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the love witch (2016)

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— DAPHNE ;

That the Carrows would be in charge of detention was news to Daphne – of course she’d known about the subject changes. The whispers of having a Carrow teach The Dark Arts was why she and Astoria had…well, had decided not to spend the summer in Britain. She was well her father used the business as an excuse for his own private issues, but it was perfect for the more public occasion as well. It was difficult to fault the Greengrasses for not being more present at societal occasions when there was international commerce at risk.

“Well then it’s fortunate I’ve never been to detention,” she says with a perfectly timed wink. As though it’s a playful joke and not a matter of something far more serious. And then, because she’s not totally useless in the department of veiled barbs and subtle poison, she asks, “Are you looking forward to those classes? I’m sure you spend plenty of time with your father, but it must be nice to have your aunt so close.”

It’s Hestia. Flora is a bit more direct in her attempt to wound. Her smile only widens at the realization – the other twin might have been scary, but Hestia…she’s well versed in their games.

“Aye, I can’t wait for them! Never a dull moment when the family’s around.” Hestia quipped, her eyes following Daphne’s every move, every twitch. “You’ll see... Might not be to your tastes, however.” it’s not to her own tastes either, but Daphne doesn’t need to know it. She’d rather have the girl on her toes, scared of her, rather than feeling herself bold enough to throw barbs and that despicable wink. Daphne might be cute, but there’s nothing besides that to her, and Hestia... well, maybe this would be the year that she’d finally throw someone off the train.

What was that about aunt Alecto, anyway?

“What are you here to brag about this time, Daphne? If you’re looking for Blaise or Flora, they’re not here.” Ah, so Daphne had picked up she was Hestia, not Flora. Ten points for Slytherin, it only took her a couple minutes this time — not quite fun as when she’d have entire conversations while passing as Flora, but still, Hestia smiled a bit. Mocked the girl for her slowness. “If you want praise and clapping, I’m not your girl...”

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— THEODORE ;

The Hogwarts Express clatters on with steady familiarity, oblivious to the circumstances of the students within.

There’s an otherness to the scene as Theodore quietly thanks the trolly witch and hovers his free hand against the warmth of his cup. Any other year Theodore would dread the rushed corridors, noise, and rabble. There would be an elbow in his ribs, an arm skimming past his face, and a 2nd year stepping on his toes. This year, Theodore’s dread had escaped him and was haunting the halls.  There was an unsettling quietness to the hallways, a reserve, that only seemed to make the shuddering clatter of the train more pronounced. A young girl retreats timidly back to her carriage, the English countryside whizzes behind Theodore’s head, clatter, clatter, clatter.

A shock of dark hair and Theo almost drops his hot chocolate.

There’s a flinch disguised as a shocked recoil as Theodore hastily pulls his drink back towards his body. Theo wasn’t particularly adept at handling objects coming toward him without instinctually bracing for impact. Watch where you’re going. Theodore snap- recognises who it is. Hestia: jet black hair whipping in the wind, eyes full of stars, follow the arc to Arcturus and speed on to Spica.

“Shouldn’t you know that already?” He asks with a dry smile. Theodore twists the lid off his drink and lets steam drift off into the air. “I wouldn’t want to make it easy.” A light jibe, an affectionate tease.  

“Theo! Come in,” ah, so Theo’s summer had been just as bad as she’d guessed from his letters. She smiled a tad at the teasing, sitting down and gesturing vaguely for him to make himself comfortable too, close the door on his way in. Zabini had buggered off somewhere, probably to change clothes for the tenth time, and Flora had mentioned something about stuffing herself full of acidic pops. But Theo... at least he was present, a boy as broken as her with a house just as hard to deal with as hers. She liked his quietness, his biting sarcasm, and they’ve been friends for some years now. Hogwarts friendships tended to linger.

“I couldn’t write much this summer, family was... well, maybe we should talk of this later.” She started, biting at her lower lip. Should she say...? No. Not yet. “I’ve not a single good thing about summer to mention. Pansy’s walked in with her new Head Girl badge, and Daphne...” Hestia paused, her lips turning into a disgusted expression. “High time she and Tracey drowned in the Great Lake, for all I care.”

She was eyeing his hot drink with dulled interest. She hoped the trolley witch would come knock in soon... Would be a terrible ride without her candy. “I also meant to say that... See, aunt and father will be here this year. In Hogwarts. Detentions, the both of them.” She hoped her nervous glance translated her worries: Astronomy Tower late-night hangouts? they’d need to be extra clever this year about her cigarettes and their escapades.

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— PANSY ;

“Yeah, Dark Arts,” Pansy half-drawled as if she didn’t really want to acknowledge quite what that was going to entail. “I guess maybe we all got too good at the defence stuff and they thought hey why don’t we teach them how it actually works as an offence.” Her following grimace was audible, any following remarks cut dead in their track by Hestia’s words. She studied the blue of her eyes, heeded the caution in her tone. Pansy wasn’t particularly a lover of serious conversations, but this one seemed short and sweet (or as sweet as a grave sounding warning could be). Slender shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, dismissive but accepting. “Yeah, sure, of course I will.” As her sentence trailed off she reached out, fingertips grazing Hestia’s arm, the action saying more than she could put into words.

A bright laugh escaped her mouth, head thrown back in amusement. “If Draco and I wanted to become a thing, it totally would have happened by now. Not that anyone would be able to cope if we did.” Her lips twisted into a devilish grin. “Harry Potter being unable to attend school this year is a blessing for everyone’s wellbeing, but particularly for us Snakes. Think of all the free time Draco will have on his hands now that he’s not busy angrily ranting about him. Although I will miss picking on Potter and the teacher’s pet and their raggedy redhead. They were ideal targets. Provoking them was as easy and poking a bear with a sharp stick.” The following sigh was near nostalgic. “But I digress – back to budding romances, get up to any summertime fun little miss Carrow?”

Would Pansy judge her too much if she were to say that while yes, Granger and Potter certainly were too much, the Weasley boy was actually kinda... cute? No, that’d be her death — and while Hestia certainly didn’t care whether she was in everyone’s graces or not, Flora was a loud-mouth and Pansy would give her hell for it. It would be too much trouble, so she remained quiet about that. About everything. Because the less visible she was the less trouble, less things for her father to pin the blame onto her.

“Not really... That wasn’t what you wanted to hear either, huh?” Hestia smiled a tad, sitting down on and gently tapping the seat next to hers for Pansy. Conversation would take a while, so she might as well rest her feet. It occurred to her that this was the seventh year that she offered the same boring old reply to Pansy: no, no one interested in good ol’ Hestia Carrow. Not that she could blame them, she wasn’t even trying to be charming for the boys like mother wanted, but... Well, what was the use? Father would soon sicc her an arranged marriage with some pureblood, because such was the Carrow’s way of things, while her sister cried about true love. “Mother wants to pair me with one of her backup players, some pianist boy or something... So, i’ve been running away — you’d like him, tho’. Talker.”

A sigh, loud and tired.

“Can we talk about anything else? Between Potter this and Draco that and Mr. Pianist, I’m sick of these boys...” The girl sighed then, looking stubbornly out of the window. “They’re all dull.” Which was code, in Hestia’s vocabulary for, ‘they don’t live up to the boy I’ve dreamed up in my head’.

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🦉

🦉 What was the last owl you sent and who to?

Answered HERE.

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— PANSY :

“A fake?” Pansy echoed in mock horror, swiftly tutting at the very idea. “Hestia, honestly, as if I’m the sort of girl to buy tacky second-hand knock-offs. This is the real deal.” She took a seat beside the other, her line of sight fixed squarely on the metal badge as if suspicious that Hestia may try and keep it for herself (why, exactly, lay in the utterly self-indulgent belief that everyone ought to be immensely jealous of her new position and seek to claim it for themselves in any way they could). “I beg to differ, I reckon I can spin a few decent excuses as to why I’m up late now that I’ve got this to flash around. An emergency to attend to. Helping a lost, non-existent First Year find their way. Doing general good Head Girl deeds. And if you put in a good word for me with your dad, then everybody is happy, right? It’s a win-win.” Her fingers curled back around the badge, clutching it tightly.

“Draco, of course. It isn’t much of a surprise, but at the same time it really is. Especially after last year. I mean, I’m not saying that I’ll probably end up doing the majority of the bossing around, but it’s not like he’s been particularly focused on school.” She relaxed into her seat and could all but hear her mum uttering the words posture, Pansy on the wind. “Did your dad say much about his new job? It must be pretty cool knowing that he and your aunt will be able to give you top grades this year. I should have pestered my own dad into becoming a professor, he’d have cut my amount of homework down in an instant.”

Bless Pansy and the world she lived in — it’s 1000% better than the reality Hestia had to deal with, any day. A caring father that’d give her automatically good grades? And not ask much of her and Flora? Sounded dreamy, but that wasn’t her father at all. No, father was— Hestia gulped, blinking the thoughts away, and no, she wouldn’t even think of those screams. She’d ignore that. Focus on Pansy, her mind spun, like a grounding mantra.

It made her snicker. A good word with him? Oh Salazar, if only!

“Dad’s teaching Dark Arts, and aunt Alecto’s covering Muggle Studies...” Hestia started, flashes of the woman lazily wandering around heir house coming into place, blabbing endlessly about how primitive muggles were. Truth is, she had no idea about what they even planned for the classes, but it didn’t look remotely good. “It’s not what you wanted to hear, but it’s what I know. It’s... Pans? Be careful.”

She paused then, minding herself not to let worry crack her voice, not to let anything pass through her walls. Instead, Hestia merely focused on sitting down again, her legs stretching lazily. Her knees were scabbed, they looked red and hurt, so she tugged her skirt a bit down. “You and Draco, huh?” She’d... heard about Draco. Father had said something about her and Flora being next, and she didn’t want to know just next at what. “Charming duo. Don’t let me get on the way of your budding romance, Pans, tho’" she leers, "it’s Potter that you should concern yourself with.” Would this be the year Draco’d finally stop spitting Potter’s name around the halls like a rabid dog? Hestia didn’t think so.

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— DAPHNE :

She hadn’t meant to startle quite so bad as she did when she nearly bumped into Hestia; her skin still felt too tight over body and her tongue still refused to uncurl itself. This was nothow her last school year was supposed to be. There weren’t supposed to be Death Eaters remotely within her vicinity, let alone in the same compartment, looming over her and asking just why she wasn’t in her school robes yet. When she’d apologized mildly then gone to change, she heard whispers of how much worse the other house students had it.

This was not how she was going to let her last year be.

“It is me – observant as always,” she said lightly, lips automatically curving upwards (and stalling until she could focus enough to figure just which twin was before her). Not because she was pleased to see the girl, but because that was what Daphne did. She smiled and for the moment, the world would brighten. “Same old – rarely spending a moment at home, soaking up sun wherever it was to be found.” Daphne hesitated for a moment, but societal niceties dictated that she reciprocate. “I trust your summer went well?”

She didn’t – everyone knew the rumors about the Carrows – but she also didn’t want to know.

Well, what a grand way to start her year: a chat with Daphne Greengrass, asinine extraordinaire. The world is slowly unhinging, but there’s the girl smiling and acting as clueless as always — she’s like a potted plant, uncaring as long as there’s sun. Hestia resists the urge to let her mouth twist in quiet rage at the frivolities — they’re already done this particular dance, they’ve already jumped at each other’s throats enough that now there’s just the hostilities left.

“T’was good.” Hestia offers, a simple shrug that doesn’t leave enough room for conversation. Does she want to hear about Daphne’s endless travels? Not one bit. Still, she has the feeling the girl will try anyway. “Father’s been really eager to teach at Hogwarts this year, wouldn’t talk of anything else. He and auntie will be looking over the detentions as well...” There’s a soft threat to her voice, a hint of sharpness. Far from her to approve of her family’s near affection for torture, but she hints at it just to make Daphne worry.

It’s then that Hestia realises what that familiar confusion in Daphne’s face means. Oh, come off it, she and Flora are completely different if only people bothered to look! Still, she doesn’t deliver any mercy, and instead waits for the other to inevitably slip up and call her Flora.

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— AARON :

he    hadn’t    seen    it    coming    ;    nearly    curses   himself   inwardly   for   the    fact   —    the    sudden    halt   of   footsteps    and    a   near    collision    of    bodies    that   stops   just   short   of    the   crash  ,    close   —    limbs    brushing .            she    is    shorter    than   him ,    nose   almost   touching   the    base    of   his    collar    before    he    puts    space   between   them   —    dark   gaze   roving    her   person  ;   it’s    not    difficult   to   tell    the    twins   apart  ,    but   there   are   moments   like   this    one   where   the   brain   is   SCATTERED   enough   to   give    him   pause .  

                      hestia   carrow .  

the    pale  ;  skinny    angel    of   death   who    looked   like   she   was    caught   in    a   sleepless   dream    where    she    floated  wraith - like    over   the    living   in    desolate   weariness   —    aching .   and   yet    —   held   down   by   an   invisible   albatross   ;    a    granite   millstone .   stuck .    ❛       oh    come   off   it  —   you   and   i   both   know   neither   of   us   care   how   the   summer   was .   you   can   do   better   than   that .       ❜  wordlessly ,    he   drops   a   handful   of   coins   into   the   proffered   palm ,   although   chestnut   eyes   remain   trained   on   her   sparkling   blues .  

There’s a funny warmth to Aaron’s quick dismissal of their terrible summers, surrounded by a family they’d rather not acknowledge — she doesn’t know what’s the story, not even now, and he still doesn’t know much about hers, but they’ve settled in the middle somehow, nodding to each other’s scars in respect. Her lips curl up easily at that, before she’s simply shaking her head and going serious again. It’s good, not to have to pretend at happiness.

“A better pleasantry than telling each other of our terrible summers? Hardly.” The compartment’s door slides shut behind her, as the girl leans against it and looks up at the quidditch player — must he be so tall? Far from it being unsettling, though. There are worse things than having to tilt her head up to speak, just so she can stare defiantly back into his eyes.

“Still, I... Well, I already despise Year Seven.” She quips then, eyes focusing on his coins, the metal dropping with a soft click. Right, she’d been on her way to find the trolley witch just moments ago. Far from anyone to distract her from burning her tongue in her yearly dose of acid pops. “Follow me to the trolley witch, please? I’ve been itching for some liquorice wands all august.”

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#big mood

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I’m a very private person. You don’t ask, I don’t tell.

(via annalisewrites)

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Honestly, only Pansy would be so quick as to step right into the Slug Club’s compartment — Hestia had her doubts that the place was jinxed to let only the right students in, but Pansy simply standing there and looking all too giddy about her new title all but kisses her suspicions good-bye. How entirely anti-climatic.

“Cute, for a fake.” The girl smirked, tilting her head in a dismissive manner as she picked up the badge from Pansy’s open palm, inspecting it against the light. It shone silver and green, and it looked good, too expensive for a Hogwarts plaything — Not that she should’ve expected something else from a man like Headmaster Snape, but still. Details. “If that’s your plan to sneak past curfew this year, won’t work.” She added, handing the badge back.

Pansy’s escapades were kind of a known thing, but with her father and her aunt overlooking detentions... well, best not to think that.

“Who’s Head Boy?” Hestia added, speaking again just to steer the conversation somewhere nice, soft and safe. Seven years had taught her that there wasn’t a thing Pansy Parkinson liked more than running her mouth, so Hestia would let her be. And it was kind of amusing...

✧･ﾟ Chapter I. Journey  ( Pansy & Open )

For all its noise – metal wheels grinding against railway track, the drifting sounds of idle chatter, an occasional hiss of steam from the unseen engine – the train journey was failing to distract Pansy from a thought that had been sat, dead centre, in the forefront of her mind ever since she’d arrived at King’s Cross: it was the last September that this would happen. The last time that summer would end and give way to an autumn term at school. The last time that she’d see golden fields of countryside slide by, drenched in warm early morning light. The last time she’d–

She cuts her own thoughts off with a ruthless sound of irritation and pushes past a group of sixth years blocking the doorway, making her escape from the Prefects Carriage. Her grip is curled tight around a small piece of metal in her hand, unaware of the weight to it that hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Responsibility isn’t a word that she’s well acquainted with. Each compartment that she passes is graced with a brief glance until she sees a familiar face, a welcoming flash of green and silver. The door is pushed open and she steps inside without invitation. “Look what I’ve got.” There’s no small amount of smug pride in her tone. It’s the sort accompanied by sing-song-like glee. Fingers decorated with jewellery uncurl and Pansy presents the object in her palm for all to see, lets it catch the light. She admires the shield-shaped badge, the words Head Girl etched into its surface. “Like it?”

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— 01. THE JOURNEY ( september 1st. open. )

There’s a soft, dull movement as the train settles into its travel speed, and the horizon blurs into a strange, undefined thing, along with all the trees and the grass that speeds by. Hestia has picked the left seat by the window for herself, her luggage stored below her seat where it bounces lightly to the beat of the engine below them. There’s something about trains that she’s always thought of with fondness, the escape, the departure, the leaving behind.

Yet it’s not with fondness that she realises this might be the last time she’ll take this particular train, go to that particular destination — unless she becomes a teacher, she’ll never see Hogwarts again. At least she’ll never dream about drowning again, lulled to sleep by the waves from the great lake sloshing over the window’s glass.

“This sucks.” Hestia adds, a quick sigh to herself before she is standing up. Honestly, she’d rather just sleep through the whole train ride, but she misses the snacks, and Flora is not here to stop her. She walks up the compartment’s door and pulls it open, not looking much where she\s headed before she almost runs straight into another student. 

The familiar green and silver makes her pause, stomach churning at the idea of seeing another of her housemates this soon. Still, as she looks up at the familiar face, Hestia raises her eyebrows. Feigns boredom, her entire body language shuffling to her usual blasé self. “Oh, it’s you. How was the summer?”

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i love ignoring things….. people…. problems …. responsibilities……feelings…..

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Women eat their own tongues every day. We are left with full stomachs, empty mouths.

Tonight’s Cantab feature is award-winning Write Bloody poet Nancy Huang! This is from her poem “The Ballad of Lily Magnolia,” as published in Vinyl. (via bostonpoetryslam)