#and it should be a traumatized wizard from another world. surely this will cause no further problems

[potatoesandsunshine]

cannot stop thinking about 'what if my hero of kvatch was there in three houses' and this is directly bc i've been listening to a podcast about it while playing. this idea does not have legs. and yet....

[maxdibert]

Honestly, I don��t give credit for the bare minimum. James Potter didn’t die a hero; he died an idiot who forgot to grab his wand. Even if he had fought heroically, that wouldn’t make him a hero—it would make him an average husband and father. Like, why do people try to make the most basic things seem extraordinary when it comes to cishet white dudes? What James did is literally what you’d expect from any average husband or father when their family is in danger. It’s the bare minimum: you protect your child. It’s not some incredible feat—it’s just the baseline. It’s like saying you’ve met a guy and he’s amazing because he doesn’t treat you like crap.

I don’t know if the problem is that many of you had terrible father figures or dads who “went out for milk” and never came back, but if someone even tried to lay a hand on me, my dad would break their jaw. And not because he’s the bravest, most incredible, or most heroic person in the world, but because he’s my dad, and that’s what dads do for their kids.

On another note, I love how this post conveniently ignores the fact that Severus was deeply traumatized by James because of the systematic bullying and abuse James inflicted on him. You call James a hero, but a hero doesn’t use their position of power to abuse others. In fact, you hate Severus for doing the same thing James did to him: exploiting his power over someone to dominate and mistreat them. The only difference is that James wasn’t a traumatized person, didn’t have deep psychological scars, wasn’t raised in a violent environment, and wasn’t incapable of handling his emotions.

James Potter was a rich kid from a near-aristocratic family who grew up with the love of his parents and a solid support system his entire life, yet he chose to be a piece of trash. He didn’t just hex random people in the halls for fun; he chose as his main victim a working-class kid with no family name, no resources—social, economic, or familial—to defend himself. That’s not heroic; that’s pathetic. Especially when we’re talking about someone who, because his best friend was bored, cornered a kid who was all alone, outnumbered him, stripped him against his will in front of half the school, and asphyxiated him. That’s the hero you’re defending, and you should be ashamed of yourself for being so cynical and hypocritical to conveniently skip over all of these facts to defend a completely sanitized version of the character.

Yes, Severus was a jerk and had a terrible personality. But Severus wasn’t a functional adult. You’re expecting a deeply traumatized person with an unresolved history of abuse to handle his emotions like someone who has had the chance to heal, go to therapy, and receive treatment—and that wasn’t the case. Severus never had the time to heal from anything. He was abused by his father, bullied by rich kids at school, and then forced back into that same school by Dumbledore—the place where he experienced his worst traumas—and you expect him to be functional? No, he wasn’t functional.

And yes, he didn’t have the right to take out James’s sins on Harry, but you know what else he did? He saved Harry’s ass, along with his friends, from the very first year. Without Severus, they would’ve died twenty times over before the seventh book. But you conveniently skipped over that too because you’re not interested in acknowledging it.

Severus wasn’t a pleasant guy or the best friend to children, but he always made sure those kids made it to the end of the year alive. He took on the role of a double agent, risking his life multiple times to confront the most dangerous wizard of all, deceiving him, and working for the greater good. He stuck to Dumbledore’s plan, even if it meant becoming a monster in the eyes of everyone else and carrying all the blame and hatred of the people he was fighting for. He fought for the good side even when the good side had always despised, underestimated, and hated him. And he gave his life for the cause when it was necessary.

And what did James do? Be a bully, get pregnant his teenage girlfriend, get married at 19, spend most of his 20s hiding at home, and die in his pajamas because he forgot his wand? Incredible contribution to society. At least he donated sperm—what a feat.

I cannot believe people let Snape get the high ground.

How do people casually overlook the fact that Snape spent six entire years of his life telling a kid—who never even got the chance to know his father—that said father was an arrogant douchebag? Like, how do people think that behavior is normal?

Snape, a grown man, spent years trying to convince a grieving, orphaned child that his dead father—who literally died protecting his family—was a terrible person. No compassion for a man who gave his life for his wife and son. No sympathy for a kid who grew up abused, unloved, and completely alone, only learning about his parents through stories told by others.

Instead, Snape chose to rehash his teenage rivalry with James Potter by bullying his son. Imagine being so petty that you can’t move past your high school grudges, even when the other person has been dead for over a decade.

Even the coldest, most detached person would muster some respect for a man who died fighting for good. But Snape? No. He chose to sit on his high horse—ignoring the fact that he was once a Death Eater who only changed sides when his own personal interests were threatened—and still had the audacity to act morally superior to James.

James Potter died a hero. Snape, on the other hand, spent his life tormenting the child of the woman he claimed to love—while refusing to let go of a teenage rivalry and weaponizing it against a traumatized, grieving boy.

I cannot get over how utterly selfish and cruel that is. Snape had no empathy for the dead and no sympathy for the living. And people still try to defend him? Seriously?

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes — Chapter 4

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Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2 on Tumblr

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

Written for Hinny Ficfest 2021

Prompt: “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

*******

Ginny had disappeared, dragged through the kitchen door, before Harry could come up with an excuse to keep her by his side. He sighed and took a long gulp from his glass of firewhiskey, welcoming the burning sensation down his throat. Whatever his family was so wound up about, Harry knew he wasn't in danger here, so he hoped the drink would dull his overactive auror instincts so he could enjoy the evening.

"So...how's the shop?" asked Harry, choosing to focus on George, "any accidental new body parts I can't see?"

"Harry, I'll have you know that we ascribe to only the highest of safety standards at Weasley Wizard Wheezes," said George with his nose in the air, "We strictly adhere to a dual-fault system to make sure a trained wizard is on-site to intervene in case of emergency."

"By that he means that he doesn't try any weird shit on himself without me there to rush him to St. Mungo's," said Ron with his mouth full, wincing as his mother smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden spoon for his language.

Harry's eyes narrowed at his best friend. "So you two are already partners now? Really wasting no time on bailing on me, aren't you?"

"Don't be a prat!" grumbled Ron. "No, like I said, it was just a thought that I had. You know, the kind of thought you would hope you could share with your best mate without him jumping down your throat?"

"Well I think it's a marvelous idea," Mrs. Weasley announced loudly from her place at the stove."

George's eyebrows shot up. "Who are you and what have you done with my mother? You're glad that another one of your sons is considering wasting his life at this silly business, instead of a respectable job at the Ministry?"

"Well, if said Ministry job involves chasing after Death Eaters every day," huffed Mrs. Weasley, "Then I suppose my nerves will take any alternative."

She sent a stern look towards Harry and pointed a threatening spoon at him, making him jump back. "You could do well to learn from Ron in that regard, Harry."

Ron was grinning ear to ear, bouncing in his seat from being the favorite child of the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with Ron doing the responsible thing." she lowered her voice to a grumble so Harry barely heard, "at least someone is."

Harry surveyed the tense atmosphere in the room again.

"Okay, what's got everyone in such a mood?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"No one's in a mood!" said Mrs. Weasley quickly.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke up for the first time, and his voice too was less assuring than Harry usually found it. "I'm having trouble with a fascinating new muggle device I've discovered, would you mind giving me a hand out in the shed?"

"Oh. Sure," said Harry easily. Mr. Weasley got up from the table and led Harry outside. They entered the man's infamous tool shed, and Harry noticed new mechanical and electronic devices in various states of disassembly. Mr. Weasley gestured to his work table, where a VCR sat.

"I've heard that muggles use this to see recorded images, like a pensieve, but I've put in those black blocks, and nothing happens."

"Oh, well," said Harry, trying not to laugh, "You need to attach it to a television. It can't just work on its—"

He was interrupted by the door opening again, and Harry was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley entering the shed which he always knew her to avoid, wanting nothing to do with her husband's "nonsense" tinkering.

"Molly, what are you doing here?" Mr. Weasley asked crossly, "We agreed we wouldn't. The boys—"

"I told them I was getting apples from the orchard," his wife said dismissively. She crossed the shed and looked beseechingly at a very surprised Harry.

"Harry, dear, you know how we think of you as a part of this family. We've been wanting to say….we hope that you don't think that has changed because of you and Ginny's relationship. We know young men have trepidation about 'the girlfriend's parents,' but you're not just our daughter's boyfriend to us, you're one of our own."

Harry was as touched as he was confused. "Th-Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

"And one reason we had no objection to you and Ginny dating," Mr. Weasley continued, "is that we trust you to always do right by Ginny. To always do what's best for her."

Harry looked back and forth between them, their expressions pointed and expecting.

"Well — ehem — I'll remember that. I promise to never do anything to hurt her." He meant it.

There was another moment of silence before Mrs. Weasley spoke up again.

"Sooooo…." she prompted. "We just want you to be aware that….should you decide to propose…you wouldn't have to worry—"

"What!?" Harry's heart leapt into his throat and he knew his face had turned scarlet. "Oh, no no," he said, putting his hands up. "I'm glad to have your blessing, but we're not ready to think about that yet."

Harry rubbed his neck nervously. It was only a half-lie. In truth, Harry was ready to think about that. He thought about proposing to Ginny damn near every day, in fact. But he was fairly certain that Ginny was still years away from being ready. She was fiercely proud of her independence and she was still dealing with the papers referring to her as "Harry Potter's girlfriend" before "star Harpies Chaser," even without marriage.

Mr. Weasley sighed in what seemed like disappointment and Mrs. Weasley's mouth thinned and her expression turned sour.

"Well...the roast should be done, we should all head back inside."

The Weasleys led the way out of the shed and Harry cautiously followed them. When they arrived back in the kitchen, Harry saw Bill shoot his father a stern, questioning look, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Weasley shake his head grimly, and Bill and Charlie gave Harry a glare that would make Mad-Eye Moody quake in his boots.

Harry froze and all the breath left his body. It suddenly all made sense. He was the thing that the Weasleys were so on edge about. Ginny's parents inquiring about him marrying her.

They had somehow found out that he and Ginny were living together.

Harry suddenly felt like a sheep in a cage with several wolves.

"Hey mum," said Charlie, "while you were outside, Aunt Muriel floo-called and said that the gnomes are in her attic again. Apparently she's upset at the way dad tried to take care of it last time."

"Is she sure it's actually the gnomes, or is it the doxies nesting in her hair?" Mr. Weasley grumbled as his wife shooed him into their sitting room and through their fireplace. Harry's heart was thudding in his chest as the few Weasleys he could count on to not murder him due to this secret getting out abandoned him with the curse breaker, dragon tamer, master prankster, and Ministry power-broker.

Several murderous eyes turned towards Harry.

"Look...er…" Harry stammered. "I really thought that, after everything, we had all moved past the whole 'overprotective big brothers' routine."

"Yeah, we thought we had too," said Charlie darkly, "but mum and dad's diplomatic approach clearly didn't work, so the gloves are off. I guess we never figured that the savior of the bloody wizarding world would do this to our sister."

George snorted, still finding this whole thing quite amusing. "Sorry, do this to her? Harry's the real victim here. Ginny's a nightmare already, can you imagine what living with her will be like now?"

"What the hell are you lot talking about?" Ron cut in, looking around the room in confusion.

"I think your brothers have become aware of me and Ginny's...status change," said Harry.

"Oh, that is just so typical!" huffed Hermione, crossing her arms and adopting her lecturing pose. "Ginny is perfectly capable of handling her own life and she doesn't need a bunch of chest-beating men to defend an outdated notion of her 'honour!' I still can't believe how sexist magical society can be sometimes."

"Yes, Hermione, our world is sexist, whether we like it or not" said Bill, not backing down. "You can pontificate all you want about how it's not right, or a double standard, but once the public finds out about this — and sooner or later, they will," he shot another glare at Harry, as if he wrote to the papers about it himself, "then it will change how people see her. And since she's a Quidditch star, the way people see her matters."

"Yup, can see the headlines now," George sighed dramatically, "the ambitious social climber Ginevra Weasley, raised in a pauper's home, so she used her feminine wiles to land herself this sweet gig."

"Look, ultimately, it's none of our business — no, I'm serious!" Ron finished in response to his brothers' looks of betrayal. "Look, Bill, Charlie, you two were only around when Ginny was a little girl. You didn't go to school with her. You never saw first-hand what happens when you try to meddle in her life to defend her virtue, trust me." He shivered a bit, as he remembered the traumatic memory.

"I don't even understand why we have to meddle," said Percy, "I just don't understand your logic, Harry. There's no question you would be willing to throw yourself into mortal danger all over again to protect Ginny. What you're hesitating to do is comparatively easy."

"His reasons don't matter, he should have thought of that earlier," said Charlie, pointing a threatening finger at Harry. "I don't care if this makes me a hypocrite, but you're going to do the right thing and—"

Ginny suddenly burst into the room, causing every word to fall silent. Harry knew that Ginny always hated it when people were obviously talking about her, but as he started towards her, he was surprised when he saw that her eyes were watery with tears. Ignoring all of the eyes on her, she ran straight towards Hermione, throwing her arms around her friend.

"Erm, is something wrong?" asked Hermione. She threw a questioning look to Fleur as she followed Ginny into the kitchen, but the young mother looked just as confused as anyone as she took Victoire back from Bill.

Instead of answering Hermione's question, Ginny withdrew from the hug and smacked Ron upside the head.

"Ah! What the shit!" Ron cried, rubbing the back of his head.

"Ronald, language!" scolded Mrs. Weasley, re-entering the kitchen along with her husband, making the room quite crowded.

"That's your main concern?" asked Ron, "Not the unwarranted physical assault?"

"It's not unwarranted, it's for being a stupid, forgetful git!" barked Ginny

She walked up to Harry and took his glass of firewhiskey, still mostly intact.

"I need this more than you," she informed him, and began to raise the glass to her lips.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

Mrs. Weasley's ear-piercing shriek caused everyone in the room to wince, and Ginny momentarily jumped behind Harry for protection. "Merlin's balls, WHAT!?"

"Molly…" Mr. Weasley cautioned.

"DO NOT 'MOLLY' ME, ARTHUR!" his wife shouted back. She had a crazed look in her eye and she was pulling at her hair. She rounded on Harry and Ginny.

"We have tried to be respectful, but you two are clearly not ready for this kind of responsibility! I am so disappointed in you both for not taking this more seriously! You haven't even given a thought to how this will affect your careers!"

"Our careers?" asked Harry, confused. "How would that possibly—"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had gotten it completely wrong about what the Weasleys were talking about. The talk about responsibility, their careers, affects to Ginny's public image.

Somehow, the family had gotten word about the "honour" bestowed upon Harry by the Wizengamot, and all the implications that had for his and Ginny's future together. He supposed it wasn't too surprising that Arthur or Percy had heard about it through their Ministry connections.

He looked sideways at Ginny, and from one look he knew that she had come to the same realization. Both their faces split into wide grins as relief flooded through them that all of this drama was over something so silly. Apparently, the family somehow had the absurd idea that Harry would keep the title and actually take the status, power, and responsibilities being offered to him.

Harry and Ginny cracked up into delirious laughter, leaning on each other for support, which did nothing to help the livid look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

"Oh Merlin's beard, is that what has you all concerned? Don't worry about that," laughed Harry, waving one hand dismissively and wrapping the other around Ginny's shoulder.

"I mean, come on, we're obviously not keeping it!"

There was a moment of silence, then the entire kitchen exploded.

[vivithefolle]

Not sure if you already talked about this. (I’m pretty sure you have) but someone seemed to notice that when the trio get into fights, Hermione’s always in the right. Even when she’s supposed to be wrong she always seems to be half right. That kind of bothers me. Especially since it’s evident in the whole Scabbers situation.

I have indeed, on Quora, so let’s move yet another answer of mine to Tumblr!

Hermione is seldom wrong in the Harry Potter books. Sometimes she makes mistakes but those mistakes are either completely swept under the rug or downright ignored.

It’s partly due to lazy writing and partly due to Rowling’s own growing bias in favour of her Author Avatar that was fuelled by Steve Kloves, the primary advocate of the Hermione Granger Is The Perfect Girl Ever line of thinking (an utterly ridiculous line of thinking mind you).

Lizo: Steve, Hermione is a character that you have said is one of your favorites. Has that made her easier to write?

Steve: Yeah, I mean, I like writing all three, but I've always loved writing Hermione. Because, I just, one, she's a tremendous character for a lot of reasons for a writer, which also is she can carry exposition in a wonderful way because you just assume she read it in a book. If I need to tell the audience something...

JKR: Absolutely right, I find that all the time in the book, if you need to tell your readers something just put it in her. There are only two characters that you can put it convincingly into their dialogue. One is Hermione, the other is Dumbledore. In both cases you accept, it's plausible that they have, well Dumbledore knows pretty much everything anyway, but that Hermione has read it somewhere. So, she's handy.

Now this, right here, is the exact core of the problem.

Rowling herself admits it: if she wants the readers to have information, she puts Hermione in the scene. Hermione is our primary means of exposition because, like *grits teeth* Sssssteve puts it, it’s easy to assume that she’s read about it somewhere and it makes sense.

That’s all well and good but at first, if you notice, Ron also gave us exposition about the wizarding world, mostly about its culture. He was able to recall the exact year of the Wizarding Confederation that outlawed dragon breeding in Philosopher’s Stone! He explained what were respectively a “Mudblood”, a “Squib”, and Parseltongue, Hermione doing a little exposition about the history of that last one! He was also able to identify Sirius, after being dragged into the Whomping Willow, as an Animagi!

But then Goblet of Fire happens and you can notice the first change that will exponentially grow through the books: instead of Ron, pureblood Ron, born-before-the-end-of-the-war Ron, lived-through-the-aftermath-of-the-war Ron, identifying the Dark Mark, it’s instead Hermione, muggleborn Hermione, lived-as-a-Muggle-for-most-of-her-life Hermione, has-no-idea-about-the-emotional-impact-of-the-Mark Hermione who looks terrified as the Dark Mark shoots into the sky!

And it only will get worse, by the end of the series, Hermione pretty much knows about everything the plot needs her to know, instead of having to work with things she knows but can’t always apply to the situation:

Suddenly has a deep knowledge of Magical Law (in the will of Dumbledore’s chapter, while we had Rufus Scrimgeour who could have provided it to us, or to a lesser extent, Ron could have explained how a wizarding will basically worked)

Is suddenly an expert at finding edible plants and mushrooms. Apparently books are always the goddamn answer in JKR’s world, you can literally learn anything from them

She can decipher all the Tales of Beedle the Bard (may I remind you that they were written in Runes, okay Hermione may have a few years of Ancient Runes education BUT I once tried to translate a 3k+ story I had written for fun, from French to English, which means I knew what the subtleties and intentions were, I knew which turns of phrase I had to preserve so it would make sense in the end, and it still took me two gruelling weeks to get a satisfying result!)

Has suddenly grown a sense of quick-thinking (escaping Xenophilius’ house, using the jinx to make Harry’s face weird-looking) despite it being the only remaining flaw she had at the time (remember when she turned her back on her enemy while he was still conscious just to compliment Harry, and almost died as a result, even though she had been training in the DA to learn how to fight Death Eaters?) Quick-thinking under pressure can be learned, but it takes time and a lot of work to force your brain to override its instinct - and it’s fine because we’re all human and different. But no suddenly Hermione is the Greatest Strategist Evah™ and those silly boys (who actually were the original quick-thinking ones, and one of them was established as the strategist early on) better be grateful for this literal goddess because she protects them from all harm with her superhuman brain.

Somehow knows about Quidditch stuff - she knows about a Snitch’s “memory-touch”. Why should she give all the answers? Why can’t Ron give us this particular tidbit of information?

And then when we come to something Ron actually knows, the damn narration itself goes “woah a book that Ron has read but Hermione hasn’t??? shocking!! incredible!! Ron is not dumb, somebody call the news channel”. But… is that really so surprising? We’ve never seen Hermione read wizarding fiction or even Muggle fiction. We’ve never seen Hermione with anything other than schoolbooks in her hands. Of course Ron has read books she hasn’t read since she doesn’t seem to read fiction at all!

Sorry, bit of a tangent over here.

There are only two characters that you can put it convincingly into their dialogue.

So, that’s one part of the problem: the fact that Rowling, after making Ron our insight into magical culture and Hermione our provider of knowledge, ended up saying “eh whatever I guess Hermione can tell us everything we gotta know because it’s more convenient for me”. Which is a decision that was not based on Hermione’s character, but simply lazy writing. Long story short, it probably went: “Could Ron explain this bit of trivia? Meh, better make Hermione say it cause she’ll have read it in a book. It’s convenient and I won’t need to bother myself with exploring Ron’s characterisation.”

(And thus completely forgetting that Ron could maybe ask his big brothers via owl and provide us with a good heap of extra advanced knowledge - Bill is supposed to have aced his NEWTs after all.)

The other part of the problem is quite simply that Hermione is more often than not, either painted as a victim by the narrative (which makes more people take her side, classic manipulation tactic), or made to be right anytime it’s about a plot point.

Hermione’s mistakes are never explicitly stated, corrected, or even pointed out as being unethical.

Hermione only gets one mistake expressedly pointed out as being a mistake: her misadventure in Polyjuice Potion. The rest of them? Even her crush on Lockhart can’t be counted as a mistake - people get crushes all the time, based solely on physical appearance, it’s not something awful or terrible (Except when it’s Ron who crushes on someone. Ron crushing on someone is absolutely forbidden, and he must be punished with much ridicule and humiliation if he thinks he can get away with not worshipping Hermione like the goddess she is. The nerve of him, really.).

Throughout the books Hermione eventually morphs into Rowling’s Powerful Angel of Vengeance, that punishes the people who dared to do something she disliked - Rita is silenced but at a very ethically dubious price; Marietta gets scarred for life because she was more loyal to her mother than to a bunch of people her friend insisted she hang out with; Umbridge is led to a very, very alarming fate that is never made clear but some people have ideas and they’re not all very kid-friendly; Ron first is “helped” without knowing it because Hermione can’t be bothered to have faith in his capabilities, then when he fails to dutifully reward her for “helping” him, she causes him bodily harm before actively bullying him for not mind-reading her interest in him; causes even more bodily harm to Ron because that’s how feminism works; etc.

Hermione’s mistakes are always justified through the plot itself (which is lazy writing).

Turning into a cat? Only affects her.

The Firebolt? Scabbers? Well, in the end, it was really sent by Sirius Black and Crookshanks really wasn’t the culprit. Therefore all the feelings that were hurt and all the trust lost are irrelevant because Hermione was right all along.

Trying to free the house-elves? Well, it’s the intent that counts, right? And we’re never told enough about house-elf lore to know whether they’re poor brainwashed victims or powerful Penate-like symbiotes who need to serve a wizard to survive?

Kidnapping Rita Skeeter, trapping her and blackmailing her? Rita may be one foul little beetle, but that’s going a bit far, isn’t it? Harry approves? Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then…? A main character can’t have a dubious morality, right?

Manipulating Harry into forming Dumbledore’s Army and forcing him to relive a traumatic event with the same woman she’s kidnapped and blackmail and that she knows he hates? In the end, it all works out for the best and Harry’s hurt feelings don’t matter since it’s all about the greater good.

Using the centaurs to get rid of Umbridge (which poses the highly distressing question of what did the centaurs do to her?), realizing that the centaurs aren’t nice little horsies that are going to gently obey her every orders like good Disney princess’ companions, my goodness could this be an opportunity for character growth - nevermind, here comes Grawp the Giant Ex Machina, saving her arse and protecting Hermione from all that scary possibility of introspection. Thanks, Grawp Ex Machina.

Trying to dissuade a highly stressed-out and irrational Harry from rescuing Sirius by telling him exactly what he needed not to hear, a.k.a. “you have a saving people-thing” which causes Harry to completely go bonkers and go save his godfather without thinking twice? Well she was right after all, it was a trap! Nevermind how mind-boggingly insenstive and inadept at dealing with someone else’s feelings she was being, she was right! That means it wasn’t Hermione’s mistake!… probably. (Geez, I’m sensing a pattern here…)

Endangering Cormac’s life (Confunding him WHILE HE’S ON HIS BROOM) to promote Ron’s success? Oh but that’s so romantic! (Yeaaaah, how romantic to display exactly how much faith you lack in your crush. Top it off with a broken neck and that’s a picture perfect first date!)

Assaulting Ron with magic and causing him even more scars than he already had? But he was being cold with her first, right? And he totally should have known she was asking him out! It’s not like her invitation was even worse than his attempt to ask her out two years earlier! Plus she’s just a teenage girl expressing her emotions, anyone who tries to find fault in this is a disgusting abusive misogynist pig! Ha!

Getting all jealous that Harry is better than her at Potions, then pretending she’s not jealous by claiming that TEH BOOK IS EVIL, HARRY, and giving him the cold shoulder too? But no, she’s right, look, Harry used Sectumsempra and he almost killed Draco, nevermind that he’s very horrified about it! Hermione was right, like she always is!

Hermione Obliviating her parents, which pulls her from the “ethically dubious” zone into the “wow okay I’m pretty sure that this counts as a violation of basic human rights” zone, makes her one of those quirky wizardfolk who have the privilege to control those simple-minded Muggles because it’s for the greater good? But nooo she’s crying about it so it’s obviously very sad and angsty and it shows her devotion to the cause!

Splinching Ron while fleeing from the Ministry? Eeeh, but he’s fine, they’ve got Dittany, he’s good as new!… blood loss? Anaemia? What’s that?

Hermione was wrong about the Deathly Hallows not existing? Um, um, that doesn’t matter, LOOK DOBBY IS DEAD AND HARRY IS BACK TO LOOKING FOR THE HORCRUXES!! Therefore Hermione was right, the Hallows weren’t important for their quest, therefore the Hallows might as well not exist, HERMIONE WAS RIGHT NO REALLY I’VE GOT RECEIPTS -

The books never forget to remind Harry and Ron of their own shortcomings and moments of weakness.

Harry’s wrath and recklessness cost Sirius his life. This is the lesson he has to learn from his entitled behaviour in OotP: actions have consequences, and the greater your responsibility, the greater the cost will be.

Ron’s envy and insecurity lead him astray; they’re used to humiliate, ridicule and torture him throughout the books. They’re supposed to teach him that he’s worth something - but how is he supposed to believe that, when nobody ever tells him he’s worth anything? When nobody ever apologizes to him? When his feelings are taken for granted over and over? When his two friends seem to discard him whenever he does one thing wrong?

Hermione is never punished. Hermione is never said to be wrong, never shown to be wrong, never called out on her behaviour. From Prisoner of Azkaban to mid-Deathly Hallows, she stays exactly the same character. She doesn’t grow up. She doesn’t learn. She doesn’t change. She has virtually no character arc.

The only time, THE ONLY TIME IN SEVEN BOOKS, the only time we have something remotely resembling a call-out of Hermione’s horrible behaviour is with this sole quote in HBP:

Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.

Note how it’s about “girls” and not Hermione in particular, which implies that any girl would do what Hermione does to Ron. Thanks for the generalization, JKR, but I like to believe I’m actually a decent sort of person that doesn’t resort to petty cruelty and exploits my friends’ insecurities whenever I’m angry with them.

Hermione NEVER has to apologize. Hermione NEVER has to learn from her mistakes because she’s always presented as a victim when she really isn’t. Hermione NEVER develops into something more - she’s emotionally stuck at fourteen years old. Even less than that when you consider that her reaction to Ron’s return in Deathly Hallows is to trash him with her fists - and she was going to get her wand!! The utter psychopathic b- wanted TO THROW BIRDS AT HIM AGAIN!!! - and this reaction is an appropriate one for a four-years old girl, but certainly not for a supposedly “mature” seventeen-years old.

(Yes, because what separates a child from an adult is the ability to reign in your emotions and not succumb to your impulses. Exactly what Ron did when he left the tent (notice that he had drawn his wand, then he left before he could start hexing Harry), he left to calm himself down. Exactly what Hermione fails to do when Ron returns (she has the impulse to strike him and immediately succumbs to it, which proves to us that The Brightest Witch Of Her Age has all the maturity of a very small child).)

All of that, on top of the awful portrayal in the movies which removes all of Ron’s characteristics to stuff them into Hermione and turns her into some impossible epitome of perfection, eventually contributed to the portrayal of Hermione as the one who is always right and knows everything.

Add to it JKR’s own ridiculous bias (“Ron was quite emotionally immature compared to the other two”, yeah right I don’t see him trying to force freedom onto unwilling creatures or making Harry fly into an irrational rage with mere words but you do you, Jo) and the sexist misconception that “girls are innately more mature than boys”, and you get yourself this apparent behemoth of righteousness that was literally the sole reason why those two silly boys survived everything, and don’t you dare criticize this angel of perfection OR ELSE.

[thiefofstars16]

soooooo here is yet another thing that won't leave me alone!

Force Visions, Pirates, and Mandalorians - Oh My!

----

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a Force vision and sees Jedi Younglings being captured to be sold into slavery, and he knows without a doubt that he needs to do something about it, even if no one but his close friends will believe him. He's been in that position before, where ignoring a vision led to some of the worst moments of his sixteen short years. He also knows that he only has a short amount of time before the events in his vision come to pass, and that he's going to have to do some outrageously illegal things, lie to the Council, and possibly get himself captured on purpose. If he also happens to help rescue a couple of missing Mandalorians, too? Well, obviously the Force just has it out for him, plain and simple.

----

Obi-Wan woke up with a scream lodged in his throat.

He had flashes of what he had seen coming in and out of focus, all of it in pieces and not in any way coherent. Obi-Wan took a few deep breaths, in-for-five, out-for-seven, until he felt he marginally calmer.

He knew how to break down his visions, how to heed the warnings, and he also knew that if he told any of the Masters they would simply repeat back the same mantra: always in motion, the future is.

What a bunch of bantha-shit, Obi-Wan thought, still somewhat upset.

All his life he had experienced extremely harrowing and traumatizing visions, and so far, all of them had come true bar the ones he could tell were decades off; he knew which ones those were because he had seen himself, older, more tired, with strange armor and even more strangely armored people at his back (these visions just made him confused because what use would a Jedi have for armor, let alone when would he even come into contact with people who looked like walking weapons factories?)

The vision that woke him up, however, was the terrifying kind. On one hand Obi-Wan knew that he needed to take a step back and meditate on the vision so he could take apart the warnings, make note of who was involved and where it took place. On the other hand...he had felt the fear, the grief, the abject terror that had saturated his vision, and he really did not want to re-experience that.

But he knew that he wouldn't get any sort of peace until he figured it out, and he knew from past experience that ignoring the vision would not only lead to it coming to fruition, but possibly something worse. He reluctantly got out of bed and into the 'fresher, getting ready for the day even though it wasn't even first light.

I won't be able to go back to sleep after that, he groused.

As he went about his morning routine, Obi-Wan remembered when he had ignored a vision like this, when he had dismissed it as fearful thinking of a rejected Initiate sent off to be a farmer. He thought it impossible, that something as Dark as a Fallen Jedi would have been known and taken care of by the Order's ever-elusive Shadows, if not the Jedi Council themselves. He didn't think that a slave-operation would have been able to practically be in the open on a Republic-aligned world, either.

His faith in that ever-enduring mantra was shattered when he found himself in chains, in a bomb-collar on a deep-sea mine on Bandomeer. When the person who at one point would have been his Padawan-Brother had put the collar on Obi-Wan with a mocking laugh, the Dark Side nearly suffacating him until the Force itself was cut off by shackles snapping shut around his wrists.

I should have heeded the warnings of the vision - if I had, I could have told Master Jinn and he could have stopped Xanatos sooner! Or I would have messaged the Council, the Agri-Corps members, or anyone, that something was wrong! he had thought, panicked and afraid, so very very afraid of what was to happen next.

(Obi-Wan's faith in Master Jinn, however, hadn't been shaken until he was fresh off the battlefield of child soldiers and having spent nearly a year fighting a war, but Obi-Wan shoved that train of thought straight back into the Force.)

Obi-Wan had spent months in chains, trying so very hard to stay alive, and every single moment he had promised himself, that if he escaped this hell alive, he would always heed his visions, to try and understand what they were warning him, so that something like this wouldn't happen again.

And it's with that particular thought in mind that he made his way out of his room and to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. They were overflowing with serenity, something he sorely needed to begin unravelling his vision. Thankfully, his Master was off-planet on a solo-mission, and Obi-Wan's shields were stronger than durasteel - to survive what he'd been through, he had to get better at shielding or he would have died before ever becoming a Padawan.

Not even Master Windu - youngest Councilor ever, creator of the Vapaad - had been able to get passed his shields that hid the full extent of what had happened to him after his missions the past few years.

He made his way to one of his favorite spots, a secluded grove set in the highest part of the Room. He very much enjoyed this spot - it was too high for Younglings to safely venture and too much of a hassle for more adventurous Initiates or Padawans to try to get to. Most Masters didn't bother trying to seclude themselves as even Crèchelings knew not to disturb those meditating.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan settled into the roots of the large Veshok tree, reached into the Force -

- a feeling of anticipation, excitement, slight fear and wonder surrounded all of the Jedi Younglings, Initiates, on their way to Ilum -

- ice, so cold, why is it so cold? And a song, beckoning him to come closer, to take it away from the cold and be warm at last, a bright golden light -

- he's got another lightsaber crystal that he can immediately tell is for a shoto blade, but why? His Master had never been interested in him learning Jar'Kai, but now it seems as if he will have to because the thought of leaving his newly acquired crystal makes him want to scream -

- the return trip has a feeling of foreboding and oh, oh, he can feel that this is where it goes wrong, that this is what he needs to be prepared for because the Master and their Padawan were very much not, and the Knight-Pilot only just getting them and most, but not all, of the Initiates out -

- he feels the ship that they're in come to a screeching stop, pirates (pirates, why does it have to be pirates?) boarding with manic glee, calling out "take the baby wizards, we'll get a lot more for them" and that causes alarm to spike because they weren't just pirates they were slavers because of-karking-course they were -

- he watches as the Master and Padawan try to protect the Younglings, but there are too many pirates swarming their ship, and he knows what he needs to do as the pirates grab three of the Initiates; he launches himself at them and Force Pushes so hard that the nearest slavers are shoved back onto their own ship, and he's shouting at the other Jedi to get out of there with the younglings that they managed to save -

- he leaps into the other ship after the captured Initiates and hauls all three close to him in the slavers' ship, baring his slightly too-sharp teeth, praying that he can protect them but the pirates are so angry at the loss of profit and the Initiates are so scared and it's all he can do to not break -

- and then he's in a cell, the Initiates in Force cuffs next to him, with cuffs on his own wrists and gods please no, not this again, but he has to be strong because he's been here before but the Younglings haven't and he will not let another child die, not again -

- a woman with dark brown skin, along with a young Pantoran male, an older human male, and others bound in chains that he couldn't see, are being dragged in, screaming that they'll kick their hut'uun'la shebs when they get free, that the Mand'alor will kill them all for taking one of the Ad'be'Mand'alor, their captors' nervous laughter ringing in the background -

Obi-Wan comes back to himself, crying and gasping, the sense of dread nearly overtaking him.

"Breathe, Obi, you gotta breathe for me, c'mon that's it."

The voice cuts through his panic and he listens, breathing slowly evening out. Obi-Wan takes a moment, or a few, to collect himself, looking up from his hands to the sight of warm brown skin, black hair in dreadlocks with clasps of varying colors dotted throughout, and a bright yellow tattoo on a face hovering closely in front of his.

"Quin," he whispers.

Quinlan Vos: his best friend, closest confidant, and partner-in-crime.

"Hey, Obi. Wanna tell me what you Saw?" Quinlan asks, quietly and without pressuring him.

Obi-Wan pauses, thinks for a moment about what he's going to say. He'll definitely tell Quinlan, because he's one hundred percent sure that he's going to need his best friend's help, it's just - how's he going to explain that he knows something bad is going to happen, that he knows he's going to end up in chains once again, that he needs to start practicing Jar'Kai now so he can be ready for when this vision comes to pass?

Quinlan waits, slowly rubbing his hand in a soothing pattern down his friend's shoulders, then nearly breaks Obi-Wan's arms with the next words that come out of his mouth:

"One: I'm going to need to start learning Jar'Kai. Two: I need to know how to break Force cuffs without the Force. Three: I'm going to need to learn how to slice into ships, databanks, and anything else. Four: I need to learn basic Force-Healing. And Five: I need to know what or who the hell a Mand'alor is and why slavers would be nervous at the mere mention of the word."

Quinlan balks, but only for a moment, because this is Obi-Wan, and weird Force shit always happens to him so he shouldn't be surprised at this point.

"It seems that we've got to start preparing for the worst, doesn't it?"

[missnight0wl]

I really really hope that what MC found last chapter was not the actual vault treasure. Having a curse or a generally incorporeal power as a treasure might not be the worst thing (in fact I think an incorporeal power that had to be locked in the vaults, meaning they weren’t built to keep people out but to keep the power in, would’ve been quite interesting!) but this one really doesn’t seem to do much besides trapping people in a very limited and very specific location - it doesn’t seem like it was unleashed or anything like that at all.

Not to mention that it just doesn’t make any sense with what we know about the vaults - mostly that this curse didn’t seem to be the ‚reward‘ at all - it seemed to be a barrier, just like the nightmare hallucinations in the vault of fear (exactly like those, actually, since it almost the exact same concept of having to mentally fight through something traumatic) . And the vault itself (as in the golden column) didn’t seem to have actually been opened which was a requirement in all previous vaults...

I just. There’s no way this can be it, the final treasure, the thing that everyone has been working towards since the start, the final mystery? It’s just so. Anticlimactic. I really really hope that it’ll turn out the memory curse REALLY was only a barrier that one has to pass (by facing their trauma and overcoming it) before they can actually get to what’s really in the vault, and that by being pulled out early MC and friends failed to do so and thus the real reward is still sealed away and might be a plot point in year seven, because otherwise ? This would just be an incredible disappointment (not to mention that it would make so much more sense if it was just a barrier, too - even considering how all year Dumbledore tried to teach MC how to overcome their grief and trauma , which ofc is something a teacher should do in a situation like this but also would fit just perfectly with Dumbledores character as a mentor with a secret agenda, secretly preparing students to face great evils on their own - in this case preparing MC to be able to get through the memory curse by teaching them how to overcome the traumatizing memories that curse will present them with , because Dumbledore had to know that curse would be waiting for Mc in the vault right? He knew what was in all the others too after all. And even the whole patronus side quest would play into this, with R sending in the dementor as a ‚test‘ for MC - possibly as a way to teach them how to overcome trauma (after all the dementors do practically the exact same thing that the memory curse does) and accordingly how to overcome the last curse-barrier)

Idk, it’s just. That chapter felt so wrong in so many ways.. what do you think about the whole „curse being the reward“ thing?

All right, before I talk more about the treasure, I want to point out something that I just don’t get – which you also mentioned. I mean, I don’t get a lot of things about this chapter because it was bloody stupid and illogical, but let’s focus on one aspect. So, when we finally enter the chamber with the column, this is how the dialogue goes:

The thing is that at this point, the column was still closed. And we know from the previous vaults that any objects are always inside of the column, so what they’re even talking about? What “baubles and trinkets”? Jam City really didn’t think it through, did they?

Moving to the treasure, though… You know, the funny thing is that I had quite a similar idea for the final vault a looong time ago. It’s just that I didn’t base it on memories, but I assumed that the vault would send horrible, VERY realistic visions of the people you care about hurting or dying. Another difference is that I saw it as a defence mechanism, not the treasure – so just like you’re saying that it’d make more sense. And I absolutely agree with you.

To be fair, such a “memory curse” could be really useful in the wrong hands for torturing people, and therefore gaining power over the world etc. But that’s where we have another problem you also mentioned: its limitation connected to the location. I mean, the way I see it, curses can’t simply exist in thin air – they have to be bound to a person or an object. Even if they’re cast by a wizard, they hit their target, they cause something, and then they just… stop to exist, I guess? For example, if you kill someone with the Killing Curse, they don’t contain it suddenly and their body doesn’t become deadly. That being said, I imagine that the memory curse would be bound to the column itself – which would make sense, seeing how it got activated after MC touched it. But then, what was R’s plan exactly? Would they be sending their victims to the Sunken Vault? Would they try to transfer it somehow? Because I don’t buy that they didn’t know what “the treasure” is. Still, it’d probably make more sense for the narrative if there was a separate object in the column or maybe even a creature causing the curse, kind of similar to Boggarts or Dementors.

But that aside, I wish you were right that it was just a barrier in the end. And I love the points you brought up, both about the Patronus TLSQ and Dumbledore. I had similar thoughts in the past, actually, especially with Dumbledore. The thing is that I was connecting it with the death being a requirement to open the final vault (as in MC had to process some lost to be able to do it, just like they became able to see Thestrals). Either way, it’d tie in really nicely. Do I think it’s still possible to turn out that way? Well, it’d redeem that chapter at least a little, that’s for sure. And while I kind of lost any hope for Jam City already, and almost accepted that we won’t come back to the topic of the Cursed Vaults at all, there’s one thing that actually caught my attention.

If you choose to trap Rakepick in the vault, MC says: “Now she’s trapped… forever.”, and they seem to be very certain about it. But if you turn in Rakepick to the authorities, this is how it goes:

I hate to look too deep into that, but I find it quite interesting that in this scenario, MC is apparently fully aware that it is NOT a permanent solution. It’s also worth to mention that in both options MC uses Confringo (which we were taught by Rakepick herself, by the way) to reseal the vault. It just seems that if they’re not carried by emotions, MC is capable of more rational judgment. Again, I might be overanalysing, but it’s a bit weird coincidence. Perhaps it’d play some role in the situation when we return to the Cursed Vaults issue.

Oh, and let’s not forget that we still don’t know what’s with the Statue Curse. Technically, we didn’t break any curse. I mean, how would it even happen in that case? Previously, it was always about opening the column. But here? What about all the victims? Would that be the reason to return to the Sunken Vault?

Then again, who the hell knows if Jam City is even aware of any of those at this point?

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

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.

[agnesacacia]

Hansy Holidays

Pansy Parkinson hated these things. These insufferable fundraiser galas her mother insisted on throwing every few months, where they would honor some wizarding organization or another and all prominent members of wizarding society were invited to donate toward the cause. Because Pansy's mother, like all good pure blood witches, was a philanthropist. Honest to Merlin, that's what the woman called herself, like it was her career. A position that had been drilled into Pansy so hard that even at Hogwarts when she'd had to discuss her future career plans, she'd insisted on 'philanthropist' like it was a job title. She'd never forget the way Professor Snape had rolled his eyes at her and dismissed her as a silly, idiot girl with no real ambition. Which, to be fair, back then that's exactly what she was.

Sure she did well in school. Well enough to be at the top of her house. Not as smart as Hermione Granger (the twat) but she did alright. But a career just wasn't what someone like her did. She was a Parkinson and Parkinsons lived off of their investments and old family money. They contributed to the wizarding world through fancy parties and donations to politicians. And they married other pure blood members and continued to make pure blood children who would carry on that legacy.

But now.

Now Pansy was twenty two, still living with her parents, and woefully and completely single without any sort of career option to speak of. Her days were spent planning these horrible gala events with her mother and becoming increasingly aware that she would rather be doing anything else in the world.

Especially when these galas involved them. The Golden Trio. Harry bloody Potter and his two little minions were always at the top of the guest list and any event that was hosted had to have at least one of the three to be considered a success.

So here she was, glowering across the room as she watched Hermione Granger, looking absolutely fab in a chic new designer robe, her bushy hair tamed into an elegant bun. Weasley stood at her side, looking just as fab in a dark purple robe that made him look distinguished and important, which she guessed he was now. Both of them. Weasley was an auror for Merlin's sake. And Granger was already a top ranking official at the ministry of magic, working in magical creatures rights or some such shit. It only made Pansy feel even more inadequate. Why yes, I'm a philanthropist. The phrase made her stomach turn.

Potter was no where to be found, but that was nothing new. He had probably been roped into some horrid discussion about goblin rights or some such rubbish by all the diplomats here tonight. Sometimes Pansy actually felt sorry for him.

Across the room Pansy's eye caught that unmistakable white blond hair. Draco bobbed into view, looking miserable as always. He caught her eye and nodded in her direction. She forced a smile back, but made no move toward him. There was nothing left to be said between them.

Draco's parents sent him to these things in their steed because they were both too traumatized to leave their manor. They'd been mysteriously and inexplicably pardoned for their war crimes at the insistence of Harry Potter himself, and for that the Malfoys donated to every cause Potter endorsed. It made very little sense, especially to Pansy, but it was why it was so important that Potter be seen at these events. Potter meant money. Money meant success and success meant that the Parkinson family upheld their status as wizarding royalty.

Pansy rolled her eyes and gulped down the last of her elf-made sparkling wine. It was sweet and gritty on her tongue and her stomach rolled for a moment. She hadn't eaten much that day and her head suddenly swam. She needed some fresh air. It's not as if she'd be missed. No one was talking to her anyway. People rarely did.

She exited the party off the main floor out into a secluded courtyard garden. It was a cool November night and the air felt good on her skin. The smell of jasmine surrounded her and she relished the quiet, the calm.

A small sound made her turn around. It was then that she realized she wasn't alone. A figure stood hunched against the garden wall. Pansy lit her wand and drew closer. As her eyes adjusted to the night, she found herself face to face with none other than Harry Potter.

He still looked the same as he did when they were in school even though someone had clearly tried to tame him. He still had that same messy black hair, same glasses that sat a little too crooked on his face (why didn't he get a new pair for Merlin's sake?) and upon closer inspection, Pansy soon realized he was wearing the same bottle green dress robes he'd worn to the Yule Ball in their fourth year. Her eyes swept the hem at his feet and wrists and she was little surprised to find it had been altered rather poorly with a growth charm to adjust to his height.

She resisted the urge to scoff. The man was the savior of the entire wizarding world, had endless funds from his own family name, as well as that of the Blacks which was no small fortune, not to mention the fact that any robe maker would happily have him wear any of their designs free of charge (simply for the publicity...it's how Granger remained so well dressed) and yet here he was, at one of the most posh galas of the year, still wearing the same dress robes from Hogwarts.

How did he even exist?

"Pansy Parkinson," he said her name as a statement and a rather slurred one.

"You're smashed, Potter," she answered and sure enough he brought a flask of fire whiskey to his lips and took a swig. He cheers to her, then took another longer drag.

"You best be careful," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose. The man reeked of the stuff. She was surprised she didn't smell him the moment she went outside. "About a dozen reporters are here, and whatever truce you have with Rita Skeeter will doubtfully apply to the rest of them. No one would ignore the Chosen One being completely pissed at the gala for the benefit of war orphans."

"S'pose not," he said. He pocketed the flask and pushed away from the wall. He took a tottering step and promptly stumbled into a bush. He landed hard on his knees, then rolled to the ground before settling on his back giggling.

Merlin.

Pansy pursed her lips. She should just leave him here. It's not like she and Potter were friendly after all. In fact, other than a few cordial greetings over the years, she hadn't actually spoken to him since Hogwarts. And of course back then, could that really be considered speaking? It was more like jeering. She was such a shit back then.

She did sort of owe him. There was that whole thing where she tried to turn him into You-Know-Who.

Pansy sighed and pocketed her wand. "Oh go on," she grumbled as she pulled Potter's arm over her shoulder so she could haul him to his feet.

He leaned on her heavily, and Pansy steered him toward the staircase that led up to her personal terrace. She cast a concealment charm as they climbed the steps. Best not to be spotted leading a drunken Potter up to her bedroom. Imagine the scandal.

She led him through her ornate French doors and into her suite to the adjoining bathroom. Waving her wand, she lit the room and deposited the now hiccuping Potter onto the toilet and began rummaging through her medicine cupboard.

"I was saving this for a special occasion," she said as she thrust a vial of pearly pink potion in Harry's direction. "But I guess your needs are greater than mine, so bottoms up."

Potter studied the concoction with eyes that were very nearly crossed. "Wha izzit?" he slurred.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "You don't get sloshed often enough, do you Potter? It's a sobering potion."

"Who sayz I wanna be sober?" Potter asked her.

Pansy shrugged as she settled herself on the vanity, her legs crossed under her black silk robe. "Fine," she said, "piss your pants in front of half of the Daily Prophet. Be my guest, but don't say I never tried to help. Besides, as smashed as you are, it probably won't make you completely sober. You'll still be a bumbling idiot...don't worry."

Harry glared at her a brief moment before uncorking the vial and tossing the potion back. It took about ten seconds before Pansy could see the effects. His eyes cleared and his pink face faded back to its normal swarthy tan. It was another thirty before he was vomiting.

Pansy couldn't help but smirk. "Forgot to mention that part," she said as Harry glared up at her from the toilet.

When he'd finished he sat back down heavily, took off his glasses and rubbed at his face vigorously. Pansy watch him impassively with her arms and her legs crossed. She summoned a glass and filled it with water. She handed it to him and he muttered a thanks before gulping it down.

Pansy watched as Potter buried his head in his hands, and for the first time since she saw his drunken arse in the courtyard, she wondered just what had driven the Boy Who Lived to get uncontrollably smashed. She thought about just asking him. It's what she would have done if it were anyone else sitting before her. But this was Harry Potter. And she was… well. She was Pansy Parkinson and while she and her family hadn't technically been death eaters, they weren't not death eaters. No matter what her mother pretended to be these days, she and Pansy's father, her aunts and uncles and cousins, they were all happy to sit the sidelines during the war and favor whoever won. To be fair, that's what most pureblood families did. They weren't really all that different than the Prewetts and the Greengrasses and even the Fawleys who never officially declared sides and didn't have any prominent family members representing them as death eaters. But they didn't fight either.

Pansy didn't fight. She didn't fight. That horrid seventh year at Hogwarts...the things those Carrows wanted them to do. What Amycus made her do...the things he did to her. And she'd survived it all by hiding behind her pretty face and her blood status and her last name. No one cared. Not even Snape and McGonnagal, not even the Weasley girl and Longbottom and all those pitiful DA members who fancied themselves saviors. They had new injuries every other day and Pansy thought they were insane, the lot of them. To resist was the die, didn't they see that? And many of them did die. They did.

Even Harry had died.

The Boy Who Lived had died, then lived again. A miracle many still didn't understand, Pansy included. But here he was. The boy wonder. Vomiting in her toilet.

He finally looked up at her and Pansy had a momentary shock that Harry Potter wasn't actually bad looking. Without his glasses, Pansy could clearly see those green eyes everyone always talked about. She realized with a jolt that she'd never actually been close enough to him to actually see. See the way they sort of glowed. Like emeralds, like actual jewels.

Her heart fluttered. And it made her angry. It made her feel vulnerable. And she was so done feeling vulnerable.

"So, Chosen One," Pansy said snidely as she studied her fingernails. "What's with the fire whiskey anyway? Felt like livening up the party out there? I admit it is rather dull."

Harry shook his head. "I've just been going through some things."

Pansy scoffed. "Going through some things? I suppose having thousands of admirers falling at your feet isn't enough for you? Now you've got things?"

Harry glared at her. "You haven't changed a bit, have you, Pansy Parkinson?"

Pansy laughed meanly. "No more than you. Still feeling sorry for yourself, are you? Still fancying yourself the poor little orphan? That's why you're here tonight, right? To help war orphans like yourself? Some job you're doing of it, getting pissed and hiding in a courtyard."

Harry stood up. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

"You don't. All you know is parties and jewels and money and Merlin why am I even talking to you?" He turned to leave. "Thanks for the potion. I'll be going now."

Pansy stood up now. "You think you're the only one who's suffered? You think you're the only one who's got things? We've all got things, Potter. You're the just the only one who's allowed to wallow in them, is that it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snarled. "I put on a happy face and smile for the bloody cameras and I come to these parties with people who would have stabbed me in the back five years ago, and I do it all because I was there, Pansy. I am the one who saw the dead bodies and the kids crying and I have a godson who will never know his parents, and yes, I was bloody one of them. And where were you that night? Fleeing. Just like the coward you always were. Now if you'll excuse me." He turned to leave again and in a rage Pansy waved her wand with such viciousness that the bathroom door slammed shut.

"Coward, you think I am?" Pansy said softly and her voice was low, dangerous. "Do you have any idea what it was like at Hogwarts that year? Do you have any idea what we all went through, what I went through. Of course not. All you've heard is what your precious girlfriend told you. The blood traitor that the Carrows all but ignored unless she was making trouble. But me? Did they ignore me? Did they let me just be? Do you have any idea what it was like for me, Potter? To be Amycus's little plaything? Because he liked me Potter! He liked me, and it didn't matter that I was a student, that I was a young girl, or that I said no. All that mattered was that he liked me, and he wanted me, and I was pure blood and the Dark Lord promised him pure blood. And no one could protect me. All I could do was endure it all. You think me a coward, do you? For fleeing? You don't know anything, Potter!"

She was crying now and her hands trembled on her wand. She didn't know why she was telling him this. She'd never told anyone, not really. Draco knew, but only because Amycus used to brag to him about it. How he'd stolen his girlfriend. Another way to rub it in Draco's face that he and his father had fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord. Amycus used to whisper things in Draco's ear. Filthy things. The filthy things he'd done to Pansy, and he'd laugh and lick his lips and Draco could do nothing. Nothing except look at her guiltily, pityingly.

Sort of the way Potter was looking at her right now.

She didn't want his pity. She didn't want his guilt. She just wanted him to understand. To understand why she did what she did that night. Why she wanted it all to just...end.

"You're right," Harry said, and he looked like he might vomit again. "I don't know anything. I didn't know. And...I'm sorry. That's...horrible."

Pansy seemed to deflate. She collapsed on the toilet seat, and buried her face in her hands. Potter handed her a wad of toilet paper and she took it, carefully dabbing at her kohl lined eyes.

"I shouldn't have told you that," she muttered. "It's not something I want people...knowing."

Potter sighed and sat down opposite her on the edge of her immaculate bathtub. He sat there quietly for a moment.

"Ginny's chucked me," he said finally.

"What?" Pansy was still drying her eyes, still trying to calm her racing heart.

"It's the things I've been dealing with. Ginny. She's chucked me for some Bulgarian beater, Boris Vulchanov."

"You're kidding," Pansy said.

"I know. I'm being an idiot...I know it doesn't compare to what-"

"That twat!"

"What?"

"That unbelievable twat. I never did like her, no matter what Blaise always said. What a bloody idiot. Chucking the Boy Who Lived for some daft quidditch player. And a foreign one at that."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "What do you c-?"

"I suppose she thinks she's all high and mighty now that she plays for the Harpies."

"I really didn't think you'd-"

"I mean, honestly. Boris Vulchanov? He's not even good looking. And he talks like he's taken one too many bludgers to the head. The bloody idiot."

Potter cocked his head to side. "I don't know what's more strange. Your outrage or the fact that you know who Boris Vulchanov is."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows who Boris Vulchanov is. And if you ask me, he'll never live up to his father's stats. He's too thick."

Potter's mouth was hanging open.

"Ginny bloody Weasley chucks Harry bloody Potter…" Pansy shook her head in disbelief.

Harry frowned. "Well I'd rather her chuck me than stay with me just because I am...who I am."

Pansy leveled him with a glare. "That's not what I meant," she said. "It's just that the two of you… well Merlin if Harry Potter and Ginny bloody Weasley can't make it work, then what's that say for the rest of us?"

"That we're just as fucked as everyone else?"

Pansy surprised herself by laughing.

And Harry cracked a smile.

And Pansy's heart fluttered again.

She heaved a sigh. "Well I take back what I said before. You totally deserve to get smashed." Taking out her wand again, she summoned in a bottle of Scotch, the good kind, the kind she saved for special occasions.

"Whatever they say about muggles," Pansy said as she poured out two glasses. "They know how to make their liquor. Here." She handed him a glass and raised her own. "To Ginny bloody Weasley and Boris Vulchanov. May they both fall off their brooms."

Their glasses clinked and they both took a healthy sip. "Good, eh?"

Potter smacked his lips and nodded. "You know, my uncle used to drink this stuff like it was liquid gold. I always thought he was exaggerating."

"Was it awful? Being raised by muggles?"

Harry snorted. "It was awful being raised by the Dursleys, yes. Because they were muggles? Nah."

They sat in silence a bit longer, each sipping their Scotch, each lost in their own haunted memories.

"I'm sorry," Pansy said. "About what I said earlier. And about...well. You know. When I wanted to hand you over. I thank god every day that no one listened to me."

Harry drained his glass and poured them both another.

And they sat there. Together in Pansy's oversized bathroom, sipping muggle Scotch and silently forgiving each other.

2

Harry saw Pansy again about a month and a half later. She was standing in line at a shop in Diagon Alley, her arms filled with brightly wrapped parcels. She wore gray robes, stylishly cinched at the waist with a long matching cloak that was buttoned to her throat. A light pink scarf circled her neck and her black hair was windswept, her fringe a bit mussed and her cheeks a bit pink.

Harry caught himself staring before he realized it.

If he was completely honest with himself, he'd thought of Pansy Parkinson more than he'd have liked in the past weeks. It was a bit...annoying really. He often wondered what she was doing, who she was with, what she was wearing that day. It was absurd.

And then there was that trip to Azkaban.

After arresting Corban Yaxley, having taken years to track him down, Harry had wanted to personally escort him to Azkaban, as the man had managed to escape ministry clutches three times already. After depositing him in a high security cell, Harry had found himself standing in front of Amycus Carrow.

The man was lying on a low, hard bed. His legs were crossed as he thumbed through a copy of Witch Weekly. He looked so...at ease. Comfortable. And the rage that hit Harry was so hard that it was alarming. All he could think about was what Pansy had said. What this...scum...had done to her. He nearly reached through the bars and cursed the man right then. He'd settled for incinerating the Witch Weekly.

He watched Pansy pay for her items and exit the crowded shop. It was nearing Christmas and Diagon Alley was a bustle with witches and wizards scrambling to find gifts. Harry followed her outside into the snowy street. She had taken out her wand and was levitating several parcels and shopping bags, making her way toward Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Harry entered the shop behind her and wasn't surprised to find that the store was more crowded than ever. Fred and George had just launched a new product that was selling like wildfire. Harry had actually had a hand in its development and was quite pleased to see its success.

"Messenger Diaries for sale over here," called out a familiar voice. "Step right up, there's enough for everyone. The perfect holiday gift." George was manning the Diaries sections and though his face was a bit red, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

The diaries really were a brilliant new invention and Harry and Ginny had actually gotten the idea from that old diary of Tom Riddle's (though they'd never admit it to anyone but each other). When Ginny joined the Harpies, she'd had to move to Holyhead, of course, which meant she and Harry rarely found time to see each other. And then there was the match schedule which took her around the world and with Harry busy with auror training and his work with the ministry, it was becoming harder and harder for she and Harry to keep in touch. Owls were much too slow, and flooing required a fireplace, and was always a bit uncomfortable. If only there was a way to write messages to one another that they would receive instantly.

"I hate to say it," Ginny had said, "but I sort of wish we had something like Riddle's old diary. It was bloody convenient being able to chat with him all day."

"Well if Riddle could do it, why can't we?" Harry had said. And so he had enlisted Fred and George's creative minds to help. It was quite simple once they got the logistics down. As long as two people had diaries, they could write to each other.

"Like walkie-talkies," Harry had mused, though the twins had no idea what he was talking about. But Fred took it a step further and enhanced the product so that one could chat with anyone else in the world who also had a diary.

"All you have to do," he'd explained, "is write their name at the top of the page, like this." He demonstrated by writing "Ron Weasley" at the top of a random page. "And now you just..." He took out a quill and wrote Hey git, don't think I didn't see you pocket those dung bombs. You owe four sickles or I'm docking it from your pay.

From across the room Harry and Fred had watched Ron's diary chirp. He opened it, read the message and frowned. He turned and made a rude hand gesture at Fred who merely waved.

"Neat, eh?" Fred asked.

"Brilliant," said Harry.

"We're going to make a killing of it. All thanks to you and Ginny. Don't worry, you two will get your share."

"Don't be daft," Harry protested. But Fred and George were very careful accountants. They were always sure Harry got his share in his investment and despite all Harry could do to discourage this, he continued to find fat amounts of gold in his Gringotts vault, deposits marked Weasley Bros Inc.

Harry watched Pansy head straight for the Messenger Diaries. She inspected several different styles, for the twins had different cover designs for sale. There was the standard brown leather, but also an assortment of designs ranging from deep purple with silver stars to vibrant orange and red stripes.

Pansy selected a shimmering pink that came with a matching quill and Harry smirked. He remembered how Ginny had detested the pink one. She then selected an emerald green one before making her way to stand in the curling line to get to the cash register. Harry saw that the twins had hired several new faces to help in the Christmas time rush, among which he spotted Colin and Dennis Creevy. They stood at adjacent registers, each wearing a matching smile and magenta robes.

Harry followed Pansy as she exited the shop and snaked her way through the crowded street, her parcels floating along behind her. She held her head high, her narrow hips sashaying as she strode along, quite oblivious to Harry following her.

She paused outside Madam Malkin's and surveyed a robe in the window display. When she went inside, Harry took out his own messenger diary. He turned to a new page and wrote her name at the top. Pansy Parkinson.

Fancy a cup of tea?

Her response came quicker than he would've thought.

Bout time you've asked. Seeing as you've been following me all afternoon.

Harry laughed out loud.

Meet me at Rosa Lee's in ten minutes?

More like twenty. I've just found a set of robes to die for. Must try on first.

And so Harry found himself, twenty minutes later, sitting in a crowded tea shop, across from Pansy Parkinson as she sipped her tea and nibbled on a biscuit shaped like a snowman.

Her cheeks were still pink from the cold, and her lipstick left red stains on the teacup. Her fingernails were perfectly manicured, painted a bright, festive gold that matched the studs in her ears. And she looked...beautiful.

Harry couldn't help it. She did.

"So," he said. "Er, Christmas shopping?" He nodded at her parcels and bags which now floated above their table, bumping gently into neighboring parcels as other patrons levitated their purchases as well.

"Ah yes," Pansy said. "All the obligatory gifts. New quills for Mum, shiny new cauldron for Dad—one he will never use, mind you. Let's see, a new hat for Grandmum, which she will surely detest but then...she detests everything. Some sweets for the house elves...let's see, what else..."

"Who's the second diary for?"

"Oh, I'm sending that to Daphne. She and her family moved to America, didn't you know? Just before all hell broke out here. I expect they'll move back after Astoria graduates Ilvermorny, but who knows. Daphne seems quite at home there. Met an American bloke she seems quite enamored with. It's a shame really. She's the only real friend I have left." Pansy smiled wistfully and took a sip of tea to hide her sadness. But it was there. Just under all the makeup and beauty potions, Harry could see it.

Harry didn't really know Daphne Greengrass. She was in his year, but being a Slytherin and one of Pansy and Draco's lackies, he never gave her the time of day. Of what he remembered of her, she was quiet, pretty, and was often found sniggering at something mean Pansy or Draco had said about him.

"And what brings you to Diagon Alley? Christmas shopping too?" Pansy asked him politely.

Harry frowned. "Er, yes. Kind of. I—well, Christmas this year might be a bit...awkward for me, considering…."

"Ah," Pansy nodded. "Considering the She-Weasle chucked you and you spend Christmas with her family every year."

Harry nodded. "Yes, she er—owled me that she was bringing Boris home to meet the family. Puts me in a bit of a strange position."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "The twat," she muttered under her breath. And despite the fact that Harry's impulse was to defend Ginny, he couldn't help feeling a perverse thrill at hearing Pansy's disdain. Part of him agreed. Yes, Ginny was a twat. He was angry with her. And everyone else in his life seemed very eager to stay on neutral territory when it came to Harry and Ginny's breakup. And he couldn't blame them, not really. Half of his friends were related to her, for Merlin's sake. And the other half –well….they adored her. Most people did.

But not Pansy. And that was...refreshing.

He raised his teacup and cheersed her. "So I fear my Christmas this year will very much consist of me popping into the Burrow for half an hour, just enough to drop off gifts and ensure Mrs. Weasley's feelings aren't hurt, then spending the rest of the day at home with my very old, surly house-elf and a portrait of a woman who hates my very existence."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I doubt that a dozen or more wizarding families wouldn't very much welcome the Boy Who Lived at their Christmas table."

"Yes, that's just what I want," said Harry sarcastically. "To spend Christmas dinner being toasted and saluted and asked to recount how I'd died and come back to life. That's in the real spirit of the holiday."

"Perhaps not," said Pansy. "Though might be better than spending Christmas alone."

"I suppose you have some lavish pureblood party to attend?"

Pansy sighed. "Well, yes. The Parkinsons are rather connected. Every Christmas Eve the Notts throw this large, ridiculous dinner party where we purebloods stand around together and congratulate ourselves on our numerous achievements and blessings...and until recently discuss how the muggles and muggleborns were destroying our society. But oh no, not anymore. Now it's all about integration and tolerance and creating a new world where wizards and muggles coexist peacefully. All thanks to you and Granger, really."

"Is that so?" Harry said.

"It's all very hypocritical. But at least the wine is good."

"I suppose you have some pureblooded suitor lined up to be your date to this party?"

Pansy snorted into her tea. "Are you serious, Potter? You think I have suitors? First of all, what bloody year do you think this is? And secondly… I don't suppose you read the papers do you?"

Harry gave Pansy a blank stare.

Pansy sighed. "You know Rita Skeeter might be on a tight leash when it comes to you and your posse, but unfortunately for the rest of us...we are free game. And her favorite topics are those of us who were so bold as to oppose you during the war. There's an article in the Daily Prophet every other week about me."

"About what?" Harry said, confused.

"Oh, usually some snapshot of me with an unflattering look on my face with some appalling caption like, 'Pansy Parkinson, Underground Death Eater Cult?' or 'Pansy Parkinson's Secret Pregnancy- how she sacrificed her baby to the Dark Lord!' She almost always begins the article by reminding everyone that I was the one who of course suggested we all turn on you at the battle of Hogwarts. No one wants anything to do with me, least of all romantically. Anyone seen with me in public runs the risk of being my alleged baby daddy to the child I used for some spell to bring back You-Know-Who, or some such rubbish."

"I see," Harry said slowly. He glanced around.

"Oh, don't worry," Pansy said. "There aren't any reporters here. And no one has been following me today...well except for you."

"How did you know I was following you?" Harry asked. "I thought I was being very discreet."

"Oh, you were," Pansy assured him. "You were the proper creep, don't worry. You'd make a fine serial killer. But lucky for me, I've had ample experience with predators and I've become quite adept at the tracking charm. It alerts me to anyone following me, or anyone getting too close. It only took once of being attacked by one of your many fanatics for me to realize I need to protect myself a bit better."

"The tracker charm?" Harry asked. "I've never heard of it."

"Ah, well you wouldn't would you? Learned it seventh year. Flitwick sort of took it upon himself, as did most of the other teachers, to take on teaching some more defensive spells. You know, since Defense Against the Dark Arts had ceased to exist."

"Ah," said Harry.

"It's bloody useful," Pansy went on. "Perhaps you should learn it yourself. Might save you the trouble of being harassed for autographs every few minutes."

"Perhaps you might teach it to me," Harry said before he could stop himself.

Pansy started to say something, but stopped as a blush crept over her cheeks. She buried her face in her teacup in an attempt to hide it, but Harry saw. And his heart lurched.

"So this party," Harry hedged. "At the Nott's… will there be press there?"

"Of course," said Pansy. "They never miss it. The Notts actually invite them. Pay them off to write something positive."

"And will the press be writing about you then?"

"It's likely, yes." Pansy said wearily.

"Well," said Harry, and here he started to smile. "What would they write about if you showed up with a pure blooded suitor on your arm? A certain, war hero of a certain...notoriety?"

Pansy frowned. "Potter, are you actually saying…?"

"Well, why not?" Harry asked. "You said it yourself, anything is better than being alone on Christmas. And this gives me a good excuse to duck out of the Weasleys. And of course, I still owe you for saving me from embarrassment at the last gala. Least I can do is return the favor. Imagine what the papers will say if they see we are friendly. All is forgiven, you're not a death eater, and so on."

Pansy looked down at her plate a moment. "Is it all forgiven then?" she asked quietly without looking at him.

Harry reached out and impulsively took her hand. It was warmer than he thought it would be, her fingers small and delicate. She looked up at him, her expression both surprised and hopeful. "There's nothing to forgive," Harry said softly. "The war was...hard. On everyone. I understand more now...what you were going through."

Pansy visibly swallowed and nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze back.

"So it's settled then?" Harry said lightly. "You'll take me with you to Nott's Christmas party?"

"On one condition," Pansy said, tossing her hair back.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You wear proper dress robes. Not that ghastly one from the Yule Ball. Something new. Something posh."

Harry laughed. "It's a deal."

3

Pansy stood in front of her full length mirror and studied her reflection. It'd been a long time since she'd dressed with such care.

Her hair was sleek and straight, and it framed her face perfectly. She wore it just as she always did, a black bob with a thick straight fringe that hovered just over her blue eyes which she had lined with kohl, a thick coat of mascara and shimmering eyeshadow. Her complexion was perfect thanks to a beauty potion she'd splurged on and her lips were berry red and matched her robes –the latest fashion – floor length with a plunging neckline that went down past her sternum. The sleeves were tight to the wrist where they flared out slightly and it was made out of a slinky new material that clung to her every curve. She'd paired it with a short gold necklace and matching gold chandelier earrings and when she moved, every bit of her seemed to sparkle. On her feet she wore a pair of simple black stilettos, her creamy white legs peaking out from a slit in the robe.

Pansy checked the clock. Potter would be arriving in just a few minutes time by floo and then from Pansy's suite they would floo to the Nott party together. She tried (and failed) to calm her fluttering heart, reminding herself repeatedly that Potter was just doing them both a favor by accompanying her to the party… but the truth was, her mind seemed determined to think of this as a proper date. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a hint of attraction to him. Okay, more than a hint. And it made no sense because he was Harry bloody Potter, and she was Pansy bloody Parkinson and she'd spent most of her life despising him. But for what? Simply because Draco hated him, and she always did what Draco said?

Well Pansy decided to put that all behind her. All was forgiven. Isn't that what Harry had said?

Pansy checked the clock again.

She had no idea what Potter would be wearing. She'd received a number of messages in her diary a few days ago that had given her cause for concern.

H: Pansy, what's the difference between white and ivory? Is ivory just a dirtier white? Why does it cost more?

H: Should I get cufflinks?

H: What are cufflinks?

H: Do they honestly expect me not to wear trousers under the robe? Is that really the latest trend?

Pansy had finally taken pity on him and responded. P: Don't let them talk you into white. Ask for a forest green blended robe, calf length with matching trousers. And yes, get cufflinks, preferably gold.

And when Potter walked through Pansy's ornate fireplace a few seconds later, Pansy was almost rendered speechless by how closely he had followed her directions.

His robe was perfectly tailored, dark green with golden embroidery. It hit him at mid-calf, just as she'd instructed, and he wore matching green trousers underneath. The robe was cut close to his shoulders and waist, accenting both his broad back and trim waistline. He looked...good. Someone had actually succeeded in taming his wild hair (Pansy suspected Sleekeasy's potion) and he wore new glasses –black rectangular frames that complimented the sharp angles of his face and jawline.

"Well don't you look dashing," she said, recovering from her momentary shock.

He smiled at her. "Likewise," he said, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe, lingering just a moment too long at her plunging neckline.

Pansy flushed and swallowed. "Well, shall we go then?"

"Just a moment," Harry said. "I um...well. Considering it is Christmas and all. I...got you a present."

"A present?" Pansy said.

"Yes, you know. Gift giving is sort of a Christmas tradition, isn't it? Here." He took a small poorly wrapped parcel from his pocket and handed it to her.

She held it in her hand and frowned. "I didn't get you anything," she said bluntly.

Harry laughed. "Don't feel bad just yet. You haven't even opened it."

Pansy tore at the shiny red and white paper, revealing a small black box. She opened it and nestled inside in a pillow of velvet was a small gold bracelet with a tiny emerald in the center.

"It's got a cheering charm. Just something to spread the Christmas cheer is all. No need to get weepy about it," Harry said, sounding a bit panicked.

Pansy hadn't realize that her eyes had misted over. She blinked rapidly and looked up. "Thank you," she said. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and she immediately felt the charm's effects. Happiness bubbled in her chest and suddenly she was smiling.

"Strong," she said a little breathlessly.

Harry nodded and held up his wrist which bore a matching gold cuff. His smile was as wide as hers. "I thought we could both use a little fun tonight."

Pansy sighed happily. "You thought right."

"Well," Harry said, offering her his arm. Pansy took it and together they made their way back over to the fireplace.

"Oh wait," Pansy said. "I almost forgot." She went to her desk and picked up the invitation. It was spelled so that it allowed access to the party, which was strictly invitation only, very exclusive. Once Harry had basically invited himself, Pansy had owled the Notts to change her RSVP from one seat to two. She received a new invitation back almost immediately, that showed two guests were now allowed access to the party.

They flooed into the Nott's main foyer. It was a magnificent room. At least a dozen Christmas trees lined the walls, each decorated with silver and gold baubles, tinsel and sparkling lights. The ceiling hung with garlands and enchanted snow fell around them. They were greeted by a sweet little house elf wearing a red and green pointed hat with a matching dress and curling shoes. She looked straight out of the North Pole and every time she moved jingle bells sung from her hat and shoes.

"Right this way," she squeaked, and she led them out of the foyer, down a hallway and into the main ballroom. The Nott's manor was very large, but Pansy knew the ballroom had been magically enhanced to accommodate so many guests. It was quite crowded already. Witches and wizards mingled in a sea of colors, chatting and hugging and laughing. No one had noticed them yet, which Pansy was secretly grateful for, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

"Shall we get a drink?" Harry asked.

She nodded gratefully and pointed toward the bar positioned just to their left. Pansy ordered a glass of red wine, and Potter ordered a scotch. They were just turning away when Pansy heard her name.

"Hello cousin," It was Theodore. He leaned in and kissed Pansy on the cheek.

"Theo," Pansy nodded. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know, the same. The mastery at the department of mysteries is keeping me quite busy. My final project is due at the end of the- Potter?"

"Hello Theodore," Harry said, lightly raising his glass in greeting.

"I didn't know you'd- with Pansy?" Theo looked back and forth between the two of them as if waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Good of Pansy to invite me," Harry said. "I've been wanting to meet her family in full for ages. This seemed an opportune moment, seeing as it's Christmas and all."

"Er, yes," Theo said, eying Pansy, who merely smiled. Her cheering charm was in full effect and she was finding this entire exchange quite hilarious.

"Well… er, welcome?" Theo tried again. "This is my grandmother's house. She'll be….er….delighted that you're here."

Harry nodded gratefully and started to lead Pansy away. They left Theo standing there with his mouth agape and Pansy covered her mouth to stifle the burst of giggles that just exploded.

"This is going to be fun," Harry said softly in her ear, and Pansy's neck broke out in goosebumps. They meandered around the room, Harry's hand settled lightly on Pansy's lower back. Pansy watched people glance at her and then away, so used to avoiding her as they were. It was most comical once they realized who she was with. Their heads nearly rocketed off their necks as they did a double take.

"I didn't know Theodore Nott was your cousin," Harry said, taking a sip of scotch as they walked.

"Oh yes," Pansy nodded. "Our mothers were sisters. Both Warringtons."

"Is that so?"

"Of course. Though, poor Theo's mother died when we were very young. He was raised by his father, didn't you know? The death eater. I don't think anyone else in the world was happier than Theo was when the wanker was sent to Azkaban. I think he's secretly grateful to you for that. Ah, and Cassius is just over there. You remember Cassius?" She pointed at her other cousin who was standing just ahead of them. He wore green robes, similar to the ones Harry wore, and his golden blond hair was so carefully disheveled it was almost comical. He stood next to his date, a pretty brunette Pansy recognized as Eleanor Branstone, a muggle-born Hufflepuff several years their junior. Pansy studied Cassius. He looked as pompous and bored as ever, and she wondered if he were really interested in Eleanor, or was simply courting her to improve his family's image after the war.

"Ah, yes," Harry said. "Played Chaser for Slytherin?"

"Harry! Harry, good to see you!" Horace Slughorn seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Pansy watched as her old professor's reddened face smiled fondly and greeted Harry profusely. Slughorn was closely followed by Mr. Olivander, the wandmaker and another distant relative of Pansy's. And so for the next twenty minutes until dinner was served Harry was greeted and received and smiled and cajoled into hugs and handshakes, so much so that Pansy finally took pity on him and directed him straight to their table.

The ballroom was set up with two dozen massive round tables that seated twelve. Pansy and Harry were seated with an assortment of Pansy's cousins. Cassius and Eleanor, Theo and Tracey Davis, her two elder Parkinson cousins from her father's side of the family. Both heirs to massive fortune and had pureblood wives with 2.5 children, lived in wizarding villages and had upstanding careers at the ministry. They pointedly ignored Pansy on most occasions, but tonight they were all smiles, and "Happy Christmas" and "lovely weather we've been having" and "Oh, Harry Potter, what a pleasure!"

Dinner was delicious, of course. A six course masterpiece that left Pansy feeling comfortably full and warm. Her wine glass was never empty and she was feeling quite good by the time their plates had been cleared and the music started.

"Is that Celestina Warbeck?" Harry's voice came from her shoulder, his lips hovering just over her ear.

"Of course," Pansy said, turning toward the stage. "She sings every year."

Harry's eyes widened. "I've tried three times to get tickets to her show as a gift to Mrs. Weasley. They're always sold out instantly."

Pansy watched the aging witch in her glittering robe and her elaborately styled hair as she crooned out her classic hit, A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love. She shrugged. "I suppose I could introduce you. I'm sure if she would have known the famous Harry Potter wanted to get tickets to her show, she wouldn't refuse you a box seat."

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. "I don't suppose you'd care to dance, would you?"

Slowly couples were taking the dance floor, swaying together as Celestina switched tunes and started in on a Christmas song about the three Magi and their travels to Bethlehem.

So Pansy followed Harry out to the dance floor. The cheering charm and the wine and her full stomach were filling her with a sense of elation that she couldn't describe. It felt like a dream, swaying there in Harry's arms, his warm breath on her neck, her chest pressed lightly against his. This close, he smelled oddly like wood. Like he'd just gotten off of a broomstick.

She didn't even notice the cameras.

They danced for several more songs, and when Celestina took a break Pansy introduced her to Harry, and they chatted like old pals. Then there was more wine, and more people to meet, and house elves walking around with trays full of chocolate cauldrons spiked with fire whiskey, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the bloody minister of magic, was hugging her, for Merlin's sake and before she knew it she and Harry were standing in the doorway under a patch of mistletoe, and Harry was saying something about Nargles, and then he was kissing her.

And for a bit, she couldn't breathe. Like the oxygen had been sucked from her lungs, and lights were flashing, and people were laughing, and his lips felt like soft cushions of heat, and he tasted like whiskey and chocolate, and something else that reminded her of quidditch games at Hogwarts and she still couldn't believe that Harry Potter was kissing her, and then they were dancing again. And the cheering charm and the wine and Harry, it was all happening so fast and so strange, and so amazing and she loved it, every minute of it…

4

"Harry, are you mad?" Hermione slammed a copy of the Daily Prophet down on the bar table, her face a violent shade of pink, and her hair looking particularly bushy. "Pansy Parkinson?"

Harry looked down at the moving photograph of he and Pansy kissing the other night at the Christmas party. He hadn't realized that he'd sort of pinned her against the door jam, one hand braced against the wall, the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Her hand cupped the back of his neck, and their lips moved passionately.

The memory of her lips and her body and the warmth he felt… it set his veins on fire. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"You think this is funny, do you?" Hermione's voice had taken on that shrill tone she used to use in school when she was telling him off for copying.

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ron said from Harry's right. "He's entitled to a rebound shag. I mean, Parkinson is an interesting choice, but-"

"Harry," Hermione said, cutting off Ron. She took a deep, steadying breath. "I know you and Ginny's breakup could hardly have been easy...but...but… Pansy Parkinson? Is this really the way to get back at Ginny?"

Harry frowned. "It's not about that," he said. "Hermione look. I know you don't like her. Hell none of us did. But she's changed. She's different now. I… fancy her."

"You fancy her?" Hermione shrieked. "Need I remind you that she it was she who suggested we turn you over to Voldemort that night at Hogwarts?"

"No, you don't need to remind me," Harry said crossly.

"Need I also remind you that she tortured us for six years of school? She made up that wretched song about Ron in fifth year and during the Triwizard Tournament she made up all those lies about you to Rita Skeeter? And what about Draco? How could you like someone who was so into him, like she was?"

"Hermione, come on. None of that was that bad."

"Not that bad?" Hermione's face turned even pinker. "Don't you remember fourth year when she sneaked into my dormitory and stole all of my underwear. Yes, all of it! And I had to write home to mum and dad to send me more. And then she just handed my knickers out to all the Slytherin boys who made up disgusting stories about how they'd gotten them. And then there was that whole period during third year when she charmed a tampon to fall out of my pocket every time I raised my hand in class."

Ron snorted and Hermione rounded on him with a glare so fierce Ron nearly backed away. "Sorry!" he said. "But...period." He raised his arms in surrender.

"Yes. Period. I'd just gotten my period that year and it was mortifying! Don't you remember any of this?"

Harry looked at Ron and raised his eyebrows. Ron shrugged. The truth was, Harry didn't recall either of those things. But then, he was a bit oblivious back then. "Hermione, come on," he begged. "I said she's different now. All those things happened in school. People change."

"Oh well, in that case, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a bit if I went off and snogged Goyle. I'm sure he's changed."

Harry sighed.

Hermione was studying the Daily Prophet again. "It says here that you went to the Nott's annual Christmas Eve party with her. Harry Potter was spotted sharing a mistletoe kiss with none other than pure blood bad girl, Pansy Parkinson."

"Bad girl," Ron chuckled.

"Could this mean the two have set aside their differences in the name of a budding romance, or was this merely revenge against Potter's newly split ex-lover Ginny Weasley, chaser for the Holyhead Harpies? See page eight for more details. Oh, honestly Harry. The press is having a field day."

"Oy!" Harry said, his voice rising a bit. "I don't complain when the two of you snog each other in public and your bloody faces are all over the cover pages. Just let this be… Meet her. Get to know her better. I promise things are different now."

"Do you mean to say...you're actually going to… date her?" Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "I've invited her to Neville's New Years Party. She's said she'll go. I expect you can speak to her then."

"Harry, you didn't," Hermione said. "Don't you think you ought to… ask Neville if it's okay if you bring her?"

"Why would he care?" Harry asked.

"Well...because!"

"Hermione just because you hated her guts in school doesn't mean everyone did."

"Don't you remember how she cast that leg lock curse at him when he was trying to ask out Susan Bones? And how she actually pushed him down the stairs in fourth year? Or how she would call him Neville the Nutless? Or… or what was the other one? Oh yes, Limpdick Longbottom. She was just awful to him."

"But how did she know he was limpdicked?" Ron asked seriously.

"Well," Hermione said smugly. "That is the question, isn't it?"

Harry frowned. He didn't really remember Pansy being that terrible. But then… Neville was always being teased, especially by the Slytherins.

"Alright," Harry conceded. "I will ask Neville. But if he says it's fine, she's coming. And you best be nice to her. There's more to her than you know, Hermione. Trust me."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and looked doubtful. "Well there's Neville now. Go on and ask him."

Harry peered across the bar and sure enough, Neville had just arrived. He donned an apron and began his work behind the bar.

Ever since Neville quit the aurors to begin his mastery in herbology, he'd been working at the Leaky Cauldron alongside his girlfriend Hannah Abbott. Hannah's uncle Tom, the Inn's notoriously peculiar innkeeper had recently retired and left the entire establishment to her. And honestly it was probably the best business decision the man ever made because under Hannah's management, the Leaky Cauldron had become a completely different place. It was warm, and comfortable and served delicious food and drinks. It's rooms were no longer drab and dark, but decorated tastefully. It's service was impeccable and it was quickly becoming a favorite destination for witches and wizards all over the country, rather than just the entrance to Diagon Alley.

And for Harry, Ron and Hermione...it was basically a home away from home. They met up there nearly daily. They all lived in London now and with all three of them working at the ministry, it was a great place to meet up. And then of course, the pub always had friendly faces.

"Hi Harry," Neville greeted as Harry settled on a bar stool.

"Hey Neville," Harry began. "I was wondering...do you have a minute to chat?"

Neville shouldered a tea towel and turned to Harry, giving him his full attention? "'Course, mate," he said. "What's up?"

"So about yours and Hannah's New Year party… I was sort of wondering if it'd be okay if I… well, if I invited Pansy Parkinson?"

Neville grinned. "Well, of course. You can invite whoever you want."

"It doesn't bother you that...well that it's Pansy? You know, since she was sort of awful to you in school?"

Neville waved his hand dismissively. "Aw, Pansy's alright. She's changed a lot since then."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Right?" he asked. "That's what I've been saying." Neville followed Harry's gaze as he glanced toward Hermione and Ron.

Neville frowned. "Seventh year was harder on her than most people think. You three weren't there… you don't know how it was. Not really."

Harry paused and studied Neville. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Neville lowered his voice and got a bit closer. "Well, it was the Carrows of course. They liked her. I knew what Amycus was doing to her. We all sort of knew. It was...kind of obvious."

"It was?"

"Well sure. Everyone always thought she had it easy...you know because they wouldn't punish her like they did the rest of us. She was always showing up late for class and not doing her work and smarting off to the teachers...but they'd just let it all slide, right? But then Amycus would make her stay after class with him most days and... she'd get all pale and shaky. I saw her afterward a few times and well...it wasn't pretty. I tried to help her. I really did. But you know Pansy… she snarled at me, told me to leave her alone." Neville shook his head as if to rid it of the painful memories. "Like I said, people thought she had it easy, but I'd rather take the cruciatus curse any day than what Amycus had in store for her."

Harry looked down at his hands. Had he really been so blind, all this time? Was it true that everyone knew? And that no one did anything? Harry looked up at Neville. There was still a scar on his cheek, a souvenir from the seventh year Harry missed out on. No. Neville had done something. Harry thought of the DA and the room of requirement and the stories he'd heard of the students rebelling…. They'd all done something, hadn't they? And they'd won in the end. He had to remind himself of that.

"And that night..." Neville went on. "The night of the battle when she… well when she wanted to turn you over?" Neville shrugged. "I sort of felt sorry for her, you know? She was so broken by then, like a horse. But honestly, ever since the war she's been right decent. You've heard about all the philanthropies she heads, right?"

When Harry gave Neville a blank look, Neville grinned. "Oh yeah, she's the head of loads of them." He started ticking them off on his fingers. "There's the War Orphan Welfare fund...you've heard of that one I'm sure."

"Of course," said Harry. "I donate every year. Teddy gets a good amount of benefits from it."

Neville nodded. "Hannah too. Even though she's of age and all, they give her a fair amount of money… you know, because her mother was killed by those death eaters sixth year? It helped rahab this place," he gestured to the Leaky Cauldron. "But at first Hannah didn't think she should get the money, you know? She thought the money should be used on kids and stuff. She tried to send it back, but then Pansy showed up one day with a bag of galleons and right near forced Hannah to take it. And the funny part was...even though she was being typical Pansy, yelling and insulting and being a right hag...she ended up hugging Hannah. Saying she was sorry for her loss and then they were both crying. It was mad."

Harry glanced back at Hermione. She was watching them carefully.

"And then there's the St. Mungo's Fund," Neville went on. "She raises a lot of amount of money for that one too. And you can tell things have gotten better there since she started heading the foundation. The hospital's expanded a lot. And now my mum and dad get their own rooms. It's more like a flat than a hospital room. They get their own kitchen and bathroom and sitting room… Me and Gran brought in a bunch of photographs to put up and old furniture from their house that my Gran kept all these years… and while they're still… you know... They seem happier. Mum makes her own tea now and my dad's even started doing a little magic again. Nothing crazy, just sort of turning the lights on and off and summoning his shoes, that sort of thing. Kid stuff you don't need a wand for...but it's done wonders. And I think it's because he feels more at home, like his old self. And I'm truly thankful for that."

"Blimey, Neville," Harry said. "That's great."

Neville nodded. "And that's not the half of it. She's on the board for the Welfare for Magical Creatures, the Muggle-born rights committee, the Severus Snape foundation, Pureblood allies…. Probably a few more. The papers don't report about any of that though," Neville said disdainfully. "They'd rather talk about her clothes or her hair or who they think she's shagging."

"Neville," Hermione interjected. Harry hadn't noticed that she'd joined them. "I've looked into those charities and while yes, they raise a lot of money, the Parkinsons and other pureblood families keep a substantial part of the money for themselves. So while sure, they might be raising money, they work it like a business and it's really not all that philanthropic."

Neville shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. I just see what I see, that's all. But anyway, I'd be happy if Pansy came to the New Years party. Hannah will be delighted too."

"Thanks Neville," Harry said, relieved.

5

Pansy peered over the edge of coffee mug and watched Draco pace the room furiously.

"I saw the Prophet this morning and I just couldn't believe it," he was saying, his hand running rampant through his blond hair. "I had to come over. I just don't understand. How could you do this?"

Draco had woken Pansy up this morning by pounding frantically at her front door, frightening the hell out of one of her house elves, demanding to see Pansy at once. She'd allowed him into her suite with a roll of her eyes. She knew this was coming.

Now she sat sipping her coffee and eating her breakfast, quietly watching him rant.

"It's Potter, of all people, Pansy. Potter! What are you trying to prove?" he glared at the wall, and wouldn't directly meet her eyes. "What's he trying to prove?" Draco muttered more to himself. "It's got to be an angle. Another swipe at me. Hasn't he gotten enough? How much more can I bend and scrape to him?"

"Draco," Pansy said firmly. "I know it's hard to imagine that absolutely everything in the world doesn't revolve around you, but honestly...this has nothing to do with you at all."

"Nothing to do with me? Pansy. You're my girlfriend and Potter just up and snogs you in public!"

"Ex-girlfriend," Pansy corrected.

Draco met her eyes then. "Pansy, I- I know things haven't exactly been...warm between us lately, but I just always thought..." he shook his head and looked away, his face growing red.

"You always thought I'd be here waiting for you," she finished for him.

He glanced at her guiltily before looking away again.

Pansy sighed. To be true, she couldn't exactly blame him. She always thought they would end up together too. After everything died down, with the war and the pure blood mania and his death eater ties. Once they'd both redeemed themselves enough to be accepted by society again… they would inevitably get married. Not because they loved each other, but because they both thought no one else would have them. It was unspoken between them. He was an ex-death eater, known adversary of Harry Potter, and she was the one who sold out the Chosen One. They belonged together. And then of course, there was their history.

She'd been in love with Draco Malfoy since she was eleven years old for Merlin's sake. It wasn't something she could just forget about. He'd been her first kiss, her first...everything. They used to meet in the Slytherin common room at midnight, used to find places to steel away together. And then sixth year happened… and Draco started drawing away from her. Hiding from her. Disappearing for hours at a time, coming back sick and shaky and afraid and it was obvious what was happening, but Pansy didn't know what to do so she just ignored it all… and then came seventh year and everything changed.

Draco wouldn't touch her after that. And he hadn't since.

Sure, he'd tried. He really did. There were late night floos and trips to muggle London for dinner dates, and small, chaste goodnight kisses and weekly owls that felt more and more like correspondences between colleagues, than romantic partners.

"Draco," Pansy said softly, setting down her coffee cup. "Come here."

He seemed eager to comply, sitting directly in front of her, finally meeting her eyes. She reached across the little sitting room table and took his hands in hers. She tried not to notice that he flinched at her touch.

"Listen to me," she said. "I love you." She held tight to him as he tried to pull away. "Wait, listen," she said. "I love you. I always have and I think I always will. But… it's been over between us for years. You and I both know this. And we both deserve better. I see that now. Maybe one day you will too."

His blue eyes met hers and she saw the hurt there, the pain. Not that they were over. But that she thought him worthy of...something more. She could tell that he didn't believe her.

"But why Potter, though?" he asked. "Why him, of all people?"

Pansy smiled softly. She looked down at her wrist, at the gold bracelet she hadn't removed since the Christmas party, though the cheering charm had long since faded. "I honestly don't know," she said.

Draco studied her a moment longer. "I don't like it," he said. "If he's using you, if he hurts you, I'll-"

"Oh Draco," Pansy shook her head softly. "I can take care of myself. You know that."

Draco looked at her a bit longer his expression changing from anger to guilt, to grief. Suddenly his eyes filled. He blinked a few times and bit his lip. "Pansy," he choked out. "I should have – I should have stopped him. Carrow. All those years ago in school. I just...I just..." he bit back a sob.

"Shhhh," Pansy said, soothingly. "There was nothing you could have done. We were just children. Both of us."

Draco let out a muffled sob. He brought Pansy's hand to his lips and held it there with his eyes closed. "I wanted so long to tell you...tell you that I was sorry...that I wanted to do more, but I was afraid. I spent so much time being afraid..."

Pansy waited, watching him silently as her own tears spilled over. They'd never talked about seventh year. Not really. They'd both suffered so much and yet they were both so proud, so stubborn. They should have found comfort in one another, but instead they had pushed each other away. Maybe now they could find healing.

"Come now," she said finally, brushing away her tears and sniffing. "Have breakfast with me. We've much bigger issues to discuss."

Draco sniffed and looked up. "Is that so?" he asked, wiping roughly at his blotched face.

"Yes," Pansy said with feigned seriousness. "What in the world am I going to wear to Longbottom's New Year party?"

6

"Master Potter, your guest has arrived."

"Thanks Kreacher," Harry said, feeling his heart rate increase. "Er, how do I look?"

The old house elf was momentarily surprised at being asked such a question, but his face quickly turned calculating as he inspected Harry's attire. "Very...fetching, sir. Kreacher thinks young Sirius would be most pleased to see you wearing his old jacket. He was quite fond of it, if Kreacher remembers correctly. It drove my poor mistress mad."

Harry turned back to his reflection and studied himself again. He'd found the old leather motorcycle jacket in Sirius's closet (now his closet since he'd moved into Grimmauld Place and taken over Sirius's old bedroom) and immediately fell in love with it. It was well worn black leather with a broken zipper and when Harry put it on he felt almost as if Sirius were hugging him, it fit so well. He smiled at his reflection. He looked...cool.

The leather was so supple and worn it was as if he were wearing cotton. He could just picture a teenage Sirius running around London in the seventies, hopping on the back of muggle motorbikes and sneaking into pubs to listen to muggle bands. Yes, poor Walburga Black must have been beside herself.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry made it to his front drawing room where Pansy waited near the fireplace. She looked….well. To be honest, she looked like a glass of sparkling pink champagne.

She wore a shimmering pink dress that fit so close to her body it was as if it were a second skin. It was of modest length, down to her knees almost, and had long sleeves, but the back was completely open revealing smooth, white skin all the way down to her tailbone. On her feet she wore matching high heels, the kind that said all kinds of interesting things, and Harry sort of lost his breath at the sight of her.

She smiled at him. Her eyes were lined with kohl and shimmering pink eyeshadow to match her dress. Her ears dangled with overlarge chandelier earrings and she carried a small black clutch. She looked beautiful and elegant and sexy all at the same time.

"Hi," Harry said, dumbly.

"Hi," she answered. "Lovely home," she said gesturing to the drawing room.

Harry looked around. Grimmauld Place surely had come a long way since he'd moved in several years ago. After months of Kreacher hounding him, Harry had finally relented to the renovations the house elf had in mind. And now the house was almost unrecognizable to those who had known it when it was headquarters for the Order. It was bright and airy and decorated in the most modern and comfortable furniture. It turned out that Kreacher was quite capable of removing all the portraits and tapestries that had been permanently charmed to the walls and he proved quite adept at exterminating all the pests that had been living in the old house. He'd even moved the old portrait of Walburga into a less central location where she wouldn't be disturbed as easily. (Removing it altogether was out of the question of course, and Harry didn't even suggest it.)

Within several months, with the help of a few house elves from Hogwarts whom Kreacher had befriended in his time there, the house became nicer than anything Harry had ever dreamed of living in. The hardwood floors had been refurbished and now shined bright mahogany. The carpets had been replaced, along with the curtains and the bed linens and the ghastly old curio cabinets with all their old, scary relics. The house was massive with eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, two formal dining rooms, two parlors, and one large seating area. The kitchen, located in the basement was now warm and inviting, and was where Harry spent most of his time entertaining guests, despite the ample space upstairs.

The house was of course much too large for Harry to be living in all by himself, and for a bit Ron and Hermione had been his housemates with Ginny a nearly constant presence. But it was decided (mostly by Hermione) that she and Ron needed their own flat to "grow as a couple" as she put it, and of course with Ginny's move to Holyhead and the ultimate demise of their relationship, Harry was quite alone as of late. That didn't stop Kreacher from making sure the place was spotless with fresh flowers and abundant holiday decorations dripping from every spare corner.

Harry watched as Pansy's eyes swept the room. "Thanks," Harry managed.

"You know, I saw the expose' in Witch Weekly last year, but it honestly didn't do the house justice," Pansy said, inspecting a fuzzy white throw pillow Harry didn't even know existed. Harry winced. He'd agreed to let Witch Weekly do that wretched article because he knew it would make Kreacher happy, but the publicity it sparked was a bit overwhelming. Grimmauld Place, a street in London which had once been quite abundant with witches and wizards, had fallen out of favor in the past century with the wizarding community. The surrounding houses had been sold off to muggles who had turned them into apartment flats that were rented out cheaply to mostly unsavory people. Crime had been quite rampant in the neighborhood when Harry moved in and even he had to be careful walking home alone at night. Muggles with guns were not afraid of the Boy Who Lived.

But then the article came out and suddenly those old townhouses were being sold and its muggle inhabitants evicted as prominent witches and wizards moved in. In a matter of months, Grimmauld Place had been transformed into a popular wizarding street. Everyone wanted to be Harry Potter's neighbor. Harry had lifted most of the enchantments that kept the house hidden...the Fidelius charm, for instance, and the unplottability charm, but many protective enchantments were still in effect. Otherwise his house would be swarmed by his many...fans. He'd learned that the hard way.

"Love the jacket," Pansy was saying, gesturing to his attire.

"Love the...er," Harry said, gesturing to all of her.

Pansy laughed, a soft tinkling sound.

"I figured we could apparate to the pub, if that's alright?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said Pansy. She withdrew her wand from the tiny clutch and Harry suspected she'd enhanced its interior with the extension charm. He took her hand in his and together they apparated.

They appeared together in an alleyway just outside the Leaky Cauldron. Loud music and shouts of laughter could be heard from the pub out on the snowy street. It seemed the party was already in full swing.

Harry led Pansy inside where they were greeted by a warm rush of bodies and noise. Harry spotted familiar faces everywhere, mostly friends he'd gone to Hogwarts with. Neville and Hannah were standing together near the door, each bedecked in paper hats and plastic beads.

"Harry and Pansy!" Neville shouted when he saw them. "Welcome, welcome." He draped his long arms over both their shoulders and it was plain to see he was already quite smashed. Hannah smiled widely, her own face flushed with drink. Harry thanked them both as they fetched him and Pansy glasses of sparkling champagne.

Harry kept an eye on Pansy as they were greeted by an array of guests. He'd been quite prepared to defend her presence, but it seemed no one really cared too much that she was there. No one greeted her quite as warmly as they greeted him, of course, but no one was outright rude.

They met Dean Thomas and Susan Bones, who were currently dating... along with Seamus Finnigan and a girl Harry recognized as being in Gryffindor but a few years their junior. Then there were Parvati and Padma Patil, each wearing identical golden dresses that were so short they might as well have been knickers. Lavender Brown actually kissed Pansy on the cheek as she greeted them, her blond hair piled in an array of curls so abundant she looked a bit like a lion. Ernie McMillan was there with his muggle girlfriend and of course the Weasley twins were there, dressed alike in their dragon hide jackets, Angelina Johnson and Verity Hopkirk on each of their arms both dressed prettily in sparkling dresses enhanced with some kind of spell that kept them changing colors. The effect was quite pleasant.

Then there was Luna Lovegood, wearing a white floor length dress that somewhat resembled a wedding gown. "Daddy says it's auspicious to wear white at the new year," she explained. "It marks the purity of new beginnings." Her date was a tall American bloke whom she introduced as simply Rolf. "We met in India," Luna said. "We were both studying the mating habits of the Dukuwaqa. They are really quite fascinating creatures."

They finally met Ron and Hermione, both of whom looked well into their cups as Ron had already spilled something on his shirt and Hermione hadn't bothered to spell it away yet. Hermione looked lovely in a black velvet cold shoulder dress that fit snugly up to her throat and Ron, despite the stain, looked rather good too in a matching black velvet waistcoat and dark washed jeans.

"Harry," Hermione said brightly as they approached. "I'd been wondering when you'd get here… Oh. Hello Pansy."

Pansy smiled tightly. "Good evening Hermione. Happy New Year."

"Yes, and you," Hermione said politely, glancing at Harry. "Er… Harry, what kept you? It's nearly ten o'clock. Hagrid has already come and gone. Said he had another party to get to."

"Ah, that's a shame," said Harry, genuinely disappointed. "I'd been hoping to hear about his holiday with Madame Maxine."

Ron chuckled. "Well, mate. I 'spect you'll hear all about it soon enough. Bloody lovesick puppy, he is."

"So what kept you?" Hermione hedged again. "I thought you'd be here ages ago."

"Er, got hung up at work," Harry lied. "Paperwork, you know."

"Ah," said Hermione. "That I do. I was just telling Ronald about a new piece of legislature I'm bringing to the wizengamot. It's advocating for the equal rights of non wizard magical creatures so that they can rightfully own property. Isn't it just appalling that house elves don't have any personal possessions? Goblins and centaurs too. Not legally."

"Quite," said Harry, glancing around the room. He had already heard about this new bill Hermione had been working on nearly a dozen times and was quite keen to change the topic.

"Yes, working in the department for regulation and control of magical creatures has come with many challenges," Hermione went on pompously, "But I feel I'm really making a difference, you know? And Pansy, how is the ah...philanthropy going?"

Harry felt Pansy stiffen beside him. He prepared himself to interject but Pansy spoke before he could.

"Quite well actually," Pansy said. "It's been an exciting time of year, what with Christmas and all. We've managed to almost triple the donations made for St. Mungos and the War Orphan fund is always growing. I expect we'll raise even more in years to come. It's quite rewarding to see the funds going to good use."

"I'm sure its quite rewarding for your pocket books, as well," Hermione said with a sardonic smile.

Pansy gave a quizzical look. "My pocket books?"

"Well, yes," Hermione said with a false conspiratorial wink. "I've seen the numbers. These philanthropies you head retain nearly seventy percent of their earnings. Quite a bit considering the national number is twenty five percent on overhead."

Harry bristled and opened his mouth to intervene but again Pansy beat him to it.

"Ah, while you may have noticed we retain seventy percent, it hardly goes into the pocketbooks of the heads. If you reviewed the numbers again, and paid attention to the donors themselves, you'd see that the heads of the charities, the Parkinsons in particular, donate much more to the cause than we retain. And I think you are referring to muggle organizations when you say the national percentage, yes? The national number for muggle philanthropies is around twenty five percent spent on overhead, as you noted, but what you're forgetting Hermione, is that muggle organizations get tax breaks and incentives which unfortunately the wizarding world lacks. Therefore our organizations are forced to retain a higher sum in order to pay for staff, food, event spaces etc. Perhaps you should take that to the wizengamot for a change in legislature. It would certainly make things much easier for me."

Harry smiled at the dumbfounded look on Hermione's face as Pansy politely sipped her champagne.

"Er, Neville's been raving about the changes at St. Mungo's," Ron said quickly, glancing nervously between Pansy and Hermione. "Says his mum and dad have been doing really well in their new apartments."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Pansy said. "As chair of the financial committee I've made it a special project to ensure long time patients, especially those suffering from ailments caused by dark magic at the hands of death eaters, are given the utmost care. They are the true heroes, after all."

"And you have that much power?" Ron asked. "You can actually tell them how to spend the money."

Pansy frowned. "Well of course. Haven't you learned this by now, Weasley? The people with the money have all the power."

Ron laughed.

Hermione scowled.

And Harry took a long drink of his champagne.

7

Pansy had never been to a party like this. It was lively and...fun. Everyone was quite smashed, dancing and laughing and cheering at unnecessary things. People she hadn't spoken to in years were offering her shots of fire whiskey and fetching her glasses of champagne and asking her about her life.

She was one of only three former Slytherins present. There was Bridget Farley, a girl a year or so younger than Pansy in school whom Pansy had rarely spoken, and then there was her own cousin Cassius Warrington who had accompanied his girlfriend and former Hufflepuff, Eleanor Branstone.

"Happy New Year cousin!" Cassius exclaimed when he saw her. "Fancy seeing you here."

Pansy stared. He was wearing one of those horrible black top hats with Happy New Year flashing across the brim and a hot pink lei. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and he was quite sweaty. Perhaps most surprising was that he was smiling for Merlin's sake. She'd never seen him looking anything but crisp and calm and surly.

"Happy New Year Cassius," Pansy responded. "And to you too Eleanor." The girl seemed surprised that Pansy knew her name. She wore a bright pink dress that was quite tight and quite short and Cassius looked at her with such adoration that Pansy felt foolish that she'd ever thought his feelings for her were feigned.

As midnight approached, Harry pulled Pansy close to him. His hands circled her waist and he eyed her in a way that made her feel hungry and soft and warm and feminine and just...deserving of...whatever this was. And as the Weasley twins cast large golden numbers in the air counting down the seconds until midnight, Pansy couldn't even watch the firework display raining above them, her eyes didn't leave Harry's and three, two, one...midnight arrived and so did Harry's lips on hers and she just sort of melted against him just like she'd done under the mistletoe just a week ago.

Shouts and cheers surrounded them, champagne bottles popped and fireworks exploded. Confetti rained down upon them, getting stuck in Pansy's eyelashes and Harry's hair, and Merlin she didn't want the moment to end. And then the music was thumping and she and Harry were dancing and he twirled her around until she was dizzy and then she was posing for a photo with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones and Eloise Midgen, smiling like they were all best mates as Colin Creevey's camera flashed. And then she and Oliver Wood were having a lively discussion about Quidditch and Terry Boot was laughing at one of her jokes, and then she and Sue Li were comparing the best charms for levitation.

Around two in the morning the party started to die down. Harry found her near the bar, wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. He kissed her again, open and unembarrassed and she kissed him back, aware that they were surrounded by people but not caring one bit. He broke away a moment later and whispered close to her ear so that his breath sent shivers down her back.

"Come back to my place?"

They apparated together again, just outside the pub. It had begun to snow and the night felt mysterious and alive. When they arrived back at Grimmauld Place Pansy knew she ought to be cold, but Harry's presence warmed her.

"Do you-ah...want a drink?" Harry asked her when they got inside and were seated on the leather sofa in the drawing room. He seemed suddenly shy, unsure.

"Okay," she said.

Harry disappeared for a bit and returned a few moments later with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He sat down next to her and poured her a healthy dose. "Hope this is alright," Harry said. "I couldn't find the Scotch and my house elf is...erm… a bit useless at the moment." He chuckled at Pansy's confused frown. "It seems Kreacher had a little New Year party of his own. Kitchen has about five or six Hogwarts elves, passed out on butterbeer."

Pansy laughed and raised her glass to her lips. The brandy was sweet and warm. She eyed him sitting next to her, nervously fidgeting. She knew he wanted her. She'd known he wanted her the night after the Christmas party too. She remembered how he'd flooed back to her suite with her, how he'd given her a chaste kiss goodnight, wanting more, but expecting nothing. She hadn't quite been ready then. She wasn't quite sure about him, about what it meant. But now. Now, she knew.

Setting her brandy glass down on the end table, she edged toward him. His lips parted as she drew near, and he leaned into her, their lips meeting in a heated tangle of limbs and tongues and hands touching everywhere. She gasped as his lips left hers and found her neck. His mouth made a trail of kisses down her throat, to her collar bone and she hitched up her skirt so she could straddle his hips. She felt his cock pressing hard against his jeans, and she sort of ground herself against him, just once and he let out a weak whimper. His hand snaked out from behind her back and slowly crept up the hem of her skirt, tracing the line where her knickers should be. Only she wasn't wearing any knickers.

He let out a deep groan as he realized this and his grip on her tightened.

"Hold on tight," he whispered and then she was being jerked upward as he apparted them to his bedroom.

They landed lightly at the foot of his bed and Pansy's hands got busy tugging at his clothes. His leather jacket fell to the floor, followed by his shirt, then his belt. He was more muscular than she'd thought he'd be, all sinewy and lithe biceps and abdominals and back muscles that rippled and moved under her roving hands.

She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up, and up and up until it disappeared over her head, and she stood in front of him quite naked. He stepped back for just a moment and surveyed her body drinking it in with his eyes. The room was dimly lit, just a candle or two flickered on the dresser and she felt her skin singing under his gaze.

Then he was on her, his hands gentle yet urgent as they started at her hips then slid up until they cupped her breasts, his thumb flicking once, twice, three times over her nipple. Then he went south, his right hand sliding between her legs, lightly and gently and delicately touching her clit, just enough to make her gasp out his name and lean into him.

He pushed her gently down onto the bed, lifting her until her head rested on the pillows. He trailed his lips down her mouth to her throat, between her breasts, past her stomach until he fit his mouth directly on her cunt, taking her clit between his teeth he flicked at it expertly with his tongue. He pushed her knees apart and slipped a finger into her cunt where he curled and pulsed in an antagonizing rhythm, one that made her hands go numb and her mind go blank until all she knew was his mouth and her body and she was getting so, so close.

And then his mouth made its way back up her stomach, kissing along her rib cage as his hand cupped her breast. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly as her hands fumbled for his jeans. She tugged and pulled and was panting that she needed him inside her now and then he was, so full and so firm and he let out a deep groan that was almost a growl. He began moving back and forth, slowly at first, then faster and faster and Pansy gripped the back of his neck and guided his movements with her hips.

But she wasn't getting the friction she needed so she pushed him in the chest, rolling him over so she straddled his hips. She sat above him, his cock fully sheathed inside her as she rolled her hips, balancing on her knees. Reaching for his hand, she pressed his thumb against her clit, and taking her cue he began to circle it frantically. His other hand found her breast and he rolled a nipple in between his two fingers, tugging with just enough force to finally take her over the edge. She came with a barely contained scream and she rode him hard and fast until she felt him grip her tightly, groaning as he came with her.

She sort of collapsed on top of him, her breathing ragged and fierce and somehow still wanting more. They lay side by side for a few moments, catching their breath and relishing the satiation.

"You're amazing," Harry finally said, rolling onto his side and pulling her closer to him. His fingers trailed over her lightly, making circles on her arms and chest and breasts, her skin humming under his touch. And even though it was late, and they had both just come mere moments before, they found each other joined again.

This time it was slower, less urgent. She rolled onto her stomach and went up on all fours, guiding him into her so he could take her from behind. His hands kneaded at her and his thumb pressed and massaged into her. She rocked her hips into his, feeling his cock hitting her just right. He reached around at the last moment, his fingers finding her clit just in time for her to come all over again.

...

She woke up warm, comfortably hidden under a large white duvet, her face buried in a mound of pillows. Morning light streamed into the bedroom from the window's slightly parted curtains. She rolled over and stretched. Harry slept soundly next to her, his breathing long and deep and low.

She watched him for a few minutes still in awe of what her world had become. It was just a couple of months ago that she'd found him drunk in her courtyard moaning over wretched Ginny Weasley and accusing her of being a coward.

Now she was in his bed.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Ten-thirty. She yawned and stretched again, her limbs feeling liquid and soft and good. Rolling over she stood up and walked naked to the adjoining bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was rehabbed with new tile and a large vanity and a steam shower, for Merlin's sake.

After taking care of her business, Pansy studied herself in the overlarge mirror. She cringed away at the way her makeup was smeared and the way her hair was sticking up in the back. Her eyes felt crusty with sleep and she could smell herself—old sweat and liquor and smoke from the night before. She left the bathroom and tip toed back out to the bedroom. Her dress had somehow been folded neatly and placed on the dresser, along with her shoes and her clutch.

Harry's house elf must have recovered, she mused as she grabbed up her things and brought them with her back to the bathroom.

The steam shower did not disappoint and Pansy emerged feeling quite refreshed. She used her wand to dry her hair and applied some light makeup so she felt more human. Then she reached into her clutch and extracted a pair of knickers, a soft bralette, a pair of black stretch pants and a long, soft jumper.

The breakfast table near the window had been filled in her absence. That house elf of Harry's really knew his stuff, Pansy thought. Harry still slept soundly, his soft snores rumbling from the bed. Pansy helped herself to a cup of hot coffee, a buttery scone and a plate of eggs. She sat there, enjoying breakfast and watching the London street below. The window had frosted over and snow was still flurrying down.

Pansy felt warm and safe tucked away at Grimmauld Place and for the first time in a very long time, she thought that maybe everything would be okay after all.

Harry roused a bit later and joined her at the breakfast table. They chatted and talked and perused the Daily Prophet and as morning turned to afternoon they fell back to sleep, a lazy new year's nap. And when the time came for Pansy to go home, Harry kissed her before she flooed away.

She hadn't been home two seconds before she heard her messenger diary chirp.

Harry Potter: What are your plans for dinner?

Epilogue

The Daily Prophet, December 25th, 2007

Harry Potter Marries Long Time Girlfriend Pansy Parkinson in Christmas Eve Wedding of the Century.

By Rita Skeeter

Notorious auror and hero of the wizarding world, Harry Potter, married long time girlfriend Pansy Parkinson last night during a beautiful Christmas Eve ceremony that had everyone raving. The bride looked stunning in an antique, goblin made wedding gown, a family inheritance from the 14th century. It had been refined to match the bride's particular sense of style with a six foot train and a floor length veil. The dress itself contained over nine million fairy pearls, each individually and voluntarily offered to the original Euphadora Parkinson in the 14th century after she single handedly saved an entire species of fairy from muggle fairy enthusiasts.

Pansy Parkinson, successful philanthropist known for her devotion to the War Orphan Fund and St Mungo's Home for Dark Arts Ailments along with the Foundation for Lycanthropy, which she co-founded with now husband Harry Potter, commented that this was "the happiest day of her life." She certainly looked happy as she walked down the aisle of St. Uther's Cathedral with a large bouquet of winter roses and a swarm of fairies following in her steed. She was preceded by chosen bridesmaids Daphne Greengrass and Hermione Granger, the bride's two most devoted friends, each looking radiant in floor length gowns of frosted blue.

Potter wore customary black dress robes, and was accompanied by his best man Ronald Weasley and godchild Teddy Lupin, a child of eight who shocked the crowd with his red and gold hair.

The reception was privately held in the bride's family home where dinner and dancing followed.

The couple now resides in their private residence, the former Black homestead on Grimmauld Place. They kindly request that in lieu of gifts to please donate to one of their many organizations listed below.

War Orphans Fund, St. Mungo's Home for Dark Arts Ailments, Welfare for Magical Creatures, the Muggle-born Rights Committee, The Severus Snape Foundation, Pureblood Allies, The Albus Dumbledore Foundation, The Granger Home for Newly Clothed House Elves, The Remus Lupin Foundation for Lycanthropy

[callwrites]

BENEATH THE WILLOW TREE: Chapter I

This is, at some level, a love story. But before Andromeda’s name was burned from the tapestry of her family tree, before she took Ted’s name and Ted’s ring, she was Andromeda Black; a girl caught between worlds. This is the story of how that came to be.

read on a03 @Linquist 

Narcissa’s hand gripped Andromeda’s arm so tight she  was sure it would leave a mark. On her other side, Bellatrix’s elbow dug into her ribs and she could vaguely hear Valerian growling lowly in distaste. But the discomfort only lasted a couple seconds before the pressure was replaced with the stifling heat of the platform.

“Merlin, I despise apparition,” gasped Narcissa, stepping away from Andromeda and the cat whose voice was slowly rising into a yowl.

“It isn’t so unpleasant when done by a wizard,” said Bellatrix stiffly, also instinctively stepping away from her sister and her distressed pet. Bellatrix’s own dark gray owl, Wenlock, eyed them all judgmentally; displeased but without a feather out of place. “Thank you, Winny,” she added as an afterthought.

“Yes, thank you, Winny,” agreed Andromeda, offering a small smile to the little house elf who had been holding Bellatrix’s other hand.

Winny lit up at the praise, which did little to improve her features. The ancient house elf was more wrinkle than elf at this point, bent in on herself and leaning on an old chair leg that had been fashioned into a cane.

“Of course, mistresses,” squeaked the elf. “Winny hopes you have a wonderful year at school.”

“Narcissa, thank Winny.” Andromeda frowned at their youngest sister, but Narcissa was already tugging at the robe of her sleeve.

“Oh, please, Meda, can I please come to the prefects compartment?” She begged for possibly the millionth time that day. “I’ll be completely quiet, I won’t say a word.”

With a crack, Winny disapparated back to the estate; causing a fourth year nearby to almost jump out of their skin.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Andromeda with an unlady-like snort. “And Bellatrix already told you no. I know you just want to get a peep at Lucius.”

At this, Narcissa flushed bright red. “I-”

“And if Lucius ever took a real look at you, I’d skin him,” threatened Andromeda.

“She could do worse.” Bellatrix pointed out, fingering the lock on Wenlock’s cage.

“When she’s a third year, I’m not sure she could,” said Andromeda with the sigh of someone who had said this many, many times.

“I’m turning 14 in two months,” complained Narcissa.

“And if you like your boyfriend with his skin attached you won’t try flirting with him,” Andromeda replied in a sing-song voice. “Then I’d be out of a prefect partner.”

Narcissa scowled, but had to stifle her smile when Andromeda pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Now go, I can see Alecto and Amycus trying to wave you down. Poor Amycus’s heart would break clean in two if he knew who you really pined for.”

If possible, Narcissa flushed a deeper red. But a few train cars down, Alecto was waving for her friend and Narcissa reluctantly scampered off to join them.

“You’re too hard on her,” drawled Bellatrix. “You know Mum’s been encouraging her little crush all summer.”

“She’s too young, Bella,” sighed Andromeda. “Let her have silly crushes on boys her own age before you try to marry her off.”

The sisters made their way onto the train, Bellatrix waving her wand so their trunks and carriers lifted themselves up the steps and floated in front of them. “You know Mum will be depending on you to make sure she keeps the right company next year,” reminded Bellatrix for the thousandth time. “She won’t be happy to hear you chasing off appropriate suitors.”

“I know, Bella,” said Andromeda patiently. “But it isn’t like I chased her into a compartment of Gryffindors to talk about muggle studies. She’s with the Carrows.”

Bellatrix reached the prefect’s compartment first, which already contained several familiar faces. Narcissa’s beau in question sat by the window, conversing quietly with Evan Rosier, the 6th year prefect. Opposite, two Hufflepuff prefects and a Ravenclaw were talking in low voices. The Ravenclaw in particular cast a cold and appraising glance over at Bellatrix and Andromeda. She snorted, seeming to not like what she saw, and turned back to the Hufflepuff boy.

But standing in the center of the compartment was someone very familiar to them indeed, checking something off a sheet of parchment with an eagle feather quill.

“Rodolphus,” nodded Bellatrix.

“Bella,” he nodded back, then smiled slightly. “Andie.”

“Rod.” She smiled. “Settling into autocracy already?”

“It’s a natural gift,” said Rodolphus sagely, then glanced at Bellatrix who looked impatient. “After you two we’re just missing the Gryffindors and a couple of the Ravenclaws. We should be able to get started soon.”

Bellatrix sighed, waving their suitcases up over the seats. “Leave it to the Gryffindors.”

Andromeda took hold of Wenlock’s cage and Valerian’s carrier. She carefully stowed Wenlock off to the side of the compartment with some of the other owls, but kept Valerian at her feet. The cat had finally settled down after the traumatic apparition, but Valerian always was a nervous traveler.

While they waited, Rodolphus sat down beside her and nudged her side. She smiled at him and received one in return, causing the shadows under his eyes to soften. He was far more handsome when he smiled, though in fairness he never looked bad. His dark hair somehow always looked soft and perfectly smooth. His features had grown more defined over the summer, she realized; his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. Normally she never noticed the minute changes that happened over time. She saw him too often. But this summer, she’d only had a couple weeks with him at their family estates in France. He’d even lost the last of the tan he had gained from their walks on the coast. But his eyes were the same: hazel and kind whenever they settled on her.

Across the compartment, Bellatrix raised an eyebrow at her and mouthed the words ‘too young’.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. This was different. Narcissa was only thirteen and Andromeda hardly believed she was in love with Rodolphus. He was her friend, her person. He had been so since they were children when she would follow him through their families’ formal parties, clutching at the back of his robes. Sure, they both knew where it was going; precisely where their parents had encouraged it to go practically since birth. But Andromeda counted herself lucky.

Her future was known, secure with a man who knew her well and treated her kindly. She shuddered to imagine being in Bellatrix’s shoes, knowing her distaste for the ‘afternoon teas’ she had been forced to sit through all summer as parade after parade of mothers and their sons visited the manor.

The last two prefects arrived, rowdy Gryffindors who were playfully shoving each other as they walked in. They settled with only a hard stare from Bellatrix, a skill which Andromeda had always envied.

Rodolphus cleared his throat. “Good morning, prefects. Welcome back. I am Rodolphus Lestrange, I’ll be your Head Boy for this year.”

“Bellatrix Black,” Bellatrix put in, glancing around dismissively at the gathered prefects. “Head Girl.”

Rodolphus launched into a basic explanation of prefect duties and Andromeda allowed her mind to wander as Bellatrix took over the explanation on patrols and how they would get their schedules. She knew the duties well enough, both in following Bellatrix around on enough patrols and from her mother’s instructions. Prefect wasn’t an extracurricular option for the Black girls. If there was a measurement of excellence, they would achieve it.

Outside the train window, they had finally left the urban setting of London behind. Her thoughts were already flying ahead to Hogwarts, causing butterflies to erupt in her stomach. Perhaps butterflies was not the right word. These felt much heavier and nauseating than butterflies; slugs perhaps. Fifth year was the start of O.W.L.s. Another measurement where nothing less than perfection would be tolerated. The thought alone had Andromeda wringing her hands in her lap.

Bellatrix was wrapping up her explanation of patrol schedules and Rodolphus tapped twice on her knee. She tapped back. It had been their ritual since they were children, not allowed to speak out of turn. Tapping first was a question. Tapping twice back meant ‘I’m okay’.

But apparently Rodolphus was also making sure she was listening, because he didn’t then wrap up the meeting to let them patrol the train or return to their compartments.

“Dumbledore asked me to address a couple things,” said Rodolphus, clearing his throat. “After the events of this summer, he wants everyone to feel assured we are taking student safety seriously.”

“Oh, I bet you care about every student’s safety, Lestrange.” The surly Ravenclaw from earlier snorted.

“Something to add, Meadowes?” Rodolphus asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing at all,” she said and crossed her arms.

“For that reason, there will be a few changes this year.” Rodolphus went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Patrols will be done in pairs, no exceptions. If you need to reschedule, you will have to trade patrol partners with someone. If you have a conflict, you’ll need to let Bellatrix or I know a week in advance.”

“That’s unreasonable!” Cried a Gryffindor. “We have quidditch practice and assignments!”

“You’re a prefect,” Rodolphus said coldly. “At this point, you are expected to know how to balance your responsibilities.”

“Prefects will also be required to patrol during Hogsmeade.” added Bellatrix, seeming displeased with the safety measures. “We’ll sort out a schedule once we are notified of this year’s Hogsmeade weekends. There will also be a curfew of 9pm. Students will need to check in with a prefect when they return to the common room at night to ensure everyone is accounted for.”

“Professors are able to give permission slips for studying or detentions,” said Rodolphus. “But they will need to be given a day in advance. 7th year prefects will be given a list of their house after the sorting and will be in charge of their students this evening, but we will be sending out a schedule sometime tomorrow.”

“Isn’t this a lot to ask of prefects?” Abigail Clearwater, the 6th year Slytherin prefect, asked with uncertainty.

“I'm certainly glad.” A Hufflepuff girl said nervously. “One of the girls in my dorm was at Diagon during the attack this summer.”

The Hufflepuff next to her patted her hand comfortingly, but Bellatrix went on as if she hadn’t spoken.

“If anyone doesn’t feel up to the task,” she frowned, “they may turn in their badge with either Lestrange or myself. It hardly seems to me like the Headmaster has picked the best this year,” said her sister derisively, finally looking at the two Hufflepuffs. Andromeda was pretty sure they were both muggleborns and the girl flinched under Bellatrix’s cold stare.

“That will be all then,” Rodolphus finished with a clap of his hands. “Collect your schedules and you are free to go. It will include your patrols for the train ride.”

Bellatrix had the schedules for the girls, so Andromeda held back while the other prefects flocked around the head boy and girl. When all the others had collected theirs and departed, only Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Andromeda, and Lucius were left in the compartment.

Bellatrix tossed the last schedule at Andromeda and collapsed onto the seat opposite her.

“I still can’t believe we have to go so far out our way for the safety of a bunch of mudbloods and blood traitors,” Lucius Malfoy grumbled.

“It wasn’t only muggleborns at Diagon Alley this summer,” Andromeda pointed out. “Azalia Greengrass was in St. Mungo’s for three days after the attack.”

“But Hogwarts is not Diagon Alley,” argued Lucius, lip curling. “And certainly no one is going to be attacking one of us here.”

“Merlin only knows with Dumbledore,” sighed Bellatrix. “He allowed three mudbloods to become prefect this year.”

“It will be good for us to maintain appearances,” Rodolphus frowned. “Discretion will be wise given recent events.”

The other three exchanged a look and, not for the first time, Andromeda felt like she was out of place among them. They had always spent so much time together, both before and at Hogwarts. During breaks they had practically been inseparable. But this past summer, she had hardly seen Lucius and Rodolphus. Even Bellatrix had rarely stayed at their summer estate for long. It had begun to feel like they were all part of a club to which she didn’t belong, which she knew wasn’t far from the truth.

“I’m going to go find Camelia and Alder,” she mumbled, taking hold of Valerian’s carrier and shuffling to her feet. “I’ll see you all at the feast.”

“Hold on a second, Andromeda,” called Rodolphus. “I’ll come with you, I have my patrol anyways.”

Her heart was still sinking somewhat, even as he got to his feet to follow her into the corridor. But she kept her expression even as he slid the door closed behind them and placed a hand on her back.

“Haven’t gotten to see you in weeks,” he said as they walked and it sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry for how chaotic things have been.”

“I understand,” Andromeda said with a small smile. “I know your father has you readying for the estate.”

He flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. He often seemed uncomfortable whenever the subject of his duties came up and it only had seemed to grow worse in recent months. “Yes, well, I’d much rather have spent the summer with you . The rest of the summer was … uneventful?” He asked and it was Andromeda’s turn to flush.

“Yes,” she said, a little harsher then she intended. “I mean … I mostly just spent it on the estate,” she said more quietly. “I learned a few new pieces on the piano.”

“I didn’t mean … I just….” he broke off, flushing again. “Well, I’d love to hear them sometime.”

“Sounds like a date,” smiled Andromeda as she spotted Camelia and Alder in the compartment next to them, already drowning in sweets. She leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you at the feast?”

“It’s a date,” he repeated with a strained smile and let his hand fall away as she slipped into the compartment and closed the door behind her.

“Your beau let you go?” Camelia asked with a raised eyebrow as Andromeda let Valerian out in the much calmer compartment. The fluffy white cat purred as she stretched and nosed around for Alder’s familiar offered hand.

“He’s not my beau,” Andromeda said airily, but she was smiling. “And he didn’t ‘let’ me do anything. I was on my way and he walked with me.”

“I don’t know how you like him,” Alder shuddered. “He gives me the creeps.”

“How was your summer?” Andromeda asked, ignoring his comment. “Did you get my gifts?”

“Nearly had to face my little sisters in hand to hand combat for the last of the macarons,” joked Camelia. “But nothing exciting. Mum wanted me to start looking at internships, but I persuaded her that it wouldn’t make sense until I had my O.W.L.s.”

“It’s been miserable since I wrote,” Alder said glumly. “You remember my cousin Molly?” The two girls nodded, remembering the red-haired girl who had graduated last year. The two never spoke, hardly acknowledging each other. “She eloped with that Weasley bloke and Mum has been wailing ever since. I mean it was hardly any secret that that side of the family were blood traitors, so I don’t know why she is making such a big deal of it now. You’d think Molly’d broken off an engagement to Salazar Slytherin and eloped with a muggle the way she’s carrying on.”

“I can’t imagine what Aunt Walburga would do if I’d done the same,” Andromeda joked weakly and both of her friends winced.

Valerian was pawing at the seat beside her, so Andromeda swept aside Bertie Bott’s containers and pumpkin pasty wrappers to make room for the cat. Feeling Andromeda pat the empty space, she dutifully hopped up, circled a few times, and then curled up purring.

Andromeda remembered Molly from the few encounters they’d had. She hadn’t seemed too bad, if a bit strange - especially her interest in that odd Arthur Weasley fellow. But Bellatrix had hated her and frequently returned from prefect meetings raging that Dumbledore had allowed two of the biggest blood traitors at Hogwarts to be prefect. While Andromeda understood to keep her distance, she had never quite grasped what had been so particularly offensive to her sister.

But Andromeda’s words left a moment of discomfort in the compartment. Both friends understood that any pressures from their families had nothing on what it meant to be a Black. Druella had been displeased with even Andromeda’s choice of friends - despite them both being Sacred Twenty-Eight. But they were Ravenclaws and not of the same ‘class’ as the Blacks, Lestranges, and Malfoys. Andromeda was sure it was only Bellatrix’s assurances of Andromeda’s otherwise spotless behavior that kept her parents from cutting off the friendships.

“Ah, well, why would you elope when you’re likely to get drowned in galleons for your wedding,” Camelia teased, perhaps a little too late to feel totally natural. “Is it a Lestrange honeymoon tradition to shower your new spouse in jewels, or do you think that will just be because you're you?”

“Shut up,” Andromeda said with a roll of her eyes, but she was smiling.

They settled into a more relaxed conversation about how they had spent the couple weeks since their last letters, before focusing on the sweets that still had yet to be tackled. Andromeda’s turn for prefect rounds finally came in the last hour of the train ride, so she left Valerian in the care of her friends - who were crinkling up wrappers and tossing them for the blind cat to hear and give chase.

The train corridor was darker now, the yellow lights flickering as the shadowy silhouettes of the Scottish mountainside flashed past. Dusk had settled too much for Andromeda to make out details as she walked farther down the train. She periodically glanced into compartments, occasionally waving to familiar faces, and once breaking up a fight between two second years with a threat of telling McGonagall once they arrived. After so many hours on the train, most had settled, already changed into their robes, and were unlikely to wander far. Her patrol was uneventful, therefore, and her evening quiet.

She made it to the back of the train, alerted two seventh years that the loo was not the most subtle of places to snog, and began the process of wandering back towards the front. She’d have to make a write up of her patrol, but both the second years and the seventh years had cleared out and calmed down without any trouble. She didn’t feel the need to report them to lose house points when they hadn’t even arrived yet. A first year nervously tugged at her robes and asked where they would need to go when they arrived, but once she had sent them back to their compartment with answers and a chocolate frog, nothing much else occurred.

Most of her hour patrolling was up when she finally reached the front of the train. She was considering making for the trolley and fetching a glass of pumpkin juice when she realized the door to the prefect compartment was slightly ajar and familiar, frustrated voices were drifting out.

“-know Cissy and Meda aren’t fighters,” Bellatrix snapped. “It is okay, since it is clear they’re both going to make good matches, but you know it is even more important that he does not doubt her loyalty.”

“I understand that!” Rodolphus answered sharply. “He has no reason to. Unless you’re suggesting something?”

“Don’t start that with me!” She hissed and Andromeda pressed herself against the wall between the prefect compartment and the end of the train car. It sounded like they were the only two left in there. “Andromeda has always kept herself in line. But that doesn’t explain why he expressed his concern for my sister’s loyalties. He certainly didn’t mean Narcissa. She’s a child.”

Andromeda’s heartrate picked up. She had a good idea of who Bellatrix and Rodolphus were talking about. Their father had sung his praises enough times over the dinner table. Until this summer, Andromeda hadn’t even truly thought he was real. She had thought him just a rumor that people like Cygnus and Druella Black wanted to believe in. But then her sister and Rodolphus turned 17 that summer. Pollux Rodolphus had brought them both to a ‘meeting’ and that was when things had really begun to change.

Summers before had always been spent with each other, their summer estates close enough that their families were always together. If it wasn’t all of them, it was Rodolphus and Andromeda. But that summer they both disappeared for weeks at a time. Rod would return looking exhausted, Bella almost manic . But why would he  be saying anything to Bella about her ? Unless Rod had told him … but he wouldn’t. He promised.

“There’s nothing he would have to be concerned about,” Rodolphus said firmly, but Andromeda didn’t think it sounded convincing. “And you know our families are just waiting until I’ve graduated to make the formal announcement. Once we’re married, he’ll welcome her.” He said this with more confidence.

At these words, Andromeda shivered. She was not sure she wanted to be welcomed by him, regardless of how her father seemed to like his ideas. The reverent way her relatives spoke of him, like he was some kind of deity frightened Andromeda. She was perfectly content keeping her distance. Even Bellatrix’s involvement seemed too close.

“You had better convince him,” Bellatrix threatened, but she too sounded afraid. “I am not losing my sister, Rodolphus.”

“You won’t,” he promised fervently. “I’ll take care of her, I always have.”

Andromeda softened slightly. Then someone cleared their throat on the other side of the prefect cart door - causing Andromeda to jump and something to knock over within the prefect cart.

The sour-looking Ravenclaw prefect, the one Rodolphus called Meadowes, stood watching her from where she had emerged from the front of the train. She raised an eyebrow as she took a slow lick on the blood-red lollipop in her hand. Andromeda froze where she stood, having clearly been eavesdropping.

Meadowes was a small thing - almost a foot shorter than Andromeda, who wasn’t that tall to begin with. But the tight coils of her hair added several inches and her attitude made Andromeda feel strangely small; irritating her somewhat. She raised her chin defiantly, waiting for Meadowes to oust her. They stared off for a moment, until the Ravenclaw girl snorted and banged open the sliding doors to thrust a fairly crumpled report into Rodolphus’s hands.

“Here you are, Head Boy,” she drawled as Andromeda walked in casually behind her. “Caught that rat brother of yours trying to turn a first year’s scarf into a snake. Have fun with that one.”

She turned on her heel and bumped into Andromeda, taking on a look of theatrical surprise that only Andromeda could see. “Oh, didn’t see you there,” smirked Meadowes as walked past.

[aethelar]

So, uh, a while back you wrote a thing for Magizoologist!Graves and Head of Magical Security!Newt. I found the Newt piece, but did you ever write the one for Graves?

Nonnie, I did not. Very remiss of me. We shall rectify; in part one, we had Newt Scamander, Head of Security at MACUSA - now let’s bring on part two and introduce Percival Graves the Magizoologist.

How, you might ask.

Percival Graves of the boss-man suits, the judging eyebrows that judge without shame, the complete lack of chill and the vocabulary that is primarily swear words - that’s the Graves we’re going with, and we’re asking him to abandon his promising career as an auror in favour of playing Mummy to a host of, of assorted highly illegal most likely viciously poisonous things.

Graves does not have the background that would suit a magizoologist. His entire resume can be summed up by: grew up with two dogs, once managed to redirect a sparrow outside after it had got stuck in the office.

So. How does he become a magizoologist?

By accident.

Newt joins MACUSA in the early days of 1919 and, although he doesn’t cross paths with Graves, his mere presence has an impact. Newt takes the spot on the Criminal Investigations team that Graves was angling for but that’s fine, that’s ok. At least two of the of the other teams are interested in the promising new recruit and have offered jobs to the latest heir of the Graves’ vaunted line.

Three teams, if you count the Traffic team, but Graves does not count the Traffic team, so. Two other teams. Special Ops try and tempt him with a frankly ridiculous wage packet to join their diplomatic missions, and let’s face it, Graves is tempted. International diplomacy is what makes and shapes the world, and America might be newer on the scene than some of the other magical nations but the Graves name will still carry some weight. He could do a lot of good. He could also royally fuck up and cause the next world war, because maybe his however-many generations back ancestor was good with words but Graves himself finds punching things a much better solution. With that in mind, he ends up in the Defence and Response Corps and, blunt and straightforward as DaRC are, he thrives.

Maybe in another world he’d learn how to talk the talk to back up his walking the walk and be part of the ICW, but in this world his job consists of identifying threat, taking threat down with extreme prejudice and/or explosions, and shielding the fuck out of whatever target he was sent in to protect. Nothing gets passed his shields. They’re multi-layered frequency-shifted beauties and they earn him the nickname Gravestone for how immovable he becomes once he plants himself, and in four years of working with DaRC he never once loses a target. Not once.

In his fifth year, his target is a short, scrappy woman beset by a pack of Black Dogs. The malevolent ghosts come out at night, baying their omens of death and plaguing the people of the town - three children have already vanished, stolen, most likely, by the evil creatures. The woman is running her magic dry trying to keep them away, and though she’s reluctant to call in DaRC she fears she has no choice if she wants to survive.

That’s how she puts it, at least. Graves turns up, and something sits wrong with him, but - well, he’s not with Criminal Investigations. He’s with Defence. He digs in, builds his shields, and waits for nightfall. The sun sinks, the temperature drops, and he turns his lumos down low to preserve his night vision. The thermos of coffee in his pack has a careful combination of warming charms and space-distortion, and it holds enough to keep him going for several nights in a row, but - if the dragon-fire flares do their job - he’ll only need it for one. He waits. Occasionally the woman peers suspiciously from her window or opens the door to check on him under the thin guise of offering him tea. Once she starts singing loudly, off-key, to a song she doesn’t know the words to. There’s a thump, a hissed shut up, one more line of the song and then silence.

Roughly twenty minutes after midnight, the Black Dogs arrive. The pack is a dozen strong, maybe more, and under the grey moonlight they look pallid and sickly. Their fur is tattered, their eyes glowing baleful red; one of them has bleeding stumps in place of its ears, another flickers between ghost and corporeal, a third has too much skin for its bones and the folds make it misshapen and grotesque. Graves raises his wand and lets one hand hover over his flares, but though they circle him, they don’t attack.

Inside the house, a soft whimper. A hissed reprimand. A slap, and a stifled gasp of pain.

The Black Dogs hover just out of reach, their crouched forms as tall as Graves at the shoulder, their pupil-less stares heavy and expectant. They’re all here. All within reach, and he isn’t going to get a better shot. If he were doing his job, he’d burn the pack now and be done with it.

“Miss Glover,” he says into the charmed pin on the collar of his coat. “Remind me again why the dogs are targeting you?”

Her voice crackles back, high and angry. “They’re evil! Dark creatures, foul children-snatchers - they don’t need a reason!”

He hums, considering. They still haven’t attacked. “Some people say they protect children,” he says lightly. “Watch over them in the night, warn them away from danger. Guide them home when they get lost.”

There is a pause. The dogs are so still they barely move. Graves keeps his grip light on his wand and doesn’t breathe.

The spell she fires at his back is not unexpected and he twists easily to dodge it. The child standing behind her, eyes blank as he holds a jagged knife to his own throat, that Graves’ hadn’t predicted. He curses himself and stops his own spell before he fires it.

“I’ll kill him,” Glover says. “You think - you even think of firing, and I’ll tell him to do it.”

“The Imperius curse is illegal,” Graves grits out. “Under section 7 part C - “

She spits a hex at him and he dodges again, not daring to risk using his wand to deflect. “Go fuck yourself,” she snarls. “The law doesn’t protect no-majs, does it? I’ve done nothing wrong.” Graves’ mind races because that, that really doesn’t sound right, but he doesn’t know for sure, in this universe he hasn’t studied the laws enough to know, and if she’s right - if she’s right then legally, there’s not a damn thing he can do to her. MACUSA protects magicals. If the children aren’t magical he can’t act to protect them. That sounds bullshit, but the law says is a solid block he’s coming up against, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

She gestures impatiently at the silent, watchful dogs. “Well?” she prompts. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

Graves hesitates, but eventually lifts his wand slowly, hands outstretched to show her what he’s doing. “I need my spells,” he says cautiously, carefully not looking at the child-hostage in the doorway. Glover waves a negligent hand at him and he grits his teeth, thinks fuck it and resettles his wand in his grip, raises his magic in preparation for the spell -

and brings his shields crashing down.

The Black Dogs move as one. Graves dives for the kid, grabbing the blade and ripping it away. Behind him, Glover shrieks, firing one, two, three spells at the pack, but outside the protection of her house and wards she’s no match for them. She doesn’t fire a fourth spell.

When it’s done, the dogs paw at the doorstep, whining and plaintive until Graves goes in. He finds the other two children in the upstairs bathroom, huddled behind the shower curtain and armed with a half-empty bottle of shampoo. They cry when they see him, and cling to him, the girl in stoical silence, the boy asking again and again to go home. Graves carries them both downstairs to where the other boy is waiting, shell-shocked, on the front step, and when they won’t let go of him he carries them to their respective homes.

The dogs follow him every step. The no-majs don’t see them, of course, which is probably for the best - at least four of the dogs stayed with the kids, two with the first boy and one each with the children from the bathroom, circling the house like particularly ominous guard dogs. Graves doesn’t know what Glover wanted with the kids, what she used them for - he probably should have obliviated them just in case, but it’s unwise to obliviate wizards soon after traumatic experiences and he sees no reason why it would be different for no-majs.

When he gets back to the house he’s down to three dogs following him, and the witch - her corpse? - is gone. He pointedly doesn’t acknowledge his shadows, just checks the perimeter, shuts the front door, and apparates out.

He has the following morning off (he always does after working nights) and he uses it to pull the auror-issue law books from underneath the wonky table they’re propping up. By midday, he’s discovered that Glover was right; the law sees nothing wrong with kidnapping no-maj children and keeping them trapped in your upstairs bathroom. By two in the afternoon, he’s tracked down the precedence and the sub-clauses that make it legal to use the imperious curse on no-majs, so long as the statute of secrecy is upheld. By four, he’s several hours late for work, and is eighty percent certain that he could be prosecuted for murder and the use of dark creatures as a lethal weapon. DaRC will have to send out a second team, a full hit team to cleanse the area of the Black Dogs, Graves’ career is in ruins - if not his life, if Glover has enough family to push for his prosecution, and this whole being an auror to protect people schtick is sounding far more naive than it did this time yesterday.

By six, he’s packed what he wants from his cramped auror flat; by eight, he’s left his badge on the table and psyched himself up to walk out the door.

There are three dogs waiting for him when he steps out onto the street, each one as tall as he is with glowing, pupil-less eyes. The no-majs walk through them as though they aren’t even there.

“What, am I a kidnapped child now?” Graves jokes, but even to his own ears it falls flat. His entire life is  packed into a worn leather backpack and a standard-issue field belt with three night’s supply of hot coffee in one of the many enlarged pouches. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or what he’s doing, and he’s pretty sure he’s majorly fucked up. More than fucked up. He’s a murderer on the run in league with demonic ghost dogs. Fucked up doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The largest of the three dogs, thin and bony with a whip-like tail, turns to walk down the street. The other two follow, one on either side of Graves, their bodies surprisingly warm as they press him along. Graves only goes because he doesn’t have anywhere else to be. Because, right at that moment, he’s a little bit scared and a little bit disbelieving and a whole lot lost.

And, you know, Black Dogs are good at leading lost souls home.

(the first place they lead him is a construction site with a snallygaster chained behind the piles of steel girders, and Graves isn’t sure how the snallygaster ended up following him after he freed it but it did)

(the second place is a garden beset by knarls, and they move into one of the pouches on the utility belt which Graves really wishes they hadn’t done, but they’re there now and they don’t seem to be moving out)

(the third place is the sea, no creatures, no-one to save, just the empty beach and the open sea and Graves sits curled against the dog he’s called Sadie with the dog he’s called Spot sprawled over his feet while Snally the snallygaster plays with the waves and Knarls Ay Cee and Dee start digging in the sand. He lifts up Knarl Bee from where she’s curled, prickly side out, in his lap and it’s been a month, now, since the dogs led him away from New York.

“I,” he tells her, “am clearly insane.” She waves tiny clawed feet at him and wriggles her quills into all the sensitive parts of his palm. He nods in agreement. “That too, but mostly insane.”

Bee sneezes, and that settles it. If she’s staying, then the pouch is clearly an insufficient home for her - today a cold, who knows what she could catch tomorrow? Graves has spent most nights so far sleeping under his jacket with a shielding charm pulled over him, what kind of home life is this for a growing Knarl? He might not have Newt’s flare for fitting pocket dimensions into a suitcase but what he does have is a great deal of experience expanding his coffee thermos to unreasonable sizes and a handy field belt with a handily unspecified number of pouches on it. They’re meant for ammunition and flares and the odd potions vial, but they’ll do well enough. By the time the sun rises and his dogs fade into ghost-fog for the day he’s made enough space on his belt to carry half the population of Manhattan around with him, Snally has haughtily demanded trees in his pouch, and Bee has progressed to nesting in his hair and sticking quills in his ear whenever he moves his head too vigorously.

Graves might not know enough about magical creatures to know if this normal behaviour but it makes her happy, so why not.

He should probably learn about magical creatures though. Seeing as, you know, he appears to be collecting them.

Maybe.)

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 2

Merlin makes an appearance, nothing is really explained, and canon doesn't know what hit it.

Chapter 2

If in Doubt, Blame the Wizard

Hisirdoux Casperan was not the first apprentice Merlin had taken under his wing. There had been others over the years, though less had attained the role than had simply wished for it. Morgana could make all the claims she pleased about his prickly demeanour and unreasonable standards; None of her acerbic observations changed the fact that, before Arthur’s war against magic, hopefuls had been lining up for the chance to study beneath a Master Wizard.

Most of them had been nothing more than tricksters and conjurers of meagre ability; Useful for dazzling the masses and emptying the pockets of the gullible, but with little to offer in the way of contributions to his work. Others had proven themselves more capable; As assistants in his workshop, a second pair of eyes in the field, and — somewhat rarely — as capable spellcasters in their own right.

It had not always ended well, even for those who had not strayed from the narrow path mastery carved between madness and mediocrity. Magic was as much a burden as it was a gift. Some of those he had trained believed their powers gave them a responsibility to stand up for their kind, a path that inevitably led to the same dire end for all who chose to walk it. Others had left as soon as their tutelage was complete, eager to pursue their own interests and simultaneously make their escape from beneath Arthur’s lengthening shadow.

His king’s stance on magic had cost the Master Wizard more than one competent assistant, one way or another, and Morgana had proved herself a poor substitute. Too strong willed and frank with her opinions, she spent as much time arguing with him as she did helping. With all of that in mind, it had seemed nothing less than a miraculous stroke of good fortune when he had inadvertently stumbled across a magical prodigy.

That probably should have been his first warning.

On the surface, Hisirdoux had been no different than the dozens of others who used their paltry gifts to take advantage of the ignorant. Except for the fact the boy had been stupid enough to ply his craft on the very doorstep of the king who had sworn to destroy all magic, of course. Remarkably bad judgement had not been on his required list of virtues for a new apprentice, and he might not have chosen to intervene on the idiot’s behalf at all had it not been for that single, panicked spell.

‘Real magic’, he had called it, and meant every word. It may not have been the most impressive spell, or the most well executed, but Hisirdoux had cast it under duress without fumbling his words and with no training other than that provided by his dragon familiar, along with what scant knowledge the pair of them had been able to scrape from the few spellbooks Arthur and his Knights hadn’t yet burned to a crisp. There was talent there, untapped, and it had been his focus on that which blinded him to the fact it was wrapped up in the disastrous form of an adolescent boy.

It wasn’t common for magic so powerful to manifest in someone so young. Hedge wizards were known to discover their talents at an early age, but the recklessness of youth was tempered by the limits of their abilities, any harm that they might cause to themselves or others mitigated by the mundane nature of their magic. It was different for those with a true gift. Merlin’s own magic had come to him later in life, and the mastery over it that allowed for immortality had sadly not been in time to save him from perpetually popping joints and thinning hair. Morgana, too, had been an adult before she began to show any aptitude, and its emergence had been triggered by a traumatic event.

According to what little Archie had shared of their lives before the Master Wizard took them in, Hisirdoux had been practicing for years before he wandered foolishly into Camelot’s maw, guided by nothing more than his own instincts. Given that the boy was most certainly not a hedge wizard, that fact was simultaneously impressive and terrifying. His own ignorance, coupled with that level of raw ability, could have easily ended his life long before Arthur’s knights drew their swords.

The fact that it hadn’t was convenient for the Master Wizard’s need for a new apprentice, but entirely the opposite when it came to trying to teach his student the dangers of the powers he wielded.

Hisirdoux had never suffered at the hands of his own magic, never shown Morgana’s tendency to lose control when emotions were heightened, never hurt someone he had meant to help. Whilst the gentle nature of his gift had no doubt protected him from the more dangerous pitfalls of self-taught magic, it had also made it that much more difficult to drum caution through the boy’s thick skull. Magic was the one thing besides Archie Hisirdoux had always been able to rely on in a world that had offered little in the way of shelter; Trying to convince him that it carried its own dangers and should be utilised only as needed was like trying to convince a knight his sword might bite and should be locked in a cage.

It was an uphill battle. One he had assumed he was winning, right up until his workshop was overtaken by a wave of unfettered magic in the middle of the night.

Within the space of an hour, his plans for a peaceful evening spent without apprentice or familiar underfoot had been turned completely on their head. What should have been precious minutes dedicated to his research were instead spent undoing the various enchantments his apprentice had cast to lock seemingly every door in the castle tightly closed. No sooner did he have that particular issue in hand then he was waylaid by a pack of agitated guards absolutely certain they were under attack. He hadn’t even begun to address their concerns before he was accosted by a furious Arthur, the king leaving no doubt as to who he deemed to be at fault for not properly controlling the novice wizard in their midst.

The latter confrontation had turned into a one-sided shouting match that had intimidated the knights more than the castle’s magically induced antics, culminating in a forceful reminder that Arthur relied rather heavily on his Court Wizard, and therefore executing his apprentice for what had harmed no one would be a remarkably bad idea. By the time Arthur had stormed off to stand down his panicking soldiers, Merlin had developed a pounding headache and the firm intention of giving Hisirdoux the longest lecture of his young life.

Another plan he was forced to abandon when he burst into the boy’s room without knocking and found himself immediately subjected to Morgana’s icy wrath.

“Don’t you dare!”

The king’s sister somehow managed to look poised even kneeling on the floor in her nightwear, clutching a trembling, tear-streaked mess in her arms. Her glare was enough to stop him in his tracks, and he closed the door without question on her command. Hisirdoux had yet to even acknowledge his arrival. When uttering the boy’s name summoned no response, he turned his irritation onto the room’s other occupant.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I found him like this.”

Morgana shook her head helplessly as Merlin drew near, illuminating his staff in deference to the lack of light in the room. His apprentice didn’t react to the glow or to Archibald settling against his legs with a loud, nervous purring, the familiar’s agitation evidenced by the whiplike motions of his tail.

“And that?” Not satisfied in the least, he gestured at the cloth wound about the boy’s head, stained red near the edge of his hairline.

“Archie said he fell.” Morgana squinted against the brightness of his staff, eyes flashing to the door and back again. “Where is Arthur?”

“Handled, for the moment, though who knows how long that will last.” Long enough for him to sort out whatever this was, hopefully. His king’s patience was not a thing he would trust to stretch far as of late.

Morgana cast him a dubious look. “I could hear the shouting from here.”

“The entire castle just got turned inside out.” He still wasn’t sure whether to be more impressed or angry over that fact. “You’re lucky he wasn’t the one kicking in the door.”

“It wasn’t Douxie’s fault.” Even not knowing what had happened she managed to sound certain of that, holding his gaze with a challenge painted in her own. “You can’t let Arthur punish him for this.”

“We don’t even know what this is, yet,” he pointed out. “Archie, do you…”

He trailed off upon realising the familiar had finally managed to coax a reaction out of his apprentice, though the hesitation with which Hisirdoux was touching his friend’s feline form was unusual in and of itself. There was a stiffness to the motion that was at odds with the way the boy was leaning bonelessly against Morgana, and the irritation at the back of his mind gave way to a spike of alarm.

“Hisirdoux?” The boy swallowed convulsively, but didn’t look up, focussed with single-minded attention on the cat crawling into his lap. With a sigh, the Master Wizard crouched beside the trio, ignoring the loud cracking in his knees as he reached out to take his apprentice’s hand in his own. Hisirdoux’s skin was icy to the touch, fine tremors running through his fingers. Merlin frowned as he repeated the boy’s name.

“I don’t think he’s all the way back yet,” Morgana interceded, not moving herself, though the position could hardly be comfortable.

“You don’t say?” He spared a moment to give her a disparaging glance, then turned his attention back to the object of this ridiculous conversation. “Hisirdoux, look at me.”

There was no visible reaction to his words, though the hand held in his own clenched reflexively. The slight hiss from Archibald suggested the familiar had been subjected to the same treatment, even if he didn’t voice any complaints. Patience thinning rapidly, Merlin set his staff aside so he could use his hand to guide his apprentice’s eyes up to meet his own. There was no real focus in the gaze that greeted him; Hisirdoux looked right through him with only a vague spark of recognition, and the realisation hit with all the force of a dousing in ice water that this was something far more serious than an overreaction to a bad dream.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with, then.”

Ignoring Archie’s urging to be careful, he gathered his magic, letting it travel in a wave along the physical connections between himself and his apprentice. He’d already been aware of the turbulence in the boy’s aura, tangible even now it was subdued, but examining it directly in this fashion offered a far more haunting perspective. Hisirdoux’s magic was churning violently, seeking an enemy to fight, yet even that couldn’t hide the jagged lines of shadow etched into the boy’s soul, spiderwebbing outwards, drenched in the distinctive stench of dark magic.

Pursing his lips, he reached out to prod the edges of that darkness, trying to identify what spell could have caused it. Hisirdoux flinched away as soon as he extended his energy, reacting with all the reason of a cornered animal.

He was flung backward in an instant, landing on his haunches. He hadn’t been expecting the magic to be that strong after the vast amount of energy his apprentice had already expended, though predictably the boy’s efforts were not without a price. He collapsed onto his side without Morgana there to support him any longer, curling in on himself as his familiar hovered in ever increasing worry.

“I told you to be careful!” The admonishment was given and forgotten in the same breath. “Douxie? Douxie! Can you hear me?”

The answer was too quiet for Merlin to hear, but he saw his apprentice reach for the familiar, tugging him close.

“I’m here. We’re here.” Archie’s voice was trembling. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Douxie? It’s important.”

He already knew the answer to that. If they were lucky, Archibald would be able to coax the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ out of his wizard. Moving to retrieve his staff from amidst the carnage of Hisirdoux’s room, Merlin turned back just in time to watch Archie go into a full blown panic as his familiar fell limp.

He crossed the space between them in three strides, dropping to one knee and spending a few fraught seconds verifying the boy was still breathing. It was shallow, and Hisirdoux was too pale and cold to the touch for comfort, but his chest was still rising and falling. Positioning himself above the boy’s prone form, Merlin placed a hand on either side of Hisirdoux’s head, stretching out his sixth sense once more now that his student was in no position to fend off his intrusion.

“What’s wrong with him?” Archibald’s voice was plaintive, the young dragon back in his natural form as he stared up at Merlin with naked fear, seeking answers where none were to be found. 

“That magic was defensive,” Morgana pointed out. “He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, he was trying to protect himself. Something or someone caused this.”

Her eyes went to the door, a dark expression on her face, as if she was already putting a visage to her imaginary villain. Merlin could easily guess where her thoughts were going, but he didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with royal squabbles. His attention was needed elsewhere.

Hisirdoux’s magic was quiet again now, drained in that last, frantic effort to ward off danger. It flickered briefly as he extended his own, but with no more strength than a guttering candle fighting to stay alight in a strong breeze. He was better able to assess the damage without its interference, the knowledge his examination brought him cold comfort.

The shadows remained, a blemish on what had always been bright; Heavy and thick and not his main concern. They were only a symptom, stemming from terrible cracks rendered directly upon the boy’s soul. As if something had reached within the very heart of what made Hisirdoux Hisirdoux and tried to tear him to pieces.

Not tried, he amended, succeeded.

He was careful as he studied the torn edges. Hisirdoux shuddered beneath his hands anyway, whimpering softly and prompting Morgana to reach out and close her fingers about the boy’s in an irrational attempt to provide comfort. Merlin very much doubted his apprentice was aware of her efforts, or of Archie’s determined rumbling as he practically adhered his body to his familiar’s. He let them be regardless, not about to divide his own attention to tell them so. Not when he was just coming to the chilling realisation the harm that had been inflicted here was meant to be fatal.

Even as he reached that conclusion the damage was spreading, the dark stains growing larger as the cracks expanded, like a tear in a taut rope slowly succumbing to the pressure. Hisirdoux’s aura dimmed just a little more with each minute that passed, his magic thrashing weakly in its final throes.

His apprentice, who had left his study only a handful of hours before, spellbook in hand and practically skipping with glee, was dying.

It was unacceptable.

Healing magic was not his forte. He knew the incantations, but each wizard’s magic had a mind of its own and his refused to bend towards such arts. It had never seemed such a shortcoming as it did now, Hisirdoux’s skin frigidly cold against his fingers as shallow breaths marked an uneven rhythm against the boy’s lips. Fortunately, he had not spent decades guarding the mortal realm to panic at the first sign of trouble. He was nothing if not resourceful, and it took but a few seconds to arrive at a solution.

Weaving his own magic this close to an injury inflicted directly on the soul carried its own dangers, and he pointedly shut out the voices of the room’s other occupants as he carefully laid a stasis field over the expanding edges of the spreading corruption. It would not last forever, particularly not if Hisirdoux’s own magic recovered and saw his meddling as a threat, but it would buy him some time to find a more permanent solution before his apprentice’s condition deteriorated further.

The chamber was utterly silent when he emerged from his trance, breathing heavily from the concentrated effort. He glanced up to find Morgana and Archibald both watching him with equal parts trepidation and curiosity. Ignoring the silent question they posed, he glanced about the room, frowning at the open window swinging gently in the breeze and the haphazardly scattered furniture.

Hisirdoux couldn’t remain here, that much was clear.

“Archie, my staff.”

Thrusting the weapon at the familiar and waiting only long enough for Archie to clumsily seize a hold of it, he gathered the limp form of his apprentice into his arms, gaining his feet and whirling towards the door in a single, smooth motion. Morgana raised an eyebrow at him but did not question, holding the door open and then hastening to keep up as he set a punishing pace through the castle halls.

Flying above them, Archie swooped in close to demand answers, “Where are we going?”

“My tower is the most strongly warded part of this castle,” Merlin answered briskly, not slowing his stride even when it forced an uneasy patrol of knights to skitter out of his way. “We’re going to take Hisirdoux to safety, and then we are going to find some answers.”

Author’s Notes:

Alright, so this chapter definitely includes a few head canons regarding magic which will probably be nullified as soon as canon addresses them, but for clarity’s sake I’ll just include the reasoning here.

1. ‘It wasn’t common for magic so powerful to manifest in someone so young’

Of the four true wizards that we see, Hisirdoux appears to have been the one who got his abilities the earliest. We aren’t given an age for when Merlin started using magic, but given that Hisirdoux went 900 years without ageing over 19, it seems reasonable to assume that Merlin’s magic was something that came to him later in life. We’re never told how old he is, but even if the canon explanation is that wizards age really slowly instead of stopping at a certain point Merlin would have had to be thousands upon thousands of years old to look the way he does.

Morgana is also an adult when she gets her abilities, and they manifest after Gwen dies. I have seen a theory floating around that the Arcane Order gave her that magic because it is golden and Arthur also has golden magic once possessed, but Excalibur’s magic was always golden, so it seems more likely that’s just the Camelot magic colour. (A point of interest, Archie’s form shifting is also a golden flash). So, for this, we’re treating Morgana’s magic as her own, and she was an adult when it manifested.

Claire did get her magic earlier, but only after first stealing the staff and then being possessed by Morgana and absorbing all her knowledge. It wasn’t necessarily something that came to her in the natural course of things. That could just be because modern world=less magic, but still. There was a trigger.

The hedge wizards we do see in the show all seem to be on the younger side, and we never really see what they are capable of; whether they are limited by the scope of their power or a lack of study. For this particular story I’m running with the theory that the ability to magic electronics into shape and charm objects etc is not at all on the same level as the literal powerhouses we see in Merlin, Morgana, Claire, and Douxie. They can fight, certainly, but not on the same playing field as the Arcane Order.

Douxie, by comparison to the other three wizards, especially if you go by Teny’s concept sketches, has his abilities from a very early age, hence the line above.

2. ‘…never shown Morgana’s tendency to lose control when emotions were heightened’.

Morgana and Claire are both crystal clear examples of the ‘magic is emotion’ theme. The scene with Morgana in Merlin’s workshop. Claire’s nightmares and her argument with Merlin in HexTech all have magic responding to the emotions of their wielders. Douxie, by contrast, only exhibits this once, when Merlin is killed. Even his younger self, who is a bundle of anxiety and enthusiasm and disaster, doesn’t appear to exhibit emotions with magic in any obvious way. The closest thing we see to his younger self losing control is his broom turning on him when it realised Merlin was coming. Maybe it’s just because rage is the predominant cause of those outbursts and Douxie’s anger is a relatively quiet thing by comparison, but it was still an observation I wanted to work into the narrative.

[starkeredits]

A Lot of Catching Up to Do

By Tileb Hanser

Chapter One: Answers

Find it here on AO3

It’s been about a month and a half now, since the restoration of the Blip, the return of all those lost to Thanos’ fingers, and the sacrifice Tony Stark made for the universe. He should be dead, according to Dr. Strange. The power of all six Infinity Stones and the Snap were almost the death of the Hulk, who seemed to be made for the Gauntlet. Tony is just a regular human being when it comes right down to it, while the Hulk was obviously more equipped for the destructive effects, there is just no logic to explain the miracle. Yet of course, Tony was still left severely damaged clinging onto life by a thin thread. Surrounded by his closest friends and family, the sight of their faces, all alive and finally safe, was what gave him just the slightest bit of energy he needed to stay holding on. The trip from the battlefield to the closest moderately staffed hospital was blurred with confusion and dissipating adrenaline. It was a miracle, the few doctors still staffed throughout the Blip did all they could to save the hero of the Universe, along with Dr. Strange, Bruce, and Shuri. Their combined efforts kept his life supported with high tech machinery and a few wizardly tricks from Dr. Strange.

The past month and a half after the defeat of Thanos left the hero in a coma, during which he had plenty of visitors, whom most were immediate friends and family. Peter Parker being one of the most frequent visitors. He has the most gratitude and compassion since that fateful day. He may have had a slight obsession with the billionaire genius before Tony first recruited him, but it has only grown since then, especially after the undying sacrifice Tony made for all of mankind. It started off innocent of course, just a geeky obsession from a nerd for a genius. But within the last month or so, Peter has started to notice changes in his feelings towards Tony.

Since the Blip, Peter has basically missed five years of aging and at a somewhat inconvenient time in his life. When he first started noticing the increasing changes in his body, he dismissed them, knowing it was all normal signs of puberty. He started puberty a decent time before the Blip, therefore, he assumed, it should just pick up where it left off at sixteen years old. However, that was not the case. To make matters worse, all his thoughts are filled with countless fantasies he’d never even known he knew, and they were all centered around one person; Tony Stark.

Everyday, he finds himself trapped in his thoughts as he sees Tony, Mr. Stark, sweaty from a workout, peeling off his shirt as he smirks at Peter watching with awe. He imagines being under the hard muscle of Mr. Stark's torso as he pins his wrists to the silk sheets below. Peter can’t take the onslaught of pleasure anymore, he needs answers, he needs help. His best bet is to seek out Dr. Strange after his fifth random hard-on in the past two days, for an explanation.

While he stutters through his question to the wizard, realization dawns on the later. He then explains to Peter, with a much too calm demeanor, that his body is confused about missing five years of time and that it’s trying to make up for it in the quickest way it can.

“Basically, your body is attempting to cram five years of puberty into… well, right now.” Peter is appalled, how long would that take? Will it be nonstop, seemingly forever? He can’t even spend the next week with the constant heat pooling in his stomach or the dirty thoughts plaguing his mind.

“I can probably come up with an antidote that will unfortunately only slow the process so it’s not as overwhelming, but it’s better than nothing.” Peter accepts the offer greatly before he finally decides he needs an answer about his new obsession with Tony.

“Oh and there’s uh, one more thing I was confused about.” He speaks sheepishly, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. The wizard only responds with an uninterested grunt. Peter takes that as an invitation to continue.

“With everything that’s happening with my body, well, it’s also sort of focused on one person. Like, all the fantasies, they are about this person...” Peter trails off, not exactly sure how to phrase the question, but Dr. Strange gives it some thought before answering.

“Usually after one goes through a traumatic or confusing experience, much like the Blip, the first person they see or interact with becomes some sort of... source of comfort to the other. Almost like an imprint.” He pauses his movements before continuing. “Was this person someone you interacted with after you returned from the Blip?”

Suddenly it all starts to click, after the constant adrenaline from the battle against Thanos and his army, Peter remembered his worrying thoughts cleared from his head the moment he laid eyes on Tony. He was hysterical over him, clutching onto his lifeless body with complete desperation.

“Yes.” Peter simply replies weekly.

“Hmm, it’s possible you may have... imprinted on this person, and with your other symptoms of puberty, I suppose your body is just using the comfort you feel from this person to base your thoughts and feelings on, if that makes any sense.” All Peter can do is nod at his reply and the wizard accepts it nonchalantly.

“The antidote can’t fix that unfortunately, since these are two different mental reactions combining to one and this antidote is only specific towards one.” Peter mentally slaps himself before he sulks over to the living room couch. After about an hour of torture sitting on the couch of the wizards home, suppressing another urge to reach his hand down his pants at any moment, the antidote is finally finished. He snatches the vial out of Dr. Strange's hands before speeding out of the building with a rushed “thank you.”

Peter drinks the sour tasting liquid of the antidote the minute he knows he’s alone and he feels immediate relief on his aching hard-on as his mind can finally focus on anything other than Tony. While the sensations are pleasurable, they are just too overwhelming and it's just now that Peter realizes how exhausted he is. He lands with a huff on his small twin sized bed and finally manages to sleep without any dreams filled with his mentor's body against his own. Luckily, he doesn’t experience any nightmares either, which have also become somewhat of a recurrence since the Blip.

The loud familiar ring from Peter's phone jars him awake somewhere around three a.m. from an unknown number. Frustrated that his undisturbed sleep was interrupted, Peter plans to just let the phone ring out, but when the ringtone starts up again a second time, he finally gives up with a groan of protest.

“Hello?” He answers with clear annoyance.

“Mr. Parker,” the well known deep voice of Nick Fury purrs through the speaker. Peter sits up immediately, concern and panic etching its way into his mind.

“Mr. Fury, sir, what is it?” Peter continues to drag himself out of bed, rushing straight towards his spider suit stored in his closet.

“We have someone here at NY Presbyterian Hospital who is awake and would like to see you.” Peter immediately stops in his tracks hearing those words. His heart starts to race and an entirely too inappropriate image appears in his head for a split second before he pushes it to the back of his mind. He is ecstatic, already putting on his suit and jumping out his window before he could answer Fury.

He arrives in less than ten minutes, bursting into the hospital room where he sees a few familiar faces already there. But he doesn't care about those people, the only one he’s concerned with is Tony. All eyes are on Peter with his big entrance, sporting his spider suit, including Tony. His face is still red and terribly sore looking, on the majority of the right side, from the resulting blast of the final Snap. His right arm still wrapped in reddening bandages. But his eyes, oh those brilliant brown eyes are open, awake, and staring into Peter's soul.

Peter rips off the mask from his suit revealing his slack jaw and teary wide eyes. He watches Tony's lip barely manage to curve with a hint of a smirk and he loses it.

“Mr. Stark!” He cries out, suddenly jolting towards the feeble looking man before him. He collapses against the edge of the hospital bed in a sobbing heap, clutching onto Tony's shoulders desperately.

“Oh, Peter,” Tony murmurs into Peter's hair along with a small peck. Peter tries not to think too much of that, it's just a common gesture of affection, yet he can’t stop how his mind wonders and there's an undeniable stir in his pants. The added strong scent of Tony filling his senses as he tucks his head into his neck doesn’t help either. Although, it's nowhere near as overpowering as it was before the antidote, so he manages after a few minutes of concentration to will those thoughts away. When he unburries his face from the now damp spot of Tony's neck, he notices they are now just the only two in the room; Tony must have dismissed them while he was concentrating on… other things.

Peter looks into Tony's deep brown eyes, he can see them glossy with his own tears, yet crinkling ever so slightly with the tired smile he could muster.

“I missed you so much Mr. Stark! You have no idea! I came here and visited you as much as I could, even talked to you when I knew you couldn’t hear me.” Peter rambled, while still clutching onto his mentor.

“I missed you too, it doesn't feel real, but god I’m so happy it is.” To hear his voice again, although clearly tired from his injuries, it was the best sound in the world. Tony tugged on Peter's suit arm sleeve the best he could while making room for him on the bed. Peter happily obliged.

“Tell me everything, kid. What have I missed?” Tony asked, sounding content just laying there listening to Peter's voice. Peter doesn’t miss a beat and begins babbling about everything that has happened since the Blip was fixed which causes Tony to chuckle lightly. Of course Peter does leave out a few things involving his new highly inappropriate obsession with the genius hero and everything that applies to it. He doesn’t want to scare off Tony just yet, not so soon after almost losing him for good.

They spend the next few hours talking about the past months' events until Tony finally lets himself fall asleep listening to the boy's constant rambling, a small smile on his face. When Peter finally notices he's asleep, he doesn't feel too opposed to the idea of sleeping himself, remembering the fact that he woke up at three am just two hours ago. He lets his head rest gingerly on Tony's shoulder, inhaling his scent as he feels himself succumb to sleep.

[windschildfanfictionwriter]

The Post War Draco Arguement

It seems like everyone is weighing in on the idea of Draco Malfoy’s post book arc that apparently makes him a ‘good person’ because he ‘grew up’ and no longer tried to murder people or delight in their torture/death. 

Yeah. No. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione literally saved Draco’s life in the room of requirements and not even an hour later Draco is telling Death Eaters he is one of them in order to try to spare his own life. 

Draco didn’t become good. He just realized that he would go to jail and be punished for his misdeeds if he didn’t put on some good boy pants. He’s not pretending to be good, he is a coward who is too afraid to be the bad person that he was. 

There is nothing in the books, in all seven books, to suggest otherwise. There are moments when he is terrified, traumatized, unbearably scared of the negative consequences he has wreaked upon himself, but there was no point where he felt compassion for others or regret. There was no moment where he went to Ron and was like... hey bro, you know how I poisoned you? You know, almost murdering you? Like, I’m totes sorry about that. I regret not only trying to murder Albus Dumbledore, but all the terrible side accidents that happened because of it. That must have been really painful and horrible for you, choking and suffocating and all that. 

Hey, Katie Bell, you know that horrible curse I put on you? Yeah, my bad. Knocked you out for your last season of Quidditch and nearly murdered you too, and destroyed all semblance of joy for your graduating year, but uh... totally wasn’t aiming for you? 

Nope, no remorse or regret, just gonna cry like a little fucking bitch in the bathroom about MY problems. Totally points to redemption. You betcha. 

The fact that people treated Ron like he was being immature for holding a grudge against him? Made me fucking livid. 

No, no, no, we don’t forgive people for trying to murder us. That’s just not healthy. “Forgiveness is not for the perpetrator, it is for the victim.” Some people will say. “So that they themselves can move passed the past and live a healthier life.” Sorry, but there’s a hard pass on that. 

Things that can be forgiven with time? 

A bully. 

If Draco had only bullied them, then sure. You’re both adults now. Maybe they’ll never be friends, but some hurtful words and such can be forgiven. 

But Draco Malfoy demonstrated time again to go passed simple bullying. He’s demonstrated pleasure at the thought of someone else’s death, has shown that he himself would want to be the cause of it, he attempted to murder Dumbledore- in the process nearly killing two students, and showed no remorse what so ever for either events. For either person. 

Only for himself. 

Draco Malfoy is a coward. He should have gone to jail for attempted murder, assault, endangerment, AND for being a Death Eater. Say all you want about him being a ‘child.’ He was well passed childhood. He was a teenager who was one year away from being an adult in the eyes of the wizarding world. Young enough to be forgiven for mistakes (because everybody makes them) but not young enough to be forgiven for attempted murder. 

And before anyone comes up with any weak ass arguments about him having his parents held as hostages... are you out of your god damn mind? Draco was thrilled to be made a Death Eater. He practically glowed with the joy of it on the train ride. Your little head cannon is just that. An imaginary thing that doesn’t exist. No one was a hostage. 

No. Voldemort gave Draco a job he couldn’t possibly handle and sat back to watch the shit show unfold. Daddy was in jail and Mummy was off and making deals with Snape and her sister so they were no where near being held hostage by the dark lord. 

It was only when Draco realized how outclassed he was, how much of an idiot he was for thinking that he could do this, that his fear of not being able to complete the task (not the task itself, mind you) overwhelmed him and made him realize that his life was truly in danger.  

One of the failings of the books, I always thought, was allowing Draco Malfoy to (essentially) get away with everything. His family remained alive. He was safe. Free to get married and have kids, apparently. It was only the disdain of the the wizarding world he had to deal with and that seems to have been all but forgotten by the time the epilogue rolled around. 

While people like Tonks and Lupin, Sirius and Cedric, Fred and Colin and many more died... this motherfucker got to live. 

Its quite sickening. 

And then good people like Ron are just expected to shake his hand and let things just... be? Fuck that. Draco Malfoy deserved to be poisoned and cursed and dropped off the Astronomy Tower with the entirety of Hogwarts applauding his death before heading off to the Great Hall for tea. 

The trope of Draco Malfoy being ‘misunderstood’ is as unjustifiable as the one that states Ron Weasley is a bad friend. These tropes are born out of a problem with culture. The idea that the ‘bad boy’ no matter how terrible he is, no matter abusive or sickening his behavior can always be justified by a shitty passed or other excuses (Draco). On the other hand the idea that a genuinely good person who stands beside the hero is unforgivable for having moments of weakness, of being human, and who is not perfect is also apart of society. The sidekick who has one bad trait is considered to be unworthy while a bad guy is considered misunderstood for having one line in one book that wasn’t absolutely bad. 

Romance Novels are filled with Draco Malfoys. They glorify his type. My best friend (who adores the trash) went on an on about an assassin who kidnapped this woman against her will (but for her own good, apparently). This assassin forces her to stay on this island with him. Yet he is misunderstood. He was horribly abused as a child and had these malicious terrible things done so despite the fact that he is holding her against her will, he is the good guy. 

Another book summary from my bestie? This guy ignores this girls safe word and goes too far. Repeatedly. But no, its not his fault! Because he was raised this way. He’s a good guy. Really. 

Again and again and again she tells me about these romance novels and it truly sickens me. That woman are so into this concept. That the guy who is abusive and horrible and mentally fucked up is more desirable and interesting than the well rounded, genuinely good people in the world. 

She has never, not once, described a healthy relationship in the hundreds and hundreds of books she’s read. Its all equally sickening. 

Which is why people find Severus Snape to be good. It’s why people prefer the Draco Malfoy’s to the sweet Ronald Weasley’s. They have a fascination with the mentally fucked up. They find a thrill with unraveling the reasoning behind it and for trying to draw out the good in all that fucked up-ness. 

The Romance Genre is the highest grossing Genre in all of literature. More than Sci-Fi or fantasty or Young Adult. This Genre, primarily bought by woman, is filled to the brim with abusive, terrible behavior that is glorified and giggled over. 

Because its popular. 

Because it sells. 

That is why Draco Malfoy is popular even though he has no right to be. It is vicious and ugly and sickening, but true, none the less. People like abusive assholes and they’ll fall over themselves to give them excuses. 

#Anti-Draco #HarryPotter #DracoMalfoy #Bully 

[thecomicsnexus]

JUSTICE LEAGUE #7-11, 0, 14-16, 18-21 MAY 2012 - AUGUST 2013 BY GEOFF JOHNS, GARY FRANK AND BRAD ANDERSON

SYNOPSIS (MIXED WITH DC DATABASE AND COMIC VINE)

Doctor Thaddeus Sivana is investigating reports of people across the world being mystically abducted by an old wizard. Upon finding them unworthy, he sends them back home. Sivana is convinced that these stories prove magic is real.

Seven months later, Billy Batson is in a boarding home and being interviewed by potential foster parents. He acts like a good boy so the Vasquezes will become his foster parents. As soon as they leave he makes insulting comments and is excited to have finally tricked someone into getting him out of there.

Billy Batson begins his new life with the Vasquezes, but he has a hard time adjusting to his foster family.

Billy Batson and his foster siblings go to school. While walking home, some kids start bullying them, and Billy fights them off. The principal threatens to expel Billy.

Doctor Sivana finds a door in his archaeological dig that he thinks is the tomb of Black Adam. He tries to open it, and lightning emits from the door and strikes his face. He falls to the ground, then begins laughing, saying he can see magic.

Foster parents Victor and Rosa Vasquez discuss Billy Batson and the events of last issue. Victor suggests that Billy was doing some play acting when they met him at child services, and that he is showing his true colors now. Rosa defends Billy, suggesting that Billy's encounter with Mr. Bryer has left Billy traumatized. Mr. Bryer is the richest man in Philadelphia, and the father of the four nasty bullies who are bullying Billy's new family at school. Mr. Bryer is a pretty nasty fellow himself, and Billy had the guts to stand up to him. But now Billy has hardly touched his hamburger, and Victor is concerned. Victor expresses frustration, telling Rosa that Billy never gave them a chance.

In fact, Billy is in his room, packing that hamburger in his backpack. He leaves the pickles behind, and sneaks out. Billy heads to a zoo, crawling in through a breach in the brick wall, and feeds the hamburger to Tawny, a tiger that Billy seems to know personally. Freddy tails Billy, but is eventually spotted by him. Billy pushes Freddy, who tumbles down in the snow. Freddy admits he previously lifted Billy's wallet out of curiosity, but did not steal anything.

Billy and Freddy discuss the problem with the Bryer brothers. Freddy reveals that the four bullies have been bothering them daily for quite a while. Freddy usually distracts the bullies so that Mary can help the younger ones get away.

Freddy tries to convince Billy to give Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez a chance. But Billy defiantly says "They aren't my parents."

Freddy thanks Billy for intervening when the bullies were bothering them. They consider heading to the Bryer home to get even.

45 miles north of Baghdad, Dr. Sivana continues the archaeological dig at the Tomb of Black Adam. Aided by his magical right eye, (see last issue), Sivana is now able to read the hieroglyphs. They tell him that he can release Black Adam and bring magic to the world with the utterance of a single word. Sivana quietly speaks the word "Shazam", the magic lightning hits, and a hooded Black Adam stands before him, asking for the Wizard.

The recently freed Black Adam demands that Dr. Sivana take him to see the wizard. Meanwhile, Billy Batson and Freddy try to break into one of the Bryer's cars, but they get caught. Billy pushes Freddy in some bushes to hide him, while he escapes on the subway. But the subway doesn't take him where he thinks it will …

Billy Batson makes his way through the labyrinthine halls of the Rock of Eternity. The place seems deserted, though the boy hears the echoes of whispered voices.

“It’s just a boy.”

“What’s he look like?”

“The lad looks awfully small to me! He’ll never break the curse! Send him back already!”

Another voice, a more commanding voice, beckons him onward, deeper into the temple. He passes unimaginable marvels. Behind one door, an indoor snowstorm, memories of a childhood snowman. Down a hall, illusive specters of the Seven Deadly Sins of Man.

And at the end of the hall, six empty thrones, with an impossibly ancient man seated in the seventh. He is the last of the Council of Wizards, and the Keeper of the greatest magical fortress in all existence, the Rock of Eternity.

The Wizard seeks a mystical warrior who is pure good, but the boy his magic has summoned is far from pure.

Billy Batson doesn’t believe that a purely good person exists. “People are horrible. They disappoint you. They let you down. I’ve spent my life learning that... You’re searching for something that doesn’t really exist. That’s why you’ve never found it.”

Time runs short for the Wizard. Black Adam has already been freed from imprisonment. He searches the boy’s mind for the embers of good, seeking even a glimmer of hope.

And though Billy Batson is not the warrior of pure good he sought, the Wizard does see potential in him. He teaches the boy the word that will summon his magics. The word that when spoken with purpose, with belief, with good intentions, will transform him into his greatest potential.

“SHAZAM!”

Billy Batson inherits the Wizard’s chair on the Council of Eternity, and with it, the Power of the Living Lightning. He will be able to travel through the sky as lightning does, to fight with the strength of a demigod.

And he will have to fight, to stop Black Adam from awakening the Seven Deadly Sins of Man. Black Adam will stop at nothing to become absolute ruler of all magic.

As the Wizard passes from this world, he declares Billy Batson magic’s champion. Billy Batson is now Shazam!

Billy Batson returns from the Rock of Eternity, now in possession of the Power of the Living Lightning. And as his first act as magic’s champion, Billy Batson pays a visit to the Bryers’ house. With his magnificent strength, he lifts the Bryers’ car into the air before casually crumpling it hood first into the ground.

He and Freddy then try to use his now adult appearance to buy beer, but Billy feels a bit conspicuous in cloak and magic armor. He also has a hard time interacting with electrical objects, causing them to explode with living magic.

As it grows late, the criminal element of Philadelphia makes itself known. Freddy and Billy witness a mugging, and Billy decides to intervene. He swats the criminal aside, but his strength is greater than he realizes, and the man goes flying into the side of a nearby car.

The woman he saved is incredibly grateful, and she asks if there is any way she can thank him. Freddy suggests that Billy should ask for some cash, and the woman awkwardly hands him a twenty dollar bill.

As the woman shouts her thanks, the boys walk away to celebrate their newfound source of income.

Black Adam and Dr. Sivana begin to track down the Seven Deadly Sins, starting with Sloth, freeing them. Meanwhile, Billy Batson and Freddy buy a coat to cover up his Shazam costume.

Black Adam overpowers Shazam but he escapes by transforming back into Billy and blending into the crowd.

While Black Adam is looking for Shazam, Billy Batson and his foster family try to visit the old wizard, so Billy can convince him to give his powers to someone else. But this cannot happen. Francesca shows Billy the origin of Black Adam. Billy, seeing that this is the story of a kid, storms out to confront Black Adam, only to find out the kid didn’t make it.

Shazam transfers some of his powers to his friends to help him fight Black Adam and the Seven Deadly Sins. As the battle continues, Shazam is still overpowered and his friends return to normal. Instead, Shazam turns back into Billy and provokes Black Adam to do the same; he does and dies as his mortal form is centuries old. 

With Black Adam gone, the Seven Sins flee from battle. Billy returns to his daily life and celebrates Christmas with his friends.

REVIEW

Geoff Johns had a terrible task at hand. He would need to give Shazam a “rebirth” treatment. A character that, while not broken, had a lengthy history of real-life legal drama. In this context, Geoff Johns had to create Shazam and the Shazam Family. I don’t need to tell you that these didn’t exist before (except for the Wizard Shazam).

For those coming late to the party, Shazam’s name was always Captain Marvel. After the legal battle that canceled Captain Marvel’s titles at Fawcett, National (DC) got the rights to the character (not at once, though). By the time Captain Marvel was brought back (the seventies), Marvel Comics got the trademark for Captain Marvel and made sure to create a character with that name (not Carol Danvers). There were also other attempts of using that name by other publishers.

So, from that moment on, DC wasn’t able to use the “Captain Marvel” name on the covers of this character. Instead they would use sentences around the name Shazam. The character in the interior would still be called Captain Marvel, and his extended family would keep their names as well.

But after Flashpoint, calling the character’s name was a golden opportunity. This would also change the names of his extended family. So this is why I am saying, the character is not the same... but at the same time, it is. It’s very similar to the golden age Flash and the silver age Flash. They were almost the same, but had different names.

When I started reading this, back in 2012, I was intrigued by the change in Billy Batson’s personality. This change makes sense, and it is part of his arc. When we start his story, he doesn’t trust anyone, he can only rely on himself. Within a year, he will learn to trust his family (and recognize that a family doesn’t have to be biologically linked to you). This is a very good approach to it, because Billy and all his other “siblings” are adopted from different families. The idea that you can create your own family if life doesn’t really give you one, is quite powerful here.

Billy and Freddy’s reaction to the powers are also amazing. You see a superhero having attitudes of a kid. Gary Frank is so good at this, it feels weird seeing Shazam act like Billy. Captain Marvel was always fantasy, always mild and good, and this adaptation brings reality to it, brings different personalities and points of view. While I don’t think Shazam/Capt Marvel needed this change... it is welcome.

Now, is this enough to establish the character? NO. Most of us readers still call him Captain Marvel, or Mary Marvel, or Captain Marvel Jr, or the Marvel Family. We need to get used to the change. And there was no follow up to this arc, for 5 years. Only brought back thanks to the movie. So my wish is that this movie succeeds at changing “Shazam”’s status quo, so we can start calling him by his new name.

I appreciate the tightness of the writing as well. Side characters are justified and the main character has a very acceptable trauma for his reality.

The only character that gets a bit lost by all the events is Sivana. He keeps repeating that only magic can save his family, but this is never explored (this was just the beginning, and I am guessing it will be explored in the new title).

And Gary Frank is a god here. This may not be the breath-taking experience that “Power of Shazam” was... but his Billy Batson is very distinguishable.

I give this story a score of 10

[owlways-and-forever]

Summary: Lily Evans thought her life would be normal. Well, as normal as it can be for a muggle-born witch in England. But when her boyfriend turns out to be the prince of the wizarding world, and tensions begin to rise among factions of wizarding society, Lily must find her way in situations she never anticipated, and try not to lose sight of her identity. Word Count: 4,239 (41,766) Links: ao3 | FFnet | Tumblr: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9

A/N: Welcome back! This chapter went in a completely different direction than I initially thought it would, but it just kind of seemed to want to write itself this way. It's a little emotional and I think I should give you all a head's up that this chapter does deal with sexual assault. If you're not comfortable reading that, I'll include a summary of important points from this chapter in the AN of the next one so you can keep reading without missing anything. With that, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 10

In the weeks since Whitefire Palace had made it's announcement, Lily's situation had improved somewhat. Articles still came out every now and then, but they had less fodder to them than they had before. At most, it was commentary on her outfits, or stories that were so blatantly false they were almost laughable. She was able to put it all aside and continue with her life as usual. James had taken the liberty of having her added to the Come and Go list at the Palace, so they had taken to spending their nights together in James' apartments instead of at Lily's shared home. She had been so traumatized by the article that she found it hard to relax in her own apartment, but they both felt more secure at the Palace.

But work was becoming more intense for both of them, and between that and their Order missions, their time together was quickly becoming limited to catching a few hours of sleep between late nights and early mornings. Often James would crawl into bed long after Lily had gone to sleep, and she would have to rise with the sun. They seemed to keep missing each other, and it was rapidly becoming frustrating for both of them.

"I've got to go away for a little bit," James said, stroking her hair lightly. It was Lily's first day off in weeks, and they were enjoying a little bit of time cuddling together before James had to get ready to attend some stuffy lunch.

"Away? Where?" Lily asked, twisting a little to look at him.

"To Italy, for a diplomatic visit with Sirius," he answered. "And then I think Remus and Peter are going to meet us after to have a bit of a lads' weekend on one of the islands."

"Really?" she pressed, skeptical. She knew all too well the kinds of things Sirius had gotten up to in school, and she could only imagine what he would do with an unsupervised weekend thousands of miles away.

"Don't worry, Lily, you know I'm yours," James soothed, pressing a kiss to the worry lines between her brows. Though they dissipated slightly, her anxieties were still there, twisting into tight knots in her gut.

"It's not really that," she said, frowning. "It's just…" She shook her head and bit back her words, not wanting to start a fight.

"Lily, what?" he encouraged. "You can tell me anything."

"It's just that, well, we haven't had much time together lately, and I just feel a bit…" She struggled to find the right words, and restarted her thoughts. "You don't have any time to spend with me, but you can clear an entire weekend to party with Sirius, Remus, and Peter."

"Lily it's not like that," he insisted, clearly upset by her words.

"No?"

"No," James stated defiantly. He was starting to feel very defensive. "Any why shouldn't I have fun with my friends? You don't have a monopoly over me, Lily."

"That's not what I meant," Lily backtracked, taken aback by his statement.

"You don't get first dibs on my time," he barrelled on, riled up at that point. "My friends aren't just some random people who get me whenever you've cast me off or when you've decided you're too busy. We've been friends for a long time, and they deserve some of my attention too."

"I never said they didn't," Lily replied, her face warming as she felt tears starting to form. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, and his words should have been making her angry, but she simply couldn't find it in her. She just felt sad. It felt like they were diving off a cliff, the beginning of the end.

"Besides, I'm only nineteen," he continued without any sign that he'd heard her. "I should be allowed to party and have fun still. Just because I'm in a relationship, doesn't mean I've died."

"That's not all you want," Lily hissed, finally finding the anger. "Because if you really just wanted to party, then we could go out in London, or you could've asked me to go with you. I like a party as much as anyone, and you know it would've been fun with me too. But you don't want to party with your girlfriend, because then you wouldn't have girls fawning over you and offering you anything you want and sucking up to you. You want the attention, you want everyone in the world hitting on you, and if I'm there, I'll spoil that, but Sirius will probably be trying to convince you that you should shag some random girl because it's not cheating if it's a different country or because we fought or if you only go so far, or maybe he'll just say that none of it matters because you're royalty and everybody knows that comes with the lifestyle."

"Lily, I would never -" James tried to interrupt, suddenly looking stricken, but Lily was already on the verge of tears and she didn't want him to see her cry this time, not when she couldn't stand the sight of him.

"Whatever, have fun on your trip," she said, with a final huff, striding from the apartment and slamming the door shut behind her.

She almost wished he would come running after her, tell her he wouldn't go, that clearly it bothered her and he cared about that more than some stupid lads' weekend. But he didn't, and it felt like a slap across her face.

o . o . o

James had several reasons for his trip to Italy. He was on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the crown, it was true, but it was all but a secret that he had volunteered to go on the trip instead of his parents. On Corsica, there was a renowned jewelry-maker, who was able to create little galaxies inside his gemstones. The lad's weekend was really just a cover to give him reason to be on the little island, should he be spotted. And it was true that he hadn't spent much time with his friends lately, so he really would enjoy it.

Of course, once Dumbledore had gotten wind of his trip, he'd tacked on another mission of his own. James was tasked with sniffing out possible international recruits and allies. Dumbledore was worried that Voldemort was beginning to extend his influence outside of Great Britain. It was going to add a few extra days onto his trip, he would be away for a little over a week in total.

James hated leaving Lily, especially after the fight they'd had. He wished that he could clear the air with her before he left at the very least, but their schedules just didn't sync up. He looked around wistfully before stepping into the spacious limo, half hoping Lily would show up to say goodbye. But she didn't, so he simply sighed and climbed into the vehicle to prepare for his flight.

The limo was the pride and joy of the Royal Family's fleet. It had started out with the idea of a flying carpet, being outfitted and upgraded over time. Now, it was completely state of the art, with all the most advanced magical enchantments on it. Inside, the limo was as spacious as a private jet, with a stocked kitchenette, a full closet, and even a small bedroom for particularly long (or late) flights. From the outside, it had an array of concealment charms. When driving on the ground, it would appear as any ordinary limo to onlookers, little British flags flying from the front to identify it as a diplomatic envoy. But when flying, the vehicle would take on the guise of an owl, perfect for flying anywhere needed without arousing suspicion. It was a really magnificent little vehicle.

The trip itself was short and uneventful, but the moment they landed on the ground, their schedule was packed. James and Sirius stepped out of the limo to cheers from the gathered onlookers, and were greeted by the Italian Foreign Minister. They did a quick walk about, saying hello to the fans who had waited to see them, before being ushered inside to begin their day of meetings.

Five full days of meetings and engagements at charitable institutions. Touring hospitals and orphanages and schools all around the country. It was dull, especially since James only understood half of what was being said - honestly, it was shocking that they couldn't find better translators - and Sirius was getting restless. At night, they took a few surreptitious meetings on behalf of Dumbledore, but they weren't making as much progress and he had hoped. They spent another two days speaking with prominent members of the wizarding families, and though they were diplomatic in their responses, James wasn't feeling optimistic that it would come to anything. The Italian wizards seemed to think that the situation couldn't possibly be as dire as they were making it sound, and offered little support. The Minister himself, James was sure, was a lost cause, and he barely even bothered with any of his recruitment arguments.

And throughout the whole thing, James kept thinking about Lily. He felt awful about the way they'd parted, and he wanted so desperately to be able to talk to her. He made a mental note to give her something along the lines of his and Sirius' two way mirrors, so that they wouldn't be in this situation again. Although she probably would've smashed it after that fight. He just wanted to be with her again, and apologize for the way this was done. And ideally hear her apologize for snapping at him. Only two more days.

o . o . o

James wished he could say that he'd been careful, that he'd been mindful of Lily's words and her feelings and he'd kept the drinking to a minimum and made sure he didn't do anything that could possibly be misconstrued. He wished he could say even one of those things. But James was an absolute idiot, so he couldn't.

He had known, when Sirius said that he found a party on a private yacht and scored invites for all of them, that it was a bad idea. Yacht parties meant too much fancy alcohol and girls in bikinis and paparazzi taking blurry pictures that made it look like anything was happening - especially things that were most definitely not happening.

He had known, when he saw the girl staring at him from across the boat with eyes like a lioness hunting her prey, that he should be careful. He knew what that look meant, and he knew he should stop drinking so he could stay alert. And yet somehow he still accepted the next drink Sirius thrust at him, and the one after that, and then another still.

Everything became a fog, and the rocking of the boat did nothing to help his balance. He needed to find somewhere to sit down, or lie down, but he couldn't for the life of him think where that might be. And then she was there, standing right in front of him in the doorway, with her amber eyes fixed on him boldly. She was pretty, but her eyes were the wrong color, and so was her hair. She was all wheat-coloured, not shades of Christmas. He needed to find green eyes.

"Dove stai andando?" she asked, a question that James did not even begin to comprehend, but her voice had a buttery quality to it, like silk sheets over smooth skin.

James frowned at her, but she simply smiled, leaning her shoulders back against the frame of the door so that her hips were still angled toward him. She curled her fingers around the waistband of his swim trunks, but James stepped away quickly.

"I… I need to sit down," he said, excusing himself and staggering backward. He wanted to get away from her, and he definitely did not want to walk past her to the bedroom he knew was hidden away somewhere.

He turned and walked across the deck as well as his legs could carry him, fulling aware that he was teetering and careening with each hasty step. Finally, he found an empty pool chair, and he collapsed into it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Merlin it felt good to sit. Now that his eyes were closed, he couldn't seem to open them. He must have fallen asleep because he was having a great dream.

In his dream, he must not have fought with Lily, he must have asked her to come with them. Or maybe she simply decided to surprise him. But she wasn't mad at him. She was straddling his hips, grinding down on him, her breasts tantalizingly close to his face, he could feel it. If they weren't at a party, her bikini top would be off so that his lips could find every inch of skin unimpeded. His hands found her backside, a bare expanse of smooth skin. If he was quick, he could probably move aside the little scrap of fabric that was between them and nobody would be any the wiser.

Except Dream Lily didn't smell right. His Lily always smelled like flowers and vanilla and a little bit like antiseptic, even when they were at the beach. But Dream Lily smelled like sun tan lotion and alcohol and something like licorice, which was just all wrong. And then she was disappearing, being yanked away from him, and James could hear shouting and he tried to open his eyes. They felt so heavy.

"Get the hell away from him," he heard Remus snarl, and he knew that it wasn't a Dream Remus because his mind could never nail the feral nature Remus' voice took on when he was furious. "C'mon James, we're leaving now."

Remus's hands were around James' ribs, yanking him up to a standing position, and he felt someone smaller slip underneath his shoulder on the other side. Peter, probably. With a pop and a quick jerk, they were moving, squeezing through space, and then they hit the floor in their hotel hard. James vomited where he stood, heaving. Alcohol and Apparition were not a good combination.

"Let's get to bed, mate," Remus sighed, and he and Peter helped James to the bedroom, and then he was well and truly asleep.

o . o . o

James awoke with his head pounding and a vague memory of what happened the night before. He felt swamped in regret - he'd but such an idiot. He scrambled from the bed and emerged into the little common area of their shared suite, Remus sitting at the table sipping on coffee while Peter scrambled what looked like at least two dozen eggs.

"Morning," James groaned, sinking into the seat next to Remus. His friend slid the coffee pot across the table, allowing James to fill the empty mug in front of him.

"Eggs, beans and toast are all on the way," Peter announced loudly, and James winced at the volume. "Sorry. In a bit of pain?"

"Not as much as you deserve I reckon," Remus snorted, tossing a set of newspapers across the table at James.

The text winked and flickered for a moment as the papers tried to find the right language for James, before finally settling on English. He wished they'd remained unintelligible though. In reality, the titles weren't even relevant, it was the pictures that were damning. That blasted girl with a seductive grin and her hand sneaking under his trunks. Her sitting on top of him, her fingers in his hair as his hands caressed her backside. James felt like vomiting again as he looked at them, and he threw them aside.

"She's gonna see those, you know," Remus admonished. "You're a right ass."

"I know," James answered sullenly. "She's going to leave me for this."

"Frankly, I think she's going to murder you for it, but yeah, either way, I don't think you'll be together anymore," Remus said. He clearly had little sympathy for his friend.

"You know that it wasn't… that I didn't want to…?" James struggled to find the right words for what had happened to him the night before.

"Of course I know that not of it was bloody consensual!" he exclaimed, frustrated. "Why do you think I got you out of there so damn fast? But James, you put yourself in this situation, and that is what is hard to forgive."

"I -" James began, a little bit outraged by his friend's stance.

"Oh not the position to be assaulted, nobody ever gets themselves into that," Remus sighed exasperatedly. "But you knew that people would take pictures and there might even be paparazzi. You knew that anyone was just dying to snap a photo of you talking to another girl just a little bit too close. You were mad at Lily and you wanted to hurt her, so you got drunk anyway and got yourself in a situation that you knew would almost certainly result in pictures like this."

"You think I wanted to hurt Lily?" James asked, more than a little bit shocked by the statement. "I just bought her a damn engagement ring!"

"James, we know you as well as anyone, and you have a temper on you," Peter chimed in, placing the breakfast plates on the table. "Besides, loving someone doesn't mean you'll never get mad at them."

James chewed on his eggs as he thought over his friends' words. Perhaps they were right and he'd been angry. Maybe it had made him stupid.

"Where's Sirius?" he asked. "It's time to go home."

o . o . o

James was sullen throughout their journey home, trying to decide what he could possibly say to Lily so she would understand and hopefully forgive him. He hated himself for screwing this up, and would give anything not to have gone to the party. As soon as they arrived in London, James hopped into the shower. Somehow, he didn't think it would help his case if he still smelled like vodka and vomit. He left for Lily's apartment as soon as he was dressed again. Lily was probably at work, but he would simply wait until she got home.

There was no one at the apartment when James arrived, and though he could easily let himself in, he felt like it would be an intrusion in this case. Lily deserved the opportunity to deny him entry if it's what she wanted. He sank to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, tapping his feet on the ground anxiously.

Almost two hours passed before James heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and he straightened up. Lily rounded the corner and he immediately scrambled to his feet, quickly brushing his hair back in his typical nervous habit.

"Lily, can we talk?" he asked, trying not to get his hopes up.

She ignored him, walking straight past him with a hardened expression and unlocking the door to her apartment. But she didn't shut the door again behind her, and James took that as an invitation. He stepped cautiously into the little apartment, softly shutting the door and hovering by the entrance, waiting.

"I know I fucked up," he said after a long moment.

She did say anything, but Lily reached into her bag, pulling out two newspapers and throwing them on the kitchen counter with an aggressive slap. James cringed at the sound and wished he could crawl into a hole as he saw the headlines.

LILY LEFT BEHIND

EVANS ELIMINATED IN THE RACE FOR PRINCESS

"You could have at least told me," she spat, pulling out a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. There was venom in her words, but James was almost positive that she had turned away so that he couldn't see her cry.

"It's not what it looks like," he said, cursing the words for their cliche, and she scoffed. "I swear on Merlin's wand, Lily, please just hear me out."

"Well this ought to be fun," she huffed, sitting down on the sofa with her arms crossed and anger boiling like a potion in her eyes.

"Look," James began, taking a deep breath, "I fucked up, Lily, I know I did. I shouldn't have gone to the party with the guys, and I definitely shouldn't have been drinking. There's no denying it. But I didn't do that."

"So what? The pictures are doctored?" LIly asked, her eyebrows flying up in skepticism.

"No, they're real, but I…" James paused, his expression pleading with Lily even as she was shaking her head and turning away. "Lily the first picture, I was feeling dizzy, and I was trying to find a place to sit down for a bit, and I wanted you, and she came up to me, and… I don't even know what she said, but she reached out and then I excused myself. We spoke for maybe thirty seconds, that's it."

Lily stood there, still looking angry, but she hadn't shoved him out of the apartment yet, so he knew he still had a few minutes to explain, or at least try to.

"I don't really know what happened in the second photo, Lily," he continued, sighing and running his hand through his hair as he stared down at the ground with furrowed brows. "I remember finding the chair and collapsing in it, and then I think I fell asleep. I remember dreaming of you, but it felt weird, like something was off. And then Remus was shouting and waking me and carting me off to the hotel. And I know it looks bad, but I swear on Merlin's hat that I didn't want any of it, I didn't even know…"

"James…" Lily replied, her expression softening a bit. "James, that's assault."

"I… yeah, I guess it is," he answered, trying not to think about it too hard. "Honestly, Lily, I haven't thought about it except for how badly I've fucked this all up, and I'm sorry. I don't think I can tell you enough, but I really am."

"It's okay," she said, reaching out to push his hair back from his forehead.

"I und - what?"

"It's okay," she repeated. "I understand that it wasn't something you did intentionally, or even wanted. But are you okay?"

"I don't know," James answered honestly. "I really haven't thought about it like that."

"I think… look, obviously this is pretty emotional for both of us," Lily reasoned, "and I think we should try to maybe stay out of the public eye for a bit until everything is cooled down a bit."

"Right, yeah," he agreed, emotions other than panic and regret starting to sink in for the first time.

"Come on, let's just go sit down for a bit," Lily suggested, tugging on his arm for a moment.

They curled up together on the sofa, trying to remind themselves that everything was alright. Lily felt exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions that she had been on throughout the week. She wouldn't be surprised if it took a week's worth of sleep to recover. Meanwhile James had only just begun to process what had happened during the trip, and he was more than a little overwhelmed.

"Hey Lils?" he said, trying to turn his mind to something happier.

"Mmm?" she hummed, content where she was with her head resting on his shoulder.

"What if we went on a vacation together?" James asked nervously. "I wanted to ask you before I left, but then we fought and things got so mucked up. But we could go anywhere you wanted - to the Caribbean, or to the Sahara, or wherever. Some time for just the two of us."

"That'd be nice," Lily agreed, smiling. She hoped she would dream of luxurious vacations and desperately needed time away from work, rather than worrying about the nightmare they'd been going through for the past few weeks. Things would start to look up, they had to, she was sure of it.

[batgirl-87]

Not Today

Summary: After angrily storming out of Defense Against the Dark Arts class and the library during a study session, experiencing an outburst of rage during Quidditch practice, snapping coldly at Madam Rakepick, and then being found having a breakdown, the gang is very concerned about their normally strong, composed friend and her hostile, emotional change in demeanor. 

Word Count: ~20k

Genre/Warnings: Angst, a little Fluff at the end, Swearing?

Note: I’m not actually sure what genre this is but I guess angst works? A little fluff moment with Charlie at the end, lots of caring and concerned friends, some protective Rowan, and an anxious, stressed out Bill. This ended up being much, much, MUCH longer than originally planned (honestly, the ending became a lot longer than originally planned). I had a lot of feelings! (*insert ‘I just have a lot of feelings* gif from Mean Girls*) So this is more like an emotional venting story, not my best work, but it needed to be done. I also got weirdly into untranslatable words so… enjoy those =p Again, still in Fourth Year in the game even though this story is based on Fifth Year so I apologize for any inconsistencies or errors. – I started writing this before the Halloween event in the game and was already working on the ending when the event started; did add a couple references.

Soundtrack Suggestions: Honestly, I can’t think of any particular songs, I wrote this in a sort of emotional fit of rage, music not necessary, so listen to anything that makes you feel like screaming out in anger and breaking things and then crumble to the ground as a sobbing mess.

Preview: “There are much more difficult things to face and overcome than some cursed artifact or dark wizard. Some things you can never overcome and have to figure out how to cope with every day for the rest of your life. So you can’t stand up there and preach to all of us like you’ve seen it all and overcame it all, like it’s so easy to do, and you just know it all because you don’t! You have no idea how hard it is! And for you to make others who have to endure their challenge every day, who can’t just cast a spell and be rid of it, whose challenge is more about how horribly others treat them because of who they are instead of their actual struggle, feel worse about themselves is wrong. It’s harmful towards individuals and society. You are adding to the narrative and stereotypes, enabling the ignorant hatred and violence, permitting others to turn against people, some good people, who need understanding, compassion, and help. So you and everyone else can shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand because you have no idea, no idea, what real struggle and bravery and strength is.”

The students filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom looking somewhat sluggish and tired, probably because it was a Monday. They slumped into their desks and took out their required textbook and parchment filled notebooks to take notes on. Keira appeared to be in a particularly down mood today, not that it wasn’t uncommon for her to suddenly fall into a depressing mood when the gravity of her overwhelming situation would abruptly hit her, but this was different. And if anyone had been keeping track of this occurrence they might have discovered a pattern.

“Good afternoon class.” At Madam – er – Professor Rakepick’s voice signaling the start of class, any chatting between the students came to a sudden halt and everyone seemed to sit up straighter at their desks.

“Today I thought it fitting for us to cover one of the most dangerous beasts in the Wizarding world – Werewolves.” Professor Rakepick’s announcement of today’s lesson intrigued a majority of the class, including one Miss Penny Haywood. The popular Hufflepuff’s attention was instantly hooked and, while at first she seemed to pale and appear anxious, she quickly flipped open her book, eager to begin the lesson viewing this as an important learning opportunity. As long as there would be no actual werewolves. Keira, on the other hand, instantly tensed up at the mention of today’s lesson and apprehensively opened up her textbook.

The lesson began generally enough, Professor Rakepick going over common knowledge just in case anyone, probably assuming those muggle born, was unaware of basic facts on werewolves such as the distinctions between a werewolf and regular wolf, a werewolf’s inability to choose whether or not to transform, their inability to remember anything of their former human self when transformed, the falsehood in the muggle world of werewolves being negatively affected by silver, and on the lycanthropy infection that causes it.

Penny diligently took notes on everything Professor Rakepick said even if she was already well aware of the information. Keira couldn’t blame her. She understood Penny endured a traumatic experience with a werewolf and was determined to not allow herself or anyone else she cared about to fall victim to another one. The Slytherin, on the other hand, had yet to take a single mark on her parchment, not even a doodle.

“No, werewolves cannot pass on their lycanthropy to their children,” Professor Rakepick answered a student’s question, appearing a bit annoyed that her lecture was being interrupted, before motioning, albeit rather exasperatedly, to another student whose hand was raised.

“Is there no cure for it?” Professor Rakepick gave a condescending smirk before answering their question.

“No, there is no cure for lycanthropy. However, there is a potion, Wolfsbane Potion, which has proven to allow a werewolf to retain their human mind while transformed which has helped reduce werewolf attacks. It is a very difficult, complicated, and quite expensive to make and very dangerous, even deadly, if made incorrectly,” she added before continuing on with her lecture assuming there would be no more questions interrupting her.

Oh yes, Wolfsbane Potion. Keira remembered asking Professor Snape about it one time in Potions class which of course earned her a glaring look from her Head of House and a comment dripping in disdain. No, they would not be learning that lesson in that class or any other class of his. And she would be a fool to try and attempt it on her own because she would fail miserably and concoct a dangerous poison instead. Why was she interested in that particular potion anyway?

Keira couldn’t remember exactly what excuse she gave him, possibly relating to Penny since Penny was a potion master and always working to advance her technique or create her own potions, and Snape had a soft spot for her so Keira figured dropping Penny’s name couldn’t hurt. Regardless, he dropped it and moved on to the lesson for the day and Keira was incredibly disappointed to discover they would not be learning Wolfsbane Potion then or ever.

She had thought about trying to make it herself but Snape didn’t lie about it being an advanced potion. The ingredients were expensive, sure, but that didn’t faze her at all. And yes, there was a risk buying those particular ingredients since it could alert others to a werewolf’s identity but being a Slytherin and member of the infamous House of Black had its advantages including connections to shady wizards who sold a variety of items secretly including rare potion ingredients. Plus she could always “borrow” some ingredients from Snape – it wouldn’t be the first time nor the last for that. But even if she got the ingredients the risk of messing it up was high.

She had considered asking Penny for her help, who better to help make a potion than her best friend the potions master? But Penny wasn’t stupid, and Keira did not, could not, answer her questions about why she needed this potion. And Penny clearly had her own, personal feelings towards werewolves which could easily cause her to refuse her help. Plus she already asked so much of her friends with finding the Cursed Vaults and this was another personal thing she didn’t want to get them involved in. She had even considered finding someone to pay to make the potion for her, most likely the same type of shady character who would sell the ingredients covertly, but she couldn’t trust someone else to make this type of potion.

No, she would figure this out on her own.

“Werewolves are often shunned and discriminated against in Wizarding society and most believe they are evil creatures who deserve nothing short of death. I’ll let you form your own opinions on them. But I can tell you first hand, facing off against these beasts is a true test of one’s abilities. They are dangerous, murderous, and have killed many wizards, witches, and even muggles,” Professor Rakepick warned causing some student’s to look up fearfully at her.

Keira, on the other hand, simply narrowed her eyes at the Professor. She was quickly growing over this lesson and hoped class was almost over.

Unfortunately, class was nowhere near being over and once Professor Rakepick finished her lesson and warning on how dangerous werewolves were she brought out a practice dummy to demonstrate some defensive and attack spells they could use on a werewolf if they were ever ill-fated to encounter one. Alright, Keira could admit there were absolutely dangerous werewolves out there – she could think of one in particular – and true, they should learn how to defend themselves against one if necessary. However, some of these violent attacks and the overall aggressive attitude of this lesson was starting to wear on her. And honestly, today of all days, she had little patience and tolerance and understanding.

Once she finished her demonstration, Professor Rakepick called the students to come up and form a line to practice the spells she just showed them on the practice dummy. Penny put on a determined face and practically raced up to the front of the classroom. Fortunately it was a basic practice dummy and not one that appeared like an actual werewolf or maybe her attitude would have been different.

And on any other day Keira would admire Penny’s eagerness and bravery to face what happened to her head on and with full dedication, no fear or hesitancy. Keira normally was so proud of Penny’s remarkable ability at coping with her trauma.

But not today.

Today she did not find Penny’s eagerness to learn all she could about werewolves and how to defeat them admirable. She found nothing amusing about the jokes other students made on the topic of today’s lesson. She did not find any of Rakepick’s self-proclaimed daring adventures fighting off werewolves brave or remarkable. And she had nothing but contempt and revulsion at any comments about killing werewolves even if they were directed at a practice dummy.

Yes, there were evil werewolves out there who caused a great deal of harm to others and she planned on ridding the world of a particular one herself one day.

But today…

Today’s lesson and her fellow student’s reaction to it filled her with anger, made her want to cry, and caused her to feel sick to her stomach.

Maybe if this lesson fell on another day, any other day, she wouldn’t feel so strongly. But the lesson had to fall on today and she was not prepared to handle it.

So while the rest of the students made their way up to the front of the class to attack the practice dummy they were supposed to imagine was a werewolf, Keira slammed her textbook shut, shoved her school supplies in her bag, and stood up quickly bumping into her desk and causing it to jolt forward a few inches and slam back down onto the floor. This sudden noise caused the other students and her Professor to look in her direction but Keira showed no signs of acknowledging their attention nor caring about it as she slung her bag over her shoulder and stormed out of the classroom.

She was done.

If she had bothered to look at the front of the classroom she would have noticed the concerned and quizzical looks on her friends’ faces, particularly the dragon obsessed Gryffindor who watched her closely with furrowed brows and searching eyes full of worry.

Keira marched down the labyrinth of hallways and staircases that made up Hogwarts, muttering to herself under her breath at the complete and utter connerie of that lesson, the audacity of Professor Rakepick and those students making their ignorant comments and vicious attacks on the attack dummy. Who did they think they were? They didn’t know anything!

“Miss Black.” Keira stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around when she heard her name called by stern yet gentle voice – she knew really of only one person who could master that type of tone.

“Y-yes, Professor McGonagall,” Keira stammered nervously as it just dawned on her that she was technically skipping class and now had been caught doing so. She was thankful, however, that it was by Professor McGonagall and not Professor Snape.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class? Defense Against the Dark Arts I believe,” Professor McGonagall questioned the young girl who resisted squirming under the powerful witch’s intense gaze.

“W-well, yes, technically I am –“ Keira started, averting her eyes and focusing them on the floor beneath them.

“So then why are you wandering the hallways instead of attending your class,” Professor McGonagall continued her questioning, clasping her hands in front of her.

Keira shifted uncomfortably as she felt the Transfiguration Professor maintain her intense gaze on her, trying to think of how to answer her. “I just… I didn’t exactly agree with today’s lesson,” she eventually replied after what felt like an eternity to her under the close watch of the Gryffindor Head of House. It wasn’t a lie! She couldn’t lie to Professor McGonagall!

“You didn’t agree with the lesson,” Professor McGonagall repeated, astonished by the Slytherin’s reply. She had to admit she was not expecting that answer.

“No, I did not agree with it,” Keira declared adamantly, looking up at the Transfiguration Professor with a sudden conviction and a fiery look in her eyes.

Professor McGonagall studied the tenacious Slytherin. No other students had appeared to have stormed out of the classroom so it could not have been that controversial of a lesson. And she was well aware some lessons, particularly those in regards to the Dark Arts could upset some of their more sensitive students but Keira wasn’t normally one to allow her emotions to get the better of her like this.

“May I ask what this unbearable lesson was, exactly,” Professor McGonagall finally asked, partially she admitted out of her own curiosity. What lesson could have sent this student in particular who dealt with so much, carried so much with them, on a daily basis to finally reach her breaking point? And what if this was a lesson that needed to be examined upon closer inspection and have necessary changes made to it?

Keira’s sudden relentless and bold attitude wavered at the Professor’s next question. “… It was on werewolves, ma’am,” she answered quietly, her gaze once against shifting down to the floor.

Oh here it came. All the questions about why this lesson of all the lessons upset her? Upset her so much it caused her to walk out of class. And then a lecture on the importance of the lessons they learned there at Hogwarts and while some may be difficult or even scary to some they had to learn them. And then she would be forced back into that class. The embarrassment of being ushered back in after her somewhat dramatic exit would just be the icing on the cake to this horrible day today was turning out to be.

But the series of questioning and matter-of-fact lecture that disregarded one’s feelings never came.

Instead Professor McGonagall’s eyes softened for a moment, full of understanding and perhaps even some nostalgia, at Keira’s honest reply. “Well, we can’t have you aimlessly wandering the hallways during class time. Come along,” she said as she glided past the Slytherin to continue down the hall towards her classroom. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had one of your private Transfiguration lessons.”

Keira watched the poised Professor curiously. “What?”

“You should be learning something,” Professor McGonagall stated before motioning towards the open door to her classroom. Once the shock wore off over McGonagall’s kind and generous reaction to her confession of ditching class, Keira grinned and hurried into the Transfiguration classroom. Maybe this day wasn’t so bad after all.

“Very good, Miss Black,” Professor McGonagall praised as the young Slytherin bonded a couple books together.

“Thank you, Professor,” Keira replied before undoing her transfiguration spell. “I appreciate you taking the time to teach me like this.”

“I am a Professor, Miss Black. It is my job to teach. And when I see promising young students like yourself, providing individual private lessons is a pleasure,” Professor McGonagall replied with a kind smile. Keira smiled back at her before attempting to cast Epoximise again. Her attitude had drastically changed from earlier. She had forgotten about being angry and resentful and was enjoying learning a new lesson with a Professor who understood how she felt better than most, if anyone else, at Hogwarts.

“You know, Sirius and his friends were quite skilled at Transfigurations as well,” Professor McGonagall casually mentioned, although there really was nothing casual about it.

Keira paused in her practicing and looked up at her Professor curiously. “Yeah?”

At her gentle prodding Professor McGonagall continued, explaining what she meant further. Alright, sure, she admitted Sirius and his friends tended to get into some trouble but their skills in Transfigurations and other areas of magic were noteworthy. “The only thing more remarkable than their ability to use their impressive magical talents to consistently get into trouble was their unwavering loyal friendship. Which was especially beneficial for Mr. Lupin who always appeared to be a bit of a loner until them. He really seemed to open up, come into his own with them – happier.” A sad smile formed on the distinguished Professor’s face which Keira mirrored.

“You know, it’s good to hear someone speak about them in a positive way,” Keira said after a moment before letting out a hollow chuckle. “Professor Snape only condemns me for my relationship to them.”

“Yes, well Sev- Professor Snape never got along well with them,” Professor McGonagall recalled with a nod of her head.

“Yeah, that’s been made pretty clear,” Keira muttered.

While she thought this topic may prove to be somewhat therapeutic for the Slytherin, Professor McGonagall had to admit she enjoyed reminiscing for a bit with Keira despite the bittersweet subject. And Keira greatly appreciated Professor McGonagall talking to her about it.

“Here’s a list of some books I recommend you read to advance your talents in Transfigurations, if you’re interested. I may even be willing to provide some extra credit if you write a particularly compelling essay on what you learn from them. And if you promise to go straight to the library, no detours, and get straight to work I will let you go,” Professor McGonagall negotiated as she handed her student a piece of parchment with her book suggestions.

“I promise. Straight to the library to quietly read these,” Keira assured her, holding up the list. “I won’t cause anyone any trouble,” she added.

Professor McGonagall smiled warmly down at the Slytherin and nodded her head to silently permit her to leave despite it still being class time for her. Keira thanked her again, and again and again – for everything. For giving her a private lesson and recommending books for her to advance her skills, investing in her and encouraging her, and most importantly talking to her about Sirius and Remus and their time as students which helped her feel closer to her family, one she barely knew. She appreciated McGonagall being there for her.

Keira hurried to the library without any detours, as promised, in a much better mood form earlier. She honestly had forgotten about that class and how it made her feel. Forgot that she was even ditching it!

She wandered up and down the many aisles of books, locating the ones Professor McGonagall suggested for her. She balanced the list on top of the small stack of books she carried in her arms as she now hunted for a spot to sit. The library had been filled recently by Seventh Years preparing for their N.E.W.T.s. Funny, she couldn’t remember other Seventh Year students taking up most of the library any other year.

And speaking of Seventh Years…

Keira’s grey eyes landed on a familiar redhead sitting at the end of one of the tables who looked uncharacteristically anxious with his head in his hands as his eyes frantically scanned one of the many open books laid out in front of him. Oh the poor boy… Keira laughed slightly to herself and shook her head before making her way over to the stressed out eldest Weasley.

“Mind if I join you,” Keira asked quietly as she pulled out a chair for herself. Bill’s head whipped up from his intensive studying to look up at her.

“What? Yeah, sure,” Bill replied frenetically, motioning to the chair she had already pulled out for herself.

Keira frowned slightly as she set her armful of books down on the table and slid her bag off her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“What,” Bill asked again, whipping his head back up once again from the books that continually absorbed all his attention. “Y-yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just studying for my N.E.W.T.s you know, and it’s exhausting! I mean, if it’s this exhausting just studying for them imagine how exhausting it will be taking them!” Bill laughed a bit hysterically as he leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair look positively mad.

Keira stared at him as she set her bag on the ground next to her and took a seat next to the exhausted and somewhat crazed Gryffindor. “…When’s the last time you got some sleep?”

“Sleep? Sleep,” he repeated, growing louder and earning a harsh SHUSH from Madam Pince and some other students in the library studying for their own N.E.W.T.s. “I can’t afford sleep right now,” Bill informed her matter-of-factly in a stern whisper.

“Okay…” Keira replied, grabbing one of the books Professor McGonagall suggested for her. ”Someone needs to drink some Draught of Peace,” she muttered under her breath.

“What,” Bill demanded, giving her a harsh look. What did she just say?!

Uh oh… Quickly, think of a way out of this! “…You can borrow some of my books on Transfigurations if you want. Professor McGonagall recommended them personally,” she offered gently. Crazed, sleep-deprived, anxious Bill scared her.

“Yeah,” Bill asked, eyeing the small stack of books on the table seeming to calm down for the moment. “Thanks.” Keira nodded her head as she watched him closely.

“Will, I’m worried about you,” she confessed.

Bill took a deep breath before replying. “I’m fine, really. I just… I need to do well on these exams so I can become a Curse-Breaker,” he explained, sounding more like his composed self.

“Yeah, not everyone can be skilled enough to break their first curse at age eleven and secure themselves a job before taking their exams. I probably don’t even need to take the N.E.W.T.s. Could just leave school, walk right into Gringotts and inform them that I’m their new Curse-Breaker and they’d be like ‘alright’.” Keira’s teasing reply earned a small smirk from the eldest Weasley.

“No, unfortunately we cannot all be blessed like you,” Bill replied sarcastically, Keira smirking at him now. There was the William she knew and loved.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be in class right now,” Bill suddenly asked causing Keira to tense up slightly. Oh crap, busted again!

“Oh well I… I wasn’t feeling well so I left. Then I ran into Professor McGonagall and she helped me feel better. And then she gave me this list of books she thought I should read to help me advance my Transfigurations skills. And now I share them with you,” Keira replied, passing him one of her books.

“Thanks,” Bill said as he watched her closely. He suspected something more was up but these N.E.W.T.s were constantly stealing his focus. He figured if she or Charlie or anyone else really needed him they would be more direct about it.

The two fell silent as Bill resumed his exhaustive studying and Keira flipped open one of the books suggested to her and began reading. During their quiet studying session Bill let out a frustrated groan and slumped in his seat. Upon further investigation by Keira it was determined the source of Bill’s frustration was Ancient Runes. She slid the book that had currently captured Bill’s attention over so she could take a better look at it before offering her help.

“What about your own stuff,” Bill asked in a defeated tone, motioning to her books on Transfigurations.

“I can read those whenever,” Keira assured, waving off at her books on the table. “Besides, you always help me with Arithmancy,” she pointed out. Oh no, what would she do when he graduated and was no longer there to help her with her Arithmancy?! Her eyes widened as that realization dawned on her.

“Don’t worry, you can always owl me when you need help with your Arithmancy,” Bill assured her, understanding exactly what that look on her face meant.

“I can owl you my homework and you’ll do it for me,” Keira asked with an impish grin.

“That’s not what I sai-“

“Thank you, Will,” Keira cried out joyously as she leaned over to wrap her arms around the Gryffindor prefect and hug him tightly, earning a couple shushes from other students around them but she paid them no mind.

“Okay, alright. Let’s just focus on Ancient Runes for right now,” Bill suggested, patting one of her arms that was snuggly around him a couple times. Keira slowly released the eldest Weasley and began to help him with his studies on Ancient Runes.

So maybe the day had a rough start but it was a thousand times better now. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all…

Soon enough some familiar faces joined them for their study session in the library once their class let out. Penny plopped down in the chair next to Keira, Rowan begrudgingly taking the next seat over while Charlie and Barnaby made themselves comfortable on the other side of the table, the second eldest Weasley sitting next to his brother and across from formerly fuming Slytherin.

“There you are Keira. Is everything okay,” Penny asked, her voice full of concern, just like Charlie’s eyes watching her closely from across the table.

“Yeah, why,” Keira asked as she kept her eyes locked on the book in front of her, suddenly feeling more tense at their arrival. Their presence just reminded her of what she was trying to get away from.

“Because you stormed out of class in a fiery rage,” Barnaby exaggerated causing Rowan to shake her head.

“No, that wasn’t a fiery rage for her,” Rowan informed them. She had seen Keira in a rage and that was not it but she was definitely upset.

“You stormed out of class in a fit of rage,” Bill questioned, his attention suddenly grabbed from his studies. Keira could feel the lecture looming.

“N.E.W.T.s.” That was all Keira had to say for Bill’s focus to instantly go back to his studies.

“It may not have been a fit of rage but you were clearly upset.” Penny steered the conversation back to the topic they came there to discuss and Keira had to resist rolling her eyes. She could feel all of their eyes locked on her and it was close to driving her mad.

“So, why did you leave in the middle of class,” Barnaby asked gently, his voice full of concern. Keira couldn’t give a snide remark when his was genuinely worried.

“I just…wasn’t feeling well,” Keira finally answered with a shrug.

“Did you go see Madam Pomfrey,” Rowan asked. “Because if you haven’t maybe we should go to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Rowan, really,” Keira assured, raising up a hand to signal to her roommate to calm down and stop grabbing her things in preparation to leave. “I’m feeling a lot better,” she added, throwing a reassuring look to her friends, particularly Barnaby who she felt was mere moments away from either hugging her and never letting her go or knocking out anyone that came near her. Or both.

“Okay,” Penny replied after studying her a moment, although she didn’t sound entirely convinced, if Keira didn’t want to talk about it she wasn’t going to force her. “Well you missed quite the exciting class.”

Keira clenched her jaw at Penny’s mention of the day’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She couldn’t help but find it a little flippant that they were so concerned about why she left the class so upset and then went right into talking about it and all that she missed.

Her whole body grew tenser as Penny, Rowan, and Barnaby continued to discuss what she missed in class amongst themselves, excited over the new spells they learned. Penny in particular was eager to talk about today’s lesson. It was taking all of Keira’s willpower to keep from exploding at the keen Hufflepuff, from shouting at her to shut up. And to keep from snapping at Charlie to stop staring at her! She knew he was worried about her, and she appreciated it, but he had to stop just staring at her like he was waiting for her to have a breakdown or else she would have one! At least he wasn’t participating in this discussion over their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson for the day. He even tried to steer the conversation to dragons, which was a normal occurrence, and maybe it was a bit narcissistic to think he was doing it for her, but Keira appreciated his efforts to change the topic of discussion since this one clearly upset her. And if anyone recognized what was going on with her, it would be the observant Seeker who always seemed to notice things about her and discern how she was feeling – which honestly sort of weirded her out. She wasn’t use to someone paying so much attention to her like that… Well, besides Rowan.

Alright, maybe it was not so obvious since she hadn’t said anything explicitly but she did leave class upset, which they were just concerned about a few moments ago, and her knuckles were white from gripping her book so tightly, her jaw clenched so tight she worried her teeth may shatter. Not to mention the anger and irritation wafting off of her and making their atmosphere heavy and tense.

“Would be cool to see a werewolf,” Barnaby considered, earning a slight glare from Penny that went unnoticed, fortunately, by the magical creature lover as he continued to think about what seeing a werewolf first hand would be like.

“You sound like Tonks,” Rowan laughed. Her joke seemed to only irritate Penny further and she suddenly turned her attention to the other magical creature obsessed person at the table.

“I assume you would love to run into one in the Forbidden Forest sometime too, huh?” Charlie blinked and looked over at Penny with wide, somewhat fearful eyes, finally breaking his focus from Keira at least. The normally happy and supportive Hufflepuff had such a pointed and accusatory tone it threw him, and everyone else at the table, off. Her piercing glare was also uncharacteristic for her and Charlie wasn’t really sure how to handle this new side of Penny.

Charlie quickly glanced around at the others at the table, Barnaby and Rowan looking just as shocked and thrown off as him, before looking back at the popular Hufflepuff. “I just want to find a dragon,” he awkwardly replied. Everyone knew he was obsessed with dragons. He had never mentioned werewolves once! Why was he suddenly under interrogation?

“A dragon is probably less dangerous than a werewolf,” Penny muttered. Charlie was admittedly too afraid of her at the moment to debate that.

“Werewolves are evil, despicable, abhorrent, murderous creatures. I’m glad we’re learning how to fight against them and stop them from hurting anyone else. They’re like some sort of sinister, destructive, killing epidemic that needs to be extinguished.” Penny’s passionate speech left everyone at the table in silence.

It was unknown how many knew of Penny’s traumatizing experience with a werewolf. Keira suspected she was the only one which made her powerful declaration more shocking to the rest of those at the table; well, except for maybe Bill who was still absorbed into his studies. Barnaby and Rowan stared at the fired-up Hufflepuff with wide eyes while Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his seat and averted his gaze from the intense one of the blonde across the table.

On any other day, Keira would have been more understanding and compassionate towards Penny and her circumstances. She knew what Penny had gone through, what she had lost because of a vicious werewolf attack. As far as she knew she was the only one who knew what Penny went through. Which required her to more supportive for her Hufflepuff friend. And on any other day she would have let Penny’s impassioned speech roll off her back, understanding it was specifically about the situation Penny unfortunately experienced and all the emotions she constantly kept bottled up inside over losing someone close to her – and Keira knew a thing or two about keeping emotions bottled up – and not take it personally.

But not today.

Today Penny’s emotional opinions on werewolves that led her to speak out against them made Keira’s blood boil. It took every ounce of self-control Keira had to keep from flipping the table over, smacking Penny in the face with her book, and blowing up with her own passionate speech about how wrong Penny was and despite her own personal experience it wasn’t universal and her views were ignorant and harmful.

No, she couldn’t trust herself to stay there. The longer she sat there the angrier she got. And the angrier she got the less she was able to control her wrath.

Keira slammed her book shut and stood up abruptly, her chair scooting back, scrapping loudly against the hardwood floors. Her actions earned her a harsh glare from Madam Pince but no loud shushing, possibly from the intense rage and fury rolling off of her in waves tarnishing the entire atmosphere in the library. Her abrupt actions also caused all her friends to stare up at her with wide, somewhat frightened eyes.

“…Keira,” Penny started carefully, the concern from earlier back in her voice. The concern for her back in all her friends’ eyes. She could feel it. And she appreciated it, she did. But right now she could not handle it, handle everything she was feeling right now, and had to get away.

“I have Quidditch practice,” Keira curtly replied as she swung her bag over her shoulder and piled her books in her arms before storming now out of the library. Was this her new thing? Storming out of every room in Hogwarts?

She could feel her friends’ eyes on her as she quickly made her leave. She knew they were worried about her, and again she appreciated it, but for now she prayed they did not follow her and hoped they would eventually forget about all of this so she wouldn’t have to talk about it.

Her friends shared a look between them once Keira left the library, full of questions and worry although no one dared to speak yet while the tense, hostile atmosphere lingered.

That is, until Barnaby gasped suddenly. “Oh! That means I have Quidditch practice too!” In classic Barnaby style, his comment eased the tension and instantly lightened the mood. He grabbed his bag as he stood up to head off to practice as well before Charlie’s voice caused him to pause.

“Hey, uh… make sure she’s okay… Okay?” Barnaby studied the troubled Gryffindor a moment before smiling at his fellow magical creature enthusiast.

“Of course. Once she hits some Bludgers around she’ll feel much better,” Barnaby assured before waving at his friends as he took his leave as well. That normally proved to be therapeutic for her in the past anyways.

Keira walked out of the Quidditch Changing Room and out onto the Pitch after changing into her gear. She preferred using the actual Quidditch Pitch for practices rather than the Training Pitch since the Quidditch Pitch is where matches were actually held and she felt practicing there better prepared her team for a game. She understood the Training Pitch opted for better privacy from any spies since the Quidditch Pitch was surrounded by spectator stands but it also lacked goal hoops which Keira, and most Quidditch captains, found useless. And this being her first year as Quidditch Captain for the Slytherin team, she wanted to give them every advantage.

Fortunately she was on good terms with Charlie and Andre so she wasn’t too concerned about anyone from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw spying on their practices and Hufflepuffs were too honest to do so, right? Although, sometimes she did suspect Andre might take an interest in watching her team’s practice since they tended to get quite competitive with each other over Quidditch.

Most of her team were already gathered around on the field chatting away. They had been going over some new strategies lately that were still written on the board in their Changing Rooms so they were able to refresh their memory before heading out for practice without having a team meeting beforehand to go over it all again. Keira swapped hands holding her broom to adjust one of her arm guards.

Her Quidditch broom was the first big purchase Keira bought on her own that wasn’t necessary school supplies. She knew her adopted parents were not very keen on her getting a broom but she bought it on her own! However, she understood their concern since what happened with Jacob so she agreed to compromise and promised to only use her broom for Quidditch related things like practices and games and the rest of the time Madam Hooch would keep her broom locked up safely. Sometimes it really irked Keira she couldn’t have her broom that she paid for herself, such as last year when she needed to get into the Forbidden Forest, but she did her best to see things from their perspective and be understanding towards their feelings on the matter.

Barnaby soon came trotting out of the Changing Rooms, hopping awkwardly as he held his Beater bat under one arm while he tried to secure one of his shin guards. “I’m here! I’m here,” he called since it appeared like the entire team was out there ready to go and waiting on him.

“Barnabas,” Keira called out to him with a slight sigh. “Your broom.”

Barnaby paused, balancing on one leg as he looked up at his Captain when she called out to him, taking a moment to process what she meant. “Oh yeah!” He turned to quickly head back into the Changing Rooms, muttering some curses as the shin guard he had been working on fell half off, the top not being securely fastened. It made for quite the sight of him awkwardly running with it hanging off his leg that even Keira in her foul mood couldn’t fight off a smile. Soon he returned from the Changing Rooms, broom and bat in hand and shin guard securely on.

Now that everyone was ready with their brooms and equipment securely fastened, the Slytherin team got on their brooms and took to the skies for practice. While normally hitting Bludgers proved to be very therapeutic for her and allowed her to get out her frustrations and stress in a healthy manner, and also kept her from fighting or threatening to fight her peers – her and Barnaby were quite the pair – this time Keira could not shake off this bad mood she was in. But it kept her from flipping table in the library and smacking Penny in the face with a book which she would have definitely regretted so guess it was helping in its own way. She still was incredibly upset though.

“Okay, let’s take a break!” After calling out to her team, Keira landed on the ground with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team for a brief break to rehydrate.

“Listen, these are some great new formations and all but I think we should be working on making our plays more aggressive,” one of the Chasers suggested.

“Aggressive but nothing illegal, right,” Keira asked, eyeing their teammate who gave her a wicked smirk and shrugged.

“It’s not illegal if you don’t get caught.” Keira sighed and shook her head. Stereotypical Slytherin.

“I’m all for being aggressive but I will not condone reckless and dangerous tactics that are focused on injuring others on purpose,” Keira declared sternly.

“I never said the intent was injuring them. But if they get hurt, well, Quidditch is a tough sport. Got to plan for getting hurt.” Keira sighed again while a couple of her teammates chuckled. What was with people today? Or maybe it was just her and her disgruntled mood.

“Hey, heard you stormed out of Defense Against the Dark Arts today,” their Seeker mentioned casually.

“So,” Keira asked, instantly defensive.

“So… why did you do that,” their Seeker asked before their Keeper chimed in.

“Yeah, I mean if you’re going to ditch class you don’t go and then walk out, you just don’t go.” Keira sighed heavily. Word travelled so fast at this school.

“I heard you also stormed out of the library before practice,” another one of her Chasers added before Keira had the chance to answer her Seeker’s question.

“I heard you were mad at Penny Haywood,” their third Chaser chimed in. Well guess Keira should be happy for once the rumors swirling about her weren’t about her being mad like her brother.

“You’re fighting with Penny Haywood,” the second Chaser gasped. “How can you not get along with Penny? She literally gets along with everyone. Everyone. Even Liz who only talks to animals and that weird loner Ravenclaw. What’s his name? Trevor?”

“It’s Talbott,” Keira snapped slightly. “And I’m not fighting with Penny,” she clarified.

“That’s good because the whole school would turn against you. Everyone loves Penny,” her third Chaser informed her, as if she didn’t know. And Keira did love Penny! She considered her one of her best friends!

“Well I don’t know if you had the same lesson we did, but if so, you missed a cool Defense Against the Dark Arts class,” her Keeper informed her while her two Chasers continued to ramble on about Penny and her popularity.

“We learned about werewolves and how to fight them –“

“Who could possibly have a problem with Penny?”

“I don’t know. It wouldn’t be wise to start anything with her though since she has the whole school on her side –“

“I think Blatching could easily be done – Whoops, didn’t mean to collide into them –“

“So then why did you storm out of the library then?”

“And why are people saying it was because of Penny?”

“David blasted the practice dummy so hard it almost slammed against the wall. Feel bad for any werewolf that crosses him.”

“Are we allowed to elbow an opponent in the face? What if we did it “accidentally”?”

“Are you sure you’re not in a fight with Penny?”

Everyone on her team incessantly talking over one another was beginning to be a bit of a sensory overload and definitely overwhelmingly frustrating.

Instead of Quidditch being a healthy way for her to cope with everything going on in her life it was becoming an added stressor to it. She had hoped practice would help take her mind off of everything going on that day and instead she was getting bombarded by everyone about it!

While any other day Quidditch helped her release her pet up aggression clearly it was not working,

Not today.

Keira suddenly let out a loud, frustrated yell before taking her bat and hitting it aggressively, repeatedly against one of the goal hoops poles as hard as she could. This proved to be much more therapeutic than hitting the Bludgers around. Bonus – it caused everyone on her team to shut up and stare at her with wide, terrified eyes.

Barnaby in particular was affected by Keira’s little outburst of rage. He had seen her hit a Bludger with a lot of force and bark orders as Captain, and he had seen her defend her friends against any bullying but this – this was a side of Keria he had never really seen before. She had snapped!

She normally was able to hold everything together despite what she was going through and was always the ones her friends turned to and relied on for support and reassurance. Even when she got angry over someone teasing one of her friends she never reacted so violently and full of fury. Rowan had told the rest of their gang before about her roommate’s breakdowns, either a sobbing mess or a raging fire, but none of them had ever seen it before. Sure, they sometimes caught her getting a little emotional, a little teary-eyed, but Barnaby never expected her to suddenly snap and attack like that. Fortunately it was the goal hoop and not a person.

Regardless, this angry outburst caused her Beater Buddy to be much more concerned over her and her mental health. He had really thought practice and hitting Bludgers around would fix things like it normally did. But clearly something much more was going on and he had no idea what and, therefore, no idea how to make it better!

After beating on the goal hoop post for a couple minutes while her teammates stared in silent shock, Keira gave the post one more solid hit before throwing her Beater bat behind her with such force all her teammates had to duck to avoid getting smacked in the face with it, their Keeper reaching up to make the save – as they should – and caught it before it flew too far.

“Practice is over,” Keira informed them coldly before grabbing her broom and storming off the Quidditch Pitch and back into the Changing Rooms.

So guess this angry, storming out move was becoming her new thing after all.

Her team watched her go before sharing looks between them. Was she serious? No more practice for the day? Barnaby snatched Keira’s bat out of the Keeper’s hand to return to her, although he thought he should wait until she calmed down a bit first.

Keira did her best to avoid people the rest of the day. She thanked Barnaby for returning her bat to her in the Slytherin Common Room after the Quidditch practice incident. She then had to spend the next ten minutes assuring him she was fine and no she did not want to talk about what happened! But she appreciated his concern. She would feel better tomorrow. Probably. Hopefully.

Keira skipped dinner that evening in the Great Hall which left her friends to try and decipher what was going on with her with the added information Barnaby provided them about what happened during Quidditch Practice.

“She attacked the goal post,” Penny repeated in surprise, trying to imagine it.

“Then she almost took us all out when she threw the bat,” Barnaby added, looking down as he recounted their practice’s events. He was clearly struggling with some inner turmoil himself. “I tried asking her what was wrong and how I could help after practice but she just kept saying she was fine.” How was he supposed to help his friend who was obviously going through something when they didn’t tell him what was wrong?!

“I told you guys she has these rage meltdowns!” Rowan sounded as if she was scolding them all which she sort of was, and did on a regular basis. As Keira’s roommate she was the only one who saw how much Keira was suffering. While she was able to put on a brave face in front of everyone else on a day to day basis, Rowan knew how hard this all was on her. And while Rowan did her best to comfort her friend, and she may not freely admit this but she liked comforting her friend during these moments and being needed, she did try and inform the rest of their group of friends when Keira was having a harder time than others so they could aid in making her feel better and not ask so much of her during those times.

And while their friends agreed to do that, they did not truly understand how much Keira was struggling. Not like Rowan who witnessed it firsthand. Hence, when they always turned to Keira for help with… well, basically everything, needing her reassurance to help her find her brother after offering their help, Rowan couldn’t help but get frustrated with them.

Did they forget that Keira’s brother was missing and could be dead? Did they not fully grasp how hard it was to go looking for your brother, while everyone around you talked about how crazy he was, how he might be a Death Eater, or dead, while trying to save the school from curses, and on top of all that having her life being threatened?! Besides the stress of the Cursed-Vaults and her missing brother, Keira was a Prefect and Quidditch Captain which added more responsibilities to her plate, and had to go to class, do homework, and study for exams, just like the rest of them! Dumbledore, Hagrid, Madam Rosmerta, House Ghosts, other students, and some Professors all asked Keira to help them with something like she didn’t already have enough to deal with! Rowan would smack all these people if she could!

Sometimes she wished the rest of their friends would witness Keira having a breakdown so they would better understand what was going on inside their friend all the time. But, and again she would not freely admit this, Rowan kind of liked being the only one who witnessed Keira’s breakdowns and being the only one there for her best friend during those dark times – like they had a special bond the others didn’t.

“That one wasn’t even that bad. She’s had much worse,” Rowan informed them before taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Well, what do you think is wrong then,” Penny asked, a little snippy at Rowan’s know-it-all attitude. When it was about course work she didn’t mind it but when came to their friend she did not appreciate it being hinted that the rest of them didn’t know or care as much about Keira as she did.

“I don’t know but I can talk to her tonight during Astronomy and see if I can find anything out,” Rowan offered, ignoring Penny’s slightly harsh tone.

“Or, maybe we can go and try to talk to her after dinner,” Penny countered. They were all her friends and they all were concerned about her.

“Guess we could do that too. I just thought maybe going in as a group may put her on the defensive is all,” Rowan reasoned.

“Well then maybe just you and I go then,” Penny bartered, quick with her reply.

“…Okay,” Rowan conceded with a shrug.

“Barnaby, are you okay,” Penny asked the hunched over Slytherin who looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do to make her feel better,” Barnaby cried out in anguish. The rest of dinner pretty much consisted of comforting Barnaby.

Keira hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the cool ground. A light breeze sent a chill throughout her body but she had no desire to go inside. In fact she sort of welcomed and enjoyed the crisp autumn-almost-winter air. She took another deep breath as her grey eyes stared fixed on the reflection of the night sky on the surface of the Black Lake.

She knew her friends were looking for her, probably wandering all throughout Hogwarts. But she needed to be alone right now. And she hoped if they came out there looking for her they wouldn’t see her still figure sitting in the dark. Fortunately, Hogwarts and its grounds were pretty vast so if they did stumble upon her it shouldn’t be for some time. Or ever, if it was up to Keira.

Another small breeze blew a strand of her hair back, away from her face, sending another chill throughout her body. After a day of so much anger and rage coursing through her, Keira now felt drained. She felt exhausted and completely depressed. She just wanted to curl up by the fire in the Common Room, stare out into the lake, and be left alone, but she knew that wouldn’t be a possibility. Her friends had been on her all day about what was going on with her and she couldn’t escape Rowan and Barnaby in her House’s Common Room. And she felt so guilty keeping things from them and pushing them away when she saw how concerned they were and how much they wanted to help but she couldn’t talk to them about this.

So if she couldn’t stare out into the lake from her Common Room then she would come outside and enjoy it out there in the cold night air. And now, after her day of slamming books and desks, thrashing a goal hoop post, possibly throwing and breaking some things in the Slytherin Dorm while her friends were at dinner, and storming away from everyone in a fit of rage, Keira just wanted to cry.

She had tried so hard to conceal her anger, push it down so she didn’t explode, which obviously didn’t go according to plan since she had her little outbursts, but they could have been worse. She would still have some explaining to do to her friends, which she had no idea what she would say so that added another layer of stress. But she could worry about that tomorrow, that’s what she told herself anyway so she wouldn’t get overwhelmed. And now she was using what little energy she had left to hold back her tears. Although that was beginning to become quite the fail as well as a couple tears escaped her eyes and ran down her face.

Keira didn’t know how long she had been out there, but this was the most calm she had felt all day. Albeit, sad, but at least not full of unbridled rage unsure of what to do with it or how to safely let it out. She could let out her emotions presently, finally able to put down her defenses now that she was finally alone, and cry as much as she wanted without anyone around judging her or her friends panicking over her, trying to figure out what was wrong and how to help. Sometimes, a lot of times, she needed to be alone. And able to just let her emotions out without any questions or judgments or anyone trying to stop her and fix it – things were not so easy to fix!

But she wasn’t ready to let everything tormenting inside of her out just yet. She just wanted to sit there in silence, not thinking about anything and, if she could help it, not feeling anything.

She jumped and whipped her head around when she heard someone approaching from behind her. And of all the people she thought would find her out there – Rowan, Penny, Hagrid, Professor Snape – this was the last one she wanted finding her.

“Are you supposed to be out here at this hour, Miss Black?”

Keira narrowed her eyes at their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher before slowly standing up as her professor continued.

“Not that I’m one to talk. I broke curfew all the time when I was student here,” Professor Rakepick bragged before pausing a moment as she studied the girl. “So, is this where you ran off to when you left in the middle of my class?”

“If you want to punish me for that, go ahead,” Keira replied coldly as she continued to stare out at the lake.

Professor Rakepick looked taken aback by the Slytherin’s reply but quickly wiped that look off her face. “I don’t plan on punishing you, Miss Black,” she informed her student which came as a surprise to Keira, “But I would like an explanation for that display in my class.”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Keira answered, using the same excuse as before when her friends asked her. Which wasn’t a total lie – she didn’t feel well! She felt sick to her stomach, in fact!

“Is that so? Yet you did not go see Madam Pomfrey.” Keira could feel Professor Rakepick’s eyes boring into her but she held her ground. “I checked with her after class. After that fit you threw.” Keira tensed up, her hands fisting at her sides. That anger she had been wrestling with all day and finally thought she was rid of was beginning to boil again.

“So if you were, in fact, not feeling well, then why did you not go see Madam Pomfrey,” Professor Rakepick continued to interrogate.

“I ran into Professor McGonagall. We had a private Transfiguration lesson,” Keira informed her.

“Oh I see. So you’d rather learn Transfigurations than how to defend yourself against dark wizards and witches and evil beasts -“ Professor Rakepick stopped as she noticed Keira scoff and shake her head, and she assumed roll her eyes but the Slytherin had yet to look at her. “Well then, if that’s not what the problem is then why don’t you share what is really bothering you,” she commanded, crossing her arms.

Despite this order Keira did not reply forcing Professor Rakepick to make an assumption. “If this is something about the Cursed Vaults –“ she stopped again as Keira let out a hollow laugh.

“You know what your problem is,” Keira suddenly spoke, turning to finally face the former Head Curse-Breaker. Professor Rakepick wasn’t sure if she should be offended or intrigued at what this girl had to say.

“You think you know everything. Have seen everything. Faced it all. You’ve travelled everywhere, facing dangerous creatures and dark wizards and tombs full of traps, breaking curses on numerous artifacts which could kill you – all of this has given you a superiority complex. You walk around here like you’re better than everyone because you think you have faced every challenge life has to throw at you and conquered it, so clearly you’re the most powerful, strongest, and bravest witch there ever was.

“But you don’t know everything. And you definitely have not faced and conquered every challenge life can throw at you – not even close. You have no idea what real bravery and strength is. Real bravery and strength is getting up every day and putting yourself out there to try and make your life better even when the entire world is against you. Being kind and compassionate to others even when all they do is judge and hate you without ever getting to know you. Enduring excruciating mental and physical pain time and time again, being completely alone after losing everyone close to you, but you keep going and never let it consume you.

“There are much more difficult things to face and overcome than some cursed artifact or dark wizard. Some things you can never overcome and have to figure out how to cope with every day for the rest of your life. So you can’t stand up there and preach to all of us like you’ve seen it all and overcame it all, like it’s so easy to do, and you just know it all because you don’t! You have no idea how hard it is! And for you to make others who have to endure their challenge every day, who can’t just cast a spell and be rid of it, whose challenge is more about how horribly others treat them because of who they are instead of their actual struggle, feel worse about themselves is wrong. It’s harmful towards individuals and society. You are adding to the narrative and stereotypes, enabling the ignorant hatred and violence, permitting others to turn against people, some good people, who need understanding, compassion, and help. So you and everyone else can shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand because you have no idea, no idea, what real struggle and bravery and strength is.”

She couldn’t sit back anymore, keeping everything inside, pretending everything was okay.

Not today.

If anyone had seen him out there wandering around the castle grounds at night they would probably assume he was up to his usual dragon expedition. And if anyone had asked him what he was doing, he would probably claim that’s what he was up to. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to admit he was out there looking for her. Maybe because if he did then Penny or Rowan or one of their other friends would want to join him and if he found her he wanted to talk to her alone.

So while the rest of the gang scoured around the ever changing layout of the school, Charlie snuck outside. She may be inside, hiding out in her Dorm or an empty classroom, or maybe even at Hagrid’s or at the Quidditch Pitch. While those were all viable options, Charlie was one of the few who knew about her strong connection to water and how it helped calm her down and bring her peace, even if that meant her jumping fully clothed into the Black Lake and getting in trouble by her Head of House.

He paused when he noticed the figure sitting at the edge of the lake. He had almost completely missed her but upon getting closer realized that it was in fact her sitting there. A small smile formed on his face, perhaps a bit smug that he was the one to find her before anyone else. And he was glad that he found her before anyone else because now he could talk to her alone without Penny and Rowan’s constant questions while trying to outdo each other on support and concern in their suppressed ‘who was Keira’s best friend’ competition, and Barnaby and Tonks doing anything and everything to get her to laugh, their antics growing in ridiculousness and recklessness; and, alright he hated to admit it because he loved his older brother who was also his best friend, but without Bill swooping in with his older brother wisdom and comfort. Yes, Bill was the oldest but Charlie was an older brother too and cared just as much about his younger siblings and could provide older brother love and care too! And he cared just as much for Keira as Bill and the rest of their friends and would always be there for her just like he would be for any of his family.

As he started to make his way towards her, possibly going over what greeting to give when he approached her in his head, Charlie spotted another figure making their way down to Keira adjacent to him. Once he realized who it was as they addressed Keira he darted behind a nearby tree – he didn’t need to get detention or house points taken away, especially as a Prefect. Or get a scolding lecture by Bill. Plus, it would be rude to interrupt, right? Still, he didn’t want to leave Keira to get in trouble either. Maybe he could figure out some reason they were out there so late and save them both from punishment.

As Charlie tried to come up with an excuse as to why he and Keira would be out there in the middle of the night that would be accepted by the Curse-Breaker turned Professor the air suddenly changed. Everything suddenly got heavier, tense, colder, dark.

“You know what you’re problem is?” Charlie looked up as he heard Keira’s cutting tone towards their professor. He had never heard her speak like that before. And to a Professor nonetheless!

Charlie continued to stare in shock as Keira finally exploded after everything building up inside her through the day she tried so desperately to internalize spilled out. But this wasn’t like other times when Keira had unleashed her Irish temper on someone else, normally for bothering one of their friends or at Merula for her morbid jokes about Jacob being dead. This wasn’t like those times Rowan told them about where Keira needed to throw, hit, and break things to finally let out all her pent up anger and frustration. Those were fueled with fire, spoke with a blazing intensity, a raging fury that would cause adrenaline to course through veins and fill the air with this heated tension like a fight was about to break out. One of the reasons she was feared on the Quidditch Pitch.

But this – this was a different side of Keira, one he had never seen. It was dark and cold. Her words were still filled with passion but were made of ice and stung sharply. The heavy, biting cold change in the atmosphere differed wildly from its heated counterpart. It was more ominous, sinister, intimidating. It sent a chill down his spine. This darker side of Keira kind of terrified him. Her eyes were like piercing daggers as she stared down their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, standing her ground firmly. Even as she shouted and swore – oh Merlin she just swore at a professor – her words were still icy and full of disdain. While her Irish temper flared up a call to action, this chilling vibe was more apathetic, like she didn’t care what happened, what the consequences were.

But he knew, under that icy, stone cold exterior and beneath the vicious ire and stinging of her words, this darker side of Keira was hiding a lot of pain. And despite fearing her a bit, being a little intimidated – which he knew she would be flattered by – mostly, Charlie felt heartbroken for her, a wave of compassion where he just wanted to be there for her, support her and allow her to feel safe to let out everything she was holding in and then reassure her and make her smile. Surprising to him, he also felt protective over her. He wanted to do whatever he could to keep her from hurting.

He knew she was suffering a lot over her missing brother, but she was so good at appearing like everything was fine, sometimes they forgot everything she was going through. And then when it showed… it killed him to see her upset. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if one of his siblings went missing and he had no idea where they were or if they were safe or even alive.

And seeing her upset like this, in a much different way than they had previously witnessed, and having no real knowledge of why she was so upset was agonizing. This was why Barnaby was practically in tears at dinner. If it wasn’t about her brother and the vaults, since she just snapped at Professor Rakepick about assuming it was about that – which was a fair assumption he thought! – then what was it about?

Her frosty and hostile outburst at Professor Rakepick unfortunately still did not give him a lot of clues as to what was really going on with her.

An eerie and tense silence fell once Keira finished. Charlie assumed Professor Rakepick had no idea how to respond to that since who could have predicted she would have gone off like that? And to her? Professor Trelawney would probably claim she could have but no one would believe her.

~*~*~*~*~

Much like Charlie assumed, Professor Rakepick stood there aghast at the student’s outburst. While she did her best to maintain a neutral face it was difficult to completely hide her shock.

“Um….E-excuse me?”

A meek voice interfered through the tense atmosphere causing both women to look towards where it came.

It was fortunate they were interrupted. Professor Rakepick had yet to fully process everything that was said, and how it was said, from this girl to her and therefore had yet to determine how to respond and handle the situation. Normally quick at problem solving and leaping into action, since while risking your life breaking curses one could not always afford the luxury of time to analyze a situation and think through all possible options before choosing one, this particular situation surprisingly had caught her off guard and threw her off enough that she did need a moment to step back and think about what action to take.

And for Keira, well, it delayed her from getting punished, she assumed, and took the attention off of her even if just for a moment. Even from the Gryffindor boy hiding nearby behind a tree, unknown to her and their professor, whose attention was also grabbed by the surprise appearance of another person.

Rowan stood there awkwardly, looking nervously between her best friend and Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Both were unsure how long Rowan had been there, how much she had heard, but she looked pretty frightened and uncomfortable.

“S-sorry to interrupt,” Rowan started as both women turned their attention to her. She shifted uncomfortably under their intense gazes and avoided eye contact with either of them. “It’s um… we uh…” she stammered, fidgeting with her hands. “We have Astronomy class,” she finally managed to get out.

Professor Rakepick studied the intruder before looking back at Keira with a smirk. “Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day. You have a viable excuse to get out of this conversation.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” Keira replied in that same cold, sharp tone, turning her attention back to the red haired professor. “This wasn’t a conversation.”

Once again, Professor Rakepick wasn’t sure if she should be disrespected or impressed with how her student was speaking to her, challenging her.

“Really? Well Miss Black –“

“I have class.” Keira cut her off curtly as she waltzed right past the professor and over towards the still fearful looking Rowan. “Let’s go Rowan.”

Rowan glanced over as her roommate and best friend walked past her and continued to head back toward the school, flinching slightly at her dark tone, before looking back over at Professor Rakepick. She gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile before turning and hurrying to catch up with Keira, or at least get away from their Professor and tense atmosphere before Professor Rakepick turned her frustration on her.

Keira didn’t talk the entire way back to the school and up to the Astronomy Tower. She didn’t even complain about the stairs as she always did. Barnaby and Rowan shared concerned looks the entire walk to the Astronomy Tower and throughout class.

And while everyone looked through their telescopes and charted the stars on their charts, Keira just stood there looking up at the sky. Rowan and Barnaby glanced over worriedly at her as they worked on their class work.

“You can borrow my star chart if you need it,” Rowan offered quietly, a little nervous to experience that darker version of her friend again, especially directed at her.

Instead, however, a faint smile formed on Keira’s face as she continued to stare up at the sky. “Thanks, Rowan,” she answered softly. She clearly would need it since she wasn’t doing any work during class.

“You can borrow mine too if you want,” Barnaby offered. “I made my own constellation of a Kneazle,” he announced rather proudly.

“Very impressive, Barnaby,” Keira told him in the same soft tone as she continued to stare up at the sky. She would appreciate his constellation more later. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Barnaby still grinned proudly at her praise.

Soon enough class was over with Keira not doing an ounce of work. “Come on, Keira. Let’s head back to the dorm,” Rowan said as she slid her mittens back on. The chilly weather alluded to winter right around the corner. “We can sit in front of the fire and get warm. I’ll make cocoa.”

“Ooo, cocoa,” Barnaby exclaimed excitedly.

“You guys go on ahead. I’ll be down later,” Keira told them, still standing in the same place and staring at the sky as she had been all through class.

“Are you sure? It’s getting pretty cold out here,” Rowan said, staring at her friend uneasily.

“I’m fine,” Keira assured. “Canadian, remember,” she added with a small smirk causing Rowan to visibly relax. There was her friend who she knew and loved.

“We can stay out here with you then,” Rowan said, glancing at Barnaby before she set her bag back down.

“No, thank you. I’d rather be alone,” Keira told them.

Rowan frowned slightly and shared another concerned look with Barnaby before hesitantly picking her bag back up. “Okay, well, if you’re sure. Don’t stay out here too long though,” Rowan gently warned her.  That glimmer of her friend being her normal self gave Rowan a sliver of hope that she was okay, or at least would be soon, and made her feel comfortable enough to leave Keira alone. Rowan motioned to Barnaby to follow her as she headed for the Astronomy Tower stairs.

A feeling of extra weight on her shoulders was the only thing that broke Keira from her trance on the sky. She looked over, surprised to see a smiling Barnaby who was laying his robes over her shoulders. “Two sets of robes should keep you warmer than one.”

Keira stared at him a moment before smiling back at him gratefully. “Thank you, Barnaby.” She was amazed she didn’t start crying right then and there. This whole time she had been fighting back tears and his sweet, thoughtful gesture almost caused her to break.

Barnaby smiled more and nodded at her before picking up his bag and hurrying after Rowan. “Don’t be too long or there won’t be any cocoa left!” It may have been something small but he was happy to see Keira smile and be able to make her feel better, even if just a little bit.

Keira watched her friends leave, a small appreciative smile on her face. However, as soon as the door shut behind them tears began to steam down her face. Finally alone and exhausted from her day of trying to hold everything in and keeping it together, and failing in emotional filled outbursts, Keira allowed herself to relinquish her emotions, crumbling to the cold, hard floor.

“It was really scary,” Rowan admitted as she finished telling Barnaby about the outburst she witnessed Keira have at Professor Rakepick.

“Wow… She’s not going to get expelled, is she,” Barnaby asked anxiously.

“I hope not. But I don’t think Professor Rakepick would do that,” Rowan assured after a brief moment of thought. “It was just…so weird seeing her like that. It wasn’t like her other breakdowns it was –“

“Darker?” Rowan and Barnaby paused outside their Common Room entrance as a familiar figure stepped out from their hiding spot – had to avoid Professor Snape!

“Yeah…What are you doing down here, Charlie” Rowan asked as she studied the Gryffindor suspiciously.

“Where’s Ady,” Charlie asked, getting straight to the point. His direct and serious attitude was very different than his usual calm and cheerful self.

“You’re a Seeker. Why don’t you find her yourself,” Rowan replied, folding her arms being the ever protective friend that she was.

“I just wanted to talk to her, make sure she was okay,” Charlie sighed. “I saw the outburst down at the lake at Professor Rakepick,” he admitted in a whisper causing Rowan’s eyes to widen.

“You did? How? Where? I didn’t see you –“

“I was behind a tree –“

“So you were spying?”

“No, I – look, that doesn’t matter. I just want to make sure she’s okay. So where is she?” Rowan continued to study the Gryffindor silently. She couldn’t help being protective over Keira. She was her first and, in a way, only friend. Sure, they had made this group but she was well aware the lynchpin that got them and held them all together was Keira. None of them would even acknowledge her existence if it wasn’t for Keira. Well, maybe Penny who befriended everyone, even the loners.

She knew she could be overprotective of Keira and become fearful of her connecting with and getting closer to others because she was afraid of losing her. So being the only close friend that was also her roommate allowed her to have a special connection with Keira by being there for her during her late night breakdowns and nightmares. And she didn’t want to lose her role as the comforting, supportive friend during those dark times. Because if someone else started doing that for her, then what would Keira need her for? That’s what Rowan feared anyway.

And while their gang liked to talk about the possible blossoming relationship between Charlie and Keira that they both seemed completely oblivious too, Rowan would be damned if she would allow a love-struck Weasley to take her place in Keira’s life!

“She’s still up on top of the Astronomy Tower,” Barnaby answered when Rowan seemed to refuse to.

“Barnaby,” Rowan scolded.

“Did she get hold up after class by Professor Sinistra,” Charlie asked, turning his attention to Barnaby who was proving to be much more helpful than Rowan!

“No. She said she wanted to be alone. Even turned down cocoa,” Barnaby informed him, earning him another glare from Rowan which he seemed oblivious to.

Charlie nodded his head as he listened to his fellow magical creature enthusiast before grinning at him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Barnaby.”

“Wait,” Rowan called as Charlie started to hurry down the hall, causing him to skid to a halt and look back at her quizzically. She paused a moment as she contemplated her next move before sighing and giving in. “Bring her some blankets. It’s cold.”

Charlie smiled softly at her as he hurried back over to them. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“I gave her my robes to help her keep warm,” Barnaby chimed in.

Charlie grinned at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “That was very thoughtful of you, I’m sure they’re helping a lot.”

Once Rowan returned from the Slytherin Dorm with a couple blankets piled in her arms she handed them off to Charlie, albeit a bit reluctantly. “Don’t be up there too long.”

“Yeah, you guys have to come down and have cocoa with us,” Barnaby added with a grin which was the complete opposite vibe of Rowan’s warning.

“Cocoa sounds great. I’ll do my best,” Charlie told them, thanking Rowan again for the blanket before he hurried off to the Astronomy Tower.

“Ady,” Charlie called as he entered the top of the Astronomy Tower. His eyes scanned the area before he began walking around, trying to find his friend. “Ady, are you still up here?”

Keira had slid down the parapet that surrounded the tower collapsing onto the floor, Barnaby’s robes still wrapped around her. She sat on the ground, curled up into a ball, withdrawing into herself. Her knees were pulled up to her chest with her head buried in them, her hands tangled up in her hair as she clawed at her scalp, shoving her hair out of her face, as she quietly sobbed.

Charlie stopped and stared at the heartbreaking scene before him. His chest tightened as he tried to process seeing the normally so strong and put together Keira looking utterly hopeless and defenseless. Besides probably Rowan, none of them had ever seen Keira like this. Even when Rowan told them about Keira’s breakdowns he could never really envision it. She kept so much to herself. She never wanted them to see her like this. She didn’t want Rowan to either but it was hard to hide it from her.

For a moment Charlie thought about leaving her alone and giving her her privacy. However, when he saw her shiver from the increasingly frosty air he glanced down at the blankets in his arms before daring to walk over to her.

Keira’s head jolted up when she felt another weight on her shoulders. How did this keep happening? She glanced briefly at the blanket around her shoulders before looking up at the culprit, very surprised not to see Rowan or Barnaby.

“…Charlie,” she asked, as if her eyes were playing tricks on her.

“Hey,” Charlie greeted softly, with a small warm smile.

“Wh-what are you doing up here,” Keira asked as she quickly wiped away her tears still streaming down her face.

Charlie frowned slightly as he watched her. He didn’t mean to embarrass her. “Well, I heard you turned down cocoa to stay up here so I thought I should bring you some blankets to make sure you stay warm.” He tried to lightly joke about the cocoa, throwing her a reassuring smile but unfortunately that didn’t seem to make the situation much better.

“I’m fine. It’s not that cold,” she sniffled. “And I’d prefer chocolate right now over cocoa.”

“Right, right, I know, Canadian. Still,” Charlie said handing out the other blanket to her. “And I’ll remember chocolate for next time,” he added with another grin, another attempt to get her to smile, even a little one.

Keira eyed the blanket a moment before begrudgingly taking it from him. There, was he happy now?

Apparently he was since he smiled slightly as he watched her drape the blanket over her lap, doing her best to cocoon herself in the blanket layers around her.

“There. You gave me the blankets, I’m all toasty warm now, so you can go. Go and have cocoa with the rest of them,” Keira dismissed, waving a hand at him and the staircase door as she avoided eye contact with him.

“…What about you,” Charlie asked tenderly.

Keira froze up a moment at the unexpected gentle and caring tone of his voice. Why did he have to be so sweet? Made it hard to be cold and dismissive in an attempt to push her friends away when they were so caring!

“I’m fine. I want to be alone,” she informed him, hugging the blanket around her shoulders closer to her.

Charlie nodded his head and studied her a moment, contemplating his next move before slipping his bag off over his head and sitting on the ground next to her.

“What are you doing? I said I want to be alone,” Keira snapped.

“I know but I don’t think it’s good for you to be alone right now,” Charlie answered. Keira turned her head slightly to watch the Gryffindor closely as he made himself comfortable on the floor next to her, scooting under the blankets with her, draping them over his lap and shoulders as well.

She tried to think of something to say to argue his statement but she was having a hard time coming up with anything. Probably because he may be right.

Plus the fact that the second eldest Weasley radiated warmth like his favorite creatures was comforting in its own way in the chilly night air.

Once Charlie got himself situated under the blankets he smiled warmly over at her causing Keira to glance away. Sorry, Charlie, but she was not in the mood to be smiling and happy just yet so she had to get away from his infectious grin.

“I suppose you want to talk, know what’s going on with me,” Keira muttered as she wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging her knees closer to her, her right arm brushing against him since they had to be practically pressed together to both be completely covered under the blankets.

“Only if you need to. We don’t have to talk about it you don’t want to,” Charlie assured. “Don’t have to talk at all even.” Unlike some of their other friends, like Rowan who had such a thirst for knowledge, who would want to know, need to know, what was going on to make her so upset to comfort her, Charlie just wanted to make her feel better. Sure, he would like to know what was bothering her to better help, but he wanted to be a comforting and supportive figure at all times, for anything going on with her, even things she didn’t want to discuss. Or wasn’t ready to talk about yet.

So whenever she was upset about anything she knew she could always turn to him and he would be there and wouldn’t interrogate her with a million questions. He was simply there for her in any way she needed. If she needed to talk something out, or just vent and have someone listen, have someone lighten the mood and take her mind off of things, or even someone to just have near as they sat in silence with.

They sat in silence for a while, Charlie shifting to lean back against the parapet as he stared up at the night sky.

“You probably think I’m crazy,” Keira murmured after a moment, breaking the silence.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Charlie assured with a small chuckle.

“I keep storming out of rooms and I’m sure Barnaby told you guys what happened at Quidditch practice,” Keira said before a realization dawned on her. “And I’m sure Rowan told you about what happened before Astronomy Class,” she groaned, sounding somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh yeah, your outburst at Professor Rakepick,” Charlie murmured, remembering it himself.

“So she did tell you about it, great,” Keira grumbled.

“Well… not exactly. I mean, I think I overhead her talking to Barnaby about it but…” Charlie watched her a moment before sighing. He didn’t want to upset her more by telling her he saw her outburst at Professor Rakepick firsthand but he also didn’t want to lie to her or make her think her friends were sitting around talking about her negatively. “I sort of…saw it. I was… kind of there,” he admitted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What?” Keira’s head popped up off her knees before turning to face him, the first time all night she had directly looked at him that wasn’t some passing glance. Charlie was now the one avoiding eye contact as he continued to stare up at the sky trying to ignore her heated gaze on him. “What do you mean you were there? I didn’t see you!”

Oh great, déjà vu.

“I was behind a tree… I was looking for you to make sure you were okay and I found you the same time Professor Rakepick did, she was just closer. So I hid behind a tree and tried to figure out a reason why we were both outside so late so I could get us out of trouble. Before I had time to do that you sort of went off on her. I didn’t know you were going to do that!” Charlie quickly explained the situation from his point of view before she had a chance to start accusing him of being a creeper spy like Rowan did or thinking poorly of him.

“Oh my – putain de merde!” That set Keira off on another outburst but in French as she did some times when she was so overwhelmed or upset she couldn’t fathom it in English, so Charlie had no real idea what she was saying but she was flailing her hands a lot and appeared to be mortified so he could assume what she was going on about.

“Okay, okay, okay! It’s alright, I don’t think less of you or anything,” Charlie tried to reassure as he grabbed at her hands to stop them from flailing and grab her attention. He managed to finally capture her hands in his after a few failed attempts, stopping her frantic hand waving that accompanied her bi-lingual rant. He lowered their hands to their laps as she started to calm down and thankfully stopped her French rambling. His warm hands encompassing her naturally icy ones provided their own comfort and calming quality.

“It’s okay,” he said again gently, “I know you weren’t planning on having an audience or probably even planning on having that outburst – although, I must say it did sound pretty well thought out,” he complimented causing Keira to groan. Like she wasn’t embarrassed enough! “And, alright, I admit it was a little frightening, but-“ Keira let out another mortified groan and sunk her head lower, “But,” he reiterated, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze, “It was also… pretty impressive. I mean, badass. That’s what you’d like to be called, right? You stood up for what you believe. That’s what it sounded like anyway. And you stood up to Professor Rakepick which is not an easy thing to do. Well, easier than standing up to Professor Snape probably,” he laughed slightly.

“Listen, I know you’re having a hard day. We all know you’re having a hard day. And that’s okay. You don’t have to hold everything inside all the time. It’s not healthy. It’ll take a toll on you. And it’s going to find its way out in one way or another. And sometimes when you’re having a hard time you can’t help spreading that around, snapping at people… misery loves company, that’s what my mum says. And sure, you’re bound to be embarrassed by your behavior because it’s emotional and out of the norm, especially for you because, you know, you don’t really like being emotional. But we all have bad days and times when our emotions get the best of us, so we understand. I mean, you’re always there for us when we’re struggling and having a bad day and are understanding and don’t think any less of us, so why wouldn’t we do the same for you?”

Keira seemed to relax as she listened to Charlie’s reassuring words, letting them sink in as she processed them. Charlie watched her a moment before smiling encouragingly. “And, to be honest, I think she was kind of impressed with you going off on her like that. I don’t think you’re going to get in too much trouble. Maybe none at all.”

“So… you don’t think I’m crazy or irrational or whatever,” Keira asked quietly as she kept her gaze down.

“No, I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re having a hard, emotionally exhausting time and it finally burst out after you tried to hold it all in,” Charlie reassured, causing a small smile to form on Keira’s face even if only for a brief moment.

“Wow, you’re a great Prefect,” Keira told him before quickly adding after a beat, “And older brother.”

Charlie couldn’t help but beam at that compliment. “Thank you.” Take that, Bill!

“I don’t know how you and Rowan could ever look at me the same after witnessing that,” Keira admitted.

“We’re both worried about you. And, okay, maybe a little more scared of you than before but I thought you’d like that,” Charlie teased, surprised to hear a small laugh escape from Keira.

“You guys have to stop worrying about me so much,” Keira told him.

Charlie couldn’t help but scoff slightly. “Easier said than done. I care about you.” Keira looked up at him, appearing somewhat surprised by his honest and genuine declaration. Her grey eyes locking on his caused him to falter briefly. “W-we care about you. We’re you’re friends,” he added much more clumsily than his previous statement.

Keira’s eyes searched his face a moment before smiling softly. “I don’t know how I got so lucky to have such amazing, caring people in my life.”

Charlie smiled back at her, giving her hands another squeeze before the sudden realization they were still holding hands dawned on both of them and a faint blush spread across both their faces.

“Uh, well, you know, we’re your friends,” Charlie said inelegantly as they both awkwardly took their hands away from each other. He cleared his throat before continuing. “We’re your friends. We care about you. And when you care about someone you’re always there for them no matter what.”

Keira nodded her head a couple times, agreeing with his statement, before her face started to scrunch up as she tried to hold back more tears but it was in vain. Charlie tensed up as tears once again ran down Keira’s face. Those were not happy tears! Oh crap, what did he do to make her start crying again? He thought they had gotten past this and she was smiling and laughing and feeling better!

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Charlie panicked slightly as Keira buried her face in her hands. He didn’t know what he said or did to cause her to cry but he felt awful. He slid his arm underneath the blanket resting across their shoulders and hesitantly draped an arm around her shaking frame. He knew she wasn’t really comfortable with a lot of physical contact but in his family they were pretty tactile, physically affectionate and comforting people. Fortunately, she didn’t shrink away from him or seem to mind the physical act of comfort at all.

After a few moments Keira seemed to calm her breathing down enough to speak clearly. “No, you’re right. And I want to help, I just don’t know how,” she wept.

Charlie watched her attentively, trying to decipher what she was talking about. He felt it was safe to determine she wanted to help someone but didn’t know how to, but who she wanted to help and why she was struggling so much with what to do was a complete blank for him. Was it one of their friends? Was someone in their group having an issue they were all unaware of? Keira was normally the one everyone in their gang opened up to.

“Well, I’m sure we can figure something out –“ he tried to reassure before she cut him off.

“I can’t tell you.” Charlie nodded his head. Okay, he could understand if it was a private matter. But then how was he supposed to help her figure out how to help this person if he didn’t know what the problem was?

“It’s just not fair,” Keira continued. “Someone so giving and caring and good – a good person – should not have to suffer and struggle so much! And I just want to help but I can’t,” she sobbed as Charlie attempted to soothe her by rubbing her back.

“Why can’t you,” Charlie asked gently, hoping this was a safer question and route to go than what the actual problem was for whomever they were talking about.

“Because,” she shouted defensively before her shoulders slumped and she once again appeared broken and defeated, “I’m not capable enough to.”

Charlie was unable to hold back his cynical laugh but he did his best to stifle it, especially when Keira looked rather offended by it.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I just… You? Not being capable? Come on.” Keira continued to stare at him incredulously. “You have overcame every obstacle that’s stood in your way when facing these Cursed Vaults and finding your brother. You’ve learned every charm, potion, transfiguration, learned all you can about any and all subjects even remotely related to these Vaults, you’ve snuck into forbidden places, dueled and fought off powerful witches, wizards, and creatures – there’s nothing you can’t overcome. So pardon me for not believing you when you say you’re not capable enough.”

Keira studied him a moment silently before turning to look away, casting her gaze down once again. “There you go again with the reassuring, big brother/Prefect, speech,” she muttered.

“Ah, but I’m not your big brother or your Prefect,” Charlie replied, grinning at her compliment nonetheless and the fact that it had helped, even a little, since she was no longer a bawling mess.

“No, you’re not,” Keira agreed quietly. She suddenly felt a sharp pain in her chest as more tears welled up in her eyes. Oh, Merlin, she wished Jacob was here. She could talk to Jacob about this. He’d be the only one to really understand what she was feeling. She took in a deep, shaky breath as she shoved thoughts of Jacob aside. She could not handle missing her brother on top of everything else she was dealing with today. She was already overwhelmed enough, adding Jacob to the equation… it would be too much, overpowering; it would be disastrous. “And I appreciate you saying all that. But I think the only reason I’m able to do all that is because you guys all help me,” she admitted.

“I don’t know. You’re a pretty determined person. I think even without us helping you’d find a way,” Charlie disclosed to her, resting his arm around her shoulders once again, a bit more casually this time, causing Keira to scoff slightly.

“Determined? Or stubborn,” she asked with a small smirk.

Charlie smirked slightly himself before replying. “You’re strong and smart and brave – you’re highly capable. We’re just here to offer our support.”

“I could have never gotten into or through the Forbidden Forest without you,” Keira said, turning to look up at him once again. Her sincere confession had caught the Gryffindor off guard as he sat there sort of gawking at her. Hey, he was supposed to be the one reassuring her, not the other way around! But hearing that she needed him really touched him. A faint blush spread across his face and he swore he saw Keira smirk smugly to herself, if even for a brief second.

“And I could never brew potions as great as Penny,” Keira added, snapping Charlie out of his thoughts.

“Well no one can brew potions like Penny, not even Professor Snape,” Charlie declared. Keira nodded her head slightly before resting her chin on top of her knees, once again looking defeated and lost. Charlie watched her a moment with a frown before a thought dawned on him.

“Wait, is that what you need? A potion?” When Keira didn’t reply he continued. “Because if you need a potion you could ask Penny. She would do anything to help you and making a potion is clearly no problem for her. And you know it would be done right, so why don’t you just –“

“I can’t.” Keira cut him off once again with a cold remark.

“I’m sure she could make it no questions asked if you tell her you can’t disclose to her why you need it. She would understand. And it’s for you. She’d make you any potion you wanted even if you didn’t tell her why you needed it,” Charlie tried to reassure.

“It’s not that simple,” Keira informed him but that didn’t really tell Charlie much.

“Why not,” he asked innocently.

“Because it’s not! It’s more complicated than that and I can’t tell you why it is! And even if I did ask her to make me this potion I need without telling her explicitly who or what it’s for she would easily figure it out. So, no, I cannot ask Penny to make me the potion I need.” Charlie couldn’t help but flinch slightly at her harsh tone but he understood her frustration and knew it wasn’t personal.

“Okay… So why not try and make it yourself,” he suggested carefully.

“I can’t! I told you I’m not capable. It’s complicated and hard and I’ll probably make some deadly poison instead,” Keira groaned before placing her forehead against her knees as she buried her face once again in despair.

Charlie resumed rubbing her back as he thought of what to say. Since his attempts at reassuring her and providing helpful suggestions were not going over well, he thought he’d try his hand again at lightening the mood. “Maybe Professor Snape will help you,” he joked, causing a hollow laugh from the downtrodden Slytherin.

“I thought about trying to find some to buy from some shady dealer in Knockturn Alley or something but I wouldn’t feel comfortable trusting it,” Keira admitted as she sat back upright.

“I’m sorry I’m not very good at Potions,” Charlie admitted apologetically.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to be anyway,” Keira replied.

“Hey!” Now it was Charlie’s turn to be the offended one. His insulted cry caused the Slytherin to laugh as she apologized, and this time it actually sounded like a genuine laugh which encouraged him to continue. “You think the only thing I’m good for is trekking around the Forbidden Forest?”

“No. You also know a lot about Quidditch,” Keira retorted with a smirk before laughing more at Charlie’s exaggerated reaction.

“Oh so I’m good for two things! When you want to talk about Quidditch or hear about dragons Charlie is the one you need! Need a potion or skilled wizard don’t bother.”

“That’s not true,” Keira told him between laughs. “Andre is the one to go to to talk about Quidditch.”

“Ohhhh well excuse me,” Charlie cried out, causing Keira to laugh more. “So I’m just the one to go to when it’s about dragons or wandering around the Forbidden Forest? And I specify dragons because I know if I say magical creatures you’ll say you have Barnaby for that,” he accused, Keira nodding her head to confirm his suspicion. “Oh, okay, so I’m just the dragon specialist then?”

“Dragon Master,” Keira corrected.

“Dragon Mas- Dragon Master? Actually that’s a pretty cool title. Dragon Master.” Charlie stopped his overdramatic antics to mull over this new name while Keira’s laughter finally started to die down.

She really needed that.

Charlie looked over at her, once he decided that Dragon Master should be his official new nickname, and smiled to himself as he saw her finally smiling. Even if it didn’t completely reach her eyes, even if there was still this hopelessness lingering around her, he made her smile, got her to laugh, and gave her a little bit more happiness in this awful day she was having.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, grabbing her attention as she looked up at him curiously. “We’ll figure it out.” Keira smiled sadly up at him but there was a small glimmer of hope in her eyes. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before, much to his surprise, Keira shifted to lay her head on his shoulder.

“Did you want to see some drawings I did today instead of taking notes in class,” Charlie asked after a moment, reaching over to grab his bag with his free hand. He felt like he had his best luck that night at making her feel better by getting her mind off of whatever was bothering her.

“Are they of dragons,” Keira asked in a slight mocking tone.

“I wouldn’t be the Dragon Master if they weren’t,” Charlie retorted as he brought out his notes from today’s lessons and laid them on his lap. “This is a Hungarian Horntail,” he started, pointing to a dragon sketch on top of his Charms notes.

“Of course it is,” Keira muttered. He drew one of those every day, she swore, since it was his favorite.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie teased, moving on to the next page of notes. “These are a couple of ideas I had if you bred a Swedish Short-Snout with a Chinese Fireball.” Keira let out a small chuckle at the weird looking snout that could possibly be produced if these two breeds ever mated. Charlie smiled to himself as he heard her amused laugh. So far, so good.

He appreciated that he could talk to her for hours about dragons, his theories, show her his drawings like these of what crossbreeds may look like, and she never appeared bored or annoyed. In fact she would ask insightful questions about his theories, sometimes even add to them, ask about dragon blood uses, if there were ethical ways to attain dragon hide-made clothing or dragon horns which are used in many potions.

Charlie turned to his next page of notes before tensing up slightly. Oh no, these were his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes. That’s when her already bad day became unbearable. Maybe he could just casually set those aside and move on to another page…

“What’s that,” Keira asked, pointing to a drawing he had done on the bottom of his parchment.

Charlie hesitated before answering her. If this made her start crying again he might as well pack up and leave because clearly he wasn’t comforting her as well as he should be, or at least wanted to be. He didn’t want to keep making her feel reassured and laugh to then become a sobbing mess again! He had to break this cycle!

“That’s uh… Well, you know today’s lesson was on werewolves so naturally I thought what would happen if a werewolf bit a dragon,” he cautiously explained, watching her closely as she continued to stare at his dragon drawing. So far no crying…

“So, I present to you the weredragon,” Charlie said a bit proudly of his new creation. His illustration depicted a creature with a dragon body and tail but werewolf like claws and a werewolf head, fur trailing down its neck and tail and along the back of its legs as well as along its wings. Keira studied the image closely, silently, the expression on her face unreadable. He was not going to be able to handle it if she burst into tears again, especially because of him and his drawing he just had to show her.

“…What do you think,” he asked warily. He was stunned when a smile crept onto her face. He for sure thought this was going to lead to another emotional breakdown, one he would feel entirely responsible for and, therefore, horrible.

“I love it.” Well that certainly was not the reaction he was expecting! “I think it’s my favorite.” Charlie grinned to himself and relaxed as Keira stared at his drawing fondly.

“Yeah? Well then I’ll draw you your own and you can hang it up in your room,” Charlie told her.

“Only if you sign it,” Keira replied, glancing up at him briefly to throw him a small smile, earning a smile back from the Gryffindor.

“Okay, but it’s not going to be worth anything,” Charlie replied.

“It’s worth something to me,” Keira informed him.

Charlie grinned to himself as he felt warmth spread within him from his chest. He slid his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes onto her lap so she could continue to admire his illustration before continuing on with his next set of notes. “This is an Ukranian Ironbelly setting fire to a small village.”

“Wow, that’s a bit gruesome and dark for you,” Keira observed.

“I have to stay true to the dragons and their natural instincts. Besides, the people of this village probably try to steal its eggs and kill its kind so it’s just retaliating to defend itself and kin,” Charlie explained.

“Wow so there’s like a whole backstory to your drawings,” Keira teased. “Maybe you should write a book.” Charlie chuckled before attempting to further this tale he already began, even creating some actual characters with names and their own backstory, lightheartedly cultivating this imaginary book of his.

The two sat atop the Astronomy Tower, discussing dragons, other magical creatures, and wherever their conversation led them, exchanging ideas, balancing out their teasing with reassuring encouragement, accompanied with some laughter.

The image of the couple cuddled up under their layers of blankets as they deepened their bond through meaningful, pleasant, and enjoyable conversation was illuminated by the bright light radiating down from the full moon that hung ominously in the velvet night sky.

“That’s Algiz, that’s Teiwaz,” Keira explained as she motioned to the corresponding runes, causing the eldest Weasley to stare at his practice test she administered for him in confusion.

“How do you remember all this,” Bill asked as he continued to look over his answers, focusing on the wrong ones.

Keira shrugged. “I don’t know, just do. They’re used in alchemy and I love alchemy so maybe that’s why,” she suggested. Bill nodded his head, half listening to her before groaning, his head flopping back on to the couch. The two were sitting on the floor in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, leaning comfortably back against the couch. Keira had perfected the art of getting in and out of other Common Rooms, partially with Penny’s help who somehow learned how to get in and out of every House’s Common Room in her First Year – her popularity most likely aided in that. But Keira figured out her own way of getting into the Gryffindor Common Room all by herself Second Year, which she was pretty proud of. And who didn’t like being a little rebellious and being somewhere they shouldn’t be? Fortunately, no one really seemed to mind when she was in another House’s Dorm.

“I’m never going to get this,” Bill groaned hopelessly. “How am I supposed to remember everything from the past seven year plus everything they’re going to teach us this year for the N.E.W.T.s,” he cried out in despair.

“Don’t worry, you’ll pass them all with Outstanding’s…. Well at least Exceeds Expectations,” Keira attempted to reassure, and maybe also tease a little.

“But I need O’s to become a Curse-Breaker,” Bill exclaimed. She had never seen the Gryffindor so stressed out before and it was honestly scary.

“How about we take a break –“ she began to suggest calmly which unfortunately caused Bill to erupt in another frantic, stressful shriek.

“There’s no time for breaks!” Keira stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Okay… then, how about you keep studying and I’ll go get us some study snacks and make us some tea or cocoa…. Or maybe something stronger,” she muttered as she carefully stood up and took a couple steps away from the hysterical, anxious mess that was formerly William Weasley. How could she forget study snacks, they were an essential part to the studying process!

Bill continued to pour over his many textbooks and parchment piles of notes, mumbling incoherently, probably reading out loud to himself in an attempt to help him better remember. Seeing him like this was really causing Keira to consider leaving after Sixth year so she wouldn’t have to suffer through this same, sad fate.

As she contemplated her future the arrival of another redhead caught her attention. “Charlie!” Eagerly calling out his name like that was a little embarrassing but she managed to brush it off as she reached into her bag and pulled out a small box tied up with a ribbon before hurrying over to him.

Charlie paused when he heard his name called upon entering the Gryffindor Common Room after Quidditch practice. He had planned on going straight upstairs to take a shower but someone sounded like they needed to speak with him right away. He was quite surprised to see the Slytherin bounding toward him. No matter how many times he saw her in their Common Room he was always surprised. How did she always manage to get in there? Not that he was complaining!

“Hey,” he greeted with his classic, infectious smile, running a hand through his hair possibly trying to tame it from its sweaty mess thanks to his Quidditch practice. Oh great, he probably smelled awful…

It had been a little over a week since he found her crying on top of the Astronomy Tower and since then things had felt a little awkward between them considering he found her sobbing on top of the Astronomy Tower. Keira wasn’t one to normally show her emotions or be so vulnerable in front of anyone, so he was sure she felt a little embarrassed about that and he didn’t want to make her feel judged in any way or like their relationship had changed; although, clearly it had changed, but not in a negative way! He didn’t want to make her feel awkward in any sort of way so he had been keeping a slight distance between them, thinking she may want some space from him after sharing such a vulnerable moment with him. They hadn’t really spoken or spent time alone since then.

Although when they had their next Defense Against the Dark Arts class he did try to give her a little pep talk, accompanied with a brief pumping up shoulder massage like one gave boxers, before they entered the classroom with Barnaby and the rest of their friends who shared that class with them, and continued to give her reassuring looks throughout the class.

Also, as promised, he drew her her own personal weredragon picture which he slid over to her the other day while their gang was having another study session in the library. Keira looked thrilled to receive it and he was pretty positive she wanted to give him a hug. She did slide it back over to him to have him sign it, although he still didn’t understand why she would want that, before she took it and hung it up by her bed in her Dorm. He was a little nervous when he gave her that picture, it could bring back memories of that night which weren’t exactly the happiest, but then, yesterday when she passed him a note in Charms asking what would an Antipodean Opaleye and a Hebridean Black crossbreed look like he felt reassured that things were well between them.

Despite those moments, they still had not spent any time one-on-one, their friends always around them when they interacted the past week and a half. Until now, it seemed.

“Hey,” Keira greeted with a grin as she stopped in front of him. “Have a nice practice?”

“Yeah, it was… tiring,” Charlie admitted, sounding a bit out of breath actually. “What are you doing in here,” he asked curiously before he was unable to resist teasing her, a charming smirk playing on his lips. “Wait, don’t tell me you were waiting for me? Miss me?”

Keira rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smirking slightly herself. “No. I’m here helping your brother study for his N.E.W.T.s – Ancient Runes,” she informed him, motioning to his disaster of an older brother behind her.

“My mind’s been Obliviated,” Bill groaned.

Charlie glanced over her shoulder before wincing slightly. “I’ve never seen him so stressed before.”

“Yeah, me neither. But once he gets through his exams and finds out he passed them all and is able to become a Curse-Breaker he’ll be back to his chill, cool self,” Keira reassured before handing him the small wrapped box excitedly. “Here.”

Charlie looked down at the apparent gift for him. “What? What’s this,” he asked curiously as he hesitantly took the box from her.

“It’s a thank you slash early birthday present,” Keira told him, unable to keep herself from grinning.

Charlie studied the box a moment before frowning slightly. “You don’t have to get me anything.” Of all the Weasley’s she had encountered, Charlie was the worst one at accepting gifts. She was well aware, as were most people, they were not the wealthiest family but she wasn’t trying to give them any sort of handouts out of pity. She didn’t think a birthday or Christmas gift was out of line, or a thank you for being there for me when I needed you gift.

“But I wanted to,” Keira informed him matter-of-factly, so don’t argue with her! “Besides, everyone should get something for their birthday.”

“But it’s not my birthday yet –“

“I said it was an early birthday present,” Keira corrected him. “Slash, thank you gift. Just open it,” she urged excitedly.

Charlie huffed slightly, not nearly as excited as she was, before untying the ribbon around the box. “Alright, alright.” His grumbling came to a halt when his eyes saw what lay in the box.

His gift was a small bronze statuette of a dragon. Although it had no real discernible features if he had to wager a guess it was probably a Hebridean Black since it had four legs and wings, instead of its wings making up its front claws as well, and had an arrow-shaped spike at the end of its tail. Whether she bought this because it resembled her favorite dragon or for some other reason, like it being the only kind they had, he had no idea, but since it resembled her favorite dragon on top of her gifting it to him he would definitely always think of her when he looked at it.

He stammered slightly as he took the tiny dragon figurine out of its box for a closer look, trying to find the words to thank her but he was also mesmerized by this unexpected present. Keira looked a bit smug, but mainly overjoyed, as she watched Charlie’s eyes lit up.

“But wait, there’s more,” Keira announced excitedly, causing Charlie to look at her quizzically before glaring at her slightly as she took the statuette out of his hand. Hey, that was his! She walked over to one of the tables in the Gryffindor Common Room and set his dragon figurine on it, Charlie close behind – she took his dragon!

“What? Does it do something,” Charlie asked curiously as he studied it closely. “Ooo, does it breathe fire,” he asked excitedly. Finally he was getting enthusiastic over receiving a present!

“Not yet,” Keira replied with a smirk as she took out her wand. “As you may or may not know, Professor McGonagall has been giving me some private lessons in Transfigurations.” She cleared her throat before pointing her wand at the dragon statuette. “Draconifors.” With a slash of her wand a fiery red light emerged and illuminated his figurine. When it dissipated his dragon had appeared to come to life!

Charlie’s eyes widened the size of bludgers before he let out some inhuman noise of pure elation. “It’s a dragon!” Keira laughed slightly as his overjoyed reaction, moving her wand slightly to cause his now living dragon figurine to walk along the table. Charlie crouched down to be eye level with his little dragon, watching it in fascination. He was like a kid in Honeydukes. Keira smirked more before, with a flick of her wrist, the dragon leapt onto Charlie’s head. He let out another excited squeal, for lack of a better word, as he slowly stood up, his eyes rolling as far as they could, attempting to look at the dragon on top of his head.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he informed her as he carefully reached up to grab the dragon from his head and gently held it in his hand.

“I’m very happy to hear that. But it’s not a real dragon, unfortunately. I mean, it kind of is, but not really,” Keira tried to explain. “I asked Professor McGonagall to teach me the Draconifors Spell after reading about it in one of the additional readings she suggested to me. It’s supposed to be able to transform small objects into dragons that you can control. They’re obviously a lot smaller and less powerful than a real dragon but they’re still really cool. And cute.”

Charlie stroked the tiny dragon in his palm with one finger from his free hand. “It is cute,” he agreed, sounding like he was only half listening. Keira wasn’t going to take offense to him ignoring her at the moment.

“You know, if you’re good I’ll teach you the spell and you can turn this little guy, or any small object, into a dragon whenever you want,” Keira offered.

That seemed to grab Charlie’s attention as his head snapped up to look at her. “Yeah? Really?”

“Well, if you’re good and don’t piss me off,” Keira reiterated.

“I drew you a personalized, signed, picture,” Charlie argued.

“So? Barnaby draws me a magical creature picture every day,” Keira informed him. So he would have to do better!

“How about, if Gryffindor beats Slytherin in the next Quidditch match you have to teach me,” Charlie wagered causing Keira to scoff.

“I am not going to be able to handle you crying after you lose,” Keira retorted.

“I would not cry! …. Need I remind you I helped you get through the Forbidden Forest to find the Cursed-Vault in there,” Charlie replied with a smirk.

“Need I remind you how I helped you gather up enough money to get a dragon egg from some shady dealer which turned out to be an Acromantula egg,” Keira debated, placing her hands on her hips. She was pretty sure she won that round.

Charlie and Keira glared playfully at each other before something out of the corner of the Seeker’s eye caught his attention. “Uh, Ady, I think your study buddy is having a nervous breakdown.”

Keira frowned quizzically before turning around to see Bill agitatedly running his fingers through his hair and pulling at it. Oh, Merlin, he was literally about to pull his hair out.

“William, no! Your hair is your best feature. You’ll never be able to get a date without it,” Keira cried as she hurried over to eldest Weasley and grabbed onto his wrists. Charlie chuckled slightly as he watched them before turning his attention back to his new little dragon. Hmm, what should he name it…

“Charles!” Charlie’s head snapped up when he heard his name, and not his friendlier nickname, called. “Help me with your brother,” Keira demanded as she tried to wrestle Bill’s hands away from his head.

Charlie glanced down at the tiny dragon in his hand. “Come on little guy, let’s go show you to Bill. That should take his mind off his exams.”

~*~*~*~

“Ooo chocolate cake,” Keira gasped excitedly as she grabbed a slice of the leftover dessert from dinner. It was another late night hang out in the kitchens of Hogwarts for the Cursed-Vaults Gang…Crew… they had yet to decide on a name.

“Could you grab me some too, please,” Penny asked politely as she gathered drinks for everyone.

Keira cut another slice of cake for the Hufflepuff and set it on a plate before licking off some remnants of chocolate icing off her fingers. “So…” Keira glanced over as she was joined by the Gryffindor Seeker who swooped in and leaned casually back against the stone wall next to her. “Looks like things are good now between you and Penny.”

“Were we fighting,” Keira asked curiously.

“Well, not exactly, but you can’t deny there was some tension between you two for a while there. I mean, she did cause you to storm out of the library that one time,” Charlie reminded her.

Keira glanced back at the blonde Hufflepuff as she handed out everyone’s drinks to them. “Yeah, well, we’re good now,” she told him with a small smile. “Actually… there was sort of a… crucial situation that kind of made us address the issue. And I think it was really good, for both of us. She got to face and work through some things and I got her to teach me how to brew that potion I needed so I’d call it a win-win,” she confided in him.

“Yeah? That’s great,” Charlie exclaimed with a grin. “See, I told you we’d figure it out.”

Keira frowned slightly and paused. “Wait, what did you do, exactly?”

“I provided emotional support?” Keira fought back a smile as she looked up at the cheesy grin of the Gryffindor.

“That may be true but that didn’t necessarily help resolve the issue,” Keira pointed out.

“The point is it’s figured out so all is well. See, no point in all that blubbering,” Charlie teased earning himself a playful – well, partially playful, partially anger fueled – smack from the Slytherin. “Ow!” Charlie rubbed his chest where she hit him, trying to appear emotionally hurt but he couldn’t keep from smiling. He was glad they were at the point where they could talk and joke about it now and it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable anymore.

“Oh, you’re fine. You get hit by bludgers all the time,” Keira retorted as she picked up the two plates of chocolate cake.

“I think you stopped my heart for a second there,” Charlie teased causing Keira to roll her eyes as she smirked to herself.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to be nicer to me,” Keira replied a bit smugly as she turned to bring Penny her piece of cake.

“Maybe…” Charlie started before a smirk spread across his face and he quickly snatched a plate of chocolate cake out of her hand – this was not the Golden Snitch! “Or maybe I like a challenge,” he cried in typical Gryffindor fashion, before hurrying away from her and to the safety of their friend group.

“Charles!”

~*~*~*~

Connerie – Bullshit

Putain de merde – Fucking shit

Needed Information on my MC: Nereida Keira-Adelyn Black, goes by her middle names, Charlie likes to call her Ady; born in Ireland, grew up in Canada; part undine; 

Remus Lupin is legal guardian/godfather, although not feeling he was the best fit to take care of Jacob and Keira (financially or for health reasons) after their mother passed they were raised by close friends of their mom in Canada. When they decided to attend Hogwarts instead of staying in Canada for school to connect with their Irish and English heritage, Remus, being the only person they knew, and really family they had, when they arrived in the UK for school, did his best to watch over them and take care of them since he couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves in a new country all alone. Fortunately, they were very independent and when he took the necessary precautions during the full moon he didn’t have to worry so much about them managing on their own. He didn’t feel comfortable staying at their home without them their so he really only lived with them (and had a good place to live/stay) during holidays and the summers, assuming the moon phase allowed. He also, of course, refused to accept any money or gifts from them although Keira demanded he should get a birthday and Christmas present at least and promised not to be too extravagant (but it’s not fair he has to live in poverty, he can stay at their home! He’s family!)

He and Keira clearly got very close since Jacob went missing and he proved to be probably the best at helping them with their watermarks and other undine characteristics. He tried to keep the fact that he was a werewolf from them as long as possible, not wanting to scare them or cause them any worry especially when they were so young but it wasn’t too difficult for them to figure out (he always left around the full moon every month and his nickname was Moony – come on! Keeping with tradition =p Keira found out Remus was a werewolf during her Third Year) and it ended up being a sort of bonding moment considering they were not completely human either and he knew what undergoing a painful transformation was like. (Being around Keira and Jacob who reminded him so much of Sirius and James also may have helped Remus feel less alone.) Keira is fiercely protective over Remus. They also like to send each other packages of chocolate every month – Remus may not be able to afford much be he somehow always manages to find enough money to send her a little bit of chocolate.

(One of these days I will make a post for my MC’s bio… Hope I explained her relationship to Remus well enough. I really need to make some posts just about my MC, even if no one cares and it’s just for me. Also I don’t care if people hate me trying to have my character connected to the Marauders, we all love Remus and he deserves love and happiness! Like we all don’t want to be connected to them anyway…)

A/N: I’ve been having a lot of Remus Lupin feelings lately. I’ve even started making a Remus Lupin, and a Remus x Tonks playlist… Idk… I have had some other ideas about Remus I might write although they, one in particular, would go against canon but… does that really matter? =p But there is definitely one involving Remus I really want to write so it’s going to happen, probably next! It’s almost like a werewolf trilogy thing I’m starting to create! <.< 

Hello, I’m incapable of writing a short fic. =p Can’t even write a brief authors note… I have a lot of thoughts!

I know we all, particularly me, enjoy pointing out how great an older brother Bill is but Charlie is also an amazing older brother – reassuring, nonjudgmental, willing to smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts for you, no questions asked. The Weasley’s have such great, chill, older brothers – Love this family! I also believe the Weasley family is a more affectionate family, physically and verbally; growing up with so many people, and in tighter living quarters, you also had to get used to touching someone else while just trying to eat at the table =p

Also, in case there are any questions or those who believe I’m contributing to the erasure of Charlie’s sexuality, I assure you that is not true. Being on the ace-spectrum myself (as is my MC) I am doing my best to convey him on the ace-spectrum as well. Also, just because someone is ace/aro doesn’t mean they are unable to care about others and forge meaningful relationships.

What’s the deal with me and the Astronomy Tower/Class – no idea =p I also believe the reason Professor McGonagall has not taught us the Draconifors spell is because she knows Charlie will use it all the time on everything!

Was the first Chaser who wanted more… aggressive tactics Marcus Flint? Perhaps… Did I go through the House Point leaderboard on the game and make a Slytherin Quidditch team? …Yes =p (If you’re interested let me know and I’ll post it. And if you want your MC on the team can do [I’m Captain of this ship!] – unless you want to be a Beater in which case have to be reserve, sorry, Barnaby and my MC are Beater Buddies!)

So here’s the deal – I began writing this before the Werewolf event in the game happened and I was already starting on the ending scene when the event came out so please excuse any discrepancies. I did add in a couple references to it and although clearly it would be out of order since the Werewolf event clearly happened around Halloween and this I had set late November (okay, full disclosure, I looked up the moon phases for that year and November 23 would be a full moon which I thought was perfect since I wanted it to be cold and it was close to Charlie’s birthday) BUT in my defense I started writing this first before the event came out so therefore it happens first! =p And then… idk, Time Warp =p Maybe Fenrir attacked around the Christmas feast instead of the Halloween one? The event did help me figure out how MC got Penny to teach her how to brew Wolfsbane potion which also provides a two-part epilogue! This could also work with Chiara I think too assuming Penny hadn’t met her yet so you can imagine that if it works out better for you but this was for Remus!

You’re all welcome I resisted adding a “Not Today Satan, Not Today” gif in this because the urge was real! …I still might

Other Hogwarts Mystery Fics:

Under the Stars - Fluff at the End of the Year Ball with Charlie

I know it’s not very fluffy or a follow up to Under the Stars so if you want to remove your tag or need me to do it let me know;I hope that was all I was supposed to tag! If you want to be added to the tag list let me know =) Or if you just want to discuss HPHM things or ideas hmu! 

@sungoddessra @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bexeris @tatlikar @cinnamoncam