#fafodill

[fafodill]

'Out. Of. My. Classroom.'

This one has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute before I figured out the colors. I wanted to draw a big ✨cape✨ on Snape. He's also very done with the Potter spawn.

My Ko-Fi

[annabellerivers]

Gutter Filth In Yer Bed

Completely inspired and in honor of @fafodill and their brilliant post about Severus's accent slipping back in during the heat of the moment.

To have Hermione at last, her lips searing a line down his throat, her hands yanking at his clothes, dragged up something raw from deep inside him. 

Something that didn’t know how to be gentle. It was a damn good thing she wasn’t being soft about it either as her legs hooked around his waist, pulling him closer on top of her. He wanted to tear her apart and put her back together again. 

A lifetime of loneliness, of chasing after rough, empty fucks when the ache got too sharp to stand it anymore, left him needy for this. For her. For something more than the quick, silent, forgettable nights that never truly met his need. 

But this? This beautiful, delicious witch he had yearned for since she came back into his life as Healer Granger, the mediwich whose wit and fire drove him mad. The very one tearing at his shirt as if she needed to feel his bare skin as desperately as he needed to feel hers. 

Gods fucking above, he would combust if he wasn’t inside her soon.

He groaned, lips crashing back into hers, breaths stolen as he ground her deep into her own mattress, his body making promises he was damn sure to keep. The heat of her soaked through their clothes, his hips thrusting down hard enough to move her and the mattress.

“Fookin’ hell, lass!”

It was out before he could catch it. Thick, rough, and wrong. His accent dragged through every syllable, filthy as the streets he’d come from, betraying the home of his youth in the stretch of his words.

No! The verbal mask slipped for the first time since he was a teen. An utter loss of his control that made Severus stiffen in a whole new way, pulling back quickly to end this all in sheer embarrassment. 

The first good thing he had touched in years, and he’d gone and ruined it with that. Made it clear his less than accepted birth in both Muggle and magical societies. 

Severus jerked back, pulling away from her as shame clawed up his throat. Almost forcing out a just as foreign apology as his mind scrambled to find some dignified way to end this. 

But her fingers curled into his hair, yanking hard enough to catch his attention again. With a whisper, her nails scraped his scalp as she urged him back down to her. He looked down, taking in the flush of her face and the way her lips parted with a breathy whine.

“Say it again, Severus.”

READ THE REST HERE

[fafodill]

I did it.

@lilithofpenandbook @cuhnthater also @princelysnape (I know you didn't ask for this but for some reason I think this will bring you joy)

Wisteria, I'm trying to understand you but it's hard when you make a post drawing a romantic connection between Voldemort and his snake, and then deny the canon counterpoint that she isn't someone Voldemort trusts most and has a soft spot for, she's not the one he accepts caresses from. She's his supporting pet. I'm not trying to disrespect your tastes, but this is, at the very least, weird and almost like zoophilia. I'm not saying it is!

It's a game. One of the games I like to play with Harry Potter is... can I support the crazy thing with textual evidence, if I want to. It's how like in debate clubs, you make a case for side A, and then flip and see if you can make a case for side B, even if you don't believe it.

I'm not over here shipping Voldemort/Nagini because I'm into it? that's very squicky. So over the top squicky that, that's the joke. Also, very, very much of the opinion that JKR really should not have made the snake an asian lady.

If I've got any point, it's that Voldemort is written very ambiguously, and the text leaves a lot of empty space regarding exactly how he feels about - Snape, Bellatrix, Merope, Dumbledore, Harry to a degree. And Nagini! I like throwing out posts like this, because I like seeing the different ways people interpret a very ambiguous text. I had people in the notes making a very good point that Nagini is probably a twisted 'mother' metaphor (I like this one a lot, and think it was probably what JKR intended.) Someone was shipping her with Peter (although that was probably a joke) Other people were saying Voldemort probably sees her as an object/pet (in which case - is the authorial intent to make us question if he treats his human followers any differently?) I think you can at least make the case that JKR is throwing slight hints of 'deviant sexuality' at Voldemort, just because that's a really common villain trope. My point is that the book just... doesn't specifically tell us all that much about Voldemort's inner world. Which leaves it up for debate.

I do hope people don't get weird about the Voldemort/Nagini stuff. Although if I got cancelled for shipping Voldemort/Nagini that would be extremely funny.

[severus-snaps]

So I was thinking about this post and so I humbly submit the below (sex and romance) headcanons

James Potter is the kind of guy who says he loves getting his girlfriends off, and says he's really good at it. But when he gets down to it he rubs the clit as as aggressively as if he's trying to remove a stain from the carpet. He absolutely insists that "all the other girls" he's been with "loved it" like that, and have told him how fantastic he is in bed. When he goes down on you, you have to fake a noisy orgasm just because he absolutely will not accept any direction or suggestion, and you're bored out of your mind. Gives the most generic (but expensive) gifts you have to pretend to like because they were obviously expensive, but they have nothing to do with the girl's interests or personality

Sirius attracts girlfriends by being all sexily distant and aloof, but they soon find out that he's simply not that interested in pleasuring his partner. For a moment he's all attentive, but foreplay lasts just long enough for him to get in there and have his fun and as soon as he's finished, he promptly falls asleep. Rarely goes down on you, and when he does it's just to prime you for his own use. Gets irritated and ghosts his partner as soon as they ask for any more care or attention to be paid to their needs (in bed, and in general). Forgets birthdays and special occasions and never makes it long enough to see an anniversary

Peter Pettigrew negs all of the girls who James and Sirius reject, in the hopes that they'll pick him instead. It rarely works. Either wears them down by constantly asking or being weird when they say no, getting flowers and gifts even though they've said they're not interested. When he does finally end up on a date (or in bed) with a girl he'll never leave her alone ever again after that. The kind of guy you accidentally make eye contact with once in the hallway and he already acts like you're married. Thinks going down on girls is gross, but wheedles you for a blowie absolutely endlessly

Remus is genuinely very sweet and considerate. He's polite, remembers your birthday, is a listening ear and a rational voice. When he gets a crush or starts dating he's extra attentive, so the girl feels like the absolute centre of his universe, it's amazing, the best relationship ever, neither of you have ever felt a connection like this before. You have sex once and it's very sweet, you can tell he's shy and nervous. The next day he never replies to your messages and blanks you in the halls and when he finally relents, he says he's "just not ready for a relationship right now". Two days later you see him with another girl

[kalkaros]

Inspired by @fafodill 's musings on fem! Snape, I grabbed my tablet and did some sketching. I absolutely fell in love with this character all over again.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Wizard Undergarments

So, I saw this post by @fafodill regarding Snape's underwear, and I love fashion history and wizard fashion in general, and I talked about this with @wisteria-lodge, so I wanted to expand on what undergarments wizards & witches are wearing during the events of the books in general.

Previously on Wizarding Fashion in the UK: part 1, part 2

What are "robes" and how are they worn?

I'll start by explaining the robes' situation a bit, since understanding what they are wearing will help us determine the undergarments they have underneath. Historically, undergarments weren't just for modesty but for practicality. Undergarments are supposed to protect the garment from you (soak up sweat, be easier & cheaper to wash than the more expensive garment above it, etc.) and protect you from the garment (against chafing, the undergarments would usually be a softer, more breathable material like linen, etc.).

As such, what you are wearing over your undergarments would affect which undergarments you will wear.

In SWM, we see Snape is wearing just his robes and underwear beneth:

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.

(OotP)

Snape is not an outlier, but the norm of how robes (and school robes specifically) are worn:

He got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn’t want to walk into the station in his wizard’s robes — he’d change on the train.

(PS)

Everybody except Harry was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts

(OotP)

Harry consistently mentions he isn't wearing jeans with his robes, meaning he isn't wearing trousers under his school robes.

Ron’s showing much too much ankle in his school robes

(HBP) - said by Molly.

Ron is also implied not to be wearing trousers under his robes, considering his ankles are visible when the robes are too short for him.

Additionally, their school robes are dress-like, and not how they are portrayed in the movies:

They pull them overhead:

Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

(PS)

Quidditch robes too:

“Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?” said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes

(OotP)

With high collars (school robes, that is):

Turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air

(OotP)

And they are long and billowing:

Ron's ankles aren't supposed to be showing, as mentioned in a previous quote.

He [Percy] had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes

(PS)

Their robes billowed and swirled around them as they splashed across the flooded vegetable patch to double Herbology

(OotP)

So they are full coverage, loose-fitting, dress-like garments held in place with a belt:

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry’s robes

(CoS)

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door.

(CoS)

“There,” said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt.

(PoA)

But the man was stirring ... a silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt

(OotP)

Now, I'll get into all the quotes pertaining to underwear I could find in the books in the next section, but I kind of want to set the conclusion from the beginning. Unfortunately, the implication I got is that they are all wearing modern muggle underwear as a standard and that our man, Archie:

“Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,” said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. “I’m not putting them on,” said old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze ’round my privates, thanks.”

(GoF)

Is an exception and not the norm.

The Evidence

I copied all mentions of underwear from the books, so, here it is:

He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry’s camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. [...] He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.

(GoF)

Harry keeps wearing the regular muggle underwear he is used to, and he buys new ones in the Wizarding World. As does Ron:

“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “I’m nearly done, I’m just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron — ”

(DH)

Peeves assumes every wizard he encounters will be wearing pants:

They were temporarily detained by Peeves, who had jammed a door on the fourth floor shut and was refusing to let anyone pass until they set fire to their own pants, but Harry and Ron simply turned back and took one of their trusted shortcuts.

(HBP)

And we see the words "pants" and "knickers" used to refer to underwear by all wizards (purebloods too). Both these terms, in British English, refer to modern underwear:

Hermione’s arriving this afternoon. Percy’s started work — the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don’t mention anything about Abroad while you’re here unless you want the pants bored off you.

(GoF) - said by Ron

“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair?

(GoF)

“Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?”

(OotP) - said by James

“How in the name of Merlin’s pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?”

(DH) - said by Ron

And we even see Y-fronts (even more specific men's briefs) mentioned in wizard slang:

“And what in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y Fronts was that about?”

(DH) - said by Ron

And "briefs" in general:

There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved

(HBP)

Additionally, they wear suits often-ish, even not in front of muggles:

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

(PoA)

which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet.

(PoA)

Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie.

(GoF) - Hagrid, in general, always wears trousers and shirts, and not robes. Which makes sense with his work that requires more movement.

Which means they are wearing underwear that works with late 19th-century, early 20th-century suits — pants & undershirt combination or a one-piece underwear (such as union suits). Supporting this is Harry wearing a very tight-fitting t-shirt under his Quidditch Robes (the pants-undershirt combo):

Harry took off his black school robes, removed his wand from his pocket, and stuck it inside the T-shirt he was going to wear under his Quidditch robes.

(PoA) - I'm saying the t-shirt is tight because it keeps his wand in place — it has to be super tight-fitting for the wand not to move around, unless he is using some Sticking Charm or another. My (and Wisteria's) only question is why he isn't putting his wand in his boot like someone with style.

So, that's it? They just wear boring 20th-century muggle underwear and undershirt?

Well, not quite.

Remember, the purpose of undergarments is also practical. We want to keep the long robe safe from you and warmer for the cold of Scotland.

Additionally, they change clothes in front of each other very often, in front of both boys and girls:

To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others

(HBP) - Pansy is in the compartment too.

This is why I headcanon that there is an additional dress-like layer. You can call it any number of names, as it has many names throughout history (chemise, shift, long shirt, undershirt, however else you want to call it) But in the Wizarding World it would be a long shirt (could be shorter when worn with suits or trausers) or longer when worn under robes that keeps the robes sweat free and also gives a layer you can show to other people when changing into your school robes on the train.

Conclusions

Wizards seem to be wearing modern (20th-century) underwear of various types that would depend on personal preference. I assume/headcanon over this, they wear some linen/cotton undergarment to soak up sweat, help with insulation, and be changed every day, unlike the robe, which would be washed less often to keep the fabric in good condition. (Though, with charms and magical washing, they could get away with more than muggles could. Probably). This undershirt would be a t-shirt under Quidditch robes, dress shirts & suits, or a longer tunic under proper robes.

[fafodill]

I loved your headcanon so I couldn't resist having an excuse to draw a little smoking Snape

Between 1995 and 1996, one of the few things that genuinely brought Severus Snape joy was his small, private act of transgression: sneaking into the library of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black while everyone else was busy—gathered in meetings, preparing meals, or simply too preoccupied to notice him. In those moments, he would slip toward a book half-hidden among the shelves, open its cover with the same stealth he had honed over the years, and discreetly extract the pack of cigarettes stashed inside. He’d take a couple and leave without anyone noticing his presence.

Every time the Order met, he repeated the ritual: vanishing quietly when no one was watching, using his skills as a spy to move with precise, practiced ease. He would make his way to that little hiding place, whose existence he had overheard during a casual conversation between Black and Lupin. With unflappable composure, he would take the cigarettes as though it were an ordinary act in his routine.

And days later, when he returned, he would find Black furious, storming out of the library and shouting about who had dared to meddle with his belongings. Severus would merely watch impassively. He knew his actions would go unnoticed, while chaos brewed in the Black household. When Molly Weasley, concerned, asked about the source of the commotion, Black never gave specifics but continued his tirade, angrily calling for Lupin. In those moments, Severus didn’t smile, but deep down, the fifteen-year-old version of himself relished every second of it.

"It seems that, in addition to his dignity, Black has also started to lose his mind," he remarked on one occasion, his tone utterly devoid of emotion.

He never actually smiled, but it brought him genuine satisfaction to see Lupin and Arthur Weasley draw their wands to restrain Black before he could lunge at him. An even greater delight came one day when Severus overheard Black talking to Lupin in desperation, wondering aloud if he truly was losing his sanity. Black swore that the pack had contained twenty cigarettes just days ago, but now only ten remained—and he hadn’t smoked them. Lupin, unbothered, suggested he might need more sleep. But Severus knew it wasn’t a matter of insomnia or madness. It was a simple trick, and the thought of it filled him with a deep, quiet satisfaction, like an old, private joke only he understood.

And so, amidst the monotony of dark days and the constant tensions of war, Severus Snape had found a way to lighten his mood, even if it meant succumbing once again to the terrible vice of cigarettes.

[dranna]

Sex pollen

part 1 || part 2

@fafodill <3

[lilithofpenandbook]

right.

So I found the stupidest shit ever.

Im fucking dying what the fuck I'm just laughing because what the actual FUCK is this 😭

@thatlittlefangirl @princelysnape did you know we're @maxdibert 's alts because I sure didn't

And I'm sorry but WHAT THE FUCK DID @fafodill DO 😭

[fafodill]

They're twelve.

All the writing credit goes to @maxdibert in this post.

[crowflickers]

My reblog button has Kedavra’d itself but this is based on an anon scenario that @fafodill beautifully elaborated on. Maybe I’ll write another part with Firenze. If the creativity comes to me. Enjoy.

WC: 1123

Tags: MDNI (18+), smut, sex pollen, solo

HOME BEFORE DARK

With the heat of the summer fast approaching, Severus Snape had shed his usual cloak. He wore a leather strap across his shoulder adorned with various bags and phials secured to it, each precisely labeled and meticulously gathered.

The last item, he had yet to reach: sun thistle. An uncommon flower that was specifically requested by his recent client. Somewhere between lines of a centuries old textbook, he could vaguely remember its effects on a brew and how to reverse it. Now, he had never personally used it in his own recipes, and it certainly wasn’t in his stores within the castle. Nor Sprout’s, as he had learned. Despite her warnings against it, Severus had set out to find it on his own. He was above the black market, after all.

His steps grew softer as he approached a clearing within the forest, large bushes of the orange flowers nearly glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. He unclipped a velvet bag from his belt, gently pulling out a pair of clippers. In his opinion, magic was far too abrasive for delicate plants. He cut a few from the stem, placing each flower into the bag gently before standing up.

Suddenly, a loud snap echoed in the forest. Severud took a step back, ready to draw his wand, trampling part of the bush. It ruffled and left small cuts along his calf where the thorns dared to catch within his pant leg.

Soft, yellow particles rose through the air like dust catching the light. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist, swiftly turning on his heel, wand in hand.

He had to have made it at least halfway back before he noticed anything. The sun had slowly begun to set but the temperature only got hotter. Starting to sweat, trudged along on the path back to the castle. A vine catching and tugging on his trousers only made him realize just how tight they felt as they glided across his now-raging erection. In the stillness of the forest still switching between its diurnal and nocturnal inhabitants, his gasp could have broken the peace had it not been muffled with his hand.

Forcing himself to continue walking, even as the heat rose, his vision became blurry and vertigo kicked in hard. His cock gave a small twitch in his boxers.

Ah. Shite.

His pace picked up, only for a couple minutes. Seconds? He could no longer think clearly seeing as his maddeningly hard cock was currently demanding attention.

Severus panted as he instinctively reached to unbutton his robe, tossing the coat into the gravel and dirt, muttering a quiet, pleading “no..”

He was an adult. An esteemed Hogwarts professor. Slytherin’s Head of House. A ranked Potions Master. A—

“Fuck…”

He swore under his breath in anger as he leaned one hand up against a tree.

“Fuck..!”

He groaned as the other hand fumbled to undo the buckle of his belt, dropping his wand in the process.

Severus threw his white button-up off, uncharacteristically careless as many of the small, carved buttons had lost themselves to the forest. Or, rather, he had lost them. From tearing his shirt off like a man plagued with both lycanthropy and insolence.

Though, if you asked him, all werewolves were ill-mannered. And he had far less hair than a wolf.

He nearly moaned as the cooler air made contact with his fevered skin. He exhaled harshly and leaned his back against the tree. He shut his eyes and let his hands travel down his torso, thumbing briefly at his nipples. That was new. Either he had never done it, or it had never felt like that before, because he audibly reacted with a gasp. He was not in a place to try and remember what it used to feel like. All that mattered was getting his cock out. Right fucking now.

The moment he stepped out of his shoes and trousers, his legs gave out. Ignoring the rough bark scraping his back, he sank onto his arse, desperately kicking his boxers off.

Looking down, Severus paused as he admired his cock for a brief second. Part of him that had never once been seen by anyone else. His firm hand wraps around it. He immediately hissed through his teeth as his hand began to move up and down jerkily.

Admittedly, it did not take much for him to come. He spurted thick ropes that dripped down his belly and hand. He slowed as he waited for the end to his high. Only, it never came. He did, though.

He ground the palm of his hand between his legs as they clenched together. A barely restrained whimper left his throat as he began to stroke again. He slid to the ground, lying naked in the grass as he hopelessly pumped his cock, mindless curses and pleas strung together inaudibly when his thumb slide across the underside. His cock was flushed red at the tip, leaking profusely as his hand squeezed around it. His other hand ran through the thin curls at his chest, toying with one of his nipples absentmindedly. Another few minutes passed, and he found his release against the dirt.

Severus easily came twice more after that before his mind started to clear. His body was weak, mind practically broken as he looked around at the forest surrounding him. His head felt fuzzy and he saw auras as he crawled across the grass to grab his clothes. It would do wonderfully for his dignity, of course, after spending the past hour rubbing himself off on the forest ground, but that was a thought for another time.

Folding the clothing over his arm, he stood up on shaky legs. His cock, ever persistent, remained half-hard. Another wave of heat rolled over him but he pushed through it to the best of his abilities, beginning to throw his robes back on carelessly.

Severus grasped his wand tightly, securing his collection of ingredients to his body. He made a point to ignore the way the strap so perfectly pressed against his still-sensitive nipples. Slipping his shoes back on, he set out shakily towards the castle. His knees felt weak, body both rung out and politely begging, no longer demanding for more.

As fast as his legs could physically drag themselves across the dirt path, he soldiered on towards the castle. Despite the orgasms he had so gracefully made claim to minutes before, he could tell it wasn’t over. He didn’t know how to stop it.

After a wave of dizziness, he caught himself against a large rock, hissing a loud moan through his teeth.

Suddenly, he wishes he paid mind to the textbooks. And his colleagues.

[theodorka]

SNAPE IN LINGERIE: THE FANFICTION

It's done. It's finally posted.

Inspired by this and definitely also this ( @wisteria-lodge @fafodill )

This was so much fun! I got a bit extremely carried away. It's 46k words, so I can't post it all here, but you can read an excerpt under the cut and/or read it on AO3.

It takes place over three years, because I think it would take Severus about 3 years to get to a point where he's putting on lingerie for his boyfriend and, for some reason, I decided I was going to write the entire Strangers to Lovers Relationship Arc.

I genuinely love this fic. I may need to write the full happily ever after at some point. I really want to write Kasimir being icy to Lupin when he turns up and maybe have him punch Sirius in the face or something as a treat 🥺 we'll see :) Please enjoy

Perfect Poison Pearl by Theodorka

Severus Snape x MaleOC

CW: I write SMUT, it's SMUT, which is Explicit Sexual Content; not in this excerpt though. Implied & Internalized Homophobia. Read tags on AO3 if you read the rest

The first time Severus met Kasimir, it was because Minerva McGonagall wheeled the weedy brunette into the staff room and plopped him down across the table from him. She forcibly introduced the new Arthimancy professor and said rather pointedly,

“Professor Kobza was at Durmstrang and finished his studies the same year you did. I’m sure you’re relieved to finally have someone your age on the staff.”

Minerva, who repeatedly struggled to remember twenty-three year old Severus Snape wasn’t a teenage student of hers any longer and hardly wanted help making friends, promptly left the room, though not before leveling him with be nice glare she reserved just for him.

Kasimir and Severus exchanged curt nods. They shared a look in which they assessed the other’s interest in abandoning this farcical playdate, then nodded at one another again. Both left the staff room without another word.

The second time Severus met Kasimir, the man was wearing a dress.

Severus didn’t recognize him initially as he entered the Hog’s Head—the willowy youth had let his hair down from the messy pile usually stacked on top of his head, secured in a bun. Instead, it spilled over his shoulders in smooth waves. He’d also shaved the ever-present stubble from his face and wasn’t wearing his reading glasses, on his face or perched atop his head.

And he was wearing a dress, of course.

It fit him well. Long-sleeved with a high neck, a loose fit skirt that fell to the knees, it wasn’t a particularly enticing ensemble.

(not that Severus was evaluating it thusly; it was merely an objective, distant observation, disentangled from subjective preference because Severus Snape didn’t have a preference, subjective or otherwise, for men in dresses)

But it was intricate. The fabric was dark, crimson netting and lace embroidered into it. The buttons on the collar were small and shiny white, mother of pearl maybe, and the same on the cuffs of the sleeves. A little ruffle of milky silk peaked out from the cuff, drawing Severus’ attention to the dark red manicured nails and holding it until he was too close to miss who they belonged to.

It was only when Severus was halfway to the bar and Kasimir turned that the two saw one another. Kasimir blinked, amber eyes dressed up in a dusky, faintly shimmering shadow, his lashes long and black, and a manicured hand tapping the side of a crystal glass filled with something dark.

Severus didn’t even know Aberforth had crystal back there.

Kasimir nodded curtly to Severus and he returned it automatically. Kasimir turned away and Severus went to sit at the opposite end of the bar to immediately mind his own business. Neither so much as looked in the other’s direction the entire night.

The next day he saw Kasimir in the staff room, marking Arthimancy homework with a familiar expression of resigned disappointment, looking like he did every other day of his life. Weedy. Tired, purple shadows beneath his eyes, no longer hidden beneath well blended concealer. Truly abysmal posture. A bit of a mess, really, sleeves of his frock rolled up, stubble smattered across his cheeks and chin, ink stains on his hands, thin framed glasses perched at an angle on his long, narrow nose.

Severus saw it now. The effeminate qualities in his features he hadn’t noticed until he was confronted with the man wrapped up in a dress, face and nails painted. Thin wrists, bony, soft-looking hands with long, slender fingers. High, delicate cheek bones.

Kasimir was conventionally attractive, but evidently doing his best to conceal that from the world with a slovenly appearance. Preferring to preserve the effort for his evening activities, it would seem. Severus wondered whether he struggled at Durmstrang—he rather got the impression androgyny wasn’t looked on fondly over there, if Karkaroff was any indication; a man so full of masculine bravado it turned Severus’ stomach every time he’d the distinct displeasure to be in the man’s presence, back when he’d been a Death Eater and then a double agent.

Not that it was looked on any more fondly here. He had plenty of personal experience to speak to that, having thin, delicate wrists, preferring his hair long, and being rather weedy himself. Severus wasn’t pretty, not like Kasimir, but that just made him an easier target—he was freakishly hideous and looked like his bones were made of glass. He could hit much harder than it looked like he could though. One of the only ‘benefits’ of growing up in Cokeworth—you learned how to fight. You learned how to fight or you’d fucking die before you needed more than both hands to count to your age. You could learn how to run too, but eventually, you’d have to fucking fight.

Severus watched Kasimir flex a cramp in his hand, and his eyes fell back to the forearm and that was when he saw them:

The scars.

Jagged, black streaks ran like poisoned rivers beneath the skin, veins stained black and deformed. As Kasimir adjusted his quill between his slender fingers, Severus saw one particular vein protruding unnaturally, as if someone had taken his veins and tied them into knots, and when they finally untangled, they couldn’t lay flat anymore. They twisted at strange angles, disappearing and reappearing and doubling back where they shouldn’t.

Poison. Severus thought immediately. His fingers rubbed the spine of the book which lay in his lap, pressing against a ridge in the binding, petting it, fingers itching to examine the injury—but Kasimir wasn’t his patient. Kasimir wasn’t his anything—well, his colleague, but that wasn’t a reason to hold his hand, for the express purpose of medical examination, of course.

It could have been a curse, he supposed. He would need to biopsy a vein to be sure, and if it was poison, he could figure out which then too. Severus had his doubts about the hypothesis already—certainly, there were malignant and virulent poisons which could do such a thing…but only in the seconds immediately before they killed the victim, after many, many hours of pain. Some poisons killed quickly, discreetly. The kind that might have once run through Kasimir’s veins was meant to kill slowly, painfully, and to send a message. But if it had once pumped through his veins, how on earth did he survive?

Severus could think of a few possibilities, but they seemed unlikely. A bezoar would work and was likeliest. While rare, virtually any wizarding hospital would have one on hand for dire emergencies. Additionally, some of the poisons which inflicted such injury had antidotes, particularly those meant to extract confessions and information from the victim, in exchange for an end to the pain and the opportunity to live.

But such poisons were difficult to brew, the ingredients dangerous and/or expensive to acquire; no sensible poisoner would administer such a poison under conditions in which the victim could then simply walk themselves to a hospital. And if Kasimir’s scars were caused by poison, then he was moments from death before the antidote was administered. He would be extremely lucky for it to work in time.

Yes, poison seemed more and more unlikely the more Severus thought about it. Indeed, who on god’s green earth would be poisoning this man to begin with? This weedy, crossdressing, scruffy, slouching, slender-fingered, messy-bun bearing, pretty little twerp? The man was an Arthimancy professor, for Merlin’s sake, the second most boring subject at Hogwarts after History of Magic.

How infuriatingly mysterious.

Kasimir looked up and blinked. He nodded politely at Severus through the rectangular lenses of his frameless reading glasses. Severus nodded back and immediately shoved his book in front of his face, hoping the man didn’t think he was leering. His cheeks reddened behind the opaque covers, due to his being caught leering.

Severus frowned at the pages, heat rising higher on his cheeks. Kasimir wasn’t pretty. Where had that thought even come from? Not him, surely. They’d all been wrong, of course: his father, his fucking tormentors, everyone—Severus wasn’t queer, he wasn’t a fairy, even in spite of his skinny body and long hair and the fact no woman would ever look his way, much less touch him.

Kasimir wasn’t pretty. He just did his makeup well and looked alright in a dress. He probably wasn’t even queer either—just a man with a fucking weird hobby. It’s not like it was illegal to wear a dress. And maybe if Severus looked half as decent in a dress, he’d take to dressing up in them too—who fucking knows?

It didn’t matter, the point moot; Severus looked fucking ridiculous in everything on account of the fact it was his weedy, skeletal body stuffed inside of it, his hideous face attached to said body, his sallow, pallid skin wrapped over said face and body and head, his ugly, hooked nose tacked onto to the center of said face, his filthy-looking hair growing out of said head, his crooked teeth crammed haphazardly inside the mouth of said face—Severus was himself, his wretchedly hideous self. Quite frankly, he shouldn’t be seen ever, regardless of the clothes he wore.

It wasn’t even the end of the first week when Severus started fielding complaints from his Slytherins.

He’s horrible!

He’s unfair!

He threw my abacus out the window!

Professor Kobza said if he saw another abacus in his classroom, he was going to brain its owner with it!

“Then…don’t…bring your abacus…to his classroom.” Severus explained slowly, for the fifth time that day. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered what on earth the man had against the abacus. Maybe one killed his mother.

Severus, who had a perfectly acceptable habit of listening at keyholes and around corners and behind tapestries and statues, overheard Minerva say Kasimir had quarreled with Dumbledore about not being allowed to threaten to brain students, that he couldn’t damage student property, and the most he could do was confiscation. Ultimately, Kasimir must have conceded the point, considering Severus started to receive only complaints about confiscated abacuses.

Patrolling the castle one evening, Severus overheard Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch gossiping behind a greenhouse. Nothing better to do and hoping to learn something interesting, he strolled behind a high garden wall where he could better overhear—only to find Kasimir leaning against it, cigarette smoking delicately between two slender fingers. The two made startled eye contact and then nodded politely, once both had a moment to recover.

Kasimir reached inside his cloak, produced a silver cigarette case and extended it toward Severus, the engraved lid popping open. Cautiously, as if the man might suddenly snap it shut on his fingers, Severus accepted one. The two smoked quietly while they learned all about who Madam Hooch had been hearing about from Madam Rosmerta, until the two women bid each other goodbye until the next time.

Severus and Kasimir quickly learned their schedule. They’d share a cigarette as they eavesdropped, exchanging pointed glances and amused smirks whenever they overheard something particularly interesting or scandalous. When the women parted, the two put out their cigarettes and went their separate ways, without ever speaking a word to one another.

It was Christmas before they finally exchanged two words. The words were Merry and Christmas, accompanied by polite nods. They both immediately went back to nursing their mulled wine and discreetly eavesdropping on Minerva and Poppy gossiping in hushed, but not hushed enough, whispers.

It was New Year’s Eve when they finally had an actual conversation.

Severus was lightly inebriated at three in the afternoon—as one is on New Year’s Eve—inebriated enough to take a risk and, with any luck, sate his curiosity. He’d developed a hypothesis about Kasimir and—being a man of science—had been waiting for an opportunity he felt brave enough to test it. And so, he took an oversized cloak his mother had made him years ago hoping he’d grow into it—he never did—bounded through the castle to the tucked away Arthimancy wing and knocked thrice upon the door to Kasimir’s quarters.

He heard something crash inside.

A few moments later, Kasimir cracked open the door. He blinked at Severus and opened the door the rest of the way, removing his reading glasses and perching them atop his head. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame; Severus had observed in the passing months the man was incapable of standing up straight for longer than three seconds. Behind him, Severus saw a tower of books and confiscated abacuses stacking itself into an unsteady pile, looking like it would collapse again if you sneezed too close to it.

Kasimir said nothing by way of greeting, the two only exchanging brief nods, so Severus launched into his hypothesis:

“You sew, yes?” Severus held up the large bundle of fabric by way of explanation.

Kasimir’s face twitched, almost a flinch, like he thought Severus might throw it in his face. Severus glanced between the cloak and back to Kasimir as he waited.

Slowly, a smile crept onto Kasimir’s countenance and he nodded, holding out his hand. Severus handed him the cloak. Kasimir stood aside and gestured for Severus to step through. Entering, Severus examined the deeply disorganized space.

Books in half a dozen languages were stacked haphazardly and if Severus wasn’t so pleased about his hypothesis being correct, he’d have considered pointing out it was a fire hazard. And that it was making him anxious. He dearly hoped Kasimir didn’t smoke in here.

Large unfurled scrolls were stuck to the walls, scribbled with…numbers and such, by the looks of it, other symbols Severus didn’t recognize, but vaguely remembered being associated with Arthimancy. He saw one covered in some kind of advanced algebra, drawn runes glowing gently on the parchment, shuffling themselves around an equation which bent itself into concentric circles. Repressed memories of revising for his Arthimancy N.E.W.T. resurfaced and Severus stopped looking at all the math on the walls for the sake of his sanity.

Kasimir led Severus through a narrow and concernedly unsteady maze of stacked books and scrolls, past random whirring magical devices, several dozen dead and dying houseplants, a harpsichord, and an empty terrarium. A fluffy white cat with amber eyes leapt from where it had been napping on a cluttered writing desk that was very obviously the cat’s. It immediately attempted to trip Severus, winding around his ankles, as if herding him through the maze.

At the end, the room opened up into a converted sitting room, what was obviously a studio of some kind. Fabric was piled on every available surface and mannequins wore dresses Severus had yet to see on Kasimir during the nights they politely ignored each other in the Hog’s Head. They were half finished and with a flick of his wand, the brunette covered them with a sheet, looking a bit sheepish.

“Helmi likes you.” Kasimir said approvingly, nodding at the cat.

With three whole words to go off, Severus clocked a light accent he couldn’t place. Which made sense, if he’d gone to Durmstrang, Severus supposed, wondering where he was from, what it was like there, and could he please tell him everything else about himself while he was at?

But Severus controlled himself—he knew how much his intensity was responsible for so much of his misfortune; the friendship it cost him, in a time long since lost forever. It grated on people; he needed to rein himself in if—if nothing. Severus was just testing his hypothesis, sating his curiosity. Nothing more.

“Feel honored, for she’s hard to impress.”

“Helmi?” The cat jumped onto a nearby stool and Severus held out his hand for the cat to sniff. She nudged his knuckles with her fuzzy forehead, then licked his ring finger. Severus frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“It means pearl in Finnish.”

Severus nodded; Finnish then. Kasimir was Finnish or part Finnish or grew up in Finland. This was going well, he was learning so much already: Kasimir had a cat and was maybe Finnish. It was only a matter of time before he told him about the scars and let Severus hold his hands—to examine said hands, for medical evaluation purposes.

Kasimir gestured to a large mirror taking up most of the wall.

“Stand here, please.”

Severus frowned, but supposed he asked for this. It would be rude to be uncooperative, so he went to stand before the mirror, hands in pockets, avoiding eye contact with himself. With a dramatic billow of dark fabric, Kasimir levitated the cloak over Severus and let it fall into place. He circled him, adjusting the garment’s drape.

“Mm.” Kasimir summoned a measuring tape, measured Severus’ shoulders, then wrapped it around the shoulders horizontally, then again vertically down the middle of both shoulders.

Severus…disassociated, Occluding out of instinct, wishing now he’d never left the safety of his dungeons. He didn’t know what he expected. Not to be so…seen, he supposed. Maybe that Kasimir could just eyeball the cloak and then eyeball Severus, tell him everything he wanted to know, and then he’d be on his merry way without having to meet the man’s cat or stand in his sitting room, having his measure quite literally taken.

“What was it that gave me away? That I can sew?” Kasimir asked, as if seeking to force Severus to be present in the moment by way of uncharacteristic conversation.

“The…intricacy.” Severus said slowly, feeling a bit under a microscope and, not for the first time in his life, regretting being a man of science and a pretty nosy person in general.

“I realized you must make them.”

“You’ve been admiring my handiwork?”

Severus shifted uncomfortably, hands so deep in his pockets he was discovering a lost world of forgotten, crumpled notes to himself that had long since disintegrated in the wash.

“I just, er…recognize craftsmanship when I see it, I suppose.”

Kasimir hummed, summoning several pins from across room. He’d pinch two parts of the fabric together and stick a pin in to designate where to take the garment in at.

“You have such excellent posture—you ought consider modeling.”

Severus snorted, because it was among the most absurd suggestions he’d ever hear in his life.

“Oh?” Severus said, instead of Oh, be fucking serious, you twat.

“Mm—if you can walk straight like that for the thirty to sixty seconds every other minute, you’d make a small fortune.”

Severus scoffed. He could model. Absurd. But Kasimir’s tone was flat, like tacit acknowledgment of a known fact—not sarcasm at all. Severus was something of an expert on the subject, but his eyes narrowed nonetheless.

“Do you? Model?” It seemed a strange thing to suggest otherwise. And unlike Severus, Kasimir was conventionally attractive—in the objective sense, Severus didn’t have subjective preferences about men’s appearances—but Kasimir laughed at the question.

“Oh, no. Don’t have the posture for it—mother did her best, of course, but I never cooperated.”

Well, the man did have terrible posture. And now Severus was starting to think it was deliberately terrible. Spitefully terrible, even.

“Your mother…what? Tried to turn you into a model?”

“Mm. She’s a retired one herself. Runs a fashion house in Milan now. She says I’ve a strut only a mother could love.”

Kasimir arched an eyebrow at the mirror and Severus laughed—genuinely laughed—trying to imagine the man strutting down a catwalk. The vision shifted, imagining him in one of the dresses he’d seen Kasimir in—the burgundy one with billowing sleeves, a jade brooch affixed to the high collar, and a cinched waist which created a dramatic silhouette Severus spent most of that evening pointedly ignoring—and he stopped snickering abruptly.

Once all the pins were in place, Kasimir removed the cloak. The man moved very carefully. At no point during his standing like a mannequin—one with pockets and hands, to shove hands in pockets—did Severus feel the other man’s touch against him, slender fingers deftly making contact with only the fabric. Like the man knew a single touch could send Severus fleeing back to the dungeons.

Severus wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t fled regardless.

A few days later, Severus received a note at lunch.

I’ve finished altering your cloak. Come by later.

-Kas

Kas. Severus swallowed looking at the note, reading and rereading it, staring at the name, until Kas was burned into the back of his eyelids.

It’s just a name. A pretty normal, single-syllable, name. Kas.

After lessons were finished, Severus swept to the Arthimancy Wing and knocked thrice upon Kasimir’s door.

He heard something crash inside and he frowned. The place was a death trap. The door cracked open and Kasimir smiled at him, an even larger pile of confiscated abacuses rearranging itself.

“What’s your problem with abacuses?” Severus said and immediately frowned.

He’d meant to say hello, Kas, test out the name on his tongue. Kasimir gestured him in and Severus followed him back to his studio. Helmi purred at his ankles as he shoved his hands into his pockets. After last time, he’d gone back to the dungeons and cleaned out the pockets of all his robes.

The cat was leaving bright white fur on his dark robes and Severus frowned. He picked up the creature and held it out at arm’s length, before it could trip him and he died from the blunt force trauma of falling face first into a stack of random garbage and abacuses. She chirruped at him, attempting to wiggle free, ignoring Severus’ pointed glares.

“The problem with abacuses is that the abacus is an unnecessary crutch for the mind.” Kasimir began.

“Before the O.W.L.s, an abacus shouldn’t be necessary as the rigor of the arithmetic should be within a student’s reach using only mental math. After the O.W.L.s, it swiftly becomes something which only holds the student back, as the speed of calculation is severely hampered by using a mechanical, external device.”

Severus nodded, not really caring, but enjoying getting to hear the sound of Kasimir’s accent on so many different words.

“The sooner students learn to perform calculations of significant rigor in their head, the better off they’ll be—there is simply no incentive to permit them use of an abacus, except that it makes children feel better because they are insecure in their abilities. But how will they get better otherwise? That’s a rhetorical question, by the by—I’m not open to suggestions on the policy.”

They reached the studio and Kasimir rounded the mannequin wearing Severus’ cloak. He leaned onto it, arms wrapping around its shoulders from behind as Severus put Helmi down on a stool. She swished her long, fluffy, white tail irritably at him.

“Do your students cry to you excessively about my cruelty? The other Heads of House have told me theirs do.”

Severus smirked. “Yes, especially the ones who have very expensive abacuses. One student told me you threw one with bejeweled beads through a window. An unopened window.”

Kasimir scoffed. “Bejeweled, pfft. Ridiculous. Can I tell you something? I really just hate the noise they make. Their being unnecessary crutches just also happens to be true.”

Kasimir hid half his face behind a mannequin, mischievous smile playing on his lips. Severus watched the way the other man’s fingers smoothed the fabric against the mannequin and felt his throat go very dry.

“Yes, well, you should see what I do when a student turns up with a gold bloody cauldron. It’s certainly a mistake no one makes twice.”

Kasimir snickered, cheek rubbing against the cloak’s collar; where the nape of Severus’ neck would be, were he currently wearing it. Severus looked away, finding it hard to catch his breath. It was rather dusty in here, he supposed.

“Would you tell me about this cloak?” Kasimir asked quietly after a moment.

Severus glanced over. “What is there to tell? It’s just a cloak.”

“It’s just nothing, I assure you.” Kasimir said swiftly, sounding almost a little offended.

“Someone made this, no?”

Severus blanched. “Oh, er—yes. My…mother…did.”

“She was quite skilled.” Kasimir said, lifting the back of the cloak and raising it to show the underside, revealing a dark seam.

“You can barely tell it’s stitched together, rather than a garment cut from a single cloth. Your mother clearly cared about how you’d be perceived.”

Severus frowned, pretty sure he was being insulted, but Kasimir didn’t make it sound like an insult. Doubtlessly, his mother had stitched it together from scraps: things his father had worn through, dark curtains she found at a boot sale or flea market, whatever she could get her hands on for nothing, or very near to it.

“I’m sorry?” Severus snipped, crossing his arms.

Kasimir’s eyes flashed to Severus’ and he frowned, eyes darting through the space.

“Er—my mother, she says the clothes make the man. In her world—fashion—this is something taken as fact, as well as everything associated with it. There is no pretense about why clothes are worn, the purpose they serve. It is about image, always—I did not mean to—it is not wrong that your mother cared about how you looked, no?”

Severus blinked, digesting the excess of information.

“I…suppose…not.” He said finally.

“I don’t generally consider myself vain…” Severus added. “The cloak just…didn’t fit.”

Kasimir nodded, looking relieved, and gestured to the mirror. Severus, reluctantly, went to stand in front of it, avoiding his own reflection, hands enpocketed. With a billow of fabric, the cloak fluttered over Severus’ shoulders. Kasimir circled him, examining the reflection in the mirror every now and again.

“Spin?”

“Excuse me?” Severus’ snapped his head toward the man, a disgust in his voice like Kasimir asked him to throw himself from the window.

Kasimir arched a finely shaped eyebrow. Severus wondered if they were like that naturally or if he shaped them. They were very nice…eyebrows, Severus observed, trying to decide if it was strange to notice such a thing or if he shouldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“While I find your ability to be so very still enormously impressive, you are not, in fact, a mannequin and I’m a little worried how the garment will look when you inevitably are forced to move in it…please?”

Severus rolled his eyes, the small sound of please ringing in his ears as he spun slowly in a circle, not at all flattered by Kasimir and his eyebrows being enormously impressed with him.

“Cross the room and back…please?”

Severus scoffed, but did as he was asked. Kasimir then had him cross and uncross his arms, forcing him to free them from their pocket prisons. Then, he conjured some wind, which knocked over half the labyrinth and made both the cloak and Helmi’s fur billow majestically while Kasimir observed. Finally, he had Severus pace around the room a few times.

“Good, it looks good.” Kasimir said at last.

“A shame I’m the one wearing it.” Severus sneered at his reflection, lifting the hem of the cloak and releasing it, watching the dark fabric flutter dramatically as it fell back to his side.

Kasimir was quiet walking him back to the door, the labyrinth rebuilding itself to let them through. At the door, Severus turned to find Kasimir leaning against the frame, a vexed expression on his face as he held Severus’ gaze. Severus tilted his head.

“You look good, Severus. Not just the cloak.” Kasimir said after a moment.

Time seemed to slow for Severus, analyzing every tiny movement in Kasimir’s face but it was for naught. He was sincere. It wasn’t as if he could lie, he’d said it staring straight at him. But still, he couldn’t…mean that. Surely not. Severus knew exactly what he looked like.

Maybe I’m standing too close…he does usually wear reading glasses.

Severus nodded politely and promptly fled the Arthimancy Wing, cloak billowing and adding a flourish of drama to his every step. There was a faint scent of cologne on it, citrus and spice, and Severus couldn’t get the image of Kasimir—long arms wrapped around the mannequin’s shoulders—out of his head until he took a long, cold shower and chain smoked several cigarettes.

Properly introduced, the two started talking at the Hog’s Head or, more accurately, ignoring each other whilst seated side by side, instead of at opposite ends of the bar. Kasimir evidently spent his evenings at the pub sketching new designs or reworking old ones. Severus typically read, occasionally glancing over to watch Kasimir’s progress. And every now and again Kasimir would turn up in something Severus had watched him design.

“Why don’t you do this?” Severus asked one spring evening, uncharacteristically inebriated and chatty. He’d drunk more, as he’d stayed later than he usually did due to it storming out, flashes of lightning glinting through the window and thunder rattling the windows of the old, worn-down pub. Aberforth was reading a paper behind the bar, smoking a cigar and paying them precisely zero mind—with the exception of Severus and Kasimir, the place was empty.

“Do what?” Kasimir asked, sipping his gin and tonic, condensation clearing the charcoal dust from his slender fingers. His nails were dark purple tonight, the faintest amount of glitter catching the light. It matched his dress, two-toned, black skirt and amethyst on top, made of what looked like velvet or something else warm. He’d have to touch it to be sure. Or simply ask, but Severus wasn’t going to do that, not that he was planning or wanted to touch Kasimir or his clothes either. It was just an observation—he would have to touch, to be sure. He wasn’t going to.

“Clothes and such—fashion? Whatever it is, why do you teach Arthimancy instead?” Severus had a book open in front of him though he’d yet to read a word all night, plagued by his questions and curiosity.

“Fashion isn’t quite the same in our world as the one I’m familiar with.” Kasimir said.

Severus blinked. “Oh. Your mother’s Muggle?”

“Indeed.” Kasimir nodded.

“Are you not fond of wizarding fashion?”

“Oh, I am. I just feel a bit…behind, perhaps. For whatever reason, Muggle and wizarding fashion diverged centuries ago. Magical fashion is influenced by history and factors that feel alien and unapproachable, no matter how long I spend in the wizarding world. I don’t think my interpretation of wizarding fashion would be successful, or even welcome.”

Severus nodded, having very little idea what Kasimir was talking about, but thrilled to be harvesting information from him about anything frankly. He was surprised to learn Kasimir felt he possessed inadequate knowledge, considering he didn’t know anyone who knew so much about fashion or thought as much about it as he obviously did.

Maybe Lucius and Narcissa did. Their clothes were all very finely made. Not that they were making their own bloody clothes—perish the thought. Dumbledore might be fashionable. He was known to wear heeled boots with buckles and purple robes with intricate embroidery—was that a fashion?

“And…” Kasimir continued. “I think I would struggle to run any business in the wizarding world. Fashion almost necessitates an international business organization and my name is too…”

Kasimir sighed as he sharpened a charcoal pencil magically. Severus arched an eyebrow so high and so fast, it would have breached the stratosphere if it could leave his face.

“You were about to divulge critical information about your mysterious past?” Severus prompted when Kasimir didn’t continue, making the other laugh.

Though he was pretty sure he quite literally couldn’t help himself, Severus often regretted being nosy. But nothing bad ever seemed to happen when he and Kasimir were being nosy together and eavesdropping on people. He figured he could probably be nosy about Kasimir too, without something horrific happening or nearly getting murdered. And maybe he’d finally learn something about how Kasimir got the possibly-poison-scars on his arms.

“It’s not so interesting.” Kasimir said. “And requires excessive context.”

Severus awaited his excessive context, expression expectant. Kasimir glanced over and rolled his eyes, smirk playing at his painted lips—dark red, ever so slightly leaning towards purple.

“Oh, fine. My father’s surname is Auvinen. I expect that doesn’t mean anything to you, but in wizarding Finland, it’s the name of an ancient and noble pureblood family.”

“You’re a ba—illegitimate?”

Kasimir nodded, lips quirking at Severus’ choice of words.

“A bastard, yes. My mother gave me my father’s surname out of spite after discovering he was married when she told him she was pregnant. Though, I imagine she wouldn’t have, if she’d known what it would lead to. Or if she’d known he was a wizard.”

“Your name isn’t Auvinen.” Severus observed. It was Kobza. Kasimir Kobza.

Kas.

“That’s because my father is a Professor at Durmstrang—of the Dark Arts—and when I turned up at the school, all of eleven years old, with his family’s name, he attempted to have me expelled when he couldn’t get his friends in the Finnish Ministry to bully the Muggle government of Hungary—my mother’s Hungarian, don’t ask me why she gave me a German name, I don’t know—into forcing me to forsake the name.”

Kasimir blew away some charcoal dust off his sketch, not quite purple lips puckering while Severus froze, blinking rapidly, drink halfway raised to his lips.

“Cowing to the Auvinens, the esteemed headmaster of Durmstrang at the time informed mother I would be expelled if I didn’t change it. They called it what I think is known as slanderous defamation—one of the two—in English. She complied for my sake, but at that point unfortunately, I’d gotten a nickname. More unfortunately, it stuck. Puoliverinen Auvinen, meaning half-blood Auvinen in Finnish, but it quickly morphed into puoliverinen avioton: half-blood bastard.”

Severus nursed his firewhisky, trying to look casual, like he wasn’t hanging on Kasimir’s every word, internally cringing at the memory of his own half-blood affectation, something he was never going to mention to him now. He didn’t particularly feel like offering his own horrible nickname from school either.

“I take it your father didn’t favor you?”

“No.” Kasimir breathed. “Though he favored my older half-brothers and they favored me, as an easy target, if nothing else.”

Severus frowned, fingers tensing around his glass. Could he have gotten those scars at Durmstrang? The school did have a notorious reputation for being…darkly competitive: students breaking into factions, infighting breaking out amongst them. If Kasimir was already a target, by a Professor no less…hm.

“It’s all in the past, of course. But you see how it might prove difficult for any business venture of mine to thrive with all of that waiting for me out there. Better to go abroad, do something quiet, try not to remind my father or his family I exist by staying out of the way, don’t you think?”

“And do you…enjoy this?” Severus asked with a smirk, knowing enough to suspect the answer.

Kasimir laughed. “Not as much as I hoped I would. There aren’t a great many careers in Arthimancy that keep the lights on, so I hoped I’d enjoy one of the few that does. Alas, I keep having to hold my tongue and remind myself the Headmaster said I can’t threaten the students—does that answer your question?”

Severus nodded.

“Well, go on. Tell me all the mysterious details about why you work a job you clearly hate.”

Absolutely fucking not. But despite himself—and he chalked it up to being three firewhiskys deeper than he typically ever got, and that it was storming, and that there was no one else in the Hog’s Head except Aberforth, who already knew everything there was to know about it—Severus told Kasimir.

“I…owe the Headmaster. He got me acquitted after the war, since I was…useful to him. He wishes to keep me close at hand, so here I am, day in, day out.” muttered Severus, eyes fixed on his glass as he swirled the firewhisky.

“Oh, that was true.” Kasimir nodded, not even looking up from his sketch.

“When I overheard Madam Pince talking about it with Madam Pomfrey, I wondered if it wasn’t…exaggerated.”

Severus frowned for about three different reasons.

“I’m shocked you talk to me at all.”

It was not what he meant to say.

Kasimir glanced at him, smoky-shadowed eyes flitting up and down Severus in a way that made him feel…exposed.

“Severus, why on earth would I judge you?” He held up a hand, as if gesturing to the entire world by way of explanation.

“Because…because I’m not a good person and have done horrible things?”

“But you haven’t tried to assault me for talking to you, have you? You haven’t insinuated I’m a subhuman pervert, have you? You don’t pretend you don’t recognize me when I’m dressed like this, do you? Severus, if you accidentally killed a student, I would probably provide an alibi on your behalf if you asked, do you know that?”

Severus stared, unblinking, stunned, watching Kasimir’s ears turn adorably pink as he scribbled furiously in his sketchbook. Then, he laughed.

“Good to know. I might need to take you up on that someday. We’ll have to kill Aberforth if it ever comes to that though.”

The man grunted from behind his paper and Kasimir laughed, a light, melodic, musical sound that made the nape of Severus’ neck tingle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just going to slap another link here for your scrolling convenience:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66675931

[ghostscarface]

This made me laugh look @fafodill

All credits to gribochki00 tiktok

[fafodill]

Tee hee thank you so much for commissioning me it was so much fun. So glad you like it !

So when I look at Harry Potter, my goal is to separate what I think the books are intending to say, from what they actually say, from what the movies say… and what the common fan interpretation is. So today I’m interested in Dumbledore, and specifically in the common headcanon of  Manipulative/Morally Gray Dumbledore. Is that (intentionally or unintentionally) supported by the text?

PART I:  Omniscient Dumbledore

“I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here”

In Book 1, yes Dumbledore honestly does seem to know everything. He 100% arranged for Harry to find the Mirror of Erised, publicly left Hogwarts in order to nudge Quirrell into going after the Stone, and knew what Quirrell was doing the whole time. It is absolutely not a stretch, and kind of heavily implied, that the reason the Stone’s protections feel like a little-end-of-the-year exam designed to put Harry through his paces… is because they are. As the series goes on this interpretation only gets more plausible, when we see the kind of protections people can put up when they don’t want anyone getting through. 

Book 1 Dumbledore knows everything… but what he’s actually going to do about it is anyone’s guess. One of the first things we learn is that some of Dumbledore’s calls can be… questionable. McGonagall questions his choice to leave Harry with the Dursleys, Hermione questions his choice to give Harry the Cloak and let him go after the Stone, Percy and Ron both matter-of-factly call him “mad.” The “nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak” speech is a joke where Dumbledore says he’s going to say a few words, then literally does say a few (weird) words. I know there are theories that those particular words are supposed to be insulting the four houses, or referencing the Hogwarts house stereotypes, or that they’re some kind of warning. But within the text, this is pure Lewis Carroll British Nonsense Verse stuff (and people came up with answers to the impossible Alice in Wonderland “why is a raven like a writing desk” riddle too.) 

This characterization also explains a lot of Dumbledore’s decisions about how to run a school, locked in during Book 1. Presumably Binns, Peeves, Filch, Snape are all there because Dumbledore finds them funny, atmospheric, and/or character building. He's just kind of a weird guy.  He absolutely knew that Lockhart was a fraud in Book 2 (with that whole “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy?” thing after Lockhart oblivates himself. ) So maybe he is also there to be funny/atmospheric/character building, or to teach Harry a lesson about fame, or because Dumbledore is using the cursed position to bump off people he doesn’t like. Who knows.

(I actually don’t think JKR had locked in “the DADA position is literally cursed by Voldemort” until Book 6. )

Dumbledore absolutely knows that Harry is listening in when Lucius Malfoy comes to take Hagrid to Azkaban, and it’s fun to speculate that maybe he let himself get fired in Book 2 as part of a larger plan to boot Lucius off the Board of Governors. So far, that’s the sort of thing he’d do.  But in Books 3 and 4, we are confronted with a number of important things that Dumbledore just missed. He doesn’t know any of the Marauders were animagi, he doesn’t know what really happened with the Potter’s Secret Keeper, doesn’t know Moody is Crouch, and doesn’t know the Marauders Map even exists. But in Books 5 and 6, his omniscience does seem to come back online. (In a flashback, Voldemort even comments that he is "omniscient as ever” when Dumbledore lists the specific Death Eaters he has in Hogsmeade as backup.) Dumbledore knows exactly what Draco and Voldemort are planning, and his word is taken as objective truth by the entire Order of the Phoenix - who apparently only tolerate Snape because Dumbledore vouches for him:

“Snape,” repeated McGonagall faintly, falling into the chair. “We all wondered . . . but he trusted . . . always . . . Snape . . . I can’t believe it. . . .”  “Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens,” said Lupin, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. “We always knew that.”  “But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!” whispered Tonks. “I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn’t. . . .”  “He always hinted that he had an ironclad reason for trusting Snape,” muttered Professor McGonagall (...) “Wouldn’t hear a word against him!”

McGonagall questions Dumbledore about the Dursleys, but not about Snape. I see this as part of the larger trend of basically Dumbledore’s deification. In the beginning of the series, he’s treated as a clever, weird dude. By the end, he’s treated like a god. 

PART II: Chessmaster Dumbledore

“I prefer not to keep all my secrets in one basket.”

When Dumbledore solves problems, he likes to go very hands-off. He didn’t directly teach Harry about the Mirror of Erised - he gave him the Cloak, knew he would wander, and moved the Mirror so it would be in his path. He sends Snape to deal with Quirrell and Draco, rather than do it himself. He (or his portrait) tells Snape to confund Mundungus Fletcher and get him to suggest the Seven Potters strategy. He puts Mrs. Figg in place to watch Harry, then ups the protection in Book 5 - all without informing Harry. The situation with Slughorn is kind of a Dumbledore-manipulation master class - even the way he deliberately disappears into the bathroom so Harry will have enough solo time to charm Slughorn. Of course he only wants Slughorn under his roof in the first place to pick his brain about Voldemort… but again, instead of doing that himself, he gets Harry to do it for him. 

Dumbledore has a moment during Harry’s hearing in Book 5 (which he fakes evidence for) where he informs Fudge that Harry is not under the Ministry’s jurisdiction while at Hogwarts. Which has insane implications. It’s never explicitly stated, but as the story goes on, it at least makes sense that Dumbledore is deliberately obscuring how powerful he is, and how much influence he really has, by getting other people to do things for him. But the problem with that is because he is so powerful, it become really easy for a reader to look back after they get more information and say… well if Dumbledore was controlling the situation… why couldn’t he have done XYZ. Here are two easy examples from Harry’s time spent with the Dursleys:

1. Mrs. Figg is watching over Harry from day one, but she can’t tell him she’s a squib and also she has to keep him miserable on purpose:

“Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know…”

It’s pretty intense to think of Dumbledore saying “oh yes, invite this little child over and keep him unhappy on purpose.” But okay. It’s important to keep Harry ignorant of the magical world and vice versa. fine. But once he goes to Hogwarts… that doesn’t apply anymore?  I’m sure when Harry thinks he’s going to be imprisoned permanently in his bedroom during Book 2, it would’ve been comforting to know that Dumbledore was sending around someone to check on him. And when he literally runs away from home in Book 3… having the address of a trusted adult that he could easily get to would have been great for everybody. 

2. When Vernon is about to actually kick Harry out during Book 5, Dumbledore sends a howler which intimidates Petunia into insisting that Harry has to stay. Vernon folds and does exactly what she says. If Dumbledore could intimidate Petunia into doing this, then why couldn’t he intimidate her into, say - giving Harry the second bedroom instead of a cupboard. Or fixing Harry’s glasses. In Book 1, the Dursleys don’t bother Harry during the entire month of August because Hagrid gives Dudley a pig’s tail. In the summer between third and fourth year, the Dursleys back off because Harry is in correspondence with Sirius (a person they fear.) But the Dursleys are afraid of all wizards. Like at this point it doesn’t seem that hard to intimidate them into acting decently to Harry. 

PART III: Dumbledore and the Dursleys 

“Not a pampered little prince”

JKR wanted two contradictory things. She wanted Dumbledore to be a fundamentally good guy: a wise, if eccentric mentor figure. But she also wanted Harry to have a comedically horrible childhood being locked in a cupboard, denied food, given broken glasses and ill fitting/embarrassing clothes, and generally made into a little Cinderella. Then, it’s a bigger contrast when he goes to Hogwarts and expulsion can be used as an easy threat. (Although the only person we ever see expelled is Hagrid, and that was for murder.)

So, there are a couple of tricks she uses to make it okay that Dumbledore left Harry at the Dursleys.’ The first is that once Harry leaves…  nothing that happens there is given emotional weight. When he’s in the Wizarding World, he barely talks about Dursleys, barely thinks about them. They almost never come up in the narration (unless Harry’s worried about being expelled, or they’re sending him comedically awful presents.) They are completely cut from movies 4, 6, and 7 part 2 - and you do not notice. 

The second trick… is that Dumbledore himself clearly doesn’t think that the Dursleys are that bad. During the King’s Cross vision-quest, he describes 11-year-old Harry as “alive and healthy (...) as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.”  

Now, this could have been really interesting. Like in a psychological way, I get it. Dumbledore had a rocky home life. Dad in prison, mom spending all her time taking care of his volatile and dangerous sister. Aberforth seems to have reacted to the situation by running completely wild, it’s implied that he never even had formal schooling… and Albus doubled down on being the Golden Child, making the family look good from the outside, and finding every means possible to escape. I would have believed it if Molly or Kingsley had a beat of being horrified by the way the Dursleys are treating Harry… but Dumbledore treats it as like, whatever. Business as usual. 

But that isn’t the framing that the books use. Dumbledore is correct that the Dursleys aren’t that bad, and I think it’s because JKR fundamentally does not take the Dursleys seriously as threats. I also think she has a fairly deeply held belief that suffering creates goodness, so possibly Harry suffering at the hands of the Dursleys… was necessary? To make him good? Dumbledore himself has an arc of ‘long period of suffering = increased goodness.’ So does Severus Snape, Dudley‘s experience with the Dementor kickstarts his character growth, etc. It’s a trope she likes.

It’s only in The Cursed Child that the Dursleys are given any kind of weight when it comes to Harry’s psyche. This is one of the things that makes me say Jack Thorne wrote that play, because it’s just not consistent with how JKR likes to write the Dursleys. It’s consistent with the way fanfiction likes to write the Dursleys. And look, The Cursed Child is fascinatingly bad, I have so many problems with it, but it does seem to be doing like … a dark reinterpretation of Harry Potter? And it’s interested in saying something about cycles of abuse. I can absolutely see how the way the play handles things is flattering to JKR. It retroactively frames the Dursleys’ abuse in a more negative way, and maybe that’s something she wanted after criticism that the Harry Potter books treat physical abuse kind of lightly. (i.e.  Harry at the hands of the Dursleys, and house-elves at the hands of everybody. Even Molly Weasley “wallops” Fred with a broomstick.) 

PART IV: Dumbledore and Harry

“The whole Potter–Dumbledore relationship. It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister”

So whenever Harry feels betrayed by Dumbledore in the books - and he absolutely does, it’s some of JKR’s best writing  - it’s not because he left him with the Dursleys. It’s because Dumbledore kept secrets from him, or lied to him, or didn’t confide in him on a personal level. 

“Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!” (...) I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.”

Eventually though, Harry falls in line with the rest of the Order, and treats Dumbledore as an all-knowing God. And this decision comes so close to being critiqued…  but the series never quite commits. Rufus Scrimgeour comments that, “Well, it is clear to me that [Dumbledore] has done a very good job on you” - implying that Harry is a product of a deliberate manipulation,  and that the way Harry feels about Dumbledore is a direct result of how he's been controlling the situation (and Harry.)  But Harry responds to “[You are] Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” with “Yeah, I am. Glad we straightened that out,” and it’s treated as a badass, mic drop line. 

Ron goes on to say that Harry maybe shouldn’t be trusting Dumbledore and maybe his plan isn’t that great… but then he abandons his friends, regrets what he did, and is only able to come back because Dumbledore knew he would react this way? So that whole thing only makes Dumbledore seem more powerful? Aberforth  tells Harry (correctly) that Dumbledore is expecting too much of him and he’s not interested in making sure that he survives:

“How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good than in you? How can you be sure you aren’t dispensable (...) Why didn’t he say… ‘Take care of yourself, here’s how to survive’? (...) You’re seventeen, boy!”

But, Aberforth is treated as this Hamish Abernathy type who has given up, and needs Harry to ignite his spark again. There’s a pretty dark line in the script of Deathly Hallows Part 2:

Which at least shows this was a possible  interpretation the creative team had in their heads… but then of course it isn’t actually in the movie. 

So in the end, insane trust in Dumbledore is only ever treated as proper and good. Then in Cursed Child they start using “Dumbledore” as an oath instead of “Merlin” and it’s weird and I don’t like it.

PART V: Dumbledore and his Strays

“I have known, for some time now, that you are the better man.”

So Dumbledore has this weird relationship pattern. He has a handful of people he pulled out of the fire at some point and (as a result) these people are insanely loyal to him.  They do his dirty work, and he completely controls them. This is an interesting pattern, because I think it helps explain why so many fans read Dumbledore’s relationship with Snape (and with Harry) as sinister. 

Let’s start with the first of Dumbledore’s “strays.” Dumbledore saves Hagrid's livelihood and probably life after he is accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets - and then he uses Hagrid to disappear Harry after the Potters' death, gets him to transport the Philosopher’s Stone, and he’s the one who he trusts to be Harry’s first point of contact with the Wizarding World.  Also, Hagrid's situation doesn’t change? Even after he is cleared of opening the Chamber of Secrets, he keeps using that pink flowered umbrella with his broken wand inside, a secret that he and Dumbledore seem to share. He could get a legal wand, he could continue his education. But he doesn’t seem to, and I don’t know why. 

So, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality is a well known fix-it fic that basically asks “What if Harry Potter was a machiavellian little super genius who solves the plot in a year?” I enjoyed it when it was coming out, but the only thing I would call a cheat is the way McGonagall brings Harry to Diagon Alley instead of Hagrid. Because a Harry Potter who has spent a couple of days with McGonagall is going to be much better informed, better equipped and therefore more powerful than a Harry spending the same amount of time with Hagrid. McGonagall is both a lot more knowledgeable and a lot less loyal to Dumbledore. She is loyal, obviously, but she also questions his choices in a way that Hagrid never does. And as a result, Dumbledore does not trust her with the same kind of delicate jobs he trusts to Hagrid.

Mrs. Figg is another one of Dumbledore’s strays. She’s a squib, so we can imagine that she doesn’t really have a lot of other options, and he sets her up to keep tabs on (and be unpleasant to) little Harry. He also has her lie to the entire Wizangamot, which has got to present some risk. Within this framework, Snape is another very clear stray. Dumbledore kept him out of Azkaban, and is the only reason that the Order trusts him. He gets sent on on dangerous double-agent missions… but before that he’s sort of kept on hand, even though he’s clearly miserable at Hogwarts. Firenze is definitely a stray - he can't go back to the centaurs, and who other than Dumbledore is going to hire him? And I do wonder about Trelawney. We don’t know much about her relationship with Dumbledore, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she was a stray as well.

I think there was an attempt to turn Lupin into a stray that didn’t… quite work. He is clearly grateful to Dumbledore for letting him attend Hogwarts and then for hiring him, but Lupin doesn’t really hit that necessary level of trustworthy that the others do. Most of what Dumbledore doesn’t know in Book 3 are things that Lupin could have told him, and didn’t. If had to think of a Watsonsian reason why Remus is given all these solo missions away from the other Order members (that never end up mattering…) it’s because I don’t think Dumbledore trusts him that much. Lupin doubts him too much. 

“Dumbledore believed that?” said Lupin incredulously. “Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James. . . .”

 We also see Dumbledore start the process of making Draco into a stray by promising to protect him and his parents. And with all of that… it’s kind of easy to see how Harry fits the profile. He has a very bleak existence (which Dumbledore knows about.) He is pulled out of it by Dumbledore’s proxies. It’s not surprising that Harry develops a Hagrid-level loyalty, especially after Dumbledore saves him from Barty, from his Ministry hearing, and then from Voldemort. Harry walks to his death because Dumbledore told him too. 

Just to be clear, I don’t think this pattern is deliberate. I think this is a side effect of JKR wanting to write Dumbledore as a nice guy, and specifically as a protector of the little guy. But Dumbledore doing that while also being so powerful creates a weird power dynamic, gives him a weird edit. It’s part of the reason people are happy to go one step farther and say that the Dursleys were mean to Harry… because Dumbledore actively wanted it that way.  I don’t think that’s true. I think Dumbledore loves his strays and if anything, the text supports the idea that he is collecting good people, because protecting them and observing them serves some psychological function for him. Dumbledore does not believe himself to be an intrinsically good person, or trustworthy when it comes to power. So, of course someone like that would be fascinated by how powerless people operate in the world, and by people like Hagrid and Lupin and Harry, who seem so intrinsically good. 

PART VI - Dumbledore and Grindelwald

“I was in love with you.” 

I honestly see “17-year-old Dumbledore was enamored with Grindelwald” as a smokescreen distracting from the actual moral grayness of the guy. He wrote some edgy letters when he was a teenager, at least partly because he thought his neighbor was hot. He thought he could move Ariana, but couldn’t - which led to the chaotic three-way duel that killed her. 

One thing I think J. K. Rowling does understand pretty well, and introduces into her books on purpose, is the concept of re-traumatization. Sirius in Book 5 is very obviously being re-traumatized by being in his childhood home and hearing the portrait of his mother screaming. It’s why he acts out, regresses, and does a number of unadvisable things. I think it’s also deliberate that Petunia’s unpleasant childhood is basically being re-created: her normal son next to her sister’s magical son. It's making her worse, or at the very least preventing her from getting better. We learn that Petunia has this sublimated interest in the magical world, and can even pull out vocab like “Azkaban” and “Dementor” when she needs to.   She wrote Dumbledore asking to go to Hogwarts, and I could see that in a universe where Petunia didn’t have to literally raise Harry, she wouldn’t be as psychotically into normalness, cleanliness, and order as she is when we meet her in the books. After all, JKR doesn’t like to write evil mothers. She will be bend over backwards so her mothers are never really framed as bad.

And I honestly think it’s possible that J. K. Rowling was playing with the concept of re-traumatiziation when she was fleshing out Dumbledore in Book 7. We learn all this backstory, that… honestly isn’t super necessary? All I’m saying is that the three-way duel at the top of the Astronomy Tower lines up really well with the three-way duel that killed Ariana. Harry is Ariana, helpless in the middle. Draco is Aberforth, well intentioned and protective of his family - but kind of useless, and kind of a liability. Severus is Grindelwald, dark and brilliant, and one of the closest relationships Dumbledore has. If this was intentional, it was probably only for reasons of narrative symmetry… but I think it's cool in a Gus Fring of Breaking Bad sort of way, that Dumbledore (either consciously or unconsciously) has been trying to re-create this one horrible moment in his life where he felt entirely out of control. But the second time it plays out… he can give it what he sees as the correct outcome. Grindelwald kills him and everyone else lives. That is how you solve the puzzle.

If you read between the lines, Dumbledore/Grindelwald is a fascinating love story. I like the detail that after Ariana’s death, Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts because it’s a place to hide and because he doesn’t feel like he can be trusted with power. I like that he sits there, refusing promotions, refusing requests to be the new Minister of Magic, refusing to go deal with the growing Grindelwald threat until he absolutely can’t hide anymore, at which point he defeats him (somehow.) I like reading his elaborate plan to break Elder Wand’s power as both a screw-you to Grindelwald, the wand’s previous master, but also as a weirdly romantic gesture. In Albus Dumbledore’s mind, there is only Grindelwald. Voldemort can’t even begin to compare. I like the detail that Grindelwald won’t give up Dumbledore, even under torture. And, Dumbledore doesn’t put him in Azkaban. He put him in this other separate prison, which always makes it seem like he’s there under Dumbledore authority specifically.  Maybe Dumbledore thinks that if he had died that day instead of Ariana…he wouldn’t have had to spend the rest of his life fighting and imprisoning the man he loves.

And then of course, Crimes of Grindelwald decided to take away Dumbledore's greatest weakness and say that no, actually he was a really good guy who never did anything wrong ever.  He went all that time without fighting Grindelwald because they made a magical friendship no-fight bracelet. Dumbledore is randomly grabbing Lupin’s iconography (his fashion sense, his lesson plans, his job) in order to feel more soft and gentle than the person the books have created. Now Dumbledore knows about the Room Requirement, even though in the books it’s a plot point that he's too much of a goody-two-shoes to have ever found it himself. He loved Grindelwald (past tense.) And Secrets of Dumbledore is mostly about him being an omniscient mastermind so that a magical deer can tell him that he was a super good and worthy guy, and any doubt that he’s ever felt about himself is just objectively wrong and incorrect. Also now Aberforth has a neglected son, so he’s reframed as a bit of a hypocrite for getting on his brother’s case for not protecting Harry. 

So to summarize, I think Dumbledore began the series as this very eccentric, unpredictable mentor, whose abilities took a hit in Books 3 and 4 in order to make the plot happen. He teetered on the edge of a ‘dark’ framing for like a second… but at the the end of the series he's written as basically infallible and godlike. I’ve heard people say that JKR’s  increased fame was the reason she added the Rita Skeeter plot line, and I don’t think that’s true. But I do think her fame may have affected the way she wrote Dumbledore. Because Dumbledore is JKR’s comment on power, and by Book 5 she had so much power. In her head, I don’t think that Dumbledore is handing off jobs in a manipulative way. She sees him as empowering other less powerful people. That is his job as someone in power (because remember - people who desire power shouldn't wield it.)

Dumbledore’s power makes him emotionally disconnected from the people in his life, it makes him disliked and distrusted by the Ministry, but it doesn’t make him wrong. That’s important. Dumbledore is never wrong. Dumbledore is always good. That’s why we get the Blood Pact that means he was never weak or procrastinating. That’s why we get the qilin saying he was a good person. It’s why we get the tragic backstory (because giving Snape a tragic backstory worked wonders when it came to rehabilitating him.) And that is why Harry names his son Albus Severus in the epilogue, to make us readers absolutely crystal clear that these two are good men. 

(art credit to @fafodill for the amazing banner.)

[zsamwamiesz]

walburga/eileen (ft. orion)

i feel like pushing my walburga black/eileen prince/orion black agenda.

walburga had feelings for eileen but was too scared to act on them; eileen never knew of her feelings. spent summers and winters crying in her room over this woman.

orion, who bullied eileen relentlessly and later had a marriage contract with her, was equally smitten as well.

orion, who was very similar to sirius with his bullying (not that either of them know that); borderline harassment of eileen was shocked when she didn't initially accept his courtship.

then eileen accepted, because who didn't want to be married into the ancient, most noble house of black? only to run away on the day of her wedding with nothing but a note saying 'my heart lies somewhere else' and was never seen again.

walburga meets severus, and she can't believe it; he's a carbon copy of eileen. everything from the way he holds his wand to the way he scrunched his nose, to the way he bites his lip in concentration to how he covers his mouth when he laughs.

and suddenly, she hates him.

because how dare he remind her of something she was never allowed to have? how dare he, this boy who should not exist, yet she knew existed, carry all of eileen’s sharp, clever edges but mold them into something so familiar, so, so—it's as if fate is mocking her! and orion notices it too—how the boy looks like prince. he had her eyes—almond and soft, but they were endless deep pools of black that seemed to pull people in, carefully placed copies of her moles that were just a tint lighter. orion has seen that all before, and it scares him.

orion prays sirius, for all the wrong his eldest son could do, doesn't mess this up the way he did with eileen, and walburga, for the first time, agrees with him. ----

dedicated to:

@lululuzzz08 @slytherinbretherin @siriusblackdevotee @fafodill @magnificentphantomgardener @the-stars-sigh-when-i-get-high @tajiklove @trash-eating-demon

also how would ppl feel if i were to post jeverus/doechaser/snames and snupin/wolfprince content (i hope i put all the names down)

[unnecessaryheadache]

Creds: @/fafodill

This resonated WAYYYYY too well with me. A little funfact ‼️

Because I'm 🇳🇬 and ♀️, I used to be a target for bullies in elementary, as well as other kids who were either disabled, "looked weird", or different. I was a firm kid, so it's not like I crumbled very easily under the harsh words and actions that those silly boys gave me and my friends. But, that doesn't mean it didn't affect me.

And then there's another experience I've had with an ex-friend. She was NEVER a good person. She had a quick temper, mood swings, she was manipulative, and she tried isolating me and turning people against me. I was always on edge that I even saw her when I slept. She'd always be there, sometimes she'd be doing things to me that I didn't want her to do. She'd hurt me or my family/friends.

The only reason I still remember it all is because I've written it down before, and it's only been a year and a half since we've stopped being friends. Shit was horrifying, and it has ruined a lot of my enthusiasm to make and keep friends, but powering through is proving to really help out (with support, of course).

But uh yeah, another reason for me to kin teen Snape, because this headcanon is personal af 😭