#threads;; bellatrix

[notdelicatc]

Whether or not it had been a bad idea to engage, the witch is determined not to let it mess with her path forward. Look given, purely by accident had gotten her into this situation and she was determined to get herself out again, very much so. "Right, and yet an invitation was extended." Her eyes are determined, despite the truth the other may speak. While she didn't worry about whether people cared, she was all too harsh on her own judgement regarding being noticed.

"I think out of respect for the people who made the list, who decided the ones on the list of guests, I fear vanishing just like that would be considered almost a tinge too rude for my liking. So, as long as I'm useful enough, I'll stay right where I am." Her eyes drift toward the other witch. For the most part Emmeline held a sort of respect for Bellatrix. Her determination was to be admired, but it only made her want to be around more.

A glance toward the crowd, back to the witch. "I can probably try my best to avoid you, though. If that is preferred." It wasn't a question, merely an offer as she began to let her eyes drift instead across the room filled with guests and floating trays among the plethora of plants. - @bxllatrix

Refusing to let the distaste show on her features, Bella's stare is blank, unyielding. She tilts her head, a question on the tip of her tongue. Swallowing it, she lets out a quiet hm of agreement. Despite Emmeline's established reputation and proximity to her brother in law, here was no amount of loyalty the half blood could pledge to excuse her sorry excuse for a bloodline. Bella watches the others movements like she would a lab newt: observant, purposeful.

Of course the witch didn’t like crowds. Who would, sticking out like a feral crup? How she was allowed to join the circle was beyond her, but Bella wasn’t in the business of questioning her Lord’s decisions, asinine as they were. Typical man to put aside your values when it serves your ego.

"You could've hid in the bathroom, I'm sure nobody would've noticed — or cared." She leans against the table, arms crossed. "Better yet, you could leave, still plenty of time."

[crucioslut]

Mon amour

Things had been so much simpler in the early days. So hopeful and strong. Their cause had more recruits than ever before and would ever see again. The prestigious meetings would always follow with lavish celebrations plentiful with food and flowing drinks and laughter. It was all so fresh and exciting, the Death Eaters truly felt as though they ruled the world at that point. They were young, beautiful, powerful and untouchable with nothing to lose and all to gain. Certainly this was the case for Bellatrix Lestrange. Voldemort would rise to power. There was no doubt about that. Within a year's time, his take over would change the wizarding world forever. Tiny goblets clanked against each other held over the grand dining table as all of the participants swallowed back their shots of firewhisky of the highest calibre, Bella's so full it dripped down her already wobbly fingers, and the sides of her mouth after she took it. The young dark witch made not so much as a grimace, stealing the bottle from the middle of the table and pouring herself another. The men who surrounded her looked to each other, amused. "Somebody's taking celebrating awfully seriously, hmm Bellatrix?" Lucius muttered, his eyes darting slowly about the room in attempts to locate Rodolphus, knowing all too well how this night would go for everybody if somebody wasn't monitoring Bellatrix's alcohol intake. Lucius' hand snapped out to still the bottle on the table. "Easy." Bellatrix paused then to give her soon-to-be brother in-law a look of disbelief then snorted, laughing. "You're joking, right?" Who did he think he was? "You don't fucking tell me what to do, Malfoy." She spat, then ripped the bottle from his grip and took a big swig straight from it, to spite him. Bella then pursed her full lips, spitting out a mouthful onto his shirt. The other death eaters roared with laughter and Bellatrix basked in it, cackling hysterically herself at the otherwise composed blonde man's reaction. Lucius was absolutely appalled by her behaviour. This was so far below them! His face bright red, he yelled out in frustration. "Rodolphus Lestrange?! Control your wife!!" @rodolphus-lestrangex

[warfollows]

WHO: Bellatrix Lestrange & Alastor Moody ( @abitmoody ) WHERE: The Ministry WHEN: Late afternoon

The hustle and bustle of working at the Ministry meant that Bellatrix often found herself summoned from level to level. A cursebreaker -- a decent cursebreaker often found themselves in high demand. In any other circumstance, being needed so much would be appealing, but in the world of the Ministry, it was simply another day. "Hold the lift!" Her voice called, moving to get down the corridor before the doors closed, sliding in as quickly as she could. "Level three, if you don't mind."

Bellatrix was unaware of who was behind her, instead focusing on opening the file in her hand. Brown hues taking in the necessary information that would guarantee her success. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as the lift began moving until the movement ceased suddenly, making her aware of her surroundings. "There's no way we're already on the right level." Eyes coming around to take in the other person in the lift.

Alastor Moody. "Bollocks."

[tvintedspvrkmoving]

[ TO THE THREAT ]: " get out. " ( hermione / bellatrix! )

unknown meme .

⸺  𝗢𝗣𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗦  𝗪𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗡  𝗔𝗦  𝗔  𝗦𝗡𝗘��𝗥  𝗨𝗣𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡��  𝗛𝗘𝗥  𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦  ,  eyeing  the  younger  witch  with  a  curious  glare  akin  to  a  lioness  stalking  her  prey  .  ❝  and  what  if  i  don't  ?  ❞  she  queries  ,  sharp  cackle  pulled  from  her  diaphragm  as  she  circles  the  girl  .  ❝  what  if  i  want  to  stay  and  play  a  while  ?  you  like  games  ,  don't  you  ,  mudblood  ?  you  like  to  think  you  know  everything  .  what  makes  you  think  i  don't  know  some  things  ,  too  ?  ❞  the  whole  time  she  speaks  bellatrix's  gaze  never  leaves  the  countenance  of  the  other  woman  ,  smile  never  leaves  her  face  .  ❝  are  you  afraid  ,  little  one  ?  i'm  not  going  to  hurt  you  . . .  or  am  i  ?  ❞

[fcrox]

It was as though she was walking through thick fog, on clouds so heavy that her feet would sink into the soft yet cold material without ever falling through. As though each thought lay behind a layer of something dense; she could see, but not reach through to make sense of things. Beatrice found herself nodding along with the other witch, agreeing to things she could hardly understand simply because her mind seemed to refuse to allow her to do so. The former lion was a mess, all by the hands of magic the other had laid upon her.

Every motion was as though on autopilot, as though done by hands other than her own. But she could see them. Surely these actions were her own. Beatrice could only follow along, sorting the food and setting things out without so much as a second thought given. When the mention came to Edgar, that was the first time she paused even if only in confusion. Edgar, that name was important. So perhaps Bellatrix had a point when mentioning the lack of place setting for the person that she could only recall as important. “Of course. I’m sorry. Must have slipped my mind.” How could Edgar slip her mind so easily?

The shrug in question was internal, busy hands rushing to adjust yet another place setting before the witch returned to the stove to check on things. “I do hope you like it. I’ve put effort into this.” Forgotten was the fact that the dishes in question had only been cooked to try out new recipes and to keep herself busy; to distract from the reality linked to the name the other witch had only just brought up. Bea found herself wondering why it all felt so odd. Why was she this forgetful? Surely there was a reason.

And then she remembered the cake, moving to retrieve it from the storage cupboard where it had been boxed up neatly. While she busied herself with preparing the cake she couldn’t help but wonder if tea was needed. “Would you like some tea with the cake?” The brunette finally turned around to look at the other. “Do you think Edgar does?” Beatrice didn’t want to forget the other yet again. - @bellatrix-lestrxnge

The charm worked like a dream - figuratively and literally. Vaguely, Bellatrix wondered how much true consciousness drifted through Abbott's empty head. She had felt the charm herself - there was no better way to learn a spell than to experience it fully. Her life was full of experience, indulging her senses until they spilled beyond capacity, hyper-acute and trembling with implosive ardour. She had felt every spell in her armoury, except for Avada Kedavra. Every one of them had been cast upon her by a mentor, the most precious of all, by the Dark Lord himself. The suffering he could cause was exquisite. The relief that came afterwards, divine.

She followed, getting a good look at the surroundings and finding them repugnant. How people could live in such tiny quarters, she had no idea. They were like mice in holes, scurrying around with so little purpose to their fault-ridden lives. Her eyes roamed photos, noting the occupants. They hovered shrewdly over objects that looked out of place, their important clearly of some value to Beatrice. It didn't matter what value precisely, merely that she had chosen to display them.

"Mm! It smells delicious, darling, and I never say 'no' to cake." Trailing a finger over the back of a chair, she examined it for dirt then called out. "I simply couldn't refuse your invitation! I would love to join you. But, my dear-" Pulling out the chair, she sat down as though she owned the place, gesturing to the two spaces laid so far. "We're short one place setting. You haven't forgotten about Edgar, have you? He should be with us shortly." One could only hope not too soon. She'd like some alone time with her 'old friend', first. Extending a hand, she leaned forward, patting the table and indicating for Beatrice to sit.

[despiite]

✎ @misquigley plotted starter.

Fingernails dig into the meat of Bellatrix’s palms as the world seems to unravel around them, all loose ends and fraying edges while lights flash and people in uniform swarm and flit and comb the area. The wail of sirens sets off a pounding in her skull, but she breathes, slow and deep, counts up and back down and up again to ten. She cannot afford to lose herself in the thrum of hysteria - not again, not like before. Swallowing hard, she feels the contraction of her tongue, her throat, follows it down into her belly. She is here, now, in this moment. She needs something to focus on.

Misty. Where is Misty?

She finds her in the glare of the too late ambulance, tense and shaking in that irritating little man’s arms and, judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t really understand what is happening and either takes too much pleasure in the blonde’s apparent need for comfort or overestimates his own importance therein. It rubs her the wrong way and settles like an itch beneath the skin. She doesn’t want him taking her anywhere. She doesn’t want her out of her sight.

“Here, I’ve got her.” The look she levels at him doesn’t leave much room for argument, even if his mouth does open and close as though searching for some legitimate protest, and she cuts in, pulling Misty out of his grasp by the shoulders. “Misty… Misty, look at me. We have to go. Come on. We need to leave.”

[roaringlilyevans]

&& diagon alley // outside madam pimpernelle's && @heartlessbella // spring solstice event

Lily was running late. Despite promising Marlene that she would be there on time tonight, she had gotten caught up at work and had to rush to get ready (although really, Marlene should just expect it by now. Lily was never on time unless it was for class, work, or a serious appointment). In such a rush to meet her friend where she knew Marlene would be waiting, Lily wasn't paying close enough attention to her surroundings, and she just barely missed completely bowling someone over. "Oi, sorry," she said, slightly flustered, before realizing who it had been and wishing she could take back that apology.

[shefatalesarch]

THERE WAS A GLEE IN HER EYES THAT WAS HARD TO MATCH. perhaps hard for him but when their leader, their lord offered her a mission that joy was just unmatchable. there was no one that could bring about the joy that he did when seeing to the end of the unworthy in their world. a laugh echoed as she waved her fingers through the air upon the approach of her husband. but was he a husband of love, or means? probably the latter really. “we have a mission of high importance.” she mused quickly.

@denydefeat ♥ for a starter from bellatrix lestrange for rodolphus lestrange

[silcntsinners]

‘If you behave, I’ll let your hands go and touch me’ from Bellatrix to Theodore. @reiignonme

Theodore glanced to her, nodding slowly as he knew bellatrix had always had a hold on him. Ever since Hogwarts, Theo was completely and utterly devoted to her but she had picked a path that he would never go down. The wizard had to let go of a someone he couldn’t stop loving. Now they were reunited but only because he had fallen into her trap. “Bella-“ he breathed out shakily as he would never use his magic to hurt her and escape.

“Let go, I promise - I’ll behave. You know that I could never hurt you even if I wanted to” he breathed out, his eyes falling on her body as he couldn’t help himself. It had been so long, so long since they had shared each other.

[godblooded]

alana’s movements are announced by the incongruous weight of her cane — step, step, thud — the familiarity of her arrival. shaky movements. a gloved hand wraps around the back of a chair to lower herself into it, ignoring the precarious hiss of protest in her ankles, the throbbing ache in her hips. her jaw aches like it could beat off that beautiful face, fault lines of deep burgundy across the jut of her jaw.

beneath leather, those hands are striped with pure purple, articles of flesh put back together after being torn apart. the little lion is most glad it was the last night of her torture — she’s looking forward to the relief of another few weeks before her punishment comes back around. @despiite speaks and a faint, tired smile appears on the professor’s face. ah, how expected.

“the whole ocean is right here. are you just that dramatic?

— sorry.”

her mouth accommodates molars near the back of her tongue, painfully pointed, sinking just so into divots at the bottom. these fangs will settle into scar tissue and carve an easy hole to rest in — until she does all of it over again. her jaw aches again, punctuated, hard.

“how long have i slept?”

nine hours.

turns out being a creature, a beast is taxing on the body.

[lestrangerthings]

About ~ Pinterest ~ Spotify ~ Wanted Plots

Readmore for length since whoops have the app info while I'm at it. Only content warning going toward referencing wanting to kill Rabastan in the writing sample.

In summary:

Likely one of the smartest people in the room and well aware of it. Polite enough to refrain from being cocky unless an opportunity to show off and embellish the fact with sarcasm arises.

Best described as an observer and a charmer. Rodolphus has a way of words that is pleasant but packed with a punch. Able to seem calm, collected, and understanding but prone to using words as a weapon and way of getting more information out of people than they thought they were giving away.

Work oriented to the point of burying himself in it and seldom resurfacing. Pulling him away from it had better not turn into a waste of his time or it’s all whoever he is with will hear about.

Hasn’t sworn off relationships but has yet to find someone that can match him. Old fashioned in the sense of wanting an equal partnership between him and whoever he ends up courting. Feels relationships need to be built up on trust and values emotional connection before allowing things to take a physical/romantic/sexual turn.

Family is a weakness; with his being aware of this and still not overly happy about Rabastan having managed to make him prove he'll do just about anything for him.

Rodolphus took in a stray cat. And by taking in, it was more of a case of a window getting left ajar and coming home to the creature chilling on his armchair like it had been living there its whole life.

Primarily sticks to suits and isn't prone to dramatically updating his wardrobe. I will happily accept someone's character trying to convince him to broaden his color choices from black, navy blue, and dark green.

His hair is shoulder-length and well cared for. No idea why I’m going nah give me all the muses that can pull off ponytails but he’ll likely be the one that has me going “that’s why his hair is so big - it’s full of secrets” 😅

Ooof, very excited to explore his eventually aligning with the dark side, but the muse isn't overly in a rush for that.

Birthday:

September 2, 1951. Rodolphus is a Virgo that is very in tune with his need to remain organized and take a practical approach to life. He has a strong need to stick to familial obligations and expectations, taking the responsibilities of being the firstborn son seriously. He takes a methodical approach to everything and is prone to overthinking, often leaving him quiet and carefully analyzing every interaction. He takes pride in appearing cool and collected, using sweet looks and words to get an idea of other peoples’ inner workings.

Wand:

10 inches, black walnut wood, dragon heartstring core. Rodolphus needs a new wand, having learned the hard way that black walnut is a powerful and fickle wood. Two decades of working brilliantly were shattered by his decision to throw Silas’ case to support his brother instead. His inability to be honest with Andromeda and several others about losing the case has caused the wand’s performance to decline. 

Rodolphus’ insight and being overly self-aware made the pair a notable team, with the wand proving to be a reliable partner. There was little thought of the wand’s allegiance ever slipping since he had two decades of partnership with it under his belt and was using the approach of playing to win at his job. Switching it out for something better tempered is unthinkable since it would draw too much attention. He isn’t certain how well-known the wood’s fickleness toward self-deception is and is positive it isn’t worth the risk of those close to him noticing the sudden change in wands if inevitably given a different wood type. It’s only been inconveniencing him recently, so why bother switching if things haven’t approached risking a catastrophe?

Amortentia:

The very idea of being around amortentia is laughable for Rodolphus since he has little time to focus on something as ridiculous as love. He’s been work-oriented since landing his position at the Ministry, and his parents aren’t in a rush to marry him off, so relationships haven’t been something on his mind.

If he were to get near it, the scents of old books, candle wax, and something involving Andromeda would likely come about. Rather unfortunate luck of believing it’s too late to bring those feelings up to Andromeda, though, since he’s too far gone into covering for Rabastan to even think about making a move while keeping secrets from her. It wouldn’t be worth the fallout.

Boggart:

Rodolphus’ boggart isn’t anything overly dramatic. Two things come to mind, with the protectiveness over Rabastan making it worth noting there’s likely a fear of properly losing his brother as the first. Rab in a casket or being handed a life sentence in Azkaban seems reasonable enough to be one of his biggest fears. Rodolphus wouldn’t have gone through the hoops of deliberately blowing a case if he didn’t care deeply for his younger sibling.

The other is simply recognizing that he’s likely had his life planned out since he was old enough to think about it. With the decidedly neutral stance that was encouraged by his father, it had me questioning if getting bullied into taking the dark mark before he was ready for it would be part of his fears. He’s a logical thinker, and I imagine he isn’t a fan of not feeling in control of his own life. Rodolphus recognizes that deliberately losing the case was a smart move for Rabastan but isn’t certain it had his best interests at heart. Word spreads quickly, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into Rabastan, Bellatrix, or a combination of the two trying to rope him into further throwing cases for the sake of a cause he is still gaining information about. Or worse, believing the lapse in full judgment warrants his taking a stance with the death eaters and makes him weak-willed enough to join the ranks without a second thought. Thinking about all that leaves me acknowledging his boggart could be as simple as his reflection with the dark mark on his forearm, having given others a chance to be in control of him.

Patronus:

With an analytical mind and a persuasive way of speaking, it’s no surprise that Rodolphus’ patronus takes on the shape of a buzzard. He was rather thrown off at being able to cast a corporeal one during his school days since it was one of the spells his parents hadn’t exactly encouraged exploring upon realizing their heir was academically inclined. He would usually rely on memories of his family to cast it. The disconnect between wizard and wand has me assuming he cannot cast a patronus now. With enough insult to injury to acknowledge his happier memories of Rabastan are a bit tainted by his wand’s loyalty shifting.

Writing Sample:

“Accio ink,” Rodolphus sighed, not looking up from the case he was reading over. The request and flick of his wrist were accompanied by a clattering noise and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering from the opposite end of his flat. Ordinarily, he would have thought little of it since he had taken in a cat to have something else alive in the place. The evening proved different, though, since there was no denying that his wand had been proving to be temperamental at best recently. Nothing overly dramatic had happened yet, with the few incidents he could recall having been subtle enough for Rodolphus to begin having doubts while at work.

“For Salazar’s sake, I’ll get it myself,” The brunette muttered when the jar of ink failed to appear at his side. He added a glare at his wand before abandoning it on the armchair he had claimed, hoping to whatever higher being was listening that the cat had simply intercepted things. Luck wasn’t on his side since there were no pawprints scattered around the shattered glass and splattered ink on the marble floor.

An exasperated sigh escaped upon spotting the mess, and he snapped his fingers, not needing to breathe a word for the house elf to clean up the mess. He remained still and assessed the damage with a scowl. Things were getting worse, with more basic spells proving to work inconsistently. It was overly frustrating since it meant needing to deal with it or get a wand that would better align with himself. The feelings of guilt toward the shift hadn’t hit until realizing having acted in his brother’s best interests instead of winning what would have been a clear-cut case. Mixed feelings on the matter had to be enough to make the wand presume he was no longer worthy.

“I’m going to kill Rabastan if he doesn’t beat me to doing so himself,” Rodolphus muttered under his breath, then grabbed a new jar of ink, needing it to finish up the sentence he had left off on before being able to call it a night.

[warfollows]

WHO: Bellatrix Lestrange & Regulus Black ( @inferidrowned ) WHERE: Grimmuald Place WHEN: Afternoon

The family expectations had always included keeping eyes on the younger kids, and even now, with them grown enough to keep themselves in order -- she couldn't turn it off. Did that mean she had to drop in on them without warning? Probably not... but was that going to stop her? Absolutely not. She'd show up as much as she needed to if he didn't fancy leaving his metaphorical four walls.

The pop of apparition echoed around the home, and if she had to gamble, he knew she was there, but she didn't set out looking for him. Instead, she moves with her arms full of bags into the dining area. She begins unpacking the chaos, unsure of what exactly she's got packed away. "Oi, Reg. I've come to bring you all the good snacks that the house elves made. Get your arse down here."

[ruinofchimera]

Please tell us more about Voldemort's relationship with Severus, and why you think it differs so much from Voldemort's other relationships

Whatever it is that lingers between Tom and Severus—power, manipulation, some dark bond none of us can fully grasp—it naturally ignites chaos in the mind of the beholders. And if you’re eager to feel that burn, I’ll gladly embrace you in it. To you brave, reckless souls, I say this: your wish is my command.

So, here we are, picking apart how Severus Snape—mudblood, poor, and bruised from the heavy hand of a Muggle father—managed to land himself a spot at the table with the most rabid pack of blood purists you’ve ever seen. A table, mind you, he had no business sitting at. The Death Eaters, that tight little clique of privileged purebloods, had no real reason to let in this scruffy little outsider. Sure, Snape was useful. Very useful. His skills were sharp as knives, and he could do their dirty work, get his hands filthy so they didn’t have to. But useful doesn’t mean welcome. Useful doesn’t mean accepted. You know who else was useful? Fenrir Greyback and his mangy lot. They brought terror to the doorsteps of half the wizarding world, and did Voldemort’s cause no small service. But did they get a place at the inner circle? Did they get respect? Hell no. They were the dirt beneath the boots of the real Death Eaters. Useful filth. And then there’s Snape, embodying everything these purists claim to despise—a half-blood with a tainted surname, living in squalor, dragged through the muck by a Muggle brute of a father. By all accounts, Death Eaters should have spat in his face and tossed him out like yesterday’s rubbish. But no. Not only does he get a seat at the table, he rises. He’s placed on a pedestal, standing closer to Voldemort than some of the most loyal, purest-blooded lackeys in the room. Voldemort, in all his cold-blooded glory, didn’t just tolerate Severus. He raised him up, right in front of their sneering, offended faces. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. If you think Voldemort did this out of some sense of gratitude, you’ve missed the point entirely. Tom Riddle doesn’t do gratitude. That kind of sentiment is beneath him, an alien concept. Voldemort doesn’t reward; he uses. Deeds done in his name are expected, not appreciated. You’re not going to get a pat on the back from a man who thinks the world owes him its loyalty. Snape’s service should’ve earned him nothing more than a brief reprieve from pain. A loosening of the noose around his neck, if he was lucky. That’s Voldemort’s way—keep them all desperate, keep them all afraid. So why did Snape, of all people, get raised up? Why did he, the least likely among them, become a favorite?

Mind, it’s not just me declaring Snape as Voldemort’s favorite. That dark, twisted bond is laced into nearly every interaction between the two, as if something unspoken and festering passes between them. But it’s Narcissa Malfoy who lays it bare. A woman born into the highest echelons of pure-blood privilege, the very foundation on which Voldemort’s so-called supremacy stands, doesn’t hesitate when she calls him “the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor.” Let that sink in.

Here is the wife of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose lineage is steeped in the darkest of traditions. But when her family’s future is on the edge of a wand, when her son’s life dangles by a thread, she doesn’t rely on Lucius, doesn’t turn to Bellatrix. No, she comes to Severus, because deep down, she knows. They all do.

It’s something more insidious, something that slips through the cracks in the floorboards of Voldemort’s ideology. He is the one Voldemort trusts, the one Voldemort leans on, the one whose counsel can shift the dark winds of fate. That is real power, raw and untouchable. Narcissa sees it—how could she not? Even with all her aristocratic pride, even with the weight of her name and her family’s legacy pressing down on her, she understands that none of it means a damn thing next to what Snape has. Narcissa, with her family’s long, proud heritage, has to grovel before someone who, by the very logic of Voldemort’s cause, should be inferior. But Snape is different, and everyone knows it. They may not say it, they may not even want to admit it, but they know. He operates outside the lines, above the fray, immune to the very rules that were meant to keep people like him down. Snape, the half-blood, the one with the muddied past, holds a kind of sway that no one else in Voldemort’s ranks can claim.

Oh, there comes the bitter irony of Peter Pettigrew. After years of scraping and groveling, thinking he’d earned his place in the Dark Lord’s favor, Peter is handed over like a rag for Severus to wring out. Peter, one of the smug Marauders who’d gleefully hounded Snape through school, reduced now to something just shy of a house-elf, bowing and cringing under Snape’s very roof. A cruel twist of fate, no doubt arranged with Voldemort’s signature malevolence. Was this some attempt to plant a spy in Snape's house? Maybe, if you take it at face value. But think for a moment—Voldemort, who couldn’t pry Snape's treachery from his skull with all the power of Legilimency, putting his trust in Wormtail to do the job? The rat that couldn't outsmart a dormitory prank, never mind a master of deception like Severus?

No, this isn’t espionage; this is karma. Cruel, twisted karma orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. You can almost picture Severus watching Peter scuttle about his house, casting him those withering, superior glances—knowing full well that Tom has given him this indulgence, this little taste of vengeance. Snape treats Wormtail with open contempt, because he knows he can. He knows it’s allowed, expected even. It’s as if the tables have turned in the most bitter of ways, a humiliating reversal of fortune. Pettigrew, who once revelled in Snape’s humiliation, now reduced to the lowest of roles, while Snape—Voldemort’s golden boy—sits at the top. Isn’t it delicious? You’d have to be blind to chalk it up to coincidence. Moreover, Pettigrew’s fate is all the proof you’ll ever need that Voldemort’s rule isn’t founded on something as simple or sentimental as loyalty. Loyalty? Sacrifice? Please. Pettigrew’s life was one long, groveling act of desperation to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces. You bring your master back from the brink of death itself, and still, all you get is contempt. Voldemort demands service, sure. But service? Guarantees nothing. And when you set Severus and Peter side by side, the question gnaws at you. Why? Why is Snape the favored one, the exception, the enigma in Voldemort’s otherwise brutal, predictable hierarchy? What makes him different? There’s something between them—something that doesn’t follow the usual logic of power and punishment. Voldemort doesn’t just tolerate Snape’s defiance; he rewards it, bends the system to accommodate it. Something unspoken, something hidden behind the masks they both wear, grants Snape a level of favor that Pettigrew could only dream of.

What’s crucial to grasp here is that Voldemort doesn’t spare anyone. His entire ideology is rooted in cruelty, in domination, in the ruthless obliteration of all who oppose him. He doesn’t just eliminate enemies; he obliterates them, wipes them from existence without a second thought. And yet, here’s the anomaly: Lily Evans, mother of Harry Potter, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Muggle-born witch, is offered a chance to live. Live. This decision, however, is directly tied to Snape. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, and it is this plea—Snape’s plea—that softens the Dark Lord’s otherwise unyielding cruelty.

To truly grasp the enormity of this act, we need to take a step back and consider Snape’s position in all of this. Remember, Severus was just 21 years old when he found himself pleading with Voldemort, one of the most dangerous dark wizard in history, to spare Lily Evans.

Snape wasn’t the imposing, confident figure we often associate with him thanks to Alan Rickman’s performance—he wasn’t a man exuding quiet menace, seemingly capable of standing toe-to-toe with Voldemort. No, at this point in canon, he was barely more than a boy, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, with no powerful lineage or wealth to protect him.

And yet, despite this—despite the sheer imbalance of power between them—Snape dared to approach Voldemort. Voldemort. With a plea. Not for himself, but for a Muggle-born witch. At best, Snape’s request might have been laughed off, dismissed as the desperate wish of a foolish young Death Eater. But it wasn’t. For some reason, Voldemort didn’t just tolerate Snape’s plea—he actually acted on it.

Consider how critical this moment was to Voldemort’s larger agenda. At the heart of his entire scheme is a singular, consuming fixation: the annihilation of the child prophesied to be his undoing. Harry Potter is Voldemort’s obsession, the one threat he must eliminate to secure his dominion. The Potters were no longer just enemies—they were the key to his future, and Harry was the focus of his most crucial mission. In this context, sparing anyone even remotely connected to Harry was an extraordinary risk. Leniency wasn’t just unnecessary—it was dangerous. By showing mercy to Lily, Voldemort risked undermining his own carefully constructed agenda. And this wasn’t a moment where Voldemort could afford to make mistakes.

This unprecedented act of “mercy,” this concession Voldemort granted Snape, became the very thing that led to his downfall. Had Voldemort simply killed Lily Evans on the spot, as he did James, she would never have had the chance to sacrifice herself for Harry. The protection her sacrifice invoked—the ancient magic that saved Harry’s life and turned Voldemort’s killing curse back on him—would never have existed. Voldemort, the cold strategist, fell because he didn’t bend for anyone—except, inexplicably, for Snape. And that single, dangerous deviation cost him everything. That’s how it’s all started.

And there it is— how it’s all ends. Voldemort’s final words to Severus Snape before he executes him. But pay attention to how he begins. “Clever man,” he calls him. He suggests that Snape might’ve already known the truth of the Elder Wand’s treachery. Tom would never acknowledge someone’s cleverness if it undermined his own intellectual abilities. If he implies that Snape may have already unraveled the mystery of the Elder Wand, it undoubtedly indicates that Voldemort had recognized Snape’s crucial role in the wand’s problems long before. It’s not just idle chatter or casual flattery. No, it’s a bloody confirmation that Voldemort himself had long ago pieced together the mystery of Snape’s involvement with the wand. This wasn’t some last-minute realization that forced his hand. It wasn’t ignorance that delayed Snape’s death, not at all. It was deliberation. Voldemort, for all his cruelty, wasn’t stupid. He suspected, long before that moment, that Snape was at the center of the problem with the wand’s loyalty. He just chose not to act on it until the very last moment.

He held back from executing him, searching for any other way around the wand’s limitations, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve killing Snape. But when it came down to it, when all other options were exhausted, Voldemort finally made his move.

And what does he do? He delivers a speech. A bloody speech, full of regret and excuses—“I regret what must happen.” Does that sound like the Voldemort we know? The Dark Lord who kills without a second thought, who carves his empire from the bones of the disobedient? Hell no. This is the man who thrives on fear, on swift, brutal punishment. And yet, here he is, delivering justifications like some guilty executioner. This isn’t Voldemort’s usual method. This isn’t the whip coming down fast and hard. This is something altogether more… hesitant.

That speech, soaked in rationalizations, tells us everything we need to know. Snape’s death wasn’t just business—it was personal. It’s a messy, ugly end to the unexplainable dynamic between them. Even at the very end, Voldemort is bending, twisting, trying to justify his actions to the one man who had managed to worm his way under his skin. And in that second, we see something rare—a glimpse of the complexity in their relationship. Voldemort’s usual ruthless efficiency is absent.

His “I regret it,” spoken once more, stands out like a blade in the gut, sharp and unexpected, slicing straight through Voldemort’s usual cold indifference. The Dark Lord, who has never spared a thought for the wreckage in his wake, lets these words hang in the air, unnatural as they are. A man who’s never known the weight of remorse now offers something that almost feels like regret. Not true regret, of course—Voldemort doesn’t have the luxury of feeling something so weak, so human. But still, It’s not a sentiment he offers to anyone else. It’s almost as if Voldemort doesn’t know how to process this lingering attachment, as though Snape’s mere existence demands something from him that Voldemort is incapable of giving. Snape occupies some strange corner of Voldemort’s mind, twisted and dark it may be, that not even the Dark Lord himself seems to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve painted a whole canvas of tangled thoughts on the strange relationship between Severus and Tom, I’ve barely begun to tug at the thread of their inexplicable dynamic. There’s so much more I could unearth, layers of intrigue and tension that ripple through every scene between them, and I could easily go on for hours about the small, delicious details woven into their story. But, as it happens, my full-time job is already sharpening its knife and aiming for my back, so I'll have to bring this whole saga to a close with the following quote:

For me, the intensity of this scene speaks volumes about their relationship, capturing the very essence of what makes these two so bloody fascinating. The way their gaze alone can make Death Eaters flinch under the weight of their unspoken understanding. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something colder, something deeper. As though they’re witnessing a bond forged in the dark, a grim understanding that none of them can ever be a part of.

That’s what keeps dragging me back to these two. The tension, the labyrinth of contradictions, the complex tangle of manipulation. I want to look away—hell, I should look away, just like the Death Eaters did. But there’s something about it, something that coils around me, tightening like a serpent’s embrace. Can you blame me?

[wisteria-lodge]

What do you think about Molly Weasley?

I have a lot of thoughts about Molly Weasley. I think she’s a fantastic character,  just not in the way that JKR intended. 

I think the intention was to make Molly kind of a mama bear. Fiercely loving, fiercely protective, hot tempered… but you know. In a cute way. In a warm way. I do think that Movie!Molly threads this needle. (I also think that her bear-ears hairstyle is perhaps intentional.) 

Movie!Molly gets her big duel with Bellatrix, she gets (reasonably) annoyed at the boys for stealing the car. Her only spicy moment is the Howler… which is softened and made more comedic by 1) including a nice message for Ginny at the end 2) including a tongue-sticking-out moment, which turns the whole thing into more of a joke on Molly. Now it’s your mom being kind of weird and embarrassing… versus her public shaming you, toxic tik-tok mom style. The Howler is much worse in the book: “���​I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS.”

So let’s talk Book!Molly, because there’s a lot there. She’s a Prewett, growing up in a more *typical* pure blood family as opposed to being a “blood traitor” Weasley. (Cedrella Black was disowned for marrying a Weasley, Lucretia Black married a Prewett no problem.)  Molly also married Arthur really young, and really quickly. It’s even lightly implied they married too quickly - 

“I just think [Bill and Fleur] have hurried into this engagement, that’s all!”  “They’ve known each other a year,” said Ron (...)   “Well, that’s not very long! I know why it’s happened, of course. It’s all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts of decisions they’d normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center —”  “Including you and Dad,” said Ginny slyly.  “Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?” said Mrs. Weasley.

There’s some psychological truth to that. (Also, Molly and Arthur were 100% hooking up while at Hogwarts:)

“[The Fat Lady] was here in my time,” said Mrs. Weasley. “She gave me such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning —”  “What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?” said Bill, surveying his mother with amazement. Mrs. Weasley grinned, her eyes twinkling.  “Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll,” she said.

And the timeline’s too fuzzy to know for sure…  but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Molly getting pregnant with Bill was one of the reasons she and Arthur got married so fast. 

It’s hard to say, because you never get a great sense of their relationship, but I’m actually not sure how compatible the two of them are, or if they would have gotten married at all if it hadn't been for the war and all these external factors. There is an ongoing conflict between them: Arthur is a political radical who seems to enjoy upsetting the Malfoys - he’s not playing nice, he doesn't have a prestigious job, he’s not getting a promotion anytime soon, and he’s fine with this. His interest in muggles is fringe counterculture stuff, and his hobby is illegal. And Molly… is pretty establishment. She wants her sons to be Head Boys and Prefects, and then she wants them to get jobs at the Ministry:

“Mum went mad at [Fred and George after finding their prank candy.] Told them they weren’t allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms. . . . She’s furious at them anyway. They didn’t get as many O.W.L.s as she expected.” “And then there was this big row,” Ginny said, “because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop.”

Like we hear about this interaction secondhand, which softens the emotion, but I’m sorry? Molly burned their order forms? She wants them to do jobs they very clearly have no aptitude for, instead of being entrepreneurs? Arthur sides with the twins, and of course he does. They’re anarchists just like he is. But it *really* bothers Molly, and this conflict just keeps coming up. 

[sidenote. You cannot tell that Arthur Weasley, once he was in his late 20s/early 30s, once he had grown into himself a bit. Tell me that this man didn’t once think “you know, I really should have married a Muggle. That would’ve been perfect.”’]

But back to Molly Weasley, nee Prewett. She wants a big family, and there is no way this doesn't have something to do with the fact that both her brothers were just brutally killed. She’s trying to distract herself, fill some void, find some meaning. The fact that it doesn’t work (because how could it, she’s got just buckets of unprocessed trauma) is maybe why she is so set on having a girl. Maybe a little baby girl is what she needs. 

In the main timeline of the book, Molly 100% needs enrichment. She needs to start breeding alpacas or join a book club or get a job. (Job could be cool, especially since she has no kids at home and money is an issue.) Like come on, Molly is intense, Type A, and powerful. Possibly one of the best duelists in the entire series. She takes out Voldemort’s number two, and Bellatrix has already defeated Sirius - incredibly talented and powerful in his own right. I do think that the reason JKR made this choice (instead of letting Neville have a confrontation with Bellatrix, which would have been more narratively straightforward) is because (whether consciously or unconsciously) she doesn’t like the idea of one of her good-guy GUY characters hurting a woman. So Molly defeats Bellatrix with magic mom powers, which is the same reason Narcissia can lie to Voldemort’s face I guess.

What Molly definitely does NOT need to be doing is obsessing about her kids' significant others. Like take Fleur. (Who I think we as readers were meant to dislike more than we actually did?)  Fleur is great. So when Molly has a problem with her… then starts trying to matchmake Bill with Tonks… until Tonks (another fan favorite) also starts annoying her… it makes Molly looks really unreasonable. Also, let Bill have his long hair and earring. 

She gets weird about Hermione in Book 4, after she believes Rita Skeeter’s write-up that she's some sort of temptress playing Harry and Krum off each other. Instead of, idk, asking Harry (who she thinks of as a surrogate son) she sends Hermione a passive-agressive comically undersized chocolate egg. Harry and Ron get huge ones. That’s not cute, or funny.

Also, Percy and Penelope Clearwater. I know the real-world reason Percy hides his relationship in Book 2 is so he can be a red herring acting all suspicious… but in universe, I guess Percy just wants to date someone without his mom being weird about it? Like Penelope Clearwater is nice and normal and fine. Why is he hiding this relationship?

Then there’s Molly the disciplinarian, which we mostly see in the context of Fred and George (although there is also Ron being public-shamed by the Howler.) She is constantly giving the twins a hard time about their life choices, their jokes. Ron says “I remember Mum walloping Fred with her broomstick." Then yeah, she burns their order forms. She does feel bad about this later, and after the whole thing at the Quidditch World Cup hugs them and says, “What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn’t get enough O.W.L.s?” It’s meant to be a sweet moment, but this would annoy me just a little. It’s a little like saying, “I’m glad I don’t have to think of myself as being a bad mother.” 

I also want to point out Molly's pretty clear favoritism. Fred and George are the problem children, Ginny is the baby (although we almost never see her and her mother interact, so it’s actually very hard to say what their relationship is like), and Percy is the golden child. We see how this sort of sets him apart from all his siblings, how he's described as pompous and full of himself, but also how he’s secretive and hides things from his family. It’s kind of precarious being the golden child, and when he finally does stop pleasing his mother he falls hard. (Although I will always be a big believer in Daddy Issues!Percy. That has to be why he commits that hard to Barty Crouch Sr that fast, and then ignores that many red flags.) 

And of course Ron is the invisible child. Almost the first thing we hear him say is, “She always forgets I don’t like corned beef.” That one can slide. Molly’s got five kids at home, she made corn beef sandwiches, not everyone is going to be equally happy. But Ron’s clothes.  Molly makes her own clothes, she's defined by her facility with household magic. She knits Ron sweaters... but at least two of them are maroon despite the fact that Ron hates maroon. His room is  plastered top to bottom in bright orange Chudley Cannons merch. She couldn’t make him an orange sweater? There’s also the issue with the dress robes. Ron clearly doesn’t like them (“Mum, you’ve given me Ginny’s new dress.”) But he is the one who cuts off the lace trim later, and he doesn’t do an amazing job. I know that it's a joke, but like. That sounds like a job for Molly.

We do get Horcrux!Hermione telling Ron that he is the “Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter,” so this idea of Molly picking favorites is *kind of* in the text. But Horcrux!Hermione is wrong about Harry/Hermione being a thing, so maybe we’re meant to read this as Ron’s baseless anxiety? It doesn’t feel like that though. What it actually feels like is an unresolved plot thread. 

So here’s my take on Molly Weasley. This is someone who is pretty high-powered, who suffered a period of emotional upheaval, then got married and started having kids because she kind of thought that was what you do - and it wasn’t as fulfilling as she thought it would be. I think a lot of her comments come off as *meaner* than JKR intended, because let’s face it - JKR has a kind of mean sense of humor. And if I want to speculate further… I think there are quite a few parallels between Molly Weasley and JKR. I don't think she put them there consciously.

[battle-scvrs]

Regulus was trying to balance too many spinning plates between his family duties, his duties to the war, his own misgivings, and the secrets he was trying to keep. He did not want to sit here under Bellatrix's beady eye, knowing he had disappointed her since he was a boy and that he continued to be an ever present reminder of what the Black family could have had, and that they were left with him instead. He had tried - nobody could say that he hadn't tried. Merlin, he'd torn his soul in two trying to be good enough. He'd cast curse after curse, he'd trained and trained, he had gone on plenty of successful missions - yet it had stained his soul until he was truly fit for the Black name. The pressure from all sides was drowning him, pouring down his throat and choking his airwaves. He couldn't continue like this, but he couldn't see another way out. He felt like there was only one way this ended for him, and it was a permanent closure to the story of Regulus Black.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Regulus kept his eyes trained on his cousin. He would not cower in front of Bellatrix, no matter the way his insides were twisting with anxiety and fear about what she may demand of him. He loved her, truly, he did. A large part of Regulus resisting against the conscience that had been gnawing at his soul for so long had been that he did not want to go the way of Andromeda, of Sirius. He did not want to lose Bella, or Cissa. Even his parents, twisted and awful though they were, Regulus would mourn the loss of them in his life. It was all he had ever known, and stepping out into a complete unknown terrified him. At his heart, he felt like a scared little boy. He did not want to lose his family.

Bella's silence at his outburst was chilling, and he made a noise of discontentment at the finger pointed in his direction. "The mission was successful. There was no need for Rabastan to update you on my abilities in the battlefield, that is gossip. I knew you were getting updates on me, nothing is ever fucking private in this family is it?" he spat, furious at both Bellatrix and his mentor. He bit his tongue rather than retorting at her correct assumption that he was trying to distract her. Snatching a biscuit from the tray, Regulus considered that he must truly look like a toddler throwing a tantrum, yet he couldn't bring himself to care as he ate the biscuit with a frown. "Bellatrix, there is no hidden game to my words. I do not want you to teach me," he asserted. "My best is avada. The other two are equally poor, though I would say my imperio is slightly better than my crucio. But I am working on those with Rabastan, and that is the way it will stay."

"I appreciate your offer, I do. I have told you this before, I appreciate...the care that it shows. But I am fine. I don't understand how I can say it more clearly, cousin. I do not want your help."

Bellatrix had loved Sirius. She had admired his spirit, laughing at the way he stuck a middle finger up at every stuffy rule and regulation. She'd valued the way he had never tried to cramp her into a box, labelling her like every other godforsaken male in their family. But he had been full of deceit. His betrayal had destroyed her. It had fuelled her rage and sent her spinning for the Dark Lord more brutally and determinedly than she had known possible. Even now, sitting here with Regulus, she couldn't help but see his brother's face and feel her skin crawling with latent ire. Revenge would be sweet - for Regulus, as much as for herself. She would lay down her life for her youngest cousin, though the fact that he didn't seem to value her devotion hurt. She refused to acknowledge it, focussing only on the fact that the rejection was because she was too intense. It was a selfless consideration for such an egocentric witch, though in large part inspired by her unwillingness to admit to her own weakness.

Not once did she cease her observations. Her eyes may have turned away, but she could feel Regulus squirming beside her despite his valiant attempts at holding composure. She was proud of that. He could wear a mask like the rest of them, painting a picture of noble strength and stoic integrity. So as he sat back casually, a smile snaked her lips, which curved indecorously behind the rim of her teacup. Placing it back onto the saucer, she slid it onto a side table and sat, staring unflinching at Regulus as he spoke. They were like a pair of statuettes, dark haired and pale skinned, the familial resemblance running as strong as the blood that fuelled their limbs. Little did she know the depth of Regulus's struggles. Long may she remain unaware, for it would not please her to kill him. She took pleasure in the devil's work, but that would cause her no satisfaction.

She listened to everything he had to say. Though she had a vested interest in his success - though she desired it tirelessly - she was clever and wily. She would not allow emotional instincts to drive her this time, knowing how he desired detachment - for whatever absurd reason. Not once did she move. Not until his voice sharpened with anger, inspiring yet another twist of approval through her porcelain skin. As the tea splattered across the saucer, she narrowed her eyes and considered him, waiting until his diatribe had ceased.

"You have pride, Regulus. Rightly so." Pointing a finger, her eyes expanded indicatively. "But don't let it come before a fall. There was no gossiping. It was a mission, there were updates, I was informed. Do not use my devotion to the Dark Lord as a way to distract me." She arched an eyebrow, stern despite the amusement that lightened her tone and curved her harsh lips. "Nice try but I'm not an idiot. I know what you're doing. Biscuit?" Flicking her wand, she hovered a tray towards her cousin, not thinking twice about combining a pleasant refreshment with this darker topic. As it floated between them, she picked up a ginger snap and studied it before taking a bite. "Which is your best Unforgiveable and which is your worst?"

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT. I hope this message finds you well. I am sending all the good vibes and we'll wishes your way! ♥️♥️♥️ I hope you've had a wonderful summer.

I'm such a big fan of your work. Lioneheart is amazing and has stuck with me for such a long time.

I was wondering if you had any other stories you'd like to explore one day (even if you never get the chance to write them.) Whether it be fanfiction or original work, I was just curious because sometimes I feel as if I have hundreds of stories inside that I could tell, and I am not sure how to pick just one and see it to completion.

First of all, thank you! This is a fun one. I have a few enduring ideas for longfics I may or may not ever write (i.e., ideas that would have been projects already if I didn't have an ongoing longfic). I don't get stuck in them mostly because I try to remind myself that the idealized story you imagine when a concept occurs to you will never actually exist as it does when it's unshackled by the constraints of execution. What you'll get if you actually sit down and hack it out is (1) a real and imperfect piece of writing, and (2) the satisfaction of having written it, which is by far the more reliable source of motivation, if we're being honest. That being said, here are some ideas I've always wanted to explore, if and when I finish Lionheart:

I've always wanted to write a longform canon-divergent Tomione fic about Tom Riddle's 7th year at Hogwarts. Big honking political melodrama ft. the original Knights of Walpurgis, a Triwizard Tournament, and realistically functioning time travel (hence why this one's always been kicked down my list of projects, because writing a time-travel plot is like running through a minefield made of trampolines). I've already got character concepts sketched out for the Hogwarts cast — sooooo many fun ideas for the teenage Walburga. But I'd still need about a week of solid fic preproduction on the plot alone before I was ready to boot up and start writing, and it'd take at least 250k words — closer to 300k, if I'm being honest about myself. So this probably won't see the light of day anytime remotely soon, if ever.

A canon-compliant Dramione war fic, diverging from the Malfoy Manor chapters in Book 7, picking up from a speculative thread I read once about what would happen if the war didn't end after Voldemort died at the Battle of Hogwarts. I've always thought it would be fascinating to see who Hermione and Draco would become if they were actual soldiers in the war (and my disappointment with how Book 7 handled the "war" of it all has been established). That being said, Book 7 of Lionheart will probably give me a lot of similar ideas to chew on, so I don't know what my appetite for this one will be once I'm finished with it.

Durmstrang AU. This one's barely a fic concept so much as it is a mental moodboard — I just want to worldbuild the hell out of Durmstrang. And the international wizarding world, generally. It's a delicious sandbox.

A longform canon-compliant fic or series of fics about the previous generation of Blacks (Sirius/Bellatrix/Narcissa, namely). If you look at the books, there's a huge amount we don't know about the fall of the Blacks. I always found it bizarre that the sisters and Sirius seem to be the only ones left by 1995. No one else has a claim? No one else from this all-powerful wizarding family wants to step in and claim this big honking townhouse in the middle of London? Or its attendant fortune? Dude, what happened? Also, we don't see nearly enough of the Black family melodrama in canon. They lose 4/5 children of a generation in the span of almost single decade. And then (presumably) all of their parents die in the span of another. Goddamn. Just imagine the character work you could do there.

A No Chosen One/Voldemort Wins (The First Time) AU where Hermione never gets her letter, and meets Draco much later in life as a self-taught witch. The dynamics I have in my head for this are really enjoyable, and it would be a chance to finally write Hermione POV, plus the Draco I've cooked up for this universe is [chefs kiss]. I also just love the idea of Hermione as a feral witch-child running around muggle London. I love it a lot.