#mention: narcissa malfoy
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A short little ramble about the black sisters cause I'm bored and I'm not writing fanfics:
Narcissa: Narcissa was always stuck, she was always in the middle, never on one side, never on the other. While Bellatrix was hopelessly devoted to Voldemort, Narcissa stayed silent and enjoyed a mostly quiet life as a barely present Death Eater. While Andromeda was free and married a muggle-born, and did what she truly wanted. Narcissa was on Voldemort's side of course, she wanted to be, but she didn't agree fully. She thought it might be a bit wrong, but never really voiced her opinion. She loved Alice, so much, but again Alice was a pure-blood. She was friends with purebloods and some half-bloods, not any 'mudbloods'. But her sister had left her for a muggleborn and this had made her detest them most of all. In the end she was the half-half. Stuck in between.Â
Bellatrix: Bellatrix was devoted, she fully believed in Voldemort, well for the blood-purity and everything like that. She knew it was 'wrong' she didn't care. She was very extreme. She loved the thrill of it, for her it was thrill, killing off those 'pests' was enjoyable, like playing a video game, or watching a movie. This hatred of âmudbloodsâ increased to a level unknown and probably bigger than Voldemort when Andromeda left for a stupid muggleborn, her Andromeda, her sister. She vowed to never let Narcissa leave, even if she had to kill that stupid pure blood she was friends with who was on the wrong side, she needed her sister to stay. If she loved someone (like Rita Skeeter) they had to be just like her. Bellatrixâs life always revolved around being a Death Eater and her life as a pure blood, she showed off her status and her power. Of course she still fully fufilled all her 'Sacred 28' Pureblood needs like her family expected, but her main priority was the cause. Above her own life. Over anyoneâs life. Above her husband whom she only married to keep up appearances. Above everything but Voldemorts word.
Andromeda: Andromeda knew what was wrong, and couldnât keep silent about it. She knew everything was wrong, she had stayed for her sisters, and then left for Ted, a muggleborn. She ran from the family, âtarnishingâ the Black name, but she was free. Free of the abuse, free from their lies, free to live as she saw fit. She knew it was the best, though she missed her sisters, and occasionally her cousins, she loved the freedom. She knew Voldemort was doing bad, her husband was fighting against it all day, but she couldnât bring herself to in case she died and left her daughter all alone. Everything she did in the end was for who she loved and who she had made her family.
In the end Bellatrix was just a Death Eater, Narcissa was just a Death Eater, and Andromeda was the one who escaped. Thatâs all they were to people who they didnât know, people were unknowing of the differences, of how those three sisters couldâve done everything, but were just apart forever.
#marauders era#marauders#fatimah yaps đ#Fatimahs deep dives đŠˇ#narcissa black#narcissa malfoy#narcissa x alice#lucius x narcissa#bellatrix black#bellatrix lestrange#bellatrix x rita#bellatrix x rodolphus#a mention of Bellamort?#I feel like she was obsessed with Voldemort and his words so much#But not like romantix#More âI love killing and doing morally wrong thingsâ#Trust if she couldâve made her own hate crime movement she wouldâve#andromeda black#andromeda tonks#ted tonks#nymphadora tonks#the black sisters#tedromeda#teddy lupin#remus john lupin#voldemort#the ancient and most noble house of black#The black sisters#I needed to do rhus#i love them so much
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narcissa is going to die loving the dead and gone.
she is going to die with the sight of bellaâs proud smile when she mastered a spell and the neat braids she would tie her hair in.
she is going to die with the feeling of andyâs face in her hands as she applied blush to the apples of her cheeks and the gentleness of her touch as she would weave a ribbon in narcissaâs hair.
she is going to die with the taste of the hot chocolate that only regulus could make and his secret apple tarts that he would leave at her bedside.
she is going to die with the smell of siriusâs favourite cologne and the candles that he burn to hide the smell of weed.
she is going to die with the sound of aliceâs laugh and the whispers of âi love you.â
narcissa is going to die and her memories will die with her.
#marauders era#the noble and most ancient house of black#narcissa black#narcissa malfoy#regulus black#sirius black#andromeda tonks#andromeda black#bellatrix black#bellatrix lestrange#the black family#death mention tw#the way death steals the memories of those that come before us
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The Potion Master's Guide to the Magical Ton pt.1
Narcissa suppressed the urge to bite her lip and forced her face into a smooth visage, even though no one else sat in her boudoir with her. She would not give Mother even one forty-sixth of an inch to get her claws in the next time they met. She heard what Mother said to Bella at the last Lattimore-Comstock card party about her complexion. No, she would not frown or bite her lips or do anything that would allow Mother to find either wrinkle or imperfection, which made the letter in her hands all the more irksome. Who on this earth did Frank Longbottom mean? Lucius, while certainly exceeding pretty, hadnât been considered âlittleâ for a great many years. Possibly never, if Maman Amelieâs complaints over birthing him were to be believed. Narcissa patted the soft swell of her abdomen and hoped her child would be quite a bit smaller than Papa at birth.
Lucius also hadnât made a curtsey at Almackâs, so that let him quite out. Purebloods only ever complained when they found one of their number whoâd curtseyed unchaperoned in London, specifically. Sheâd no idea why London made them get their backs up when meeting in a country lane did not, but there lay the hypocrisy of Society. Social conventions must be honored, but only where everyone could see. But why would Frank think it her problem? She and Lucius had guardianship of precisely 0 young men whoâd curtsied.
Could he mean Severus? Surely Longbottom knew Severus was not actually under their purview? He was the only one Narcissa knew who might get into anything termed a row with anyone, although he generally had good reason. Docile, Severus was not. Lucius had, after one full day of Severus at his most waspish, likened his personality to a bear trap in a moment of frustration. As much as Narcissa adored their young friend, Lucius had a point.
She rose from her escritoire and went in search of Lucius. Perhaps he could make heads or tails of any of this? She thought heâd been rather close with Longbottom, once. Perhaps he would still understand how the manâs mind worked? She ran him to ground in his study, frowning over a pile of ledgers.
Heâd taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. Merlin and Morgana. She took in the sight for a moment, appreciating the soft, golden light of a Summer afternoon shining off his hair and highlighting the breadth of his shoulders under crisp, white linen. She could be half dead, she decided, and sheâd still get up off her bed to see her husband in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, especially when heâd removed his cravat and his shirt fell open at the throat. He had such a lovely throat.
âTrouble, darling?â she asked. She could ogle him later.
âMy beloathed Pater biffed off to France just as the ten-year audit is beginning and left me holding the bag,â Lucius grumbled.
âOf course he did, dear one. What do you think heâs dodging this time, beyond the responsibility?â Narcissa joined him behind the desk and enjoyed running her hands over his broad shoulders.
One made oneâs fun where one could, of course.
âIâve no idea. Heâs left running the estate to me for the past few years. It could be his investment account, I suppose. He doesnât much like me seeing what heâs doing there.â Lucius sighed and raked his hands through his hair.
âHmm. Yes, most likely. Would you have a moment? I received the most intriguing letter from Frank Longbottom in the morningâs post. I canât make out precisely what he means.â
âWhy would Frankââ Lucius reached for the letter.
âThat was my question, as well.â
âOh Merlin, heâs trotted out all his titles. He really must have been in a snit while writing. My dear Mrs. Malfoyââ Lucius read.
My dear Mrs. Malfoy,
It is with great displeasure that I felt I must write to apprise you of the shocking lack of  conduct of one under your guardianship.
âHe hasnât changed a whit,â Lucius commented. âStill as officious as ever. He wasnât this bad at school, though.â
This morning, I went into London. It was there I found your ward, unchaperoned and in the midst of a row with the proprietor of a shop. I will not assault your tender eyes with an account of the invective or the opprobrius epithets
âI wonder how many times it took him to spell opprobrius?â Narcissa asked. âIf I remember correctly, he was always in disgrace with professors over his spelling.â
âSo was half of both of our classes.â
âThere is that, I suppose. Parents should take much better care over early education.â
âShall I continue?â
âPlease. You do âinsulted stuffed shirtâ so well.â
Lucius snorted and continued.
the opprobrius epithets hurled at the poor shop keep. I, of course, stepped in and remonstrated sharply with your ward. He behaved much the same to me. While I do not wish to cause trouble, I would recommend a sharp word with him regarding his conduct. I would further recommend, when you or your husband are unavailable, that he be assigned a chaperone who will brook no nonsense.
I cannot believe one who is under your tender care would so forget his conduct as to behave in such a thoroughly disgraceful manner. Thankfully, I know you and your husband will see to it that it never happens again. I hope you will not think it amiss that I took him under my own authority and saw him through the nearest Floo to your home. I did not feel that he, in that state, ought to be allowed to go any further astray.
I do hope that your husband will impress upon him the dangers a pretty little lad might face unchaperoned and unprotected in London. Do tell him, from me, that I think six would suffice. Eight if heâs quarrelsome and willful.
Ever in your service,
Francis Longbottom
âIâm not reading the full collection of titles. Itâs positively indecent putting them all in.â Lucius scoffed at the closure. âEver in your service? Salazarâs wand heâs become insufferable. And it shows he doesnât know me at all. I would never subject anyone to six of the best. Beastly. Iâve always been able to get my message across in other ways.â
âI blame his mother,â Narcissa commented idly. âShe behaves as if every word from his mouth is straight from Merlin. I have an idea of who he might mean, but surely not. He has to know it canât be.â
âJust, for one moment, consider that Frank Longbottom is famous for having no sense of humor at all. Further consider that absolutely exhausted little joke the Slytherins made, and still make, about Severus being our first.â
âNo,â Narcissa breathed in horrified delight. She hated being correct on some occasions. âHe wouldnât be so mutton-headed.â
âFrank is capable of a great deal of mutton-headery, Iâm afraid. You know he voted for the guardianship bill that came up last Wizengamot seasion. I can do the whole speech if youâd like.â
âAs much as I would love to hear it, darling, I think weâll have to save that for later. Whereâs Severus? If that happened this morningâŚoh, the poor dear. He must be fuming. Mipsy!â
A quiet pop heralded the arrival of an extremely tidy elf.
âMistress called?â
âCould you locate Mr. Snape and ask him to attend us in the study?â Narcissa asked.
âMipsy will find Master Severus.â She popped out again.
âDoes he know they call him Master Severus?â
âHmm? Oh, Iâve no idea. He hasnât smashed a decanter over it, so he may not know precisely what it means.â Lucius looked up from his ledgers. âDo you think I should play the angry prefect with him?â
âDonât be cruel, darling. Heâs going to be confused enough being called to the study as it is.â
âAnd he always responded better to that face you made â the âIâm not angry only terribly disappointedâ one.â
âWeâll be as normal as we can be about Frank Longbottom crashing in where he isnât wanted,â Narcissa decided.
âDid you hear that he ordered his wife to stop working the minute he heard she was expecting?â Lucius asked. âIn front of all her colleagues at St. Mungoâs?â
âAnd he isnât searching Lancashire for his bits? Mrs. Longbottom has more patience than I could ever muster.â
âBetween the husband and the Dowager, Iâm surprised sheâs ever allowed to express an opinion.â
âEr, you wished to see me?â Severus sidled into the room, holding a stack of cards and looking shifty.
âYes, dear heart. Oh, please donât look so nervous. Come and sit.â Narcissa crossed to Severus and pulled him further into the room. She easnât entirely sure the Study would help calm him at all. When Severus got in a state nothing would, really.
The sofa was a deep and squashy one, perfect for afternoon naps while avoiding work. Narcissa perched on the edge of a chair while Lucius pulled Severus down to sit on the sofa with him.
âI received a perfectly ridiculous letter just now,â she began.
âBloody Longbottom!â Severus interrupted, flushing. âThe apothecary promised faithfully to provide the finest quality ingredients, and at the time I specified. He had nothing ready when I got there and then, then he tried to sell me inferior belladonna. I specifically told him I needed the premium quality and I donât know what Iâm going to tell Master Cavallieri when I go back. This was meant to be part of my Master Work. On top of that, bloody Frank Longbottom scruffed me in bloody public and told me to mind my manners like the nice lad he knew I was!â
Narcissa blinked. âAnd you didnât bite him? â
âI think I was too shocked at being scruffed,â Severus admitted.
âDid he say anything else?â Lucius asked gently.
âHe apologized for my reprehensible conduct.â Severus looked angry enough to spit tacks. âAnd then he dragged me out of the shop and to the nearest Floo, since he couldnât allow me to run about loose and unsupervised as I was clearly overwrought. Overwrought! I have never been overwrought a day in my life!â
Narcissa could argue with that, but kept her counsel. No sense in twitting Severus when heâd been so embarrassed already.
âI hope you got him with something truly awful,â Lucius soothed.
âErâŚâ Severus bit his lip. âIt was immensely petty of me, I know, butâŚflatulence.â
He muttered the last so low that it took Narcissa a moment to fully understand. She snorted.
âExcellently done,â Lucius said. âHeâs grown into an appalling windbag, I fear. Now, would you like to continue to be angry or would you like a solution?â
âWhy donât we take this to the family sitting room and have some tea?â Narcissa rose as she spoke, moving toward the door.
âWondeful idea, my love. Outrage does make one so parched.â Lucius chivvied Severus after her.
#hp society/the ton#hp the season au#hp the season/the ton au#severus snape#narcissa malfoy#lucius malfoy#the potion master's guide to the magical ton#river this is the beginning of what was mentioned in the last Use Any Means update :)
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Do you think JKR regrets nicknaming one of her characters Cissy
I hope so
I hope she regrets Everything
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Me being deranged about narcissa malfoy
#narcissa malfoy#shes so mother#shes hot#and mother#at the same time#its very conflicting#i should mention that draco#dracos hot too#draco malfoy#lucius is gross and can go step on legos with knives and various booby traps#hehe#booby traps#booooob#narcissa malfoy is attractive#but i also would love her to adopt me#again. its very conflicting#please someone fix me#also drarry#drarry#hpdm#oh and the grown men i impregnate are typically ppl in mcr#like gerard way#oh i impregnated gerard way#so proud#mpreg
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Sometimes I wish I was a filmmaker, so I could have the Black sisters, on a road trip, listening to Beautiful, Dirty, Rich by Lady Gaga, without it just being italicised lyrics on a page...
#Andy is driving#Because that requires common sense and minimal road rage#She's the best of a bad bunch in that department#Cissa's got an emerald green silk headscalf on#And she's chilling in the passenger seat picking the music#Ted and Alice are comparing dad jokes in the back seat#And Bella and Rita are making out in the very back#Did i mention they're in a convertible?#And they're at a traffic light#Sirius and Regulus are in the next car wishing they were them#I think I'm addicted to ridiculously long tags#andromeda black#andromeda tonks#narcissa black#narcissa malfoy#narcissa x alice#bellatrix black#bellatrix lestrange#ted tonks#alice fortescue#rita skeeter#noble house of black
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I keep thinking about some wizarding version of Moralton and a Draco who wants to be good but is being told all the wrong things and taking them so literally and children who disappoint their fathers and fathers who disappoint their children and No Children and Closeface the Angel of kissing
#the moral orel au everyone is was clamoring for#highly anticipated since I mentioned it in those tags no one read probably#what a good show#I wish there was more of it#draco malfoy#lucius malfoy#severus snape#narcissa malfoy#harry potter#drarry#moral orel
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tainted with darkness (Narcissaâs pov of finding out about Dracoâs pledge to the Dark Lord)
also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59357410
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Narcissa stares at the dark mark with wide, disbelieving eyes. Dread pools inside her at the way the harsh black ink has marred his pure, pale skin.
It is Draco, standing there, showing her what heâd done to protect their family.
DracoâŚher little boy. Heâs only just turned sixteen.
She looks up into his pale blue eyes, and for a moment, they change colour. His face changes entirely into one slightly older, with even sharper cheekbones and even darker shadows beneath tired eyes.
Her breath hitches. Regulus.
Draco looks just like he did, when showing her the mark that will forever be part of him. And now, that very same curse stains her sonâs skin â a horrible scar on his innocent frame.
No, please, not my son.
She wonât lose him like sheâd lost her cousin. Her dearest Regulus.
âDraco,â she whispers.
She steps closer to him, reaching out to ghost her fingers over the mark. âWhat have you done?â
âI didnât have a choice.â her son replies, feigning a bravery he doesnât own. He would not have fooled many, and least of all her. She can see the fear in his eyes.
Her stomach twists painfully. âHeâ he wouldnâtâŚyou arenât even of-age yet.â she insists, though of course no argument could change what had already been done. âHe doesnât recruit underageââ
âHe wants me to right Fatherâs wrong.â Draco explains quietly, the burden of such a task sitting heavily on his thin shoulders. Heâs gotten so thinâŚand soâŚhollow in both body and soul.
Narcissa can barely look at him without feeling tears stinging in her eyes these days.
I failed you.
She takes his hands into hers, pulling him closer to her. âThat isnât your responsibility.â she insists, squeezing his cold fingers. âYouâre just a boy, Draco.â
He removes his hands from hers. âIâm sixteen.â his expression hardens, hiding his true feelings entirely, even from her.
She shakes her head. Her tears swim dangerously in her eyes, no matter how much she tries to keep them down. âI know,â she replies softly. âAnd that makes you still a child. My child.â she grabs him by the shoulders, leveling him with a fierce glance. âIâd rather die than let anything happen to you.â
He looks surprised for a second, breaking her fragile heart â he should not be so surprised by her choosing him over herself. It is what any Mother would do, right? At least any loving MotherâŚand in all her life, Narcissa knows she could never love anybody as much as she loves her son.
âI did to protect you, Mother.â he replies.
She pulls him closer again, all the way into her trembling arms, which get to hold him for the first time in weeks. âYou donât have to do that, little dragon,â she whispers, clinging to him desperately.
She is very glad, in this moment, that he is still to grow taller than her. âThatâs my job.â
#harry potter#draco malfoy#narcissa malfoy#dark mark#mentioned#voldemort#lucius malfoy#regulus black#harry potter and the halfblood prince
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I'm writing a dead dove ish dorcas/narcissa oneshot with corpses and blood magic rituals while at the same time writing angsty but fluffy war time hurt/comfort dorlene for @dorlenedecember and working on a Pandora/Narcissa HEA fic and I swear to god I'm gonna give myself emotional whiplash just from switching back and forth constantly
#narcissa malfoy#dorcas Meadowes#pandora lovegood#marlene mckinnon#dorlene#pandora x narcissa#dorcas x narcissa#dead dove mention#corpse mention#magic ritual#dark magic#fic writing#txt
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Honestly wish the Malfoy family was more like the Adams family. Narcissa is a perfect morticia and we just gotta tweak Lucius a bit and make him more gomez-y, deathly in love with her to the point it makes normal people uncomfortable. Draco would've turned out so much better if they were like this.
#yes im still on my#harry potter#bullshit#idk why#i hate it too#malfoy family#the addams family#i need the malfoys to be more like the addams's so bad#draco malfoy#narcissa black malfoy#lucius malfoy#only mentioned ig#but yk#he's there
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HEADCANON OF THE DAY #21: (Bellatrix x Alice) (I literally just thought of this omg) (technically just Bellatrix but whatever) (sorry I missed yesterday)
Bellatrix was obsessed with Alice, wherever Alice went Bellatrix followed, she loved her so much she didnât even know why. Alice was Narcissaâs girlfriend, Alice had muggleborn friends, Bellatrix was obsessed with her. Her obessetion finished when Alice got together with Frank, she has fun torturing the both of them. Especially since Alice has broken poor Narcissaâs heart and broken Bellatrixâs too.
#marauders era#marauders#dailyyapfromfatimahđ#alice longbottom#alice x narcissa#alice fortescue#alice x frank#frank longbottom#bellatrix black#bellatrix lestrange#bellatrix x Alice#Bellatrix black x Alice Longbottom#narcissa black#narcissa malfoy#fatimahs headcanons đŠˇ#Tw mention of torture#torture tw
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âwatch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.â
[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)
pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)
wc. 24.1k.
tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?
cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.
a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: âfor me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.â
to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!
act i. dear god, please save the little man.
âRITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last seasonâs designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.â
Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor gardenâand thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.
(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)
Isadora Bulstrode cackles. âGold-digging wench must be at it again.â
As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every wordâand youâre more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. âRiveting.â She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. âWe may have tomorrowâs front page in our hands.âÂ
Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. âDo tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?â
You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. âWhy, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!â The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and theyâre none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all.Â
âA shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alrightânot every one is fit to work.â The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.
âOh, Elinor, my love, Iâm surprised youâd even suggest such a horrible thing!â Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status youâve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips.Â
Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. Itâs the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the worldâs attention constantly and effortlessly.Â
How repulsive.
In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.
And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest. âOh, donât worry, my dears! Iâll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.â
Melina Traverse brushes you off. âWe could never! You know youâre like family to us, pet!â
With a delighted gasp, you say, âDonât tell Narcissa, but youâve always been my favorite Slytherin.â The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, youâre able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.
Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting.Â
What a bunch of insufferable fools.Â
Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number.Â
âOh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?â You approach the horrid family of Gryffindorsânearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. Itâs been so long since youâve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. âCissa and I didnât think youâd even respond to our invitationâbut this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell meâhave you been trying those snail facials? I hear theyâre all the rage nowadays.â
Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. âBloody hell, Iâm going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.âÂ
âYouâre at a garden party, Sirius darling,â you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. âThe elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!â There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. âFrom the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.âÂ
Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with Jamesâs, a polite smile on her faceâan odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) âY-Yes, well, itâs so good to see you, too. Weâre grateful for the invitation, especially since itâs for a rather honorable cause.âÂ
Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. Youâve changed your mind, youâre sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husbandâs. âWe just knew youâd see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?â
Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock. âYou and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.â She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. âI never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.â
âWell, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,â You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life. âAs staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldnât you agree, Lily flower?â
âQuite,â replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.
James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lilyâs waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. âHave you met our son, Harry, already?â He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harryâs back with a crooked smile. âHaz, this is an old classmate of ours.â James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.
So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, heâs never held a girlâs hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. âWhat an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.âÂ
âWhy, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.â Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lilyâs survival against the killing curse. âAnd such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your motherâs son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.â
His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) âOh. . . not really.â His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harryâs voice deepens as he continues, âI couldnât be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.â Â
âHow interestingâElsie!â You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. âGet Mister Potter and his company a plate of macaronsâserve them our finest tea, as well.âÂ
Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. âThereâs r-really no need forââ
Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. âHave you heard the news, dearheart?â
Harry looks to his father before shrugging. âI donât think so.â
âIf Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,â you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lilyâs side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, âOtherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this yearâand I do love a good partyâso you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.â You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. âMore than that,â you continue with a sly cant to your voice. âThere will be a few new additions to Hogwartsâ staff. Among them, of courseâis yours truly!â
âAnd to do what, exactly?â Sirius blurts out incredulously.
âBe a teacher, of course!â you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. âWhy else?â
âBrilliant!â Sirius chuckles scornfully. âSo, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?
âIs that truly all you think of me?â you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup.Â
âYou want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?â Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. âYouâve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But Iâve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.âÂ
He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. âBut I reckon nothing has changed since then. Youâre just the same insufferable, vapid wench as youâve always been.â
âSirius. . .â Remus quietly calls. âThatâs enough.âÂ
Your expression faltersâbut your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)
The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?
You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. âSuch crude language, Mister Black,â you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy.Â
Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. âPerhaps, I am not the only one who hasnât grown out of their immature habits,â you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But youâd die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.
âWhat is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?â You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Siriusâs breath and Remusâs parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. âOh, silly me, Iâve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesnât accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.âÂ
Your eyes flash impishly. âWouldnât you agree, Mister Lupin?â
Lily curls her lip viciously. âJust what exactlyâ?â
âElsie has returned, master.â The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.
âYou may go, Elsie, thank you.â With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. âItâs jasmine pearl,â you explain haughtily. âCarefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you wonât be able to find anywhere else.â
âDo enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.â The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you wonât receive your flowers for todayâs performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. âDo excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.â
You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. âToday, after all, is for the children.â
Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards.Â
You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few.Â
With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestraâs symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. âSeverus darling,â you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. âYouâre missing out on the festivities, you know.â
âHave you finally finished tormenting Narcissaâs visitors?â he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.
âWhy, Iâd never dare to do such a thing,â you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. âI simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,â you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.
âSpare me,â he drones, lips curved impatiently.
You moue. âEver the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?â
âShall I sit around while I wait?â Snapeâs lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. âThe Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.â
âSeverus dear, if I didnât know any better, Iâd say you were trying to tell me something.â You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. âSo,â you pry, âdid you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle Iâd have a drink with him.â
The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. âEnsure that nothing traces back to you,â he snarls. âClearly I do know better, Severus.â You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. âNot to worry,â you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, âI always do as I am told.â
(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.)Â
act ii. tonight, letâs start the masquerade.
THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, letâs see where you sent me to this time.
And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. âAlohomora.â
With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet youâand if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater maskâitâs warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire.Â
Thereâs a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboardsâin an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster.Â
âReveal yourself,â you whisper curtly.
To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, youâd be blown into the walls by now. âThis isnât an ensemble stage, you know,â you chuff impatiently, âIâm not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.âÂ
The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother.Â
There are exactly five people youâd risk your life for, and right now, youâre digging the tip of your wand into their neck.
âMister Regulus Black,â you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. âSeverus didnât mention weâd be running into each other tonight.âÂ
âThatâs because I didnât tell Sev Iâd be here,â says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. âI might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, thereâs only so many times I can re-read Good Omensâand by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?âÂ
You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. âAnd so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.âÂ
Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. âWasnât it Cissaâs soirĂŠe today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?âÂ
âWho do you think I am?â you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a momentâs pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, âOf course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.â You hum reminiscently, âtruthfully, itâs been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, itâs an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.âÂ
Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. âAnd, then? Did you see my brother?âÂ
âOh, darling, I did more than that,â you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks.Â
âHow was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think itâs been so long since I saw his face.â Thereâs a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. âSorry, I just. . .â He slumps his shoulders in resignation. âI wouldnât have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .â
âI donât understand why I have to hide from my own family.â With a jagged whisper, he says, âI feel like Iâm losing my mind. Like I canât believe that Iâm really here, I donât even know if I exist sometimes.âÂ
You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. âItâs forââ
âMy own good, I know,â Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think.Â
For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance.Â
All the worldâs a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends.Â
âHow long do you think itâs going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?â As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (Youâve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) âNever mind, letâs just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.â He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. âWhat are we looking for, anyway?âÂ
You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. Itâs an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize itâs been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. âHere,â you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.
He furrows his brow. âWhat?âÂ
You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. âHelp me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.â You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.
âWhy donât we just, I donât know,â Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. âUse magic?â he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. âI suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.âÂ
You stare at him vacantly. âRegulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.âÂ
He grins boyishly before ushering you away. âAlright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.â Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work.Â
You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulusâs restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. âCareful,â you keep a tight watch on Regulusâs pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf.Â
âLike taking jelly slugs from a first-year,â he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes.Â
You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance. âReady your wand, Regulus,â you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, âI believe what awaits wonât be as simple as that.âÂ
A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.)Â
You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.
You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. âIâll go first,â you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. âIt could be cursed the moment we step inside.â Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless.Â
Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand.Â
After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight.Â
A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, youâd have dropped your wand already. âThis. . .â you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins.Â
Children.
Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. âBloody hell,â Regulus growls, chest heaving. âWhat the fuck?âÂ
âItâs a prison,â you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position.Â
âAre. . . are you with the bad men?â A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. âNo,â you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children.Â
Regulus calls your name. âTheyâre Muggles,â he hisses angrily. âI donât sense any magic from any of them.â He exhales in frustration. âWhat the hell are they doing with Muggle children?âÂ
You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. âTend to their wounds,â you say sharply. âIâll see what I can do about the chains.â And you will do something about those shackles, if itâs the last thing you do. âWeâre going to get you out of here, I promise,â you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.
Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.
âMove out of the way!â you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as youâre blown into the stone walls.Â
Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. Thereâs a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. âGet them to the safehouse,â you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; thereâs an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though itâs been snapped in half. Youâre definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. âNow!â you bellow gutturally.Â
A muscle ticks in Regulusâs jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. âItâs okay,â you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. âIâm rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.â
In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only onceâdriven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the emptiness of your unbroken charade.Â
(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.)Â
âGo,â you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boyâs forehead. âHide and wait until my companion comes for you.â
âAnd as for the ill-mannered invader,â you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figureâs bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. Thereâs a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, âConfringo!â
You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus wonât be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guestâs heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.
After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.
A firebird caws in the distance.
And, scene.
act iii. whereâs your soul? whereâs your dream? do you think youâre alive?
âAPPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.â You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots. The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your Houseâthe cete of badgers. (You seize everyoneâs attentionâwhether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)
After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, âThat is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this yearâs Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.â Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. âAnd our first lesson begins straight away.â
The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, youâre not the least bit worried. Youâve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you.Â
âNow, now, children,â you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. âThe Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.â You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. âAs such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.â
(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)
âMister Filch, if you please.â With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of LĂŠo Delibesâs Valse. CoppĂŠlia, you simper to yourselfâa story close to your heart. (Youâve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girlâs song.)
âA dance, while enjoyable by oneâs lonesome, is best savored with a partner,â you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. âYour date for the night must be aware that youâve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.â Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. âShall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?â
âNo one?â You raise a brow curiously when youâre met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: âIâll choose the lucky student myself.âÂ
You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. âMister Harry Potter?â you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. âWhy donât we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?âÂ
Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks.Â
âAs you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,â you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, âAnd not a newborn foal.â You place your hand in his, âYou may now invite your lady to dance.â
âOr your beau,â you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.
You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. âDancing is about connection,â you turn to the students with a stern gaze. âIf your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,â you say sharply as you tilt Harryâs chin and correct the arch of his arms. âRemember, itâs not ballroom if thereâs no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .â You lay your palm onto his shoulder. âThe feet should follow the music.â
Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, heâs appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harryâs flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors whoâve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. âYouâre doing it wrong, James!â shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter.Â
âWhy donât you try it, Padfoot?â Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. Youâre given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably.Â
You blink, dumbfounded. âHarry dearest, I donât believe that is necessaryâ!â
âGo on then,â says Harry, jerking his head. âShow us all how to do it.âÂ
To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. âWeâve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?â he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.
âShut your mouth, Weasley,â growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)
Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. âWho? Me?â He chuckles before forcibly slapping Jamesâs back with the flat of his palm. âNo, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.â Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. âHave at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?âÂ
âGo on, Sir Prongs!â exclaims one of the red-headed twins. âShow us how itâs done!âÂ
Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, âMay I have this dance?âÂ
Your breath stuttersâif only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners youâve had during Narcissaâs galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. âWell,â you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. âIf you must.âÂ
In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. Youâd have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the songâs aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and youâd be able to hear his heartbeat. âThere will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,â you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. âYou will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?âÂ
James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. âYouâre good with the children, you know,â he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought youâd be downright rubbish at it.Â
âWell, Mister Potter,â you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. âTo some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.â Your chin all but perched atop Jamesâs shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiverâdew on fresh grass on a warm sunny dayâfills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Siriusâs way, to which he responds with a raised brow.Â
âBit shallow, isnât it?â he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear.Â
You scoff. âOne could argue the same for a young Seeker whoâs been given their first ever broom.âÂ
James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hipâincidentally, where youâve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems youâre more sensitive and hurt than you thought.Â
Even statues of white gold chip and fade over timeâyouâre reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion.Â
James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) âWhatâs wrong?â
Occlude! Occludeâyou must occlude immediately!Â
With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. âIt is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,â you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. âI do believe weâre done here.â You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; youâve forgotten how to breathe without it. âNow, letâs have the students pair up and practice what theyâve learned so far. Iâll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. Youâll dance until I tell you to stop. Youâll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.â
That, after all, is how you learned.
The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding heartsâit always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the studentsâ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain theyâd hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails.Â
As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurorsâno doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotionsâhow putrid. The studentsâ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outrĂŠ stone walls feel like theyâre closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must.Â
Whatâs wrong?Â
The question echoes in your head.Â
Ha!Â
You scream inwardly, if they only knew!Â
While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor.Â
The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. âAre. . .â Dracoâs expression contorts morosely. âAre you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.â he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes.Â
âMind your language, Draco,â you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that youâve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: âAnd do not ask what is not needed to be.âÂ
âYouâre hurt, arenât you?â he presses further, mouth pinched. âDonât treat me like a dim-witted child because Iâm not!âÂ
A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. âPerhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.â Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. âI will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.âÂ
In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snapeâs grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side.Â
When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. âJust get it over with, Severus,â you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second.Â
You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. âI wonder,â he says through gritted teeth. âIf you are actually capable of following direct ordersâof using that near-empty brain of yours!â His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. âYour stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?âÂ
You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. âAnd Iâve done my part. Every last one of themâdead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why youâre still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?â
âDo not play coy with me,â he replies brusquely. âIâve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!â
âAnd if I didâso what?â You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isnât the first time youâve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebirdâand never on you, the foppy socialite. âWould it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?âÂ
âDo not forget your duty,â he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. âTo the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.âÂ
âDo not talk about her!â you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you.Â
âThen see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!â Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt.Â
After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his faceâas though you are the perplexing one. âThis. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.âÂ
âAnd why, pray tell,â you retort gruffly, âshould I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?âÂ
âIt contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!â he proclaims angrily. âGet to the bottom of this. Iâll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mindâas long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.âÂ
The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. Heâs dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shouldersâhandmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders.Â
âSnape,â Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpiredâwell, youâre certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms.Â
âProfessor,â he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. âYouâre looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?â
âI am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,â you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your witâs endâhow bothersome of it all. âShould you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?â you bite tiredly.Â
Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. âMad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. Iâm sure he has much more experience to offer than me.âÂ
You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. âWell, Iâve no interest in dragging my feet around. If youâll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and Iâm afraid Iâve left her alone for too long.âÂ
And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. âPerhaps, we should get you to Lily,â offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snapeâs eye roll in the background.Â
âI said I was fine!â You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. âMerlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fineâ!âÂ
Turns out, you are not fine.Â
The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon youâve ever seen.Â
 â
You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectantâa Muggleâs touch, no doubtâand concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you concludeâalthough, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, youâd make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks openâand in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.
âAm I in hell?â you eye them bitterly.Â
âNo,â says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurseâs uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. âBut youâre in my office, which means you are now under my careâtherefore Iâd like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.âÂ
âAnd I would like to return to my quarters now, please,â you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. âIâve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!â you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly.Â
âYou will listen to meâseven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!â Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantlyâshe may have adhered to you in Malfoyâs territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. âIf you had been a Muggle, youâd be dead ten times over.â
âWell, now that weâve established that Iâm alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.â You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin.Â
âNot before you tell us where those bruises came from,â Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you.Â
âMust have been the Nargles,â you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a childâs shelf. âTheyâre quite frisky this time of the year, didnât you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, Iâd say.âÂ
âAre you capable of taking anything seriously?â cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius.Â
âSirius, letâs not scare her off now, love,â Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Siriusâs neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. Theyâre an uncharted danger that you arenât familiar with navigatingâand you figure young Harry wouldnât appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. âWe just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,â Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half.Â
You sneer. âIf I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.âÂ
Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. âHow could you say that?â she asks, hand flying to her lips. âOf course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.â She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. âWe nearly couldnât find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, heâs a universal donor and he didnât even hesitate in giving you hisââ
âGiving me what?â you echo lowly. âWhat did Sirius give me, Lily?â
âBlood,â Lily says firmly. âHe gave you his blood so you could live.â
âHow dare you?â you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. âYou had no right!â You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds.Â
Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. âYou had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!âÂ
âGet out!â You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Siriusâs head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights.Â
âYou think Iâd be grateful?â you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. âYou think Iâd be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!â You laugh irately as you gasp for air. âIâd rather die!âÂ
When you run out of items to throw at themâpillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stemsâyou sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick.Â
âI. . .â Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. âI understand. . . But I am the castleâs nurse, as long as you are under Hogwartsâ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.âÂ
âI donât bloody care,â you snide.
Her eyes flash to James. âWeâll leave you to rest, then.âÂ
You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. Itâs not until you feel Jamesâs arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize youâve stopped shivering. âIâm sorry,â is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close.Â
â
You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you arenât aloneâbut you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. âSome boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . theyâre okay,â murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair.Â
If Sirius wants an encore, heâd have to drag the fight out of you. Youâre utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. âDidnât know you were into Muggle songs, Black,â you chortle bemusedly. Â
Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the roomâyou distinctly hear the moment Siriusâs hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. âAfter today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.âÂ
You donât bother replyingâyouâd have Obliviated them instantly if it wasnât illegal to use on Aurors.Â
âWe know it was you,â says Sirius out of the blueâyour blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if heâs figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. âOn the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,â he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. âI almost didnât believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.âÂ
(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.)Â
âThank you,â he says, guttural with emotions. âIt means more to Remus than you think.â
âYour gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,â you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyesânot wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. âDonât delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldnât care less what happens to you or your family.â
Sirius chuckles, like heâd expected such a response from you. âWell, do what youâd like with my gratitude, I donât care, just know that you have it,â he says, rising from his seat. âItâs past midnight, by the way. Lilyâs left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.âÂ
Your eyes drift to the nightstand. Thereâs a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase.Â
âShe believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,â Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reactionâbut thereâs none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.
As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. âYou know,â he begins quietly. âThe thing about magicâit can fool the best of us into thinking weâre indestructible. But, youâre not as inhumane as youâd like us to think.â Sirius veers his head to look back at you. âTake that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? Youâd see the rest of the world clearly if you did.âÂ
That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and youâre left alone with your thoughts.
How arrogant.
How very Gryffindor of him.Â
You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lilyâs kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? Youâd give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they haveâtheyâre more pestilent than you realized. No matter, itâs high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway.Â
If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.
â
It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly areâbut you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly youâre called the pureblood societyâs darling.Â
For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you.Â
Youâve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, youâve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior.Â
âWell, thatâs certainly a speedy recovery,â says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeterâs new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently youâve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily canât help but feel disappointed.
Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students canât help but notice this fact as theyâre brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind CoppĂŠliaâs songâher wishes, and her painâbut you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)
âMummaâs just about ready to send her a Howler,â you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermioneâs shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, âCalled the Professor a tart, even.â
Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. âReally?â
âYes, yes,â Ginny nods. âBut enough about all thatâhave you seen the news this morning?âÂ
Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. âThe one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.â
âNot that one,â Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. âThe article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Whoâs followers came and raided the entire campsite?â
âThat would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,â Hermione replies softly.Â
âWell, the Firebirdâs gone and hunted a few of them,â Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. âFound their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.â
At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.
On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacĂŠ treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you donât mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. Itâs a role you enjoy more so than others.Â
âYouâve been worrying me these days, dear,â Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. âThe other staff have been expressing their. . . concern, as well.âÂ
You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldnât possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Siriusâs blood flowing through your veins.)
You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades.Â
At your silence, Sprout continues on, âWe always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.â You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. âI hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.â Pomonaâs hand is leaden on your shoulder. âAfter all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shellâbut do not forget, I will always be on my childrenâs side no matter what.â
How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.
And so, the puppet show beginsâlike a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. âNo one has been on my side. Not then, not now,â you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. âBut do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.âÂ
In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affectionâbut the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. Youâve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself.Â
âToday was lovely, Pomona, thank you.â It is one truth youâve permitted yourself to offerâa shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than thatâyou forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.
The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you.Â
(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?)Â
Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. Itâs an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House.Â
âYour shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,â you tut, straightening his tie. âDo you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?âÂ
Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. âFather told me to tell you that youâve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,â he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. âThat is, if you arenât busy.âÂ
You raise a browâsly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, âTell your father that Iâm choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.â You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, âTell him Iâm paying for everything, too.âÂ
His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you donât expect him to yell once more:Â
âIâm going to enter the tournament this year!âÂ
Youâre certainly taken by surprise, but you donât slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lipsâwell, at least you know where youâre placing your bets.Â
A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and Jamesâmuch to your annoyance. Itâs just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greybackâs pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.
After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary.Â
âAuror Black, Auror Potter,â you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. âWhat can I do for you today?âÂ
Sirius scoffs in disbelief. âSo itâs like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?âÂ
âPartying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like youâre better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,â he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. âGuess we were the fools, eh?âÂ
James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. âIt just doesnât make sense. What we saw at the infirmaryâthatâs not something anyone forgets.â He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. âItâs like youâre two different people.âÂ
âItâs disappointing, really,â Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.
Theyâve made it all too easy for you.Â
âWhat are you so frustrated for, darlings?â you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. âWhat were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? Weâre not children anymore, my loves!â you exclaim histrionically. âDid you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didnât you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?â
Sirius staggers.
âThe real me?â you giggle incredulously. âWhat you see is what you get, dearestâdonât go searching for what doesnât exist. Itâs not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.â You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up Jamesâs chin. âNot every damsel is in distress, you know.â
Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. âMaybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion heartsâyou wouldnât have driven Regulus to his death.âÂ
James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with angerâSirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after thisâthat they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you donât plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.
âYou are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature Iâve ever seen,â says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. âCanât believe I thought anything less than that.âÂ
You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. âAre we done here now, gentlemen?â
They would learnâthis is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses.Â
The thirtieth of October brings about a cold youâve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders.Â
The skies are exceptionally gray todayâyouâve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touchâyou find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the momentâeach time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Siriusâs eyes.Â
Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before?Â
When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louderâyet all you hear are their words.Â
âYou are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature Iâve ever seen.â
âI actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.â
You would not weepânot for yourself, and not certainly for them.Â
Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell?Â
When does duty end? And when does life begin?Â
Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic hostâthat is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive.Â
âWhat a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,â you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. âIf you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where youâll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.âÂ
You want to go to sleep already.Â
Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lakeâa sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and youâll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damnedâyouâve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krumâs entrance, Hogwartsâ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seekerâwell, you could care less about such a barbaric sport.Â
Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palmâthe dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. âDumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.âÂ
You miss your cat.Â
(Siriusâs eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroffâs wretched compliments.)Â
You want to die.
â
Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth championâHarry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the studentsâ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harryâs name in the goblet in the name of family prestigeâpredictably, itâs Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you donât expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So thereâs a crack in the prideâs loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself.Â
Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus.Â
âDid you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?â the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.
The atmosphere is beyond wintryâyou note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument.Â
Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the manâfor a fleeting momentâfor if looks could kill, Siriusâs tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under.Â
âWe must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.â
Your blood runs cold.
Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleagueâs decisionâyou see no reason why he shouldnât be, heâs only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. âWell, Barty knows the rule book back to front!âÂ
Dimwitted fool.
You scoff. âIn a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potterâs name from the tournament.â
âErr. . .â Ludoâs gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. âThereâs nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.â
âDo you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?â you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. âIf the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.â âIt is not as simple as that, Professor!â Bagman cries. âBut you are welcome to try a hand at it.â
âSo we just let a child run to his death, then?â you seethe, nostrils flaring. âI never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?â
(Harryâs brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)
âHeâs got to compete. Theyâve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?â says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms.Â
âMaybe someoneâs hoping Potter is going to die for it,â Moody growls in response to Fleur. âOver my dead body!â James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger.Â
âYes, yes, Potter, we all know youâd die for your son,â Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask.Â
âIt seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,â Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lilyâs sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. âBoth Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .â
The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedricâs eyesâworry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters.Â
Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen Oneâand it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included.Â
The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twiceâtoday happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy.Â
âOi! Professor, over here!â One freckled Weasley twinâFred, you guessâbeckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva.Â
âThank you, Mister Weasley,â you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose.Â
Itâs quite oddâyouâd have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But itâs not half-bad. You donât erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You donât particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginervaâs ear when itâs time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.
âWe got a traitor here!â George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snoutâs fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone.Â
âPlease excuse me for a moment,â you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. âMinerva,â you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps sheâs misjudged a professor or two.)Â
Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harryâs match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands rumbling from the yells for his name. Youâre nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You donât understand the fuss until you look back at the arena.Â
Harryâs dragon has broken free from its chains.Â
You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from dangerâspotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire.Â
But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.
âDaphne!âÂ
The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands.Â
You scour the area franticallyâthere, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes.Â
âDaphne, get away from there!âÂ
You hardly hesitateâyou run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles awayâeach gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in frightâyou close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain.Â
But there is nothing.Â
Just you, Daphne, the Hungarianâand Remus whoâs pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntailâs attention, now zipping freely on his broom.Â
Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. âAre you alright?â he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes.Â
You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. âAre you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, letâs get you to Madam Pomfreyâcan you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.âÂ
âTâThank you, Professor,â stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, âBoth of you. IâI donât know how Iâll repay such kindness.âÂ
âDonât worry, Daphne,â says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat.Â
He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. âMy kindness is freely given.â
Has kindness ever felt so real before?
act iv. you wouldnât last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.Â
âTHE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchenâshattered! The little ones couldnât sleep for days.âÂ
You hear the orphanage matronâs voice behind the bedroom door. Youâre allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasnât she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompsonâs wrinkly face and foul smile.Â
No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side.Â
âSo this is the child,â Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. âYou may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.â
The matron widens her eyes. âMissus Fawley, I strongly advise againstâ!â
âYou misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,â says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. âThat was not a request.â
A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what sheâs thinking about; wondering if itâs the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girlsâ noses bleed.)
âShow me,â Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piperâs song. For a few moments, you donât understand what sheâs asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toyâs limbsâseconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though itâs gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: âIâm a real boy!â
Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusionâwhen you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, theyâd begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You donât try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. âMy name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,â she tells you, and you donât have a lick of comprehension. âWhat do you know about witches and wizards, darling?â âI donât know, maybe. . .â You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glanceâFawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. âThat they arenât real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?â
Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if youâve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. âDamned Mugglesâ! Is that what they teach these days?â She shakes her head. âNo, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.â âAre you going to adopt me?â you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.
âI will,â she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. âBut if we are to become familyâthere is one thing you must do for me.â
âAnything!â You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you.Â
âNever lower your eyes.â She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. âYou are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.â
You believe her.
You believe her with all your heart.
But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves âmotherâ and embrace you with open arms.Â
The Fawley Manor is largeâlarger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldnât fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. Itâs like a princess castle coming to lifeâakin to the ones youâve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawleyâs home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (âThink of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,â says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor.Â
You meet Elsie, the house elfâyour first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She canât seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever.Â
âGet settled into your room, and then weâll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,â Fawley says after she ushers you into a roomâa bedroom just for you, where you wonât have to listen to anyone elseâs snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard theyâd given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books.Â
Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you arenât looking forward to.Â
But, how bad could a school be if itâs filled with magic?Â
You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons.Â
For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothingâand on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family youâve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else.Â
The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.
âVirtue in hardships,â Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. âI brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.â
âThe wizarding world is in grave danger,â she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. âWill you help me fight for the greater good?â
You blink.
You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?
âGreater good?â you echo in disbelief. âF-Fight? Fight who? Iâve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anneâs nose bleed w-was just an accident!âÂ
âI will be with you every step of the way,â she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. âTell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And Iâm preparing you for your role in this world starting now.âÂ
The ingĂŠnue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You donât understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantationâbut Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You donât want to go back to the orphanage, cold and aloneâso, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw.Â
On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. Itâs the best birthday youâve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated.Â
The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, âThis time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.â
âWhen that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.â Her eyes flash dangerously. âAnd you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this worldâdo not let them see that you are afraid.âÂ
And so, you donât tell her that sheâs petrified you to the bone.
âAs the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.â Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. âTo be envied by allâthe perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.â
When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, âYou must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumbleâif you let even a single person know what youâre truly feeling, all this will be for naught.â
The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold.Â
âControl them before they can control you,â Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. âExert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.â
You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time.Â
âSmile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.â Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. âBut most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. Youâll just be the greatest of them all.â
(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)
Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. âElsie will give Master her hat!â the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another.Â
Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of Septemberâa letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, youâre more than excited. (âOh, mother, look!â you exclaim, pointing to the various shopsâand also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. âA sweet shop! Fortescueâs ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!â) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hersâtoday is a special one, she decides. Youâre allowed a bit of fun. Especially since youâve shown unfathomable progress in your studies.Â
You get your very first wand at Ollivandersâand now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, youâll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you donât mindânot when youâve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.
As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world youâve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people sheâs warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you.Â
âWalburga!â Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesnât reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. âWhat a pleasant surprise, my dear.â She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. âOh, my! Is it that time already? Iâd forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.âÂ
Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. âFawley,â Walburga responds, rather displeased. âTalking my ear off, as usual.â Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. âAnd who might this little one be?âÂ
You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. âMadam Black, how do you do?â you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teethâthe two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare.Â
Walburga stares you down harshly. âHow adorable.â Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. âSirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.âÂ
Missus Fawley laughs, a grating soundâmuch like warning bellsâas her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. âWhat a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.âÂ
âButâoh, dear, look at the time.â Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. âI promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. Iâd give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems youâre embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.â
âTa-ta!â She plants two, airy kisses on Walburgaâs cheeks before waving the three goodbye.Â
âThat,â Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. ââis exactly how to do it.â Â
You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what youâve gotten yourself into and what kind of world youâre about to live in.
How confusing.
All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.
âHufflepuff!â the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, youâll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones.Â
(Hogwarts is the best!)Â
The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Thirdâs portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival.Â
âSo you were sorted there,â Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. âThis would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matterâitâs not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bonesâ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Blackâs daughters as well.â
You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didnât want to be your friend, then thereâs no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twinsâ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pigâs head in the girlsâ dormitory just because.)
On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for youâmasqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests sheâs invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, whoâs already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy.Â
As long as you donât trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?
(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Blackâs laughter haunts you.)
But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You donât fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black nĂŠe Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in.Â
You donât understand why Mother is so scared of these people.
But youâll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutorâyouâre bewildered at first, arguing that youâve consistently been at the top of your class. (âMadam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,â Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. âDance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. Youâll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.â)Â
Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorneâs cane.Â
Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.
Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor.Â
You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietnessâtruthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress youâve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S.Â
Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you donât at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. âMay I have this dance?âÂ
You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. âY-Yes, if you must,â you splutter, placing your palm in his.Â
He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing.Â
âIsnât it odd that the birthday celebrant wasnât dancing all this time?â he says, pulling you in for a twirl.Â
âI assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,â you reply timidly. âSheâs quite overprotective, you see.âÂ
âWho? That tall lady over there by Missus Black whoâs currently glaring at me?â James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. âShe couldnât possibly terrify me.â
âLily says thank you, by the way.âÂ
âOh? For what?â
âLetting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essayâsheâs downright shite at the subject. Donât tell her I said that, though.â
You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.
But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie.Â
When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real giftâyour debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where youâve never ventured before. Itâs deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. âBe brave,â is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.)Â
In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaksâas though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her.Â
âWhat is this?â you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. âMother, what is going on?âÂ
Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. âMy lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.âÂ
âYou know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?â Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you arenât careful. âThe Cruciatus, the Imperius, andâ?â
âThe killing curse,â you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching.Â
âThatâs right, little one,â says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the manâs mouth. Itâs worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. âMuggles,â she spits the word out like venom. âLook at them. Theyâre filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.â
âKill him,â Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. âKill him and youâll have proved your worth to us.âÂ
âNo! No, please!â The man struggles against Abraxasâs arms. âPlease! I have a family! A c-child!â
You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. âIâ!â
âKill him, pet!â Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. âMake sure you mean it! Otherwise it wonât hurt!â
âYou know the words,â says Walburga, lifting your pliable armâa puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. âSay it.â
The man before you is real. Heâs a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? âMother, pleaseâI canât. I w-wont.â Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. âI donât. . . I donât understand.â
Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly.Â
Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. âI canât do thisâplease!â
âYou will.â
You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. âAvada Kedavra!â
The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground.Â
A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home.Â
That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguishâyou cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak.Â
âDo you get it now?â says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. âThis is your world from now on.âÂ
You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. âI donât want to live in your worldânot anymore! I donât care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! Youâre a monster!âÂ
âGood.â Fawleyâs voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. âThat means youâre ready for your next lesson.â
âDidnât you hear me? I said I was done!â you retort, sore from crying.
âDonât you see?â says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. âWe will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.âÂ
As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, âReady yourself. Iâll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.â Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room.Â
When you return to school after the winter holidays, youâre forced to pretend that you hadnât taken the life of an innocent Muggle.Â
âDo not let them see you are afraid.âÂ
âUnfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dressâitâs crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,â you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give inâalmost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothersâvying for the pedestal youâve been put on by their parents.Â
For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. âCan you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?â
(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. Youâre more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideonâsomeone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just wonât.)Â
âOh, you cruel wench!â Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someoneâs life.
Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if youâre alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved itâwell, youâre not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassivelyâoh, itâs nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. âMy mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.â
âYou and your mother can kiss my arse!â she shrieks, eyes ablaze.
âGideon didnât deserve that, and you know it,â Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twinâs dejected expression. âHow could you even say that?âÂ
âHow could I not, Lily darling?â you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.
Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. âYou are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature Iâve ever seen.âÂ
She has the softest voice youâve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same.Â
Youâve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that youâd wash the feel of your sins off your handsâitâs all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but youâre the fool that played right into her act.
You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, âThere are far worse creatures out there, Evans. Youâre lucky youâve been born only a Muggleborn.â
Fortunate that she wonât ever have to play the role that youâve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards herâeffortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake thatâs only meant for white swans like Lily Evans.Â
And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain.Â
âSay another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,â Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.
Oh, how easy they make it for you.Â
You smile in delight. âSo you think Iâm pretty?â
Marlene lunges.
(You are so tired of it all.)
Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agathaâs lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (âAgain!â Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. âDo you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! Weâre going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!â)Â
While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, youâre stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, youâve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time.Â
But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely?Â
There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all.Â
A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. Youâre not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctorâs stern orders.Â
You also learn that sheâs absolutely insaneâbut that is a fact youâve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, youâd let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycanâs curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to.Â
âA werewolf? In Hogwarts?â Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. âNo, no, no. . .â she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. Itâs the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. âDumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!âÂ
âDonât worry, my dear,â says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusionâyou hadnât been worried about that student at all. âIâll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.âÂ
âThatâs it,â she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. âPerhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house propertiesâcan you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything Iâve worked so hard for!âÂ
âMother?â you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. âMother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,â you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. âYou canât do this!âÂ
âDo not tell me what I can or cannot do!â Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. âEverything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!âÂ
âWell then, why didnât you?â you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. âMaybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldnât have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!âÂ
Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think itâs in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and thereâs crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. âHa,â she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. âMerlin, what have I done? IâIâve gone too farâeven the Gods cannot save me.â
The despair in her voice is confounding. âCome here, my love,â she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palmsâhow many times have you been in this position before? âIâm sorry,â she sobs, shoulders trembling. âOh, my darling, I am so sorry. Iâm afraid Iâve doomed the both of us.â She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. âMy child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?âÂ
You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. âI am to die soon,â says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. âBut you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.âÂ
She lets her head hang limply. âI-I am tired, as well. Iâve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hardâthat is what Iâve lived by all these years.â
âAnd so must you.â Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life.Â
You hate her.Â
You hate her with all your heart.Â
But even monsters need a heart to breathe.Â
A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (âThis is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,â your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. âDo not let him in no matter what.â) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor.Â
The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and youâre lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floorsâyour breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddleâs chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne.Â
(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You donât understand why this is the world you must live in.)Â
âCome here, my dear,â Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks.Â
Tom Riddle is handsomeâyou notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your ownâinstantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and youâre nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimencyâobstinate bastard.Â
âThis one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.â Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath youâve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. âHow fascinating.âÂ
You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death.Â
âMy Lord,â you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. âWhat an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.âÂ
Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. âDo not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!âÂ
âEnough, Bella,â Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. âIâve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.â She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for herâalmost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to childrenânow, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Naginiâs forked tongue flicking in anticipation.Â
âTell me, my dear,â says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. âHas your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.â
You grow frigid in his hold. âNot at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.âÂ
Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. âI see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?âÂ
Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. âMy Lord,â you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. âThe only reason there isnât much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophetâs eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,â you say, desperation pouring from each word.Â
You donât want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure itâyou can endure it all so long as you arenât eternally condemned to his name.Â
âTake that away, and youâll face significant repercussions,â you threaten boldly. âI promise you that. They look away because of me.âÂ
For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the publicâs attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partnersâyou had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposedâsuch as anti-werewolf bills.Â
And Voldemort would never notice that youâve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix.Â
(Youâre also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.)Â
If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no oneâs business but the Orderâsâand yours.Â
For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your motherâs cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrowâbut youâll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one.Â
Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed.Â
A day before youâre set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams.Â
There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoyâs guest roomâthe Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawleyâs voices blend into a cacophony of panic. Theyâre shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulusâs hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even.Â
But you donât feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm.Â
You scream, cry, and scream againâyou feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skinâbut itâs not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him.Â
Bile rises to your throat.Â
Tears fall from your eyes.Â
(How cold is the floor? You donât even care anymore.)
And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddleâs monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your armâAbraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You canât believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.)Â
âIâll. . . kill him,â you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing youâll ever do, you will have Voldemortâs head on a silver platter.Â
âDonât be foolish,â Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. âNone of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that weâre given.âÂ
âI promise. . . you,â you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. âIâll destroy them all.âÂ
You pass out in her arms.Â
When you awake, youâre on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes.Â
You donât bother attending your classesâseeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when youâre just a pawn in someoneâs, everyoneâs plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internallyâyouâve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream.Â
You are tired.Â
How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give?Â
Youâre only seventeenâhow can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this?Â
The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happenâif you just run away now.Â
Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you?Â
Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself.Â
Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabiniâclaiming that you had stolen her beau from her.
You toss the newspaper into the fire.Â
Some nights, you donât bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back.Â
For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizonâif you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.
Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit.Â
Maybe. . .Â
If you move a few inches forward. . .Â
If you just fly.Â
Youâd be free.Â
âOh, I didnât know this window was occupied.â You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. âI guess Iâll. . . find somewhere else to brood.âÂ
I donât care.Â
Go away.Â
I want to die.
If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone?Â
You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest.Â
Starlings chirp and fly past youâhow liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with.Â
You let your weight shift over the window.Â
Maybe if you fall, you could see what itâs like to fly.Â
âH-Hey! Donâtâ!â Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embraceâthe both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. âWhy would you do that? Are you mad?â
You sigh.Â
Maybe tomorrow, then.Â
âOi!â Remus pokes your shoulder. âDonât just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.â His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at youâjust to make sure youâre still in front of him. âA-Are you okay?â he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. âDo you want to talk about it or anything?âÂ
You shrug. âNothing to talk about.â
His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. âI think thatâs a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.âÂ
An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.
Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. âHey. . . listen. We donât know each other all that wellâso this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?â
He opens his arms wide enough for you to fitâand you stare at him in horror. âCâmon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.âÂ
You stay silent.Â
He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. âI donât bite. Promise. One hug and weâll go on pretending like we donât know each other tomorrow. Marauderâs honor.â
âI havenât done anything to deserve your kindness,â you say with a prominent sneerâcertainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice.Â
Remus smiles. âI think youâll find that my kindness is freely given.âÂ
You nibble on your bruised lip.Â
Could you really?Â
Maybe just this once.Â
Youâre only human, magic as you are.Â
You take one step forward.Â
Then another.Â
Another.
Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, âYouâre alright, love. Let it out. Iâm here.â You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you donât feel like youâre floating away into oblivion.Â
Maybe youâd stay aliveâfor a few more days.Â
To do what is right.Â
To endure.Â
Perhaps, tomorrow will be easierâif such kindness is real, maybe youâre allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then.Â
But your nightmare doesnât end when youâre awakeâit takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallowâs Eve.Â
Youâre not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddleâs followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of nightâit must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Luciusâs shadow. You search for your mother but she doesnât appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yoursâNarcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation.Â
Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finallyâ
Your mother.Â
Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands.Â
You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your visionâNarcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her.Â
âWe have found a traitor in our midst!â Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the groundâyour fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. âI caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!âÂ
âNo,â you whisper, dread knocking you backwardsâit just isnât possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands.Â
One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.
âIf the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!â Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.
Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. âIs this true?â he asks, drawing blood from your skin. âTell me!âÂ
âNo!â you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. âItâs notâlet me go! That is my mother! Youâre hurting her! Sheâs sick!â
âThat,â Riddleâs eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, âis a betrayer to our cause.âÂ
âSheâs not!â you scream.
âHow did she find out, then?â Voldemort flings you to the groundâimmediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and youâre blasted into the wallsâyou feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you wonât let him in. Heâll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.
The pain is searingâyouâre being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddleâs magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. âWeâre not traitors!â you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your motherâs listless body. âI swear!â
Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. âCrucio!â
âNo! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!â you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. âYouâre killing her!â
Tom snarls, âGood.â
Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manorâyou swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. âYour mummy over there is done for. But youâour precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.âÂ
She puts your wand and closes your fist over the woodâyour eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. âKill her. And you may live.âÂ
âJust say it,â Bellatrix whispers in your ear. âTwo little words. Youâve already done this before, petâthe second time should be easy enough!â
âNo!â you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at youâbut to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake.Â
âMum, wake up, please!âÂ
You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops youâand you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. Itâs a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddleâs invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.
âThank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.â
âKill her!â Voldemort rages into your ear.Â
You watch as Fawleyâs eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. âItâs okay, my darling,â she whispers tiredly. âI. . . can rest now.â
For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someoneâs heartâthis time, itâs your motherâs.Â
âWhat are you waiting for?â Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. âKill her! Before I do it myself!âÂ
Thereâs a faint smile on her face.Â
âIâm. . . sorry.â
Those are Agatha Fawleyâs last words before you take away her life.
The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor.Â
But your eyes are on one person and one person only.
Tom Riddle.Â
âAvada Kedavra!â
He will know your pain.
Not today, not tomorrow.
But youâll destroy them all, one by one.
a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA
#poly!marauders x reader#hp angst#hp fluff#hp imagine#james potter x reader#lily evans x reader#marauders x reader#poly!marauders fluff#x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#reader insert#poly marauders#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders#sunny's hp fics#x reader angst#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders x you#marauders fanfiction#marauders angst#marauders imagine
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two worlds collided
theodore nott x fem!malfoy!ravenclaw!reader
a.n. this is quickly becoming a theo obsession blog BUT I am open to requests for others
love theo in this piece.
to be added to my theo nott taglist just comment on one of my theo nott posts :)
synopsis - you're draco's sister but you're a ravenclaw. your father shunned you because he thought that voldemort wouldn't want you but when Nott sr is trying to find theodore a bride your father takes this as the perfect opportunity. over time you grow to genuinely care for one another.
warning - cursing, lucius malfoy is a prick, hitting, borderline verbal abuse, arranged marriage
accompanying song - never tear us apart (bishop briggs)
works slytherin boys
"Father is asking for you."
Shock washed over you and you wondered if you submerged yourself into your cloud-like bed if Lucius would just forget about it. After carefully weighing your options, it seemed rather unlikely. You threw your navy covers to the side and shuffled awkwardly to the main dining hall where your mother, father, and older brother Draco were waiting.
Your eyes fell onto a rather scary looking man and another handsome figure who you recognized as Theodore Nott, one of Draco's friends.
"Daughter." The warm velvet tones of Narcissa Malfoy filled the air. After you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, Draco and Lucius had shunned you. Narcissa had been the only person in the entire family still kind to you. Well, she and your estranged aunt Andromeda who you'd been secretly exchanging letters since third year.
"Now that the Dark Lord has gained strength, it is imperative that we maintain close connections within the Sacred 28." Lucius approached you, looking rather unhinged, and placed a large hand on your shoulder. There was a malicious look in his eyes that made the entire interaction all the more unnerving. "Once the Dark Lord begins his plans, he'll need people he can trust to continue the most important of magical bloodlines."
Your father took you by the shoulders and moved you to stand in front of Theodore and the mystery man at his side.
"This is Theodore Nott Sr. and his son, who I presume you know from school."
Nott Sr. glanced to the side at Theodore who snapped out of a sort of trance. He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it.
"Y/n."
You smiled but didn't say anything, waiting in silence for your father to elaborate. He and Nott Sr. had clearly formed some sort of plan. "You and his son are to be married."
"What?!" Your body whipped around of its own accord and you felt rage explode over your body. "You haven't spoken to me in years and suddenly you expect me to marry this man without even asking me if I wish to be married to him or anyone for that matter?!"
Lucius' hand came down suddenly. A loud 'whack' resounded in the room as the back of his palm made contact with your cheek. "You ungrateful little brat." He straightened his cloak and took what you supposed was meant to be a calming breath. "Draco noticed the way that you stared at the Nott boy in school. You ought to be more appreciative that I didn't choose that awful Pucey boy although he was more than willing."
Though you couldn't see, Theodore's nose turned up in disgust at the mention of Adrian Pucey. He'd taken a liking to you, completely undeterred by the elder Malfoy's numerous threats to stay away from his younger sister. Draco might've been appalled that you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, but that didn't mean that he was gonna let that slimey tosser terrorize you.
Your gaze stayed on the floor for a few moments before you turned back around, muttering a small apology to Theodore and his father. Overall, Theo was quite handsome and you had stared at him more than a few times. He really was quite handsome.
Nott Sr. studied you for a few moments then turned to Theodore expectantly. "Why don't the two of you take a stroll and become acquainted while Lucius and I finish up the particulars." It was phrased like a question, but in truth he wasn't asking. The air was silent as you walked out of the room the brunette boy following diligently.
The cool air nipped at your exposed skin as the heavy oak door slammed shut behind you. It was always cold and dark in the area surrounding Malfoy Manor.
"I'm sorry Theodore."
"Theo."
You stared at Theodore like a fish out of water waiting for words of any intelligence to come to you. Finally, you stuttered out an ignorant 'Huh?'.
"Call me Theo."
Your heart beat loudly in you ears for a few moments. "Oh-kay," Theo began to mosey into the Manor gardens with you hot on his heels. He was quite tall and due to the length of his legs, every one step he took was nearly three of yours. "So Theo. I am sorry you got dragged into this."
"That's alright fiancĂŠe." Theo teased you with a smile that could make any girl weak in the knees. For a moment you felt as though you could almost forget that the both of you were being forced into this.
"Still. I know your reputation. I only ask that you keep your conquests separate from our entanglement."
An indescribable akin to hurt flashed in the eyes of the boy before you. As well as something you didn't quite recognize.
"My reputation?" You spluttered at him for a few moments once again making a fool of yourself in front of Theodore Nott.
"Theo I didn't mean to--"
"Whatever." He turned away from you and stalked angrily back towards the Manor, calling over his shoulder. "And it's Theodore."
The rest of the break passed by pretty miserably, as expected. You and Theodore had gone on a few dates, as demanded by both your father and Nott Sr. since the pair of you were courting now, but they were long and excruciating with little to no conversation.
Despite a summer that seemed as though it would never end, September finally arrived.
You were boarding the train with Theodore and Draco as your parents watched on. They'd been keeping an extra close eye on the pair of you. In all honesty, you and Theodore hadn't grown any closer in your courtship than you'd been as distant acquaintances the year prior. If anything, the walk in the garden at the start of your relationship had forced you further apart.
And though you'd pretended you didn't care, seeing Theodore with other girls was never something you'd enjoyed. Now, knowing that he'd be your husband sooner rather than later, the thought of Theo running around with some daft blonde Slytherin made your heart sink to your stomach.
Yet, as the year progressed, you and the rest of Hogwarts were unexpectedly surprised by Theo. Before you knew it, the first snowfall graced Hogwarts in November, and Theodore hadn't had any flings with any girls. He was even turning down girls that had been brave enough to approach him and make the first move.
Without your parents to keep the two of you tightly bound, you and Theodore hadn't spoken since the train in.
Through all of this, you hadn't expected to become close friends with Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl in Theo and Draco's year. But she'd walked up to you during breakfast one morning and the two of you really hit it off.
Hence why currently, you were sat on Pansy's bed while she worked on her charms homework. And she was putting her absolute all into trying to convince you to ask Theo to Hogsmeade.
"C'mon Y/n! It might be fun."
"If by fun you mean he'll humiliate me in front of the entire student body." You mumbled under your breath. You tried to tune her out so as to focus on the book you were currently attempting to read, but she was determined.
"According to Blaise Theo's been talking about you when Draco isn't around to glare at him for it."
"Look Pans, I know you're in love with the bloke but have you considered that Blaise may be confused? Or simply taking the mickey?" Pansy shot you an unimpressed look. "Theo and I haven't spoken since September. In any case, if he's turning down long legged red heads who are all but stripping in front of him, what makes you think he'd want to go out with me?"
"Because he's already agreed to speak with you in the Slytherin Common Room tonight."
"What?!"
Pansy ignored your protests and damn near dragged you down to the common room with an iron grip on your wrist. When you got there, Theo was spread out on one of the expensive leather couches with a cigarette in between his lips. Yet as he noticed you approaching, he immediately dropped it and put it out with a stomp on the stone floors.
"Y/n."
The sonorous tones of Theo's voice bounced off each wall of the common room and seemed to warm you from the inside out. His voice was so inviting that you almost believed you could actually do this.
There is, however, one thing to know about Theodore Nott. No matter how inviting or pleasant Theo's aura is, you'd made a promise to yourself not to look him in the eyes. You knew that if you made the unfortunate mistake to look Theodore Nott in his malachite eyes, you'd lose all ability to think, speak, even breathe properly.
It wasn't until you saw his shoes enter your line of sight that you knew that he'd approached you at all. Worse, when his large hand found purchase under your chin and lifted your gaze to meet his, you knew that you were well and truly fucked.
In that most regrettable moment, you realized how much you'd fallen in love with Theodore. During shared hushed dates and the rare moments of laughter. Theodore Nott had completely enraptured you. And you realized much too late to do anything about it.
So now here you stood. Lost in the beautiful blues and greens of your fiancĂŠe's eyes. You were completely, 100% at Theodore Nott's mercy. And likely not for the last time in your life, you felt the urge to give into him. He was a sin that you'd willingly drown in.
"Bellisima," Theo's voice thickened as he spoke. You couldn't understand what he was saying nor could you place the language. But in all honesty, you hadn't known that he even spoke any other languages. His tongue wrapped effortlessly around each syllable and his voice deepened even more than usual, if possible. "I asked you a question."
"Huh?"
"You've been avoiding me." He stepped closer and your heartbeat spiked. "Why?"
Why had you been ignoring Theo again? How could you, or anyone for that matter, ever dream of not giving this devastatingly handsome man everything he desired and more? Oh yeah. Your wretched father.
"You've already been roped into entrapment with me and then forced to hang out with me all summer. I didn't want to cause anymore turmoil to your peace than I already have."
Theo's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. Once again you'd gone and offended the poor boy.
Immediately, you opened your mouth to apologize, but he cut you off.
"D'you know for a Ravenclaw, you really can be rather thick sometimes?"
You felt your jaw drop in shock. The small grin he currently sported on his face let you know that he'd obviously been teasing. And for the umpteenth time since knowing him, Theo stole your breath with his stupid mesmerizing smile.
Yet, through all of that, he was right. You genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Theo finally seemed to get the hint that he was going to have to spell this out for you.
"I know you probably don't know this about me, but I never do anything that I don't want to. No matter who's asking."
You continued to stare at him blankly. Had he hit his head during the last quidditch match?
Theo ran a hand stressfully through his hair. He grabbed your wrist and led you back to the couches where you settled comfortably in the seat next to him, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Merlin, Y/n. Turns out you Malfoy's are all slow."
"No offense." He added on quickly when he saw the look on your face. "That's not the point. Y/n I never would have agreed to this engagement with you if I didn't actually want to. I know that you did not get a say in the matter so if you truly wish to live our lives separately, I will respect your choice." Theo gently pulled your hand until it was safely tucked in between both of his larger ones.
"But whatever your decision, know that I am yours. I have wanted nothing more in the past few months than to be by your side. And every moment I spend without you is inexplicable torture for my soul."
"Theo."
He shook his head and cradled you face between his palms.
"No. My mother had a saying. Lascia che la vita accada. It means 'let life happen'. She believed that the only way to truly know if something is meant for you is to let life make it happen on its own. So take a few days. I'll meet you Saturday morning in the Great Hall. But know that if you agree to be mine, Tesoro, you'll be mine for eternity."
To say that staying away from Theo in the days following was easy would be a complete and total lie. When you told Pansy about the conversation the pair of you had (or lack thereof really) she'd all but exploded.
Finally, Saturday morning rolled around. You'd genuinely thought about all your options and you'd come to a decision. The only issue with Theo's plan is that Saturday was the infamous Gryffindor v Slytherin Quidditch match. The Great Hall was bustling in seas of only red or green. You were sporting a dark green jumper, a show of obvious support for the Slytherin team.
Those of your house that favored Gryffindor looked on at you with disdain as you stood from your bench and began making your way to the Slytherin table in search of Theo. He was one of Slytherin's chasers so trying to find him during such a hectic morning proved difficult.
As you walked up and down the table, a familiar figure appeared in front of you.
"Ahh Malfoy. I've been looking for you. I was wonderin' if you'd wear my jersey."
Before you had time to respond or even acknowledge the situation at all, Adrian Pucey had shoved his green and silver practice jersey into your arms. It was an incredibly common practice for girlfriends and boyfriends of Quidditch players to wear their partner's jerseys to their games for good luck.
The hall fell silent as the sound of glass breaking reverberated through the air. You looked to the source of the noise. Theo had stood so abruptly from his seat next to Blaise and Lorenzo that his entire breakfast went flying and ended up on the floor.
He was staring at you with clear ache in his eyes. Suddenly, he swung himself over the bench and stormed out of the room.
You threw Adrian's awful smelling jersey back at his face and ran frantically after Theo.
"Theo!" He ignored you and continued walking briskly even as you approached quickly on his heels. "Theodore please. Just let me explain."
"You don't owe me an explanation, dolcezza ragazza. You've made your choice."
"You've got it all wrong. That's not my decision. I don't want that." You cried out as tears brimmed your eyes. The thought of losing Theo because of Adrian Pucey was mournful.
"Hey, hey. Calma tesoro. Breathe." Theo's hands one again found their way to your face. He gently thumbed the tears from your face. "Don't get yourself all worked up. I'll always listen to you."
"Adrian he just sort of threw his disgusting jumper at me. I don't want him. I only want you. I'm yours, Theodore Nott, completely and without hesitation."
The grin on Theo's face was nothing short of heart-stopping.
"Does that mean you'll wear my jersey at the game today?"
wc 2.6k oops
4.17.24
-- taglist --
@thatdammchickennugget @moonlightreader649
#slytherin boys#slytherin#theodore nott#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x reader#theo nott#slytherin boys x reader#lorenzo zurzolo#draco malfoy#blaise zabini#pansy parkinson
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In The Shadows
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: secret relationships, non-canon, profanity
Authors Note: This is a reader insert fic, but the background is basically the reader is Draco Malfoy's twin sister. If I have forgotten any warnings, do let me know, please!
Your content consumption is on you.
âWhy was she wearing your jersey, Mattheo? Answer me that: why does another woman get whatâs mine?â You demand, walking into changing rooms. You knew everyone was out; you counted them yourself. Mattheo was standing up, waiting for you to arrive.Â
âI could ask you the same question. Why are you wearing another manâs name?â Mattheo retorts, stalking towards you. Heâs used to you cowering, becoming putty in his hand, but this time, you were defiant. You were not going to let him intimidate you.Â
âI donât think Iâve met someone with such pathetic critical thinking skills,â You shot back. âItâs not just âanother manâs last nameâ like you so kindly said; itâs my fucking last name, Riddle. If you used your brain for once in your goddamn life, youâd see Iâm wearing my brotherâs jersey. Why am I wearing my brotherâs jersey? Because someone is too fucking embarrassed to be seen with me that he refuses to let me wear his. Iâm beginning to think you just want me for sex, and thatâs isâ
Mattheo stops his advances, caught off guard by your aggression. He was not at all used to you standing up for yourself. Not to mention reducing his love for you to merely sex. â...Donât say that, love. You don't mean that you know I love you; it's justâŚâ
âIt's just what, Riddle? Your father? Do you realize who I am? Who my family is? I'm a motherfucking Malfoy. I am the daughter of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, the fucking death eater.â You look up at him, all your insecurities manifesting into anger.
âNoâŚyour brother,â Mattheo says meekly.
You look at him dumbfounded. âMy brother? You're worried about my brother? My brother couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag. Are you worried he'll tell our father? Baby, father would be happy I'm dating the literal Dark Lordâs son. That gives him a leg up, so to speak.âÂ
Mattheo raises his hand to cup your cheek before he hears the changing room door open. He immediately takes three steps back as Astoria walks in, his jersey in her hand. âHere you go, Matty.â She says, a nauseatingly flirtatious tone in her voice. She gasps when she sees you, grabbing onto Mattheoâs bicep. âWhat are you doing here? This is the menâs changeroom.âÂ
To his credit, Mattheo steps away from her but is not quick enough for your liking. âShe was just...â he began before you cut him off, your jaw tight, and a look of pure hatred burned behind our eyes.Â
âLeaving.â You spoke with absolute authority. âGoodbye, Riddle, good fucking riddanceâ You turn and walk away without even a second glance. However, you do linger at the door, silently hoping he comes after you.
You could hear Astoria laughing, âshe actually believed she had a chance with you? She really is an embarrassment to her family. Now letâs go; I have a reward for you!âÂ
You walk away after that, knowing youâll only break your own heart more. You walk away, the tears threatening to spill. How can you be sad about something nobody knew about? What do you say when people askâŚwhat do you do? You move on in the shadows, just as you were loved in the shadows.Â
You navigate your way through the Slytherin common room, staying near the walls and doing your best to avoid the partygoers. You have no desire to party; all you want is your bed. It was then that you felt a familiar, calloused hand grab your wrist. Turning around, you come face to face with Mattheoâs captivating smile. For a moment, you nearly forgot everything he put you through.
âI was wondering when youâd show up, Mally. A party is not the same without you.â He says, pulling you close and nuzzling his nose against your neck while wrapping his arms around your waist. You wanted to believe him, believe that he finally decided to love you publicly, but you could smell the fire whisky on his breath. He's drunk.Â
âYouâre drunk, Mattheo. Leave me alone; Iâm not partying tonight.â You say, pulling away from his grip. âGo party with Astoria; she must be just dying to spend time with you since youâre single, after all.âÂ
He looks at you, confusion twisting his gorgeous features. âIâm not single? What do you mean, Mally? Iâm dating you. I have been through the 7th and 8th year. I want to stay with you.âÂ
You sigh, stepping back away from him further, with tears prickling in your eyes. âThat would mean so much more if you werenât drunk, Matty. Itâs over for us, donât make this harder than it needs to be.â You turn from him and slip effortlessly into the writhing student body.Â
You collapse on your bed and release the sob that had been building in your throat all afternoon, ever since seeing Astoria wearing Mattheoâs jersey. âItâs better this way,â you told yourself; this way, you can find someone who loves and appreciates you in the open, not hiding you away like some dirty little secret. You cried yourself to sleep that night with Mattheo's shirt tucked tightly to your chest, not wanting to wake up the following day.
The following days dragged on. You did everything you could to avoid your ex, but it was getting more challenging by the day. One night, after you and Mattheo had been partnered for Charms, you broke down to your brother, confessing everything. Your 2-year relationship with Mattheo, your âbreak up,â all of it. You cried in Dracoâs arms for hours, and like the dutiful brother he is, he consoled you the whole time, quietly seething. How dare someone do this to his beloved sister? How dare someone reduce her to tears like this?Â
You were almost asleep, floating just on the precipice of dreams while Draco was reading you a story, when there was a knock on your dorm door. You move to get it, but Draco stops you. âYou need to sleep, moon. Iâll answer it.â He says softly, pushing your hair from your face.Â
You heard the door open, and Draco stepped out into the hallway. What you didnât expect to hear, however, was the conversation.Â
âWhat are you doing here, Riddle? Havenât you done enough?â Draco says, his tone angry.
âWhat are you talking about, Draco? I came to check on her, but she hasnât been answering my messages; sheâs ignoring me. I just want to talk to her. Is that so bad?â
âWhy would you keep her a secret, Riddle? My sister is brilliant and incredible. She is more my father than I could ever hope to be. She is the greatest duellist this school has ever seen, which is why sheâs the Slytherin Dueling Club Captain, and you threw her away for Astoria? All she ever wanted in her life was someone to see her for who she was, not what she could be. She hoped it was you, but keeping her a secret, that's not what you do to someone you love. Leave her alone, Riddle.â
Draco shut the door before you could hear Mattheoâs response. It warmed your heart that you had someone in your corner, your confidant, your protector. You now understood what Fred and George were saying - having a twin is the best thing.Â
You pretended to sleep as Draco walked back over, but you felt his lips land softly on your temple. âGoodnight, little moon. Iâve got you.â
Mattheo catches you in the hallways while you are walking between classes with your brother several days later. âMally, wait, please... talk to me. There has to be a misunderstanding. Please.â He looks like he hasn't slept in days.Â
âFor the last time, Riddle, leave me the fuck alone!â You yell while pushing him away from you, but he comes back like a moth to a flame. Clearly, you were going to have to tell him in a language he would understand. Once he got within arms reach, you punched him square in the nose. You could feel the cartilage break under your fist. âI told you, leave me alone, Riddle! You had your chance with me, and you gave that up.â
Mattheo holds his nose while looking at you in complete shock. Everyone in the hallway was looking at you in complete shock. You walk away, Draco hurrying after you, leaving Mattheo to deal with his broken nose himself. You could faintly hear a commotion happening behind you, but you didnât dare look around.Â
The rumours began mere hours later and steadily built up momentum as the days passed.
âDid you hear Mattheo Riddle got his nose broken by that Malfoy girl last week?â
âDid he actually? How did Tom react?â
âI still canât believe Mattheo got his nose broken by a girl.â
You were growing tired of all the gossip about you. You heard from Draco that Mattheo had started withdrawing from everyone; clearly, he was, too. The guilt began to eat you up alive - was he actually that in love with you that your separation was this hard on him? Thereâs no way he loved you, not with how he acted; maybe he was just embarrassed. Hopefully, he was just embarrassed, but you couldnât worry about that; you had bigger things on your mind - the Dueling Club tournament.Â
You sit back, watching your team dominate, cheering them on and giving the newer ones points before they step into the ring. You have to sit with the other house captains, something about rules or whatever. You clock Mattheo, sitting a few seats down, but pay it no mind.
Slytherin and Gryffindors were neck and neck; this next duel would decide who won that year's tournament. You stepped up for your house, stepping into the ring amongst hoots and hollers. After some intense planning, Harry Potter steps into the ring. The whole room fell silent. The Chosen One, the boy wonder up against Hogwart's greatest dueler. This really would be a duel to remember.
âI guess weâre doing this, Potter.â You chuckle, taking your wand from your robes and holding it comfortably in your hand. You scan the room before your eyes lock with Mattheos, and you see a myriad of untold emotions. His eyes draw you in, locking you in place. The world beyond you slips away, melting into a sea of nothingness; nothing mattered to you more at that moment than Mattheo.Â
Until, out of your peripheral vision, you see a spell coming hurling your way; instantaneously, you snap into action, quickly casting a barrier and returning the spell at him. âThat was a good try, Potter,â You taunt, waiting for him to engage again. His eyes burn into you before slinging spell after spell at you. One or two of them connected, but it wasnât enough to win.
âFuck you, Malfoy! Fight back, you coward!â Harry hissed, growing more and more agitated as the duel commenced. He was getting sloppy, precisely what you counted on. He may be âThe Chosen One,â but that doesnât change the fact that he is a hothead and a thoughtless dueler.Â
âEasy, Potter, donât lose your head,â You taunt again, stalking around the ring like a predator stalking its prey. You watch closely, taking note of his actions as you patiently waited, waited for the right time to strike.Â
Now.
You go on the offence, unloading a flurry of harmless attacks, each one hitting its target with deadly accuracy. Within seconds of your attack, that match was called, and Slytherin was named winner of the Tournament. Your whole house jumps up and swarms you, chanting your name. You were enjoying all the celebration when you saw Mattheo pushing through the crowd. You prepared yourself mentally for whatever argument was about to ensue, but when he reached you, instead of starting an argument, his lips collided with yours.Â
The kiss was electrifying, hungry, desperate, and everything you needed it to be. Mattheo's hands danced their way down your face to the side of your neck, resting there as if they were always meant to be thereâŚand perhaps they were.Â
âYou're mine, do you understand me?â He growls as he breaks the kiss. âNo more of this ignoring me bullshit. I know where I fucked up, but I need you back, Mally. Please, no more hiding, no more keeping you a secret.â
You look at him, seeing the vulnerability heâs showing in front of everyone. He bites his lip, and his hands begin to tremble ever so slightly. You knew in your heart what to stay.Â
âYouâre a goddamn idiot, Mattheo Riddle, but youâre my goddamn idiot.â You punctuate your sentence with a kiss, sealing everything.
#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo x you#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle angst#slytherin x reader#slytherin
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The Mark - D.M
Reader comforts Draco after he gets the dark mark
Exactly what you think itâs gonna be like. Tragic backstory, mentions of voldy and war, so sad, angst/comfort, 776 words
Draco Malfoy was tired.
He was exhausted, yes. But he was tired of being the man of the family. He was tired of being a Malfoy heir, of being forced into boxes in order to make his family proud.
And now it was too late.
He laid in his four poster bed, fighting against the tears blooming behind his eyes and the stinging sensation on his forearm.
He shiveredâ he felt dirty. Disgusting in a way that wouldnât wash out no matter how many times he scrubbed the spot where bony white fingers had grasped his arm.
He wanted to kick and scream like a toddler, but even now he couldnât express the emotions building up in his chestâ adrenaline, shame, fear, all joining in on his downfall.
He laid unresponsive, too tired to move but unable to fall asleep.
He can still hear his mother crying downstairs. She hadnât stopped since the Dark Lord had left the manor, and taken her sons innocence and choice along with him.
Draco faintly registers the smell of smoke and a tumbling sound, but he makes no attempt to investigate, chalking it up to a clumsy house elf.
At least until he hears your voice.
âDray?â Itâs gentle in a way that makes all of his emotions perk up, fighting their way to his face as he finally moves; sitting up to face where you stand, freshly out of his fireplace.
He wants to talkâ ask what youâre doing here, how you got there, if you still love himâ but instead the most embarrassing thing happens.
Draco Malfoy starts crying.
Draco has not cried since third year, but a single look at you has him sobbing out into the stillness of the house.
Within seconds youâre next to him, pulling him into your chest and stroking his hair while you mumble reassurances into his ear.
He cries for a long time, giving his mother a run for her money with the his sobs echo off the walls, the silencing charm youâd put up to shield him from Narcissaâs ears only making them reverberate louder.
By the time heâs finally calmed down his voice is raspy and his eyes are bloodshot.
âTheyâre monitoring floo.â
âI know,â you hush him, âbut thatâs for the order members. They wonât care about us. They probably think Iâm just sneaking out to smog you.â
He lets out a chuckle, but itâs airy and thereâs no real humor in it.
He wants to tell you. But at the same time, heâs terrified that youâre going to be disgustedâ that youâd get up and leave him just like everyone else when he inevitably disappoints.
You notice he subconsciously fiddles with the edge of his sleeve, and you grab his hand, bringing it up to place a kiss on his fingers.
âI know already.â
You want to cry with the amount of fear in his eyes when they meet yours.
âYou- how?â
âYour mom was talking to mine about it.â
He lets out a scoff, âitâs a miracle she can get anything out with the way sheâs been crying.â
You sigh, ���can you blame her?â
âIâm the one that got branded, whyâs she crying?â
You smooth a gentle finger over his sleeve, hating the way he flinches.
âBecause youâre now a part of this war, a bigger part than anyone your age should ever be.â
He buries further into you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and appreciating the way you wrap your arms around him, squeezing just enough to press your bodies into each other.
âDo you still love me?â
His voice is so small and hidden from where heâs laying, but you hear it nonetheless, and your heart shatters into a billion tiny pieces at the vulnerability and disappointment in it.
Heâs expecting you to say no.
Instead, you grab his arm, bringing it up to where you can see it. At first he refuses to let you move his sleeve, but he quickly tires, watching your every move with droopy eyes and resigned interest.
He inhales sharply when you do itâ roll his sleeve up and press a soft kiss directly onto the middle of the mark, right where the snake winds around the mouth.
âThe Dark Lord himself couldnât make me stop loving you, Draco Malfoy. This doesnât change who you are.â
He breathes a small sigh of relief.
He was still a death eater, still an heir, and still guiltyâbut you loved him, and you werenât going to leave him because of it.
So maybeâ just maybeâ he could survive this war. As long as you were here
#harry potter scenarios#draco malfoy#draco Malfoy scenarios#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy drabble#draco angst#slytherin boys#draco malfoy angst#death eaters#harry potter boys#draco fanfiction#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fic
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Scars To Your Beautiful - James Potter
A/N: I have no idea how I was able to finish this xD thank you @captainlunaxmen for all your help! I hope yo loves like this :)
Request - @nix-rose asked: What about a James Potter x Black!Reader (if reader can have some personality: extrovert, loyal, gryffindor but could probably be a slytherin, just a happy person, definitely rough and tumble but still enjoys looking cute-) âHave you⌠Always been this beautiful?â ââŚThatâs so cheesy even for your standards.â
Warnings: reader is really insecure, mentions of abusive parents, James protecting you from a creep (nothing to explicit though) also, this isn't proofread :D
Disclaimer: I donât own Harry Potter :) gif isnât mine :DÂ Â
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Scars To Your Beautiful
But there's a hope that's waiting for you in the dark You should know you're beautiful just the way you are And you don't have to change a thing, The world could change its heart No scars to your beautiful, we're stars and we're beautiful
The âother Blackâ. That's how you were known in Hogwarts.Â
You knew your family wasnât perfect. As much as they all like to make it seem that way, it was very much far from it. Being part of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black brought a lot of pressure with it, but you were used to it by now. And, deep down, you loved your family. At least your brothers and your cousins. Well, two of your cousins, you were always pretty terrified of Bellatrix after she enchanted all of hers and her sistersâ ancient creepy dolls to come alive and it still terrified you to your very core today. But you loved Andromeda and Narcissa, even if the latter was now spending all of her time with Lucius Malfoy and you saw less and less of her.Â
Even if youâd never admit it, you were always a bit envious of them. Not in a bad way, you just⌠wondered a little how it would feel to be like them. You remembered guys literally fighting to get your cousinsâ attention. And not a day went by without you having to hear at least ten different people saying how gorgeous your brothers were.Â
And then, there was you. You had a respectable reputation since you were part of the Black family. But it sometimes felt like you werenât worthy enough to be part of it. Youâve sometimes noticed some guys staring at you a bit too long. And youâve gone out with a few guys before. But youâve also had people come to you specifically to get closer to one of your relatives. And nobody had referred to you as beautiful. Well, no one, exceptâŚ
âHey, beautifulâ you heard that very familiar voice standing next to you.Â
âPotterâ you smirked.Â
âGoing to the match today?âÂ
âThe Slytherin-Gryffindor match?â you smiled. âOh, I wouldnât miss it for the worldâ you told him.Â
âGood, cause I need my good luck charmâ he said as the two of you walked to the Great Hall.Â
âExactly, how does that work, Potter? Because Iâm not really rooting for your teamâ you reminded him and he scoffed, pretending to be offended.Â
âBut of course you are, your brother plays on my team-â
âMy other brother plays for my teamâ you interrupted.Â
âWell, maybe not the team but⌠Iâm sure you like the Gryffindor captain more than Slytherinâsâ he smiled sweetly at you.Â
âWell, you got me there, Potterâ you admitted.Â
âPromise youâll come to the party when we win?â he asked as you entered the Great Hall and you knew you would separate.Â
âThatâs a lot of talk, Potterâ you smirked but he offered his pinky to you. You rolled your eyes but you took it. âNever speak of thisâ you told him.
âSee you there, beautifulâ he said before he saw you walk to your table.Â
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
âHereâ you said, sitting down next to your brother at Potions and handing him a small bag.Â
âWhatâs this?â he asked, grabbing the bag.Â
âThat girl from Ravenclaw wanted me to give you this. I think she wants to ask you to Hogsmeade next weekendâ you said, grabbing one of the chocolates inside. âBite this, if it doesnât have a love potion, Iâm stealing themâ you said.
âIâm not trying anything!â he complained. âRemember when we had to take care of Sirius after that girl from Hufflepuff basically drugged him?â
âI know, thatâs why I wanted you to try them firstâ you chuckled.Â
âHold onâ he said, grabbing his wand and pointing it at the candy. âWeâre goodâ he said when a small purple dust came out of it. You grabbed one of the chocolates and Regulus grabbed another one, reading the note inside. âSo, how was your talk with Potter this morning?âÂ
âI didn't talk to Potter this morningâ you frowned, stealing some of his chocolates.Â
âDonât do that. Iâm not Siriusâ Regulus glared at you. âIâm not oblivious of how you two just casually entered the Great Hall togetherâ he said.Â
âI donât know what youâre talking about, Reggieâ you said, pretending to be confused.Â
âOr whenever he goes to Honeydukes he just happens to buy one too many Peppermint Toads so he gives you some, which just so happens to be your favoriteâ he said.
âHe doesnât⌠do thatâ you said, with your mouth half full of chocolate.Â
âAre you⌠playing dumb? Or have you actually not noticed this?â
âNotice what? James is just friendly. Thatâs how he isâ you tried to explain.Â
âReally? Heâs never gotten me Sugar Quillsâ Regulus said.Â
âHe doesnât like Sugar Quills, why would he buy those?âÂ
âHe doesnât like Peppermint Toads eitherâ he smirked.Â
âY-yes he does!â you argued, nervously.Â
âNo, he likes Chocolate Frogs, like the rest of us normal peopleâ he said, as you glared at him. âAnd besides, itâs not just that. Heâs always asking Sirius and me what your favorite books are, or asking Remus which songs you likedâ he shrugged.Â
âHe⌠he does?â
âDoes he really strike you as the guy who would read Pride and Prejudice for the fun of it?âÂ
âHe mightâ you tried to convince yourself as you grabbed another chocolate.Â
âLook, I know what youâre doing, and I know why youâre doing it. And itâs not worth it, bugâ he said, getting serious.Â
âItâs easy for you to say, Regâ you mumbled, picking another chocolate. âLook, itâs just⌠not that easy for meâ you added.Â
âYouâve gone out with guys beforeâ he frowned, confused.Â
âNot like Jamesâ you added. âWhat if⌠what if heâs really just being friendly? What if I think heâs interested in me and then I make a complete fool of myself? Just because heâs nice to me and I think there might be something else there? I feelâŚâ you sighed, looking down at your hands. âIt feels patheticâ you mumbled.Â
âFirst of all, thereâs nothing wrong with you liking James. Having feelings doesnât make you patheticâ he said in a serious tone. âSecondly, did you not listen to what I just said? I honestly donât think that James is just nice to you randomly like heâs nice to everyone else. Heâs always looking for excuses to be around you, and he seems happier when he is. As do you. And, to be honest, I thought you were as oblivious about this as Sirius is, but now that I know that you were just trying to live in denial well, youâre dumber than Sirius- OUCH!â
âExcuse me?!â you asked, offended.Â
âOnly when it comes to thisâ he defended himself. âLook, I know that⌠for some reason, youâve convinced yourself that youâre never going to find someone who fancies you-â
âFor some reason? There is a very clear reason, Regulus, her name is Walburga!âÂ
âI knowâ he rolled his eyes. He knew very well about the hierarchy of the three of you in your home. And even if you were still not as below as Sirius because you were in Slytherin, your mother never let you forget that you were not Regulus or any of your cousins for that matter. âAnd I know that is not easy for you to turn off her voice in your head but, if you donât, you might miss your chance to be with someone who is actually a great fit for you and it looks like he really likes youâ he explained. âDonât do that. If you let her win, youâre admitting that sheâs right. And we all know, sheâs notâ he reminded you. âWhatâs the worst that could happen if you give Potter a chance?âÂ
âItâs very annoying when youâre right all the time, did you know that?â
âI doâ he smiled triumphally, eating one last piece of chocolate as Professor Slughorn finally entered the class.Â
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
âUgh, what is it?â you heard your cousinâs annoyed voice on the other side of the door that you knocked on before it opened, and she appeared. âOh, hey, loveâ she smiled when she saw it was you.
âHi, Cissa, um⌠is this a bad time?â you asked, hoping you were not just interrupting her having sex with Malfoy.Â
âOh, no, love. Lucius is just moping about losing the matchâ she laughed, stepping out. âWhatâs up?âÂ
âUm, w-well, I wanted to ask for a favor⌠if youâre not too busyâ you smiled.Â
âPlease, anything to get away from Luciusâ she said, linking her arm with yours and already walking over to your dorm. âSo, whatâs going on?â she said, stepping into your dorm and noticing all the clothes scattered around your bed and the floor.Â
âWell, I was hoping to get your opinion on somethingâ you said, smiling sweetly.Â
âLet me guessâ she said, sitting on your bed and grabbing a few skirts and dresses. âYouâre going to the Gryffindor party to see James Potterâ she said, erasing the smile off your face.Â
âWha-? How did you know? Did Regulus tell you?â
âOh, please, love, Iâm sure you and Sirius are the only ones who didnât knowâ she laughed.Â
âWhat?â
âYeah, Bella and Andy also knowâ she informed you.Â
âWhat? How?â
âI told themâ she shrugged.Â
âUgh, greatâ you said, throwing yourself on your bed. âMy entire family is discussing my pathetic crushâ you lamented.Â
âIt could be worseâ she said. âAt least heâs a purebloodâ she smiled.Â
âRightâ you said awkardly, sitting up. Of course that would be the only pro sheâd find on James.Â
âBesides, he obviously likes you backâ she said as she started looking through the dresses. âStand upâ she said, pulling you up and putting the dress in front of you.Â
âHow are you so sure that he likes me back?â
âOh, please, love. You canât be that denseâ she snorted. âThe boy wonât leave you alone. And Iâm pretty sure youâre the only one not from Gryffindor to get invited to their partiesâ she said. âOr at least the only Slytherinâ she said.Â
âW-well, maybe Sirius invited me-â
âThen why isnât Regulus going?âÂ
âOkay, fairâ you sighed.Â
âThis looks pretty. How come you havenât worn it before?â she asked, holding up a black dress.Â
âOh, I got it a while ago in a very cute shop, but, I know itâs not something my mother would ever let me wearâ you told her.Â
âWell, lucky for us, your mum isnât hereâ she said, throwing the dress at you.Â
After you put it on, Narcissa happily sat back down on your bed and helped you with your makeup.Â
âHey, Cissa?â
âTry not to move, Iâm doing your eyesâ she said.Â
âHow do you um⌠get a guy to uh⌠notice you?â you asked, making your cousinâs look soften a little.Â
âJames Potter already notices you, loveâ she smiled.Â
âW-well, yeah, I guess b-but, um⌠how do I let him know that I like him?â you asked. âYou know, without actually telling himâ you chuckled.Â
âYou mean, how do you flirt with him?âÂ
âItâs just⌠Regulus insists that he does these things to get my attention and⌠to be honest, I didnât think it was any different from the way he acts with other girls so⌠I guess I have been acting normal, but⌠Iâd like him to know that Iâm interested, I guessâŚâ
âWell, Potter seems to have a big ego, so congratulate him on how well he played todayâ she said as she kept doing her makeup and you glared at her a little.Â
âAnd Lucius is as humble as they come, I supposeâ you muttered.Â
âFair pointâ she said, before she continued. âLook, you already know heâs interested in you. Just smile at him, laugh at his stupid jokes, you should be fineâ she insisted as she finished. âOkay, Iâm doneâ she smiled. You got up and walked over looking at yourself in the mirror.Â
For the first time, in a very long time, you actually felt beautiful. Narcissa had managed to make you look as elegant and flawless as you did whenever your family had a dinner party, but you didnât feel like you were wearing a costume in one of the dresses your mother always picked. You felt like yourself. You turned around and hugged your cousin tightly.Â
âThank you so much, Cissa!â you smiled.Â
âYouâre welcome, love. Now go flirt with your dumb boyâ she said, ushering you outside your dorm.Â
âYou tooâ you said, smiling and walking down the stairs as she rolled her eyes.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
When you entered the Gryffindor Tower, the party was already in full mode. You felt a few people, guys specifically, looking your way but you thought maybe it was because you were possibly the only Slytherin here. You walked across the Common Room, looking for James, but you found a different Marauder first.Â
âHi, Remusâ you smiled as he walked over to you.Â
âOh, thank Merlin youâre hereâ he hugged you. âYouâre the only person I like at this party and now Prongs can finally stop moping about you not being hereâ he said, making you laugh a little as he pulled away and looked at you. âWow⌠you look-?â
âBad?â you panicked.
âWhat? No! You look lovelyâ he smiled. âProngsâ probably gonna have a heart attack thoughâ he smirked.Â
âShut up! Stop saying things like that!â you widened your eyes at him.Â
âOh, please donât tell me that you are as oblivious as your brotherâ he chuckled.
âI am not-! You know, I hit Regulus for saying that today!âÂ
âAlright, donât hit meâ he said, putting his hands up in surrender. âBut, you cannot tell me that you havenât noticed the way Prongs acts around you. He was literally throwing a fit about you not coming todayâ he insisted.Â
âReally? Because he seems fine to meâ you said, pointing behind Remus where you saw James talking to a group of very pretty girls as he offered a drink to one of them while another one threw her hair back, clearly flirting with him.Â
âThat means nothingâ Remus said, rolling his eyes when he looked back to you. âThatâs how James is-âÂ
âExactly, thatâs how James isâ you repeated.Â
âNo, itâs different with youâ Remus insisted as he grabbed a drink and handed it to you.Â
âReally? Enlighten meâ you glared at him.Â
âSo, you are admitting you are as oblivious as Sirius then?âÂ
âYou know, youâre making a big deal out of that for someone who is just as oblivious on my brotherâs crush on him-â
âWhat?!â Remus said, choking on his drink and pulling you aside. âAlright, now youâre just making stuff upâ he said.Â
âIâm not! You really havenât noticed how Sirius is obnoxiously loud whenever youâre around to get your attention?â
âHe⌠does notâ Remus said, blushing a little.Â
âOr that he calls you sweet namesâ you smirked.
âHe calls everyone âloveââ he interrupted.Â
âYes, he doesâ you nodded. âBut he only calls you âmyâ loveâ you added.Â
âHe⌠does notâ he repeated.
âWhat are you doing here?â Sirius asked, walking over to the two of you all of the sudden.Â
âNothingâ Remus quickly said.Â
âBeing normal, why?â you said at the same time, making Sirius raise an eyebrow at the two of you. âUm⌠h-have you seen James?âÂ
âNo, but I am seeing too much of somethingâ he said, gesturing his hand at your body. âWhat the bloody hell are you wearing?â
âA dress?â you said, looking down at yourself.Â
âThat is too revealing. You need to go change!â
âFirst of all, it is not. And secondly, your shirt is literally completely open!â you complained.Â
âYeah, well, this isnât anything they havenât seen beforeâ he defended himself. âI am not in the mood to fight some prick that stares at you for a little too long because of⌠thatâ he said. âGo upstairs and grab my jacketâ he told you.
âWhat? No!â you complained.
âYesâ he insisted. âWould you reason with her, my love?â he asked, looking at Sirius and you smirked when he blushed furiously.Â
âShut upâ he whispered to you. âLook, just go upstairs and pretend to look for a jacket, Iâll distract him and you can come back in a few minutesâ he said while Sirius finished his drink.Â
âUgh, fineâ you rolled your eyes.Â
âHow come she only listens to you?â Sirius complained, pouting at Remus. âIt must be your beautiful eyesâ he smiled.
âHow many of those have you had?â Remus asked, taking his glass away from him.Â
You made it upstairs to the boysâ dorm and went over to Sirius' trunk to look for one of his jackets. You found one that you kind of liked and put it on before you went back downstairs. You looked for James but saw he was still talking to the group of girls. You tried to look for your brother instead but saw him very busy with Remus and you didnât want to interrupt so you went to grab something to drink.
âI didnât know they let Slytherins into our partiesâ you heard Augustus McLaggen on your left, pouring himself a drink as well.Â
âOhâ you said nervously. You were rarely alone at these things. You would at least have Regulus by your side and he would make someone go away if you were uncomfortable. âW-well, James invited me and- I was with my brother-â
âRelax, darling, Iâm jokingâ he smirked, walking closer to you.Â
âOhâ you smiled wearily.Â
âItâs actually a bit⌠refreshing to have someone from another houseâ he said.Â
âUm⌠thanks?â
âThereâs something different about youâ he said, eyeing you up and down. âI canât quite put my finger on itâ he said, making you pull your jacket a little closer.
âHey! You finally came, loveâ you thankfully heard Jamesâ voice coming towards you and wrapping his arm around your waist. âI thought you were standing me upâ he said, kissing your head.Â
âJ-James, hiâ you smiled relieved.Â
âSorry, mate, gotta steal her for a bitâ he said, smirking at McLaggen who was glaring at him and he quickly pulled you aside.Â
âThank youâ you told him as the two of you walked away.
âDonât mention it, love. McLaggenâs a prick, why were you talking to him?â
âI wasnât talking to him! He was talking to meâ you insisted as James raised his eyebrow. âI was just getting a drink! And I was gonna go look for you-â
âAre you wearing my jacket?â he asked, confused.Â
âY-your⌠what?â you said, looking down at your jacket. âThis is y-your jacket?â you asked confused.Â
âYeahâ he smiled.
âOh, Iâm sorry, it was in Siriusâ trunkâ you said, confused. âI thought-â
âYeah, beautiful. Iâm gonna save you some time, probably none of our clothes is in the correct trunkâ he laughed. âExcept Remusââ he added.Â
âIâm sorryâ you said, starting to take it off.Â
âN-no! Donât worry about it, gorgeous. Are you cold? Is that why you wanted my jacket? âCause it looks good on you- I mean, you look beautiful tonightâ he said smiling at you. âW-well, you always doâ he added.Â
âR-really?â you smiled, feeling your cheeks blush.
âYeahâ he nodded. âYou donât need the jacket if you ask me-â
âOh, um, w-wellâŚâ you stuttered. âSirius just⌠didnât like my dress and said I needed a jacketâ you rolled your eyes. Â
âWell, Padfoot just needs to snog Moony and mind his businessâ he laughed, making you laugh as well. âYou look beautiful with that dressâ he smiled dreamily at you.Â
âThank you, Jamesâ you said, feeling your heart flutter. âWait, you know about that?â
âHow Sirius calls Moony âmyâ love? Of course I doâ he chuckled. âSo, what took you so long to come? Were you crying all this time because your house lost?â
âReally? Did you want me to come just to brag about the match, Potter? I can still leaveâ you smirked as he handed you a drink.Â
âPlease donât. I was so bored before you cameâ he said, walking you over to one of the sofas near a window.Â
âI find that very hard to believeâ you said, looking around.Â
âWhy do you always think Iâm lying?â James asked, placing his hand on the sofa, behind you.Â
âBecause Iâve known you since Iâm eleven?â you replied, making him glare at you a little.Â
âThat hurts, loveâ he said, trying to sound offended. âWhen have I ever lied to you?âÂ
âWell, for starters, you didnât tell me that you, my brother, and Peter became Animagi to help Remus-â
âThat was your brother. He didnât let us tell youâ he defended himself.Â
âAlrightâ you said, trying to suppress your smile. âSo, youâve never lied to me?â
âNever, loveâ he insisted.
âNot even to avoid hurting my feelings?â you raised your eyebrow at him and noticed him tense a little.Â
âN-no, of course notâ he said, taking a sip of his drink.Â
âSo, last Christmas when you invited us over and your mum was teaching me how to cook, you actually liked the Christmas Pudding I made?âÂ
âOf course I didâ he chuckled.Â
âJamesâ you glared at him.Â
âYes, love?â he smiled, goofily at you.Â
âI mistakenly added salt instead of sugar, it was ruinedâ you laughed.Â
âNo, no. It wasnât ruined. It gave it a new better tasteâ he shrugged.Â
âJames!â you laughed.Â
âWhat? Itâs true! I liked itâ he insisted.Â
âNobody else ate it! You canât possibly think it was goodâ you laughed.Â
âWell, I didâ he shrugged, turning your way.Â
âYouâre really stubborn, did you know that?âÂ
âOh, and youâre not?â he laughed making you smile. âHave you⌠always been this beautiful?âÂ
âThatâs so cheesy, Potter, even for your standardsâ you chuckled, feeling your cheeks burning.Â
âWait⌠do you-? Do you not believe me?â he asked, his tone getting serious.Â
âI- um⌠I doâ you said, unconvincingly.Â
âYou donâtâ he said, turning himself to you. âIt is one thing that you donât believe that I liked your Christmas Pudding-â
âYou didn'tâ you insisted.Â
âBut how can you not believe me about that?âÂ
âI do!â you insisted. âItâs just⌠Iâm sorry, Iâm being stupidâ you smiled sadly, looking at your drink.Â
âNo, youâre notâ James insisted, placing his hand under your chin to make you look at him. âWhatâs going on, love? Did- did I say something wrong?âÂ
âNo!â you quickly said. âYou never say anything wrongâ you smiled sadly. âItâs just⌠Iâm not really used to um⌠hearing thatâ you said, feeling your cheeks blush.Â
âLove, I tell you that every single day! Why is it so hard for you to believe me?âÂ
âBecause, James, look at my entire familyâ you said, sadly. âYou know who I live with. My mother is not warm and loving like your mum is. I grew up very differently than youâ you reminded him, making his look turn soft and his heart break a little. âI know you wouldnât lie to meâ you added. âItâs just⌠not easy for me to believe it, I guessâ you smiled sadly.Â
âWell, loveâ he said, moving closer to you and placing his hand softly on your cheek. âIf youâre okay with it, I will keep saying it until you believe meâ he told you. âBecause you are the most beautiful person that I have seen in my life. And, since apparently I havenât been as obvious as I thought I was, I am completely and madly in love with you and I would love to take you out on a dateâ he said, making your heart stop.Â
âR-really?â you asked and he raised his eyebrows at you. âI m-mean, y-yes, I would love to go on a date with youâ you smiled. âAnd⌠in case you didnât know because Iâm horrible at this⌠I am very much in love with you tooâ you added, making the biggest smile appear on Jamesâ face. âAnd I also think youâre really beautifulâ you said before he pulled you in to kiss you on the lips.Â
âI love you, beautifulâ he said, making you smile.Â
âI love you too, Jamieâ you said. âCan I ask you one more thing?â
âAnythingâ he said.
âDo you like Peppermint Toads?â you asked suddenly, remembering your conversation with Regulus.Â
âDo I uh-â he frowned. âWhy are you asking me that?â he chuckled nervously.Â
âYou always give me Peppermint Toads when you say you bought too many but⌠I donât think Iâve seen you have oneâ you explained.Â
âWell, love⌠I hate to break it to you, but nobody likes Peppermint Toadsâ he admitted.Â
âThatâs not true!â
âYes, it isâ he said, kissing your cheek. âI just bought them because you always smiled when I gave them to youâ he said. âSo, Iâll buy you as many as you wantâ he said, hugging you to him and giving you another peck on the lips.Â
"Thanks, love" you smiled. "Can you now tell me if you actually liked my Christmas Pudding?"
"I did!"
The End
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A/N: I hope you loves liked it! :)
#marauders#marauders imagine#james potter#james potter imagine#james potter x reader#sirius black x sister!reader#regulus black x sister!reader#james potter oneshot
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