swannfics

[swannfics]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Hogwarts Mystery, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Charlie Weasley, Jae Kim (Hogwarts Mystery), Andre Egwu, Barnaby Lee, Liz "Lizard" Tuttle, Bill Weasley, Rowan Khanna Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, Legilimency, Quidditch, Jealousy, Slow Romance Series: Part 5 of Portrait of Imogen Swift Summary:

It's something Arthur Weasley told his children when they couldn't make up their minds: go with your heart. Charlie has always known dragonology is in his bones, but maybe that passion has come in the way of seeing other opportunities for a happy ending.

[swannfics]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hogwarts Mystery, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bill Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Charlie Weasley/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Female Character(s), Ginny Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Percy Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley Additional Tags: Christmas, Meet the Family, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 4 of Portrait of Imogen Swift Summary:

Ginny Weasley is happy to welcome another girl into the Burrow, though her new friend has many secrets.

[swannfics]

Oblivion - Late 1981

Hogwarts Mystery | Vignette, Childhood Memories | GENERAL | 755

cw: none

summary: When the First Wizarding War comes to an end, Imogen is only left with unanswerable questions.

Read Below, or [Read on AO3]

It seemed as if the house itself sagged in relief at the news of Voldemort’s defeat. There were whispers through the Floo that night, echoing up to Imogen’s bedroom. A chorus of He's been killed! You-know-who is gone! Imogen had spent nearly her entire childhood to that point worrying about being snatched and taken away - forced to become a Death Eater or killed on the spot. She thought this was her parents’ fear as well, until it became clear the anxiety they held all those years could not be wiped out overnight.

“When is Jacob coming home?” she'd asked the next morning over breakfast. “If You-know-who is gone, can't he come home?”

Amalthea glanced to Weland who in turn folded up the Daily Prophet and told Imogen to finish her meal. In the weeks following, more news came of Voldemort’s followers being arrested and tried and taken to Azkaban; every morning Imogen would cross the hall to check her brother’s room in case he had returned in the night; every night before bed she would sneak the Daily Prophet from the bin to search for Jacob Swift.

It was when Sybil Smelder from down the road said Jacob had been a Death Eater and all the newspapers said so that Imogen began to doubt ever seeing her brother again. Sybil had even shown her the headline from that morning’s Prophet: TEENAGE WIZARD WITH RAPACIOUS PAST SAID TO BE IN LEAGUE WITH DARK LORD. The article, written by Rita Skeeter, painted Jacob as a lost soul. A poor boy with a voraciously inquisitive mind expelled from Hogwarts after repeatedly endangering students with long dormant curses, witnessed colluding with now known Death Eaters and expectedly on the run from authorities. Amalthea Swift quoted as saying “How could our dear son be so cruel? What tragedy this is for a mother’s heart.”

Imogen rolled up the paper and smacked Sybil over the head with it. Her mother didn't speak like that, and she would never have said such things about Jacob. Still, neither her mother nor her father had mentioned the Death Eater business, not even the reason for Jacob’s expulsion. It had all been a vaguely gray thing. Don't listen to what people say, Mo. They don't know what they're talking about. Had they lied?

She asked later that night after her parents had grounded her for “attacking” Sybil. At first they didn’t answer, possibly pretending not to hear. When she asked again Weland and Amalthea shared a look, silently communicating.

“Imogen,” her mother started, “Sometimes the truth isn’t easy. Jacob did leave school under unfortunate circumstances. We didn’t think you needed to know why. It doesn’t change how we feel about him.”

“What about the other thing?”

They looked to be processing the question before Weland answered, “We don’t know where he is, but do you think he would do what the papers say he did?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Jacob is a smart boy, resourceful. Once all of this trouble passes over, we’ll be a complete family again.”

But it didn’t answer her question. She knew she couldn’t press the subject further, so she stayed quiet and took her father’s advice. The following nights were riddled with unease. Imogen quit speaking to Sybil Smelder and most of the other neighboring children. No matter what she said or did, they refused to believe her brother’s innocence. Her dreams were often filled with the squashed face of Sybil Smelder taunting her, followed by flashes of dark figures, monsters, and finally her brother, faceless and never within reach.

On Christmas Eve of 1981, Imogen woke with a start. She quickly slipped from bed and crossed the hall to the door of Jacob’s room. She could hear a tapping noise from inside. Her heart leapt. She carefully turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was dark, and she could feel a presence. Imogen felt for the lamp on the nightstand and switched it on, the warm glow illuminating the small room. Her brother wasn’t there. The bed was still unmade and everything as he’d left it when he disappeared. With one exception. The tapping noise. Imogen went to the window and peered out. Resting on the perch outside was Jacob’s owl: Juno.

Imogen slid open the window, Juno hopping in and flapping over to her perch on the nightstand. A small tube of parchment was tied to her foot. There was only one word scribbled in Jacob’s hand: Oblivion.

[swannfics]

Unspoken - December 1993

Hogwarts Mystery | Vignette, Violence | TEEN+ | 920

cw: attempted murder

summary: It's been two years since Imogen Swift left Hogwarts and her work has lead her back to Hogsmeade on the coldest, darkest night of the year.

Read Below, or [Read on AO3]

Hogsmeade was several feet deep in snow. Narrow paths down the lanes and up to homes and places of businesses had been cleared. Imogen had arrived just after six-o’clock in the evening and had immediately booked a room at the Hog’s Head Inn, deposited her things, and took the short walk to the Three Broomsticks for a drink and chat with Madame Rosmerta. The pub was still bright and warm, although quiet. On her way up to the pub she’d seen the Dementors on patrol. Even just passing them made the already frigid atmosphere of the village more bitterly disparaging.

Rosmerta was happy to see her. She asked how London was treating her, how her family was fairing, what had brought her to the village on such a nasty night? Good, well, work. What is it you do again? Desk work at the Ministry. Nothing fancy, a lot of auditing. Rosmerta asked about Sirius Black, but Imogen had nothing to tell her. The Ministry was looking for him, there were aurors answering leads and tracking clues. Rita Skeeter was having a ball. Imogen had heard talk of refortifying Azkaban with dragons, but it seemed unlikely. The cost alone of transferring dragons from across the channel and keeping them concealed from muggles, not to mention the expected pushback from activists.

No. There wasn’t any news of Jacob.

Imogen hated the thought of leaving the pub, but did so anyway. When she stepped back into the Hog’s Head, she swore the air inside was colder than the snow drifts. She went up to her room, but did not light the fire. Instead, she unpacked the old red jumper she’d accidentally swiped from Bill Weasley five years before. He’d already grown out of it by end of term, and wasn’t sad to see it go. For Imogen’s sake, she was glad Mrs Weasley knew how to craft a tight weave, even if it were scratchy. She pulled the jumper on over her own store bought one, and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. The air just seemed to get colder and colder.

From her window she could see the castle. It was Christmas break and many of the students would have already left to spend the holidays with their families. There were lights on in the towers. She felt for the parcel in her pocket. It was still there. The plan was to head up to the school the next morning, speak with Dumbledore, and be done with it. But if she went now, undercover of dark, she would less likely be noticed. The parcel weighed heavy in her hand.

Imogen pulled up her hood and headed out of the village. She kept her broom low, following the road through the woods. She held her wand to the end of her broom, Lumos lighting the way. Later she would realize the wind had cut all other sounds, and it wasn’t her fault she didn’t hear the spell before it hit her. Near halfway through the forest, a blast of blue light connected with her broom, sending it spinning into the trees after flinging her off against the trunk of a large tree. In a panic, Imogen scramble to locate her wand, finding it three feet away in the snow. She gripped it tight and flicked twice, sending a bright white light into the trees opposite, illuminating where she couldn’t naturally see. There was no one there. She cast the spell once more, still nothing. Her hand went to her pocket. Still there.

She started running, tripping over herself in the snow, and quickly tiring herself. Her lungs burned from the cold, her shoulder ached where she’d hit the tree. Then she heard it, a crunch of snow behind her. She cast the disarming charm over her shoulder, but it didn’t connect. The figure was tall and dressed all in black. Not a Dementor. She tried again, but the figure countered, again, again. Quickly, Imogen cast Vermillious, sending up a flare of red sparks. Her opponent flicked their wand. Imogen wasn’t quick enough to counter, and the spell cut into her as she turned, first her wand arm then across her back, throwing her forward into the drift.

A warm sensation spread from the wounds, then turned icy as the wind blew. Imogen tried to reach her wand, but found it too difficult to move through the searing pain. The stranger was beside her, using their foot to lift and flip her over, digging into Imogen’s ribs. She tried to push them away, but her body was tired and weak, her hands colder as the blood flowed away. They bent over her, rifled through her pockets and found the parcel. She couldn't see a face under the hood, only the glint of metal. When they spoke, it was muffled.

“It won't be long,” they said, stepping back. In a burst of air, they were gone.

Imogen lay there in the Dark, listening to the trees creak, feeling the snow melt beneath her. Every shallow breath stung. Her body was heavy and immovable. She wondered if she could Apparate back to Hogsmeade, or to the school, or if she would only risk killing herself quicker.

Should have waited. Should have waited. Why didn't realize? What will Rita say about us now? I didn't see.

The stars overhead faded behind a gray hazy light. She closed her eyes and listened to the slow thump of her heart as it tried and tried to keep her alive.

[swannfics]

Halloween ‘88

Hogwarts Mystery | First Kiss, Friends First, Comfort | TEEN+ | 2596

cw: underage drinking

summary: Imogen Swift has had a rough start to her fifth year at Hogwarts, most of all being Prefects with Merula Snyde. At the first upperclassman ball, Imogen and her friends break a few rules for the sake of a last hurrah.

Read Below, or [Read on AO3]

Imogen’s first kiss came just before midnight after the Halloween ball. She was wearing the knee-length forest green velvet dress she’d saved all summer to purchase, and Billingsley had snuck in a full bottle of Firewhisky transfigured into a tin of breath mints, and the upperclassmen had taken turns sipping from it when the chaperones turned their backs. Imogen was buzzing by the time Rowan had convinced several fifth years and a handful of sixth and seventh years to join in for a game of spin the bottle. Ben had even joined them, though Imogen imagined he’d accidentally drunk Gillywater spiked with Felix Felicis.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Billingsley beckoned, brandishing the empty glass bottle. “There is only so much time left before the fun comes grinding to a halt. Not only tonight, but in life. As this is my last year at Hogwarts, it is up to you fine fellows to continue the tradition of bending the rules to your will.”

“Can we just play the game?” asked a bored looking Ravenclaw sixth year.

“Yeah,” Charlie teased. “Time to celebrate the Age of Billingsley being done with.”

They laughed and Billingsley took his place in the circle with a huff.

“Just you wait,” he said. “Once I’m gone, the bar will be too high and there won’t be any fun left to be had.”

“Once you’re gone we’ll all finally get some sleep!” crowed a sixth year. Billingsley harrumphed, set the bottle down a little too forcefully and spun it with the flick of his wrist.

Tight knots of anticipation coiled in Imogen’s stomach as the bottle spun and sputtered over the stones. Although she thought Billingsley handsome, and the other sixth and seventh years were nice enough, she hadn’t thought of the prospect of having to kiss someone she didn’t know. She quickly glanced around the circle making a list of the participants she trusted, and secretly wishing Billingsley’s turn wouldn’t land on her. It didn’t, and she let out a sigh when he received a peck on the lips from a Ravenclaw girl. Charlie nudged Imogen and leaned in to whisper.

“What d’you wager?” he asked.

“What d’you have in mind?” The Ravenclaw girl spun the bottle.

“Two galleons, and nickname privileges for a week.”

“On pitch?” she proposed. Charlie hesitated before nodding, knowing he’d be in for it next game day if he lost.

“He’ll be out by round four,” she answered.

“I say six.” The bottle rattled as Penny spun it.

“Our Ben?” Imogen was surprised. Ben sat across the circle from them, his eyes following the spin, fists clutching his robes so tightly they’d turned ghostly white.

“Ye of little faith.”

Penny’s turn landed back on herself, so she spun again and landed on the Ravenclaw girl who’d gone before her.

“Oh, now this is boring,” Billingsley murmured.

“Do doubles count?” Imogen asked Charlie. He shook his head. Penny spun again, and Imogen could visibly see Ben’s anxiety coursing through his body. The bottle skidded to a stop, pointing straight at the nervous Gryffindor.

“Ben!” Imogen blurted a laugh, immediately ducking as the others shushed her. He chanced a glance to the corridor and then back to Penny.

“Don’t worry, I don't bite,” Penny smiled. She scooted to the center of the circle and held her hands out for him to take.

“Go on, Copper,” Barnaby encouraged, clapping him on the shoulder. “We won't look, right?”

Imogen, Charlie, and Rowan covered their eyes, and the other students followed with a little intimidation from Barnaby, albeit with some dramatics from Billingsley. All of them watched through their fingers and sent up whistles and hoots as soon as Penny’s lips touched Ben’s cheek, sending him scuttling back to his seat in the circle, with a warm blush and lopsided smile.

“That’s four, Cyndi,” Charlie whispered with a grin in his voice. Imogen wished she’d never tried Colovaria on herself. It had turned a nice auburn color when she’d had help to fix her mistake, but she would never live down the multi-colored pixie cut. Just then Ben let out a yelp and stumbled over himself trying to get away from the group. The bottle had begun to move on its own, rattling and filling with a hazy air. A Cheshire grin appeared, followed by two eyes popping from the swirling mist.

“Prefects better flee,” Peeves hissed. The bottle began to spin dangerously fast over the stones, forcing the group to leap to their feet. Peeves shot the bottle across the courtyard and into the corridor where it smashed against the wall to the poltergeist’s screeching laugh. Ben scurried across the courtyard and down the hall, leaving the rest to scatter over the back wall. Billingsley and the other sixth and seventh years took off across the lawn to a place Imogen didn’t know. The drop from the wall was higher than Imogen expected and she landed hard on her hands and knees.

“Get down,” Penny whispered. The five of them crouched behind the wall. The distinct sound of billowing robes caught their ears. Snape’s silhouette blocked the way back into the castle. He gave a disgruntled sigh, cast Reparo and picked the bottle up, then handed it to someone standing out of view.

“Keep an open eye,” he drawled. “Nights like these breed miscreants.”

When they were sure the corridor was clear, Charlie and Barnaby helped Rowan and Imogen back over the wall while Penny kept lookout. She waved them over and they hurried back passed the Great Hall.

“I should probably go find Ben and make sure he gets back to the common room before curfew,” Charlie said. “See you on the pitch, Cyndi.”

Imogen groaned.

“Oh,” Penny perked up. “Are we doing that again?”

“Penny, do you have any plasters? I think I cut my knee on the wall,” Imogen said. Wincing she lifted the hem of her dress away her knees. Both were turning a purple color, but one had a definitive gash across it.

“Shouldn’t you see Madam Pomfrey?” Roan asked.

“And give her what excuse?”

“I don’t see any,” Penny said, sifting through her robe pockets. “I must’ve given the last one to Tonks.”

“Here,” said Barnaby. He draped his robe over Imogen’s shoulders. It was far too long and too big. “Now no one will see if we get caught. You’re a Prefect after all. Snape would have your badge.”

“You’re starting to drip,” Rowan pointed.

Barnaby insisted on carrying Imogen piggyback and she wondered if he’d had more Firewishky than she’d seen. The four of them continued down the corridor, music from the ball fading behind them. Penny and Rowan walked arm-in-arm ahead of Barnaby and Imogen, singing a song Penny had played for them on the train ride at the start of year. Imogen relaxed into her friend, hiding her cold nose in the crook of her arm. She had started dozing off a little when Barnaby spoke.

“Tonight was fun,” he said. His voice seemed lazier than usual. It was a simple sentence, and perhaps she was very tired or the alcohol was more than she anticiapted, but Imogen’s heart swelled. She could feel tears welling up, teetering against her lashes. Penny and Rowan were too far ahead to see. She pulled herself forward a little and kissed his cheek. Barnaby faltered in his step, but didn’t stop. “What was that for?”

Those pesky tears started to fall. Barnaby immediately let her down careful of her knee.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. She shook her head.

“No,” she said, wiping tears with the sleeve of his robe.

“Is it your hair again?”

“No,” she laughed. “I don’t know. Just… overwhelmed I guess. Do you ever feel all over the place? Like, every little thing makes absolutely no sense?”

“All the time.” He smiled. “But, you know that.”

She smiled up at him. “I love you, Barnaby Lee.”

“Hurry up!” Penny hissed from the end of the corridor. Barnaby swung an arm over Imogen’s shoulder and they walked the rest of the way downstairs side by side. When they met up with Penny and Rowan at the Hufflepuff’s portrait. Penny made them wait while she went up to her dormitory for something.

“Do you think it’s another one of those records?” Rowan asked. She had become fascinated with Penny’s record player and the muggle songs she’d tried to teach them. A clinking sound echoed through the dungeon’s corridor. Glass on stone. They turned to see Merula standing at the top of the stairs, an empty Firewhisky bottle in hand.

“Did I miss the party?” she asked. Her Prefect’s badge shone in the torchlight.

“Everyone above fourth year was invited, Merula,” said Barnaby. She rolled her eyes.

“Your brain just shrinks more every day.”

“Knock it off, Merlua,” Imogen snipped. “We’re just going down. In bed by curfew. Promise.”

Penny came back through the portrait with a square plastic box in hand. She greeted Merula like nothing seemed amiss, pointed the box straight at her and clicked a button. A flash of light went off and the little box whirred before spitting out a square of paper. Penny pulled the paper out and started fanning it around.

“Is that a camera?” Imogen asked, bewildered. Most electronic things didn’t work on school grounds without some sort of enchantment.

“Uh-huh, my dad bought it for me for my birthday. I didn’t know if it’d work or not, but this seems like a good time to try it. Look!”

The photo had developed within minutes, no solution or dark room required. It was different from all the photos Imogen had seen growing up. It didn’t move. There was Merula, trapped with a sour face for all eternity.

“Give me that,” Merula snapped, yanking the photo from Penny’s hand. She inspected it at arm's length before ripping it in two. “That’s detention, Haywood.”

“You can’t do that,” scoffed Imogen. “Besides, Penny’s a Prefect.”

Merula raised her eyebrows. “You know the rules better than anybody, Swift. Prefects can give detentions, so I’m giving detention.”

“That’s a blatant abuse of your position,” Rowan said, anger seeping into her tone.

“Wanna make it two?”

Rowan scowled, but closed her mouth.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Penny. “I love the smell of the Potions classroom.”

Penny said her goodnights and went back up to her dormitory with a infuriated swish of her braids. Rowan stomped off to the Slytherin common room, asking the chamber door to slam itself.

“Why are you so mean, Merula?” Barnaby asked. He followed Rowan, leaving Imogen staring daggers at Merula. Without another word, Imogen turned on her heel and headed for their common room. Merula was right behind her. Just as the door shut on the empty room, Merula’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm and twisting her back around.

“We have an image to protect!” Merula hissed as not to wake the younger housemates. “You’re lucky Snape didn’t see you.”

“Oh, and what would it have mattered to you?” Imogen lowered her voice and continued. “I’d have lost my badge and you’d be rubbing it in my face for the next three years.” Imogen was incensed. “Is that not what you want, Merula? Total superiority?”

She yanked her arm free and sat hard on the sofa in front of the fire. The air was tense. After a long moment, Merula set the bottle on the table and climbed the stairs up to the girl’s dormitory. Imogen buried her face in her hands and began to cry, fat, salty tears. She hadn’t been sleeping well, she was constantly studying for upcoming OWLs; being Prefects with Merula Snyde was just the cherry on top. The Halloween ball was supposed to be a well earned night off with friends and dancing and food.

A door from behind softly clicked open and closed. Imogen hoped it wasn’t one of the younger students and attempted to calm her throat. The person moved the bottle into a bin beside the desk and then approached Imogen, sitting across from her.

“I really don’t want to talk right now,” she said, not looking up. She sounded miserable, and she was.

“That’s okay,” Barnaby said. “I can talk for both of us.”

She wanted to cry again. When she finally dropped her hands he was sitting on the edge of the coffee table with a small tea tin in his lap. From it he pulled a vial of clear liquid, a cotton ball, and a sealed bandage.

“Penny gave this to me last Christmas because of all the times I got hurt in Care for Magical Creatures. She thought it’d be easier than trying to remember all the healing spells. Plus, if you don’t use magic right away, you can get some cool scars. This will sting a little, but it’ll help.”

Barnaby tipped the vial so the cotton ball soaked up the liquid, then passed it over the cut on her knee. She jumped at first. Whatever the liquid was stung until Barnaby leaned over and lightly blew on the wound, turning the burn into a prickling feeling. He used the corner of his dress robe to wipe away the rest of the blood and finally smoothed the bandage over the wound.

“This one’ll be a really cool scar, if you want one.” He popped the top back on the vial and tossed out the bloodied cotton in the bin.

“Barnaby?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for being you.”

The room was quiet only for the crackling fire. A sheepish look came over Barnaby’s face. His face always showed so much expression that anyone could tell what he was feeling before he said so.

“Do you mind if I kiss you? For real?” he asked.

Her breath caught in surprise. She exhaled. “Okay.”

Imogen would replay the kiss over in her head for months. The way he held her face in his large hands, how soft and warm his lips were against hers. Barnaby had kissed others before her and he was good at it, or at least Imogen thought so. The kiss only lasted a moment, but she swore she tasted his toothpaste for hours after. Euphoria rouged her cheeks and the butterflies in her stomach beat their wings furiously. She couldn’t keep herself from giggling when he pulled away, and suddenly found it difficult to keep eye contact, but she knew he was grinning as well. The clocktower began to chime in the distance.

The common room door opened suddenly, and a handful of giggling stragglers stumbled in, taking little notice of the two except to wish their Prefect a goodnight, knowing she wouldn’t bother to chastise them.

“We should get to bed, too,” said Imogen, rising from the sofa. “Tomorrow’s a study day.”

Barnaby picked up his things and Imogen returned his now soiled robe. As she ascended the steps up to the dormitory level, she noted she couldn’t stop smiling. She wondered if she could capture the blissful feeling in a bottle or a spell, so that no matter what she could always feel so warm and giddy without the consequences of alcohol or love potions. She snuck quietly into the fifth year’s dormitory and slipped her shoes off at the foot of her bed, not bothering to change out of her dress before letting down the curtains and curling up under the duvet with her orange tabby cat beside her. Barnaby Lee was one of her best friends, and she loved him dearly.