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with: @abysmcl​ where: scholomance, hermione’s office when: april 23, 11am

“Knock knock,” Dove quips, not knocking at all and not waiting to be invited in before entering either. There’s a small smile on her lips, a look of victory that’s a rarity. There’s a magically enlarged bag hanging over her shoulder ( a tote, with political screenprint and all ) that Dove drops on Hermione’s desk triumphantically. “Surprise! Brought a gift.” This really is unlike them: this near-giddiness. There’s still some soot clinging to her skin and they smell oddly of fire, but they’re grinning. Maybe I was born for this, she sometimes thinks, this kind of bloodshed, this kind of violence. But it’s not the destruction of earlier that morning that makes her grin, is it? It’s the twenty-something wands in the bag. She nudges it towards Hermione. “Well, not for you. For the youngins. But still.” 

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with: @hercism​​ where: dufftown safehouse when: april 22, 1am

They find themselves like this often: parallel playing, but there’s hardly any play at hand here. Has there ever been, really? Dove thinks back, sometimes, to childhood days and senses the same kind of dread that lives within in her now. Doesn’t matter, though: nothing will change that, but plenty can be done to try and change that for future generations. Either way, Ro is working on his thing, while Dove works on theirs. The potion book ( acquired through questionable means, don’t ask ) in front of them is stuffy, all brittle pages and dust waving up, but there’s some interesting things in here. “We should just try and get this potion into some purist dickhead’s water supply, I think. Poison their tea without setting foot in any of their houses.” They scribble down a page number in their notebook, take a small nip from their glass of muggle scotch. “How’s your thing getting along?”

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with: @roonil-waazlibb​ where: near buckingham palace, london when: april 17, 2am what: DOVE protects RON from something dangerous. why?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But then, that’s how the story always goes these days, doesn’t it? The things that aren’t supposed to happen, happen — these are bad things, ugly things, heartwrenching things. Dove’s eyes are bleary from smoke, shards of glass crunch under their boots and they squint, trying to find any of the other Order members that had come. Then, a flash of red: it’s easy to miss, really, but it’s that signature Weasley-tint of red. Near-orange. Hardly moving. That’s uncharacteristic. “Shit.” 

Seems like they’re not the only one who’s spotted this Weasley in presumed peril, though, and Dove watches a cloaked figure approach with a curse on their lips and doesn’t hesitate. Attacking from behind is dirty, sure, but she hardly thinks these fuckers deserving of her fairness. So, nifty wandwork moves fast and she’s tying a rope of bursting light to the cloak, then yanks. Serves them right for wearing such shit outfits, they think, as the Death Eater flies, then crashes. For good measure, she blindly sends a stunning spell in the general direction, but doesn’t stop to see if it hits. In stead, she’s onto Ron, crouching down, giving a small slap against a blood-stained cheek. “No time for naps here, Ronaldo, c’mon,” they hiss, looking over their shoulder. “Y’alright?”

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with: @lydialongbottoms​ where: dufftown safehouse when: april 23, around 6:30 am

Mission accomplished. There’s a slight manic edge to the expression on Dove’s face as she enters the room she shares with Lydia, the polyjuice potion out of her system. They’re themself again, mostly unscathed and fully safe, and Dove knows that their youngest sibling will find relief in it. So, she sinks onto the mattress and watches them, for a moment, before giving a soft nudge against their shoulder, “I’m back,” she says, tone uncharacteristically soft. This kind of gentleness is saved for a select few. When Lydia wakes, Dove smiles a little. “Harry and I stole a bunch of wands, for the kids.” They also wreaked some havoc, of course, but Lydia would care more about the former. Dove hopes it makes her smile. Hopes it makes her proud, even. 

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scorpius.

Being in Muggle London filled Scorpius with all sorts of conflictions. He supposed that it couldn’t really be called Muggle London any more, not since the Dark Lord shattered the statute of secrecy and proclaimed himself lord of all. But there was still the distinction, the lack of magic and the mundanity of it all. But privately, Scorpius had always wondered what life had been like before. When these people lived in peaceful ignorance, blissfully unaware of the secret world that surrounded them. He’d been given patrol duties tonight, but he was alone - he preferred it that way. It was a quiet evening, until a cool voice cut through his peace. “Longbottom,” Scorpius acknowledged, reaching for his wand. “Of course. I hear that Twilfitt and Tattings change their window displays at midnight, so I just had to be there for the change. You know me, always dressed to impress.”

“Dressed to impress?” Eyebrows shoot up, and Dove takes a few steps forward. One finger drums against her wand but it remains still by her side. They won’t say no to a fight ( as they never do ), but for now they’re waiting too see what Malfoy might decide to do, whether he was a good little Death Eater or a cowardly one. “Don’t know who you’re trying to impress, but you look pretty lacklustre to me. Probably ‘cause you spend your time gawking at Twilfitt and Tattings’ bullshit clothes.” Wasn’t there a Dolohov on their payroll? She’s not quite sure, but then high-end clothing stores aren’t her topic of interest. “But right, if you’re just out and about trying to find a sense of style, you’re not gonna be any trouble for me, are you?” 

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rahim.

“Funny,” Rahim said, doing his best not to glare. Dove was helping him, but she was still Dove, so he guessed it was too much to ask that she wouldn’t manage to still be as combative as possible. Still, he guessed it was the thing that had made him stand a little taller, knowing that she had showed up, was with him on this. Dove might be unbearable, but they were also strong, in a way almost no one else Rahim knew was. 

He needed some of that strength, fighting down a constant unconquerable onslaught, all shame, all fear. “Don’t thank me,” Rahim said abruptly. Being thanked for leading his own father to the slaughter was a little too much right now. Rahim shrugged, “It’s just that I think you’re the only one person who really knows as well as I do why it has to happen.” He let a shadow of dark humor fall over his features. “And you’re so annoying I probably won’t feel that guilty if you die.”

Truthfully, Rahim wasn’t sure how true that really was, but it gave him back some bravado, as sparring with Dove usually did. He hardened his features. “I have to do it.” He tried to let himself believe it, while handing Dove a vial on a chain necklace, filled with dark fluid. “Well, first take this. It’s my blood. It’ll let you through - the wards don’t allow outsiders. Especially not Muggle-borns.” Hardly able to say that without another wave of guilt, it was a good reminder of who his father was. Rahim swallowed, and then nodded grimly. “It’s better to do it here. He’s alone. He’s still strong, but I figure the two of us can … overpower him. I’ll do it. The Killing Curse. It’ll be quick. And he won’t think I can do it so… that’ll give me the advantage.” 

The end justifies the means: it’s a tricky mantra, if only because it has been misused so much before. But Dove considers herself above most, or at least does when it comes to her morality, and so thinks she can do well by that mantra. Besides, it seems to be the one the enemies use as well, and their means are far more harrowing than hers. So, if the means tonight are a collaboration with Rahim Lestrange, a gloomy, wholly unfunny individual who was apparently totally okay with her dying, then so be it.

“That I do,” she says. Their motives were surely different, but at the end of the day, Dove didn’t much care for Rahim’s motives. There was something there, clearly, some kind of wish for repentance that they would never fully understand and so they didn’t bother to. “If I die over this, I’ll become a ghost and annoy you forever more.” She’s not too bothered by the statement, in all truth. An indifference to her death was better than someone wanting her actually dead. “Same goes for you, anyway.” That’s not true, but they don’t know that.

Dove takes the necklace, knows that it holds blood before Rahim specifies it’s his. There’s something like disgust on her face, but Dove doesn’t go for a quip as it becomes clear why they have to wear it. It’s pulled over their neck and she looks at him. “I prefer the term mudbloods, actually.” Bitterness laces her tone, and then she raises a brow. “Do you know how the charm works? Might be useful for the Order. Tell Lily about it, if you do.” Blood magic was quite something, but if it could keep nasty strangers out ... well, the ends justified the means, right? Dove starts to move towards the manor. “Let’s get a move on, then. You can take the lead, but if you start to waver for one second I won’t hesitate to take over, got it? This isn’t just about your family issues.” Taking out a player like Orion Lestrange was a big picture move, besides a spot of personal family revenge. “And of course we can overpower him.”

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with: @scarredsaviour ​ where: diagon alley when: april 23, 5am

The heavy cloaks fit their polyjuiced faces, which is to say that they’re pretentious and befitting of pureblood idiots. Dove does not enjoy it, in all honesty, having to don a different identity in order to do these things: they’d prefer to walk into Diagon Alley with their face warped into a grin before unleashing a little bit of hell. But, she’s sensible enough to know that there’s more at play here than just her own desire to give into her anger. So, she looks like someone who looks nothing like her and doesn’t grumble.

Next to her is Harry, or at least, next to her and underneath the skin of a stranger is Harry. Dove looks at him. “Quiet, hm? Guess people aren’t fond of early morning jogs in London.” She keeps moving, pressing forward, eyes moving over the storefronts. What a world. The Death Eaters had succeeded in a way, then: Dove was not part of this world, never had been. Might be, one day, if it wasn’t destroyed before she could lay claim to this street where her parents had walked as children.

There’s a wand store and Dove halts. This isn’t their target: their target is a business that set up shop in what was formerly the Weasley twins’ business. “We should break in. Grab as much as we can get, for —” Their face twists with anger. “For the kids.” Scholomance students, sharing wands, muggleborn kids smuggled in with no Ollivander’s to go to. What they should do is stay focused before the Polyjuice runs out, but somewhere, Dove is their father’s child. And while she could never teach as he does, she cares all the same for these wartorn children. 

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incorrect quotes 2/?: dove explains her thoughts on the legality of violence.

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with: @cfmxsingss​ where: duffdown safehouse when: april 16, mid-morning

She stares at the various, differently-coloured goblets of Polyjuice potion with a crinkled nose. It’s freshly brewed by her own hand, but they won’t take credit for the stench coming off the cups. “You know, all this work for this batch, and because these folks are such shit people, it ends up tasting and smelling like absolute garbage,” she says, before grabbing a goblet with a muddy-lavender looking concoction. “Let’s turn into someone else for an hour though, yeah?” The plan is to flit in and out of Hogsmeade to run some quick errands, nothing more, nothing less. Dove despises the entire ideal, of having to turn into someone else, but their father frets enough as is so fine. They’ll drink the nasty potion. “Wanna see if we can slip into Honeydukes while we’re there?” Might be nice, to steal some candy, get it to Scholomance.

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with: @thethiingswelost​ where: (fka) muggle london, near the leaky cauldron when: april 21, late night

There’s a strange longing that comes from being in a city this massive, so filled to the brim with people — Dove hears stories of London of before the war spread farther and wider and thinks that she might be a city person. So, when she slinks around the city, and feels like an insignificant cog in a metropolitan machine, she almost thinks she could be anonymous. And yet: here is a familiar face, though hardly a friendly one. Dove halts, the entrance to the Leaky in their periphery and raises a hand in mock-greeting. “Fucking Malfoy.” Her other hand – dominant, left – is on her wand already, held slack by her side but held all the same. “Doing some late night window shopping, too?”

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rahim.

date: 22 april, 2am location: outskirts of lestrange manor who: rahim & dove @longbbottom​​

The grounds weren’t literally haunted - his father didn’t like ghosts, and apparently, none of their forefathers had either - but it felt that way. Like he was being watched, watched and judged, the verdict guilty. Traitor. He loves you, he’s always loved you, how can you do this? How can you do this again? Except for once, thinking about Dani strengthened him. A noise from behind had Rahim turning, wand in hand. He lowered it a moment after. “No one followed you?” He knew she wouldn’t like being questioned, but the anguish clouding his mind didn’t allow for anything else, the question shaky as Rahim looked up and around, met their eyes.  “No one else can know about this, Dove. It has to be just you and me.”

His expression was a little wild, Rahim knew, but even that was nothing to the sick, grim churn inside his stomach. Oddly, it had settled, now that she was here. Maybe it was fitting that it was Dove he’d had to ask. There’d really been no one else. Whatever this bond between them was, it wasn’t like, and it wasn’t trust. Rahim figured she didn’t really care if he made it through this, and the same was more or less true in reverse. There was really only one thing that held them together, all it came down: their last names. He could imagine, years and years ago, a huddle outside a family home just like this. Frank and Alice Longbottom as unaware of what was about to come as his father was now. 

He didn’t exactly like the thought of playing the Rodolphus and he imagined Dove would like being cast as Bellatrix or Rabastan even less. That was a thought to keep to himself. He gripped his wand again, swallowed down on doubt. There was no other way but this. Everything had been leading up to this. “Thanks. For coming.” 

Dove would never have stood for this – a collaboration between a Lestrange and a Longbottom – if the goal wasn’t this: to end the life of another, worse Lestrange and rid this world of someone who carries the legacy of his parents’ sins in the worst possible way. With pride. So a deal is struck and Dove agrees, because if there is one thing she hungers for it’s vengeance. Selfishly, she keeps it to herself and when she arrives, she arrives alone. There’s a quirk of her brow, the pull of her mouth. “There’s ten people behind me, actually.” Deadpan. They throw a demonstrative look over their shoulder, then look back at Rahim. Come on now.

There’s little empathy there, but there’s something like respect for the fact that he is willing to do this, that he is willing to ask for their help. And with that, then, comes the respect for his wishes. “Just you and me, Lestrange. Don’t worry.” There is a part of her that wants to parade around after this victory, lay loud claim to it in a way one might have done in those medieval times of long ago — heads on pike, all that shit. But fine, if the price she has to pay to watch a Lestrange bleed is silence, she can keep her mouth shut.

“Sure. Thanks, for inviting me.” She may not have been born to Neville Longbottom, but even so, this feels like some kind of birthright. Dove has little qualms with taking the place of Bellatrix in this scenario: that’s how payback works. You flip the script. You draw blood for blood until the earth turns red. ( And then, later, the earth can heal again: but not now. Not yet. ) “Do you think you can do it?” It’s a morbid question, one of curiosity, but also one of strategy. “How do you want to go about this ... spot of patricide?”

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{ non binary, they/she } huh, who’s TATI GABRIELLE? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually DOVE LONGBOTTOM. they are a 25 year old MUGGLEBORN wix. they are the adopted child of NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM AND HANNAH AN. they are known for being CYNICAL, AGGRESSIVE, and RUTHLESS but also PRAGMATIC, JUST, and LOYAL. i hear they are aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on them.

                            ↪ stats. pinboard. @mortemsignalboost​.

HISTORY

dove is instilled with the knowledge that the world is a cruel, unfair place at a young age. first, there’s her birth parents: a pair of brighton-based muggles, massacred before she can make proper memories with them. they’re the first child adopted by neville and hannah, a pair of people who have their own parent-based tragedies when it comes to this and the previous war. that’s how she learns — the world is a cruel fucking place.   

growing up in a war, to a pair of parents in hiding, in a world where you’re not wanted, makes for a stunted childhood, that much should be common knowledge. tumultuous might be a good word to describe a young dove with — a kid who always felt like her emotions had no right to make a house of her body, who combusted and shut down. but — there is such love there. such comfort. such fear of losing that, too.   

school gives room to improve, to grow, to become. dove is talented, to be sure, proves especially talented at potioneering and herbology. peace is hard to come by, but she finds it when she works with her hands. she finds it in following a recipe, when digging her fingers in soil. there’s a rage to dove that quiets down in these types of room, but when they’re elsewhere it’s apparent. it’s hard to contain themself, still.  

once of age, dove enlists with the order. there is nothing else to do: she practically counted the days. see, this rage? she can channel it when she fights, when she duels, when she practices — what better to do, than to throw herself in the fight? volunteer for the line of fire. three weeks after her eighteenth birthday, she takes her first life. the thing is, it feels like victory, not like losing a bit of herself: but she does lose a bit of herself, of course. murder goes against human nature. but then, so does growing up in a war: so maybe the odds were always stacked against them.  

dove proves a worthy adversary. one who pushes hard. one who pushes with bottomless rage and a black-and-white vision of the world. there’s little forgiveness in dove’s eyes: anyone who carries the mark, anyone who does the death eaters’ bidding ... if they wish to eradicate people like her, people with muddy blood, with muggle heritage — let them pay the prize for such beliefs, for acting on it. let the prize be their own blood.  

moral grayness is the theme for dove longbottom. perhaps it takes a monster to destroy one, after all. and that, in the end, is where their goal lies: destruction. no small victories, but the victory. and dove, really, does not mind too much where it leaves her: she’ll coat herself in blood, she’ll cross the moral boundaries that might hold others (rightfully) back. 

CURRENTLY

in the order, dove is tempestuous and destructive, mostly — it’s why she functions best on the forefront of the fight. useless as an undercover agent, really, because her impulse control around death eaters is close to non-existent. but shit, if you need to take some people out, take dove. if you need information out of someone, ask dove.   

sometimes, they fear: fear what they’ve become, what they could become, what they want to become. most of the time, dove is just angry. throw in their status as eldest sibling, and there’s also a nauseating fear of losing those that dove thinks of as their responsibility; but fuck, does she fail. does she fall short. she’s not caring, not naturally, not in a way that makes sense. but she’ll die before she sees any of them hurt.  

still tries and find some solace in potioneering, where she has turned somewhat experimental. healing isn’t really in her nature, but there’s more to do with potions than that, isn’t there?

PERSONALITY

asshole. etc. dove is not a good person, and the jury is still out on whether they’re a bad person. so outspoken and honest that honestly, sometimes i wonder why someone doesn’t tape her mouth shut every day. hmmm. annoying. very self-righteous. black and white thinker. you’re with her or against her, etc. hhhhm. often wonders how she turned out so different from her adoptive parents but then stops that train of thought: it just makes her sad. deeply insecure, overly confident. an aries. that’s rly all u gotta know.

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MARIENNE BELLAMY, Season Three, Episode Seven

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THE WILDS: 1.04 “DAY SIX”

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“IPHIGENIA : I shall wash blood with blood to get rid of the defilement—”

— Euripides, Iphigenia Among the Taurians (tr. by Anne Carson)

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i think i deserve a dagger, as a treat. for being kind to people and not screaming and going insane in public :)