#that the woman who wrote Prisoner of Azkaban

[maretinelli]

I CAME TO APOLOGIZE²

Sirius Black X fem!reader

Summary: After years without him and all the problems, someone knocks on Y/n's door, making her surprised. And after a lot of talking, she needs to introduce someone to him.

Words: 2.8K+

Warnings: Mention of death, Post Azkaban, babies, food, anguish and happy ending.

Author: Look, here I am with part 2, you asked for it and I brought it. It's not one of the best, but I hope you like it. And yes, it has a happy ending!! English is not my first language, I apologize for any writing and spelling errors.

Part 1

MASTERLIST

Y/n only lasted 1 year in Switzerland when everything started to go wrong for the Order of the Phoenix in Scotland.

Voldemort's Death Eaters began to grow stronger and launch rebellion after rebellion. It started with Dorcas' murder, Marlene's murder, Peter betraying the Potter's, Lily and James' death, Sirius going to prison, Remus moving to Europe to who knows what country and little Harry being left without a family.

Knowing this, Y/n gathered everything she had in Switzerland and returned to her old home. To which, he fought to have custody of Harry, so that he could still have some kind of contact from those who loved him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Twelve years had passed and every day Y/n struggled to keep everything in order and give everything the best to the two children.

Of course, she had found a great job as a Magizoologist that paid her well and was enough to support the three of them and also go on trips that would certainly remain in the memory of the two children.

And he also sold his books. As she progressed better in the field of Magizoology, she wrote everything in a book, until two years ago she decided to publish it and which brought in extra money. To which, she divided the amount and deposited it into the account of the almost teenagers.

The beginning was not easy, indeed. But as she got used to the idea, the grief passed and the future arrived, Y/n stayed strong to work and give everything they needed.

At the time, the woman was in the kitchen of the new house putting a lemon pie to bake, while 13-year-old Harry and Marie played like children in the snow.

She smiles as she approaches the window and calls out to the two of them.

"Hey, Marie and Harry. Come in!! It's getting colder and colder!!"

The two look at Y/n and smile in sync.

"We're coming, Aunt Y/n!!" Harry shouts back excitedly and throws one last snowball at Marie.

"Hey, Hazz!!!" She tries to get angry, but starts running after the boy as they both laugh and enter the house.

With that, Y/n hears the two running into the house and making a mess in the living room.

"Hey you two, be careful not to fall. That snow on you could melt and slip in the wet." She leaves the kitchen and stops at the doorframe, which gave access to the living room of the house they recently bought.

Marie stops running after Harry and looks at the woman, who had a dish towel on her shoulders and some flour on her face.

The girl smiles and walks, stopping in front of Y/n.

"Mommy, Mommy!! What were you doing in the kitchen?!" She says naughty, while cleaning her mother's face and placing a kiss on the eldest's cheek.

Y/n laughs at her daughter's act and quickly squeezes her cheeks.

"I just put a lemon pie in the oven for us to eat in a bit" she says and then Marie runs up to Harry and they start jumping.

"Lemon pie!! Lemon pie!!..." they sang together, and hugged each other running around the room.

"You look like two children" Y/n laughs, rolling her eyes and smiling.

Harry and Marie behaved like brothers. Well, you see, they were both the same age. Yes, Harry might be a few months older, but they were still in the same class at Hogwarts and were the same age.

After Y/n returned from Switzerland, those who survived the first war were shocked to see her with a baby in her arms. They even asked if she had gotten married, but Y/n denied it and ended up telling the whole truth. Which left everyone's jaw dropped.

And when she told Remus in a letter, the other week he was knocking on the door of her old house to see if it was real. But in the end, he was happy for her, and knew about the entire journey that Y/n and the baby's father went through at Hogwarts. Everyone saw how in love they were.

After she gained custody of Harry, she raised him and Marie as if they were siblings and it was working. One couldn't live without the other and at Hogwarts they were always in trouble.

Just like their parents - Words from Minerva.

"Only first!" She raises her finger. "You guys should go upstairs and take a shower to get all that snow off."

Harry's shoulders slump, but then he looks at his aunt.

"But can Marie and I watch some TV?" He asks and Y/n smiles in agreement.

"Only after they have spent an hour reading. Remember our agreements"

Harry and Marie nod their heads in agreement and each go up to their room.

Y/n smiles and then goes back to the kitchen to wash the dishes she had left dirty.

They were wizards, they could very well put a spell on the objects to wash themselves, but Y/n always liked having Muggle actions and objects. Like the very TV Harry had just talked about.

While she is washing the dishes and the two are upstairs getting ready for the night, she hears a desperate knock on the back door of the house.

She frowns and then holds her wand in her hand as she walks towards it.

It could very well be Moony, he had this habit of scaring her when he visited his nephews. But the knock on the door didn't seem to be from the werewolf, but from someone in despair.

The door slams again and then she screams.

"Hey hey, I'm coming. Whoever it is!!" She says angrily and then opens the door, coming face to face with a man with long, dark hair and beard.

The woman's body froze. Could it be him, the person she hasn't seen in over 13 years?

He couldn't, he didn't know where she lived, she had recently moved.

He couldn't, he was in Askhaban. Although she knew that he hadn't betrayed the Potters years ago and reinforced this to Marie and Harry, every time he told some stories from the past.

"Y-Y/n?!" The man whispers.

A solitary tear fell from the woman's eye.

"Sirius?" She says and he nods.

She smiles a little and runs into the man's embrace. Not even caring about the condition he was in.

"Come in, you're going to freeze here" she helped Sirius enter the kitchen and then sat him down on a chair, while she pulled out another and sat down in front of him.

"Sorry, I didn't know where to go. But then I saw Harry out in the yard just now and I thought it could be you or someone from Hogwarts." He says quickly and Y/n shakes her head.

"Alright, alright," she begins, already with a thousand and one thoughts running through her. "You're shaking, hold on" Y/n gets up and runs to the living room to get a blanket that she always kept there. "Here, this will warm you up a little" the woman puts the blanket on Sirius' back and he smiles a little. "What's up?! What's happening to you? Weren't you in Azkaban?"

With that, Sirius explained everything and with each sentence he said, Y/n's tears began to splash in her eyes, about to start crying.

"Siri, I'm so sorry!!" Y/n then cries and puts her hands on her face. "I'm so sorry for everything you went through, the Potters, the betrayal and...Oh my God. Marlene...the baby..." she cries more, remembering everything.

Sirius tries to reach for her hand, but she steps back and then stands up. While still crying.

"Look, if you want to hand me over to the aurors, I'll understand. But I really wanted revenge, Peter is still alive despite everything that happened. He's the traitor." He says weakly and Y/n looks at him as he stops walking around the large kitchen.

"I know..."

"What?"

"I know about Peter"

"What do you mean, Y/n"

"I've always had a hard time with him, and the day before I left for Switzerland, Lily came to my apartment to help me with the last things and told me that you had a last-minute exchange about the secret. I know it was Peter You betrayed them, you were wrongly condemned." She says this and then she can see Sirius' shoulders ease and he lowers his head. "I always wanted revenge, but I thought he was dead. But now that you told me he's alive, I feel enormous anger" Y/n says stronger, but with tears still falling.

Sirius still had his head down, while shaking his legs and cracking his fingers.

A habit that Y/n knew he had since meeting the boy in his first years at Hogwarts. He always did this when he didn't know what to do during a problem he had. At the time, it was usually with his parents, but now he was scared and didn't know what to make of his prison break.

The woman approaches and kneels in front of him, while holding his hands tightly.

"Hey, I'm here. It's going to be okay!! I'll help you" She says seriously and Pads lifts his head to look at the woman.

He had tears in his eyes, which made Y/n want to cry again.

"Ok..."

"But there's one thing!!"

He looks at her suspiciously.

"We should give you a treat. Azkaban probably isn't one of the best places with personal care" Y/n scoffs and smiles.

For the first time in years, she could hear Sirius laugh again.

"It seems your acidic humor still resides"

"Ah, you know. It's my way of dealing with difficult problems" She smiles and then analyzes the man.

He was older since the last time, but he still had traces of that boy she loved so much and who had to leave him behind to finally be happy with their journeys.

But it doesn't seem to have worked for either of them.

"Come, I have some clothes that Moony left here from his last visit, I think they'll fit you." She holds out her hand and Sirius stands up, following her to the first floor bathroom.

"Do you see Remus yet??" He asks.

"Well, yes!! Not much because he's always traveling for work, but he always comes to see Harry and Ma-- Oh damn!!" She trips over a pile of books and chocolate packets. "Sorry about the mess, we didn't know a visitor would arrive" Y/n turns and looks with a crooked smile on her face.

He just laughs and then follows the instructions Y/n gives him and enters the bathroom.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Minutes had passed, Harry and Marie were still upstairs - which made Y/n a little more relieved, as she didn't know how to tell Sirius that they had a daughter.

She was in the kitchen when she heard movement behind her. Turning around, she sees Sirius and smiles.

"A new man?"

"Definitely a new man" he smiles and then slowly walks around the kitchen, while looking at the picture frames scattered around the room.

He looks at one that contained Harry and Marie in the snow last winter. Marie was building a snowman, and Harry was smiling behind her, throwing snow. They laughed like children.

The other photo he sees is one where Marie was a baby and was lying on Y/n's lap. She probably had a few hours left to live, as Y/n's face looked tired, but her smile was still wide open.

"I didn't know you were married" he says, with a tightness in his chest.

"What?" She turns around and then sees Sirius looking at the photos. "Oh, no. I'm not," she smiles slightly, as she cuts potatoes for dinner.

He just nods and looks at another photo. Another where Y/n had Marie on her lap, but now she was two years old. Marie was lying in his arms laughing, while Harry was like a little monkey on the young woman's back. The three laughed happily for the camera.

"You have a daughter?" He asks and Y/n quickly turns around.

Sirius directs his gaze at the woman, making her nervous.

"Yes it is..." She says and then turns completely towards him. "I need to tell you something."

With that, they hear footsteps coming down the stairs and approaching them.

"Hey Tia, can Marie and I..." Harry stops talking and looks at the man. “Oh, hi” he smiles shyly.

Sirius smiles, trying to hold back the tears.

"Harry dear, remember Sirius? That your aunt always told you and Marie?!" He nods.

"Yes, my father's best friend" he says happily.

"That's it," she smiles. "Well, it's him!!"

Sirius looks at Y/n with fear and she walks next to him and whispers.

"It's okay, I told them the whole story until today. He knows it wasn't you" Y/n reassures, letting the man sigh deeply.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you" Harry takes his hand to shake and Sirius does the same. "And also, I'm sorry"

"For what exactly?"

"Ah, you know right. My parents and all that" Harry puts his hands back and looks at the floor.

When Sirius was about to say something, a girl with wavy brown hair arrived in the room. She had clear eyes and a smile that all naughty people would recognize.

She was wearing denim overalls and had worn a red Gryffindor sweatshirt over it, due to the cold.

"Mom, is the pie ready? I finished my book and I'm starving--- Oops..." She stops where she is, when she sees Sirius.

The face looked familiar with the photos she saw every day of her mother with her friends when she was at Hogwarts. Which made Marie's heart race.

"Hi, mom didn't say we were having visitors." Marie smiles friendly and extends her hand to shake.

"This is Sirius, daughter" Y/n finally says, thus drawing her daughter's conclusions.

Marie stops the action and remains statue, while looking at the man in front of her.

Now with Marie and Sirius facing each other, Y/n was sure that she was Sirius in the female and younger version.

"Yeah...Sirius, well..." Y/n stutters. "That's what I wanted to tell you about...she's Marie, our--"

"Daughter" Y/n and Sirius say together, which scares them both.

"Yes, our daughter" Y/n crosses her arms over her chest and lowers her head.

Y/n never hid Sirius from Marie and Harry's life. She had told them that the man was the boy's godfather and the girl's father, told them everything they had to hear and they were fine with it.

"At the time I didn't know, and I couldn't tell you either. I was in Switzerland and you were... we had... I couldn't..." Y/n tries to say something, but the tears started to come. fall down the face violently.

Sirius walks up to her and places his hands on the woman's cheeks, while smiling from ear to ear.

“Y/n, look at me” she does. "We have a daughter together. That's amazing!!" He says and Y/n sighs smiling.

"Yeah, I think so"

"I know everything we went through and had to do, but if it were at the time I would never deny her. And today, well today, destiny gave me another chance to be with you. You don't know the joy of hearing this news" He smiles and Y/n looks at him. "Know that I never stopped loving you, regardless of everything."

"I love you too, with all my heart" they lean their foreheads against each other.

Until they hear someone fake coughing.

"Hey, we're here!! Could you mommy introduce me to my dad?" Marie asks smiling and Y/n rolls her eyes.

"I see that the personality is yours" Sirius distances himself from the woman and turns to his daughter.

Marie smiles at her father and wraps him in a warm hug.

"But appearance is totally yours" Y/n says and then smiles seeing Marie hug and interact with her father, who was now at home.

Finally.

Harry looks at his aunt and smiles. Y/n calls him and the boy walks up to her and hugs her in the corner.

Now they were complete.

Sirius was home and everything would be more than fine.

The rest of the night was Harry and Marie happily telling Pads about their lives, while he made sure to listen to everything in detail.

Whatever is meant to be yours will always come back, regardless of how long it takes.

Author: and they lived alive and happily ever after, with Harry, Marie and another baby😚🙏🏽

[mrsgrimshawe]

Soo I wrote my first ever fan fiction. I’ve had this idea for some time and thought hey, why not try to write this down. Please be nice, English isn’t my first language!! Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Sirius Black (after Azkaban) x female reader (fluff mostly)

Warnings: slight smut, talking about death

Word count: 1.2k

- MINORS DNI -

Summary: After you and Sirius wake up randomly almost every night for weeks, not being able to ever sleep through, you made a habit of meeting up in the kitchen drinking some tea and sharing lighthearted conversations. One fateful night, you have something to confess to the man.

Title: Midnight Tea and Confessions

The dimly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place was a sanctuary for those restless souls who sought solace in the quiet of the night. For the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix, it became a refuge from the haunting memories of the day and the uncertainty of tomorrow.

Y/N, a young woman in her twenties with an air of resilience about her, found herself often in the company of her dear friend, Nymphadora Tonks. Their laughter echoed through the old house, bringing life to its somber corridors. But it was in the quiet moments, when the clock struck midnight and sleep eluded them, that she found herself drawn to another.

Sirius Black, once the prisoner of Azkaban, now roamed the halls of his ancestral home with a freedom tinged with the weight of his past. His eyes held the wisdom of someone who had seen too much, yet there was a spark of mischief that refused to be extinguished.

Their encounters in the kitchen began innocently enough, a shared pot of tea and idle chatter to fill the silence. But as the nights stretched on, their conversations grew deeper, touching on topics both trivial and profound. It was in these moments that Y/N found herself opening up to Sirius in ways she never thought possible.

As the night draped its veil over Grimmauld Place, the heavy silence enveloped her like a suffocating shroud. Sitting across from Sirius Black in the dimly lit kitchen, she found herself unable to shake the weight of her troubled thoughts.

"Sirius," she began, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room, "I need to tell you something."

He turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. "Of course, love. What's on your mind?"

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. "I've been having these nightmares," she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. "About... about our friends. About them dying."

Sirius's expression softened, his hand reaching out to gently grasp hers. "I'm so sorry, darling," he murmured, his voice thick with sympathy. "It must be terrifying."

"It is," she admitted, her eyes brimming with tears. "But there's one dream in particular that haunts me. It's... it's about you, Sirius. It feels so real."

His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. "Me?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her throat tightening with emotion. "Yes. In the dream, something happens to you, and... and I wake up crying, feeling like I've lost a piece of my heart."

Sirius's eyes softened, his hand moving to gently brush away her tears. "Oh, love," he murmured, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be by your side. Besides, you can always knock on my door at any time of the night, if you need me. I barely sleep anyway. And I’ll be glad to help you.”

Y/N buried her face in his chest, his words a balm to her wounded soul. "Thank you, Sirius" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Their embrace lingered for a moment longer, a silent exchange of comfort and reassurance. Then, with a tender smile, Y/N leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Sirius's cheek.

He returned the gesture with a loving smile, his eyes meeting hers in a silent understanding. And as she rose to her feet, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, she knew that no matter what the future held, she would always find solace in the unwavering presence of Sirius Black.

Y/N returns to her room, lying down not able to shake her thoughts about the handsome gentleman that was Sirius Black. She knew there had been feelings for him, but oh boy were they growing strong. Nevertheless she was finally able to sleep with a smile for once this time. Dreaming about her secret love interest, wondering if he might find her to be too young to be a serious option for him.

One fateful night, another restless one at that, as they sat side by side at the worn wooden table, she felt a stirring in her heart that she couldn't ignore. With a courage born of desperation, she turned to Sirius, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

"Sirius, there's something I need to tell you," she began, her words hanging in the air between them like a delicate thread.

He turned to her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. "What is it, love?" he asked softly, his hand reaching out to brush against hers.

"I... I think I've developed feelings for you," she confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “No… I know I grew feelings for you. I’m sorry. I had to let you know. It’s okay if you can’t return them. I would understand.”

For a moment, there was silence as Sirius processed her words. Then, with a tenderness that took her by surprise, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

"I've been feeling the same way," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

In that moment, all pretense was cast aside as they leaned into each other, their lips meeting in a fiery kiss that ignited a passion neither could deny. His lips felt soft against her own, still warm from the tea he was drinking before their little conversation. He kissed her with so much love, gentle but still passionate. Their hands roamed eagerly, exploring each other's bodies with a hunger that bordered on desperation. “Sirius,” she broke the kiss for a moment - “not here” she breathed against his lips.

Eventually, they stumbled to their feet, their desire leading them up the darkened hallway to Sirius's bedroom. There, they shed their inhibitions and gave in to the undeniable pull of their attraction.

In the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, they made love with a fierceness that left them breathless and spent. And as they lay tangled together in the aftermath, Y/N knew that she had found something truly special in the arms of Sirius Black.

For the first time in months, they both fell asleep peacefully, in each other’s arms, wondering if this was even real.

The next morning, Y/N woke up first, still finding herself in his bed. It was very early, no need to get up just yet. Her eyes lingered on his peaceful looking face, he was sound asleep. Breathing slowly, steady. She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about last night. He treated her gently, lovingly, still full of passion and lust. It was everything she longed for in such a long time.

She started caressing his hair, then his cheeks. Then looking at his bare chest which was exposed, thinking about what the meaning behind those appealing tattoos might be. He started smiling, eyes still closed.

“Good morning beautiful” he said in a raspy voice. “Good morning handsome. It’s still early. We can stay here a bit longer, if you’d like.” she answered. Sirius opened his eyes, looking deeply into her big Y/E/C eyes. “There’s nothing I’d love more.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead then taking her chin between his fingers to lift it up, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

“Rest some more, my love. I will still be here when you wake up. Let this be the end of your nightmares. And even if they return, I will be here to distract you from them.” he said, pulling the blanket over your bodies, you both drifting back to sleep.

They had no idea she would be the reason the Black Family wouldn’t die with Sirius.

[theogcinnamonroll]

I used to love Harry Potter

I used to love Harry Potter. 

There was a time in my life, where it was one of the most important things. I read the books at least once a year. I’d sit on the couch with my mom and watch the movies with her. I’d spend countless hours on the internet, reading fanfiction, participating in the fandom, and reading every single headcanon and thought I could get my hands on. Although I was too scared to participate, too scared to post my own thoughts and my own fanfiction, it made me feel so welcome. Like I was part of something big. And to someone as lonely as I was back then, that was so important. 

I was smart. Bad with people, but I devoured books like my life depended on them. I felt like I was Hermione. I saw myself in her, and I wanted to be her. She made me feel proud of my wild brown hair. She made me feel proud that I wasn’t like how I saw the other girls. She made me feel proud to be me. She made me feel like I was worth it, like even with all my flaws, even with my lack of looks and social graces, I was important and valuable. 

I lived and breathed Harry Potter. My earliest vivid memories are of sitting at my mom’s feet with my brother, listening as she read the Sorcerer’s Stone to us. And then the Chamber of Secrets, then the Prisoner of Azkaban. I remember how I wasn’t allowed to read past the Prisoner of Azkaban until I was in the second grade. Then I was finally allowed to read the Goblet of Fire, but I couldn’t stop. I kept sneaking the next books, until my mom caught me reading the Deathly Hallows. It was like a drug for me, and I couldn’t stop. I just had to keep going, even though I got in trouble for it. 

And as I got older, that fixation stayed. It brought me to the internet. The first fanfiction I can remember reading is one that was written on gotoquiz.com, a series about Oliver Wood. I stayed up all night reading it on my school iPad after I found it. Until my dad yelled at me because the school sent him an email about how I was on the iPad all night. But I couldn’t stop. An entire new world had been opened for me, and I had to have more. 

It was everything to me. It was my whole world. I dreamed of going to Universal to see Harry Potter world. I dreamed of having my own wand. And even past the age of eleven, I held out hope that someday, my Hogwarts letter would still come, and I could be the witch I always wanted to be. Even as I got older and began going to different fandoms, being drawn into different universes, my love of Harry Potter didn’t go away. It stayed there, always in the back of my mind, affecting who I was, and helping me figure out the person that I wanted to be. 

It wasn’t just something that stayed in the background, it bled out into the life I had. The essay I wrote to try and get into AP English my freshman year? It was about Neville Longbottom, about how his evolution as a character was inspirational. How I wanted to be like him, emulate how even though he was terrified of everything, he still showed bravery when it mattered most. And although I didn’t take AP English, that essay got me into the class. It opened up a gateway that I could have taken. 

But then I found out. It was the summer of 2020, after I graduated from high school. JK Rowling had posted tweets outing herself as a TERF, a trans-exclusionary radical feminist. And it was like my world had just crashed down around me. I was still figuring out who I was, whether or not I was a woman, or a man, or somewhere in between. But I knew that I was queer, and I knew that what she had said was wrong. That what she said isolated a massive part of the community that was so important to me. But I didn’t know what to do. 

At first I tried to pretend that I didn’t know about it. That as far as I knew, none of it had happened. But I couldn’t ignore that sting of guilt every time I looked at the copies of the books on my bookshelf. The twisting in my gut every time I got a piece of Harry Potter memorabilia that I once would have been ecstatic to receive. And eventually, I couldn’t swallow it up anymore, and I admitted it. JK Rowling wasn’t the person I thought she had been, and I couldn’t just continue supporting her anymore. But I decided that I wouldn’t support her financially, and I would inform people of her actions. 

But the guilt didn’t go away. If anything it only got worse. If I was so determined to support the people in my community, why wasn’t I willing to give up Harry Potter completely. And finally… I did. Around the time I officially realized and came out as nonbinary, I gave it up. No more Harry Potter in my life, although I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of the books, no matter the guilt. 

As a neurodivergent person, my hyperfixations are important to me. Especially the ones that last my entire life. But I began to really think about it. Is my hyperfixation more important to me than supporting the trans men and women in my community? And for me… I realized it wasn’t. And that’s what gave me the strength to completely give it up. It’s a wound that still hurts. A gaping hole that I don’t think will ever heal over. And pain that mars some of the happiest moments of my childhood. How could someone who had written these books, created this world that made me feel so safe and accepted, turn out to be so hateful? 

Then I began to listen. I heard marginalized voices speak out about the issues that had been in the books all along, issues that I had never noticed. And I began to feel sick. This hadn’t come out of nowhere, this hadn’t just been something no one saw coming. Hatred and bigotry had been a part of these books since the very beginning, I had just been blind to it. The anti-semitism, the racism, the fatphobia, so many more issues that I could never name even if I tried. They’d been in every single book, they’d been staring at me every time I read those books that had been so important to me, but I had never seen it. Because even for all the ways that I’m marginalized, my privilege allowed me to overlook it. To never even notice. To blindly take the theme of the books, the themes of acceptance and fighting against oppression and hate, and never question them for a moment. 

I still need to question and look at the parts of me that were helped to grow by those books, really look and see what of that bigotry rubbed off on me. To question how much of the books I really let affect me. It’s an ongoing process that I need to work on and I am working on. Because those books did so much for me, but they’ve hurt so many people too. While I felt seen and encouraged by those books, other children felt pain and isolation when they read them. 

My neurodivergency is not a shield. I can’t hide behind it and say that just because of it, I can’t give up something I loved because it hurts people. Something I loved was created by a person who actively uses the platform it gave her to hurt people. And I am one of the millions of people who gave her that platform. Some say that we can speak out against JK Rowling while still loving Harry Potter. But JK Rowling herself has said that she sees the continuing support of Harry Potter to be support of her and her views, and that’s something I cannot live with. Harry Potter meant so much to me. And it still means so much to me, but I have turned my back on it forever. It still hurts. And I still feel the urge to give in, to go back to reading Harry Potter, close my eyes, and continue to participate in the fandom. But if I’m going to be the person who I want to be, I can’t. 

Harry Potter was everything to me for most of my life. While I had other hyperfixations that lasted as long, like Star Wars, there was just something about Harry Potter that was different. It gave me a connection to my family, something we could spend time together with. Something we could bond over. But I just can’t close my eyes and pretend like nothing is wrong.

I used to love Harry Potter. And a big part of me still does. But that love is nothing compared to the love I feel for my community. Trans and nonbinary people are in the middle of a genocide. The world is actively trying to wipe us out, and JK Rowling is part of that. If I close my eyes, I will willingly be taking part in the active drive to kill and erase trans people, especially trans women. The active drive to kill and erase people like me. Because while JK Rowling may say she doesn’t want us dead, that’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s knowingly contributing to a cause that is actively wiping us out. And she considers support of Harry Potter to be support of that cause. 

I love my mother. And I owe her so much more than I could ever possibly say or pay back. But she loves Harry Potter. She still loves Harry Potter, even with everything JK Rowling has said and done. I know she supports me, I know she supports trans rights, but it still hurts that she still loves Harry Potter. I know it means a lot to her, and I’m not going to ask her to suddenly stop loving something so important to her. I know I can’t change the behavior of the people around me, and I shouldn’t ask her to give it up. And I’m not going to ask her to. But it still hurts.

[dramioneasks]

Hi! Hoping you have a wonderful day but could you recommend me some similar fics to She Wrote A Book About Me by ohthedrarry. It's so gooood 'cause it has a petty hermione and a sad boi draco featuring their post and pre break-up.

Can't find petty!hermione but found a few sadboi!draco:

Eyes Without a Face. by drcolvr - M, one-shot - I wish I could express my feelings for the woman before me but sadly I cannot. Hermione Granger happens to be the best and the worst thing for me. She’s the one thing I can’t have and yet she’s the fire in my viens, the blood in my body and the joy in my soul.

A Happy Thought by magicalmolly - E, one-shot - Draco finds out in fifth year that Hermione can cast a patronus charm. He wants her to help him find a happy enough thought in order to cast his own. The two keep colliding in unlikely places throughout 6th year, and then after the war, searching for something to make Draco happy. OR: Draco realizes Hermione is what would've made him happy all along.

Good Girls by Story_Queen - not rated, WIP - During the summer of her rising 8th year at Hogwarts Hermione Granger received a letter stating that Hogwarts would be hosting a summer meet-up. Her, Harry, and Ron might not be friends anymore, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to see her friends. So what happens when she bumps into a familiar bleach blonde haired, gray eyed, kinda hot, classmate Draco Malfoy. And what will when they start to become friends. Will they finally accept each other for who they are, or will they go back to being enemies.

lost in yesterday by uzumakibrat - M, 13 chapters - if she had one more minute. one more hour. one more year. just one more time. if she'd saw the signs. knew what to look for. maybe...just maybe, she wouldn't be tracing the words engraved into his headstone. editing ( typos/capitalization).

Muggle Studies by LalaLumos - M, WIP - Draco Malfoy was the youngest Death Eater in Magical History. Now, Draco Malfoy was the youngest felon in Magical History. He wasn’t proud of his past, nor was he excited for his future. If he weren’t so incredibly self-preserving, he may have killed himself before he was sentenced to Azkaban. Be that as it may, here he was sitting; waiting for his new Muggle Studies liaison. He figured it was some poor soul at the Ministry who was trying to make it up the ranks with ‘good deeds.’ Ugh. He just wanted to get this shit over, so he could get back to staring at the cold brick wall in his cell- self-loathing was his new addiction. Prequel to Prisoner 050680

-Lisa

[cupcakeinat0r]

Thnx 4 the tag, bae <333 @lazyjellyfish300

Do you make your bed?

Every morning! Gets my day started feeling productive right off the bat <3

Favorite number?

69 😏

jk, it’s 928 obvi!!!

What’s your job?

Angel fairy princess

If you could go back to school, would you?

Actually a full-time student right now!!!

Can you parallel park?

Princesses don’t need a license <3 (I never learned how to drive.)

Do you think aliens are real?

Duh! n they def clutch their purses real tight when they come around these parts.

Can you drive a manual car?

I can sit in the passenger seat rlly well <3

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Sweet treats. And I have the same interests of an 8 year old girl. Do not leave me around a plate of baked goods or the remote control (I will put bluey or SpongeBob on). I take cartoons so srsly, it’s embarrassing.

Tattoos?

Im terrified of the needles unfortunately, but if I weren’t such a wuss, I would totally get one that accentuates my scoliosis scar!! Maybe like a path of flowers framing it all the way down or som!! Ugh it would look so cute n sexy for…. Oh Nvm😋

Favorite color?

.

Favorite type of music?

Honestly, anything but country, and even then, they got a few bangers (the ones about how men suck lmao). The artists I mostly listen to right now tho are Laufey, Rosalia, Sza, Stephen Sanchez, Lana, and anything Salsa, rnb, Bachata, Jazz, classical, rap, etc!.

I’m also a theater kid so I like…. Enjoy that unironically, sorry 😭

Do you like puzzles?

Not by myself, they’re way more fun w my friends!!!

Phobias?

Death fs, but other than that, nothing rlly, I’ve mastered the art of thugging it out :3

Favorite childhood sport?

To put it simply, one time I was in a volleyball team and the ball came right towards me n I did absolutely nothing, resulting in the ball completely wrecking my glasses and my pride.

I was on my school’s “name that book” team tho n made major w’s in that so 🖕🏐

Do you talk to yourself?

Lmao no that’s weird (I talk to the wall almost every day n imagine myself getting interviewed for an upcoming film im starring in and recreate conversations I wish I had but didn’t think of responses at the time).

What movie(s) do you adore?

As mentioned before, I’m a literal child, so my fav movies include, well, literally any Disney animated film tbh. My favs are Ratatouille, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and Coco! I also luvvv old school animation like Don Bluth’s Thumbelina or The Swan Princess, ughhh <333

Star Wars (original trilogy preferred).

Marvel. top three is Cap: Winter Soldier, Spiderverse, and Black Panther. FYI my fav spiderman is Toby, sorry to the Andrew/Tom clan <\3 Those movies r just untouchable for me!!

Harry Potter, fav is Prisoner of Azkaban tho.

I also love horror! Favs include Midsommar, The Fourth Kind, As Above So Below, Saw franchise, Blair Witch Project, Paranormal Activity, Get out, and The Ritual.

Romance is my other fav, which includes Before Sunrise, Never Been Kissed, A Walk in The Clouds, Pretty Woman, and Clueless. Some other unpopular favs are To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Cat in The Hat, Moulin Rouge!, aaaaand Dead Poets Society. Fuck I wrote a lot but I’m pretty passionate abt film so I’ll shut up now!!! I have so many fav movies just ask me more abt it and I could recommend some like pls, I love talking abt film!!!!

Coffee or Tea?

Ima teabag gal, thru n thru! I’ve tried, but I just never really liked coffee, however !!! I like coffee flavored things like ice cream or tiramisu!!

First thing you wanted to be growing up?

Had like 2 sec phases of various things but it has always been and always will be an actress that does it all! Currently what I’m in school for and have a full scholarship in!!! Yippie!!!

No pressure tags:

@gltzpzy @sweetlemongrove @hwasoup @sassypossumm @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @angel-of-the-moons and anyone else <3

Thnx for reading to the end, pookie🥹

Thank you for the tag @sleketon666

Do you make your bed?

Yes, on the weekends especially, but If I don't make the bed my partner does. 

Favourite number?

17, Idk just a good number.

What's your job?

I won’t get specific, but I do stuff that involves art on the daily. 

If you could go back to school, would you?

Maybe, just to get my masters. But as of now definitely not doing that. 

Can you parallel park?

Yes! I’m not the best but I have done it before.

Do you think aliens are real?

Yes, I think there's just no way there isn’t other life out there.

Can you drive a manual car?

Nope

What's your guilty pleasure?

Writing smut and drawing cocks. But also pop music and cheesy romances.  

Tattoos?

None, but my partner does!

Favourite color?

Like a light blue

Favourite type of music?

I like many different types…Just anything but country.

Do you like puzzles?

Yeah sometimes. 

Any phobias?

I don’t know what the phobias are called, but I am scared of deep murky water and also the dark (don’t judge me…) 

Favourite childhood sport?

I used to like volleyball and basketball 

Do you talk to yourself?

Yes, all the time. 

What movie(s) do you adore?

Pride And Prejudice, Sixteen candles, 10 things I hate about you, and the original Halloween. Plus many many more. (Fun fact about me, I quote movies all the time so much it’s become a game between me and my mother) 

Coffee or tea?

Neither….I don't like bitter drinks

First thing you wanted to be growing up?

I wanted to be a vet and then for a long time I wanted to be a mortician. 

No pressure tags-

@cinnasalmon @dark-and-kawaii @dutifullylazybread @lazyjellyfish300 @lemonsrosesandlavender @drizztdohurtin

[a-method-in-it]

Trans(masculine) former Potterhead here! I still own the books, were a gift, a hardcover set from my mom from years ago. I even made a parody of Im a Lumberjack and I'm OK from Monty Python as I'm a Hufflepuff and I'm OK and helped found a Dumbledore's Army club at my High School I loved HP so much, I was obsessed, but now I have so many mixed emotions about the franchise I don't really know what to do.

I cannot speak for trans women, but as a queer trans person, if I see someone reading the books or watching the movies or wearing merch its like. Ok. I know I might get along with this person, they like the same stuff I (used to) like....BUT do they know how the werewolf thing is about AIDS, implying gay people are out of control monsters, and how the only villain with werewolfism specifically targets minors, implying pedophilia is a trait inherent in gay people? Do they know that when a trans woman reads the books they worry they wont be "woman enough" to keep the stairs in the girls dorm from turning into a slide, because they know that the author specifically thinks they don't deserve to sleep in the girl's dorm because of their gentials? Do they understand that JK Rowling's opinions are there, insidiously rooting into young minds? Are they reading this critically? Or do they support what JK is saying? Do they know all of these things and not care about it, dismiss it out of hand?

Does this person want me dead?

It boils down to a Feeling of Unease. Is this person safe for me to be around? There is a Very Real Danger that the person in the Ravenclaw Shirt and Golden Snitch Earrings is going to call the police on a trans woman going to the bathroom, or beat her, or even kill her, because the author of their favorite series has convinced them trans women are men in dresses and that men in women's bathrooms are dangerous. That person could also be a nice genuine nerd, queer themselves, even potentially a friend, but now I am Suspicious of that person. I am suspicious of anyone who openly enjoys it (unless they are children, kids don't know better, or if they have a tattoo, idk how old that tat is). They want to read it at home and want a discussion on new themes and how to make it better/less gross? Fine by me.

But if someone is publicaly supportting her, staying extremely active in the fandom defending the books or movies or JK herself, having and wearing merch which could direct new people (probably kids! Who will get Obsessed! And don't know better!) into buying things from her and giving her money? After all that she's done? After she literally helped create legislation against being trans?? Not cool.

The series is just simply tainted for a lot of trans folk like me. I still hold it dear foe what it did for me as a child, and I know if I read the series again I would still love it, but I would also HATE myself for enjoying it, knowing that the person who wrote this, the bit of her soul which she has given me, wants me dead. Wants my friends dead.

So I'm not really saying if you support HP publicaly people will see you as a TERF but I am also absolutely saying that people will see you as a TERF if you publicaly support the HP franchise. Death of the author is well and good when the author is dead and/or their estate doesn't get any money for new books or merch purchased, but she is alive and actively trying to kill trans folks, so literally anything that could be seen as support of her, or get others to support her even accidentally, can make trans folk uncomfortable and feel unsafe.

Hope this helped? I know I'm not the original asker, this is just my two cents.

Hi there! Thank you for posting this lengthy and very thoughtful response (and I hope you don’t mind my answering publicly -- if so, let me know and I’ll delete). There is one (admittedly very long) thing I’d like to say in response, but if you’re not looking for that, just know that I really value hearing your perspective and you can feel free to skip all of this and carry on your way. 

---

You say that you would probably enjoy the books if you reread them, but would hate yourself for doing so -- and I just want to say that what you like does not make you a bad person or act as any valid basis for deserving hate, from yourself or anyone else. 

Like, for instance, I’m a person who cannot stand horror movies and I am genuinely confused that anyone would enjoy watching terrible things happen to people for 90+ minutes. But I would never say that people who like horror movies are bad people just because they do enjoy that. The same goes for violent video games -- I don’t like them, but I don’t think the people who do are bad.

Because what media you personally enjoy has really no bearing on whether you are a good person. Being a good person is about how you treat others, whether you are kind, whether you are patient, whether you are understanding, whether you help people when you can and show up for the people in your life when they need you. It has nothing to do with whether you like a particular book or movie or videogame. 

So if you do want to reread those books because you think they would bring you joy, I hope that you do. 

Long before she became a TERF -- (and for the record, I don’t think that she was actively and consciously transphobic at the time when she was writing the books, for the simple reason that most of the people who are TERFs today weren’t at that point) -- I had already gotten used to tuning out Rowling and her fondness for Word of God pronouncements. 

Like, Dumbledore being gay actually fit into the canon very well, but others? They just felt tired and not thought-out and her whole short history of American magic was incredibly lazy. The werewolfism=AIDS thing was offensive in very real ways--and also it should be noted just does not make sense as a metaphor. Not just because AIDS will kill you and being a werewolf will not and there’s no way to bridge that fundamental disconnect -- but also because the way people talk about being a werewolf in the damn books doesn’t resemble at all the way people talk about AIDS patients in real life. Which makes me think she didn’t actually mean for it to be a metaphor when she wrote it and then years later threw it out there because it sounded good to her in the moment because she hadn’t thought it through.

By the time we got to wizards shitting on the floor because she very clearly forgot that she had already had chamber pots referenced in the text, I was long-since tapped out. 

Which is all just to say that it is beyond fair for you to use being a fan of Harry Potter as a data point in gauging your safety as a trans person -- but if we’re talking just about you enjoying the books?

Well, in that case, fuck Rowling and her weird post-canon comments that half the time don’t even make sense. If she wanted trans girls to not be allowed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, she should have put it in the damn text. As far as I’m concerned, trans girls and trans boys are allowed up whichever staircase matches their sense of themselves (and, I like to think, nonbinary kids get the run of the whole tower). 

In fact, as far as I’m concerned, she lost the right to have me care what she says about the Harry Potter universe when all of her comments started being unbearably lazy, asinine, and/or nonsensical. If she’d been half this uninspired and careless when writing the actual books, I would have stopped reading them. 

This has been a very long reply on that single point, but I want to end by saying that the point is, even if I accepted the premise that liking the Harry Potter books is in and of itself wrong -- and I hope I’ve made something of a case that it’s not -- it still shouldn’t be something you hate yourself over. Short of actually murdering people, I’m not sure there’s anything that’s grounds to outright hate yourself, honestly, but liking a book is definitely not on the list. 

Either way, you seem like a lovely person, one who is very thoughtful and has been very patient and generous with your time in writing all of that out. I hope that you find ways to also be a little more patient and generous with yourself -- about Harry Potter or any other topic -- because you deserve that and you do not deserve to be hated by anyone, least of all yourself. And I also hope you have a good rest of your night. 

[jimblejamblewritings]

riddle means misery | part 9.

Summary: Y/N Riddle. Not much more has to be said. Everyone hates her. She’s evil... she has to be.

Warnings for the Series: 18+, this series is dark. Manipulation, dubcon verging on noncon, abuse of power, violence, ed mentions, death, blood

Pairing: Bill Weasley x black!reader (semi-slowburn)

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: lol, I don’t know why I assumed that a semi-slowburn wouldn’t be a longer story but here we are at part 9 and still going. 

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

You wrote another tally in your journal. Remus had got you one as a Christmas present. You spend a good number of hours at the dining room table tallying all the days you spent in prison— both Azkaban and St. Barney’s. You only took a short break to eat lunch and then started tallying up all the days you had been free so far. It was a habit that you weren’t convinced you’d break any time soon. 

“Y/N, we’re leaving. We’ll see you next weekend, yeah?” 

You nodded at the three Marauders who were going back to Hogwarts. You weren’t teaching for the rest of the year— a break all of the staff thought you should’ve had. You needed proper time in the real world before holding any sort of job. Dumbledore promised your spot would still be there when you asked about being hired for real. 

Ginny surprised you with a hug before running to the fireplace. You set down your quill, having finally marked the tally that signified today. You set it in your basket and closed the lid back with a gentle pat. Charlie came bounding down the stairs with all his suitcases, Bill following right behind him. 

“Ready?” Charlie asked. 

“Are you okay going with them, Y/N?” Molly asked as she shoved treats into your basket until it was almost full. 

“I don’t want to impose. Thank you.” 

Mrs. Weasley insisted that you wouldn’t be imposing by staying with her and Arthur but she let you go anyway. Charlie and Bill shared a flat that was mainly Bill’s since Charlie was off taming dragons. It was easier rent for both of them. Since he had the bigger bedroom, Bill was perfectly content with cutting it in half. He conjured up a wall and separate door for you. 

“Charlie and I are taking off three weeks, just until you’re adjusted.” 

“Can we go get a blanket later?” 

“We can go now if you want.”

“Are you sure?” 

Charlie jumped back up to his feet. He and Bill stayed slightly behind you. Partly to give you space and partly to observe you. Aside from when you were running away from James, you were very slow. You also looked at the ground more than anything else. They couldn’t tell if it was anxiety in general or because every single witch and wizard seemed to be recognizing you— everyone throwing apologetic looks. 

You waited for the wizard in front of you to walk through the Gringotts doors but he tried to usher you in. It was only when you realized that he was being genuine and not going to slam the door in your face did you actually go through it. It was almost laughable that you were a grown woman and this was the first time you had ever set foot in a bank. The goblin sitting at the desk at the very end of the reception hall looked down at you. 

“Name?” 

“Y/N Riddle.” 

His eyes went wide. “Arm please… other one.”

You held out the arm with the Dark Mark on it. The goblin examined the mark before nodding and placing what you could only assume was the key to your vault in your hand. He jumped down from his desk chair and motioned for you and the two Weasley men to follow him. Bill looked down when you grabbed the sleeve of his shirt as the little cart started to descend underneath the first floor of the bank. 

“Apologies,” the goblin said. “Ms. Riddle’s vault has been moved but she had to be here in person to retrieve the assets from the old vault. Key, please.” 

He took the little key from your hand. You nodded as you saw the open vault. The measly single stack of galleons and knuts was to be expected from the Riddle fortune. You were kind of surprised there were any galleons. You had expected every bit of the money to be gone. What the hell was the Ministry even bothering with when it came to freezing the account when you were a child? 

The cart ride away from your old vault and towards your new one was much more comfortable. It was one of the few vaults above ground. On the third floor of the bank, there were lots of windows and it was very bright. The Ministry had taken lots of precautions with you. If it was anyone but you it might have been overkill or pampering for no reason. But they— along with a lot of other people— didn’t feel like they could just leave you to live your life right away. They might not be able to do so for a while. The goblin asked for your same vault key once more. 

“Merlin’s Beard,” you gasped. 

There was more money in there than you could have imagined. Even Bill and Charlie’s mouths were open at seeing it. There was no way all of it was from your compensation. You added your little single stack from your old vault before picking up just the amount you thought you would need for the day. The goblin handed you a little pouch. 

“Gringotts pouch, connected to your vault. Daily limit is set by each vault holder. Anything more must be picked up in person.” 

“What do most people set?”

“Average income, twenty galleons.”

You agreed to do that as well, figuring that you would come back if you ever needed more than twenty galleons for the day. Gringotts was left to go explore the shops of Diagon Alley. You finally opened up a door to a store full of home goods. Bill and Charlie watched a shaky hand pat each blanket. Nodding to yourself, you picked up three of them. One was weighted and one stayed extra hot. It was still winter so the heated one— woven with fibers made of phoenix feathers— seemed perfect for you. Holding up your bag, you showed off your purchases to the two men with you. They tried not to laugh too hard at how proud you seemed of three blankets. 

“Is there anywhere else you want to go?” Charlie asked. 

You looked at Bill. “Where did you get the sweater I borrowed?”

“My mum made it.” 

“Oh.” Your face fell a bit. “Can we go eat?” 

The pub was nice. Anything was nice to you. Charlie and Bill were sharing stories with you about their lives in order to fill up the silence of eating. You like listening to their stories. Their family seemed so nice. You wished you were old enough to have gone to school with Molly and Arthur or young enough to go with Bill or Charlie. That wish died quickly— you probably would have been the same way so it didn’t matter. The two of them watched you stiffen up when a bunch of Aurors came in to get lunch—  dressed in the Auror uniform. Your hands started to shake and then the rest of your body was trembling. 

“Can we leave?” 

Bill was immediately around to the other side of the table. He swung an arm over your shoulder and tried to block the view. Charlie helped by standing behind the both of you. Bill could feel you shaking like mad. Diagon Alley was quickly forgotten and you went back to the safety of the men’s flat. You might have been a third roommate but the place didn’t feel like yours at all. You didn’t want to make it feel like yours, already feeling bad that you were imposing on them. Without being asked by you, Charlie immediately opened the doors to their French balcony. Even though it wasn’t a full deck with room to walk out on, they figured you’d be content with just sitting somewhat outside. 

Charlie’s guess was correct. After a very quick shower, you prepared tea in your new favorite mug, grabbed your newly bought blanket, and sat right up against the balcony. Bill and Charlie lived in the city so muggles were everywhere but the street housed almost exclusively wizards— everyone’s windows were charmed so muggles could never actually witness the magic inside even if they were just taking peeks in windows as they walked by. 

You watched the muggles and wizards alike go back and forth, going to wherever they needed to go. They seemed so busy. You wondered if you would ever be that busy in your life. You very much wanted to be. The balcony doors were only closed once the sun had fully set. Bill and Charlie tried their hardest not to question you too much or make it seem like they were paying attention to the weird things you did. 

The clashing of pots and pans got both men’s attention in the morning. What the hell was all that noise? They exited their bedrooms to see your back to them. You were in the kitchen, attempting cooking. You had bought a cookbook when you guys were out.

“Accio noodles.”

A small scream left you when the jar that held pasta came flying out the cabinet and almost hit you. It crashed to the floor, glass breaking. Bill and Charlie rushed over to you. 

“Are you okay?”

You kept looking at the pile of glass until Charlie repaired the jar. Bill felt your hand that was still on his chest, from when he pulled you away from the glass, tapping a rather erratic pattern. He grabbed your hand and you turned from looking at the floor where the glass once was to looking at him. 

“Stop,” he said. “It’s just a jar. No harm, no foul.” 

“B-But, I woke you up and made a mess.” 

Bill shook his head. “None of that… What were you making?” 

You picked up the cookbook from where it was resting on the counter to show them a chicken and mushroom noodle soup. You had purposely picked up the book that said A Witch’s Guide to Homemaking: being a homemaker for yourself. It was for young women entering the adult world but you had been out of the real world for so long that you thought it was appropriate. All the recipes and tips involved very basic, almost baby, magic. Charlie and Bill didn’t say anything about the book or the fact that you were eating soup for breakfast. They just looked at the recipe. 

“Three flicks of a wand for the broth. Charlie, you can cut the veggies right?” 

“Yeah, but we’re out of mushrooms.” 

“I’ll get some,” you offered before either man could say anything.

You wanted to help, wanted to be able to do something. Quickly, you ran to your room to get galleons and put on a sweater. 

“We should’ve stopped so you could get a coat,” Bill muttered when you started to open the front door. “Accio coat.” 

He handed his Auror coat to you. You just stared at it like it would come to life and bite you at any moment. 

“It won’t hurt you. Please wear it, you’re going to get sick… Charlie, you have any coats?” 

“Sorry, I’m around dragons all the time. They leave Romania when it gets cold and so do I. I only got Mum’s sweaters.”

“Y/N, please.” 

You gingerly took the red coat. It was a bit different from the one that he wore at all your trials and escorting you to Diagon Alley— fur around the collar and sleeves for the winter uniform. It was very heavy when you put it on. Heavy and warm.

“Can I leave?” 

“Yeah, have fun.” 

Bill and Charlie laughed as you waddled out of the flat. The snow stuck to your hair as you moved through the streets. Charlie watched you from the window until you were out of sight. You stopped at Gringotts instead of just going to the store to collect some muggle money. 

The goblin was kind enough to inform you that you could also pull your money out of your pouch and it would convert into muggle money if you simply thought about it. You wanted to get the mushrooms from a muggle grocery store because you wanted to get a cookbook from them, one that didn’t require magic at all. 

“What took you so long?” Charlie asked when you came back. “We were starting to worry.” 

They didn’t need a verbal answer when they saw you putting up the muggle cookbook on the kitchen shelf. You handed off the mushrooms and went to set the table. Breakfast went smoothly once you were out of the kitchen. 

Life with Bill and Charlie was an interesting one. They went back to work after their three-week breaks. But Bill always ate breakfast and dinner with you if he wasn’t off curse-breaking— he went on to curse break for Aurors since the pay was better and he still got to do what he loved even if there was a stricter process to do so. And Charlie tried to come back every weekend. It wasn’t always possible but he still tried. If they weren’t there then you went to the Burrow. Molly was more than happy to spend time teaching you things— she saw it almost as a practice run for helping Ginny when it came time for her to start learning how to be her own witch. Sometimes you went to work with Arthur, more than happy to run investigative tasks for him in the Muggle world— you gave him a very detailed report that a rubber duck was sold in the children’s department and used to make bath time more amusing. 

When it wasn’t a Weasley, you were usually around Lily and Dorcas because, like Bill, they had government jobs. But unlike him, they were almost always in the Ministry. Marlene got you a permanent pass to be allowed to sit in the stands during her quidditch practice. You hadn’t gone to one of her professional games yet but sometimes you did go to practice. And you went to Hogwarts a lot during the week. The fireplace in the Weasley flat was the only one permanently connected to the fireplace in the Great Hall. 

“Right on time,” Sirius chuckled when you stepped out of the fireplace after breakfast with Bill. “What did you make today?” 

“Almond and vanilla yogurt parfait. Bill said it was very good and we should make it again for Charlie.” 

“Sounds delicious. Whose class am I taking you to?” Sirius tried to ask you as many questions as possible to try and help break your need to ask people about everything before you did something. 

“Severus.” 

“Ew. Okay, let’s go.” 

Severus was always happy to see you in the Potions classroom— his students were extremely happy as well. His words were less harsh whenever you were in the room. The more you showed up at the school, the more students came up to you to ask questions. Not just in Potions but wherever. You liked the feeling of being asked things. You left Severus to go to Remus’ classroom. That was something that you guys were practicing. Everyone thought that if you could switch classrooms without asking then maybe you could do other things without asking. 

“Perfect timing,” Remus said when you walked into the classroom. “Students, I bet if you beg then Professor Riddle will let you go.” 

A choir of voices rang out as all of Remus’ first years begged you to take them to the Chamber of Secrets. They kept promising not to touch anything or go anywhere that you didn’t give them permission to go. Eventually, you agreed. Remus clapped his hands together. 

“Class, let’s go, be on your best behavio— Y/N, where are your shoes?” 

You looked down at your socks that were wiggling back at you. Remus sighed. 

“Does no one notice but me? They all let you walk out without… Accio Y/N’s shoes.” 

You blinked as some sherpa-lined clogs were in your hand. Remus admitted that almost everyone had shoes in their classroom for you. Lily, Dorcas, Bill, and Arthur had them in their office. Marlene had some in her locker at the quidditch pitch. Molly had a whole basket for you. As you led everyone to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, you realized how many things people did for you silently. They tried their hardest not to make you feel like a needy toddler but wouldn’t leave you to take care of yourself alone.

Myrtle swooped down from the window ledge to stand right in front of you and all the students. She rolled her eyes before looking at you. 

“I saw the trial, I guess I’m sorry. Your father’s screwed us both over.” 

“Thank you, Myrtle.”

“Whatever.” 

She left you all with an obnoxious moan before diving into a toilet. The students gave half-hearted chuckles before focusing when you started to speak in parseltongue. Like little ducklings, they followed you down— Remus decided to be the very end of the line. One of the Ravenclaws looked around in awe. 

“There’s a lot of parseltongue to get in.” 

They weren’t wrong. There were multiple entrances before reaching the heart of the Chamber. Everyone froze at seeing the dead basilisk. It was just a skeleton now. Remus used his wand to set the bones back up into the proper form, making it a giant fossil. The moment you let the students know that they could anywhere, as long as they came back when Remus called, they ran. Screams and echoes were coming from all over. It was like a giant playground or maze to them. 

“What are you doing?” Remus noticed you wander over to the water on the side, near the first turn off tunnel. 

You were digging through the water, picking up basilisk fangs before setting some back down in the water. Remus panicked when you hissed as being cut by one until you reassured him. A master could never be hurt by their own basilisk. Since there was only ever one in the Chamber of Secrets, you were never concerned. You only set older looking fangs on the concrete behind you and dropped all the newer ones back in the water. 

The children came back immediately when Remus’ loud voice echoed through the place. They followed you up, excitedly talking about the mini adventure. Gathered right in front of the sink entrance, every student gasped when you handed them a fang to commemorate the journey. Old fangs were clean of any venom deposits and with a snake that had been alive since Salazar Slytherin’s time, there were a lot of fangs around. Now that you guys were no longer in the Chamber, the students walked ahead of you and Remus as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. You leaned over. 

“Remus… Will you help me with magic? And maybe James and Sirius?” 

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. 

“I won’t be good, I’m still a—”

“A squib. I remember. Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to where you used to be.” 

James and Sirius were so onboard. You all grabbed lunch and moved to sit on the pier of the Black Lake. Even though it was only early spring, it was still warm enough to be outside. James and Sirius weren’t sure if they should look away after a series of failed attempts. No wingardium leviosa, expelliarmus, reparo. Nothing was working. Remus was ready to give one of the other men a chance, thinking maybe his teaching wasn’t helpful for you— not right away anyway. James jumped up. 

“Try Expecto Patronum,” he said, wiping his fingers of chip crumbs on his pants. 

You and Remus both looked at him like he sprouted three heads. You were a squib. You couldn’t even do stupefy. What on earth would make him believe that the patronus charm would work? Instead of being on your side, Sirius shrugged. 

“It’s worth a shot. You couldn’t do Nox which is one of the easiest spells in the world but you can do Accio. Not all squibs are the same. Filch can’t do a single spell. I know a squib that can apparate and can’t do shit else. Besides, you’re scared Y/N. Not just of us or other people. Those dementors still scare you and maybe you need to overcome that for your magic to work.” 

Remus gave in. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” 

You could agree with that sentiment. You adjusted the grip on your wand as instructed. Remus made you feel like one of his students as he taught you. He was patient, even praising you when a slight light came from your wand. That was the most magic you had ever seen in your entire life. It was enough to spur you to try again. 

Silver slowly erupted from your wand. Your eyes lit up as a small falcon flew over your head. You were positive that it was supposed to be bigger considering it was a falcon but you couldn’t be bothered to care. You turned away from the men, watching the bird fly low over the lake. The three Marauders all tilted their heads. Sirius opened his mouth. 

“Isn’t that…”

“Bill’s patronus, yeah.” James was focused on the bird. “You think it’s a coincidence?”

Remus shook his head. “For a squib? That’d be one hell of a coincidence… Has she seen his patronus before?” 

“Yeah, remember we casted them on Christmas.” 

“There’s not an ounce of realization on her face.” 

Sirius took a sip of his drink. “Maybe she doesn’t realize her own feelings about him. Think about it, she’s still getting used to everything, learning about herself, and trying to believe we all aren’t going to turn on her again. She hasn’t really had time to focus on Bill.”

(part 10)

FIC TAGLIST:

@thirsty4nonlivingmen @0collectiveworld0 @motomamita​

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107

[zalrb]

So I read a bit of the wot series before I even knew about the show and I stopped around the time the trailer came out, and a lot of people have complained about the differences between the show and the books, but I don’t mind the differences because they aren’t that major, my question is, what are your thoughts on book to movie/show adaptations, and how big do the differences have to be before you stop watching?

ummm, this is interesting because i think it's different when it's movies vs shows and there hasn't yet been a book series that i've been really invested in that's been adapted to a show.

for a movie, the best adaptations actually do retain the core message/theme of the book(s) and then adapt it to film, which means understanding that the medium is different and therefore conventions have to change to suit that medium.

-- there are exceptions -- brokeback mountain, for instance, doesn't deviate from the short story at all i don't think but rather the cinematography really brings the story to life.

but, like, the godfather is a brilliant movie and a brilliant adaptation of the book, it's actually way, way better than the book. of course, mario puzo who wrote the godfather also co-wrote the screenplay, but the movie trimmed unnecessary subplots from the book (including a woman whose vagina was 'too big' and so got a surgery to tighten it for sonny's pleasure -- but it's ok! because after she gets the surgery, they get married!) to distill the true essence of what the story actually is.

with lord of the rings, peter jackson, like, changed the order of when certain plot points happened, he gave arwen a larger role and gave arwen and aragorn more of a story, he didn't include certain characters and it's because lotr is a sprawling, multi-layered world with an entire history and various languages and before jackson got cgi-crazy, he understood that these were movies and he had to consider things like pacing and audiences needing to get invested in characters to care about their emotional developments, he knew what would work onscreen so it worked.

with the harry potter movies ... ok you have, like, prisoner of azkaban vs the goblet of fire, for instance. the goblet of fire is a SHITTY adaptation and it's because the movie just focused on the triwizard tasks, kind of made rita skeeter perv-y, and didn't really invest in character at all whereas the prisoner of azkaban was heavily character-based (at least with harry) and curaon focused on what harry's emotional state was like at the time of the book, which made for a successful interpretation of the source material.

when it comes to television shows, though, pacing is of course important, structure is absolutely important, but i think because you have the course of a season whether it's six episodes or twenty, you have more scope to keep certain things.

i'm not sure what changes were made to wot but the pacing was absolutely too fast for me to care that much about the characters (i was holding on to lan and nynaeve for dear life and they were still very rushed to me), at least on prime, they try to make up for the lack of world building by putting tidbits that you can read to understand certain nuances that i didn't bother to read because this should be IN the show AND it just felt like a really poor rip off of LOTR, so.

[sideprince]

An excerpt from right after Voldemort dies (emphasis mine):

“The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their saviour and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks, hear the news now creeping in from every quarter, as the morning drew on, that the Imperiused up and down the country had come back to themselves, that Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured, that the innocent of Azkaban were being released at that very moment, and that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been named temporary Minister for Magic …”

This was the part of the books most removed from reality for me. That the second Voldemort dies, the old power structure is immediately restored. Within hours. As if his existence was the only thing perpetuating injustice and keeping Ministry staff and others from going against Death Eaters. That as soon as he died there was no more conflict, no Death Eaters trying to maintain the power they had gained, that Azkaban staff immediately complied with releasing innocent prisoners or that there was even a way to assess, so quickly, who was innocent and who wasn't, of all the prisoners who were imprisoned by the same justice system that had been sending people there for decades or even centuries. I'm not even going to touch the whole ministers-are-appointed-not-elected thing right now.

This is the fantasy of a woman who thinks that the villain of WWII was Hitler alone. That the war ended when he killed himself, and the four+ months following didn't matter. Of someone who hasn't bothered to study history enough to know that prisoners in concentration camps weren't all liberated in one fell swoop all on the same day, let alone how many of them were killed or left to die by staff who tried to hide their war crimes. This is a woman who probably thinks that slaves in the US were freed the moment the Civil War officially ended and slave masters immediately admitted their wrongdoing and handed over their political and economic power willingly. There's no reason she couldn't have framed the above passage as, "over the coming weeks these changes would happen, but for now Harry was tired and wanted to be alone and had one last thing to do" etc. as he goes to the Headmaster's office to talk to Dumbledore's portrait.

Rowling wrote the above because she doesn't really understand history or care to. Like most middle and upper class Brits, she's never had to. To her, history and politics are abstract subjects that are interesting enough to discuss at a dinner party but have no real bearing on her own life because her privilege has always protected her from its consequences and there has been no event or circumstance in her life that has forced her to think it ever will. When she talks about her experiences with poverty it becomes apparent that it wasn't crippling or debilitating, that her struggles were primarily with mental illness in a system where healthcare was not only socialized but hadn't been ripped to shreds by the Tories yet. I'm not saying that she hasn't struggled, but someone like her who had a formal education and went to college at Exeter has the ability and resources to pull herself out of a bad situation, and it becomes a period in her life not a life sentence the way real poverty often is, especially in such a classist country. For all her talk of poverty, it starts to seem relative when you consider how much time she spent writing in cafes where you have to keep ordering to keep your table and neither food nor drink is cheap - certainly not cheaper than having the same at home and bought from Tesco, like someone on a tight budget would do. I'm reasonably middle class and the idea of indulging in cafe-bought goods on a daily basis sounds more extravagant than what I can afford.

All this to say, this is why so much of her own world building is weak - it just isn't thought through. The magic of these books lies in the characters and their journeys, and it's OK not to be committed to world building if it's not your strength. But then don't get political in the real world. Don't try to pass yourself off as someone who understands history and politics, and don't get involved in it and put your money behind influencing it just to prove that you're something you're not. Because to me it's obvious she's compensating. These books show an author whose understanding of history and politics comes from having friends who are smarter than her whose conversations she overhears and collects bits of perspectives from. Someone who's probably unaware that her additions to these conversations are met with polite replies that hide the eye rolls or affectionate "well, you know how she is" dismissals her friends give her when she isn't around.

question to the void: what inconsistency in the harry potter series irritates you the most?

[lipstickbisous]

the lion and her sun. (4)

LOST LANNISTER PRINCESS

notes: so far, every chapter has ended with aurane rejecting oberyn sooo. and yeah some facts abt this might wrong but hey..

we gon pretend like dahlia’s exist in this universe. 

and the dress she wears during her walk is très similar to the pink one shae wears in ‘the lion and the rose��. this is for lack of a better picture. (except the dress is orange)

i wrote this while watching the prisoner of azkaban. 

none of that matters, but it’s important to me that you know that.

- john mulaney.

ALSO updates might be a little slower now, we’re having HUGE wifi problems at our house but i will definitely keep writing!

pairing: oberyn x oc!reader

summary: on her last day before the married life, aurane’s emotions start to change.

word count: 6.5k

masterlist

the week was coming to an end, much to aurane’s dismay. for the past three days, she had much to think about and do. her walk with oberyn had thoughts racing around in her head when she had gone to sleep that night. even resting naked against the silk sheets, her pillow pressed to her face with her sprawled out behind her head and her eyes gently shut, memories of the gardens and the prince were floating about, refusing aurane’s begs to go so she could ease into unconsciousness.

when her father had spoken of the sudden and upsetting news to aurane, cersei had spoken of how the dornish would be obligated to use the youngers lannister anyway they wanted. 

“they’ll humiliate her, torture her,” aurane’s dear sister spoke. “you’re going to send her off to her death. a lamb for slaughter.”

now, as aurane watched the sun rise with the silk sheets pulled up to cover her bare breasts, she wondered if her sister, cersei lannister, who had never been wrong about anything, had seriously misjudged the martell family. the princess hadn’t been in the city to meet the common people yet and she hoped that they would be exactly like the royals of sunspear. 

she could hear the bustling of early-rising maidens attending to their chores outside of her door. the child inside of aurane couldn’t wait to see what breakfast she would be brought this morning. 

it must’ve been hours since she had risen from her sleep because the sun now sat in its throne in the sky and there was a knock on the door. “i have your breakfast, your grace.” a sweet voice spoke but the unfamiliar accent made it hard to decipher. 

“come in,” aurane spoke, pulling up two of her pillows against the headboard of her bed and leaning her back towards them. it might’ve been the way she had slept but there was ache throughout her spine. the girl who walked in could’ve been no older than aurane. her hair was curly and frizzy and her skin a light brown. her lips were perfectly shaped and her nose curved into a more rounded one. the girl set down the tray of food at the table near aurane’s window, but before she could set out the plate, cutlery, and goblet, aurane spoke. “forgive me, but i don’t think you’ve ever served me before.”

the girl nodded and curtsied. “my name is dyanna,” she said.

“and where are you from,” aurane questioned before sitting back up and pushing herself off of the bed she’d found more comfortable than any other. along with her she took the silk sheets and held them against her chest so they covered her breasts, stomach, and ass. she sat at her table and smiled when seeing that breakfast that morning consisted of fresh bread, butter and jam, berries, and more orange juice. “dyanna.”

aurane’s interest in a someone of lower-class was unusual for any maiden to experience, even in dorne. “i’m from meereen, your grace.” before aurane could pop a grape into her mouth or slice off a thin piece of bread, she grinned.

“meereen?” she questioned, to which dyanna nodded. aurane set the grape down on her plate and sighed, the smile still lingering. “i’ve never met someone from essos.”

dyanna smiled with her hands held together. “no?” aurane shook her head before finishing half of her orange juice. in the past few days, it the only thing other than wine that aurane could drink. new flavors were being brought to her with every meal and the lannister princess couldn’t get enough. 

“no. my father always kept me in the red keep,” she divulged, smearing butter onto a slice of bread and jam on half of it. “tell me, dyanna of meereen,” aurane inquired before biting down on a small piece of bread. the crust was crunchy in her mouth and the jam, the sweetness of strawberries and sugar, contrasted the tecture. “if my knowledge of geography is correct, meereen is just on slaver’s bay.”

it was hesitant, but dyanna nodded silently in response. when aurane kept eating, popping a berry in her mouth between every other bite, she confessed, “i was born a slave and raised into it, your grace,” the princess sat back, leaving her loaf of bread on the plate along with the few berries left. her gaze softened, showing that she was listening, as her eyes focused on the sea. “i was sold to sunspear and sent to work for prince doran but he freed me.”

slavery had never been something that aurane had first-hand witnessed but her beliefs on it remained negative, unlike her sister and father, who couldn’t have cared less about those born lower than them. it was always a flaw that aurane had seen. “so, you’re a free woman,” aurane looked to the coffered ceiling and clutched her goblet of juice in her hand. “but you choose to work as a maiden?”

dyanna only shrugged, her posture remaining ideal. “what could i do?”

aurane laughed before sipping the rest of her drink and setting it down next to her half-full plate. “you could own a stand in the market. or work at one at least,” aurane sat back in her seat, mindlessly letting the sheets slip a bit, revealing the top of her breast. “collect enough money to buy your own place, or...” dyanna looked up in interest and aurane smirked. “purchase your own land.”

the maiden laughed and shook her head. aurane had then finished her breakfast and felt the breeze of the dornish mornings through the strands of her hair. “i’m fine here, your grace.” aurane kindly nodded as dyanna took the tray in her arms and sighed. before leaving the bedroom and closing the door, she piped up, “oh, your grace, forgive me. i forgot to mention it, but prince oberyn has told me to inform you that he would like another walk...before the wedding.”

dyanna then shut the door behind her before aurane could smile in silence. for the short time she’d been awake that morning, the princess hadn’t once thought anything about her marriage. dorne had entranced aurane and fabricated an entire sort of bliss in her mind.

there wasn’t much to do that day anyway. the wedding was already planned and she’d already worn the wedding dress to have it sized perfectly--during which aurane had been poked with needles twice but brush it off when the maiden apologized mercifully.

another stroll around the gardens, even if it was with the prince, didn’t sound so bad.

this time, aurane had worn an outfit less revealing than her last one. she’d spent an afternoon one day diving through her dresser and wardrobes to see what exactly oberyn had given her. most were two-piece outfits that aurane didn’t see herself comfortable with wearing just yet, but others were fine dresses made of soft and translucent linens. in the bottom drawers of her dresser were at least nine different pairs of...pants? aurane had never worn pants before. in casterly rock and king’s landing, women were always required to be clothed in robes down to their feet. the princess supposed that along with a new home came new opportunities.

well, that inner voice in her head spoke at she bit her bottom lip while holding a pair of trousers that were a dark shade of brown. there’s no point in not trying.

aurane stood with the pants in her hands, naked in her room--in all of her glory--and sighed before slipping her feet through the corresponding holes of the clothing. she pulled the pants up to her waist where it had felt comfortable and tied the two loose strings along the sides together the pants tightened around her stomach.

there was nothing much for aurane to say about them except for the fact that she entirely did not enjoy them. she looked to the mirror and noticed how they bagged around her thighs as she pinched the areas that left gaps between her skin and the material of the pants. aurane pulled them off as quickly as possible and pitched them into the woven basket she’d been given on her third day for dirty laundry. 

she began to dive into the wardrobe again before noticing the pale orange dress that had been hung directly in the center of her closet. the silk had nearly been invisible because when aurane slipped it onto her frame, she could see her legs and breasts through the fabric. it was then she remembered the prince’s sudden mention of undergarments and wraps that had been placed inside the dressers as well. the entire process of wearing a simple dress that fit perfectly took far too long for aurane then removed the clothing from her body, wrapped a cloth around her bust and backside, then placing the dress back on her frame. it hadn’t been too entirely hot that day, so the simple sheer fabric of the robe had been perfect against aurane’s skin.

by then, with the sun’s position in the sky, it had already been an hour before lunch and aurane’s stomach began to rumble with a yearning for the dornish food she’d grown so attached to over the past week. the princess placed a hand over her torso and sighed. she supposed it would be best to wait for oberyn to arrive just as he had the other day. 

almost half an hour flew, and aurane was still waiting. as of now, she sat in a chair by her window, quill, ink, and paper in her lap as she drew the outline of the great palm tree in front of her room. she hadn’t once looked down to see what her drawing would turn out to be; it was an art technique she had been taught in king’s landing. aurane had already finished several other drawings of whatever the view from her window brought and they sat by her feet on the floor. finally, after an illusion of hours, there was a knock on her door.

aurane hated to admit that she immediately jumped off of her chair and onto her feet, running to the door to see the prince. but when she opened the door, it was a large man, taller than any other she’d seen, with rich dark skin and a bald head. “captain?” she cocked an eyebrow.

the guard nodded. “prince oberyn waits for you outside of the west wing of the castle,” areo hotah was one of the most intimidating men that aurane had ever seen and she had been trained by ser gregor in her teenages years--of course, it was never something to mention to the martells.

aurane chewed the inside of her cheek nervously and blushed. “right, um,” she said, looking back to her room and shaking her head before letting out a small laugh that didn’t change the guards’ expressions at all. “well, i guess i’m going.” areo let her leave the room before closing her doors behind her. they then walked down the hallways of the dornish castle, aurane in front with several of her guards behind her. the seven then turned a corner and was brought to another door at the end of the hallway. aurane laughed sheepishly and turned to the captain.

“the west wing is that way, your grace,” he pointed behind the group, in the opposite direction of how they had been walking. as much as aurane wanted to roll her eyes--because why hadn’t he mentioned it before?--she smiled politely and turned on her heel to the west wing.

they trailed down staircases, strolled down through hallways that all began to look the same, and took sharp turns and corners. “if you don’t mind my asking,” aurane spoke with her eyes focused on any sign of where she was in the castle. “why is the prince not at the front entrance? or the gardens?”

areo laughed deeply, a sound that came straight from the depths of his chest. “the prince has special plans today, your grace.” over the last few days, aurane had been reassured that she would remain safe in dorne. but with the captain’s sudden statement, a fear washed over aurane again.

the princess truly had no idea what was in the west wing. the east held all of the royal’s bedrooms, the north had the guest rooms, and the south was for the maidens, chefs, and laborers of the castle. but the remaining had always remained a mystery until now.

“elia martell’s room used to be here, your grace,” the captain spoke again. aurane’s straightforward footsteps began to slow in pace as the realization sunk in. “it’s been abandoned since her death.” without stopping in her walk, aurane sighed. it was quiet again, with only the marching steps of the guards, the wooden ends of the spears against the floor, and loud thoughts in aurane’s head for her to hear. “prince oberyn is just this way, your grace.” areo pointed down a staircase to where there was a little wooden door with a lining of light around it. 

sickness began to overtake aurane’s body as she thought about the one specific princess who once habited this part of the castle. how aurane’s family had brutally slaughtered this princess and her children; how they sent her off as a peace treaty. aurane hadn’t noticed it, but she then stood directly in front of the door, staring at the knob. areo, from behind her, cleared his throat for it was a tight staircase and not all six of the guards, including him, could fit inside. she was knocked out of her thoughts and pushed the door open, the sudden sunlight burning her eyes from becoming used to the dim lighting of the castle. she mentally hissed and slapped a hand over her eyes before they met other brown ones.

“good morning, lion,” oberyn smiled. behind him were several more guards holding spears taller than them. the brightness of the sun didn’t seem to affect him at all as aurane gently squinted. “come, we’ll find shade.”

when aurane was by his side, he placed a gentle hand on her back, just as he did nights ago when she had silently rejected him. “and where exactly are we going this time?”

the prince chuckled. “well, you are to be a princess of dorne by tomorrow,” he smiled as they began to walk. it was then, when aurane could finally see in the light, that she noticed they were in a similar space as the docks. behind a large wall, extremely close to the ocean that aurane could almost feel it on her skin. “i figured you would want to meet the city.”

two of his guards stood by an alike door to that of what was located in the castle. it was old and smelled moldy like it hadn’t been used in a long time. aurane laughed. “a secret entrace?” she looked up to the prince with an arched eyebrow. “you really think dorne won’t like me that you had to take me to a secret entrance?”

oberyn shrugged. “i didn’t think you would want the attention.” the two guards swung the door open and aurane could instantly hear the bustling and yelling of the city of sunspear. she looked to oberyn, who stood only two inches taller than her, and sighed before ducking to fit inside the small door frame and entered the city.

it had almost been like magic because the wall had been so thick and strong it kept out all sound of a well-growing economy. as far as aurane could see, there were large structures and houses built all over the land. on the second floors of those buildings must’ve been the homes to thousands of dornish citizens because below them on the first floor were market and small shops and trading centers. it had been so similar to king’s landing yet sunspear reminded aurane nothing of home.

the prince was quiet for a few seconds because not one common person had noticed their presence. “do you like it?” he asked.

aurane smiled but oberyn hadn’t seen it. she slowly nodded as she whispered a, “yeah,” but soon caught herself in such a vulnerable state. “it’s not like i have much of a say whether i like it or not, do i?”

her sarcastic and audacious remarks had no effect on the prince anymore or, really, anyone of dorne. she hadn’t seen ellaria since she’d brought her lunch but even her maidens and servants didn’t seem bothered. it was like their pride could never be tainted. without saying anything in response, oberyn simply cocked his head and they began to walk again.

the soldiers followed a foot behind them but yet maintained a distance for a discussion or even a simple conversation to take place. at least three ladies had recognized the prince and gently curtsied before returning to their daily duties. oberyn must’ve noticed aurane’s confused state because he answered with, “everyone in dorne is treated equal. farmers and marketers are treated just how i am treated.”

even aurane had to admit that the system the people of sunspear followed was fair and nice. “they just...” she shook her head, her eyes trailing over anything to look at by the second. “they don’t look so surprised.”

oberyn shrugged. “i come for walks often,” his hands were holding each together behind his back but every part of him wanted to place just a soft, caring hold on aurane. “the guards are a requirement of my brother.”

why was he so kind? why, even after the slaughtering his family had gone through, the pain he’d felt in his life, was he so kind? even better, how could he be so sweet and patient and loving to those below him? it made a regurgitative feeling arise in aurane’s stomach and she could feel the contents of her breakfast reaching her throat before sighing and swallowing it back down, cringing in disgust. 

“you’re distressed, my sun,” the pet name, which aurane had secretly grown found of but would never admit, made her slightly cower. “what’s wrong?”

the prince’s eyes trailed over the variety of fruits and vegetables being sold by one vender as aurane chose her words carefully. “i fear i’ve been...disrespectful,” it was long overdue but oberyn was patient. “from the moment we arrived in dorne, you’ve been nothing but- but hospitable and welcoming. and i’ve been...vile. and rude,” he only nodded for her to continue, sensing she had a whole loads of words to speak. “perhaps it was my sister who drove this fear into me that i wouldn’t be accepted here.”

a kind smile between a vendor and oberyn was exchanged from his viewing of the products, but he listened intently to every word. “growing up, you were taught we were animals.”

aurane nodded and laughed incredulously. “savages,” she corrected him. such biased opinions had been written in the books she’d read as a child when learning about westeros. “and during the past week, i’ve found you’re nothing like the sort.”

the prince chuckled and smiled so that butterflies flew down aurane’s throat and into her stomach, where they would remain. “oh, really?”

her eyes watched as he turned to look at every sort of item being sold that day. suddenly, his kindness was a likable attribute to aurane and she blushed with a sly smirk. “if i’m telling the truth here,” he nodded. “you might even be better than those in king’s landing.”

“well, it’s not hard to be better than a lannister.” his remark wasn’t hateful or vengeful as oberyn smirked back and for a second, aurane had forgotten that there were guards behind her or merchants and traders and farmers all around. it felt like it was just the two of them enjoying them a quiet afternoon and a simple conversation. she quite liked it. “perhaps we should find lunch somewhere.”

aurane furrowed her eyebrows with a crooked smile before hesitantly laughing. “you mean,” she found no falter in the prince’s expression. “dining in a- a what, a restaurant?”

this seemed to take oberyn by surprise because, and it was the only time aurane could find him doing this that day, he laughed unsurely. the red viper was never unsure and even he himself couldn’t say what was happening. “well, yes,” his eyes began to scan over the many shops and restaurants in search of a meal. “that is what restaurants tend to do.”

such comment was not meant to be sarcastic or snarky or rude. it was a mindless thought that oberyn had just happened speak out. “i’ve never been in a restaurant,” aurane whispered and looked to the ground. would the owners of whatever eating house oberyn picked be peaceful with a lannister princess dining in their business. 

oberyn had heard her mumble but said nothing of it. there was a pit at the bottom of his stomach, it’d been there since his sister was murdered, and he hadn’t felt such sympathy in that pit from elia’s death until now, when aurane muscles grew tense because people were starting to look.

there were whispers. the worst kind of whispers; the kind where it seemed as if every person had something to say but it was impossible to make out. eyes were glued to the couple yet hands remained at their jobs. oberyn had never seen his city spark in such controversy. had aurane been right? would they treat her differently? he looked to the girl beside him and found that she was hearing the whispers too yet there was no stall in her walk. if someone had quickly glanced at her, she would glare back at them. her chin was raised high and oberyn, such as he had done with ellaria, felt compassion and admiration.

he gulped silently at the sudden change of heart in his city. as they began to walk further and further, growing deeper in sunspear, the whispers began to fade in and out. the rumored lannister princess was finally showing her face. “here, my sun,” he pointed to a small tavern with trays of produce and potted flowers in front of the windows. “i’ve been told you can handle the dornish spices.”

aurane blushed and nodded as the sudden mention of such topic caused her mind to flash to ellaria. she wanted to see the older lady again desperately and she wasn’t sure why. the entrace of the restaurant was not grand or heavenly or designed with a golden intricate design. it was a simple tavern with at least sixty plants hung and placed on the perimeter. it had been one large room and, for the time of day, strangely empty. aurane suspected that the prince had reserved it in secret but she wouldn’t comment on it. 

before either of them stepped foot into the tavern, oberyn placed a gentle hand on her forearm and pointed to one of the potted plants that held six white flowers with layers of small triangular petals. a few of the flowers had a pink hue to them but the white ones took aurane by interest.

“a dahlia,” the prince smiled, gently dragging his fingers over the petals. his eyes seemed entranced over the small plant. “you don’t see them very much.”

aurane smiled and turned to oberyn. “they grow rarely in king’s landing,” her words were sweet but there was something in oberyn’s gaze that seemed so reminiscent. he was longing for something. “what is it?”

he chewed the inside of his cheek and aurane turned to the guards standing protectively behind them. even they seemed aware of whatever oberyn had been feeling. “elia’s favorite flower,” his lips curled with a raspy voice before picking the flower from it’s stem and holding it between his two fingers. oberyn then looked to aurane, who was more understanding now, and wove the flower through her hair until it sat behind her ear. aurane could only smile.

―

the day was ending and the sun was starting to set. a large lunch had filled aurane’s stomach so there was no room for dinner. oberyn must’ve been the same because on their walk back to the castle, he, too, walked with heavy feet. the guard’s behind them didn’t stumble in their steps as the sunlight was fading. 

“i hoped you enjoy our walk today,” oberyn spoke, his hands behind his back as they strolled along the secret pathway. while exiting the city through the small door just as they had done earlier that day, aurane had been careful to crouch down so that her flower would stay woven in her hair. 

she nodded and listened to the waves because there wasn’t much else to here. the bustling of the city was muffled by the wall but aurane didn’t mind a little of bit of silence as the day ended. “i think i did,” the dahlia, which had at first felt strange when touching her temple was now softly brushing against her skin. “and i did enjoy lunch.” she turned to the prince.

“i don’t suppose you still want dinner?” he asked politely, looking down only two inches to her height. most of the woman oberyn had been with, apart from ellaria, could only reach his shoulder but the top of aurane’s head touched just below his nose. 

it was peaceful for him to watch her laugh so effortlessly and genuinely as the shore threatened to crash above the pathaway. they’d been inches away from the water but yet no sign of fear arose. “no, i think i’ve had my fill for the day.”

a nod in response before oberyn sighed, “join me in my chambers.” just as his voice normally did toward the end of the day, he sounded raspy and tired yet every part of him was awake while he looked at aurane.

was it an offer for a night of pleasure? the rumors of oberyn and his countless lovers had been spread all throughout westeros and he didn’t seem ashamed by them. aurane had no problem with bedding someone before she was married, she’d done it before, but she hadn’t thought that the prince would draw her close just for a fuck. the prince laughed and shook his head, noticing aurane’s train of thought. “i can promise you, lion, it’s not like that,” he chuckled out. aurane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment. “when was the last time you had a bath?”

they were now in the abandoned west wing that remained darker than the rest of the castle, but aurane didn’t find it unpleasant or frightening. oberyn could barely find the courage to walk around these quarters of the castle himself but aurane, who had lived with the family responsible of the death of the former inhabitant of sunspear, strolled so unbothered down those halls. it wasn’t because she had no care for elia martell’s death, if anything it was the opposite, but no--this was because aurane could swallow the lannister pride and respect the fact that her father slaughtered oberyn’s sister.

once they had arrived in the east wing, oberyn turned to his soldiers and cocked his head for them to leave him and aurane. because they had been under prince doran’s command, they each shared a glance of hesitation but one simple stern eye and a whispered “have my maidens fetch warm water for my room” and they continued to walk down the hallway, leaving the oncoming couple alone. “you wouldn’t oppose a bath, would you?”

aurane’s first experience of a bath in dorne had been lovely, mainly due to the spices and scents of the salts and soaps she combed through her hair. she sighed heavily, her chest rising with her breath before smiling, “no, i don’t think i would.” the rest of their walk was in sweet silence. the castle seemed to be asleep--the gardens were empty and the hallways barren of the normal maidens hurrying down to each room. aurane noticed that they walked past her room and she wondered just how close her and oberyn had been to each other this entire time. the floors, still a pristine polished marble, seemed to glimmer as the last of the sun could be seen in the sky. finally, they had arrived at oberyn’s door, which were exactly the same as aurane’s.

she chuckled and looked back down the hallway to where her doors stood and then back at the prince. “all this time and you’ve been down the hallway?” oberyn shrugged and opened the door for the princess. she bit on her tongue when she was instantly greeted with the overpowering aroma of citrus sugar. 

“don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now?” the prince smirked and aurane showed no hesitation as she sauntered confidently into the room, soon slowing her steps. 

his room had been much bigger than hers, yet held the same amount of furniture and looked still so full. the bed was placed next to the equivalent wall that aurane’s bed was in her room. the windows were so close to the bed that it seemed to her morning’s must’ve been perfect because the sun could just simply leak in through the windows and darken the skin of whoever lied upon the bed. next to the opening of the room was a desk that held what looked like to be hundreds of crumpled papers and a quill and its ink. on the opposite side of his room was a large wooden tub that could hold multiple bodies and the simple thought of who had been in there before almost sickened aurane. the tub had been filled to the brim with warm water and on a small table beside it were various soaps and salts. 

it was sudden but the door had been closed and oberyn’s hands landed on aurane bare shoulders. she shuddered gently and he immediately removed his touch. “lion,” he spoke steadily and turned aurane to him.

they both turned so their backs faced each other and she could hear him unbuttoning his top. her fingers did their best to trail over the clip in the rear of her dress but fumbled over the soft fabric. she sighed and turned to the prince but found he’d already reversed back to her. his chest was completely bare as he was only dressed in his pants. he must’ve silently slipped his boots off because his feet were also bare against the marble. he cocked his head and pushed on her shoulder so she turned once again. his index and thumb found the clip so simply and undid it so the fabric feel loose against her body, but her hands flew to her chest to catch it from falling completely off. there a crumpling noise of leather dropping into a heap on the floor. water splashed apart and together until it was silent again. while keeping her back facing oberyn, aurane turned her head and met his eyes.

he sat against the side of the tub with his arms held up along the edge of the wood. “are you scared, lion?” he asked so sweetly yet remained so stern. 

the only thing that stood in the way of aurane standing as naked as the day she was born in front of the prince was her hands clutching onto the dress. “close your eyes.” she whispered. oberyn only sighed and rose a hand over his eyes, gently squeezing them shut for reassurance. the dress cascaded down to the floor with an inaudible sound. she stepped one foot in the water and the warmth instantly felt calming. once aurane stood completely in the tub, she began to sink to the bottom, where she sat with the surface of her bath reaching just above her breasts. 

“can i open?” the prince asked. 

aurane brought her knees to her chest and spoke aloud a, “yes.” her arms wrapped around her legs as oberyn rested his hand again and smiled. somehow, despite her cowering position, aurane felt more confident than ever with all of her body exposed. 

that sly smile spread over oberyn’s face again as twirled his finger for aurane to turn around. she did so and sat closer to him in between his legs. her breath almost hitched when she felt his length against her back but he didn’t act upon it. instead, he lathered his hands with a lemon-scented shampoo and combed it throughout the strands of aurane’s hair. it was a soothing feeling as his fingertips gently massaged her scalp and aurane could’ve fallen asleep right there. once her hair was completely covered in the suds, oberyn then cupped his hands into the water and poured it over her head, watching as the soap washed out fairly easily.

she chuckled. “how many girls have you given baths too?” she noted his expertise. it wasn’t every man who knew who to treat a woman’s hair--not in westeros. 

once her hair was completely cleaned and dripping and pushed it to the side of her neck so her back was bare. he placed a soft kiss against the top of her spine, “do you want to know?” and began to caress her arms with the bar of soap. aurane gently shook her head and smiled. for a month, she’d be tense and anxious for what her fate awaited for her. for the past week, while remaining in her room she’d grown closer and closer to that fate and could not see perfectly clear what it was. and if it really was this, she didn’t mind. a finger was suddenly brushed over a raw piece of skin on her arm and she shivered under the touch.

oberyn’s eyebrows furrowed in concern before sitting up and looking over the top of aurane’s arm. “lion,” he cooed, gazing at the ruined skin--a scar. “how did you acquire such a wound?”

the question was one that aurane didn’t have to answer often because it was only her family who had seen it and she’d never left the castle for anyone else to glimpse her scar. 

“fire,” she spoke as he continued to gently rub over the healed wound with one hand, and the other poured water over the soap on her body. the sun had now completely set and the stars were glimmering over the surface of the water. the moonlight had such an effect on aurane’s frame--there was a silver lining against her curves and edges and oberyn wanted nothing more than to cherish it. “casterly rock didn’t like how the last lannister child was a bastard, furthermore with a rumored dornishwoman. i had never seen the city until i was four namedays,” the prince remained quiet as another kiss was placed on her shoulder. “my father had been hesitant about letting me into the festivals. but my brother had begged. he said ‘she’ll never learn to be a good ruler if she can’t know her people’, so papa had my sister escort me along with four other guards.”

a kiss on her knuckles as he held her hand. “and?”

“i’d gotten lost along the way. i didn’t think it was possible for a city to hate a child so much but i’d been proven wrong.” underneath the water, aurane moved her hands in such delicate motions. “i was in alley or- something like that, i can’t remember. but there were two men there and a woman. they were sneering and laughing at the little lost lannister princess,” a kiss on her wrist. “one was holding a candle since the sun was setting for the festivities to begin, and as i was trying to walk away, they pressed the fire against my arm,” the memories were still there in aurane’s mind but they didn’t spark anger or vengeance in her. she had accepted it. “my sister then found me and my father had them hanged.”

oberyn chuckled and planted a firm kiss on her neck. the loving and affectionate actions hadn’t taken aurane by surprise. she knew of the prince’s ways and respects. “lannisters are dangerous people.”

he talked of her family as if she wasn’t a part of it. maybe she wasn’t--maybe aurane wasn’t a lannister like her father or siblings because her mother had been a dornishwoman and aurane had been born a bastard. “yes, they are.”

―

suddenly, all the peace and comfort aurane had felt during her first week in sunspear dissolved into dust and blown away in the cool evening breeze she loved to feel after the hot days of dorne. the last time she’d been pampered was her last day in king’s landing. her maidens had braided her hair and her sister had applied the sheer cover of make-up to her skin that wasn’t needed very much. during her week, aurane had dressed herself and brushed her own hair and washed her own body, but now, she sat in a chair in front of her mirror with several maidens surrounding her. one was twirling and brushing and braiding her hair, another was powdering her face, and the last was tying the loose strings in the back of aurane’s dress. 

why was she so nervous? the night before had been so simple--oberyn showed love and they’d bathed and because he was so understanding, she returned to her chambers where she slept for only two hours.

a maiden giggled. “it’s a wonder, your grace,” she admired. “i sleep only four hours through the night and i always wake up with darkness under my eyes.”

aurane smiled in response and nodded quietly. her dress was the usual white, but behind it was a golden tint in honor of the lannister house, although she knew that dorne wanted nothing to do with their enemies. she looked at her reflection and her mirror and liked what she saw, but despite her beauty and fairness, her fingers absentmindedly began to fiddle with each other.

she sighed fairly and the maidens looked to each other on what to say. the oldest one, who looked about aurane’s sister’s age, stumbled on her words before noting, “i hope you know you look heavenly, your grace,” she leaned down and tucked a strand of hair behind aurane’s ear. 

the princess smiled in response before the second maiden spoke, “very heavenly, indeed,” aurane looked back to her reflection and attempted to smile with pride but it came out slightly unhinged. “the prince is a good man. you’re marrying a very good man.”

a knock echoed through aurane’s room as she inhaled deeply, sticking out her chest. the first maiden went to the door and the two other followed suite. aurane did not turn to see who was at the door because she knew, by tradition, it could not be oberyn. 

“my lady,” a maiden curtsied before ellaria sand could brush her off.

the older woman bowed her head back and looked to aurane. the sound of her voice, so peaceful and loving and...maternal, piqued interest in the princess and she smiled at the sight of oberyn’s lover. ellaria wore a bright yellow linen dress with golden plating on her shoulders that were attached to more honey-colored pieces of fabric that cascaded down her arms and to the floor. she looked heavenly. “are you ready, lion?”

aurane’s gaze softened and her lips parted.

tags: @ohpedromypedro @zeldasayer @pascalpapi @absurdthirst @cyarikaaa @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @pedropascalonline @pedropascalito @pedropascalitofics @honeychicanawrites @otherthingsinhead @wakalas @pedropascalispapi @heavenbarnes @qveenbvtch @foreverlostindreams @forever-rogue @arianawills @liadamerondjarin @pascalisthepunkest

[ascenderehq]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟎𝟎𝟏 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟎𝟎𝟑: 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐑

The front page of the Daily Prophet chronicled what happened at Hestia Jones’s infamous Night of Magick. Aurors, tipped off by an anonymous owler, burst into the place--all armed and ready to break up the party going on inside. There was a commotion. People running around and looking for escape routes. A good few managed to flee. But some ended up caught and brought to the Ministry where they were interrogated. Their fines are still being decided by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The people who were caught there, though, ended up splashed on the front page. There’s Draco Malfoy, the controversial Patronage member. There’s Hermione Granger who has a head of office seat at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement herself. And then, there’s George Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, and Lavender Brown.

Below is an excerpt of what the Daily Prophet wrote of those caught and what their factions’ statements seemed to be:

Caught at the party is Draco Malfoy, the infamous son of Lucius Malfoy who is a former Death Eater and a current inhabitant of Azkaban and Narcissa Malfoy who fled the country just days after her husband was sentenced to prison. Malfoy, also a controversial member of Patronage, is said to be taking a step back from his activities with the faction. Let’s hope he doesn’t flee the country for his reflection period. Patronage states that they are currently reviewing the events that transpired at Night of Magick and apologize for the misbehaviours of its members.

Meanwhile, another member of Patronage, Hestia Jones has lawyered up and cannot be contacted for comments or statements. The only word we receive is that she’s in a bit of a pickle.

Next up on the caught list are two members of TPF, Hermione Granger and Astoria Greengrass. Granger, the Head of Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry, is someone we were shocked to learn were caught at the party. We wonder what her bosses might think of this hiccup. Will the Department of Magical Law Enforcement let this go? Or will they make a big deal out of it? Who knows! What we do know is that, in a weird turn of events, both Granger and Greengrass have been suspended by TPF. Now, Greengrass being suspended is expected. The woman is merely an intern at the faction (Paid or unpaid, we’re still trying to confirm). But Granger is one of the most prominent faces of TPF and a strong supporter of Gawain Robards. Are there cracks in the faction?

George Weasley being caught though does not surprise us. The man is a wreck. And has been a wreck for years! We heard that he doesn’t do much business-wise either. He’s been wallowing instead. And this latest incident just proves to us that he’s still a wreck.

 Last to discuss on the caught list is Lavender Brown. She isn’t a part of any faction or NOA. But this budding seer or divination guru or whatever was caught at the party and since she’s a war hero of sorts, it’s worth mentioning her here. After all, this mention isn’t going to do any damage to her employment!

Part 3 is here!

- Thank you for taking part in our first event. You can continue with your event threads or start new ones!

- To the politically apathetic, I’ll be setting up a poll over on Discord at the #politically-apathetic channel where you can vote on the excuses provided by the factions. Your votes will have an effect on the approval ratings of each factions.

- Once again, thank you! Enjoy continuing your threads!

[crissy622]

FIC: Glove You Like That [1/1]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALAINA! We love you to the moon and back. For this fabulous day, we wrote you an Unholy Trio fic. The non-existent Ao3 page is now up to two whole ass fanfics about these disaster children.

Everyone, go wish @isadorahart​ the biggest happy birthday ever, because she’s awesome and we love her.

Written By: @crissy622​ & @lengiesofrps​ Characters/Pairings: Charlotte Lightwood, Cameron Walsh, Luna Darkmore [Unholy Trio] Rating: PG Summary: The gloves had been Cam’s idea.

The gloves had been Cam’s idea.

Any other day, Charlie may have laughed at the thought of Cam, with his corduroy jackets and fondness for truly horrendous tie-dye, being the one to come up with something relating to fashion. But she didn’t have it in her today. Umbridge had hurt Luna. Umbridge had scarred Luna.

Charlie still felt sick any time she looked at Luna’s hands and saw the scars. The cuts had healed over, thanks to essence of murtlap, but the scars were shiny and new with I WILL NOT MOCK and I WILL NOT BREAK RULES standing out against her skin. That it had happened, enough times to become permanent, and they’d missed it…

“Remind me that I won’t be any help to Luna if I’m in Azkaban for skinning Umbridge with her own bloody quill,” she told Cam darkly as she settled in next to him in an empty classroom. Luna would be in her music class for another hour before she had to meet her for Divination. She needed to get her anger under control before then, because retaliating against Romilda Vane was vastly different than against a Ministry official.

Though, it was tempting. She might even be able to get away with it considering her family’s and Blaise’s connections. Malfoy did owe her a favor…

“We would break you out,” Cam’s voice interrupted her thoughts, his usually soft voice carrying a hard edge. “But just remember that to skin her with that thing, you’d have to stick the quill in unimaginable places. Which means you’d have to touch unimaginable places.”

Charlie’s nose scrunched up at the thought as disgust rolled through her. Breaking her out of prison — while sweet — was highly improbable when one remembered the Dementors, but he did have a point about having to touch the foul woman. She huffed and turned her eyes up towards the sky to try and spot the owl that was supposed to deliver the package. She had been clear in her instructions about when and where the delivery would take place. If they thought they could cheat her out of the extra galleons and not deliver- Ah, she thought as her eyes caught sight of the approaching owl. There it was.

“My plans for revenge can be put on hold until after we’ve given these to Luna,” she told Cam as she stood up and gave a sharp whistle. The owl shifted course towards them and dropped the small package into her hands without stopping to beg for treats. Just as well. She didn’t have any.

She sat beside Cam again, still angry Luna had been hurt enough to make the gloves necessary at all. She took a breath as she handed the box over for him to inspect. They needed to make sure they were up to standard and they had better wrapping to put them into anyway.

The gloves, when Cam opened the box, were as they’d ordered, at least; black, fingerless gloves comprised of a thickly patterned lace to cover the scars with its winding patterns. Repelling spells to keep them clean. Anti-snag charms to make sure they wouldn’t get damaged during class. They’d be breathable enough that she shouldn’t be uncomfortable in the warmer months.

Assuming she liked them at all.

She picked up one of the gloves carefully, laid it out in the palm of her hand as she traced a finger across the thick petal of a flower. The fabric felt softer than she’d expected. “Madame Pomfrey really doesn’t think the scars will heal over?” she asked, her voice barely at a whisper.

Cam shook his head once, lips pressing together hard enough to leech the color from them. “No,” he answered shortly. He watched as gray clouds rolled swiftly through the sky, absentmindedly cracking his knuckles against his knees. Finally, he turned to face Charlie. “She said with the amount of abuse her hands took that it was a miracle that she didn’t have a tangle of scar tissue. If Luna hadn’t thought of murtlap, her hands would just resemble knots.”

Charlie pressed her eyes closed, jaw clenched. She wouldn’t cry, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. This woman had hurt her friend and they couldn’t fix it. All they could do was cover it up. She let out her next breath a little shakily and reopened her eyes as she put the gloves back in the box. “I hate this,” she admitted softly, useless as it was. Hating the situation wouldn’t change that it was their reality. They weren’t even the ones who would have to carry the scars.

She pressed her forehead to Cam’s shoulder and took another couple breaths to compose herself. “Close the box and I’ll wrap it,” she told him. “Could you keep it in your dorm until we give it to her? I don’t want her to see it while we’re in Divination.” There wouldn’t be a lot of time for them to give it to her that night. Dinner was too public and Cam had Astronomy right after. Tomorrow morning, she supposed. None of them had classes until after lunch and she didn’t want to walk into Defense that afternoon without giving the gloves to Luna.

Now that she knew what the quill did, the woman looked too satisfied any time she could see the scars she’d caused.

“Yeah,” he whispered. He set the box on her lap, but threaded his fingers lightly with hers before she had a chance to pick it up. Cam leaned his head against hers, sighing heavily. “Just because we can’t retaliate now doesn’t mean we’ll never be able to. We all know the position is cursed. She won’t be our teacher next year…” The thought trailed off but it was clear that Cam was dreaming of what they could do in retaliation when Umbridge had less power over them. That he wanted revenge just as bad as Charlie did. “I can set up the fort tonight. No one ever bothers us in there.”

She smiled at his promise. As improbable as it may have been — getting close to Umbridge once she wasn’t at school with them would be too difficult — the idea that they could get revenge against her… She squeezed his hand back and nodded. “We’ll meet you there.”

She dragged Luna towards Ravenclaw Tower the next morning after breakfast, their fingers intertwined as they wove around students heading to where they’d just left. Some Gryffindors glared at them as they passed, but as they got closer to Ravenclaw, the house uniforms gave way to blue and silver. They dodged around a sad Cho Chang as they went, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge them.

“Is everything okay?” Luna asked as a few running first years almost bowled them over. “We never go to the fort this early.”

“Family drama,” she lied and winced. She hated lying to them. “I just wanted to get away from Slytherin for the morning.”

Luna tossed her a concerned look, mouth open to probably ask if it had to do with Blaise, but they reached the portrait and she let the riddle distract Luna from asking. She gave her a gentle push inside once the door swung open and they went towards the fort without hesitation, crawling inside their little sanctuary.

Cam was already inside, present set aside somewhere Charlie couldn’t see at a quick glance, but they crawled in closer towards him as they said hello with kisses pressed to his cheeks. Luna settled in comfortably against Cam’s side, while Charlie gave him a questioning look. Where is it?

His eyes flickered towards a corner and she followed it, setting herself down where she could see the edge of the box peeking out from behind a pillow.

“Come here,” Luna implored her, reaching out to her. “You’re too far away.”

“In a minute,” she told her before she let out a breath. “I lied to you.”

Cam’s eyebrows disappeared towards his hairline and Luna frowned before her face turned to something that looked like horror. “You were the one who walked in on Malfoy wanking to a picture of Potter?”

“No!” Her nose scrunched in disgust. Malfoy wanking. Ugh. “I’m not surprised if he was, but no, that wasn’t me. However, whoever did could probably use a nice obliviate right about now.”

“What even happens in Slytherin?”

“Purebloods only mostly have sticks up their asses,” Luna told Cam, smiling sweetly when Charlie shot her an unamused look. “What did you lie about, then?”

“Why we’re here,” she said and took a breath before she grabbed the box and held it out towards Luna. “We got you something.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Luna pointed out after a moment. 

“Nope,” Cam agreed.

She didn’t reach out for the box, though, and Charlie sighed before she put it in the girl’s lap.

“It was Cam’s idea,” Charlie explained as Luna finally began unwrapping the box and nerves began to twist her stomach. This could go so wrong. If Luna thought they were giving her the gloves because they had a problem with her hands… Charlie did hate the scars, but Luna had spent months wearing her sleeves so long that she flirted with a dress code violation. “If you don’t like it, we can just toss it in the fire.”

Cam’s hand found hers like he was telling her to calm down and she squeezed back, nervous, as Luna opened the box and just stared at the gloves for a long moment.

“They’re charmed to stay clean and they won’t rip,” she hurried to explain when the silence stretched a moment too long. “Cam said fingerless would be a better idea for classes. You’ll need the dexterity for cutting ingredients in Potions-”

“Charlie,” Luna cut in before her face split into a wide smile and she leaned in to kiss Cam’s cheek first before she crawled close enough to press on to Charlie’s too. “I love them.”

“Told you,” Cam told her and if Charlie had been a couple years younger or a Gryffindor, she may have stuck her tongue out in response. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and let Cam pull her closer until she was tucked into his other side.

“Yes, yes,” she huffed. “You’re a Ravenclaw. You’re smart. You know all.”

“Granger’s the know-it-all,” Luna piped in as she slipped the gloves on and held them out for inspection. “What do you think?”

Charlie looked closer at them in the dim lighting of the fort. The fine detailing — she was never telling Cam how much the gloves actually cost — and the way the lace laid over her hands. She couldn’t see the scars and the grin Luna had made her think the other girl couldn’t either. 

She reached out to catch Luna’s hand with her own as Cam’s played with the ends of her hair. “Perfect.”

“Very Madonna,” Cam agreed and gave her an innocent look in return when Charlie frowned. “Muggle singer.”

“Remind us to play Erotica for you sometime,” Luna added.

That was what muggles named their songs? “I think I’d rather if you didn’t.”

Luna laughed, her face turned into Cam’s shoulder, before she looked back up, contemplative. “So who do you think actually did walk in on Malfoy?”

“Luna.”

The End

[politicalprof]

2019 in books:

David McCullough, 1776: A highly accessible, if somewhat naive, depiction of the year that defined the prospects for American independence. I wouldn’t go there for deep, critical analysis. But for a story of a year, it is well done.

Michael Palin, Erebus: HMS Erebus was a British naval vessel that spent much of its career in Arctic and Antarctic exploration. If you are interested in Victorian era explorations of hard places, a fascinating read.

Emilio Corsetti III, 35 Miles from Shore: The story of an airline crash in the early 1970s in the Caribbean. What happened, why, how, who survived and what we learned. Interesting if not brilliant.

Raymond Thorp, Crow Killer: Old-fashioned tale of the inspiration behind the Robert Redford movie Jeremiah Johnson. As much fantasy as history. But it offers a flavor of a time and a subgroup few Americans would know.

James Corey, Caliban’s War: The second book of “The Expanse” series. The protomolecule is working its mojo, and Earth, Mars and the Belters are none too happy with one another. A fun read of a massive space opera.

Walter Kempowski, All for Nothing: Set in the context of the collapsing Eastern Front during WWII, this story proceeds from the fractured point of view of the Germans who are about to be turned into refugees fleeing oncoming Soviet forces. The book, notably, does not make these Germans sources of sympathy: the mood is dissonant and disordered. A real piece of literature.

Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall: Because who doesn’t want a point-of-view account of a key counselor to Henry VIII, one who rose to extraordinary wealth and power despite his humble birth and then managed the, how shall we say, removal of Kathrine as Queen? Replaced by Anne Boleyn? Who wouldn’t want to read it? It’s excellent, by the way.

James Corey, Abaddon’s Gate: Book three of The Expanse, and the protomolecule has remade humanity’s relationship to the universe. But we’ll probably screw that up, too. Another good story, filled with actual thought about the problems of space travel and space living.

MIchael Krondl, The Taste of Conquest: The Rise and Fall of the Three Great Cities of Spice: Venice, Lisbon and Amsterdam each in their turn dominated the global spice trade -- a trade that was one of the main stimuli for early colonialism and imperial conquest, and which strongly influenced the rise of the modern corporation as a linch-pin of global capitalism. The book is not as good as it should be, but the story is one that few people know, but should.

Hilary Mantel, Bring Up the Bodies: Hey, it’s time to get rid of Anne Boleyn everyone! Or, at least, to separate her head from her body. And let’s manage the English Reformation, too ... all just a few years before losing our own head. Welcome to the early/middle 1500s in England everyone!

Leigh Perry, A Skeleton in the Family: Who doesn’t have a skeleton living in their house who helps solve mysteries. I mean, who doesn’t?

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: So my son has started reading Harry Potter. So I have started reading Harry Potter. I liked this book: it’s tight, it’s focused, it’s a fun read. I see the appeal.

Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, Good Omens: The answer to the questions: “What if the angels and demons charged with over-seeing Earth as humans go from the Garden of Eden to Armageddon decide that they like Earth and don’t want Armageddon to happen (even if their allies do)? And what if the Anti-Christ were raised in a perfectly mundane family in a perfectly mundane English village? How might it all turn out?” To delightful and funny effect.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Meh. Okay. Not as good as book one. But still a good story.

Gilbert King, Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the Dawn of a New America: A broad pastiche of events surrounding one of the many civil rights cases of the 1940s and 50s: the abuses and murders of several African American men accused of raping a white woman in Lakeland, FL, in 1949. With a whole lot of associated discussions of other cases, the NAACP, corrupt and criminal law enforcement, race riots, and the like. A good read. And how can it be that the bastard George HW Bush, put Clarence Thomas on the Supreme Court to fill a seat once held by the staggering legal figure that was Thurgood Marshall. Shameful is the only word.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Certainly better than the Chamber of Secrets. A darker turn. But beginning to get padded as readers demanded “more” if not “better.”

James Corey, Cibola Burn: Book 4 of The Expanse ... and I didn’t like it. It seemed like filler, a book written to a contract deadline. Maybe it will pay off in the end. But another one like that and I’m not going to care.

Tom Phillips, Humans: A Brief History of How We Fucked It All Up: Did you know our oldest known ancestor, Lucy, probably died by falling out of a tree? If stories about how people have messed things up, have suffered both intentional and unintentional consequences, turn you on, do I ever have the book for you. Schadenfreude much?

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: Dear lord is this book long. Why? No doubt because the fans wanted it to be. But it is as gratuitously padded as any book I have ever read. It’s okay. But I wasn’t particularly impressed. Perhaps another six Quidditch matches would have helped ....

Adam Higginbotham, Midnight in Chernobyl: Thought the HBO miniseries was scary? It was tame. I mean: the Soviets, with their level of “technical prowess” and their industrial “quality control checks” ran the facility. Heck, Chernobyl wasn’t even their first disaster. Let’s just put it this way: the actual fuel piles in each of the FOUR Chernobyl reactors were so big that: 1) different sections had different characteristics, and didn’t all operate at the same rates or temperatures; and 2) the monitoring equipment couldn’t record how all of the pile was operating at any time. Happy now? Russia still has 10 Chernobyl-style reactors in operation. Enjoy your good night’s sleep everyone!

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Yes, yes: I know. This isn’t Order of the Phoenix. Well, I read Order of the Phoenix many years ago, and thought it was deeply annoying. A pile of words with little point. A way to keep the audience happy with long passages about very little.

Meanwhile, I, like my son, roared through Half-Blood Prince. A ripping good tale. Much tighter than the last several of the series.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: A fine read. A bit slow getting going: let’s go here! Let’s go there! Let’s recap the plot! But after the first 1/3 or so, the story got moving and I enjoyed it. Didn’t expect great literature; didn’t get great literature. But then again, I deeply appreciate how much pleasure my son got from this, and how excited my daughter is to engage with it. If it hadn’t been conceived and written, it seems like there’d be a Harry Potter sized hole in the universe.

Neil Gaiman, American Gods: In all honesty, I didn’t really like the first 2/3 of this book: too many tangents; too many sub-stories for the sake of sub-stories. And I’m still not sure I think it was a great book. But I really enjoyed the last third of it, and there were moments, vignettes, and sentences that truly blew me away. So I am glad I stayed with it.

Kameron Hurley, The Light Brigade: A sci fi story of soldiers apparently engaged in a war with Mars who are transported to the battlefield as beams of light. One gets unhinged from time. I am not sure it was worth the work, and I came to understand it was based on a short story and so, at times, it seemed a bit one-trick pony-ish. But it had its share of moments.

Daniel James Brown, The Boys in the Boat: A bit slow going at first, but it grows more compelling as it moved forward. This is the story of the 1936 crew (rowing) team at the University of Washington that went to Berlin and won the gold medal as Adolf Hitler watched. An interesting story about crew as a sport (about which I knew basically nothing), and life in Depression-era Washington state -- with a little, somewhat gratuitous, commentary about life in Nazi Germany layered in. One takeaway? The actor Hugh Laurie’s father was the lead oarsman on the British crew at Berlin in 1936. Hugh Laurie rowed crew at Cambridge as well.

James Corey, Nemesis Games: The next in the Expanse series. Much more enjoyable than the last one, but still a bit strained. One heck of a plot “twist.” A perfectly lovely way to relax; didn’t change my life. Some interesting character twists. But also a lot of “here are some giant developments (a lot of giant stuff) that give us lots of things to write about going forward!”

Alan Stern and David Grinspoon, Chasing New Horizons: the story of the New Horizons mission to Pluto. Interesting behind the scenes look at how the mission got funded, planned and implemented. Accessible in terms of the explanations; thick with bureaucratic story-telling and summary. It turns out this stuff is really, really hard. Interesting, but it didn’t blow me away.

And to end the year, I am reading: Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal: What if 13 year old Jesus had a buddy who, 2000 years later, wrote a gospel that filled in those missing years of Joshua’s (as Biff calls Jesus) life? Well, here’s your answer.

[alsbesluit]

a match

  Three weeks later, Katie put on a nice, dark blue dress, styled her hair carefully in front of the mirror and wore her favourite pair of boots, light brown ankle boots that Leanne gifted her for her latest birthday. Lee told her she looked great when she walked into the living room and wished her good luck, ‘not that she needed it.’ George, who’d come over to hang out with Lee, commented that she looked great. She thanked both of them with a smile, kissed George’s cheek and made her way out. The sun was shining, something not too common for a day at the start of April, and it was warm enough to walk to the cafe with her coat loose after she’d apparated to the right part of the city.  

  She honestly really hadn’t had the time for a speed date situation. It sounded like an excuse, and perhaps she’d used it as one beforehand, but St. Mungo’s had become more busy since. The current magical government was pushing what people considered too progressive legislation and as a result, there had been revolts. Some of the staff on the more consistent wards (which was code for the healers of the wards on the fourth floor for the permanent residents and the second floor, since the amount of magical diseases was surprisingly consistent) had been asked to pitch in at the ground floor every other shift because both protesters and an influx of hit wizards and aurors got injured. They could use every wand and hand they could get. Regardless, her colleagues insisted she take the day off that she had planned, since she already took so little time off. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t mention what she would be doing, because they may have suggested she take off the next shift as well just in case she did meet someone.   She loved her colleagues, she really did, but she wished that people in general and her colleagues specifically stopped acting like it was the end of the world when you didn’t have a romantic relationship of some kind. She was perfectly fulfilled with her job and her friends. It was nowhere near the end of the world not to have some boy around. There were advantages, yes, but there were also disadvantages, especially since no boy had ever been right for her and Katie refused to settle. Relationships were work, and while she was willing to put in work it was only for someone who was worth it and would do the same thing in return. She was still trying to find this person. That was supposed to be the point of the speed date situation, alas.   The corner cafe looked like the kind of thing Nicholas and her spend time at when they were younger, for their uncle who didn’t have any kids owned a cafe. She’d worked behind the bar there when she was sixteen to make some extra money, so she was wholly familiar with the kind of building she was about to enter.    Upon entering, Katie observed that a number of tables with two chairs each (one on each side) had been set out in the middle of the bar. There was a small crowd at people standing to the side talking, all with their names on the outfit of choice, written on a sticker with sharpie. Katie made her way towards the bar, where she ordered a water by the bartender, an older woman with blond hair, sparking blue eyes and a friendly smile.   “Thank you, ma’am,” Katie thanked her when she got the water and immediately took a sip.    The woman smiled at her in return. “Are you here for the speed dating, dear?” she queried. Katie nodded. “I’ll get you a name tag right away. We’ll start in a few minutes.” She reached behind her for the sharpie and the stickers both. “What name should I write down? Or would you rather write it down yourself?”   This was where the awkwardness started, Katie found. Her real name and nickname usually had some very different responses. Katie was much more accessible, and it was what she went by, though. “Katie, and no thank you,” she said. “My handwriting is not nearby as good as yours, from what I’ve seen. I have a real doctor’s handwriting.”   The woman behind the bar wrote the name down in curly and quite readable letters and handed it over to Katie. Katie pushed her hair aside carefully before attaching the sticker to her dress. She should probably be mindful of her hair falling over the sticker time and time again. She took another sip of her water and studied the crowd that had gathered before addressing the bartender again.   “Are all these people here for the speed dating, or just a few of them?” she asked.   “Most of them are,” the woman replied. “I’ve seen some really nice and good-looking men pass by here and ask for a name tag already. We gathered an interesting crowd this month.” Both Katie and the woman lingered over looking at them. “Have you prepared your answers for the most obvious questions people ask?” she asked.   Katie grinned, amused by the statement, and looked back at the woman. “I did not, I didn’t even think what the most obvious questions would be. Do people really prepare?”   “Some of them do,” the woman said, a small smile on her face. “They don’t want to be caught off guard, I think, but I always fear it comes across a little rehearsed.” She frowned a little at that. “Nothing wrong with trying to be prepared, though.”   “I always try to be prepared,” Katie shared. “But the harder I try, the more I get caught off guard. You can’t prepare for everything. Just the probable things. So I’ve limited myself to that.” She shrugged her shoulders, then smiled. “Can I take the water with me as I do the speed dating?”   “Of course, dear,” the woman replied. “We’ll start any minute now.”   Katie couldn’t say if she was excited or scared. Perhaps both. She had to remind herself of what her friends said - that she would eventually get lucky and that she deserved to be with someone who liked her and that she should at least try the speed dating - and took another few sips of her water to calm herself. Soon enough, the bartender woman approached the middle of the room and announced the speed dating was about to begin. She explained the system - it was a rotating system with five minutes for every couple to chat and get to know each other and if you liked someone, you could write down their name and you would hear if there was a match - and handed out pieces of papers for everyone to write down at.    Soon enough, Katie was sat down at a table with a man named Jared who, while friendly,  talked a lot about himself and his very specific hobby of working on old cars and hunting after car parts, which usually took up his weekends. She could see why unless you had the same hobby, it would be difficult to date him. He seemed to prefer his car parts over dating. Needless to say, it was not a match, so when the bell sounded after five minues she moved onto the next table.   Unfortunately, the next man, Raheem, wasn’t any better of a match. He was admittedly handsome, but he immediately told her that he expected his future girlfriend to go to all kinds of sports events with her. She had to love sports, specifically football and formula 1 racing. Katie didn’t have the slightest clue what formula 1 racing was, but she could guess and she could also guess it wasn’t for her. Sure she liked sports. She loved quidditch. What she didn’t like was men demanding things of women as though their right. Katie had other hobbies outside of quidditch and liked to try and distribute her time between them, plus she didn’t really have that much free time to spend at all. Not a match, not at all.   She was still a little hopeful sitting in front of the third man,  Todd. Unfortunately, it was within the minute that she realized this wasn’t the man for her either. He was particularly full of himself. Apparently his workplace didn’t value him and should recognize he was easily the most important person on his team and should do better. He didn’t think to ask what she did for a living, as though unimportant, and she was starting to sense that he felt it wasn’t important. When the barwoman came by and asked if they wanted another drink, Katie politely asked for another water. When she left, the man said woman should be getting him drinks more often. She tuned out after that, and doubted the man realized she wasn’t listening.   The next two men were no match either, and by the time Katie made her way to the sixth table she was starting to get discouraged. Why did her friends think this was a good idea? It seemed that a very specific type of person went to speed dating; someone so specific that no one in their group of friends, relatives and acquaintances knew anyone to set them up with or would want to. Was she like that? Katie liked to think that she wasn’t, but due to the long hours on her job and her progressive stance she probably wasn’t anyone’s dream woman, exactly. Different people had different standards and she didn’t fit a lot of them.    There were still two to go. Katie set her glass of water down at the next table and sat down, lifting her eyes up to meet green eyes. The man had brown hair, a little wavy and on the longer side, and facial features that Katie vaguely recognized. He offered to shake hands with her and smiled. “Hi, I’m Marcus, as the name tag tells you as well, I guess.”   With that, everything clicked into place. Marcus. Flint, to be precise, a former Death Eater who was sentenced to ten years in Azkaban but was let go from the prison early because he signed an agreement about his magic getting taken away in return for his freedom. The policy was what the revolts had been about, in part. Was it more unethical to strip people of their wand than it was to leave them without wand anyway in a jail? She didn’t have the answer to that and she tried not to think about it too hard. She didn’t go into policy making or law enforcement for a reason. Her sense of right and wrong, while very strong, wasn’t what most people’s sense of it was, a lesson learned during the war. She was too kind, people said, too forgiving.    “Hi Marcus,” she said in a small voice, shaking his hand. “I’m Katie.”   It was in that moment that Marcus did a double check and recognized her as well. His eyebrows raised a little and he leaned back against his chair, exhaling slowly. “We don’t have to do this,” he said then. “We can just sit here in silence until the bell rings. Or I can get a refill and stay away the entire time. It’s whatever you prefer.”    Katie shook her head, long hair falling in front of her nametag. “No, we can do this,” she said. “We’re both adults and we came here to speed date. You may have done things in the past that I can’t morally agree with, but you’ve suffered the consequences and served your sentence.” Taking in Marcus, Katie wanted to amend the way she said that. He was still suffering those consequences and serving his sentence. It just wasn’t in Azkaban. “And now you’re here in London trying to rebuild a life, like you have every right to.”   “While all correct in some way, that doesn’t mean that my rebuilding life has to have you in it in any capacity, including seeing you for a couple of minutes during a speed date,” Marcus pointed out. “You don’t have to be kind about this, Bell.”   “I’m not,” Katie replied, leaning forward a little to get her point across. “I am kind. Always. People deserve kindness. People including you. So let’s do this right.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m Katie, I’m twenty-six and I work in a hospital as a doctor. I live right here in London with my roommate and I’m looking to find someone I click with to see if we can take it further on another date, no strings attached otherwise. What about you?”  By the end of the speed dating rounds, Katie was supposed to fill in who, if anyone, she wanted to see again. She was standing by the bar again as she pondered it. Truth be told, there was only one person she found even remotely interesting, but it was exactly the person that all her friends would tell her to please stay away from because she was setting herself up for failure. She didn’t think she agreed, though.    Katie glanced over at Marcus, who was standing at the other side of the room, and smiled a little when he caught her glance. He smiled back, and that settled it. She wrote down one name on the paper that she handed in by the barwoman in a barely legible handwriting and ordered her third water of the midday.   Sometime later, she was told there was a match.

[hunterartemis]

The Assistant: Chapter 14 (finale): Ainsi Tu Seras

Words: 9952 (my longest)

No summary for this one. Because of Spoilers!! (Doctor Who fans will get it)

Chapter Theme: (not one but 2): Together or Not at All, by Murray Gold: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Gam8ogWBLk

(the picture: Amanda Abbington as Mary Morstan in Sherlock. I do imagine her as Audrey Page, and she has all the qualities of her)

“Mum...” Maxine whimpered in the tears of joy, “is that you?”

Audrey didn’t reply her right away. She kept standing in front of her, still and serene. Her wide blue eyes all upon her daughter, her wand in her right hand and the tip on the left palm, like a small hunter crop; there was no joy of meeting her long lost daughter, neither the look of victory after killing of her daughter’s enemy. There was a coldness, the same coldness Newt used to see on Maxine’s face—as if what she has done was done out of a sense of duty, or obligation as if there was no passion behind it. Her crow’s feet moved a little as she smiled obligatorily.

“Hello, Maxine... it’s nice to finally see you.” Her eyes quickly veered towards the Paterfamilias of the Valois, Hrothgar, who looked like there was a ghost standing in front of him.

“I really like that look on your face, it’s just like I imagined” Audrey now looked at Maxine, “you know, I always knew you will turn out like me the moment you were born” she came closer to Maxine and stroked her face with her thumb, “in beauty, in intellect... and you know, mother’s instincts are never wrong—thank you for keeping me close for all those years.”

A stray tear that gathered in Maxine’s eye stooped to fall on her pearly cheeks, her eyes looked bewildered to an extent, almost maddening. Those words seemed to have an estranged effect on her, she felt that it was not the same mother, she knew who wrote all those letters, all those years ago “What are you talking about?” she exclaimed with a desperate whisper, “you’re my mother, the only relation that mattered to me in the world. All those years—after all those torturously lonely days filled with humiliation...” her voice strengthened with deep gratitude, “only you were the one who understood me... there is no word in the world with which I could say how much I love you.”

Everyone in the room stood in their places like marble sculptures to witness the events unfolding. Maxine wondered why anyone in the room hadn’t tried anything to stop that woman who killed the son-in-law of the French diplomat; how could they—it was a strange day in December, a strange gathering of wizards under roof of the Catholic church at the heart of Paris, a strange day that unfolded perhaps the most scandalous truths about one of the most reputed family in all of Europe. It is the nature of all man—noble, royal or common—to see an old power fall and shatter into pieces. There was a forbidden joy in that, like seeing a nun or a queen naked. There was an odd rush in that which stopped all senses to respond, keeping the eyes and ears extraordinarily acute for witnessing and for the recording that will surely be embedded into every living memory. And there was a common truth: a noble stays mute when noble is disrobed.

“So tell me, mum...” Maxine went a little closer to her mother, “so tell me you knew everything and killed Anatole to save me from him... tell me. Tell me that, or they will put you into Azkaban” her voice shook when she saw no change in Audrey’s face. Her distant vacant eyes were unreadable and suddenly smirk graced her thin lips.

“Don’t worry dear, that’s the least of my worries.” Audrey waved her words quite serenely and turned away towards the wedding guests, and now Maxine could really understand what was happening and why the ministers stood still. They had a mist about them, even the vapour of their breath froze still like they were in a photograph. Maxine turned to Newt and there he was: his sea-green eyes fixated into a glassy image of shock, looking up like some subject in a divine painting, just like Maxine saw him in Notre Dame.  She looked at Audrey with bafflement.

“Why is that?”

“Perpetuity spell darling...” Audrey spoke coolly, “everyone except you and I is locked in their previous time-stream. A high-level of magic, not even Dumbledore shall dare to try it.” She laughed on her own with a satisfactory vanity, “but then again not everyone is Dumbledore and delusional like him. Working as an Unspeakable has its perks.” She turned towards Maxine and found her daughter looking at her with disbelief.

“Oh c’ mon now, don’t pretend you aren’t used to all—breaking rules!” Audrey shook her hand in a casual manner, adding a bit of smile, a peculiar kind. A smile only smiled by an adult in front of a child, a smile to be faked to that child and repeated with ‘everything is going to be fine’. “I know how they raised you, I know how they pushed you aside and locked you up like the Dragon in the Tower. Oh, I know... I knew all the time when I had you. Because it was the same with me. Darling, muggles , and wizards are not very different—they detest anything that is out of the norm. I used to be locked up too... and one day, I had it enough, and next thing I remembered—I was standing beside my dead muggle parents.”

“So what do you want to say? I am like you?” Maxine threw the question with a challenge, “please... I am not an idiot. Yes, my step-family had been horrible to me, every day is a cold war. My so-called family refused to come to my failed wedding--” Maxine added sardonically after looking at Anatole’s dead-cold body with a mild disregard, “but it doesn’t mean I am like you. I am not going to kill my father just because he is a little bit too harsh on me—he is a diplomat and he being alive saved me a lot of shit--” Maxine pointed upwards, at the way where she displayed the memory tapestry, “in case if you missed—and he was actually there for me, now I have realised when you loitered around the shadows...” Maxine took a deep breath as if to gain some energy for something she was about to do “WHERE WERE YOU ALL THOSE YEARS I NEEDED YOU AT MY SIDE? WHERE. THE. HELL. HAVE. YOU. BEEN. WHEN EVERYTHING AROUND ME WERE FALLING INTO PIECES”

Audrey couldn’t speak for several moments, then when she gained her voice, her wide blue-eyed lowered, in guilt or in possible shame, “oh darling... if you only knew I had been through--”

“I understand you’ve been through a lot, but you are my freaking mother, and I need an explanation. My model family won’t tell me a thing, so I suggest you talk now.” Maxine venomously snapped as her rage spilled into her previous tears.

Audrey veered her eyes towards the stained glass window. Her face glowed in pink, blue and purple, softening her wrinkles and the tears that she was about to spill. She didn’t look at Maxine straightaway but at Hrothgar. Her wide blue eyes streamed with tears that seemed to be held back behind the dam of years of pain and resentment, “he was everything to me, the perfect person—so kind, so...compassionate. I alone and sad when I was sent to the French Ministry and he saw right through me. The amazing insight he had, he knew where and how to pluck a person to dismantle him which he rarely did—I knew I couldn’t be with him, he was a married man with a son, but he never abandoned me. He never hid anything from me, sometimes even ignored the calls from his wife and family because they NEVER CAME CLOSE TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS--” Audrey’s face reddened with anger, “I would have endured everything... being his secret, his mistress, but—he decided to take from me when I was promised that I would be married to him—he told me he was going to separate from Marguerite, but that coward...” Audrey’s emotions hardened into contempt, “backed out in the last moment... I stood here; right where you stood as English bride, alone on French soil, a heart full of love, and all I ever received was an arrest warrant and a walk of shame from Chateaux d’If, stripped off my love, my life, and my daughter...THAT MAN, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE... DID THAT TO ME” Audrey’s eyes were reddened with the ghosts of her past. But she did nothing, but to smile a crooked smile, like she had everything right all of a sudden, “so tell me I am wrong, an abysmal mother, a dutiless parent—but think of that wretched woman who was stripped bare, to her last dignity. I waited all those years, selected every possible scenario to arrange the situations to pave myself today in this abysmal church in Paris”

Maxine listened to her full story. Drops of tears rolled off Maxine’s cheeks as millions of possibilities seemed to fire in her brain: the sudden letters of Anatole a year ago, him finding his way back to her, the blue sealed letter in Romania, this perfect situation that compelled Hrothgar to marry her off with him—nothing was committed on Anatole’s whim. He was a megalomaniac, a sexual predator but he was never this grand. Moreover the codification of the Prison transcript, locked away safely but obscurely under the very nose of the British ministry, everything made sense: an Unspeakable operating right under the nose of everyone, incognito and completely silent, pushing people like pawns—the perfect candidate. And who else, who else would know in such details that if Hrothgar commanded his daughter to do something, she will be compelled to do so? The Mark happened after Anatole was convicted.

“You did all this... all of this... just to get to papa?” despair vaporised from Maxine’s lungs, “you used your own child... to get to the Father? What KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?”

“You make a mistake darling...” Audrey spoke in a cold and distant tone, “I was never your mother... I had no right over you.” Maxine felt it was like she was trying to gag whatever that was pressing to come out. If she knew her lesser, she would have suggested that it was bitter regret, but as she knew her better, she knew it wasn’t anything like that, “all because of a man that I love. But he forgot one thing, to kill me. There is a proverb in France; there is none deadlier than a woman wronged.”

The next scene happened too quickly to register into Maxine’s mind. Audrey rushed towards the statued figure of Hrothgar and took his face to embrace with her lips. Like a miracle, Hrothgar’s body sprung into the old life, tightly wrapped in Audrey’s embrace suddenly became wide-eyed and whimpered. It was the moment when Audrey stepped away from Hrothgar and her cornflower blue suit smeared with fresh blood. Maxine looked at her wide eyes and saw victory as well as unspeakable grief. The crowd behind her sprung into their instinctive panic, alertness and bustle, and before a flash of green light hit her behind, she managed to speak to Maxine for one last time.

“Forgive me, ma chere... and goodbye”

The surge of life that the nullification of the Perpetuity Spell brought was felt first as severe contracting pain in Newt’s chest; it was the first thing that he felt—a rib crushing pain, trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Unable to contain the feel, when he looked at Maxine’s way, clutching his heart, he saw a sweep of glittering white before his eyes. As his body registered to his current circumstances, he realised that Maxine lunged forward over the body of her dying mother. But that was not what it surprised him; even Maxine knew that Audrey was no more when the Green Light hit her—it was the action of his brother.

Theseus pushed three people out of the way, almost toppling Tina over, and Newt saw how he secured Maxine in his arms before she fell on the still body of her mother. Even though Newt was standing at the back, with his legs leaden on the floor, stupefied, he could clearly see Theseus’ right arm secured under her diaphragm and left on her décolletage. His shoulders were vibrating not prominent enough for other people to see but Newt knew that, and it was almost for her. Like a process of osmosis, Theseus’ whole body was absorbing her physical grief, and there will be no words in the world to describe the animal howls of violent sobbing of Maxine’s Valois. She was falling apart, piece by piece, and Theseus with all his being was keeping it together.

Although he felt somewhat relieved he felt very agitated towards the scene, because it was not what it was supposed to be. It was a cruel act, even for Theseus to do things to Maxine—she was deeply hurt, and he knew how it felt. Because he felt it every time when Leta walked alongside Theseus; Newt knew Maxine was no different than him in this matter, so why now—why this publish display? However as he attempted to step forward, breaking from his stupor, he felt Tina’s hand firmly grasping him.

“Let him...” Tina said looking towards Theseus and coming a bit closer to Newt. Her liquid black eyes glistened with slight moisture that had a bit of sadness. A surge of guilt washed over Newt’s entire being as Tina touched Newt’s lip with her quivering thumb and it reddened with the Mark of Maxine’s lipstick, “he has suffered long enough for that wretched woman...”

“What do you mean?” Newt looked puzzled, and Tina suddenly turned his head towards Theseus, “does your brother look like he is faking it? He had been love with her all along...” she filled the silence and inquisition of Newt with a strained smile, “a lot can happen during a dance”

“HROTHGAR...” another whimper of cry ensued from the left side of the altar. Anyone who wasn’t under that influence of the perpetuity spell did not know what happened to Maxine’s father. As they heard an old woman crying mentioning that name, Newt and Tina went to that place and saw a gleaming opal the dagger pierced the chest of the old French Diplomat and the congealed blood weaved a deep red velvet shroud on his black brocade suit worn for the occasion. He lied alongside Anatole, like sinners of the same crime, but his wide shocked eyes reflected the mistake of his past and regret. Newt knelt beside his body and gently closed his wide eyes. He turned towards Anatole and looked at his with a sense of conflict—there he lied in his final rest like a mangled insect, put into an arbitrary death, but again he remembered where he had been a few hours ago—Death remembers all and in Death, all people are the same.

Newt cradled Anatole’s head straight and closed his eyes.

...

It is strange how quickly things can change over a few hours. A few hours ago Newt, Theseus, and Tina assumed that they were going to be buried alive, a few hours ago Maxine walked the doors of Saint Chappell and the choir sang for her conjugation with Anatole Malfoy, a few hours ago even in the worst of nightmares, Hrothgar didn’t think that it would be the last time he will see the love of his life, a few hours ago not even Maxine would have thought that within half an hour she would lose everything, a few hours ago not even Newt would think he would recalibrate his entire life based on the appearance of his assistant who had been working for only a month.

Three coffins and two widows came out of Saint Chappell at that night. Marguerite and Maxine, walking side by side as their husbands made the march. The flashing of reporter’s camera permeated even through their long black face veil. Newt, Tina, and Theseus were walking at the very back of the crowd, and a conspicuous feeling was bothering Newt for some time. As Audrey’s casket was walked he felt something that he would not express to anyone. He felt one of dead was being walked with glory, one for treason and one as the stain on a noble. As for the living, one bereaved widow walked with other trapped in perpetual shame. He was wondering what would happen to Maxine now; she may have no chance of surviving this: she lost her birth mother, someone whom Maxine felt had the only living relative who loved her; and her father, for whom she stood with straightened back despite her birth. What will happen to her now—she was not the easiest of the woman to get along with, and Merlin knew not every one of her ministries was a fan of her. After her Confession, they will only need a tiny excuse to do anything with her. And this very thought made his skin crawl with disgust and fear.

“I know what you’re thinking...” Theseus said in a low raspy tone, dampened with tears he had been crying with Maxine, “as soon as old Valois is buried for good, the Embassies will come for her. Given the fact that her family didn’t even attend her wedding--,” he looked at the four newly arrived figures, two women and two men, dressed in black and busied with a spectacle of tears, “I don’t think she stands much chance. If she had her job by now, there could have been a hope for protecting her, but damn that stubborn woman. She had to leave just to prove a point that she can--”

“She isn’t half as egotistic as you think ‘Seus. She left because she was protecting you.” Newt answered grimly. He knew this was the time to come clean and there was no moment to lose.

“What do you mean she was protecting me? oh—so she is so egotistic now that she thinks that I am so vulnerable that I need protection from the person who is this close of being subjugated herself.” Theseus said with a significant amount of heat, and Newt confronted him like he never did anyone before.

“Perhaps that is why she chose to leave you, she knew it was better to leave quietly than to explain it to you what dangers you were in. She feared Anatole, all this time... she showed that in front of half the European ministry, and when he started writing she feared that her attachment to you might get yourself killed. So she left you Theseus, and watched you day after day getting closer and closer to Leta when she was breaking her heart--”

“What? Breaking her heart...?” Theseus tried to laugh it off as if Newt was spewing his ‘usual’ nonsense, and quiet with an aggravated motion pointed towards the Funeral march “do you think even for a second that Maxine Valois lets herself do that. She is no subject of affection, she never was... she was always that smart, arrogant and near-perfect woman who had every man in existence swooned for her. I saw you waltzing with her in the Yule party, and I saw nothing but a cold calculated game being played--”

“Is that a declaration to me or a consolation to yourself?” Newt abruptly interrupted the statement of his brother. The Funeral March has advanced a considerable length and the lights from the camera and the mourning candle faded into a dark and obscure Churchyard, where only a grim and dull obligatory entrance light lit the snow-laden path to bare-minimum visibility. Theseus’ lean face looked shadowy and his confusion created crooked lines of darkness on his well-natured features. He licked his lips once and avoided looking towards Newt. After a long silence, Newt opened his mouth.

“I was heartbroken when I saw Leta move on, and of all with you.” Newt said quietly, “but it was okay because she needed you more than me. She needed a leaning board, a pillar, but it fills me with anger to see how you are running away from your feelings.” Newt paused to see Theseus’ puzzlement “you see Tina told me everything about that night—and all those times—poor dear had been suffering that you never liked her back—all that time I thought you’ve been leading her, and she thought it was one-sided you bastard!” Newt gave a doleful smile.

Theseus looked at Newt with disbelief. He walked a little closer to Newt, scooting his vision under his brother’s unkempt bangs to look at him into the eye, and the twitch and pout told Theseus that Newt was genuinely annoyed with him. He felt a little surge of happiness because Newt rarely speaks to him or to anyone of that matter and if he decides to do so, it must be damn near important. He lowered his head for a moment and covered his face, as if he was soaking his face into fragrant cool water after a long tiring day, and suddenly from his complete stillness he shook himself forcefully back into life. When he straightened his face he looked like he was about to faint, but his pale face coloured with a bit of a smile; a smile smiled by a patient after long-suffering of illness. He started to pace back and forth, and Newt knew what was coming.

“Theseus, I don’t think it would be a good time—Theseus, listen she is in--”

Crack

“—mourning...” Newt plopped on the snowy steps of the church after Theseus recklessly disapparated.

It was nearly 10 o’clock in the New Years Eve. The entire Paris lit up to welcome the year of 1928, under the streets, near every secret door, illegal alcohols shoot up into fountains in the mood of celebration. Flappers dressed in gold, silver, and pearls lost their inhibitions for the sake of a livelier party and accompanying their eligible bachelors, married millionaires or extra-marital lovers trying to get laid after a long spell of dry marriage. The taste of cocktails and spiked lemonades and Harvey wall bangers livened with the sound of jazz, and at the much-neglected corner of Paris, near the Valois vault at Pere Lachaise, a woman in black stood still. When Theseus apparated there and saw Maxine standing completely still at the very centre of the garden of tombs. Her black silhouette stiff and her head lightly bowed as the long mourning veil covered up to her stomach. She was standing exactly under the Fleur De Lis crest, so ornate and detailed with Baroque carve work that it could still be seen under the faint faraway light of the city that created a dark silvery glow around the snowy graveyard. The first slosh of his feet gave away his existence to Maxine. She turned her veiled figure towards him.

“Where is everyone?” Theseus’ throat suddenly seemed very dry. His voice did little to hide that anxiety.

“Gone... ” Maxine replied shortly, and her head was turned towards the mausoleum. Theseus approached her gently and as carefully as possible. His feet weren’t giving in to his head and he fought all the impulses to bombard Maxine with all the questions Newt evoked in his mind.

“I’m so sorry about what happened--”

“She had to do it on my wedding day... it was my damn wedding day--” Maxine abruptly said with a distinct amount of anger. The statement threw Theseus into such off-hand position that he almost asked her “sorry what are you saying?”

“I mean... who does that to someone at their wedding day? Although I admit that I hated my groom and always wanted to kill him but not like this...” Maxine huffed and started to laugh hysterically. The sound of her coarse and husky laugh that sent sparks of fire into every man’s veins and chills into the enemy’s spine made Theseus skin crawl. He stood there, holding his breath, allowing her to shed her tears what she had been trying to mask under her laugh. Hell of a strong woman, she never allowed anyone to see her weak side—she never surrendered to an emotional outburst, and even when she was jealous and angry she tried to put those emotions on whoever stood on the opposite side. She was mean, cruel and egotistical and there was no excuse for her antics or her blatant disregard of authority or her mocking obedience to them. She smiled when she was sad, and that laughter was just not radar of how sad she was—it was that sort of laughter reserved for those select few who have now nothing to live for.

“I must have set the record for the shortest span of marriage. I must have been the only one in the history of the world who walked in white and walked out in black. I mean how mad is that...and the worst part is, I have nothing to do with this--”

“—Maxine you have to--”

“Let it go?” Maxine approached towards Theseus with such ferocity that Theseus, in the process of backing up, tripped on a stray snow-laden twig and fell on the ground. A stray flashing car passed near the cemetery and a little light fell on Maxine’s black veil and through its obscure layer, her grief-ridden face. Theseus looked at her, the flash on her face with awestruck amazement. It inspired the fear of madness in him; he couldn’t recognize her at all. That black-veiled figure was standing in front of him, hunching towards him with the hem of the veil slightly brushing on his chest.

“Maxine... I didn’t mean that—I have no words to comfort you. I have come--” Theseus slowly reached for the hem of Maxine’s veil while getting up, “I’ve just come to say...I have just come to say--” Theseus’ hands shook as he attempted to lift up the veil, but Maxine’s cold hands stopped him in midway

“Newt sent you now, did he?” Maxine said in a hushed but severe tone. A chill wind flew through the gravestones, moaning in the chill, “Of course he did... of course he did.” The last bit shook a little, or it distinctly did to Theseus’ ears. He didn’t speak another word because he felt that there was something on Maxine’s heart that was in dire need to get out. The distant rushing cars flashed stray lights on her black silhouette and she appeared and disappeared like a ghost or a bad dream, condemned to repeat oneself.

“Have you heard about Oedipus, Theseus?”

“No... I am not sure I have.”

“I have buried three of the closest people in my life today—” Maxine mused, “And all I could think of, all the time was Oedipus—why is that?” Maxine asked rhetorically and with an unnatural enthusiasm, “I should have been crying like a madman, but all I could think of Oedipus. And suddenly, as you appeared here... I understood everything.”

“What did you understand?” Theseus tried his best not to break down into tears; this state of Maxine made him so helpless that he wanted to hold Maxine tight into his arms again and tell her that everything would be fine.

“—Think about it, it makes so much sense--He was a king’s son who was abandoned because of a prophecy; a prophecy that said he would kill his father and fuck his mother to get the throne.” Maxine mused again with a peculiar tone, “his parents thought that now Oedipus is safe because he will never come back. But he did—only he didn’t know who were his birth parents—and he did kill his father and married his mother to sit on the throne—and when he did know what he had done he--”

“Stop Maxine... why are you saying stuff like this--” Theseus rushed towards Maxine and hastily lifted off her mourning veil. His hands firmly grabbing Maxine’s shoulder and his eyes adjusted themselves in the dark to know exactly where Maxine’s despair-laden eyes were. They almost obscured under the bloody eyelids, and like endless dark tunnels, they seemed vacuumed and empty.

“Why can’t I? Why don’t I? My father did this me—all of these. He practically stabbed himself—if you think about it—I mean, if your actions lead you to death, it’s your fault.“ Maxine paused a little, as if she was recalling something, something more horrific “you know what she said? She said that I was exactly like her—Theseus, what if I end up like her?” the last bit came out like a hysteric cry for help, “what if end up killing Newt?”

“Maxine...” Theseus spoke patiently, “there is nothing—it is nothing about you killing Newt, why would you do that? I saw you--” Theseus halted abruptly as his voice shook a little, “I saw you—why would you do that to him--don’t you—love him...?”

“I do love him Theseus” Maxine screamed with sheer helplessness, “But it means nothing. I know...I know no matter how much I love him, he can never love me—he already has Tina. Theseus, if I do that I won’t be able to forgive myself...I won’t be able to—forgive myself.”  

Theseus could hear Maxine’s whimpers echoing through the labyrinth of tombstones like a haunted soul.

...

He walked on the streets of Paris alone, loitering like a man with no home to return. The Eiffel tower could be seen lit up for the New Years Eve from the side of the city he walked. There were lights all around him, but it felt like harsh burns on his skin as if he walked naked under a midday desert sun. A couple of drunk people in festive mood bumped right into him, but Theseus’ mind was still in the heart of the Pere Lachaise where Maxine stood in despair a few hours ago—too preoccupied to react to their angry French swears. He needed a drink, a strong one, but there was an alcohol ban all over the muggle world—a nice bottle of firewhiskey to burn the sorrow away. He could afford to be a drunk right now, he needed to be drunk. But then again it was not for him, it was for her.

He had a completely different notion about her when she worked with him. People don’t handle women like her very well—too arrogant, too independent, too much of a lip and oh that temper! So much temper—someday she would be angry enough to burn the building down, and someday she would have been so mischievous that someone could lose a life with her pranks, someone always did. People couldn’t handle her, but that never stopped the office gossip or lecherous fantasies about her around the male colleagues. Lucian Carr almost got killed once just to retort

“Why, are you in love with her or something?”

No one could ever know. It would have been a huge dent in the reputation—avoid her at all cost, but why? She never advanced him or anything—she was cordial and professional and her display of ‘emotions’ came out as a characteristic trait, it was never to connect with anyone. She was the best of his employees, then why he always tried to restrain himself? Because deep down, he knew his thoughts about her were no different than other men in the office. She intimidated the hell out of him, and he fucking loved it. He distanced himself out of his freaking principles. Thankfully Leta was in the way—a beautiful distraction and his salvation from his own censored thoughts.

And then she had an outburst and left the job.

He hated the nerve of her, his ego had he convinced that she left to torment him. His thoughts about her then turned like a coward misogynist, and he would have had enough comfort with that until his drunken tumble upon her doorsteps—he wanted her! He wanted her so bad, and thought she might take—but she didn’t, she took care of him and send him away from any harm. Unpredictable little wench! She wasn’t supposed to be the caring type, women like her aren’t, and he was almost confirmed by his hypothesis of her in the Yule party but what would he do with the information he had today? The woman whom he just met today wasn’t the woman he knew before—she was a completely different creature—tender, vulnerable and so very human.

And that scared the hell out of him.

“Veux venir avec moi, monsieur?” suddenly a silky female voice called Theseus from the footpath, a gentle arm snaked on his arm as well, and that is when Theseus looked at the whore’s face. And by Merlin’s blessed head he was washed all over with shame. Maxine was right all along, he had a hero complex—he wanted his women vulnerable, so that he could save them, and now when she is in grief, his heart, and his brain opened at the same time and fought over the age-old impulse—to be or not to be. He wondered if it was his complex that spoke in him tonight, or was it his heart.

He was being led into a hotel, he could tell. The door opened and the whore’s mouth slobbered all over his neck, and despite everything he felt nothing at all—the passive eyes didn’t even found the whore stepping outside her underwear and flaunting her well-defined breasts.

“This is embarrassing…” the woman said in English, “when a woman is willingly taking her clothes off at least be nice and look at the view--” she said eloquently, and with it managed to get Theseus’ attention. As soon as he looked at her, the look in her eyes changed completely.

“What’s that eh? Can’t forget her?” she sat down on a nearby stool, her breasts drooping with her posture. Theseus smiled audibly, “how did you know?”

“Honey, I’ve been fucking gentlemen like you since I was 15. A few titties and they all stand upright like its Bastille Day—married or divorced?”

“Neither… fiancée died after a month of engagement--”

The whore stayed quiet for a while and then a cracked a smile, “but the one you’ve been hung on about is very alive one isn’t it--” she paused to look at Theseus’ inquisitive expression, “otherwise you’d let me blow the skin out of your dick and fuck the hell out of you to get it out of the system. And something else tells me, she doesn’t know about your feelings--”

“No… she does—I mean, in a way. She used to like me, I was too proud to see it—now I am not sure… by the way, why am I telling you all these?”

“Honey, we just don’t fuck people. People come to us when they have nothing else—we allow them to do whatever they want and listen to their shit—a city without prostitutes is like a house without a toilet” she smiled for the first time, a genuine humane smile which put Theseus’ heart in ease. He lowered his head out of courtesy as the whore dressed. A brief click of lock suggested that she had already opened the door.

“—oh yes, one more word—” the woman said, holding the door partially open behind her, “be honest with her and yourself about what you feel. If she comes around then fine, if not at least you’ll sleep better for the rest of your life.”

…

A loud thudding and a heavy hit on the back woke Theseus up. He must have rolled on the floor from the bed and directly on the soggy cold carpet of the hotel which he lodged at last time. He has been in the same clothes for nearly a week, his corded pajama which he wore before he was arrested—suddenly it occurred to him now. He felt really stupid and nearly tripped on the suspended bedsheet that dragged along with him before he could answer the door. A very annoyed waiter was waiting for him at the door.

“Vous Monsieur Anglais avec une putain?” the description of him by the waiter didn’t sit well with Theseus—‘the Englishman with a whore’, however being really confused, half-asleep and really demented, Theseus replied, “oui, c’est lui est moi.”

“j’ai votre paquet…” he thrust the thick parcel in his hand and left instantly.

The packet was a little larger than a magazine and thinner than a standard book. When it was opened, came out of the Newspaper. Theseus was surprised enough already as his sleepy brain tried to awaken, he reached for his pocket to take out the wand. He pointed it at the freshly unfolded Newspaper to translate it because he wasn’t clear in his mood to read French—he didn’t think until the very first words of the headlines appeared before him. His very hair stood up in attention at the back of his head. As he shook the paper in an attempt to straighten it another smaller paper fell out from it. It was a simple open note and in perfect English it said,

Save it while you can.

Theseus didn’t stand in the hotel room for a moment. He threw the newspaper aside and run out of his room like a lunatic screaming at the gone waiter, trying to figure the whereabouts of the person who delivered that parcel. In the meanwhile The Warlock Times lay abject on the soggy hotel carpet with its words slowly returning to French.

THE DUCHESS DISGRACED

Maxine Malfoy nee Valois, formerly Duchess of Croy had freshly came out of a short wedding and a triple funeral of her late husband Anatole Malfoy, her father Monsignor Hrothgar Valois and an unknown woman of a close relationship from the revered Saint Chappell last night. As shocking as this scandal gets she had accused her late husband Anatole Malfoy, the British Junior Undersecretary as a Grindlewald supporter and a serial rapist who apparently acquired the Ministry Office with considerable French influence, by fraud. The late Junior Undersecretary, as Madame Malfoy claims had a close past relationship with her to quite an exploitative range, and she, as sources report, killed him spouse right after the vows based upon such notions. Madame Malfoy is accused by the British Minister himself and today she will be held for trial at 12 pm by the French High Council of Warlock. The mysterious death of her father, the Late Diplomat Monsignor Hrothgar Valois will be looked into shortly…  

Theseus couldn’t remember when he ran so fast in his life, and perhaps he never looked so bizarre; a man in his corded pyjama running through the street of Paris with his battered, very English dressing gown flowing behind him like some bizarre parachute. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt such rush, maybe the time when he almost missed Hogwarts Express, maybe it was the last day of submitting that potions assignment to Professor Slughorn or perhaps to save Leta. He pushed the crowd away from him as he felt the icy January wind swiftly passing by his ears, making them ache. He wished that the hidden elevator would go faster now because he realised it was nearly five minutes to twelve.

“Where is the trial?” Theseus asked the receptionist of the French Ministry of Magic with such ferocity and urgency that she was a little thrown back before she could direct him to the way. A victorious rush crept through Theseus’ blood; Theseus Scamander the war hero of British Ministry of Magic is running the French Courtroom in his pyjamas to declare that the woman who was accused falsely is far above than the jury—now that’s the headlines he could pursue to read. Being an Auror taught him to measure the steps he is going to take, and for the first time in a very long time, Theseus wasn’t concerned with the outcome. He didn’t care if he is persecuted for disturbing a criminal trial, he didn’t care if she rejects him, and he didn’t care about anything at all. He just wanted her to know that he is what he is.

“Monsieur, you cannot be here... the Warlock Council is already on session--”

“Stupify--”

“Bombarda...”

Theseus had a reputation with his auror business and certainly was revered for it but today he actually felt proud for his headstrong action. With him barging in with a bang, the Warlock juries came to a standstill and all of the council looked at him with dismay and contempt, but there was one person who didn’t look at him. The person who was sitting on the trial chair, poised, upright and calm; the person who was clad in black and her face veiled.

“Impeccable timing Mr. Scamander, but in case you haven’t noticed, a session is going on.” The French Minister said sonorously with a heavy accent. Theseus could feel his ears heating with the patronised humiliation from the Warlock Council, but he chose to stay on his ground, firmly and surely. He took a sharp breath and lifted his face a little high.

“You’re wrong...”

“I’m sorry--”

“You are wrong about her. And forgive my French, but you’re all bloody coward...” Theseus said with a straightened face, “You saw and know what happened in Saint Chappell and refuse to acknowledge it. So I have come here, as the British Representative--”

“To do what, pray tell us?” the French Minister asked.

“To testify for my employee--”

Newt and Tina were standing outside. They had been there since yesterday when they couldn’t find Theseus. Their anxiety redoubled when they saw Maxine in black robes brought in the ministry at dead of the night with high-security aurors—but Theseus was nowhere to be seen. They became even more petrified when they heard why she was brought in—apparently, she confessed that she devised the murder of Anatole and her father with an unknown Englishwoman, and she had ardently confessed that she used her particularly for her status as an Unspeakable, who as soon as her vow is broken would be killed by a self-automated killing cursed, placed at the lower spine of hers, like any Unspeakable in the British Ministry. Only Newt knew that it wasn’t true—he knew the identity of the woman and with it, relied everything. But nothing matters with his knowing—hell, even his employment was illegal, if someone could do anything legitimately, it was Theseus. But the problem was Newt didn’t know how much his brother knew, or knew anything at all. He and Tina were stuck in a strange dichotomy whether they should look for Theseus outside, or wait for him, and they decided to stick around—just to see Maxine for the last time before the inevitable happens. He was afraid of the time Theseus will find out all about this.

However, an uproar ensued near the wing of the Warlock Council. Tina stepped forward quickly and scrambled whatever French she knew to ask what was happening. Tina’s agitated return made Newt anxious.

“What is it?” Newt asked.

“Someone broke in during the trial. The guard identified him as a tall brunet Englishman in corded pyjama and dressing gown--” Tina huffed in excitement, “sounds familiar--?”

“Theseus...” Newt mouthed the name of his elder brother and rushed towards the council door and halted stop when he saw Theseus coming out of the door. His well-sculpted face unreadable.

“What happened, what happened to her?” Tina asked hastily.

“I don’t know...” Theseus said quietly, “all I did was speaking the truth about her and what happened. She has always been so tight-lipped about everything. They asked me to prove it, and when I did—anyway, she was held in the trial because the French minister doesn’t trust her narrative—I don’t know what will happen next”

The courtroom door reopened, but this time the Trio was pushed aside by the plethora of journalists from all across Europe. Cameras flashed and the entire hullabaloo doubled as the Chief Justice the French Minister followed by Maxine herself came out. Tina closely looked at the minister’s face: there is no way he willingly did what he was to state. In this matter of national threat and the post-mortem scenario of a diplomat made him decide something very unwilling and obligatory. Moreover, Theseus willingly testified for Maxine. What could possibly happen?

As the minister walked forward, Maxine’s black figure glided like a dark silhouette of shadow. Her head and face were covered with a black birdcage veil that differed slightly from the long training mourning face cover that she had to wear. As the minister made to the podium where he shall give a statement to the Wizarding Press, Maxine’s head briefly turned towards the trio’s way.

None of them were hearing what the French Minister had to say. Tina noticed Theseus’ nose getting redder and redder as the time passed, she compassionately grabbed his shoulder.

“I saw her kissing Newt in the church--” he rapidly whispered and Newt’s indirect eyes flashed towards him with a pang of swift guilt, “Seus, I tried to stop her but--”

“it’s okay Newt... it’s okay, I deserve that. Twice now... I took away Leta from you, and she was taken away from me, and I neglected her—I deserve that.” Theseus lowered his eyes and squeezed his temple, “I deserve that...”

“No, you don’t...” Newt said quietly but firmly, “you don’t deserve any of that...” Tina interjected quickly “yes Theseus, you don’t need to blame yourself. All of these that are happening right now is some kind of bad timing—we are going through a bad phase that’s all. It’s not always--” Tina’s focused became hazy and Newt knew what she was thinking, “good things that happen with good people. Look at my sister—she just got persuaded away--” Tina said. Her eyes veered towards Maxine’s way, her eyes glistening “so was she... By Isolde’s hair, I used to be so angry with her—the I understood--” suddenly her tone became more determined and firm, “but it’s not the time to think stuff like that... you showed up when she needed you the most, even though she never mouthed it herself. You are patient with her, you understand her, you remember stuff about her, little stuff that is too minute—Theseus, admit it to yourself—you deserve her”

The last sentence sends a tremor in Newt’s veins and it almost scared him. Wasn’t that the fact that made fall for Tina once again, right here in the French ministry—eyes like salamander—but then again he, somewhere and someplace felt similar feelings for her too, the moments spent, the little incidents that put up a smile on his face—his train of thought came to a halt when he saw Maxine’s dark figure emerging towards the podium to make her statement—one of her hand was at her side, abjectly lulled into a peculiar position. Newt’s eyes focused on her hand, they were two meters apart from each other, and there she was—her hand, lulling to one side peculiarly. A slight spasm passed through her fingers. But it was not the strangest thing he saw. Theseus suddenly stepped forward boldly and grasped her hand. The podium wasn’t high enough to conceal Theseus’ existence, but the hands snaked together surely under the wooden shadow. Tina noticed the whole thing with a slight smile on her face and then she lead Newt from the back to a front, to see the face of Maxine.

Maxine’s face was still covered with birdcage veil, he faces slightly lowered. She didn’t speak right away. Newt was very uncomfortable looking at her under the bright flashlights of the Press Cameras. But when she straightened up to speak, she stunned people around her.

“As you are aware of,” Maxine said quietly but firmly enough “I was accused of murdering my husband on the altar and father with an unknown woman as an accomplice. I assure you it was a false narrative created by the French Ministry to interrogate me. I guess my father, despite his reputation all across Europe, pissed off a couple of people. The real narrative was brought again in the High Warlock Council this morning, by none other than this man--” Maxine turned her head towards Theseus, “who had put his reputation and job on the leverage to clear my name. The truth, ladies and gentlemen is more tragic than ever. The woman that died alongside my father and my late husband was my mother. My birth mother who happened to be the mistress of my father, her crime was she was a muggle-born and she gave birth to me. I was taken away from her and raised in Valois household with shame and contempt as my constant companion. That woman returned to my wedding for the sole purpose of killing my father, who hadn’t the courage to honour her, and for whom she spent her years in shame. Despite my father’s generous nature and keen insight, I say he brought it upon himself. A tragic loss France suffers now for one mistake he made and the lack of courage to admit it. Reputation is a scary thing; it makes one do things that are bad or harmful to others like my father did when he tried to marry me off with a criminal and a Grindlewald supporter who happened to know my secret. And to continue that lie, he was forced to imprison three innocent people into the Tower of Silence. Ainsi tu Seras—‘Thus shall you be’—a proverb we all learned in younger years that our deeds carve our final destiny. Let not remember my father’s death with a scandal, a mistake that he committed, but a lesson—a lesson that perhaps be with us in the darker times.”  

The press sheepishly stood before her, and then one after another cleared off. They did expect a scoop, another scandal—but her solemn and brutally honest confession put them off of their game. They didn’t even stay to ask a further question, there was nothing much to ask—with every stroke of her words, she shed every identity she had before: the duchess, the daughter of a diplomat, the widow of the British Junior undersecretary, the former employee of British ministry... the assistant.

Theseus slowly let go of her hand as she stepped down from the podium. She crossed the side of the wooden structure and slowly let go of her train that she was holding to walk. The black fabric glided on the pristine glassy floor as she slowly clacked her way forward. The trio watched her curiously, with bated breath, as she stood still for several moments. After a while, she slowly turned head around and her eyes were fixed on them.

[Second Theme: Aeon by Nick Murray: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Paqvq7XZGs ]

“Take me outside... I want to see the sky”

They were thrown off at her bizarre request but complied nonetheless. She slowly walked forward, rejecting both Newt and Theseus’ attempt to support her. As the spiraled lift opened outside, she sauntered towards the snow-laden main road. The powdery flakes brushed on everyone’s face, breathing their last icy breath as they disappeared. Maxine’s shoulder was slowly being studded with the white specks of snow as she slowly ripped off her black gloves and threw them on the street. She finally took off her pillbox hat and the mourning veil that was attached to it and tossed them into the air to vanish into nothingness. Theseus, Newt, and Tina looked at her mesmerized as she slowly looked up towards the sky, her pinned curls came undone behind her, her pale naked hands ascending as if to grasp a piece of heaven. The fresh snow of the New Year fell and dissolved on her warm face, tricking down like tears of joy. Like the last escaping breath from a dying person, a word came out from her mouth--

“Je suis libérée... ” (I am free)

...

The sun was the same as Newt remembered it at the Arc of Triumph as if never set and stood in the same manner as it did last year. The sun, in its brilliant golden, red, pink and purple mantle reminded him of Maxine as she stood at the bottom of the Arc and recited some strange French poetry. The sun was oddly similar to the winter Parisian sun, as he stood with his brother and Tina at the edge of the port of Saint-Malo. The noises of the ferry, the sailors felt like they, like the sun had been waiting to see this moment happen, the moment of which they all knew beforehand, except the three of them. With heavy heart, they waited for Maxine, as she prepared for her exile—stripping off her previous sparkling mantle of power and the outspoken statement has its price. Women like her are not tolerated in the polite, patriarchal society.

Light footsteps turned their heads towards the back. Maxine was standing right behind them, dressed in travel cloak and bowler hat, all in mourning black. Her face was made up, primed and proper with neat red lipstick and eyes winged with kohl. Her solemn face changed into her usual playful one when she smiled her usual crooked smile.

“Ready?”

“Together...” Theseus said fondly.

They walked Maxine at the stairs of the ship. However, she didn’t step right away, she turned again to the people, her accidental friends, and allies that came together because of a decision she made a few months ago, sitting in a restaurant. She gave them an amused look.

“Why the long faces? Shouldn’t you be happy that I will be finally away from your hair?” Maxine commented sarcastically, “of all people, Tina, you should be happy--”

“Do you like to get under people’s skin on a regular basis” Tina sniffed a little, “or is it the occasion of New Years?”

“Oh, Tina...” Maxine came near and wrapped an arm around her, “I am going to miss you...” she looked at her with an affectionate expression, “you should consider yourself lucky, because I am finally withdrawing myself from the competition.”

The three of them looked at her dumbfounded, Maxine’s mischievous smile softened into sombreness “you think I must be playing with you but no” Maxine turned her attention to Newt, looking straight towards him, smiling lightly as he attempted to hide beneath his unkempt hair, “I have been thinking about our the relationship we had in past three or four weeks, about you—all could think about how I have taken a space between you two. I had been impulsive and adamant even to admit that you have Tina, but now when I have buried my mum and my dad together, all I could do is to blame myself--”

“Maxine...” Newt spoke softly, “whatever you thought about us, or your parents were wrong. I may be a little dense in many places, but I am not blind—I saw how you behaved around me and I could ignore your advances, but somehow I couldn’t say no to you... do you know why?”

Maxine looked at him with vacant eyes

“Because I love you Maxine Valois—I cannot explain that feeling because I never had it before. It is not the way I felt for Leta, or I feel for Tina. So Max, if you think of anything, remember that—no matter what happens, I will still, have a place for you in my heart--” Newt reached out for Tina’s hand and groping his way through her fingers nervously he grasped it surely, “yes, I cannot love you the same way I love Tina, but I don’t love you the same.”

The Stuart of the ship announced to the board within five minutes. But Maxine stood teary-eyed before Newt, looking at him with an unknown expression.

“I suppose that’s the best consolation I can get... Newt Scamander, you gave this girl more than she deserved... I will never forget you as long as I live.”

A drop trickled from her eye as she spoke. The sun was nearly behind the shadowy cityscape, the east darkened with the inky night’s prelude, and Maxine’s dark eyes fell on Theseus, standing a little further than the rest, his blue eyes glittering and fixated on the gray water, sparking bleakly with the leftover daylight.

“Theseus... aren’t you going to say anything? I will not see you for six months--”

“It’s not fair...it’s just not fair...”

“I know... but I am used to the unfair—it makes great tabloid headlines”

Theseus broke into a burst of unwilling laughter and the welled up tears splashed from his eyes unceremoniously. Maxine watched the change of his expressions fondly; there was a certain endearment in that innocent smile that hasn’t faded away after so many harshnesses of his life.  

“There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things--”

“I will wait for you--”

“You--”

“Yes...” Maxine smiled forcefully; there was a constant swelling pain in her heart that arose by looking at him, “I’ll have to don’t I...?” She reached for her pocket and pulled out her wand, “I am supposed to leave this with the ministry, but I guess ministry employee would do... ” her pale finger caressed the length of the wand one last time, “aspen and phoenix feather, 11 inches--”

“Well that explains a lot...a lot of that lip--” Theseus’ unexpected sass earned him a well-intended slap on his forearm, as they both broke out in laughter. They stood, on the twilight at Saint-Malo, blue eyes locked with black ones with glistening tears of parting sorrow and with a hope of future reunion. The bugle of the ship bellowed in the sea, ready to take Maxine to an unknown horizon away from magic and away from everything she knew. At the threshold to another life, she was simply looking back to the man with whom she started a new life, who looked at her the same way he looked four years ago.

“Take care of it would you?”

As the resonance of her words faded from Theseus’ ears, the ship started to sail across the horizon, chasing the setting sun at the bustling port of Saint-Malo. Maxine’s waving hand vanished into the sky as she parted. She left all behind, everything she was and everything she knew, and it takes great strength to be her. like a Zhou-ou that is made to run away, or like the Phoenix that is made to burn and rise from its ashes, Maxine Valois burned through every obstacle in her life. In the dark times, when Grindlewald advanced and wrecked nation after nation, Maxine Valois burned like a flash of lightning that illuminated everything in an instance and faded into the dark. After a long period of suffering, she was finally free; freedom earned by herself, freedom from being trapped within the terrible memories, the freedom that came from confessing her suffering, something which she wasn’t allowed. As she sailed away, she smiled, looking at the setting sun. The sounds of seagulls flying towards their home reminded her of the life she left behind. There were no gloves in her hands...she would not need them anymore.

--The End--

--

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

--

The title “Ainsi Tu Seras” was inspired by the story of “ Marguerite de Bressieux (15th-century legend/pseudohistory)The Black Knight Who Hunted Rapists. ” When I stumbled across it on this particular website (https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/marguerite-de-bressieux ) I thought I should incorporate with Maxine’s story. However, the end result became something else: I found an oblique parallel between the Newt-Maxine-Tina and Marguerite-Hrothgar-Audrey chain. Following up with the Oedipus myth, I finally depicted Maxine’s character development: a process where she dissociates with her mother and Audrey’s myth of vengeful lover. She takes a decision that she will pursue Newt no more, a path that may lead her to the same end as her mother.

Gloves play a significant part in Maxine’s story: it is an instrument to hide her Mark of honor, a symbol of her bondage. Missing gloves (in Maxine’s case) means freedom or the instances when she tries to be free.

I will write an epilogue, where I will finally close the story for good. It may take some time, so I ask your patience. Also, I will publish my masterlist with the poster of the story

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.

[potterandpreferences]

Mrs. Black

Pairing: Regulus Black x Female!Reader (Past), Sirius x Reader (Platonic)

Setting: Order of the Phoenix

It was strange to be standing before Number 12 Grimauld Place. You'd never thought you would step foot in the pureblood townhouse, filthy half-blood that you were. Part of you felt a grim sort of satisfaction that Walburga Black would be turning in her grave. She was a horrible woman by all accounts, and your deceased husband had very little positive to say about her once he realised that everything he had been taught throughout his childhood was a lie.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you followed Dumbledore's instructions and quietly entered the house. You made your way down the dark hallway, avoiding the troll leg that contained an assortment of umbrellas, and proceeded down into the kitchen. As expected, there was only one person at the table.

"Sirius Black. I wasn't sure we'd ever meet," you greeted him mildly. You had no bad feelings towards him, not any more. He was your brother-in-law, and frankly the only member of the nuclear family you'd married into that you could tolerate. Your passive dislike towards him whilst in Hogwarts was much more to do with the stress Regulus was under than about Sirius as a person.

He had certainly not aged too well, but 12 years in Azkaban would do that to a person. Regulus had mentioned in passing that he believed his brother had become an animagus but had no proof, and you idly wondered if that was why he survived his stint in the infamous prison well enough to escape. His cheeks were still sallow, but you noticed he'd clearly spent a lot of time grooming his facial hair and wavy locks. He was much cleaner than he had been in the mug shots that were repeatedly printed just two years ago, and it seemed he had gained some weight.

He stood up and regarded you uncertainly. There was a defensiveness about him that you'd never seen him carry before. "Y/N L/N. Been a while," he finally replied while reaching out to shake your hand. "I wasn't expecting any company today. You haven't been to an Order meeting yet, have you?"

You shook your head, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a letter. You traced the handwriting fondly before glancing back up at Sirius. "I came to give this to you. I don't know if anyone has told you, but I married Reggie. He asked me to give you this in the event that he... that he died."

Your hand shook slightly as you passed the sealed letter over to Sirius, who upon recognising the handwriting had slumped back down into his seat and his already pale skin seemed to blanch further in complete shock.

"I never opened it, I don't know what he wrote but I thought it would be better to give it to you when I could stay and answer any questions you have," you rambled nervously, twisting your fingers together and nervously playing with your wedding ring.

It wasn't common knowledge that you and Regulus had married. You hadn't even been married that long, not making it to your one year anniversary. The feelings you had for each other had been there since your fifth year in Hogwarts. Being in separate Houses and not supporting blood purity at all, you never had anything to do with each other. That all changed one late night at the library, which saw you two talking and becoming good, if secret, friends. A chance meeting over the summer before seventh year had you dating in secret because your life was in jeopardy if anyone found out, particularly his parents or any of that crowd.

With the use of disillusionment charms and glamoured disguises, you managed to become a loving couple. There is nothing at all about your courtship that you would change for the world because there was no one who would understand your love for Regulus when you yourself were pro-muggleborns. You married shortly after graduation, no witnesses needed due to the nature of the vows made, and it took place not long after he'd taken the Mark and seen what it meant to be a Death Eater. He didn't think he'd live too long and didn't want to die having not married you. Needless to say, you agreed.

You were training to be a healer once you left Hogwarts at that time, but not with St. Mungos. You'd found a home healer who was completely neutral - or so she portrayed herself - and was willing to take you on as an apprentice. As you were a half-blood, Voldemort's followers mostly left you alone. Your muggle relatives had all fled the country anyway, but it was still safer for you to be away from St. Mungos because some people felt that muggleborns shouldn't be treated there.

Your healer training was finished now, and for several years you'd been self-employed. Your skills and lack of affiliation to St. Mungo's and any political parties were exactly the reason that Dumbledore had recruited you into the Order. Once you agreed and Dumbledore had told you where headquarters was, you instantly knew that Sirius was alive, which led to the current meeting.

"He changed sides?" Sirius' hoarse whisper once he finished reading his letter pulled you out of your thoughts, and you nodded. "All this time I thought... Why did he never reach out? I would have helped him!"

You smiled sadly. "He said he found a way to defeat Voldemort, but he didn't want anyone else involved. Kreacher had already been hurt, he didn't want to risk someone else he loved risking their lives," you paused for a moment, breathing deeply to settle your emotions. "I think he was just trying to atone for his mistakes. He kept saying he didn't deserve forgiveness whenever he came back from whatever mission Voldemort had sent him on."

"How long were you married?"

"We married just after graduation, so not long. We started dating before our final year, so at least we had one anniversary," you focused on your wedding ring again. You never took it off. It was a source of comfort to you, even now over a decade later. It had been entwined with your engagement ring; Reggie couldn't have worn his ring as it would raise too many questions.

Sirius followed your gaze, and extending a hand in a silent request to see the ring. You let him examine it while it stayed on your finger, and a wry smile crossed his face. "I saw him leaving a jewellery shop around that time. Well, I always thought it was him but he was gone before I could check. I was helping James pick out an engagement ring for Lily."

You pulled your hand back. "What was he like as a kid?"

***

You ended up staying for dinner that night, the two of you exchanging stories of Reggie. You raised a toast to him as well, and you even got introduced to Kreacher who nearly broke Sirius' concept of reality when the house elf launched himself around your legs and hugged you tight. Whilst you were what his Mistress would call filth, you were Master Regulus' wife and that was a great honour. Apparently Regulus had spoken to Kreacher about you often after swearing him to secrecy on the matter.

So, despite Sirius' hatred for the house elf, you roped him into sharing some stories too. By the time you knew you needed to leave, with promises to come back and visit often, Sirius was inebriated and calling you his little sister, and telling you that you were the best Mrs. Black there's ever been. You looked forward to getting to know your brother-in-law, and carrying on your husband's work.