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liptonsbabe · 4 years ago

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Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Summary: Molly thinks that Bill’s and the reader relationship is a mistake so she wants them apart from each other. Bill’s against his mother wishes and he find a way to drag the reader into the Weasley family officialy

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi! Part 4 of this thing lol. I’m so happy that you guys like this story. It’ll have like 20 chapters or so, i’m still deciding that so yeah, that’s pretty much the thing. Btw, from now on chapters will be more interestings... i hope so lol. Again, english not my mother language. Please let me know if something’s wrong. Aaaaaand if you want to be tagged in the next chapters tell me and i will add you! Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Arguments

The rest of the afternoon passed as normal as the days before your arrival. Arthur Weasley made sure of it. Even if Molly attacked you with her dagger gaze when you and Bill hugged each other after you were done with dessert.

You didn’t know what Mr. Weasley had talked about with his wife while you were taking a shower, however, you noticed the tension rising from their bodies after you sat down at the table next to Bill and saw an annoyance sign on Molly’s lips. Her temple was frowned, reminding you of your own mother's gestures. Those flaming eyes, cleft chin, and pinion lips. Both women contract their features too much when they were upset and in your distress, you knew that they must not be disturbed.

The last thing you wanted was to hurt a marriage as solid as the Weasley's. More than once you heard your mother talk about it with your nanny making a powerful emphasis on how Molly and Arthur were able to carry out their marriage even if their economic conditions were precarious and the war was on their heels. They were an envied couple. Few dared to expand the family as much as they did without money in their pockets and spreading their progeny like a plague. No one was surprised, not even your mother, not when her marriage to Evan Grant was merely for financial advantage. Now Arthur and Molly looked upset, too upset for your understanding and you just hoped they could get along soon.

You weren't sure you deserved the sacrifice Bill's father had made for you, yet a flame of hope lit up in your chest. If Mr. Weasley started to trust you that was a good sign for others to do as well, right?

The afternoon continued as normal, seeing how Bill's plans to distract you from the fervent harassment of his mother was marred by the twins intervention. They had just finished a new product for their store and needed a good taster to certify the quality of their merchandise. It was a bad idea, he told himself, because twins were just a disaster and you didn't know them well enough to deny their good-natured pretensions.

"Be kind!" He yelled at them as Fred and George pulled you into their. Bill exhaled, pleading that his brothers wouldn't bother his girlfriend more than his mother already had.

Before taking you home, he thought about the pros and cons of your stay in the burrow. His conclusion was based on the fact that his entire family welcomed Harry Potter with open arms, so you didn't have to be the exception. He knew the difference in conditions in which his theory developed, yet he put his trust in the good judgment of his family even if the Grants' past left much to be desired. Bill didn't talk much about you with his mother, in fact, your presence at home was the last of his worries, the real problem came at the time of joining the Order of the Phoenix, would you be willing to fight against your relatives even if that mean betraying your own blood? Bill hope you will

Coming downstairs, Bill found his mother storing the leftover food in the fridge while the dishes soaked in the sink. Then he watched her clean each plate with her bare hands, no magic. William knew his anger was real.

"Want some help with that?"

"I'd love to, honey, thank you," his mother answered without looking at him. Bill raised the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, dipping his hands into the tide of water and bubbles that flew across the kitchen. Molly was silent, drying the dishes and flying them to her place in the display case across the kitchen. Bill cleared his throat doubtfully "It never hurts to help, much less when I have so many things to do before the rest of the Order arrive"

"Don't worry, I'll help you with that too."

"Perfect"

"Mom, can we talk?"

"About what?

"You know what," Bill clicked his tongue, passing her the last plate from the sink to continue with the spoons. "(Y/N)..."

"Your father has scolded me enough about that girl, I don't need you to do it too"

"I wouldn't if you had a little consideration with her."

"More consideration?" Molly asked in a squeak. Bill shook his head. "I'm letting her stay at my home!"

"Our home, mom, ours," he corrected, drying his hands with a cloth. "This house also belongs to my dad, my brothers, and me. It's the burrow, a family property, not a secret club where some people can get in and others cannot."

"You know what I think of her"

"And you know I don't care." Molly looked scandalized at her son. She didn't understand what he had seen in someone like you or what you had given him to come out and defend you as he did "I don't ask you to love her, but at least you have to try...

"Have you ever wondered what will happen when she betrays us?"

"That's not gonna happen"

"You're very sure of that, William"

"I'm convinced, Mom. You don't know her like I do and, you know what? I see that wanting to talk to you was a mistake"

"Moody thinks like me," Molly stopped him when Bill was ready to go upstairs. The woman clung to the railing watching her son standing in the first step out of the kitchen "(Y/N) Grant is a danger to the Order"

"Really? Like Mundungus Fletcher? I beg your pardon, mom, but if there is anyone who represents a latent danger to the Order of the Phoenix, it's him and yet you have assigned him for the mission tonight"

Molly's lips parted and if it weren't for the fact that Bill knew her mother too well, he might think the woman was about to throw herself on the floor in a tantrum. Still, she clenched the bars tightly, her brow furrowed, and the redness on her cheeks washed over her forehead.

"William!" Don't talk to me like that!"

"I wouldn't if you had a little more respect for my girlfriend."

"Don't you understand? I care about you! For all of us!" She snarled angrily. "Having a Riddle in this house..."

"A Grant, mom, (Y/N) is a Grant and that's not the same." Bill descended his steps, approaching her mother, returning that angry look that she had inherited from him. It was a strange sensation. A dyad of emotions between joy and fear where the composed emotion was guilt. He had never exploded that way with his mother, but Molly hadn't behaved that way with anyone either "His grandfather is Lord Voldemort's half-brother and his brothers are all Death Eaters, what does it matter? (Y/N) is not. And when do we judge others by where they come from? If so, we could start with half of us. Being a Weasley is equivalent to being a blood traitor"

"William!"

Molly's face went from fury to shock to fury again. Bill's eyes were twinkling and Molly swore she had never seen any of her children this angry, or worse, this determined.

"What would you have done, Mom?" Bill questioned taking his mother by his arms in an attempt to make him feel her despair. Molly opened her eyes, scared. "When your family tell you not to accept dad? When your brothers object to your engagement, just 'cause the Weasleys have long been considered blood traitors?"

For the first time that day Molly's mind went blank, Bill guessed, rewinding the memories of how difficult it was for the Prewetts to accept the marriage. Bill pleaded silently, but pulled away from her when his mother gave no indication to be a little more respectful with you.

"We aren't like that. We don't separate people by where they come from, we hug them" Bill resumed his way towards the stairs, stopping a couple of steps up, turning to take a look at Molly's stunned figure "As you did with Hermione, Remus and Harry when you and Dad became his godparents after Sirius died. (Y/N) is no different"

"She will turn her back on us when the Order fight the Grants. That moment will come and you know it"

"Don't worry, i'll make sure that doesn't happen"

"She is not part of this family"

"That can be solved very easily," he said and the smile he wore gave her a terrible chill down her spine. "Because I'm going to ask her to be my wife."

Molly's gasp was the only thing Bill heard before climbing the stairs and heading to the twins' room. He always respected his mother a lot and even thinking of opposing to her wishes was inconceivable, but your well-being was something that was involved and Bill couldn't just let her mother control his life at her will. Maybe the mistake he made was not telling his parents the truth about you from the start or, in that case, mentioning that the woman he loved was the fucking niece of the strongest fucking dark wizard of all time.

Bill Weasley rubbed his face as he reached the twins' door. He no longer had to torment himself, it was done and the only thing pending at the moment was to get Harry out of his uncles' house, take him safely to the burrow and find the courage to do what he told his mother he would do.

Would you agree to marry him? He hoped so and if not, he wouldn't pressure you. You were young - even a little younger than him - and it would be understandable if you refused to tie your life to someone else's from one moment to the other. The war progressed every day and if you were going to do it, you would do it as soon as possible.

Loud laughings brought him out of his thoughts to observe you and his brothers sitting on the floor, right in the center of both beds, laughing at each other and touching your faces. From the doorway Bill can't see the full painted room, however George's face showed a rather abstract mural full of bright colors when he felt the presence of his older brother. Fred did the same showing his face in the same situation and then you turned to Bill, still laughing and your face smeared with paint. It seemed the twins had created a paint bomb in millimeter pills, that explode when you put a little bit of pressure. You tried to clean yourself with the sleeve of your sweater but you spread the paint even more. Fred and George laughed and so did Bill.

His heart swelled with love as he saw that at least someone in his family - besides him and his father - had hope in you. God, he may have even cried with happiness.

Bill never understood how a sunshine as beautiful as you was never accepted in your entire life.

Tags:

@purple-vodka-99

@vampirestrawberries

Thanks for the 100 followers!❤

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter cast #Harry Potter imagines #domhnall gleeson imagine #domhnall gleeson x reader #domhnall gleeson #weasleys #fred weasley imagines

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allalrightagain · 3 years ago

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ONE GIANT FOLDER COMING YOUR WAY

Ooh a giant one you say?? Ok, here’s my DADA prof conspiracy theory:

(under a cut because I wrote you an essay. oops.)

SO! One of the biggest mysteries of the whole series is what on earth Dumbledore was thinking when he hired Gilderoy Lockhart of all people to teach 11-18 year olds defensive magic, especially the year after he confirms that Voldemort is definitely still around and kicking and trying desperately to come back to power/get to Harry. Obviously the last prof died etc etc and the “willing and able” population is extremely slim pickings after 30-40 years of needing a new person every year, so there might not be anyone who would actually say yes that Dumbledore was willing to take.

(This is true even when you consider the professors who do accept for the next few years— Moody and Slughorn come out of retirement to take it, Umbridge and the Carrows hardly make Dumbledore’s “Not a Chance in Hell” list, and Lupin, well... would he take the job? If Sirius had not broken out of Azkaban? Would Dumbledore have even offered it? More on this later!)

But there’s a war brewing, even if Dumbledore’s the only one who knows it, and he doesn’t do anything without thinking it through his General brain (though the same can’t always be said for his Politician or Professor brains).

So what on earth does Dumbledore gain by hiring Lockhart?

Well, he fills the spot, that’s for sure. Best case scenario, he skates by for a whole year, nobody dies, the kids maybe learn a little, and next year we do it all over again.

Except— Harry.

Dumbledore has already proven himself by this point to be relatively focused on Harry in particular and preparing him for the future, both skills/knowledge-wise and “virtue”-wise (ie having him live with muggles, not know about his fame etc). It seems strange to intentionally choose not to provide the best possible education (specifically in Defense Against the Dark Arts) to the kid you absolutely need to survive until he's old enough to die at the hands of the right person (or, since CoS takes place before Dumbledore encounters a horcrux, until Harry is old enough to kill Voldemort for good).

Once you start reading Dumbledore’s hiring choices specifically through the lens of teaching Harry in particular, they start to make a lot more sense.

(a quick note is needed here to mention that the books focus on Harry as the main character etc etc it’s a children’s book but the worldbuilding should still be able to stand on it’s own. Whatever. We’re taking a Watsonian explanation because it’s more fun.)

In order:

Quirrell is a test, and a trap— Dumbledore has set the stage: a bright young man just returned from the place Voldemort was cited having been in at least 2x; a magical object that grants immortality; and a virtually untested, unknown 11yo Harry. This is Dumbledore getting the lay of the land and verifying that Voldemort is in fact alive and that Harry can handle the path set for him. If Quirrell doesn’t end up possessed or otherwise working for Voldemort, then Dumbledore has found another ally against him

Lockhart on the other hand is a lesson, specifically in what not to do/be— Harry grows up as far away from fame as physically possible, and Dumbledore expresses concern that the fame within the wizarding world could get to his head on several occasions. So Dumbledore sees Harry at 11: modest, but with a habit of rule breaking, a Quidditch star, the potential for becoming comfortable with his role within this new society. And Dumbledore shows him the worst possible version of where he could end up if he lets it go to his head. Nothing screams “don’t rely on your fame” like Gilderoy Lockhart. (in as much of Dumbledore’s defense as I’m comfortable providing, this was literally the only year where he didn’t know in advance of the school year what exactly would make it a difficult/dangerous one, so he probably felt he could get away with someone who didn’t need to be able to defend the students. They were supposed to be safe.)

Lupin is bait, and education (!!)— There’s history there, and Dumbledore knows it. Remus draws in Sirius, so Dumbledore knows where he should be headed, and he should protect Harry if it came down to it (and if he doesn’t, then Remus ends up dead or in Azkaban and Dumbledore has shaken out another possible traitor). Remus is also there to teach Harry— about defending himself, which has become increasingly necessary— and to hold the same role he did in school: to keep Harry in check. A teacher who is specifically and singularly interested in Harry first and foremost is a teacher who might actually be able to keep a determined child of James (and Lily) from throwing himself in harms way, especially if information about Sirius gets out.

Moody (or well, Dumbledore’s hope for Moody) is protection and to train soldiers for a war— Again, Dumbledore knows what’s coming this year. Or at least like, 50%. He knows Karkaroff will be there, he knows Pettigrew ran off to Voldemort, and he knows these kids are nowhere prepared to fight in a war. If nothing else, hopefully Moody will scare someone straight.

Umbridge is obviously against Dumbledore’s will, but she does teach them all about politics (in the worst possible way)

Snape sets the stage— It’s part of Dumbledore’s final moves on the chessboard. It teaches Harry actual, useful magic (and is almost as good as Dumbledore teaching Harry what he needs to know directly). It’s NEWT level magic, specifically geared towards fighting a war that Harry, Dumbledore AND Snape (plus… literally everyone else) knows is happening. It sets Snape up to leave re: the curse, however he needs to in the moment where things start falling apart.

Bonus: Slughorn, gets the memory and scares Harry away from using his connections— Dumbledore knows he’s going to die. He knows this war won’t be finished by the time he does. He knows it’s going to rely on Harry finishing the horcrux hunt and doing it with enough of a martyr complex to walk to his death at the end. But he’s also set Harry up with a support system within the Order out of necessity and desperation less than a year ago. So what can Dumbledore do to ensure Harry doesn’t go to any/all of the adults in his life on the occasion of Dumbledore’s death, present them with the horcrux hunt and ask for help? He gives Harry Slughorn, who is the epitome of a Slytherin who knows how to use their resources, and he does so blatantly and without a shred of shame. Harry is supposed to look at him, assembling the Slug Club, bragging about tickets he’s gotten and correspondence he keeps, and think “I do not want to be like him.” Slughorn is supposed to isolate Harry from anyone who would tell him not to walk to his death, and, just like Lockhart makes Harry even more uncomfortable about his fame, it works because it perpetuates the abuse Harry has endured.

TL;DR: Dumbledore chooses DADA profs to teach Harry something specific, in the case of Lockhart (and Slughorn), it’s specifically a moral lesson on who not to be and what not to do

Send me a �� and I'll give you a useless/random headcanon

#you did say a giant one #never forget dumbledore is a tactician fighting a war everyone else has forgotten #some of this is paraphrased/plagiarized from another post I made about this but not a lot #this is useless because unless you're writing from dumbledore's pov this doesn't matter #or writing a story that explicitly fucks with him but that's so hard #trust me I've tried #ask games #lt talks #hp #hp meta #the remus bullet could have been like 8 times longer but I was trying to stay on topic

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nochiquinn · 3 years ago

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campaign 1 episode 29 REDUX: Whispers OR slowly reconsidering letting my kid watch the cartoon

(she’ll be fine, she knows when to cover her eyes)

"oh snapricot"

"what if I have some weird third-arm syndrome I can't wear t-shirts, how do I support the show"

"I think that's part of my goal, is world domination" fast forward to 2021...

holy punch gloves!!

"you're my son" stares in exu

"it's called the Lady's Chamber; I don't know anybody there." "I might!" "that's what I'm afraid of"

sam just comes full circle back to gavroche

"there's no lock" "but I rolled a natural 20!"

"suddenly a lock appears, utterly pickable!"

ah, this is The Door

Pristine Piece of Shit

curved! swords!!

"you've beaten beholders! you've defeated ithilids! but this door...!"

hey matt I hate that noise

"I'm throwing a dagger right now" v a x

"you were so prepared for me to go to the temple that you built it?" "I built the whole city 'cause I didn't know where you were gonna go"

"this is my town, I feel comfortable" smash cut to percy dropping like a stone

EMBIGGEN HAND

hey matt I HATE the banshee noise

"wake up, handsome"

"what's the weather been like" Thematically Gloomy

the way marisha just *moves* with keyleth compared to beau is fascinating

keyleth and the sun tree is one of my favorite things, even before mcconautree

"lord and savior MY AXE IN YOUR FACE"

"we could just....leave trinket behind :D :D :D"

old lady vex and her crazy eye

"I thought we were killing someone in this house" "we'll get to it"

"they wouldn't kill a small peasant boy!" "they absolutely, demonstrably would"

"I'm her seeing eye boy"

"do you think there'll be a day when the people find happiness again?" 🎶not in nottingham🎶

"I'm 27 but I don't know how old she is"

"will that burn his hands?" "suck it up, buttercup"

it freezed AGAIN early cr why are you like this

"rogues are whatever"

"I don't want to be caught off-guard" "this is about to be HILARIOUS"

"it's opening night and I'm so excited!!" travis/grog's constant desire for violence is my favorite

(edit from the future: I take it back)

ahh yes, vex being snarky about vaxleth

"I'm OFFENDED, and I'm HURT"

"matt that's a lot of maps you have down there"

"if you're lucky you die last"

"I give him a vex wink" bisexual disaster

"there's black smoke beginning to emit from his body and beginning to envelop the gun arm" something so objectively bad for percy has no business sounding dope as fuck

(I have similar thoughts about the term “diabetic ketoacidosis”. absolutely terrible and I hope it never happens to anyone. but it’s so much fun to say.)

I maintain that no one reacted enough to Missy Elliot Step

sam just being utterly unprepared for scanlan to be attacked ever is my favorite

"it's making up for my gun failing like four times" "whatever, you possessed voldemort"

"don't cheapen this" "too late"

"this is for the de rolos. and let me say? you were the one I was least looking forward to."

percy frantically scratching the name off the List, wreathed in black smoke with the bird mask still on sdkfjs I'm so fucking excited for the cartoon

"I go over to the desk" squawk like an imbecile and shit on someone else's desk

("nochi are you re-reading hamsteak" no. maybe. you don't know.)

percy's not available right now, please leave a message with the shadow demon at the tone

"I'm gonna turn your head into a dreidel" these fucking murder hobos

"that's more than I was expecting" "you said take this tongue!!"

shoot gently

that bullet absolutely went through the floor percival

"percy, is that last barrel for you?" "no. ...but if it was, would I tell you?"

"I throw him out the window" g r o g

the spectrum of what level of violence they're willing to employ for the rebellion is fascinating

"catch me!" grog and keyleth are one of my favorite dynamics

Music To Burn A House To

ngl I would murder someone to I'm Not Okay

(for legal reasons this is a hypothetical)

"you're all crazy, we've all seen it, now we can deal with it as a family"

"y'all's fucked up" ty snugglelord

"I can sweeny todd that"

(I forgot to mention it when it actually happened in the show but at one point sam goes “that thing orion took from me? that thing I needed?” with just. so much salt. and I would like to know exactly how much sam repressed given that they had to work together in their day jobs)

#critical role #crititag #reaction post #campaign 1 rewatch

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years ago

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warm //Fred Weasley\\

warnings - mentions of death, angst and a lot of it, really like there is nothing here except angst and also Fred dies again. also, I didn’t edit this. synopsis - you and your husband survive the second wizarding war, but so do some of Voldemort’s old followers, and they are hell bent on revenge. pairings - muggle!reader x Fred Weasley a/n - so this is based on a dream I had a long while ago and I just needed to get off my chest. I hope y’all enjoy it. Also, sorry, I’m not british and it feels weird typing Mum and not being british so I just used Mom. I apologize. And yes, the first part of this was an actual dream that I had once and it absolutely broke me to pieces. So, here I am sharing it with you so that you can all cry too. You’re welcome.

~~~

You had spent many Christmases with the Weasleys, but this was your first Christmas celebrating as a Weasley.

You twisted the simple copper bands around your fingers, as you always did when you were nervous. Fred Weasley, your husband, reached out to take your hand without even looking at your fidgetiness. He knw you well enough to know when you were nervous.

“You already know everyone here,” he said in a low whisper. “There’s no need to be afraid.”

“I’m not scared of your family!” You told him quietly with a smile before placing your other hand gently over your stomach. “I’m just...nervous about telling them.”

Fred looked over at you as if suddenly remembering that you were expecting your first kid, who would be the second of Molly and Arthur’s grandkids, right after Victoire. He smiled at you and then smiled down at your hand.

“George and Angelina already know, what’s the difference from telling everyone else?”

“Well, let’s think,” you hummed sarcastically, tapping your free hand against your chin. “Oh, right, there’s like a million people in your family and I have a paralyzing fear of public speaking.”

Fred laughed and it sent your stomach rolling like it always did. Your dad had warned you about what would happen after your honeymoon period had ended, how the butterflies might go away, but it had been almost a year and every time Fred smiled, your entire body still burst with joy at the sight of it.

“We’ll just go in and figure it out from there, yeah?” He said, with a side smile and his never fading confidence. You squeezed his hand and smiled back.

“Yeah.”

You sucked in one last calming breath as Fred lifted his hand to knock on the wooden door. It was your final chance at peace before the world decsended into the chaos that was the Weasley-Potter-Granger-Johnson-Delacour-y/l/n family.

Arthur opened the door and barely had time to recognize that it was you and Fred before Molly let out a cry of joy and ran to greet you.

“My dear y/n!” Molly Weasley wrapped you in a tight hug. “How are you? How was Spain? Didn’t run into any trouble I hope?”

“Mom!” Ginny laughed, pulling her mother away from you. “Merlin’s Beard, let her breathe!”

“Hey, Gin,” you whispered as she pulled you in for a short squeeze.

“Hey, sis.”

Ginny escorted you to the dining room where the others were waiting eagerly to greet you. George and Angelina stood back, watching you and Fred with knowing smiles. Hermione let out a squeal of excitement at the sight of you, tossing Ron’s arm from around her shoulders so she could run to embrace you.

Throwing her arms around your neck almost threw you off balance, but Fred was right behind you to keep you steady.

“The house looks amazing,” you said Hermione pulled away. You looked up at the tall ceilings, the crooked paintings on the wall, the charmed knitting needles doing their own thing in a vacant chair. “Just like it always has been.”

Fred snaked an arm around your waist, but not before Hermione and Ginny pulled you away to chat.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Fred asked, walking over to a brunette standing beside Percy. The girl blushed and extended a hand.

“This is my friend, Aubrey,” Percy told, the same level of sobriety as always.

“Friend,” Ginny mouthed to you with air quotes. You laughed, just as easily as you always had.

“Are Bill and Fleur here yet?” You asked. “I haven’t had the chance to get my hands on that baby of theirs.”

“Not yet,” Angelina said as she walked over to join the group of girls. You could see the smirk on her face as she settled in beside you near the fireplace. “You’re going to have to forcibly take Victoire from Bill. He doesn’t like to let her go.”

“She’s gonna be a daddy’s girl I see,” you teased and the girl’s laughed.

“If Bill has anything to say about it,” Ginny added.

Fred and George fell quickly back into their usual antics, leaving you and Angelina to watch with amused smiles from the side.

“So,” you said quietly once the two of you were alone. “When is he asking?”

Angelina sighed.

“He refuses to tell me. Said something about waiting for the right moment.” You rolled your eyes. Fred had said the same thing. “Have you seen the ring?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“What does it look like?”

“I can’t tell you, Ang! It’s a surprise!”

Angelina nudged you gently with her elbow, but not too hard.

“Have you told your parents about...?” She nodded down to your stomach, sure to keep her voice low.

“Of course I did,” you said. “My mom is just excited that her little girl’s all grown up and my dad is hoping for another magical baby.”

“Right. How is your sister doing?”

“She’s good. Out there living her best magical life.” There was only the faintest trace of bitterness in your voice.

Both of your parents were muggles. Your sister ended up being a witch, but you, unfortunately, did not. Still, you and your family had always been exposed to magic, having been family friend’s with Angelina and the rest of the Johnson’s for almost your entire life. It was Angelina who introduced you to the twins when you were nine, Angelina who forced all three of you to hang out until the twins actually started to like you, Angelina who convinced Fred to ask you out, and so, naturally, it was Angelina (and George) who was that first to know about your baby.

“Have you picked out any names yet?” Angelina asked, leaning in even closer. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at her, the very subject making nearly burst with joy. You wanted to tell her, oh how you wanted to tell her, but you and Fred had promised to keep it a secret, even from Angelina and George.

“I can’t say just yet,” you replied. Angelina raised an eyebrow.

Not much later, Bill and Fleur arrived, baby Victoire in her daddy’s arms. You nearly jumped out of your seat with excitement. Bill took one look at your face and nearly hid Victoire behind his wife, who simply laughed. After another long round of greetings, Arthur finally called everyone to the table.

“Our family grows every year,” he said, his eyes beginning to swim with tears. “Each and every one of us has lived through the unimaginable.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, knowing that everyone around you had fought in a war that you didn’t even know was going on. Once again, Fred reached out to grab your hand under the table without even looking at you.

“I am so proud to get to call you my family,” Arthur said, choking up even more. Molly reached up a shaking hand and placed it over his. He looked down at her and she smiled. You pictured yourself there one day, surrounded by an enormous family, full of joy and happiness and memories despite all the pain the world would inevitably throw your way. You looked over at Fred and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“We have an announcement,” you said suddenly, smiling as you stood. Angelina immediately blossomed into a grin, while Fred turned white. You looked around at all the expectant faces watching you.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. His lightning bolt scar had begun to fade in the last year and a half since the Dark Lord was defeated. His glasses were almost always broken, but Hermione had taught Ginny the spell to fix it.

Ron Weasley. No longer was he Harry’s best friend or the last of the Weasley boys. He had made a name for himself. Hunting down dark wizards to every corner of the world, the world was safer with him in it.

Hermione Granger, on her way to becoming the first, and youngest, female Minister of Magic. With all her studying and hard work and dedication, she never lost that childlike twinkle in her eye.

Ginny Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. No one could beat her. With an iron grit and nerves of steel, no one could stare her down and make it out on the other side. Yet she was still the kindest person you knew.

Fleur Weasley, a kind and loving woman, despite all the pain she suffered.

Angelina Johnson, a wickedly talented witch and the best friend a girl could ask for.

Percy Weasley, a pain in the arse, but the constant voice of reason.

Bill Weasley, always find the best in every situation, even when things are the most dire.

George Weasley, who never had an end to all the jokes and smiles, even in the darkest of times.

Molly Weasley, who gave everything she had to her kids and kept on giving.

Arthur Weasley, who’s courage and loyalty to his family kept them all alive for this long.

Aubrey....well, you didn’t know her that well, but she had a kind smile and a wicked sense of fashion.

And Fred, your Freddie, who made you laugh even when you wanted to cry, who held your hair back as you violently vomited in the toilet, who would build forts with you in your tiny loft and remind you to water your plants and feed the cat, who was more than willing to give up his joke shop and travel the world with you if that was what you wanted. Your solid rock, your standing place, your hope when the world was nothing but bleak. Your everything.

You looked at each one of their faces and remembered how much you loved them and how grateful you were to have them in your life. And you couldn’t hold your secret in any longer.

“Fred and I are-”

The wall beside you exploded into a million pieces, sending you flying forward. You barely heard Fred scream your name over the sounds of the others shrieking and the ringing in your ears.

You hit the stone ground hard, the air squeezing painfully from your lungs. Your squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the high pitched squeal in your ears to fade. Once it had, all you were left with was screaming. Your eyes refused to open quickly. All you could do was blink. Dust and ash floated around your vision. Bursts of blue and green and red light flew across the room before you could even recognize it.

“Ang!” You heard a voice cry.

“Here!” Someone replied.

You stood as quickly as your trembling legs allowed you to, pulling yourself by the fireplace mantel. All around you, more spells were shot back and forth through the house. You pressed yourself as tightly against the wall as you could manage, hoping to not get hit by anything stray.

“Aubrey!” Percy shouted, grabbing hold of her wrist from between the legs of a fallen chair.

“Go!” Arthur shouted over the cackling of the intruders and the shattering of picture frames. “We’ll find you. Just go!”

With a hiss and a pop, Percy and Aubrey disappeared from your sight. You wished you could Apparate now. But you wouldn’t leave until you found Fred.

Taking in a deep breath as if diving under water, you ducked and rolled into the fireplace where you were hoping it would be a little more safe.

You searched through the chaos with your eyes, afraid to move from your spot, for any sign of your husband. Your heart soared as you thought you saw him, only to realize that it was George pulling Angelina into a tight hug before following in Percy’s footsteps.

You met Angelina’s gaze just before George Apparated them away, her eyes going wide and her lips just beginning to form the shape of your name. Your heart jumped into your throat.

“y/n!” You heard a familiar voice call.

“I’m here!” You weren’t sure how far your voice carried over the sound of mini explosions, or if it was even safe to give away your position at all, but anything was better right now than being alone.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you scanned the dining room for any sign of him, but the dust and the smoke was filling the room rather quickly and it was becoming difficult to see. You could hear someone screaming and for a moment you feared it was Victoire.

The screaming became too much and you covered your ears with your hands, only to discover that it had been you that was screaming, not anyone else. Your voice echoed through the fireplace.

Finally, through the haze Fred came barreling through. You let out a cry of joy, lurching forward at the sight of him, leaving the safety of your hiding place..

“Avada-”

You reached forward with all your might, seeing a smile on his face as he reached out to grab hold of your arm. As soon as his skin met yours, there was a shout from someone else, almost like a warning cry, and your stomach lurched, the familiar feeling of Apparating.

You squeezed your eyes tight, not wanting to watch the world spin out of control around you while you were taken to wherever it was the Fred wanted you to go. You thought of your trip to Spain, of the beautiful countryside where there was no one for miles. In the sleepless nights since you had returned and through the bouts of horrible morning sickness, that countryside was peaceful enough to calm you down.

So, when the spinning sensation stopped and you finally opened your eyes, you were surprised to find yourself standing on those same countryside. Fred quickly pulled his hand from yours as he landed. Before you could even question why he brought you both here, your stomach churned again, but this time, it wasn’t magic. Your baby heavily disagreed with your husband’s quick way of travelling.

After emptying your guts into the grass, you straightened and looked up at the blue sky.

“It’s still so beautiful here, Freddie,” you said, letting your eyes close as the gentle breeze blew through your hair. “But why bring us here? Why not somewhere-”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you turned around to face him.

He lay on his back, arms out beside him as he stared up at the beautiful sky above him. Only, he wasn’t staring. His eyes weren’t seeing at all.

“Freddie?”

You walked over to him, your heart roaring to life, beating so wildly in your chest, you feared you might explode.

Dropping to the ground beside him, you fought back the water that was rapidly obscuring your vision.

“Freddie.” You reached out to take his hand, only to find him cold as stone. A horrified gasped came from your mouth. Nothing about Fred had ever been cold. He was light and life and everything warm under the sun. His soul burned like a thousand infernos, heating everything in his wake. His heart was a million suns beating in unison, to the same rhythm as yours. Nothing about Fred was ever cold.

Except, now his hands. Now the distant, glazed over look in his eyes. Now the ghost of his last smile etched onto his lips.

Leaning over him, you could have sworn you saw a flash of green reflected in those beautiful brown eyes of his and your mouth fell open in shock.

“Freddie!” You cried, suddenly realizing what exactly had happened. “Fred!”

You took his cold hand in yours, bringing it to your lips. You breathed against his knuckles, hoping to give him some of the warmth that you had left in you.

“Come on,” you whispered, letting his hand fall into your lap as you placed your own hands on his face. “Come on, breathe!”

Your lower jaw began to quiver as tears started to drip down your cheeks.

“You can’t leave me yet,” you whispered to him, curling your body over his. You tucked one arm under his neck, pulling him into your lap. His eyes still did not move and his ghostly smile never wavered. “Don’t leave us.”

But his body was still cold and growing colder with every passing second.

“Help.” Your voice broke, your words drowned out by your owns tears. “Somebody, please, help us.”

Even if you could get your voice above a whisper, there would be no one for miles. This was the place you had wanted to go, the place where you and Fred could be alone and safe from the wizards in the dark cloaks. You had brought the yourself here because Fred didn’t leave his house alive.

Leaning down and pressing your forehead to his chest, you let out a sob and then another one, your fingers curling around his Weasley jumper. The golden ‘G’ darkened from your tears until the entire thing was soaked through.

“I can’t do this alone,” you said, finally lifting your head to look at his face.

“You’re not alone,” whispered the wind. You gasped and sat up straighter, looking around for the voice. There was no one in sight. “I’m right here.”

“Freddie?” You asked, barely trusting the word that left your lips. The wind was silent. You looked back down at Fred, at Fred’s body, and tightened your jaw. You brushed away what remained of your tears.

“I’m getting us home,” you promised him, lifting your hand to shut his eyes. “Just you wait, I’m getting us home.”

~~~

You looked up at the Burrow. Once again, the windows were shattered, the door was broken to splinters, one wall had caved in. You could hear voices from inside, whispering, talking. A laugh rang out. Your heart soared in your chest.

It had been weeks since you saw them last, weeks that you had been carrying Fred’s body behind you. A kindly wizard you had met along the way froze him for you so he wouldn’t decay, which felt awfully morbid, but you were grateful. Your hair was a tangled mess, your face covered in dirt and sweat and sunburnt nearly beyond recognition.

But you had finally made it home.

You weren’t sure you would be able to drag Fred’s body the rest of the way up to the door, but you wouldn’t need to. Before you could take another step, Angelina stepped into view.

For a moment, she just stared at you and you simply stared back. Her eyes didn’t even move to the rolled up carpet where you had hidden Fred’s body behind you. She just stared. And then, as if a gate had suddenly been opened, she came hurtling toward you at full speed.

You let out a single laugh just before she collided with you, pulling you in for the tightest hug she could have given. You were crying again once you were in her arms.

“It’s okay,” she whispered against your hair. “You’re safe.”

Your legs gave out beneath you and she helped you to the ground. Everyone else inside had heard your cry and came filing out one by one until they were all standing around you. You were surprised to see even Charlie was there, the prodigal son returned home.

“Where’s-”

Ginny didn’t even need to finish your question. From the look on your face, they all knew.

“He-” You struggled to keep your words from shaking. Angelina squeezed your hand and helped you onto your feet. “I couldn’t leave him there.”

The words you spoke made Harry take a step backward, the first one to fully put things together. He looked at you and then he looked back at the rug you had been dragging and his face turned white as snow.

Angelina had to keep you upright, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding onto your arm.

“I tried,” you said, looking straight toward Molly, who still didn’t fully understand.

“Oh, god,” Ginny breathed and then let out a shuddered gasp as she finally puzzled things out. Harry took her hand and pulled her into a hug and, as soon as he did, she dissolved into tears. One by one, they each began to realize what had happened. You watched in horror as that family slowly began to fall apart. Molly shrieked, falling to her knees and Arthur following after her. Hermione immediately put her arms around Ron to stop him from walking toward the rug that held his brother. Bill stared in wide-eyed horror at his wife, who had turned her body so the baby in her arms wouldn’t be able to see the rug at your feet. Percy was still as stone.

And George, George stared at you and you stared back unable to see anything but your husband’s face.

“George, I’m-”

Before you could even try to apologize, he strode toward you and snatched you out of Angelina’s arms and into his, pulling you in for an even tighter hug. And like that, the two of you finally fell apart.

~~~

You couldn’t stand at his funeral. Your body was still so exhausted from the journey home and from trying to keep the baby inside you alive that your legs would simply no longer hold you upright.

You were glad they had you in a wheelchair. That way, they couldn’t see your knees shake.

Your eyes never dried the entire time. You thought you might have cried every last tear you had in your body the day you returned home, but you apparently had more inside of you.

Aside from your family (and Lee Jordan, who stood beside Angelina), there were so many people you did not recognize. An older woman with glasses and an emerald green dress. A rather large man with bushy hair and a long beard. A blond boy who stood off to the side, away from everyone else. Two boys, one shorter and one taller, holding hands as they both stifled tears.

You wondered how many lives Fred had touched, how many people he had made laugh, that you would never get the privilege of meeting.

Back at the Burrow later that day, you sat next to Molly and Arthur, each of you staring blankly at the floor. You twisted your rings around your fingers, but not out of worry. You slowly pulled them off before turning to Molly.

She looked at you, a stream of tears running from her eyes. With trembling hands, you handed the rings out to her.

“These belong to your family,” you said, chin shaking as you tried to fight back tears. Molly shook her head, eyes closing, but she was unable to say anything.

“Just because you are no longer married to our son, does not make you any less our daughter,” Arthur told you with the only hint of a smile that he could manage. You gasped in shuddered breaths and Molly reached out to pull you into a tight hug.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed as you clung to her jumper. She ran her fingernails over your back and you were pretty sure you could feel her smile.

“I know. Fred told me.”

You managed a laugh as you pulled away.

“If it’s a boy, we want to name him Gideon,” you said, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Molly sucked in a shuddering breath. “Gideon Lee. And if it’s a girl, we want to name her Persephone, but, Percy, for short.”

Somewhere across the living room, Percy Weasley lifted his head. Aubrey was no where to be seen.

“You saved his life at the battle you fought,” you reminded him. Percy’s eyes swam with water. “He never forgot it. This is how we say thank you.”

Percy nodded his head slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he dropped his head back into his hands.

~~~

You had a boy and a girl.

You weren’t prepared for twins, but it didn’t matter.

With so many of his kids moving out to start their own families, Molly prepared a room for you to stay with her and Arthur. Molly dotted on Gideon and Persephone, never wanting to put them down no matter how loudly they cried.

“My twins were the same,” she said, smiling at the memory. Her face never turned sad.

Some days you were perfectly fine. You could look at Persephone’s full head of bright orange hair and Gideon’s hazel eyes and see Fred and smile. And some days, you couldn’t even bare the thought of getting out of bed. But Molly and Arthur never left your side. Angelina and George were over all the time, to take care of you and the help with the kids. You couldn’t look at George for the first few weeks without breaking down completely. He understood.

Bill and Fleur brought Victoire to play with Gideon and Persephone and Bill even let you hold her sometimes. She really was going to grow up to be a daddy’s girl. The others never failed to visit either. Even Charlie would stop by occasionally as the two grew.

Your parents and even your wayward sister enjoyed spending time with them. You had never expected it, but the birth of your children had drawn you closer to your sister. After years of estrangement, the two of you were able to sit side by side and laugh together, as if not a day had gone by since you were ten and had no worries in the world.

You missed Fred’s warmth every single day of your life, but you found his joy in Persephone’s laughter and Gideon’s proficiency for setting things on fire. You remembered what the wind had told you that day, that you were not alone. You were never going to be alone again, and you were grateful for it.

You had spent many Christmases with the Weasleys and now you shared many Christmases as one of them.

~~~

In this life, you had lost Fred after the war. In your life before, you had lost him during it. It was almost as if the universe and all it’s splinters had decided that you and Fred were not to be. You lost every game you played together, but you were willing to lose them all, so long as you got to bask for a few minutes in his light.

~~~

tagging - @inaworldofwonder (aka the only person who liked the post I made about this story three days ago) @x-lulu (i’m not sure if you’re into harry potter, if not, im sorry) @bricksatanakinswindow (because you like harry potter and I like harry potter and you like angst and I like angst so here we are)

none of you need to feel obligated to read this but it’s been in my head since 8th grade and i just needed to get it out. thank you. love you all.

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ashes-and-ashes · 5 years ago

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Lightning and Marauders

Draco stares out of the window.

He’s still furious, with Harry and with Dumbledore and the entire fucking Order. He can feel it, rage coiling around his bones, the anger making him feel light-headed. He’d always had an explosive temper, the type that ended up with shattered glasses and holes in walls.

It didn’t work when his father attempted to beat it out of him, but then again, rarely anything worked. He learnt though, over the years, learnt to keep everything contained inside of him, because at least he didn’t cut anyone when he shattered.

With a sigh, Draco stares down at his arm, the ugly brand that couldn’t cover the scars on his wrist. He couldn’t even remember what the fight was about - something small, he was sure, something inconsequential and pathetic. Stress had blown it up, turned it into something so much bigger then it should have been, made him keep pushing, keep arguing until him and Harry were both screaming at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen table.

Of course, he had spat, anger making him feel like he was on fire. Of course you would say that. You’ve always had it easy, being the fucking savior.

Don’t you ever say that again, Harry replied, all hissed words and cold fury. Don’t you ever say that I had it easy. You’re the one on your Malfoy throne, all high and mighty -

You don’t know what they did to me.

What? Harry sneered. Bought you a broomstick and held your hand? Is it to your advantage to switch your side?

Fuck you.

Harry laughed. What did I expect? You’re the son of a Death Eater. Why did I ever think that we could trust you?

Draco had stormed off before he could say those damning words spinning around in the back of his head, echoing the cold words spoken by his father so long ago. You’ll never be enough. You’ve doomed us all.

He couldn’t though, couldn’t bring himself to say the words. It would destroy them, that already fragile bond he had with Harry, the small hope of something more. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to risk that.

Draco leans his head against the window, the glass cool against his cheek. The rain cast patterns over his face; he watches the shadows trace against his skin.

He doesn’t know where he is - some tower room in Grimmauld Place. The house was huge, larger then the Manor, all stone and dark wood and huge green drapes. There are tapestries all over the walls, symbols embroidered on them in heavy gold thread; he recognizes a few of them. Whom ever owned this house must have been rich - Charmed Marks were expensive and there were hundreds of them all over the walls.

He sighs, turning his attention back to the scene outside. His head pounds; he lets it drop back against the window frame.

“Done being all melodramatic?”

He can see the barest hint of a reflection in the window, all darkened shapes and blurred lines. He doesn’t bother to turn around though, just shrugs. “It’s my forté. I should go into acting.”

The person lets out a dry chuckle. “Aren’t you a spy? It’s close enough.”

Draco stiffens. “Who told you that?”

“You’re not the only Drama Queen here.”

Draco turns slightly in his seat, just so that he could see the figure standing by the door. He’s tall, hair down to his shoulders and covered with tattoos. There’s a casual sort of elegance to him, the type that Draco had spent most of his life trying to perfect, all careless arrogance and stunning grace.

Charcoal eyes met his; grey, he thinks, just like mine. Draco gets to his feet quickly, leaning back against the wall. He’s learnt that appearing casual made others lower their guard. The man’s quiet chuckle lets him know that his action had not been missed.

“God,” he says, giving him a small smirk. It’s the grin of a younger man, the ghost of something that had long died. “You remind me so much of - “

“Don’t,” Draco says, cutting him off. “Don’t say that I remind you of my father. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? As if I wanted to be some egotistical fanatic - “

The man laughs. “No. I wasn’t going to say that. I get the sense that you aren’t fond of your father though. He was an asshole. A brilliant, conniving asshole but an asshole all the same.”

Draco looks up, startled. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Everyone who knows about Death Eaters, that is.”

Draco flinches. “I - I’m not - “

“Like them? Family bonds can be hard to sever. Just take me for an instance.”

“What do you know?” Draco fires back. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about Pure Blood families. You don’t know what it’s like to be suffocated, to be forced into a mold that doesn’t fit you - “

The man throws back his head and laughs; bitter and amused. “Oh I don’t know, do I? I probably know better then anyone else here, I Draco.”

Draco turns away, willing the tears not to come. “Oh, really?”

The man smirks. “I’m Sirius,” he says. “Sirius Black.”

“Harry’s Godfather.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been known as anything but Traitor.”

Draco folds his arms across his chest. “I’m a Malfoy,” he says. “Your name was synonymous with Hero back at home.”

“Nice to know I’m still worshipped.” Sirius leans back against the wall. He’s covered in scars, hundreds of them; up his arms and wrapped around his fingers, disappearing under his shirt. Draco thinks of his own back, the smooth, pale skin and shudders. His father was careful - and even Voldemort’s Crucio’s didn’t leave any scars. He didn’t want to think about how bad the pain was to leave so many scars across Sirius’ flesh.

“What do you want?” Draco says, keeping his voice even. “I assume you don’t just want to chat.”

Sirius shrugs. “Harry. You had a fight with him.”

“Why don’t you check in with him?”

“I already did.”

“Did he tell you about how much of a manipulative, lying bastard I was?”

Sirius shakes his head. Draco stares at his forearms, the silver moon tattoos inked onto the skin. They seemed to shimmer, even in the dark room, the edges rippling and fading into the next shape. “He told me all about you, actually. How brave you were. How you’re only 17 and yet you’re spying for a side that will try and execute you if they win this war.”

“What do I have to lose?” Draco whispers. “There’s nothing left for me in this world. I might as well try and - “

“Make it better?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius smiles. “I was actually going to say, before you interrupted me earlier that you remind me a lot of myself. Back when I was younger. You have the same...complete disregard for yourself. Self-destructive tendencies, almost. Because who cares if you burn as long as you’re warming those you love?”

“I - “

Sirius fixes him with that piercing gaze, the one that saw into his soul and stripped him bare. “Jesus, you’re young. I fought in the first War, back when I was 19. I still have nightmares. To do that to innocent kids - I don’t - you’re so - “

“Young?” Draco’s voice was a near-breath. “I’ve already killed 8 people, Sirius. I’m a little too damned to be innocent, don’t you think?”

He stared at his hands, palms up, the light dancing off his fingertips. “I’ve tortured people and been tortured myself. Spying is nothing.”

“True.” Sirius’ voice is light. “But I never knew Lucius would lay a hand on his son.”

Draco’s breath hitched. “What?”

“Don’t what me. My mother was the one hurting me. I know those marks.”

Draco stares down at Sirius’ hands, the tiny scars that flecked his skin. “What are those?”

Sirius’ grin was savage, brutal and cutting and painful. “Crucio.”

“Crucio doesn’t leave marks.”

“When you use it enough it does.”

“I’ve never met someone who knows what it feels like. Besides Harry and myself.”

Sirius blanches at the sound of Harry’s name. “He’s been...”

“Yeah.”

“God.” Sirius drops his head in his hands. “12 years. 12 fucking years I’ll never get back. God, I missed so much.”

“He loves you,” Draco says quietly. “He adores you.”

Sirius looks up. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Draco feels the blood drain from his face, his heart falling to the floor. He takes a deep breathes, holds it, waits until he knew his voice wouldn’t shake. “He’s one of my closest friends.”

Sirius studies him for a minute, then lets out a low whistle. “God, you are practically a carbon copy of me.”

“What do you mean?” Draco demands.

Sirius just studies him, his head tilted, those piercing eyes shredding him slowly apart. Draco just grit his teeth, met his gaze.

Finally, Sirius speaks. “I was in love with a boy,” he says, and Draco flinches. “For ages, actually. Since I was 12. He was my best friend.”

“How did you know?” Draco breathes. “That it was love?”

Sirius smiles. “You just know.”

“I don’t though.” Draco looks down, at his feet. “I always hear things, about how love makes you soft, makes you happy, lifts you up and turns you lighter. And I always think what bullshit. Because that’s not what I feel. Not at all.”

“It’s fire,” Sirius says quietly.

“God, it’s more then that. It’s consuming. It scares me, because I’m in a war, and if something happened to him...There’s nothing I wouldn’t do - I’ve switched sides for God’s sake. I’ve damned my soul because of him, I love him that much.”

Sirius just shrugs, head propped up against his han, and Draco thinks again that he looks very, very young. “The only monster made are ones that are in love.”

“And he doesn’t - I don’t even know if he loves me.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh Merlin. Harry most definitely does, Draco.”

“No - “

Sirius cuts him off. “Yes. He does.”

Draco looks down, at his feet. He can feel the weight of Sirius’ gaze against his back, burning into his soul. “Tell me about him,” he says.

Sirius closes his eyes. “I don’t know. He was...beautful. All full of light - the steady kind. A candle, compared to the raging flames inside of me - inside of both of us,” he adds. “He never thought he was good enough, but he was better then I ever could be.”

Draco nods. He thinks about Harry - his smiles, his eyes, the way his hair felt when Draco let his hands brush through. The harsh set of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way he laughs, all quicksilver and molten metal, the way Draco’s heart stopped every time they touched. He thinks about how he dropped everything - his family, his title, his home, how he was willing to die just to give Harry a chance and he wonders if he’ll ever have anything like this again.

“Do you regret it?” he asks. “Telling...telling whoever it was?”

Sirius’ holds Draco’s gaze.

“No,” he says, and Draco believes him.

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bubblybubbubs · 4 years ago

Note

🍊 Hi again! Can I request a Draco Malfoy blurb where you're fighting and then make up, please? 😳 Thank you 💓

-here it is I hope you like it!-

“I can’t believe you right now, why are you standing up for him!” Draco huffed. You had met together to study for potions but you had broken into an argument which happened a lot more often than you cared to admit.

“He’s my friend Draco and I don’t like it when you’re constantly bothering him.” You said.

“If you like him so much maybe then you should be his girlfriend instead.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You said. “Draco, I’m asking you to just leave my friends alone for me and you can’t do that for me?”

“Your friends are a bunch of mudbloods and blood traitors y/n! They’re breaking Umbridge’s rules and it’s my job as Prefect to stop them.”

“Don’t call them that. Plus they’re stupid rules and you know that.”

“No they’re not, you just refuse to listen to her!” He said defensively.

“Not all of us are Death Eaters like your family Draco, and when Voldemort comes back we won't be protected by that.”

That thought had been plaguing your mind since the third task. You were just waiting for Draco to show up with the dark mark on his arm.

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you.” He said calming down a bit at that.

“I’m severely starting to doubt that.”

“You’re pure blooded.”

“Oh so you’re willing to protect me until you decide I’m a blood traitor.”

He didn’t answer only looking down at his shoes and you took that as an answer.

“I’m going to go.” You huffed storming out the library.

You didn’t bother to stop even as he called after you.

When you made it to your dorm your roomates perked up to look at you.

“What’s wrong y/n?” Your roommate questioned.

“Draco.” You sighed before throwing yourself onto the bed burying your head into your pillow.

You didn’t realize you had dozed off until you were woken by your roomates voices.

“You’ve really done it now Malfoy.” You heard your roommate say.

“Can I have a minute alone with her.” You heard Draco sigh.

“No.” One of your roomates retorted.

You sat up to face him, he smiled at you sadly.

“It’s fine, just give us a minute.” You said to your roommates who gave in leaving you alone with Draco.

He sat next to you on your bed.

“I would protect you.” He said. “You could be a muggle and I would still protect you, because I love you y/n. I’m so sorry, and if it means that much to you I’ll back off your friends.”

“Really?”

“I know I’m not the best at showing how much you mean to me, but I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#draco malfoy x reader #harry potter x reader

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vance-emmeline · 3 years ago

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ϟ ━ was that EMMELINE VANCE around the leaky cauldron ? SHE disapparated before i could approach them ! what a pity, for they are DETERMINED and LOYAL, but maybe it's best to keep my distance because they are also CLUMSY and FIERY. i remember that they were a RAVENCLAW back in school but have since made a name for themselves as a DAILY PROPHET JOURNALIST. if this alleged war came knocking on their door, it is supposed that they would FIGHT FOR DUMBLEDORE ( cis woman & she/her / zoey deutch / 26 / half-blood).

biography & statistics below the cut

𝒷𝒾𝑜𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒽𝓎

Emmeline Vance has always been described as ‘capable’. From a young age she was solving puzzles in creative ways and forging a path for herself early in life. Her parents offered Emmeline a safe and happy childhood, although they both worked long, exhausting hours at the ministry meaning that child-care was left to her grandfather who owned Honeydukes sweet shop. As a small child, there was nothing that Emme loved more than suggesting new sweets her grandpa to try and make to try and then helping him make the ideas from her imagination into a reality. When she was six years old, her grandpa gave her her own little apron and nametag for when she was at the store.

Helping out at the store truly shaped Emme as she grew up. All sorts of people stopped by the store in their trips to Hogsmeade - all shapes, all sizes, all races, all blood statuses. Emme naturally became kind and compassionate, willing to help whoever might need it no matter what their background. Her first signs of magic showed in the store - she had to carry 3 tubs of jelly slugs from the cellar to the top of the store, and managed to levitate one in front of her like grandpa did with a degree of concentration after huffing about the fact she couldn’t carry three with her little hands. Certainly, her grandfather was more of a parent than her own parents ever were.

The issue of parenting came to a head just before her ninth birthday, when her parents decided that they were going to move to France to start life afresh. Emme’s father had been offered a job at the French Ministry and they had taken it easily, jumping at the opportunity to start life again in the beauty of France. But Emme’s little heart broke at the idea of not only being taken away from Britain and the promise of Hogwarts, but from the most important person in her young life. A few roaring arguments between her father and grandfather while Emme was supposed to be sleeping (but was really hovering at the top of the stairs trying to listen to what the adults were saying) and the three adults called her downstairs asking her a simple question.

“Would you rather live in Britain with grandpa or move to France with Mummy and Daddy?”

Emme never answered verbally, but instead ran over and clung to her grandpa’s leg, who had been more of a father to her than her own father had. It wasn’t their fault, of course, that they worked long hours and hardly ever saw their daughter - but Emme’s decision was easy. And so it was that within the next few months Emme’s parents prepared to move away and prepared to leave their daughter behind (promising visits, of course). In January, her parents were gone leaving her to live with grandpa and grandma in their small flat above the store. Life passed by peacefully until her eleventh birthday arrived and with it, a letter inviting her to Hogwarts.

On her first day at Hogwarts, Emme learned that not everyone was as kind as her. Her grandfather had pulled her aside at Hogsmeade station before she ran to join the arriving students and said ‘be brave enough to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves’. Those pearls of wisdom stuck a chord deep within Emme, who had always considered herself kind but hadn’t had to put herself in any level of discomfort to be kind so far. She had lived a reasonably sheltered upbringing, after all. Cruel thoughts had not been present in either her home or the sweet store (after all, who can find it in their hearts to be cruel when surrounded by that much sugar). With that wisdom fresh in her mind, Emme made her way towards Hogwarts where the sorting hat confidently placed her in Ravenclaw.

From there, Emme excelled at school. She had always loved reading as a child, and she made a name for herself quickly as one who always placed near to the top of her class. She engaged in lots of extra-curriculars including Charms club and Dueling club, and spent most of her evenings buried in magical practice and theory. In fifth year Emme became a prefect.

During her careers meeting, Emme looked at the pamphlets before her and knew there was only one real option for her. She had half considered the aurors programme, but reading and writing had always been her passion. Emmeline applied for a job with the Daily Prophet as a junior journalist. Working hard at her N.E.W.Ts, Emme left Hogwarts with an Outstanding in all subjects and a well-earned place at the Daily Prophet.

Since starting work at the Daily Prophet eight years ago, Emmeline has carved a name for herself as a well-respected journalist. She always works for the truth no matter how uncomfortable or unsettling it might be, and is determined to bring the truth to the public. This has, on occasion, led to Howlers being sent through the post but Emme is not deterred.

Emme is a notorious coffee drinker and can almost always be found with a flask in hand. She also loves to bake, frequently bringing in home made snacks to share around the office - Merlin only knows that their office needs a sprinkling of happy on a semi-regular basis. She gets excited about any and all holidays, and her absolute favourite place to be is the beach - especially when she’s wandering up and down the sand wearing a cosy jumper and bright yellow wellington boots. Despite reporting on some of the atrocities that happen in the wizarding world, Emme still lives with a sense of optimism and an understanding that the world really is full of good people even if it might not seem like it.

Emmeline is committed towards seeking justice both professionally and personally for all. She believes that the way that muggle-borns were treated at school was unjust, and has continued to speak against this in her journalism. When it becomes clearer that Voldemort is truly persecuting muggle-borns, Emmeline will step up to work against him firmly. When Emmeline commits, she throws her whole self behind a cause and can never be called ‘half-hearted’.

𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈

Basics:

FULL NAME : Emmeline Raye Vance MEANING : The name “Emmeline” means gentle and brave. MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : Emme GENDER AND PRONOUNS : Female, she/her DATE OF BIRTH : 13 April 1958 AGE : 26 ORIENTATION : Bisexual OCCUPATION : Daily Prophet Journalist

Background:

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : English, French FAMILY : Samuel Vance (father), Eliza Vance (mother), Ambrosius Flume (grandfather) SPOUSE / SIGNIFICANT OTHER : open & wanted for plotting! CHILDREN ( chronologically ) : n/a

Magical Detail:

BLOOD STATUS : Half-blood ALUMNA OF : Hogwarts, Ravenclaw, 1976 ACADEMIC FEATS ( clubs, organizations, positions, etc ) : duelling club, charms club, prefect O.W.L.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : astronomy, charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes, arithmancy. O in all subjects but arithmancy and history of magic which were E’s. N.E.W.T.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes. O in all subjects. WAND : Maple, unicorn core, 10 ¾ inches, supple AMORTENTIA : Fresh coffee, baking bread, the smell of seaside air, new books. BOGGART : Werewolves PATRONUS : A swift - a creature with a strong sense of determination and a drive to accomplish things. They are hopeful, positive and energetic and are drawn to live and work in large communities where they find inspiration from the high spirits of others.

Physical:

HAIR : Mousy brown EYES : Brown HEIGHT : 5’3 BUILD : Athletic, slender. MARKINGS ( birthmarks, tattoos, scars, etcs ) : A scar on her left hip from a fall down the shop stairs when she was younger. A small tattoo of an opening speech mark on her left wrist, and a closing speech mark on her right wrist - inspired by her journalism and her love for writing. Not a permanent marking, but Emmeline has a sapphire necklace that was a 17th birthday gift from her mother. It is perhaps the most expensive thing that Emme owns, and she never takes it off.

Personality:

TROPES : Gentleman and a scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted and socially engaging human being, some times even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intellegent Gentleman and a Scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted, and socially engaging human being, sometimes being even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intelligent characters. Frequently, his emphasis is more on the humanities than on the natural sciences.” MBTI : ENFJ-T ENNEAGRAM : Type 2 - The Helper ALIGNMENT : Lawful Good TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic ZODIAC : Aries POSITIVE TRAITS : Determined, loyal, resillient NEGATIVE TRAITS : Clumsy, fiery

#principium.intro #principium.task #about #i wish i could use photoshop & create a good looking graphic but alas!!!#excited to get started <3

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yan-senna · 3 years ago

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The Keeper of the Diamond 2 (Severus Snape x reader & Valtor/Baltor x reader)

Previous book / Next chapter / All chapters (21 in total)

Chapter 1

TW: Mentions of death and rape

Ten months after the Wizarding War has ended, the three friends have thought every day about their previous adventure and all the Harry Potter characters.

Especially Y/N who can’t help but miss two certain wizards - Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy.

She has been a bit worried. What happened to Lucius? The Malfoy family escaped before the Aurors could even think about taking them to Azkaban. She hopes that they are all safe and well. Lucius and Narcissa were nice to her under her capture at Malfoy Manor, after all.

During the past ten months, Y/N, Laura and Vera have all been busy with school. Which is why they haven’t been able to visit the people of the Wizarding World. But to be fair, Harry Potter and the others have also been busy. Mainly because of OWL exams and finding the Malfoys.

However, they have thought about the three girls every day as well. Dumbledore has even sent them a packet of lemon drops with a letter attached which states that he hopes all three of them are well. How did he send it? That’s still a mystery to this day. He certainly has his ways.

Also, a certain Potions Master can’t get the Keeper of the Diamond out of his head. He won’t admit it to anyone but he misses her. A lot.

When the girls returned to their dimension after destroying Lord Voldemort, Vera and Y/N decided to move in together in Y/N’s house. Y/N couldn’t stand to live alone now that her mother was killed. Especially not at night when she gets nightmares about the incident that happened at Malfoy Manor. Yes, she still gets nightmares about that.

At first, she was still not ready to tell her two best friends what happened. However, two months ago, she decided that enough was enough and that she had to talk to them. They were both shocked but also grateful that Snape and Lucius saved their friend in time before she was raped.

A lot of hugs, as well as a lot of tears, were involved as she told them about the incident. All three of the girls hope that Dolohov will stay in Azkaban until he dies.

Right now, Laura and Vera are both in Laura’s house. Her mother is at work, of course.

They haven’t told Y/N that Vera is here with Laura. It’s a surprise - they are in fact discussing and organising a birthday party for her which is in three days. Better late than never with the planning, right?

They have everything planned, though. What cake to serve, where to celebrate it and who to celebrate it with. It’s definitely going to be a birthday she will never forget as it’s being celebrated at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insisted on throwing the party in the Great Hall.

The house elves of Hogwarts will be making the cake which Laura and Vera have designed together. It may or may not be green with an orange diamond and a pink one on top of the cake while there’s “Happy birthday, Y/N” carved in silver glaze. She’s absolutely going to love it.

On top of that, everyone’s going to be there - Albus Dumbledore himself, Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Rubeus Hagrid, Dobby the Free Elf and last, but definitely not least, Severus Snape.

Yes, he absolutely hates social gatherings, but it’s Y/N’s birthday so he’s willing to make an exception. Of course, if you were to ask him, he would simply say that it’s to show gratitude to the Keeper of the Diamond. That’s not really the case, however. He just won’t admit that to anyone. There’s quite a lot of things he won’t admit, apparently.

Back to the party organisation, Laura and Vera just need to discuss what gift to give Y/N.

“I’ve been thinking of giving her a Slytherin uniform. I know she’s more like a Hufflepuff, but Y/N does love green. Besides, I’m sure Snape would go crazy if she was to wear it. I might actually laugh at his reaction. What will you be giving her, Vera?” Laura asks while sipping her soda through a straw.

She has to watch out for her teeth and the straw was recommended by her dentist.

“Ugh, I’ve got no idea. I might just buy her a shirt or something. I don’t know anything about Harry Potter, so I really don’t know what to give her” Vera says as she sighs, defeated as she has absolutely no idea what to do.

An idea pops into Laura’s head. “Hey, you could give her a Snape t-shirt. That would be absolutely hilarious!” Laura suggests as she grins.

Vera thinks about it for a while. Hey, that’s not a bad idea. However, Dumbledore and McGonagall will most likely tease Snape about it. Is that what Laura’s plan is all about?

“Good idea-“ Vera starts as she’s suddenly interrupted by a noise. It’s coming from the living room. What was that? “Um, what’s going on?” Vera slowly asks, a bit scared.

Laura shrugs. “I don’t know, let’s go and check it out” she suggests. They both then rise up from the floor where they were sitting and head to the living room.

However, they stop right in their tracks when they see three women in the living room, making a mess. They are tossing chairs and books everywhere. Are they looking for something?

One of them suddenly notices the two girls staring at them. She gives them a creepy smirk. “My, my. What do we have here? Two teenagers home alone? How cute. Now, tell us - where is the diamond?” the woman asks the girls.

Laura and Vera both gulp. Oh, no. Not again.

#harry potter #winx club #fanfiction #the keeper of the diamond #valtor #baltor #severus snape #valtor x reader #severus snape x reader #reader #baltor x reader #crossover #winx valtor #winx baltor

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5lazarus · 4 years ago

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Weavers

this was meant to be severitus, or at least Snape-mentors-Harry, so let’s call this the precursor to it

Summary: Bored before the start of sixth year, Harry goes through Petunia's old family photo albums. He demands some answers, and Dumbledore sends Snape. Read on AO3 here

The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape.

Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape. Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”

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smallpumpkinboi · 4 years ago

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I've been working on my new wip a bit and wanted to post the unedited version to see if its worth committing to rn or if I should wait a bit

Huge trigger warning (They'll be all in the tags) but it's also missing a few parts so bare with me

Tonks looked down at the picture, the pale man had blood dripping from his nose, leaking from his mouth, eyes blood strained.

"Harry, it happened again" she shoved the file into his hands. He flipped through it, looking at the torched body, deep cuts ripped black robes, blood pooled underneath him, Harry was far too comfortable with the scene. Throwing the file onto the pile of similar murders he rubbed his head.

"Again?" Harry glanced at the pile, a high stack of grotesque pictures nearly toppling over, unsettling papers sticking out.

"Yah'' she sighed, this was the 16th poisoning ever since Voldemort's defeat. All people found the same way cases seemingly unrelated, it seems like his death brought the worst out in people. Attacks where becoming more frequent, suicide rates shot up and serial killers running lose. There wasn't enough people in the whole ministry to help build their world back together

"Got any leads on the stabbings" she picked up another file, thinner then the others but deaths just as violent.

"Yes actually!" Harry smiled "er well it's kind of a lead anyway but we discovered that it's not a spell that's doing the killing and whatever is being used is tainted with dark magic, like dark dark magic." He finished up, most dark objects were being confiscated but if they could trace the magic they could find the object and the owner!

"That's brilliant, keep it up and maybe we can put away one of these nut cases" Tonks said, relieved to finally have some good news. The war might've ended 6 months ago but it hadn't stopped the death eaters from fighting, people were still going missing, being kidnapped, killed. Last month they put away Fenrir for trafficking magical creatures, selling werewolves and seers to god knows who for god knows what. Harry picked up his file, tired eyes scanning the sheets looking for answers he gave a big yawn before turning to the next page

"You can go home you know" Tonks politely took the file from his hands, she occasionally caught Harry sleeping in her office and was getting concerned.

"No, there's too much work to be done" Harry picked up the previous file, turning the pages but not looking at the pictures.

"Hermione's not there, it gets kinda lonely you know? She's busy reading journals from last week's raid but lots of them are burnt up. She wants the piece together what she can, I mean she thinks it's some kind of dark magic they are talking about. Hey maybe it's the same magic that's in my victims!" Harry shot up, throwing the file back into Tonks desk and taking his,

"I'm going to go see her" he got up. "Coming with? It might say something about your victims too" Harry opened the door, waiting for Tonks to leave.

"Sure, whatever I can take" she looked at her watch "shit i'm going to be late! Sorry Harry but I'm going to have to take you up on that offer later, I have another meeting" she smiled rolling her eyes, being head of the Auras was hard on her but before Moody died he put in a request for her to be trained as his successor.

"Ill catch you later then!" Harry waved, running off, Tonks watched him disappear into the crowd. Harry had been a big help in putting away the death eaters, Hermione as well, but they were just children and would soon burn out. Tonks shook her head, a smile still on her face and both kids would do anything to help. Looking back at her watch she swore, swinging her office door shut and making way to her next meeting.

Rushing along the corridors she looked at the wanted pictures on the wall, most faces of death eaters others who used the war for exploitation. One face always stood out, the young rosy cheeks stood out against the hardened faces, the innocent life vivid in his eyes. She tried to keep Ron off the wanted wall for as long as she could, keeping him with the missing persons, alongside her friends and family but after a while and debate he was slapped into the wanted side, poster saying "traitor, found dead or alive."

"Oh excuse me! Uhhh- of- oh hi Tonks'' someone ran headfirst into Tonks, making them both fall.

"Hey Hermione'' Tonks picked the bushy haired girl off of her. Hermione scrambled, grabbing the fallen papers and tucking them back into her arms ``you know Harrys looking for you" she handed Hermione some papers, ink slightly smudged.

"Oh really? Good I need to talk to him, in some of the books I found the mentions of horcruxes and I think somebody was doing experiments with them, it kept mentioning the " devils fire" and " the others" I don't really know what it means but Harry has destroyed more then me so he's the experts." She said in one breath, eyes wide and full of curiosity. Her hair bounced down her back, papers slowly slipping out of her arms. "I'll catch you later okay?" She smiled, starting to walk off. "I gotta go talk with Harry" her voice waved as she noticed the picture of Ron. His disappearance hit her hard, she could barely go to the burrow neverminded talk the other Weasleys but she was slowly healing, she was even going over for dinner on Sunday. Remembering her previous task she ran off, being late for her meeting.

"Did you find my baby?" Miss Chang ran up to her, hope in her eyes. Tonks barely has walked into the door before the sad lady interrogates her.

"Miss if you'd sit down?" She gestured to the couch. She hated this part of her job but no one else was willing to do it.

"But did you find her?" She clung to Tonks robes as she guided her to her seat. "You found her right? My babys okay?" Tears welled in her eyes,

"We are following up on some leads today, I promise I'll let you know what happens okay?" Tonks tried to reassure the crying woman, she has had far too many "meetings' ' with grieving families and just once wanted to give somebody good news. Cho went missing in february, snatched away from her bed no one knew who took her or where she went but because they never found a body they are going off the motion that she's still alive, even if the chances are slim.

"Sorry I'm late" Tonks sat down at the head of the table, two auras where waiting for her full aura gear, ready to go out.

"Where are we heading off too?" He asked

"I got note of an abandoned death eater hideout, it was mostly used in the first war and was used for transporting hostages in the second. Cho was moved and I believe there might be evidence there, if not for her for somebody." Tonks said in a breath, anxious for her mission.

The door creaked open, noisily scratching against the concrete floor. It echoed throughout the room, a dim light lit up a cell, blood soaking the floor beside it. A table sat beside the cell, blood dripped off of it, an axe and blood soaked chains draped over each other

"Hey boys!" Tonks froze where she stood, the voice came from the cell, sounding familiar.

"Aura Tonks show yourself" she announced, standing up straighter. Hearing the rattling of chains she stepped forward, coming closer to the cell but keeping her distance. The man shook the door, proving it was locked and rested his hands on the bars, pale skin was covered in blood, it dripped off his long fingertips, falling into the huge pool underneath, dirt matted the parts of his arms that weren't covered in blood, building up under long fingernails. Tentatively making her way over she noticed the man moved, hearing the chains clanking around,

"Are you coming?" He mocked her, the chains moved again, clanking against one another. Angry she marched forward, and held tightly in her hand wanting to tell off this man for mocking her, but the sight she saw surprised her.

There he was, thick red hair, bright blue eyes, well over 6ft and silvery scars wrapping around his arm was Ron Weasley.

"Took you long enough" he spoke to the ceiling, he was lying on his back, legs raised up against the fall and arms folded under his head. Thick chains clasped around his wrist, connecting to the ground, he laid in a pool of blood, it coated the back of his head, drenching his dirty hair. He looked as if he hadn't taken a bath in weeks, hair covered in dirt making it black, his clothes hung from him, sticking to his body and smelling of sweat, his legs where exposed, all he had on was a pair of shorts, clearly the rest of the jean had been torn off, his bright freckles were invisible under the brown and red, large purple bruises covered his skin, cuts and scrapes alongside them.

He's been considered missing, no one really knows the true date he disappeared but he hadn't been seen since he left Harry and Hermione

#ron weasley #tw: murder #tw: suidice #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: strong language #harry potter fic #yes this one is also Ron centric its all I know how to write

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masterofallfreaks · 4 years ago

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Ravenclaw!Draco Drarry

Draco Malfoy, sole heir to the Malfoy family name was his father’s pride and joy... thought that didn’t stop Lucius from using force to make his son into the person he wanted him to be, down to the smallest detail. Draco was going to be the person Lucius wanted as the next head of the Malfoy name even if it meant he was covered in bruises half the time from Lucius’ “discipline“.

All that “work“ Lucius put into his son was immediately halted when Draco finally went to Hogwarts and was sorted... into Ravenclaw. It caused quite the uproar, the entire sorting ceremony had to be halted because of the commotion. Nearly everyone knew of the Malfoys, they knew they were Slytherin lineage, so this caused quite the uproar.

Draco felt untethered, he had been told his entire life that he was Slytherin and proud of it, now that was upside down. He sat at the Raveclaw table, not eating, just sitting until it was all done. No one tried to talk to him, maybe because he seemed a bit catatonic, maybe because most hated his family, he wasn’t sure and he couldn’t even think to ask.

The next day he was in his first class, still trying to understand this all, when the door opened and his father came in. Before he could even greet Lucius, his father grabbed him and physically yanked him out of the room.

There was a tantrum to end all tantrums when Lucius yanked his son into Dumbledore’s office. He screamed, whined, threatened, even threw a few things as he unleashed his anger on the Headmaster. Draco stood in the corner, upset by the situation but glad that the rage wasn’t turned to him.

Dumbledore, remarkably, stayed calm during the entire thing. He waited until Lucius was burnt himself out and was standing there with his hair all crazy as he panted heavily.

“The Sorting Hat makes its choice, we cannot disrupt it. The decision stays, Draco is in Ravenclaw.“

“Fine, he’s your problem then.“ Lucius told the older wizard heatedly before turning and storming out of the office without even looking at his son.

He stayed true to his word, he didn’t contact his son all year, he did send a note to Dumbledore around the winter holiday to Dumbledore telling him to not allow Draco to get on the train to come home, since he and his wife were going out of country.

The same note arrived just before summer break. All of the staff got together to talk it over, they wanted to make sure Draco was safely taken care of. Dumbledore mentioned bringing the subject to child protective services, but McGonagall shut that down, making a comment that if it wasn’t good enough for the last child put in Dumbledore’s care, then it wouldn’t be good enough now. Dumbledore wasn’t very pleased by that, thinking they were completely different circumstances, but he knew better than to argue with her.

Finally they came to the decision that Draco would go with McGonagall over the summer, and if the issue persisted the following year they would figure out a more long term plan.

Draco tried to act like it didn’t bother him, but he was very young and had been abandoned by his parents for something out of his control. It was a lot for anyone to deal with, let alone someone as fragile and abused as Draco already was. The summer with Minvera helped him. Outside of school she was much less strict, she showered him with love, unconditionally. Even when he acted out she showed him love. It was shocking to him, but he was slowly understanding it. By the end of the summer he was just starting to come to terms with this new found love, so she knew it would be a long road. She was ready for it though.

Draco anticipated the same note coming from his father before winter break, but they got a bit of a different one... This one said that his mother was pregnant with twins and there wasn’t room for him at the manor anymore. He knew that wasn’t true, he used to spend his days exploring all of the empty, unused rooms, but even at that age he understood that it wasn’t the space his father was talking really talking about.

He was saddened by it and spent nearly the entire break locked in his room. On Christmas he was surprised with a present from Minerva... the present was paperwork saying that his parents had given up their parental rights to him and that they were awarded to Minerva. She was officially his legal guardian. He was so happy, he didn’t stop smiling for a month.

After that Draco settled into his new life happily. His father got all of his stuff moved to Minerva’s place so he could just focus on being happy. He hadn’t gone outside of his own head much first year, but in second year, after everything was settled, he was able to start branching out.

Draco was more comfortable and nicer now, he was very charismatic and smart so it was actually easy for him to make friends. Soon pretty much everyone forgot he even was Lucius’ son, they saw him as McGonagall’s son to pretty much everyone, and even to himself.

In third year his kindness mixed with his bravery in a surprising way. He had been secretly researching Voldemort since first year. He had originally had a hope that by doing that, he’d get back in with his father. He didn’t have that hope anymore, but he was still curious. He had ended up finding out about horcruxs from an old potions professor. It wasn’t hard to get the information from him, the man wasn’t exactly a vault and Draco was good at getting what he wanted.

Once he knew that, it was easier to get more information. He figured out what most of the other ones were, but didn’t tel anyone. These were all theories, so he decided to test them. He had his suspicions about Ron’s rat, so when he saw the trio sneaking out, he followed. He slipped into the Shrieking Shack after them but before Snape and hid. There was a hole in the wall just big enough for a recording device, so he decided to film everything that was happening, something told him it would be useful.

Useful indeed, he was able to capture the rat turning into a person and then admitting to selling out the Potter’s and faking their own death. Then things got really crazy when Snape entered and Draco slipped out before he could be discovered. He hid outside and watched the scene before him. He wasn’t surprised when Lupin turned into a werewolf, he had guessed it just as Hermione had. He was shocked when Lupin turned on them and slashed out with his claws, getting Harry across the chest.

As Harry fell to the ground, Draco worked quickly. He put his wand to his throat and used a spell to throw his voice, making it sound like it was coming from the forest. He howled loudly, making Remus think there was another werewolf nearby. Remus ran off and Draco watched in worry as Harry’s friends circled him. Pettigrew tried to run away and Draco threw an imobilizing spell at him.

Snape and Sirius argued about getting Peter to the castle, but it was halted by Hermione. She took charge over the adult men and told them to both go to the castle to turn in Peter as well as get some help for Harry since he couldn’t be moved at the moment.

Sirius muttered a spell to heal Harry but the boy was already unconscious. He and Snape weren’t happy, but they took Peter and took off towards the castle quickly. As Hermione and Ron cried over Harry, Draco slowly came forward. The two were surprised to see him, but didn’t say anything as he got down beside Harry.

He checked for a pulse, but when he didn’t find one, he began doing CPR. He had read about it first year and was willing to at least give it a shot. Ron was confused and thought Draco was trying to hurt Harry, but Hermione explained that it was to save his life and was common in the Muggle World.

Everyone was shocked when Harry started breathing again. They heard people approaching and Draco looked around. Hermione noticed and told him to go, promising him they wouldn’t tell anyone he had been there. He thanked her before handing over the recording of Peter admitting what he did. She thanked him and he rushed off.

As far as he knew, no one ever found out. They knew Harry had died and come back to life, but they didn’t know how he came back. With Peter Pettigrew alive and in captivity, along with the video proof, he was sent to Azkaban and Sirius was released. They decided to not do anything about him breaking out and just counted it as time served.

He moved into 12 Grimmauld Place and got custody of Harry, though Dumbledore seemed against it. There was no legal reason Sirius shouldn’t have custody, so Dumbledore had to get over it.

Hermione and Ron were nicer to Draco after that, not that they were ever mean, but they would go out of their way to be nice to him. He was thankful for it, but didn’t let them go past being acquaintances. They already had enough going on, he didn’t want to add his own bullshit to everything that they were clearly dealing with too.

The summer after third year, Draco had a mission. He didn’t want to tell Minerva, but she was too smart for him and she made him tell her. He admitted that he thought he knew were most of the horcrux’s were and was going to destroy them before Voldemort could come back. She questioned him about why he was doing this without telling Dumbledore, but he admitted that he didn’t really trust the Headmaster with this. He had seen too many things that made him unsure if Dumbledore really wanted good to win if it wasn’t giving credit to him. McGonagall didn’t agree with her ward, but she didn’t argue either. She just agreed to help him.

Working together, they managed to get rid of every single horcrux. They agreed to not tell anyone about them destroying them. They both knew Dumbledore would keep looking, but they would keep it a secret, a mystery. Their bond strengthened even more during their trip, so by the time year four started, people couldn’t stop with the jokes about them being besties.

Draco enjoyed his years at Hogwarts, with Voldemort gone, things for the Golden Trio seemed to get more chill. Draco slowly let himself get a bit more better friends with Hermione and Ron. Hermione and he had more in common so they were better friends, but he did actually enjoy Ron. He stayed a bit away from Harry, he wasn’t sure why, he just felt like he needed to keep distance between them. He thought maybe it was because he had saved Harry’s life and didn’t want to spill the beans, but he wasn’t sure.

Finally, in his seventh year, Draco was sitting in Transfiguration doing extra work since usually it wasn’t challenging enough for him, when McGonagall announced there would be a group project. She said their groups would be based on the tables they were at since each table housed four people.

Hermione and Draco usually sat together in the classes they shared since they both liked being towards the front, and Ron and Harry just joined Hermione. So the four of them were a group. She gave each group their projects which were comprised of three parts; a research essay, oral report, and a display of the spell at the front of class.

“This will be fun.“ Hermione smiled at them.

“Hermione, you and I can take the research part, Ron can do the oral report, and Harry can display it. Does that work?“ Draco asked her, knowing Ron would go along with whatever his girlfriend told him.

“Sounds great. Does that work for you, Harry?“ She asked him with a smile.

(The plan is that with Harry dying and then coming back, the horcrux in him was killed)

If you’re interested, please contact me on here or e-mail me at [email protected] =)

#Drarry #Drarry RP #RP #Roleplay

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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I really like Tequila from Lee's world. What would that weird Tom/Ginny combination be like if Lee had never returned to the HP universe? Would they become more like October Tom? Or something else entirely? How would Tequila handle the mad creature their main soul has become?

Oh man, you give Tequila far more credit than I do.

For simplicity’s sake, I’ll refer to Tequila below as “he”, mostly because it’s really Wizard Trotsky at the wheel in “Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds”. He just happens to rock Ginny Weasley’s adolescent body.

Tequila’s a hot mess, a dumpster fire, and it doesn’t matter if he’s pining after Tom Riddle’s childhood friend Ellie Potter, if Tom is stuck in a diary only to be released to confront Ellie/Harry Potter, or if he’s stuck in a diary and released only to find out Ellie Potter isn’t even there. Tequila will always be a mess.

Let’s say Lee never showed back up. Tequila’s life would be one of hilarity and woe.

Wizard Trotsky likely would have continued masquerading as Ginny, i.e. being Tequila, out of a sheer lack of ability to answer the question “what the hell do I do now?” That’s why he stuck around as Ginny in the first place.

So Tequila goes to Hogwarts, milks “I’m an invalid, woe is me, I can’t go to class cough cough I am traumatized by snakes on planes” excuse for as long as he can get away with it (which is forever) and ends up with decent marks (having gone through Hogwarts twice now) but not nearly as good as he once had or, say, Hermione has because he’s gotten profoundly lazy. Sadly, this still puts him ahead of 50% of Hogwarts’ population.

Similarly, Tequila’s effort at impersonating Ginny Weasley is half-assed at best. However, because Ginny went through an incredibly traumatic experience, no one gives him shit for it or wonders “Hey, is this really Ginny?” Due to this, Tequila’s soul is dying inside even more than usual. He doesn’t even have to try around these assholes. He could walk up to the wall, spray paint “I am Voldemort, bitch!” and they’d probably just try to console him.

Lee showing back up out of the ether is the most exciting that has ever happened to Tequila possibly ever. It’d be better if Lee wanted to do epic ninja battle, so Tequila could prove how cool and not useless he is and defeat his prophesied enemy, but even Lee just being in the castle, insulting everybody, and lighting all of Hagrid’s pets on fire is amazing.

But anyways, Lee never shows up.

Tequila gets a pretty good idea of who the original Death Eaters were thanks to gossip but there’s not much he can do about it as all the Death Eaters (aside from the ones in prison) have disavowed Voldemort out of self preservation. His showing up as an adolescent schoolgirl just doesn’t have the same effect and it’d be a little hard to prove who he is given that he doesn’t even really know these people.

Not to mention that Voldemort was this distant thing in the future for him and he has no idea how to actually go about doing any of that. The actual Voldemort has many years experience on him in recruiting, guerilla warfare, logistics, etc.

Tom Riddle was in dueling club one time, it was great, he learned things.

So Tequila likely wiffle waffles a lot, telling himself, “One day, I’m going to run out on all these assholes, return as Voldemort, and then Granger will cry” only to sigh and realize it’s far more realistic to start from fresh. Besides, why just try to redo what his other half did, he wants to be his own person (a better more competent version! He won’t get blown up by any toddlers!) and that means finding his own cause. And if he can make Dumbledore’s Order his Order, then great.

Not to mention there’s the disturbing possibility that Voldemort’s not quite dead. Now, Tequila can give this credence as being the horcrux, he knows that Voldemort’s not really dead. He’s amazed Voldemort managed to blow himself up with a baby, amazed, embarrassed, and offended, but Tequila isn’t willing to completely throw out the idea that Voldemort’s this evil wraith who occasionally possesses muggle studies professors. Not exactly on Tom Riddle’s bucket list, but clearly, the original screwed up everything and doesn’t even deserve Tequila’s respect.

(Tequila went through a brief, extremely brief, period of wondering if he should seek out the main soul and help him return it to power. Being the horcrux, technically, he should probably serve the original soul.

Then he remembered that asshole had one job, only one job, and he ruined it. Tequila was shoved into a diary for nothing and look what happened. Now there’s a national Harry Potter Day. Clearly, the wrong half of Tom Riddle was put out of commission and if you want it done right you’ve got to do it yourself.)

So, in 1994 without Lee’s involvement, Voldemort returns from the grave. Because I’m realistic, Neville probably dies. Sorry, Neville, you lived a good if short life and I’m sure you gave it the college try. Dumbledore falls into despair and “THE WORLD IS DOOMED!” mode now that all his even remotely prophesied children are MIA and immediately gets the Order of the Phoenix together.

Ginny, being thirteen at the time, isn’t allowed because that would be ridiculous. Despite it being ridiculous to include thirteen year olds, Tequila is pissed that he’ll have to wait another god knows how many years before Molly lets him do what he wants.

Offscreen Dumbledore probably goes through varying levels of extremely horrifying solutions to the Tom Riddle problem.

First, he probably goes horcrux hunting. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” and “Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds” there are only two horcruxes and only one was intentional. Tom had originally planned to make seven but the hangover from the first one was so mind breakingly awful he went “New plan, I will make one horcrux, and then I will think of something else”. He never really got around to thinking of anything else.

Dumbledore, however, doesn’t know this. So he dutifully collects memories, banks on Tom’s ridiculously romantic nature, and starts going to places of importance. Not to reveal too much, but Tom actually laid several traps around for those poking their nose around looking for his horcrux. Dumbledore steps into several of these with not so good results.

Given that one of the horcruxes is Ginny and the other is still stuck in Konoha without any access to magic, Dumbledore is 0 for 2.

More, given that only Neville Longbottom was prophesied to have the ability to defeat the dark lord either Dumbledore has to somehow resurrect Neville or else get himself a new Neville. Because I love terrible, but funny, things let’s say he does both and we get a round of Pet Semetary (sometimes, dead is better, Albus) and pulling in Harry Potters/Neville Longbottoms from other dimensions (but miraculously not Eru Lee somehow, which is great for her because she’s busy having a terrible time in the third shinobi war).

Back to Lee for a bit and why Dumbledore’s first solution isn’t just to desperately try and find her.

First, she is completely off the map and has been for years. She isn’t even registering as “dead” or “in mortal peril” she’s just gone. Somehow finding her and hoping, miraculously, for her blowing up Voldemort a second time just isn’t on the table.

Second, Lee’s involvement in the prophecy is... a bit wonky. This has been noted a bit in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” but the prophecy in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” and “Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds” actually explicitly does not refer to her in that it specifies a male child born at the end of July. This is because the universe is falling apart and we’re all doomed, doomed, doomed, but that’s a different story. Point being, especially in this Lee-less version, Albus has no idea what’s up with Lee but he’s putting his money on Neville. Poor, dead, Neville.

Tequila meanwhile gets to read news of how everything’s going to hell in the dumbest way he can imagine. Voldemort clearly came back wrong and missing a lot of brain cells, even with a body he keeps not taking over the ministry even though they’re practically begging him to do it, and everything he does is not only a) very embarrassing but b) it prevents Tequila from rising into power and becoming amazing.

Clearly, he must be stopped, there can only be one Lord of the Rings.

Well, destroying him completely means destroying Tequila first, and we can’t have that. So Tequila comes up with the only reasonable solution: they have to seal Voldemort’s evil spirit away in some magical artifact.

Tequila drops out of Hogwarts, goes adventuring for a few years, finds some exorcism sword or something and learns how to use it. Comes back and anticlimactically defeats Voldemort while everyone else was busy panicking and Hogwarts was being invaded or some nonsense.

Nobody, not even Tequila, knows how to handle Voldemort’s sudden and very anticlimactic defeat.

Then Tequila recovers and shouts “Weasley is our king!”

Tequila, probably eighteen around this point, is voted the youngest Minister of Magic ever. With Dumbledore dead, Tequila strongarms his way into taking over the Order of the Phoenix, and everything’s coming up Tom Riddle.

Only then Tom Riddle has that terrible sense of deja vu as the, “What now?” question hovers in his brain. Once again, he has absolutely no answer. Tom is the dog who has caught the car.

Congratulations, Tom.

TL;DR: Without Lee, Tequila would probably end up dealing with the original Voldemort himself/herself. He’s still a mess, he’s learned nothing, and at the end just finds out that actually, he didn’t want to be in power, being in power is stupid.

All he figures out is that he has no idea what he wants.

On the plus side, at least Dumbledore’s dead.

#ask #anon #minato namikaze and the destroyer of worlds #eru lee #tequila weasley #wizard trotsky's a dumpster fire #there is no way around this eternal truth #lee actually showing up might just be the best path for him in a way

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lins-fandom-hub · 4 years ago

Text

09/01/1998 (1)

Part 1 || Part 2

Here’s part 1 of a 2-part fic that I wrote that commemorates Clara’s Hogwarts friends/peers lost to battle against the forces of evil.

The concept of time was humankind’s greatest enigma. It cared not about what happens in the life of any one person. Like the river in the wood, it flowed, knowing not of the stones overturned or the sediments caught in its current. Once a mark had been made, there was no erasing it; once a phenomenon had come to pass, there was no reverting it to what once was.

Time was supposed to help the dust settle over the ruins. Thoroughly damaged beyond repair, yet shrouded in the remnants of what once transpired, the image of what history left behind would only be made clearer after time had passed. Time was supposed to help the physical cuts heal. The open lacerations seeping blood through the flesh would have scabbed and closed with patches of new skin depending on how deep the wound was. Even as they happened, though, time would never let anyone forget the phenomenon that had ensued. Time didn’t care how anyone healed, grieved, smiled, or cried.

Time certainly didn’t care how anyone lived or died.

Clara closed her fingers over her wand and stood from her chair, empty eyes that once bore tears lingering on the sunny scenery outside her window. All those years ago, she had prayed for a sunny day to greet her on the day she departed home for Hogwarts, and every year, it had always been either cloudy or rainy--she even remembered the stormy day that commenced her third year all too well. A small sigh escaped her lips as she looked at the clock by her writing desk--it was 9:00 am. If she was still a student, she’d be travelling right now in one of the Ministry cars her father borrowed from the Ministry with him to King’s Cross Station, her mind abuzz solely with plans to find Jacob and bring him home. If she was still in China, she’d be drilled through military exercises set by the captain of the Chinese Wizarding Task Force without a single thought of her past. Those days were long gone, though--the past was now behind her. Today was a special day, but not for a good reason. Today, she and what remained of her circle of friends would throw a special celebration in memory of all the friends who had fallen, and all of those who sacrificed their lives to help Harry Potter defeat Voldemort at Hogwarts.

Merlin...the Battle of Hogwarts seemed so long ago. It had taken so long for the dust to settle over the relics, but she couldn’t move past the horror that she had witnessed. Her chest ached as visions began to swim in her mind--the corpses of her friends lying in the rubble, the crack of every spell relentlessly attacking those who still remained standing. She recalled the number of spells she had to deflect with her steel fans from the Task Force when her protective barriers shattered, the triangle of Death Eaters surrounding her at once threatening her to collapse. If she closed her eyes, she could see every misfired curse shattering the stone walls, tossing bodies back as if they were only rag dolls…

The soothing touch of her fiance’s fingers tracing over her arm eased her breathing, but it did nothing to stop the tears pricking at her eyes again.

“What are you thinking about, Clara?” Barnaby asked her quietly, gently wrapping his strong arms around her from behind and holding her close to him. She could only hum as she leaned back into his chest, exhaling quietly as the tears spilled over her cheeks.

“It’s the Battle, is it?”

Clara nodded. “Well...sort of.” She opened her eyes, turning to face her fiance. “There was something Dumbledore told me so long ago, back when we were still sixth years. He said that if there was one thing anyone could count on, it’s death. It comes for everyone in the end. But you know how quickly it took a lot of our friends--Rowan in our sixth year, Cedric the summer before I left for China…”

“I know,” Barnaby murmured, lifting a hand to wipe her tears away. “I know.”

“It’s hard,” Clara whispered. “It’s so hard…”

She buried her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around Barnaby as she tried her hardest not to sob. The terror that first gripped at her when she fought apart from him snaked its way back into her chest, not unlike the cursed ice that spread through the school in her second year. Death took so many people she held dear to her over the years, it was a miracle that she still remained standing. Rowan...Ben...Tonks...Fred...Talbott...heck, she couldn’t even begin to believe that Merula was dead, too. Even Dobby and Cedric, whom she didn’t know very well, felt like kin--and yet they too were brutally murdered long before the ultimate siege.

“What do you think they’ll be doing?” Barnaby wondered, tilting his head slightly. “You know, in the world of the dead.”

Clara winced slightly at the question. “I don’t know,” she mumbled eventually. “Maybe look down upon us like angels would.”

“I know Rowan is. She’s your best friend, after all--what best friend wouldn’t want to shield you from harm?” Barnaby said, slowly rubbing a hand over Clara’s back to calm her down.

“To think that everyone went into this battle not trying to protect me for the vaults this time, but fight against the one all wizardkind feared,” Clara mused. “I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. I just hope that what we invited everyone to do today would be enough to finally find closure and…”

Barnaby nodded as she trailed off, tilting her head up with a hand to look her in the eyes. Her glasses were smudged from the tears now streaming over her face.

“I’m sure they will love it,” Barnaby reassured her softly. “Not just all the ones still alive, but those who passed on. I know I would.”

It’s taken Clara weeks to pull herself together after the battle, and even more after that to seek solace from those who still remain. Only a few days ago did she finally settle the date of their wedding, yet it didn’t feel right to celebrate a day of union without sharing it with all their friends, alive or dead.

Two days to go. After that, our lives might change for the better.

She had to hold it together. Not just for them, but for herself too. Closure would not be given to those still vulnerable to breaking.

“Yeah,” she finally murmured, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I would, too.”

---

There was no bachelor and bachelorette party for this couple--heck, they couldn’t imagine the consequences for the other should a disaster occur while they were apart. Instead, a few weeks ago, Clara had sent her owl, Wagner, out into the world with letters for all their friends and loved ones. Today, everyone who was willing to come would Apparate to their house, and then gather in their vast open backyard in the evening where the ceremony would commence.

“And done,” Barnaby declared as he delicately placed the final cherry on the top of a massive white-iced three-layer cake. A slow grin spread across his face as he looked at his best baking masterpiece--no, it was not their wedding cake, but it looked good enough to be one.

That was when the doorbell rang, and he jumped, almost knocking the cake over.

“I got it!” Clara called, running down the stairs and securing her crimson crystal hair tie around the single braid over her left shoulder. “Just set the parlour up, Barnaby.”

“Will do.” Barnaby nodded and carried the massive cake to the parlour, humming a little tune to himself.

Clara opened the door to reveal Penny and Beatrice now standing at the threshold. Both of them were wearing black dresses that went down to their knees. The plaits that were normally in Penny’s hair were now combed out, her hair now split into two braids down her shoulders. Beatrice’s hair, for the first time since Clara could recall, was held back with a headband, revealing both of her blue eyes cast down with a sad glimmer.

“Clara!” Penny greeted her friend with a hug, which Clara wholeheartedly returned.

“Hey, Penn.”

Time had changed the little girls who became friends in their first year to young adults who had survived more than one war. As they broke the embrace and looked at each other, they both caught the matured gleam now stripped of whatever carefree sparkle once graced their eyes, the tragedies they both withstood in their time at school, the weariness that came with demands that required their individual expertises.

“You hanging in there?” Penny asked Clara quietly. “I know it’s been hard on all of us.”

Clara nodded solemnly. “Trying to. It wasn’t hard when the names in the list of casualties were still unrecognizable, but it’s different now when everyone you knew gave their all to protect the school and the Boy Who Lived. Not to say I regret it--”

“I know what you mean. I’m sure none of them regretted it either,” Penny assured her.

“At least we’re still together,” Clara said with a shrug. “Jacob, little Em and I at least escaped the war unscathed. And you’ve got Beatrice, too.”

Beatrice nodded as she produced another stuffed Puffskein from her pocket--almost similar to the one she gave Clara when they first met--and gave it to her. “Is your sister coming?”

“She should be,” Clara confirmed with a nod. “Do come in, both of you. We have cake and Butterbeer in the parlour, and I think Barnaby should almost be finished with grooming the Puffskeins.”

The second one to arrive, much to Clara’s surprise, was Skye Parkin, her Wigtown Wanderers jersey billowing in the wind as she hopped off her Comet 290 in front of their house.

“Skye!” Clara exclaimed upon her arrival. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it, what with training for your upcoming tournaments.”

“This means a lot to you, doesn’t it? I might as well be there for it,” Skye responded shortly, giving Clara a small smile. “Besides, one of our Chasers recently came down with a serious bout of Scrofungulus. We don’t have any backup players to properly play against the Applewood Arrows today.”

“Oh. That’s a bummer. You wish I was there to step up to the plate?” Clara asked, remembering fondly her short tenure as Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“It would be nice. But I figured you need time to...you know,” Skye said uneasily, and Clara nodded in understanding.

Shortly after Skye went in to help herself to some of Barnaby’s cake and chat with Penny, Andre, Murphy, and Orion made their appearance on Clara’s doorstep. Andre’s Pride of Portree jersey flapped in the wind behind him, in the same manner as Skye’s jersey. Murphy’s colourful tie worn for all his Quidditch commentating duties was swapped today with a black bowtie. Orion was also wearing all black from head to toe.

“I told the staff that I wasn’t feeling well,” Murphy explained. “And I’m not! There’s a 95.7% chance that after such a travesty it’s hard to think of the light ahead.”

“But what is light without darkness?” Orion asked. “It’s with light that we have darkness.”

“Or should it be the other way around?” Andre queried, raising an eyebrow. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re doing this, Curse-breaker. In a time like this, I think we all really need it.”

“Thanks, Andre. And I’m happy to see you’re alive and well too, Murphy and Orion,” Clara said, bowing them into her home where they went to the parlour to meet Penny, Beatrice, Skye and Barnaby.

Soon, Chiara, Jae, Diego, and little Em all arrived together, the girls holding onto extravagant bouquets of colourful flowers. Jae was holding tightly onto Chiara’s free hand, balancing a large box of delicacies in his other hand. Diego’s fingers were interlaced with little Em’s, his scarf from his old school days wrapped around little Em’s shoulders to keep her warm.

“Darn it. I miss my hoodie already,” Jae muttered, his teeth chattering slightly.

“Relax, Jae. It’ll only be for today,” Chiara consoled him with a small smile before turning towards Clara. “How are you doing, Clara?”

“Faring as well as I can,” Clara simply said, smiling wanly at the group. “Thanks for coming, guys--really, it means a lot.”

“Anything to get to spend time with you, Clara,” little Em reassured her older sister with a hug. “I would not miss my sister’s wedding for anything in the world.”

Diego nodded in agreement as little Em returned to his side shortly after. “Indeed. How swiftly childhood leaves us as we emerge as veterans from a war well fought and won.”

“I just hope that this celebration would mark the first chapter of genuine happiness for all of us,” Chiara finally piped up. “With all that’s happened, I figured we all need it.”

A little while into the afternoon, Tulip, Liz, and Badeea arrived together, Badeea’s hands still smeared with paint as she brought in a giant portrait of their fallen friends. Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, George, and Angelina followed swiftly, George still trying to hold back tears as he held fast to Angelina’s hand; Clara couldn’t blame him. George didn’t just lose a brother in the battle, after all; he lost his twin, his second half who understood him better than anyone.

How quickly everyone’s grown, Clara realized, as she closed the door behind the Weasleys and followed them into the parlour. Glancing around at her friends grabbing drinks and some of Jae’s homemade delicacies or the cake Barnaby made, talking in low voices among themselves like old friends, she could see the hint of sadness in their eyes along with the gleam of maturity that long replaced the carefree, happy spirit they once felt. They fought more than just one battle, leaving them all with more scars than they’d hoped for--yet through their grief, they remained standing strong. They had weathered through so many storms together that they became the storm themselves.

“Is that everyone?” Chiara asked quietly as she sipped from her bottle of Butterbeer, watching the large crowd mill around the parlour and the kitchen. “Or are we still waiting for a few people?”

Clara frowned as she glanced at the clock--it was now five in the afternoon, and there were still a few last stragglers she had yet to see. “I think we have Ismelda and Jacob to wait for,” she eventually answered. “Jacob I know is with my parents, but Ismelda...I haven’t heard from her since the end of the war.”

“Ismelda’s still alive?” Penny asked, raising a brow and glancing at Beatrice.

“What are you looking at me for?” Beatrice inquired, grabbing another piece of cake from the dainty multi-tiered platter on the table. “I haven’t kept tabs on Ismelda either since I graduated from school.”

CRACK!

A sudden Apparition within the house made everyone jump, Beatrice almost dropping her cake in the shock--when the smoke cleared, Clara saw Ismelda and Erika standing in the middle of the parlour, travelling cloaks fastened tight around them. Ismelda quickly drew her arm away from Erika, massaging her upper arm to rid it of the soreness in the potential death grip.

“Did you have to grip onto me that hard?” Ismelda grumbled, shooting Erika a death glare. “And I thought I already told you I didn’t want to go!”

“I had to do what I could to make sure you got here in one piece,” Erika shrugged. “And if you say another word about this gathering being nothing but a waste of time--”

“Fine, fine.” Ismelda shook her head, a groan escaping her mouth. “Anything to save you from using me as your practice dummy.”

“That’s more like it.” Erika gave her a little smirk, her eyes darting about the rest of the group. “So this is what a party for the dead looks like.”

“Not much of a party so much as it is just a time to come together,” Murphy corrected her. “And it’s a good thing Clara’s hosting this for us. I figured we all needed it.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this show on the road,” Ismelda finally said. “Is there anything we can do besides just…” She gestured around the room. “Eat cake and drink Butterbeer and mope?”

“Well…” Clara glanced around at the group--it felt a lot like the Circle of Khanna all over again, except this time there was no one else to stand by her for support. The days when Ben and Merula flanked by her were long gone now, both of them now buried in their graves a few feet below. “We prepared a bonfire pit in the backyard, and enough sky lanterns for all of us.”

“Sky lanterns?” Tulip asked, intrigued. “I haven’t seen one of those in so long. They’re part of the ceremony, right?”

“Of course,” Clara nodded. “They’re an integral part, so to say.”

“Nothing’s ever been the same since, well…” Skye glanced awkwardly at the group around her. “I mean, I’m not one to go all mushy but...I can’t imagine all of us losing people we care about so much. And all of you are great people in some way--”

She was suddenly cut off by Penny embracing her in a hug, which Skye returned hesitantly, burying her face into Penny’s shoulder.

“The people who love us never really leave us,” Barnaby piped up then. “I remembered how bad I felt when Rowan died...and then I thought I would lose Clara too when she left for China. But time taught me that they’ll always be here with us no matter where they are. Bright souls will shine like bright stars in the sky, now and forever. I found a lot of comfort in looking at the stars every night.”

These words brought a scarlet dust to Clara’s cheeks, and she smiled at him ruefully as she took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. Whether that was a vow intended for their wedding or not, she would never know, but it was enough for her to make her melt on the spot.

“You’re right,” Bill nodded thoughtfully at Barnaby’s words, taking Fleur’s hand and squeezing it tight. “The stars provide comfort for those who need it most. It’s really in the darkness where we can find the light.”

At this, Andre gave Orion a pointed look, and Orion just shrugged it off, nodding at Bill.

“I suppose there’s really no use in waiting any longer,” Clara eventually said--the sun was just beginning to set, and the group was getting much too large to accommodate indoors. “Let’s all head outside to the backyard. Barnaby, can you lead them? I have...something to collect from upstairs.”

Barnaby nodded at his fiancee, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Of course, my unicorn.” He then motioned to the rest of the group to follow him. “Come on outside, everyone.”

As everyone filed out, Clara headed towards the stairs and began to ascend two steps a time--the moment she reached the landing she wasted no time in heading to her bedroom and opening the door to her closet. Peering into the mass of fabrics, her eyes landed at the bottom of the cabinet, where a single dagger laid in its black sheath lined with golden dragons, laced through the leather belt she had to wear in her days at the Chinese Wizarding Task Force.

To most, it seemed like a simple ornate dagger, most likely an article of decorum worn by royals in important ceremonies. With a polished ruby pommel at the end of a leather grip hilt, and a few engravings on the blade, it looked insignificant, almost ordinary. But to those who served in the task force it meant so much more--it was a weapon she had used in the fight against the Japanese dark wizards on more than one occasion. Where magic failed, the dagger had helped her lay many a blow on those too fast to hit with a spell, those who resisted the effects of magic in ways she would never know. She fought along those who had also given their life for the cause, fought with the same blade she held now--never a day went by when she didn’t think of them. Some survived, some died, and all for a united cause.

She honoured so many of the unknown dead with this knife strapped to her side. It only seemed fitting that she did it now, too.

“Clara? You coming?”

Clara turned around just as she looped the belt around her waist--standing at the doorway to her room was her little sister, head tilted in intrigue and eyes shining in concern.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Clara adjusted the belt over her clothes and walked over to little Em. “I was just...getting this dagger. Custom to wear it for funerals when I was working with the Chinese Wizarding Task Force.”

“Ah.” Little Em nodded thoughtfully. “Sorry, I should have knocked.”

“No need to apologize.”

It had been much too long since Clara last saw her little sister, her little Em--four months since the end of the Battle where they fought together but not at each other’s side, never getting to see each other after the dust had settled over the ruins and the wounds had all but healed in their natural time. What once were two young children who bonded in a sole promise to protect each other within the walls of Hogwarts were now two women who had no idea how to shield each other from the other side of the world. It was only a miracle that they hadn’t lost the other to the perils of the world turned upside down by none other than Voldemort himself. Moments like these between two sisters bound by blood were far and few in between since then.

“I’ve missed you so much, Clara,” little Em finally admitted. “I was worried about Jacob in the fight but when I heard you were there at Hogwarts too…”

“I thought I’d never see you again, either. I wasn’t sure if I was able to make it out of the war alive,” Clara mumbled. “How, though?”

“Stuck close with Diego. It helps to have a strong dueller at your side,” little Em said. “And you?”

“I was with Tonks at first, but when she was defeated I had to hold my own,” Clara replied. “It wasn’t easy to feel that drive to fight after seeing a casualty right in front of your eyes, but I’ve had enough practice.”

“You shouldn’t have to keep suffering, Clara. I know why you joined the task force in China, but...promise me that at the end of all of this you’ll find some peace and happiness,” little Em pleaded. “All your life you’ve been fighting, and I understand it was for a cause. Just...I don’t want you to break under all the pressure. You have so many people who worry about you, and it would break my heart to find that you’ll never find happiness again at the end of the day.”

“Em.” Clara turned to face her sister now, a small smile on her face. “All I want is to make you happy, to fight for your happiness and safety every day. Knowing that you’re here and you’re happy and safe is enough for me to feel happy and safe.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Little Em smiled, a brief second of relief, before taking her sister’s hand and leading her out of her room. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

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