#moonlight witch wand!

[jellystarcreations]

Swordtember 1 - Witch

[theemporium]

[3.1k] after a spell goes wrong, you and lando are forced to hide the fact that oscar isn't quite himself during media day at the british grand prix. it goes about as well as you would expect ft. mediocre magic, a surprised max verstappen and a cute black cat.

[find other fright night specials here]

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There was a lot more to being a witch than people expected. 

It wasn’t all hocus pocus, waving a wand and standing around a bubbling cauldron whilst chanting in an ancient language under the moonlight. Don’t get it twisted, that was still a part of it. But there was more than cliches and stereotypes, things were a lot more complicated than reading from a spellbook and swishing a stick around. 

It was hard. 

Sometimes, it felt like that one subject in school that just never clicked. You were reading the textbooks, doing the homework and listening to the teacher but, no matter what, you couldn’t seem to get it quite right. Sometimes, you would eventually get it. 

And sometimes, you were left in situations quite like this one. 

Ideally—at least in the eyes of your grandmother—you would have done what every other young witch did at your age. You would have finished school, joined a coven and trained under the watchful eyes of the elders until you had successfully and safely mastered your magic. Upon reaching adulthood, a witch’s magic became more volatile, more unpredictable, more potent. It was vital for her to learn to control it before it overtook her. 

Unfortunately for your grandmother’s sake, you didn’t want to settle down in a coven. You wanted to explore the world. You wanted to learn to control your magic through experience, not through old scrolls and grimoires. You wanted to live, not just survive and learn. 

You did not want to be chained down by ancient rules and practices. 

However, as much as it pained for you to admit it, you kind of wish you had listened to your grandmother around about now. 

It was a funny series of events that led you to meet the two Mclaren drivers. It was somewhere during two race weekends a year ago, a meeting that happened by chance but changed the trajectory of all three of your lives. It was instant connections, late nights spent in hotels and a passion that was far from fizzling after your two weeks together were over. 

And it bloomed. 

You wanted to travel the world and they wanted to show you the world. You wanted to experience life beyond a witch’s expectations and they wanted to share that experience with you. You wanted someone to share your heart with and they wanted to be the ones you trusted with it. 

It felt like the planets aligned, the stars shone and the universe worked its magic to help you cross paths with Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri. It felt the invisible string of fate weaving its way through your hearts to bring you together, to keep you together, to intertwine your lives to this very point. 

And, despite the stories whispered in young witch’s ears about the taboos of humans, Lando and Oscar accepted you for who you were, they loved you for who you were. The tales of humans hating and despising and disapproving of witches were squished by your boys in seconds. In fact, they were your biggest supporters in your journey to learn and control your magic. 

Maybe sometimes a little too supportive. 

“Oh my god.”

“Lando—” 

“Oh my god!” 

“Stop panicking!” 

“How can I not fucking panic?! Oscar is a fucking—” 

“Shhh!” You hissed, slapping your hand over your boyfriend’s mouth before he altered the whole McLaren hospitality. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the bubbling of feeling of ‘oh, I fucked up’ becoming more and more prominent. “Just…calm down for a second.” 

Lando let out a squeak of disbelief as he gestured towards the orange cat blinking up at the both of you, sitting in the spot where Oscar had been standing moments ago. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, staring at the orange cat. “Oscar?” 

The cat meowed in response.

“Oh my god,” Lando wheezed, his eyes comically wide. “I can’t believe you turned him into an orange cat. He is definitely more of a black cat, if anything.” 

You glared at the Brit. “Oh, sorry, let me just remember that for the next time I turn our boyfriend into a fucking cat!” 

Lando’s mouth parted. “Uh, babe—” 

“What?”

Lando only nodded back towards the cat, only to find Oscar the orange cat now very much black. 

“What the fuck?” You breathed out, the panic starting to resurface. 

“Change him back!” Lando hissed. 

“Okay, okay!” You rolled your shoulders, eyes narrowing slightly in determination as you stared at the black cat in front of you. “This is fine. I turned you into a cat, I can turn you back into a human.” 

“Ideally soon,” Lando added, staring at the cat with a suspicious glare. Like he didn’t quite believe it was really Oscar. “It’s Thursday. The media team is gonna want us to start filming stuff soon.” 

So, no pressure. 

…

Sometimes, you wondered if your grandmother placed a small, inconvenient curse on you to punish you for not listening to her advice about joining a coven straight after school. 

Because that was the only explanation you could come up with behind your horrendously, inconveniently timed bad luck that would be turning one of your boyfriends into a cat on media day of the British Grand Prix—arguably one of the most important for the team and the boys in the racing calendar. 

It was a purely unpurposeful accident that led to you accidentally turning Oscar into a cat, but you thought you had a little more skill and experience to be able to change him back with the same ease. However, forty minutes later and three breakdowns later—all from Lando, thank you very much—told you that accidental magic was a lot harder to fix than one would expect. 

Or, at least, than you expected. 

“This is pointless!” 

“Babe,” you sighed but the boy was already pacing the small driver’s room already. 

“He’s stuck forever! We will never see that stupid swoop ever again! We will never hear him say ‘Webbah’ ever again!”

“Lando,” you tried again.

“Oh my god, we have to tell Mark! We have to tell everyone! How the fuck are we going to tell everyone?!” 

“Lando!” 

The boy’s mouth quickly snapped shut, his wide eyes staring back at you as you pushed yourself up from your spot on the couch, crossing the room and gently cupping his face. Your thumbs soothed over his cheeks, feeling him relax a little under your touch. 

“Relax, baby,” you whispered softly, your lips twitching upwards as he took a deep breath. “This isn’t ideal but I have messaged my grandmother. She will call back and help us sort out this mess and nobody has to know.” 

“What about the team?” Lando questioned, his brows furrowing together. “They are gonna notice—”

“We will just have to cover up until Oscar is human again,” you said with a determined nod. “It can’t be too hard, right?”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Lando nodded. “Except for one minor problem.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

“Oscar is gone.” 

Your head snapped around, expecting to turn and see the black cat curled up where he was less than a few minutes ago. But he was nowhere to be seen, the driver room now empty apart from the two of you and the door out to the rest of the paddock somehow wiggled open.

“Fuck.” 

…

“If I were a cat, where would I be?” 

“Keep your voice down!” 

“I’m just trying to get into the mindset of Oscar right now,” Lando murmured in response, his lips turned downwards as he rubbed the spot of his arm you just slapped. “If he’s even Oscar anymore. What if he’s stuck with a cat brain forever?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Magic can’t do that. He’s still Oscar. Just…Oscar with very strong cat-like urges.” 

The two of you had managed to sneak out of Lando’s driver room without alerting anyone else on the team that something was wrong. None of them questioned where Oscar was, just simply waving at the two of you walking past as Lando panic-babbled some bullshit about wanting to go see Carlos in the Ferrari hospitality to sort out some details for a golf day before the McLaren media team stole them away for the rest of the day. 

Fortunately, they bought it. 

Unfortunately, it’s a lot harder to look for a cat in a paddock when no one can know you are looking for a cat.

“Should we get treats?” Lando questioned, keeping his voice low. “Or like…a laser?” 

“Yeah, because that will be real subtle,” you murmured with a snort. 

“We need to get into the mindset of a cat,” Lando said with an odd sense of certainty. 

“He would probably be somewhere warm,” you pointed out, tilting your head back to look up at the grey clouds starting to cover the sky. “But that's more of an Oscar thing than a cat thing.” 

“Oscar did say the other day he was going to hog the tire warmer blankets if the weekend had shit weather,” Lando suggested, his brows furrowing together. “What are the chances he’s just…sleeping there?” 

You glanced down at his watch, your frown deepening. “Let’s hope high.” 

…

“Pspspsps!”

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Lando glanced up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Trying to make him feel relaxed, you know? Like we are one of his people.” 

You raised your brows, taking in the sight of him crawling through the stacks of tires on all fours before shaking your head, deciding it was easier to just leave it rather than ask any questions. 

Your grandmother hadn’t responded to any of the messages, the team were starting to blow up Lando’s phone and the two of you have had to dodge a handful of McLaren employees scouting the paddock for their drivers. 

Safe to say your plan wasn’t working the way you intended. 

“Oscar!” You called out, crouched down as you joined Lando in searching amongst the tires. “Oscar! Come on! We have fish!” 

“Ew, we do?” 

You shot the boy a look.

“Uh, yeah!” Lando quickly cleared his throat. “We have a lovely piece of salmon just for you!” 

“Fuck, maybe we should have brought some fish,” you murmured under your breath.

“What the fuck are the both of you doing?” 

You let out a noise of surprise as your head snapped up, your eyes widening a little at the sight of Max Verstappen standing a few feet away from you. But more surprisingly, the sight of a familiar black cat curled up in his arms. 

“Osc—” You winced when Lando nudged your side with elbow. “Cat! You found him!” 

Max blinked. “Did you just call him Oscat?” 

You smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” 

“Odd name choice,” Max commented, lightly scratching the cat underneath his chin. “I didn’t know you got a cat.”

“He’s new,” Lando retorted, quickly scrambling to stand up and brush his knees off. “Uh, where did you find him?” 

“I heard meowing behind the motorhome and found this little guy trying to puncture some spare tires,” Max grinned, cooing at the black cat. “He’s a menace, isn’t he?” 

“Tell me about it,” Lando grumbled before clearing his throat. “I mean, thanks for finding him! But we will take it from here!”

“You should bring him over some time,” Max said as he handed the black cat off to Lando. “Sassy probably won’t like him but Jimmy might—” 

The cat let out a god-awful screech before he could be placed in Lando’s arms.

“Bastard,” Lando glared at the cat.

“We’ll think about it!” You quickly spoke up, ignoring Max’s odd expression as you quickly took Oscar in your arms. You didn’t miss the way Lando’s glare hardened when the black cat easily curled into your arms, purring away like nothing was wrong. “But we have to go.” 

“Media duties,” Lando supplied with a grim smile.

“Tell Oscar I said hi.” 

Lando only hummed, glaring at the black cat once more before the two of you headed back towards the McLaren garage.

…

Lando was pretty sure his team were going to think he had food poisoning again considering he had told them he had needed to go to the bathroom before they started filming. 

And the fact that had been forty minutes ago. 

“We can’t stay here forever,” Lando muttered, staring at the black cat curled up on his hoodie. Despite refusing to be held by the Brit, Oscar seemed happy to nap amongst his clothes. Lando was trying not to take it personally. 

“I know, I know,” you sighed, frowning as you flipped through your notebook. It was no grimoire, but it had little notes and lessons and spells you had learnt over the years. Your grandmother insisted it was pertinent for a witch to record her progress properly, to take extensive notes to pass on to the witches after her. You were starting to see her point now. “Why have I never turned a person into a cat before?!” 

Lando paused. “Was that question rhetorical or…?” 

You lifted your head to shoot him a look.

“Rhetorical it is,” he nodded, slouching back against the couch. “What if you just abracadabra your hands at him until something eventually happens?” 

“Other than the fact that is an incredibly stupid and idiotic idea?” You retorted before sighing, flashing him an apologetic smile at your biting tone. “It wouldn’t be safe for him or me. I don’t know what spell I would be adding onto and we don’t know what effects it could have on Oscar. For all we know, it could make this change…permanent.” 

The black cat lifted his head to meow in response. 

“He doesn’t seem like a fan of that idea either,” you added, your lips twitching at the way Oscar managed to look so judgemental even in cat form. 

“He doesn’t have much of a brain right now,” Lando grumbled, shuffling away when Oscar hissed at him in response.

“Stop antagonising him,” you chastised.

“He’s the one who won’t let me pet him!” Lando huffed in response. “He’s my boyfriend too.” 

“Is this about Max holding him?” You deadpanned.

“Yes!” 

“Well,” you started, quickly turning back towards your notebook. “In his defence, it was your fault that he got turned into a cat.”

Lando blinked. “How?”

“You were the one who kept pushing me to make you an ice lolly!”

“And you were the one who fucked up the spell!” 

“And that was because you kept tickling me—”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The room fell dead silent as the three of you stared at the door. 

“Lando? Is Oscar with you? The press conference starts in five minutes, you’re both needed right now.” 

The Brit turned to you with a panicked look.

“Go,” you whispered with wide eyes. “Stall them. I’ll work on Oscar.”

Lando’s brows furrowed together. “Are you sure? I can—”

“Go, we’ll be okay,” you assured him, quickly leaning in to peck his lips. “Promise, baby.” 

“Okay, okay,” he nodded, swallowing harshly. “I can distract them. I can hold them off.” 

That was perfectly possible and capable. 

…

It was not, in fact, possible or capable.

The journalists were like vultures the second they realised the second McLaren driver was nowhere to be seen. Lando assumed his presence and the three other Brits on the couch would be more than enough for the media, especially for Silverstone weekend. It turns out he was wrong. 

So very wrong. 

“Question for Lando!” 

The boy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead slumping further back the couch in hopes it would open up and eat him alive. He noticed Alex and George sat to his left, snickering away with their microphones sitting beside them considering they hadn’t been asked a question in the last ten minutes.

“With Oscar out of contention for the weekend, are we to expect McLaren will be focusing on your standing in the championship?” 

Lando frowned. “Oscar isn’t out for the weekend.” 

“No one has given us a reason for his absence in this conference,” the journalists retorted. “We assumed he was unwell. Do we have reason to believe he isn’t here for another reason?”

Lando bit his tongue. 

“He was seen this morning arriving in the paddock,” another journalist added. 

“Then I’m sure you saw he was here and well,” Lando said, a fake and forced smile on his face. 

“Hey, if you need a driver for that second McLaren,” Alex spoke up as he tried to divert the attention away from Lando—because bless his heart, he is a good friend—after picking up his microphone for the first time in the conference. “I know a guy.”

Lando’s smile felt a little more genuine this time. “Yeah? There’s a few qualifications he needs to meet.” 

“Be slower than you?” Alex guessed, a few chuckles breaking out amongst the crowd.

“Yeah, if he could hold everyone back, that would be great,” Lando grinned. “Just swipe everyone out whilst I just zoom off.” 

Alex cackled, leaning into George as he shook his head fondly. 

“Lando!” A journalist called out and Lando felt his whole body tense up. “Do you think Oscar’s absence shows a lack of commitment to the team?” 

Lando could feel his face scrunch up. He knew his emotions were probably written very clearly across his face if the bubbling anger inside him was telling enough. But before he could lift his microphone and say something that would have the PR team sighing deeply at his snarkiness, the door to the conference room slammed open as someone came running in. 

“Sorry, sorry!” 

Lando’s anger quickly melted away, replaced with something quite like knee-buckling relief at the sight of Oscar settling onto the couch beside him, his cheeks flushed and his hair dishevelled on his head. But he was there and he was human and that was all Lando needed to know right now. 

At least, he tried to tell himself that as Oscar supplied the journalists with some very vague excuse as to why he was late.

“How?” Lando muttered under his breath, leaning into Oscar so the microphones wouldn’t pick up on their voices.

“Grandma messaged back,” Oscar said with a small smile. “She seems confident it worked fine. But she was also three drinks deep into happy hour so, take it with a pinch of salt.” 

Lando raised his brows. “Do you feel okay?” 

“Yeah, Grandma said there shouldn’t be any lingering side effects,” Oscar assured him, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m fine. Promise. I’ll explain later.” 

Lando only nodded in response, shuffling a little closer to Oscar until their knees were nudging against each other. Oscar was there and he was human and he was touching him now, and that was what mattered. He could wait another fifteen minutes before finding out more, before wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and muttering about needing to buy a black cat before Max texted him with more questions. 

Oscar was fine now and nobody knew the mess they had accidentally created. 

“Next question is for Oscar: did you just meow?” 

.

[ravenromanova]

Sex in the moonlight

Pairings:Wanda x Female avenger reader. Wanda x Vision (past)

Warnings: SMUT!! DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDERAGE!!!!!!!! Oral, Fingering, Magical and enchanted strap, Mommy kink, Slight breeding kink, Praise kink. Soft dom mommy Wanda, Very submissive reader. DO NOT READ IF YOURE UNDER 18!!!!!!!!!

Masterlist - Send me requests!!!

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Pain. Guilt. And a little relief. Is all that Wanda felt as she got into the car and loaded it with her things. She started the engine and wiped her tears before driving off. The moonlight seemed brighter than normal as she drove to her safe place. You. It was almost like the moon was leading her right to you.

Wanda drove for what felt like hours until the light from the moon shined on your house. She drove into your gravel driveway and sat there for a minute and silently cried. After she wiped her eyes she grabbed two duffel bags. Her knees gave out as she walked up the brick stairs to your door. With a deep breath and shaky hands she knocked on the mahogany door.

You were in your kitchen when you heard faint knocking at your door. Putting down the tea you were making and looking at the clock that read 2:00 am you walked to the door. Needless to say your heart broke when you opened the door to see a crying Wanda. The moonlight had shined on her face and you saw just how red her emerald eyes were.

“Oh sweet girl come here” You said softly as you open you arms for the redhead. She doesn’t say anything as she quickly hugs you and sobs into your neck. Without another word you hug her back and rub your hand up and down her back. Wanda holds onto you as if she might fall if she doesn’t. You whisper words of affirmation in her ear as she clings to you and cries.

After a few minutes of Wanda sobbing into your neck you broke the hug. You took Wanda by the hand and grabbed the duffel bags she had dropped and walk inside. You placed the bags by the door and lead her into the kitchen. She sat on a stool by the counter as you made you both tea. While you make the tea Wanda doesn’t say a word but you can tell she’s lost in thought.

“What happened wands?” The question comes off sincere as it falls from your lips. She takes a deep breath as you hand her the tea and tries to find the courage to speak.

“Vision came home after a week long mission tonight, and i was making dinner when he came home. And before i could even get a word out i got this overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, I asked him if he was okay and he just brushed me off. we sat down and ate in silence til he got a text. The second he read the message his thoughts went from regret to love,happiness and passion. That’s when i decided to read his mind, i found out that he wasnt on a mission. That he was cheating on me with some woman named eve” Wanda says as tears spill from her eyes. She puts her hands on her face and buries her head in them.

“Moya Lyubov i’m so sorry. That’s fucking awful and not to mention cruel. What did he say when you confronted him?” You question the witch as you wrap an arm around her in comfort. You stand next to her rubbing her back coaxing her to speak.

She slightly blushes at the nickname and how close you are but she swallows her nerves before speaking. “He denied it until i told him i read his mind and he knew that i’ve never done that before so i just screamed at him. He told me she meant nothing. I called him a fucking liar and told him i could feel how he felt about her- and i just lost my shit and my powers went a little haywire” She pauses before finishing. She looks down at her shaky hands reliving the events of the night and shuts her eyes trying to keep out the voices.

“Wands if you don’t wanna continue telling me it’s okay i promise. i know all i need to in order to justify kicking his android ass.” You comment as you take one of her shaky hands into hers and smile softly.

Wanda can’t help but laugh a little at your dig at vision. It takes her a second to say anything as she’s lost in thought. For a moment she loses herself in your comfort. She closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in the feeling. Your soft touch on her arm brought her back to reality.

“My powers got out of control, the lights were flickering, then the bulbs went out, i broke a couple windows, i may or may not have sent him flying out of a window as well” She confesses as she looks down at her hands.

“I mean it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. Shit i probably would’ve done worse.” You say honestly as you lead her into the living room. You two sit down and just sit in silence for a few.

“You know i always thought you deserved better than him anyways.” The words take Wanda off guard and she tilts her head.

“Why?” She asks as she moves a little closer.

“Because i could sense that you weren’t fully in it. From the second you came running into my room telling me he asked you out i could a sense uncertainty radiating off of you.” You respond truthfully sipping on your tea.

Wanda’s breath catches in her throat and she looks at you as if she’s about to cry again. She looks at you with her green eyes and you could tell she had something to say so you just wait.

“I was excited he asked me out but you’re right…I wasn’t in it fully.” Wanda confesses and she grabs your free hand. “Vision wasn’t the person i wanted to ask me out” She continues speaking as her thumb rubs against your knuckles. “I wanted you to” Her words made you look up at her and you nearly choked when you saw her green eyes full of lust.

“Me?” You asked in disbelief. It’s not exactly a secret that you were in love with the witch. Everyone on the team knew it including Wanda apparently.

“Yes you. But i was so nervous and in actuality i was going to ask you on a date when Vision asked me out on the way to your room. I got so flustered and nervous i just agreed before i knew what i was saying” Her hand was now on your thigh causing you to choke a little and cover it with a cough.

“Wanda i-“ You don’t even know what to say to her confession. It’s not that hearing those words don’t make you swoon but you don’t wanna take advantage of her in this state.

“Shh detka” Her finger presses against your lips. “Let me make up for everything” She whispered before she crashed her lips into yours. It took you a moment to realize what happened before you wrapped your arms around her and deepened the kiss.

The kiss was intense and messy and down right sinful. She broke the kiss for a moment to look at you with list blown eyes.

“Do you want this?” She asked a little breathlessly. You nodded in response to which she gently took hold of your chin. “Words detka” Her voice was soft yet seductive as she spoke.

“Yes- I-I want this” You said quickly making the witch smile and she pulled you on top of her. Her hands found your waist before she brought you in for another heated kiss. Your hips started to involuntarily grind on her thighs trying to release some of the throbbing at your core.

“Lay down dorogaya” She says laying you down against the couch. She then uses her magic and removes your clothes leaving you bare under her touch. You could tell by the look in her eyes that she was going to ruin you.

“I should have never let you slip through my fingers…I should’ve never passed you up for him” She berated herself as she took in just how beautiful you were.

“It’s okay Wands” You said softly caressing her cheek. Wanda looked up at you and smile before she gave you another bruising kiss. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters” Your words relived Wanda more than she knew.

She had always loved you since the moment she laid eyes on you. You were hidden away in one of Struckers cells and she had found you on a recovery mission that was to clean up his remaining facilities. When she had found you it had looked like you hadn’t eaten in weeks,you were weak and fragile and she did everything she could to help you. That’s when the two of you became closer than anyone on the team. You two did absolutely everything together…until Vision had asked her out.

That’s when everything fell apart and you ended up moving out of the compound because you couldn’t handle seeing them together. It was too much seeing the woman you loved be completely infatuated by someone else. The two of you only saw each other on missions after that point which Wanda hated.

Yes she loved Vision but not nearly enough as she loved you. You were everything she ever wanted and honest to gods if Vision hadn’t caught her totally off guard she would’ve asked you out like she planned. But unfortunately he did catch her off guard and for the past six months have been together. But that all changes tonight here and now because she can’t live without you any longer.

She didn’t really understand why she was so upset with Vision when she found out what he did. In all honesty she was more relived than anything. She thinks it’s because she finally got the go ahead to be with you that she didn’t know how to control herself. That’s why she drove straight to you.

Your kiss on her neck broke her out of her thoughts and brought her back to you. She looked at you before her hands found their way to your bare chest. Her lips circled around your nipple making you moan a sinful sound. While she sucked on one her other hand rolled your nipple in between her fingers.

“P-Please fuck me” You beg and Wanda’s eyes darkened more than you’ve ever seen.

“Oh i will detka” She said after she released your nipple with a wet pop. Her hands roamed your body for a few more minutes before she settled in between your thighs. Wanda’s eyes were glued to your dripping pussy.

“So pretty baby” She cooed rubbing her nimble and cold fingers up and down your soaked core. You couldn’t help but buck your hips against her fingers trying to get more friction.

“Please” You begged again and before you could say anything else two fingers were plunged into you. “OH FUCK” She smiled at your reaction as she pumped her fingers against your g-spot. Her fingers felt like magic as she hit all the right spots.

Wanda watched as your pussy swallowed her fingers with delight. She saw the juices spill out of you and her mouth watered at the sight. Before you could even really process how good you felt Wanda’s mouth was on your clit. Your hands flew to her hair and you started riding her face and fucked yourself on her fingers.

“Oh god mommy! FUCK” You screamed feeling your first orgasm crash through you. Wanda groaned in delight when she tasted you on her tongue.

“You taste so sweet baby” She says with a smile licking her fingers. You pull her back up to you and bring her in for a passionate kiss. The taste of you mixed with her makes you groan when you taste it.

Wanda flicks her wrist again and a strap appears around her waist and her clothes go on the floor.

“Oh fuck” Your eyes widen when you look at the strap then her. The strap is a dark red with a black harness that goes beautifully with her pale skin.

“You like it baby?” She asks bringing your attention back to her.

“Yes mommy” Wanda smiles at the use of the nickname and grips your thighs to bring you closer.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for mommy and let me fuck you dumb?” Her words send a chill down your spine as they pass her lips.

“Y-Yes mommy wanna be your good girl” You eagerly nod making the witch chuckle.

“Good girl” She praised making your cheeks heat up and softly smile at her. “Oh does someone like hearing what a good girl she is?” Her words made a soft moan escape your lips.

“Yes” She laughed at how soft and shy you had become under her. One of her hands held your thigh while the other grasped the strap and slowly guided it in you.

“OH SHIT” The feeling of the strap hit your g-spot almost made you come undone right then and there. Her hips snapped against yours causing the both of you to let out guttural moans. Luckily for her the strap was enchanted so she could feel everything, the warmth of your walls and how much you were squeezing her.

“You feel so fucking good detka” She grunted out loving the way your face contorted in pleasure. The way your walls squeezed down on you made her moan in delight.

“I-I’m gonna cum mommy! right there- oh fuck!” Your back arched as your second orgasm shot through you.

“That’s right baby let mommy feel you. Fuck- If i could fill you up and make you a mommy i so fucking would” She gritted out feeling her orgasm get closer to snapping.

“I’d love for you to breed me mommy” You confess and your words brought Wanda over to the edge and her thrusts stilled as she came. But that didn’t mean she was done with you quite yet. She started thrusting into you again causing you to go into overload.

“C-Can’t mommy. Too sensitive-“ Your pleas fell on deaf ears as she thrusted into you with force. The room was filled with your moans and skin slapping and gods was it music to your ears.

“You can take it baby. You wanna be my good girl right?” She said with a slight mocking tone bringing one of her hands up to cup your cheek.

“Y-Yes mommy wan’ to be your good girl” You said in a fucked out haze as your eyes rolled to the back on your head.

“Then take it baby” Her words her firm yet soft making your heart swell. You nodded in response knowing you weren’t able to form words anymore.

Wanda thrusted into you hard chasing her second orgasm and bringing you to your third. You could feel the coil building up again.

“R-Right there mommy oh god!” The words ripped through your throat and you grabbed onto her shoulders as you came again. Wanda’s orgasm wasn’t fair behind you and she came holding onto you.

“Of fuck baby” She said softly still holding onto you. The two of you were panting and breathless as you looked at each other in a fucked out haze.

“T-That was”

“Amazing” Wanda finished your sentence and you let out a breathless laugh.

“Very much so” You agreed with a goofy smile. Wanda flicked her wrist and the strap disappeared and she picked you up and headed to your room.

She took you to your room and laid you down before going to grab a wet cloth. When she came back she cleaned you up being careful not to overstimulate you.

“Come here my love” Wanda cooed bringing you to lay on her chest and she covered you two up with a blanket.

“I love you y/n…. I always have and always will” She confessed giving you a kiss on the head.

“I love you too Wands” Wanda smiled at you words and her heart filled with so much joy in that moment. The two of you ended up falling asleep wrapped up in each others arms happier than ever.

Within the next couple of months you moved back into the compound, moved into a room with Wanda, adopted a dog and Wanda proposed a year after you two made it official.

The love the two of you had for each other was something out of a movie and you couldn’t be happier.

~The end~

A/n: i may or may not have gotten a little carried away but oh well :) Enjoyyy 💋

[owlhousetarot]

Three of Cups: The Moonlight Conjuring!

Upright: Community, friendship, gatherings, celebrations, collaboration, creativity, camaraderie

Reversed: Isolation, loneliness, gossip, interpersonal strife, shallow or toxic friendship, excess celebration

The Three of Cups represents one's interpersonal relationships, sense of belonging, and collective success. When upright, it indicates good times with good friends, as is the case in Hooty's Moving Hassle! Having gained Luz as a friend, Willow and Gus now have the minimum requisite trio to perform a moonlight conjuring, an important social tradition for young witches. The ritual is more (less?) successful than intended when they combine their power and bring the entire Owl House to life instead of just Gus's doll figurine. Elated by their success, they can confidently rub it in their bullies' faces.

The reversed Three of Cups can indicate negative social interactions or lack of companionship and community. Amity is shown clearly feeling out of place at her friend group's moonlight conjuring, sitting apart from the group after the ritual was unsuccessful. It's likely that it failed in part because the group's bonds are weak and shallow, considering they are only friends because their parents dictated who they were allowed to socialize with as children. (The fact that everyone immediately pulled out Penstagram afterwards instead of talking with each other is telling). To be a part of this group, Amity has to be antagonistic, elitist, and a bully. Seeing Luz, Willow, and Gus being true friends to each other makes her wonder if she's really rolling with the right crowd.

Deck Order:

< Previous: Two of Cups | Next:  Four of Cups >

Show Chronology:

< Previous: Five of Wands | Next: The Empress >

[loevemora]

final | tom riddle

warnings: mentions of blood.

genre: angst.

Tom Riddle strode down the hall. He didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself. He was sure. Always sure of himself. But right now, doubt crept into him, and he did not like it one bit. Go to the dorms. Find the others. There’s a puzzle to be solved somewhere. Just be unobtrusive. Sure, a boy as pale as modest calcite and carrying an almost dead body in his arms wouldn’t be noticed at all. His footsteps scattered to the doors of the Slytherin common room. He remembered what Lestrange had said about witches who overexert their power falling ill or suffering a harsh fatal fate. He felt his robe droop. He looked down to see the blood of Inara’s abdomen seeking into him, weighing his uniform down. He cursed the damned apparition restrictions. He cursed his damned legs. He needed to be fast.

In the fire-lit common room sat Rosier, Nott, Lestrange, Malfoy and Ivanov. At the sound of shuffling, they all turned to the sound. Ivanov gasped at the sight, straightening to a stand.

“Merlin Riddle, what happened?”

The forest served as an escape for Inara. She had made it a habit to sneak into the wooded areas during odd hours of the night when everyone was asleep. This was her lullaby. This was her salvation. She crossed over the barked grounds, her feet light as she trekked and weaved in silence.

The moonlight shone down, illuminating the path for her—it served as mere aesthetic; she could find her way around blindfolded. The gravelled path rolled into a tight lane. The fine curves of the trees walled the passageway, reaching out to the skies. A lake lay in the wake of the path’s opening.

Inara readjusted her wand and stepped gingerly over a decaying rat, the smell causing her to scrunch her nose. Her silken robe billowed faintly, brushing the edge of the wind as she made her way to the corner of the waters. She sat down on the firm earth. She freed the blade that sat obediently in the security of her boot. The night’s light glistened in the reflection of the chrome cutter, and her ears perked at the distant crunch of leaves. He always did follow her.

“Tempting, Riddle, isn’t it?” Inara sat still and looked ahead into the water that mirrored her face. Her eyes, wide and dark, slipped into his green orbs.

“I suppose so.” Riddle unclasped his hands from his back as he strutted forward from the shelter of the shadows. “We might as well indulge it.”

“We?” She gazed up at him. He walked with precision, his posture so elegant she felt like pushing him over, just so he could not seem so close to perfection. She looked back down at her blade. She had almost mastered the lost art of Dark Magic; a feat she was determined to best. That may have been the reason Riddle associated himself with her in the first place. She could see it in his eyes the first time they met. His avaricious eyes practically drank in all of her being once he had discovered her allure to dark magic. Their meeting was inevitable.

“Of course. It’s only fair.” His eyes examined her. The blade in her hand shined arrogantly bright and he found himself wondering where she had found the odd thing.

Inara blew the slightest exhale and gestured to the spot next to her, “Sit.”

Riddle did not like being told what to do, but he found himself sitting anyway.

“This will only sting for a split second,” Inara mumbled, her eyes trained on her blade. In her spot, she turned her body towards Riddle, and sat on her shins. She refused to meet his eye. She needed to focus.

Riddle found himself staring at the witch in front of him. He understood people. He could read people. A skill he had polished and recognised as one of his assets. And if he could not read people, he would trace every line of their minds, whether they allowed him to or not. He did not understand, however, the brick wall that was Inara.

He remembered the day they had met, she was perched on one of the windows along the aisle towards the Slytherin common room. People passed her, never acknowledging her presence, he had almost thought he imagined her. She sat, a leg crossed over another, and traced the lines of her palm with her wand, too entranced in her actions to care for any distractions around her. He found her curious and when she held an unflinching mental barricade against his attempt of legilimency, the curiosity only grew.

“Your head is bleeding.”

“Least of your concerns, Riddle.” Inara reached out for his arm at his side as he sat back on his heels.

Riddle agreed with her. As far as he knew, he did not feel the need to check up on the well-being of anyone. He did not feel. He kept silent when Inara reached for his hand. He kept silent when she sliced his palm. He kept silent when she sliced her palm. Her eyes, wide and dark, identical to her long locks, swayed in the rhythm of the wind, a strand straying in the grips of the blood streak on the side of her head. And when she raised her bloodied hand to rest it on his heart, it took all of him to keep from moving.

She recited an incantation, her eyes spilling into the darkness of his own. His veins stood at a standstill, and he swallowed a hefty breath as his muscles quieted. The air around them swirled near and the crunch of the leaves fell silent. Behind Inara, Riddle could barely make out the red light that hung in the dark edge of the surrounding trees. And when the odd light barreled straight toward him, his reflexes urged him to move. He did not, of course.

Inara’s incantations fell silent, and the happenings of the trees returned back to normal. Riddle tensed and welcomed the newfound weight of magic he felt surging throughout his body. Dark magic; beautiful magic; powerful magic. The sight of the witch before him cleared his sight. Her eyes mirrored the magic heaving through him and her lips were slightly parted to heave an exhale. The magic had taken a toll on her.

“Teach me.” It wasn’t so much a plea as it was a demand. Inara did not appreciate his tone.

“Manners, Riddle.”

At Riddle’s silence, Inara raised a brow. “Don’t get shy now.” She could see the vexation in Riddle’s taut jawline. He was dangerous to look at.

Riddle did not beg. He did not plead. Begging and pleading was a practice for lowly mutants, peasants below him. And yet, the witch before him, in all her smugness, was a temptation he did not mind indulging. He would gladly master the art of Dark Magic just to watch the smug ghost of a smile fall from her face. He wanted to reach out and skim the curves of her dark locks. And then what? He shook his head. She was dangerous to look at.

Before he could voice out a response, the blaring red light identical to the one from moments before had returned, hurdling straight towards Inara. The light connected to her body, illuminating the witch. She seemed at ease. Did she expect this? At once, Inara collapsed forward, and Riddle’s arms wrapped around her instinctively.

He was in the Slytherin dorm room; his gaze tense as he watched Inara’s peaceful figure laid straight on the emptied coffee table in front of the fireplace. The group was alert, Ivanov’s eyes were fixed on the witch before her. The knick knacks she had sent the boys to grab were perched on the space beside Inara. Rosier and Nott sat on the fixtures between the bed and the table. Lestrange sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of Inara’s body, Malfoy welcomed the embrace of the couch nearest to the fireplace, and Riddle stood at the back of Ivanov, scrutinising her every move with his unwithering stare.

In the whisper of Ivanov’s lips lay a prayer before she bared the materials into a mortar; a song she had memorised the choreography to—step by step. This had to work. She would die before she let her friend succumb to her injuries. She grazed the line of Inara’s jaw, tipping her head back so she could pour the finalised concoction into her mouth, then resealed her lips shut.

Silence hugged the standstill of the room and everyone in it. The traitorous flames of the fire waved across Inara’s dark lashes. Slowly, the gaping well of blood in her abdomen began to seal; slowly but surely. Ivanov urged Inara to wake; she did not like the idea of post-Inara-death Tom Riddle. The amplification of an already dark and cruel Tom Riddle. The warmth of the fire did not soothe the shudder that rolled through her. She also just wanted her friend back; her stupid almost dead friend—to wake; her most beloved companion in this group of gross smelly boys. She could not bear their putridness all on her own.

Just as Riddle seemed about ready to turn the school building inside out, Inara’s eyes opened. The unified exhale of the entire group cracked through the suspense and ridded the tension of the dramatic moment.

Ivanov pinched the awakened girl, a hand on her heart as she exasperated, “I thought you were gone! Do not ever do that to me again.”

Inara kissed the knuckle of Ivanov’s hand, “Thank you for waking me, dear.”

Ivanov flushed at the sudden confession. “Oh, don’t be so forward, you twat! It’s quite alright.”

“The witch awakens.” Inara turned and faced the blond boy sprawled on the couch. “Next time you feel like dying, do me a favour and hurl yourself off the Ravenclaw Tower.” Inara glowered at the boy, his face and posture proud of his witty remark. Deep down, she knew he was relieved that she had not died; he was in the room was he not? Either way, she was drowsy and the boy was annoying her. She waved a hand towards him, sealing his lips shut. At the action, Malfoy’s brows raised to an all-time high, his face a scowl of frustration at the coerced silence of his precious voice. Low chuckles sounded around the room at the sight before them. Malfoy was going to get Inara back good—real good.

“Good thing you’re up. We have training at dawn.” Lestrange informed her, a warmth in his hardened stare. His body was toned and he built a figure wider than the rest of the boys. His fox eyed stare withered the mere beings of people but he held camaraderie with Inara. With a brief nod of acknowledgement, he stood up and headed to his dorm room.

Sandwiched in the fixtures, Rosier and Nott exchanged glances with one another. Rosier leaned into Nott and whispered something in his ear. With a barely contained giggle, Nott turned to Malfoy and raised his wand adorned hand. He sent a bat-bogey hex his way and did not wait to feel the wrath of Malfoy before he ran out the dorm room, a loud cackle escaping him while bat-infested-nosed-Malfoy attempted to chase him down.

The remaining cohort Rosier and Ivanov both shared a look. That was all it took for them to take their leave. Inara’s brows furrowed and she tilted her head. “Where are you guys going?” Rosier met her gaze and his eyes flickered from her figure to the space behind her. He exited before Inara could say anything else. The door closed behind them and she turned to find Riddle standing above her, his stare ever solid. “Oh.”

Riddle raised a brow. He stood in the shadow of the corner. Lunatic. “Oh?”

“What do you want, Riddle?”

Said boy drank in the assumed state of the witch before him. The ends of her hair, deeply dark, found solace on the top of the table, waving in curls so immaculate, he wanted to reach out and soothe them. Perched on the table, her legs hung off the edge and she stared up at him, apprehension and annoyance swarming behind those inked orbs. He could drown in them.

“What happened back there?” Riddle’s tone was firm, solid rock ingrained into the earth.

She did not feel like talking about it but by the looks of the boy in front of her, she did not really think he bothered about what she felt. With a sigh, she explained, “I overexerted myself. When the surge of my incantation bellowed beneath your muscles, your veins, my magic gained rule over me.”

“How did you know I felt that surge?”

“I know my magic.”

“Inara.”

“It’s Velor to you.”

Riddle uncrossed his arms and strolled over to the stubborn girl on the table, holding her gaze as he sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. With swiftness, he brought forward the alcohol-polished tweezers beside Inara and pulled her wounded hand forward.

“What are you–” Her query was quickly cut off by the stern glare of the boy before her. She watched his actions as he began to pluck the minute pieces of gravel and dirt from her open cut. His focus reigned in on her wound, meticulously extracting the stubborn articles. It stung like hell but she forced down any sort of reaction to the slight discomfort.

His robe sank from a burdened weight; it looked soaked. Her eyes enlarged. She reached her unharmed hand to the silken material. “Is this my doing?” She asked, slightly jarred. She rubbed the soaked robe between her fingers and pulled back, recognising the red of her blood that the fabric had sponged up. Riddle grabbed her wrist, and with a clean corner of his robe, he wiped the crimson remnants from her blood-stained fingers.

He fixed her wounded hand with a bandage and traced the lines of her veins with the point of his finger all the way to her neck pulse. She fixed her jaw, a determined stare she did not want to break under the withering gaze of Tom Riddle. The rounded darkness of his eyes flickered to her lips for the briefest second before resting on her neck where his hand sat; a lone finger pressed to her pulse.

“Yes, dear, this was all your doing,” and at once, he felt the resurgence of an entirely different magic between the fittings of his bloodstream.

The ghost of a grin painted Inara’s face. Tom took her in. With a tilt of her head, she let a smug smile break out into her face, ignoring the blood that chattered against her teeth. She looked crazed. Tom’s brow lifted. If that wasn’t an invitation…

“Well, hell,” Riddle muttered. He closed the distance between them and took Inara’s face in his hands. He moved slowly, deliberately, kept the kiss quiet, the barest brush of lips, giving Inara the chance to pull away if she wanted to, though he didn’t know what he would do if she resisted. But she didn’t. She drew closer.

[goldenempyrean]

To The Pharmacy

〚 Day 10 - “The only place we’re going is to the pharmacy” 〛

〚 Pairing - Wanda Maximoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Wanda's miserable but still insisting on heading on your night but it seems to only place you'll be going is to the pharmacy.〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Sicktember 2023 Masterlist 〙

“Why can’t we go out?” Came the annoyed whine of the sniffling witch from the table behind you, “We had plans!” Wanda pouted, crossing her arms before bringing her hands up to her face as she muffled an awful sounding cough.

“That’s exactly why. Have you heard yourself Wands?” You turned around to raise an eyebrow at her, “The only place we’re going is to to the pharmacy. Date night can wait till your feeling better.”

Wanda's face scrunched up in displeasure, and she let out another raspy cough. Her eyes were watery, and her nose was red and runny. She looked genuinely miserable.

"I promise we'll have a proper date night once you're all better," You said reassuringly as you turned the kettle on. "Right now, you need to rest and get better. We can have a cosy evening at home, just the two of us."

"But I was really looking forward to it," Wanda protested weakly, her voice hoarse from the persistent coughing.

"I know, and I was too," You replied with a sympathetic smile, “But you're not going to enjoy it if you're feeling like this.”

Just as you’d finished your sentence the kettle you’d flicked on earlier finished boiling and you poured her a steamy mug of lemsip tea before placing it in front of her.

Wanda took the mug in her hands, feeling the warmth seeping through her cold fingers. She glanced at the tea, a small glimmer of appreciation in her eyes, and then back at you. "Thanks," she said softly, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude in her voice.

"You're welcome," you replied, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. "I'll make some soup in a bit to help soothe your throat and I’ll go out and get you some supplies then we’ll cosy up on the sofa, okay?”

“Fine. But I want the purple cough drops and that really good smelling chest rub stuff.”

You chuckled at Wanda's specific requests. "Purple cough drops and the magic rub it is. Anything else, your highness?" You teased playfully, placing a small kiss to the top of her head.

Wanda managed a weak smile, her eyes already showing signs of drowsiness from the combination of exhaustion and the warm tea. "That's all for now," she replied, her voice softening. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Always," you said, your heart swelling with love and concern for her well-being. "Now do you want to stay here or do you want to come with?”

Wanda hummed, which turned into a small cough before pulling herself up and reaching to take your hand, “I wanna come, you’re warm.” She mumbled as you pulled her closer, letting her sink into your heat.

You smiled, placing a tender kiss to the top of her head, “Alright then, grab a blanket and let’s get going.”

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[fantom-as]

Faux Fangs, True Bite | Dramione

pairing: Dramione

description: After Hermione's boyfriend went missing and a frantic search began, she received a letter from said boyfriend, demanding for the search to be called off. Two weeks later, he shows up at their friends' Halloween party, looking eerily different.

word count: 4,5k

warnings!: halloween party, spooky, vampire!draco, blood drinking, mentions of break up, established relationship, sex, vampire bites, marriage proposal, love confessions.

Moonlight spilled through the window and onto Hermione‘s flesh as she listened to Ginny getting ready in the bathroom. She stared into the dark of the night with unseeing eyes, without feeling the icy wind that blew into her face, twisting the witch’s hat of her costume. She didn’t want to go, not without him. So, Ginny came to take her by force.

It had been two weeks since he went missing. A week of not knowing whether he was dead or alive, then another week of wondering that maybe something worse than death had crossed his path. Two weeks of having little to no idea of what happened that fateful night when Draco Malfoy set on one of his Auror missions, never to return to her again.

Hermione brushed her fingers over the striped, black-and-purple tights that showed when her black velvet skirt gathered around her middle as she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor. Their bedroom. In their home. Where she spent each night waiting for him to come back. Or to be returned to her any way possible.

She kept replaying that last morning in their kitchen over and over again, until the details of the room and the people were washed out. Draco had spent more than a month trying to talk to a vampire who lived in a secluded castle because the Ministry had sent him on this mission. A wand ended up in the vampire‘s possession, and it was Draco‘s job to figure it out. If it were anyone but her boyfriend, the vampire would‘ve been dealt with in no time; but Draco understood what it was like to be considered a monster undeserving of magic, as many claimed to this day that he and all the other former Death Eaters should not be allowed to possess wands or conjure magic. Draco wanted to take it easy with the vampire, he wanted to convince him that such a magnificent creature didn‘t need a wand, that being a vampire was magical enough. Even if he didn’t truly believe it himself.

Until one day he had just disappeared.

Hermione called Harry that very night to ask about Draco when he didn‘t come back for dinner. Harry told her that he hadn‘t seen Draco that day at all. Hermione‘s anxiety grew with every hour of no-show. In the morning, she called Harry again, and so, the search for Draco Malfoy began. But it was fruitless. A week later, Hermione received a letter with a single sentence:

Quit searching for me, I have found my path, and I am not coming back to you.

D. M.

The search was called off, but Hermione never stopped. She even found the vampire‘s castle where Draco was headed to that morning, but she only got to the iron gate, then she began feeling dizzy, until eventually she lost consciousness. She woke up tucked in her bed, and would‘ve believed the journey to the castle to be a dream if she hadn‘t found dirt underneath her fingernails. And—two barely visible red dots atop her jugular. She didn’t go back to the vampire in the castle.

That was three days ago. Hermione spent them in their bedroom, without sleeping, or eating, or talking to anyone. At night, just as she was about to pass from exhaustion, she hallucinated that he was standing there, at the end of her bed, watching her sleep. His presence was cold, mesmerizing, terrifying. But of course, he wasn’t truly there. He wouldn’t be just watching. He would be with her, if he could.

The Halloween party that Draco had been so excited about was around the corner, but Hermione had no intention of attending it without him. Ginny and Harry had other ideas, they wanted her to forget her sorrow, even if for a short while. That‘s how Ginny ended up in her bathroom. Her head now ducked out of the doorway, “Hermione, you’re ready?”

Hermione nodded, still staring outside. She saw a black figure standing there in the dark amongst the trees, but it was probably only her imagination.

Loud music and flashy purple, red, and orange lights thundered through Hermione’s brain as she stood in the corner of Harry and Ginny’s living room where the party’s heart was. She was nursing a glass of red wine, taking small sips from it, when Harry found her.

“Hey, you’re here!”

“Don’t act so surprised. Your wife forced me to be here, and not without your knowledge.”

Harry’s smile dimmed a bit, and although he was quite drunk already, his face grew serious. “We are very worried about you, Hermione. You’ve isolated yourself from everybody, and that’s just not healthy.”

Hermione stared at the wine in her glass, swirling it distractedly.

“My boyfriend is missing. I’m sorry that I’m not all sunshine and rainbows tonight,” she said quietly and coldly.

“He left you!” Harry yelled through the music. “He left you and he ran away because he was too much of a coward to break up with you!”

Her lower lip trembled. “That’s not what happened…”

“He doesn’t want you to find him, that what he said himself…”

“We don’t know if it was him who wrote it…”

Harry gave her a you-know-that’s-not-true look.

Hermione shook her head and downed the rest of her wine, turning around Harry and leaving her safe corner. She walked quickly, her head spinning from the alcohol she had consumed. Harry, thankfully, did not follow her.

She turned around the corner and noticed Ginny and Lavender talking, all secretive about it. She hid behind a wall because she did not want to see either of them, but heard snippets of their conversation:

“I can’t believe he couldn’t even properly break up with her…”

“Probably just didn’t have the balls for it.”

“I always knew he was a snidey ferret. No good for Hermione…”

“What else could you want from a Death Eater?”

“Do you know what Harry told me? Right before Malfoy took off?”

“No, what?”

“He was going to propose to her! He had a ring. Had asked Hermione’s father’s blessing and all. Told Harry so.”

“No way!”

A single sob tore out of Hermione’s chest, and she ran to the bathroom of the second floor.

The music died a little, and her sobs grew worse. She saw herself in the mirror, the tears had ruined her makeup, and the sight of her crying made her cry even more.

He was going to propose… he had a ring… she would’ve been his fiancée by now, if not—

She put her hands on both sides of the sink, leaning in, and crying, crying, for all the things she lost, for all the love she could’ve had but never will again. And for not knowing why she deserved to be left alone like this. Draco loved her, she was sure of it. They never fought, at least not horribly, he was always attentive, and he had long sworn off his past prejudices. Why did he abandon her then, how could this happen? How could he not want her anymore? How could he leave their home without saying anything? This didn’t make any sense…

Hermione flinched after an aggressive knock on the bathroom disturbed her train of thought. She brushed off the tears on her face with the back of her hand, smudging her red lipstick.

“Just a second!” she called out. The grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her teary eyes—only a hint of her green eyeshadow left.

She opened the door, expecting somebody to be waiting behind them, but there was nobody there. The corridor was dark and empty, pale light coming from one of the ends. Even the music got oddly quiet, she couldn’t even make out the lyrics.

Behind her, she heard a rustle of fabric and in her ear—a promise of a whisper.

“Hello?” she said, feeling the hairs on her skin stand on end. No one answered. Again—rustling, whispering, there, in the red darkness of the corridor. Hermione turned around abruptly, giving herself an unnecessary fright as her heart thundered in her ears with fear, overtaking all and any other sound.

She didn’t even know what she was scared of. This was Harry and Ginny’s home. She had drunk a glass of wine and had been living in complete silence for the last week. It made sense that she experienced auditory hallucinations after breaking the fast of isolation.

Only then did her eyes also became witnesses of her madness. Because she saw him. A black figure at the end of the corridor. Hermione frowned, swallowing thickly. Her throat went dry.

“Draco?” she whispered into the darkness.

The figure took a single step toward her, into the red hue coming from the heart of the party. The soft light illuminated his features, but the harshness of the color twisted them into something predatory.

One thing was certain: it was Draco, her Draco. She ran to where Draco stood, ready to hug him, to pull him lose and never let him get away from her again.

But just as she was about to reach his body, he disappeared. Hermione looked around in panic—and he was right behind her.

“Draco?” she said in a small voice. “What are you doing here?”

He was so very close, but she didn’t reach out for him this time, scared that he might disappear.

“I came here to see you. One last time,” he spoke finally. His voice sounded familiar, yet different: beyond the usual notes of deep baritone, careful diction, and developed rhythm was something dark, sensual, dangerous.

She blinked, as if waking up from a trance, finally registering the meaning behind his words.

“No, Draco, no, it doesn’t have to be the last time—” In this light, Draco’s eyes were red, his hair was red, his flesh was red. And he looked down at her with such hatred that Hermione hadn’t witnessed in him even during their Hogwarts years. She felt her carefully schooled features twist into a grimace of pain, and the tears came back full force. “Please, just tell me, did I do something wrong that made you leave? Have I upset you somehow?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Hermione. But you must stop thinking that I might come back. I won’t. You need to move on, live life, you cannot wallow in self-pity any longer. What happened is irreversible. All because of my good heart…” he spat out the last two words as if they were poison.

Hermione looked down at his robes. He wore all-black, his cloak reminded her of bat wings. As he spoke, she noticed how sharp his teeth were. Was he wearing a vampire costume? But no, it didn’t look like a costume. Hers witch outfit was a costume, she had found it at a thrift store a month ago, and it was made mostly of polyester and nylon. But his clothes had an aura of authenticity, like they themselves were a living, breathing thing.

Her eyes went back to his face.

“What happened to you? Whatever it was, we can fix—”

He towered over her, snarling, his teeth shining in the dark like knives of pearl. “We cannot fix anything, Hermione. I need you to stay out of my business, as I’ll stay out of yours…”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I won’t let you leave, don’t you understand, I don’t care what happened to you, I still want you in my life, because I love you—”

Suddenly, they both heard somebody climb up the stairs to the second floor, where they were, but before Hermione could see who it was, Draco grabbed her by the waist and—

Another moment later, she found herself in one of Harry and Ginny’s guestrooms. Draco didn’t let go of her immediately, his face lingered in the crook of her neck, but when he forced himself off her, he made sure to leave a lot of space between them.

“I wanted to see you at the party where I was sure you’d be surrounded by plenty of people… So I’d be forced to control my urges and not harm you any further… This is not what I had planned…”

Hermione turned on the light to see better. The room lit up—and all that was in it.

She gasped when she saw Draco in better lighting.

His skin was paler than usual, ghostly, almost translucent, black veins shone underneath it. His face seemed the same—sharp and angular, with high cheekbones, but severely so, making him look gauntly. His blond hair was now painfully white, with a silver sheen on it, reminding her of an angel. He stood very still, his body was statue-like perfection—it made her want to get close to him, it made her want to run away. But his eyes—his eyes—they made her knees weak. The irises were startingly crimson, liquid-like, and if he were to cry, she was sure his tears would be blood. Hermione could barely recognize him as she took it all in.

She gasped, softly this time, and covered her lips with her hand, inspecting him from head to toe.

“You were turned… That vampire turned you…”

A hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “Clever as ever, my girl.”

She shuddered with silent sobs. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. I knew it was dangerous.”

“You just wanted to help…”

“And look where that got me.” He stepped closer as if beyond his own volition, eating the distance he made himself. As if he were as hypnotized by her as she was by him. “And now—” he towered over her again, repeating their previous position, “—all I want is to eat you…”

Hermione breathed in shakily. Fear wasn’t the only reason for her reactions.

“Go on,” she whispered. “It’s okay… I love you… You won’t hurt me…”

Draco snarled again—but didn’t move away. He couldn’t, even if he wished to.

And all he wanted was her. He’d said so.

“You don’t understand what you’re offering. I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d kill you. I came here only to talk to you.” His voice was husky, and he tilted his head, getting closer, closer.

She shuddered at their proximity. She’d missed him so much, her body reacted wildly even when he wasn’t touching her yet.

“I’d rather be killed by you that have to live without you,” she mumbled, breathing in his intoxicating scent—leather, mint, apples, and… blood.

His eyes flashed—two rubies, glinting and alive. He grabbed her by the back of her head, pulling her closer, inhaling her—an unruly, animalistic gesture.

“I’ve tasted you before, you know,” he spoke into her skin, voice muffled by her flesh. “When you came to the castle, looking for me… I’d hypnotized you and brought you back home… I swore to myself I’d leave you be… But I couldn’t control myself, I had to have a taste… And I bit you… Your blood, it tasted divine, like god himself had sent you to me… I thought I won’t be able to stop, that I’d suck you try… But somehow, somewhere deep inside myself I found the strength that night, to get away from you, to leave you… You’ve no idea how much it cost me, how badly I wanted to stay by your side, nursing your wounds that I’d inflicted….”

His vicious words sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine, but not the bad type, not the fearful type.

“I don’t remember… any of it…” she muttered, arching her spine and tilting her head to give him better access to her neck.

He chuckled darkly, his cold breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. “Of course you don’t. I made sure you wouldn’t. Only I didn’t heal the marks I left on you. There was a part of me that wanted you to know, at least subconsciously. A part of me that knew you’d be on your knees before me despite being aware of the monster I’ve become.” He drew languid circles on her carotid with the tip of his nose.

“I would… You can bite me, you can do anything you want… I won’t fight back, I won’t struggle… I want you to bite me…” She knew she had to prove to him that not only could he control himself, but also that she was worth that control.

“Alright,” he whispered, so, so quietly.

She closed her eyes tightly, waiting. He sighed, and she felt a strong gust of his breath on her neck. He wondered what it will feel like. Sharp pain. Warm blood running down her side. Draco’s body crushing her into the wall behind, his hunger ruling over his senses…

But instead of sharp fangs, it was his cool lips she felt on her skin. A kiss so sweet and tender. Hermione trembled.

“Please…” she whimpered.

Not a second later, Draco bit her, truly this time. The bite was sharp and swift, sending a wave of electrifying show through Hermione’s body. The sensation was both excruciating and oddly hypnotic. The connection that they had when they were both human seemed like nothing more than a child’s play compared to this. She envisioned a red thread between them, pulling the together. It was so intimate that it felt almost violating.

As Draco savored the liquid life running through her veins, Hermione’s vision turned blurry. His grip on her tightened… and then, instead of continuing with renewed ferocity, he tore his face away from her flesh. By the time he straightened himself, looking down at her, a trickle of crimson running down the side of his slightly open mouth, they were both heaving in tandem.

“This was—” he began.

“Extraordinary…” she finished. She reached out her hand to touch his cheek. “Draco, I need you—I need more…”

A frown etched itself on his forehead, as if there was nothing more worrying to him than her wishes left unfulfilled. God, he was so beautiful.

“Anything you want, love…”

She brought herself closer to him until their bodies were touching everywhere. Her belly grazed his crotch, she felt his hardness poking through his robes. She reached down there and palmed him through his trousers. Draco hissed.

“Please…” she whispered.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Draco lifted her up and, after she hooked her legs over his torso, he transported them to the bed, and put Hermione on top of the duvet while he stood over her, his hands running over her body. Hermione could see it from his eyes—now that his basic urges were satisfied, others came to life. Or both—him craving her blood and her body—were simultaneous.

Draco waisted no more time, grabbing her thighs and pulling them up until her skirt rode up. He tore her striped tights until her knickers were exposed, and then he tore those too, with a single swift movement.

He hissed again when her pussy came into view. “Time for a different kind of taste,” he mumbled more to himself then to her and knelt in front of her.

She heard the fabric of her tights rip further until it was barely covering her legs, then felt him pepper kisses on her inner thighs. His thumb found her clit and began flicking that sensitive nub in tandem with his kisses. Zips of pleasure flashed through Hermione, and she was so caught up in it that she registered too late when his fangs pierced the skin of her inner thighs. She squealed, trying to get away driven by instinct, but he held her in place, his grip vicious. He turned his head and bit the other thigh, so both of them got the same treatment. The second bite was less sudden, eliciting only a pained and dazed moan out of Hermione. She could come only from this.

But then Draco retreated, getting on top of her and briskly tearing her clothes off as she hurriedly tried to do the same, but he was quicker, undressing both of them until they were naked on the bed.

Draco grabbed his hard and leaking cock, rubbing it against her seeping folds while Hermione followed his movements. He grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“I’ve missed fucking you so much…” he gritted through his teeth, still rubbing himself into her.

Hermione swallowed thickly. “Uh-huh…” she mumbled incoherently, making Draco smirk devilishly before he sank into her in one harsh thrust.

Hermione screamed, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and Draco put his hand over her mouth to silence the sounds coming from her as he fucked her violently into the mattress, so deep, so hard that she could feel him in her throat.

He fucked her through the initial shock of his intrusion, and when he made sure she wouldn’t be screaming any more, he released her mouth, his hand resting around her throat, putting just enough pressure to make her see stars.

“Please, Draco, don’t ever leave me…” she begged him, shaking from his hard thrusts with each word she spoke.

He leaned down, keeping up with his rhythm, and kissed her on the lips, ignoring her words.

“You’re so good to me, love…” he spoke into her mouth. “Taking me so well…”

Hermione felt tears gathering in her eyes from all the overwhelming emotions—the joy of having him back, the pleasure of feeling him inside of her, the relief of knowing he’s alive and the fear of him leaving her, for good. He licked those tears away before biting into the other side of her neck. The moment his fangs pierced her, a tsunami of pleasure washed over her, and she came all over his cock, her body shaking in his arms. But Draco did not pull out, he kept fucking her, he drank her blood, although this time he wasn’t caught up in the animalistic side of it, no, this time he was savoring her blood, savoring her cunt, savoring everything she gave him. Until mere seconds later she felt his seed inside of herself and, a few more thrusts later, he pulled out.

Hermione felt boneless and powerless, but she was too scared for him to leave and from now on, she couldn’t imagine a scenario where she wasn’t touching him, so she found his hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice raw as a wound.

Draco gave her a single nod, positioning himself on the bed and bringing her body into his while she put her head on his chest, sadly realizing that she won’t be able to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat any longer.

As Draco brushed his fingers through her hair, Hermione mumbled sleepily, “See, when it comes to me, you’re in perfect control.”

“I might lose it at any moment.”

Hermione opened her eyes and raised her head to look into his eyes. “I trust you. I love you, Draco. And I can’t imagine the horrors you experienced.” She paused, searching his face. “How did—how did it happen?”

He looked down at their intertwined fingers—his body was miles and hours away from here.

“I tried to convince that vampire that he didn’t need a wand to do magic. He disagreed. He was angry that wizards are constantly treating him like a lowlife. I tried to tell him that I understand him and that I feel the same way, even though I’m a wizard. He said that I could only understand his feelings if I were in his position, if I were a vampire. And—I think he’d planned it for weeks. I believed we were making progress, that morning, I thought he was going to hand me his wand over, and we’d be done with it. But he’d done this. And now I—now I truly understand how he’s feeling.”

Hermione took his face between her palms and kissed his lips softly.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

He grabbed her hands and, just as softly, brought them down.

“There’s nothing to figure out, Hermione. We can’t be together.”

She frowned. “But why not? You bit me tonight, not one and not twice, and you controlled yourself.”

He shook his head. “You’re a human and I’m a vampire. Your family, your friends, they would never understand…”

She grabbed his face again, determined not to let him get his way.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks. All I care about is that I love you. And you love me. That’s all that matters.” She ran her fingers through his startingly white hair. “And my answer to the question you wanted to ask me is yes.”

He frowned. “What question?”

She smiled tenderly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He bowed his head down. “I’m not asking that anymore. Our situation’s changed.”

She kissed his forehead, and he looked back at her. “we’re still the same people we were. This night made me certain of that.”

Draco sighed heavily, then bent down and grabbed his cloak that had ended up on the floor. He fished a small box from one of the pockets and when he opened it, Hermione saw a golden ring with the eye of red ruby. She gasped.

“It’s beautiful…”

Draco took it out of the box and held it between his pale cold fingers.

“Then right now I’m not only asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to love a monster. I’m asking you to make a deal with the devil. To do what no other woman would.

Hermione noticed that she was crying again only when host tears began running down her cheeks. She jumped slightly and hugged him as hard as she could. “Oh, Draco… Of course, I’ll marry you, I’ll love you, I’ll spent my eternity with you…”

She pulled away slightly while Draco put the ring on her finger—it fit perfectly.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered into her lips, into her happy smile.

This time, their kiss was sweet, and slow, and tender.

It was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. As if electrocuted, Draco shielded her body with his from the eyes of the intruder.

Who was Harry. A flustered, embarrassed, and very drunk Harry, covering his eyes.

“I have so many questions, firstly, Malfoy, what are you doing here, but secondly, why the hell is this the second time I catch you two like this in my house?”

Draco snarled, his eyes flashing red. “Get out of here, Potter, or I swear to Merlin I’ll rip your head off.” Hermione was half-certain he wasn’t kidding.”

Still covering his eyes, Harry said, “Alright, alright, I’m leaving…” and he closed the door behind him.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other and laughed.

“You know, everyone tried to convince me that you left me but I knew you would never do that to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Am I allowed to kill those who spoke ill of me?”

She pretended to consider his proposition. “That would leave us with a lot of dead bodies…”

“I’m still an Auror. I can get rid of them easily, no questions asked.”

Hermione couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll think about it…"

[oraclekleo]

[Pick-A-Pile]Messages for you from the cards

Hello and welcome to a short PAC of mine.

This time I’m not asking the cards about anything in particular. I allow them to deliver the kind of message they feel like you should know now.

If you struggle picking a pile, it might be that none of the messages are supposed to reach you at this moment. If you come back in a month, maybe you pick the pile instantly because then it’s gonna be the time for you to receive the message.

If in general you struggle picking piles, it might be that as well. Sometimes you are not supposed to pick one because the message is not meant for you. Keep that in mind.

Disclaimer:

All my tarot readings are for entertainment purposes only

This is a general timeless reading - take what resonates

May include mature, NSFW, 18+ or triggering content

Minors should not engage with my blog

Tarot is self-development tool (yes, even future spouse readings are self-development tools), it’s not a life manual

Whatever the cards say, you always have a freedom of choice

Never base important life decisions in solely tarot readings

Maintain moderate consumption of tarot readings, it’s like any other addiction, it becomes unhealthy when it’s too much

Masterlist: Pick-A-Pile (PAC) Masterlist

Let's Play: Tarot Games 🎲

Messages for You from the Cards

Pile 01

Cards: 2 of Cups, 10 of Swords, Ace of Coins (Tarot of Tales), 38. The Milk of the Mother Flows, 42. She is Moonlight-Shy (The Solitary Witch Oracle), Star Anise (The Herbal Tea Magic for the Modern Witch Oracle)

There’s an end of discussion leading to important decisions - it’s time to stop analysing and debating and it’s time to start working on your goals.

Relationships are nurturing and lovely, you are rewarded with the same amount of care you have put into them.

Follow your intuition but keep your eyes open - you might have a tendency to romanticise what’s actually not that good in the merciless light of reality.

Someone in your life might present themselves well but they are actually toxic for you. It’s time to show them the door.

Your manifestations are likely to come to fruition now. Whatever you have wished and manifested for will finally materialise in your world.

Meeting your soulmate or just someone very dear to you is suggested.

Now is the time to embrace your personal magick powers. The time of waiting is over, be the best version of yourself now. Devote to your craft.

Your energy is at its peak and flowing easily, your actions now will influence your future many years ahead.

It's a time of good fortune for you - you might want to play the lottery.

Pile 02

Cards: 10 of Wands, 10 of Cups, Ace of Wands (The Light Seer’s Tarot), Cheetah, Lion (The Wild Unknown Animal Spirit Oracle), Purification (Sacred Destiny Oracle)

It’s time to de-clutter, purify, clean and cleanse, sort and make space for what’s about to come. New vibrant energy can’t enter your life when it’s clogged with old, stagnant and blocking energy. Clean yourself and space around you. Eat lightly and get rid of things you don’t love anymore.

Time of abundance is ahead of you, especially if you read this in the summer season. Abundance of what you desire will come to you like a summer storm - swiftly and showering down.

Don’t waste your energy and resources. Observe and be smart with your decisions. There are battles worth fighting but there are also those you should avoid. Learn to recognize them.

Your potential and energy are endless but you need a purpose and motivation to use them well. If you are lacking any of these, take a moment to think about your ‘why’.

Your creativity is radiating and burning, you might experience an increase when it comes to brilliant ideas now.

Everything is connected. Use your intellect and imagination to see how people and situations interact. You might feel an urge to start writing a story or poem.

Finally some happiness arrived at your home’s door. You might feel blessed in the circle of your close relatives or friends, maybe celebration is at hand.

If your project or relationship becomes a tedious and tiring one, don’t lose hope and keep going. You are just about to release the burdens and reach fruition of your labour.

It might be about time for you to do something for your community. In relation to the above, you might feel called to release some content for your social media followers, or you might want to donate your old clothes to charity, or maybe you simply bake a cake for your grandma for her birthday.

Pile 03

Cards: V The Hierophant, Knight of Swords, XI Justice (The Slavic Legends Tarot), L The Ram and Dahlia, XII The Lizard and Pitcher Plant (Woodland Wardens Oracle), Hazel (The Wisdom of Trees Oracle)

Set your mental and emotional boundaries, especially when dealing with people. Some dramas have nothing to do with you, don’t waste your energy on them.

If you feel stuck or stagnant, remember the lizard's ability to let go of their tails to escape from predators. Maybe it’s time for you to drop something in order to move forward.

You are determined and focused on your goals and if you maintain like that, you can achieve whatever you want. Be headstrong and gracious at the same time and no obstacle stands a chance against you.

It’s time to establish a little more balance in your life. Which aspects take most of your attention and which ones you neglect recently?

If you are dealing with people and their dramas, remain impartial and unbiased. If you lean to any side, it will only bring more chaos to the situation. Keep a cool head.

Make meticulous plans but don’t get stuck in the planning phase. Once you are done debating, take courage and execute what you have drafted.

Ride the storm - while others hide from challenges, you should see an opportunity to shine against adversity. You have that personal power and charm to lead masses in times of crises.

You might feel the need to study, examine and evaluate rules, norms, laws or customs. Maybe you follow some traditions despite them being a burden to you. Maybe some laws are outdated and only promote injustice. It’s time to take in a bigger picture and work on improvements.

Your older friends or relatives possess wisdom. Come together at this time and learn some crucial information or skills from them. Is inflation giving a hit to your budget? Your elders might know some frugal tricks to help you. Maybe your sensitive skin doesn’t benefit from creams you buy and your grandma has some time proofed home remedy for that. Seek for long-term wisdom instead of quick hecks.

Thank you for reading!

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[iamvercnika]

₊‧⁺˖ ⠀⠀⠀ LUNA WAND : THE LIGHTSTICK  ! 

the LUNA WAND is the official light stick for VERONIKA, designed to embody her dark, mystical, and enchanting persona. released in october 2022 and crafted with meticulous attention to detail, the LUNA WAND is more than just a concert accessory; it's a symbol of the magical connection between VERONIKA and her fans.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ — ib. venusvity !

⸻ OVERALL DESCRIPTION !

the main body of the light stick is crafted from a high-quality, matte black material, giving it a sophisticated and mysterious look. intricate gold accents in the form of ancient symbols and runes adorn the handle, enhancing its mystical charm. at the top of the light stick sits a crystal orb encased in an elegant metal frame. inside the orb, a glowing crescent moon symbol captures the essence of night, mystery, and intuition. featuring a sleek addition, fans have an option to elongate the light stick by clipping it on the long handle.

while the LUNA WAND is everything NIGHTSHADES could ever wish for, the light stick has its own negative aspects. some fans wish the battery life were longer, noting that it lasts through a concert but just barely. the vibrant LED lights, while impressive, tend to drain the battery faster than expected, necessitating spare batteries. the LUNA WAND is considered a bit pricey compared to other light sticks. while the unique design and features justify the cost for many, it may be a bit too expensive for some fans. a few fans find the light stick to be heavier than expected, which can be tiring to hold up for long periods. the bulkiness and weight are minor drawbacks that some users feel could be improved.

MODEL NAME : LUNA WAND

LIGHTSTICK POWER : AAA SIZE x 3EA

USAGE TIME : UP TO 2.5 HOURS

RETAIL PRICE : $125usd / ₩169,863

LIGHT COLOURS : ENIGMA ( #191970 ) & ESSENCE ( #b87333 ) ー FANDOM COLOURS + MOONLIGHT SYMPHONY ( #c0c0c0 ) + ENCHANTED PLUM ( #6a0dad ) + WITCH'S GREEN THUMB ( #228b22 ) FOR DIFFERENT LIGHT MODES

LIGHT MODES : ON + BLINK + FLICKER + DIMMING + REVERSE + ROTATION + CONCERT MODE + OFF

CONTENT : OUTBOX ( 95mm x 95mm x 300mm ) + STRAP + ADDITIONAL HANDLE + MINI BOOKLET MANUAL + STICKER SET ( 1EA ) + TWO PHOTOCARDS + POLAROID ( PRE-ORDER ONLY ) + A THANK YOU NOTE FOR PURCHASING ( WRITTEN BY VERONIKA HERSELF )

[cesqdarque]

MC: Cassandra Darque

It's already been a year since I started working on Cassandra's backstory. So it's high time to do her justice and introduce her to society, even though she doesn't like the spotlight. She'll have to get used to it anyway since I'm writting down her journey to Hogwarts :D stay tuned.

Basics

Full name: Cassandra Darque

Nickname: Cass, Topolina (only by her grandmother)

Gender: female

Date of birth: November 16, 1874

Nationality: Swiss/ Italian

Blood status: pureblood

Wand: phoenix core, fir wood, 13”, unbending

Appearance

Hair color: dark chocolate brown

Hair style: chin-length, straight hair, bangs

Eye color: moss green with gray sprinkles

Skin tone: porcelain

Height: 174 cm

Body type: slim

Clothing style: Cass wears mostly black clothes or dresses. She likes fabrics like lace or velvet. For dueling or fighting leather is her favorite material of choice.

Accessories: She carries a necklace with her family’s emblem on it

Other distinguishing features: A small scar on the inside of her left wrist

Personality

Traits: reliable, determined, curious, buttoned-up, skeptical

Likes: Peace and quiet, honesty and straightforwardness, dark chocolate and cherries, autumn

Dislikes: Dishes that are spiced with cinnamon, pears and apricots, exaggerated expressions of emotion

Hobbies: reading German literature and poems (preferably from the Late-Romanticism period), enjoying quiet places and a good drop of absinth from the Valle de Travers, go for walks in the moonlight, methods of torture of the Middle Ages

Fears: the inevitable endless void after this life (from a nihilistic point of view), getting caught and therefore loose the trust of her grandmother

MBTI: ENTJ-A, the Architect

Zodiac: Scorpio sun, Aquarius moon, Virgo rising

Temperament: melancholic

Similar characters: kinda Wednesday Addams vibes, stubborn like Caroline Forbes (TVD)

Family/ Friends

Father: Oswald Darque (deceased †)

Swiss pureblood wizard

worked in diplomatic services

Motto of House Darque: “Verbum est acutius omni ferrum” (The word is sharper than any blade)

Mother: Valeria Montague-Darque (deceased †)

Italian pureblood witch

Only daughter to the Montague-Clan

Motto of Clan Montague: “Non Sine Labore” (Not without effort)

Grandmother: Augustina Montague

Italian pureblood witch

Matriarch of the Montague-Clan

has the sternest gaze of all Northern Italy

Pet: Nero

Black tombcat

Found abandoned at the ruins of the Castello di Cly

lives back at home, on her grandmother's estate

Owl: Malachias

latinized form of the name of the prophet Malachi. Hebrew for "the messenger"

Gray/ white eagle owl

patient, friendly and reliable

Friends: Zacharias Boniface (another OC of mine, her former tutor in Italy), Sebastian Sallow, Imelda Reyes, Ominis Gaunt, Poppy Sweeting

Magic

Boggart: a dark void materializing into a black hooded figure symbolizing death, or rather the fear that’s there nothing after this life

Patronus: Golden eagle. But she’s unable to summon her patronus atm due to her unsolved trauma

Polyjuice: turns white and tastes like cherries and dark chocolate

Scent: peony, bergamot and fresh like Winter's first snowfall

Special abilities:

Ancient magic wielder

Dark Arts (special interests in the use of venomous potions and cursed objects from the Middle Ages. Often are these antiquities of muggle origin, damned to harm ignorant rivals or muggles)

Occlumency, her grandmother thought her this skill to prevent rivals from gaining insights into family business and to shield information.

Backstory

Cassandra was born in Italy in the Val d'Aosta, but her parents took her to the seclusion of the swiss mountains to keep her away from her grandmother's shady business.

Sadly, distance did not bring them peace. One day, members of a feuding clan attacked her family and killed her parents.

Cassandra's grandmother then took her in and ensured her safety and education. During her stay, she formed an emotional bond with her slightly older tutor, who supported her in her plan for revenge, which she achieved.

Unfortunately, her wrongdoings did not pass unnoticed, and Cassandra's grandmother was forced to send her to Hogwarts to prevent her falling into the hands of the authorities or even rival clans.

Academics

Best subject: DADA

Favorite subject: Potions

Favorite teacher: Hecat

Worst subject: Herbology

Least favorite subject: Divination

Least favorite teacher: Onai

Quidditch: she’s not interested in Quidditch and don’t understand all the fuss about it.

As a student: attentive, inquisitive (often a little too much for her own good)

and last but not least, her vibes wrapped up in a song:

(thanks @hazyange1s for lending me your character sheet and to @dvinaamesca for the lovely portrait of Cass 🖤)

[yallthemwitches]

Catch the Wind, Chapter 4: Solemnly Swear

A more marauders heavy chapter but lots of Jily moments as well. Deviates slightly from the Canon timeline.

It ends with some nice steamy fluff so consider that your dessert ;). Will post the @blvnk-art that inspired moments as well. Thanks for reading!

______________________________________________________________

He had heard her say his name. 

“James” 

He had half the mind to give away his secret and rip off his invisibility cloak to return to her. He got his grip, took a deep breath, and continued to walk away. We were so close. Merlin, so fucking close. His head was reeling. He knew he had to keep his wits about him—he had mucked everything up with Lily for so long, he couldn’t ruin his chance now that he had finally gotten in her good graces. Besides, she thinks we are just friends…which we are. Just normal friends. A friend that I also happen to fantasize about before I fall asleep every night–totally normal, nothing weird, friends.

He wasn’t lying about going to get fresh air though that wasn’t entirely the sole purpose of his departure. Rounding out of the courtyard and onto the grassy knoll on the east side of the castle, the Whomping Willow’s outline was just barely visible in the moonlight. As he approached, he heard a smattering of hushed voices.

Keeping his invisibility cloak over him, he pulled out of his wand in his back pocket and approached. Sirius and Peter were nowhere in sight ,human or otherwise, but the voices continued to get closer as he reached the tree. Mucliber, Avery, and Snape came into view—Mulciber pushing Snape ahead towards the branches which were starting to pick up a sway from the incoming intruders. 

“Ladies first,” Mulciber snickered, giving Snape another shove to the back. 

Snape muttered something under his breath but continued to step forward towards the trunk. The branches were swinging with aggressive force, but Snape dropped to his stomach and the army crawled past an attempted hit from the tree, just barely missing an impact on multiple occasions. . 

James sidestepped past the branch's reach and pinned his back on the trunk. He had a straight shot view of Snape now, still crawling, straight toward the passage that lay under the base. James started to move towards the opening when a black shadow passed out of the mouth of the entrance way. 

The giant black dog stood panting in a large grin directly in front of Snape. James froze. Merlin please. Do the right thing Pads. 

The dog bared its teeth and let out a growl before pouncing on Snape’s arm. Snape cried out and continued to shriek as Sirius’ dragged his body into the entrance of the passage. James threw off his invisibility cloak, and dived in after them.

————————————————————————————————————-

Lily, awoke to something vaguely sharp tapping on her cheek. She tried to swat it away, but as quickly as her hand moved, the tapping returned with a new vigor. Lily opened her eyes and sat up. A paper airplane, rather hastily formed with dirt smudged on it, flew away from her face and landed limply in her lap. 

My Friend Evans,

I don’t usually confide in new friends the same day I make them, but unfortunately, today is an exception (take it as a compliment if you wish). 

If you promise to come NO QUESTIONS ASKED, I could really and urgently use the help of a capable witch such as yourself. But again: only if you are willing to keep my discretion. 

I’m in the empty classroom by the dungeons. 

James (Potter)

Ps. Be a dear and bring your potions supplies. Thanks Friend!

Lily read the letter twice before looking up at the clock mounted on the dorm wall. 4:45 am. Brilliant. 

Lily threw a jumper over her nightgown and as quietly as possible assembled her potions kit from her bureau. 

She didn’t know what she expected when she reached the classroom, but it wasn’t what was waiting for her. 

James leaned against the stone wall in the backmost corner of the class. His back to the door, Lily could see his shirt was shredded along the right side and blood was oozing down his entire torso. She could see his chest moving heavily and his breath shallow and rapid. 

“What the fuck happened to you,” She ran up to him and slammed her potions kit down, causing him to jump at the crash. 

“No questions asked,” James wheezed out as he attempted to make a smile. His glasses were crooked and hanging off on one ear, but James was too busy cradling his injured arm to fix them. Lily moved to tuck it back into place, but didn’t remove her hand from his cheek once the glasses were uprighted. 

“Fine. Fine,” The second time came out much softer than the first, “But you at least need to tell me what I’m working with here. You really should be going to Madame Pomfrey. “

“No Pomfrey. I’m alright.” He heaved out. He moved his good arm to pick up the shredded one, wincing as he placed his hand in his lap for better access to the wound.

“Just needs a bit of love.” He smirked. 

Lily helped James out of his half shredded shirt and started to wipe off the blood. Despite the situation being dire, it wasn’t lost on her that she was hand washing his bare chest and arms, which were looking especially fit from the starting Quidditch season. “You’re ridiculous,” she told herself as she tried to keep an outwardly stoic disposition. Her fantasizing didn’t last long though as her brain started to repeat something she had remembered Severus talking about a long while ago. She took a moment to lean her torso back to catch a view out of the classroom window. Full Moon.

The wound itself was not as deep as the blood would have suggested. She hardly needed a healing salve to keep the cuts from weeping. She conjured some gauze from the classroom's drapes and dressed his arm and upper shoulder. 

“You’re getting better at transfiguration—has someone been tutoring you?” Now that the worst was over, James was becoming more or less true to form despite his mobility issue. 

Lily sighed and kept dressing him. They stayed silent for a while; James watched Lily as her hands moved expertly to toil the gauze around the rest of his side. Finally she spoke.

“Is Remus ok? At least tell me that.”

She was dressing his back so neither could see the other’s expression, but she could feel James tense under her hands. 

“Why wouldn’t he be,” he whispered out. 

Lily finished her work and packed up her kit. James had made to stand up and was trying to see how much movement he could get out of his arm without wincing. 

“Looks like the Quidditch match this week is going to be a fun one,” he said mostly to himself as he continued to struggle with his arm. Lily stood and watched him sternly, but said nothing. 

“Thank you, Evans. You really are a true friend.” He moved towards her and before she knew it had enveloped his good arm around her in an embrace. All the anger and frustration she was feeling about James keeping his secret melted away, and she reached an arm around his bare back. 

“Anytime.” 

The next morning the whole school was mayhem. With Snape in the hospital wing all first class and James sporting an arm in bandages, the entire student body was trying to sleuth out the previous evenings events with varying degrees of insanity. 

“I heard that they had a huge row on the Astronomy Tower and James hexed him until he fell off the side,” Lily overheard Amos telling the rest of the Hufflepuff house in the corridors.

Lily pushed her way past the group. Having Snape in the hospital wing as well created a new development she hadn’t expected. The frustration she felt the night before bubbled back into her chest and the thought that something between the two had happened made her want to be sick. And even if it wasn’t anything to do with Snape, where did James get off on being so careless and running around with Remus who is a– a—--.

She brushed the thought out of her mind as she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Snape was already there and sitting at his desk. Besides a bandage on his forearm, he looked completely unscathed–certainly not in the same state that James was in. She made a point to walk the long way around to her desk to get a better look at him. She had half the mind to ask if he was ok, but what good would that do anyhow? It would only give him hope that their friendship was still there. 

Lily sat in her seat and tried not to stare, but sitting in her own frustration was making her crazy. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Snape had decided to stick his nose where it shouldn’t have belonged, but was he that stupid? 

Once class ended, she rounded up her things and pushed past the class before Snape could catch her attention again. In the Great Hall, James and Sirius were sitting side by side amongst  a commotion of Gryffindor classmates who clamored to ask what had happened and more importantly if James expected to play the match that was later that week. Despite still not having the best control of his arm and attempting to act humble about the situation, it was clear by James’ face that he was enjoying being doted over. 

The questions that Lily had been asking herself that morning felt as though they were boiling over in her stomach. She couldn’t decide who, if her suspicions were true, was more mental: Snape for investigating or James clearly being some sort of accomplice…

The great hall door cracked open and Remus sidled his way into the room. His clothes looked dusty and worn-in and dark circles were etched deeply under his eyes. He had some cuts and scrapes lining his face and jaw, but otherwise seemed intact. 

Despite the audience buzzing around James, the entrance of his mate made him stand up and push past the crowd. Only halfway to the table, James took long strides to close the gap between himself and Remus, tumbling into an embrace. They held each other for a long moment and Remus looked like his eyes were becoming wet. James released him,clasped his good hand on his neck, and pushed their foreheads together with an exuberant grin. 

Sirius had followed James from the table, but kept his distance from them during their emotional reunion. For the first time in Lily’s memory, Sirius looked unsure of himself, not holding any of the cocky confidence he typically exuded wherever he went. 

James let go of Remus and stood to let the other two face each other. For a beat the boys looked at each other with a charged intensity. Finally, Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a smirk, inviting Sirius to practically pounce on him. The two embraced and wrestled a bit with each other before walking back to their seat all together with Sirius’ arm left perched around Remus’ shoulders. 

It did not go unnoticed to Lily that during the boys’ reuniting, Snape was regarding the whole scene from over at the Slytherin table. His eyes kept locked on the crew with a pained look that felt wholly different from his typical disgust.

The boys settled into business as usual as Sirius started up trying to contort James’ arms in ways that were impossible even with a fully healed appendage. 

Unable to help herself, Lily picked up her bag and plate and sidled herself to sit across from them.

“Mind if I sit here, friend.” She elongated the final word with a sarcastic flourish. 

James jumped at her presence and jerked his bad arm up to his hair as a reflex, wincing from the movement. 

“You lost Evans?” Sirius had the habit of regarding people like they were his playthings, and often it was uncomfortable to distinguish whether that sentiment was more malicious or seductive in nature. 

“Haven’t you heard, Black? I’ve been invited into the club.” Lily made a cheeky wink at James who in turn started to become very red and interested in his empty plate. 

“Remus, how are you? You missed patrol last night.” 

Remus pushed Sirius’ arm off his shoulders and righted himself at her attention. Despite looking exhausted, he gave her a warm and apologetic smile. 

“Sorry about that, I've been feeling pretty ill again--comes and goes, you know.” 

Sirius made a very conspicuous snort and Remus gave him a pointed look. Lily ignored it.

“Ah, well no worries. You need to take care of yourself. It just seemed by your entrance that something worse had happened…” She let herself trail off. The words came out innocent enough but all three boys seemed to straighten up a little and shift a bit in their seats. 

“What? You don’t greet your friends like that every morning? Awfully cold of you, Evans,” Sirius shot back quickly. 

“I’m sure if you asked, James would be happy to show you the same greeting.” Lily’s face turned bright red and lost her comeback. 

James swooped in.

“Ah, come off it, Pads. She’s not gonna want to be our friend if you are a cheeky arsehole all the time.”

Sirius put a cigarette to his lips and let it hang loosely from his mouth. “Ah, so you are calling it friends now?” He made a wink at Lily, but then softened. “Well if that's the case, I apologize for my sarcasm past and future.” Besides being worded as a jest, his disposition made it clear that he was metaphorically handing her an olive branch. 

Lily made a deliberate nod, and started to pack up her things. James, who had more or less watched in amusement at his mates interaction with her, finally started to perk back up and looked a little lost in himself. 

Before she could say goodbye, James blurted out loudly across the table, “C-could you help me with potions–later? Today? I’m really behind now with this arm and–”

Lily smiled warmly and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah James, no worries—see you then.”

She gave her regards to the rest of the boys and left them to stare after her. 

Once she was out of sight, Sirius’ hunched down to whisper to the other two. 

“Not to digress, but what are we going to do about Snape? Highly unlikely Dumbledore gave him a confundus charm and I personally am not keen about a slimy git running around with marauder secrets.”

“I don’t know, but it’s not like we can do anything about it now. It would be too suspicious.” Remus retorted. Despite usually being the calm one of the group, worry was etched into his face, making him look even more exhausted then he already was. 

“Do you think she knows?” Remus ventured. Him and Lily had been friends for years. He would even call her one of his closest friends outside of the marauders and she wasn’t an idiot. Between her brains and the fact that Snape had probably put questions in her mind from when they were mates made his odds of keeping her in the dark rapidly small. 

“Who, Lily?” James responded. “If she does, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Sirius turned his eyes into slits. “Are you so sure about that Prongs?”

James didn’t falter in his response. “She’s not like that. She wouldn’t do anything to Remus–to us.”

Remus nodded as though convincing himself of James’ words and they continued to finish their meal.

__________________________________________________________________________

Lily sat waiting with her potions kit in the same empty classroom she had met him in the night before. Being able to sit with her questions made them burn more. Why won’t he tell me the truth? What could possibly be so heinous to work this hard to keep it hidden. Where does Snape fit in?

Rolling through these questions, she didn’t notice James come through the door. He had taken off the bandages she put on him before, and while still keeping parts of his arm dressed, red lines peeked out from his collar where his shoulder and chest were cut. 

“Hey you,” He leaned himself on the table across from her. They were almost in the exact position they had been before all of this mess–back when the only question Lily had on her mind was why she wanted to kiss him so badly. 

“Uh, hi.” She retorted and started to unpack her potions kit. “So, which potion are you wanting to–”

“Thanks again,” he cut in. “ I know I said it already but your help meant a lot. I know—I know it's been hard to be left in the dark.” His eyes reflected sympathy. 

All the theories and questions she had been fighting with all day rushed back into the forefront of her head. She could feel her face twisting into a grimace and her eyes peeking with tears. 

“Don’t be thick,” was all she could choke out. She wiped her nose and took a breath, composing herself. 

“I’m not,” he cooed at her and she glared at him. 

“You don’t just impact yourself, you know. It might be a fun go for you but there are other people involved, James. Don’t act like we can ignore that there was huge talk about Snape being in the hospital wing this morning—suspiciously with injuries like your own. A-And all the bits about Remus….”

She was rambling. She could feel the words tumbling out of her with no real intention and she couldn’t decipher whether she was pissed or sad or confused by the whole lot of the situation. 

James placed both of his hands on either side of her and she stopped, making a small choking sound as she fought hard to stop tears that felt overwhelmingly close. 

“Lily. You have to believe me when I say I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything but I can’t. I swore. What happened last night is ok– -it will be ok, for me and for Remus. But I’m sorry that I can’t give you the resolution you want. At least not right now.”

Lily sat slumped between James’ hands. Wiping away a stray tear, his eyes begged her to understand. 

“...And you didn’t hurt Snape?” She didn’t care if it sounded accusatory or not. 

He removed his hands from her sides and sat back against the table. 

“No, if anything I tried bloody hard to keep him safe if you can believe it. He made his own decisions and I made mine. But please Lily, believe that I did the best I could with the circumstances.”

Lily sat back in her seat and stared at the back wall for a moment. 

“You really care about your mates that much, huh? Enough to not even clear your name when people say that it’s your fault you and Snape are hurt. Not even to me.”

“Nothing is worse than breaking the trust of my friends.” She looked back at him and he held her gaze. For the first time his moral compass was clear.

He stood up from the desk and messed up his hair a bit. “I have to be honest with you, I really didn’t need any help with potions,” he admitted. “Just wanted to clear the air between us.”

He put his hands in his pockets and stood facing her. “If you want to leave I understand. I really wish I could give you more, Lily. I’m sorry.” 

She felt numb. On one hand nothing was resolved. She had no information about what happened to cause their wounds or what transpired to make Snape there in the first place. She had learned Remus was involved somehow, but that wasn’t satisfying enough. But if Remus really was a werewolf, and James was protecting that information, there was a heavier burden on him than she hadn’t thought he was capable of. To protect your friend was one thing, but to protect your friend who is ostracized and also can become deadly was another. 

In another time in her life she would have called him arrogant to try to handle all of this on his own, but knowing what she knew of him now, she respected it. He was someone who was willing to stake everything for the people he loved–even if it meant putting his own life in danger. 

Still ruminating, she packed up her things and headed for the door. James didn’t say anything. He just watched her as she opened the door and shut herself behind it. She stepped out into the corridor and felt her feet moving but her mind was completely somewhere else. Despite no real answers, her frustration from before had dropped away, and what was left was an admiration she hadn’t felt for him before. He was an idiot and a prat and sometimes too big headed for his own good, but he had better qualities too. He loved people enough to protect them despite it all. 

Without giving herself time to think twice about it, she turned on her feet and bounded back towards the classroom door. Inside, James had perched himself up on a stool and was reading through a rather lengthy parchment with a furrowed brow. His eyes shifted to the door when she entered before looking back at the page. 

“You know, the last thing I want to do is write this report for McGonagall. Honestly, what’s even the point,” he seemed to be talking to the air rather than Lily. “This day couldn’t get any worse, honestly. I’m starting to not even be able to stand myself, right now.”

She walked swiftly up to him and he looked up, raising his eyebrows at her approach.

“And why are you still here?”

He didn’t even make it halfway through the sentence before her hands were on both sides of his face. Tilting his head upward, she pressed her lips against his and he gasped as they touched. He let the parchment fall to the floor and grabbed at her waist, pulling her towards him to stand between his legs. He kissed her deeper. She could feel years of yearning being poured out of him as he tried to press her body as close as possible.She felt his hot breath wash over her as she obligingly opened her mouth to kiss him further. She elicited a small sigh as his hands moved to reach around her. 

They couldn’t have been together for longer than a minute, but it felt like they had lived lifetimes in that moment. Lily pulled away, feeling flushed and her mind foggy.  James’ eyes blinked open and looked drunk with happiness. He kept his head craning up, expecting her to kiss him once more. 

She softly ran her hands over his forearms and he dropped his embrace, letting his finger tips linger on her hips until the last moment. 

She righted herself and picked her discarded bag up from the ground. Fixing her mussed hair, she started for the door without saying anything. James’ eyes followed her movement with a clouded euphoria. She had seen his eyes like that before. He had looked at her like that in her dream.

“Bye.” She whispered as she opened the door. 

James remained unmoved but broke out into a lazy grin. His eyes burned into her and their combined desire clouded the room.

“Bye.”

[infernalwitxhcraft]

Basic witch tarot tip: charging items or spells on top of a card.

A quick way to incorporate your cards into spellwork is by charging your spells on top of a chosen card, usually one that corresponds with the goal. Let's say you made a money spell jar or sachet - how about putting it on top of the ten of pentacles to have enough money to provide financial security for your family? The king of swords for better judgment on where you're spending money & clarity on money-saving solutions? The nine of cups to have your wishes granted? The four of wands to help with putting money aside to save for buying a house? The Empress for nurturing a business you are trying to grow? As you can see, you have options! Get creative with it.

You may also charge your charmed item on top of a court card, for example, to bring those energies into yourself for the day. Need to be studious and eager to learn? Page of Pentacles. Want to charge into action fearlessly? Knight of Swords. Are you trying to embrace your nurturing, compassionate side and tap into your emotions? Queen of Cups. How about the entrepreneurial spirit and the ability to be a good leader that day? King of Wands. You can specify the exact qualities you wish to amplify from said cards.

Cleanse the card first. Then, ask it to embed it's energies into the spell. It's really as simple as that. If you'd like to take it a step further, visualize and feel it seeping into the spell. It could be the ace of swords reaching out to bless the spell at hand with its clarity, the spell sitting next to the couple from the two of cups for new love, or the spell riding on the horse of the six of wands as the cheers of success echo around it. If you are familiar with energy work, you can utilize some of the techniques here, which is what I do.

Leave the intended spell there for as long as you feel is needed. You may even want to place them in the moonlight together to soak up those energies. I've known some witches to create a whole crystal grid with the card/spell at the center because they felt it was the most effective way to charge it.

While it's a quick tip this week, I hope this helps give you some ideas for the future!

[jomiddlemarch]

to be two chaoses 

The nightmares began after Rose was born. 

Resumed was the more accurate term, as Hermione had nearly become dependent on Dreamless Sleep within a few weeks of Harry’s victory over Voldemort, when the multiple years’ worth of trauma, especially the torture she’d experienced at Malfoy Manor, had come bearing down on her like the Hogwarts Express on steroids, an expression Harry would pretend not to understand and Justin would shrug at in commiseration. Her parents, sequestered in Mugglish obscurity in Melbourne, would not have been any help if she’d been able to get to them and restore their memories, something she repeated to herself as a mantra, since she couldn’t get to them and it turned out she couldn’t restore their memories, orphaned in a way no one around her grasped. There was a nightmare about that, but it wasn’t in the top tier, such that she almost welcomed its arrival; it was the only way she saw her parents when they knew who she was to any degree. Though it ended in devastation, it always started with her mum smiling at her.

*

If Ron hadn’t been able to help her, they never would have stayed together. She knew that in some deep, indefinite part of herself, just as she knew not to tell him. There had been lust, initially fierce and apparently unslakable, and the affection of their schoolyears together, the shared jokes, the homely memories of jacket potatoes and Madam Longbottom’s horrific flower-pot hats secured with jeweled pins that were nearly as deadly as a wand, the scent of the first snow, and so many recollections in candlelight, but none of it would have been enough if he hadn’t taken her into his arms and held her the first night she woke breathless from a scream she’d swallowed, the arm Bellatrix had cut burning terribly, the scar from Dolohov as heavy as the weights they’d used to press witches with in Salem. He’d said her name completely, not dropping a syllable, Hermione, and then I’ve got you and nothing else, letting his heartbeat and his breath be the only sounds she could hear. He’d grown into his frame that last year on the run when she’d starved in the woods, losing her period and handfuls of her brittle curls, and he’d somehow known how loosely to hold her so that she was able to nestle against him. The fragrance of the herbs his mother used in her laundry spells was faint but present, familiar. There was nothing sexual about his embrace then, but there was an intimacy greater than any fucking in the way he reacted, the inviolable memory of the agonized way he’d cried out when he’d heard her being brutalized that lived between them, as potent as the delight he took in her ecstasy.

She’d wondered that first night if it was a fluke, his ability to comfort her, and had told herself not to expect anything the next time but she’d been glad to be wrong. She put aside the sedative potions in their battered flasks and let herself fall asleep with a book in her hands, her hair still damp from the bath she’d taken, able to rely on his presence in the dark, the slight gleam of bronze in the moonlight that was his hair, the nearly grey blue of his eyes. They didn’t speak of it during the day, other than the infrequent mornings he greeted her with all right then instead of a nuzzled kiss to her temple or collarbone. The nightmares began as an onslaught and they waned slowly, slow enough Ron didn’t even ask when she might consider having children, though Hermione recognized the Weasley impulse to obscure their losses with babies, Fleur glowingly enceinte within a few weeks of Victoire’s birth, Ginny’s hand lingering over the small matinee sweaters her mother knit by the dozen. Percy’s return to the fold was eased by his hand at the small of his bride Penelope’s back, her radiance reflected in Molly’s face when they announced they expected a set of twins by the solstice. Ron gave Hermione what she needed to sleep and he gave her time to let the past become the past, her bloody, broken youth a shore increasingly distant. He couldn’t give her everything, but what he did was enough she’d been willing to let herself conceive the future he wanted so badly. He’d wept when she told him, burying his face in her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her instead of laying one large hand on her belly. It was his hands on either side of her spine that reassured her she’d been right.

*

The pregnancy was ordinary enough. Her only real dilemma was how to satisfy her cravings for Branston Pickle and Hobnobs without offending Ron’s mother or drawing too much attention from his father, whose fascination with the miscellany of Muggle life hadn’t declined with the end of the war. Ron, displaying the thoughtful observation she’d first found impossibly attractive while watching him play Wizard chess, maintained a calm affection towards her in company, a quiet tenderness when they were alone that made her worry sometimes he was trying to be someone he wasn’t just to please her. And then there were the times she found him gazing out a rain-streaked window at the Burrow. She knew he was thinking of Fred, of Tonks and Remus, of the scars on Bill’s face, the brother Ron most resembled, and she knew he’d been forged by grief as much as by victory. Hermione ate, she slept, she complained of heartburn and was told she must be carrying a ginger with curls as wild as her own. She read what passed for child-rearing books in the Wizarding world, nearly decapitated Harry chucking the third book across the sitting room in an only-partially hormonally mediated rage and bought every glossy paperback on the display at Foyles, which gave her some idea of what she might expect if she’d been a Muggle and included the concept of a birth-plan. Plans, as ever, held an irresistible appeal and were nearly as tranquilizing as Professor Binns.

*

When she mentioned that bit about the birth-plan to Ron while they were visiting his parents, George hanging about as usual, Percy working on some document at what passed for a desk over in a corner Hermione couldn’t remember previously existing, her mother-in-law just managed to keep from saying “Nonsense.” Hermione could clearly see that was what Molly had wanted to say and that she decided against it at the last minute after taking in at the book gripped tightly in Hermione’s hand and then Ron’s blue glare. Arthur kept fiddling with an immersion blender the way a Muggle child would handle a Rubik’s cube.

“A birth-plan is a very good idea, dear, but you’ll need to follow a witch’s plan and I do think, with the number of other witches you’ll require, you’ll be more comfortable at home or here at the Burrow,” Molly announced. Hermione glanced around and saw everyone present agreed with her mother-in-law.

“I’ll need to—or else what?” Hermione asked, curiosity outweighing her annoyance at Molly’s declaration.

“It’ll be too dangerous, for you and the baby,” Molly said. “Wild magic’s always an issue during delivery. For a witch as powerful as you and the baby likely to be the same—”

“It might be a boy,” Hermione said.

“Yes, I suppose it might,” Molly replied, her tone now entirely humoring-the-pregnant-daughter-in-law. She was convinced Hermione was carrying a girl, though Hermione and Ron had declined to find out when offered the chance at St. Mungo’s. “I meant the baby is likely to be magically gifted, considering her, that is, their parents. You’ll need at least four witches and seven would be safer. Obviously, Ginny and I will be there but you must decide who else you’d like.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. She’d never imagined childbirth to be organized like a tea-party. “I hadn’t thought to have anyone with me except Ron. And a midwife.”

Would she have wanted her mother with her, if she’d had the choice? She didn’t let herself wonder.

“If you don’t mind, dear, I’d suggest Augusta Longbottom,” Molly said briskly, making it clear that the if you don’t mindwas merely pro forma. 

“Neville’s gran?” Hermione said.

“She’s a very powerful witch and she’s quite fond of you,” Molly said. “She’s got better control than Minerva, though I’ll never admit that I’ve said that, and she’s no little experience with a laboring mother.”

“I’ll have Luna,” Hermione said. Ron gave her a quizzical look but knew enough not to say anything else, though she could see the effort if took for him to keep from mouthing nargles? at her. “That’s four, that’s enough.”

“Seven would be less dangerous—"

Who else would she ask? Part of her longed to throw up her hands and tell Molly to stuff it, she’d rely on the NHS to see her through, she still had her card, but then the baby kicked, sharpish, as if to scold her for being an absolute ninny, and Ron was still holding his tongue when she knew it cost him to be quiet. He worried about them both, she could tell he’d be a good father, and Molly was only trying to make sure they both came through it, privy to knowledge Hermione couldn’t easily learn from any book.

“I’ll have Luna, but I’ll ask Andomeda, in case Luna isn’t able to come,” Hermione said. “There’s no trouble with five if they both show up, is there?”

“No. There might be a wobble, but nothing Augusta and I couldn’t manage between us and Andromeda’s a light hand,” Molly said.

“A light hand with pastry?” Ron asked. 

“That too,” Arthur put in. “I believe your mother meant in channeling a magical surfeit, but she does make a very satisfying treacle tart. Not a patch on your mother’s, but close. Quite close.”

*

Molly was right.

Seven would have been safer, but Hermione and Rose bloody well squeaked through, as Ginny put it, earning herself a sharp glance and then an approving nod from Augusta Longbottom. The toucan-adorned hat had come off as Hermione entered transition and Madam Longbottom had had to exert herself to contain the burst of near Fiendfyre Hermione had unleashed. Luna had commented, with clear admiration in her usual dreamy tone, that Hermione was very equitable when it came to her elemental wild magic, as they’d had to contend with not only flames but a gale, a wave that overwhelmed Molly’s hastily conjured hip-waders, and a trembling underfoot that had made Arthur pop his head in and ask whether he ought to firecall St. Mungo’s or the Department of Mysteries. The gnomes had all cleared out and there was an ominous odor of brimstone seeping through the latched windows.

It was terrifying. What she was capable of and how proud they all were of her for it. She nearly burnt down the Burrow and Molly was as red-faced as she’d been battling Bellatrix Lestrange at Hogwarts by the time the baby was crowning, but she had a smile Hermione had never seen directed at herself before, a deep satisfaction that only grew more pronounced when Rose was delivered and discovered to be a little ginger witch, complete with a birthmark shaped like a phoenix’s tail-feather at the nape of her neck. Every peach on the trees Neville had painstakingly espaliered on the south wall withered in an instant and Augusta Longbottom only remarked, “Well done, you.” Luna had almost suffocated before she’d thrown up a Protego and her eyes were bright as she patted Hermione on the shoulder and Ginny had let out a long whistle, as if Hermione had captained the Harpies to a world championship when the Burrow had rung with the sound of the good china shattering.

A new marker appeared on Molly’s clock, the hand for Hermione pointing to “A Mortal Danger” instead of “in.” 

Ron grasped Hermione’s dismay, but he was more concerned with her health and Rose’s. Once reassured, he kissed her softly and then asked to hold his daughter. Something about seeing his big hands cradling the swaddled baby and the tears in his eyes when he looked back at her made Hermione think everything would be all right.

That was probably the hormones and the residual magic kickback.

*

She chalked it up to sleep deprivation, since she was nursing and Rose was a little colicky and Molly said, no, believe it or not, dear, there wasn’t a spell that was safe to use to help settle a colicky little witch. Hermione knew this meant there was some Dark magic that would do the trick, but she’d probably be sacrificing her pinky finger or years of her life or Rose’s, so she gritted her teeth and reminded herself she’d get to sleep again. At some point. Likely before Rose went to Hogwarts.

The first dreams to return were from her earliest days of Hogwarts. The troll, the bathroom, the terror of being alone in her curtained bed and hearing Parvati and Lavender chattering away, but now there was an overlay of Rose’s crying to mix with the tears Hermione had swallowed back or sobbed out silently. In the manner of dreams, the smallest details were vivid—the nap of the velvet bed curtains, the shimmer Moaning Myrtle made in the mirror above the sinks—and yet Hermione woke with only a sense of dread, no memory of the lengthy half-imagined conversations she’d had with Harry or Ron.

Those were the easiest dreams to deal with.

Days turned into months. Rose grew, her silky ginger hair showing a decided curl, her eyes the same warm brown as Ginny’s. She babbled and scooted, crawled and stood and ran, and only Hermione hoped it would be a little while longer before her magic manifested. Hermione’s dreams grew darker, more terrifying. There were a thousand Horcruxes. Harry didn’t survive the final battle. Ron turned away and didn’t come back.

Snape bled to death in her hands.

Fenrir Greyback took her in the flight of the Harrys.

Azkaban. Gringotts. The Room of Requirement.

Bellatrix, laughing, singing, coaxing. Cruciatus until Hermione woke with tears in her hair, afraid it was her brain leaking out. Ron calling out for her under the chandelier, Dobby whisking her away, the knife in Harry’s back.

Everything impossible that had never happened.

Everything possible that had.

They became less gruesome, more disturbing. She thought she might be losing her mind. She worried about having another child and leaving Ron with two children to raise alone, being locked up in the Janus Thickey ward. Not knowing she was locked up, trying to play the out-of-tune piano because she had once wanted to play Liszt’s “La Campanella” at Carnegie Hall. She couldn’t decide which would be worse.

She spent as much time doing Arithmancy as she could and walked away when the conversation turning to curse-breaking or the old days. Hugo was conceived, carried, and delivered with far less fanfare and commotion than Rose and he was a solemn-eyed baby who needed a lot of rocking in the night. She dozed but didn’t sleep deeply enough to dream. It was a respite.

She grew used to it. She perfected her glamour for the shadows beneath her eyes. She learned to manage her hair after a jaunt to a Muggle stylist in London who scolded her for using a brush and sent her off with a bag of oils and conditioners and advice on a silk head-wrap for sleeping in. She worked her way up in the Ministry and Rose levitated herself to their roof along with the seemingly immortal Crookshanks. Hugo made the apple trees bloom at Yule. She lived. She dreamed. She considered the alternatives she’d dreamed and tried to be satisfied with silence.

Rose began to resemble Hermione’s mother.

Hugo hummed off-key under his breath like her father.

Rose turned eleven, got her letter, found Hermione’s old copy of Hogwarts: A History and packed it first along with a set of Extendable Ears from her Uncle George.

They went to the station platform.

Hermione saw Draco Malfoy for the first time in over a decade. His wife fussed with their son, the strap of his satchel. Ron reminded Rose that the Hogwarts pumpkin pasties wouldn’t be as good as Nan’s but she wasn’t to let the house-elves know or that would be all she had to eat for a week.

Draco looked back at her.

He knew.

*

He sent the letter to her office at the Ministry and not their home, the thoughtful tact therein encompassed being the primary reason she responded. 

Yes, she would meet him at the coffee-shop he’d specified. The time was agreeable. No, she did not need directions in Muggle London. 

She didn’t tell Ron about the letter or her answer. There needn’t be anything to tell. She knew how much omission was required for their marriage. She loved him. There was no betrayal.

She wore Muggle trousers and a cashmere jersey that hadn’t come from Molly’s needles beneath robes she Transfigured into a Burberry knock-off trench. It was a kind of armor, like the wand holster strapped to her forearm, the leather charmed to feel like silk and be stronger than dragonhide. She left early, to get there first. She wouldn’t be taken by surprise again.

Draco was sitting at a table off to the side when she arrived. He’d left her the place backed up to the wall, leaving himself the vulnerable party, the nape of his neck bare, his kidneys neatly framed by the slats of the chair. When she got close enough, she saw his eclipse-bright hair had begun to turn grey. The cufflinks at his wrists were malachite, neatly secured.

There was a tea-service set between them. The steam smelled of bergamot and smoke, an Earl Grey made with lapsang souchong. Her favorite but not a secret, something it would not be difficult or intrusive to discover, something that showed attention, discretion, and care. Slytherin, as always. He rose when she approached, waited to sit until she’d settled herself. His old-fashioned manners were exercised without any awkwardness, the politeness he would have shown to any witch. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet, Madam Granger,” he began, using the title she had decided on after completing her Arithmancy mastery via correspondence under Professor Ergodic. When Bill had pointed out the more traditional address was Domina Nimue Granger, Ron had nodded and stopped making his incipient fuss.

“Do we need to be so formal?” Hermione asked. “We’ve known each other since we were eleven.”

“Whatever you prefer, Hermione,” Draco said, his voice giving a slight upward inflection to her name. She couldn’t recall him ever using it before, only Granger said with a sneer, but the boy who’d smirked seemed long gone from the solemn, careful man sitting before her. “You are the one doing me the favor—”

“Am I? What exactly do you mean?”

“You read my letter. You responded. You showed up,” he said. “You didn’t need to do any of it.”

“I read the letter you sent after the trial,” she replied. 

It had been delivered by a splendid eagle owl she did not recognize, the parchment hand-written in a perfect copperplate hand. The opening section had been rendered in ancient Etruscan, indicating the gravity of the statement, a Pureblood ritual she’d had to ask Ron, Molly and finally Neville’s gran to explain to understand the significance thereof: there was no greater level of ceremony invoked, the abasement of the writer compleat. If it had been a final examination paper for a mastery, it could not have been more exquisitely and thoughtfully written. It was a letter than required no reply and sought none, a detailed acknowledgement of Draco’s transgressions against her. Still, it went across her inarguably upper middle-class background to fail to send some kind of response, so she’d managed to find some monogrammed stationery her Aunt Judith had given her for a birthday gift and had penned a quick note in her crabbed hand to say Draco’s apology was duly noted and accepted. She had balked at wishing him well in his future endeavors, but to be fair, she had been eighteen, effectively orphaned, unable to sleep more than three hours in a night, and had been known to hold a grudge.

“Yes, I know. I didn’t mean that letter however,” Draco said. “I meant the one I sent last week. After the train station.”

“You didn’t say what you wanted to talk about,” Hermione replied.

“I thought you would be more likely to show up if I didn’t,” he said. “Your curiosity remains renowned—”

“Are you insulting me?” Hermione asked, without any of the heat of her girlhood. 

“Not at all, though I should be able to express myself more skillfully than this, if you’re wondering,” he said. There was a wryness in his tone that was new to her. “I wrote because of the dreams—”

“What dreams?” she interrupted.

“I have them too,” he said gently. 

“I don’t know what you mean, why you think we have anything in common, it’s mad—”

“They are a torment,” he said. Like four notes, the Tristan chord creating the opening between them, leaving her struck by the misery in his voice, the utter candor.

“I—they don’t—” She could not finish the sentence, could not think of what to say next. Draco picked up the teapot and poured them each a cup, stirring a lump of sugar into his own, never once hitting the china with the spoon’s lip.

“You’re not going mad,” he said.

“I know that,” she snapped.

“Then you’re ahead of me, as per usual. I’ve wondered, worried, for years. When Scorpius was born, I thought, maybe I’d be locked up in a straitjacket somewhere by the time his magic emerged. If it did, if he wasn’t a Squib,” Draco said.

“You were worried your heir would be a Squib?” Hermione said.

“I was worried the son of two Purebloods with known genetic disorders and curse-damage would be a Squib. I was worried I wouldn’t be there to defend him from the rest of the family,” Draco said. “You wouldn’t have had the same worries. Hybrid vigor, brightest witch, and the Weasley-Prewett line—”

“They thought we might both die in childbirth from my wild magic,” Hermione said. Draco cocked his head to one side and nodded. “We should have had seven witches present.”

“I did hear something about it,” Draco said. “My mother was quite impressed, though she did say they should have let the Burrow and all its tat burn to the ground and start over with the Ministry money.”

“What?”

“There’s money set aside for those situations, a fund. It’s because it only occurs when there is a surfeit of power. It’s in the Ministry’s interests to make sure a family with such a witch remains properly housed,” Draco explained.

“Oh. I thought maybe I’d die when she was born,” Hermione said.

“And then the dreams would be over,” Draco finished.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She took a sip of the tea, the universal panacea, unsurprised when once again it did nothing for her. It was properly steeped, she’d give him that, since he hadn’t been able to use magic in the Muggle café.

“It was Bellatrix,” he said. “You and I, I believe we’re the last sane survivors of her spells. That’s why we have the dreams, why they don’t attenuate.”

“Dark magic then,” Hermione said.

“Not exactly,” Draco said. “There was something wild about her even before she turned to Dark magic and you know the Blacks are given to madness, throw off restraint like a stallion bucking the bridle.”

“Is that all, then? I suppose it’s helpful, to have some idea why, though it’s not much of a relief,” Hermione said. She refrained from pointing out he was also of the Black line.

“Master Mamu at Uagadou has a theory we’ve been corresponding about,” Draco said. “Oneironautika, whether a charmed potion could function as an inducer, what a traveler could reliably affect within the dream structure, it catalysis is the only viable intervention. But Neville—”

“Neville knows? He’s been writing to Mamu?” Hermione exclaimed.

“They prefer to Floo. Such a mess, all that ash, but I suppose it’s nothing to the greenhouses and Bubotuber pus,” Draco said. “Neville’s been quite helpful, even though it’s not his area of interest. But his parents, well. He and his grandmother have years of observation to draw on.”

“Does Neville know about me?”

“Only if you’ve told him. He may have put two and two together, he’s quite brilliant for someone who was such a duffer,” Draco said with such fondness Hermione could not be roused to irritation. “I can’t imagine he’d ever speak of it to anyone, even if he suspects. Though if your glamour starts to fail, exquisite work, that, I shouldn’t be surprised if he sends along his alternative to Dreamless. He uses heather honey in it, it’s a revelation, but it’s not as much dream-lessening as muting.”

“You want my help,” Hermione said, having figured it out. It was what anyone ever wanted from her. “With Master Mamu, Neville, you want me to work the Arithmancy, perhaps to interpolate the runes—”

“No,” Draco said. “Rather, if you wish, you are most welcome, a witch of your caliber could only be a tremendous asset, but that’s not why I wrote you. That’s not what I wanted.”

“What do you want? Pardon me if my directness offends your Slytherin sensibilities,” Hermione said, tired, the tea in her cup cold, the broken night beckoning.

“I want to help you,” Draco said. “To make you feel better.”

“No one can do that,” Hermione said. Ron did what he could, steady now as he hadn’t been in their youth, astute enough not to speak of it.

“I can,” Draco said.

*

“You can,” Hermione repeated. “You can do something no one else can and beyond being able to, you additionally want to. There’s no life-debt between us, Draco, even if I believed you, there’s no reason for you—”

“I didn’t protect you when I could, Hermione,” he said. Had his eyes been lighter when he was a boy or had they always been this stormy shade, grey clouds over a grey sea?

“She would’ve killed us both,” Hermione said. 

For a moment, she was lying on her back looking up at the chandelier, the bare outline of a girl around nothing but pain. She couldn’t not have told anyone her name if she’d been asked. Ron had been screaming but his voice had been distant, as distant as the future and the past, while Draco’s eyes on her had been a tether. They’d been bound in that second, in hopeless, blameless recognition and agony, and there had been some tiny, inviolate spark of herself that loved him then in a way she could never love anyone else. “You do mean when Bellatrix cursed me, don’t you?”

“I didn’t protect you then. Not before. Not after,” Draco said.

“Well, we were enemies,” Hermione said. She waved over a waitress, asked for a fresh pot of tea and a plate of lemon biscuits while Draco stared down at his hands. They were well-made, beautifully shaped, the hands of a sculptor or a pianist. Neither was the career a wizard would undertake, certainly not an aristocrat like the heir to the Houses of Black and Malfoy. 

“No, we were schoolmates. Rivals. We were children and then teenagers,” Draco said. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, bowing his head. “I liked you—”

“You liked me?” Hermione snorted. “Is this revisionist history? Are you going to tell me you wanted to take me to the Yule Ball and buy me sweets at Hogsmeade weekends? Were you terribly fond of Harry and did you think Ron was a good chap whose family was just a bit down on their luck?”

“I liked you, Hermione,” Draco repeated, his voice low. “I wasn’t supposed to, wasn’t allowed to, but I did. I do.”

“You’re married. I’m married,” Hermione said. “Handfasted. Your family isn’t the only one to follow the Old Ways.”

(She would have married Ron at the Ministry, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. Hermione’s own parents wouldn’t hear of it at all, so she’d acquiesced to the whole thing, the ring in the garden, the saffron yellow veil, the woad, the unsalted cakes she and Ron had had to bake in a solar oven without any magic. The only part she’d liked had been laughing together as they looked at the ugly lumps of dough, the gleam in Ron’s eyes as he’d told her they’d only have to choke down one bite each.) 

“I know. I’m not trying to interfere. Weasley’s a good man and I would never dishonor Astoria,” Draco said. “But he can’t do this for you. You know that. He’s done what he can and you’re still suffering.”

“You’d be my Healer then? Without any certification, Healing mastery, apprenticeship?”

“Your friend. A fellow-traveler,” Draco said. “Whatever you’d allow.”

“My friend,” Hermione said. 

“You are the same person who pledged her friendship for life to Potter and Weasley after being brought together in a bathroom by a troll,” Draco said. “It shouldn’t be that great a stretch for you.”

“Perhaps I’ve changed,” she replied.

“Perhaps,” Draco agreed, then hazarded a very small smile. “I don’t think so though. Not in this regard.”

“Will it help you with your own dreams?” Hermione asked.

“That’s not relevant,” Draco said. “That’s not why—”

“It’s relevant to me,” she said firmly.

“Of course it is,” he said, under his breath, as if he could get away with it sitting across from her, the café much quieter as the late afternoon rush had ended. 

“Well?”

“I don’t know. Possibly,” he said. For the first time, he sounded put out, frustrated. It was the throughline to the boy he’d been and she found herself liking him for it.  “Before you ask, it’s very unlikely to make anything worse for me. This isn’t some grand Gryffindor gesture of sacrifice on my part.”

“I think we’re beyond House identification, Draco,” she said.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

“It’s a tell me more about how you mean to proceed. What this dream-walking entails precisely,” she said. 

“Will you let me show you something?” Draco said. Hermione considered. They were in a public place and she had faced greater horrors than a prematurely greying Draco Malfoy in his Savile Row suit. She nodded. Draco pushed the teapot and their cups to one side, reached over and took Hermione’s right hand in his own. His palm was warm against hers, his grasp charged with the familiarity one had with their wand, the tenderness of a long-awaited reunion. Hermione looked at their hands and then up, to find Draco watching her.

When she didn’t pull her hand away, he reached out with his left and took her other hand. Something surged between them, electric and yet sustaining, soothing. Something that was not magic but was of it, an ardent affection that sought only to give, to cherish, some fundamental realignment. Later, she would puzzle over it, scribble equations, then manipulate them with her wand, with an incantation of runes. She would find a way to explain it to Ron so that he’d understand. When he did, she might. 

“Yes?” Draco asked. She could tell what he hoped for and that he would wait as long as she wanted. She could tell he would let their hands fall apart if she refused.

“Yes,” she said. He held her more tightly then and the brightness in his eyes was like moonlight, like the first time she had cast Lumos and banished darkness. Between them, it was as if a cup was filled, spilled over. She could not, however, resist poking.

“You must’ve worked some part of it out. I’ll want to review your notes.”

“Certainly,” he said. 

*

Master Mamu authored the definitive text on oneironautika, but Draco wrote the introduction and Hermione the acclaimed chapter on runic expansion.

Draco insisted Hermione be the editor of the journal. He provided the funding for the first five years. After that, as he’d predicted, no financial assistance was required.

Ron wasn’t remotely put out, though he did scold her a bit for worrying he might be. “You the one always telling Rose and Hugo love’s not a pie. Well, that means you can’t get too full or lose your appetite for it.” At the service for Astoria, Ron told her to go over to Draco and played a three-hour game of Wizard chess with Scorpius he worked hard to throw stealthily enough the boy didn’t notice. 

They weren’t one big happy family. But they could be happy and they could be a family.

When Kimah was born, there were seven witches present.

Draco collected a handful of knuts warm from Ron’s pocket when Scorpius announced she had red hair, Transfigured them into a bouquet of apricot tea roses, and gave them back to his son for his daughter-in-law.

Hermione, who had been up all night, slept.

And dreamed.

@artielu you are my main Dramione mutual so I hope you enjoy this atypical offering!

[maryhale1]

In a realm of mystic moonlight's glow,

A good witch weaves, her kindness to bestow.

With a wand of silver, adorned with care,

She spreads warmth and love, beyond compare.

Her potions brewed with compassion's art,

Healing elixirs to mend a broken heart.

In enchanted woods, where whispers play,

She guides lost souls along the fae-lit way.

A guardian of nature, a friend to all,

Her spells break down prejudice, standing tall.

With every incantation, a tale unfolds,

Of a benevolent witch, whose story is told.

Underneath the starry, velvet sky,

She paints hope in hues that never die.

A helper, a healer, through realms she'll glide,

In the hearts of many, forever to reside.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

For me helping is my identity, my personality.

Even if it takes everything from me, I will always find the power to help someone in need.

[jadedandconfusedao3]

The Best Night of His Life

As soon as they were inside, he pushed her against the wooden door and claimed her lips again. She couldn’t help but feel intoxicated by it. Her hands frantically scrambled for purchase in his hair as his arms encased her. He was so strong. She didn’t know whether it was the Quidditch or something else, but over the course of the summer he’d put on muscle and now rivalled Ron for brawn.

This felt very different to the kiss they’d shared in the staff room. It was more frenetic with a looming implication that was making her stomach flutter. She’d said they didn’t have to do anything but with the way he was kissing her right now, his warm breath coasting over her skin as he laved underneath her jaw, was making her regret that choice of words entirely.

She wanted that anything so badly.

Before she knew what was happening, he picked her up, her clothes scrunching underneath his grip, as she wrapped her legs around his middle and he carried her to the bed. Her room was simple. A single canopy bed, a desk and a bookshelf packed full of books.

He navigated the short space quickly, his hands firmly grasping her arse. She could feel how hard he was against her, and she was both intensely excited and nervous all at once. Intellectually she knew what was supposed to happen between a man and a woman, but now that she was faced with that very real possibility, she was filled with doubt. Every bump against him made her want to moan.

Instead, she turned her mouth to the business of trying to make him moan instead. She could hardly feel self-conscious and awkward if she had verbal affirmation of his enjoyment. Hermione was brilliant at learning new things and was now determined to make Draco Malfoy her latest passion project. As she pulled his ear lobe between her lips he gasped breathily and almost knocked into the bed.

“Hermione,” he moaned as he steadied himself with one hand against the bedpost. “Do you want me to fucking –”

She cut his words off with a nip on his ear and he dropped her onto the mattress. Crawling backwards further into the bed she watched him stalk toward her. The bed was too small. That much was obvious. His legs would poke out of the end, which was unfortunate because she knew for a fact that Crookshanks was liable to nibble toes if they were uncovered. She fished out her wand from where she had stuffed it down the front of her pyjama top and transfigured the bed. By the time he reached her face it was roughly twice the size, easily accommodating his large frame.

He smirked at her. “For a minute there I thought you were going to say Engorgio and I was about to be mortally offended.”

The blush heated her cheeks as she batted at his shoulder. “Malfoy!”

He pulled up the blankets and snuck inside as she did the same.

“Miss Granger,” he scolded her as he lay on his side next to her, “I thought we were passed all this Malfoy business?”

He hauled her back into his arms as she breathily replied, “Are you trying to make me call you Sir again?”

“Fuck,” he huffed, his eyes going impossibly dark in the soft moonlight. “Yes, please.”

She chuckled lightly as she leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “Sir.”

He moaned, the sound low and gravely. “This fucking witch.”

His rough hands were travelling up her body. One anchored itself in her hair and the other rounded her shoulder before beginning to move back down and hesitating at her collarbone. Her whole body was trembling in anticipation. She and Ron had fooled around a bit over the summer before they’d broken up, but it had been so awkward. The mountain of interactions that had been their friendship had made the thought of intimacy more embarrassing than she could handle. His attempts to fondle her breasts had left them both red faced and stammering.

Now Malfoy was waiting, his hand hovering just above that very area.

“May I…?” his voice trailed off, but his implication was obvious.

She bit her lip as she nodded her head, once.

Read the rest on Ao3.

[writing-intheundercroft]

Your Ivy Grows // A Trip to Town

AO3

She should’ve been in bed.

Truthfully, many of her problems stemmed from her being out of bed at the wrong time.  Her mother had always warned her that her disobedience would one day get her in trouble.  In fact, she wouldn’t be living out of a musty old mansion had she not been out of bed the night Marvolo Gaunt and his lackeys dropped in to visit her father.  She was supposed to be safely tucked away in her room, not out in the garden harvesting her dirigible plums under the moonlight.  They would’ve never known of her existence had Marvolo’s associate not been standing next to the parlor window. 

Then again, how was she supposed to know that her father owed Marvolo Gaunt a debt, and had spent the last six months trying to keep him from collecting?  Twenty four hours after she’d been snatched from the garden, she'd been banished to the Gaunt’s seaside manor with just a house-elf for company.  She’d remain there until her father found the blasted spellbook he’d promised to Marvolo. 

Her first few weeks of living at the house were eventful.  Marvolo had sent a bevy of governesses to supervise her, and she’d promptly chased each one of them off. Each had been directly instructed to keep a close eye on the girl, never letting her leave the manor. It only made her tongue sharper, lashing out even harder at her keepers. The first was old, and easily offended by even the lightest of jabs.  The second had cried on her first night after she’d made a dig at her marital status.  The third hadn’t even been there for a full twelve hours before she forced Golly to pack her trunks. 

“Master Marvolo won’t be happy with you,” Golly scolded her, the morning after the last governess took off running from the manor.

She shrugged, smiling at the little house elf as she sipped on tea. “Can’t we just be on our own? I much prefer your company.”

The house elf sighed. “You know Master Marvolo won’t settle for that. He doesn’t trust me to supervise you alone.”

She could’ve run at any moment then.  The manor had anti-apparition charms set around a wide perimeter (even down by the shoreline, she’d tried in vain) so physically running was her only option. A witch of her skill level could easily make her way back to London, and she had tried to do so the night after the last nanny departed, but Marvolo seemed to be one step ahead of her.  He’d caught her climbing out of her bedroom window that night, and forced her back inside the manor by the collar of her nightgown. Her wand was promptly confiscated, locked away somewhere in the depths of the house.  The threat that followed haunted her dreams. 

If you try to run, I will find you.  The house-elf? Dead. Your parents? Dead.  Your father owes me a debt, and running will only make it worse. It’s better if you behave.

And so, the next week, the younger Mr. Gaunt arrived. 

She hadn’t expected him to be so…different. He was the exact opposite of Marvolo; blonde, tall, and lean.  His voice was charming, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d smiled at the dinner table.  Given her father’s profession, she was used to gruff, vulgar men.  The younger Mr. Gaunt was so soft . Despite the angular lines of his face, the young Gaunt had a softness to him; his skin, smooth as cream, was unmarred by marks or stubble.  His lips were plush and pink, and his eyes were like glimmering opals.

She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing at the dinner table.

Perhaps the summer could be salvaged, she had thought, once she slid from her bedroom to the back door.  Golly had told her all about her former mistress, the Gaunts’ aunt who’d disappeared without a trace about a decade earlier. She was a lover of plants, the old house elf had explained, and her garden was in rough shape.  The ivy had overgrown, and choked the life out of any other plant in sight.  She’d taken to pruning and tilling the garden for new flowers when she couldn’t sleep at night; working with her hands distracted her from the worry she had for her parents.

Again, the younger Gaunt surprised her–this time, less pleasantly.  She hadn’t heard his footsteps (he was quite light on his feet, she noted) over the sound of her own humming.  She’d expected a bit of a scolding for being out of bed so late, but she hadn’t expected his screeching.  He threw the wine glass, the rich red liquid flying over the two of them as he scrambled to the ground.  He could see (she assumed) with his wand, but he’d discarded it, patting around the garden beds with his hands like a madman.  He yelled about violets, bluebells, a whole bevy of flowers before yelling at her to return to her quarters.  The linen apron and garden tools Golly had shown her were abandoned, and she returned to her room in shame.

The morning light came faster than she’d hoped. Grumbling to herself, she rolled out of the down feather bed, wrapping her housecoat over her nightgown as she descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Just as she was about to turn the corner into the kitchens, she heard a commotion; pots clanked on the ground, and what sounded like a hand met skin.

“Ouch!” The younger Gaunt grumbled. “I said I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologized to Golly, but you haven’t said you’re sorry to her,” Golly gasped. “Golly is shocked you’d behave in such a manner, Master Ominis. Madame Noctua raised you to be kinder.”

She pressed herself against the wall, heart beating out of her chest.  She���d never known a house elf to ever lay hands on their master.

“How was I supposed to know she’d been clearing up the garden?” He grumbled.  He hadn’t said his first name at the dinner table; she repeated his name over and over in her mind. Ominis, Ominis, Ominis.   It didn’t quite suit him.

“The young miss has been kind to me,” Golly chided him. “Golly must insist you apologize to her at once.”

She could hear his footsteps drawing closer to the doorway.  There was nowhere for her to hide; he’d surely see her with his guiding wand, and things would be even more awkward than they already were.  She wished the stone wall would absorb her, praying that he’d somehow turn around.

He did not–but he still didn’t see her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the awkward run in, but it never happened.  Opening one eye, she saw her chaperone turn the corner and walk towards the backstairs.  His wand was stowed away in his pocket, just using his hand to graze the walls for guidance. His appearance was so different from the tidy, proper gentleman who’d met her for dinner the night before.  His light blond hair had been perfectly groomed then; it was now messy, slept in, strewn across his forehead.  His face was flushed, no doubt from the hangover he was probably feeling after downing an entire bottle of wine by himself. The collar of his shirt was undone, showing the slightest hint of his pale chest.  His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, displaying his forearms as they grazed the wall.  

Ominis Gaunt was handsome , she thought to herself.  Dreadfully handsome, despite the bite in his tone from the night prior.  She wanted to hate him for the way he spoke to her, but something in her stirred at the sight of him so undone.  She held her breath as his hand traced the wall, reaching out for the metal bar of the staircase handrail.  He slowly ascended the stairs, and the sound of his footsteps disappeared as he got farther and farther away.

His houseguest finally breathed a sigh of relief, turning to walk into the kitchen.  Golly had resumed her activities, whisking batter in a bowl, and smiled up at her when she entered the room.

“Master Ominis was just on his way up to apologize to you.” she tutted. “I’m surprised you didn’t run into him.”

“I did,” she admitted. “But he didn’t see me.” She sat across the table from Golly, leaning her chin into her palm. “He walks around the house without his wand.  Do you know why?”

Golly shrugged. “Master Ominis practically grew up here, Miss. He did not spend a lot of time in his family home; I don’t think his mother quite had the patience for his blindness. Madame Noctua basically raised him, and until he was old enough to use a wand, he used the walls to guide himself. Perhaps it's out of habit.”

“I’m very sorry for him, in that case.” she mused, pulling a tea cup from the center of the table. “Such a lonely life for a child.”

“I’d wager you’d understand,” Golly hummed, snapping her fingers. A kettle floated over, pouring warm tea. “You grew up in seclusion, did you not?”

She eyed the house-elf.  Golly was right, but her situation had been far different.  She had grown up alone, mostly due to her parents’ paranoia.  Their dangerous profession meant traditional schooling was unsafe, so she’d been homeschooled by her mother all her life.  She hadn’t spent much time (if any) with people her own age. It seemed while Ominis had grown up alone in the big old house, he’d at least been able to go to Hogwarts.  

“Golly thinks you should go out in the garden today.” the house-elf announced. “You’ll find Master Ominis now understands the undertaking you’re endeavoring with the plants.”

----

It wasn’t long after breakfast that she went out to the gardens.  She stopped in the shed, picking up a fresh apron and a basket of gardening tools.  Slipping on a pair of dragon-hide gloves, she walked out into the sunlight towards the rose bushes.  Their former caretaker must have been cross-breeding varieties; the bushes were now a little too close, tangled together after years of growth without supervision.  She knelt on the ground, taking out the pruning shears.

“Excuse me,” a crisp voice interjected. 

She turned her head, blinking through the sunlight.  Ominis was standing over her, his hands stuck in his pockets with a sheepish look on his face. “Do you have a moment?” he asked, digging his toe into the dirt like a sulking child.

She stood, dropping the shears into the basket. “Mr. Gaunt,” she mumbled. “Good morning.”

He winced at her words. “Please–you can call me by my first name.  Ominis.” 

“Ominis,” she repeated after him. It still didn’t suit him.

“I wondered if you might take a turn with me around the garden,” he asked awkwardly. His right hand was raised, the tip of his wand glowing red. 

Without a word, she wiped her hands on the apron, following him as he turned on his heel.  Their feet crunched on the gravel as they walked down the rows of boxwoods in silence, until Ominis cleared his throat.

“I’m very sorry for my reaction last night.” he apologized. “Golly explained to me–she told me that the garden looked horrendous until you arrived and started caring for it.”

“It’s alright.” she said softly. “You didn’t know.”

“I must explain,” Ominis insisted. “The garden is very dear to me.  My Aunt Noctua loved her plants, and she made me promise to take care of them some day.”

“It’s quite a grand garden, Mister–uh, Ominis.” she corrected herself. “And forgive me for saying, quite an undertaking for a blind man.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Yes, I suppose so.  I considered hiring a groundskeeper to tame it.”

“Let me,” she interjected. “I’d love to take care of a garden this big.  It’s quite a challenge, but it keeps me busy since there’s not much to do around here.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Ominis asked hesitantly. “Even Aunt Noctua had gardeners.”

“I have nothing but time on my hands,” she snorted. “I can handle it.  Besides, you could help me if you’d like.”

“I’m rather dreadful at gardening, actually.” Ominis admitted. “Noctua tried to teach me a few things, but I was so young, I doubt I remember. I was even rubbish at herbology in school.”

“Perhaps I can pick up where she left off,” she offered. “Teach you a thing or two about plants.  You can accompany me to the flower market, I’m not allowed out without supervision anyways. I haven’t been able to go into town since the last governess left, and I’m dying to go to the market.”

“To the muggle market, you mean?” Ominis asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She hesitated. The Gaunts were supposedly considered the cream of the crop when it came to purebloods, descended from one of Hogwarts’ founders; they probably weren’t too accepting of muggles.

“If it’s not allowed…” she started to say, until Ominis cut her off.

“No, let’s go to the market.” he offered. “I haven’t been to the town since I was a little boy, Aunt Noctua used to take me all the time. I’d like to know if it's changed at all.”

“You’re okay with the muggles?” she asked slowly.

Ominis frowned. “I told you last night, I’m not like my brother.” he stated. “I’m not like my family much at all, really.”

“Indeed.” She said, a smile growing on her face. She knew he couldn’t see it, but she hoped he could feel it. “We’ll go to the flower market first thing tomorrow morning.”

Ominis gave her a kind smile in return. He looked so different from the morning–hair perfectly shaped, slicked back away from his face.  His crisp white shirt was held together at the wrists with silver and emerald cufflinks, and forearms covered.  Everything was buttoned up, tidy, and proper.

She preferred him the way she’d seen him in the morning, a little messy.

“What was that?” Ominis asked.

She blushed. “Er, what?”

He frowned. “About my hair. You said something about my hair.”

“O-oh.” She stuttered, mortified that she might have verbalized her internal thoughts. “I just meant it looks nice today.”

Ominis’s face flushed, turning a pretty shade of pink. “Er, thanks.”

The pair continued their walk through the garden, a healthy distance between them. Ominis offered pleasantries about the area, asking what she’d gotten up to in the time she’d been staying at the house without him. His wand remained in front of him, glowing red as he guided them through the winding garden.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she interjected, “how does it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Your wand,” she asked. “How you use it to guide yourself.”

“It’s a mixture of things, really.” Ominis admitted. “My Aunt Noctua spent months researching–simply put, my wand helps me see.”

“Yes, but what can you see?” She asked, tilting her head at him curiously.

“Well, I can’t really see, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ominis said flatly. “I can sense locations of things, and I can sense when things are coming at me.  But I can’t see what things look like, it doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sorry if I’m prying. I’ve just never met someone with your abilities before.” 

Ominis paused. “My abilities?”

“Well, someone who could cast such a charm on a continuous basis must be quite skilled.  It seems like rather complex magic; your aunt must have been quite brilliant to come up with it.” she pointed out.

“No one has ever framed it up that way.” He blurted. “Most people call it a disability.”

“I prefer to look at things differently than others,” she hummed. “Makes life more fun.”

Ominis’s lips curved upwards, almost smiling. “Indeed.”

-----

She was quite eager for the next morning to arrive; nearly every night of her stay at the manor had been spent dreading another day of solitude, but she had high hopes for her new chaperone.  Mr. Gaunt–Ominis, rather–had promised her a trip into the town, and she yearned to stretch her legs.  The few weeks in captivity had been stifling, mind numbingly boring.  With Ominis, she’d finally get a chance to leave the barrier of the grounds.

There was a knock at her bedroom door; likely Golly, who helped her dress in the morning.

“Come in,” she yelled lazily. She sat at the dressing table in her chemise, holding her hair up to see how it could frame her face.  Perhaps Golly could help her pin up her hair in something fancy, so she could appropriately match Ominis’s opulent appearance.

The door opened, and boots clacked against the floor.  She turned, gasping as she saw Ominis standing before her.  She prepared to shout that she was indecent, but her lips faltered when she saw his empty hands. Like the morning before, his wand was stowed away in his pocket, only this time he held a wooden cane.

“I wanted to see if you’re ready yet.” Ominis said politely. “I remember the flower market opens rather early, and the best picks go first.”

“Almost ready,” she lied. “Give me a moment, I’ll meet you down in the foyer.” Even though she knew the man couldn’t see her, her arms still flew across her chest to cover herself. It seemed silly, even though his wand was far from his hands, but he was still a man.

Ominis bowed his head slightly. “Of course.  I’ll see you downstairs.”

She haphazardly threw on her green day dress (the nicest one she’d brought with her) and braided her hair. Picking up her sunhat and gloves, she rushed down the staircase to Ominis, who was standing by the door.

“You’re loud when you walk.” Ominis noted. “I could hear you the minute you stepped out of the bedroom.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing the door open as she slipped on her lace gloves. “Did you get super powered hearing to make up for your blindness?”

Ominis pressed his lips into a flat line. “Actually, yes.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” she stuttered.

Ominis rolled his eyes. “I’m joking,” he laughed. “You’re just as loud as an elephant, stomping your way up and down the stairs.”

She paused for a moment, chuckling in unison with him. It felt nice to have a companion to laugh with, and it meant after their disastrous first day together, he was starting to feel comfortable around her. 

“So, Ominis Gaunt has jokes,” she teased. “Not all prim and proper, I see.”

Ominis gave her a look. “Despite my appearance, I do have a sense of humor. Now, follow me. I know a shortcut to the town.”

She followed him and his glimmering red wand through thickets of trees on the property. Ominis walked ahead of her, pausing only when they reached unsteady terrain. He’d hold his hand out, helping her step over thick tree roots. His knowledge of the property from childhood hadn’t faded, no matter how long it had been since he’d last returned.

“I’ll need to take your arm when we reach town,” he announced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have my wand out.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to guide you.” She murmured. They were nearing the edge of the town, muggles within seeing distance. Ominis flipped his coat, shoving his wand inside. He gently looped his arm through hers, the other holding out the wooden cane.

“To keep up appearances.” He said simply, as if he’d read her mind.

They walked, arm in arm, down the hill and onto the dirt path.  The muggles didn’t spare a glance at them, likely assuming they were another young couple enjoying a marvelous summer morning.  Ominis’s arm looped tighter around hers, his hands gripping the seam of his jacket.

He was nervous, she realized.  His jacket flap opened in the wind, and she could see the handle of his wand tucked into the inner pocket. Oh how she missed having her wand…

She felt a pang of guilt run through her body; was she really thinking of stealing a wand off a blind man? 

“It’s busy.” Ominis commented anxiously, pulling her tighter.  The muggles packed around them, and the market was loud.  Vendors yelled out their wares and prices, and old women were haggling over flower pots.  It had to be sensory overload for him; he was practically clinging to her.  Without his wand, Ominis had to rely on her arm and the meager wooden cane in his right hand. 

Bodies started jostling them, and a dog across the road barked.  Ominis startled, letting go of her arm.  She quickly side stepped a puddle in the street, jumping onto the curb with her skirts in hand. Ominis, now cut off from his only guide, started jerking back and forth against the crowd in the street.  Again, no one minded him, bumping into him as they went about their business.  

She could run.  

Ominis wouldn’t dare pull his wand out in public in front of so many muggles; she’d have at least a ten minute advantage on him.  He was also far too gentle–she knew he wouldn’t immediately report her missing, not to Marvolo.  Ominis had made his dislike for his brother well known within the first twenty four hours of meeting, so he’d likely try to find her himself.  She could be in London by nightfall, and could escape with her parents by morning.  It would mean sacrificing her beloved wand, but she could always buy a new one someday.

She froze on the pavement, staring at him.  His head twisted and turned, even though he couldn’t see; Ominis yelped out her name over the crowd. He’d shaken out his well kept hair, a lock of blond hair falling in the middle of his forehead as he wobbled against strangers in the street.

There would be other opportunities, she thought. It would be sick to leave a disabled man in such a state. Besides, it wasn’t worth leaving without her wand anyways. If Marvolo was sick enough to threaten a sweet old house-elf, she couldn’t imagine what he’d threaten Ominis with.

“I’m right here,” she called out, stepping back into the street.  She caught Ominis’s flailing hand, drawing him closer. “I’m sorry–I’m right here.”

His chest was heaving, and he pulled at his cravat, loosening it from his neck. “I was worried you left me.” He admitted.  Ominis said it so honestly, it shocked her.

“I wouldn’t,” she lied. She smoothed her gloved hand over his hand to reassure him. “Shall we peruse the flowers?  Perhaps we can bring home some roses for Golly.”

Ominis nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, let’s move on.” he said shakily. 

-----

An hour later, the pair walked back up the trail to the house.  To her surprise, Ominis had purchased nearly every bouquet she’d stopped over.  

“You didn’t have to buy every single one, Ominis.” she grunted, shifting the weight of four wrapped bouquets in her arms. “They don’t go together at all, it’ll look horrendous.”

He shrugged. “They smell good.  Besides, it’ll be nice to have flowers in the house. Golly could leave the windows open for days and it’ll still smell like mildew.” he wrinkled his nose. “The poor thing has gotten too old to clean that big house by herself.”

She pursed her lips, adjusting the bouquets against her hip as they started walking uphill. “How about I put these flowers in vases when we get back?  Would you like an arrangement for your bedroom?”

Ominis gave her a flat lipped smile. “That would be nice.”

As soon as they were covered by the trees, Ominis pulled his wand out of his jacket.  The tip turned red, and Ominis shuddered as he adjusted back to his sight .  He was no longer nervous, now confidently walking through the wooded path back to the manor.

“You don’t like going long without your wand.” she observed.

Ominis shook his head; his hair remained mussed from the panic at the market. “No, I don’t.  It’s a little disorienting going back and forth.” he cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t thank you earlier, by the way.”

She leaned her nose down, sniffing some particularly potent sweet peas. “For what?”

Ominis bit down on his lower lip. “For not leaving.”

She froze in place. “What do you mean?” 

“Here, let me carry some of those.” Ominis offered, taking a few of the bouquets with his free hand.  He nodded his head forward, beckoning her to follow. “There’s no need to lie. I know you contemplated it, at the very least.  You had a chance to run, but you didn’t, and I appreciate that you stayed.”

Ominis Gaunt was far more perceptive than she’d anticipated.  She supposed being honest with him would push her further into his good graces. “I thought about it–but staying was the better option.  Besides, your brother locked my wand up somewhere in the house.” she admitted.

Ominis clicked his tongue. “Of course.  I’d expect nothing less from him.”  His face softened; it was a mystery how a man with such sharp features could look so gentle at the same time. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry. If I could help, I would.”

In just the two days she’d known him, Ominis Gaunt had proven to be quite different from his relations.  He was honest and kind, and actually made for good company. He somehow understood how she felt; perhaps he too knew the feeling of being caged in. She couldn’t imagine growing up with a brother like Marvolo Gaunt.  Something about the way Ominis stiffened when he heard Marvolo’s name told her he wouldn’t have been kind to his younger brother.

“I won’t run,” she said softly. “Not yet, at least.” It was the truth.  No matter how kind her new companion was, her first priority would be returning to her parents. As soon as she got access back to her wand, nothing could stop her.

“Well, when you do, at least give me a heads up.” Ominis teased. His dry humor was endearing. “That way, I can run too.”

There was an ease between them that soothed her.  Ominis wasn’t like a governess, watching her like a hawk and criticizing her every move.  He’d been quick to apologize for his mistake in the garden, and even more understanding of her motives.  They weren’t too different from one another, she thought to herself. Perhaps Golly had been right. They might understand one another.  Perhaps even become friends.

“Do you need a hand?” Ominis asked.

She hadn’t realized that she’d stopped in her tracks.  They’d stopped in front of a large root; Ominis had shifted the bouquets under the arm wielding his wand.  His free hand was outstretched, offering her balance.

She gladly put her hand in his.