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[hpdabbles]

🤨

😃

[hpdabbles]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51183412

OMG THANK YOU FOR THE FIC REC! THIS IS SO CUTE!!!

Tom is so obvious. I've read up to chapter 3 but I'm loving it!

[hpdabbles]

Logically he knows that those dreams outweighed the nonsense of his other dreams. Yet it was fair that the theme "Get Potter to realize I'm the prettiest boy alive" played through his subconscious mind it manifested this way.

I'M DYING!!!!!!

Draco spent too much time on Harry lol

[hpdabbles]

Draco Malfoy and The Book of Dreams

Draco Malfoy is beyond confused. He had spent nearly two decades searching for Helga Hufflepuff's hidden sanctuary.

Much like the Chamber of Secrets, it was believed to be a myth, but Draco had always thought it existed. Especially after Potter located the Chamber of Secrets, he realized the other three secret locations of the founders had to be out there.

Salazar Slyterins' Chamber of Secrets- contains a monster and Dark Arts.

Rowena Ravenclaw's Library of Myths- contains the grimoires of Old and Healing Arts.

Godric Gryffindor's Armory of Quests- Contains magical artifacts and Duelling Arts.

And finally, Helga Hufflepuff's Banquet Hall of Dreams- Contains the magic of fallen stars and Wish Magic.

Everyone always overlooked Helga's legend due to needing to understand the significance of her magic. Not Draco- he knew a spell that could grant wishes was powerful. Yes, they only worked once, but one chance was all needed.

The Wish Magic could unravel the very fabrics of the universe but only the parts the wisher had experienced personally. People often confused that with limitations- they wished for the dead to return only to get an Inferi. If they wanted to own the most gold in the world only to be cursed into turning everything they touch into gold.

No, what people needed was a wish that would place them in a position to change everything. If he got his hands on the magic of the Wishing Star, then Draco could undo everything the war had cost him.

He left home, scrambling around the world to find any record of Helga throughout history, including folk tales and rumors. His path was closely followed by British Aurors who thought he was up to something but he stayed three feet before them.

When he turned thirty-eight, he finally found a solid lead. Surprisingly it was in a small village in Wales. A young group of muggles sang the rhythm of Helga's wishing star while Draco had been passing the park and after a few questions, he learned it was a nursery rhythm passed down by locals.

He followed the origins of the nursery rhythm until he found a small ring of mushrooms glimmering in a deep forest. The Banquet Hall of Dreams was within the ring, Draco had found it.

Not a moment too late, as Potter had been dispatched to find Draco and bring him in for crimes he did not commit. Apparently, that same little village had been attacked by a magic user, slaughtering every resident in a crazed massacre.

The Ministry pointed fingers at Draco because he was a known Death Eater that had passed through that place a week prior.

The Wishing Star's magic had been placed in a book, bounded by Helga's magic, and all Draco had to do was open it and speak.

"I wish to travel back in time to the month before my first year, for my dream is to live a better life!"

The Wish Magic did not depend on the wording of the wisher. It formed from their dreams. And Draco dreamed of his first wand so often he could recite the day by heart.

The magic worked, and Draco was whisked away in a whirlwind of magic from the stars, landing in his eleven-year-old body with the Book of Dreams clutched in his little hand.

The book faded to dust as his wish was granted.

There were a lot of things he had planned on doing once he realized what had happened. He couldn't call himself a proper Slytherin if he didn't try to take advantage of the situation.

He had spent an entire month planning this. Locked away in his room, only leaving to eat, bathe, and relieve himself, he compiled piles and notes. He organized them by most likely to happen to least likely.

That ranged from anywhere to "Potter rejects his hand of friendship once more" to "Potter goes straight for the killing curse".

But none of these plans covered what was actually happening to him.

Draco had believed himself better than the previous wishers, and now he was paying for his hubris. Draco did dream of re-meeting Potter, had throughout his entire teenage career, more often than after the war, and those dreams lingered near his wish.

He had outgrown his feelings for the other boy, but he had more dreams centered around gaining Potter's affection than he had dreams about regaining his honor. Most of the time, as an adult, he only suffered nightmares.

They weren't desires. They weren't hope.

If you were to take every dream he's ever had, write it on parchment and then file it away with similar topics then you would have a very visble example of how much of his dreams were about Potter's affection.

Never mind, they were no longer applicable. The fact there were so many overall is what matters.

Logically he knows that those dreams outweighed the nonsense of his other dreams. Yet it was fair that the theme "Get Potter to realize I'm the prettiest boy alive" played through his subconscious mind it manifested this way.

"Wow," Ron Weasley gasps when Draco opens the door to their train compartment. "A boy Veela."

Good grief, the Wish Magic made him a veela and he didn't notice for a full month because he was busy trying to save his family. Now he understands why his parents worried about him walking out in public and why every student he passed by had stared at him with slack jaws.

He had been so used to being watched in the future he forgot it should have happened here.

Father's great-grandmother was a veela, and the man could still remember having to fight off seniors in his youth. Now he had to do it again but for his son. He was going white from stress as Draco boarded, and his mother was no better, placing multiple pieces of protective jewelry on him.

They had nearly homeschooled him because male veelas' allure was much more powerful than a female's. The males were rare, but rather than inspire lust- though many felt that way- Draco boosted inflation. People were literally falling in love with him while he walked by.

Like a stupid airborne love potion.

Potter looked at Draco and promptly declared himself in love with him. He fell to his knees before the blond boy, taking his hand and pressing a sloppy kiss to his knuckles as Weasley watched with wide eyes and a blushing face.

Draco's eye twitches.

He had outgrown Potter, and he would not chase after a forgotten crush. So despite the fact he promised himself he would be friends this time with the Golden Trio, he opened his mouth and said.

"Drop dead, Potter. I'm not interested in dating."

Now he had to live with this new first meeting. The Wishing Star only works once, after all.

But surely, the Chosen One would give up on him.

The thing is, Draco forgot just how determined Harry Potter could be. His new peaceful life may have just become difficult in a new way.

[hpdabbles]

Chains were my Home.

@ironicallypresant said:

Regulus turns James to the dark side and raises Harry 👀

Regulus smiles as Harry runs across the yard, a kite charmed to follow his toy wand as he waves it up and over. His son's laughter echoes through the green hills, overlapping with the wind blowing gently through the green trees and the dancing flowers.

It's nothing like the sound of the city where Regulus grew up. No muggles with their loud machine zooming by the street at odd hours, no constant rain downpouring, and no grey drop back to merry old London. Regulus adores their country home, colorful, bright, and utterly alone.

He leans back, closing his eyes, to feel the wind on his face enjoying their well-earned peace. He opens them to watch his son giggle to himself as he slashes the air with his toy, the kite following the movement only seconds after. Harry stops and runs back, squealing with laughter.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," James says with amusement. Regulus turns to watch his husband leave the kitchen carrying their lunch on a tray. It looks like some sandwiches and a large pitcher of juice. A few sheep made of broccoli are piled on one side of a plate- James' latest attempt to convince Harry to eat his vegetables.

Harry won't eat those. He'll just play farmer with them. Regulus thinks, amused but keeps that bit of information to himself. He instead sits up, curling his legs towards him on the lodging chair, as James quickly sits up a table for them. He's not wearing a shirt, and Regulus' eyes run appreciative over his body.

His eyes trace the Dark Mark on James' forearm before dropping to the add-ons chains that wrap around James' torso. He adores those chains and loves tracing them with his fingers and tongue when Harry sleeps because they are physical evidence that James is his.

James Potter's tattooed chains, which originate from the Dark Mark, are why he will never be able to step one foot off the ten acres of land the Dark Lord graciously let them live on. His son has a similar ward inked onto his skin, but Harry's originates from the collar-like band around his neck- a Mark all unpure blood must wear under Lord Voldemort's rule.

Harry is a half-blood due to his Mudblood mother, whom Regulus made disappear only hours after she gave birth to his son. She did put up one hell of a duel, but ultimately she had been too weak to fight him off, and she died in the hospital wing for new mothers.

As far as James knows, that magic-stealer died in childbirth, and while he struggled to love the cause of her so-called death- poor little Harry had to earn his father's love- Regulus had appeared to support him in his darkest time.

Turning him to the dark while he helped put James back together again made sense. He was everything the other man needed, and only a few sweet words had him seeing that Lord Voldemort was trying to save magic from the unpure.

Harry is unpure- a half-blood, so he had to be branded. Of course, Regulus took him in and made him a son rather than the slave other half-bloods were destined to be, but he always had a soft spot for his servants. It took James until Harry was five before he got over the child being the end of his wife and stopped glaring at the child. He even plays with him sometimes now.

It was only because Harry had started to copy Regulus that he finally saw his new pure-blooded partner in the miniature version of himself.

Regulus fought long and hard in the war, which meant he had some of the Dark Lord's ears. After killing his blood traitor of a brother and locating the hideout of the Order- a small group of resistance fighters Sirius had foolishly joined- he asked his great leader if he could retire to raise his family in peace.

Lord Voldemort allowed it under the condition James and Harry Potter would be cut off from the rest of the world. It suited Regulus just fine- at that point, James was a shell of who he once was, and Harry couldn't even form a sentence yet. He made the deal exchanging his ancestral home and all within it, was given this plot of land, and took his family to live in the countryside where the screams of war could not reach them.

Of course, he leaves it occasionally to attend Death Eater meetings, but with the fall of the ministry, there wasn't much who could stand in their way anymore.

His husband will never know what became of his once home- Regulus makes sure that he has no outside contact with the world. As far as James knew, the war still raged on and Regulus was bravely keeping them safe by venturing the battlefield for them. The chains were meant to hide and protect them, not keep them trapped there. He would die with that belief.

Regulus has killed for less after all.

(A few years later, he would wake to broken wards and his son stolen by the Boy-Who-Survives Neville Longbottom. Harry would break his heart, siding with Longbottom and ripping off his brand, snaring in his face that he would never be chained up again. James would be long dead, so at least he would not see their son become a bloody resistance fighter.)

[hpdabbles]

Omg!!!! I loved it! " jewel of wool's orphanage" is such an amazing idea, and I love that you made regulus a metamorphmagus! I know for a fact that he will abuse the hell out of that perk, just imagine him getting pissed at someone then turning into them and doing something bad to get them in trouble

Omg this is amazing!!

I don't wanna be too demanding but please

Part4! Part4! Part4! part4! part4! part4! part4!

They took his Doll away.

Tom is trying to remember what happened after Regulus' hair turned red but his recollection of the event is spotty.

He knows there was lots of screaming- done mainly by Mrs. Cole- and a bright flash that left him disorientated for a few hours. He recalled a strange word "Obliviate" before the flash, and he suspects it had something to do with his faulty memory.

Tom knows something happened, even if no one else in the orphanage can claim the same. None of them seem aware that they have all collectively lost their memories or that one of their own was taken by two men.

Men whose faces he can not describe or explain why they were looking for his Doll. If he thinks hard enough, he can make out some details, like one of them was in an expensive green and silver suit while the other wore one with a bunch of sewed patches.

A rich and poor man. What could such men want with Regulus? Why had they taken him?

He could even make out the shape of the chins and the noses, but any further than that gave him a splitting headache. He tried to ignore it, tried so hard to remember what the two men looked like, but the pain knocked him unconscious before he found any more clues.

Tom knows he launched himself at Regulus, clinging to the toddler while the kneeling man tried to lift the little boy in his arms. One of the men had thrown him on the ground, but not before Tom could scratch his arm until the man's arm bleed.

Tom had managed to snatch Regulus' arm and tried to free him. He can recall tiny feet kicking against the chest that had the six-year-old trap, but then an invisible force had thrown him to the wall at the far end of the hall.

There are holes, but he remembers watching Regulus' beautiful face break down in distress, a little hand reaching out to Tom as his hair turns a sorrowful blue.

Regulus' scream echoed the sound of Tom's head heading the bricks.

Mrs. Cole had already been lying on the ground by then- he's not sure when she stopped screaming or why she had been unconscious, but he didn't care. She never mattered to him.

What did matter was the little boy screaming for him, but Tom had been busy fighting the dark spots appearing in his sight to really do anything to help. He had tried to stand with his little strength; it just wasn't enough.

Regulus was crying, Tom thinks, tears of anger or sadness he couldn't really tell, as he stared at Tom in horror seconds before the man raised a stick, and the flash happened.

When Tom came to, his Doll was gone, and so were hours of his memory.

He's missing hours, about five.

Tom recalls having Regulus in his lap around ten that morning, then waking up in the hallway at three forty-seven with no idea how he got there and no idea why Mrs. Cole was napping a few feet away.

The two had been looking at something- a book? A toy?- someone had come into their room to warn them- what about? Who was the warning for?- And then the men in the hallway watching black strands turn ruby red.

Flashes of time with Regulus that fateful day but more is needed for Tom to find what is his and bring him home. It tormented Tom and kept him locked away in his room the following days as he tried to find Regulus.

He even tried asking around town to the places where Regulus was famous for making Mrs. Cole look good, but no one could remember him well. Those that did, started to forget detail rapidly as if they hadn't seen Regulus in years rather than the weeks he went missing.

By the two-month mark, Regulus had been completely forgotten by everyone but Tom. Fearing that the memory loss would affect him too. He had started to pin little notes along his wall, for any details of his Doll, just in case

Soon his room was covered in notes, memories, and drawings of Regulus. Every open spot had something to do with his Doll and his disappearance, leaving no room for decoration. He bought yarn to mark connections between his notes, zig-zagging all that. Tom had to duck and turn his head a certain way just to leave his room.

He only left it for food and his chores.

The worst part of this was that no one else was worried like Tom is.

None of the orphans or the staff seem to realize that Regulus was ever a part of the Wools.

Regulus was the jewel of the orphanage. The only good thing about this horrible place for three whole years.

Why were they all acting like he never existed? Billy still had the bunny bed Regulus made him, Sally still wore the ribbons in the same braids Regulus did for her, Nurse Jane still sang the same strange lullabies Regulus had made, and none of them could remember Regulus.

They all looked at him like he was insane for mentioning his missing roommate. There were harsh whispers about his room and the contents on the walls dedicated to a boy who didn't exist.

They thought him mad.

Tom didn't know what to do.

Maybe he was insane.

Billy had gently told him sometimes lonely people make up imaginary friends but that he wouldn't have to do that anymore. Billy, for some reason, wasn't scared of him anymore, even when Tom was mean to him on purpose.

The other orphan now looked at him with something far worse than fear- he looked at him with empathy.

Tom tried to reinstall fear into him in between breaks of looking for any clues on Regulus, but it never worked.

He would only hug Tom until the boy couldn't hold it in and broke into tears. He doesn't know why he cried so much. He just knows that every day that passed without Regulus felt like his chest was slowly caving in.

Billy told him it was grief, the kind he had felt the day his parents and sister burned in a mysterious fire, but Tom didn't want to accept this feeling as mourning.

Because if he was mourning, it meant he would never see Regulus again, which was unacceptable. Billy didn't mind, nodding and listening to Tom restating everything there was to know about Regulus for the twelfth time.

He sometimes spent the night in Tom's room, helping him pin up new color strings once Tom gained a new theory.

He would almost claim to like the rabbit pet owner if he didn't think Regulus was Tom's imaginary friend. Just a little.

A year later, when Tom finally lost hope of ever seeing his Doll again when he started to feel his memories slipping through his fingers like falling sand, a strange man came to the orphanage.

Albus Dumbledore looked at Tom's room, all strings leading to the word Men in strange suits and Obliviate cards in the middle before his eyes filled with sadness. "I'm sorry for your loss, my boy. It's never easy to lose love this way."

So it was true. Regulus was kidnapped by those men and likely killed. At least that is what the professor claimed as many magical children in the muggle world were being targetted by a man named Grindelwald in recent years

Apparently, he was a Dark Lord searching for something called  Obscurial, and he had taken children to try to force one of them into it. When they failed to become this being of power, Grindelwald had them killed.

The kidnapping that Tom described fit his preferred methods to a t.

Tom burst into tears and did not stop even when told he was a wizard. What was the point of him being magic when he still lost Regulus?

What point did life have any more? Professor Dumbledore promised that Tom would find the answer at Hogwarts, and even offered to ask his brother to take him in, until they were sure Wool's was safe from Grindelwald but Tom refused.

Wool's was all he had left of Regulus now.

Billy helped him make a grave for Regulus a day before he boarded the Hogwarts Express, and he swore to write to him. He was the only one to walk Tom to the train, so he allowed the other boy to hug him goodbye.

Tom was never one for faith, but he prayed Regulus would watch over Billy while he was away.

He also prayed Regulys would watch him put Grindelwald into the ground. Because he would be coming for that rat's head, and no one was going to get in his way.

His Doll would be avenged.

[hpdabbles]

Someone give me some good Regulus prompts please

[hpdabbles]

Do you accept fan art for Kindness and Remorse?

YES! PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOUR ART.

[hpdabbles]

Why must you give us a cliffhanger :(

Because it's fun!

[hpdabbles]

Hey! Is there a chance to continue " jewel of wool's orphanage"?

Would the blacks find out about regulus and take him?

What would happen when he gets to Hogwarts?

When will reg find out that tom is actually Voldemort??

Life at Wool's Orphanage was better than Regulus thought. Yes, they had very little in earthly possessions, and the roof over their heads didn't keep the elements out as well as it should, but all in all, Regulus found that the dynamics were close to the Slytherin Common room.

Meaning he was excellent at handling his surroundings.

The first hurdle he conquered was the caregivers, specifically Ms. Cole, who held no sympathy for the children. He quickly realized that she chose to work in this institution because muggle women didn't have many options in the workforce, unlike the magical one, and she liked to be praised.

She glowed whenever someone mentioned how "brave" and "strong" she was for taking on the heavy burden of dealing with the worthless brats of society.

In the muggle world, orphans were seen in the same scorn light as Squibs were. They were to blame for their misfortune and would likely amount to nothing because of it too.

So the way to make her look better and gain her approval was to play up his physical age and publicly thank her for everything she did for him. He was careful to not come off as a boot licker, but before long, Regulus would join her in errands, sweetly telling the muggles who watched them how amazing it was to be saved by Ms. Cole.

His perfect mannerism was a product of Ms. Cole.

His perfect speech was a side effect of Ms. Cole.

Ms.Cole was the reason little Regulus was like a doll. And oh, how she adored the way muggles congratulated her for everything that made him.

If only he wasn't a pennyless orphan, Regulus would be the perfect young boy. The muggles whispered to each other as he held the door for others, smile sweetly, and followed Ms. Cole like a little duckling.

She adores that he did what she said and when she said it. Never noticing how strangely intelligent, he was for being able to keep up at the tender age of three. The rest of the caregivers quickly picked up he was one of her favorites- a majority were orphans who, upon aging out, returned after not making it out in the world and bitterly took jobs in the hell hole. They acted slowly but surely, treating him better to not earn the headmistress' wrath.

They all remembered what happened when the Headmistress of Wool's lost her temper and had the scars to prove it. It was better to treat Regulus like a naive little prince- likely thinking him too stupid to be of any actual harm.

Regulus knew this would cause the rest of the orphans at Wools to become bitter at the favoritism, just as the other Slytherins had been when he first joined the Quidditch team. In Slytherin, he had the House of Black to fall onto and keep himself safe from their jealous sneers but in Wool's, he had to make do with what he had.

That came in the form of carefully placed kindness.

The other children didn't have to steal from Regulus. No, the boy gave his things away but never without a price. He watched the children and saw what each could offer for trade and what they needed before the child realized it themselves.

For example, Billy, who clutched his pet rabbit as his only emotional support, did not notice his rabbit was growing too big and would need a new pen. He had given one of the older girls a stylish scarf, gifted to him by one of the nuns Ms. Cole likes to flaunt him in front of, in exchange for her large shoe box. He then filled it with newspaper, stuffed it with hay from the stable, and approached Billy, offering the "bunny bed" to the boy's delight.

They had never spoken before that, but it meant that his bunny bed seemed much more genuine. Billy happily placed his rabbit in the box and named facts about the animal while Regulus smiled and listened.

Not once did he tell Billy to shut up, roll his eyes, or make the boy feel stupid for his love of rabbits, and that endured him like no other to the muggle child.

Later when Regulus mentions how fantastic the ribbons that decorated his room are, Billy thinks nothing of giving some to him. He seemed unaware of the uneven trade because it wasn't in the other boy's mind.

The ribbons were Regulus' gift for being so thoughtful.

A gift he then used to make Sally's hair look spectacular for her school dance, his tiny fingers still able to do the hairdos of the aristocrats. When he convinced her to let him do her make-up, he had turned a dull girl into a beauty. She returned with a bright smile, a filled dance card, and a little surprise teddy bear as a thank you.

That toy found its way to a nine-month baby in the nursery, who had been struggling to fall asleep, keeping everyone up with her constant wailing. One well-placed teddy to hold and a sweet lullaby had her slumbering and, more importantly, making the nurse in charge of the room internally grateful.

Soon Regulus developed a reputation for being thoughtful. He listened to everyone, was kind to everyone, helped anyone, and he become a well-respected boy at the orphanage.

It also became an unwritten rule that Regulus was a neutral party. No one bothered him because he was on friendly terms with every clique and power. Of course, he wasn't a leader of anything, but the other kids would stand up for him if anyone tried to bully him.

After all, how could they be mean to Regulus? The boy is so kind.

He was always willing to help when needed, crafting the image of a harmless little pushover without anyone the wiser that he was carefully manipulating them to his advantage. Three years since his arrival, no one had noticed.

Well, nearly no one.

"Nuse Jane thought a box of chocolate would mean you come back to change diapers for her, didn't she?" Tom asked, placing Regulus in his lap and peering at the small box the head nursery nurse had passed him that morning with a wink. "No wonder she can't get anyone to marry her. She's stupid."

"She has her usages. Manipulation is not one of them." Regulus sighed, allowing the strange muggle-born to bury his nose in his hair and smile against his skull.

Since meeting that fateful night in the nursery, the two had been roommates and nearly inseparable.

Oh, others tried to pry them apart but accidents tended to happen to them not long after. It was no secret that Tom was the cause of them even if there was never any proof.

The fact that Regulus was the only one who could curve his violent outburst only further made him more liked to the rest of Wools.

He needed to figure out what to make of Tom.

The boy was gifted when it came to magic, ridiculously so, already having control over it far better than most adults.

The three wandless spells Regulus taught him were so easily mastered that Tom took it upon himself to learn different kinds independently. The scary part was that he succeeded, having uncovered Lumos and a color-changing charm on his own, after spending weeks concentrating enough.

What could he accomplish with proper training? With a wand? Obviously, Tom wouldn't go on to make much of a name for himself since Regulus could not recall a single Tom Riddle, but he was useful now.

If he was honest with himself, Regulus also liked having another wizard about, even if it was a muggle-born.

Tom seemed to adore showing Regulus his progress, but the time traveler noticed that the muggle-born treated him much like a toy. In Tom's eyes, Regulus was a shiny plaything, and he wasn't sure if that was healthy.

Tom's crush on him may be less so. But Regulus grew up in the House of Black- healthy relationships weren't common there, and he didn't mind the boy's feelings so much.

It was nice to be someone's obsession.

"Regulus!" Billy yells, breaking the peace by throwing open the door without knocking. At once, he felt Tom's magic swirl in displeasure, so he quickly leaned back into the boy and clamped a hand on the arms around his middle.

Tom settles again, but likely glaring at the intruder, who looks pale.

"What is it, Billy?" He asks carefully, making his voice soft but sharing his articulation. It usually makes the other orphans listen to him faster.

"You won't believe it," Billy says after a moment, his eyes wide. "A pair of men arrived claiming to be looking for you!"

"For me?" Regulus tilts his head. "Why?"

"They think they're your family! A mister Marius Black with his father, Cygnus Black, saw your picture in the Christmas choir and came as soon as they could. They're speaking to Ms. Cole now." Whatever fear of Tom quickly disappeared as Billy hastily threw open their closet, taking out Regulus' church clothes- the best he owned. "Quickly, you have to change! They may take you home with them if you can impress them enough."

For Merlin's sake, they found him? After putting so much effort into securing his place in Wool's Orphanage, the house of Black was trying to exploit him again?

"They're wrong," Tom hisses, his voice dipping into the perfect imitation of a snake. "Regulus is mine. He's not going anywhere."

"I'm comfortable with that," Regulus tells him, snuggling closer. Tom's silly crush is perfect in times like these. He blinks big eyes at the boy, whose cold expression slowly melts into a blush. "Will you hide me, Tom? I don't want to go away."

As predicted, Tom folds faster than wet paper. "We can hide you in the backyard shed. Hurry."

"But Regulus! Mr. Black could be your father. you could leave!" Billy protests, but the two are already running down the hall. Regulus' tiny six-year-old legs are no match for Tom's fast stride, and sadly that is his undoing.

"Regulus is Wool's jewel. The boy could do no wrong, I assure you, sirs- oh, here he is now!" Ms. Cole says when she rounds the corner with two men behind her. Tom skits to a stop before colliding with them, but Regulus is not as lucky, crashing into the legs of once great-grandfather Cygnus Black.

The worst part was that he landed on a magic stone the man was wearing as a ring. A stone meant to glow when near family magic. Likely a test to see if Marius has produced a magical child after all.

One he just unwillingly passed.

"Marius, my son, you have found my grandson." The aged man says, hiding the glowing ring before Ms. Cole or Tom sees it. The Squib's face lights up, kneeling to stare at Regulus like he is his salvation.

And Regulus is his salvation because being called son after being disowned meant the disownment was officially over. Marius has just earned his way back into the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

"Hello there, son. I've been looking for you everywhere." Marius says in a fatherly tone, and it's so different from how he had first sounded when his whore mother dropped him off on his doorsteps three years ago. It's upsetting.

He knows deep down that his body is still young, and he can not control all of his emotional outbursts because of it. The anger he feels for this squib trying to take advantage of him so their so-called family can give a flying crap about them is enough to have his magic's careful control slip.

He feels a tingle around his scalp and the three adults mouth's drop.

Ms. Cole gasps in horror. "What in the world?! "

A strand of hair falls into his eyes, and Regulus is about to push it out of the way when he notices an alarming change.

His hair is an angry red, not the raven black he has had all his life. Both of his lives.

"A metamorphmagus." Cygnus breaths, hand over his chest and smiling widely. "Marius, you sired a metamorphmagus."

For fuck's sake, Regulus did not want to deal with any of this.

[hpdabbles]

Is Kindness and Remorse abandoned ?

No, it's not. I'm actually working on the next chapter now but I'm not entirely sure when it be finished.

Sorry that it's taken a full year, I won't lie; I got discouraged with the fic and couldn't find the energy to work on it. It was only cause I saw someone name drop it on ticktok that I looked at my notes for it again.

[hpdabbles]

Daily reminder that James was raised by his elderly parents

Regulus calling Sirius: i lost him again!

Sirius: so listen to me. look around, do you see a cluster of old women?

Regulus: yeah...

Sirius: go to them

Regulus: what? why?

Sirius: just trust me

James, surrounded by unfamiliar old women, tells something funny and asks them about life: hi baby what's up?

[hpdabbles]

Living Nightmares

There weren't many things Sirius expected to happen to him on a late Tuesday afternoon behind the walls of his childhood house, but finally losing his mind was not one of them.

He knew, logically, that he couldn't have gotten away from Azkaban without leaving behind bits of his sanity. For all the years he spent in that hellhole, Sirius is one of the lucky ones to have his psychotic break happen months after his escape.

He sighs, raising his bottle in a mockery of a toss at the image of his dead brother that just stumbled out of Regulus' old room, looking like no day has passed since his death.

It figures his mind chooses his little brother to torment him.

It must be because he came back to Grimmauld. Otherwise, Sirius thinks he needs to see Regulus. They hadn't been close towards the end even if regrets still eat at him from time to time.

"Who are you?" His brother sounds young. Then again, Sirius supposed Regulus never had the chance to have sound any other way.

Sirius tilts his head back, taking a long swing of the bottle. The liquor burns on its way down. A terrible side effect of forced sobriety that being locked up brought. Everything burns on the way down nowadays.

His brother comes closer, frowning heavily at him. "What are you doing here?"

Sirius ignores him, taking another long sip of his bottle. He misses his mouth, and the alcohol drips down his chin, splashing on his shirt collar. He swears, knowing the moment Molly sees- or instead smells him- she'll throw another long rant about how Sirius is unfit to care for Harry.

"Are you a Black?" Regulus asks, falling to a knee and squinting at him.

Sirius laughs, finding his hallucination asking such a stupid question he doesn't know what else to do. He laughs so hard his sides ache, his whole body shakes, and Sirius drops his bottle, not caring that it rolls away, spilling everything as it does.

Then his laughter breaks into pathetic sobs as he rocks back and forth when he sees his brother's alarmed face.

Regulus opens, then closes his mouth until he finally whispers enduring sounds. He was too gentle, always too gentle, but never strong enough to stand up for himself and leave this miserable place. "Is there someone I can call for you?"

"You're not real." Sirius manages to gasp.

"I beg your pardon?" Regulus asks.

"You're not real. I see things. You're one of them." Sirius tells his brother, fumbling blindly on the carpet for his bottle, wanting his mind too numb enough that Regulus will disappear. He wonders why he thought getting drunk in the hallway outside his brother's room was a good idea in the first place.

Of course, the floor here is the comfortest, but it's not worth it anymore. Sirius supposes he'll have to fund a new haunt.

"I can assure you I am real." The Hallucination says, which makes Sirius snort wetly.

"You are not."

"Uncle, I am not sure what has happened, but I can help if you allow me to," Regulus says, reaching down for his arm and helping him to his feet. Sirius laughs again, leaning heavily onto him.

"I'm your uncle now?"

"You are obviously a Black. I assume you are Uncle Marius or related to him." Regulus leads him down the hallway, careful to ensure Sirius doesn't slam against the walls with all his stumbling. He can appreciate that.

"Marius was a squib." Sirius tells him, blinking his eyes to get the shapes to stay still. "The Ancient and Noble House of Black doesn't want any squibs in it."

"I'm the head of the house now. I decide what the House of Black will and will not accept. You are a Black, magic or no magic. " Regulus calmly replies. Before Sirius can tell the hallucination, it's making a terrible impression of Regulus with its strangely accepting views; they round the corner and come across Remus.

Most likely, his ex-lover was sent to look for him. The others can't bring themselves to look Sirius in the eye after seeing what he's become. They are a bunch of cowards, but at least the Order is smart enough to not sent Harry for him.

He isn't sure he could handle his godson seeing him like this. This pathetic state of a man who could never correctly care for him.

"Who are you!?" Remus snares, pointing his wand at Regulus, who only blinks at him. Sirius swallows around the lump in his throat now knowing they haven't sent anyone for him at all.

If Remus can see Regulus, this isn't Remus, either. Just another hallucination his treachours mind came up with. Maybe one that still loves him.

He lost his mind, so he blurts nonsense, encouraged by the alcohol cursing through his veins.

"Darling, look who I found. It's little Regulus! We can raise him as our son and ensure he marries someone who loves him the same way we love each other! We can be a big happy family! " He tells Remus, heartbreaking at how those hazel eyes flicker to him in barely concealed alarm. "A big happy family where nothing went wrong! You, me, and a child. A house on a grass hill. We grew old together, and no one died! No one died, and we're all so happy together!"

He's crying, but Sirius can't stop talking, describing their imaginary child, their house, and the wonderful past twelve years that he wishes so hard weren't made up. Remus looks frozen in horror, his eyes filling with tears, but it doesn't matter if he's sad.

Remus isn't real. None of this is. Sirius is probably still sitting outside of Regulus' room drinking himself into a grave. Or worse, he's still at Azkaban talking to the stone bricks of his cell.

Regulus makes a slight noise of pain. "I see now what has happened, Uncle."

He turns to Remus, speaking in a soft low voice. "I'm sorry for the loss of your child, sir. Would you help me move your husband to one of our guest rooms? I believe he needs to lie down."

Remus responds by shooting a hex at Regulus, who can only yelp before he drops to the ground like a bag of bricks. Sirius falls with him, still mumbling about their garden- it has a Quidditch Pitch in the backyard so they can play when James comes over-, and Remus stares down at them, chest heaving with gasping breaths.

Then Remus is screaming. No words, just terrible sounds of agony, the likes of which sound close to his wolf, tearing his skin apart. Sirius finally stops talking, watching his Remus Hallucination fall apart in front of him.

Harry and all his friends come running down the hallway shouting Sirius' name, but he can't really hear them. He's too busy trying to stay awake when Remus shoots him with a sleeping spell.

It's a small mercy.

Now Sirius doesn't have to deal with the fact he was seeing such terrible things for the past ten minutes. Hopefully, when he wakes, all he'll have is a terrible headache and not be back in his cell.

He doesn't think he'll survive if his escape is just one big Hallucination.

[hpdabbles]

Congrats on the milestone! Wolfstar, age gap, any rating you like <3

Thank youuuuuu, my darling Imp! Also, you're the best for this! It was so much fun!

--

"I told you no. We don't treat your kind here."

"Please. Where am I meant to go? I snapped my wand by accident. I can't heal myself."

"Go to the Ministry like the rest of them. You have no business being here."

" I – please – "

"Did you not hear her? This is a human hospital. Leave before I drag you out myself."

"Oi!" calls Sirius, overhearing the conversation as he's passing by, eyes quickly assessing the situation, taking in the greeting witch, her entire face twisted in disgust, another Healer, Sirius' own colleague with an outstretched hand but not touching the man standing in front of him, covered in streaks of blood, one arm held in an awkward position, eye swollen nearly shut. Three pairs of eyes dart in Sirius' direction as he advances. "Anyone feel like telling me the issue is here?"

"He," says the witch with obvious disdain, motioning to the injured man – or so Sirius thinks, the other clearly young beneath the grime of caked dirt and dried blood – who is staring at the floor, tight-lipped and silent, "needs to leave. He shouldn't be here. He's a dark creature and – "

"Thanks, I got that part," bites Sirius, cutting across her words, the woman rearing back as though burned as his furious eyes lock on her face.

"He's classified, Black," interjects the other Healer by his side, haughty, also young, trying to make a name for himself, something Sirius can't remember now, not having the patience for it anymore. Once he'd hit his thirties, Sirius had stopped playing their games, simply doing his job to the best of his ability, something he never hesitated to boast he was highly skilled at. "We don't treat creatures."

Glancing over the silent man, still standing unmoving before them, Sirius studies him, taking in his tattered and patched clothing, his shoes that have seen better days, what he can tell is a kind face beneath the layers of filth from his bad night spent under the moon. The briefest flicker of brown meets Sirius' gaze before it drops again, but it's enough.

"He looks like a man to me," he states, pinning the other Healer with an accusing glare before he completely shifts his attention away from him and the watching witch. "Come with me. I'll take care of you."

"But we're not supposed – "

Another furious glance from Sirius silences the witch's protests. The quiet man appears hesitant, almost reluctant as his gaze travels over Sirius, but eventually, he seems to wilt, all the air leaving him in a slow seep. Motioning with his head over his shoulder, Sirius begins walking down the corridor, the other man following without a word until they reach a mostly empty ward, only one bed occupied, the person sleeping soundly. Sirius guides them to the far end, patting the mattress as he turns.

"Pop a seat," he instructs, reaching for a waiting chair. "Let me get a look at you."

Once the other man is settled, Sirius sits in front of him, withdrawing his wand. They don't speak for a while as Sirius performs his diagnostics, feeling the man's eyes watching his movements, wariness that Sirius can sense within them.

"What's your name?" he asks finally, beginning to heal some of the smaller lacerations, not caused by claws but trees and bushes, other animals.

Another bout of silence passes between them before, "Lupin." It emerges as a half-grunt, half-whisper, strained at its edges. Sirius hums, gliding his wand up the length of the injured arm, his fingers gently wrapping around a warm wrist, feeling the other man tense slightly with the touch.

"Lupin, eh? That's an odd name," comments Sirius, glancing up, catching cautious eyes. He smiles, lips curling upwards into a teasing tilt. "Can't imagine that's what the people that know you call you," he prods.

Another beat. "Remus," says the soft voice, shame clear within its timbre this time.

"Ah," murmurs Sirius, tapping at Remus' shoulder with the wood in his grasp, "that's better. I'm Sirius. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen isn't so bad. Good news is you're still fit."

"Why is that good news?" comes the mumbled question, and Sirius leans back in his chair, halting his movements, meeting guarded but curious brown eyes as they study him uncertainly. Sirius can't stop the grin that creeps across his face.

"Because I need you to take your shirt off."

To his surprise, Remus laughs, the sound seemingly startling him as he chokes it off in the middle, eyes widening in the process, but Sirius joins in with him, noticing that the more relaxed he appears, the more tension drops from the other man's body. Slowly, with Sirius' help, they work Remus' shirt from his shoulders, Sirius carefully guiding the fabric free from his damaged arm.

He chatters as he works, watching from the corner of his eye as Remus' breathing becomes easier, small answers coming in response to Sirius' words. He presses the other to lay back across the bed, examining his legs, his feet, healing what he can and bandaging the rest, applying dittanies to ward off severe scarring, those brown eyes tracking him the entire time. Eventually, under Sirius' advisement and insistent but gentle pushing, Remus sleeps, Sirius assuring him no one will bother him. He seals off the bed, instructs the mediwizard working the ward not to disturb the far section, and then wanders through the rest of his day until he's finished, checking in occasionally, always finding Remus still asleep.

When Sirius is finished, he doesn't leave as he normally would, doesn't find a pub for drinks, never goes home to his empty and depressing flat. Instead, he seats himself back in his abandoned chair and waits until Remus stirs within his bed, eyelids fluttering open slowly, brown gaze shifting around in bemusement, a heavy confusion attacking his features until it lands on Sirius, watching him quietly.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asks without preamble, Remus blinking at him for a moment as the confusion deepens until the lines of his face harden, expression closing off stubbornly.

"'Course I do. I'm fine," he says through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, you looked it when you came in here." The glare that meets Sirius is harsh, but he pushes past it. "I've got a spare room, an empty flat. I don't spend much time there, but there's a warm bed, food, a shower. No judgement from anyone, least of all me. It's yours to share with me if you want it."

Those brown eyes are suspicious as they sweep Sirius' figure slowly. "Why would you do that?" he demands. "What's in it for you?"

"Absolutely nothing," responds Sirius, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.

"So why do it?"

"Everyone deserves kindness," answers Sirius easily. "Especially when it's been denied to them for so long over something they can't control. It's only an offer. Take it if you want it."

Remus stares at him, Sirius able to see the cogs turning in his head as he does. Finally, he exhales a breath, fingers winding into the sheets.

"I can leave if I want?"

"You can do whatever you want," replies Sirius, and he smiles.

[hpdabbles]

Breaking Routines and possible space-time laws

If there was one thing Regulus Black hated more than the unexpected, it was being caught unaware by the unexpected.

He has always been a creature of habit, following his routines since he was six, and because of that, he tended to be prepared more often than not for what the day brought. Unlike Sirius, who took control by his sheer stubborn will, he had no energy to confront things, choosing for life to just happen to him than the other way around.

This made people think he was soft, and maybe he was, but life was easy that way.

Simple. Easy. Predictable.

Just do as he is told, follow his routines, and not fail as a Black like Sirius.

Until the day he didn't, instead, Regulus broke his own routine, snuck to a zombie-infested lake, and got himself drowned for his troubles. He would have hoped that would have been the end of it, but no, magic had other plans.

These plans included throwing his lazy and apathetic soul a few years back in time, landing right into his first-year body, seconds from the Sorting hat being placed on his head.

Now Regulus could ask the hat to place him in a new house, but why change something not broken? It's not like he had changed all that much in the last six years.

Despite the Sorting Hat's soft mumbles of time-traveler, strange child, and Clever little thing, there was no real change to his sorting. Even the time it took- a minute and six seconds- was the same.

"Slytherin!" It yelled at the clapping of his new housemates. He stood in a graceful, fluid motion, one he picked up after years of Death Eater meetings, only to realize as he descended the little stairs that he had tripped the first time.

The thought strikes him in place, catching the student body's attention. Slowly his gaze went over every student, the memory of their laughter at his eleven-year-old clumsiness playing in his head, overlapping with the confused but intrigued gazes staring back.

They look as if they are waiting for something. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what. That is until he straightened his shoulders out of habit and noticed a few follow suit.

Regulus had subconsciously made his body language follow what he would usually do at the beginning of Death Eater meetings, where he would call everyone's attention to start. He hated starting late- it threw off his whole day.

Regulus hadn't meant to stop altogether, but it now appears as if he had done so to make an announcement for even Professor McGonagall paused with calling out names.

His gaze- which he knew now that he was thinking about it- was jaded, and serious, portraying someone who carefully spoke and meant what he said, danced over the students until they locked with a similar pair.

Sirius's face is clouded over, pulled into that familiar jealous sneer. How many years had it been since he had seen a positive emotion on his brother's face? Regulus thinks it hasn't been since before they went to Hogwarts.

Sirius glare used to make him flinch, a lot like their mothers, so he's surprised to discover it has little effect now.

Honestly, why did his face twist like that? Sirius looks constipated. He snorts, unable to fight it, and it makes thirteen-year-old Sirius turn an alarming red color.

Ha, he looks like an angry little cruppy.

The only other person who was that amusing when angry with Regulus is-oh.

Regulus' eyes swing away to land on Severus Snape, his one somewhat friend, who has yet to allow Regulus to wash his hair. Goodness, the boy looks like a drowned rat, in ill-fitting robes hunched over a potion's books.

One hand is holding a black mug, obviously too engrossed with his reading to be drinking it properly.

He seems unaware that his drink has been tampered with. Regulus can tell by the strange vapor steaming out of it- just the tad bit of blue tint to the otherwise gray smoke. After years of watching Severus drink coffee and years of the man being completely paranoid about his food, Regulus knows this is his brother's work.

He narrows his eyes. Usually, Regulus wouldn't care, but Severus had been the only one who had been nice- er tolerant of him back before he grew indifferent to people's dislike of him.

Regulus always owes the older boy for all the years he shielded him from the scorn of their housemates.

A proper Slytherin always repays a debt.

Snapping his fingers, the mug is ripped out of the started third-year's hold, who shouts "hey!" sailing across the room into his waiting hand. The dining hall sucks in a gasp. A summoning spell is not uncommon, but a summoning spell casted wandless, wordlessly, and by a first year?

That was alarming.

Regulus looks into the mug with a frown, watching the slight blue flicker from the mild brown of the coffee. Severus always took his coffee with two spoons of sugar and more milk than he actually needed. He returns back to the crowd, channeling Kreacher in the best-disappointed expression he can make.

He had been given the position of disciplinary officer for Death Eaters, by the Dark Lord himself, and the reason was simple. Regulus just treated full-grown deadly adults like misbehaving toddlers. "One of you put something in his drink. Who was it?"

A few mumbles break through the hall but not loud enough for Regulus to hear properly. His frown depends. "I'm not mad, just disappointed. This is not the proper behavior of young witches or wizards."

Again no one speaks out, which makes him sigh. "Alright, if no one is going to answer, I have to punish you all. Until the delinquent comes forth, there will be no coffee for anyone."

With a snap of his fingers- a quick flash of his magic to the kitchens- all coffee pots and mugs are gone from the tables. Shouts of displeasure rise, but Regulus shakes his head. "I know you all saw whoever did this put it in, Mister-?"

"Um, Snape. My name is Severus Snape"

"In Mister Snape's drink and did nothing. So now you get nothing. It is not polite to allow acts of bullying. I expect better of you" He clicks his tongue, vanishing the mug he holds, and struts to Snape's side. "Anyone bothers this kid is dead."

"Why?" Lucious asks in an amused voice. The Malfoy has always been rather easy to entertain when he made a show of punishing someone.

"Because he is mine," Regulus announces, throwing an arm around the started Snape. He fights the urge to wrinkle his nose as the slightly unpleasant smell comes off the boy. It's okay, they will give him a proper shower later. "I like his face. He's got a really nice face."

"Ugh.." Snape starts, but Regulus ignores him.

"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Professor, please continue with the sorting." Regulus shouts back at Professor McGonagall, who is eying him with wary amusement as he sits practically in Severus' lap.

He does it mostly to watch Severus turn that amusing shade of red, but unlike before, where the red would be in anger, it's....flustered right now?

Oh, Regulus thinks with sparkling eyes watching the other try to hide behind his hair Making Severus blush is really fun. This could be my new routine.

[hpdabbles]

Oooo I really like your new story! How will Harry and Voldemorts first meeting go? Will Harry meet Neville soon? I’m hooked already!

Neville Longbottom heard of the florist weeks before he met him due to his parents. The family business had always been trading; his parents kept this alive by joining the village traveling merchants. Their village is small, but it is a two-day trip to the capital, so the village would make their wares and send it off with the merchants to sell bi-monthly.

A small fee would cover the traveling merchants' pay for selling other villagers' wares. There were only two ways to join on the trip, one could prove their worth in combat and be a well enough merchant that impressed the guild, or one had to be part of a legacy like Neville.

His ancestors were one of the original twelve families that settled in the village, so they had special privileges. Alice, his mother, is in the first category- earning her place through her swordsmanship and hair accessories. His father, Frank, is in the second category learning how to be a traveling merchant on his mother's knee.

The Longbottoms have always been wood carvers, and so Neville learned how to cut a bird out of wood before he learned how to ride a horse. His parents always beamed in pride whenever Neville showed them his latest carving after their return.

Whenever they left on one of their trips, Neville stayed behind in the village with his grandmother to man the shop. He took lessons in everything from sales to navigation using the stars, just as his father did.

Neville counted down to his eleventh birthday when he would finally be old enough to go on a trip, as per tradition.

About a month ago, his parents return with bewildered expressions and flowers so vibrantly breathtaking Neville had made them the subject for a few of his practice blocks of wood.

"A new merchant in the capital market," Frank said that night as every settled for dinner. "A florist." Been going for a month now, and he has almost everything in grandfather's flower book."

"Where in the world did he find so many flowers?" His grandmother asked in surprise. "The last time the empire's soil could support floras like that was when I was a child!"

"Was that before the curse Gran?" Neville asks, gently tracing his fingers over the petals of a pale pink flower. It's one of the prettiest things he's ever seen.

"Yes, child. When I was about your age, the surrounding hills bloomed with flowers. Different colors, as far as the eye could see, danced in the wind. The air always smelled so sweet, like candy." Gran replies, tone wishful, staring out the window to the mentioned hills.

Neville turns to look, trying to image the green grassy hills he knew looking like the flowers on the dinner table. He couldn't.

"That was before the Curse stop them from growing. Thankfully it didn't harm the trees or the grass, but any flower would wilt and die." Alice sighs. "My mother's family were florists once, but now only a few nobles can have flowers. They need magic to make them grow."

"Does that mean the florist is a nobleman?" Neville asks and his father scoffs at his bread.

"Like a noble would stoop so low as to work for their money. No, he's probably a spirit."

"Frank," His mother cuts in with a sigh "The boy is not a spirit."

"You don't know that."

"Yes! I do! He's clearly human."

"That's what he wants you to think." He leans towards Neville, wagging his eyebrows. He lowers his voice as if he is sharing a great secret. "The pubs were all saying the same thing. No one knows who is is, where he goes or where he came from. They say he disappears as soon as he walks back into the forest. Like a ghost."

"Frank."

Neville snickers, as his mother wacks her husband on the back of his head. "Enough. The only thing otherworldly about the boy is his beauty."

"Is he handsome?" Neville asks and his mother's eyes sparkle.

"More pretty than handsome. He gives the flowers a run for their money."

Neville tries to picture a boy that is that pretty. He can't.

Then his grandmother mentions how the shop has seen an increase in bridal hair accessories with winter approaching, and the conversation moves on. He doesn't think much about the florist until two months later when his parents return from another trip, this time with more than one type of flower bouquet.

They were so colorful and new that he spent hours just watering them. It drove him to seek his great-grandfather's old books. Before the curse, the Longbottoms had a flower farm, and the secrets of growing them were kept for future heads of the house to study.

Never before had he cared about those old books- what point was there in studying something he could not use?- but the rush of learning of flora was like nothing he had ever felt.

He loved it. He loved the way they looked, loved the way they were described, and what they could do. Remedies, cures, food, and more.

Accident potions that anyone could make, no magic required. Herbology- his great grandfather's book said- is an entire field of plant study that used to save so many lives.

All were lost due to the curse.

For once, he wanted something more than being a traveling merchant.

He wanted to be a herbologist. He wanted to see plants and learn everything about them. He wanted to grow his own.

The day he finally went on a traveling trip, a week after he turned eleven, Neville was more excited to see the florist than he was about leaving his small village.

When he finally saw Bloom- the name the florist gave out he felt his heart shudder to a halt before jumping around like a spooked rabbit.

His mother has lied. Bloom was not as pretty as a flower; Bloom was much more beautiful.

He was also Neville's age, which was unfair. How was Neville supposed to have a conversation with someone so beautiful that was his age? His knees were shaking just being around him.

"Hello," Bloom said when he spotted him staring, shooting the stun new merchant a crooked smile. It shoots liquid fire through Neville's veins. "Would you like to buy some flowers?"

. He held up a pot of the very first flowers his parents bought. Now that he had read his great-grandfather's book of flower languages, he knew they were camellias- the flower of destiny.

Neville would later learn that camellias were a perfect flower for Bloom. The florist would always be in battle with destiny.

Currently, he could only babble his way through the purchase and run back to his carriage to hide his burning face. His father teased him mercilessly about fancying the florist.

[hpdabbles]

I read what's in a name and now I gotta know- Why'd Dumbledore place a baby Fae with non-magical humans who wouldn't know what's going on with him? And who make it so that he wouldn't know what he is. Also Harry should make a Deal with the Dursleys. They'd deserve it.

Dumbledore needs a sacrificial lamb, and placing a Baby Fae in a house he knows would hate him for it, would make Harry much easier to mold into the said lamb. He just had to be very careful with his words when talking to Harry after he goes to Hogwarts so that his Fae abilities don't catch the lie.

Harry didn't know he was a wizard because no one told him. Same thing here with his Fae ancestry. He is aware that something is different about him than the people surrounding him, but he didn't have a name for it, leaving him to float in confused self-loathing.

Now Harry does have Deals with Dursleys. He made some accidentally, but they are small, and he isn't fully aware of what counts as a Deal. Due to this, he's never activated the punishments that comes with breaking deals with him. (He fixed that after his first year of Hogwarts.)

His Aunt and Uncle have also tried their best to gaslight him into thinking he's trying to hustle people, meaning Harry actively tries to go against his nature, not wanting to be a "no good scammer". They don't know much about Fae, but they thought if they trained Harry not to make deals even if it caused Harry physical pain, then he would relay more on his human blood instead. (They are wrong)