#of his parents in the pensieve

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

CW: child whumper (sidekick), mentions of previous abuse. (If you find any more CWs I’ve missed, please tell me!)

Villain was feeling great. Todays plan had gone perfectly and now hero’s own sidekick was tied to a chair in front of them. Poor sidekick probably had no idea where they were, Villain smirked.

‘I bet your praying hero is going to show up and save you. I assure you they won’t. They don’t even know where my lair is; besides, do you really think they’ll go through all the effort just to save their stupid little sidekick who got themselves kidnapped?’

Sidekick was shaking. Terrified. Now completely at the villains mercy, their identity was going to be revealed, they just knew it. And then it wouldn’t just be sidekick that will die, but their loved ones too. Hero has told sidekick about villain. Sidekick knew villain was a ruthless killer. Their fear mixed with their guilt for having endangering not only themselves but their friends too. Hero would be so disappointed in sidekick. Villain was right, hero would never bother to save them. It was their own fault that they had messed up and gotten themselves kidnapped.

Villain crouched down and reached out to sidekicks face-

‘Let’s see who’s under this disguise- which I must say, is rather pathetic. Could you not have come up with a better costume for yourself?’, villain joked.

-Sidekick flinched away, but villain swiftly grabbed sidekicks mask and roughly pulled it off their face.

‘I bet you’re-‘,

The villains grin dropped along with their stomach. This was not what they were expecting. Rage shook through villain. Sidekicks face showed nothing but absolute fear.

‘A child. You’re just a child’

Villains face softened as they tried to hide their anger from the kid that sat before them. Hero had sent a child to fight them. A child. How could hero do this? And who was responsible for sidekicks black eye? Villain knew it wasn’t them. Was it hero? When villain got their hands on them-

But that could be dealt with later. Villain needed to focus on the terrified face in front of them.

‘I’m not a child. I’m 15’

‘Who told you that was old? Was it hero? You can’t even drink yet, darling. You’re a child.

And to be clear, I am not going to hurt you. I know hero’s probably told you horrible lies about me, but I can assure you, they’re not true… at least most of them aren’t true. But I would never intentionally hurt a child’

Sidekick was shocked by the softness of villains voice, which was completely different from the roughness it had been filled with 2 seconds ago. It was just an act. It had to be. Sure, hero could be harsh to sidekick, but sidekick deserved it right? Hero was just training sidekick.

‘Are you hungry? Injured? Let me patch you up’

Villain gently brushed sidekicks hair out their face to get a better look at the purple bruises forming on their forehead. Sidekick flinched away from the hand, letting out a small whimper.

That was it. Villain vowed they would destroy hero next time they saw them. But first, they have got to help the poor kid.

————————————————————————————————

This was my first time writing something like this, so any feedback and help would be appreciated. In fact, it think this is the first time I’ve written a story outside an English lesson (which I haven’t done as a subject since GCSE’s) since I wrote a short Harry Potter headcanon when I was 12 lol. I still remember that headcanon tho, and I’m pretty sure it might still be on tumblr somewhere 🫡

[myokk]

✨MASTERLIST✨

(fanart, longfics, oneshots)

Welcome to my blog!!! Here is my masterlist of ALL of my little sketches, artwork, writing, and general brainrot related to Hogwarts Legacy💘

🌿 - Madeleine / Maddy / myokk

🌱 - AO3

🌿 - likes and follows come from my main blog, @oerflink, because this is a sideblog (🥲)

🌱 - Eloise Babbit, my MC and basically the whole reason for this blog🫶 I don’t necessarily view her as the game’s MC, as my fic is quite canon-divergent and she is sweeter than the evil gremlin I played in-game😆💓 [link to her character sheet]

🌿 - my art tag🫶🫶🫶 here you can see basically every drawing I've done since joining the fandom!

Writing:

Before It Felt Like A Sin (AO3 / tumblr - ongoing)

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC, canon divergent, longfic, wip, dual pov Eloise/Sebastian

Summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

Tags: slow burn, angst, magical theory, mythology references, pureblood culture, occlumency, legilimency, hurt/comfort, family dynamics, eventual romance, eventual smut, sacrificial magic, blood magic, dark magic rituals, implied/referenced child abuse

[coming soon] - an excerpt from the Ominis longfic I’m working on💘

Oneshots:

clumsy (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

rating: E

summary: sebastian is clumsy.

or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be.

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving), no y/n

legilimency (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

word count: 1,7k

rating: m (language)

summary: (His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

or: The Gryffindor student has caught on that Ominis can read her thoughts and decides to get her revenge.

tags: ominis is a natural legilimens, he is entirely too introspective, fluff, no y/n

remembering the snow (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

word count: 3,3k

rating: G

summary: Imelda remembers the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

or: a character study on Imelda and how she grew up because I love her & she doesn't get enough appreciation :)

tags: character study, fluff, romance, first kiss, emotional hurt/comfort, I just wanted to write a sweet story & explore Imelda as a character

Illustrated scenes:

(aka where I illustrate little scenes from my longfic and oneshots💓)

🌿 - the summer before Sebastian and Anne’s first year at Hogwarts🥺💓

🌱 - Sebastian hates Eloise’s guts😳

🌿 - Eloise is really, really bad at chess😔 (this scene always makes me laugh SO MUCH)

🌱 - right after the pensieve scene🫶🫶🫶

🌿 - Eloise and Sebastian’s first kiss😇😇😇

🌱 - some angst after their first kiss😇😇😇

🌿 - sebastian overthinks things a lot😔

🌱 - an excerpt from my oneshot, clumsy💘

🌿 - another scene from my clumsy 🫶 I really love writing Sebastian’s pov & this was just so much fun to paint and write😫💓

🌱 - Eloise and her mother😔

[libellule-ao3]

HC: Ominis, his eyes and his experience as a blind wizard

Picture Credits: @deathlysallows [link]

Hello,

I was talking to someone recently about Ominis' eyes, and it gave me the idea of publishing these HCs. 🙂

Please note that the ideas and interpretations presented in this post are my 'headcanon', some of which are mentioned/explored in my fanfictions, but not all. I respect and appreciate the different opinions and interpretations that others may have.

My intention is to share my thoughts, not impose them... I'd love to see yours btw. 😊

Approximately 1,560 words at present. This could increase with possible future updates.💚

☆ Ominis’ eyes do not have pupils to let light enter his eye and reach the photoreceptors. As a result, he has no light perception and is totally blind. This lack of pupils, a phenomenon unique even among wizards, is the result of the marriage between his family's consanguinity and Dark Arts, which they practise shamelessly. (Quote: Ominis was born blind and no spell could reverse it)

☆ Besides this absence of pupils, his eyes are distinguished by their density of pale blue radial streaks, which start from the centre of the iris and radiate outwards, against a dark blue background. This pattern gives his eyes a fascinating, dynamic look. Ominis’ eyes are not opaque, milky or cloudy. These descriptors are so often associated with cataracts or glaucoma (i.e. Eye diseases Ominis does not have in my HC) that I avoid using them.

☆ Even when taking on the appearance of a sighted person thanks to the Polyjuice Potion or using Legilimency, Ominis remains unable to see, as his brain does not know how to interpret visual stimuli.

☆ If the Polyjuice Potion had worked, Ominis' parents wouldn't have hesitated to kidnap a child of the same age, sequestering him so that Ominis could take on his appearance, proceeding in the same way as Barty Crouch Jr did with Alastor Moody.

☆ Using a Pensieve does not negate his blindness either. He therefore perceives the memories consulted by this means in the same way as he perceives his everyday environment.

☆ Ominis has a well-developed sense of touch and smell, and his hearing is very acute. However, the acuity of these senses is not superhuman. He has only learnt to maximumly use his sensory compensatory means to make up for the visual deficit.

☆ During his childhood, his parents and siblings, who struggled for a long time to cure his blindness did not value his existence. As a result, Ominis tends to see himself as less valuable than a sighted person, despite what his Aunt Noctua says.

☆ Ominis has never let his blindness stop him from doing what he really wanted to do. On the other hand, as a good sneaky snake, he doesn’t mind using his blindness as an excuse not to do what he refuses to do or... to justify getting physically close to his heart’s desire. "I can’t work with my wand today, can you guide me to the Great Hall?" How can you say no to him when you know his wand [HC link] is so fickle?)

☆ When not using his echolocation spell, Ominis relies on his other senses to understand the world around him. As a result, surprise contacts can be disturbing for him as they abruptly disrupt his sensory perception. This generates anxiety, as he cannot anticipate the contact. But when this is done by people with whom he has no emotional bond, Ominis experiences it as an additional violation of his personal space, which can make him angry.

☆ Before she disappeared, his Aunt Noctua used to embroider hangings for him, which she would then hang in his bedroom. Ominis loved to run his fingertips over the raised patterns and different textures. Even without seeing them, Ominis could appreciate their creativity and aesthetics through touch. He still has a strong taste for embroidered fabrics from this period.

☆ Without concrete sensory experience of colours, his perception of colours remains a mental concept for him. At Hogwarts, he used to ask Sebastian if his clothes matched properly until he was familiar enough with fabrics to recognise them by touch.

☆ Before Ominis got his wand, he had to learn to organise his living space so that he could be as independent as possible. As a result, Ominis is very tidy and always puts his things away carefully so that he can find them more easily and navigate safely. Even in the most intimate moments, he folds and tidies his clothes before attending to his lover... firstly out of habit, and secondly because he finds it very exciting to play with their patience.

☆ For the Gaunt, the family’s image and reputation were of crucial importance. Having a blind child was a source of shame, as it could be interpreted as a weakness in their lineage or a sign of failure. When they gave up hope of curing him, they convinced themselves that a Gaunt could not be born deprived of sight without obtaining a compensatory magical ability, such as the gift of clairvoyance... Reality soon caught up with them.

☆ This umpteenth disappointment, combined with Ominis’s repeated refusal to adhere to supremacist ideals, or to practise dark arts, reinforced the hostility of Ominis’s parents towards him. As a result, the abuse escalated until the terrible episode recounted in the game (negative emotions + intolerance + misunderstanding + social pressure formed a detonating cocktail)

☆ His echolocation spell allows him to navigate independently, but it will never replace sight.

☆Capable of taking initiative, his wand has a will of its own that sometimes comes into conflict with Ominis. When this happens, it is very difficult for him to work with his wand and he may sometimes ask someone to guide him to where he wants to go. If he turns to you in this case, it’s a sign that he has a great deal of trust in you, something he doesn’t grant easily.

☆ The fact that people avoid certain words (see, or look for example) in his presence, or are embarrassed when he uses them himself, metaphorically or simply as a linguistic convention, amuses him and he doesn’t hesitate to play them up.

☆ If he’s not serving himself, he discreetly feels his plate to find out where the food is.

☆ Ominis is very concerned about his appearance because he wants to blend in with society to avoid attracting unwanted attention. Also, he feels more confident with having an impeccable appearance. His obsession: getting a stain on his clothes that he can’t detect. He used to ask Anne to check his outfit several times during the day.

☆ Although many classmates have asked him to touch their faces so that Ominis can “see” them, he has always flatly refused, as he finds it too intrusive. Sebastian and Anne are the only ones with whom he has allowed himself this familiarity... until his fiancée.

☆ Aloof and reserved by nature, Sebastian, Anne and his lover are the only people he accepts hugs from. These have enabled him to obtain information about their appearance, height, weight, hairstyle, morphology and much more...

☆ Wizards of their background were often evaluated on their elegance and their ability to fit into the society at the time. In addition to the classic upbringing of a member of the illustrious Gaunt family, Ominis’ parents insisted he acquire good social skills and impeccable manners, which was not always easy for Ominis.

☆ For he had “automatic, stereotyped and repetitive” gestures (blindism). Swaying his body or turning his head, or repeatedly rubbing his eyes were very severely punished, as were the various postural disturbances inherent in his blindness (head in profile because that’s the ideal listening position, shuffling gait to keep his 2 feet anchored to the ground maintain his balance more easily etc...). As a result, Ominis has become very aware of himself and his body language.

☆ Always with the aim of meeting their standards, his parents imposed a strict education on him, ensuring that he was fully educated in the history of Magic, that of his ancestors, that of the great pureblood families, the evolution of the bonds governing them and the dark arts for which the Gaunt are so renowned.

☆ In Victorian times, professional prospects were rather limited for blind people, even in the wizarding world, and even with the best education. What’s more, the family safe at Gringotts was just a leaky basket, so Ominis’s parents forced him to play the piano hoping he would become skilled and renowned enough to bail them out. As a result, he plays the piano very well, but he is not a prodigy. This skill is the result of long efforts and painful constraints. All washed down with tears.

☆ At Hogwarts, potions classes are the hardest for Ominis to grasp. Too much simultaneous olfactory stimulation, a method of learning ill-suited to the blind as the recipe steps rely on the precise colouring of the brew.

☆ When he's not using his echolocation spell, Ominis hates it when people leave him after a conversation without telling him they're leaving.

☆ Braille appeared in England in 1861, and Ominis learned about this Muggle system of reading and writing from his Aunt Noctua, who was much more open to the Muggle world than the rest of the Gaunt family, who refused to hear about it. He learned it on his own, with the help of his aunt and the house-elf who provided him with reference books.

☆ When he has to use a knife for cooking or in potions class, Ominis demands a perfectly sharp blade that offers a more precise cut with less effort, reducing the risk of slippage and injury, unlike a dull knife, which is potentially more dangerous as it requires more force to cut, making control more difficult.

☆ He doesn’t cut his fingernails, he files them to make sure he doesn’t cut himself.

(These last 2 HC are from anecdotes heard about my paternal grandmother, whom I never knew and who became blind because of cataracts that were inoperable at the time because of certain medical history)

Masterlist

[ateliersss]

Journey into The Past Ch.1

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader Summary: They say every human has their person, even some as cold, heartless and cruel as the Dark Lord. Would you try and tell that to Harry Potter, of all people, he would not hesitate to deny even the slightest hint of someone having feelings more than blazing hate for that man, this monster. A journey into the past shows him a different part of the former life of the murderer of his parents. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 1,869 Masterlist

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

“Chocolate Frogs.” Harry murmured to the eagle statue, which jumped to the side a second later.

He was tired — Snape looked everywhere for an opportunity to give him detention, Ron and Hermione still avoided each other like the plague, and he still had no idea how to get this memory from Slughorn.

As he dragged himself up the staircase, he thought of an excuse why he still didn’t have it. Harry knocked on the office door and was soon called in by the Headmaster’s familiar, calm voice.

“Good evening, Harry.” Dumbledore greeted him from his chair, “Please sit down.” He added and pointed to the chair standing in front of his desk.

Harry closed the door and made his way through the office when he noticed something on the desk — alongside the usual silver instruments, the bowl of Dumbledore’s favourite sweets, some books and parchments, vials containing a silvery shimmering liquid stood on top of the dark wooden surface. Sitting down, they were on the same eye level as him and stared at him judgingly, as if they wanted to remind him of his failure.

“Professor, I–“

“–haven’t found a way to get the memory from Professor Slughorn.”

Harry shamefully looked down at his feet.

“If you did, you would have come to me the second you got your hands on it.”

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

“I have faith in you, Harry. You will find a way. Nevertheless, we will have to continue with our journey through Voldemort’s past.” Dumbledore said, eyes shifting to the gleaming vials. “These memories belonged to an incredibly smart and determined girl, always respectful and friendly to others.”

Dumbledore got up, walked around his desk and took the vial from the far left. The Pensieve was already floating next to them. Harry got up as well and watched Dumbledore pour the memory into it. The memory turned into an ink-like substance and slowly took on a hazy image. Harry dipped his head into the Pensieve and soon felt the familiar tug, lifting him out of reality and into the memory.

Harry was standing in a library, the library of Hogwarts. It had barely changed and was completely empty. Nothing surprising, it was already dark outside.

Just as he was about to turn to Dumbledore and ask him if they were in the right place, he heard a giggle, undoubtedly coming from a girl. Dumbledore headed in the direction of the giggles. Harry quickly caught up with him.

They passed the many bookshelves until they reached the barred doors of the Restricted Section. Following Dumbledore who apparently knew where to go, Harry soon saw the source of the voice.

“I mean it, Tom, stop bothering me. I still have to finish this.” You scolded, trying to suppress your laughter to sound serious.

To say that Harry was shocked by what he saw would be an understatement.

None other than Voldemort — or rather, Tom Riddle — was standing right behind you. He was bent forward so that your heads were on the same level. He brushed your hair aside, slowly revealing the eagle of Ravenclaw on your robes, and slowly kissed your neck up and down.

“You can do it later.” He groaned, his voice muffled against your skin.

“You know I can’t. I put it off until now and it’s due tomorrow.”

“You can copy mine.”

“No, I can’t. Slughorn will notice it.”

“He will ignore it. He loves you.”

“No, Tommy, he loves you. I’m just his second favourite.”

Tom let out a frustrated groan and buried his face into the crook of your neck. “I told you how much I hate it when someone talks back to me.”

You laughed at his antics. “And I told you, you would get bored. You didn’t have to come.”

“You’ll need me when someone catches you outside of curfew.” He countered half-heartedly, nuzzling his face deep into the crook of your neck.

With an eye roll, you tapped the badge on your chest. “Did you already forget I’m a prefect too?”

Tom ignored you and lifted his head slightly to watch your feather scurry across the parchment.

“Why don’t you take a look around? Maybe you will find an interesting book.” You suggested after a while.

When you got no answer, you sighed and wriggled out of his grasp, got up and disappeared between the gloomy bookshelves. You came back five minutes later and handed him a book.

“You told me you were fascinated by such things. I stumbled upon it a week ago.” You looked up at him and smiled.

Tom’s lips curled slightly upwards. Anyone else would have missed it, but not you. Your smile grew even brighter.

You pulled him down to meet his lips for a quick peck before sitting back down on your chair.

“Thank you, darling.”

He sat down casually on the chair next to yours, flipped through the book and flew over most of the pages. After a while, he stopped and began to read with an intrigued expression on his face. He suddenly seemed interested and he immersed himself in the written words. Then he looked up and at you, an expression on his face that Harry didn't like at all.

That must have been the end of the memory, because Harry was back in Dumbledore’s office again. His brain tried to comprehend what just happened.

Voldemort had someone, a person who looked at him as if he put the sun, the moon and the stars onto the sky. And in return, he had kissed this person, had clung to them as if they would disappear if he let them go even for a second.

Harry just met a completely new side of Voldemort, one he never expected to exist, one that was impossible to exist.

Voldemort had been soft. Or at least softer than one might imagine a cold-hearted, loveless and ruthless mass murderer to be. It didn't make any sense.

Dumbledore watched the conflicted expression on his face intently as the wheels kept turning in his head. “I believe you have some questions.”

Harry startled out of his thoughts. “I… Voldemort…” He stumbled over his words, not knowing to which question he wanted to have an answer first. “She was his girlfriend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (L/N) was, as I already told you, an astounding student. Not only had her fellow Ravenclaws admired her, but almost the entire school. Very honest and responsible. Ideal for the role as a prefect, as you've seen, and later even as Head Girl. It was impossible for Voldemort not to notice her. There had been a rivalry between the two of them from the beginning, as they were fighting for the title best student. As you know, Tom Riddle was a great student with remarkable grades and loved by his teachers and classmates. So was (Y/N), indeed a very gifted and talented witch. However, when he saw there was no possibility for a breakthrough, he charmed his way into her life, but not with a little resistance from her side. She was probably one of the fewer people who were suspicious of him.”

“But she was still with him?”

“She was a 16-year-old girl who fell for the handsome and strange boy who was fascinated by her. A girl like her had many admirers, but he was the only one who could challenge her and was intellectually on par with her. In a way, she was also fascinated by him. Both were an interesting mystery to the other and they were eager to solve it.”

“So he was playing with her?”

“To be honest with you, Harry, I don’t think so.”

“Then what is it?”

“Love.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore as if he had just expelled him from Hogwarts and sent him back to the Dursleys. “But I thought…”

“It wasn’t typical love, the type of love we both know. It was more of a mix of mutual understanding, admiration, trust and something deeper. Just because Voldemort is incapable of loving someone, it doesn’t mean he was emotionless.”

“It’s hard to believe that Voldemort cares for someone else.”

“For someone who didn’t experience him in his school days, it’s easy to say. She had a not insignificant influence on him.” Dumbledore said with a smile before sitting back in his chair.

Harry did the same and asked, “What happened to her? I mean, if she and Voldemort were a couple, she could help us find the Horcruxes! After all, she let you have her memories. Do you know where she is?”

“Unfortunately, Harry, she died a few years ago. The reason for that were, in fact, these memories.” Dumbledore pointed to the remaining vials. “She came to me one year after your parents died.”

Confused, Harry leaned forward in his chair. “Why?”

The older man looked at him over his glasses, his eyes glittering, before looking back at the memory containing vials like it was the most obvious answer.

Harry bit his lower lip, nodding. “Right.”

“However, if you were actually asking about the specific time, then the answer is just as simple. Like some of Voldemort's other followers, she was cautious. Death Eaters were hunted and imprisoned, after all. They also didn’t know if he might come back to reclaim his power. So, she waited a year before she came to me.”

“And she gave you the memories just like that?”

Dumbledore shook his head before he hoisted himself up from his chair, his blackened hand shaking like a leaf in the wind being under so much pressure.

“Not back then, no. At first, she was suspicious of me, considering I could call the authorities the second she stepped on school grounds. Understandable, since she was just as much hunted by the Aurors as the rest of Voldemort’s followers, but I promised her no harm will come to her as long as I live.”

Harry shifted in his seat, a frown on his face. “Why would you do that, Professor? Why would you offer that to someone who was as close to Voldemort as she was? Why would you put someone under your protection who murdered and tortured innocents?”

“And how do you know she did all that, Harry?” Dumbledore asked and his eyes gleamed as he looked sharply at the boy.

Harry, feeling scolded, averted his eyes and merely shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what else to do.

So what if this girl wasn’t like the man who murdered his parents? How should he know? People who were involved with Voldemort were neither good nor innocent. You could have been very well a second Bellatrix.

Dumbledore, who had already taken the second vial and poured the memory into the Pensieve, nodded at his silence and smiled knowingly.

“Don’t view her as any enemy, but as an ally instead.” He said and Harry had to suppress a scoff. “Without her, we would know much less about Voldemort and how to go against him.”

Harry nodded reluctantly and got up from his chair to join Dumbledore again. He looked down at the swirling inky substance that slowly started to take shape and he could already recognize silhouettes of a fire-lit room.

[severus-snaps]

'Mudblood' and Muggle-borns

back again with some late-to-the-party observations that I want to talk about (ah, the perils of becoming obsessed with snape in 2024)

So, I think by now that most people are aware of this tweet and/or the idea that it wasn't just Muggle-borns, but half-bloods as well, who were called 'Mudbloods' by blood supremacists:

And I don't know about anyone else, but I took this with a grain of salt because JKR is known to... make statements sometimes, some more realistic within her own canon than others.

I know that some people (on Quora especially, but probably elsewhere) outright claim that JKR said this to make Snape's use of 'Mudblood' in SWM 'more acceptable' or less bad or something because the term applied to him, too, and not just Muggle-borns - and literally until today, I thought the same. Now don't get me wrong, I love Snape and will usually jump at any chance to make his backstory and characterisation more complicated and sympathetic. I felt almost that JK was sort of... backtracking, because in the series we only see people use 'Mudblood' against Muggle-borns, with Hermione and Draco the most frequently seen Muggle-born and blood supremacist (respectively) in the series.

So I've rounded up a few examples where Mudblood is arguably used against people who are not Muggle-born.

We're first introduced to the term "Mudblood" in CoS:

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered. “No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

Ron describes the term shortly afterwards as follows:

"Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born — you know, non-magic parents"

And that is how we see Draco use it most often, to refer to Muggle-borns (most notably Hermione). But it has been used on others who are probably not Muggleborn.

Exhibit A: Bob Ogden

Over to Potter-Search I go, searching 'Mudblood' - only to find someone called Bob Ogden. Now, having not read the later books in quite some time I had no idea initially who Bob Ogden was, so I head over to the wiki page. For those of you like me who haven't read the later books in a while, Ogden appeared in one of Dumbledore and Harry's trips into the Pensieve:

Bob Ogden (fl. 1925) was a British wizard who worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a department of the Ministry of Magic, and led the Magical Law Enforcement Squad in the 1920s. As part of his duties, he once visited the Gaunt Shack, as the Department believed that Morfin Gaunt had not only performed magic in front of a Muggle but also accosted that Muggle, Tom Riddle Snr, and performed a dark charm on him.

Marvolo Gaunt, Morfin's father, asks him this:

“Are you pure-blood?” [Gaunt] asked, suddenly aggressive. “That’s neither here nor there,” said Ogden coldly, and Harry felt his respect for Ogden rise. Apparently Gaunt felt rather differently. He squinted into Ogden’s face and muttered, in what was clearly supposed to be an offensive tone, “Now I come to think about it, I’ve seen noses like yours down in the village.” “I don’t doubt it, if your son’s been let loose on them,” said Ogden.

Harry I think interprets this interaction as a Pureblood/Half-Blood Ogden rejecting Pureblood/blood supremacist ideology. Personally, I'm more inclined to think he's being cagey because he has definite Muggle ancestry, but we just don't know. I suppose it doesn't really matter. And then:

“So!” said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. “Don’t you go talking to us as if we’re dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don’t doubt!” ... “Mr. Gaunt,” said Ogden doggedly, “I am afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter in hand. I am here because of Morfin, Morfin and the Muggle he accosted late last night.

And finally:

“And you think we’re scum, do you?” screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. “Scum who’ll come running when the Ministry tells ’em to? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?” “I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt,” said Ogden, looking wary, but standing his ground.

On the Wiki page, under Ogden's blood status, I find this interesting note:

In Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 10 (The House of Gaunt) Ogden is shown wearing "the strange assortment of clothes so often chosen by inexperienced wizards trying to look like Muggles," which indicates that he was not Muggle-born, as a Muggle-born would have at least some experience with putting together a Muggle outfit.

The outfit in question was described as a "frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume". I know shit all about clothes, so I had to google a frock coat, and here's some examples (conveniently also featuring spats on the feet in the first image); and also a one-piece bathing suit (vintage, since it was the 1920s and I'm assuming a men's):

[Images from Lily Absinthe, State Library of Victoria and vintag.es]

What a look. Deliberate in its farcicality. So... no, even the most out-of-touch Muggleborn in the 1920s probably wouldn't put that together in combination, because even assuming he was like 100 or something (seeing as he died at some stage before the events of HBP), I don't think a Muggleborn with two Muggle parents could've been that out of the loop on Muggle clothing to confuse swimwear for casual daywear.

Ogden is, obviously then, of magical enough heritage not to have any idea how to dress like a Muggle. And yet here he was, in my 'Mudblood' search. Admittedly, that might only be a generation or so removed; Tonks is also clearly clueless:

“Very clean, aren’t they, these Muggles?” said the witch called Tonks, who was looking around the kitchen with great interest. “My dad’s Muggle-born and he’s a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?”

Marvolo's comment about Ogden's nose also can be taken several ways; a jab/joke about the pus nose curse that Ogden's just had put on him by Morfin, or a real, thinly veiled accusation of Ogden having Muggle heritage (possibly the same as those in the surrounding villages). For his own safety, if Ogden was indeed Pureblood, he probably should've said so (for all the good it might have done him).

At any rate, Ogden obviously, whatever his family history, is 'wizard' enough to not know how to blend with Muggles - he's definitely not Muggleborn himself. If he did have Muggle heritage, which makes him a dubiously-named half-blood (dubious in that "half-blood" more or less refers to anyone who isn't 'Pureblood' or 'Muggleborn' rather than indicating a half-and-half split), it's likely to have been a grandparent or something, if not further removed (do we see Tonks struggle to wear Muggle clothes? I can't remember. I vaguely remember McGonagall wearing a Muggle dress, and she's supposed to be half-blood - but she's not described as looking odd for what she's wearing but I got more of the impression that Harry found it odd to see her out of the ususal robes she wears at Hogwarts).

Anyway, the real point of it is that it doesn't matter how magical Ogden is, because he is marked out as not Muggle-born by his clothes, and yet he still gets called a Mudblood. Gaunt wasn't necessarily suggesting Ogden's parents hadn't been a witch and a wizard, but that overall he had a bit more Muggle in him than a wizard should have (which, according to Gaunt, is none).

It's worth noting that the Gaunts were a family "noted for a vein of instability", possibly as a result of consistently marrying their cousins, so perhaps only their view on 'Mudblood' is anyone who isn't a Pureblood. And, of course, they are the proud, cousin-marrying descendents of Salazar Slytherin, who "started all this pure-blood stuff", and so were likely especially zealous about who 'counted' as Pure:

"They [Hogwarts founders] built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution." (Binns, CoS) "Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy." (Binns, CoS)

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those Whose ancestry is purest." (Sorting Hat, OotP)

In any case, this is the strongest example of a dedicated blood supremacist calling someone with any suspected (real or otherwise) Muggle heritage a Mudblood.

Exhibit B: Walburga Black

Walburga Black was Sirius Black's mother, a proud pureblood supremacist, and she thought that Voldemort had the 'right idea' about things. Her portrait at Grimmauld Place calls the inhabitants of her house "filth" "creatures of dirt*", "scum", "stains of dishonour", and "mudbloods".

"MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT*!" “Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers — ” "Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers!"

* Creatures of dirt is apparently another word/turn of phrase for Mudblood, according to the wiki.

Obviously the portrait is screaming and overexcited, and not especially prone to nuance, but it does seem to be calling multiple people in the house Mudbloods - when, in theory, only Hermione would fit that description. Walburga is also capable of distinguishing between different people and offering specific insults, such as to Sirius:

“Yoooou!” she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. “Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!”

Andromeda Tonks (nee Black) was blasted off of the Black family tapestry by Walburga for marrying a Muggleborn:

[Sirius] pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa. “Andromeda’s sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so — ” Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly.

I expect having an actual Muggle in the family (aka an actual half-and-half Half-Blood) would've been seen as just as bad, if not worse, than marrying a Muggleborn to dedicated blood purists.

But in any case, with an Order primarily made up of Pureblood blood traitors (e.g. Weasleys, Sirius, Moody) and Half-Bloods (generally consisting of at least two magical parents like Harry, Tonks, and Dumbledore), and one Muggleborn (Hermione), Walburga just calls them all Mudbloods.

I'm also curious, as Hagrid wasn't there at 12 Grimmauld Place and a werewolf isn't technically a half-breed (but is sometimes conceptualised as such e.g. by Umbridge and her ilk), whether Walburga calls half-bloods "half-breeds", or whether she was yelling more generally at Lupin. Perhaps Muggles are "a different creature" in her eyes. We know that this line of thinking isn't uncommon:

"We’ve all got to listen to [whichever DE was in charge of Muggle Studies in DH] explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty..." (Neville, DH)

Exhibit C: Penelope Clearwater

Examples start to get a bit more sparse and interpretive from here on out.

In Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort describes the people petrified as Mudbloods:

“Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?” said Riddle softly. “Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.”

The "four Mudbloods" in question were:

Colin Creevy

Justin Finch-Fletchley (with Nearly-Headless Nick as collatoral damage)

Hermione Granger, and

Penelope Clearwater

But we're not certain that they're all Muggleborn. In CoS, Justin is confirmed; he was headed to Eton and was waiting for Harry (the supposed Heir of Slytherin) to attack him in CoS for being Muggleborn. Colin is confirmed; "I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman...", and Hermione is obvious.

And then there's Penelope. Unlike the other confirmed Muggle-borns, we don't hear much about her, apart from the fact that she's Percy's girlfriend and probably likes Quidditch; but Hermione uses her as her 'cover' when the Trio gets caught by Snatchers in Deathly Hallows:

“Penelope Clearwater,” said Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing. “What’s your blood status?” “Half-blood,” said Hermione.

And the note about it on the Wiki says:

However, it is possible that the fourth Muggle-born in addition to Colin, Hermione, and Justin (who are all definitively identified as Muggle-borns at some point) was Nearly-Headless Nick, and that Penelope was simply petrified because she was with Hermione when she encountered the Basilisk. In Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 23 (Malfoy Manor), Hermione posed as Penelope when under interrogation by Snatchers, and claimed to be half-blood. Although, Hermione may have only lied about Penelope's blood status because mentioning she's Muggle-born would have possibly made things worse.

To me it seems unlikely that Voldemort would set the Basilisk on a ghost. It also seems unlikely that, after Harry has offered up "Vernon Dudley" as his name (more on that in a moment), and Ron has called himself first Stan Shunpike and then Barney Weasley, that Hermione would choose someone who she knew wasn't going to be a safe bet. Snatchers are "gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors", so why offer a name that's likely to be on their list of Muggle-borns? It's also possible that it was just the first name she thought of, then lied about the blood status; but given that Hermione and Penelope would have woken up in the hospital wing together at the end of the events of CoS, it may well have come up in discussion.

And then there's this:

“You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?” he roared. “Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley on ’ere, Greyback.”

So, the list is being checked by the Snatchers to see if the 'disguised' Trio are "wanted" - aka if they are Muggleborns/blood traitors/truants. I doubt they even checked Ron's name since the Weasleys are well-known blood traitors, but they picked up on Vernon Dudley not being a real name, and their list certainly seems to include Muggleborns, since they say they've captured a "Mudblood (presumably Dean Thomas), a runaway goblin, and three truants (the Trio)". Yet they don't mention Penelope.

So, Penelope was not on their list, and if it hadn't been for the Snatchers recognising Hermione in the paper, they might have gotten away with it. Maybe Penelope was Muggleborn and "presented herself for interrogation", which is something that Ron mentions Hermione hasn't done earlier in the book, and therefore that's why Penelope wasn't on the list - or that Penelope is not Muggleborn, but Half-Blood, and she got called a Mudblood in CoS anyway.

(Yes, JK probably forgot - but I'm sticking in-universe).

Exhibit D: The Muggle-Born Registration Commission

“Will the old hag [Umbridge] be interrogating Mudbloods all day, does anyone know?”

Shortly followed by:

“No, no, I’m half-blood, I’m half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he’s a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you — get your hands off me, get your hands off—” “This is your final warning,” said Umbridge’s soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man’s desperate screams. “If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss.” The man’s screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor. “Take him away,” said Umbridge. Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight.

So, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission was supposed to be rounding up, interrogating and imprisoning Muggle-borns, but arguably was also rounding up (and referring to) possible half-bloods, too. The same possibly happened to Dean Thomas, a half-blood (according to his official page) mistaken for a Muggle-born, as he had no record of his wizard father.

“Muggle-born, eh?” asked the first man. “Not sure,” said Dean. “My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I’ve got no proof he was a wizard, though.”

Summary of Exhibits

So, we've seen half-blood-or-more Bob Ogden and potentially half-blood Penelope Clearwater be referred to as Mudbloods by Gaunts/Voldemort. We've seen an entire house of people of different magical heritage between them, all collectively called Mudbloods by Walburga Black. And we've seen some random Ministry witch call a whole collection of (assumed but not confirmed) Muggle-born wizards and witches Mudbloods.

I think what we can gather from this is that the distinction between half-blood and Muggle-born hardly matters to some blood supremacists. If you're a Pureblood supremacist, anyone who isn't Pure is, obviously, impure. Arguably, "Mudblood" wasn't always strictly about being Muggleborn; it's about 'impure' heritage. The stronger examples (Bob Ogden, Walburga Black) are older examples; Voldemort and Walburga's generation (born ~1920s) and even before (Marvolo's generation had an even more ambiguous use). I think it's safe to say that the meaning of the word may have evolved or tightened by the time Harry is in school to primarily refer to Muggleborns, but obviously that's a matter of opinion;

Silent Half-Bloods in the Hierarchy of Pureblood Supremacy

Wizarding society is sort of divided into Pureblood, Half-blood, Muggle-borns, Muggles, and... Squibs, somewhere.

Obviously, in an ideal pureblood society, Purebloods are at the top:

[Sirius' parents] "thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the Wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge." (Sirius, OotP) "For years [Regulus] talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns..." (Kreacher, DH)

Setting aside the knowledge for a moment that Voldemort was half-blood, and instead perceiving him as the Pureblood he pretended to be, this is what he touted, and this is what his Pureblood followers from the "ancient and noble" families like the Malfoys and the Blacks aspired to.

So indisputably, here excluding for brevity's sake the complexities of intelligent nonhumans/magical beings and 'half-breeds' (being its own meta that's probably been written somewhere), Muggles are at the bottom of a blood supremacist's list. Muggles and Muggle-borns are seen as a threat to Wizarding society, and as (potentially dangerous) outsiders. We can see it in the explanation given (quoted somewhere way, way above) about Salazar Slytherin's reasonings; it started with mistrust, as Muggles in the early days were persecuting wizards.

This mistrust (and disgust) obviously was kept alive and well in Tom/Voldemort/blood supremacists: "I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch?" (Voldemort, CoS).

But it's also an element of exclusionary attitude; Muggle-borns have grown up outside of magical culture, which we can see reflected in the first interaction between Draco and Harry in PS:

“But they were our kind, weren’t they?” “They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.” “I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”

It'll come as a surprise to literally nobody that the problem as blood supremacists see it is that Muggles, and by extension Muggle-borns, as well as being outsiders, are viewed as dirty/disgusting, and common. In CoS, post slug-heaving, Ron describes "Mudblood" as meaning:

"Dirty blood, see. Common blood".

We see these descriptors a lot in the series. Gaunt describes Merope as a "dirty Squib", "disgusting little Squib" and a "filthy little blood traitor" (and she's a Pureblood witch, albeit struggling with her powers); and in CoS of course Voldemort calls his father "a foul, common Muggle". We also see throughout the books "Mudblood filth", and "filthy little Mudblood" in particular reference to Muggle-borns such as Hermione and Lily (and to Bob Ogden).

[Side note: I have seen some arguments that say 'filthy' is sometimes used in the series instead of the word 'fucking', e.g. "that fucking Mudblood" - but obviously it's a kid's series, so the word was replaced. I think it could work in terms of this replacement in some contexts, but I'm not sure that was the purpose. Filthy just means disgustingly dirty, and has an interesting extra context from the etymology I just found out:

filthy (adj.) late 12c., fulthe, "corrupt, sinful," from filth + -y (2). Meaning "physically unclean, dirty, noisome" is from late 14c. Meaning "morally dirty, obscene" is from 1530s.

You can get a sense of a more 'moral' objection in the later books, e.g. Neville discussing their Muggle Studies during the events of DH:

We’ve all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drove wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being reestablished.

And especially this, from Voldemort:

"Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance. … She would have us all mate with Muggles …"

I feel like there's a few points to be made about this quote.

First, obviously Voldemort has the DEs convinced that he's also Pureblood; he's the Heir of Slytherin after all, the Dark Lord, greatest wizard of all time, etc. Even Harry telling Bellatrix that Voldemort was half-blood at the end of OotP hasn't made a difference. (And why would it? Question or defy him and he'll kill your whole family and make you watch, probably).

Second, we can see also in the Muggle-Born Registration Commission chapter, where Umbridge asks Mary Cattermole where she stole her wand from, that Muggle-borns are accused of somehow... stealing magic?

"Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment."

Anyway, I think there's another point here, one I can't quite reach with my brain. The quote starts with viewing ostensibly only Muggleborns as the issue; as the thieves of knowledge. But Voldemort's point ends up with the disparaging of half-bloods (as they're the wizarding 'type' to arise from Muggle-Magical Mating™️). That's nothing to do with Muggle-borns at all.

But we hear next to nothing about half-bloods, despite their having Muggle and/or Muggle-born heritage; the same heritage described so often as dirty, disgusting, and filthy. We hear more outrage about blood traitors, Pureblood families who sympathise with Muggles or Muggle-borns: "blood traitors are as bad as the Mudbloods", "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book", and wizards/witches who are tolerant of Muggles are called "Muggle-lovers". (I hesitate even to say that 'Muggle-tolerant wizards' like, support, or even accept Muggles - because even Muggle 'tolerant' wizards (e.g. like Hagrid and the Weasleys), the Order and the like, the allies to the "champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore", also look down on Muggles to an extent, but I digress again).

The only disparaging references I could find to half-bloods were Bellatrix to Harry:

"You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood’s tongue, you dare -" " — He stands there — filthy half-blood —"

And one about Mundungus:

“That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?” said Phineas Nigellus, incensed.

In the few examples we see, they're subject to the same dehumanising, dirty/disgusting and animal comparisons as "Mudbloods" and Squibs.

But there are few examples. The lack of attention paid to half-bloods is probably, in part because of the dwindling population of Purebloods:

"Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out." (Ron, CoS) “If you’re only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited, there are hardly any of us left.” (Sirius, OotP)

Half-bloods are accepted purely by necessity, because unlike Muggle-borns they do have magical lineage to draw on, and because there aren't enough Purebloods left. It's for the same reason that blood traitors are allowed to keep on being traitors but aren't punished to the same degree as Muggle-borns, per this note from the wiki:

"They don’t want to spill too much pure blood, so they’ll torture us a bit if we’re mouthy but they won’t actually kill us.” Given this statement, as well as the fact that the Weasleys were only in direct danger after Ron Weasley's help of Harry Potter was revealed to the Death Eaters, it seems that they were hesitant to kill blood traitors unless they were very rebellious.

Half-bloods sort of escape the Pureblood rhetoric entirely, between these reasons and being the most common type of witch or wizard. The term “half-blood” is ambiguous, and practically meaningless, after all; it refers to anyone with one Muggle parent (like Seamus Finnegan; Severus Snape), or anyone with one Muggle-born parent (like Harry, Tonks), and (I'm not sure if we learn this in the books, but) it also applies if you have a Muggle or Muggle-born grandparent, and presumably any recent traceable Muggle or Muggle-born lineage.

While half-bloods do have 'impure' Muggle ancestry, they are often viewed through the lens of their magical parentage, which can sometimes afford them a degree of acceptance or a different (almost nonexistant) level of scrutiny. In the hierarchy of blood purity, they are less offensive to purists compared to Muggle-borns, but not as esteemed as pure-bloods.

Sort of absent but for different reasons are Squibs. In broad terms, Squibs are generally more likely to be straight up ignored or disregarded, in contrast to the outright hatred and contempt directed toward Muggleborns and Muggles - the issue is a relation to non-magical Muggles, rather than magical skill itself. Because Squibs have magical ancestry, perhaps they fare slightly 'better' within this belief system. Of course, I expect it's all interrelated and decidedly more nuanced (as are all systems of prejudice/oppression), but as I say - in broad terms. Filch liked to help Umbridge, after all - like so many others in wizarding society (and wider, real-life society), his acceptance was conditional, and arguably based on either pity or what he could bring to the table.

In a similar way, being half-blood is only 'advantageous' when magical heritage can be proven and played upon - like Voldemort; like Umbridge:

“That’s — that’s pretty, Dolores,” she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge’s blouse. “What?” snapped Umbridge, glancing down. “Oh yes — an old family heirloom,” she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. “The S stands for Selwyn. … I am related to the Selwyns. … Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related...”

"It was Umbridge's lie that brought the blood surging into Harry's brain and obliterated his sense of caution; that [Slytherin's/Voldemort's] locket she had taken as a bribe from a petty criminal [Mundungus] was being used to bolster her own pure-blood credentials."

... and even like some Death Eaters probably do:

"The Death Eaters can’t all be pure-blood, there aren’t enough pure-blood wizards left," said Hermione stubbornly. "I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure." "I got this one," [Neville] indicated another slash to his face, "for asking [Carrow] how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got."

... and unlike the son of Arkie Alderton, the well-known broomstick designer, who got carted away by Dementors. Purebloods could and would just as easily turn on half-bloods.

"First they came for the Socialists…" as the poem goes. Muggles and Muggle-borns will be the first witches and wizards targeted, face the worst discrimination, but half-bloods too are only safe so long as they can prove themselves as 'magical enough', dedicated enough, or useful enough; and they'll never be magical enough for the likes of true believers.

Severus Snape: Mudblood?

I don't think it's a stretch, then, to say that some Purebloods did use the term "Mudblood" for people other than Muggle-borns. Unlike most of the half-bloods we see in the series, with two magical parents, Snape was actually the son of Tobias Snape, a Muggle, with a clearly Muggle name that sets him apart from the well-known and interconnected Pureblood families. As a student, and sometimes as an adult, Snape to some extent 'fit' the stereotypes of Muggles in that he would be perceived as common, dirty, and disgusting; throughout the series he's described as "greasy", with "yellow, uneven teeth"; he hails from Cokeworth, likely from a two-up-two-down house, described as though set in a Northern industrial area; he is scrawny, skinny, as a child wears mismatched clothes, and is likely neglected and grew up in poverty. (Contrast with Purebloods Sirius, who is regularly described as handsome, James, who had the "indefinable air of having been well cared for and even adored that Snape so conspicuously lacked", and the Malfoy family, who are also regularly described as being attractive).

If we use Draco as a benchmark for Slytherin Pureblood behaviour, then imagine how much worse Snape would be received; he's poorer than a Weasley, more Muggle than Harry Potter (and absolutely not the chosen one), and at least half as Muggle as Hermione. It's questionable whether Eileen Prince/Snape was herself even a Pureblood; whilst I was traversing for all the quotes here, Hermione talks about reading through Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, that "lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line" - which, if Prince was a Pureblood name, might have crept up in passing conversation since Hermione seemed to struggle to find anything out about the HBP in the previous book.

During a war in which Voldemort rose to power, with an identifiably Muggle name and not one of the vastly interconnected and still-powerful Pureblood families, Snape would be noticed for being different. He was about a year apart from Regulus after all, who had a whole collage on his wall of Voldemort's press cuttings, favoured son of enthusiastic blood supremacist Walburga Black - so I find it hard to believe that Slytherins were... fully accepting.

In CoS, when a basilisk was going around attempting to kill Muggle-borns on behalf of the Heir of Slytherin, the Slytherin common room password was pureblood. I feel like there's a whole point there, but it's nearly 4am here, so I can't brain it right now. (But like... did Snape set the passwords? Did the entrance do it magically?? Did a Head Boy/Prefect do it?? Either way, there's a strong sense of pureblood supremacy communicated in that password that's only strengthened by the timing, echoing the Heir's agenda). In any case, it speaks to the entrenched nature of pure-blood ideology of Slytherin as a house.

"my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal . . . my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them" (Sirius, OotP) "as far as [Marvolo] was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal" (Harry, DH)

The Purebloods of Slytherin house in any generation - who considered themselves "practically royal" in their superiority - would surely ridicule a self-styled, half-blood Prince.

[blueraineshadows]

Blood Bound Part Five

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

Sebastian heads into the unknown to break MC out of Azkaban. MC struggles to adjust to the outside world. Leander descends deep underneath London to scope out the illegal duelling ring.

15k words. Tags: NSFW / threat / blood / violence / angst / unresolved sexual tension / torture / organised crime / PTSD / anxiety

Chapter Master List and AO3

Mutuals taglist at the end 💖✨️

Five: The Prince, the Villain, and the Maiden Fair

Sebastian 

Looking at the map Black Dahlia had made one last time, Sebastian was fairly confident that he could find his way through the corridors of Azkaban towards MC's cell. The hum of anticipation throbbed through him as he folded the parchment, tucked it into his jacket pocket, and touched his fingers to the blood amulet. Clenching his jaw, he glanced across to where Rosier stood waiting, dressed all in black like him, a serious expression on his pretty face. 

He was going to get MC. This time, when he arrived at the cell door, she would be real and not a phantom in a memory. 

“I'm ready when you are, mate,” Rosier said, holding out his hand. 

Sebastian nodded, reaching out to grasp Rosier along his lower arm, and Rosier grasped him the same way. Their eyes met, an acknowledgement passing between them that they were about to travel into a highly dangerous and horrific place, breaking Wizarding law to bring out a convicted prisoner. 

“Let's go,” Sebastian said firmly, his stomach twisting viciously as he visualised the reception chamber from the memory and Disapparated them both with a crack.

The first thing that struck Sebastian was the chilling oppressiveness, his stomach catching up from the long distance Apparition as he stumbled into existence inside the Auror reception chamber, Rosier catching his breath beside him. As his eyes swung about the room, recognising it from the pensieve memory, he shivered at the utter desolation and icy chill that crept up his neck.

“Well, this is nice,” Rosier huffed, ruffling his hair as he gazed around. “I love what they have done with the place.”

Throwing Rosier a dark look, Sebastian stepped up to the signing in book on the counter, his finger brushing over the column of entries written by Prewett. He had been here nearly every day for the last few weeks, the last entry only yesterday. Adrenaline was pulsing through Sebastian, his hands curling into fists as he turned his gaze towards the door that led into the prison proper.

“Have your wand at the ready,” he said quietly, slipping his own out. “Those Dementors will likely be on us straight away.”

“Have you ever come up against one before?”

Sebastian swallowed as he looked at his partner in crime and shook his head. “No, but I’ve practised the Patronus charm plenty enough,” he said, gripping the handle of his wand tightly. “I hope you have, too.”

Rosier’s blue eyes darkened with a memory, and his gaze flicked down. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m up against. Dementors came for my father. I was just a kid, but I’ll never forget it.”

The leaden ball of grief that Sebastian carried in his own chest tugged sharply as he took in the shadows on Rosier’s face. He knew what it was like to lose a parent so young. He nodded and turned his gaze back towards the door, lifting to pat his hand against Rosier’s back in a gesture of understanding.

“We get to the cell, get MC out, and then we get the fuck out of this place. Alright?”

“This girl better be worth it, mate. That’s all I can say,” Rosier said, readying himself.

Sebastian felt his throat constrict, his eyes hardening. “Trust me. She is worth it.”

The frigid weight of despair grew heavier as they walked swiftly down the corridor, the fire sconces casting flickering shadows in their wake as they approached MC’s wing, the distant mournful screams of those trapped here making Sebastian’s heart thud rapidly beneath his ribs. Trying to shut out the sounds became almost impossible as they entered the colossal prison wing, barred cell doors offering unsettling glimpses into life here that he tried to avert his eyes from. 

Above their heads swooped the tattered robes of the guards, the chilling rattle of their death breaths spurring Sebastian on quicker, his own breathing harsh and tight as two Dementors broke free from their pack and rushed downwards towards him and Rosier.

“Expecto Patronum!” Rosier cast, his arm thrust upwards, a burst of white erupting from his wand in a swelling arc. The Dementors hesitated, retreating back towards the high ceiling, their shifting shapes being swallowed in the darkness beyond.

“It’s not much further,” Sebastian muttered, already looking forward to getting out of here. He held the back of his hand against his nose, breathing through his mouth to avoid the stench of abandoned humans. The true horror of Azkaban was laid bare as his boots scraped against the dark stone, eyes checking the numbers above the doors until he came to the one he needed, and he slowed his step.

“Is this it?” Rosier asked quietly.

A rasping chuckle sounded from the darkness, and Sebastian glanced to the opposite side of the corridor, the gnarled hands of an old crone grasping the iron bars of her door. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight of her, repulsed by the gaping maw of her mouth and the filth of the ragged prison garb she wore. This one had been here a long time and was still clinging to mortality by a thread of madness.

“Merlin’s bollocks,” Rosier hissed, flinching back. He visibly shivered, and the woman cackled even louder. “That ain’t her, is it?”

“Don’t be a twat,” Sebastian scowled, grabbing Rosier by the front of his coat and shuffling him away from the crone and towards MC’s door. 

He was impatient to see her, desperate to get her out of here, his guilt making the oppression feel thicker than it had any right to be. With his heart in his mouth, he stepped up to the cold iron bars of her door and peered into the gloom, his eyes sweeping the cell. A slight crease formed on his brow as there appeared to be no sign of her.

“MC,” he whispered, taking hold of a bar of the door and gasping as it swung on its hinges. It was unlocked. 

Stomach plummeting, icy fear prickling the back of his neck, he yanked the door open and stepped into the cell, calling her name louder, but the room was empty. It was impossible. Panic gripped his throat, and he darted back out to check the cell number again, certain it was the right place. Tugging out the piece of parchment, he double-checked the details, his chest so tight his breathing sounded too loud to his own ears. He was in the right place.

“What’s going on?” Rosier asked, his eyes glancing up and down the corridor nervously, his throat bobbing.

“She should be here!” Sebastian said, returning to the cell as though MC would have appeared in the seconds he had been gone, but the room remained stubbornly empty.  A bucket and a mug stood on the floor, and on a stone ledge, next to a dirty blanket, was a small glass potion bottle, the stopper discarded beside it. “Where is she?”

Rosier shrugged, glancing around the cell himself, the cold squalor of it making his cheeks paler than usual. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes,” Sebastian snapped, his fingers wrinkling the parchment as he felt his fear shift into fury. His cheeks flushed with it, eyes so dark they glittered as he strode out of the cell. “If that bitch, Black Dahlia, has tricked us, then she is going to die a very slow and painful death.”

Rosier was close on his heels, worry creasing his brow as he glanced up at the gathering interest above their heads. “Seb, we need to hurry up,” he muttered. “We need to get out of here.”

Grabbing at his hair in frustration, Sebastian realised that he couldn’t even search the prison in case she had been moved to a different cell. It made him almost choke. MC could be anywhere in this vast tomb of horror, and he had neither the time or the resources to hunt for her.

Fear and fury twisted together and he felt like screaming, the burn of it choking up his throat as he swung his arm out, wand lighting up and blasting a huge ball of fire down the corridor in his rage. The prisoners screamed and yelled, the clanging sound of tin cups on bars filling the air and the rasping, maddening cackle of the crone in her cell.

Ignoring Rosier’s attempts to calm him down, Sebastian rounded on the scrawny hag, his eyes narrowing. She stared at him through the bars, her eyes lit with gleeful madness.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” she crooned, wheezing with delight, her withered frame shaking with mirth. “All these pretty boys after the maiden fair.”

Sebastian stalked towards her, his wand up. The old bitch didn’t even flinch, her eyes pale and glowing with mischief as she eyed him. “Where is the girl from the cell opposite?” He demanded.

Her toothless grin was hideous, and his fingers flexed on his wand, his rage searing through his blood. MC had been within his grasp, and now she had been plucked out of thin air. Gone. 

“Tell me!” He yelled. “Where did she go?”

“Bloody hell, mate, easy,” Rosier said, stepping up beside him. “How is she going to know? She’s fucking insane. Look at her.”

The hag tittered, her gnarled fingers clutching excitedly at her bars. “Every maiden fair must have a prince to rescue her,” she rambled. She began to sway, her smile almost idiotic. “But, princes and men can be fickle. He left her, made her scream like he’d torn her heart asunder.”

“What does that mean?” Sebastian demanded, his breaths now shuddering into his lungs. “Who left her?” 

She went quiet, her eyes sly as she peered through the bars, her mouth curving into a wicked grin. “This one is jealous. Perhaps he is the villain here. He wants her for himself, but the prince came and took her away.”

Prewett’s name written in the book flashed up behind Sebastian’s eyes. Along with the memory from the pensieve and the sound of Prewett’s name on MC’s lips with that desperate look in her sunken gaze. Teeth clenching so tight it hurt, Sebastian’s fury seemed to flicker in front of his eyes. The very thought of Leander Prewett whisking MC away from under his nose like a knight on a white horse made his blood boil. That wasn’t how things were meant to be.

Why would he take MC out of here? It didn't make sense. 

This pathetic witch and her fairy tale taunts were too much, his jealous temper flaring in a white, hot spark that fizzed down his arm as he thrust his wand towards her. Her eyes screamed of madness, and it curdled his blood, the need to expel the horror made the curse burst from his lips.

“Crucio!”

Her howls of pain filled his ears, her skeletal face grotesque as she reeled back from the door, clattering to the floor like a bag of bones as red sparks flickered in the darkness. He waited for the satisfaction to come, but it didn't. The sight of the wretch bucking and screaming did nothing to ease his horror or his fury. Inflicting agony on this pathetic creature wouldn't bring MC back here, and yet he held the curse on her, trying to syphon out his pain. 

Those he loved kept being stolen from him, and he wasn't sure how many more times he could take it. 

“Bloody hell!” Rosier grabbed him, trying to pull Sebastian’s wand arm back. “What are you doing?”

Sebastian had lost sense of what was going on around him, his fury so thick and hot that he shoved Rosier back, slamming his hand against cold iron with a scream of rage. “Who took her? Where is MC?”

Gasping and drooling, the old crone trembled and clawed at the stone floor, her eyes rolling as she made guttural moans of pain despite the curse no longer holding her. Sebastian’s lip was curled in disgust, his eyes blazing whilst his heart seemed to squeeze behind his ribs. It felt like it had been drained bloodless. How could MC not be in her cell? How could she have left this place without him knowing about it? 

A cold thought entered his head, wiping out his fury in an instant, and he stilled, eyes horror struck as he glanced back at MC’s cell.

Was she dead? 

Immediate denial slammed through him, but he bent forward, unable to draw breath as the possibility refused to be quieted. He winced as his knees hit the hard stone, all colour draining from his face as he shook his head. Desperate now, he grabbed the bars of the hag’s door, his breathing shallow.

“Did she walk out of here?” He asked, his voice switching to pleading now. “Please, tell me she walked out. She can’t be…no. She isn’t dead. I would know.”

His hand fumbled into his pocket, fingers caressing over the bloodstone amulet, seeking reassurance. Surely, if MC were to be dead, the stone would cease to hold true to the pact. It would shatter into pieces, no longer useful or functional. Much like his heart if he ever lost her.

The hag turned her head, her bloodshot eyes fixing on him with a stare that made him feel even colder, goosebumps shivering along his arms and up his neck. Her mouth worked as she tried to speak, her chin slick with drool and blood where she had smashed her face when she fell. To Sebastian’s horror, she began to laugh. A rasping, gurgling chuckle that escalated into screeching howls of mad cackling, her head thrown back as she clutched at her wasted midriff.

Strong hands gripped him under his arms, hefting him upwards. “For fuck sake, Sallow. Get up!” Rosier berated, pulling Sebastian up to his feet. “We’ve got to run. Now!”

Recoiling from the mad wretch in her cell, Sebastian forced himself to look up, his eyes widening at the gathered mass of Dementors circling above them. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Come on,” Rosier said, pulling on his arm, his wand raised upwards. “Run, for Merlin’s sake!”

They ran, boots thudding on the stone as the other cells passed by in a blur, their breaths beginning to mist from the spreading ice of the Dementors presence. Wraiths began to swoop downwards, and the terrifying rattle of their breathing sounded loud in their ears. Sebastian saw the door to the Auror’s chambers and grabbed Rosier by the arm, hauling him towards it. He felt the brush of tattered robes ghost near his ear, and he ducked, turning swiftly on the spot and jabbing his wand upwards.

With a fierce glare on his face, he allowed his mind to fill with memories of better days, soft dreamy images of his friends at school, Anne running through the fields in Feldcroft with her hair wild about her rosy cheeks. He thought of nights secreted away in the Undercroft with a good book and even better company, summers with his parents sailing on the lochs, and the addictive taste of kisses with the girl who had stolen his soul at the sweet age of sixteen. 

Better times, happier times, before the darkness had come to claim him. 

“Expecto Patronum!”

The spell burst from his wand with such force he had to clamp two hands around it to hold it steady, the brilliant swell of white light filling the corridor and pressing the Dementors back. As the black wraiths spiralled upwards and away, chased by the white phantom of a leaping fox, Sebastian began to step backwards into the doorway. Rosier watched his Patronus charm with a look of awe on his face, the light of the magic reflecting in his blue eyes.

Slamming the door of the reception chamber open, Sebastian came to a stop before the long counter, bracing his hands against it whilst he caught his breath. Rosier gasped beside him, shaking his head as he planted his hands on his thighs.

“Get us out of here,” he panted. “I am done.”

Sebastian nodded, his gaze catching on the wooden boards hung on the wall opposite him, all the prisoner numbers and their images on display. Eyes moving swiftly, he came to where MC’s prisoner board should have been in the order of cell numbers, and his stomach turned to lead. The board was missing. A blank space with just an iron peg jutting from the stone. She really was gone. 

Dragging the heavy signing-in book towards him, he looked at the last two entries for her prisoner number. Harrington and Prewett, and then Prewett again yesterday. If anyone knew where she was, it was going to be Leander. His eyes narrowed in thought. It was time to have a little chat with Andrew Larson. He needed to get to Leander and fast. 

Taking hold of Rosier’s arm, he nodded and then Disapparated them out, his feet landing on the wooden floorboards of the small room in the Black Rose that he shared with Rosier. With a flick of his wand, he lit the lamp, pushing back the darkness, craving some warmth and normality after the dark oppression of the prison. Slumping in relief and defeat, Sebastian sat down hard on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. How had it gone so horribly wrong?

Rookwood was going to be furious. They had risked their necks going into that prison, and they had come out empty-handed. Solomon had always said he would amount to nothing, and no doubt would side with Ominis and Anne over his choice of companions lately, but to fuck up at something like this. Solomon would be laughing from his grave, no doubt. 

“I always knew you would end up a failure, boy.” 

Shuddering at the darker memories of his childhood struggles, Sebastian shoved them away, his insecurities starting to eat into him. His fury now dissipated, Sebastian felt the ball of grief in his chest swell, and he swallowed through it, rubbing his face at the loss of MC all over again.

“What the fuck was that all about back there, Seb?” Rosier asked, still getting his breath back. “You cast Crucio on that crone, and for what? She was crazy, talking about a load of rubbish. Why get so mad?” 

Sebastian glanced up at Rosier, once again lamenting his need to keep the man at arms length. When people knew too much, they became a liability, and he rather liked Leo. Losing his temper back at the prison had revealed his hand, and he mulled over his words as he looked up at his camp mate. 

“It was fucked up,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I will be lucky if Rookwood doesn't torture my own arse the same way for failing.” 

Rosier studied him, slowly taking a seat on the twin bed opposite Sebastian, drumming his fingers on the faded bedspread. 

“This girl, this MC. Just what, exactly, does she mean to you, Seb?” He asked, drawing his lower lip into his mouth thoughtfully. “You lost your shit when you realised she was gone, and when you mentioned her being dead, you were as white as a sheet. How would you know if she was dead? What's going on? There's more to this, isn't there?” 

Sebastian pressed his fingers to his lips, eyeing Rosier with a sinking realisation that he had definitely revealed too much. He had managed to deflect his questions in the Leaky Cauldron, but Rosier was as smart as a whip, and Sebastian wouldn't be able to fool him for long. With a sigh, he let his hands drop between his thighs, his expression one of defeated exhaustion as he looked at Rosier. He was tired, so very tired of feeling alone.

“She means something to me,” he confessed. “I thought I was going to get her back tonight, and yet her cell was empty. After four long years of waiting, I feel like I just lost her all over again.” 

Rosier closed his eyes and nodded, glancing down at his booted feet for a moment before speaking. “Does Rookwood know?” 

“He probably suspects,” Sebastian admitted. “I've never openly talked about it, only that I know her.” 

“And Lulu?” Rosier lifted his gaze to Sebastian, his eyebrows lifted in enquiry about the beautiful witch. 

Sebastian groaned and shook his head. “She hasn't heard a thing from me about MC, so if she knows anything, it's whatever her father has told her.” 

“Merlin’s beard, Seb. You walk a tight line, don't you?” Rosier smirked. “I've always had the feeling you've got deep secrets. But, I never realised just how close to the edge you walked with Rookwood. Withholding information, fucking his daughter on the sly…are you trying to get yourself killed?”  

Sebastian matched Rosier’s smirk and shrugged. “What's life without a little adventure?” 

“You're a slippery bastard, Sallow,” Rosier huffed, shaking his head. He pushed his fingers through his blonde hair and smiled. “I won't say anything about your prisoner girl. I have to say, though, I'm rather looking forward to meeting her. All this excitement surrounding her, she sounds like fun.” 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “You'll be keeping your hands to yourself, Rosier,” he warned. “Not only do I know where they've been, it would be a shame to hex them. They are rather useful in a scrap.” 

Rosier laughed, falling back onto his bed and holding his hands up. “I swear to all gods known to man, I won't make a play for her.” 

“Then I guess we can remain friends,” Sebastian smirked, laying back on his own bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

A quiet settled over the room as both men processed the last hour or so, shadows of darker memories trying to creep into Sebastian’s thoughts, the echo of the old crones screams pressing on his conscience. 

“MC means that much to you, and yet wasn't she serving time for doing your uncle in?” Rosier asked, turning to look at him.

Sebastian worried at his lower lip, keeping his gaze fixed upwards as he thought about Solomon and his cruel mouth, his swinging fists, and unforgiving eyes. 

“My uncle was a mean bastard,” Sebastian said flatly. “MC was the only one who really understood.” 

She had understood, and she remained at his side. She had bled for him, lied for him, and she had spent four years in that chilling nightmare of a place for him. Seeing the reality of Azkaban and remembering the image of her in that pensieve memory, the leaden ball in his chest that held his guilt and grief seemed to spread into every fibre of his being. Had he really done enough to help her? Her sacrifices were huge in comparison to his efforts to save her, and it weighed heavily on him, his fingers caressing the scar on his palm. 

That old hag had called him a villain of MC's story, and Sebastian had retaliated by hitting her with the Cruciatus curse. A curse he had cast on MC in the Scriptorium in order to save himself. Maybe he was the villain of her life, and the thought was not a comfortable one. Next to him, Prewett would be a knight in shining armour, a prince coming to save the maiden fair. 

“So, she killed him for you?” Rosier asked. The question hung heavy in the air, rather close to the bone in truth. She didn't take Solomon down, but she took the fall. She did it for him. 

“I owe her everything, Leo,” Sebastian said with a sigh. “I've got to find her. Whatever it takes.” 

“Then we find her,” Rosier said with finality. “What's the plan? Are we still going to track this Auror down that you knew?” 

“That's top of the list,” Sebastian said, determination darkening his gaze. “Prewett knows where she is. His name was in that prison ledger, inked by his own fucking hand, and that nasty crone pretty much told us that MC left with a man. It was him. I know it was.” 

“Then that's what we'll do. As long as Rookwood doesn't kill us first.” 

Sebastian threw Rosier a smirk as he adjusted the lumpy pillow under his head. “I'd like to see him try. He talks a big game, but I reckon I could take him easily enough. He'd be too scared to get his gentleman's coat dirty in a real fight. That's why he has men like Carrow around to do the hard work.” 

Rosier chuckled. “Do you reckon you could take Carrow?” 

Sebastian’s grin split his face, his eyes gleaming at the thought. “You're looking at a duelling champion here, mate. I take great pleasure in bringing down bastards like Carrow. I took Prewett down a few times during the duelling matches we used to fight. He might have passed the Auror Program, but I could still take him on.” 

The villain against the white knight. He had never wanted to be a villain. He wanted to be the one MC needed. He would rather be her white knight than bring any more darkness into her life. The shadows of their secrets probably made that impossible, so if he had to, he would take on the darker role. He knew that he would do whatever it took to get her back, especially now, no matter how dark. 

For once, Sebastian wanted the villain to win the maiden fair, his chest aching at the absence of MC. They could rewrite the trope. Together. She should have been here with him tonight, beside him, where he could hold her close. Whether for her comfort or his own, he wasn't sure who needed it more. 

MC

Everything was so clean and bright that her eyes burned in their sockets, her trembling fingers shielding them from the glare of the real world. There were no screams here, no sobbing and wailing, no banging of cups against cold iron. There was just peaceful quietness, the soft sound of the breeze outside the window, and the distant chirp of a bird singing their joy. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth that felt like an inferno compared to the cold stone of Azkaban, and yet still MC shivered.

The room she stood in was charming. A picture-perfect image of a country cottage, with an inglenook fireplace and a bowl of fruit on the table. There was a high backed armchair near the fire, similar to those found in the common room, and a settee with deep cushions. Leander had called it a safe house, and she wondered how true that was. It did look soft and warm, inviting, and yet she stood there almost recoiling from it all. 

She felt out of place, fractured, like she had wandered into someone else's dreams, and she did not belong. The soft rug beneath her filthy feet was a strange sensation, her toes curling experimentally into what felt like a guilty pleasure. Eyes brimming with tears from the overwhelming emotions swarming in her chest, MC looked up at the man standing next to her, his fingers slipping from her elbow where he had held her to Apparate. 

How strange to look at Leander now and be wary of his proximity, and yet she also craved for him to be close, to stand right beside her so that he could hold her up should her wobbling knees buckle. It was dangerous to be so dependent on a person. She used to pride herself on being able to stand against whatever life threw at her, but her eyes were drawn to the tall Auror who had whisked her out of captivity, fearing that he might vanish at any moment and leave her lost and alone. Feeling this fragile had her slamming her walls up out of habit, but there were no Dementors here.

She was no longer in Azkaban. She was free. 

The sight of Leander at her cell door after the way he had left her had set her pulse flying, hardly daring to believe he was really there after the way he had said goodbye to her, leaving her screaming for him at her cell door. When he had placed the release parchment into her hands, she had stared at the inked words, trying to make sense of this new turnaround to events. Her cold demand to Harrington in the questioning chamber had earned her freedom, her answers enough to revoke charges and reduce her sentence. The details of the probation seemed like child’s play compared to the horror one faced within the walls of that prison, and she had signed the papers immediately, ignoring the offer of twenty four hours to think about it. What was there to think about? Why stay another day in that hell when she could be free?

Now, though, now that she was out of the dark walls of oppressive cold, she felt the urge to seek out more darkness. It was as though the light would burn her, expose her, and leave her vulnerable. Would her mental walls of protection work out here? Who were her enemies now that she had escaped the malice of the Dementors?

How at ease Leander looked in these lovely surroundings, how neat his clothes, his pretty copper hair shining in the sunlight filtering through the window. Tall, with wide shoulders and slim hips, long graceful fingers, his pale skin sprinkled with dozens of freckles. He stood with confidence, sure of his place in the world, and she envied him. Where did she fit now?

“A Healer will be along shortly to take a look at you. Make sure you are alright,” he said with a soft smile. “There are clean clothes for you in the bedroom and a bath so that you can get cleaned up. The store cupboard is stocked so you won’t go hungry. Would you like me to make you something?”

MC stared at him, her arms wrapped around her midriff as she trembled on the pretty rug, feeling like the ground had been ripped out from under her feet. In the last 24 hours she had been strapped into a chair and questioned, and then he had left her, leaving her sobbing on her cell floor thinking she would be alone in the dark again, and then the appearance of the strange woman in the hooded cloak that had made her question her sanity. 

Now, she was here, with him. He had pulled her out of that darkness, bringing her to an image of domestic bliss. His calmness grated on the frayed edges of her nerves. The choking maelstrom of emotions in her chest seemed to fizz through her veins, and she clenched her hands into fists, her face contorting into fury. The smile slipped from his lips as she glared at him.

“Give me my wand,” she hissed, her eyes glowing with fire. “I don’t care about the stocked cupboard and your bath, I just want my wand.” 

Leander paled, licking his lips as he moved towards her, his hands out. “Your wand isn’t here. It’s still in secure lock up at the Ministry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, MC.”

Finally, she moved, backing up away from him. Her eyes darted to the side as she sought an exit route, the over stimulation making her mind scream for quiet darkness. “Save your apologies,” she spat, her adrenaline making her shakes become more pronounced as she skirted the settee. His hands reached out again, and she flinched away. “Don’t touch me!”

If he touched her, she would crumble, and she was barely holding up the walls of her defences as it was. It was all so surreal, so outlandish and wrong. She needed her wand. She needed security.  

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t touch you,” he said, holding his hands up. “But you need to calm down. You are safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you, and this house is warded so nobody can get in or out without permission.”

“So, I am just as much a prisoner here as in Azkaban?” She screeched, her eyes becoming wider, filled with desperate panic. The notion that this might be a trap entered her head, and now she couldn’t shake it, her heart hammering so fast she thought she might pass out. “I can’t do this. I need to get out.”

In her haste to escape, she bumped her leg against a side table, making the lamp there wobble precariously. She stumbled, catching herself on the arm of the settee. She pulsed with the need to flee, to run, to hide. Never would she have imagined that she would miss her cell, but right now, it was the only sanctuary she could think of, encased in the dark walls.

“Where are you going?” He asked, hurrying around the back of the settee to cut her off.

“Away from you,” she ground out, reaching to grab a cushion from the settee, the soft plushness of it a shock to her hands. The urge to squeeze it was almost like an ache, but she ignored it, heaving the cushion towards Leander’s head as she scrambled in the opposite direction to him.

Of course, he caught it, tossing it aside as he hurried after her. Her feet thudded across the wooden floor towards a door, her hands grabbing for the handle, but she was infuriatingly weak, and he caught up to her easily. To his credit, he didn’t touch her. He just slammed his hands against the door to prevent her from opening it, his body towering over hers and effectively pinning her against the wood.

“Please, don’t run from me,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I would never hurt you, MC. I meant it when I said that.”

Panting, her trembling frame pressed up against the door, she refused to look up at him. She kept her gaze fixed on her hands wrapped around the door handle. Her legs were shaking so badly she feared she would fall, her ears roared with her pulse and she felt the tell tale sting of tears behind her eyes.

“You lied,” she rasped. The walls around the cavern in her chest cracked, a whimper leaving her lips as she sagged against the door, her fingers bone white with her grip around the handle. “You left me.”

Leander’s hands slid slowly from the door, and he backed up, her eyes blinking up towards him and catching the look of devastation on his face, his soft lips parted. He shook his head in denial, his gaze one of sad regret. “You will never know how hard it was to walk away from you like that.”

MC squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear that softness, that look on his face that sent tendrils of warmth around her ribs, seeking a way in. She couldn’t let him in, not again. He had walked away, and left her feeling so hollow. Her pride was a broken thing, her head was spinning with a thousand thoughts, and there was still too much light in the room.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, she twisted the door handle and pulled the door open to reveal the well stocked food larder. The irony was not lost on her as she stared at tins of food, a basket of bread sat on a shelf, and herbs were hanging from hooks along the far wall. She huffed a laugh of disbelief at the sight, a cracked chuckle that quickly shifted into tears that scalded her cheeks as they leaked from her eyes.

“MC…”

“I don’t know how to do this,” she sobbed, bringing her hands to her face. 

Gentle hands on her shoulders had her turning on the spot, the firmness of his chest pressed against her cheek as his arms enveloped her, holding her in an embrace that dissolved the rest of her defences. Her fingers curled into his waistcoat, her tears leaking into the snowy whiteness of his shirt as she breathed in his scent, something that was becoming so familiar to her. 

“You won’t be doing this alone,” he assured her, his hands sliding up the length of her spine until he was cupping the back of her head. “I’m your probation Auror, remember? And I think we both know that this has become more than just a job to me, MC. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

The ancient power that slumbered in her veins meant that she didn’t really need anyone to protect her. If anything, she was more dangerous than the worst of the Ashwinders once she had a wand in her hand. But, for now, she let Leander hold her and tell her that she would be safe. He took her hand and led her to another door, opening it to reveal a bedroom beyond. He paused in the doorway and nodded for her to go in.

“I’ll let you get yourself sorted out,” he said, his hand lingering on hers before he stepped back. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything. Alright?”

Backing into the room, she stared up at him. The risks he had taken, the kindness he had shown, it was more than any other Auror would have done for her. It was true. This was more than just another assigned job for him. Again, she was reminded of how dangerous it was to become close to him. How addictive his warmth was becoming, and whilst craving just that, she was also wary of it.

As the door clicked shut, her hands and forehead pressed against it, a stifled moan of grief tried to escape her lips. She didn’t even know what she was grieving for, but she felt so empty, so heavy and yet faded, like she would drift away into nothing.

Turning, she gazed around a bedroom, just as cosy and warm as the main room. There was a double bed made up with white sheets and thick blankets, and a vase of flowers sat on the bedside table beside a stack of books. Light bathed the space through a window that looked out across fields, the gentle roll of hills in the distance. She had no idea where she was. She could be anywhere. 

Gasping in her breaths, she hurried to the window and gripped the floral curtains, yanking them closed to block out the light. The room darkened, but it wasn’t enough. Tight panic gripped her chest again, and she dived for a shadowed corner beside a wardrobe, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms tightly around her legs. Shivering and gasping, she pressed her forehead to her knees and bit back her scream, tears flooding her eyes.

Maybe she wasn’t as free as she first thought. The darkness still held her in its grip, and Leander could only do so much to hold her shadows at bay. 

….*....

Stomach hollow with hunger, and her eyes tight and raw from tears, MC sat on the seat before the dressing table and stared at her reflection. The girl who stared back was a stranger. In the dim light of the room, her pale skin looked ghostly, drawn tight over the jut of her bones. Her hair was long and lifeless, but it was her eyes that chilled her the most. She recognised them as her own, but the haunted darkness that dwelled in them spoke of loneliness and loss. The girl she once knew was long gone. 

She looked down at her hands, her fingers so pink and clean, the skin puckered like dried fruit from soaking in warm bath water for so long. It had taken three baths to get her clean. The first left the water so black she'd climbed out almost straight away. By the third, she had just sunk under the warmth of the rose scented water, waiting for the comforting feeling to seep into her bones, but it didn't.

After the fire of her tantrum earlier, she now felt numb. She had cried until her chest had hurt, rocking back and forth, her fingers tracing constantly over the scar on her palm. At last, her memories could flood her mind, no longer at risk from being sucked away by the Dementors kiss. Her longing to look upon Sebastian one more time was joined by the fear that he wouldn't even know her, that he had moved on with his life and she was just some girl he used to know. 

There was no one else in the world to wait for her. She had no family, and she was sure her friends from Hogwarts would want nothing to do with a murderer. Sebastian was the only one who knew her truth. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture him, the boy she knew. 

Sighing softly, she shook her head and looked into the mirror again. No longer a child, she was a woman, and Sebastian would be a man. No doubt he looked different now, perhaps taller and stronger, like Leander. She imagined he was just as handsome, though. Four years was a long time, and she wondered if he had found love with someone new. 

Could she blame him if he had? The years stolen from them stretched out like a lifetime. Surely, he would be a different person now, just as she didn’t recognise the girl staring back at her in the looking glass. 

Pushing the thought aside before she began to cry again, she stood, smoothing her hands down the front of the pale blue blouse she had chosen from the wardrobe. She couldn't deny the simple pleasure of clean clothes, although she had left the corset where she had found it and chose trousers instead of a skirt. She'd never been one for airs and graces, and she wasn't about to start now. 

Moving towards the door, she pressed her ear against it, her brow furrowing slightly at the soft sound of voices coming from the main room on the other side. Slowly, she turned the handle and opened the door, peering out.

At the table sat Leander, a teapot and cups laid out before him, and in a chair adjacent to him sat a beautiful, dark-haired woman. MC’s eyes narrowed as she studied this woman, recognising her as the Auror from Leander’s memory in the pensieve. She had suggested that Leander make her talk by implying that Sebastian was in a relationship with Rookwood’s daughter.

Her mouth tightened with instant dislike. She watched as they talked together, the woman reaching out to touch her hand to Leander’s arm. His cheeks flushed pink, his gaze rather bashful as this simpering bitch fluttered her dark lashes at him. MC’s stomach coiled tightly and she swung the door open wider, stepping out into the room to reveal herself. Leander glanced up, his eyes widening as they swept over her.

“MC…wow…you look…Do you feel better?” He stuttered, getting to his feet. He reached for another cup and placed it before the empty chair on his other side. “Let me pour you some tea. Come, join us. I would like you to meet my colleague, Odessa McKinnon. She will be taking some of the watches here with you, starting with later on this evening.” 

MC moved closer as Leander poured tea from the pot, slipping into the chair that Leander hurried to hold out for her whilst keeping her suspicious gaze on McKinnon. Leander tucked her chair in, his fingers grazing her shoulder as he moved to return to his own chair. Cleaner than she had been in years, and feeling slightly more human now that she was dressed in proper clothes, MC felt her spine stiffen as McKinnon gave her the once over.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, MC,” she purred, one beautifully shaped eyebrow arching slightly as she lifted her tea cup. “I have heard so much about you, all your notorious deeds and wonderful magic. I have to admit, I have been rather intrigued.”

“You’re here to watch me tonight?” MC asked, her voice flat calm. She turned the saucer holding her teacup on the table top, relieved that her fingers did not tremble as she did so, her eyes cold and blank as she stared at the smug woman. “Aren’t you concerned that I might try to kill you?”

Leander hissed air through his teeth in a gasp. McKinnon didn’t move a muscle, but there was a subtle flare in her eyes as she put down her cup. “Out of prison a mere few hours and you’re already risking being thrown back inside,” she tutted. “I didn’t take you for a fool, MC.”

“But you take me for a murderer, correct? I have previous experience in that department. The man whom I thought to be Rookwood disappeared into a cloud of ash by my hands. They would have a hard time proving I did anything to you without a body as evidence,” MC said coolly. Her eyes glittered with cold malice as she lifted her cup and took a sip, the hot liquid washing over her tongue and making it tingle, the flavour blooming inside her mouth after years of tepid water. 

Leander rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, his eyes disapproving as he glanced her way, but she only smiled as she returned her cup to its saucer. McKinnon flicked an uneasy frown in Leander's direction and shifted in her chair. “You haven’t tried to hurt Prewett, so your heart can’t be that cold, love,” she said, tilting her head. “If you are trying to scare me, it won’t work. I’ve seen much nastier dark wizards than you.”

“I shall take that as a challenge, then,” MC said with a smirk. She slid her eyes towards a rather awkward looking Leander, and her gaze softened. “Besides, why would I want to hurt Leander? I rather like him. You, on the other hand...”

MC's eyes hardened again on those last words, the instant dislike she had for this Auror setting her teeth on edge. She would need to ensure that her defences were on full alert around this one, there was a gleam in her eyes that MC did not like, a smug assurance that took some of the edge off her beauty. If only she could have her wand.

McKinnon shifted in her seat again, perhaps not as smug as she was trying to portray as she leant her elbow on the table top, her hand supporting her chin. “Luckily, I enjoy a challenge, too,” she said, her eyes becoming devious slits. “Speaking of challenges. Your old flame, Sebastian Sallow, is rather handy with a wand, isn’t he? He put up quite the fight when I tracked him down in Glasgow. Quite the handsome devil, too. I can see why you liked him.”

MC stiffened, her fingers twitching to grip against the table top at the mention of Sebastian’s name. McKinnon’s smile was far too arrogant, too knowing. 

“Rookwood’s daughter seems to think so as well. Quite the striking pair they make when they fight,” McKinnon continued.

Leander sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps we should keep the conversation to more relevant topics, ladies,” he suggested.

“How is Sebastian not relevant?” McKinnon asked, shifting her gaze to Leander. “He is in deep with Rookwood, and MC needs to be prepared.”

Trying to keep her temper was difficult considering the violent swing of her emotions today, but MC did her best to sit still and keep her mouth clamped tightly shut. She knew what this bitch was doing. She was trying to bait her, to wind her up and make her show her hand, and MC didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of succeeding. This is what McKinnon had suggested Leander do to her, her snide comments revealed in Leander's pensieve memory, but he hadn’t done it. 

Her hands came together, her fingers touching against the scar on her palm, a reminder that Sebastian would never turn his back on her. He couldn’t. Just like she could never turn her back on him. As difficult as it was to think of him being with Rookwood’s daughter, if that is what he wanted, then what could she do? The very thought of him touching another woman made her stomach twist, sadness engulfing the dark space in her chest at the loss of what could have been, but she would never allow McKinnon the satisfaction of knowing that. No matter how harshly it scraped along her deepest fears. 

“I am well aware of how Sebastian fights. We used to train together,” MC said, shrugging her shoulders as if she was not concerned. “When the time comes for me to track down the Ashwinders, I can’t see it being a problem. Like you said, I have such wonderful magic available at my fingertips, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Now, that is a showdown I would pay good galleons to see,” McKinnon said. Her sly smirk swung towards Leander. “Perhaps the idea of sending her into the pits is a good one, after all.” 

“What pits?” MC asked, glancing between them. 

McKinnon chuckled and got to her feet, taking her robe from the back of her chair to put on. Leander stood too, always the gentleman, stepping forward to help her with her robe. MC watched them both, noticing the flirty gleam in McKinnon's eyes as she smiled at Leander when she thanked him. 

“I'm sure Prewett will fill you in on all the details regarding the pits,” she said, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. Her smug smile lifted her lips. “I have some errands to run, so I shall say goodbye for now. I will return for my watch duty later.” 

“I can't wait,” MC muttered, rolling her eyes. 

Leander walked her towards the door that led outside, MC watching through narrowed eyes as McKinnon touched her hand to his arm again. 

“I will see you later,” she said, leaning in a little, her voice low and intimate. “And I shall tell Harrington that you will meet him as suggested.”

Leander nodded, that delicate blush staining his cheeks again. “Thank you, Odessa.” 

Watching the exchange, MC realised she hadn't given much thought to what Leander's personal life might be like. She had only seen him as the Auror in his visits, with glimpses of the boy she remembered from their short time together at school. For the first time, she wondered what he liked, the kind of books he read, or what his favourite food was. 

Did he have a lover? Watching him with McKinnon, she didn't think they were that close, but perhaps the suggestion of something more being possible lingered in their glances and smiles. The idea was oddly repulsive, and MC's mouth tightened with disapproval as she sat back in the chair and folded her arms. 

Leander returned to the table and began to gather up the teacups after McKinnon had left. MC watched him, her gaze following him as he took the cups to the sink under the window. 

“What are the pits?” She asked.

He turned to face her, brushing his hands together. “There is an illegal duelling club that takes place in the new London underground train tunnels. Rookwood is involved, and his Ashwinders take part in fights for money.”

Her eyebrows shot up with interest. “So, it's like a bigger, more dangerous version of Crossed Wands?” 

Leander huffed a laugh and came back to the table and picked up the teapot. “Definitely more dangerous. People die down there,” he said pointedly. He held up the teapot. “Would you like some more?” 

MC nodded and slid her cup forward to be refilled. “That delightful colleague of yours suggested I would be sent to these illegal duelling fights. Why is that?” 

Leander bit his lip. “That hasn't been agreed upon yet. We need to do some more investigating first before we even consider sending you down there. It could be a good way to infiltrate you into the gang.” 

“Does Sebastian duel there?” 

Leander slowly put down the teapot and placed his hands on the back of his chair. She could see the reluctance in his eyes, but she needed to know, almost holding her breath as she waited. 

“I can't say for sure that he does, but it is likely he will be there,” he said. He met her eyes. “Would you be alright with that? I don't want to place you in situations that might be difficult.” 

Whilst her pulse raced, MC once again maintained a cool approach, shrugging her shoulders as she picked up her tea. “I can handle myself. I wouldn't make a very good spy for you if I couldn't. I will be fine.” 

Leander pulled back his chair and sat down facing her. He placed a hand on the table top near hers but didn't touch her. 

“I meant it when I said I didn't want to hurt you, and that includes placing you in dangerous situations. I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn't mean I won't be concerned. Harrington and I are going to check these duelling pits out later and see what they are like,” he said. “McKinnon will be here while I am gone, and I will tell you what I can once I return. Nothing will be finalised until I speak with you first.” 

It was so very hard to maintain that cold exterior when he looked at her like that, his eyes so open and earnest, but she kept her face still as she returned his gaze. She tried to imagine him in a highly dangerous situation, tried to picture the transition from soft hearted Lee to a fighting Auror, and it wasn't easy. 

Her hand shifted on the table top, her little finger brushing up against the warmth of his hand. 

“Be careful while you're gone,” she said quietly. Her lips twitched ever so slightly. “Don't leave me alone with that smug bitch for too long. I'd rather not risk being sent back to Azkaban, but I won't rule out the desire to slap her irritatingly perfect face.”  

He looked down to where she was touching him, and she saw his throat work as he swallowed. “I will only be there a few hours, and then I will come back. I promise. Try and get some sleep. McKinnon isn't so bad once you get to know her. We trained together.” 

MC stared into his eyes, the air feeling heavy between them. “She fancies you,” she murmured and watched as a deep flush coloured his freckled cheeks. 

“We are just colleagues,” he assured her, touching his fingers to his tie to straighten it. “She is naturally flirtatious. She does it with everyone, not just me.” 

“Would you like it to be just you she flirts with? The way she looked at you makes me think you are in with a chance there.”

“I’m not sure if that’s entirely appropriate,” he gulped.

Leander cleared his throat, his fingers now fiddling with his tie, rearranging it and ensuring it was tucked neatly into his waistcoat. His flush now darkened his neck, and his gaze skipped away from her as he stood.

MC felt a genuine smile twitch at her lips, seeing the awkward, flustered boy from their youth as he tried to calm his fluster. She reached out and took hold of his hand, her thumb sweeping over the softness of his palm.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you, Lee,” she said gently before letting her gaze dip to their joined hands. It was surprising how just that brief and gentle contact could bring such comfort. Reluctantly, she let him go. “Besides, your personal life is none of my business. Forgive me.”

The look that they shared lingered, the moment feeling heavy and poised in the silence of the room. MC felt the hair rise on the back of her neck, a deep ache swelling within her to feel like she belonged somewhere, the black cavern in her chest warping with a loneliness that stole her breath.

“Let me fix you something to eat,” Leander said, breaking the strange tension in the room. “You must be hungry. I could make you a sandwich?”

MC blinked, nodding quickly as she compressed the confusing ache within her, masking it with her walls of cold stone. She was hungry. Although, when Leander placed down the plate onto the table before her, she stared at the cheese sandwich and wondered how she would ever be able to swallow it over the tightness in her throat. 

The first bite filled her mouth with stinging surprise, all the texture and flavour so strange against her tongue as she chewed. It had been so long since she had eaten normal food, and as she took more mouthfuls, she began to chew faster. Her stomach gnawed with ravenous hunger, and she ate the entire sandwich, her belly rumbling and squeaking at the new contents she had thrown into it. Immediately, she felt very full, her hand rubbing over her stomach carefully as she groaned.

“It’s probably best to start with small meals until your stomach gets used to eating again,” Leander said, smiling at her like a proud parent across the table. “You will be eating roast dinners before you know it.”

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze, and she didn’t just mean for the sandwich.

He nodded, a knock at the door breaking the moment before it could become loaded again like before. They both turned to look towards the door, and Leander stood. “Ah, that will be the Healer,” he said. “Perfect timing.”

As Leander went to open the door and greet the Healer, MC remained at the table, her belly full and her body feeling clean from head to toes. Although the future stretched out huge and uncertain before her, for the first time since her feet landed on the perfectly swept floors of this house, she thought maybe she could do this after all. 

Sebastian

Keeping a lid on his own rage was increasingly difficult as those around him spoke with raised voices, the private room at the back of The Black Rose pub filled with Rookwood’s closest henchmen. Sebastian and Rosier stood near the wall, watching as all hell broke loose, each man having his own piece to say on what they thought the Ministry was up to.

“Since when is a prisoner released without some kind of announcement in the Daily Prophet,” Carrow said, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “Especially a high profile prisoner such as this girl. It was all over the front page when she was convicted and sent to Azkaban. I don’t like it.”

Rookwood sat at the head of the table rubbing his chin slowly, his face in deep thought, his eyes shifting towards Sebastian with a dark look. “This had better not be a trick, Sallow,” he said darkly. “You didn’t get her out and hide her somewhere, did you?”

Sebastian clenched his fists, his face darkening at the suggestion. Rosier tapped his fingers against his elbow, his blue eyes flashing with a warning to be careful.

“You can take the very memory from my head if you doubt me so much,” Sebastian offered, straightening his spine. “Believe me, I’m just as pissed off as you are. We risked our necks going into that place. If anyone is up to trickery, it’s that bitch, Black Dahlia.”

Rookwood hummed thoughtfully, his gaze sliding back to Carrow. “Any word from our little whisperer?”

“Not a thing,” Carrow said, his mouth tight. 

Sebastian’s top lip curled with his disgust and fury. There was no love lost when it came to Black Dahlia where he was concerned, but his patience was wearing dangerously thin, his hand lingering near his wand in its holster. He folded his arms and leant against the wall, chewing at his lower lip in frustration, his head drifting into a darker place as he considered painful ways of making her talk.

At the table beside Rookwood sat his daughter, Luella, her blonde curls held up in a twist, loose strands breaking free to hang around her face. She was sitting quietly, taking in the words spoken by those around her, but her gaze kept drifting over towards Sebastian. Her blue eyes were lit with a familiar gleam as they passed over him, lingering on his mouth and wandering downwards over his body with a hunger that had once stirred him. 

She had arrived yesterday, curious and eager to meet the escaped prisoner, but had walked into the angry fallout of MC being missing. Last night, Sebastian had dodged her questions, soaking his innards in shots of whiskey to try and drown out the deep ache in his chest. When her hands had wandered, her lips soft against his ear, he had been tempted, but eventually spurned her advances outside his bedroom door. His bleary gaze had wandered over her hair, her eyes, the shape of her mouth, and it was all wrong. She wasn’t MC. 

Here, in the meeting room, he was careful to avoid holding her gaze for too long. He needed to keep his distance from her, his main focus now being the seeking out of Leander Prewett and tracking down MC. 

He had managed to corner Larson this morning, coercing him into a side alley near Gringotts Bank, and he’d asked him about Prewett. Larson hadn’t changed much since school, but he had surprised Sebastian with a steely determination not to be pushed around. Sebastian had changed tactics swiftly, using his silver tongue to suggest that he just wanted to talk to Prewett, that he had information that could prove useful. He had sent the blonde Ravenclaw off with assurances that his message would be passed on. 

Rookwood stood up, adjusting his long gentleman’s coat, his eyes softening briefly as he glanced Luella’s way. He cast his eyes around the room, his eyes lit with a devilish gleam. “Let’s not fret, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll get to the truth of it in due course,” he said, his gaze landing on Sebastian. “Sallow is already chasing a lead within the Ministry, and once Black Dahlia shows her face, her lips had better start moving. For now, let us enjoy some entertainment. There are fights to bet on in the pits, and whores to slake our lusts. I say we adjourn to the tunnels and start the night early.”

A rousing murmur of agreement went up around the room, and Rosier grinned beside Sebastian. “I’m up for that,” he said, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and tucking one between his lips. He held the packet out to Sebastian, but he waved him off. “Are you coming, Sallow?”

Sebastian turned his gaze from Luella and considered Rosier’s question, his fingers caressing along the handle of his wand. “Actually, I could do with a damned good scrap,” he said thoughtfully, the burn of his frustration like an itch in his veins. “A few fast duels ought to satiate the hunger.”

“Or you could put Lulu out of her misery,” Rosier smirked, shaking his head. “Honestly, the eye fucking is becoming too obvious. I’m surprised Daddy Rookwood hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

Sebastian huffed and began to walk towards the door, following the others as they filed out of the room. Rosier joined him, and Sebastian leaned in to speak quietly. “I’m done with all that,” he muttered. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about. If you want to hit her up, go for it. Maybe she will leave me alone once you’ve got your hands on her.”

Rosier looked doubtful. “Lulu has always been picky with her men. She’s only got eyes for you, mate. But, you know me, I’ll give any ride a go.”

Sebastian’s mouth spread into a grin as he looked towards his friend, slinging an arm about his shoulders as they entered the bar of The Black Rose. “I do know you,” he said, ruffling Rosier’s dark, blonde hair. “And I appreciate your enthusiasm for life. Come on, let’s get down into those pits and inflict some damage. My wand is thirsty for some action.”

Leander

Despite it being the evening, the Auror office was just as busy, some at their desks whilst others were having meetings or gathering files for cases. Leander made his way through the desk cubicles, heading for his own to check if the file containing the gathered evidence for the duelling pits was there. He always liked to refresh his thoughts on the most recent information before heading out for field work. Knowledge was power, and going down into those tunnels was risky enough without knowing plenty of details.

His desk was as neat as he had left it, his files stored in a perfect pile in his tray. He flicked through them quickly, frowning slightly as he couldn’t find the one he was looking for. He glanced over at the untidy chaos of McKinnon’s desk and sighed, moving over to begin checking her scattered folders, but it wasn’t there either. Harrington’s desk turned up nothing, and so he headed towards the researcher's room in the hope it was there rather than being back in the archives.

The team of researchers that worked for the British Auror Office were methodical fact checkers, gathering and storing any evidence attained by Aurors and ensuring it was all filed correctly. They were also rather good at picking out patterns in evidence, and they were often an invaluable asset in solving cases. If Leander hadn’t managed to pass the tough Auror program, he had thought to become a researcher as a backup career. It was the pursuit of justice without the field work and fighting, all from the comfort of a desk inside the sanctuary of the Ministry. 

As Leander walked down the hall towards the research offices, his head was filled with thoughts of MC. The knowledge that she was safely tucked away in the safe house, warm and comfortable, made some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Seeing her out of that dark and cold prison had brought a lump to his throat, especially when she had stepped out of the bedroom dressed in clean clothes, her hair soft about her face, her skin still slightly pink from her bath. He had been glad that McKinnon had been there to stop him from immediately going to her, his fingers aching to brush against the lines of her cheek, the pull of her stronger than ever despite his effort to hold back.

This case was so big, and she was a key part of it, he could not afford to mess this up. He had to be so careful, but one look at her big, haunted eyes was enough to make that soft part of himself that he hid so carefully behind his ribs, swell to a chest tightening bloom. It was a lesson in restraint to keep his hands to himself, to keep his thoughts on the job and not constantly on her. When she had brushed her finger up against his hand earlier, her lips uttering a soft plea for him to be careful whilst he was gone, it had taken all of his strength to behave like a gentleman. 

Entering the research office, he cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, striding past the girl on the reception desk with a polite nod as he made his way towards Larson’s desk. If anyone ought to know where the file was, it would be him. Andrew was indeed at his desk despite the later hour, his head bent over a thick stack of parchment, his fingers pushed into the soft wave of his blonde hair as he supported himself on the desk.

“Good evening, Andrew,” he said, coming to a stop beside him. “That’s quite the stack of bedtime reading you have there.”

Andrew looked up, blinking slowly as he separated his thoughts from his reading material, his lips curving into a smile. “Good evening, Lee. How are you?”

Andrew turned in his chair, pushing the parchment away from him to give Leander his full attention. His facial features had clung to the softness he’d had as a boy, the gentleness still there in his brown eyes, combined with a bright intelligence that Leander had always appreciated. He had known Andrew for a long time and took pleasure in working with him here at the Ministry. He felt privileged to call him a friend.

“I’m well, thank you,” Leander said with a nod. “I was hoping you would still be here. I’m looking for the file on the underground duelling pit in London. I wanted to read up a bit before going down there to have a scout around.”

Andrew’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re going down there? Has there been a new development on the Rookwood case?”

Leander gave a rueful twist of his lips. “You could say that, yes, although I am not at liberty to say much yet. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

Andrew bit his lip and glanced towards his pile of files on his desk, reaching across to pull one out and hold it up. “Actually, I have it right here,” he said, giving Leander a hesitant look. “I er…I swiped it from your desk earlier today while you were out. I wanted to read up on it myself.”

“Oh? Any particular reason?” 

“Yes. Our old school buddy, Sebastian Sallow,” Andrew said with a sigh. He looked up at Leander, a worried gleam in his eyes. “Would you say that was a good reason?”

Leander frowned and reached for a nearby chair, dragging it closer so he could sit. “That depends. What makes you interested in Sallow all of a sudden?”

“He cornered me this morning in Diagon Alley,” Andrew said, rubbing his hand across his mouth, a slight blush staining his cheeks. Leander’s eyes bulged, his lips parting in surprise. “I won’t lie to you, Lee. I wondered what the bloody hell he was going to do. He had his wand out, and I was never all that great at the hand to hand spell casting. That was always your thing, and Sallow is like a coiled serpent with a wand in his hand.”

“What did he want?”

Andrew winced, his eyes becoming grave. “He wants you, mate. He was demanding to know where he could find you. He said he had information that might prove useful to you. I didn’t tell him anything, only that I would pass on the message.”

Leander swore under his breath and put his hands to his face, closing his eyes as old insecurities began to bubble up inside of him. He was twelve years old again, and Sallow was casting Glacius under his feet to make him slip on the stairs, his twin giggling behind him as she clung on to Gaunt’s arm. 

It had always been silly pranks, and Leander had gotten his own back a few times with some help from Garreth, but Sebastian always liked to have the upper hand. He always had to be smarter, faster, his cocky smirk plastered over his handsome face. And now he was looking for him. It could only be about one thing. It had to be something to do with MC. Leander blew air through his lips and gripped his thighs, shaking his head. He wasn’t a scrawny twelve year old anymore. He was a graduated Auror, and he could hold his own. 

“What else did he say?” Leander asked, licking his lips.

“He said you might catch him in the Black Rose,” Andrew said, frowning slightly. “That is a nefarious pub, make no mistake. I wouldn’t go in there unprepared, Lee.”

Leander nodded and pinched his lips thoughtfully. “He was spotted there recently by another Auror, so it’s no surprise to hear that’s where to find him. Leave it with me, Andrew. I’ll see if I can’t track him down and find out what he wants.”

“Just be careful, alright?” Andrew said, his expression grim. “It can’t be anything good.”

Leander nodded, a tight-lipped smile on his lips as he moved to stand. He touched a hand to Andrew’s shoulder as he said goodbye, leaving the office with the file in hand, fairly certain that he knew exactly what Sebastian wanted, but he wasn’t about to give it to him.

For all Sebastian knew, she was tucked away inside Azkaban, far out of his reach. That’s the way it needed to stay until she was strong enough to step out into the world again and take on the likes of the Ashwinders. If Sebastian was hoping to get information out of him in order to aid a prison break, then he was very much mistaken. 

….*....

Leander met Harrington in Monument Street, London, the area reasonably quiet after the setting of the sun. The gas lamps had been lit, casting an eerie glow through the beginnings of a lingering mist that left a damp feeling on one’s clothing. The distant sound of carriages on the main road heading towards London Bridge could be heard as he walked alongside Harrington, past the colossal tower of a monument dedicated to all that was lost in the Great Fire of London in the 1600s, giving the road its name. 

“The file said the entrance to the duelling pit was down in the underground tunnel just along from the platform,” Leander said, pulling his collar up a little higher against the chill on the back of his neck. Autumn was beginning to sink its teeth into the weather. “Hopefully the station will be quiet at this time of the evening.”

“Magical folk have been vanishing into the underbelly of London long before the Muggles started sending their fancy new trains down there,” Harrington said. “London has many secrets, and some of the chambers underneath her are ancient. We won’t have any trouble accessing the tunnels. It will be further along that we will have to be more careful. My snitch said there are enchantments in place to avoid the duelling pits being discovered.”

“Nothing a cheeky Revelio won’t show us, I’m sure,” Leander said with a small smile.

They turned into King William Street and headed for the entrance to the Metropolitan Underground railway station of the same name, slipping through the doors in a swirl of mist and began to descend the spiralling iron stairwell into the depths.

“How is our new house guest faring?” Harrington asked as they reached the bottom, the air musty and damp, the only light coming from flickering lamps spaced out along the tiny platform.

“She is looking a lot better after a bath and something to eat, and the Healer said she was physically well despite everything. She has a box full of potions and elixirs to take to build her back to strength,” Leander said, scanning the station’s platform to find it empty. A crease appeared between his brows as he thought of MC. “I’m not so sure about her mental state. That might take a bit more work.”

“All we need her to do is give us enough to bring Rookwood to his knees,” Harrington said, his face grim. “We need to lure the spider out of his cave, and then we can shred his little web of criminals. That’s the main goal here.”

Leander bit his lip against the thoughts sliding across his mind. Harrington wasn’t wrong. That was the goal, but MC deserved more than that. At least, he thought so.

They jumped down off the platform onto the tracks below, the circular maw of the tunnel's mouth gaping before them. A stale breeze was coming from it, the tracks disappearing off into the blackness as though leading them down into the hells. Harrington slipped out his wand and stepped into the tunnel, his Lumos spell guiding their way until they came to the hidden door in the brick wall, marked by runes.

“Be on your guard, Prewett,” Harrington muttered. “We could end up running into anyone down here.”

An iron ladder led them down into a tunnel that had a swift running stream bubbling along the bottom of it, a stone pathway following the gushing water into further darkness. They walked for some time, listening for the sound of boot steps, Harrington casting Revelio at intervals until they came across a charmed barrier invisible to the naked eye. Leander tugged at his collar, feeling the oppressive weight of an entire city above his head as Harrington cleared the barrier, and they continued on.

Eventually, they began to hear the distorted echo of raised voices coming along the tunnel, the anticipation building in Leander’s chest as they drew nearer. Keeping to the shadows, they moved towards the light, the flicker and flash of spells reflecting off the walls in shades of red and white. 

Leander wasn't sure what he had been expecting of the pit, the name itself bringing forth images of dark, filthy holes with those duelling battling it out amongst a rabble of a crowd. The crowd part was mostly true. However, they were spaced around an arena that made Leander think of Roman gladiator fighting rings. The staggered levels of the spectators gave them an excellent view into an oval shaped arena with a stone floor covered in wood shavings. 

The chamber itself was not dark, nor filthy, the curved arches in the ceiling giving it a classical building feel, the stone work almost attractive, and around the walls were fire sconces that lit up the space with a golden glow. As for the gathered crowd, there was a mixed bunch of witches and wizards, from the poor to the rich. A careful glance around the space revealed that these duels attracted a variety of people, and a lot of them, too. 

The place was heaving, the air thick with excitement and the smokey scent of spell casting, the chill of the tunnels exchanged for the warmth of many bodies in close proximity. 

“Merlin’s beard, look at this lot,” Harrington said, his eyes casting an experienced eye over the crowd. His gaze narrowed as he looked in the direction of what could only be described as a spectators box. “Well, well, who do we have here?” 

There in the box sat Marvolo Gaunt, Amos Carrow, Luella Rookwood, and what looked suspiciously like one of the Minister of Magic’s official aides. No wonder these pits were allowed to continue if they had high up Ministry workers in their audience. 

“No sign of Rookwood,” Leander muttered near Harrington’s ear. “What about Sallow? I can't see him either.” 

“Try looking lower down in the gutter where he belongs,” Harrington sneered.

Leander looked downwards into the fighting arena itself, and his eyes widened. There he was. Sebastian Sallow. The sleeves were rolled up on his black shirt, the collar open, his freckled skin glistening with sweat, and his wild mop of hair damp at his temples. Flushed and breathing hard, he was duelling against a bare chested man with a skinhead, his face set with intense concentration. 

Andrew had compared him to a coiled serpent when he held a wand, and Leander could see that Sebastian still held a masterful prowess when it came to fighting. He moved with lithe skill, the barest flick of his wrist wielding quick spell work that his opponent could barely keep up with. He was no longer a scrawny teenager, his body more thickset, the muscle in his forearm defined. He looked strong, his neck solid and his chest broad, and yet he moved with the sharpness and cunning of a fox. 

The bald man was flagging, and Sebastian showed no mercy as he backed him up against the wooden railing at the edge of the fight floor, the crowd leaning forward to jeer and shout. Sebastian wielded with a flourish, the Diffindo cutting through the other man's flesh with horrifying precision, the scarlet of his blood seeping from his wounds at a frightening pace. The crowd gasped and then cheered as he collapsed to the floor, a duelling referee stepping into the oval to lift Sebastian’s arm into the air as the victor. 

“Savages, the lot of them,” Harrington hissed, his gaze narrowed in disgust. “It's a shame we don't have any backup. We could raid this circus and nab ourselves a pretty collection of scumbags here.” 

Looking at the way the crowd was baying for blood, the punters getting their bet winnings as Carrow and Gaunt looked on with smug looks on their cold faces, Leander felt his stomach twist. The thought of bringing MC here made him feel nauseated, the danger and savageness making him think that this was not the best way forward. He wished he could keep her inside the safe house forever, no matter how unrealistic that sounded. 

“Come on, I've seen enough,” Harrington said, nudging Leander’s arm. “Let's get out of here before we are spotted.” 

Leander hesitated, watching as Luella Rookwood smiled down at Sebastian, clapping her hands. The way she looked at Sallow certainly gave some credence to McKinnon’s suggestion that there was something between the two. Clenching his hands into fists, Leander dragged his eyes away and began to make his way back through the crowd, heading for the tunnel they entered through. 

A shout went up to his left, and then a bloom of purple sparks erupted into the air above their heads. There was a millisecond of utter silence before utter chaos erupted in the chamber. The crowd surged as people made a run for the tunnels, some falling and becoming trampled underfoot, the snap and whirl of Apparition coming from all sides as those who were able to make a quick exit. 

Leander had his wand in hand, stumbling and shoving with the tide of people as he tried to work out what was happening. Harrington was lost in the chaos, and Leander swallowed down the flutter of panic that erupted in his chest, and he pulled on his Auror training. Maintaining a manner of calm, he fought his way through to the edge of the chamber, keeping a wary eye on everyone. 

A glance to the spectator box revealed it to be empty, Carrow and Gaunt making a swift exit. He spotted Luella hurrying down the steps towards the pit floor, her mouth shouting something that looked suspiciously like Sebastian’s name, but he couldn't be sure over the noise and chaos. He needed to find Harrington and get out of here. 

Pushing back through the crowd, he looked for signs of his partner, having to block spells that were being cast across the heads of people as scrapping began to break out. Leander fired off a few spells of his own, diving behind a stack of storage crates at the entrance of a rather large tunnel to avoid a blasting curse. 

As the crowd thinned, Leander moved back towards the chamber, scanning the space for Harrington. The scrape of boots on stone behind him made him spin about, his wand held out ready, his heart leaping madly as his gaze met with a pair of blazing, brown eyes. 

Sebastian stood a fair few paces before him, his wand held up towards Leander, a gleam in his gaze that could almost be described as feral satisfaction. Sebastian took a slow step to the right, and Leander counter stepped, keeping his wand arm aimed, steady, and true. 

Despite the heightened danger of the situation, Leander felt as though they could be sixteen again, preparing to face off in a round of Crossed Wands. Time slipped into insignificance as he stared Sebastian down. Sixteen or twenty-one, it would appear they were fated to always be rivals. 

“I should have known to find you here, Sallow,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the mad rush of his pulse. “It's all a little predictable, though, isn't it? Another unsanctioned duelling club. I thought you might have outgrown all that by now.” 

Sebastian smirked, his feet creeping closer. Leander maintained a decent distance, his eyes quick and wary as they manoeuvred in the entrance of the tunnel. 

“You're not so unpredictable yourself, Prewett. Here you are, coming to wreck all the fun with rules and self-righteousness,” Sebastian said, shaking his head slowly. “I guess some things just don't change.” 

A flick of his wrist and a quick cast hit the stone in front of Leander’s boot. The slightest flinch flickered across his face, but he didn't move. Sebastian’s eyebrows went up a notch. 

“How about it, Prewett? Do you fancy a round for old times' sake?” 

“It will only end with your wrists in chains and a cell, Sallow,” Leander said, his face hardening. “I hear Azkaban is rather cruel this time of year. I guess you will fit right in.” 

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened. “You would know,” he hissed, striking hard and fast. 

Leander threw up a Protego shield and cast back, both of them assuming duelling stances and falling into a furious back and forth of spells. Sebastian was fierce despite having only just fought in the ring, but Leander was no longer a schoolboy either, his body fit and strong from gruelling training and hours of practice. He gave it everything and even began to push Sebastian further back into the tunnel, shadows darkening their movements and making the spells light up their faces with an eerie glow. 

Sebastian’s comment toyed at the back of Leander’s thoughts as they fired spells into the dark. What did he mean? Blocking another swift curse, he used one of Sebastian’s old tricks against him and cast Glacius across the floor. Sebastian’s boots slid on the ice, and he swore viciously as he slammed into the tunnel wall, his wand clattering to the ground. 

Leander was on him instantly, grabbing the front of his shirt, breathing hard as he shoved him against the wall. “I hear you've been looking for me, Sallow. What could you possibly have to say that I would find interesting?” 

Sebastian growled and tried to shove back, kicking out with his legs in frustration. They struggled, Sebastian swinging a fist towards his face and catching him hard above his eye. Leander grunted at the impact, blinking in shock as his mind spun, but he shook it off and managed to grab Sebastian's wrist and slam him back against the wall. He pinned his arm up to block any more swings, his other hand fisting into his shirt. 

As Sebastian’s hand splayed open at the impact against the brick, Leander caught sight of a long, thin red scar slashed across his palm, a complete match to the one MC had across hers. Leander stared at it, his cheeks draining of colour as he remembered the blood pact between her and Sallow. 

Sebastian’s head twisted, looking to see what Leander was staring at, his gaze narrowing as he studied Leander's face carefully.

“What's got you all spooked?” He asked and wiggled the fingers on his left hand, his breath panting through his lips. “It's only a scar.”

Leander met his eyes, his grip tightening on the infuriating man against the wall. “I know exactly what it is,” he hissed. 

Sebastian’s smugness faltered fleetingly, his throat working as he swallowed. A cold, determined look entered his gaze, and his voice came through gritted teeth. 

“Where is she, Prewett?” 

Leander stilled, his eyes locked in a battle of wills with his old rival, a dull throb beginning around his eye where Sebastian had punched him. “Who?” 

“Don't fuck with me,” Sebastian said, trying to jerk his arms free, but Leander pushed harder against him. “You know who I'm talking about. Where is she?” 

The first cold trickle of fear slid down Leander’s spine at the demand, the suggestion that Sebastian knew she had been released. Leander stuck to the lie. “She is in Azkaban. You know that.” 

Sebastian huffed a cold, humourless laugh. “You and I both know that's not true, Prewett. Naughty boy, you shouldn't tell lies. MC is not in her cell, and I want to know where she is. You can't keep her from me, not for long.”

Leander wanted to rip the smugness from Sebastian’s face, his own fear and bitterness making his blood run cold. How could Sebastian know that MC wasn't in her cell? How was that even possible? His eyes flicked up towards the scar on Sebastian’s palm as he wondered if somehow the pact could tell him. But then, that would mean he could locate her if she moved. So, no, that wasn't it. His mind raced, the obvious possibility being one he didn't want to admit, the very idea threatening the honour of the British Auror Office. 

Sebastian’s grin was slow and knowing. “You thought you were being so clever, didn't you? You thought you could sneak her out, and nobody would know. What's the plan, Prewett? Are you hoping to keep her all for yourself?” 

Leander felt his cheeks burn with a flush, and he could no longer bear the close proximity of him. He let Sebastian go and stepped back, swiping his hand across his face as he swallowed hard. 

“I'm not sure what it is you think you know, but you're wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm not sneaking anyone anywhere.”

“Liar!” Sebastian hissed, his fists slamming against his thighs, his eyes wild. “You took her out of there, I know you did! Tell me where she is! You might as well, because if not today, I will find out, and I will come for her. She's mine, Prewett.” 

“You think your stupid blood pact makes her yours?” He scoffed, gesturing towards his left hand. “MC has her own mind, Sallow. She might not be able to betray you, but that doesn't mean you own her. She can choose to go and be with whoever she wants.” 

Sebastian’s face hardened. “Is that right?” 

“Yes it is,” he said, nodding. “MC will always have a choice.” 

“I suppose you have hopes that she will choose you,” Sebastian said, his eyes narrowing. “Her prince in shining armour who rescued her from the tower.” 

He knew. Sebastian knew MC was out. But how? 

Footsteps echoed in the tunnel, and they both turned to see Harrington approaching with his wand held up. He fixed his stern eyes on Sebastian, a slow smile appearing on his mouth. 

“Look who we have here,” he said. “Mr Sallow. Oh, I've been looking forward to seeing you again.” 

Sebastian threw another glance towards Leander, his eyes determined. “I won't give up.” 

“Don't you dare…” Harrington snarled, a spell bursting from his wand. But, he was too late. 

Sebastian made a dive for his wand and disappeared with a sharp crack, a swirl of black giving way to nothing as Harrington’s spell hit the wall with a flare of white light. 

Leander hung his head, his fingers gripping tightly to his wand as his mind raced, the adrenaline from the fight draining from him. Harrington came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don't worry, lad,” he said. “We'll get him.”

Leander lifted his head to look at Harrington, his heart sinking at what he had to say. The thought of it filling him with such disappointment even though such a thing wasn't unheard of. 

“He knew, Harrington,” he said softly. “He knew MC was out of Azkaban and that I was the one who took her. I think…I think we might have a snitch on the team.” 

Harrington glanced towards where Sebastian had been standing only seconds ago, his mouth tightening with fury. “Shit,” he muttered, turning away. His voice lifted into a yell that echoed down the tunnel. “Shit!” 

This could compromise the whole operation. It could alert Rookwood to the idea that MC was siding with Aurors, and Leander felt the bitter sting of frustration in his bones. 

Harrington rubbed his chin in thought, his gaze catching on Leander’s face. “Bloody hell, that's going to give you a shiner come tomorrow,” he said, stepping closer. “You could do with seeing a Healer.”

Leander touched his fingers carefully to his eyebrow, the dull throb making him wince as he felt warm, sticky blood from the split skin there. “I will live,” he sighed. 

“Get yourself cleaned up, and then we need to check on McKinnon,” Harrington said. “If there is a snitch, then the safe house could be compromised.” 

Leander's stomach plummeted. He'd left MC there after promising he wouldn't let anything happen to her. “I'll go,” he said firmly. “I'll go right now.” 

“You need to see a Healer,” Harrington repeated, pointing at his head. 

“I'm fine,” Leander insisted. “Besides, MC is my responsibility. It should be me that goes.” 

Harrington gave him a long look and then sighed. “Your soft heart is going to get you in trouble one of these days, lad. Fine. Go to the safe house, but don't take any chances. Pack a bag and get MC out of there. Take her somewhere nobody else would even think of looking, and send me a coded owl once you're safe. Understand?” 

Leander nodded, his adrenaline beginning to kick in again. “What are you going to do?” 

Harrington gave him a meaningful look. “I'm going to turn Seeker and hunt out this bloody snitch.” 

Leander nodded, gripping tightly to his wand as he pictured the safe house in his mind, and Disapparated out of the dark tunnel. 

To be continued...

Huge thanks, as always, to @eternalremorse and @slytherin-paramour for their support with this fic 💜

Odessa McKinnon is an OC used with the kind permission of @ellivenollivander

Taglist: @evaslytherpuff @writing-intheundercroft @marketfreshfics @loving-him-was-red13

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfic - Pensieve

Words: 999 😬

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Remus eyed the pensieve in Dumbledore’s office. “Is that what I think it is, Professor?”

Dumbledore nodded, “A pensieve, used for storing and reviewing memories. I must admit, the older I get, the more I appreciate it.” His eyes twinkled at Remus.

“Wow,” He knew what Dumbledore wanted to talk to him about, and he wasn’t ready to hear it.

“Severus Snape, from Slytherin, had a close call last night. I’m sure Mr Potter has filled you in on the details.” Remus nodded, “We need to discuss what led to this incident. How many people know about you?”

“James, Sirius, Peter and now Snape I suppose and anyone he’s told today. He’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“I understand. I have forbidden Severus from discussing this with anyone, and if he is found to have done so, there will be severe consequences.” Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses. “Why would Sirius disclose your whereabouts?”

“I don’t know.” Remus stiffened. He hadn’t been able to look at Sirius since James gave him a rundown of what had happened. “I haven’t spoken to him since dinner last night. I don’t understand why he would put me in that position, Professor. He knows how terrified I am of hurting anyone, and he just— Why would he do that?” Remus sniffled and Dumbledore pulled a clean handkerchief from a drawer in his desk and passed it to Remus. “Thank you. I just can’t fathom what could have possessed him to do this.”

“Sometimes people make choices that aren’t logical.” Dumbledore mused, “Do you believe that Sirius would hurt you deliberately?”

“Until now I would have said no,” Remus said quietly. “I still want to believe that he wouldn’t. No. He wouldn’t.”

“People are not always what they seem to be,” Dumbledore said sadly. “I once had… a friend, he changed so slowly that I didn’t notice until it was too late and we were both in grave danger. I don’t want you to suffer the same fate, Remus.”

“Thank you?” Remus was unsure how he was supposed to respond to that.

“In your opinion, should Sirius be allowed to remain at Hogwarts?”

Remus blinked at him, “Are you asking me whether you should expel him or not?”

“I’m interested in your feelings.” Dumbledore shrugged slightly.

“Sirius would never hurt me, or anyone he cares for, intentionally. I hope he has a good reason. I don’t know.” Remus frowned, “He tries his best to be nothing like his family, and I can’t imagine what they’d do to him if he got expelled. So, in my opinion, Professor, it would be irresponsible for you to expel him, for that reason alone. Any other feelings I have are irrelevant.”

Dumbledore seemed to take this on board and nodded sagely. “Thank you, Remus. You may go. I’m very glad that nobody was harmed.”

“I don’t think I’d go that far, Professor,” Remus said, his brow creasing.

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Dumbledore waited for Sirius to step back from the bowl.

“It is only because of Mr Lupin’s astute observation about your familial circumstances that I’m not considering expulsion. You should make sure that you thank him.”

Sirius had never seen Dumbledore’s eyes so lifeless. “Respectfully, Professor, I doubt he’ll want to talk to me again.”

“Sirius, why did you do it?”

Sirius closed his eyes to will away the tears forming there. “He already knew.” He let out a small sob, “He made some disgusting comments about me having… relations with a monster. Threatened to write to my parents and tell them. Not that it’s true, the monster part or the relations part. I love him but we’re not— He won’t—” Sirius paused, “But if my parents suspected either of those things were true, I don’t know what they’d do, but Remus wouldn’t be safe. If they thought he was a werewolf who, in their eyes, defiled their son and made him gay, he’d not stand a chance outside of school.”

“How does this relate to your decision to tell Severus where to find Remus?”

Sirius sobbed again, trying to get a handle on his breathing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I— Last year, James, Peter and I became animagi. Yes, I’m aware that is illegal, but I’m hoping you might look past that because of why we chose to do it, and the effect it’s had on Remus’ transformations.” He swallowed audibly, “We spend the full moon with Moo— With Remus as our animagi forms, and we can keep him safe and he’s less destructive. I’m a dog, Peter’s a rat and James is a stag.” He sniffed, “I thought if he caught a glimpse of Remus— Just enough to scare him. I thought we’d all be there to prevent anything bad happening, but I got detention, and I forgot to tell James to be on the lookout.”

“I see.” Dumbledore was looking at him curiously. “Your actions were reckless and could have had dire consequences for both Mr Snape and Mr Lupin.”

“I know, Professor. I feel like the worst person in the world right now. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, no matter how much I loathe Snape, you have to believe that I’d never intentionally do that to Remus.”

“I believe you, Sirius. Which is why I will only take 50 points from Gryffindor on this occasion. You will also serve detention with Professor McGonagall every evening for the next month.”

“That seems more than fair.” Sirius looked thoroughly defeated.

Dumbledore recognised that same look in him six years later when Sirius was brought in front of him and the Minister for Magic and subsequently sent to Azkaban for murdering three of his friends.

Remus’ words echoed in his head ‘Sirius would never hurt me, or anyone he cares for, intentionally’. Dumbledore had made sure that Remus was still with Greyback’s pack when he arranged for Sirius to be brought before the small committee.

Remus Lupin was not going to talk him out of it this time.

[klinefelterrible]

Draco: I know that you guys are in an arranged marriage, but you seem to be so well connected…!

Narcissa: honey, do you remember when your father and I showed you that Pensieve memory of our wedding?

Draco: yes

Draco: I loved every second of it

Narcissa: well what you need to know is that this memory is a little bit… redacted

Lucius: just a little bit!

Narcissa: but redacted indeed

Draco: exactly which parts were redacted?

Narcissa: well so you remember how we told you that your father looked rather stiff and we laughed that he danced a bit clumsy?

Draco: …yes

Lucius: it was because I was fucked so hard that night and in the morning I was barely able to walk. And my ass was a gaping—

Narcissa: oh, Lucius

Lucius: but it was

Draco: but… but you looked so happy!

Narcissa: he was happy! He just survived an orgy with so many people where all of them came inside his sweet white ass

Draco: …and you knew about that?

Narcissa: about that… do you remember how I smiled everywhere but I never really did talk? Like at all?

Draco: …yes?

Lucius: it was because she sucked so many dicks that night her mouth, tongue and throat was literally as sore as my ass!

Narcissa: my lips were so red that day

Lucius: and you danced with such grace

Narcissa: thank you, honey

Narcissa: after we made Creacher bring you that ointment, so did you

Lucius: anyway, son, we were very good friends prior to this ceremony

Narcissa: and we still are

Draco: so is all my life a lie?

Narcissa: no

Lucius: but your uncle Augustus is not really your uncle and his young girlfriend Lucy—

Draco: please don’t tell me that I have a younger sister who is also a slut

*doors knocking*

Narcissa: this must be Harry

Lucius: come in, boy!

Harry: *enters* hello, Mr and Mrs Malfoy, hello Draco

Harry: what’s the matter?

Draco: oh, nothing

Draco: just that little thing that they’ve been lying to me my whole life

Harry: what did you tell him

Narcissa: we told him the specifics about our wedding day

Harry: oh cool

Harry: did you tell him who won?

Draco: who won what?

Harry: a contest?

Narcissa: what contest?

Lucius: let’s, uhm-

Draco: what contest?

Harry: you didn’t tell him about the contest?

Narcissa: what contest?

Draco: yeah, what contest, Potter?

Lucius: remember that bet we made that night?

Narcissa: no

Lucius: oh, good

Draco: what bet?

Harry: your parents made a bet that whoever wins the contest of making cum more dicks than the other, names the child

Draco: no!

Lucius: uhm-

Narcissa: oh, that

Narcissa: now I remember

Narcissa: I don’t remember who won, though

Harry: do you want to know?

Lucius: uhm

Narcissa: excuse me, but how do you know?

Lucius: uhm…

Harry: I requested that information during death eaters hearings

Harry: I promised many of them a lighter sentences for the unchanged, unaltered versions.

Narcissa: oh this is so hot

Lucius: can we see it?

Harry: it’s in the evidence room in the dungeons of the ministry of magic

Lucius: oh

Narcissa: I see that you didn’t say „no”

Lucius: oooh

Lucius: can we?

Draco: I can’t believe my ears and my eyes and my life right now

Narcissa: oh please, like you never did anything dumb and hot

Lucius: maybe he didn’t

Narcissa: don’t be ridiculous

Narcissa: do you know that we were notified every time you and Harry had a little rendez-vous at school?

Narcissa: *makes a blowjob pantomine*

Narcissa: every. time.

Lucius: uhm

Narcissa: Every

Narcissa: Time

Narcissa: with the cute details, especially when you guys were in fifth year and later, when you started ass—

Draco: OKAYOKAOKAY!!!

Draco: sheesh, okay, I am leaving only to go to my room and die of embarrassment and maybe I will obliviate myself a little with a bottle of my father’s finest gin

Harry: I’ll go with you

Draco: whatever

Narcissa: wait a second, Harry

Harry: I can provide you some time for both of you to visit the ministry and officially acknowledge some details of your and your son’s involvement in the death eaters processes.

Harry: *wink* I will need a blood oath from you that you won’t mess with this and only then you can stay there for… *wink wink* eight hours once a week.

Narcissa: oh yeah

Lucius: awww

Lucius: like a second honeymoon

Harry: now about those notifications…

Narcissa: there were no notifications

Harry: but you said—

Narcissa: I am full of shit

Lucius: she is so full of shit

Harry: why would you say that

Narcissa: I just wanted to see your faces

Narcissa: and he believed it, didn’t he

Harry: such a cunning woman

Lucius: one of the best

Narcissa: I am not half as good as Andromeda

Harry: why Andromeda?

Narcissa: she made Rodolphus Lestrange marry our sister Bella just by telling him she is into being forced to eat ass and what comes out of the ass

Harry: she did wh—

Harry: what

Harry: why

Narcissa: Andromeda made Bellatrix eat her poop

Narcissa: for the sheer joy of it

Harry: ah! You got me, right? You’re full of shit, right?

Lucius: I wish

Narcissa: No I am not.

Narcissa: and every time Bellatrix had a death eaters meeting, Andromeda made her eat her shit before she went there

Narcissa: first she was full of shit, then Bellatrix’s mouth was full of shit and then

Lucius: let’s drop it, please

Harry: what the fuck

Narcissa: are we even now

Harry: what the actual fuck

Harry: the fuck

Harry: fucking fuck

Lucius: he handles it well

Narcissa: so do we have a deal, Harry?

Harry: what the fuck

Harry: we do

Harry: but how and what and why the fuck

Narcissa: ah, youth

Lucius: *hugs her* remember us back then?

Narcissa: oh yeah

Harry: I need time to process this

Narcissa: Harry, wait!

Harry: yes?

Narcissa: who won?

Harry: the bet?

Harry: Lucius

Narcissa: no way!

Harry: by one limp dick almost at midnight

Harry: and both of you would chose Draco anyway

Narcissa: awww

Lucius: that’s love

Narcissa: for a cock?

Lucius: that too

Narcissa: I’m kidding. I love you, husband

Lucius: and I love you, wife

Harry: you guys are cute

Harry: *leaving*

Harry: but what the fuck

[seriouslysam8]

Brumous Sneak Peek!

I offer you the first part of the scene that is making me rip my hair out and scream at my computer keys.

Chapter Sixty-Five: Little Hangleton

Harry walked along the cracked pavement of Little Hangleton with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket. He kept his head bowed, his gaze focusing on his trainers. There was something about being back in Little Hangleton that made Harry’s stomach churn with anxiety. He was well aware that it was silly. Voldemort and his Death Eaters hadn’t been detected in the small town. They would know given the fact that Remus had been staking out the town for nearly two weeks.

Glancing up, Harry realized that he had fallen behind Dumbledore and Remus. Although, he had not fallen behind Sirius. His godfather matched his stride next to him, his head held high and his features hardened. For once, Harry was grateful that his godfather had stayed annoyingly close to him, hovering like the broomstick parent that Harry had grown accustomed to. Harry hadn’t thought being back in Little Hangleton would affect him as badly as it was.

Harry’s stomach clenched as they walked past the graveyard. As though sensing Harry’s discomfort, Sirius took a step closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Sirius looked over Harry’s head at the graveyard but said nothing. Harry could only think of Cedric. It was hard to ignore the flash of Cedric’s body falling to the ground every time Harry blinked. The image burned onto the backs of his eyelids. Harry tried to focus his attention in front of him and keep his eye wide open.

Their group stopped outside of a dilapidated house, one Harry recognized from Pensieve memories that Dumbledore had shown him. Harry squinted at the house as he heard a soft noise emitting from the home. Taking a step out of Sirius’ arms, Harry strained his ears to figure out what the noise was.

“Protect. Protect. Protect,” multiple voices hissed over each other.

Harry pushed up his glasses with his fingers as his eyes roamed around the building. There were no signs of any snakes on the outside. Even craning his head to look through the broken and dirty glass pane, he saw nothing. Oddly enough, there was just blackness beyond the glass.

“Harry, are you all right?” Remus asked, pressing a hand onto Harry’s shoulder as he stepped up to his left.

“Can’t you hear that?” Harry pressed, his body turning around to see Sirius and Dumbledore standing shoulder to shoulder.

Sirius stared at the house in front of him, a stoic expression set hard on his face. Harry doubted his godfather had even heard him. Anything Gaunt related seemed to send him reeling in a way Harry didn’t fully understand.

“I believe you are hearing the snakes,” Dumbledore supplied. “Are they saying anything interesting?”

Harry swallowed, his gaze snapping to Dumbledore. “They’re all talking over each other, but they’re all saying the same thing: protect.”

“Can you tell how many?” Dumbledore inquired, his bushy eyebrows raising above his moon-shaped glasses.

Harry shook his head. “No, but it sounds like dozens.”

Dumbledore turned to Sirius. “What are your thoughts, Sirius?”

Sirius’ jaw feathered, his gaze finally tearing away from the house. “I don’t have any thoughts,” he said in a short tone. “I’ve never been here nor do I sense anything.”

Dumbledore nodded, making his way up the splintered and creaky steps to the front porch. Everyone followed him. Sirius stood close to Harry, their shoulders pressing together as Dumbledore ran a hand down the front door. There was no doorknob, like most magical homes.

“There needs to be an offering,” Dumbledore mused out loud. “Sirius, I believe yours would be the most welcoming.”

Harry furrowed his brows, wondering what Dumbledore was talking about. Even though he was confused, Sirius was not. He stepped forward, pulling his wand from his jacket pocket. Without a moment of hesitation, Sirius sliced his palm wide open. Harry’s nose wrinkled, watching his godfather’s hand turned red as drops of blood seeped between his fingers and dripped on the rotten wood beneath his feet.

“You are far more versed in the workings of blood magic,” Dumbledore explained. “I would assume Tom would use something that an ancient house would.”

Sirius stepped forward, his palm smearing runes on the wooden door. Harry really wished he had even a speck of knowledge about runes, because he hadn’t the foggiest idea what his godfather wrote. When he was finished, he took a step back and dangled his bloody hand at his side. The hissing ceased their mantra in favor of a new one. The heir, the heir, the heir chanted in Harry’s head and he wired his lips shut. He refused to even acknowledge what he heard in fear of it causing Sirius to reel. The wood swirled and formed a doorknob. Squinting at it, Harry realized it had formed into a snake eating its own tail.

“May I inquire, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked, appraising the runes.

“Bound by blood and honor,” Sirius said in a gruff voice. “It’s the Gaunt family motto. Phineas Nigellus’ portrait loved to ramble on about it, given his mother was a Gaunt,” he explained as he sealed the wound on his hand but didn’t bother to clean the blood off. “Like every other pompous pureblood house, they feel the need to put their silly little saying on everything.”

[pet-genius]

Compulsive repetition and cycle-breaking - the importance of Albus Severus Potter, or: Harry's last and greatest protector

There is a lot of trauma to go around in HP, and tragically (and realistically), it keeps happening.

Harry is repeatedly orphaned, first from his parents, then from Sirius and Dumbledore - his actual appointed parent figure if anything should happen to his parents, and Harry's "last, greatest protector" according to his narration of the funeral.

Dumbledore's formative trauma is his role in his sister's death thanks to dabbling in Dark magic and the subsequent cover-up, and within his attempt to pay his karmic debt and stop another Dark wizard from taking over, he finds himself endangering god knows how many children under his care: Snape nearly died as a student, and many of the children he watched grow up and then recruited into the OOTP died as well. The seemingly incongruent triumphant look in his eyes when Harry tells him about the blood Voldemort took might be the moment his own pattern breaks for the first time - he is still fighting for the Greater Good, but thanks to his machinations over the years, he had given Harry a chance to survive his part in Dumbledore's crusade. I think this arc concludes when he fights for Draco's soul unto death - it serves a strategic purpose to cement Snape's position, yes, but also, he died having saved a child in his care from the fate that had tormented Dumbledore himself even after an actual century.

Snape's traumas are many, but the formative one is catalyzing Lily's death. He then finds himself - again, but worse this time - forced to push the trigger on his only friend's death. The pain this causes him is evident - he wails like a wounded animal in the immediate aftermath and even risks going to Sirius's house to find something that would keep him going.

I'd like to propose that Snape might have known that Harry's best chance at survival - i.e. Snape's best chance at redemption - would be Harry's Lily-like self-sacrificing act.

Pensieve memories are unfalsifiable, but there might have been an element of choice in when to end them, and it's possible Snape always knew he would have to use a Pensieve to persuade Harry to believe him. The conversation that ends in "Always" couldn't actually have ended like that, because nothing is actually resolved: Dumbledore does not convince Snape that Voldemort's defeat is more important than Harry's survival. The height of the conflict between Snape and Dumbledore is the least natural point to end the scene. Tellingly, Dumbledore's eyes are closed throughout the entire explanation of Harry's supposed ultimate fate. Snape and Dumbledore were both legilimenses, and legilimency requires eye contact. I strongly believe closed eyes, then, indicate "there's more".

“Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry.” “Tell him what?” Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

This is followed by the explanation, including the dialogue:

“So the boy . . . the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly. “And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”

So: Harry must know why he is dying, and it must be done by Voldemort's hand. Harry must also find out, and then sacrifice himself, at a very specific moment. If the only important thing is "dead Harry," this could easily be achieved. The specifics are essential.

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Snape looked horrified.

Snape's admonishment, and the "Always" exchange, follow.

After this conversation occurs, Snape kills Dumbledore, and immediately after that he duels Harry and does not let him come to harm, saying "Potter belongs to the Dark Lord".

In Dark Lord Ascending, we see that Snape made sure Voldemort would know he alone must kill Harry. I posit that it was not merely Voldemort's ego, as he could have sent anyone (and indeed he used Narcissa as a human shield to make sure Harry was truly dead). He is uniquely bad at killing Harry. Yet he says:

"But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."

This must have come from Dumbledore's spy, then sitting beside Voldemort as his most valuable servant.

Snape is still capable of producing the Doe Patronus, which represents Lily, and he is still serving Dumbledore despite having been used by him for years at that point.

It might mean that Snape understood that his personal quest for redemption is not as important as the entire world, but this insight is already served by his choice to die, sending Voldemort to battle with a wand that won't answer to him.

And anyway, if Harry must die, why is it so important that he sacrifice himself willingly? Why is it so important that Voldemort himself do it? A final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort or one of his cronies would have happened at some point, and Harry would have died, and Voldemort's last vestige would have died with him. Snape was not a stupid man, and not an unquestioning follower. The idea that this is actually rather a strange thing for Dumbledore to insist on must have occurred to him at some point. The self-sacrifice element was Harry's chance to come back, and this was why giving Harry the memories was imperative. Presumably, this knowledge also made it worthwhile to Snape to explain himself and his actions as thoroughly as he had, because really - only a couple of the memories he gave Harry are strategically important.

Snape dies because of the prophecy he had delivered. Lord Voldermort says:

"It cannot be any other way,” said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

Snape is why Voldemort is interested in Harry, and he dies for this, and because of this. Voldemort thinks he is due to win at any moment.

But Harry - Harry, who had spared Peter Pettigrew, who had by then amassed so many tragic deaths - can feel pity and mercy, even for Snape. In the shrieking shack, where Harry had proved his mettle once before, Snape is slowly dying and Harry shows his compassion to him, the compassion Snape must have missed so much, lacked so painfully. He gets to look into Lily's eyes knowing that perhaps he might not have failed her.

He dies redeemed, even - especially - to the boy who was his main victim. Snape had both orphaned him and mistreated him as a student, but he was Harry's true latest and greatest protector. His pattern is broken, his trauma is resolved, and Lily's sacrifice is not wasted.

And Harry understands him. Snape's main victim reveres him, symbolically makes Snape a member of his family who is worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as Dumbledore. Harry's cycle is broken in that he has his own family, he commemorates his dead, and he forgives and understands even the man he had once hated as much as he did Voldemort himself. In Harry, Snape and Dumbledore broke their patterns, and in forgiving them and understanding he has always had protectors, imperfect as they were, Harry breaks his own. That is the true end, why the epilogue works, and the way to get from repeated loss and trauma to "all is well."

[fanfic-lover-girl]

How James Potter's character discourse could have been easily solved by JKR

Now, I love redemption arcs. While I would probably never get with a guy in real life who hurt me in the past, I love seeing how a guy can atone and build a loving relationship with a girl who was hurt by him in the past and how the girl came to forgive him. I love seeing male characters become better men. Bonus if the men had to grovel to prove themselves hah.

So in theory, I should like James Potter and Jily. However, I don't. I used to like James when I first got into HP but the fan discourse really soured me on him, especially the victim blaming and glorification of bullying. I also did not like how James' bad side was usually swept under the rug in the fics I read.

The main problem with James Potter is the show vs tell with his redemption. On screen/on page, we see his awful moments first-hand or see his problematic behaviour justified or downplayed by the narrative. However, we only hear about his good moments second-hand. That's why James discourse is circular and tiring.

To make it worse, we hear about his good moments in arguably not objective contexts. Of course, Remus and Sirius will big up their mate to his son when he expresses doubt. Of course, Minerva and Dumbledore will speak highly of someone from their own house who was a good athlete and headboy. Of course, people usually don't speak ill of the dead - especially loving parents who died as martyrs protecting their son. Of course Snape can't be trusted because he is a mean, nasty teacher. So when we hear these things about James, there's always that lingering doubt about whether the claims are completely true.

Moreover, Sirius and Remus never tell us how James redeemed himself. Just that he deflated his head...what the hell does that mean?? Did James apologize or express regret about hurting people? I need more details.

Another problem is that James died young so we never got to really see him as a mature adult. So to estimate his behaviour, we have to look at his friends (birds of a feather flock together) but Sirius and Remus are...questionable. Still love you Sirius! Best marauder hands down buddy! I love your family :)

So! How could JKR fix this if she wanted to? Simple. Have Sirius or Remus show Harry a pensive memory of James post SWM.

It always bothered me how little Harry seemed to care about his parents. Remus and Sirius were right there - why not ask about all the marauder adventures? Hagrid composed that album for him in book 1 from people who were supposedly friends with the Potters - why not reach out to them? Harry comes to you accusing James of tricking Lily into being with him...why not help him out by showing James as a good boyfriend and person? Why not show him a pensieve memory of how he proved himself to Lily? Or a memory of James being a just headboy? I would have loved to see some heartwarming James moments. It would not erase what he did to Snape but at least James would be better portrayed as a good person who just hated that nobody Slytherin out of immaturity.

Anyway, I think how James was written makes for a richer narrative but a lot could have been solved in fandom if JKR showed us some good James moments free of bias. James Potter is a character I am partially primed to like! I just needed to see how he changed. Being a good parent and husband is not enough. Evil characters can be good family men too so that means nothing. Jily is not good enough evidence that James was a changed man.

[therealvinelle]

I read your five pigs post, and also the post about pevensie memories possibly being faked, and I am wondering now what the indisputable facts about Voldemort pre-Harry's school time are. After all, everything Harry learns are memories (which can be faked), things from the diary (with its own agenda and the sense of a teenager), things Dumbledore tells him (arguably biased) and "common knowledge" (rumors). There's not even eye witnesses for who killed Harry's parents. We only know that Tom Riddle went to Hogwarts and disappeared and Dumbledore claims he's Voldemort, who started the death eaters and also disappeared at one point. What do you consider the indisputable facts, and what do you consider convincing enough evidence to assume it's correct?

Well, Dumbledore very helpfully says "And now for the part where I make stuff up" a lot of the time.

A compilation (taken solely from Half-Blood Prince):

“I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron.” (Half-Blood Prince, page 132)

-

“We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened.” (page 143)

-

“Again, this is guesswork,” said Dumbledore, (page 143)

-

Here's our source for Merope choosing death, as you can see it's Dumbledore guessing again:

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “perhaps she could. But it is my belief — I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right — that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life.” (page 173)

Notice how Dumbledore didn't know Merope at all, never even met her, yet he feels confident in saying she chose death when his sources are that a. she had a sad life, and b. she died. In childbirth, one of the leading causes of death among women who don't get appropriate medical attention.

-

This is a favorite of mine, since the "reasonably firm sources" have so far been the memory of the Gaunts being miserable without Tom so much as being born yet, Tom being eleven years old, and Tom entering Morphin Gaunt's home and having a brief, introductory conversation with him. That is the evidence we've been shown, and the facts Dumbledore has relayed verbally, the very few that don't come with an "I could never prove this to be true" attached, are that Tom did well in school and was well liked.

I can't stress enough that these are our only firm sources, everything else has been Dumbledore guesstimating.

And now, in this excerpt, he says "And we're about to have even less sources."

“Very good,” said Dumbledore. “Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?”

Harry nodded.

“But now, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you.” Dumbledore indicated the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve. “I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely.” (page 284)

(The memories he proceeds to show, for the record, are Tom's house call to Hebzibah Smith and the job interview, in which Tom comes in acting very much like he expects the small talk to end soon and the actual interview to begin (it never does).)

-

“I can only guess,” said Dumbledore. (page 332)

-

“There is a village of sorts about halfway along the cliffs behind us. I believe the orphans were taken there for a little sea air and a view of the waves. No, I think it was only ever Tom Riddle and his youthful victims who visited this spot. No Muggle could reach this rock unless they were uncommonly good mountaineers, and boats cannot approach the cliffs, the waters around them are too dangerous. I imagine that Riddle climbed down; magic would have served better than ropes. And he brought two small children with him, probably for the pleasure of terrorizing them. I think the journey alone would have done it, don’t you?” (page 366)

-

There's many more that I missed, I'm sure, as I used a word search to find these. The point of this compilation, however, is to show how clear it is, once you're paying attention, to how overt Dumbledore's bias really is. He will take one fact he has about Tom Riddle and then extrapolate wildly, and this is what's then presented to Harry.

In that sense, picking out indisputable facts about Tom Riddle isn't so hard. We know, for instance, that he visited Hepzibah Smith shortly before she died, that she showed him the Founders heirlooms, that he had an emotional reaction to hearing how Mr. Burke had acquired the Locket, and we know that she died because someone had switched out the sugar with poison. What we don't know is that Tom Riddle murdered her, nor that he did it for the heirlooms because he had an obsessive interest in them, nor that he quit his job and left the country because of this, as Dumbledore postulates.

Hope that answers your question.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics That Start With C (4) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three

“can you keep it on, actually?” (ao3) - cloej88

Summary: Dan’s stressed. Phil wants to help.

The one where Dan gets off on a puppy-shaped handpuppet so it’s a little ridiculous but also isn’t at all.

cat bells (ao3) - N_Chu4Ever

Summary: The catboy photoshoot, except it all goes weirdly wrong because Phil accidentally bought Dan a magic cat costume off the internet. Oops.

cat calendar (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil take a break during their cat calendar photoshoot.

cat distribution system (ao3) - omgitshelena

Summary: "I want the cat distribution system to choose me!" - Phil, 2024

cat got your tongue? (ao3) - megiaolf

Summary: A near wholesome cat cafe au.

Catch You on the Flipside (ao3) - Amorist (dead_on_the_inside)

Summary: Dan is holding himself together by the seams after running away from a religious cult. He has to ask himself why he keeps going, but deep down, he knows the answer already. It's the same answer it was long before his parents packed up and moved him to a thinly-veiled conversion camp in America—Phil.

Or, my excuse to write self-indulgent angst, because sometimes we need that.

checking in (ao3) - pensieveity

Summary: phil is out of surgery and dan brings him his long ass list! also phil is out of it the whole time <3

Chosen Family (ao3) - Mysticallykai

Summary: After Dan comes out at fifteen, his parents don't pay him any mind. At sixteen, when he goes to his first pride, he meets Kath Lester. She becomes like a mother to him, and when his boyfriend hurts him, he goes to her for help. He wasn't aware that he would finally meet her youngest son, nor that Phil would be someone so special to him.

Christmas at the Lester's (ao3) - trashcanfromgallifrey

Summary: A quite fluffy fic that also goes into themes of finding safety in Phil’s family when they were closeted.

Christmas Catharsis (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: Dan runs into his ex (bully) while buying milk.

City Lights (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Steamy hotel sex that turns into something sincere and emotional, because of course it does.

clouds parting (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: Phil’s never been good at thinking things over while in motion, not the way that Dan is. But the first pieces of the decision happen then, making his way down rain-soaked pavements, everything a steely, soggy gray.

(secret holiday, autumn ‘21)

Coffee by Chappell Roan (ao3) - danswideslit

Summary: someone on tumblr mentioned needing a dnp fic with the narrative from coffee and I felt inspired because I love that song a whole lot

Come along (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: In medieval England, a young knight rides north, sent to serve at the court of the quiet young Duke of Lancaster.

Come Clean (ao3) - castrotophic

Summary: Dan thinks Phil might be in love with him, but he's not quite sure how to figure it out.

Come Over (ao3) - Mysticallykai

Summary: Dan and Phil's relationship is beginning to bloom, but Dan is terrified to let Phil into his home so he keeps pushing him away. He however, slowly learns that Phil is someone who will make his house a home.

come runnin' to you in the violet hour (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Phil endures his six month sentence earthside.

Comfort in Chaos (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil wakes to Dan having a nightmare that he struggles to rouse him from. It later transpires that there is a reason behind his unsettled and panicked behaviour.

Conversations With The Younger Self (ao3) - danrifics

Summary: Dan Howell (33) has a conversation with Dan Howell (21) about the future.

Continents Apartment (ao3) - floweretfairies

Summary: Dan’s stroking his cock, reaching for his phone. He needed his man, but they were continents apart.

cornetto and a hot chocolate (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: a cute little stolen moment shared on a tour break 💙

cowboy hat canoodling (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Usually they’re of a height, somewhat because Dan has that tendency to slouch. But today Dan is in boots and the cowboy hat, both making him taller than usual.

Craving Connection (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Dan is struggling with his mental health as he prepares for the re-release of his book meaning he has become withdrawn leading to Phil being touch-starved.

[tomionefinds]

Any recs for fics with an intriguing plot / complex world building?

Hey Anon -

Here are some - Haus

A Journey to Hell by Perhentian.en

M | Complete | 163k

AU. Voldemort won the war in 1987, expanding his hold on the magical world every year since then, and reducing the Mudbloods to slavery. However, some of them were secretly hidden in the Muggle world for their own protection. Thus, Hermione could have lived a peaceful Muggle life, had she not met by accident one of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eater. Complete.

Exitus Acta Probat by JellyBellys

M | Complete | 487k

After a series of catastrophic events, Hermione decides to go to the past to stop Tom Riddle. Story includes timetravel, Slytherins that aren't evil, romance, betrayal, death, angst, and some comedy thrown in. AU after OoTP.

Dimmuborgir by NoFootprintsinSand

E | Complete | 93k

He steps straight out of the shadows one late autumn evening, but she is not afraid. At least not at first.

Birds of a Feather by Babylonsheep

M | Almost Complete | 563k

In 1935, Hermione Granger meets a boy in an orphanage who despises fairy stories, liars, and mediocrity. He offers her a deal of mutual convenience, and soon a tentative friendship forms between them—if Tom would ever lower himself to call anyone a "friend". But whatever they have, it's something special, and if there's anyone who can appreciate Specialness, it's Tom Riddle. 1930's-40's Childhood Friends AU.

Jagged by Hiccupfound

E | Complete | 151k

He’s not like what she learned about. Not how Harry described him from the Pensieve.

Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girl by LovelyVillain (also rec The Thrall and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang)

E | Complete | 753k

Hermione’s life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing terrible, bloody secrets. And though she is surrounded by troubled young women, it is the men in her life who teach her that freedom comes at the greatest price of all. Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad

[sugarsnappeases]

gnawwww rawrr rawr give me more rodolphus meta i am starving

hello my beloved atlas thanks so much for asking i will try my level best to satiate your hunger ❤️

i think we should talk about voldemort actually. i think it’s time. so. as i said yesterday, i think rodolphus (and also antonin) were both some of the earlier people to join the death eaters (around 1970, when tom comes back to england and like. soft launches his war). to me, rodolphus works his way up the ranks very quickly. like he’s determined, and ambitious, and when he sets his mind to a task he gets it done one way or another. and he’s set his mind to the task of voldemort’s cause (he also started off pretty high in the ranks just bc of his family name and connections etc)

tom likes him bc of the aforementioned characteristics but also bc he’s like. solid. strong. reliable. he knows what he’s about. he’s someone that could be put in a bit of leadership position in the death eaters (bc as i said before. he’s basically a poster boy for them, like in all aspects of his life even if he complains about or disagrees with certain things he’ll still ultimately follow through and obey the expectations or orders)

i think he and tom meet through family. in the hbp pensieve memories, a lestrange is mentioned specifically by surname in the slug club meeting. i don’t think this is rodolphus’ father, bc i have Opinions about tom’s gang back at hogwarts and whether the heirs of the pureblood houses would ever have been able to fall in line with someone who they had known in first year as a shabby, no-name orphan w an unknown blood status. but i think maybe this lestrange is an uncle? or something of the sort to rod and rab and when rodolphus takes over as lord, this uncle falls under his jurisdiction or whatever and mentions it to rod when tom gets back to england or something like that

and rodolphus takes his responsibilities as lord very seriously so he’s investigating everything that his family is involved in, he’s setting up a meeting w tom. i reckon the uncle isn’t a very high level death eater but he tells tom that his nephew, the lord lestrange wants to meet and it happens fairly quickly after that. for tom, it’s a good point of entry into the younger generation of pureblood society, the ones who, unlike some of their parents, didn’t know him before he became lord voldemort, the ones that he can much more easily turn into a part of his army.

and rodolphus goes. obviously. he goes and meets tom and they chat and they see very eye to eye. tom is very good at appealing exactly to what his interlocutor desires and its no different w rodo, he’s investigated a little pre-meeting, figured out what rodolphus wants and leans into it while they talk. and rodo sees a release, something he can use as an outlet for all the emotions that he has to keep under the surface. and he also obvs sees it as like. an important task, the destruction and removal of muggleborns from his beautiful pureblood society, a worthy cause.

in the first war, i think rodo has a lot of power within the death eaters. he was basically the first in his generation to join up so through him people like lucius and the carrows and obvs bella and also importantly rabastan all join up as well (and this is another thing. to me rab isn’t made for fighting. he hates getting his hands dirty. he should be at the club. like genuinely. and i mean club in the sense of a gentleman’s club or something of the like. but he joins bc of rodolphus). he’s the first link to the new gen death eaters which eventually leads to the likes of barty evan and reg as well

and obvs during the first war, lucius sort of acts as right hand man (this is another thing that i can go in to) and i think rodolphus is the left hand. if that makes sense. he’s got the family name and the connections and the sociopolitical power but he’s also got the drive and the slightly twisted desires, the thirst for violence that tom would’ve absolutely fed on and nurtured and expanded until it consumed him whole. until the death eaters, by dint of being a release or something of the sort, become the most important part of his life. become the sort of thing that he would sacrifice his life for (in terms of azkaban being that life sacrifice).

like seriously. he goes to azkaban THREE times for voldemort. THREE TIMES. and he remains loyal to the very end. he never even wavers in it. and that’s very important to me. he is very important to me i think about him far too much.

[eternalremorse]

Hogwarts Legacy MC: Oscar Weasley

General

Full Name: Oscar Frederick Weasley Nicknames: Os Date of Birth: 7th December 1872 (Sagittarius) Gender: Male (he/him) Nationality: English Blood Status: Pureblood House: Gryffindor Wand: Notched (warm brown), walnut wood, Phoenix feather core, whippy, twelve inches Patronus: Black Swan Likes: Quidditch, Beasts, Butterbeer, chocolate frogs and lamb shank Dislikes: Divination, Potions (mainly because of Garreth), liver, cabbage and arguments Traits: Confident, chivalrous, charming, active, friendly, outgoing

Appearance

Hair: Ginger Eyes: Light green Height: 5’11’’ Physique: Slim and toned Other features: Freckles all over the face and most of his body

Family

Parents: George Weasley, Marie Weasley Siblings: Nigellus Weasley, Garreth Weasley, Hector Weasley, Millie Weasley

Future

Career: Quidditch (Beater for the Montrose Magpies) Partner/Spouse: Poppy Sweeting Children: George Weasley, Robert Weasley, Alice Weasley

In Depth Details

Oscar is the second-born child of George and Marie Weasley.

From a young age, Oscar has always been the most charming and confident of his siblings, often resulting in many girls to develop a crush on him.

When he started Hogwarts, he immediately took to his flight class and decided that he would train to play for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. After a couple of try-outs, he secured a spot as a Beater. Oscar became one of the best players in the team alongside his housemate and best friend, Isaac Cooper.

Oscar had a reputation of seducing many girls during his time at school, the majority didn’t lead to courtship, but he would bring them to his dorm room or one of the broom cupboards for make-out sessions, and on the odd occasion, something else *wink-wink*.

Oscar’s first relationship happened in his fourth year with a Ravenclaw girl called Francesca. He’d had a crush on her for a few months and she reciprocated his feelings. Unfortunately, Francesca transferred to Ilvermorny later in the year which left Oscar heartbroken!

If Oscar isn’t playing Quidditch or flying around on his broom, he’s usually with his friends in the common room, outside one of the courtyards or at the Three Broomsticks. He’s always down for a pint of Butterbeer! (And the odd cheeky fire whiskey)

He may not be a very studious person, but Oscar does enjoy a good novel every now and then – his favourite genres are adventure and mystery.

Oscar gets on with all his family but spends the most time with Garreth and Millie. He loves to embarrass them!

At his home, he isn’t one for being couped up inside all day, Oscar needs to get outdoors for at least a few hours a day. Whether it be playing ball games with his siblings, meeting his friends, or hiking around the area – even if it’s raining outside!

At family gatherings he is the life of the party! He’s cracking jokes, socialising with everyone there (and I mean everyone) and dancing the night away if music is involved!

Oscar Weasley on Character AI, created by me - [LINK]

Gallery

Gringotts Pensieve

Sorting Ceremony

Common Room Introductions - Part 1

Common Room Introductions - Part 2

First Day & Field Guide - Part 1

First Day & Field Guide - Part 2

Charms Class

Defence Against the Dark Arts Class - Part 1

Defence Against the Dark Arts Class - Part 2

Weasley After Class

Welcome to Hogsmeade - Part 1

Welcome to Hogsmeade - Part 2

Welcome to Hogsmeade - Part 3

Potions Class

Room of Requirement

Beasts Class

The High Keep

Astronomy Class

In the Shadow of the Study

Rookwood Trial & Second Beasts Class

Fire and Vice - Part 1

Fire and Vice - Part 2

It's All Gobbledegook

Poached Egg

The Polyjuice Plot

Surprise Meeting

In the Shadow of the Mountain

The Centaur and the Stone

Lodgok's Loyalty

San Bakar's Trial

In the Shadow of the Relic

Wand Mastery

History of Magic Class

Harlow's Last Stand

A Bird in the Hand

The Final Repository - Part 1

The Final Repository - Part 2

The Final Repository - Part 3

The House Cup