.

He reached for his wand when insomnia had stolen enough hours of sleep from him. In the darkness, he whispered the enchantment.

His patronus burst forth, silvery and glorious... and not alone. Contrary to his previous casts, he summoned not just one crane, but two.

The pair of them remained quiet, for your sake. They perched on the armoire opposite of the bed and preened one another. He was entranced by their obvious affections, only breaking from focus when you shuffled in his arms.

The patronuses faded away, and you blinked into the darkness.

"What are you up to?" Your voice was heavy with drowse. Anthony fought the urge to pinch your cheek.

"Nothing, sweetheart." He glided a hand over your eyes, coaxing, "Go back to sleep."

You grumbled. "I saw something, you liar."

"Just a trick of the light."

You eyed him with sleepy uncertainty before your head went limp against his shoulder once more. "We'll come back to this," you swore.

Anthony pacified you by rubbing your back. "You bet, sweetheart. Now get your beauty sleep. I can't always be the prettier one."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Not long after, his own eyes began to droop with the twin cranes still swimming in his mind.

—

The last time the sky had been this alive was the night Anthony had stolen you away to the Astronomy Tower. It felt like a lifetime ago.

You barely even noticed the extra luminescence of the moon or Anthony, who had been waiting for some form of acknowledgement all day.

Grunts were your definition of olive branches, and he wasn't having it. He stole the page from your hands and raised it above his head.

Your response was snap. "Anthony... I don't have time to dawdle."

"Why are you so worked up?"

You flailed your arms, gesturing wildly to the hulking stack of papers on your desk. "The warden at St. Mungo's wants to speak to me, personally. I need to be ready."

He read your scrawl on the paper, quickly giving up on trying to understand what it all meant.

What you dove into was far beyond the field of study in Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey clearly took her role as your mentor seriously. You were advancing quickly.

"My girl," he said with a laugh. "You're the only witch who can commit a twelve-foot scroll to heart in the span of two hours. You'll be fine."

He loosened his grip on the paper as you leapt up to snatch it back from him, sitting back down on your chair with your lips pursed. Stress lines forming where your smile lines were supposed to. He hated seeing you so... consumed.

He wondered if you'd been hiding that face behind the four walls of your bedroom before things had changed between you, back when medals were currency in your home rather than achievements.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity... and it's being handed to me. I have to put my best foot forward." Your hold on the page turned sentimental. "I can't mess it up, Anthony."

He set his hands on your shoulders, and you surrendered to his touch. He took it as a good sign and cleared himself to kiss the top of your head.

"You are the best at what you do," he assured. "No one can compare. I'm not just saying that. You genuinely scare people with how much you know." He spun your chair to face him, tilting your chin to see you. "My dearest vexation... You've got this, and I've got you."

Your shoulders dropped with the intensity of your sigh. "I don't know what to do... I might forget something I'm supposed to know."

"You could never." He scrutinised your work desk before he made the decision. "What you need is a break. Dance with me?"

He drew you up by both hands, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder. When your eyes drifted back to your stack of papers, he killed the lights so you wouldn't be able to see them.

You laxed as soon as the room plunged into the dark. That left you, Anthony, and the glow of the moon and streetlights.

Anthony returned his hand to yours and hummed a sentimental tune to lead the dance.

You leaned into the music, resting your head against his shoulder. He, in turn, rested his cheek against your head.

"This reminds me of our first dance," you mumbled.

"How could I forget?"

You concealed a smile in his shirt. "A lovely dance on the balcony after you kissed me senseless."

"It takes two to tango, sweetheart." He pulled closer, basking in the yelp you let out. "And my hair didn't stand a chance in your hands."

"In my defence, the tousled look suits you." You had the cheek to peck the juncture between his shoulder and neck. "Like the princes I used to read about."

"Charming."

"Don't be salty, captain. You'll always be my favourite." You rubbed his shoulder as a gesture of peace.

"As I should be."

You chuckled. "You're smirking. I feel it."

"You can't even see me."

"Don't have to," you chirped. "I know you."

"I've never met a woman so cumbersome."

Your head jerked back. Even in the limited lighting, he could see the scowl on your face. "You know other women?"

He couldn't hold back a grin. "Merlin, you are so jealous." He pressed a kiss to your temple, a gesture of truce. "You're my only and only vexation, spitfire. Everyone and everything pales in comparison."

You opened your mouth with the intent of giving a smart answer, but he shot you down before you even said it.

"Don't bring the moon into this."

You sealed your lips into a smile. Your worries slipped away, and you relished the few minutes you stole for a moonlight waltz with your lover.

—

In the two years you'd lived together, he'd picked up on your ticks. And you, his.

When you lightly bump your forehead against his cheek, Anthony knew it was your way of demanding a kiss. He never denied you one.

You learned to wear loose shirts to sleep because Anthony liked to slip his hand up your bare back and feel the up-and-down motions of your breathing as you slept.

He never forgot to bring home a little keepsake from work for you, accompanied by a single flower you got to add to a growing bouquet in the living room.

Anthony often got colds in the winter seasons, but he retains his reverent hate for the smell of Vix. So, you made your own impromptu mint remedy with lemongrass and ginger. To him, it was so much better.

Last but not least, a new chess board found home in the receiving room. The pieces only move when you and Anthony arrive home from your respective statutes of work.

Gist is, you had a routine, and you knew what to do for every boyfriend-shaped hurdle life had in store for you.

Imagine the panic that hit you the second your enchanted ring started to warm and shake.

The day was dark and ruthless. Rain pelting down like cats and dogs. Electricity had gone out as well.

You were wary to answer the door, since you were home alone, but you did so anyway because your ring had only grown more restless.

Your heart ceased in your chest as you took in the sight of Anthony. He couldn't even hold himself up. Lucy and James were doing that for him.

You choked on nothing. "Merlin..."

You reached out. Like a moth to a flame, Anthony gravitated to you. Falling into your arms and sighing into your shoulder like your presence alone could suture the injuries that marred his figure from head to toe.

"We took him to St. Mungo's," Lucy elaborated, clutching her own side. She was less beat, but she was still slouched in pain.

James had taken over when she wheezed for breath. "He fought every medi-witch that approached. Said he just wanted to come home and see you."

"You twat," you scolded in a whisper. It took most of your energy to keep Anthony upright. You schooled your expression, offering a mustered smile to his companions. "Thank you for bringing him home. See yourselves to St. Mungo's. I'll cover your tab when my shift rolls by."

James hooked his arm around a limping Lucy, offering you a grateful smile before producing his wand and apparating in the guise of the rain.

Anthony was tracking blood and mud wherever he walked. It was useless trying to get farther than the living room. You'd rather have a tarnished sofa than a bloodless boyfriend.

"What happened, Anthony?" Your tone was firm, but quiet—careful of a headache that could be blooming behind his ears.

You tore off his coat to get to the scratches on his arms. Repairing him one injury at a time. Even if the injuries were gone, his skin was still drenched in his own sweat and blood. It was a mess, and you'd be damned than leave him looking so trodden.

You accioed a basin of water and a handful of washcloths to your side. Swiping away grime as you healed him.

Only when you began to unbutton his shirt did he find his voice.

"We're moving a bit too fast, sweetheart. Where's your decorum?"

Your gaze held bite. He chuckled like his smile would save him.

"Where's your mind? You've been unresponsive for five minutes! I thought you were stewing in the after-effects of a psychological curse—" You drowned a blood-stained cloth in the basin of water, watching scarlet swirl into the clear water before moving back to his shirt. "—and I'd have to give you a permanent room at the ward, and then break the news to Jess—"

"I'm fine—"

"But I'm not!"

You sat back on your calves, taken aback by your own tone. The backs of your fists pressed into your eyes, forcing your tears back in before returning to assessing his wounds.

He was quiet as you examined the deeper gashes slashed across his torso. Your hands swiped at your cheeks before your lips moved, muttering cures and charms that stitched him up like new.

You wiped the blood away, but you wrung the cloth like you still saw blood. On the fabric, on your hands, on his skin.

Your voice was devoid of life as you asked, "May I see your back?"

He winced as he sat forward. At least the pain wasn't as unbearable as earlier. He saw some herbs swirling in the basin, so it was safe to assume you'd taken extra precautions to make things as painless for him as possible. His heart wrenched as you repaired him and dirtied the water with even more blood.

"I didn't mean things to get messy," Anthony told you slowly. He felt your hand pause on his back, then continue with more careful intent. "The suspect had an accomplice we didn't account for. Had us outnumbered... and they had a spell book full of vulgar spells. Nasty ones."

"So, you took the brunt of them?"

He chanced a smirk. "You know me too well."

"You're reckless."

"I couldn't let my subordinates get hurt," he rasped, sucking in a breath when you purposely pressed down on an open wound.

You magicked it away and cleaned the blood, but you refused to meet his eyes the whole time.

Finally, the insistent shaking of the linked rings faded. It calmed your pulse by a fraction, but nothing could cease the trembling of your hands.

Anthony took the liberty to take them in his, your matching rings clinking against one another.

"I'm here... I'm okay."

You hung your head, forehead meeting your twined hands. "I almost lost you... I couldn't find your pulse right away, and there was so much blood—all I could see was red. Anthony—"

"Shh." He closed the space, flattening himself against your side and drawing you into his chest so you could feel the familiar thrum of his heart. "We're okay. I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I didn't mean to scare you."

You sniffed, hiding your face in his neck. "Why didn't you accept help from St. Mungo's? They have blood banks to replenish what you lost, I can't do much about that here."

He held you tighter, rubbing your arm as he racked his mind. "I thought it was too late for me... I just wanted to see you. I wanted to come home."

You hit his chest once, seething as you sobbed. Your tears wet his shoulder, but he didn't stop you. He took your rage until you went boneless in his arms—clinging to him like it would calm the racing of your heart.

Eventually, you picked yourself up to gather another cloth to wipe away the bloodstains on his face. Hands still shaking but determined to restore him to full health.

As low as it was, he still heard you. "I love you, you know that? It's impossible for me to remember a time where you weren't around."

He searched your eyes, finding nothing but morose truth in them. It was the first time you'd said those three words to him. Explicitly, without sarcastic connotation.

He caught your wrist, lowering your hands so he could look at you. "I know... and I love you, too. I'm sorry."

"Then why put your neck out like that? You promised me a ring, Anthony Lockwood. You gave me your word. You can't do that if you're gone."

"I'd never forget," he promised, kissing apologies across your palms and wrists. "How could I when it comes to you?"

"Then tell me why you put yourself in so much danger— in so much pain."

He licked his chapped lips. Your eyes pleaded for explanation, and he'd be cruel not to suffice you with an answer.

Reluctantly, he retrieved the box in his pocket. It was the only thing untouched by blood. Your eyes snagged on it immediately.

Anthony chuckled, nervous, before popping the case open. Inside sat an ornate ring, embellished with your birthstones put together. An eagle held yours in its talons, and a snake held his in its mouth. Your identities intertwined.

Whatever words you wanted to get out died in your throat, mouth hinging but never uttering a word.

Anthony tried his best not to stutter. "They tried to take it from me... I didn't let them. You can imagine that they weren't happy with being deprived of such a beaut."

You sunk into yourself. "You almost died... to save a ring."

"Your ring," he said carefully. "If you still want to have me as your husband, of course."

"I have half a mind to say 'no'." You laughed bitterly, swiping at your cheeks. "Merlin, Anthony... You have terrible timing when it comes to presenting things like this."

"A lot of realisations happen when you walk the line with Death."

He readjusted his hold on the box, refusing to let go of your hand. You admired the craftsmanship of the ring before you leaned on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll never do that again. I'd rather have a husband than some hunk of metal."

He let out a breath of relief, hugging you to him as you smiled into his shoulder. "Rude. I learned how to craft a ring just for you."

"You crafted this?"

He felt the world hold its breath as he slid the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit for his perfect match. He kissed your knuckle to further cement the notion.

"From scratch," he boasted. "I made a killing from the pen business. I used the money to take some lessons from a smith in Hatton Garden."

"I cannot believe you..."

"You didn't believe me when I said I cleaned your desks before you'd arrive to class."

"That's different," you said promptly. "You almost got yourself killed to preserve a ring."

"That ring brings me one step closer to marrying you," he tutted. He even leaned down to steal a kiss. "It was worth it."

"I would have brought you back from the dead just to strangle you if you did die on our new sofa."

"Good thing I didn't."

You cracked a smile. "Good thing you didn't," you agreed. "But I'm not forgiving you so easily. You gave me a scare, Mr. Lockwood. I hope you know that you're not allowed to hug me tonight."

"I thought near-death would warrant me extra hugs."

"I can give you everything else, just not hugs."

"How cruel..."

You waved your hand dismissively. "Take it or leave it. What do you want while you're not allowed to hug me?"

Anthony wanted a lot of things. The cheesy dynamics in the books you read, the happily ever after where the couple ends up married and in love with a kid or two. He wants your kids to look like him but act like you, so you two wouldn't spend half the time greying from stress. He wanted to be part of your story forevermore.

But holding your hand would do for now.

He tangled your fingers together and kissed your knuckles. "This is enough for me."

Disbelief was written all over your face. "Really? I thought you'd be more combative."

"We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. We can live in the moment."

"I can only hope you don't jump into some other death-defying scheme again. I'll be all grey before you."

"I think you'd look like the snarkiest grandmother ever."

"Thank you, my love."

His brows furrowed. "My love?"

"What's with that reaction?" Your arms crossed. "Fine. I won't call you that."

"No! I was playing. Say it again, please."

"You lost your chance, snake boy." You shook his hand off, standing from the couch.

You didn't get far. Anthony latched to your waist, smiling into your shirt. "I pledge to never approach a renowned criminal ever again. Just say it again. Please, Sweetheart? Spitfire? My dearest vexation? M'lady?"

You didn't even get close to picking up the basin before Anthony snatched it from you.

"When I get back," he said sternly. "I want to hear you say 'my love' again. Even just a whisper. Thank you."

If you were subject to his clownery for the rest of your life, it wasn't that bad of a price to pay. He was thoughtful when he used his brain.

Every Slytherin boy needed their Ravenclaw girl to keep their ambitions from getting them into trouble, after all.

It wasn't long 'till Lockwood crashed back into your arms. Spinning you in the air like he hadn't been on the verge of death minutes prior. His eyes were wide with expectation, and you didn't want to torture the boy for too long. Not after the lengths he went to to keep your ring safe.

You exaggerated the sweetness in your tone as you said, "My love."

Anthony was more than ready to hear those words for the rest of his life.

Neither of you noticed the pair of cranes that soared past the window, announcing the end of the rain and welcoming the beginnings of a wonderful season.

BONUS ANGST ➺ If I didn't include Jessica, Anthony would be able to see Thestrals. You would do some absurd things to distract him when you pass the carriages—even when you were rivals.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

NOTE ➺ expecto patronus was the title because the initial idea was they always protect each other :>

i like to think mitski's 'my love mine all mine' was the song they danced to. so romantic~ i'm just baffled that i was able to write so many words XD all this was once just brain barf, crazy. it was a rollercoaster, but i hope you enjoyed 💙

as always, leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs, i love hearing feedback <3

love always 💙 until next time, my dearest vexations 😘

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[severus-snaps]

On Sectumsempra & Levicorpus

So I was just searching up "Prince" on potter search as part of another ramble I was doing, and encountered these two quotes together:

“The Prince only copied [Sectumsempra] out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!”

and:

“Sectum — !” Snape flicked his wand and the curse was repelled yet again; but Harry was mere feet away now and he could see Snape’s face clearly at last: He was no longer sneering or jeering; the blazing flames showed a face full of rage. Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi — “No, Potter!” screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand ...Snape’s pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore. “You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them — I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you’d turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don’t think so … no!”

By no means do I expect this is a fresh take, but these quotes together got me to thinking about the possibilities of Snape's use - and creation - of Sectumsempra. I consider whether he did create it, whether he stole it, The Prank, SWM, Battle of Seven Potters, and whether James used it on Snape. It starts off pretty sensible and then descends into madness, and I've spent too much time on it, so that I don't want to look at it again :P [way longer than anticipated so view below the cut]:

Ahead of time: I'm assuming that Sectumsempra was the exact same cutting spell Snape used in SWM. The lack of workings-out for this spell in Snape's book suggests the SWM cutting spell wasn't an earlier version he had to tinker with extensively (why would he do all of his workings-out in his book except for that one spell?). And, from a narrative perspective, Sectumsempra was described as Snape's 'specialty', it was a reasonably large plot point with Harry vs Draco and Snape coming in, to me making it unlikely to have meant to have been another spell entirely.

So... did Snape create Sectumsempra?

Option 1: Snape did create Sectumsempra.

It was in Snape's HBP book

Perhaps he got Sectumsempra right on the first try, unlike his other spells, which is why its only note is "for enemies" and not workings-out. Things like the bezoar advice also didn't have workings-out, and Snape did not write notes on things he readily understood ("but not a single illuminating note in the Prince’s hand to explain what [Golpalott’s Third Law] meant. Apparently the Prince, like Hermione, had had no difficulty understanding it"). Perhaps by this point, he's rather good at spell creation; he didn't need to make notes or amendments, he just had an intuitive grasp of Latin and spellcraft and whipped out a new spell like that

It is possible that he did his workings-out elsewhere for a change, or worked it out with someone else (Mulciber, Avery?)

Snape says spells, inventions, plural, in the quote above, indicating that Sectumsempra was one of his own creations

Harry has switched to using "[Snape's] spells" against Snape; this is the reason Snape switches from lazily deflecting to looking enraged, and finally loses his composure at Levicorpus

Possibly, Snape alone knew the proper or only counter-spell to Sectumsempra (which I'm just calling the song-spell), where others did not (this is widely discussed in anti-Snape circles, but I'll come back to that)

Remus says "Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s" - Snape perhaps developed it in preparation or retaliation for going to the Shrieking Shack, and Remus remembers

Option 2: Snape did not create Sectumsempra.

It has no workings out; it looks as though it's been copied from somewhere, "for enemies" and no other notes - implying that he's not workshopped it, but has instead gone and looked up curses in the Restricted Section or one of his Slytherin friends' Dark Arts books and decided that this was the one he'd like to use. It seems unlikely that every other new spell (Levi/Liberacorpus, Muffliato, etc) had workings-out, but this one does not. This was Harry's interpretation: "The Prince only copied [Sectumsempra] out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something"

Snape "knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year" - he may have already known it and later jotted it down

Snape may not be angry in the above passage that Harry used 'his spell', but angry that Harry went on to use the spell that had almost killed Draco, again, having not learnt his lesson

We see Snape cast Sectumsempra in SWM - nonverbally, which means that Remus had to learn the incantation somewhere - and that somewhere might not have been from Snape, but via a book, or a DADA lesson (or, as I said for Option 1, Snape used it during the Shrieking Shack incident. Either could work?)

"My spells/inventions", plural, may have been a slip of the tongue or sounded better or was just easier to say; maybe one was Snape's by design (Levicorpus) and the other (Sectumsempra) by association, but Snape hardly had time to distinguish; he was on the run. Maybe Snape's other spells got out as well because rumours spread like nobody's business at Hogwarts, and Snape just did not have the time or inclination during this conversation for nuance

"Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s". It might have been 'his' spell in that he found or heard it elsewhere, and used it a lot, similar to how Harry's "signature move" is Expelliarmus. A specialty doesn't necessarily mean they've made something, just that they've specialised in it, are experts at it, or used it a lot - and, as we see in Harry's sword to Sev's scalpel, Snape did specialise in it and showed a lot more control:

[Harry's use] "SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand... Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: “MURDER!"

[Snape's use] Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air...Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter.

Sectumsempra A brief departure to look at the spell and spellcasting more closely.

Casting Notably Snape casts it nonverbally, and there's no 'wild' gestures accompanying it; he simply directed his wand straight at James's face. Interestingly, the purple flame curse used on Hermione by Antonin Dolohov was also performed nonverbally, and was noted to be less severe than if spoken aloud:

The curse Dolohov had used on [Hermione], though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey’s words, 'quite enough damage to be going on with'.

I wonder if Sectumsempra has the same 'powered down' effect when cast nonverbally? And if so, was Snape aware of that when he cast it at James? Was the intent to hide the incantation after his other creation, Levicorpus, got out - or to weaken the spell? In any case he failed in the first objective, because Remus identified Sectumsempra immediately as an adult.

[Side note: Snape was using and modifying a 6th year textbook, using nonverbal spells and creating spells that were already widespread - all in his 5th year, at age 15/16, when Hermione masters NV spells in 6th. What a nerd].

Effects Given the obvious ramifications of murder in broad daylight in front of a crowd of eyewitnesses and the fact that nobody, including the Marauders, paused at the spell's effects (I'll come back to their reactions later), I expect Snape's used it before and knew it wouldn't be too dangerous. It's risky aiming a cutting spell at a face, given the proximity to James's other facial features like his eyes, but not insurmountable. Also, Snape thinks James & Co. tried to kill him only weeks/months ago, so like... I can also believe that teen Snape had murder and maiming on the mind but lacked the hand-eye coordination to back it up.

But would it be murder? To ask someone who hates Snape, absolutely. But I disagree. Contrary to anti-Snape belief that it's a spell designed for brutally ripping someone in half and can't be healed by anyone other than Snape with his secret song-spell, thus making it a death sentence from blood loss alone, as far as magic swords go... it's kind of blunt. Even at full force:

Still slashing at the air with his wand, Harry yelled, “Sectumsempral SECTUMSEMPRA!” But though gashes appeared in their sodden rags and their icy skin, they had no blood to spill...

We see it cuts flesh. We see with George that it cuts cartilage. But it's not slicing the Inferi in half; it's not cutting bone - and Harry's fighting for his life. So it's not a literal sword, which can do both; that descriptor was just for imagery's sake. (Or perhaps Harry should've waved his wand more wildly?)

And it can be healed. Before the cave scene, back in Myrtle's bathroom, we also see Snape use a healing spell. But probably not Snape's own secret spell; Harry idles Sectumsempra for weeks ("he saw the Sectumsempra spell, captioned “For Enemies,” that he had marked a few weeks previously. He had still not found out what it did, mainly because he did not want to test it around Hermione, but he was considering trying it out on McLaggen next time he came up behind him unawares"). Harry/the narrative makes no mention of a healing spell or counter-curse nearby, and if it was like Levicorpus it would also reasonably be "one cramped word underneath the spell".

So, Snape perhaps knew a healing spell because of his knowledge of the Dark Arts, or knowledge in general. But it wasn't necessarily Snape's own secret healing spell, and nor is it likely the only spell that heals cuts like this. Dumbledore uses something similar at the cave, so it might just have been obscure or powerful healing magic ("said Dumbledore, now passing the tip of his wand over the deep cut he had made in his own arm, so that it healed instantly, just as Snape had healed Malfoy’s wounds") - or it was just a generic healing spell that Hermione or Madam Pomfrey probably would've known, but Harry didn't. This type of healing does not work on werewolf wounds - which presumably are special in some way - but even Dumbledore's cursed hand and Hermione's injuries after the purple flame spell at the Ministry battle are curable with enough effort: "Hermione was having to take ten different types of potion every day".

But, once again (and in contrast to Hermione's recovery) Sectumsempra wounds can be staunched and cleaned by Molly in the span of about 10-20 minutes, if that - it took less than the time for Harry to help load George onto the table until he finished a conversation with Lupin. Harry returned to find "a clean, gaping hole where George’s ear had been". George immediately wakes up and cracks a joke; the danger has passed).

Either Molly's got some mad healing skills to fix an original, unique curse created by a vicious budding death eater obsessed with dark magic without knowing the only counter-curse in existence - or the spell isn't only able to be healed with Snape's song-spell, just a regular healing spell, and Snape just likes to sing. Molly might have used such a spell when Harry was in the next room arguing with Remus. Molly is undoubtedly proficient, but obviously general healing knowledge is enough to heal Sectumsempra. Molly (I think) says the ear can't be re-attached because of nebulous Dark Magic reasons we never really hear more about from anyone despite 6 years of DADA, but it probably also can't be re-attached, in part, because the ear fell off somewhere in the countryside and Remus was too busy having to keep George on the broom to do a quick "Accio ear".

Given that Snape likely used Sectumsempra in SWM and there's no mention of James having had a scar, that Remus describes it as a specialty of Snape's but also has no visible scars in the books (when other aspects of his appearance are readily described), that Snape says Dittany can prevent scarring on Draco ("There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that") and that Draco then appears to have successfully avoided scarring ("Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest" - does Harry ever mention facial scarring on Draco again? I'm not well-versed in Drarry, but I know that Harry's constant physical descriptions of Draco are a common topic), it seems reasonable that if Snape did use it a lot in school, it was not overwhelmingly challenging to fix the cuts.

Add to that the fact that the Marauders were not in the least bit surprised or concerned about this spell - not about scarring, about the blood, or about the cut itself. Without hesitation James puts Snape in the air and, bar a brief authorial description of Snape's pallid legs, they're immediately laughing - even James, who's got a bleeding gash on his cheek (ouch), which is not mentioned again. Of course this could be for several reasons, chief among them that Snape has used the spell before so it's not a surprise, they're hyped up on adrenaline and pack mentality, and the Marauders are used to thinking of danger as fun ("And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards"). Even Lily doesn't have anything to say about dark magic, but I suppose she's still looking out for Snape here.

The Marauders are brave and talented young wizards, and presumably they know, from experience if Snape has used it frequently, that they can heal Sectumsempra just fine. James is cut on the cheek in SWM and is never described as having a scar, and you'd think that would be something Harry might notice, especially given his own facial scar.

Using Sectumsempra

So we've established that Sectumsempra is harsh and maybe cruel, but not devilishly so. It is temporary and fixable, both to the Marauders (who don't care) and to others (who are more upset by the ear loss and the sight of blood than the cut itself), and especially for Snape.

And yet... It seems unlikely that Snape was casting it on people (enemies) and then rushing over to help heal them. I think he knows how to heal it as an adult so efficiently, and how to avoid scarring because of the following options: 1. Snape (as an adult) has good knowledge of healing the dark arts (as we see with Dumbledore and to a lesser extent Katie Bell; could many people prevent Voldemort's own curse from spreading at all, let alone for so long?) 2. Snape (as a teen) was using it on himself (plausible both within the realms of testing his creation, or for more depressing reasons) 4. Teen/Young Adult Snape was using it on others (who he'd then heal? Some interesting avenues for Snape the torturer DE in fanfics), or perhaps... 3. Snape's been at the receiving end of it, which leads me once more to:

You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? ... And you’d turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you?

Snape's specific grievance is related to his spells being turned against him.

We all know James used Levicorpus, we see it in SWM, and apparently plenty of people knew it; "Oh, that one [Levicorpus] had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts". So that's one of the spells, plural.

I think you can see where I'm going with this, if you've made it this far.

I think James Potter also used Sectumsempra on Snape, and here's why:

"spells", plural. These are the two (Levicorpus and Sectumsempra) that are used in this scene (and not the toenail jinx or Muffliato, for example)

After Harry tries to cast Sectumsempra on Snape, "[Snape] was no longer sneering or jeering; the blazing flames showed a face full of rage", marking the beginning of his turn in attitude because of the specific injustice of his spells being used against him. He deflects them all anyway with absurd ease; why else would he care? Harry's not a threat to him, but his memories of James using his spells are unpleasant and likely traumatic (give me one example of a person who can be choked, gagged, immobilised, and then suspended upside down in front of a crowd laughing at your expense as the person doing it threatens to - and probably does - remove your underwear)

We see Snape cast Sectumsempra nonverbally in SWM... but Remus had to learn the incantation somewhere. And what does Remus do regularly when it comes to protecting his image and that of his friends? Lie or bend the truth. I don't think, after the brutality of SWM or The Prank, that the Marauders had any particular aversion to drawing blood, for example, over threatening to strip Snape above a laughing crowd.

Tenuous: "Sectumsempra was a specialty of Snape’s" vs "“Well,” said Lupin slowly, “Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James, so you couldn’t really expect James to take that lying down, could you?""

[special mention for the fact that Snape was the one literally lying down (following James/Sirius' Impedimentia, Petrificus Totalus) in SWM and James was the one not to lose an opportunity here, but that's just me running away with myself. More likely Remus' words here mean "we always hexed first, Snape just always fought back"].

It would be an odd interpretation, but "a specialty of Snape's" could be a backwards way of saying it was their specialty for him. (Unlikely, but you can't stop me now, I'm running away with myself).

But consider...

"Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape's", part 2.

Now I'm just veering wildly into headcanon territory because this is flimsy, but consider Lupin's quotes:

Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!

[Snape] lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s.

Incidentally, those two quotes/ideas - of signature spells and specialties - are barely a page apart. Lupin is grilling Harry for inadvertently giving himself away at the Battle of Seven Potters.

As we all know, Harry is identified by Death Eaters for using Expelliarmus - at about the same time that Snape is identified by the Order/Remus for using Sectumsempra (and the slip of his hood, but if Remus knows the incantation, the hood slip only acted as confirmation as Sectumsempra is not widely used in canon - the only people we actually see use it, after several battles with DEs, are Snape and Harry).

Under the assumption that Lupin rarely saw Snape after they left Hogwarts, that Snape wasn't regularly using Sectumsempra in Order meetings, and that Remus uses the past tense ("was always")... Doesn't SWM seems rather early on in their lives to have developed a "specialty" if Snape only invented it that year?

(It is later on through Harry's/Snape's book, perhaps May when they started in September. Slughorn has likely not changed tac since he previously taught Snape, as Harry is just following the book/the Prince along all year. This is potentially complicated by the fact that Snape was working ahead; I don't generally have the brain for dates so idk how).

Anyway, Harry's been using Expelliarmus since CoS by the time we reach this quote in DH describing Expelliarmus as Harry's signature, and in the same metaphorical breath describing Sectumsempra as Snape's specialty. By this point in his life, Harry's used Expelliarmus to disarm/challenge the likes of Draco, Lockhart, Snape, and Voldemort, and has taught it at DA meetings, used it in the Ministry, etc etc. It might have been that Snape found or heard Sectumsempra elsewhere and came to use it a lot and gained a lot of control over it, sort of similar to how Harry's "signature move" is Expelliarmus. Depending on to what extent Remus means by "always a specialty", there's scope for Snape to have learnt Sectumsempra early on (he "knew more curses as a first-year") and used it since then - which would also explain why the Marauders were so relaxed about it. It sounds as though Snape had used it for some time.

But consider...

Snape did not invent Sectumsempra, James/Sirius did

Drawing parallels here where they probably don't exist and I'm losing my mind so I've definitely contradicted myself - both Snape and Harry are 'in disguise' during this battle, dressed identically to the team they're visually fighting for - and both are identified by having highly identifiable spells.

But Harry was taught his signature, Expelliarmus, by observing someone else doing it - interestingly, that someone else was Snape. Snape, who is repeatedly viewed as an 'enemy' who Harry mistakenly believed tried to kill him, but was actually saving his life. I just found it an interesting parallel to Snape and The Prank and James in this context, because Snape mistakenly believed that James wanted to kill him by being in on the prank, but James was actually trying to save Snape and Remus during The Prank, just like Snape was actually trying to save Remus and Harry during The Battle (of Seven Potters).

[Side note; "[Snape] lost his hood" aka "[Snape's] mask slipped" aka Snape almost revealed himself as Dumbledore's man by trying to protect Remus, who was being protected in both the prank and the battle. Sev has replaced James here. Poetic]

Food for thought/headcanon: even more contradictory and speculative, but what if Snape didn't make Sectumsempra, and learnt the incantation from James? ("for enemies" being the only note, no workings-out).

"The Prince only copied [Sectumsempra] out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him"

Making a note of something that had been used (done?) against him? Maybe. James and Sirius were still using verbal spellcasting (with the exception of Levicorpus, which as we know, even Harry could do when still struggling with nonverbal spells), which is where Snape could've learnt it. And it would lend a sort of revenge and showing off aspect to Snape's use of it, if he'd taken it from them.

But isn't it curious that, when given the opportunity, Snape didn't disarm or knock James/Sirius back, or use any of the spells they'd used on him thus far to disarm/incapacitate/humiliate him (Expelliarmus, Impedimentia, Petrificus Totalus)? Nor did he use his other original spells to somehow incapacitate them (Levicorpus, Langlock) - but instead Snape chose to give James a wound that didn't even slow him down? A wound delivered with restraint? A wound that didn't even stop James from laughing despite being on his cheek?

One interpretation might be that this was Sectumsempra's first outing, but the total lack of acknowledgement, I feel, makes it unlikely. Literally nobody stopped long enough to remark on the fact it was unexpected or worryingly bloody, that it was dark magic, nothing.

But the Marauders laugh when Snape uses Sectumsempra. Not all of them, though:

Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter.

There's one Marauder missing from this sentence.

Remus disapproves.

So what if... James first knew of, and used, Sectumsempra to slow/deter/distract Remus whilst saving Snape? What if Snape had used or prepared it solely for his venture to the Shack, and it was used on Remus? What if Snape uses it during SWM (and likely other times, as a specialty) as an attempt to remind them that he could tell everyone Remus' secret?

(It didn't work, obviously).

There are several reasons Moony might not be laughing. Remus is possibly the most morally sound of the Marauders in that he disapproves of such behaviour - and he's also worried his secret will out. But I throw the above theory into the ring as another explanation. Remus remembers the incantation for Sectumsempra because it was used against him. Snape remembers because it was the night of The Prank. Snape either made it or adopted it, and started to work it into every encounter with the Marauders (as a reminder, as payback, a pound of flesh/blood for blood/eye for an eye). In any case, I'm confident James also uses it against Snape. Snape writes it in his book, so he doesn't forget.

Sectumsempra - for enemies.

[severus-snaps]

"because despite the Prince's violent betrayal, he doesn't reject him and is still attached to him [insert meta about the potential parallels to Lily's friendship with Snape, what she saw in him, and why they remained friends for some time even when Snape became more immersed in the Dark Arts"

watch me cry

Canon: Harry overhears Malfoy intimidating Borgin and figures out that he's been branded with the Dark Mark

Steve Kloves: Harry sees Malfoy meet a bunch of Death Eaters in Borgin and Burkes and figures out it was a ceremony to give Malfoy a Dark Mark

No but what I love about the movie version of events is that it implies that any Death Eater can brand anyone with the Dark Mark or, even better, that Voldemort was there in Borgin and Burkes and no one saw or heard him and he just popped into a shop in Knockturn Alley, tatooted a kid, and peaced out. I know I talk a lot about how Rowling (boo, hiss) was thoughtless with her world building, but she has nothing on Steve Kloves. I'm pretty sure he wrote those scripts with a crayon stuck between his toes.

[annabtg]

All right, Potter?

A super late entry for @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee's Jily Week 2024, day 4 - prompt: Flip The Script.

She flicked her wand upwards; the girl shrieked as she found herself hovering upside down in the air, pulling her robes up against gravity to cover herself. “Stop that!” Lily turned around at the voice. The boy with the untidy black hair was running towards the scene, his Prefect badge reflecting the sunlight, and his hazel eyes even brighter than that. Behind him, a crowd of students was starting to gather around. “All right, Potter?” Lily asked, and her voice was now deeper, huskier, almost seductive. “Put her down,” James Potter said. “How would you like it if I did that to you?” She let out a throaty chuckle. “If you want to see my knickers, all you have to do is ask. No Levicorpus necessary.”

Read the whole fic on AO3! Completed, 1.8k words.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Your post about misogyny in the HP fandom is so true especially because when it comes to Snape and Lily- you can’t make someone else change if they don’t want to. You can try and help someone/show them another perspective(not that anyone has to do that either) but the ultimate decision to change is on the specific person and nobody else. And for people to blame all that on Lily is just…ack

@puppyduckster I completely agree with you and yet… this is a comment I saw today online, which really drove me mad:

🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

“OmG sHe Is So DisLoYaL to PoOr SeVvY wHo NEEEEEEDED A REAL FRIEND TO STAND BY HIM WHEN HE WAS TURNING INTO A DICKHEAD”

Eh, I don’t know how to tell you, misogynistic dude, but that’s precisely what she did???!

She literally stood by him, and refused to believe what others were telling her about him because no doubt he was denying it and saying her friends were trying to paint him in a bad light because they didn’t like him - I mean hard agree but whatever - which btw is exactly what James did: he knew one of the order was a spy but NO WAY IN HELL COULD IT POSSIBLY BE ONE OF HIS FRIENDS -

She probably had lots of arguments with him about the war and the nasty bigots he was hanging out with and the weirdo spells he was creating (like hanging people upside down and slashing skin; Snape: I only invented them, I haven’t been using them at all - in which case how come people are using Levicorpus all over the place and it’s very popular- how, exactly???).

And then she sees a rare moment of poor old innocent misunderstood Sev letting his true colours shine through: turning on her because she saw him when he was vulnerable-

GOD FORBID THAT A WOMAN YOU DESIRE (🤢) SEE THIS AND TRY TO RESCUE YOU: BIG MISTAKE! (Shame her immediately, God forbid you let this pass!!)

- and he calls her a horrible slur to her face, and it’s the final straw. She’s known this day was coming and can’t fool herself any longer into believing he’s not turning into a wix fascist, and her reaction is brave af: she finishes their toxic friendship, there and then.

That’s not to say she might not still have cried about the ending of this friendship, the boy he could have grown up to be. But she stuck to her guns and refused to take him back. Thank fuck!

Anyway, as you can see, misogyny alive and well in the HP fandom… 🙄

(Also, in relation to that post: feck off with you - Lily did have friends, Slughorn described her as cheeky and popular! Plus, she’s friends with Sirius in canon, they write to each other separately to Sirius & James and she calls him Padfoot and confides in him about her worries regarding James, and asking for his help! And in the films she and Remus are friends too!)