#minister fudge

[arliedraws]

Ooh consider a timeline in which Barty Crouch Sr. gets the top job after Voldemort’s defeat and his regime is not unlike the government we see in Deathly Hallows… Imagine how full Azkaban would become.

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Do you ever think about the fact that Sirius Black was so mentally strong that despite being imprisoned in Azkaban for 12 years; 12 years basically in solitary confinement because he’s hardly chatting to the Voldy crowd; and we are told he was ONE OF THE MOST HEAVILY GUARDED in the entire prison - despite all this, During Fudge’s visit to Azkaban, Sirius casually asked if he could have Fudge's newspaper (since he missed doing the crossword), which the unnerved Minister handed over?

Because I do.

And do you ever think about the fact that despite surviving 12 years of hell, then other stuff like eating rats in a cave and risking getting his soul sucked out by Dementors, the only time we see Sirius Black in a bad way is when he is stuck in Grimmauld Place for the first time since he ran away as a 16 year old. Stuck there reliving old memories and old losses and unable to help Harry (his whole raison d’être), drinking and low in mood. He gives Buckbeak his mother’s old room (does he want Buckbeak to ruin it or an excuse to go into it, Probably both) and leaves Regulus’ room completely untouched, unchanged, like a shrine to his ‘idiot, too soft’ baby brother?

Because I do.

[mirrorofliterature]

also I have been mulling over a fanfic where, instead of umbridge - the senior undersecretary to the minister - is dada teacher, fudge instead chooses his junior assistant -

a.k.a. percy weasley.

percy has the grades, and he's under fudge's thumb as far as fudge is concerned.

percy: I will make sure that these children get at least one year of competent dada instruction to spite dumbledore or Merlin help me

as a teacher, I think percy would be similar to McGonagall - strict but fair.

he would submit his curriculum and be like: 'this complies with the exam expectations for dada owl and newt students'

fudge: why are there practical spells :/

percy: it would reflect on the ministry poorly if students couldn't competently complete the practical aspects of dada exams, sir

fudge: proceed :)

[that man has zero brain cells, istg]

of course, fudge (in his incompetence) aided by dumbledore pushing it off for longer than he should have (in his greater incompetence) only give percy one week notice.

and percy is like. ah shit this is going to be awkward teaching my siblings who hate me and I worked really hard for this job -

and then he sees the alternative is umbridge.

he takes the job.

he asks remus for his course notes because he was his only competent dada teacher.

fudge: what is this curriculum based off?

percy: a well-respected, established and experienced dada expert with prior teaching experience.

fudge: proceed :)

anyway chaos ensues.

[ldrfanatic]

r2 mattheo riddle

the truth from my red lips

mattheo riddle x gryff!potter!reader

r2 - “you and me would be a BIG conversation”

taylor swift lyric prompts

slytherin boys works

“y/n!” you turned at the sound of your name. colin creevy, a second year, was running up to you with the two issues of the daily prophet. on the first was a picture of your cousin, harry potter, bloodied and stunned following his win at the triwizard tournament. the front of the second sported another stunned headshot of him at his trial for underage magic in the presence of a muggle. (dudley, the disgusting boy on your the other side of the family).

with the new school year it was all anyone could talk about. well that, and that he and dumbledore had both gone mad spouting “nonsense” that voldemort had returned. especially since the lovely minister of magic cornelius fudge was vehemently denying it.

the boy brandished the papers in front of you once more.

“can you have harry sign these?”

suddenly, you were reminded of why you’d never ever wish to be as famous as harry. sure people recognized your last name here and there, but most people hadn’t even known that james potter had a brother, let alone that that brother had children. your father cut all ties with the rest of the family after an unfortunate fallout with your grandfather.

it wasn’t until you came to hogwarts and were sorted into the same house that you and harry got the chance to connect. now that your parents had passed, you lived with your mothers best friend. she was the closest thing that you had to family until you found harry.

in any case, with no prior mention of you, potter was a common enough surname that no one outside of your friends suspected that you were related.

that was until rita skeeter at the bloody prophet decided to do some digging and out you in her mission to completely expose the boy who lived during last years tournament.

before you could respond, a deep voice sounded behind you. “bugger off!”

the boy shrugged, undeterred, and took off in the direction of a familiar head of curls down the hall. you said a silent prayer for hermione. you turned around with the intention of thanking your savior but the words died in your throat when you took note of who it was.

brown eyes met yours and a smile broke out over a scarred face.

“riddle.”

“potter.”

unlike yours, mattheo’s voice held no malice. you recognized the playful glint in his eyes.

mattheo riddle had been chasing after you since third year. you’d think that the boy would have let up by now considering your cousin and his father were sworn enemies.

still, you were probably one a few people to take note the way that mattheo flinched when his father was mentioned. and in a rare moment of softness, he’d even shared with you that he’d run away from home to live with theodore after his father lashed out at him once, causing the scar that stretched from the center of his forehead to his jaw.

it wasn’t exactly surprising to you that tom riddle wasn’t father of the year.

yet mattheo had proved to be a pretty good guard dog. you felt yourself snort at the pun, completely intended given the boys animagus. all things considered, he’d saved you from bloodsucking fame-fuckers more than once. so, pushing your feelings aside, you offered him a smile. you weren’t ashamed to say it was probably the first time you’d ever smiled at him.

“thanks.”

you stuck around long enough to see your theory proven correct as shock started to take over mattheo’s face. the boy stared at you, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water for a couple of minutes.

you turned on your heel and waved over your shoulder at him, wishing you could watch his awe forever but having to make your way to potions.

-

what you’d apparently failed to realize is that this year, the gryffindors had potions with the slytherins. you’d found your spot next to hermione and whispered to her while you waited for class to begin.

a familiar mop of curls waltzed into the room. mattheo had a rather smug look on his face that was admittedly unnerving. he approached snape at his desk and whispered indistinctly to him. suddenly, snape stood from his desk.

“potter!”

harry stood from his seat and stared expectantly, no doubt wondering what he’d done this time.

“not you…”

snape’s words caused your heart to jump into your throat. fuck. a large hand swept in your direction, confirming your fears. he fixed you with an intense stare and then motioned to the empty seat next to a grinning mattheo.

you bit back a groan, knowing the indignation would do little but land you in detention. hermione flashed you a pitied look as you gathered your books.

once you’d plopped yourself down next to mattheo, he grabbed the leg of your stool under the table and slid your chair closer to his until his knee touched yours and the smell of his cologne wafted in the air. evil prick aside, he smelled rather nice.

“today we’re brewing the invigoration draught. I doubt that any of you will do it successfully…”

snape’s gravelly tone continued in the background while you tried desperately to focus on anything besides mattheo’s cologne. finally, he seemed content on his berating of the students and released you to gather your ingredients.

you flipped the book open to page 16, brow furrowed. you had every intention of passing your o.w.l.s this year. yet, if mattheo’s current behavior was any indication, it was going to be a stupid long year for you.

out of the corner of your eye, you caught mattheo staring at you. his chin rested on his palm, elbow on the table. you turned to him with the intent of deterring him, but he matched your stare with a sharp grin. trying to ignore the flipping in your stomach, you scratched down the list on a piece of parchment and made for the ingredient cupboard.

ailhosty leaves… dried billywig stings… peppermint… stewed mandrake… infusion of wormwood… honeywater…vervain infusion… scurvy grass…

as you looked at the ingredients in your hand, you were certain you’d forgotten something. the longer you stared, however, the more your memory seemed to fail you.

a shadow was cast in front of you. you felt the feel of a broad chest against your bad and the now familiar scent of mattheo filled your senses. a large hand reached up, grasping a jar from the top shelf. he held the jar out to you, chest still pressed against you and voice deep but oddly soft as he spoke.

“lovage leaves.”

earlier confidence now evaporated, you slipped out of his embrace and scurried back to your seat where you began to mix the first ingredients of the potion.

mattheo’s cockiness had now also disappeared and he was staring at you with a notably intense look on his face.

“you’re staring, riddle.”

“go out with me, y/n.”

you tried not to show how much the use of your first name affected you. it took you a moment to answer, and part of you had to silently applaud mattheo’s patience.

“you and me would be a big conversation.”

“so? let them talk. they’ll see what happens. when have I ever not protected you?”

you shot an annoyed look at him.

“what like I owe you?”

“no! that’s not what I— y/n look at me.”

mattheo’s hand wrapped around your wrist which was currently stirring a budding invigoration draught.

“that’s not at all what I meant. you don’t owe me anything. I just meant that I’ve never done anything to hurt you and I’ve never let anyone else hurt you either.” he took a breath and continued. “seriously. you hold me to this earth, you hold me down and I’ll protect you with my life.”

it was hard for you to care about what people thought by this point. after so many years of cat and mouse, you were the only person who knew mattheo like you did.

“one date, mattheo riddle. one.”

—

< mattheo taglist >

comment to be added!

06.14.2024

[anxiousnerdwritings]

in an add on to the older!Potter!sister prompt Percy was canonically working as the Assistant to the Minister when Dumbledore and Harry started trying to warn people about Voldemort’s return but the Minister refused to believe it — it was something Percy was willing to overlook despite his family’s disapproval for the sake of keeping his well paying, impressive job because “no, I’m not quitting my job when we have a mortgage, mum, stop” but the moment Fudge got desperate and started on the Dumbledore + Potter slander campaign Percy just up and quit

que a surprised pikachu face from Fudge and Percy just squints at him and is like “you were literally at my wedding, stop talking shit about my wife” and just dips

for a little bit he stresses about not having a job and his darling becoming an obvious target in the war and “oh my god, what about the mortgage?” but this time it’s her turn to squint and she’s like “we only took a mortgage because your to proud and traditional to let your wife pay for shit, Percy, I have like fifty thousand galleons, shut up❤️”

I love the idea of Percy being a spy for the Order but strictly because of the Reader in this situation. He just keeps his head low and sticks to doing his job, the job he’s clawed his way to get to mind you. The only thing that gets him through day by day is the thought of being able to give his darling and future children the life he always wished he had. But with that being said, he’s not stupid either. No, he actually sees Fudge for who he is and that’s a coward. He knows that Fudge is only using him to see what information he can give the Ministry about Dumbledore and the Potters. And the fucking audacity for Fudge to actually think Percy would ever give him anything regarding his precious beloved darling. Like sure, the man was at their wedding but that was more to sell the guise of Percy being on the Ministry’s side when in reality he couldn’t give three shits, let alone one, about Fudge. But Percy continues to mind himself and play his part perfectly.

But the second anyone mutters a fucking word about his precious darling, they’re fucked. Percy does a pretty good job with getting revenge on those who hop on the Potter-hating bandwagon without getting caught, and he comes up with some pretty clever and humorous ways going about that would even have the twins shocked. It isn’t until Fudge himself says something completely off the cuff that Percy finally has enough and walks out. After that, everything pretty much goes to shit with the Ministry

I do love the idea of Percy being under the belief that they have a mortgage when they don’t in fact have one, whether Potter!Reader already paid it off herself or they live in the house on Spinner’s End that didn’t come with a mortgage to begin with.

[pooks]

a little continuation on my previous post.

in a little "what if", Ron decided to send a letter, tell Percy what Umbridge did to Harry in detention and sent proof (a photo of Harry's craved hand)

Percy reads it once, sets down the letter slowly and then decided "nope, time to overthrow this fucking circus to ministry and throw that hag in prison"

next thing Arthur hears is that Percy decked Fudge in the face, let the newspapers print out all his sketchy affairs with proof. it's the scandal of the decade, a massive headache for the auror department, the toad got arrested for "physical abuse, torture of a minor and possession of a Dark object" and the public loudly demands that Percy takes over as minister

Arthur fears it's the Black Family Madness™

Molly is so scared that Percy is gonna get thrown into jail or worse

Bill and Charlie has One Fear™, that is Percival Ignatius Weasley

Sirius laughs at everything and finds this utterly hilarious

Fred, George and Ginny try to understand what is going on and wonders if Percy has finally lost it

Hermione is speechless for the first time

Harry is just :o

Ron doesn't know what to do, all he wanted to do was to throw some shit in Percy's face. he didn't expect him to go Big Brother Mode and fix everything again.

Percy: *sips on tea* and that was that Tuesday. wonder what I'll do next week.

Percy Weasley: overthrows sadistic teacher, corrupt politician and the whole ministry in one day.

what an icon.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

re.: the weasleys + parenting

what's always bugged me most abt percy's fight with arthur (especially in the fandom, where everyone's like 'oh, he turned his back on harry and betrayed his family to side w the ministry) is that. that's hardly what the fight is about at all. the fight is about the fact that percy, an 18yo kid who just got promoted to his dream job instead of straight up losing any chance at ever being Minister (because they tried to scapegoat him into taking the blame for the crouch business even though he managed to keep the whole department running while his boss wasn't even there), comes home all excited to tell his parents that "Hey, he's not unemployed and bereft of any and all hope for his biggest dream", but rather that his skills and competence got recognized by The Most Important Man In The Government, and molly and arthur look him straight in the face and go—"no you didn't."

there is no mention whatsoever that they even try to be gentle about it, that they congratulate him first and then bring it up later like "just be careful around Fudge, he's always looking for people to get information from and you are the best of both worlds, close to the action and actually good at the job he hired you for", nothing of the sort. they straight up don't even consider how any of those factors might've weighed in Fudge's decision to hire him.

and, perhaps worst of all, they have no faith in Percy. he tells them "I'm working for the minister", and not only do they not spare a second to be happy for him over this frankly momentous achievement (or at the very least concern for the position it puts him in), they jump straight to conjectures and accusations. "you only got this because of Harry" has got to crush Percy, who was raised to believe that good things come to honest, hard-working people and who has been working for this since he was a small child. and it digs the knife deeper when you realize that most of his siblings have basically replaced him with Harry. Harry, who also plays Quidditch and also keeps throwing himself into death-defying dangers and overalls fits much better into the family dynamic than Percy ever has.

and there's just this. crystal clear implication that they do believe Percy would spy on them. he's so Different and Other and Un-Weasley/Gryffindor-like and they've alienated themselves from him so absolutely that they can't see any reasons he wouldn't willingly and consciously jeopardize his parents' livelihood and Harry & his siblings safety just to stay in the Minister's good graces, when if anyone's actually at risk of losing their job for siding with Dumbledore is his father, who's still working there quite merrily and continues to so for a long time afterwards.

Percy, who runs into a freezing lake mid-February while attending an international event as Crouch's replacement to make sure Ron is alright, who pesters Ginny to eat and have a pepper-up potion most of her first year bc she doesnt look well, who tails Harry and Ron a lot of their second and third years bc there's something petrifying kids and then Dementors on the grounds and a mass murderer on the loose and they all just think he's being willfully bothersome like no you idiots he's worried.

of course he left. of course he left. what did he have to gain by staying at the Burrow, beyond fresh home cooked meals harassment and disagreements? why wouldn't he leave?

sorry I have a lot of feelings about this.

No need to apologize, this is brilliantly written!

I don't even feel like I need to add anything as you summed up the Percy situation perfectly.

But I can't help myself because I love discussing the Weasley family dynamics, so it's a bit more rumbley than my usual...

Percy cares so much for his family. When Voldemort is revealed and the war actually starts, he puts all his disagreements with his parents aside to come and help and make sure they're okay, because he cares. And still, he is being shunned and treated like an outsider.

Arthur and Molly Weasley are just really good at alienating their kids because it isn't just Percy.

Somehow all of them succeded in feeling like outsiders in a family of 9. Bill shows frustration with his parents and only returns to Britain because of the war, Charlie's in Romania for most of the series. Fred and George run away the moment they can and are treated like trouble by their parents most of the time (Molly and Arthur assume they are selling stolen goods from Mundungus when they hear they have money, not that they, idk, somehow earned it), Ron has a whole complex of low self-esteem and a tendency to blame himself for everything. Ginny is isolated from her brothers as the only girl and youngest...

And Percy cares and tries to be the best and most responsible sibling and gets scorned in turn.

Harry and Ron do acknowledge Arthur's and Molly's accusation towards Percy was awful and that he was right to respond negatively in OOTP. Ron is just sensitive about their family's financial state which soured Percy to him after Percy blew up at their dad (rightfully so, honestly, I'd say way worse to Arthur if it was me).

The thing is, Percy also gets scorned by his siblings, not just his parents (like Fred and George do). He gets grief for trying to be responsible and for wanting his siblings to do well in school and not get in trouble, Fred and George lock him in a pyramid...

That being said, do I think Percy is perfect? No, he is pretentious and overbearing at times, but he is a child in a large family who tries to find a place to fit himself in. According to child psychology, usually when it comes to siblings, the eldest would usually (at least in childhood) try to be everything the parents want (Bill), and then each next sibling will carve a different niche for themselves, and we see this with the Weasleys. I think the twins being born right after Percy and demanding a lot of attention from their parents from a young age as they were little troublemakers from the start is a big reason why Percy chose the niche of being bookish, ambitious, and responsible for himself. To contrast himself with them and his older brothers and get some attention from their parents.

I'm not a fan of the epilog (like everyone), but I find it hard to imagine Percy being close to his family post-books. I think he never fully got over the sting of not being seen as skilled and competent and that his parents believed he'd turn on them all without a second thought. Nor do I think he should just get over it.

Like, I'm really salty that Percy was the only one to apologize:

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a—a—” “Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron.” said Fred. Percy swallowed. “Yes, I was!” “Well, you can’t say fairer that that,” said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father. “I’m sorry, Dad.” Percy said.

(Deathly Hollows, pages 512-513)

Like, yes, it's great he was smart enough to realize the ministry is corrupt, but this demand only for him to apologize when Molly and Arthur Weasley were just as much in the wrong. Fred and George weren't beacons of sainthood here either. But none of them have apologies demanded of them. None of them are demanded to confess they are "morons". Just Percy.

Who even after his apology is still an outsider. Probably always will be one.

You said it best: "Why wouldn't he leave?"

And that's what we see him do (if temporarily).

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND?!

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!reader Summary: you and George found Ron jerking off to you Warning: mention of jerking off. Note: requested by @lillisummers BASED IN OOTP

you sat between Fred and George at dinner as George poured you a cup of juice, he sat down and kissed your head before taking a sip of your cup

"ay, use your own cup" you whispered, trying to be quiet as the room fell silent

he smiled and looked forward, at harry, who's now holding the daily prophet

"he's been attacking dumbledore as well...fudge is using all his power, including his influence of the daily prophet to..smear anyone who claims the dark lord has returned" Sirius stated

your hold George's hand at the mention of the dark lord by instinct.

"why?" Harry asked

"the minister thinks dumbledore is after his job" Remus interjected, sitting in front of Harry

"but that's insane, no one in their right mind could believe that would of..." Harry began, being cut off by Remus

"exactly the point! fudge isn't in his right mind, it's been twisted and warped by fear" Remus nodded "now fear makes people do terrible things, Harry, the last time voldemort gained power, he almost destroyed everything we hold most dear..."

you looked over and George smiled sadly as he gave your hand a squeeze

you leaned into his side and closed your eyes, feeling his warmth

"now he's returned, and i'm afraid the minister will do almost everything to avoid facing that terrifying truth" Remus trailed off

"we think voldemort wants to build up his army again..fourteen years ago we had huge numbers at his command, and not just witches and wizards, but all manner of dark creatures. he's been recruiting heavily and we've been attempting to do the same, but gathering followers isn't the only thing interested in" Sirius explains

mad eye clears his throat, trying to make sirius stop talking, to which he doesn't

"we believe.." Sirius starts again, making Molly stop cutting the vegetables at the end of the table. you opened your eyes, feeling goosebumps form on your arms, having a chilling feeling

"voldemort may be after something" the long haired man said

"sirius" mad eye warned

"something he didn't have last time"

"you mean..like a weapon?" Harry questioned

Sirius opens his mouth to say more but Molly buts it

"no. that's enough, he's just a boy!" she exclaims, coming over to harry, taking the prophet away "say more and you might as well induct him into the oder straight away"

"good! i want to join. if voldemort's raising an army, then i want to fight!" Harry fought, making sirius clap his hands and lean back in his chair

"no, no, you've encouraged this sirius! it's not safe for him!" Molly scolded the Black

"is it just me or are you hungry too?" George whispered, taking your attention away from the adults

you looked at him and smiled "starving, what about you Fred? you hungry?" you looked over at Fred, who snickered

"why did mum bring us down for dinner when it wasn't even ready?" he wondered

"i was thinking the exact same thing" George huffed with a smile, throwing his arm over your shoulder before starting a conversation.

you looked at Fred but noticed Ron, sitting on the other side of him, staring at you.

though he didn't seem to notice you saw, as his eyes were focused a little lower. looking down at your chest.

you wouldn't say you were wearing a revealing shirt, but it did show a bit of cleavage

you raised your eyebrows at the boy as he finally looked up at your face

his eyes went wide as he realised you caught him and looked away, his face beet red

you shook your head and lifted the shirt up ever so slightly

Molly got fed up with Sirius and walked back to the food, ignoring him before angrily chopping the vegetables

"what did the broccoli do to her?" Fred joked quietly, making you and George snicker

George picked up your cup of juice and drank from it again making you sigh before slapping his chest

"drink from your own cup!" you sighed before leaning over taking his cup that has been left untouched but filled with juice and drinking from his cup

"oi don't drink from my cup" he huffed, trying to take it off you

"no, shove off, that's yours now, this is mine" you smile, moving the cup away, leaning away from him

"Fred get the juice off her" George pled, making Fred shake his head

"i'm not getting involved in your juice stealing" Fred leaned away

"ha!" you stuck your tongue out at George

"oh yeah? how about i pour the juice on you" he raised his eyebrow

you gasped and glared at him "you wouldn't!"

he smirked "i would"

he teasingly tipped his cup slightly, making you squeal

"shove off!" you giggled, leaning away, now leaning on Fred

"Fred help me!" you begged

"i'm not getting involved, but please don't get the juice on me" he chuckled

George leaned forward and teasingly tipped it again, messing with you "George, i swear to Merlin if you pour that on me" you squirmed as he wrapped his arm around you

"oh? what would you do?" he grinned

"i'll leave you" you stared at him warningy, but he didn't buy it one bit

"no you won't, you love me" he smiled innocently

"i do, but not right now" you whined

George gasped, faking hurt "wow"

"George, don't pour juice on her" Ron interjected

George leaned away from you and looked at his younger brother, sitting 3 down from him "aw, how sweet Y/n. ronikins here is looking out for you, he's on your side" George pouted at his brother, teasing him

you looked back at ron and found him staring at you again, making you feel weird, his eyes said something that made you feel a little..gross

--

you walked up the stairs hand in hand with George to talk to Harry, who had left the dinner table with Hermione ten minutes ago, probably to find Ron, who had left the dinner table well before them

"i think we just need to warn him s'all" George shrugged

"George, i think he already knows how dangerous it is, he's faced him before" you sighed, feeling sorry for Harry

"i know but he's still a kid" George huffed, walking to the first door to the left, Harry and Ron's room

"so are we" you tilted your head, not understanding his point

"but we're older, wiser" he smiled down at you

"oh you are anything but wise, George" you rolled your eyes, amused

"you're the best girlfriend, aren't you?"

"i like to think so" you grinned happily

George shook his head and opened the door, still holding your hand.

you looked up as George go ready to greet Harry- although, Harry wasn't there at all.

instead of the Potter boy, the youngest Weasley boy was sat on his bed, pants down to the knees as he pumped his cock at a fast pace, moaning as his head was thrown back in pleasure, clearly not noticing your presence

you quickly let go of George's hand and covered your eyes, turning around, trying to leave the room

"o-oh Y/n.." you heard Ron grunt, the sound of squelching getting louder

"what the hell?" George cursed in shock as you walked in to a wall on your way out, trying to get the image of a half naked Ron, jerking off

you heard Ron scream and shuffling of the covers

"what the hell! get out!?" ron yelled

you groaned in pain from headbutting a wall and turned around, reaching one hand for George, eyes still closed

George saw you reaching out and grabbed onto your waist, pulling you close to him

"were you seriously just jerking off to Y/n?" George asked, just as shocked as you were

"n-no" Ron stuttered

you peeked, seeing Ron fully covered by his blankets, his face as red as his hair

"We clearly heard you say her name" George frowned

"Whatever! Just leave!" Ron begged.

"You were wanking off to my girlfriend! That's your future sister in law dude! That's disgusting!" George exclaimed. Still in horror

Ron stayed silent. Feeling beyond embarrassed

"I mean come on. That's my girlfriend!" George scoffed

"I'm sorry!" Ron cried out.

You stood there in George's arms, Feeling a little uncomfortable

"Don't say sorry to me. Say sorry to her!"

Ron looked down. Not wanting to make eye contact with you

"I'm sorry" he sighed

"Now you're going to treat her with respect and if I catch you even looking at her the wrong way. Out come the spiders. Everywhere. I'm talking in your draws. Bed. Trunk, and on your face" George said sternly, making Ron nod vigorously. Still looking down

"Good" George scoffed before letting you go and taking you hand

"C'mon babe" he walks towards the door. Leading you out of the room

Once he shut the door. You looked at him and raised an eyebrow

"Future sister in law? What are you insinuating there, Weasley?" You smirked

"I think you know" he grins

"Oh yeah? It sounds like someone is planning on marrying me" you hugged him

"Oh shush. Now. Do you wanna go bleach your eyes?" He asked

"Oh yes please" you nodded happily

‐‐---------------------------------------------------------

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOUR (see full series list here)

1992

You awake on a regular Wednesday morning a few days before the return to school, groaning and stretching as you sit up in your queen-sized bed. The sun is streaming in through your windows, and you can hear birds singing their first few melodies of the morning.

You hear a very croaky meow from beside you and you look over to spot Dubh awakening from her slumber, seeming very angry about it being awoken. Dubh's actual bed is resting in the corner of the room, but it has long since been forgotten and she much prefers to sneak up onto your bed covers during the night. This little habit of hers means you've had to deliver a quick cleaning spell to her every night before bed, but you enjoy her company anyways. You reach out and pet her lovingly, scratching under her fluffy chin.

"Yes, yes, good morning, Dubh," you say. You yawn, trying to muster up the will to properly get out of bed, before eventually you manage to swing your legs over the edge of your bed and step onto the soft rug beneath you.

You throw on your favourite pair of jeans and a sweater to accompany it, taking a quick minute to wash your face before heading downstairs and into the kitchen. Dubh follows you the whole time, complaining as she waits for you to get her breakfast.

This is the home you've lived in for the past 13 years. The home yourself and Sirius had bought after you got married. It's small and cosy: exactly how you had wanted. The walls are covered with photo frames and beautiful oil paintings that look straight out of a dream.

The kitchen is charming, especially as it's lit up by the August sun. You push open a window to let some air in, waving your wand to pour out some cat food for Dubh. You click the kettle on and drum your fingers on the countertop as you wait.

At that moment you hear a small hoot and a light thud outside your back door. You leave the kitchen, unlocking the door to open it and spot a small folded package on the front step. It's the newspaper, the Daily Prophet.

You toss the paper on the kitchen table, humming as you prepare breakfast for yourself. Finally, when you've finished, you take your plate in one hand and your ready cup of tea in the other, sitting down at the kitchen table. You pull open the twine wrapped around the paper, unfolding it out.

You nearly spit out your tea when you read the headline of the front page and spot a familiar face.

Sirius.

Sirius Black.

Sirius Black has escaped.

Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

What the fuck?

You swallow hard, looking at the article again. Your heart is thumping. Your hands are trembling. You feel like you're about to be sick.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

'We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'

You scoff. Fat fucking chance!

Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

'Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?'

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

You feel like you're dreaming. How the hell did he break out?

This article makes you feel so sick. The things they're saying — the things they've always said about him — they're not true. They can't possibly be true.

Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius who kissed you on the Astronomy Tower.

Your Sirius who proposed to you in your first tiny London flat, lit only by candlelight.

Your Sirius who waited patiently for you at the altar.

Your Sirius who spoke in detail of his undying love for you during his vows.

Your Sirius who gave you the most perfect first dance you could ever ask for.

Your Sirius who spent your wedding night reminding you how much he loved you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, making sure there wasn't a single patch of skin on your body that went unkissed.

Your Sirius who bought you flowers every week, so the ones on your dining table were always fresh.

Your Sirius.

For twelve years you've maintained the belief that Sirius is innocent. There has got to be another explanation because the Sirius you know would never sell out his friends like that. He would never support Voldemort like that. He would never murder thirteen people like that! It's bullshit.

The Sirius you know would sooner die than rat James and Lily out like that.

Sirius isn't mad, like the way they say in that article.

Or maybe he is.

You wouldn't be surprised if 12 whole years in fucking Azkaban turned him loony.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock at your front door and you startle, dropping the paper.

What if that's him?

You slowly, apprehensively get up out of your chair, carefully walking to the door. You take a deep breath, and place your hand on the handle.

You turn it agonisingly slow and open the door a crack, peering out.

It's not him.

You don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Well, you're definitely not happy anyway, as you're met with Cornelius Fudge and three other Ministry officials.

You gulp.

"Good morning, ma'am," Fudge says. "Can we come in?"

You sigh, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

You open the door wide to let them in, wrapping your arms around your torso nervously. They walk into your kitchen, looking around and you gesture to the kitchen table with a nervous smile. "You can sit down there..."

The four of them sit. You notice how Fudge's eyes immediately land on the paper, and he looks quickly back up at you as you lean against the counter, anxiously fiddling with your fingers. Dubh's head lifts from her food bowl, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

"Tea, coffee?" You ask, forcing a smile.

The officials glance at each other, as if deciding whether or not it's safe to accept a drink from you.

"Um...no thanks," one squeaks, looking up at you fearfully.

You sigh.

"Ah, so you've evidently heard the news..." Fudge starts, tapping the paper with one of his large, pudgy fingers.

You nod wordlessly.

"Is it a...surprise?" he asks.

You blink at him. "Yes, Minister, of course it's a surprise. I hardly expected him to break out of bloody Azkaban."

"Yes, yes, it is a shock to all of us," Fudge replies, eyes glancing over at the wedding photo on your countertop. "Have you...heard from him? At all?"

"No."

"It's just that you are his wife, you would be the first person he'd run to."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Oh? I would've thought you'd expect him to run to Voldemort?"

They all wince at the name.

Fudge sighs, trying to keep his composure. "Look, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, Black is a criminal and — "

"You have no proof — "

"He is a convict!" Fudge snaps. "Regardless of whether you believe it to be wrongful or not, he is a convict! If you see him, you must contact the Ministry. The magical community is in shambles with him on the loose. People are afraid."

You scoff. "The magical community has been in shambles for centuries."

Fudge ignores your statement, standing up from his chair unsteadily. "We will have to monitor your home, in case he decides to...visit."

"Shocker."

"We — uh, we'll be going now," Fudge says semi-certainly, motioning for the others to follow. They all stand, narrowly avoiding you as they exit the kitchen. You see one woman flinch when you move. You feel a hand on your shoulder, looking up to see Fudge's red, fudgy face looking at you pitifully. "I am truly sorry, dear. Remember what I said."

You watch as the party leaves and you shut the door behind them. You groan, running your hand through your hair as you slide down the door and sink to the ground.

Dubh appears around the corner, plodding over to you. You smile weakly at her, petting her softly. You feel your eyes starting to water and you sniffle, lip trembling.

You shake your head in disbelief.

"What am I gonna do?"

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wave your wand, levitating your heavy trunk up onto the overhead carriage of your train compartment. Most teachers don't take the Hogwarts Express — they just apparate to Hogsmeade instead — but you find that apparition tends to distress Dubh immensely and don't do it. You don't mind it really, the train ride gives you that little bit of extra time to look over lesson material.

Lucky for you, you have the compartment to yourself and freely let Dubh out of her carrier. She stretches with a long meowl, moving to settle on your lap, and you spend the ride reading a book and looking over lesson material, though your mind keeps drifting from what you're doing, choosing instead to fixate on Sirius.

You have a sickening seed of guilt and worry circling your gut ever since you heard of his escape, an overwhelming sense of dread looming over everything you do.

Heavy rain pelts the window harshly, wind battering the sides of the train, rattling it loudly.

You glance out the window pensively, wondering what he must be doing right now. Maybe he's been recaptured and you just haven't found out yet. You hope he's not out in this weather.

If sixteen-year-old Sirius had been caught out in torrential rain, he'd be busy complaining to you about how it completely ruined his hair and you'd just have to listen on and on because truthfully, you liked his hair after the rain.

The train starts to slow and you sigh, starting to pack up your things. Then, your eye catches the window and you squint out into the dark surroundings. You're not in Hogsmeade — you're not even close to it. You've been on this train enough times to know that you have a solid 20 minutes or so left in the journey.

Maybe there's something blocking the track and you'll all just have to continue on foot?

Hardly.

You stand up, gently plucking Dubh from your lap and placing her onto the seat beside you. You slide open the compartment door and stick your head out, looking up and down the hallway. You know well that Professor Flitwick is inside along with some of the Prefects so you step out, closing the door behind you and moving to their compartment.

You open the door and look in at Flitwick and three students, shiny silver badges on their chests. "Hey, Filius. What's going on?"

Flitwick shrugs, straining his neck to see up out the window. "I don't know."

You bite your lip, turning around uncertainly. "I'll ask the driver."

Suddenly, the train stops with a jolt and you stumble into the wall beside you, knocking your head against one of the flickering lanterns. You groan, bringing a hand to rub at the sharp stinging in your temple.

You try to make your way up the carriage but before you can the lights extinguish with a small puff and you're plunged into darkness. Rooting around in your pocket, you fish out your wand and mutter, "Lumos." A small bead of white light appears at the tip, illuminating a short distance in front of you.

To your horror, you look up and are met with a dark cloaked figure that towers to the ceiling. Its face is completely hidden beneath its hood. You feel your breath hitch in your throat as the room grows cold, freezing cold, making the hairs on your arms stand up.

A Dementor.

"He's not here," you choke, but it doesn't seem to matter as the dementor draws a long, slow, rattling breath. "He — he's not — "

You feel an immediate sadness overwhelm you. You feel every stitch of joy being sucked from you, your body desperately trying to cling on to whatever it can. You hear Sirius' voice, screaming raw and pleading, and it feels like the pain in your head is magnified a billion times.

Before your last stretch of consciousness can escape from you, you grip your wand tighter and, summoning all your will and happiest memories, you yell, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A bright, blue light bursts forth from your wand, taking on the form of large, scruffy dog and chasing the Dementor as it glides away from you. You stumble back, chest heaving, placing a hand on the wall for support, before remembering about the rest of the students and you turn, sprinting back down the corridor to the other carriages.

You throw open the door, moving quickly as you throw glances in each compartment window, checking that everyone was alright. Was there only one?

As you continue down the corridor, you look in one compartment and see the back of a tall figure blocking your view. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see it's not a Dementor, and slowly slide open the door to poke your head in, trying to carefully look past the figure in front of you.

"Hey guys, everyone okay? I think — Remus?" You stare in shock at the tired face of Remus Lupin, currently holding a gigantic slab of chocolate in his hands, loudly snapping it into pieces. "What are you doing here?"

Beside him is Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking between the two of you in surprise. Harry is as pale as a ghost, his hair messy and untidy.

"Guess I took your advice," Remus shrugs, handing everyone pieces of chocolate. He hands one to you and you accept it gratefully, biting off a piece with a loud crack. "Taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

You grin. "Remus, that's brilliant!" You throw your arms around him and he chuckles, tapping your back softly.

You pull back, noticing Harry's shell-shocked face and turn to him in concern. "Harry, are you alright? You don't look too good."

"Dementor," Remus explains and you nod in understanding.

"There was one in my carriage too!" You say. "Bastards."

"Language."

"What? It's true!" You say in defense, looking back at Remus' unapproving face. You glance at the three thirteen-year-olds also present in the compartment with you. "Er — sorry, guys."

"I'm going to go talk to the driver," Remus announces, tossing a small bite of chocolate into his mouth.

You nod. "Alright, I'll go check on everyone else." Remus moves past you, but before he can go in the opposite direction to you up the train, you grab onto his arm. "Next time, tell me if you're coming. Could've saved me a very boring train ride."

Remus chuckles. "I was asleep the whole time, not sure if I'd be great company."

You just give him a knowing smile, heading down to the carriage to check on the other students.

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter five here!

p.s. it's easy to miss grammar/spelling mistakes when im editing it myself, so if you find any please let me know!! 💌

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

do you have heretical thoughts on Rufus Scrimgeour? feel like he got a bit of a bad rap. dumbledore kinda biased harry against him immediately and then he apparently died under torture to protect him. but id love 2 know what u think.

Well, I don't know what people think, so I can't promise how spicy it is.

As it is, I feel much the same way you describe.

He's a minister official who we just see doing his job, and while a bit curt in how pragmatic he is (making it clear to Harry that he should interview for the good of the morale of the nation) his reasoning isn't wrong nor are the consequences of not doing it. He tries his best and it's telling he's killed off because of it, he couldn't be left to his devices as Voldemort needed an incompetent patsy in charge and Scrimgeour wasn't it.

To me, Scrimgeour's the guy who's very by the law, an honest politician and cop, but also someone who's not afraid to be extremely unpopular to do what he believes must be done. And someone who's not afraid to die horribly in humiliation either for that matter.

Harry's antagonism towards him is not very surprising and I can't condemn him for it because a) he's seventeen b) he had a shit time with Fudge the previous year and now fucking Scrimgeour wants him to pretend to support the government "for the people" c) as you note he's completely biased against the man by Dumbledore earlier in the book and for Harry everything at that time is framed as "them vs. Dumbledore". This is a boy who proudly retorts "That's right, I am Dumbledore's man" and doesn't realize that's not something he should be proudly stating like that/that Scrimgeour's insult in that wasn't just about Harry being loyal to Dumbledore.

If Scrimgeour gets a bad rap by fandom, it's because Harry's pull as the narrator is so strong that it's extremely easy to fall into his point of view without question.

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Something stupid

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Requested by @jelloangela

Request gist: Make up/ break up sex with weasley twins. Reader dumps the twins for doing something dumb. The reader passes them by a few weeks or months later.

A/N: Thanks for the request. I might have made the title a callback to a Frank Sinatra song (except the twins will be doing something stupid instead of saying their ‘I love yous’). I went for OOTP Fred and George because out of all of the stupid stuff they do, that movie almost feels like a highlight reel. I also went for break up sex but the idea that I had, I don’t know if it counts so i'm sorry if it doesn't. I also had an idea but there wasn't a spell for it, so there is now (It’ll make sense when near the end). I'm also not sure about the ending, so if it sucks, here’s your warning

T/W: break up sex (Twins are not aware of this however. Maybe more like one last fuck?), Jealous twins (really reminded me of the twins from the RDR2 stranger side mission, nipple play, groping, unprotected sex, threesome (the boys dont touch each other), just a smidge of overstimulation, mentions of burns (pretend Umbridge was more hurt than she was from the dragon)

1.7K words

Fred and George had always had a mischievous streak, even back to childhood (or so Molly told you one lunchtime at The Burrow). They always told jokes and pulled pranks, determined to be the clowns wherever they went. That didn't change once you entered their lives.

At first, the twins would pull jokes on each other, hoping to outshine the other twin for the honoured title of ‘your boyfriend’. To them, the holy grail of pranks would seem dull compared to the feeling they got around you. Before they realised that you loved them both, and they both loved you much more than any joke or prank. You had always stood by them through every prank, making them promise you that they’d be careful and whatnot.

But this time, when you saw their prank, you practically dragged them by their ears to their room. How were you not supposed to feel angry? Your boyfriends had set a firework dragon on someone high up in the Ministry, the right hand woman to Cornelius Fudge, no less. Sure she had it coming for everything wicked she did, but this could land them in bigger trouble than usual. If she twisted her influence just right, then she could even bring Azkaban into the conversation. That's how you came to be stood in front of them in their room back at The Burrow, both looking like kicked puppies while you paced back and forth. You had been going off of one since your arrival, letting them know exactly what you thought.

It was George who spoke up first, trying to ease that fire in your eyes.

“It’ll be okay love, it always is. If she does say anything, then we’ll tell Fudge about the Cruciatus curse and those quills. We’ll handle it, I promise”.

As sincere as George's words were, they didn't make you any less angry. In fact, it only made it worse. It was like they didn't care about the consequences. They didn't care that it was their word against hers. They didn't care that the woman they pranked had the Minister of Magic under her thumb. Fred decided to stop your rant with his own method.

Fred stepped forward and wound his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. His breath when he spoke brushed against your neck.

“Georgie’s right, We’ll handle it. Maybe we should take your pretty little mind off of it”

His lips ghosted over yours as George moved closer behind you, leaving kisses along the back of your neck. As much as you wanted to keep giving them a piece of your mind, you knew it was no use. Not only would they not learn from their mistake, they’d also know that they were your biggest weakness.

There was only one option left…

“One last time” you whispered, knowing that both boys heard you, whether or not they were listening would be their downfall.

Freds lips met yours in a gentle kiss, his hands gripping your hips. George focused on getting your top off, eager to have his own piece of you to play with. As he finally undid your bra, he pulled you away from Fred and turned you aware, so that you were now face to face with him instead. Both boys often still got a little jealous of the other, wanting more time or more attention (you’d even find one of the boys whining about how you gave them less attention, but that slowly became an excuse for more intimate attention).

George kissed his way down your throat, travelling straight down to press kisses on the soft skin of your tits. He loved paying extra special attention to your nipples, the way you moaned and pressed your legs together had his dick twitching in his boxers. His teeth grazed your nipple, making you let out a sigh of pleasure.

Fred’s hands slipped down to your trousers, tugging them down with your underwear before you could even blink. After helping you step out of your bottoms, he slowly stood back up. His hands trailed up along the backs of your thighs until he cupped your ass, kneading the flesh of your backside. George looked up at you through tufts of ginger hair, his brown eyes locking onto yours. He smirked, his teeth still caressing your now sensitive nipple. He moved back up and pressed soft, light kisses all over your face. His voice was just as soft.

“We just want to take care of you, love. You worry about us too much. Let us take care of you, show you just how much we love our pretty little worry bird”

When you nodded in response, he looked at Fred. It had always amazed you how they could seemingly communicate without saying a word. Whether it was telling the other the right answer in class or telling the other what to do in moments like these. As if like being told to do so, Fred guided you back onto the bed. He sat against the headboard before positioning you between his legs, your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist once more. George made his way between your legs, his cock already out and already hard. He ran his tip through your folds, enjoying the way you squirmed in his brother's arms. George pushed his cock in slowly, only stopping when his hips were pressed against your own. Both boys were tuned to every sound that left your lips and every move you made. They loved you like this.

George's thrusts were deep, pushing himself as far inside you as he could. His hand came down to rub quick, precise circles on your clit. Fred held your trembling body, stroking your cheek as he whispered sweet praises in your ear.

As you got close and closer to finishing, the boys upped their game. George's fingers became firmer on your clit and Fred’s hands moved to grope your tits, giving you that last push over the edge. Your walls squeezed George's cock, making him groan at the tight fit. His orgasm caught him by surprise, he gripped your thighs tight as he came deep inside of you. George stilled inside of you for a moment, collecting himself. When he pulled out, however, you found yourself being pulled up Fred’s chest, his cock nestled against your pussy. His breath fanned across your ear.

“Can you go again, love?”

When you nodded, he positioned himself at your entrance and pushed in. You whined and buried your face into his neck, you were still sensitive from George. Fred’s hips bucked up into yours, stuffing his cock into you again and again. His hold on you tightened, keeping you pressed close against him.

George was sat on the side of the bed, his eyes trained on your face. He reached his hand out to stroke your cheek. You were lost in the pleasure from both of them. Everything blurred together. One thing that guided you through was your quickly approaching orgasm. Before you knew it, you were cumming again. Your juices soaked Fred’s cock, causing it to slip out of your pussy. Desperate to get off, Fred’s hand came down to finish himself off. His cum landed on your abdomen until he collapsed back against the headboard.

Before either boy could start the aftercare as usual, you were off the bed and wiping away the cum with a nearby tissue. The twins looked at one another with a confused expression.

When you quickly got dressed, Fred got up and put his hand on your arm.

“Love, where are you going?”

You stood your ground, fighting back any emotion that could let them back in.

“One last time. You both crossed a line. I love you both more than anything but that ‘prank’ was dangerous. Sure, she was horrible, but 2rd degree burns? Is everything a joke to you? You need to grow up and realise that life isn't one big playground for you to prank”

Knowing that they would try to stop you from leaving, you bolted. And with that, Alice left wonderland. Leaving Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee confused, hurt, and alone.

____________________________________________

Days turned into weeks. Those weeks dragged on into months. With school over for you, you had no reason to bump into them. They had tried to write to you. They had tried to visit too, but you avoided them. Crying over one boy is upsetting, crying over two is heartbreaking.

An investigation was raised into the attack on Umbridge, if you could call it that. But surprisingly, she dismissed it. You had asked a few old friends from your Hogwarts days but heard different stories. All revolving around centaurs. Strange. Life was almost back to normal, apart from the absence of two redheading twins who still had their names engraved on your heart. You didn't know what had become of them since leaving Hogwarts. You tried to avoid all news about them.

But it was like fate.

The day you visited Diagon Alley, there was a new shop. So bright and colourful. A bright orange. You were drawn inside before you got a look at the sign. Maybe if you had seen the name ‘Weasley’ on the sign, you might have walked the other way. The walls still smelled of paint, the products looked freshly packaged before being displayed. The whole thing was like a memory. Tiny bits of deja vu just calling to you.

The two dumbfounded men on the staircase staring at you.

It had been months. They hadn't seen or heard from you in all that time. They didn't know how to apologise for something like that. They never apologised for their pranks, at least not sincerely. But they had too this time. That prank had cost them you, and they would swear to quit if it meant getting you back.

The twins looked at each other once more and nodded. George whispered a spell and watched as a small butterfly appeared from thin air before their eyes. The winged beauty fluttered over to you, catching your attention. Your eyes followed it, turning around as it circled you. As soon as your eyes fell on the twins, the butterfly disappeared.

All those months of heartache. All those tears. Your feet carried you closer until you reached the bottom of the stairs. Both twins extended a hand to you, and you took it without a second thought.

Just like old times.

[percyposting]

I think a lot about the Ministry and how it works as such a psychological horror. To me at least. When I think about it through Percy’s eyes during the war, it’s definitely horror. With murderers running the departments, people going missing everyday, thousands of arrests being made in such a short amount of time. The fear of it hanging over his head, that one misstep might land him in Azkaban. Maybe people he worked closely with would go missing and he’d just have to move on.

I also think about what it’s like for him to be so close to the Ministers, specifically Scrimgeour and Thicknesse. I find those two very interesting as characters. Scrimgeour is a hypocrite, and he’s not even a very good Minister, but he does die for the good of the people, for Harry and for Dumbledore’s cause. I like to imagine what it was like for Percy to work for him. To know him, then one day he “disappears” and then the next day there’s a new man at the head, Pius, who Percy is just suddenly working for as well. I’ve always found it interesting that each Minister kept Percy on. I know both Fudge and Scrimgeour did it to spy on the Weasleys and possibly Dumbledore and Harry by connection, which was always so futile and silly and showed how desperate they both were because Percy wouldn’t even speak a word of for to his family. But they kept him for that purpose. But then he’s kept with Thicknesse as well. Is this to keep spying? Or is it not to raise suspicion about their silent coup? I don’t think it’s either of these because I firstly, the Death Eaters had different means of spying on the Weasleys. They would track their every move. They didn’t need him. So this is an obvious no to me. And in regard to keeping suspicions low, I feel there’s nothing suspicious about changing staff for a new head of government. It’s normal, even for wizards, I’m sure.

So then why was he kept on? I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’m bad at analyzing this, but some reasons I can think of would be a way to trap him without imprisoning him. They keep him stuck under an imperiused Minister and keep an eye on him. Maybe they’re waiting for him to slip up.

I don’t believe for a second the idea they keep him on because they see any actual value in him. Even if Percy denounced his family on every level, they would still see him as a blood traitor and a Weasley. I don’t think that he’d be the exception when it comes to their suspicion about the Weasleys. One of the biggest flaws the Death Eaters/blood purists have is that they assign a label to those they deem lesser then never view them as anything other than that label. Percy is a Weasley, and to be a Weasley is to be a blood traitor. No amount of personal denouncing will change that, in my opinion! So I don’t think they keep him on because they feel he’s chill, or something. I think it’s more of a, we keep you here, we keep an eye on you, kind of thing. They put him in the perfect position to be tracked and studied and they wait for him to slip up so they can imprison him as a traitor.

That leads me back to the whole psychological horror element. All of this feels like horror to me. Percy talks about trying to avoid imprisonment at the end of Deathly Hallows but I feel the truth is he was imprisoned. In the Ministry. I can’t imagine what it was like to serve under a Minister you must know is being controlled — I always liked and subscribed to the idea that Percy knew Thicknesse wasn’t himself. Does this make sense in terms of how he acts towards him at the end of Deathly Hallows? No! But I believe it anyway.

After all this thinking, it makes sense for one to come to the conclusion that Percy would never return to the Ministry again. There will always be something haunted about it to him. After Scrimgeour, especially. All it would be is a graveyard.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (VII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The summer before your sixth year is another fruitful one spent at Grimmauld Place. Regulus and Y/N have an insightful conversation and grow closer than before.

Part VI / Part VIII / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Cheers to another summer break! The not canon compliant warning is starting to become more apparent. The slow burn is burning a bit.

The weeks following the confrontation at the Ministry left the Wizarding World at a standstill, the alleys and streets seeming to grey and titter in jumbled whispers and conspiracies. Minister Fudge could no longer make a public enemy out of Harry, having witnessed the return of Voldemort for himself. Unsurprisingly, Fudge resigned shortly after Dumbledore was reinstated. 

Despite the retreat of public scrutiny from his back, Harry fared no better than he had the summer before, conceivably managing far worse. You don’t remember much after Sirius’ attack, only that Luna quickly rushed to your side and grabbed Regulus’ portrait from your hands, hiding it in your jacket as Auror Tonks made her way over to your glass-eyed form. 

You could never thank Luna enough because you distinctly remember being unable to feel your limbs due to shock, and you’d rather not have to explain your portrait predicament. Tonks’ words barely registered, but you heard one thing loud and clear: Sirius was not dead. 

But he did not get better. 

Currently, he occupied a suite room at St. Mungo’s, his consciousness torn away as he remained in a frigid coma. After Harry had recovered from his clash with Bellatrix and Voldemort, he had nearly tackled you to the ground, realizing that your quick thinking to grab Sirius with your spell was the only reason he was still alive. 

Breaking the news to Regulus was difficult since you knew how much he loved his brother, despite the strained relationship they had. Regulus was devastated by the news and he seemed to pale further when you told him that it was Bellatrix that got him. Pureblood family issues were so complicated. 

After your brief conversation about Sirius’ status, neither of you had the energy to talk about Regulus’ disappearance, so you ended up pocketing away his portrait. 

Despite the relief you felt because Regulus was back with you, you couldn’t bring yourself to face him just yet. Your reluctance to face him again led you to leave him in your pocket for a few weeks without talking to him. 

However, you knew you’d have to face him eventually, and it was just the opportune time to do so. Harry and the Weasleys were going to spend the summer at the Burrow, but you pleaded with Dumbledore to allow you to return to Grimmauld Place under the guise that you would research ways to help Sirius. 

Bellatrix had hit him with a highly complex dark curse, one that was foreign to the healers at St. Mungo’s, meaning that it was likely a curse found in the Black library. 

Your excuse wasn’t a lie, but it was far from the whole truth. You also wanted to further explore your magical connection with Regulus and the disappearing room, still perplexed by the wisp of magic you felt last time. But it seemed that there was little use hiding that fact from Dumbledore, as he gave you a small, all-knowing smile before giving you permission, “The world seems to have strange ways of bringing people together. I do hope you find what you are seeking.” 

At first, your heart nearly gave out because you assumed that he had used legilimency on you, but your ring gave no indication of it, so you presumed it was just a Dumbledore thing. 

It seemed that Dumbledore and Luna were aware of Regulus’ existence to some degree, which was no surprise, one was a legendary wizard, the other an understated seer. Their knowledge only served to worry you though, as you weren’t confident that Voldemort was none the wiser to Regulus’ existence now. 

If Dumbledore knew with what limited time you spent around him, there was no doubt Voldemort was itching from suspicion. 

Vengeance was practically Voldemort’s middle name (even if Harry insists that it’s Marvolo). You still had no idea how Regulus had wronged Voldemort, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to find out for the sake of your own sanity. 

As the green flames engulfing your vision slowly dissipate, you carefully step out from the floo network and brush away the ash from your clothing. Spinning around, you faintly smile at the nostalgic environment. Grimmauld Place was far from a welcoming home, but it had a certain knack for bringing along pleasant surprises. 

Before you can set out to dive into research, a popping sound has you whirling your head downwards towards the noise. 

“Master Regulus’ friend is back” Kreacher’s voice is tuned with surprise, but he looks pleased to see that you’re alone, evidently still not as accustomed to your friends or the Order members. You were secretly quite flattered to have the elf’s approval–not that you’d ever admit it to anyone. 

Grinning down at the elf, you wave as he moves to grab your trunk, “Hi, Kreacher. I’ll be here awhile, I need to research a few things to help your Master.”

“Help Master?” Kreacher turns his eyes to you in apprehension.

Nodding solemnly, you release a small sigh before answering, “Yes, he’s been in an accident.”

At your words, Kreacher’s grip on your belongings loosen, turning to look at you with a face full of anguish, “What is wrong with Master Regulus?!” 

Sputtering a little from shock, you quickly placate the elf, still reeling at the fact that he was capable of that much worry, “No, no, Regulus is fine. I’m talking about Sirius, he was cursed by a dark spell and the healers don’t know how to fix it.” 

Kreacher’s tense form relaxes considerably and he grunts, turning back to his task of gathering your items, “So, Master Sirius still breathes? Pity.” 

Expecting a far more violent response at the news, you simply nod, allowing silence to blanket between the both of you. You briefly considered asking the elf if he was knowledgeable of Bellatrix’s ledger of favorite curses, but decided it would be your last resort. 

You weren’t sure if Kreacher would be of much help considering it involved Sirius. 

“Kreacher, I’ll be in the library. You can put my things in the guest room I stayed in last summer.” Your words are met with a slight nod and that’s all the sign you need before you’re bounding up the stairs and in the direction of the expansive library. 

Much of the content filling the shelves of the sealed library were enigmatic, but you hoped that you could kill two birds with one stone and find information for both of your goals. How lucky that both of your problems involved the Black brothers. 

As you trailed through the aisles of shelves, running your finger along the leather-bound books, you sighed as you realized you were putting off your chat with Regulus. At first, it was truly because you didn’t know how to breach the subject of his portrait traveling, but now it was also because you felt guilty for avoiding him for so long. 

Rip the bandaid off, stop stalling or he’ll really leave this time around. 

Reaching into your jacket, you carefully extricate the frame out of your pocket, bringing it to eye-level. Plastering on an unsure smile, you feel relief flush through your veins as Regulus greets you with his own soft smile. 

“Little bird, it’s been a while.” Regulus’ voice is smoother than you remember, and you find yourself shuffling around as your heart begins to pound uncomfortably. Bloody crush giving you heart palpitations. 

“Hi, Reg. It has been. I’m sorry for not talking to you sooner, I’ve just been thinking.” Even though your excuse was flimsy at best, Regulus shakes his head firmly, as if all was forgiven on your part. 

Warmth shines in his eyes as he alleviates your worries, “It’s not your fault, it is entirely mine for mindlessly leaving you alone that day without a word.” 

Shocked by his initiative to bring it up first, you can only nod mutely as he continues, “I’m sorry, Y/N. My reason for leaving…it was entirely childish, and these few weeks of not communicating with you allowed me to contemplate some more. I want to be honest with you, if you’re up to hear it.”

“Of course, and I want to be honest with you as well, Reg.” Your nod and soft smile seem to strike a chord in him, causing him to emit a low laugh of fondness. 

Tilting his head to the side, his eyes seemed to shine brightly at you, “You’re always honest with me, little bird. I think I owe it to you—to us, to be transparent this time around.” 

You have to make a conscious effort to stop his ‘to us’ from replaying over and over again in your head. 

Huffing in playful annoyance at his ability to endlessly fluster you, you decide to take a stab at his declaration, “Alright, if you’re sure, then…I guess we should start with the most obvious question, why did you leave that night?” 

Dragging his hand up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear, he gives a little pause before answering you, “I was scared.” Seeing your confused look, he continues, “I was scared because…your injury. When I saw it, I was furious–and not at you, but towards Umbridge. I was terrified because I care for you… so much, but there’s nothing I can do to help you in those kinds of situations.” 

He cares. It was so different hearing it verbalized by him. 

The stress weighing on you seems to melt away, the furrow between your brows letting up as you lightly come to your own conclusion, “So you left because you were angry.” 

He shakes his head lightly, “It was not just anger, but also fear. Frankly, I feel a sense of devotion to you and I was frightened by it. I left because I thought that it would be logical to languish my connection to you, but I realized how foolish my thoughts were. I am stuck with you, just as you are stuck with me.” 

His words were genuine, but you could tell he was dancing around a deeper meaning. Still, you were glad for his honesty. It was a step forward in your relationship. 

You feel yourself getting choked up by his announcement, but before you can even muck up a response, he continues, “I was anxious that day, before I even took notice of your wound. Before you casted that muffliato, I had heard the blast and thought that you were being attacked. But I waited to hear your voice, maybe a reassurance that it was all okay. When everything became muffled, I was worried that you were hiding everything from me because something was happening to you.” 

“Oh.” Well, when he put it like that, it’s no wonder he was so furious that day. 

He nods at your realization, finishing his explanation quietly, “You are so kind, little bird. Even in that moment where you could have been in danger, you still put your consideration for me first. It’s scary to think, but I know…I know that I would do the same if the roles were reversed.” 

“You know that I care for you deeply as well, Reg. We’re in this together.” It comes out slightly watery, but your words are firm and the vulnerable glint in your eye eased Regulus’ tension. 

Reinvigorated by Regulus’ words, you decide to bring up the topic that had been troubling you for a while, “I was honestly unsettled by my attachment to you as well. I’m unsure of what to make of it, some days it feels unreal. I just don’t understand it all because logically, you’re a portrait, but deep down, I know that there is so much more to you. You’re not like any ordinary  portrait I’ve stumbled upon.”

Nodding as if expecting the topic to be brought up, he straightens up and clears his throat, “I suspected you felt this way, and honestly, I’m not entirely sure why I’m so different. I know there might be a few possibilities as to why, but I feel as though I am missing a part of the answer, myself. When I left you that night, I was able to spy on a few portraits in the castle. Of course, I couldn’t reveal myself since they would have recognized me, but, from what I observed, most portraits are not as…dynamic as me. Even the most complex ones at Hogwarts seem to be entirely derivative.”

Not quite expecting Regulus’ loss for answers as well, you can only seem to reach one conclusion, “So the answer to all of this…it happened shortly before your death then?” 

“Yes, it’s highly likely. After all there was a two week gap of radio silence between the last visit from my living-self and his untimely death.” Regulus’ confirmation has you suppressing a groan. It seemed like you wouldn’t be getting a clear answer so easily, but perhaps Regulus left clues on the research he was doing before his death around the library. 

Humming as you feel a headache coming on, you decide to let the topic drop there, “It’s okay, we don’t need all the answers right now. But I’m glad we had this conversation, and I hope that in the future we can continue to be honest with each other.” 

Regulus smiles at you, “Of course, little bird. But I’m curious, any news on my brother or about the Dark Lord?” 

A small frown tugs at your lip as you’re brought down to reality, “No changes in Sirius’ condition, but I’m hoping that maybe we can find some clues here. Unfortunately, Voldemort is making his move in bold ways, he’s truly an incisive foe. He murdered Amelia Bones last week, it was all over the press, even the muggles covered it.” 

Taking notice of how your voice catches at the end, he returns your frown, “I didn’t know you were fond of Madam Bones.”

“I was quite partial to her morals, and she was an accomplished witch, to boot. Plus, I know her niece. She has no guardian now. Voldemort murdered her parents during the war.” Shaking your head at the turn of events, you can’t help but feel a sense of unease at Madam Bones’ death. 

Voldemort was moving rather quickly. There was no telling what his next move was going to be. This wasn’t the first time he was able to strike down a famously powerful wizard or witch, even in his revived state, he was just as remarkable of a wizard. He was slowly removing the pillars that held up the Light side’s confidence, at this rate, Dumbledore was going to be the only one left to look to. 

No use in overwhelming yourself, take it one day at a time. 

Lowering Regulus’ portrait slightly, you begin to peruse through the book titles on the shelves, trying to find anything synonymous for “dark curses and hexes”. You were hoping that the search for the curse would be quick, but unfortunately, it seemed that the entire library was just pooling to the brim with parchments about the Dark Arts. 

“Hey, Reg. Do you have any idea where Bellatrix might have learned such a troubling curse? Any area of the library I should focus on?” Your words were meant as more of a joke, but Regulus’ contemplative expression has you stopping in your tracks to focus your attention back on the boy. 

Rubbing his chin, he seems to map out some ideas in his head, “During our last conversation, the day Sirius was cursed, you said his muscles seemed to constrict before he went limp and then he dropped into a coma?” 

You nod in confirmation at the pointed assessment, wondering just how useful the symptoms could be at narrowing down the possibilities.

Why couldn’t Bellatrix have used another curse of milder lethality with far more ridiculous effects? Coma, really? Why not puking up tarantulas or something? While it would make for a ghastly sight, it would be ridiculous enough to make the hex more apparent. 

After a few more moments, Regulus seems to have a lead of some kind, “I don’t have an exact answer, but it does remind me of a time when I was younger and Bellatrix would talk in circles about experimenting with soul magic. She wanted to impress the Dark Lord, so it’s no doubt something of that caliber.” 

“Soul magic?” You punctuate the words in disbelief, realizing that the circumstances might be far more dire than anyone could have fathomed. 

Realizing that you had no idea where to even begin, you decided to enlist some help, “Kreacher!” You weren’t exactly sure if it was necessary to yell, but the action soothed some of the stress you were suddenly feeling. 

A pop echoes around the library and Kreacher stands before you in mild irritation, “Kreacher has been called?” 

Placing a hand on your hip, you try to seem authoritative with your command, “Yes, Kreacher I need your help. Could you gather up all the books on the property that concern soul magic or soul hexes?” 

The elf’s eyes seem to light up at your words, clearly thinking that you were taking interest in the Dark Arts. The prospect wasn’t exactly improbable, but you were much too reluctant to choose soul hexes as an introduction. 

“As you wish. Kreacher will begin right away.” After giving you a razor-sharp grin, he’s gone in the blink of an eye and you hear a distant pop ring from deeper in the library. Hopefully, Kreacher could be trusted to keep your little research topic a secret, you would not fancy having to explain to your friends why you were researching such a dark subject amidst Voldemort’s return. 

As you begin to make your way out of the room, you bring Regulus’ portrait back up to your face, “Reg, there’s something interesting I discovered the night you left. I was wandering around the castle-” looking for you “-and I spent the night in the Room of Requirements. Except it wasn’t exactly the Room of Requirements.” 

Regulus looks both intrigued and full of reproof at your words, compelled to hear about your adventures, but displeased by your decision to break the rules and risk being punished further. 

Brushing aside his concerns, you continue, “Well, while I was wandering around, I was thinking about you and where you might be, and the room that ended up appearing was the disappearing room that your portrait was originally in.” 

Finding yourself in the kitchen, you carefully prop Regulus up against an empty fruit bowl before rounding the table to raid the cabinets. To your utter dismay, all the cabinets are empty, save for one filled with numerous knives. Groaning at the lack of food, you decide to plop back down in front of Regulus, cradling your empty stomach pitifully. 

Shooting you an amused eyebrow raise, Regulus seems to consider your findings as you continue to mope, “That is fascinating. If it was truly the same room, then it must be as a result of something my human counterpart did whilst he was still alive. When I was first painted, the room already existed–that much I know. Although he was the only one who ever came into the room, I thought very little of it at the time.” 

“It seems that all the answers about the strange magic surrounding you and the disappearing room vanished with him. How frustrating.” Your groan is cut off with a loud grumble from your stomach, causing you to slap a hand to your middle bashfully. 

Entertained at your embarrassment from the strident noise, Regulus chuckles before putting you out of your misery, “Kreacher will be awhile with the books. It’s fine, go out and grab some food, we can talk after you’re done.”

Nodding glumly at his suggestion, you quickly pocket his portrait and feel around for your pouch of galleons. Once you’re ready to head out, you grab a handful of floo powder and ready yourself for human interaction. 

Merlin, you were so looking forward to being a recluse the entire break.

The feeling of becoming a hermit only grew as the rest of the summer dragged along. Kreacher managed to snag a little over a dozen books about soul hexes and magic for your research, keeping you occupied indoors for a majority of the break. 

You only managed to stay sane because Regulus kept you company, and for that, you could never repay him enough. 

The last few days of July flickered by and soon you were preparing yourself to enter the familiar floo network to make your way to the Burrow. It was finally Harry’s 16th birthday, and you intended for it to be a happy one, needing some semblance of normality as war shifted on the horizon. 

“Little bird.” Regulus’ voice pierces through your concentration as you finish taping the last fold of wrapping on Harry’s gift. 

“Hm?” Your distracted hum has him rolling his eyes playfully. 

Tilting his head, he finally speaks up once your eyes meet his, “You do know that there’s a spell to do the wrapping for you?” 

“What? And miss all the fun?” Your teasing words have him looking unimpressed, “Besides, it has more meaning to do it by hand, Reg. You can see all the little imperfections, for example, this little uneven crease on the bottom.” As you show him the bulky wrapping, he can barely disguise his look of amusement.

Shaking his head, he crosses his arms as a pensive look crosses over his expression, “We should try something before you head out.” 

Tying a silk ribbon around the wrapped gift, you peer up at him in interest, “Sure, what’s on your mind?” 

“I think we should try out those charms you found a while back.” His words surprise you since you figured he still held reservations about the risks of the Mens est Oculus charm.   

Sitting up straighter and reaching for your wand, you can’t help but voice your confusion, “Not that I’m opposed to it, but why now?” 

“It would put me at ease to be able to talk to you, just in case.” His words are touching and you’re much too pleased to dismiss his concerns. On the one hand, you were only going to the burrow, on the other, you were aware of how risky it was to be out and about since death eaters were slowly strengthening their forces. 

Giving him an understanding nod, you furrow your brows in concentration before casting the charms. Luckily, you had much time to imprint the movements and incantations in your head so it only took a little pause to cast. 

Quirking your lips in uncertainty, you slowly bring your wand down, unsure if the charms were put into place. 

‘Reggie? Can you hear me?’

‘Impressive work, little bird. Not that I doubted you.’

Gasping loudly at his voice, you reel back in your seat to gape at a pleased looking Regulus, “Woah!” 

Laughing at your shock, Regulus opts to merely respond through your newfound mind link, ‘Woah indeed. Now, it’s about time for you to head out, no?’

As you tucked Regulus’ portrait away underneath your pillow and headed down to the floo network, you couldn’t help the victorious laugh that escaped you. 

It seemed that every summer was more eventful than the last, and you were hopeful that you could spend many more summers in the future with the boy who was slowly winning over your heart. 

Reaching out into your mind link one last time, you send Regulus a fleeting farewell. 

‘Stay safe, little bird.’

And then green flames were filling your vision. 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txoru @surelysherly @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @urgurlfave @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale

[awyeahitssam]

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 

“You’re late.” 

Harry considered his response as he stepped farther into the room, head tipping up to take in the fifty some-odd witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot. They were all watching him keenly, some with open derision and others with curiosity. His head pulsed faintly at the weight of the attention on him, their emotions eagerly battering his Occlumency shields. Harry worked to think through the sensation even as he reinforced his mental defences. He could already tell by the sweat beading on his back that this would be a trying experience. The fact that this section of the Ministry was deep enough to obstruct the weight of all other presences did not make up for the fact that he was in front of fifty people rather than the expected four to six. He hasn't practised for this, has had no means to. 

Fudge sat in the middle of the first row, and the smugness he and the witch to his right were emanating made it rather easy to pinpoint who had been responsible for the sudden change in the time of his trial. 

"Am I?" Harry asked, and the jolt of astonishment, annoyance and fury that swept through various members of the court almost had him gritting his teeth. Harry imagined that Fudge's anger and embarrassment would have been obvious to him even without his abilities. The man had turned faintly red at the question, face pinching. 

"You were sent notice of the change in time this morning," the Minister barked out. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault you are late. Now sit down."

Harry allowed his eyebrow to quirk, slow and incredulous. This version of Cornelius Fudge was far different from the one he had met two years ago.

“While I would hardly blame the Wizengamot as a whole, it sounds as if whoever is charged with correspondence is at fault. Per a standing law written in 1839, all changes in time and venue must be completed in excess of twenty four hours prior to a trial's start time. Said correspondence must have been confirmed as seen by the person or persons on trial and their representatives at least sixteen hours before the scheduled start time.”

“That is for an official trial,” the Minister returned, voice sharp despite the fluster and anxiety Harry could sense beneath it. 

“Apologies for my presumption, then,” Harry said dryly. “I assumed that any trial which our entire governance presided over would be considered official.”

“Besides which, there is no such specificity to that law,” A broad, square-jawed witch to the left of Fudge said, giving the Minister a quelling look. 

The Minister did not respond to the implied reprimand, instead puffing himself up a bit and saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry was surprised to see Percy Weasley, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he stared down at a piece of parchment, quill poised to write. Unlike most everyone else in the room, his attention did not seem to find sole focus on Harry. Harry didn’t expend any effort to attempt to see how Percy felt about the entire situation, his focus drawn to an approaching presence. It was a whirlwind of concern, faint annoyance, and a dash of enjoyment. 

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, emphasising the word hearing, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

Fudge continued on, listing interrogators, and Harry’s attention was distracted from Fudge’s words, the approaching presence, and his Occlumency shields by a jolt of glee and greed. His gaze flickered up to meet the icy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The realisation dawns quickly that the Dursleys address was now a matter of public record. Harry had already decided he wouldn't go back, and this only provided more incentive. 

He hesitates around the thought of whether the Dursleys will be targeted. Whether he should warn somebody that they need to be moved. Whether he cares enough to, after so many years of their oppressive hatred.

Behind him, the door presses open. 

“—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Dumbledore’s voice isn’t projected like Fudge’s, but there is no doubt that he is heard. The press of the Wizengamot’s emotions is momentarily overwhelming: annoyance, bemusement, fear, anger, respect, deference, joy… Harry’s own anger is hardly a blip amongst the cacophony. 

When he strides into Harry’s view Dumbledore's expression is serene, but Harry can feel his spiteful enjoyment at the reception his disruption has created. He looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his crooked nose. 

A few of the Wizengamot members muttered to one another, but most were quiet, eyes locked on Dumbledore. 

While Harry’s presence had invoked interest and curiosity, the reactions to Dumbledore were far more substantive. Perhaps it was that the Headmaster had interacted with all of these people personally, socially, and they knew him by more than reputation. They had personal feelings and opinions fully developed about Dumbledore, while Harry was still, largely, an unknown. 

“Ah,” said Fudge, thoroughly disconcerted and flustered by Dumbledore’s presence. “Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er—message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?” 

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

It was a lie, Harry recognized, and one the Headmaster took a good deal of amusement in stating. Some of Dumbledore’s lingering frustration seemed to melt the longer he watched Fudge, the genial cast to his face a farce. He took joy in Fudge being wrong-footed, and the longer he fumbled, the more Dumbledore’s contentment with the situation grew. 

“Yes—well—I suppose we’ll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?” 

“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. 

Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as anything approaching petty before, and perhaps he typically was not, but there was no denying that he was fond of making Fudge feel foolish. Well, his name had been dragged through the Prophet by the Minister's word; Harry couldn’t be surprised by a grudge. Seemingly omniscient or not, Dumbledore was only human. 

The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down. 

“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.” He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.”

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment. 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, not looking at Malfoy this time. 

“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” interrupted Fudge. Harry felt his vindictive pleasure at cutting him off—even with Dumbledore here, he was finding his footing—but as Harry failed to answer this question, his irritation rose to overtake it.

“You are expected to answer,” the witch to the left of Fudge said, raising a brow at him. She had been the same woman to defend the law he had parrotted. 

Harry lets his silence linger for a moment, feeling the anticipation of the Wizengamot build, before returning, “Will I be allowed to do so in full?” 

His voice is perfectly respectful, but Fudge’s outrage still blooms. Dumbledore, a glance away, feels of surprise-concern-suspicion, and it makes the hairs on Harry’s nape stand at attention. 

“Yes,” the woman gave the Minister yet another quelling look, “of course you will.” 

“Thank you. To your last question, Minister, I did receive an official warning three years ago. The warning was,” it took a moment for Harry to recall the right term, said by three other representatives in three other trials, but the momentary pause has the interesting effect of focusing attention on him all the more, “improperly dispersed. The magic that triggered it came from a visiting House Elf. Being the only known magical in Little Whinging and without the supervision of an adult witch or wizard, the charms used to enforce the Statute of Secrecy were triggered. If anybody would like to see a memory of the event in question, I would be more than happy to provide it, assuming there is a pensive available.”

“There is no pensive,” a man with dark hair and an austere demeanour said, then emphasised again, “This is no trial.” 

“Isn’t it?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising as he glanced tellingly down at the chair in which he sat, wrapped in chains. “Very well.”

“Either way, it is rather late to be blaming your troubled past on elf magic,” Fudge dismissed, and let out a short laugh, as if he expected others to join him in it. At his side, the woman still cloaked in shadows let out a titter. “A unique and unprecedented excuse, as, I suppose, we should have expected from a young man trying to squirm out of trouble.” 

It is Fudge’s tone, a mix of condescension and chiding, even as his emotions are anything but, that does it. Behind his Occlumency and building headache, Harry realises that he's angry. He is disgruntled, disgusted and dissatisfied. He had accessed the public records available, he had pulled transcripts from previous underage trials, and this—this is a farce. 

This is Fudge, afraid to believe that Lord Voldemort is alive and smearing Harry’s name because he can. Because Harry has nobody looking out for him, and he’s been fair game since nobody stepped in the first time Rita did it. Beside him, Dumbledore is perfectly silent.

Harry is a symbol, but he's also fifteen, and it's an odd thought that reeks of his Godfather. 

“You're fifteen, pup,” Sirius had insisted mere days ago, like it meant something, like it mattered. “You deserve the chance to be a boy without all of this added pressure.”

The glimmer in his eyes had been just as telling as the mingled pain-grief-exhaustion-despair. He was speaking from experience, Harry had thought, throat tight. It made Harry want to fight for his Godfather, for the boy that he once was. Where, then, was that impulse to fight for himself?

“You matter, Harry. What you want matters.”

Harry does not want to play their games, though he has already begun to. He does not want to use the information he's researched, as he sits in a chair with chains, and struggles through polite phrasings. He won't let his research go to waste, though. He knows something for once, and he'll use that knowledge. 

The look he levels to Fudge, then, is faux-concerned. “I understand you've had no reason to research this, Minister,” he says, voice kind in a way that is mockery and can not be called such, “but I take the threat of having my wand snapped very seriously. According to public records, the Statute of Secrecy charms have been proven defective in the exact scenario I've discussed once before, in the case of Richard Pike, who’s classmate had an elf deliver things on multiple occasions until he was brought between a five-panel jury to plead his case.”

“Mind you, the Ministry hadn't been running a campaign to discredit Richard Pike,” Harry added casually. The reaction from a simple remark didn't disappoint; Fudge spluttered, the woman beside him leaned out of the shadows, revealing an overwhelmingly pink ensemble, and someone burst out, “Now see here, young man—!” before being abruptly silenced. “He was fifteen, too, but he actually had adults willing to advocate on his behalf.”

Dumbledore’s concern is growing beside him, but Harry doesn't turn to meet the man's eyes, and Dumbledore does not speak out, despite Harry’s accusation.

Harry’s rage is bubbling at the back of his throat, and he wants to shout, but he had learned about the ineffectiveness of screaming his ire long ago. That lesson had only been reinforced after his outburst at Ron and Hermione, and he is more than willing to try something else now. 

He takes a moment to consider his approach, and then goes with something that feels natural, a release that will keep his shouts in check; Harry laughs.

“Something funny, Mr. Potter?” A cold voice comes. 

“Not really, Something is ridiculous, though, and I’m sure you’d all rather I laugh than deal with a moody teenager's temper tantrum.” He lets his smile go a little sharper, and feels the good his reminder does. There is a particularly keen sense of culpability from a woman he faintly recognizes from his research; Head of the Panel for Underaged Sourcery, Irena Covey. Is the guilt for allowing this to spiral so out of hand, into a room meant for criminal proceedings, or something else?

“I have before me the entire government of magical Britain, wasting their time at a hearing for underaged magic which is typically handled by an empaneled jury of four. We are in the bowels of the Ministry, in a room that has not been used for anything but trials of the most dangerous criminals, and yet this is not a trial, but a hearing to decide disciplinary methods, as if there is no doubt of my guilt and I must be punished.” 

“My ‘crime,’” he uses the air quotes readily, “is using the Patronus Charm to protect myself and my cousin from a dementor. My cousin, who knows about magic and does not count as a breach in the Statute. If you'd like to see the memory of the encounter, I give full permission to have it pulled from my head. If you'd like to give me veritaserum—well, I have no parent to consent to the use of a regulated substance, but that's never stopped anybody before. I’ll submit myself willingly to that as well. And if,” he smiles sharply, “you'd like to handle this especially quickly, and get back to your doubtlessly busy lives, I will swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. How's that?”

It’s nothing that can be compelled or asked for, not ever, but the offer is a powerful thing. Vows on your magic can be taken as irrefutable testimony, and are rarely given, as they rely on objective rather than subjective fact, a twist that always leaves one with the slightest chance of turning squib.

He feels the shift in the air, the reconsideration of biases, the sharpening curiosity.

“I find your tone disrespectful, boy,” says a man with the longest straw-coloured hair Harry has ever seen. It lies in neat curls, soft and touchable, but the man’s face is cold and his tone hard, and Harry can’t pinpoint his intention with so many other people in the room. 

“Perfectly understandable, sir. I find this entire theatrical display disrespectful. You are all very important and busy people, so I can understand that you are frustrated with having your time wasted. However I hope you'll forgive if my frustration outweighs your own, as I am being treated like a war criminal rather than an underaged child due to a bewildering grudge that our Minister seems to be harbouring.” 

“You want to snap my wand?” Harry asked the Minister if Magic, eyes blazing but posture relaxed, “Then you can be certain I will put up a fight.”

He let his eyes trail over the rest of his jury, the heady, odd feel of their captivated attention allowing his shoulders to relax into something looser and more confident.

“Magic is the only thing I have of my mother and father. So forgive this fifteen year old orphan for his sentimentality,” Harry bared his teeth, “but I plan on keeping it. Especially considering that I have broken no laws, and there are clear caveats in place that allow an underaged witch or wizard to use magic when in fear for their life.”

He let his gaze slide over the Wizengamot and paused to meet every set of eyes that were not looking away. His point has been well and truly made. Dumbledore is surprised by his outburst, or perhaps by its effectiveness, and faintly suspicious for some reason. 

“Strong words prove nothing,” a man larger than Harry’s uncle says when Harry’s gaze lands on him, and he doesn't believe Harry, but he is used to that. 

Harry thinks back to the books on magical vows he had studied during the tournament, and the book in the Black Library that he had read two days ago. He thinks of the vow that he had carefully drafted, under Sirius’ supervision. His godfather has emphasised the importance of his wording, so that there could be no mistake. 

“Harry, wait.” Dumbledore’s order comes curt and harsh, but Harry pays it no attention. He knows what has caught the Headmaster’s attention; the golden glow that had encapsulated Harry the moment he chose his words. It hazes around his form, and Harry looks down at his hand with interest and curiosity. 

There is a sudden murmuring from his audience as they catch on. 

“I, Harry James Potter, vow on my magic that on the night of August 2 I used a patronus charm to ward off dementors in Little Whinging, Surrey, in fear of losing my soul.”

The golden glow retreats. Several people gasp at the act, but it is no mere dramatics; the shock he feels pulsing through the room is genuine. He allowed the pause to linger for a moment before saying, “I would cast a spell to prove my claim, but this is a disciplinary hearing for underaged magic.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, but before he could speak a worn voice sounded from the top tier of the gallery. “I vote an exception be made. Raise your wands if you are in agreement.” 

It was nearly unanimous, and Fudge’s expression was taut. His emotions were hard to pinpoint, though multiple people were radiating fear, stomach-churning and vile. Madame Bones glanced around the gallery, expectant. “Mr. Potter, if you would?”

Obediently, Harry drew his wand and murmured a spell under his breath. It was a rather cheeky choice, but Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. His patronus burst into existence and lifted its head regally, sightless eyes fixed on the Wizengamot. After a moment it turned to Harry and met his gaze before bowing its head. Harry bowed his head back in respect, tension lessening as he felt the warmth and serenity his patronus gave to him, deeply soothing. It took a step forward and pressed its head to his chest, and Harry smiled. 

“Fantastic,” Madam Bones murmured. “Very impressive.”

She said it, but Harry could feel it radiating from all around the room; respect, wariness, keen interest. A couple of people even seemed amused by his gall, which, he supposed, was better than offended. Fear was regulated to an undertone in the room, pervasive but not overpowering.

Harry’s patronus raises its head, a huff ruffling his hair. He raised a hand to brush over its snout, feeling the warm, welcoming peace it emanated more than its fur.  It stares into his eyes for a long moment, grounding Harry, before lowering its head one last time and glimmering out of existence, purpose served. 

“Well then,” the shift in the room was abrupt. With two words the attention of the Wizengnot had been captured by a dark-haired woman, whose brown eyes were cataloguing Harry. The abrupt pull and shift of emotions might have been startling had his patronus not left him so balanced. “I might have agreed that all of our time was wasted on this day, Mr. Potter, if not for this exquisite demonstration of a mastered patronus. That it is tactile as well as spiritually corporeal is a rare and impressive feat, especially given your age.”

Beneath her intrigue and open interest, the turn of her emotions had an odd chill to them. Her fascination is detached and clinical. Her regard had the effect of sharpening the interest towards Harry all the more. Dumbledore’s emotions pulsed behind him, an odd mix of wary, vexed and rueful. 

“Perhaps, Lady Laurier, it would be most appropriate to turn our attention to how a dementor managed to make its way to Little Whinging in the first place.” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Bones clears her throat. “That is certainly a matter that needs attention. First, however, Mr. Potter’s verdict.”

“I believe that Mr. Potter’s vow constitutes irrefutable proof, and this tria—hearing should be closed.” Covey spoke up, her slip made all the more apparent by its correction. 

“So it shall be,” agreed Bones. “As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I accept into the record Harry Potter's magical vow. In combination with his subsequent proof of magic, this vow is considered irrefutable evidence. As such, all charges against the accused are dismissed with the Ministry's sincere apologies. I put forward my professional recommendation that future cases of underaged sorcery are dealt with by the bench traditionally empaneled.” She added pointedly. 

[blankdblank]

1989 Quidditch World Cup Masterlist

Anaticula Year One Summer Break - Quidditch World Cup

Summary :

Rock meet immovable force. The price of a stolen name is set to be far more than most would dare demand. But a young girl is poised to take on Cornelius Fudge, Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France Luc Gerard, and anyone else behind the interwoven plots to keep hidden the identity of a nameless Witch stolen away by Morfin Gaunt back in 1935. Two Ministers, a former Supreme Mugwump and countless Aurors chose to place themselves as obstacles around circumstances none of them understand.

But said Witch guides the Granddaughter she possessed on a path to find the family left lost searching decades for hint of where their lost child had been. The Quidditch World Cup is fair cover when a plot is afoot. But after the confetti settles Fudge's try to cover his own culpabilities in several prominent murders are in plain view once all distraction of the all enamoring tournament has faded. Now the Wizengamot is summoned and the Minister is on the wrong end of an investigation that will severely cripple all he has worked for thus far.

...

Chapter 1 - A fox in the coup

Chapter 2 - Off to Australia

Chapter 3 - Round One Day One - To First Lunch

Chapter 4 - Round One Day One - Everybody Wants to Be A Cat

Chapter 5 - Round One Day One - Letters

Chapter 6 -

June 23rd Day 2 & June 24th Day 3 - Hello Neighbor, Won't You Be My Friend?

Chapter 7 - June 25th Day 4 & June 26th Day 5 - They Think You're Trying to Eat Them

Chapter 8 - June 27th-29th Days 6-8 - Ghost Snakes & The Death Pool

Chapter 9 - June 30th - Traveling to Tanzania

Inspirational art/images for Tanzania Host City Round 2+

Round Two July 1st-9th Masterlist :

Chapter 10 - Don't Forget Your Hat

Chapter 11 - Apologies From Bond

Chapter 12 - Yusuf Kama

Chapter 13 - The Adopted Miss Weasley

Chapter 14 - He Loved Her

Chapter 15 - Friend of Newt, Friend of Mine, and the Collector of Pine

Chapter 16 - Petals and Plots

Chapter 17 - Puffins

Chapter 18 - Daughter of Death, Seahorse's Niece

Chapter 19 - Pegasus Race

Chapter 20 - France Welcomes the Young Miss Gaunt

Chapter 21 - Owl Firing Canon

Chapter 22 - Snake Scales and Heroic Tales

Round Three - July 10th-17th Masterlist :

Chapter 23 - Sunflowers and Scalding Turnips

Chapter 24 - Pair Dadeni

Chapter 25 - We’re Holding A Fancy Garden Party And You’re Invited

Chapter 26 - If I Had A Sickle For Every Vulture I’d Own Sherwood Forest

Chapter 27 - - Wrath of the Whimsy

Chapter 28 - Blue Moon Celebration

Chapter 29 - Sisters From Other Misters

Chapter 30 - Maroon Darling

Chapter 31 - To The Beginning Again

Round Four - July 18th-25th Masterlist

Chapter 32 - She's So Lucky She's A Star

Chapter 33 - Presents For Petunia From The Grumpy Pumpkin

Chapter 34 - Burn Baby Burn Rule Skirting Inferno

Chapter 35 - Grandpapa Mr Truffles The Chocolate Frog

Chapter 36 -Such A Pity the Pretty Damaged Thing Exploring the Watery Deep

Chapter 37 - Tumbling Tophats

Chapter 38 - It's Raining Acromantula's

Chapter 39 - Sour Apples Upon the Parade

Round Five - July 26th-31st Masterlist

Chapter 40 - Bludger, Beater, Try Not To Die

Chapter 41 - Warm Milk

Chapter 42 - We Slither at Dusk

Chapter 43 - Shock and Awe and Fwooper Claws

Chapter 44 - I Fell

Finals - Round Six - July 31st - August 5th Masterlist

Chapter 45 - Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Chapter 46 - Changeling Prince

Chapter 47 - Barty Jr and the Potoo Bird

Chapter 48 - The Tiny Lantern and Litany of Woes

Chapter 49 - Minerva's Foxtrot

Chapter 50 - Reeds Greener in Other Ponds

Chapter 51 - All Aboard

Post Cup - Masterlist

August 6 - Two Cakes

August 7 - Sign Here

August 8/9 - In Lands Where Merlin's Laws Fail

August 10 - Slither On By Friend

August 11 -

Chugging Along To Merry Old London & Dursleys Go To The Ballet

August 12 - Purchasing Sherwood Forest & Maleficent and the Court of Morgan La Fey

August 13/14th - Hello Diggory & The Two Old Saps

August 15 - Cornelius Fudge v Matriarch Gaunt

August 16 - Wales Magical Beasts Aquatic Reserves & New Zealand Snake Talkers

August 19 - The Stolen Button & Secret Flock

August 20 - Sprouting Beaks and Breaking Doors

August 21 - Unkind Truth

August 22 - Pounds Sterling

August 23 - Gemstone In A Pile of Pence

August 24 - Climbing Cow

August 25 - Babies Have Claws

August 26 - WWW First International Order

August 27 - Oh the Woe To Be Eaten By An English Garden

August 28 - In Search Of A Look At Me Aren't I Important Kind Of Frame

August 29 - If You Give A Dancing Cacti A Lemon

August 30 - Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

August 31 - I'm Just Crackers About Cheese

- Continue onto Year 3 at Hogwarts Book in series -

[nicoathogwarts]

(Prev)

Nico had to stay in the hospital wing for several days until he was nearly solid. When he blinked awake everything was far too bright, if it weren't for the silence he would've assumed he was back in the infirmary with Will hovering nearby to make sure his vitals were normal.

Some people had left cards and small gifts for when he got better. A surprisingly nice gesture, maybe it meant that he wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone. The gods weren't that kind, he'd just lie and let Dumbledore make his own assumptions.

Once he was fully solid and able to walk up to the Headmasters office he did, guided by Snape who seemed even more displeased then usual. If he hadn't been around for a while Nico would've suspected he were a monster in disguise. Maybe he was playing the long game. "Lemon Sherbert." As the eagle twisted to expose a spiral staircase Snape gave Nico one last sneer. "If Dumbledor had any sense you'd be expelled with the rest of Potter and his friends. Fortunately you were not part of his antics, simply an unfortunate side effect of his little escape. Him and his friends sent you to the hospital wing after being hit with multiple unknown hexes and curses."

Nico nodded and went up. He'd figure out what all of that was about later. He sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk. "Professor."

"Mr. di Angelo it's good to see you well again, you gave Madame Pomfrey quite the scare. I don't believe she's seen anything quite like it before." He chuckled to himself. "It was very noble to go against your house and aid Harry, who knows what may have happened if you hadn't been there to apparate everyone to safety."

"Yeah, I mean I wasn't really thinking about when it, it just happened. What happened after I passed out? No one's told me anything other then to see you."

"Harry went after Voldemort with some of the Order members while Sirius Black stayed with you and the rest of your friends until help could come. Minister Fudge saw Voldemort alive for himself and it has been confirmed that he has returned. Unfortunately, he and his followers fled the Ministry soon after."

Nico nodded along "And everyone else is ok? No casualties?"

"Everyone else is fine. Now off you go, I hear your housemates have been very worried about you."

Nico made his way down to the Slytherin common room where he immediately took one of the nice armchairs stationed in front of the fireplace. When the bell rang signaling the end of class he hardly had time to breathe before his housemates were surrounding him and demanding answers.

After many "I don't remember who hexed me with what" and "I don't know why they did it" they finally backed off. It took another twenty minutes to make them agree not to get revenge in his behalf, if only because he swore to do it himself.

"Hey."

Ginny jumped and looked around the empty common room. "How'd you get in?"

Nico stepped out of the shadows. "I waited until I overheard someone say the password. But that's not why I'm here, I can't be seen with anyone outside of Slytherin. My standing isn't that great as it is, and it'd be a lot worse if people knew I'd gone with you to the ministry."

"I get it. Do you know what happened after you apparated?"

Nico shrugged "nope. I'm going to go before I'm missed. If you see any coins laying around don't touch them."