#threads;; bellatrix

[fcrox]

who: @bellatrix-lestrxnge when: evening where: the selwyn party

Family, there was nothing quite like it and nothing could ever be more important. That, and friendships. It was one of the reasons the blonde didn’t mind attending such events; the big and bright. While it may not have been a wedding, it was special all the same. Perhaps, in some ways, Leta found herself almost relieved at the idea of not having to attend weddings for at least a little while. It allowed for a small change of pace.

For a while she’d busied herself with her drink, allowed her eyes to roam and scan the crowds. Every now and then snippets of conversations would drift by, and people were dancing. It all seemed to follow the proceedings of a party. Nothing quite catching her eyes she finally spotted someone interesting. Bellatrix, a cousin whom she admired more than most. Quick strides carried her over and across the room. “I assume you’re having fun?” No doubt, if anyone would find a way to have fun in any given situation it was her.

[notdelicatc]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[darknesswellcome]

LMAO not this Tomarry shipper trying to act like they're the bastion of canon truth while writing Voldemort x his literal infant target 💀💀💀💀

Babe you're in the same crackfic trench as the rest of us. Trying to spin "I want to murder this child" into enemies to lovers doesn't make it canon compliant, it makes it delusional with extra steps. Tomione is noncanon, sure, but at least we're not pretending Voldemort's genocidal fixation equals romantic tension.

Also, canon purists hate you. Like, violently. They laugh at you the exact same way they laugh at us, except you make it funnier by pretending you're above it. They think you're actually worse than Tomione shippers because at least we know our ship isn't canon and don't pretend otherwise. You're out here writing 40-year-old Voldemort tongue-kissing 15-year-old Harry while murdering his friends and then acting shocked when canon purists laugh you out of the room. They will keep bullying you on Tumblr, Reddit, ao3 and anywhere they exist because you're taking a genocidal obsession and slapping "mutual pining" on it. Canon Voldemort would Crucio you just for suggesting it. 

It's not homophobia when people call it out but the fact that you fetishize the idea gay men for your trauma porn. Be so serious. You don't get to sit on a moral high horse and call other crackships "lesser." We're all deranged here, you're just the one trying to sell it as canon. Trying to slap "canon" onto Voldemort being obsessed with killing the kid he orphaned and tried to kill multiple times is so far past parody that even other fanon stans are raising eyebrows. You're just rebranding delusion as depth and it's fucking laughable. You're a joke.

Also, this whole "Tomarry is canon compliant because parallels!! Obsession!!" thing is just copium. Voldemort being obsessed with killing Harry only means he's obsessed with killing Harry. Just because the narrative parallels Harry and Voldemort doesn't mean it's setting them up as lovers. It's a classic hero/villain foil. Don't even get me started on the soul connection thing. You act like "piece of Voldemort's soul living inside Harry" is some cosmic soulmate trope when it's literally a magical tumor. It's parasitic. That's like shipping someone with their demonic tapeworm because "they share a bond." Be serious.

If you really care about canon, YOU should be shipping him with Bellatrix Lestrange. But since she's a woman you really can't really fetishize gay men with her... lol.

At least Voldemort didn't hate Hermione and didn't murder her whole family and didn't call her a disgusting, weak and stupid little girl

I know I said I'll not respond to every ask, which is true, I already deleted one, where I was called an 'ass', and the tomiones already whished I came across Bellamort fans who would laugh at me. 1. Nobody bullied me in my 8 years since being in the Tomarrymort fandom, and for shipping them and reading them. I don't know if that's the norm in the Tomione fandom or not. I usually don't interact much with other fandoms I'm not reading, because we don't have the same interest. I wish I haven't encountered the Tomione fandom either, but alas.

2. "You're out here writing 40-year-old Voldemort tongue-kissing 15-year-old Harry while murdering his friends" I'm sorry, but Volmione and in cases Tomione is not the same? They have age gaps too, and he IS murdering Hermione's friends, or planning to. 3. Harry and Tom/Voldemort do have parallels. Tom bring this up to Harry in chamber of secrets himself. You can look in yourself in book two. They do have soul connection, since Harry is a Horcrux. They have mind connection, they see into eachother's thoughts and memories and can see with eachother's eyes. They both has similiar backgrounds, and Harry unwillingly admits he knows how Voldemort felt at times (like calling Hogwarts his true home), and they even look similiar, they are both halfblood etc.. But I'm not surprised you reject all ot this.

4. My main issue with Bellamort is not that she is a woman, but they are simply imbalanced, by a LOT. What Bellatrix does is pitiful and pathetic blindly following him this much fanatically, while she clearly doesn't know a single personal thing about him. She can't believe when Harry says out loud he is not a pureblood for example. Voldemort constantly mocks her and humiliates her in canon. He likes her blind devotion to him, but he does looks down on her for it too. He could never do the same after all.

5. I wouldn't assume that someone is having a fetish, just because they ship a pairing that has canon ground, just because they are both men. Is both men this much a fetish to you? I read hetero stuff too, you know. 6. Yeah, Voldemort didn't do all of that to Hermione, because he didn't know she was alive, and what's her name.

[impcrios]

@purfanatic

where : mask-making workshop .

regulus had never been much of a crafts person, but he had always loved samhain, so he found himself here regardles, he looks over to his cousin and smirks at his shit attempts at a mask and says, "tell me, cousin, do this look threatening?" he had never been good at crafts but he did try his best.

[crucioslut]

Mon amour

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

[fcrox]

A thick fog, nothing else could have described what was going on and until the other witch had lifted the spell, no clarity was given. And then only shock. Beatrice had not been prepared to snap out of a daze, having moved about on autopilot only to come face to face with someone like Bellatrix Lestrange. The Lestranges in general were on her list of those the brunette wished to avoid. Nothing good could come out of it, of that, she was sure.

Instead of eating as told all she could muster was the strength to hold the spoon; a mix of retaliating stubbornness and shock that seemed to have stripped most of the things she would see herself do from the list of things Beatrice Abbot was capable of. And then those words rung through to her, causing her to snap her head up at the witch. Only then did she notice how hard she’d been staring at the soup in front of her as though she could simply wish it all away if she only tried hard enough. Some may have called her foolish but truthfully it was a simple and pure desperation.

“I’m not with the Order.” It wasn’t a lie. No, there had only been one conversation with Alice about her wish to join. Despite that, thus far the witch hadn’t heard back from the other. Perhaps she would have to ask again. Or there was simply more to be sorted. “I’ve never been with the Order.” Her eyes moved, scanning the other. Would Bellatrix believe the truth when it was laid out right in front of her? At the end of the day Bea had no plans to voice whatever she may have known about the Order. It was easier, though, in times when lying wasn’t necessary simply because the truth itself made it easier.

Finally, as though out of sheer stubbornness did she end up allowing herself a spoon full of soup only to realize that the whole situation had ruined the taste entirely. What was the point anyway. “What do you want, exactly?” The past few minutes may have been foggy, like a layer that had come to rest on her like cotton, but she did remember the words. There’d been mentions of Edgar, someone knew was unlike to come visit.

Through it all her fiery Gryffindor demeanour came through, shining almost too bright for her own good. “I am not with the Order nor am I aware who is with the Order. If information is what you seek, I can’t help you.” Nor would she. - @bellatrix-lestrxnge

It seemed Bellatrix's spell was too strong. How thrilling. Despite her gestures for Beatrice to sit down and join her, she still busied herself with every other thing for her non-existent dinner party. Watching the other witch with a foul smirk, she leaned back in her seat, dragging her palm against the table cloth in a slow movement. Snagging a few threads with her wedding ring, she cared nothing for it and simply considered what to do with Beatrice next. Her plan was already well-formed, designed specifically to suit her urges and the functional requirements of this evening. But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a little reckless spontaneity while moving between steps.

"Are you alright?" Falsely cloying, she placed her words heavily and disarmed Beatrice while she was at it. She caught the wand and held it up, studying the gentle magic that pulsed from wood to fingers, while Beatrice fussed over the cake. "It's not like you to be so forgetful. Tea would be lovely. Milk and three sugars, please!"

Sliding the wand into her dress, she sat back and waited patiently - though not that patiently. She did want to move things on, after all. So once Beatrice reappeared, tea in hand and cake placed down, she didn't delay any longer. Forcing Beatrice into a chair with another spell, she then locked her into place, arms flat atop the table as though pinned by heavy chains, her body unable to move from the seat. For a moment, she revelled in the surprise piercing Beatrice's expression even through the Confundus. But it was only a precursor to what would come next; a veiled realisation that would soon be unleashed with horrific fervour. She removed the Confundus, eyes flickering over her plaything's with the look of a vixen in sight of the fattest rabbit she had ever seen.

"Welcome back, Abbott." She smiled, pure wickedness sparking her features like destructive wildfire. It was an expression that betrayed pure joy. She delighted in causing alarm, her pleasure an unholy devastation. "Thank you for the soup." Gesturing, she released one of Beatrice's wrists, having no fear of the freedom - she could reach nothing but a spoon and her bowl. "Eat up. Wouldn't want it to go cold. I did have you set a place for Edgar, but I'm afraid he won't be having soup. I might let him have some cake, though. If he's a very good boy." And with that, she sat back and took a refreshing gulp of her tea, then an indulgent bite of her cake.

"How long have you been in the Order? Answer sensibly. Let's not make this unpleasant." Or more unpleasant. Bellatrix had no intention of leaving without a little indulgence. She deserved it. No one worked harder for the cause than her.

[bcrtiesjr]

and how the hell am i supposed to do that? — he thinks, as the mission is explained to them in detail. his face remains neutral, lips pressed into a thin, straight line. his mind tries to gather the most important pieces of the instructions, and he nods a couple of times to indicate he’s paying attention. or at least trying to. " easy peasy, " he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard. he needed to sound convincing, especially since he sometimes thought the dark lord could peer into his mind. he had to isolate his thoughts, keep them locked away in an invisible box just to get through the day. once he was left alone with bellatrix, barty rested his elbows on the table, fixing his gaze on her. she was intimidating. it took a great deal of effort to maintain the calm expression on his face. " it makes sense they’d pair us up for this—but i’ve no idea how we’re supposed to find that artifact in the department of mysteries, " he says, letting out a soft sigh. had voldemort never set foot in the ministry? not once in his life? lucky bastard. " maybe we should go at night. you know, it might be easier." he doesn’t feel the need to push the idea any further. " but it’s up to you, you’re the boss today. "

ft. 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 ( @silverbred )

[warfollows]

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

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

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

Alastor Moody. "Bollocks."

[tvintedspvrkmoving]

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

unknown meme .

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

[despiite]

✎ @misquigley plotted starter.

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

Misty. Where is Misty?

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

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

[sweetapparitions]

LOCATION : a club . FOR : open to m / f / nb , 21 - 35 if romantic ! ( this could be an ex , an old friend , an enemy , fwb , a hate ship , a crush , co - worker that recently quit or has been on vacation , will go along with pretty much anything . they don't have to be aware she works there ! )

" all of the places to get a drink around here , and you choose to come to this shit hole . " trixie , recently clocked out , leans against the opposite side of the bar , keeping their expression neutral . " careful , or you'll give me the wrong idea . i'll start to think you miss me . "

[silcntsinners]

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

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

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

[godblooded]

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

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

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

— sorry.”

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

“how long have i slept?”

nine hours.

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

[fcrox]

The witch found herself almost feeling bad for the other, if not for the fact that she had taken her and dragged her to the middle of nowhere to make demands. And this time Hestia didn’t feel a need to pretend. “I have never denied being with the Order.” There it was, an admittance Hestia had not seen herself make that day, least of all to Bellatrix Lestrange. “But the Order doesn’t have your cousin. Where do you think we’d be hiding him, in a closet? A broom cupboard?” Her eyebrows shot up in frustration, daring as ever a witch had been.

Her wand slipped into her hand from where it had laid tucked away, hidden from plain sight as she let those words hit her. The accusation within them wasn’t lost. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t have the slightest clue.” And if she did, the former Hufflepuff certainly wouldn’t have shared that information with the wild creature the Lestrange had turned into. “Why do you think the Order has him, hm?” Hestia Jones had never been one to lie, never would bother. In that regard she was true to what her house stood for, despite all the growing.

A frustrated sigh escaped her, tired of the constant clashing of wills. This entire war had started that way. “I’m going to let you walk away now. Go, before I’ll make it auror business.” Considering she had taken an auror within seconds of them exiting the ministry, the witch had no doubts about what she could pull. “If I find out where your cousin is then the auror department will make use of that information to solve the case, whatever it takes.” That was a more than generous offer given the circumstance Bellatrix had forced upon her. - @bellatrix-lestrxnge

'Brazenly daring' was Bellatrix Lestrange to the finest detail. She had no interest in living in the shadows, no shame in promoting her tendencies and her allegiances. Not to the point of being stupidly reckless. But to the extent that her reputation preceded her, with no solid proof of her crimes. She was impetuous but she was not an idiot.

As Hestia stood there, giving Bellatrix nothing, she tightened her grip on her wand, striding forward a few more paces as the air around her crackled with the weight of her fury.

"Don't piss me around." Her voice had dropped, a mere whisper now tossed through the air like a quietly slashing knife. It spoke more loudly than any yell. Her lips felt parched, her throat growing dry as a familiar itching found its way beneath her skin. Her fingers twitched, a few sparks involuntarily emitting from her weapon. "You are with the Order. And the Order has taken him." She didn't know Hestia's allegiance for certain. But it made no difference and she would bet her life on it being true.

There was silence. Then all quiet rage abandoned, she drew a breath and screeched,

"Where is he, Hestia Jones?"

[crescenthistory]

Haunt Me, Then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Synopsis: The Hunger Games AU; After your best friend miraculously won his games, you were never to see him again – until your last Reaping as an eligible citizen ends catastrophically for you and another one of your friends.

Words: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, us of y/n, Hunger Games typical warnings, grief, implied loss, heavy hurt/comfort, talk of death and poverty, Capitol Citizen!Bellatrix Lestrange, same for barty sorry, angst, some fluff, childhood best friends (to lovers), physical affection, unwanted physical touches, creepy Capitol behaviour, heavy disassociation, strategically used characters, background bsf!marylene, implied that sirius got the finnick odair treatment, nb! it's a thg au but not thg canon compliant (aka i make the rules here)

A/N: this is sooooo exciting to me. your district is only implied (district 7) in this one and there are a lot of purposefully unresolved threads 🌝 there's more to come, if you want it. and yes – the title is from the wuthering heights quote "you said i killed you – haunt me, then"

Part Two

You hated Reaping day for more reasons than most.

While no person, whether they are of eligible age or not, enjoyed being in that town square annually, watching the Capitol representatives clown away on stage as your heart and ears thundered with anticipatory fear, you were left with the biting pain of the past, present and future all at the same time.

Stood in a sea of people, feeling both as if you were drowning and had a spotlight shining on you, you feared for yourself. You writhed beneath the thought of how many times your name had gone into that bowl in an attempt at keeping your loved ones safe, you winced at the knowledge that it would be just the perfect karmic timing for you to have everything taken from you this one last time.

Clutching onto Mary’s trembling fingers with one hand and Marlene’s little sister, Mabel, with the other, you feared for your loved ones. Your makeshift found family now consisted of the McKinnons, the McDonalds, the Pettigrews and you – and you could not bear the thought of how many of you were jammed into the plaza today. Marlene and her older siblings had aged out, but you, Mary and Peter were still in for your last year. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of how many years Mabel and the McKinnon and Pettigrew boys had left. Children. They were all just children – the very reason why you all kept consistently placing your own name in over and over again, to keep them safe. While you could never decide if you trusted the legitimacy of the arrangement that you could covertly buy someone’s immunity by placing your name in more times, you also could never help but try each year.

Thus far, it had worked. Mabel had at least never been picked. 

But then again, you knew of at least one person who was picked despite their supposed immunity. Odd how the guilt always forced your hand regardless; the risk was worth the potential reward.

You could feel Mabel’s breaths grow shuddering beside you, but could not bring yourself to look down at her. You just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shoved away the doomsday feelings brewing within your chest.

You felt guilty for even fearing for yourself, because you knew well how out of everyone, your name was in there probably the least amount of times. Apart from buying the immunity of one of your friends’ siblings, you had never needed to buy anything with tickets of your name. You had been financially looked out for to a much larger degree than most could dream, and not had your hand forced. At first, the help came through the direct acts of kindness from your best friend, and then later, you would somehow just always find exactly what you needed. Whenever the Capitol increased ridiculous taxes that felt as if they were specifically designed to wring you dry, there would be a freshly opened position for you to apply for, a wad of cash found in one of the boxes you looked through, even a charity basket by your door that you would always pass on to the rowdy McKinnon home. 

Part of you could hear his whispered promise to you whenever these blessings seemingly fell into your lap, but you pushed it down. It couldn’t be.

“I will always take care of you, princess”.

Above all else, being in the town square tore up your heart because you could only ever think of him. Of Sirius.

Of that day 5 years ago, when you had just started breathing normally after they called some girl’s name you did not know in the Reaping, only for your lungs to be ripped from you permanently at the sound of the reaped boy.

The second “Regulus Arcturus Black” boomed through the scratching speakers, your heart was shattered into a million pieces, never to be recovered, because it was followed up by a small yet firm: “I volunteer.”

When your head whipped to the side to witness your best friend in the whole world square himself against his inevitable death, you had found his sad grey eyes already fixed on you through the massive sea of bodies. You have no recollection of the sounds after that, but you know you were protesting, crying, trashing even, in the firm grip of Marlene as she forced you into a bear hug to stop you from trying to be a human shield for the one person you could not stomach losing. The sight of Sirius kissing Regulus’ head and squeezing Peter's arm before taking to the stage, shoulders squared and jaw lifted, already looking every bit like a child warrior, was burned into your retinas.

It took years before it was not the first image you saw whenever you closed your eyes. It still sometimes was.

That day, you had been certain your best friend was lost. When they let his loved ones bid him a quick goodbye in a solitary room after the ceremony, you had stood to the back with your hiccuping sobs, allowing Regulus the space you knew he needed. Marlene and Mary passed through, so did Peter, until it was just you left.

His parents did not show up.

While Sirius had kept up the facade with the others, his face crumbled when it met yours in your momentary privacy – save the Peacekeepers by the door. You had been hugging your front to keep from falling apart, but the second he slumped back against the desk and opened his arms for you, you were wrapped up in them.

At just 13 and 14 you were each other’s worlds. Grown up as neighbors, surviving just about everything together.

And it was because he was just 14 that you had no belief he could survive the games – at that point, no 14 year old had, and no matter how strong Sirius Black was, it took more than strength to break through that harrowing cycle.

Sirius had let his first few tears slip and fall into your hair, holding onto you for dear life. You can’t remember what you said anymore, just the way he smelled, just the way he held you and the murmurs he whispered into your skin as he swayed you.

“I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

You hoped to the gods you had said it back.

Though you did not know that then, you had been correct. Your best friend was lost that day – but he survived his games. 

It had been a torturous few months, forced to see him paraded around like a piece of meat, only to suffer through one of the longest games anyone had seen. You had sworn you would not watch it, but could not resist taking a peek at a small screen you snuck into your bedroom, crying as you caressed his dirtied face that looked so void of the Sirius you knew. Sometimes he would find a nearby camera and stare into it as he fell asleep, almost as if he could actually see you, feel your touch. You hoped it comforted him; that thought had you returning to the screen almost every night. The only nights you didn’t were the ones where you and Regulus slept in the same bed to keep each other sane, tethered.

When you two eventually woke up to the news that he managed to outlast the final tribute overnight, you cried until you laughed only to laugh until you cried.

On the day of Sirius’ return, you had made everything ready; dusted his room, bought the ingredients for his favourite dessert, orchestrated for his parents to be elsewhere, planned what to say with Regulus, who was equally as teary. Except when the Capitol Carriage swept up by the entrance and you ran out to greet him, only Peacekeepers exited the carriage, forcing you to step back. The blinds of the carriage were shut. 

You stumbled, entirely bewildered by the situation, sharing deeply concerned looks with Regulus. You had tried shouting for Sirius, you had tried asking the Peacekeepers, but you were left with nothing but silence.

While you were dumbfounded, Regulus grew agitated. With months worth of guilt piling up, it was easy work for them to bubble over into anger; he pushed past the Peacekeepers to try and bang on the wall of the carriage, yanking on the locked door handle. His screams of Sirius' name were cut off in an instant when the Head Peacekeeper slammed the back of his rifle against Regulus' neck. He lurched, tried to regain his footing, before he crumbled to the ground.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, you dragged him off to the side and held him tight to your chest, as if that would protect him. With an unconscious Regulus in your lap, you were forced to watch them carry down all of Sirius’ belongings, packed haphazardly in bags, and shove them into the back of the carriage. 

It drove off without you ever even catching a glimpse of Sirius. 

The next time you saw him was a few days later, on a broadcasted interview where he announced his permanent move to the Capitol. Clad in shining black clothes that could have fed the entirety of Districts 11 and 12, he had taken on the persona of the Casanova of the Capitol, the goading gladiator, the wicked victor. At just 14, he had made history.

The day after that, Regulus disappeared without any warning or trace. 

All you had was a seemingly private note slipped beneath your pillow that said “Don’t go looking” – you never told anyone about it. No one seemed willing to talk about him either. You were left completely and utterly alone. 

Grief settled into your veins, and you did the only thing you could: you settled into routine. Sweet, hard-working routine to keep your storms at bay until you had made some sort of life for yourself. With one job as a wooden toy carver and another as a wood sculptor, not to mention the dinner rotation at the McKinnons and the Pettigrews, you kept busy. You could pretend to forget.

Until you couldn’t. Each year when you were forced into that town square, the memories haunted you viciously, cruelly – taunting you with how little you understood, how much time had passed. Beneath it all, there was a simmering of the one emotion you never could get rid of in the grief and confusion; love. It was the singular thing that powered all within you, ranging from the determination to the resentment. Oh, how you loathed how much you loved and missed your Black brothers.

You felt Mabel jump beside you at the crackle of the sound system, as the new Capitol representatives got ready to commence the Reaping. You shared a quick glance with Mary, acknowledging how the younger girl had to be your priority right now.

“It’s alright, Bel,” you whispered, shifting to hold her tighter against your side. “That sound means it’s almost over. Soon we’re done.”

Mary squeezed your own hand in return, almost as if to say take your own advice. You smiled meekly at her, and she rewarded you for your efforts by momentarily placing her forehead on your shoulder.

The younger girl just buried herself into you and you sighed to make yourself softer. It was her second Reaping, which meant it was far from her last. You understood her fear well, but still, you wanted to quell it.

The further the representatives got into their speeches, the longer the same old video droned on for, the more you disappeared from the current moment. It was hard to differentiate between past and present in these few heavy minutes, so you preferred to be in neither, to float up and out of your body. The only thing grounding you was your two friends pressed up against you, and that was all you needed. Nothing they could say up there was of any meaning to you except those two harrowed names.

Sirius never attended the Reapings the way some of the other victors did. They would line up at the front, on occasion even make speeches themselves, but never Sirius. He had yet to be a mentor, but you knew that victors were supposed to have a meeting of sorts before each game, where one of them was selected for the year. You often found yourself wondering where that meeting took place, if it was at the Capitol or nearby, if you unknowingly were standing just a couple hundred metres from him where he waited backstage or on the train.

A part of you hoped to never find out. A part of you hoped to never be near him again.

Most of you knew that was a poisonous lie.

These were thoughts you promptly pushed away. They did you no good – it had been made clear to you that you were not to think of the noble victor Sirius Black anymore.

The muscles in your back tensed tighter, shoulders hiking higher and higher the longer into the speeches the Capitol representatives got. Knowing that a name was soon to be pulled, yet you kept yourself disconnected.

Almost over, almost over.

The sudden outburst of sound and emotion around you – cries of relief, gasps of shock, whispered reactions – alerted you to the fact that a name had been called.

However, it was Mary’s loud sob and her face turning towards yours with nothing short of horror written over it that told you it was someone you knew.

One glance up into her grieving eyes told you that no, it was– it was you.

After so many years of just barely dodging it, you had been reaped. You were reaped. You were reaped. If your thoughts mere moments before had been a cloud, dragging you up above the crowd, they now became an anchor, cementing your feet to the ground.

“Mary…” you began, but were cut off by a static crackle.

“Y/N L/N? Come now love, don’t be scared.” The glee and excitement in the Capitol woman’s voice was nauseating, but it did kick you into action – and everyone else around you too, as the crowd seemed to separate to form a physical beacon on where the three of you stood, pressed together.

Your body moved on instinct; it was as if you were possessed by Sirius’ memory, pulling Mabel's crying form against you and kissing her head much like he had done with Regulus, squeezing Mary’s shoulder with a tight-lipped smile much like he had done with Peter. Ignoring your heart and mind screaming through sobs and anger, you released yourself from both of their grips to walk down the metaphorical red carpet leading up towards the stage. Chin tilted up, face schooled into nothingness. Eyes burning at the lights that suddenly shone upon you, fighting to keep from squinting. Forcing the tremble away from your fingers by balling them up into fists as you began to ascend the steps to the stage. 

“There we are, darling,” the male Capitol representative, who you had yet to bother learning the name of, essentially cooed at you, reaching out a hand for you to take.

You walked past it and assumed the position to the right of them both, staring emptily into the air. 

He chuckled in a low, menacingly lilting tone. “Okay, well, we can see what kind of tribute we just selected, can’t we, Bella?”

“We sure can, Barty,” the woman, Bella, replied with a gleaming smile. “As for her comrade in arms…” she trailed off for dramatic effect before dipping her fingers with their ridiculously long and sharp nails down into the pot.

From a distance, it was easier to distort the sounds of their voices. Now up close, you couldn’t help but hear every word passing between the two representatives, no matter how loud the screaming in your own head was.

No. No, no, no, no.

“... Peter Pettigrew!” Bella shouted cheerily, with a screeching joy that all but punctured your eardrums.

No. 

You squeezed your eyes shut from the first syllable, fighting the shaking taking over your body. Heavily, your shoulders slumped and your face began to fall at the revelation, before you scrambled for any and every piece of strength in your body to square up once again and face the literal sound of the music.

Deep breaths. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw him climb the stairs to stand beside you. For only a brief second, you dared glance over, only to see the pure terror written all over Peter’s face, only to immediately regret it and whip your face forward again. You knew in your heart that you were not making it out of these games – and unlike with Sirius, the feeling settled like wings on your shoulders instead of rocks. If you were honest, you knew Peter would likely not either, but you could at least fight for him, in the hope that he would.

The man Bella had called Barty came up behind you both and placed a strikingly cold hand on your shoulders, twisting you to face one another. It was custom to shake hands with your fellow tribute, but for the Capitol representatives to lay hands on you like this was certainly not. You fought back the urge to shake it off.

“Now if the tributes may shake hands,” Barty said with a wicked grin, speaking loudly enough for the microphone a metre away to pick up on it – thus too loudly. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Peter’s hand was trembling with such force that he could barely move it away from his body. With a quick sideway glance at the cameras, you reached forward to grab it, steadying it even as you shook it. Peter could not meet your gaze, and not a single part of you could hold it against him; you merely squeezed his hand reassuringly. That had to be enough for now.

As soon as you let go, Bella closed the Reaping Ceremony with a flourish. 

You kept your chin elevated and your gaze empty as you began to move, lest it meet any of your friends and family in the many separated crowds. You weren’t sure if you would be able to keep it up if your eyes locked with Mary’s parents, with Peter’s brothers that he had to leave. Instead, you walked behind the walls with a pin straight back and let the Peacekeepers lead you through the townhouse, room after room, keeping all your emotions balled up. You signed some papers in one room, received a bag with a uniform in another. Finally you walked into the very same room that broke your heart 5 years ago, where your friends and family were already waiting.

The goodbyes were a flurry. Nothing felt real.

You hugged every one of the McKinnon siblings goodbye and nodded weakly when they begged that you would come back home to them, unable to make false promises verbally. The eldest, your Marlene, was the only one who did not plead; she grabbed each side of your face with a determined look and forced you to meet her eyes. “You will come home, Y/N. You will. I am not giving you a choice, you are making it back to us. Do you hear me?”

Even her, you could only spare a nod. But you listened and held her gaze through every word she spoke to make up for it, which seemed to be enough for now. Her hug was even more crushing now than when she kept you from running after Sirius and getting gunned down during his Reaping.

Mary had been silently crying through it all. When she hugged you, your collar was instantly wettened, and you could not help but wonder if this was how it felt for Sirius when you cried into him. You hoped it wasn’t, even as you knew it was. 

When every cheek was kissed and every I love you uttered, you sized them up with a resolved gaze. You let it drag carefully over them all, committing them to memory, one last time. 

Marlene could see what you were doing. With minimal movement, she shook her head – not admonishingly, but the correction was clear nonetheless. You will come back. You gave her a tight-lipped smile, and gave them all a final nod before exiting, allowing Peter to enter for his own goodbyes.

You stopped to say something to him, to hug him or give any reaction, but he scurried past you before you could. Even as you kept walking, your heart was sinking.

There was only one Peacekeeper waiting for you in the hallway. 

“Where do I go now?” You hated how weak your voice sounded, but at least there were no cameras here to catch it this time.

“Mrs. Lestrange is waiting for you around the corner. She will take you to meet your mentor on the train.” Even in your shock, you were baffled by the extreme lack of emotion in his voice. It was almost like talking to a robot, except it had distinctly human eyes. You supposed that was something to get used to.

“Thank you,” you replied, unsure if that was a common custom with Peacekeepers. You were lucky enough in 7 that their presence was limited.

You heard Bella before you saw her, she was excitedly recapping the entire Reaping process to Barty, as if it did not just end and he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He didn't seem to mind; he was twirling around himself, as if your metaphorical dead body was his favourite meadow to frolic through. Her clapping hands and screeching voice made you sick to your stomach, but her eyes might as well be cameras in the court of public opinion, so you picked your facade back up.

“I was told you would take me to the train.” You interrupted one of her tirades, and when her head snapped towards you, there was a second of blazing fire in her expression before she realised that it was you – a new plaything. The glee set back into her within a second.

“Oh, this was the part I was the most excited about.” She smacked a kiss to Barty's cheek before grabbing your elbow to drag you away with her. You had to clench your teeth not to rip it away from her – these Capitol people were handsy. “It’s about time for a reunion, don’t ya’ think?”

You weren’t sure what she was saying most of the time, though you rarely were with Capitol people. Yet the pinching feeling in your stomach did not recede to make space for confusion, nor did your shoulders lower even a fraction.

There was a special entrance to the train that you could access through the townhouse, so that you would not be too swamped by onlookers. Bella was explaining the whole ordeal to you somehow, but as the metallic train came into view through the windows, the blood rushing through your head got louder and louder, even more so than her pitchy voice. 

With this entrance, you only had to walk a meter unsheltered in the transition between the townhouse and the train. Shortly after the first gust of wind hit you was it again shut away as you stepped onto the metallic floorboards.

“Where are we going?” You found yourself asking Bella, unsure if she had already answered this or even if she was in the middle of a sentence.

She looked at you as if you were dumb, but it did not lessen her unnerving smile even a fraction nor stop her quick strides through the many corridors of the train. “Well, to meet your loverboy, duh.”

You stopped in the middle of a step, staring at her incredulously, unsure if you heard her correctly. A frustrated groan escaped her when she had to stop too, looking at you as if you were quite tedious. You knew who she must be referring to, but you had no idea why she would. At least like that.

“Am I not to meet with my potential mentors?” You tried to force any emotion out of your sentence.

“You’re being so silly, did you know that?” Bella took your arm once more, jostling you along with her. “Your mentor has already been decided, stupid. He’s waiting just over there, come on.”

You stumbled slightly in your step from how forcefully she dragged you. You were unsure if she even knew that she was gripping you as hard as she was, or if there was some serious disconnect between her mind and body. 

She only let you go in favour of ripping open a rather large oak door and releasing an unnecessarily loud “ta dah!”. 

The back you were met with was one you would have recognised in every life. 

He stood hunched over a table, hands splayed out so wide they were shaking, black curls hanging messily in his face, breathing ragged. At the sound of Bella’s entrance and you being ushered in, he whipped around.

It was Sirius. Of course it was. Your heart wanted to say it was your Sirius, but you could clearly see that he wasn’t. 

Though he looked different than he had on the occasional glance you stole of him onscreen, he still didn’t look the way you remembered either. No longer was he the scrawny boy you grew up with, the one you messed around in fields with, the one you read books with, the one you cried with and slept beside and walked beside and lived beside. Before you stood a weathered man, sharp in his handsomeness, pointed in every one of his features, guarded by an army of layers yet wearing more emotions than suited him. He had a few tattoos creeping up the side of his neck, the onyx ink shining in contrast to his pale skin.

The one thing that remained the same was the utter heartbreak spelled out in his eyes. It was the same as when you saw him last, only perhaps worse.

No, it was decidedly worse. When the stormy greys landed on your face, flitting about so rapidly that you were unsure how he could even see, lips parting ever so slightly, whatever tormented him settled in deeper. He looked inconsolable.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. As if he didn’t know what to say, as if there were no words.

His attention was abruptly shifted over to Bella when she clapped her hands together in mirth. “Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between you. “Aren’t you going to hug in greeting? Aren’t you going to ki–”

“Bellatrix.” Sirius spoke through gritted teeth, all of his pain schooled away in favour of a burning fire when he faced her. His voice was so much deeper than you remembered, so much hoarser. “Get lost. This is a meeting between mentor and tribute.”

“Oh, this is hardly a meeting or classified in any way, Siri. Just–”

He cut her off once more. “I won’t tell you again.” He eyed her with a severe glare. “Leave us. Now.”

It looked like Bellatrix wanted to fight him on it, but after looking between you three more times, she evidently decided she had gotten enough out of this endeavour. “You’re too serious, Black,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t bite her face off, you dog, she needs it for the interviews.”

She seemed to all but float out of the room, but closed the door behind her with a loud bang. You kept your head craned sideways, eyes burning a hole through the door where she left, leering. 

The silence in the room felt more deafening than the volume of the plaza had. You had no idea what to say – this was nothing like what you could have imagined.

You and Sirius, alone in a room. Something you had craved more than words could explain, but that you now backed away from with every fibre of your being.

“Princess.” Sirius breathed the word out like he had been choking on it. Before you had the time to turn your head fully back towards him, he had swept you up into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N,” he whispered into your neck, almost reverently. 

A minute ago you were walking down the hallways with an awful stranger, and now you were embraced by someone who, despite everything, was painfully known to you. It did not compute in your mind, everything was whirring and screeching, and unlike what he once could, Sirius did not quiet the noises.

He almost did, though. Just almost. With his arms around your back, fingers splaying around your ribs, with your nose shoved against his neck as he cradled you, his scent taking over your senses, you could almost fall into it. Could almost fall into him. Your Sirius.

He smelled the same.

You reared backwards out of his touch, back hitting the wall as you stumbled. Your eyes felt wide, almost like a cornered animal, your lips parted as you stared at him. You realised you were breathing heavily. If he was startled by you ripping away from him, his face didn’t show it.

Studying his face now gave you a wave of deja vu so strong, it almost made you dizzy. There was no way you could communicate anything effectively at the minute.

“Sirius, what the fuck?!” 

You hadn’t meant for your voice to be so loud, but not even that drew a reaction from him. Kicking yourself off the wall, you walked past him – leaving a large amount of space between you – dragging your fingers through your hair as you did so. You began a sentence multiple times, but no coherent word came out. “Why are you here? What just happened?” you ended up whispering, feeling pathetic at how close to a whimper it was. “Who–” You stopped. That was a sentence you did not have it in you to complete. 

Who are you?

When you turned around to face him, you found that he had followed after you, keeping a respectable distance but still within arm’s reach, as if he couldn’t allow you to get further than that. For the first time since you stepped into the town square, tears began to fight to well in your eyes. Sirius didn’t look away from them.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, insistent and imploring. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” You choked out, wrapping your arms around your stomach, not much unlike you had during his Reaping. Sirius’ gaze flitted down to your arms before moving back up, and it was as if you could see the memory playing across his irises.

He heaved a deep breath before rubbing his hands up and down his own face. When he lowered them, he gave you a look of defeat.

“I– let’s start over again,” he said then. He gave you a rueful smile. “Hi, princess.”

You looked at him, uncertain of whether you should start crying or laughing. You settled on a scowl in between. “I’m not sure you get to call me that anymore.” You looked away from his face as you said it, unwilling to see his reaction. “But sure. Hi, Sirius.”

When you dared a glance at him, he had his lips pressed together and a look of remorse in his eyes. You hated that you could still read him like this, for more than one reason.

“I was roughhoused onto the train last night. Told that I was to be the mentor of these games, whether I’d like to or not, no more information.” He said, as if that explained anything.

You couldn’t help the bite in your reply. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? I was just given a death sentence. And now I have to face my ex best friend who I haven't seen in five years. This is some awful joke.”

This time you didn’t avert your gaze, the simmer within you for once bursting into a flame, however short-lived, and you got to witness how his face jerked backwards as if you had slapped him. In some way, you kind of had.

Your anger was not mirrored in his expression, but a form of determination took over his face as he spoke. “You weren’t. You weren’t.” 

“What?” you asked dumbly, yet uncaring of sounding it.

Sirius stepped towards you, gingerly taking your hands into his own. His touch burned, the new awkwardness of the gesture burned. “You weren’t given a death sentence. I wasn’t and you weren’t. I bloody swear to you, Y/N, you will make it through these games.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, but you managed to at least not lean into it. There was a dangerous gloss coated over his grey eyes when you met them with your own, and for a second you got lost in them. Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?”

Sirius let out a humourless laugh and suddenly brought you back into a hug, as if he just couldn’t help himself. Your hands were trapped between you in an embrace with one of his, but he rested his forehead against your temple and seemingly breathed you in.

“I am so, so sorry you have to ask that, princess. I’m so sorry, but I had to go.”

You shivered in his hold. These were words that you dreamed of – but had they not been nightmares? You shook your head but made no other move to remove yourself.

"It's been five years, you know? I'm not sure we even know each other at this point."

Sirius' answer was immediate. "I know you." He pressed his forehead firmer against you. "I know you."

The emotion in his voice rendered you speechless.

He pulled backwards without releasing you from the embrace, leaning away just enough to catch your gaze with his. It felt like the floor was giving way beneath you. His hand on your back travelled up to your cheek. “I'm sorry for it all. Always. And I’m sorry for calling you princess when you just asked me not to,” he added with a hint of the sheepish smile you once loved.

You opened and closed your mouth, absolutely dumbfounded, and he just stared at you patiently. Warmly. Desperately. 

“Sirius���”

You were cut off by the door swinging open once more, causing Sirius to physically spring away from you, suddenly putting multiple metres between you at the sign of new guests. You almost stumbled at the change in positions, and you saw his hand twitch when he cast a glance your way, as if it ached to steady you.

“Now that the lovers have had their private greeting, maybe it’s time to include the other tribute in your strategies, Siri? Or are we just going to let itty bitty Peter die at the cornucopia?”

Bellatrix’s high pitched voice pierced through your ears, and you felt a mountain of guilt fall on top of you when your eyes fell on Peter cowering behind her, his eyes flitting wildly between you and Sirius. In your whirlwind of emotion, you had almost forgotten that he was as doomed as you were.

One glance to your right showed you that Sirius had no idea Peter had been reaped too. His brows furrowed and his lips fell into a decidedly downturned frown. “What– no, Pete,” he breathed out, arms falling to his sides.

“Hi, Sirius,” Peter squeaked, seemingly uncertain about what their dynamic was now, but relieved at at least being acknowledged.

Sirius stepped forward and physically nudged Bellatrix to the side as he pulled Peter in for his own hug. The sight stung in a way you couldn't communicate.

Over Sirius’ back, Bellatrix was grinning at you wickedly.

“Seems like you three have a conundrum or two to work through for us, don’t you?” Barty said cheerily as he emerged from behind Peter, clapping his hands down on his shoulders and making the younger boy jump in fear.

Bellatrix laughed as if that was just the funniest joke, and all but skipped up to you to tug at your cheek while turning to look at Sirius’ face that became increasingly stony at the sight of Bellatrix’s hands on you.

“Don’t you, Siri?” she pushed, giggling in a nearly maniacal manner. “Luckily, the Capitol is still far off. Gives you just loads of time to catch up, yeah?”

Part Two can be found here<3

[impcrios]

@silverbred

it wasn't that he didn't see aurors, there were just some that came into st. mungos more than others. what he had know of bellatrix was that she had a steady hand when it came to aurors so he was surprised that she was even here. "looks more nasty than it is," he says with a smile that he would give any patient. "i'll patch you right and get you a potion for it." he eventually says, using his wand to go over the wound, it was always a steady hand, he had worked hard for this. "let me know if it hurts." he says gently. "must have been a nasty case, i know you're a well auror, black."