#madame beaumont

[princess-ibri]

Does the French fairytale Princess Mayblossom exist in the Disneyverse?

Eh, I was tempted for a bit as it is where the og name Carabosse comes from, but ultimately I decided that it was 1. A little too close to what we already have with Sleeping Beauty (hence why the name travled over into the Sleeping Beauty Ballet and became ubiquitous with the Wicked Fairy until Maleficent's portrayal gained prominence)

And 2. Its just a little bit too silly? Well not silly so much as tounge in cheek, which was very common for the salon fairy tales/ conte de fees before the Brothers Grimm's more folkloric style gained popularity (one of the reasons Beauty and the Beast has managed to become a staple when so many of the other salon takes have faded was because Beaumont's version reworked it into this folklore style)

And while I can definitely appreciate the tounge in cheek aspect and actually enjoy it from time to time my personal tastes run more towards Grimm's style.

[adarkrainbow]

How Mother Goose's fairytales switched from adults to children

I have frequently talked about how printed fairy tales were always originally meant for adults, not children.

The fairytales of Charles Perrault and madame d'Aulnoy in France were for an adult audience and adult in tone and content (with illusions of "childishness" as a narrative convention), and only later became stories for children due to a mass-spreading, an access to popular culture and a misinformation about their purpose. Before them, the first "fairytale collections" of Basile and Straparola, the "Pentamerone" and "The Facetious Nights" are very obviously for adults due to their nature as NSFW dark comedy filled with sex, rape, gore, scatophilia and Punch-and-Judy humor. Even in the case of the brothers Grimm! The first edition of the brothers' fairytale collection was for a purely scientific, cultural, folkloric purpose - it was meant to be read for scholars and folklorists and other adults. It was only as they realized that their book turned out to be a huge best-sellers for families, and that it was most often used as a way to entertain children, that they decided to make their stories more "kid-friendly". Hence why each re-edition of their collection became more "SFW" and more edited (they even made a side-book, a mini-collection of fifty edited fairytales specifically selected for children!)

This is the long history of fairytales. Each time prepared by adults, for adults, and yet ending up in the hands of children and being treated as for kids... And since the cosmos loes balance, now that the fairytales are throoughly ingrained and defined as "for children", they always end up being reimagined and renvented for an adult audience... Anyway.

The reason I bring back this entire topic is because I recently stumbled upon an article about Martine Hennard Dutheil de la Rochère, about the adaptations of Perrault's "Les Fées" (The Fairies, better known today as "Toads and Diamonds") for England. It was quite an interesting read so I will share some of its content below, rearranged a bit with additional info (such as the one above).

First off, it should be noted that, from the get go, when fairytales of France were first translated in England, the idea that they were for adults was still around. For example the very first literary fairytale of France, L'île de la félicité, by madame d'Aulnoy, was translated as early as 1691 - because the novel which contained it was translated, "The History of Adolphus", and since it stayed within its original context, it stayed an "adult read" (since the novel was a story for adults). [For more information about it, check M.D. Palmer's text "The History of Adolphus, the first French Conte de fée in English")

This doesn't come from the article I talked about, but in another paper about the European fame of madame d'Aulnoy's fairytales in the 18th and 19th centuries, there was this precision that the same way in England Charles Perrault's name was overshadowed by the one of the fictional "Mother Goose", madame d'Aulnoy's own name was erased for a nickname seemingly coming out of nowhere: "Mother Bunch". Just a desire to match the other famous "fairytale mother"? Not quite... Because the name "Mother Bunch" was associated in England with a specific type of woman - the type of woman who knew more private, romantic, erotic secrets, the kind of woman teenagers would go to to ask advice on how to seduce other people, and young couples would question about how things were meant to go in bed. A kind of Nanny Ogg, if you know your Discworld. A saucier "Mother Goose". It was probably not because the English audience perceived the subversive, erotic and bawdy elements within madame d'Aulnoy's fairytales, unfortunately ; but it was mostly due to England being aware of the various scandals and extravagant adventures madame d'Aulnoy lived, which gave her a reputation of a quite unconventional woman.

The real "turn", the true switch within a general perception of these fairytales was probably the first real translation in English of Charles Perrault's fairytales: Robert Samber published in 1729 "Histories, or Tales of Past Times... with Morals by M. Perrault". This was the original sin, so to speak. Because you see... Robert Samber meant this book to be for children and he did not hide it.

As I repeatedly said before, Charles Perrault's fairytales were not meant for children. He did imitate a simplistic story-style associated with children stories ; he did include morals at the end of each of his tales... But his intended audience (and test audience, and those he dedicated the stories to) was made of adults, his morals were all ironic and subversive, and his stories were filled with puns and references only an adult person (and more so an adult person of a certain social condition living by or near the royal court) would understand. But Robert Samber? He made a huge effort to highlight how Perrault's fairytales were moral - like, literaly, he took every Moral of Perrault at first-degree, as praising virtue and denouncing vice, completely missing the jokes and incoherences within it - and were "educational". And perfect for children. In fact, Robert Samber dedicated his translation to the children of a certain lord Carteret. Bear this in mind, it will come back later.

A clear and obvious proof of Samber literaly falsifying the text to fit his personal perception is the preface of his translation. He did translate most of Perrault's own preface for his fairy tales... But he included in it extracts from another preface. The preface of Jean de la Fontaine's Fables. An extract about how Plato praised the fables of Aesop when it came to teaching children about wisdom and virtue, and how he advised people to prefer them to the "poetry of Homer" (the Iliad, the Odyssey, etc). Not only did Samber literaly took the words of a different author for a different work and grafted them here... But when you are aware of the context, it becomes even more extravagant.

I spoke regularly about this, but the fairytales of France took place within a cultural battle known as "La Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes". On one side, the "Ancients", people then in charge of the dominating cultural institutes, and who held the long tradition that any cultural piece worth anything had to come from the classical and "perfect" era of the Greek and the Romans. On the other side, the "Modern", a new generation of culture-makers who claimed that other sources and other influences could be used rather than Antiquity - more "modern" resources such as the various romances and epics of the Middle-Ages. La Fontaine and Perrault were not bitter enemies at all - in fact, Perrault greatly admired La Fontaine and references his Fables within his own fairytales... But they stood on opposite sides of the schism. La Fontaine was part of the Ancients - hence why his most famous work was the Fables, a French adaptation of Aesop's own fables and other Antique stories "recreated" for Renaissance France. Perrault, meanwhile, was the unofficial leader of the Moderns - hence why he created his fairytales, inspired by French folklore rather than any Greek epic or Roman tragedy. As such, to confuse the explanation-texts of these two authors isn't just falsifying a translation - it is literaly fusing and reinventing two conflicting and contradicting opinions about the use and format of culture. And it completely falsifies Perrault's own initial project and intentions. (Plus it perpetuates a confusion between "fables" and "fairy tales")

Not only that, but Samber also removed several key sentences from Perrault's preface. Including those that explicitely said that his fairy tales could be read differently depending on the age and the level of experience of the reader... A subtle way to point out the obvious: under an apparently simplistic and childish folk-story was hidden an adult literary work. But again, for a Samber taking literaly every one of Perrault's Morals and aiming a book for children and only children, such sentences had to be removed.

Another fascinating element... In his preface, Robert Sambre points out that the fairytales within his book are organized in a pedagogical way, from the most childish to the most mature. Another "proof", according to him, of why this book was made for children. Problem... Robert Sambre used a Dutch print of the fairytales, a 1721 Amsterdam edition which completely changed the order of the fairytales. Perrault's original order, in the 1697 edition, was: Sleeping Beauty - Little Red Riding Hood - Bluebeard - Puss in Boots - Toads and Diamonds - Cinderella - Riquet with the tuft - Little Thumbling. But in Samber's edition? Little Red Riding Hood - Diamonds and Toads - Bluebard - Sleeping Beauty - Puss in Boots - Cinderella - Riquet with the tuft - Little Thumbling. And... one more fairytale. "L'adroite princesse, ou les aventures de Finette" (translated as "The Discreet Princess"). This fairytale was actually not part of Perrault's texts - it was written by Perrault's niece, and one of the famous French fairytale authors, mademoiselle Lhéritier. But ever since this Dutch printing (and then its English translation, and then ever before since the first mistake was made in 1716), there is a common habit of identifying this fairytale as being Perrault's... a mistake which still appears sometimes today. But all of that to say, Samber's edition was complete randomness.

A few more reads disponible in English: "The Authentic Mother Goose Fairy Tales and Nursery Rhymes", 1960, by Barchilon and Petit + Jones' "Mother Goose's French Birth and British Afterlife" (this article is disponible on publicdomainreview.com)

Dutheil de la Rochère highlighted several key differences between Perrault's original French text, and Samber's translations, about the "Diamonds and Toads" fairytale. First, Samber's translation of the title as "The Fairy" - which isn't what Perrault wrote (he titled his stories "The Fairies", for subtle reasons since there is only one fairy in his story but who poses as two different women ; Samber probably meant to "correct" the title). Then there is the fact that Samber removed a certain "rustic", "peasant" tone and vocabulary within the dialogues, which Perrault precisely included to make the reader feel like in the French countryside and among common folks. There is also Samber's "moral" removing of a specific sentence - Perrault wrote that if the mother prefered one sister over the next, it was because she looked more like her and "people like more what is like them". It was part of Perrault's satire of human nature - Samber simply removed it all together. Finally, there is a distinctive "childish" selection of words to make the story seem more... "kiddy" let's say. Where Perrault wrote "a beautiful girl", Samber writes "a pretty little girl". Where Perrault wrote "my mother", Samber writes "mamma".

Random trivia: The nasty sister's name is translated as Fanny, a name derived from Frances and quite common in England at the time, soon to be associated with John Cleveland's scandalous "Fanny Hill, or Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure". Perrault's name was merely "Fanchon", which is a rural diminutive of "Françoise" and was one of those stereotypical names for a young peasant girl.

Mind you, the "infantilization" of fairytales was not all due to England. It happened within France itself. Perrault, d'Aulnoy, Lhéritier and others were the first wave of fairytales, end of the 17th century. id 18th century there was a revival of the traditional French literary fairytale, a "second generation" so to speak - and a part of this generation grew the idea of writing fairytales for children. Chief in this school of thought was madame Leprince de Beaumont, the woman behind the most famous version of "Beauty and the Beast". She was a governess for the aristocracy, and part of what was then a progressive movement: teaching girls! Arg! The progress! As such, she personaly read fairytales as the perfect tool to teach children in a pleasant and educative way, and she was one of the first fairytale authors in France to have like straightforward manichean, moral and religious Morals at the end of her tales. Heck, her fairytale collection is called "Le magasin des enfants, "The children store", precisely because it was a children book.

But where am I going with this? Remember when I said Samber dedicated his work to the children of Lord Carteret? Well, Leprince de Beaumont also dedicated her work to children... To one child specifically. Sophia Carteret, youngest daughter of Lord Carteret (a character in the book was even based upon her). Indeed, while Madame Leprince de Beaumont was French and wrote in French, she had emigrated to London in 1748 and had worked there for British aristocracy. Given she created her own fairytales after Samber did his translation of Perrault's, and she herself described in her texts Perrault's story as "puerile but perfect for children" (*cough cough*), it is very likely she was influenced in her fairytale writing by Samber's complete reinterpretation and flasification of Perrault's tales. And since Leprince de Beaumont's work came to be spread and known throughout Western Europe... Began the misconception that fairytales had been written for kids.

Trivia: Madame Leprince de Beaumont wrote her own variant of "Toads and Diamonds" - but she wrote it as a fable. "The fable of the widow and her two daughters", in the line of other French fables for children such as those of Fénelon.

Last reading recs: Shefrin's "Governess to their Children: Royal and Aristocratic Mothers Educating Daughters in the reign of George III" (in "Childhood and Children's Books in Early Modern Europe" by Immel and Witmore) + Seifert's "Madame Leprince de Beaumont and the Infantilization of the Fairy Tale" (in "The Child in French and Francophone Literature".

[adarkrainbow]

Indeed! It is a little trivia people point out from time to time.

Mérimée never wrote about the "merveilleux", the style to which fairytales belong, however he left a deep mark within the "fantastique", its twin style. [Merveilleux (marvelous) is how French literature classifies tales where the supernatural is "accepted" or part of the world ; Fantastique (fantastical) is a term for all stories where the supernatural exists, but shocks the protagonist or suddenly appears within a "normal" world. Fairy tales are merveilleux, Dracula is fantastique.]

And it is quite fascinating to see that his two most famous fantastique tales (two short stories) are both imbued with a certain... I can say "fairytale subtext". One is "La Vénus d'Ille", an extremely famous story in French literature, likely inspired by the opera "Zampa", but which is the literary, French variation of a certain story-type that modern audiences today will be more familiar with under the shape of Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride. (Except La Vénus d'Ille is... much less joyful than The Corpse Bride)

The other is Lokis, a short story technically about Lithuanian legends and folklore, but which also explores a more general motif in European folklore: the supernatural bear/the bear-men/the bear husband.

Why did I not know until just now that Prosper Mérimée, the author of the original book of Carmen, was the great-grandson of Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont, the author of the second and more familiar French literary version of Beauty and the Beast?!

@ariel-seagull-wings, @adarkrainbow

[lepetitdragonvert]

La Belle et la Bête / Beauty and the Beast

d’après le conte de Madame Le Prince de Beaumont

CERF - bohem press

1981

Artist : Fiona Moodie

[pompadourpink]

hi! what are the fairy tales that most french kids grow up hearing?

Hello,

I would say mostly Charles Perrault's Tales of Mother Goose (Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots) and Madame de Beaumont (la Belle et la Bête), as well as a handful of the Andersen tales (the Little Mermaid, the Princess and the Pea) although they are Danish. Madame de Ségur's Les malheurs de Sophie used to be popular as well because of the animated show (1998).

We are also expected to memorise a dozen Fables by Jean de la Fontaine in primary school (which are adaptations of Aesop's works). Later, most of us have to read Candide by Voltaire and one or two of the Lettres Persanes of Montesquieu.

Hope this helps! x

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[hannahhook7744]

The Invisible Truth' Au Characters (Part 4);

Antonio's kids (Part 2):

Dayana Noemí Espinosa Madrigal (8 years old by d3. Student at the Encanto’s only public school and she helps José run the casino out of his room along with Avila—she has a few ideas on what she'd like to do when she grows up, including: a private inspector, a theme park performer or owner, archeology, and a historian are just a few of them. Clever, graceful, detail-oriented, fair, hardworking, cautious, business minded, firm, secretive, sneaky, reserved, curious/inquisitive, analytical, passionate, patient, helpful, aspiring, osscasionally very blunt, and caring. She has the gift of ‘monster sight’ meaning that she can see monsters that no one else can. She is single and is friends with her brother, her cousins, their partners, and Blue Veronica).

Next Gen Love Interests;

Araceli Peña Merlo (28 years old by d3. English Teacher at the Encanto's only public school and granddaughter of one of the Encanto's Original founders. Kind with a mighty backbone, empathic, graceful, knowledgeable, inquisitive, helpful, respectful, professional, motivating, courageous, idealistic, supportive, creative, non-judgmental, inspiring, dedicated, passionate, and headstrong. She doesn’t have any powers or a gift. She's currently dating Cesare Madrigal Botero and she's friends with her fellow teachers, Carina Potts, Shepherd Scaremonger, Eliza Fae, Jim ‘JJ’ Brown Jr, Hunter de Vil, and Horace the Auradon Prep Librarian). 

Simon Cantor Acosta Cova (24 years old by d3. He's the owner of ‘Simon’s Western Experience’—a shop that sells things relating to cowboys and horses—and He's the grandson of Heidi from the “Nightmares and Sueños” book. Intelligent, flirty, mischievous, upbeat, resourceful, eccentric, brave, sneaky, impulsive, selfless, easygoing, and occasionally inconsiderate and jerkish. He doesn't have any powers or a gift. He's dating Cornel Madrigal Botero and he's friends with Horace the Auradon Prep Librarian, Jane Darling, Carina Potts, Princess Melody, Amore Pugliese, Shepherd Scaremonger, and Araceli Peña Merlo). 

Amore Pugliese (27 years old by d3. Nonbinary Sea Monster from Genoa, Italy, and the owner of ‘Amore’s Fabric Stop and Shop’. Adventurous, mischievous, bubbly, rebellious, artistic/creative, adaptable, free spirited, energetic, snarky, loud, bombastic, determined, sarcastic, supportive, comfortable and confident in themselves and who they are, open, open-minded, playful, attentive, and unapologetically authentic. They have the powers of human transformation and Aquatic Breathing. They are engaged to Cyriacus Madrigal Botero and are friends with Ivy de Vil, Eliza Fae, JJ Brown, most of the Guzmáns and Madrigals, Araceli Peña Merlo, and Simon Cantor Acosta Cova). 

Madeline ‘Mad Maddy’ Meraxes Mim (21 years old by d3. Member of Harriet Hook’s crew—The Queen’s Fury—and bassist of The Bad Apples, one of the first former students of 'Madam Mim's School of Magic’, and worker at Madam Mim’s Wicked Witchcraft Emporium. If she had the chance, she’d like to be an astronomer. Granddaughter of Madam Mim. Deceitful towards those she doesn’t like, temperamental, vengeful, bitter, impulsive, driven, witty, sneaky, talented, ambitious, snarky, cynical, troubled, unforgiving, protective, loyal, moody/apathetic, snippy, risk taking, and guarded. She has magic and is fantastic at potion brewing. Crushing on Rick Madrigal Botero and friends with the Madrigals, their partners, some of her siblings, some of her cousins, Lefou Deux’s family,  Homicide Le Fay, Blaise Le Fay, Kai Athanasiou, Ula Athanasiou, Uziel Athanasiou, Arabella Athanasiou, and Harriet Hook's crew). 

LeFou Deux ‘Lee’ Beaumont-LePrince (19 years old by d3. Member of Harriet Hook's crew, The Isle Santa, and worker at Cipriano Guzmán’s Toy Shop. Former worker at Hook's Inlet and Shack, Hook’s Clock & Curiosity Shop, Gaston's Pub, and Gaston’s duels without rules. He’s happy with the job he has. Son of Stanley, LeFou, and Paulette. Shy, sweet, helpful, skittish, quiet, clumsy, poetic, stubborn, hardworking, sneaky, patient, intelligent, friendly, awkward, protective, mischievous, and giving. He doesn't have any powers but he is quite good at inventing and fixing things. He is friends with the Madrigals, their partners, his siblings, his cousins, Homicide Le Fay, Blaise Le Fay, Kai Athanasiou, Ula Athanasiou, Uziel Athanasiou, Cipriano Guzmán, and Harriet Hook's crew). 

Vidal Alfaro Pezmuerto (17 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of the R.O.A.R/Swords and Shields Team as well as the Fútbal —he wants to either be a marine biologist or be a pro R.O.A.R player. Son of Señora Pezmuerto and Luca Alfaro. Quiet but usually extroverted, easily embarrassed, athletic, skeptical, cautious towards things that could lead to embarrassment, judgemental, respectful of others boundaries, stubborn, hardworking, playful, sneaky, Unafraid of danger, Impulsive, and proud. He doesn't have any powers. He is friends with Harlan Alan Never, Portabella Neverwing, Felicidad Ruíz, ichabod ‘Icey’ White, Princess Natasha, Demurra Foxworth, Rolando Ortiz, and Rebecca of Rosas). 

Lin 'Gizmo' Mazorra (19 years old by d3. Worker at Miracle Tech, the Encanto’s first and possibly only tech shop—he wants to be either a musician or a Cinematographer that specializes in music videos. Formerly Homeschooled and the son of Dary Mazorra, the owner and founder of Miracle Tech. Introverted, awkward, quiet, insecure, creative, imaginative, goal oriented, focused, intelligent regarding tech related things, musically attuned, hardworking, helpful, passionate, loyal, sensitive, and soft spoken. He doesn't have a gift or any powers. He has Tourette's syndrome. He is dating Elmira Guzmán Madrigal and is friends with the Madrigals, Théotime Cogsworth, Bobby Hood, Tiger Peony, William Darling, and Portabella Neverwing). 

Portabella Neverwing (15 years old by d3. Transfer student from Neverland Academy to Auradon Prep who wants to be an activist when she grows up. Daughter of Egidius and Bluebell. Creative, stubborn, extroverted, loud, goal oriented, empathic, hardworking, helpful, passionate, loyal, protective, rebellious, sour then sweet, free spirited, and seemingly care-free until angered by something that is unjust. She can fly and she is a garden talent fairy with powers that tie into nature. She is dating Emilia Nattura Madrigal and she is friends with Tiger Peony Rossi, Anxelin Fitzherbert, Bobby Hood, William Darling, Théotime Cogsworth, and Lin 'Gizmo' Mazorra— she very notably does not like Unity and Hap Bergmann, Annabelle Scorfano, or the Bluefairy-Carmelo twins, and has a frenemy relationship with Stella Rabbit who is on thin ice with her). 

Cailee Beckett (16 years old by d3. Student at Dragon Hall, Member of the Sea Ponies and Anti-Heroes Club, and occasional worker at Lady Tremaine’s Curl Up & Dye—she wants to be a firefighter, artist, or a famous Auratuber when she grows up. Preferably one that works with Gigi. She is the daughter of Cutler Beckett and an unknown woman. Funny, extroverted, loud, loyal, empathic, playful, creative, patient, graceful, courageous, sweet, care free, non-conforming, and mostly well-behaved. She doesn't have any powers or gifts. She is dating Magnolia ‘Gigi’ Marguerite Gothel and she is friends with Murky Maggie, Amara Tremaine, Julieanna 'Julie' Foulfellow, Sabina Stromboli, Dizzy Tremaine, Owena, Elizabeth 'Lizard' West, Sad Sally Mim, and she's slowly becoming friends with the Madrigals as well). 

Théotime ‘Time’ Cogsworth (16 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of the Film Club and the Robotics Club—he wants to be a film director when he grows up. He is the son of Cogsworth. Rebellious, intellectual, reserved, bit of a loner but can be social around people he likes, free spirited, non-conforming, kind, open minded, curious, peaceful, a wee bit resentful, well organized, passionate, dependable, loyal, and dedicated. He doesn't have any gifts or powers. He is deaf/hard-of-hearing, has heterochromia, and has a lip piercing, multiple ear piercings, and a nose ring as well as glasses. He is dating Oscar Guzmán Madrigal and is friends with the Madrigals, most of the film and robotics club members—including Doug Bergmann, Anxelin Fitzherbert, Portabella Neverwing, Prince Diego of Cordoba, Elle Athanasiou of Tirulia, Princess Avisa Athanasiou of Atlantica, Arabella Athanasiou of Tirulia, Zhu Yi-Min, and Jedoun 'Jordan' Ayad).  

Prince Diego of Cordoba (15—almost 16—years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep, School Contraband Smuggler and Seller, and Member of the Art Club—he wants to be a graphic novelist that specializes in horror and detective stories. He is the son of Prince Alonso of Cordoba. Reserved, sweet, friendly, even tempered, insecure, curious, creative, protective, sullen, imaginative, giving, cautious, hardworking when motivated, optimistic, loyal, patient, strong, well behaved but a rule breaker, odd/strange/creepy, and wouldn't hurt a fly unless provoked. He doesn't have any gifts or powers. He is in tutoring and extra help classes due to his struggles in a usual class environment. He is seen as a dimwitted slacker by many because of this. He is dating Sofia Madrigal Prepon and he is friends with Théotime ‘Time’ Cogsworth, Lin 'Gizmo' Mazorra, Portabella Neverwing, Anxelin Fitzherbert, Arabella Athanasiou of Tirulia, Crabby Bergmann, Doug Bergmann, Sleepy Bergmann Jr, and Baren Hood). 

Haruto of Avalor (19 years old by d3. Model for Evie's 4 Hearts and Cheerleader and Student at Sherwood University—he wants to be an actor. Son of Tomiko of Avalor. Confident, hard working, romantic, focused, hard working, proud, spirited, adaptable, determined, athletic, patient, gossipy, fashionable, dedicated, judgemental, loyal, smart alec, protective to his people, great team player, and a multi-talented overachiever. He doesn't have any gifts or powers. He is dating Princesa Guzmán Madrigal and is friends with the rest of the cheerleading team, the tourney team, some of the band kids, some of the choir kids, some of the art club kids, the R.O.A.R kids, Princess Avisa Athanasiou of Atlantica, Chao, Kelemon Ceinfarfog Of Northumberland, Blair of DunBroch, Nora Nattura, Hilda Bjorgman, and Catharina ‘Cato’ Bones. Doesn't know the Madrigals that well yet). 

Ronaldo Ortiz (16 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of the Debate Team and Tutoring Club—doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life yet. Does know he doesn't want to work in his father's field. Son of Osvaldo Ortiz. Hard working, smart, kind, focused, determined, very patient, easily embarrassed, dedicated, snarky when he's pushed, resentful, thoughtful, cautious/careful, and a bit of an overachiever. He doesn't have any gifts or powers. He is dating Rachel Madrigal Botero and is friends with Vidal Alfaro Pezmuerto, Felicidad Ruíz, Becca Colyar, Topher Thompson, Prince Diego of Cordoba, Théotime ‘Time’ Cogsworth, and Rosana Cardoso). 

Christopher ‘Topher’ Thompson (18 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of the Auradon Prep Marching Band—wants to open a seaside restaurant on a boat where he can play music: he's workshopping the name. He is the secret great nephew of Smee. Secretive, open minded, somewhat lazy, thoughtful, cautious, playful, brave when it counts, patient, resilient, fun loving, adventurous, fun loving, creative, curious, attentive, and cuddly. He doesn't have any gifts or powers. He is dating Zoey Marquez Madrigal and is friends with Ben, Doug, the choir kids, the band kids, some of the tourney kids, a couple of the cheerleaders, and some of the Madrigals—he’s trying to win over the rest of them). 

Becca Colyar (16 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of the Cheerleading Squad—wants to be a professional dancer when she grows up. She is the daughter of Buford the Chef. Hyperactive, fun loving, easily excitable, sly, unpredictable, athletic, hardworking, occasionally impatient, reliable, strange, friendly, playful, blunt, adventurous, creative, thoughtful, dedicated, popular, funny, determined, respectful, focused, good listener, a total fangirl, and a bit team player. She doesn't have any gifts or powers. She is dating Miguel Marquez Madrigal Jr. and is friends with the rest of the Cheerleading squad, a couple of the band kids, Tyrone Rogers, Nina Rogers, Princess Avisa Athanasiou of Atlantica, Chao, Kelemon Ceinfarfog Of Northumberland, Blair of DunBroch, Nora Nattura, Hilda Bjorgman,  Princess Elle Athanasiou of Tirulia, Catharina ‘Cato’ Bones, and a pair of sisters named Mary and Dorothy). 

Felicidad Ruíz (15 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Former member of band, choir, and acapella—she’s close to resorting to making her own club at this point because as someone who plans to be a musician she refuses to stand for how few choices there are. She plans to start her own band or maybe join one of the Madrigal’s bands. She is the daughter of accordion player Alejo Ruíz. Caring, protective, opinionated, musically inclined, stubborn, cocky, passionate, talented, picky, judgemental, rebellious, persevering, non-conforming, fun loving, lazy when unmotivated/uninterested, occasionally dismissive, somewhat unreliable depending on who you are, creative, determined, dedicated, open minded, rule following to the extent that people don’t always realize she doesn’t respect them/don’t notice the rest of her personality, sneaky,  and under the firm belief that respect is earned, not freely given on principle of authority.  She doesn't have any gifts or powers. She is dating Fuega Alba Guzmán Madrigal and is friends with Mal, Ben, Evie, Doug, Portabella Neverwing, Freddie Facilier, Ally Liddell, Rosana Cardoso, Prince Ajax, Arabella Athanasiou, Anxelin Fitzherbert, Yi-Min, Marlon of DunBroch, Hodge Westergaard-La Bouff, Herkie Athanasiou, Icey White, Elle Athanasiou, Avisa Athanasiou, Annika and Raylene Jenkins, Théotime Cogsworth, and several of the band, choir, and acapella kids).

Rosana Cardoso (15 years old by d3. Student at the Encanto’s only public school and Member of the Choir and the outdoors club—she wants to be a home economics teacher, a seamstress, a fashion designer, or a mixture of the three if possible. Daughter of Encanto farmers. Preppy, cheerful, sweet, outwardly respectful, humbling, a tad bit cliquish, girly, helpful, sneaky, good at reading people, friendly enough, even tempered, restrained, protective, distinguished, fashionable, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, graceful, optimistic, mostly conflict avoidant, affectionate, patient, curious, resourceful, calculating when required, creative, true to herself, semi-popular, and soothing with a rebellious side most don’t know about—she gives the perfect girl next door vibes. She doesn’t have any gifts or powers. She is dating Amelia Madrigal Prepon and is friends with the Madrigals as well as several people inside of the Encanto and out—but she’s noticeably close with the other farmer kids, Théotime Cogsworth, Felicidad Ruíz, Becca Colyar, Portabella Wings, Topher Thompson, Lin 'Gizmo' Mazorra, Prince Diego of Cordoba, Vidal Alfaro Pezmuerto, Cailee Beckett, Ronaldo Ortiz, and Haruto of Avalor. She also very noticeably hates Annabelle Scorfano and helped Amelia get revenge on Sofia’s former friends in the Encanto instead of soothing her temper as she usually would).

Annabelle Mijares Marcovaldo Scorfano (15 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of the Swim Team—she wants to go to the Olympics or be a model/actress. Daughter of Alberto Marcovaldo Scorfano. Grateful, oblivious, sneaky, deceitful, street smart, manipulative, cruel at times, lazy, selfish, prideful, fun-loving, pouty, expressive, secretive, judgemental, helpful when needed, shameless, and gregarious. She can shapeshift and breathe underwater. Tito Nattura Madrigal has a crush on her that is kind of requited. She is friends with Scarlet Bluefairy-Carmelo, Dragonet, Carter Bluefairy-Carmelo, Hugo Madrigal Prepon, Princess Roanne, Princess Mia Westergaard-La Bouff, Hap Bergmann, Unity Bergmann, Stella Rabbit, Demurra Foxworth, and Ariana Rose).

Wickley ‘Wick’ Wing (13 years old by d3. Transfer student from Neverland Academy to Auradon Prep and a fast flying talent fairy—he wants to be an amusement park worker or a zoologist when he grows up. Son of Trak the scouting fairy and Tizzywing the fast flying fairy. Mischievous, playful, fast on his feet, compassionate, passionate, brave, reckless, graceful most of the time, talented, friendly, impulsive, occasionally rude, fun loving, snarky, helpful, caring, sneaky, street smart, ditzy, and protective. He can fly and change his size. He has a crush on Belinda Nattura Madrigal and she has a crush on him. He is friends with Carlos Madrigal Prepon, Hugo Madrigal Prepon, Leta Guzmán, Tulip Rossi, Danny Darling, Portabella Neverwing, Eleanor Bluefairy-Carmelo, Pino ‘Pin’ Collodi-Rossi-Liddell, and Evenstar Cricket). 

Eleanor Bluefairy-Carmelo of Llyr (14 years old by d3. Student at Auradon Prep and Member of Belle’s Book Club and the Art Club—she wants to be a famous artist when she grows up. She is the daughter of Alexander  Bluefairy-Carmelo and Princess Eilonwy of Llyr. Modest, imaginative, mindful, a little stuffy, smart, dutiful, sneaky/secretive/deceptive, classy, stubborn, mischievous when no one is around to see, nerdy, introverted, and is oftentimes considered the ‘well-behaved’ one. She can fly and she has magic that she is currently practicing. Shs is dating Carlos Madrigal Prepon and is friends with Tulip Rossi, Pino ‘Pin’ Collodi-Rossi-Liddell, Wickley ‘Wick’ Wing, Marcelo  Rivera Madrigal, Portabella Neverwing, Ligera Guzman Madrigal, and Artorius 'Artie' Pendragon). 

Random Encanto Oc Extras:

Band members:

Alejo Ruíz, father of Felicidad Ruíz. 

Buenavista Bové, cousin of Sheyla and Cecilia Bové. 

Sol Velasquez, grandfather of Juancho and Reynaldo Velasquez. 

The (former) town kids:

Rio Gracia,  Juancho Velasquez, Ignacio Gracia, Cecilia Bové, Mirabel Madrigal, Alejandra Isvandi, Alonso Arias, and Sheyla Bové. 

Farmer:

Rendon Abraham Cerebro de Burro. He has three children—named Cimarron, Enrique, and Ana Cerebro de Burro.

Bartender/Bar Owner and Tech Guy:

Heidi Cova. Owner of the Encanto’s first (and possibly only) bar, Paraíso Fabricado. 

Dary Mazorra. Owner of the Encanto’s first tech shop, Miracle Tech. Father of Lin ‘Gizmo’ Mazorra.

------------------------------------------------------------

Picrew links: Wervty Profile, Luca, Baydews, Cowboy Picrew, Cowgirl Doll Divine maker, Fairy Meiker.io maker, Fairy Picrew 2 , ummmmandy, third fairy picrew, and chemicataclysm . Thanks to @igetthedisneybox for letting me use her ocs, Rosana and Felicidad, and for all the help she lent me in the creation of these ocs. Thanks to @bellalampwickrossi for allowing me to use Eleanor. And thanks to @fairiesandbeatleslover for allowing me to make Portabella based off of their oc, Egidius. The rest are background extras in the descendants movies and ocs based off of concept art.

[lthienofdorthonion]

The Alchemy Between Us: Draco and Hermione’s Tale

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚              IV              ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Two souls, drawn together in silence, like elements in a delicate dance—where every glance holds the spark of transformation, and touch becomes the alchemy that turns the space between them into something new.

⚠️Trigger Warning ⚠️ This chapter contains strong mentions of alcoholism/substance abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Hermione’s hands trembled slightly as she straightened the stack of parchment on the podium in front of her. The sleek mahogany conference room in the Ministry of Magic seemed grander than usual that morning. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted windows, casting a golden glow over the polished surfaces and reflecting off the brass accents. Seated across the table were three representatives from the French Ministry of Magic, their expressions unreadable yet keenly attentive.

She adjusted the enchanted microphone pinned to her lapel, her voice catching for just a moment as she began, “Good morning, esteemed delegates. Thank you for making the journey here today. It’s an honor to present this final report on the proposed International Trade Agreement for Enchanted Artifacts.”

It had been weeks of preparation. Hermione had scrutinized every word, every statistic, every hypothetical scenario. Her meticulous nature ensured there were no loopholes, no weak points. But Roderick, her superior, had spent the last several days peppering her with doubts. “Are you certain the French will go for this? You know how particular they can be,” he had sneered just the day before with a tone dripping with condescension. His comments had planted seeds of unease in her mind, and she had barely slept the night before, replaying her arguments over and over.

But now, standing before the room, she drew a deep, steadying breath and let her instincts take over.

Hermione’s presentation began with a clear outline of her objectives. Her wand flicked toward the enchanted board behind her, and glowing diagrams appeared, each illustrating the current inefficiencies in trade between the two countries. She explained the economic bottlenecks in potion ingredient imports, the barriers to cross-border magical creature handling, and the proposed regulatory adjustments that would streamline operations.

Her voice, though soft at first, grew in confidence. “By reducing these restrictions,” she explained, pointing to a glowing graph that animated a projected 25% increase in trade efficiency, “we not only facilitate smoother economic exchanges but also foster deeper collaboration between our nations—an effort that strengthens unity in the global magical community.”

The French delegates exchanged glances, nodding slightly. Hermione caught this, and her chest tightened in a mix of relief and determination.

As Hermione reached the conclusion of her report, she outlined the projected timeline for implementing these changes. Her wand flicked once more, and a shimmering timeline appeared on the board, each milestone mapped out with precision. “With your approval, we can begin as early as next month,” she finished, her voice steady and resolute.

For a moment, the room was silent. The kind of silence that makes one’s heartbeat feel deafening. Hermione’s fingers tightened around the edges of the podium, her heart lodged in her throat.

Then, Madame Beaumont spoke. “Miss Granger,” she said in a smooth and deliberate voice, “this is one of the most thorough and forward-thinking proposals I have encountered in my tenure. Your attention to detail, coupled with your ability to anticipate potential challenges, is commendable. France would be privileged to collaborate with you on this initiative.”

Hermione blinked, a flush creeping up her cheeks. She cast a glance at Roderick, seated at the far end of the room. His face was a study in forced neutrality, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his discomfort.

When the meeting adjourned, the French delegates shook her hand firmly, each offering words of praise and gratitude. As they departed, Madame Beaumont lingered for a moment. “You have done your Ministry—and yourself—a great service today,” she said. “Do not let anyone convince you otherwise.”

As the door closed behind them, Hermione let out a shaky breath, her knees threatening to give way. She had done it. Against Roderick’s undermining remarks, against her own self-doubt, she had proven herself.

As the last of the French delegates filed out of the room, Hermione lingered at the podium, letting the weight of the moment settle in. A warm glow of pride bubbled in her chest, spreading to every corner of her being. She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips as she watched them leave.

The silence that followed was broken by Roderick’s presence. He approached her slowly, his usual sharp expression softened into something unfamiliar. “Well,” he began. “Well done, Miss Granger.” He nodded once in a stiff but unmistakable gesture of appreciation. Hermione blinked in surprise and her brow lifted slightly as she registered the uncharacteristic acknowledgment. It wasn’t much, but coming from Roderick, it felt monumental.

“Thank you,” she said simply in a steady voice, though her surprise lingered as he turned and exited without another word.

Left alone in the now-empty conference room, Hermione gathered her notes and parchments, stacking them neatly into her enchanted briefcase. Her mind swirled with the success of the day and the compliments from the French delegation replaying in her head. She had done it. She had truly done it. She could finally sleep.

As she reached for her wand to dim the room’s lights, a light touch on her right shoulder startled her. She turned quickly, only to find a familiar freckled face and a pair of bright blue, smiling eyes.

“Congratulations, Mione! You did amazing!” Ron exclaimed with a warm grin on his face.

“Ronald!” she replied, her surprise melting into a warm smile. “You were here? Thank you for coming!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said. “I know how hard you worked on this. I’m so proud of you.”

Before she could respond, the freckled boy pulled her into a firm hug. She hesitated for only a moment before returning the embrace.

“You should’ve seen their faces when you were up there. They were hanging onto every word.” Ron said, his grin widening.

Hermione shook her head, though her cheeks tinged pink. “It went well, I’ll admit, but it was a team effort.”

Ron rolled his eyes playfully. “Team effort, my arse. We all know Roderick didn’t do shit. You carried that.”

“Well… I can’t deny that statement.”

They shared a laugh, and the brunette began packing the last of her things. As she secured her briefcase, Ron tilted his head and asked, “Have you had lunch yet?”

Hermione hesitated, already opening her mouth to decline. “Oh, I—”

“Nope,” The redhead interrupted firmly, holding up a hand. “Don’t even think about it. Let’s have lunch. I know the perfect spot, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched in amusement. “Ronald, I—”

“You promised we’d meet this week,” he reminded her, his tone insistent but good-natured. “And I’m calling in that promise now. Come on, it’s just lunch. You’ve earned it.”

Hermione sighed, feeling her resolve crumbling under his puppy-dog expression. “Fine,” she said with mock exasperation, grabbing her briefcase.

“That’s the spirit!” The redhead declared with a triumphant grin as he led her out of the conference room.

The air outside the Ministry of Magic had a crisp edge, the kind that stung the nose but didn’t bite too hard. The snow that blanketed London for the past week was finally starting to melt, leaving behind puddles glinting under the faint winter sun. Cobblestones glistened as Hermione and Ron walked side by side, their breath puffing out in misty clouds. Despite the lingering chill, there was something refreshing about the weather, almost pleasant in its fragile warmth.

Ron guided her through the winding streets of Diagon Alley, the faint buzz of late-afternoon activity surrounding them. Witches and wizards hurried past, their cloaks brushing against the melting snowbanks. He seemed in unusually high spirits, chatting animatedly about an incident at work involving a magical exploding quill that had sent his department into chaos. Hermione listened with polite amusement, her attention half-focused on the bustling scenery around them.

As they strolled along, it became impossible to ignore the attention they drew. Witches and wizards passing by turned their heads, their footsteps faltering as whispers began to ripple through the crowd. A child tugged at her mother’s cloak, pointing discreetly at the pair, her wide eyes shining with awe. A young wizard nearly dropped his stack of parchment as he craned his neck for a better look.

They all knew who they were. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger—two-thirds of the legendary trio that had stood beside Harry Potter, the Boy Who Sacrificed Everything. The wizard who, against all odds, had made their world peaceful once and for all.

Hermione could feel the weight of their gazes, but she kept her stride steady, her chin lifted high. It wasn’t the first time she had walked through this kind of attention, but it never stopped feeling surreal, even all these years later. Ron, on the other hand, seemed less bothered. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, his ears reddening slightly but not from the cold. “They act like we’ve just saved the world again,” he muttered under his breath, his lips twitching into a small, wry smile.

“They’ll never forget, you know,” Hermione replied softly. “What we did—what Harry did—changed everything for them.”

Ron nodded, his expression becoming more thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Still feels weird, though.”

The whispers continued to follow them, like a gentle undercurrent of admiration and curiosity. And though neither of them said it aloud, there was an unspoken understanding between them: this was their life now. 

Finally, Ron led her to a quaint little café tucked away at the corner of the alley. A painted wooden sign above the entrance read The Gilded Hearth, its letters adorned with enchanted gold filigree that shimmered softly. The café exuded warmth, with large glass windows fogged up from the heat inside, offering tantalizing glimpses of cozy armchairs, wooden tables, and flickering enchanted lanterns.

Inside, the smell of fresh bread, brewed tea, and roasted coffee beans greeted them. A soft hum of conversation mingled with the gentle clinking of teacups. The interior was snug, with bookshelves lining one wall and a crackling fireplace at the back, casting a golden glow over the room.

Ron strode ahead and pulled out a chair at a small table near the window. “Here you go,” he said cheerfully, gesturing for Hermione to sit.

She raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by the gesture, but obliged, settling into the chair with a polite smile. Ron took the seat across from her, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

“This place is lovely,” Hermione remarked, glancing around at the cozy surroundings.

“Figured you’d like it,” The ginger replied, his voice casual but his eyes alight with a certain nervous energy. He watched her intently, as though searching for a reaction that would reassure him. “It’s one of my favorites when I want to get away from all the noise.”

Hermione nodded, her fingers brushing over the corner of the menu. “I can see why.”

A server approached, it was a young witch with a friendly smile, and handed them parchment menus. She seemed to blush at the sight of Ron. He didn’t seem to notice or care. 

“So,” he said after the server left with their orders, “you’re really smashing it at the Ministry. That presentation today was—wow. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m proud of you.”

Hermione smiled faintly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks, Ron. That means a lot.”

Her friend’s face lit up at her words and a genuine smile broke across his features. There was a flicker of something unspoken in his expression—hope, perhaps, or nostalgia. He leaned forward slightly as his fingers wrapped around the edge of the table.

“You called me Ron,” he said softly. “That makes me happy.”

The brunette blinked, caught off guard by the sentiment. Their interactions had grown formal since the breakup and her use of his full name was a subtle way to create distance. 

He hesitated as his fingers tapped lightly against the table. “You know,” he began, “I think about how far you’ve come, how far we’ve all come, and… well, it’s kind of incredible, isn’t it?”

Hermione met his gaze. She didn’t want to ruin the moment but knew she couldn’t allow it to linger into something more.

“It is incredible,” she replied carefully. “I just hope we keep moving forward, you know?”

Ron’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second but then nodded. “Yeah, of course. Forward.”

Their conversation continued, touching on lighter topics as their drinks arrived—a steaming pot of Earl Grey for Hermione and a frothy Butterbeer for Ron. The warmth of the café wrapped around them, and for a moment, it felt like old times.

But beneath the surface, the brunette could sense the tension he was trying to hide as his lingering feelings manifested in every lingering glance and thoughtful comment. And as much as she wanted to preserve the peace between them, she couldn’t ignore the quiet resolve building in her heart: things could never go back to what they were.

The conversation began light and warm. They reminisced about Hogwarts, joked about shared memories, and debated which was more satisfying: the subtle bite of Earl Grey or the sweet foaminess of Butterbeer. The café’s cozy atmosphere made it easier to forget, even if just for a moment, the complexities that hung between them.

Ron tapped his fingers against the table and a thoughtful expression crossed his face. He glanced at her and said, almost casually, “It’s coming up soon, you know?”

Hermione tilted her head, a small crease forming on her brow. “What do you mean?”

“The Christmas Ministry Ball,” he clarified, leaning back in his chair. “Are you going?”

Her smile faltered ever so slightly, and she shifted in her seat as her fingers brushed the edge of her teacup. “I have to,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “There will be important people present—ministries from all over. I don’t have a choice.”

Ron nodded and his face brightened a little. “Well, we could go together, you know? Like old times. It’ll be fun.”

Hermione looked at him and her lips parted as if to reply, but then she hesitated. “Ronald…” she began. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning forward, his tone both curious and slightly defensive.

“You know why,” she replied softly.

Ron sighed and his shoulders stiffened. “Come on, Mione, give me a chance. It’s been years. I’ve changed. We’ve changed.”

“Exactly,” Hermione interrupted. “That’s why I don’t want to go back to it, Ronald. I’ve moved on. I don’t think it’s right to pretend we can pick up where we left off.”

“But—” His words caught in his throat, and he reached across the table covering her hand with his. “Please,” he said quietly but laced with desperation. “Please, give me a chance.”

The girl looked down at their hands and felt her stomach twist. She gently withdrew her hand from his grasp and her fingers curled around the edge of her teacup instead. “Ronald,” she said. “I want us to be friends. I really do. But we have to let go of the past.”

“But I love you!” he blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth sounding like a child throwing a tantrum. His blue eyes searched hers, raw and pleading.

Her chest tightened, and she looked away.

“Ron,” she said finally in a steady voice that was tinged with sadness. “I’m sorry but I can’t give you what you want. I care about you—I always will—but not like that. Not anymore.”

He shook his head. “Why? Why not? Was it something I did? Something I said?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not about that. It’s about me, about us. We were toxic together, Ron. We hurt each other and both said horrible things. And as much as I wish we could rewrite the past, we can’t. I’ve worked so hard to move forward, and I need you to do the same.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “But I’ve changed, Hermione! I’m not the same person I was back then. I can do better, be better—for you.”

“I know you’ve changed,” she said gently. “I can see that. But it’s not about being better or worse. It’s about what’s right for me, for you. And going back… that’s not it.”

“I just… I don’t know how to let go,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione reached across the table, resting her hand briefly on his. “You will,” she said, her tone filled with a quiet confidence. “You’re stronger than you think, Ronald. You’ll find happiness—I truly believe that. But it’s not going to be with me.”

Ron stared at her for a long moment and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained pained. “I just… I miss us,” he said in a trembling voice.

“I know,” Hermione replied softly. “I miss what we had too. But sometimes, missing something doesn’t mean it’s meant to be.”

Ron’s voice broke the silence that had settled between them. “Are you going alone then?” he asked.

Hermione hesitated for a moment and her eyes flicked to the window where the soft gray of the late afternoon light painted the melting snow. “I don’t know… Probably,” she replied. She turned her gaze back to him, offering a faint, polite smile as if to close the subject.

Ron nodded slowly. His fingers played with the edge of his Butterbeer mug, and for a moment, it seemed like he might say something else. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Well,” he said, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I’m sure you’ll be the star of the night, as always.”

Hermione chuckled lightly, her laugh soft but strained. “I doubt that. I’m just hoping to make it through without too much fuss.”

For the rest of their time at the café, their conversation drifted to safer, lighter topics. Hermione could tell Ron was trying to mask his disappointment, and she appreciated his effort, even if it made her heart ache a little. She wished she could ease his pain, but deep down, she knew the kindest thing she could do was remain honest with him—and herself.

After their lunch, Hermione and Ron exchanged polite goodbyes outside the café. The streets of Diagon Alley were quieter than usual. Hermione pulled her coat tightly around her, feeling the cold air bite at her cheeks as she began her walk home.

Her thoughts drifted from the lingering weight of her conversation with Ron to the one thing that had been occupying her mind since that morning: Malfoy’s note. She recalled the faint knock of a black owl at her window before dawn, its sharp eyes gleaming as it waited for her to untie the folded parchment from its leg.

Granger, So, uh… I don’t even know how this happened, but here I am writing you. Don’t know why, but here we are. I guess I want to see you again. Weird, right? Like… really weird. But yeah, you’ve left a, uh, impression. A strong one. I guess. You’ve definitely got a way of… keeping me, uh, interested. That’s something. And we’re friends now, right? Look, I know you’re busy. Or, I don’t know, maybe not? But if you ever get a moment—or if you don’t, whatever—come by my place. It’ll be… fun? Or not. Who knows. It’s just… come by. You know where. Or if you don’t, you’ll find the address on the back. D.

Hermione had read it at least ten times since discovering it, and each time, it elicited a new reaction—amusement, curiosity, a faint blush. The tone was so unlike the Malfoy she remembered from Hogwarts, with its hesitant phrasing and awkward sincerity. Was he drunk when he wrote it? she wondered with a soft laugh. The thought of a tipsy Draco Malfoy pouring his thoughts onto parchment was so absurd it bordered on endearing.

But beyond the humor of it, there was something about the note that felt… personal. He had clearly struggled to write it, evident in the crossed-out words and the way his typically sharp handwriting seemed rushed, almost uncertain. She found herself oddly charmed by the vulnerability it suggested—a side of him she hadn’t expected to see.

Still, the invitation itself was bold. Meeting at his place? After only talking twice? It felt sudden, even reckless. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more her curiosity grew. What was his life like now? Where did he live? She realized how little she actually knew about him beyond what he’d shared in their recent conversations. Everything else was rooted in the past—in the boy he used to be. And that boy, she reminded herself, wasn’t who he was anymore.

Did he still live at Malfoy Manor? No. The address in the envelope indicated somewhere else. That actually made her feel relieved. The idea of stepping into that place made her stomach twist with unease. She couldn’t imagine Draco living there alone, surrounded by memories of his family and the war. But if not the Manor, then where? What kind of home would he have built for himself? Would it be grand and imposing, or something more modest? What secrets would it reveal about the man he had become?

As she turned the corner onto her street, the brunette found herself smiling faintly. The note had been a pleasant surprise, and the prospect of seeing him again stirred something in her—a mix of intrigue and a subtle thrill she hadn’t felt in years. She hadn’t yet decided if this was a good idea despite sending a note with her acceptance, but the truth was, she did want to go.

By the time she reached her flat, the decision had settled quietly in her mind. She would go. It wasn’t just about satisfying her curiosity; it was about understanding the Draco Malfoy of now—the man who had sat across from her in that pub and spoken with honesty and depth she hadn’t expected. The man who, against all odds, seemed to want to be her friend.

Hermione glanced at the clock as she shrugged off her coat and boots. It was just after five. She had a few hours before she needed to leave, and the anticipation buzzed faintly in her chest. Whatever awaited her at eight o’clock, she was certain it would be anything but boring.

..............................................................................................................................

Malfoy paced the cramped back room of Roscoe’s Rare Rarities, his boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor. The shop, nestled on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, was as shabby as its owner, Roscoe Bramble. Roscoe was a middle-aged man with a face that seemed perpetually twisted into a sneer, as though he’d tasted something foul and never quite recovered. His skin was pale and blotchy, with a sallow undertone that gave him a perpetually sickly appearance. A greasy curtain of thinning, ash-gray hair fell limply to his shoulders, framing his gaunt face in uneven, unwashed strands. 

His personality was as unpleasant as his appearance. The man treated him like scum. It was beneath him, all of it, but he’d learned to endure it. What choice did he have? A pure-blood name didn’t mean much anymore, not when it came with his kind of baggage. And yes, Malfoy could buy the wretched place in a heartbeat if he wanted to but something inside him told him he had to endure it as punishment for his sins, so he showed up to work everyday.

He raked a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Bloody idiot. That was the third time he’d scolded himself since sunrise. He couldn’t stop replaying the reckless decision he’d made the night before—penning that clumsy, drunken note to Hermione Granger of all people. What in Merlin’s name had possessed him?

He leaned heavily against the table with his silver-grey eyes fixed on a point just beyond the shelves of half-finished enchantments. At first, he’d been mortified by his actions, fully prepared to find the note discarded or unanswered. But then she had responded— she’d said yes. That alone had sent his already anxious mind spiraling into uncharted territory. She was coming to his place tonight.

His home.

Home. The word felt ironic. His place was a far cry from the grandeur of Malfoy Manor. It was a small, secluded cabin nestled in the mountains on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, hidden so well that no passerby would ever stumble upon it. He had built it himself—every plank of wood, every charm that fortified its walls, was his own work. It wasn’t much, but it was his sanctuary, a place where the world couldn’t touch him. And now, for the first time, someone else would step inside. Not just anyone— her.

He resumed pacing, running both hands through his hair now. He was nervous, yes, but there was more to it than that. He was anxious to be alone with her. The last time they’d been alone—truly alone—was at that abandoned house where she’d Apparated them. He’d tripped over his own feet, stumbled into her space, and instinctively grabbed her by the waist to steady himself.

The memory hit him like a gust of icy wind, sharp and undeniable. Her waist had felt impossibly small under his hands, and there had been a moment—a fleeting, impossible moment—when their eyes locked, and the air between them shifted. There was tension, undeniable and electric, and he’d had to summon every ounce of restraint not to lean in, not to kiss her.

Malfoy groaned aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re pathetic,” he muttered. It was absurd to feel this way. He had met her twice— twice. And yet, those conversations had unraveled something inside him. In those fleeting hours, he had opened up to her in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. He’d told her things, shared pieces of himself he’d kept buried for years. It was terrifying—scary in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a boy, hiding from Voldemort’s wrath in his own home.

And then there was the other part, the part that made his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. Granger—Hermione—was beautiful. Not in some superficial way that he could dismiss or compartmentalize. She was beautiful in a way that unsettled him, made him notice things he hadn’t before. The curve of her smile, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the fire in her eyes when she argued a point. It was maddening.

He hated how much he noticed. He hated how much he cared. But what unnerved him most of all was the realization that he didn’t hate her—not anymore. Not since Azkaban, not since the war. The boy who had insulted her, belittled her, called her Mudblood was gone. And what remained was a man who found himself utterly captivated by her.

But what did he have to offer her? A broken man with nothing to his name, barely scraping by in a dead-end job. A hermit, hated by the wizarding society. A useless drunk.

He hadn’t been intimate with anyone in years. Not since that clumsy first time with Pansy in their school days—a memory he’d rather forget—and a fleeting kiss with Astoria that hadn’t led to anything more. His life had been consumed by darkness and survival. There had been no time for affection, no room for love.

Draco’s chest tightened as he thought about tonight. What would she think of him? Of his home, his life, his vulnerability? He wasn’t sure what terrified him more—that she would reject him outright or that she might see something in him worth saving. Both prospects felt equally dangerous.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the work in front of him. He realized he was overthinking things. But even as his hands moved through the familiar motions of enchanting a set of brass scales, his mind was elsewhere—on her, on the way she had looked at him, and on the terrifying, exhilarating possibility of what tonight might bring.

He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the taste before returning to his work.

..............................................................................................................................

The hours had melted away without her noticing. Hermione had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to focus on her work, yet her mind had drifted constantly to the evening ahead. Now, the clock on her mantle ticked forward relentlessly, and when she glanced up, it was already half an hour before eight. Her heart thudded in her chest, a nervous rhythm that she couldn’t ignore. It was time to go.

She had opted for simplicity tonight, though she had agonized over her choice more than she cared to admit. In the end, she decided on a pair of fitted muggle jeans, a soft purple V-neck sweater, and plain black combat boots—comfortable but understated. Her hair was pulled into a single braid, with a few loose strands framing her face. A small purple bow at the end of the braid added a delicate touch, complementing her silver locket that rested against her collarbone, the kind that opened to reveal tiny, cherished photographs inside.

Ginny had taught her a subtle makeup charm months ago, one that accentuated her natural features without making her look too done up. Hermione had been hesitant at first but was now grateful for it. The charm brightened her complexion, made her eyes stand out just a little more, and gave her lips a soft rose tint. It wasn’t flashy—it was perfect.

Over her outfit, she slipped into her favorite winter coat, warm and well-worn, paired with a pink scarf and matching gloves that her parents had sent her last Christmas. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing a bottle of her favorite muggle wine from the counter. With the bottle in hand and a final glance at the clock, she steeled herself.

The moment she stepped out of her flat, she froze. The same black carriage and magical creatures from the other night stood waiting by the curb. The driver—a tall, older wizard with a graying beard—gave her a slight bow.

“Miss Granger,” he said formally, his voice low but polite, “I’ve been instructed to take you to Master Malfoy.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Oh—I wasn’t expecting…”

“Mr. Malfoy said to ensure you arrived safely,” the man interrupted. His tone brooked no argument, but it wasn’t unkind. “Please, allow me to drive you.”

She hesitated, glancing at the carriage and then back at the driver. It wasn’t the arrangement she had anticipated, but she could hardly argue. “Alright,” she said finally, stepping forward.

The driver opened the carriage door for her, and she climbed inside. Once the door shut, the creatures stirred, and the carriage lifted gently into the night sky.

Through the small, frosted windows, Hermione could see the world below. December clung to the landscape stubbornly; patches of snow still covered rooftops and fields, though puddles from the melting snow glimmered in the moonlight. The night was clear, the stars bright and cold, scattered like shards of ice across a deep indigo sky. The air outside was undoubtedly freezing, but inside the carriage, she was warm, her breath no longer misting with every exhale.

As they soared past the lights of Hogsmeade, Hermione couldn’t help but marvel at the quiet beauty of the village. It looked like a scene from one of her favorite Christmas novels, the streets lined with dimly glowing lamps and the shopfronts adorned with garlands of holly and charmed icicles that never melted.

But as they moved farther from the village and into the outskirts, the atmosphere shifted. The warm glow of Hogsmeade gave way to open fields and dense shadows. The carriage descended gently into an area so dark and desolate it sent a chill through Hermione despite her warm coat.

The creatures came to a halt, and the driver stepped down, opening the door for her once more. “This is where I leave you, Miss Granger,” he said.

Hermione stepped out hesitantly, clutching the wine bottle a little tighter. “Wait—there’s nothing here,” she said, looking around nervously. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“The exact instructions given by Mr. Malfoy, Miss,” the driver replied with a slight bow. Before she could ask further, he returned to the carriage, and with a snap of the reins, it lifted into the air and disappeared into the night.

Hermione stood there, her breath quickening as she glanced around. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind. The trees nearby cast long, twisted shadows, and there was no sign of any habitation. For a moment, doubt and fear clawed at her chest. Was this some kind of joke?

Before she could act on her unease, a sharp crack of apparition split the air. Malfoy appeared before her, cloaked entirely in black.

She startled, stepping back instinctively. “Granger,” he said smoothly, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. “You made it on time.”

“Malfoy!” she blurted, still catching her breath. “I thought you said we’d meet at your place.”

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his silver eyes. “We are.” He extended his hand toward her. “Take my hand.”

Hermione frowned, her grip tightening on the wine bottle. “But—”

“I won’t bite,” he said with a low chuckle, his smirk softening into something almost reassuring.

She hesitated for a heartbeat longer before reaching out and slipping her gloved hand into his. His hand was warm, surprisingly steady, and the moment her fingers brushed his, a strange current seemed to spark between them.

Without another word, Malfoy turned on the spot, and the world blurred and twisted as they apparated.

When the dizzying sensation subsided, Hermione found herself standing in a cozy cabin. The air was warm, filled with the faint scent of cedar and the crackling of a fire. She blinked, taking in her surroundings—the rustic wooden walls, the simple but sturdy furniture, and the soft glow of magical lanterns casting a golden light. It was nothing like she’d imagined, but it felt…safe.

“Welcome,” Malfoy said, releasing her hand as he stepped toward the fireplace. “This is my home.”

Malfoy leaned against the arm of the couch, his arms crossed casually over his chest, but his gaze was far from indifferent as it followed her. She stood just inside the doorway, her cloak still wrapped around her and her eyes darting around his cabin. She wasn’t speaking, but her reactions were all too telling—the slight parting of her lips, the way her fingertips brushed the edge of her scarf as if she were grounding herself. She took in everything—he could see it in the way her gaze lingered on the fire, on the clean lines of the furniture, on the window that framed the dark woods beyond.

She wasn’t unimpressed, that much was clear, but there was a hint of something else in her expression—uncertainty, maybe, or surprise. She hadn’t expected this. He knew most people assumed anything associated with him would be dripping in opulence, gilded and overdone. But this? This was quiet. Controlled. Intentional.

“You can leave your cloak on the couch,” he said.

Hermione blinked as though she’d been pulled from her thoughts, then unclasped her cloak and slid it off her shoulders. The firelight caught the shimmer of her purple sweater as she folded the cloak neatly and placed it on the back of the couch, and Malfoy’s eyes instinctively followed the movement.

Muggle jeans. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her in them before, but Merlin, they suited her. They hugged her figure in ways her robes never had, accentuating the soft curves of her hips and legs. He didn’t think jeans were meant to look particularly remarkable on anyone—they were, after all, common and unassuming—but on her, they were captivating.

The purple sweater she was wearing was soft, more delicate, the v-neck just deep enough to show the faint line of her collarbone. It was feminine in a way that was both subtle and striking, and he caught himself lingering on it longer that he would’ve liked. 

He figured she wasn’t trying to dazzle anyone tonight. That much was obvious in her choice of simple, practical boots, her hair tied back but not in a way that tried to tame every strand. And yet, in her simplicity, she was stunning. Effortlessly beautiful in a way that made it hard for him to look away.

As her eyes moved back to him, he straightened slightly, pretending he hadn’t been studying her so closely. She shifted under his gaze and her hands brushed over her jeans in a nervous gesture.

“Do you always stare like that?” she asked, caughting him off guard though he didn’t show it.

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Only when there’s something worth staring at,” he replied smoothly, and the faint color that bloomed in her cheeks told him she wasn’t as unaffected as she was trying to seem.

He stepped away from the couch, gesturing toward the hearth. “Make yourself at home, Granger.”

She hesitated, glancing toward the fire, and he couldn’t help but watch the way the soft golden light played against her skin. If she felt as out of place as she seemed, she wasn’t letting it show entirely. But then again, he thought, this was Hermione Granger. She never backed down, even when she didn’t know exactly what she’d walked into. And neither did he.

Malfoy’s gaze flicked to the bottle of wine Hermione had set carefully on the small table near the hearth. He let a slow smirk curve his lips, tilting his head just slightly as he remarked, “I see you did indeed bring some wine.”

Hermione turned toward him, her hands fiddling with the ends of her scarf before she pulled it loose and folded it neatly over the back of the couch. “Oh, yes,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a flicker of uncertainty. “It’s muggle wine, though. I hope that’s... okay.”

He raised a brow, surprised by the faint vulnerability in her words. “I don’t mind it at all,” he said smoothly, his voice lower than he intended, lingering somewhere between assurance and intrigue.

An awkward silence fell between them, stretching out like a taut string. She shifted her weight, her gaze briefly darting around the room before landing on the fire. The light from the hearth caught the faint glimmer of her locket, and he found his eyes drawn to it for just a moment before she broke the silence.

“You have a lovely home, Malfoy,” she said, her voice soft but sincere, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile.

“Thank you,” he replied in a measured tone as his smirk left his face. The compliment felt strangely significant coming from her, as though it carried more weight than he was prepared to examine.

“I, uh…” She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the couch. “I thought you still lived at the manor.”

At her words, Malfoy froze, the smirk vanishing completely. He flinched—not enough to be obvious, but enough that he felt it in his chest. His jaw tightened for half a second before he forced it to relax. “I couldn’t stand the place anymore,” he said at last, his voice steady, leaving no room for doubt or questions. There was finality in the statement, and he left it there, unwilling to elaborate.

To break the tension, he waved his wand, summoning two glasses from a shelf on the far side of the room. They floated gracefully to the table where the bottle of wine sat, landing with the faintest clink. With a flick of his wrist, he uncorked the bottle and the rich, ruby liquid poured effortlessly into each glass.

He picked up one of the glasses and handed it to her and his fingers brushed against hers for the briefest moment—a moment that felt far longer than it should have. Her lips parted, but she didn’t pull away. He lifted his own glass and locked his gray with hers.

With his free hand, he gestured toward the couch near the fire, the soft leather gleaming in the flickering light. “Sit,” he said in a quieter voice.

Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gaze darting between him and the couch, before she moved toward it. She sat down, smoothing the fabric of her sweater as her shoulders relaxed slightly.

He followed, taking a seat beside her—not too close, but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her. 

“To our third time speaking,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. He added, almost teasingly, “...friend.”

Her smile widened, though he caught the flicker of something else behind it—something curious and unspoken. She raised her glass and her warm brown eyes met his with a steady intensity that made his breath catch for a moment. “Cheers… friend,” she said in a soft tone, her hazel eyes locked on his.

He could feel his heartbeat pounding—he was nervous. But there was no way in hell he’d let her notice.

Their glasses clinked together, the sound sharp and intimate in the quiet room. Neither of them moved to drink right away. For a moment, the only movement was the firelight dancing across their faces as their gazes held, unyielding. Her lips curved just slightly, her cheeks faintly flushed—whether from the fire’s warmth or something else, he wasn’t sure.

Then, finally, she broke the spell, taking a slow sip of the wine. He followed suit, letting the rich, slightly tart flavor linger on his tongue.

“It’s good,” he said, his voice lower than before with his eyes still on her.

She nodded, glancing at her glass and then back at him. “You seem surprised.”

“Not surprised,” he countered, the smirk returning to his lips, “just... impressed.”

Her brow arched, and he couldn’t help but notice the faint quirk of amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said lightly, her voice carrying just a hint of challenge.

He leaned back slightly, his fingers trailing lazily along the edge of his glass as he watched her. “You should.”

Draco watched as she set her glass down and her fingers lingered on the stem as though deep in thought. The firelight painted her face in soft golds and reds, but it was the shadows in her eyes that held him captive.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What is?” he asked with curiosity.

“Being here,” she replied, her gaze flicking from the fire to him. “Together.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Strange how?”

Her lips parted slightly, and she hesitated as though weighing her words. “We’re not exactly… friends, are we?”

Was she nervous? He thought. Draco’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “You’re the one who wanted to shake hands for friendship the other day, Granger. Wasn’t that supposed to make it official?”

She gave a soft, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Friendship. That’s exactly what this feels like.”

Something about the way she said it, the faint edge in her tone, made him sit up straighter. He studied her, his grey eyes searching her face for a clue—any clue—about what she was really thinking.

“It’s not friendship you’re after, then?” he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them. His brow arched with curiosity.

Her gaze snapped to his, sharp and piercing, but she didn’t look away. “What makes you think I’m after anything?”

The air between them felt charged, the kind of tension that made his skin prickle. He wanted to say something clever, something cutting, but his tongue felt heavy. Instead, he reached for the wine bottle and poured himself another glass.

“More?” he offered, gesturing to her glass.

“Sure,” she said, holding it out. Their fingers brushed once more as he handed it back to her, and he was acutely aware of the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch. She flinched when this happened and he couldn’t help but smile at her reaction. She was definitely nervous too.

They drank in silence, occasionally stealing furtive glances at each other. Tension was palpable in the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asked finally, unable to bear it any longer.

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she took a long sip of her wine before answering. “I’m thinking that I never thought I’d end up here, with you, of all people.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

She tilted her head, studying him again with that same unsettling intensity. “Why did you invite me, Malfoy?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around his glass. “Because I wanted to,” he said simply, though the words felt insufficient even as he said them.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, but there was something almost sad about it. “You’re not exactly the open-book type, are you?”

He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “And you are?”

Hermione didn’t answer right away. Instead, she drained her glass and set it down on the table. “I think we’ve finished the wine,” she said in a light tone.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got firewhisky,” he offered.

She raised her brow in return. “Of course you do.”

A flick of his wand summoned the bottle and two small tumblers. He poured generously, sliding one toward her. She picked it up and gave it a quick sniff, wrinkling her nose slightly before taking a cautious sip.

“Strong,” she muttered and he could notice her cheeks were already pink from the wine.

“That’s the point,” he said, leaning back and swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

They drank slowly, the firewhisky loosening their tongues but not quite enough to ease the tension entirely.

“Do you ever think about it?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Think about what?” he asked, though he was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“The war. Everything we did—everything we didn’t do.”

Malfoy’s throat tightened, and he took a long sip before answering. “All the time.”

Hermione nodded, staring into her glass as though it held the answers to all her questions. “Me too.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. It was a shared weight, an unspoken understanding that didn’t need words.

When she looked at him again, her eyes were softer, warmer, and yet there was still that flicker of something he couldn’t quite name.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Her smile was faint, almost imperceptible. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said in a low voice.

“Maybe I am,” she said softly, her gaze never leaving his.

Malfoy swallowed hard, feeling the firewhisky burning a trail down his throat. His pulse was racing again, and for a moment, he thought about leaning closer, about closing the distance between them. 

But then she leaned back, breaking the moment. “You’re impossible, Malfoy,” she said, her tone teasing but her expression serious.

He smirked, though his chest ached with something he didn’t want to name. “And you’re infuriating, Granger.”

They both laughed, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. But as they finished their drinks and reached for the bottle again, the blond couldn’t shake the feeling that this night—this strange, unexpected night—was only the beginning of something neither of them could quite control.

They drank in silence, the only sounds in the room the crackling fire and the faint clink of glass against glass. Draco occasionally stole furtive glances at her, only to find that, sometimes, she was already looking at him. Her warm brown eyes would flit away quickly, but not before something unspoken passed between them, something that made the air feel heavier, hotter.

What the fuck is this? The thought flickered in his mind, sharp and insistent, as he took another sip of firewhisky. He could feel the tension building between them—thick, almost tangible. Was it the drinks? Or was it something else entirely, something that had been simmering beneath the surface long before she’d stepped into his home?

For brief, dizzying moments, he caught himself thinking she might actually be flirting with him. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? And yet… the way she twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she spoke, her voice soft but layered with something he couldn’t quite place. The way her gaze lingered on him just a beat too long, scanning him as though trying to uncover some secret. And then there was the way her eyes—those maddeningly expressive eyes—would drop to his mouth with the barest hesitation before she looked away again.

He couldn’t deny it: his gaze had done the same. It had drifted, unbidden, to her lips. Soft, slightly parted, tempting in a way that made his pulse quicken. He didn’t know if it was the firewhisky coursing through his veins or the sheer absurdity of sitting here with Granger of all people, but for the first time in years, he felt completely unmoored.

The night had settled into a comfortable haze, the fire crackling softly in the background as the firewhisky bottle teetered dangerously close to empty. Draco’s thoughts were beginning to swim, but there was a strange sense of ease in the air now, a break in the tension that had clung to them since they’d first sat down.

Granger, on the other hand, was clearly well past her first round of tipsiness. Her movements were a little more exaggerated, her words a touch slurred, and her laugh—louder than usual—rang in the quiet cabin. Malfoy found it strangely endearing.

“So,” she began, her voice higher than usual, the question hanging between them. “Why did you always push your hair back like that? It was... perfect. Like you had some magic gel or something.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, dry amusement tugging at his lips. “Magic gel? You honestly think I worried about hair products, Granger?”

She tilted her head, clearly tipsy but still sharp enough to poke fun. “You were so obsessed with it. Always perfect. It was like it had its own magic.”

“Oh, so now you’re a hair expert?” he teased. “You, who couldn’t tame your bushy mess?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she shot him a mock-glare. “Excuse me, my hair was natural. Not some slicked-back monstrosity.”

“Natural?” Draco smirked. “You mean wild and untamed, just like you.”

Granger gasped, hand clutching her chest in mock horror. “How dare you? My hair was always—”

“—unruly?” Draco interrupted with a laugh, leaning back comfortably. “It looked like a bird’s nest half the time.”

She flushed deeper but couldn’t help but laugh, the alcohol making her too relaxed to argue. “Fine, but you must’ve used some spell. There’s no way your hair was that perfect on its own.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “It’s called being naturally magnificent, Granger.”

She snorted. “Naturally magnificent, huh? So you were born with perfect hair and an inflated ego?”

“Exactly,” he replied, leaning in slightly. “Glad you finally caught on.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I always knew you were full of yourself.”

Draco chuckled. “You think you’ve figured me out?”

“I’ve always been good at that,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re complicated. Not what you seem.”

He met her eyes. “And you think you know me, Granger?”

“I do. I know you’re not as perfect as you want everyone to believe.”

The drinks flowed steadily and their conversation grew easier, though the tension never fully dissipated. He caught himself laughing at something she said—an honest, unrestrained laugh that startled him. When was the last time he’d done that? She laughed too, her cheeks flushed and her posture more relaxed than when she’d first sat down.

Hours passed in a blur of slow sips and stolen glances, the bottle of firewhisky nearly empty between them. By now, Granger was drunk—properly drunk. It was there in the looseness of her movements, the slight slur to her words, the way she tilted her head when she looked at him as though studying him from a new angle.

And then, suddenly, she shifted closer.

Draco froze for a moment, his glass poised mid-air. She’d been sitting on the far end of the couch all evening, careful to keep some distance between them. But now, she was close enough that her knee brushed against his, the faintest touch that sent a jolt through him.

“Your fire’s dying,” she murmured, glancing toward the hearth, though her gaze didn’t linger there for long.

“I can fix it,” he replied in a voice lower than he intended.

“Don’t,” she said quickly, turning back to him. Her face was close—closer than it had been all night. “I like it like this. It’s… cozy.”

Her words lingered in the air, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was the firewhisky, the dim light, or the way her voice dipped ever so slightly when she said cozy, but the tension between them felt unbearable now.

He set his glass down slowly and his fingers started brushing against hers as she did the same. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned back against the couch angling her body toward him. He couldn’t help but notice the way her chest rose and fell and the slight flush that crept up her neck. She looked so beautiful.

“Malfoy,” she said softly, almost lazily, her voice carrying the hint of a slur. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He hadn’t realized he’d been staring. His mouth felt dry, and he struggled to find something—anything—to say.

“I’m not,” he lied, his voice a little rough.

She smirked, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that made his heart pound in his chest. “Yes, you are.”

Her confidence startled him, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Her knee was still pressed lightly against his, and now, she shifted even closer, her thigh brushing his. He felt her warmth, smelled the faint, intoxicating mix of firewhisky, vanilla and something undeniably her.

“You’ve changed,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flicked to his lips again, lingering this time, and he was acutely aware of how his breath hitched.

“So have you,” he replied, his tone low and steady, though his heart was racing.

Her lips quirked into something softer, almost wistful, and then she spoke again in a tender tone. “I like it,” she said, her words threading through the quiet room and wrapping tightly around him. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, holding him captive in her gaze. “Quite a lot.”

He opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what, but before he could form a thought, she moved. Her hands came up and her fingers grazed his jaw before settling firmly on either side of his face. The suddenness of the touch made him inhale sharply, but her hands were soft, steady, and impossibly warm.

“I like it very much,” she said in a softer and seductive voice now, more deliberate. Her words sent a shiver down his spine.

Draco’s breath hitched again as she leaned in, her eyes closing just before her lips brushed his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative and slow, but the sheer intimacy of it stunned him. He froze, his eyes wide open in surprise as the warmth of her lips pressed against his.

His heart slammed against his ribs, and he felt heat rise to his face, his body locked in place. He could barely process it— Granger was kissing him and her lips were soft and insistent, delicious. Her hands still cradling his face as though daring him to pull away.

But he didn’t.

After a moment that felt both like an eternity and a single breath, something in him gave way. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into the kiss moving his lips against hers with a growing urgency. He could taste the faint traces of firewhisky on her mouth along with some notes of vanilla, and he could feel the way her hands tightened ever so slightly against his skin as though anchoring herself to him. 

For a moment, it was just the feel of her mouth against his, the taste of firewhisky lingering on her tongue as she deepened the kiss but suddenly, his hands moved of their own accord, one tangling in her hair, the other gripping her waist firmly, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. This, he thought, this is what I’ve been trying to fight. But there was no fighting it now. Not when she kissed him like she needed him to breathe. 

Her hands slid up his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to him. Every touch, every breath, every beat of his heart was consumed by her. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin material of her sweater and the way her body pressed against his, and it was all too much and not nearly enough. She let out a soft moan as she pressed herself against him and the sound was like bliss on his ears. It felt maddening. He had to fight every inch of his will not to let himself go. He wanted her. But he knew she was drunk and didn’t want to take advantage of her, although corresponding the kiss felt like that a little, but he couldn’t help it.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t abrupt. She pulled back slowly, her eyes opening to meet his, their faces still close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and her gaze—steady and unwavering—held something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his own breath uneven as he tried to collect himself. “Granger,” he started, his voice barely audible, but the way her thumb brushed lightly against his lips silenced him.

“Don’t,” she said softly, her voice tinged with something close to a plea. “Don’t ruin it.”

Draco nodded, unsure of what else to do, his chest tight with emotions he didn’t know how to name. For once, he let the silence stretch between them, the tension still thick but now laced with something deeper, something impossible to ignore.

She lingered close, her breath warm against his cheek as her hands slowly slipped from his face, though her fingertips brushed his jaw one last time before falling to her lap. Her eyes, still locked with his, held a strange mixture of confidence and vulnerability, like she was both certain of herself and terrified at the same time.

“Come with me,” she said suddenly in a soft but firm voice.

Malfoy blinked, her words catching him completely off guard. “Go with you where?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended with evident surprise.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, and she straightened a little, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “The Christmas Ministry Ball,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

His brow arched, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. “You want me to go to the Ministry Ball?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

Her expression didn’t waver, though he noticed the way her fingers twisted slightly in her lap, betraying her nerves. “Yes, you,” she replied, her voice steady but quieter now. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared to spend an evening with me.”

The challenge in her words made his lips twitch and the hint of a smirk threatened to form. He leaned back slightly, studying her. “Why would you want me there, Granger?”

She hesitated for only a second and her eyes dropped briefly before meeting his again. “Because I don’t want to go alone,” she admitted in a softer voice. “And because… I think you’d surprise people.”

Draco’s smirk finally emerged, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Surprise people? Or scandalize them?”

“Maybe both,” she said, her gaze searching his. “But I don’t care about what they think. I’d love for you to go with me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in, the intensity of her gaze making his chest tighten. The idea of attending a Ministry Ball— with Hermione Granger, of all people —was absurd, utterly ridiculous. And yet, as he sat there, his thigh still brushing hers, he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her, the curiosity, the tension that buzzed between them like a live wire.

“You’re serious,” he finally said.

“I am,” she replied. “So? Are you coming with me, or not?”

Draco exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments before returning to her eyes. He didn’t answer right away. But something in her eyes—something warm and unyielding—made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll go. But I warn you, it might cause some trouble for you. People seeing you with me, it’ll be complicated.”

Hermione leaned in just a little closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I love complicated.”*

The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You're mad," he said softly, but there was no malice in it. Just a hint of something he couldn’t name.

He leaned back against the couch, his gaze never leaving hers, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of the moment, the pull of something unpredictable and dangerously real.

“Fine," he repeated, his voice quieter now, as if the words were more than just a promise—they were a beginning.

"Then let’s see how complicated this really gets.”

..............................................................................................................................

* Quote from Kill Your Darlings (2013) film directed by John Krokidas

Full Story in AO3:

[unchataparis]

Iris Verdi

Liladrien Week 2024 | Day Six: School

Adrien has started to call neo-Françoise Dupont the ‘green school’, although this probably wouldn’t make much sense to anyone else.

After all, to specifically attribute such an adjective would usually mean that the place stands out for it. No one would call a Haussmann terrace in the middle of Paris the ‘limestone house’ and no one would describe a specific cow among a black-and-white pasture as the Holstein-Friesian cattle.

Neo-Françoise Dupont is surrounded by buildings just as frondescent, just as sustainable, just as solar punk. Ink-dark glass panels installed upon rooftops, slanted on both sides, to catch every last drop of UV light. Lively lavender and frog-green ivy climbing up brick façades, low buildings, and a community garden in each apartment park – appropriately named because with the rise of interest in human-centred, hands-on community hubs, each residential area in Paris is now built around children’s playgrounds.

Still, when Adrien bikes to school this morning, waving hello to neighbours and fellow students – bikes because there are no longer any needs for individual cars and he lives too close to the school to rely on the entirely electric mini buses –  he pulls up to a Françoise Dupont that seems a cut above the rest of regenerated Paris.

Apple and tangerine trees planted in the courtyard bloom generous fruit in the height of spring, a warm breeze ruffles the verdant leaves. Colour-coded bins are clearly marked Déchets, Recyclage, and Compost. Stickered rainwater tanks decorate corners and crevices. 

Members of the student council and volunteers are manning the morning breakfast program. Fresh juice, waffles, cereal, yoghurt, eggs, and bacon are divided in catering trays and sampled freely by hungry students bearing wooden plates and metal cutlery.

In Adrien’s new homeroom, manned by a newcomer to the school named Madame Beaumont, most of his classmates are already gathered and they cheer to see him.

“Morning, Adrien!” Kim bellows across the room. He’s wearing a recycled polyester and cotton-blend hoodie with thrifted jeans. Beside him, Max dons a tunic weaved from hemp linen.

“Morning!” Rose chirps.

“You’re almost late!” Alya teases.

“Hey, guys.” Adrien looks down at the front row where Marinette is sitting. Hair tied into pigtails with gingham ribbons, lids and lips tainted with cocoa-butter-based cosmetics. She beams, clearly waiting for him and demurely pats the seat beside her. Adrien drops his canvas satchel and blows a gentle kiss towards his girlfriend. Marinette’s cheeks darken even further, already adorably flushed, and although she trembles, she doesn’t panic. Adrien is so proud of her. Marinette is growing over her fears admirably, conquering past trauma bit by bit like a champion.

“Alright, class!” Madame Beaumont announces, clapping her hands together to rein some control over her raucous homeroom. 

Nathaniel is doodling in a kraft paper sketchbook and Mylène is showing off her homemade bead jewellery to Juleka and Ivan. In the row behind them, Alya and Nino had leaned over to start talking to Adrien and Marinette about plans for the weekend. The Seine is crystal-clear and smells of salt and algae, perfect for swimming in. And afterwards, how about a picnic at the Jardin du Tuileries?

“Class!” Madame Beaumont repeats sharply. “Please – your attention, please!”

Voices settle down and rears are fully planted down on benches.

Madame Beaumont clears her throat before the classroom’s interactive whiteboard. Adrien sees the plans for today’s lessons floating there: agriculture lectures and an introspective analysis of Dead Poets Society.

“I’m very happy to announce that we’re going to have a new student join our class today,” Madame Beaumont says. “Her name is Iris Verdi and she hails all the way from Italy. This is her first time in France and she’s still getting a little used to the language. So, please give a very warm welcome and a friendly greeting to our new friend!”

Adrien claps along with the rest of the class as Madame Beaumont gestures for someone outside the classroom to step in. Adrien claps along with the rest of the class as an unusually tall girl saunters her way beside Madame Beaumont. Adrien stops clapping when the girl turns to face them with a smile that borders on a smirk, but no one else does.

The rest of the class continues clapping for this girl. She has long, nearly-yellow blonde hair twisted into a low chignon. She wears a red wool beret and matching blazer, a smart grey vest, a pleated black skirt, and polished leather boots. Her eyes are vixen-like and rimmed with black, her lips are pouty and glossy with the colour of ripe apricots.

“Bonjour, everyone!” she says in a sweet, melodic voice. Her nails are almond-shaped and painted the same colour as her lips. She has slung upon one shoulder a brown leather schoolbag. “It’s so nice to see you all.”

“Hi, Iris!” the class choruses.

Adrien looks behind him to see all of his friends beaming at Iris with nothing but geniality and sociable curiosity in their eyes. Adrien looks to his right to see Marinette nodding at Iris with warm welcome.

“As Madame Beaumont told you all,” Iris says in an accent that is different to the one she used when she came to their school as a new student last time. Less high-pitched, more sensible. With an undercurrent like trickling water. “This is my first time in Paris and French is a third language. Please forgive me if I make any errors.”

“Nonense!” Rose cries. “You sound fine.”

Everyone chants in agreement.

Iris’ eyes curve with her smile, her hands coming up to cup her mouth in faux overwhelm. 

“Oh, you guys are so kind!” she coos. “I can already tell I’m going to have the time of my life here!”

“French is your third language?” Marinette asks. “What’s your second?”

“English,” Iris replies easily. “Although that’s only because I’ve spent half of my childhood growing up in California.”

“California?” Alya says, perking up as she always does whenever anyone makes the slightest mention of the U.S. 

“Isn’t that where Hollywood is?” Nathaniel remarks.

“Yes!” Iris says. “Actually, I lived with my uncle just on the outskirts of LA where he owns a vineyard. It was a super cool place to grow up, because you get to meet the fanciest people and celebrities who come to tour.”

The class whispers their excitement to each other.

“How exotic!” Madame Beaumont says.

“If everyone’s willing,” Iris says, unclasping the magnetic flap of her bag. “I could show you all some pictures–”

“Excuse me,” Adrien says, speaking up. He feels as if he had been submerged in a dream-like trance where he was nothing but a helpless and doomed witness to pre-destined events. He listened to the inane conversation and if he himself lacked a mouth to speak with and a will to act with. Adrien snapped out of his stupor because Iris’ act of opening her bag reminded Adrien intensely of her opening her bag when she showed Adrien her faux-Fox Miraculous almost exactly one year ago. “But aren’t you Lila Rossi?”

Read the rest on Ao3 here.

[identity-library]

Diverse Sexuality (TV Shows)

A:

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (2013)

José "Joey" Gutierrez (Gay)

Marcus Benson (Gay)

All Saints (1998)

Charlotte Beaumont (Bisexual)

American Dad (2005)

Greg (Gay)

Terry (Gay)

Andor (2022)

Cinta Kaz (Unspecified WLW)

Vel Sartha (Unspecified WLW)

Arthur (1996)

Nigel Ratburn (Gay)

Patrick (Gay)

B:

Battlestar Galactica (2004)

Felix Gaeta (Bisexual)

Big Mouth (2017)

Ali (Pansexual)

Charles Lu (Unspecified MLM)

Connie LaCienega (Pansexual)

Elijah (Asexual)

Jayzarian "Jay" Bilzerian (Bisexual)

Jessica "Jessi" Glaser (Bisexual)

Matthew MacDell (Gay)

Maury Beverly (Pansexual)

Megan (Bisexual)

Mona (Bisexual)

Nadja El-Khoury (Lesbian)

Shannon Glaser (Lesbian)

Simon Sex (Bisexual)

Sonya Poinsettia (Bisexual)

Tyler Pico (Pansexual)

Bob's Burgers (2011)

Natalie "Nat" Kinkle (Unspecified WLW)

Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013)

Jenny Gildenhorn (Bisexual)

Jocelyn Price (Lesbian)

Kevin Cozner (Gay)

Raymond "Ray" Holt (Gay)

Rosalita "Rosa" Diaz (Bisexual)

C:

Chicago Fire (2012)

Clarice Carthage (Bisexual)

Darren Ritter (Gay)

Emily Foster (Bisexual)

Leslie Shay (Lesbian)

Chicago Med (2015)

Lawrence Dayle (Unspecified MLM)

Peter Kalmick (Unspecified MLM)

Terry McNeal (Gay)

Code Black (2015)

Carla Niven (Lesbian)

Malaya Pineda (Lesbian)

Noa Kean (Bisexual)

Community (2009)

Craig Pelton (Unlabeled MLM)

Frankie Dart (Unspecified WLW)

Craig of the Creek (2018)

Alexis (Pansexual)

Courtney (Lesbian)

George (Gay)

Jasmine Williams (Lesbian)

Kelsey Pokoly (Lesbian)

Laura Mercer (Lesbian)

Raj (Gay)

Secret Keeper (Gay)

Shawn (Gay)

Stacks (Lesbian)

Tabitha (Lesbian)

D:

Dead End: Paranormal Park (2022)

Barney Guttman (Gay)

Logan Nguyen (Gay)

Norma Khan (Bisexual)

Zagan (Pansexual)

Doom Patrol (2019)

Kay Challis/Crazy Jane (Lesbian)

Larry Trainor (Gay)

Dr. Who (2005)

Adric (Pansexual)

Bill Potts (Lesbian)

Canton Everett Delaware ||| (Gay)

Chris Cwej (Bisexual)

Clara Oswald (Bisexual)

Elizabeth "Liz" Shaw (Bisexual)

Heather (Lesbian)

Jack Harkness (Omnisexual + Polyamorous)

Jennifer "Jenny Flint" Scarrity (Lesbian)

Madame Vastra (Lesbian)

Melony "River Song" Pond (Bisexual + Polyamorous)

Nyssa of Traken (Bisexual)

Oliver Harper (Gay)

Olivia "Liv" Chenka (Bisexual)

Patricia Haggard (Lesbian)

Rogue (Gay)

Tania Bell (Lesbian)

Tegan Jovanka (Bisexual)

Toshiko Sato (Bisexual)

Yasmin Khan (Queer)

E:

Equestria Girls (2017)

Sunset Shimmer (Bisexual)

ER (1994)

Courtney Brown (Lesbian)

Kerry Weaver (Lesbian)

Kim Legaspi (Lesbian)

Maggie Doyle (Lesbian)

Sandy Lopez (Lesbian)

Euphoria (2019)

Cal Jacobs (Bisexual)

Elliot (Unlabeled MLM)

Jules Vaughn (Unlabeled WLW)

Nate Jacobs (Unspecified MLM)

Rue Bennett (Lesbian)

Ever After High (2013)

Apple White (Unspecified WLW)

Darling Charming (Unspecified WLW)

F:

G:

Glee (2009)

Adam Crawford (Gay)

Alistair (Unspecified MLM)

Blaine Anderson (Gay)

Brittany Pierce (Bisexual)

Dani (Lesbian)

David "Dave" Karofsky (Gay)

Elliott Gilbert (Gay)

Hiram Barry (Gay)

Kurt Hummel (Gay)

Leroy Barry (Gay)

Santana Lopez (Lesbian)

Sebastian Smythe (Bisexual)

Spencer Porter (Gay)

Grey's Anatomy (2005)

Amelia Shepherd (Bisexual)

Arizona Robbins (Lesbian)

Callie Torres (Bisexual)

Carina DeLuca (Bisexual)

Dayna Knox (Lesbian)

Eliza Minnick (Lesbian)

Erica Hahn (Lesbian)

Levi Schmitt (Gay)

Mika Yasuda (Bisexual)

Nico Kim (Gay)

Taryn Helm (Lesbian)

Teddy Altman (Bisexual)

H:

Harley Quinn (2019)

Basil Karlo/Clayface (Gay)

Edward Nygma/The Riddler (Gay)

Frank (Asexual)

Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn (Bisexual)

Leslie Wills/Livewire (Lesbian)

Mari McCabe/Vixen (Bisexual)

Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy (Bisexual)

Selina Kyle/Catwoman (Unspecified WLW)

Sylvester "Sy" Borgman (Bisexual)

Hazbin Hotel (2024)

Alastor (Aromantic, Asexual)

Angel Dust (Gay)

Charlotte "Charlie" Morningstar (Lesbian)

Cherri Bomb (Bisexual)

Husker (Pansexual)

Sir Pentious (Bisexual)

Vaggie (Unspecified WLW)

Valentino (Pansexual)

Vox (Bisexual)

Heartbreak High (2022)

Darren Rivers (Gay, Queer)

Donald "Ca$h" Piggott (Asexual)

Dustin Reid (Unspecified MLM)

Malakai Mitchell (Bisexual)

Missy Beckett (Bisexual)

Quinni Gallagher-Jones (Lesbian)

Rowan Callaghan (Bisexual)

Sasha So (Lesbian)

Heartstopper (2022)

Ben Hope (Unspecified MLM)

Charles "Charlie" Spring (Gay)

Darcy Olsson (Lesbian)

Isaac Henderson (Asexual, Aromantic)

Nick Nelson (Bisexual)

Tara Jones (Lesbian)

How I Met Your Mother (2005)

James Stinson (Gay)

Human Resources (2022)

Claudia (Lesbian)

Danielle (Lesbian)

Flanny O'Lympic (Bisexual)

Van (Lesbian)

I:

J:

K:

L:

M:

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir (2015)

Alix Kubdel (Aromantic)

Caline Bustier (Unspecified WLW)

Gisèle (Unspecified WLW)

Juleka Couffaine (Unspecified WLW)

Marc Anciel (Unspecified MLM)

Max Kanté (Asexual)

Nathaniel Kurtzberg (Unspecified MLM)

Rose Lavillant (Unspecified WLW)

Zoé Lee (Unspecified WLW)

Modern Family (2009)

Cameron Tucker (Gay)

Gil Thorpe (Gay)

Mitchell Pritchett (Gay)

Pepper Saltzman (Gay)

Ronaldo (Unspecified MLM)

Mom (2013)

Bonnie Plunkett (Bisexual)

Ray Stabler (Gay)

Rudy (Bisexual)

N:

Nanbaka (2016)

Jyugo (Bisexual)

New Amsterdam (2018)

Elizabeth Wilder (Bisexual)

Iggy Frome (Gay)

Lauren Bloom (Bisexual)

Leyla Shinwari (Lesbian)

Martin McIntyre (Gay)

New Girl (2011)

Melissa (Unspecified WLW)

Reagan Lucas (Bisexual)

Sadie (Lesbian)

O:

P:

Peacemaker (2022)

Christopher Smith/Peacemaker (Bisexual)

Leota Adebayo (Lesbian)

Private Practice (2007)

Amelia Shepherd (Bisexual)

Q:

R:

Raising Dion (2019)

Kat Neese (Lesbian)

Roswell, New Mexico (2019)

Alex Manes (Gay)

Allie Meyers (Unspecified WLW)

Anatsa Mufaro (Unspecified WLW)

Blaire (Unspecified WLW)

Forrest (Gay)

Isobel Evans-Bracken (Bisexual)

Michael Guerin (Bisexual)

Shivani Sen (Unspecified WLW)

Runaways (2017)

Karolina Dean (Lesbian)

Nico Minoru (Bisexual)

Xavin (Pansexual)

S:

Safe (2018)

Pete Mayfield (Gay)

Saving Hope (2012)

Bree Hannigan (Lesbian)

Maggie Lin (Bisexual)

Sydney Katz (Lesbian)

Shadowhunters (2016)

Alexander "Alec" Lightwood (Gay)

Aline Penhallow (Unspecified WLW)

Magnus Bane (Bisexual)

Olivia Wilson (Unspecified WLW)

Samantha (Unspecified WLW)

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)

Adora (Lesbian)

Bow (Bisexual)

Catra (Lesbian)

Double Trouble (Gay)

Entrapta (Bisexual)

George (Gay)

Glimmer (Bisexual)

Huntara (Lesbian)

Kyle (Bisexual)

Lance (Gay)

Light Hope (Lesbian)

Lonnie (Bisexual)

Mara (Lesbian)

Mermista (Bisexual)

Netossa (Lesbian)

Perfuma (Unspecified WLW)

Rogelio (Bisexual)

Scorpia (Lesbian)

Sea Hawk (Bisexual)

Spinnerella (Lesbian)

Station 19 (2018)

Amelia Shepherd (Bisexual)

Carina DeLuca (Bisexual)

Dayna Knox (Lesbian)

Eli Stern (Bisexual)

Emmett Dixon (Gay)

Maya Bishop (Bisexual)

Michelle Alvarez (Lesbian)

Nikki (Bisexual)

Pam Williams (Lesbian)

Travis Montgomery (Gay)

Steven Universe (2013)

Bismuth (Lesbian)

Dogcopter (Gay)

Harold Smiley (Gay)

Pearl (Lesbian)

Peridot (Asexual, Aromantic)

Ruby (Lesbian)

Sapphire (Lesbian)

Stumptown (2019)

Dex Parios (Bisexual)

T:

The Babysitter's Club (2020)

Dawn Schafer (Unlabeled WLW)

Janine Kishi (Lesbian)

The Magicians (2015)

Eliot Waugh (Gay)

The Owl House (2020)

Amity Blight (Lesbian)

Darius Deamonne (Gay)

Eda Clawthorne (Bisexual)

Gilbert Park (Unspecified MLM)

Harvey Park (Unspecified MLM)

Hunter (Bisexual)

Lilith Clawthorne (Asexual, Aromantic)

Luz Noceda (Bisexual)

Willow Park (Bisexual)

The Resident (2018)

Jake Wong (Gay)

The Rookie (2018)

Jackson West (Gay)

Gino Brown (Gay)

The Second Best Hospital in the Galaxy (2024)

Klak (Unspecified WLW)

Slug Girl (Unspecified WLW)

The 100 (2014)

Bryan (Gay)

Clarke Griffin (Bisexual)

Eric Jackson (Gay)

Lexa (Lesbian)

Nathan Miller (Gay)

Niylah (Lesbian)

Zev (Gay)

Titans (2018)

Tim Drake/Robin (Bisexual)

Total Drama (Franchise)

Bowie (Gay)

Raj (Gay)

U:

V:

W:

X:

Y:

Z:

#:

9-1-1 (2018)

David Hale (Unspecified MLM)

Evan "Buck" Buckley (Bisexual)

Henrietta "Hen" Wilson (Lesbian)

John Russo (Unspecified MLM)

Karen Wilson (Lesbian)

Michael Grant (Gay)

Tommy Kinard (Gay)

9-1-1: Lone Star (2020)

Carlos Reyes (Gay)

Tyler Kennedy "TK" Strand (Gay)

[jeongyunhoed]

As seen on my FF.net Also seen on my Ao3

Following the events of fifth year, a new adventure awaits for Norah Lee. Boys, exams, school events, common room parties, and old foes outside of Hogwarts. Even battling pensieve guardians was easier than this.

Main Pair: OC/? Genre: Adventure/Angst/Fluff (it's a little of everything, tbh)

KEEP IN MIND: Characters are aged up (even if the story's got them in sixth year) to make it more appropriate. Time period is leaning towards the modern day so in case you might find anachronisms in the dialogue or references, this is why. This may also be quite a lengthy fic too.

BE WARNED: Social anxiety, mentions of blood and injury, grief, drinking, kissing but nothing more than that, death (this is Hogwarts Legacy, after all)

P.P.S: Some "trauma dumping" ahead between Norah and Garreth. Also some slight sexual tension too. I'm setting up what would be a very FWB relationship ahead. No smut though. Smut's gonna be in the sequel.

Masterlist

Chapter 16

The congratulatory comments Norah heard didn't seem to stop at Hogwarts. Everywhere she, Amit, Sebastian, and Natty went, she would be met with well-wishes from people whom she helped the year prior. At the back of her mind, Norah felt like this seemed to pose a distraction from the fact that Harlow was still on the loose and was rebuilding his business enterprise, perhaps finishing what Ranrok and Rookwood started but failed. As much as she wanted to revel in the good feeling of having achieved such an accolade, Norah felt like there was still more to be done. Even Madam Beaumont had previously warned her that she had done all that she could. And Merlin knows what Mrs. Daisy Rabe and Madam Bickle would tell her next about this.

Or worse, that damned Officer Ruth Singer. Norah didn't have fond memories of her encounters with the so-called law enforcer. If she and Natty had to take matters into their own hands to catch Harlow the first time, she was doubtful Officer Singer and the authorities would make more of an effort this time. The lack of effort only made Norah despise Officer Singer.

But, as Norah had observed, only months into the sixth year at Hogwarts, she was also undergoing the very familiar, but also quite bittersweet, feeling of her friend circle going through some changes. Because Andrew and Poppy had now become an item, she hardly hung out with them as she was now absorbed into Andrew's circle of friends. Natty seemed like she was on the verge of it as well, given the possible nature of her relationship with Henry, whatever it was that was going on between them. This reminded her that the wizarding world wasn't all that different from how muggles lived their lives. Including friends who ditched their friends to be with their romantic partners.

Nevertheless, Norah had come to terms with it, but it left her unsure of who to turn to now. They only had a year left until they were finished with Hogwarts, and what then? They would be on their own. Those thoughts had left her with the conclusion that she seemed better off hanging out with whoever wanted to hang out with her.

The price to pay for being a Slytherin, perhaps. Everyone would eventually not like her as much. It seemed like a lonely life was ahead, and being named the Hero of Hogwarts wasn't as all as it's cut out to be.

She dwelled on those thoughts while sitting at the bar of the Three Broomsticks one afternoon, with days left until the Hufflepuff common room party. More than a month left until the Yule Ball as well.

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

Norah snapped out of her continued dwelling when she saw Garreth appear, seating himself on the stool next to her while Sirona poured him a pint of butterbeer. "What?"

"You looked like you've got something on your mind," Garreth replied before taking a sip of his drink. "In fact, if I recall correctly, you've been like that for a while, is something wrong?"

Norah smiled and shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I can deal with it."

But the redhead didn't seem so convinced. "Even heroes need help, you know," He teased.

"Hero," Norah scoffed. "That's interesting. I don't feel like it, that's for sure."

Garreth's teasing expression faded at her words. "I'm sorry, that might've been inappropriate for me to say."

Norah waved a hand dismissively. "No, no, it's not your fault. I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling like myself today."

The Gryffindor looked down at his drink, then glanced at her. "Norah, I know our last conversation ended the way it did, but that doesn't change the fact that you've helped me, that you've been willing to help me, without even asking for anything in return."

"Then do me a favor and please don't ask," Norah quipped, glancing at him. "I know you're just trying to help, but I can assure you, I can handle it. Whatever it is."

Garreth didn't press any further, taking a long drink of his butterbeer as he glanced at her every now and then. "My oldest brother thinks the same way whenever we can tell he's having a hard time. Thinking he can deal with it on his own because it's what's expected of him. Whenever we ask if we could help, he brushes it off, telling us not to worry because he, as you said, could deal with it. He thinks we simply don't understand," He said quietly as he recalled those memories. "I'm really going to back off after this, but just know that it's good to let it out. Better out than in, is what my mum always says."

He finished his pint, asking Sirona for another one, in which she obliged, glancing at Norah with a hint of concern on her face from time to time. The two of them continued drinking in silence. Norah was stubborn that way. She didn't want to involve anyone out of knowledge that most of them couldn't even fathom what she had to face the year before. Even as they had repeatedly assured her that they would be fine.

As Amit once told her after they went through the goblin mine, that the whole escapade was enough of an adventure for a lifetime.

But if she wanted to change it, to change this thinking, she knew she had to make an effort, and it was going to be hard. She was, what the muggles would call, brooding, and she didn't like it.

"I don't know what to do," She suddenly said, after feeling some difficulty saying it. Garreth glanced at her, not saying anything but he remained still, ready to listen. "We're in sixth year, I don't know what to do after we leave Hogwarts, what profession to take up, and as much as I say I don't care if no one asks me to the Yule Ball, it still stings to know that it might be true. I have some unfinished business to take care of, NEWTs might become my cause of death, and I'm not sure if I still have my group of friends this year."

Garreth stared at his own drink while he listened. He wasn't sure if it was a good time to try and make her feel better, but his instincts told him not to say anything for now. Perhaps Norah was going to say more, and she did.

"Frankly, I was still embarrassed after the whole boggart thing. Carrow cursing me in the entrance hall was another thing to be embarrassed about," Norah somehow felt herself becoming more at ease. "Adele Kang told me I would've been confused for a Gryffindor because of how much I bled, apparently. But I ultimately felt ashamed, because people have this image of me in their heads, that I'm brave or something, that I couldn't get hurt, that what happened to me down at the caverns was nothing. I'm having a hard time trying to live up to that."

You don't have to, you never had to, Garreth thought. He wanted to say it, but he knew better than to do so for now.

"In reality, all those things that happened to me the year before? I was just as terrified, I feared for my life just as much as anyone. Imagine having to face several acromantulas in one year? Fighting troll after troll after troll? An entire cellar full of spiders big and small, multiple loyalist and Ashwinder encampments? Inferi?" Norah sighed. "The cave near the castle that's been infested with dugbogs, a dragon fighting ring. Sometimes I get the shivers just imagining those dead dugbogs still floating in the water."

Garreth also shuddered at the thought.

"But most of all? It's terrifying knowing that I actually fancy someone. But I know he doesn't plan on anything. He's too scarred by his own past to consider anything, not that I know he likes me back, but," Norah shrugged. "It's like everything and nothing all at once."

The description seemed familiar, and Garreth had an idea of who she was talking about. He's a complete idiot if he doesn't ask her to the ball, Garreth thought. But hearing her explain what was on her mind seemed to humble him a little bit and comfort him at the same time. The hero of Hogwarts, the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, admitting how even she had been struggling this entire time. Perhaps since the end of fifth year even.

Norah glanced at him, having been quiet this entire time. "I'm sorry for suddenly dumping this on you, I know it's a lot," She said, emptying her pint. "I told you I needed to deal with it on my own."

Garreth shook his head. "It's not a problem. In fact, I think it's a wonder that you managed to make it out of those in one piece, no injuries, nothing," He said. "...You still don't have a date to the Yule Ball, do you?"

She shook her head. "No, but I just think it's because I've scared anyone who would want to try, off," She muttered with a sigh. "Or maybe I'm just not anyone's type, which leaves me wondering what I should do to appear otherwise."

"You don't have to do anything," Sirona blurted out, refilling their pints. They can tell she had long wanted to say something. "You won't lose anything if no one asks you, but you should never feel like you're doing something wrong. In fact, I think it says more about those boys than it does about you if no one seeks you out for the Yule Ball."

Norah stared at the bubbles and the foam of her butterbeer. "It is pointless to try and make all that effort to get a boy to notice me," She nodded. "Besides, it's not the end of the world if no one asks me to the ball, compared to what Natty and Nellie are making it out to be."

The mention of Nellie made Garreth look up, then sigh. "Nellie really fancies Amit," He said. "You were right last time, maybe I really should move on."

Norah frowned. "It went downhill, huh?"

Garreth hummed. "She said she never really saw me as anything other than a friend, a schoolmate even. What's worse? I'm not even her type."

"I'm sorry, you must really like her," Norah said, moving her pint towards his in a toast. "The next round of butterbeer's my treat."

She laid down some more coins before Garreth could decline. "Thanks," He said, only to sit up when he remembered something. "My brew's ready now, by the way. It's in the Honeydukes cellar if you'd like to come try some," He suggested.

"We can finish this first," Norah joked as they downed what was left from their mugs.

~

A moment later and they found themselves in the sweet shop's cellar, looking at a barrel painted red with gold letters that said "Weasley's Fizz-beer." Garreth conjured some mugs to fill it in with the bubbly amber-colored liquid that smelled like the sweet treat itself. "Took a while to perfect, a year and a half, but I think I've nailed the recipe now. I would've preferred to make it look like the candy, but this is much better," He was pleased, taking another sniff of the beverage.

Norah brought the mug to her lips to take a sip. It tasted just like Fizzing Whizz-bees, only much stronger. It wasn't sickly sweet, but sweet enough to mask the alcohol content for a moment. It took her a moment to realize that she was already inches off the floor, as was Garreth, who looked even more overjoyed and nearly spilled his drink in the process.

Once their feet were firmly on the floor, Garreth put his mug down, arms suddenly outstretched and coming in for a hug. Norah, taken by surprise, wrapped an arm around him to return it, feeling a little calm now at the contact. He was warm, they both were, from the few butterbeers and then this. The brew aside, Norah could get a whiff of his cologne.

"I have to hand it to you, Garreth, you did well on this. You should bring this to the Hufflepuff party," She suggested as they pulled away, taking another sip and feeling herself float off the floor a few inches again. It was mostly to hide how she felt her cheeks heat up at how close they suddenly got. She reminded herself that it was because of the butterbeers and the brew.

Garreth grinned. "You think I should?" He said, making sure to reach out to her while she took another sip.

"Yeah, I mean, I didn't die or break out or anything, I think it's a success," Norah gave him a thumbs up as her feet were back on the ground.

She put the empty mug down, followed by a quick evanesco to clear them. "I'm quite brilliant, aren't I?" Garreth looked proud, as if his little revelation about his heartache earlier never happened.

Norah laughed as they went down the secret passage to leave. "Don't push your luck, you might not be to successful next time."

They passed through the familiar caverns, opting to swim rather than make the jump instead to get to the other side. Garreth took the lead, his cheeks suddenly getting ruddy when Norah emerged from the water, followed by a charm to dry their clothes. He was going to pretend he didn't accidentally glance at the way Norah's wet clothes clung to her.

"I'm forever glad you told me about this passage, Garreth. With people trying to look for me all of a sudden, even those I don't know, this is a nice way to go back to the castle," She said as they passed through the narrow lanes, some of which were covered in cobwebs.

Garreth turned to her, the thoughts of the two of them getting wet from the body of water they climbed out from and their little hug in Honeydukes cellar still on his mind. At this point, some parts of her dark brown hair were still wet at the ends, further reminding him of how she looked.

"Well, you were the new fifth year, I needed to tell you some of the ins and outs of the castle, even ones not many teachers know about, especially Professor Black," He tried to say as coolly as possible as they entered the lift that would bring them up to the entrance of the passage. "Besides, it looks like we ended up in Hogsmeade and back together after all," He said.

Norah smiled, the two of them getting off the elevator and climbing up the steps to the door that was behind the statue. She could feel herself getting rather light-headed, a little tipsy even, and she suddenly giggled, making Garreth turn to her, holding her by the arm in case she fell over.

"We might have had a bit to drink, huh? Or my brew was surprisingly strong," The redhead started laughing as well. "Ironically, I didn't even put alihotsy into this brew," He leaned toward her, the two of them leaning on each other for support. "Oh no, this isn't going to sit well with anyone."

"Your brew was stronger than you thought," Norah playfully slapped his arm, which slinked around her waist while they held each other up. "But I think we needed it, to clear our minds of whatever we're going through," she said, looking down at their feet.

As she looked up, she caught his gaze, their expression softening the closer they got to the entrance, the looming figure of the statue near. "I've got some hangover tonic in the common room," He said quietly. "You know, I'm curious as to what it would be like to kiss you."

Norah's cheeks turned pink at the remark. "Why don't you find out for yourself?" She challenged, another giggle escaping her.

The redhead hummed and groaned. "If I do anything, it will feel like I'm taking advantage of you again," He said, shaking his head.

Another giggle came from her. "I'm giving you an advantage. You get to kiss me, I finally know what it'll be like to be kissed by someone not related to me," she said. "This doesn't mean anything anyway, you were curious, I let you. And of all places, we're here, where hardly anyone can see us."

Garreth chuckled. "I don't know what it is about you Slytherins, especially you, Norah Lee. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you fancied me."

Norah scoffed. "I simply took the opportunity of wanting to know what it's like to be kissed. If you don't want to, it's okay. That just means you're a good person."

As if on reflex , Garreth wrapped his other arm around her waist. "You're making it hard for me to resist. Are you sure nothing will happen?"

"I should ask you the same thing," Norah patted his cheek, which he immediately leaned into. "You really made something strong with that brew, if the two of us are being like this..." She muttered, staring when Garreth pressed his forehead on hers. "How are you going to give me that hangover tonic when our common rooms are far away from each other?"

Garreth hummed. "You're right. Do you think we should sleep it off?" He said, giving her a little squeeze before letting go. "Maybe I could get Sallow to bring it to you."

"Sebastian?" Norah laughed. "I don't think anyone should know, at least for now."

"If you say so," Garreth sighed, trying to hold back his laughter as they stepped out.

[katabasiiis]

@mercysought sent:

"Kings die, queens fade, but the spider’s web of politics endures." from maxima to cas

from inbox invasion!!

Casira gave a noncommittal mmm as she sipped her wine, eyes roving the Winter Palace crowd like a hunting cat's. A spider's web, indeed; the Orlesians were more flamboyant in their machinations than Tevinter's nobility, but no less deadly for it. She didn't trust a single one of them, and the woman beside her was no exception.

"Does that make kings and queens the spiders, or their prey, then?" She took another sip - the wine was dark, blood red and astringent. She'd decided that she hated Orlesian wine; she would have to send for a few cases from her grandmother's vineyard once they returned to Skyhold. "What do you wish of me, Madame Beaumont?" No point in subtlety when the Orlesian clearly had something on her mind - why else seek her out rather than the Inquisitor?

[adarkrainbow]

Hi! I wondered if you had anything (you probably do) on La belle et la bête ? Specifically looking for origins of the Mme Leprince de Beaumont one, but anything else goes :)

Hi! Well, unfortunately... Not much!

I know it sounds surprising but here's the thing... I do specialize in French literary fairytales of the golden age. But only 17th century... Beauty and the Beast belongs unfortunately to the 18th century fairytales, the "second generation" of French literary fairytales (or third if you count the Arabian Nights-era as the second generation). As a result I do not have a LOT of interesting info to share...

It is too bad because had you caught me six months earlier I had a copy out of the library of the Bibliothèque des Génies et des Fées's volume dedicated to Leprince de Beaumont, which was one of the most complete things ever... Unfortunately I can't get it back for now... All I can suggest you so far is to check my "Beauty and the Beast" tag because I did reblog a LOT of interesting posts throughout the years made by other people WAY more knowledgeable than me.

On my own side all I can do so far is dig up in my own books see if I have any article Beauty and the Beast adjacent which could be of some use... Outside of this sorry, you knocked at the wrong door...

[starberry-cupcake]

Serpentin Vert (aka The Dragon Husband) won my fairy tale poll, so here's more about him

Serpentin Vert is both a character and the title of a fairy tale by Madame d'Aulnoy, published for the first time in 1698.

Even though the name is closer to "serpent" and some illustrators have depicted him as such, d'Aulnoy's description of him is closer to a dragon than a snake, and his size is big enough to have allowed him to physically carry his bride to safety.

Here is an English translation of the description by James Robinson Planché:

He has green wings, a body of a thousand colours, ivory claws, fiery eyes, and on his head is a bristling mane of long hair.

This is him rescuing his soon-to-be bride in an illustration from the Garnier edition, circa 1850 (my favorite one of him):

Serpentin Vert (translated by Planché as Green Serpent and in Spanish by Editorial Siruela as Serpentino Verde) is a fairy tale in the category know as "The Animal as Bridegroom" (Aarne-Thompson-Uther Index's ATU 425).

Some of these, and this one is no exception, work with Cupid and Psyche as a foundation (the most popular being Beauty and the Beast), but d'Aulnoy's style doesn't just use it as reference, she includes it in the story, as a tale the lead character reads and, much like Psyche or even Orpheus, still does what she shouldn't.

The lead of the story is Laideronnette, a princess cursed by a fairy to become the ugliest person alive, while her twin sister doesn't get said curse. She exiles herself after her family treats her poorly and meets Serpentin, who falls in love with her but she rejects him, since she's afraid of him. When he talks to her without her seeing him, she distrusts him, because she doesn't believe a king would fall in love with her, but starts having feelings for the person she spends so much time talking to. Their marriage is the halfway point of the story, because it's through Laideronnette breaking her promise (much like Psyche) that she will have to face many challenges to save the dragon she has fallen in love with. Of course, like most Animal Bridegroom stories, Serpentin is actually a cursed man.

Like most fairy tales written by the salonnières, this is a very long story, that takes twists and turns, has the characters move through different settings and gets in there a couple of songs and poems. If you're more used to the Perrault-like or even Grimm-like fairy tales, you may not be too familiar with the way in which salonnières told fairy tales, but these stories, born for the entertainment from women to other women in salons, are not always devoid of lessons but are more focused on the storytelling aspect and take a lot more pages to tell the story, describe surroundings and have the characters express their turmoil to the reader (or listener, originally).

Serpentin is always gentle and caring, although able to drop an "I told you so" when he feels it's warranted. Differently from Villeneuve's Beast (or Beaumont's even), he's more eloquent throughout the story and more active as well. There is a mutual saving between him and Laideronnette and her tasks to save Serpentin come after realizing she's in love with him, which makes their relationship dynamic a longer element to develop.

The fact that they're both cursed by the same fairy also generates an interesting dynamic in which both are at the mercy of a same enemy and can bond through the isolation caused by their self-imposed exiles. Of course, this being a classic fairy tale, she doesn't remain "ugly" and he doesn't remain a dragon.

The story isn't devoid of problematic stereotypes, these were French women in the 1600s, but most of the elements included trace back to the typical inspirations for d'Aulnoy: Greek mythology, opera and the folklore shared by midwives and nurses that accompanied women through motherhood. I talked a bit more about d'Aulnoy on this post, she was wild.

Now, to some more illustrations of the man of the hour:

This one is from Harriet Mead Olcott (1919), who went more snake-like but kept the wings.

Another one from the Garnier edition, it didn't stay very consistent on the size of him.

This is a part of the engraving made by Jean-Louis Delignon over this original by Clemént-Pierre Marillier (1785):

Maria Pascual played a bit more with Laideronnette's features, but it's more evident when she's beside her sister.

And a very recent depiction came from Natalie Frank in 2017 for Jack Zipes's compilation of d'Aulnoy stories titled The Island of Happiness, I think this is after Laideronnette was already transformed and changed her name into Discrète.

Serpentin Vert is actually the first of the fairy tales I included in my virtual workshop that starts next month (in Spanish). I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it won the poll because of a) the nature of this site and b) the fact that d'Aulnoy would vibe with the discourse on here if she was around. You can find the original fairy tale in French here, the Planché English translation here and the Lawrence and Bullen translation here. For the Spanish version I had to translate it myself for the workshop, but there is a good translation in Siruela's edition of El cuarto de las hadas.

[princesssarisa]

What is your best advice for any writer who wishes to write a story inspired by Beauty and the Beast but wants to make sure it feels creative and fresh and new?

Hmm... there are a lot of possible answers to this question.

For starters, I'd suggest going back to the original literary versions of the tale. If the length of Madame de Villeneuve's original novel is too daunting, just stick with the shorter versions: Madame de Beaumont's, Andrew Lang's, and/or Arthur Quiller-Couch's. You might also rewatch a few of the film adaptations (Disney's, Cocteau's, and at least two or three others – the Czech Panna a Netvor is a particularly acclaimed lesser-known version).

Then decide which themes stand out the most for you and emphasize those themes in your version.

Do you want to go back to the story's original meaning, an allegory for arranged marriage, but put a new spin on that theme that reflects your views on the subject? Or do you want to downplay that theme, as most modern adaptations do? Do you view the story as chiefly about gender relations, with the Beast's frightening looks and Beauty's initial fear of him representing female fear of patriarchal power and male sexuality, which she loses as he treats her with constant respect and chivalry? Or about different types of love, with Beauty learning to choose "companionate love" (based in friendship, mutual respect, and shared interests and values) over shallow, appearance-based infatuation? Or do you prefer the Beast to represent a social outcast: someone wrongly feared, hated, and forced to hide from the world, whose true value and worthiness of love Beauty discovers?

And what matters most to you about the ending? The Beast's transformation into a human, or Beauty's willingness to love him in his Beast form?

I still remember that post I once read about Beauty and the Beast-type stories, which discussed whether the central appeal of those stories is identifying with Beauty and the fantasy of "taming the Beast" (winning the love of something frightening and making it safe and gentle to you), or identifying with the Beast and the fantasy being loved despite being "ugly," "frightening," and "different"? Of course neither of those perspectives is the single reason for the story's appeal: why cant it be both?

There are more questions you'll want to ask yourself too. Who is the real protagonist in your version, Beauty or the Beast? Whose growth takes center stage: Beauty's as she learns to love the Beast, the Beast's as he earns her love, or both equally? Will your version include a villain, or do you see no need for one? Do you want to keep the air of mystery from the original tale? (e.g. "Who is the Beast, how did he come to be, and what does he want from Beauty?") If so, that will probably require changes to the Beast's backstory, because the familiar tale is so well-known. Or are you content to cut the mystery aspect and let the audience know exactly who and what the Beast is from the start? For that matter, how did the Beast come to be cursed? Would you want to go back to Villaneuve's original version and have him cursed by a wicked fairy whom he refused to marry? (That has interesting potential in today's post-#MeToo era.) Or follow the post-Disney tradition of making it a punishment for some wrongdoing? Or some other, completely original means of enchantment?

You might also want to draw on unique traditions from other cultures' variations on the tale. For example, in Eastern European versions like Panna a Netvor or Russia's The Scarlet Flower, the Beast hides from Beauty, so through most of her arc of learning to love him, she never sees him, but only hears his voice, and doesn't know he's a Beast. Only just before she goes back to visit her family does she finally see him, so the struggle of whether or not she can love a Beast becomes a late plot twist rather than a problem presented from the start. That could be an interesting choice to adapt.

And then there are the story's two most controversial aspects: the issue of "Stockholm Syndrome" and the ending. How are you going to deal with the fact that Beauty is the Beast's prisoner through most of their romance arc? A few modern retellings have avoided making the Beast the one who threatens Beauty's father or who accepts her as a prisoner in his place, but instead portrayed both Beauty and the Beast as prisoners of whatever higher power cursed the Beast in the first place. You could find an original way to do that too. Or, if you think that would rob the Beast of the moral grayness that makes him interesting in traditional versions, find some other solution to fend off accusations of "Stockholm Syndrome." Then there's the claim some people make that the ending goes against the story's message when the Beast changes into a handsome prince. Would you want him to stay a Beast in your version, possibly with Beauty becoming (or discovering that she already is) a non-human creature too? Or would you make it clear that the Beast's hideous form symbolizes some emotional unhealthiness within him (e.g. his "animalistic" selfishness and rage in the Disney version, or his trauma and depression in Megan Kearney's webcomic) and that his becoming human again represents his healing?

I hope I haven't gone on and on too much. There are many more things I could say, but this is enough for now.

Just find which aspects of the traditional story speak to you the most, and which aspects you don't care for as much and might want to change, and then do whatever you like with them.

[aurorasheir]

Character List: Aurora's Heir

Introducing... MEMBERS OF THE KINGDOM OF VERDELIS:

King Ivan Vongreen of Verdelis

Queen Katherine Vongreen nee Galeveine

Crown Prince Alexander Vongreen - HEIR TO THE THRONE

Crown Princess Bianca Aurelia Vongreen nee Galeveine

Princess Xiomara Vongreen - SECOND HEIR

CASTLE STAFF, GUARDS, AND LADIES

Lady Rosalind Faelin - LADY TO THE SECOND HEIR

Armin Blackthorne - GUARD TO THE SECOND HEIR

Duke Gideon of Verdelis

Lady Madeleine Woods of Verdelis - LADY IN WAITING

Lady Kaltayne Blossom - SECOND LADY

Cassian Beaumont - CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD

CITY OF BRINLEA RESIDENTS

Celeste Mae Faelin

-

AURORA'S HOUSE COURTESANS

Madam Isabelle Aurora

Courtesan Dahlia Aurora - MAIN COURTESAN

Courtesan Wren - THE BLOSSOM OF AIR

Courtesan Morgan - MISTRESS OF THE MOON

Courtesan Andromeda - LADY OF THE GALAXY

Rowan

Tatiana

Karina

Catalina

Victoria

AURORA'S HOUSE INFIRMARY

Healer Malachi Ashlee

Apothecary Salem

-

MEMBERS OF THE KINGDOM OF ARDENTHIA

King Maxon Zahira of Ardenthia

Queen Luna Zahira nee Vongreen

Crown Prince Brennan Vongreen - HEIR TO THE THRONE

Princess Amaya Gwendolyne Zahira

Princess Layla Zahira

MEMBERS OF THE KINGDOM OF RAVENWOOD

King Hikaru Nightbourne of Ravenwood

Queen Fayeth Nightbourne nee Zahira

Crown Prince Ren Nightbourne - HEIR TO THE THRONE

MEMBERS OF THE KINGDOM OF AVRIVINTER

King Sakari Galeveine of Avrivinter

Queen Midoree Galeveine

Crown Prince Takoda Galeveine - HEIR TO THE THRONE

THE DECEASED - MAY THEIR SOULS BE COMMENDED TO MAGNUS

Princess Marisol Veronica Vongreen

Luciana

Prince Ren Nightbourne

(These characters were all created by me, additional characters to come)