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tricksters-captain · 4 years

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Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 8

AN: Sorry for the wait, folks!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n)’s plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: As the snow settles, will your dispute with Cedric settle too?

(MASTERLIST HERE)

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 3,336

Warnings: Some strong language

You had avoided Cedric mostly and when Fred and George had teased you about it, you snapped which warned them that it was not the right time for it.

Oliver kept trying to convince you that Cedric only meant to do good and that you were being too harsh on him.

You didn’t listen.

Your mood only worsened when the snow started to stick.

It got colder and darker very quickly so you found yourself huddled by the common room fire more often than not. That didn’t help Cedric as he would normally catch you outside or in the corridors.

Fred and George sat beside you as you as tried to study by the fire with a knitted blanket wrapped around you.

You looked up at them as they spoke but no sound reached you.

The twins looked between each other and then back at you, speaking again but you frowned at them.

Then you remembered.

You pulled the cotton buds out of your ears and the loud hustle and bustle of the common room flooded your head.

“Blimey, (Y/n), that brings a whole new meaning to a head full of cotton wool.” Fred teased you as he realised why you couldn’t hear.

“It’s not cotton wool, it’s from one of my plants in the greenhouses. It stops all sounds, just gives you complete silence. It’s popular for anyone who dares to visit Azkaban.” You explained, after all the main reason for your greenhouse is growing magical plants for your own advantage.

“Well, what I said before I realised you were temporarily death, Seyler, was that personally I think it’s for the best.” Fred repeated what he said when he sat down,

“What is?” You were confused.

“Dating the enemy can only go wrong.” George chimed in which made you realise what they were talking about.

“And he’s a prefect! You don’t need another Percy in your life.” Fred tried his best to make you smile but you just let your eyes return to your parchment and textbook.

“Cheer up, (Y/n). You haven’t stopped studying in days.” Fred pinched your arm which made you flinch away from the boy with an unimpressed look.

“You’re almost worse than Granger.” George referred to his younger brothers best friend and you just rolled your eyes.

“We have exams this year, it’s what we should be focusing on.” You chided the both of them.

You then noticed that Harry Potter and his two friends had entered the common room and you were thankful that the twins noticed too and decided to bother them instead.

You pushed the magic cotton buds back into your ears and zoned out for the rest of the evening.

Oliver had been observing you over the past few days. He saw you crawl back into your shell after the fight with Cedric and he realised how much he preferred you when you didn’t have your head in the sand.

As much as he didn’t really like Cedric, he knew he was good for you just by the way you looked more alive after seeing him. Your light shone a bit brighter.

He also knew that you’d need someone else to confide in after he had left at the end of the year and he thought that Cedric could be that one; even if it would only be another year for the boy himself before he left too.

He also though that potentially the twins could be there for you especially after the other day with Lizzie Beckett. But he also realised you’d need more time to warm up to them before that happened.

Oliver tapped you on the shoulder and you looked up to see who it was before removing your ear plugs.

“Hey Oli.” You sent him a small smile as he knelt down beside you.

“We still on for Hogsmeade this weekend?” He asked, hoping to get you out of the common room for once.

“I don’t know, Oli... I...” You looked down at your quill then back up at the boy who just stared at you bluntly.

“Look, I don’t care what you say, (Y/n). You’re leaving this common room this weekend with me. Wrap up warm cause I hate to tell ya there’s snow out there.” Oliver pushed off his knees and back up to his feet.

“Oli... Don’t make me.” You whined like a child and Oliver just laughed.

“I’ll see you in the morning, first thing!” Oliver walked away and you watched him disappear into his dorms.

You were only praying Cedric was planning a weekend in so you didn’t bump into him.

In the morning, the snow outside was falling lightly and you struggled to get out of bed.

You rolled over on your mattress and watched the snowflakes fall against the window which was slightly fogged from the warmth of your dorm compared to the cold of outside.

The log burner in the middle of the dorm was still crackling quietly and Angelina was still asleep.

You let your fingers brush over your knitted blanket and sighed quietly.

You didn’t want to leave your warm bed.

You took your time getting ready to go even though you knew Oliver would be annoyed if you took too long.

You zipped up your coat, wrapped your Gryffindor scarf around your neck and pulled on your hat then you went down to finally meet Oliver.

“You’re unbelievably slow at getting ready in the morning, you know that right?” Oliver grumbled as you left the common room to head to the station.

Many other students were already at the station waiting for the next train to Hogsmeade when you both arrived.

“Want to visit the shrieking shack? Heard some rumours that the locals have been hearing the screams again recently.” Oliver asked as you waited for the train to arrive.

“I thought you could always hear screams hence the name ‘shrieking shack’.” Your morning attitude was shining through as you answered back.

“If you expect me to spend the day with you, I’m gonna need you to lose the morning personality and actually smile.” Oliver warned you, being only half serious, so you sent him a forced smile. “Better.” Oliver nodded.

The train didn’t take long to get into Hogsmeade and you both walked along the snow covered streets arm in arm.

“So Christmassy... It’s only November.” You couldn’t help but comment on the choir of dwarves singing carols nearby.

“It’s like the middle of November. It’s snowing and the end of term isn’t as far away as you think, (Y/n). Let them feel the Christmas spirit.” Oliver replied as he starred into the window of Spintwitches sporting needs.

“If you want to go in, I’ll head over to Tomes and Scrolls and we can meet back at the Three Broomsticks?” You suggested after shaking your head at the boy.

“Wait outside of the Three Broomsticks if you get there before me! I hate walking inside and have everyone stare whilst I try and find you.” Oliver told you which only made you laugh.

“Fine.” You reached up and pulled the boy’s hat off his head which made him reach for yours but you ducked out the way, tossing it back to him.

You trudged through the thick snow towards the book shop when Fred and George stumbled out of Zonko’s behind you.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Fred called after you but you recognised his voice and kept walking ahead.

That’s when you felt it.

The snow ball hit you dead smack in the middle of your back.

You turned around slowly to face them only to be met with another to the chest.

“You shits!” You ducked as Fred went to throw another.

“Can’t use your arm, Seyler?” Fred asked as he scooped up some more snow.

You scoffed reaching down to pick up your own snowball and you lobbed it at Fred but it hit George.

You bit down on your lower lip as you realised you’d just started a war.

You ducked down behind an old barrel and screamed as the twins pelted snowballs in your direction.

You let your head poke out to the side as you searched for a way to beat them.

You pulled out your wand and used a levitating spell to send a large pile of snow off Zonko’s roof above the twins.

“You’re not gonna win this!” George shouted from afar.

“I think I will!” You called back before dumping the pile on the two.

The twins yelled out as they were soaked in snow and you took off from behind the barrel.

You screamed as the twins chased after you, still sending snowballs your way.

People stopped and watched as you ran in between them to get away from the twins.

As you skidded round a corner, you spotted Oliver outside the Three Broomsticks.

“Oli! Help!” You shrieked as you launched yourself behind him, using him as a shield.

The twins stopped in front of Oliver with red faces and snowballs in their hands.

“Move aside, Wood. Our war isn’t with you.” Fred panted out as he straightened up.

“You guys are ridiculous.” Oliver chuckled, trying to move out of the way.

You kept hold of him and dragged him backwards towards the door so you could be safe inside the pub.

“We’ll get you next time, (Y/n).” George yelled as the door closed on the twins.

“What happened to going to the book store?” Oliver asked, shaking off his coat as you sat in a booth.

“Evil redheaded twins happened.” You did the same, unravelling your scarf too.

“Two Butterbeers please.” Oliver ordered as you fell back against your chair.

The drinks came over quickly and you hummed happily as you took a sip.

“So, tell me...” Oliver put his glass down with a moustache of cream. “What’s going on with you and Diggory?”

“Really? Honestly, Oli, you’re the last person I expected to––”

“––You’ve been moping around the common room for days. Don't think I can’t see you hiding yourself in your work.” Oliver interrupted you and you could tell that today, he wasn’t having any of your bullshit.

“He embarrassed me, Oli.” You admitted, “He didn’t have to do what he did and he definitely didn’t have to do it in front of the whole school.”

“He was making an example, can’t you see?!” Oliver groaned at your silliness. “He was basically telling the whole school that no one should mess with you because you’re his!”

“But I’m not his, Oliver!” You snapped at him.

Oliver sat back against his chair and raised his eyebrows at you.

“Why are you pushing this?” You asked, leaning towards him with an apologetic look for snapping.

“Because he makes you happy.” Oliver confessed. “I can see it plain as day. I’m your best friend, (Y/n), you can’t hide this from me.”

“You make me happy.” You shrugged.

“I’ll be gone after this year. Do you really want to be on your own?” Oliver poked at that wound.

“So what? You think that I need someone else to latch on to, just like everyone else says?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“No, (Y/n).” Oliver said. “I think you like this guy and if you want to regret pushing away your first real relationship then keep going the way you’re going, lass.”

“Oliver, my life... my... me... It’s more complicated than that.” You tried to defend yourself but failed.

“You’re using any excuse to sabotage this just like you have before.” Oliver reminded you once again about the times you tried to push him away.

“Look where that left me.” You gestured between the two of you.

“Look, even if you don’t go back to the guy, at least forgive him. He was only trying to help.” Oliver concluded that conversation before picking his drink back up.

There was a silence before you suggested getting some food.

After a little while, you sent Oliver out of the pub to see if the Twins were there but they weren’t.

You felt your heart stop when you saw the tousled brown hair and the yellow Hufflepuff scarf from across the street.

Cedric was with some of his usual gaggle.

His eyes met you as he laughed at something someone said and you quickly looked down.

Oliver’s hand found the small of your back and he pushed you towards the boy as Cedric left his own group to speak with you.

“I’ll see you later.” Oliver excused himself as Cedric finally stood before you.

You shot him daggers with your eyes as he walked away, giving you a thumbs up.

“(Y/n).” Cedric started, “I really am sorry about the other day.”

“I know.” You kicked the snow with your boot as you shrank away a little.

“I, um, I was walking here when I saw these.” Cedric pulled a small handful of tiny flowers out of his pocket and you felt your chest flutter at the sight.

They were snowdrops.

“You remembered?” You asked as you took them from him.

“Their the only thing you like about the cold.” Cedric did remember.

“Cedric, it’s okay about the other day. I know you were only trying to help but––”

“––But you don’t need my help. I know that now. From now on I will only help if you ask me to.” Cedric’s cheeks and nose were pink from the cold and you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Thank you.” You looked back down at the tiny flowers and smiled once again.

“Can I walk you back to the station?” Cedric asked, offering his arm.

“What a gentleman.” You took his arm and shook your head at the boy’s behaviour.

“I try.” Cedric beamed, sending you a wink.

You walked in silence for the first half of the walk but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you imagined it would be.

“What are you doing for Christmas this year?” Cedric finally asked a question, breaking the silence.

“I’ll be staying at school this year with Oli. It’s his final Christmas at Hogwarts so he’s staying here with me to celebrate.” You confessed your plan.

“What about home?” Cedric was asking about your uncle.

“Well, my uncle isn’t very paternal but it’s okay. Christmas is still nice with him if not a little boring so I'm not missing out really. And he knows that if I’m not there he can spend his whole day in his room, eating as much stuffing as he wants and not having to force socialising with me but instead inviting one of his many lady friends over.” You admitted, smiling at little as you thought about your uncle.

“Your uncle’s a ladies man?” Cedric seemed amused by the idea and you weren’t surprised.

“Demetrius may be slightly fucked in the head after everything that’s happened to him but he’s still an attractive man. Most girls like the mysterious damaged bad boy type. They just don’t like it when he’s got a grown niece walking about the house so he usually haves them over when I’m not around.” You explained.

“Are you trying to tell me I need to be more mysterious?” Cedric cocked his eyebrows at you with a little smirk on his lips.

“No! No, definitely not.” You laughed. “I said most girls. Not me, I like to know what’s going on upstairs rather than having someone constantly hide it.”

You could both spot Oliver waiting for the train back to Hogwarts with Dean Thomas and the twins by his side up ahead.

“And what about Oliver?” Cedric asked.

“What? Does he like his boys dark and mysterious too?” You couldn’t help yourself.

“No.” Cedric laughed along with you. “What are his family doing for Christmas?”

“Oh, they don’t mind him staying. They’ve invited me to spend it with them this year but I kinda wanted Oliver all to myself. Selfish I know but he’s the closest thing to family I’ve ever had.” You did like Oliver’s family and you had stayed there several times but you knew if you went you’d feel more uncomfortable spending your time with Oliver at his house than at Hogwarts. At least his family wouldn’t be pushing for you two to date again...

“My father would never let me stay away for Christmas.” Cedric told you as he thought about it.

“Really?” You were slightly surprised by the statement.

“He just enjoys spending time with me, I guess.” Cedric chuckled softly.

“Well, you’re lucky.” You nudged the boy’s shoulder with yours and he smiled down at you.

He realised he shouldn’t be complaining about his father being slightly overbearing when your father was a literal death eater that was going to force you to join the dark lord.

“I’ll see you around, Cedric.” You told him as you detached your arm from his to return to Oliver.

“Don’t hide from me again.” Cedric smirked.

“I wasn’t hiding! I was studying.” You argued.

“Yeah, right.” Cedric nodded his head repeatedly, backing away from you with his hands in his pockets.

“What was that all about, Seyler?” Fred asked as you joined them.

“Fred, call me that one more time and the snow won’t just be on your head next time.” You didn’t like him calling you that in front of others and Dean was stood right beside him.

“Alright! Don’t bare your claws just yet.” Fred held up his hands as he teased you.

“Everything okay?” Oliver asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and bringing you to him to keep you warm.

You looked back to where Cedric was returning to Hogsmeade to find his friends.

“Yeah.” You said honestly.

Your good mood was later ruined.

“(Y/n)!” A sing-song voice of a woman echoed down the dark corridor as you ran.

It was dark and it was slippery, the walls and the floors were wet black stone.

“(Y/n), there’s no need to run.” A man’s voice followed.

“Go away!” You screamed a throat tearing scream as tears flooded down your face.

“Mummy and Daddy love you so much, dear!” The woman’s voice was closer.

You let out another roar of a scream to try and block them out.

“Now, now, (Y/n). That’s no way to speak to your father.” The man’s voice returned when you felt yourself slip and fall forward.

You hit the floor with a hiss and you squeezed your eyes shut.

When you opened them again, you were in a room instead of the corridor but with the same walls and floors.

You looked around to see your mother and father stood together in their Aszkaban prisoner clothes.

“Come on, my love.” Your mother opened her hand up to you and you saw the mark on her arm.

“Leave me alone.” You couldn't speak louder than a whisper.

“Speak up, child.” Your father demanded.

“Leave me alone!” You bellowed, taking your head into your arms and pressing your forehead to your knees.

“(Y/n)!” A different voice.

You kept screaming to leave you alone.

“(Y/n)!” The voice was closer.

“(Y/n)!” The voice ripped you from the cell and brought you into your room at Hogwarts.

You realised the person who was calling you was Angelina.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” She looked more than concerned as he held onto your arms.

You were covered in sweat and your throat was sore from where you had called out in your sleep.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, wiping away your tears.

(PART 9 HERE)

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panda-noosh · 4 years

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set me free {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 12.3k

Summary: Death Eaters aren’t supposed to care.

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - please let me know if you guys would like a part two to this?? because i feel like there’s a lot more i could explore. anyway, enjoy!!

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You're getting used to waking up in a new place everyday.

The spell wears off after twelve hours, the perfect amount of time for them to move you from one place to another. It does not matter how many times you tell them you will go willingly; they never listen. They don't want to risk it, don't want to put up with a little half-blood, only fresh out of Hogwarts, screaming and kicking in an attempt to get released.

Lord Voldemort has too much to worry about already.

Your eyes peel open slowly. That familiar headache is at the forefront, the first thing you feel besides the cold concrete pressing against your tender cheek. Your hands are shackled, but the chains are useless; you're always weak when you first awaken, much too weak to attempt an escape, and they know that. The level of magic they use on you would be enough to paralyse anyone.

You look up. The room you are in is small – as they often are – and doused in uncomfortable darkness. A little light glows from beneath the door, and above your head you can hear people walking back and forth, the odd whimper coming from whatever victim Voldemort has acquired today. Water drips steadily from a hole in the concrete roof, slapping against the back of your hand which lay flat on the floor; you clench your fist just to make sure your fingers are still working, that he hasn't taken the extra precaution of damaging your limbs, too.

You push yourself up at long last, though the effort is exhausting. Your head feels too heavy, and your limbs too sluggish, and the idea of facing the day weighs you down to the point where you're half tempted to just lay back down and pretend to sleep. Maybe you can convince them they've finally gone too far, used too much magic, killed you entirely on accident.

But you don't, because your curiosity gets the better of you, just as it often does.

You stand on wobbly legs and make your way over to the cell-like door locking you in. You push it, getting a surprise when the door actually opens to reveal a concrete staircase leading up to a rickety looking wooden door at the very top. You poke your head out, glance left and right before slowly making your way towards it.

You know you shouldn't be doing this. Lord Voldemort will order someone to come get you when he wants your presence, but you currently have no idea where you are or who is present, and that's all the sentiment you need to find yourself breaking the rules these days. You were in Slytherin for a reason, whether that reason be as extreme as Voldemort's or not.

Behind the wooden door there is a hallway. Long, empty, eerily decorated with portraits of dark wizards you have only seen in the history books. They grin as you slowly make your way past them, trailing your bruised and cracked fingers along the emerald green wallpaper that almost seems to shine beneath the lights cast upon it. Your feet – bare, bruised, cold – sink into a plush carpet of the same colour – the Slytherin colours.

And part of you recognises this place. You're certain you've seen it before, somewhere, maybe a long time ago, maybe recently. Either way, it makes your blood run cold, a startling fight or flight response settling in the pit of your stomach that you pay no attention to. You couldn't fight if you tried considering Voldemort has your wand, and the idea of trying to flee from him is scarier even than walking through these strangely familiar hallways.

You turn a corner, appearing at yet another large wooden door. It's a double door this time with a brass knocker and shiny gold handles; you approach, slowly open the door-

You realise your mistake only too late.

A spark of green light misses you by inches. It's only because you haven't even got the door fully open yet that the magic whizzes past you, slamming into the wall at your side. A painting cries out and slips down the wall. Inside the mysterious room, chairs are scraping backwards and people are calling out to whoever they believe is behind it – you close your eyes, uttering a curse to yourself that you could be so stupid.

“Open that door immediately, please.”

It's his ice cold voice that makes you step forward, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to turn and run, pretend it was someone else. You enter the room – clearly the dining room – and bow to Lord Voldemort, and Lord Voldemort only. These other wizards pretending to be big and bad can all get locked up in Azkaban in your opinion.

Lord Voldemort smiles. It's fake, and you know it is, but it calms your nerves anyway – maybe he won't be so angry at your intrusion, at the fact you took matters into your own hands and decided to have a stroll around this very large, very confusing mansion.

“Ah. Y/N's awake,” he says, not unlike a husband telling his wife that the child has stirred. “How was your rest?”

“Fine.”

He stiffens.

You quickly correct yourself. “Fine, my lord. Exactly what I needed.”

He grins again, the skin stretching grotesquely across his nose-less face. You want to look away, but keep your eyes forward in fear of offending him.

“And I can see you've made your way around Lucius's mansion just fine on your own. That's good. We don't have to waste time with the tour.”

You flick your gaze over to Lucius – you know him, of course, have seen him parading around Voldemort's feet for nearly as long as you've been here.

“This is your home, is it, sir?” you ask.

Lucius looks up, scowling. “It is. The home of me and my family.” He gestures vaguely to his right, and there you see the rest of them. You don't know why you didn't recognise each of them immediately, because you've heard all about them from Hogwarts.

Standing beside the head of the house is Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, both of whom look miserable. Narcissa holds herself with the same tough restraint as her husband, pretending she's meant to be here when in reality, she looks so far out of her comfort zone it almost makes you feel bad for her.

Draco, however, isn't even trying. He looks at you, lower lip wobbling, eyes wide, because he knows exactly who you are and where you've come from. He went to school with you before the Daily Prophet was writing about your sudden disappearance, before the wizarding world took a week to look for you before ruling your disappearance off as a murder and leaving it at that.

“Draco,” you say, giving him a bow. “Lovely to see you again.”

“Ah!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands. Around him, Death Eaters flinch, but you've gotten used to his dramatics. “I had a suspicion you two might know each other – you were in the same year at Hogwarts, were you not?”

The question is aimed at Draco, but you answer. “We were, my lord. Both in Slytherin.”

“Interesting. Quite a coincidence.” Voldemort gestures to the empty space beside him, and you stiffen, already knowing what he is offering. “Have a seat, Y/N. Meetings always do feel a little flat without my favourite little helper by my side.”

Nagini hisses, as if scolding you for taking her place as favourite. You give the snake a glance before slowly making your way to Voldemort's side; it's only with all these eyes on you do you take into consideration what you look like. Your hair, a tattered mess, clothes ripped and ragged. You wouldn't even go as far as to call them clothes, more like rags magicked together into something that can cover your body.

You sit down on the ground next to Voldemort. Nagini slips into your lap, swipes a tongue over your fingers before settling down around your shoulders; Death Eaters stare in awe, wondering how on earth you have somehow managed to tame the beast they are all so afraid of.

You look Lucius Malfoy dead in the eyes and stroke the top of the snakes head.

Voldemort smiles down at you for a second longer before he turns back to the table and continues with whatever meeting you had previously so rudely interrupted.

You can't even bring yourself to listen. You're exhausted, brain still reeling from the effects of the unknown magic used against you. You want to close your eyes, try sleeping again – for real, this time – but the weight of the snake in your lap and the tension in the room keeps you bolt upright, staring around at the Death Eaters Voldemort wants you to call family, but will never be family to you.

Your eyes land on Draco. He's not looking at you, because he's wise and he knows his place. Instead, he keeps his gaze dead ahead, hands locked in his lap like a boy terrified of his first day of school. His lower lip continues to shudder, but his parents offer not a single word of sympathy – nobody does. Around him, Death Eaters are in the same position – goodness, even his father looks a little frightened, refusing to look up to meet the eyes of the man they claim to adore so much.

Man. Even that term is used loosely in regards to Lord Voldemort.

The scariest part is, he knows it.

“Y/N here was kind enough to let me borrow their wand.”

You look down at your lap. “My pleasure, my lord.”

You can hear his nails clicking against the wood of your wand, the one thing you have ever truly cared about. It's in his possession now, but you were never under any illusion that it was ever fully yours once Voldemort took you under his control; as soon as Voldemort brought you along with him, every one of your possessions became his. Nonetheless, you have to curl your fingers into fists to stop yourself from reaching out and snatching your wand back. That will end badly for everyone.

“Ten inches, made of hawthorn wood with a. . . What was the core again, Y/N?”

“Unicorn hair, my lord.”

“Unicorn hair.” Voldemort chuckles; the sound slurs through his lipless mouth, and you shudder. “Not as powerful as my own, but sometimes we're not looking for power. Sometimes, we're looking for quick escapes. Isn't that right, Peter?”

A knee smashes against the bottom of the table. “Y-yes, m-my lord. Of course you are correct. Always correct.”

You scowl; you've never liked Peter Pettigrew.

“Thank you, Peter,” Voldemort purrs. “Always so supportive. And what about you, Draco? How do you feel?”

Draco looks up, and so do you. You aren't entirely sure why, considering you've always found it so easy to listen to the suffering of the Death Eaters when Voldemort is questioning them; however, there is something about the way Draco's silence stretches that little bit too long, the way Voldemort's sickly smile slowly begins to drop, the way Lucius leans across the table and hisses, “Draco, answer him!” that has you pulling yourself to your feet, Nagini still balanced over your shoulders.

“Perhaps it is safe to assume Draco is a little bit tired, my lord,” you say.

Everyone around the table goes still. Dolohov utters, “Stupid little wizard,” beneath his breath, but you pay him no mind. Already you have interrupted Voldemort's questioning; you do not want to make it any worse by turning your attention to someone else. You'll get Dolohov later.

Slowly, Voldemort turns to look at you. “Did I say you could stand, Y/N?”

“No, my lord, but I just-”

“You claim Draco is tired.”

You falter. “Y-yes, my lord. I made the suggestion that he is tired, and perhaps that is why he is taking a little bit of time to gather his wits today.” You glance at Draco, who stares at you with wide, watery eyes. “Us youngsters are forever messing up our sleep schedules; you must understand, my lord, he means no disrespect.”

“I'm feeling good,” Draco blurts out, the words rushing so fast from his mouth that his body jerks along with them, shaking the unused cutlery on the table. “I'm feeling very well, my lord. Of course I am. I'm here, aren't I?”

Despite Draco's long-winded answer, Voldemort keeps his eyes trained on you. Slowly, he reaches a hand up and strokes the top of Nagini's head – his finger is so close to your cheek now, close enough that you can feel the wind from each of his strokes. Back and forth and back and forth, Nagini humming in contentment as she bundles a little tighter around your shoulders.

“Good,” Voldemort says quietly. “I'm glad to hear it, Draco.”

You swallow thickly. He continues staring at you for a moment longer before he says, “Pettigrew.”

Again, Peter jumps, his knee slamming against the underside of the table. “Y-yes, m-my l-l-lord?”

“Take Y/N back to their rooms – you know the one. I will have a chat with them later on.”

Peter stands up immediately, wrapping his tiny little fingers around your upper arm. You continue staring at Voldemort until Peter tugs on your arm and drags you from the room, uttering incoherences under his breath. As the door begins to shut, you cast yet another, final glance over your shoulder, feeling your stomach flip when your eyes meet Draco's.

The door slams shut, and you're thrown back into the dungeon.

----

“Sometimes keeping your mouth shut doesn't ensure safety, young Malfoy.”

The darkness responds with silence, as you knew it would. Leaned up against the back wall of the dungeon, knees drawn to your chest, you can make out only the subtle silhouette of Draco Malfoy, leaning against the wall just outside your door, waiting for you to notice him, waiting for you to ignore him, waiting for the moment he can look at you and say you're fine, so he can go on about his day without feeling guilty.

“I am okay,” you call out, never looking up from the patterns you have scraped into the concrete using a rock. “I have much more experience with the Dark Lord than you do, Draco. We all make mistakes.”

There is a sigh, followed by footsteps, and then Draco is there, pale fingers curled around the bars of the door, sharp face illuminated by the light from his wand. “You've been here this entire time. A Death Eater.”

Your skin crawls at the name, the mark on your wrist burning. “I don't like being called Death Eater, Malfoy.”

“Why not? That's what you are. That's why you're here.”

“By here, do you mean the dungeon in your home? By here, do you mean trapped against my will, saving your stupid backside from getting hung up from the rafters like your precious little Muggle Studies teacher?”

Draco doesn't reel back. He doesn't even flinch. If possible, his gaze only continues to soften as he looks at you, and you're certain you must look pathetic right now. Curled in the corner of this dungeon wearing clothes that wouldn't even be considered humane, wandless and angry. Oh, a sight you must be, a joke to the world outside.

You look down at the floor and continue to scrape your name – over and over again – into the concrete. In case you forget you ever had one before all this.

The bars of the door creak as Draco leans against them. “Nobody back at Hogwarts would have suspected you becoming a Death Eater.”

“Don't-”

“Whatever you are. A helper. All I'm trying to say is, you were one of the better Slytherins. People truly thought you'd been murdered.”

“Oh, goodie.”

“And yet here you are.”

You pause. “Yet here I am.”

This conversation is pointless. You want him to leave so you can continue wallowing in fear on your own; this darkness is no place for someone like him, someone who can't even sit at the grandest, most prestigious table in the wizarding world without choking up. He's no Death Eater – you could see that much from the moment his lip started trembling.

“You didn't have to jump to my rescue out there, either,” he says.

You close your eyes, thumping your head back against the wall. “You were just sat there.”

“He was going to kill me, wasn't he? If I didn't answer.”

You shrug. “He gives out chances sometimes.”

“Only to you.” Draco steps forward, curling his fingers around the bars. “What makes you so special, Y/N?”

You find yourself smiling, flicking your eyes to him. He reels back at the glare, so different from the joyful, carefree eyes you used to hold when making potions in Snape's classroom, or studying in the Slytherin common room.

“Wouldn't we all like to know?”

The dungeon goes quiet, nothing more than the drip, drip, drip of water smacking against concrete ringing out between you. Draco shouldn't be here, of course. You can't imagine Voldemort granting him access to your 'chambers' after what he did, and certainly not before the Dark Lord himself has given you your reprieve for the way you acted back in the Malfoy's dining room. The punishment he will bestow upon you won't be light, will certainly not be merciful; you disappointed him, his closest confidant making him look like a fool in front of a room full of his most loyal supporters.

To make matters worse, you are only seventeen years old, barely just turned the legal age for a wizard.

You lean your head back and close your eyes. “When is he getting here?”

“I don't know.”

“You could find out.”

Draco doesn't respond.

You sigh heavily. “But you won't, of course. You're scared of him. Your master.”

“He's not-” Draco stops abruptly. Even in the dim torchlight you can see his blue eyes flick to his wrist, where the Dark Mark is burned into his flesh for good.

You smile. “He is. He owns you now, Draco – that's what that mark means, in case you forgot.”

“Shut up.”

“I don't understand why you're so scared of something you willingly signed up for.”

“I'm not scared. I'd be stupid to go against him – the strongest wizard of our time, of course I bit my tongue!”

“You bit your tongue at the wrong time.” Draco's eyes trace a line along the column of your throat before landing back on your gaze. “He's a bit more lenient with us, Malfoy, because we're the young ones, the ones who will follow in his footsteps if he plays his cards right. But that doesn't mean he's going to let you get away with complete ignorance, and what you showed at that table today – he'll see that as ignorance.”

Draco purses his lips and looks away, because he knows you're right. You've been by the Dark Lord's side since you were fourteen years old, learning the ways of his followers, building your way up the ladder until you could sit beside his throne and hold his beloved python across your shoulders.

“You pretend you know everything about him.” Draco's whisper sounds more like a hiss echoing through the eerie dungeon, Parceltongue. “You think you're in his head just because he chose you.”

“Trust me, Draco; you'd know if I was inside his head. I would not be talking to you as an equal if I was inside his head.”

Draco slams his hand against the bars. “What is it about you? He acts like you're – you're some kind of god-send, and then he locks you up in this dungeon. What have you got that enamours him so much, and what are you missing that makes him hate you just as much?”

The words claw, scrape, make your chest constrict because each question is one you have been wondering for a very, very long time. You gave up trying to get the answers.

You stare at Draco, unmoving, showing no emotion. It's a trick you've learned to master over the years, and it does its job. Draco keeps your gaze for only a moment before he huffs out a breath, looks to the floor and pushes away from the door, muttering curses beneath his breath.

“You should leave, Draco,” you say softly. “Before Mummy and Daddy catch you down here. They wouldn't like you talking to the prisoner in rags, would they?”

“And leave you down here on your own?”

“I think I'll manage.” You tap the concrete with your palm, a slap sound that makes Draco wince as it bounces along the walls imprisoning you. “It's awfully comfortable in here, you know.”

Draco shakes his head. “I'll see where he is.”

His voice is so quiet; you lean forward and say, “Come again?”

“I'll see where he is,” he repeats, louder, stronger. “And then I'll be back, okay?” “Don't put yourself in danger for me, Malfoy. I'm only in here because I saved you earlier – I won't be there to save you this time.”

Draco glares. “I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this to show I'm not afraid. He chose me just as much as he chose you – he'll show kindness.”

Your heart aches for that glimmer of hope etched into his voice, evidence of the innocent boy he once was roaming the halls of Hogwarts with his friends, learning new spells and charms and potions as the world crumbled around him and he knew nothing of its severity. He stares at you for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving; you wait until you hear the wooden door slam closed before you close your eyes and let the tears slip silently down your face.

---

Draco doesn't return. The next person to open the door of your cell is Lucius himself, tall and white haired with a sneer that makes you want to punch him.

You pull yourself up from the floor, hands behind your back. It's reflex to give the older man a bow, one he does not return; this could mean two things, you have learned – he either doesn't respect you, or he thinks he's too good to bow back to the younger generation. He doesn't think you've earned that kind of kinship just yet.

“Sir,” you say. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“No,” Lucius replies. “You were expecting the Dark Lord, weren't you?”

You don't reply. He's asking stupid questions, questions he already knows the answer to.

“I'm afraid he's too busy to see to you right now,” Lucius continues. “So he's sent me in his stead.”

“You must be honoured, sir.”

A smile twitches at his lips, though he fights to remain stoic and professional; it should be easy to wriggle under this idiots skin. People who have no other personality trait than Death Eater are easy enough to manipulate when you've been doing it for so long.

“He's asked me to use Cruciatus on you for now,” Lucius explains.

“Oh. He's going easy on me. He really is generous, don't you think?”

Lucius's eyes snap down to your own. “Generous?”

“He could do so much worse with a power like his,” you reply, nodding enthusiastically; there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching this grown man's face scrunch up in confusion, horror almost. “When he took my wand, for example; leaving someone defenceless in a world like this is a big, big punishment, Mr Malfoy. If your son ever steps out of line, I would highly recommend giving it a go.”

Sorry, Draco.

Lucius opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. He raises a brow, shakes his head and tries again. “I didn't come down here to take suggestions on how to raise my son, Y/N. I'm a busy man – let's get this over with.”

“Busy doing what, sir?” you ask, even as you press your back against the wall. “If you don't mind me asking.”

Again, Lucius falters. “Busy serving the Dark Lord, as we all should be.” You nod as if you understand, as if his words aren't pathetic. “Oh, yes. Of course. Right you are there, sir, right you are!”

Lucius scowls, pulls his wand from behind his back, and you seize the moment as soon as you can. It's difficult, forcing a blinding pain to the forefront of your mind that you only just manage to fight off before it completely consumes you; you've been without a wand for only a handful of days, so you're a little rusty when it comes to disarming in this way, but that scowl on his face makes it a little bit easier.

The pull is painful, yet satisfying. Lucius's fingers twitch, his wand shivering in his grip; he just has time to say “What-” before you jerk your head and the wand is flying towards you, the wandless version of Expelliarmus that took far too long for you to learn.

You lurch forward and snatch the wand from the air before pointing it at Lucius; the wand feels strange, fighting against it's new owner, but it still works – it has to, that much you learned from Ollivander.

Lucius stumbles forward, catches himself on the wall before you cry out, “Petrificus totalus!” and his entire body goes still. He clatters to the floor, lifeless eyes staring up at the concrete ceiling.

You stand over him, wand pointed at his chest. “You look pathetic, sir. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Lucius doesn't reply – of course he doesn't. You grin down at him, tilt your head before dropping his wand onto his chest.

“I don't really like wands made of elm,” you say. “And dragon heartstring? Really, Lucius? If the wand really does choose the wizard, I have some questions for you, sir.”

You clap your hands together, ridding them of dust before you give Lucius's paralysed body one last smile and walk out of the dungeon, head held high.

---

Voldemort knows what you've done. He set the whole thing up, a test to ensure you are still useful.

You've had multiple of these tests thrown at you ever since you joined his ranks – willingly or not. He sends people in, Death Eaters, criminals that make most wizards tremble by just being named. He puts them against you and tests your strength, and by the looks of things, you're doing a fine job.

You're still here. He's kept you alive.

You walk into Lucius's office without knocking, knowing full well the Dark Lord himself is behind the door. You keep your gaze locked on the patterned carpet, letting the double, grand oak doors clatter closed behind you.

“Y/N!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands together. You glance up, startled by the smile stretching across his face, the boy sitting across from him; Draco stares at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, glancing between you and the door as if expecting someone to follow.

You snap your gaze back to Voldemort, knowing the Dark Lord won't appreciate your lack of attention on him. “My Lord.”

“Where's Lucius?”

He knows where Lucius is. He's playing a game, pretending he has no idea what he's done, what he's been doing from the very moment you stepped into his presence and he saw potential within you.

“He's busy with some work, my Lord,” you respond, refusing to look at Draco despite your curiosity as to why he's here in the first place. “He told me to go on ahead.”

“Ah. That was nice of him.” Slowly, Voldemort leans back in his seat, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Did you get his wand?”

“I left it with him, my Lord; made of elm, not really worth it.”

Voldemort grins even brighter; this is a good sign. You didn't take the wand. He thinks you're getting stronger, that your strange ability to use magic without a wand is growing. You can't tell him that it still pains you greatly, that you currently feel as if your ribcage is on fire, that you could keel over at any given moment.

“Very well,” Voldemort replies. “The choice was yours, of course. Come, Y/N – take a seat beside young Malfoy here. There's plenty of room.”

Draco shifts, keeping his cold gaze on you as you walk towards him and sit down. Your back is straight, heart thundering in your chest so loud you're almost certain you will not be able to hear whatever it is Voldemort has to say to you. Nonetheless, you keep your expression impassive, hands folded in your lap in any attempt to look as calm and collected as the Dark Lord expects you to be.

“My two prodigies,” Voldemort begins. The word sends a shiver of repulsion down your spine. “I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to speak to you both without my other Death Eaters lingering over my shoulder; isn't that bizarre, Draco?”

“Yes, m-my Lord.”

“I have to split my time evenly amongst you all, so forgive me if I find it a little difficult to give you the attention you both deserve so deeply.” He bows his head; Draco straightens up a little in his chair, but you're not falling for it. You've seen Voldemort do this multiple times in the past to the exact people he later murdered for miniscule reasons. “I see potential in you both. So much potential. It could be us against the world if you really put your mind to it.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Draco mumbles, before shooting you a glance that tells you he's proud of the fact he spoke up and wants you to notice his achievement, too. You look back at him, trying for a tiny smile that falters the moment Voldemort starts speaking again.

“I want you both to stay close together,” he says. “Work hard, encourage each other, become the wizards I know you are capable of becoming.” Voldemort settles his red eyes on you. You try your hardest not to falter beneath his gaze. “Let's take over the world together, shall we?”

And that's all he needs to say. He smiles that sickly smile of his and dismisses you and Draco with a simple flick of his pale hand. You stand up immediately, whirling and darting towards the door; you don't want to be in his presence any longer than you have to be, and you feel much too ill to try and hide that fact.

“Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

“Not now, Draco.”

He grabs your wrist as the doors to his fathers office clamber closed, leaving you alone in the wide, emerald green hallway. You freeze, resisting the urge to flinch away from him, but only because his grip feels so secure, fingers soft against your racing pulse.

He must notice the evidence of panic beating beneath his fingers, as his words falter and he glances down to where your flesh meets. It's when he starts tilting his head, when you can see the question forming upon his tongue, that you rip your hand from his and whirl around. “What do you want, Draco?”

His eyes snap up. “He sent my father to your dungeon. He said – He said something about the-”

“Cruciatus Curse, yes.” You spin, starting back down the hallway. Judging by the hurried footsteps sounding behind you, Draco has decided to follow.

“Well, are – are you alright? I didn't hear any commotion, but the dungeon is just below my fathers office – I would have heard something-”

“Lucius Malfoy is currently paralysed on the floor of his own prison.”

Draco falters. “What?”

“The Dark Lord wanted to test me, and I passed.” You shoot Draco a glance, noting the colour drained from his face. “Don't worry; he's still alive. A simple Stunning spell, just to prove my point. He'll no doubt be attempting to suffocate me in my sleep by nightfall.”

Draco pauses. The puzzle pieces are there, but he's clearly struggling to put them all together. He keeps pace with you, however, as you march out into the garden, bursting into the fresh air with a deep inhale that you hope can chase this dreaded headache away.

“My father is a very powerful wizard, Y/N,” Draco says. You close your eyes, resisting the urge to rub your temples. He just wants answers; you can't blame him for that. It was only a few years ago you were cursed by the same curiosity. “Don't take offence, but I can't see how you managed to overpower him.”

“It was simple enough.”

Draco shakes his head, pulling more pieces to the front, pieces that just don't fit. “Hold on – you don't even have a wand, do you? He took it. The – The Dark Lord-”

“Yes, He has my wand.”

Your head is going to split in two; you can feel it, that unmistakeable pressure rushing to the forefront, the fresh air doing nothing but poking and prodding at a pain that was already present. You close your eyes tighter still, crumbling against a tree despite your fragile attempts to catch yourself.

Draco grunts at the sudden movement, darting forward to catch you with little effect. “Y/N?”

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not. You're burning up.” He places the back of his hand against your forehead, eyes immediately widening. “You're really burning up.”

“I'm fine.” Maybe if you repeat yourself, what you're saying will become truth.

Draco, however, is a smart boy. He crouches down, dragging you to the floor along with him; you wriggle in his grip, whispering “I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,” but your fight is only for show. Sitting in the grass is doing you wonders, and you soon find yourself drearily slipping against Draco's shoulder, sinking into this new found relaxation.

“What's happening?” he asks, keeping his palm against your forehead for a moment. “I need to bring someone out. I need to get a medic-”

“I'm fine,” you repeat, the words nothing more than a slur at this point. “I promise, Draco – it will pass.”

Draco opens his mouth to protest, but taking one look at your face has the words dispelling in the air between you. He gives in with a sigh, leaning back against the tree, holding you against his shoulder so you can hear his heartbeat ringing in your ears. You desperately want to pull away; being this close to someone is uncomfortable, not what you're used to, and yet your body is too weak to do such a thing. You sink into the humiliation for a little while, gathering your strength before Voldemort comes out and sees you in such a state.

“What did he mean when he told us to stay together?”

Draco's voice wobbles, and you can tell the question has been playing on his mind for a while.

“He wants us to learn from each other,” you mumble into his blazer. “Make each other stronger. He sees potential in us – that's why he ordered you to kill Dumbledore.”

Draco stiffens. “How did you know about that?”

“I see everything that happens behind the scenes.”

“I still don't understand that.”

You lift your eyes, stare into the side of his face as he gazes out at the gorgeous garden you are sitting in right now. “What don't you understand?”

“Why he trusts you so much.” Draco looks down, eyes meeting yours. “He has prisoners of Azkaban on his side – some of the worst people on the planet. He's got murderers and torturers and. . . and god only knows what else. And yet it's you he calls into his office. It's you he sees potential in-”

“You and me both.”

Draco scoffs, looking back out at the garden. “He would never trust me to touch Nagini. He would never let me just walk into his quarters without notice.”

“It's little perks, Draco. Hardly anything you should be fretting over.”

He scowls, shifting beneath you. Your cheek rubs against his blazer, and you make to pull away before your spine screams in protest and you slump back against him.

Draco doesn't seem to notice your weakness as he continues. “I'm just new to all of this.”

“We were all new at some point.”

“How long does it take to settle in?”

“I'm still trying to work that one out.”

Draco sighs. You don't know if he notices how his grip suddenly tightens around your shoulders, but you don't tell him either way.

“When you went missing...”

The conversation change works as an electric shock. You jolt, eyes lifting. “No, Draco. I don't want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not important – you know now that I didn't just drop off the face of the earth. That's all you need to know – and I certainly don't need to know how people reacted.”

Draco opens his mouth, can't seem to find the words and instead takes to shaking his head slowly. “They were worried, Y/N. The whole school was making inquiries about your whereabouts – even the Potter kid and his group of lackeys.”

You scoff, finally drawing the strength to pull away from him and sit on your own. “They were just excited to have a mystery to sink their teeth into.” Draco hums. “Maybe. But that doesn't mean they weren't worried.” He pauses. “I was worried.”

The chill in the air increases. In the distance, the grand apple tree sways gently in the breeze, a gathering of white peacocks drifting back and forth through the grass.

“You didn't know me,” you say.

“I knew you, Y/N. The Slytherins were a close bunch.”

“I was more than just a Slytherin. I was different. I wasn't like the rest of you.”

“That's why you stood out. That's why I cared.”

You close your eyes. “Death Eaters aren't meant to care.”

That shuts him up. You feel the air tighten to your left, his mouth snapping closed, this sentimental mood he's in immediately shutting down with such a simple, obvious statement. You glance at him, noting his tense jaw before you push yourself up, using the tree as leverage.

“I'm going back up to the house. Lucius should be coming back around any minute now,” you say. “Shall I tell him where you are?”

Draco shakes his head. “He doesn't care. He's a Death Eater.”

You stare at the top of his pale head for only a moment longer before turning on your heel and leaving, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart and the uncertainty in your actions. You've never before struggled to leave someone wallowing in their own pity, but there was just something about the way Draco looked – the way he was speaking – that makes you feel like perhaps you should have stayed.

----

“You will use my wand for today's lesson.”

You pluck Bellatrix's wand from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, ma'am. A walnut wand, is it? Dragon heartstring core?”

Bellatrix swats your nose. “Don't be picky. You'll make do with what you've got, do you understand, you little brat?”

You give the Death Eater your best smile in reply. Draco shifts uncomfortably at your side.

Bellatrix hums, pacing back and forth in front of her two students – honestly, you don't understand why Voldemort placed her as your tutor. She has a temper, shows no mercy when it comes to her victims, and these are all traits Voldemort surely places as very important, but she also gets lost in her own head – to the point where the majority of her lessons are put together with her screaming spells and Draco on the verge of tears.

It's been a week and a half since the last time you did magic without a wand, a week and a half since you convinced Voldemort you're ready to take the next step; it was a mistake leaving that office with him thinking you were strong. Your lessons are now beyond your capability, and as Bellatrix paces back and forth in front of you, you can feel the tingle of a headache racing to your skull, fragments of the damage you did to Lucius a few days ago.

The lesson starts off as it always does; a duel between you and Draco. You let him win this time, since he let you win yesterday, and the two of you move on pretty sharply. There's no point wasting time duelling something with equal skill to you – you want the lesson to be over as quick as possible.

Draco drags himself up from the floor, both of you ignoring Bellatrix's hysteric screeching. He gives you a wink, turns to Bellatrix and says, “What's next?”

She goes quiet immediately, narrowing her eyes at her nephew before she moves onto the next stage of the lesson.

“Alright, kiddies,” she says, continuing her pacing. “Today we're going to be trying something a little different. One of you will be moving onto bigger, more challenging defence spells whilst the other will be moving onto bigger, more challenging ways of blocking.”

You raise a brow. “Blocking, ma'am?”

She smirks, crooked teeth showing between a pair of red lips. “I'll have my wand back now, Y/N. You won't be needing it for this section of the lesson.”

Your heart plummets.

Draco looks between you and the teacher in confusion. “How will Y/N do magic without a wand?”

Bellatrix doesn't take her eyes off you, and that's proof enough that she knows the answer. Voldemort must have told her of your abilities, the magic built up inside you that can be released without the use of a wand. He must have told her to help, to train you up, because he thinks you can do it with no problem.

You tug Bellatrix's wand into your chest and shake your head. “Not today, ma'am. Please, not today.”

Draco perks up. “What's going on?”

Bellatrix surges forward. Her black nails dig into your collarbone when she snatches her wand back into her possession, ignoring your startled cry of “Please!” She doesn't understand – none of them understand because you refuse to tell any of them about what is going on, how badly using that type of unnatural magic destroys you.

“Draco,” Bellatrix snaps. “Sectumsempra. An easy enough spell, but it does plenty of damage.”

“I know,” Draco grumbles.

“That is the spell we will be using today, courtesy of Severus Snape.” Bellatrix turns to you, grin growing when she notices your trembling hands, your stiff demeanour. “Y/N, today it will be your job to block that spell using your abilities. Is that what we should be calling them? That makes you sound a little bit more special than you really are.” She throws her head back and cackles.

Draco glances at you. “Y/N?”

“I'm fine,” you croak out. “Just get it over with.”

You know you can do it. You've blocked spells without a wand before. It's the aftermath that frightens you, the aftermath that rips you apart.

You take a step back, turning to face Draco who continues staring at you with a raised brow. His wand is in his hand, pointed at you, ready, but he isn't making a move to do anything. He just stands there, as if waiting for you to give the signal that everything is okay.

And you want to. You know you should, because Bellatrix is getting impatient and her pacing is getting quicker and quicker, her crazed uttering getting louder and louder – but you can't. You want him to keep standing there, want him to continue staring so you can build your strength up for just one more second-

“Sectumsempra!”

Bellatrix's spell comes out of nowhere. Draco cries out, but you're quick; you spin on your heel, collecting as much strength as you possibly can. A barrier breaks from your skin, and the green light cast from Bellatrix's wand reels back, smashing against the lamp in the corner of the dining room. It smashes, glass raining down upon the floor as Draco sprints towards you.

“What the hell?” he cries.

It takes a minute for the nausea to rise. For a single, blissful moment, the room goes blurry, and you can deal with that. There is no pain, no shock, no sickness. For a single moment, you are floating.

And then it crashes upon you all at once.

Your knees buckle. Bright lights flash behind your eyes until you can see nothing but your own hand darting out, grabbing for Draco. He catches you mere seconds before you fall, and yet you still feel your knees crashing against the marble floor. Your fingers twist in the soft fabric of his shirt, and he's there, whispering in your ear, or maybe he isn't whispering, he's screaming, crying out, but you can't hear him properly because there is something pop pop popping in the back of your head and it's all you can focus on, all you can cling to to stop the world from disappearing for good.

It's a reminder, you know. A reminder that your form of magic is dangerous, unpredictable, unusual, and you shouldn't possess it. No wizard should be able to do magic how you can, how you so desperately wish you couldn't.

“What's wrong, Y/N? Tell me what's wrong! Bella, what is wrong?”

Your eyes slip closed. Draco repeats the same word over and over again: “No.” It's a mantra, a lullaby that stirs you to sleep even though he's tapping your face, trying to force consciousness into your body. You're too weak for that now, and it's with a grunt that you finally slip beneath the waves that have been pulling you under for years.

----

You wake up back in your dungeon, and he is there.

You knew he would be. You would have been foolish to believe he hadn't got news of your downfall the very moment it happened; Bellatrix most likely relayed the story to him in great, great detail, laughing the entire time.

He's standing over you when you wake up, a ghost in the darkness. He's dressed in a set of grey robes, and your wand is twirling in his fingers. His red eyes stare as you sit up, though he offers no assistance, not even when you wince and press your fingers to your abdomen.

Everything hurts, but at least you're not dead.

“My lord,” you manage, voice weak and hoarse. “What an honour it is to have your presence in my-”

“Be quiet, Y/N.” His voice is calm, smooth, too casual. “You embarrassed me, Y/N. Terribly.”

You swallow and nod; you're too scared to speak right now.

“I have been singing your praises to my Death Eaters for a long time; Bellatrix was disappointed. She expected a lot more from you.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “As was I.”

“Where is Draco, my Lord?” The question is out before you can process it.

Voldemort's eyes cast down to where you cower in front of him. “You worry about the Malfoy boy in a time like this? How sweet. How caring. How human.”

“No, my Lord. It was just curiosity that-”

“Draco has done a wonderful job in his lessons. No harm will come of him.” Voldemort stands up a little straighter, as if to make himself more intimidating. “He was awfully distraught when you collapsed, however. Have you both been bonding over these lessons you partake in together?”

Your heart skips. “No, m-my Lord.”

“And now you're stuttering. You never stutter when speaking to me, Y/N. Is this line of questioning making you nervous?”

You don't even bother with a response this time, instead casting your eyes to the knotted hands in your lap.

Voldemort sighs. “I should have expected, of course. Two young people, the world at their disposal – you don't understand the consequences of love yet.”

“I do, my Lord. You have taught me plenty in my time with you.”

“I have.” Voldemort nods solemnly. “Such a shame you do not listen.”

Your head snaps up; this is what you wanted to avoid. “I'm sorry if you feel that way, my Lord, but I make it a priority to put your advice into action whenever I can.”

Voldemort hums. “So you claim not to have feelings for the Malfoy boy?”

You don't understand why your denial is so difficult to articulate; you don't. You can't. You and Malfoy have lived in two very different worlds, experienced two very different lives; it would be bizarre to even think those two lives could mingle with one another, come together as one.

“No, my Lord. I do not.”

“So you would not care if I were to order his execution?”

Your head snaps up so fast your neck cricks. “Why would you do that? He's useful to you. He – He's a strong wizard, my lord, he can serve you in very useful ways-”

“It sounds as if you're sticking up for him.”

“No, my Lord, of course not! You are free to do as you please, but I wish you would just look a little deeper into-”

Voldemort holds up a silencing hand. Your heart thunders, fingers curling into fists as you try your hardest to bite your tongue; he's right, of course – you cannot be sticking up for Draco, especially if it means going against Voldemort to do so. You don't care about him that much.

You can't.

“If I am forced to pick between you or the Malfoy boy, the Malfoy boy will be the first to go,” he says. “You must know that, Y/N. You're too valuable to just throw away for a particularly skilled wizard. I don't want skill – I want something the wizarding world has never seen before, and you are the perfect candidate.” He sighs. “It's such a shame you've fallen into the trap of love.”

You squeeze your eyes closed; there is a denial on your tongue, but Voldemort knows when you are lying, and he will not be pleased to hear such false statements coming from your mouth.

“I want to see you working harder,” he continues, tapping your wand against the concrete wall behind him. “I want to see your strength improving. I want to take you into war with me, Y/N. And soon. We've wasted enough time as it is.”

You nod slowly. Voldemort smiles, skin stretching, your stomach turning, but you say nothing as he nods at you a final time and walks out of the dungeon.

And you know there's no hope for you here.

For years you've tried avoiding the truth, but now Draco has been added to the equation and denial is no longer a possibility; you've tried your hardest to show strength, to convince yourself you can be just like them, but it's not working. It will never work. You were not built for the life of a Death Eater, and such things have never been so clear as they are now.

The door above you clambers shut. You push yourself up, gripping the wall to stop yourself falling, your head pulsing with the aftershocks from your last lesson with Bellatrix. You're driven by your masters words, the threat behind them, the risk you are taking by staying here when you feel these things for the boy you barely even know.

But that isn't really true, is it?

You know Draco better than you will ever be willing to admit. He was your schoolmate, a Slytherin, a part of your life long before Voldemort was a part of your life. He's one of the few people on earth who can relate to the things you've been through, the things you're still going through, because he's going through nearly the exact same thing.

And that's why you have to leave. That is why you can't stay here. You won't be able to disguise your fondness for him, and Voldemort will see that, and he will end it all. He will kill Draco without a second thought if he believes it will make you stronger.

You drag yourself to the top of the stairs and shove the door open. The hallways are empty, the only sound being Peter's hysterical laughter ringing out in the room above you; he does that sometimes, though nobody knows why.

You shuffle along the corridor as quietly as you can, keeping tight to the emerald green walls as you search for the door leading to Draco's bedroom. You have seen it only a handful of times, but the door becomes instantly recognisable as soon as you see it; wooden, glittering with protection spells, a brass knocker stamped in the centre. You don't even bother using the knocker, instead shoving your shoulder into it and stumbling inside.

Draco spins around. He was pacing. There is sweat on his upper lip, his top button undone to reveal sweat soaked collarbones. His white hair is sticking up as if he's been running his hands through it continuously.

He looks scared.

You kick the door closed. “Draco.” It's all you can manage, all your brain will let free at this moment in time.

Draco rushes to your side immediately, grabbing your arm and directing you to the massive, plush bed pushed against the back wall. “Y/N? Y/N, are you okay? What are you doing up so soon after the accident?”

“I'm fine.”

“Stop saying that.” He presses a hand to your cheek, tilting your head up so he can get a better view of your eyes. “God, you look like you're about to keel over. Let me go grab my mother and she will-”

You latch onto his wrist when he tries to stand. “We need to leave, Draco.”

He pauses. Beneath your fingers, his pulse quickens. Slowly, he turns his head and narrows his eyes, inspecting your face for any sign of humour, any sign that you're just telling a joke to ease the tension forever in the air.

“We need to leave,” you repeat, quieter this time. “Now. Or – or as soon as we can. I won't be able to Disapparate, but you-”

Draco shakes his head. “What are you going on about?”

“We need to leave!” you bark. “He thinks we're both useful, but he wants us under his thumb. He wants to control us, Draco, and we need to leave before he gets that control.”

You're not making any sense. You know that. You can see in the tilt of Draco's head and the paleness of his face that he has absolutely no idea where all of this is coming from, why you have suddenly changed sides.

You close your eyes, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I will explain everything,” you mumble. “I promise, I will explain every single thing, but we have to get out of here first. It won't be long before he sees I'm not in the dungeon any more, and he'll know immediately where I've gone – and then it's not just me he's going to be angry at.”

Slowly, Draco lowers himself onto the bed, his eyes never leaving your face. “O-okay.”

Your head whips around. “Really?”

“When do you want to leave?”

You shake your head dumbly, still struggling to process his quick agreement. “As – As soon as-”

“You're too weak to Disapparate.” He stands, grabbing your hand. “I'll do it, but we've got to be quiet. My father knows when anyone is making moves in or out of the house – it will only take seconds for him to notify Voldemort someone is gone.”

You stand on trembling legs; Draco notices your struggle and wraps a secure arm around your waist, dragging you into his side.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

“I didn't expect you to agree so quickly,” you whisper.

Draco purses his lips, sending a final glance towards the door. “I – I think I may have marched into this life a bit too soon. I didn't fully understand what I was getting myself into.” He glances at you, faces inches apart. “But if you say we need to leave, we're leaving.”

Something jolts in your chest, something you haven't felt in a very, very long time – if ever. Draco doesn't seem to notice the effect his words have on you as he tightens his hold on your waist and says, “Now, I'm new to this Apparating business, so just bare with me. Are you ready?”

“Let's go.”

Draco inhales deeply, closes his eyes and you watch the world shift around him. Suddenly, Draco is the driving force; your body goes numb, his fingers tightening against your flesh. Your own eyes slip closed of their own accord, your body tipping and screaming and aching – but it all lasts for only a second, and then your feet are slamming against grass and you're slipping out of Draco's grip and crumbling to your knees in the middle of an area you cannot place when your head is hurting so bad.

You groan, falling to your elbows. Draco slips to the ground and grabs you, pulling you into him. “It's okay. It's over, it's over. We made it. We've just got to keep going a little bit further.”

“Where are we?” you grumble.

“Hogwarts.”

Your head snaps up. “Draco, no.”

He grabs your arm and pulls you up; he looks just as ruffled as you, his hair still sticking on end, his hands trembling. He bites his lower lip before responding. “We'll figure it out. They won't come to Hogwarts tonight – not with the security. We'll be safe for tonight, and tomorrow we can – we can figure it all out.”

You resist the temptation to argue; there's really no point. Neither of you are fit enough to go wandering through Hogsmeade, anyway – staying the night in Hogwarts is your best bet whether you want to admit it or not.

In truth, you know your discomfort with being back at Hogwarts has little to do with the fact that Voldemort will know this is the place you and Draco escaped to. You don't care about that; you can deal with Voldemort when the time comes, when Draco is safe, but the memories latched onto this place make you hesitant when crossing through the gates you were once so familiar with.

You remember these hallways. You remember the sneers, people glaring purely because you were Slytherin. You remember hearing Death Eaters in your head, their screams for mercy in the cells of Azkaban before Voldemort rose again and freed them all. You remember sitting in the Great Hall, deciding once and for all that you weren't supposed to be a normal wizard – you weren't normal, were never going to be considered normal. You had no other choice in that moment – at fourteen years old – than to join the dark side.

What more could you lose?

Before you know it, you're slipping your hand into Draco's. He glances down, shocked by your timid actions, but does nothing more than give your hand a comforting squeeze. Together, the two of you walk through the doors of the castle.

And are immediately greeted by wands pointed directly at your faces.

Draco pulls back, raising your joined hands in a sign of surrender. His breathing is ragged, and if you listen closely, you can almost hear a rattle emerging with every breath, like he's getting some kind of sickness.

McGonagall slowly lowers her wand, staring at you, and it's only then do you remember – these people thought you had died.

You offer a bow. “Ma'am.”

“Y/N L/N,” McGonagall whispers. “Is this real?”

“It is, ma'am,” you respond. “And I've brought a little guest with me along the way. You might recognise him?”

Draco scowls. “I'm meant to be making the-”

McGonagall rushes forward and embraces you before Draco can finish; his hand unwinds from your own as you wrap your arms around the frail waist of your old Transfiguration teacher.

“Thank god you're safe! Thank god!”

You awkwardly pat her back; this kind of affection has been lost on you for many, many years, and you're not entirely sure how to reciprocate it. “Yes. Thank them.”

She pulls away, holding you at arms length. “Goodness, you must be starved. The both of you!”

“No, actually.” Draco steps forward and takes your hand again. “We just need a room, Professor. A room is all we're here for.”

McGonagall raises a brow, glancing at your joined hands. “I'm assuming there will be no explanation for us tonight?”

You smile lightly. “Soon, ma'am. But for now, we need – we need rest.” Your head thumps at the mention of rest, making you wince.

McGonagall sighs and nods. “Very well. Argus – lead these two students up to the Slytherin dormitories. Make sure they're well settled.”

Filch appears from behind the tall woman and starts towards the staircase leading from the main entry hall. Hand-in-hand, you and Draco follow.

“I wasn't expecting her to be so lenient with letting me back in,” Draco whispers.

“Why not?”

He glances over at Filch before lowering his voice even further. “She's not exactly too keen on my father.”

“Lucius?”

“He's a Death Eater, Y/N. I can bet you that all the teachers in this damn school think I'm going the same way.”

You raise a brow. Draco glances at you, blushes and rolls his eyes.

“I guess they're not exactly wrong...”

Filch leads the two of you directly to the Slytherin dormitories. He says the password, gives you and Draco a final once-over before the door swings open, granting you access. The common room is almost entirely empty, meaning you and Draco are free to make a direct cross to the guests quarters without being bothered.

As soon as the door to the room closes, you fall to the floor.

Not in pain or discomfort, but in relief; your brain is working at a million miles per hour, so many things to concentrate on flooding your system in the two seconds it takes for the door to shut behind you. Draco follows your lead, sliding to the floor and leaning his head back against the emerald green wall.

You stare at him. Just him, sitting there with his eyes closed, the column of his throat on show. Around his neck is an array of silver necklaces. On his wrist is the Dark Mark.

Subconsciously, you find yourself rubbing your own brand, engraved into your skin forever. It burns sometimes. You wonder if Draco's does, too.

As if sensing you staring at him, he opens his eyes and looks back at you. “We're out of there.”

You nod. “We are.”

“How do you feel?”

“Lost. I don't know what to do with myself.”

Draco hums like he understands, and maybe he does; he might not have bore the Dark Mark for as long as you have, but he was raised in a family of believers, a family of Death Eaters that brainwashed him into thinking evil was the only way forward.

He sighs and tilts his head back again. You could stare at him in this position forever, comfortable and content. You don't recall there ever being a time in which he possessed such human emotions.

“Why did you warn me?”

You blink. “What?”

“You came to my room and warned me about what he was planning. Why?”

“He told me he was going to kill you.” You say it so simply, and Draco takes it as such; he doesn't flinch, doesn't look at you in horror. He just nods, eyes slipping closed again.

“Makes sense. You were clearly the more powerful one.”

You scoff, crossing your feet at the ankles. “Oh, yes. Me collapsing really showed my true strength.”

“You're still young. You have magic that no other wizard possesses – I can see why he wanted to keep you around and not me.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “Maybe you should have just let him get on with it.”

Your heart judders. “What do you mean?”

“You could have stayed, Y/N. Let him kill me. You would have been his right-hand man after that. Love him or hate him, he would have given you the world if it meant he could use your magic for himself.”

For a moment, you're convinced he's joking; you have to believe he's joking. You're aware you are powerful, that Voldemort would kill for the chance to use you as his own, but Draco surely can't believe you would just let him get murdered so you could live a better life?

“Did you not see the dungeon he kept me locked in?” The question is out before you can stop it. Draco opens his eyes, lifts his head to check if you're actually angry or not.

You're not even sure how you feel. Your clenched fists and furrowed brows, however, must convince Draco that he's said the wrong thing, as he immediately sits up straight and grabs your hands in his own. You flinch back, pulling your hands back to your chest.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I shouldn't have said anything. I was just. . . I'm tired, okay? Very, very tired.”

You slowly lower your hands. “Yes, well, today has been a stressful day. We're probably better off going to sleep.”

Draco nods, pulling both of you up from the floor. Neither of you speak as you strip off your clothes and get into one of the single beds pressed against either wall; Draco turns the light off, drowning you both in darkness almost immediately.

----

It's been a while since your mind was free to have a nightmare.

The magic Voldemort puts you under has always suppressed dreams; most of the time, you wouldn't even count yourself as asleep. More knocked out. Perhaps unconscious. It's very rare you're in control enough to have a nightmare, and maybe that's for the best.

Tonight, however, the magic is gone and the nightmares take its place.

They're flashes, but they're bad. Bad, and gory, and they take the shape of memories because you see his face in every single one. You see his smile, those blood red eyes and that pale skin, a human destroyed by the power he craved for so many years. You know his story, and it replays in your head on a loop. You watch people scream, mouths open and eyes wide as his magic blasts them to pieces. You watch the Potters die on a loop. You watch an alternative ending where Harry himself is blown to smithereens, a child so innocent, taken so soon for a reason so selfish.

Everyone is screaming. It ricochets in your brain, echoing the horrors over and over again until you feel yourself screaming, too. It's the only way to beat them. You want to rip your throat out. You want to rip everyone elses throats out. You want this to end, please make it stop, you'll do anything-

“Y/N!”

Your eyes snap open.

There are no dramatics to waking up from a nightmare, not like they show in the movies. Your eyes snap open, and that is all; the sheets are tangled round your legs and Draco is standing over you, but you don't scream, don't lurch forward, don't gasp for air.

No. What they show in the films isn't real – it's all on the inside.

A thundering heart, sweat dripping down your face despite the night time chill. Once you're conscious, you reach for Draco's hands and drag them into your chest without explanation or warning, just needing to feel something, proof that you are out of that world and back in your own.

Draco leans forward, brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Are you alright?”

It's such a simple question, and yet the answer is too complicated to contemplate right now; you simply look at him, lower lip trembling until he gets the message. His exhausted features soften, and it's with hesitant, shy steps that he peels the covers back and crawls into bed beside you.

He tugs the covers to your chin, but you grab them and pull them over your heads. Draco laughs softly, his breath fanning your face, calming you down. You close your eyes and curl against him, feeling his arms wrap around you despite you never telling him to do so.

And maybe that's what has you so enamoured by this boy; you have lived many years being the one everyone is afraid of. Death Eaters – genuine, real life criminals – were terrified to even talk to you without you talking to them first. They saw you as an attachment of the man they were supposed to fear, and so that instantly made them fear you, too. Nobody touched you. Nobody cared for you. Nobody dared go near you without permission first.

But Draco is here, bundling you in his arms purely because he can see that's what you need. He doesn't ask permission; he just looks in your eyes and he sees the tiny, helpless human that made a bad choice at a young age, and he doesn't feel the need to waste time asking.

In the darkness, his fingers tap at your wrist. You close your eyes, breath trembling when he slowly starts to roll your sleeve up until the area where your Dark Mark is engraved becomes exposed. He cannot see the mark in the darkness, but he doesn't need to see it to know it's there. He has no doubt looked at his own Dark Mark thousands upon thousands of times, can probably outline it from memory at this point.

He runs a finger along the skin, goosebumps following in his wake.

“Did it hurt?” he whispers.

“You know it did.”

He pauses. “Did you know then?”

And even though he has not specified what he means, you know he is talking about the regret – did you know then, as you were being pinned down, as the wand dug into your skin and make the mark now permanently etched into your flesh, that you were never meant to live that kind of life.

You nod against his chest, feel his breath leave him in one clean swoop.

“You got out of there, though,” he whispers. “I'm proud of you.”

That single phrase pushes you off the edge.

You lift your head from his chest, tipping the covers off you both. He opens his eyes just as you whisper “Lumos,” and the headache that strikes you is nothing when the light suddenly crackles to life and you look down and Draco is there, and he's just said he's proud of you, a sentence nobody has ever, ever said to you in your entire life.

It breaks your heart and mends it all at the same time.

He looks up at you, eyes wide. “Y/N? Are you-”

“Say that again.”

He pauses. “S-say what?” But he's slowly starting to grin, knowing full well what bit you want him to repeat, what part of his sentence was like music to your ears.

You sit up fully, bouncing just a tiny bit on your knees. God, you're like an excited schoolkid, an experience you were robbed of. “Please just say that again.”

Draco pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I'm proud of you.”

Your smile grows. “And again.”

Draco pushes himself up a little bit more, his own smile spreading. “I'm proud of you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “One more time.”

He pushes himself up entirely, face inches from your own. “I'm proud of you.”

You kiss him.

You don't know how it works, how any of this works, but it feels right nonetheless. Your lips against his, hands tightening around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. He laughs gently against your mouth, his own hands rising so his fingertips tickle the edges of your throat.

It's easy to lose yourself in this, in him.

He is the first to pull away, his swollen, bright red lips taking the shape of a grin. You laugh, cupping his chin and swiping your thumb along his lower lip; he pretends to bite you.

“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” he asks breathlessly.

You shake your head. “I have no idea.”

“Are you going to keep doing it?”

You falter, smile fading just a bit. “D-do you want me to?”

Draco scoffs, and in response, he kisses you again.

The world is falling apart. Nothing is right and everything is wrong and Voldemort will never, ever be happy with this outcome, but for this moment, you can forget about all of that. Right now, it is just you and Draco, the captives finally set free.

307 notes · View notes

green-and-grey-kenaz · 3 years

Text

I Sleep with the Dirt by Fire Glow

Language: English

Chapter 2: I'll be home, safe and tucked away

Characters in Chapter: Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter

Chapter Summary:

Sirius and Regulus (returned from the dead and overcoming inferius tendencies) have a conversation over whether or not they should adopt Harry Potter. Regulus and Dumbledore have a conversation about Horcruxes and Regulus has some revelations about Voldemort. Sirius visits the Dursleys for afternoon tea and threatening them.

Word Count: c. 4 000

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34049455/chapters/84695911 (whole work, starting from chapter 1)

“Need new room.” Regulus said suddenly, looking up from his breakfast. Kreacher had prepared him a platter of meats and cheeses to have on bread. He’d made quick work of the delicious meats and had started ripping the bread into manageable chunks. Sirius always made him eat something that wasn’t meat for some reason.

“What?” His brother asked, looking up from his breakfast of spiked coffee and a single chocolate croissant.

“M’ room’s for children. ‘m not child. ‘nd has memories.” Regulus said carefully. “Can’t get better with memories. Not good.”

“Reg, I know this house is big and all but we don’t have enough room for you just to claim two.”

“You have.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I ran away. It wasn’t my room anymore.”

“I died.”

Sirius sighed, rolling a hand down his face and taking a long sip of his spiked coffee before pouring a liberal helping of whisky in to top it up. A part of Regulus knew he should be concerned with how much Sirius was drinking. The other part of him pushed his empty glass towards his brother. He got a thimble full.

“Look, after I’ve moved Harry in you can get a second room, I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

“Hm. Not allowed.”

“Look, I don’t care what Dumbledore says, I’m his Godfather! He’d be a lot better off with me. I’m moving him in with us and that’s final.”

“Eat him.”

“You are not eating Harry, Reg!”

“Food.”

“I know you know he’s not food. You know people aren’t food. You don’t eat Remus.”

“Don’t try to anymore. Could. If I wanted to.” He sounded sullen, even to himself but if there was one thing he did not want to allow, it was having Potter in the house. Regulus had already lost his brother to a Potter once. He wasn’t going to again.

Sirius groaned.

“No eating people. Besides, I know you don’t want to eat people. You want to be better and back to normal. That’s why you’ve been trying so hard at reading and presenting yourself.” He gestured at Regulus’ outfit. He’d dressed carefully for the day in the rich fabrics that Sirius now let him wear. It didn’t stop Regulus glowering at Sirius for speaking the truth. He would rather not eat the Potter spawn. He did want to return to being who he had once been and not some mindless creature focused on the consumption of human flesh (as tasty as it was). Merlin! He shouldn’t find human flesh tasty! That was not normal.

When he was better, Regulus knew he would be able to do things he enjoyed and missed. He could finally meet Narcissa and her son. He could take afternoon tea with Severus rather than the brief meetings that Sirius tolerated. He could read more than a few pages of a book before his mind forced him to chase whatever dust mote had caught his attention because Merlin forbid he try sit down and focus on himself.

“Come off it, Reg. You care and you know it.”

“Fine. Doesn’t mean must have Potter.” He snapped. He glanced towards the hallway a plan formulating in his head. Would it be worth it?

“No, you are not setting mother off because you’re in a strop, Regulus.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s petty and beneath you. Besides, it distresses her to see you so.”

That was an unpleasant reminder. He had tried to have a conversation with his mother, hoping that it would make him feel more like himself. She had scarcely recognised him as he was. Feral. Wild. Uncivilised. Not like any son of hers. Sirius told him to take no heed of the portrait which had likely been made close to her death and to have little of who she actually was.

It did not make Regulus feel much better. But mother screaming at Sirius would.

“Look, Harry’s moving in with us. He has to. We can’t leave him to suffer with the Dursleys. They’re muggles. You wouldn’t wish muggles on anyone. Didn’t you use to tell me that muggleborns should give up the muggle heritage and be adopted into a pureblood family. Well, here’s our chance.”

“Not Potter.” Regulus insisted. “Not him. Get another one.”

“It’s not because I’m being charitable. Harry’s my Godson and that’s why we’re adopting him.”

“I’ll leave.” Regulus threatened.

“And where would you go?”

“Cissa.”

“What? And put her son at risk?”

“Then I am a risk! Would eat Potter!”

Sirius sighed, running a hand down his face, pulling at his skin which only served to make him look more skeletal. He had not put back on the weight he should have after Azkaban. Regulus knew he was filling out his own weight, recovering from the lack of appetite that had emerged when he realised his only destination was the grave. If he could put the weight back on, so should Sirius. It was another worrying sign that he did not know what to do with.

“Reg, you’re not well yet. That doesn’t make you a risk. Just…”

“Eat people.” Regulus admitted. “Risk.”

“You’ve not tried to eat someone in a long time. Think about it, it’s been weeks and you’ve not once tried to eat me, Professor Dumbledore, Remus or Snape. Although the latter might be because I can’t imagine he’d taste very nice what with all the grease.”

“Be nice.” Regulus growled. He had learnt to tolerate the wolf, even though he had hurt Sirius. Severus had never hurt him so Sirius should respect their friendship.

“See, you’re even caring about people. That’s a good step.”

“No Potter. Go to Cissa.”

“Fine, even if you aren’t worried about hurting Draco, what about Lucius? Wasn’t he a Death Eater?”

Regulus stilled, frowning. Lucius was one of theirs. Had been? The newspapers he was slowly working his way through said that Malfoy had been found innocent of any crimes. Yes he may be a purist but could anyone actually see someone of his calibre fighting and killing? Regulus had been offended that that excuse got Lucius off but not Sirius. Everyone knew Malfoys had opposed the Statute on Secrecy because they associated with Muggles and what was more, they allowed Half Bloods into the family tree! Blacks were of a much higher calibre.

What was he thinking about?

Lucius.

Ah.

He did not know his allegiance and while blood would keep him safe with Narcissa, he did not think Lucius would extend the marriage of their blood to the Blacks. No, he could not seek refuge with his beloved cousin.

“Not ready.” Regulus said softly, looking at Sirius. “Time.”

“Not ready for what?”

“Potter. Give me time.” He paused and frowned. “Please?”

Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Okay. We’ll wait.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Good afternoon, Regulus.”

Bright blue eyes glittered as the old man sat down on a chair. Regulus however stared at his violet purple bag. There was something in there. It called to him like a siren, demanding his attention and focus.

“Sirius, if you could leave us?” Dumbledore asked and Regulus knew that his brother must be behind him. He always wanted to be included in these.

“I don’t see why I don’t get to stay when you have these little get togethers with Regulus. I was in the Order and served the cause well. There’s no reason to keep secrets from me.” Sirius grumbled but Regulus could barely hear him, so focused on the bag. It was like a faint calling echoing in his bones. His left arm itched.

“The fewer people who know, the better. And I think it is good for you and Regulus to get to spend some time apart. Not for long, of course, as there are few people who can know the full truth of Regulus’ situation, but we do not want either of you becoming co-dependent.”

“I’m not co-dependent.” Sirius muttered.

“It is a risk best to avoid. Regulus will have to return to school once he’s himself again.”

“Study here.” Regulus offered, still staring at the bag. The idea of being surrounded by children he might potentially eat was appealing which was why he should not go back. Besides, he hadn’t brought Sirius around to his way of thinking yet. He needed Sirius to understand. Sirius was his brother and as difficult as his return to life was it had been a long time since he had been this happy.

“Reg, you can’t teach yourself your NEWTs.” Sirius said.

“Can.” That seemed like a challenge and he was willing to take it up.

“Reg, you need to get proper teaching so we can get you back to normality.” Sirius said and Regulus felt a hand on her shoulder

Regulus shook his head.

“Stay. Safe. Family.”

He did not know if he zoned out but Sirius’ hand was no longer on his shoulder and was pulling away.

“Fine. I’ll go, but if it’s important, you would tell me, right Professor?”

“Sirius, I think we’re at the point you can call me Albus. And I would.” There was a reassuring note to Dumbledore’s voice. It reminded Regulus had how the Dark Lord spoke. Comforting promises. He heard the door close behind him.

“Good afternoon, Regulus. How have you been?” Dumbledore asked. Regulus stared at the bag and tried to remember what manners were. They had once been important to him. He heard the man sigh.

“I had thought you might be more ready for this.”

“What is it? What’s in the bag?”

Dumbledore gestured for Regulus to look and he dashed forward, hands eagerly reaching inside. It was a book. He fingered it carefully. Felt the feel of the paper and the weave of dead magic. The echo was as near familiar as the magic of his family and that could mean only one other person. The Dark Lord had near created him after all. Slowly, Regulus opened the book, staring at predominantly blank pages. The only writing which he could barely make out was the name ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’.

“I think you know what this was.” Dumbledore said softly. “And that perhaps what you have been hiding, what you died to hide, was one of the same.”

“Horcrux.” Regulus whispered, caressing the diary. It felt… precious to him. He traced the lines denoting what had to be the Dark Lord’s true name.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He knew the name Marvolo. He still remembered the ancestries that mother had instilled in him. That was a Gaunt family name. Descendants of Slytherin who had kept the family ties closer, marrying first cousins or kids to their uncles and aunts. An ignoble end to a once powerful line of magic.

Riddle was not a pureblood surname. It sounded English, so perhaps Australian, Kiwi or American. He did not know all their pureblood lines. But why hide it? Could… he be the unthinkable? Not pure?

“Thankfully destroyed, by the actions of your brother’s Godson.” Dumbledore said.

“How?”

“He killed a basilisk. The venom is quiet destructive.”

Regulus’ hand ran over the tooth mark.

“Slytherin’s pet.” He muttered. He wondered if he could get basilisk venom without Sirius realising. End this once and for all.

A realisation dawned.

“How many…” To split one’s soul once was a horrific act but to do it multiple times? Regulus had read the magic. It was dark and evil. He hadn’t even considered one might go through it more than once.

“Horcruxes? I do not know but I suspect that perhaps six horcruxes. That would give seven parts of the soul. A powerful number. This one came into my possession via Lucius Malfoy. Do you think that Voldemort-“ Regulus flinched and glanced around the room. His former Lord did not appear. “-Might have left other horcruxes with trusted Death Eaters?”

Regulus frowned. Bellatrix was the Dark Lord’s right-hand witch and no doubt the one he’d expect to have received anything so important. Malfoy… He would not have foreseen that, except perhaps as an honour to Narcissa, Bellatrix’s sister. Perhaps they both had one. That would mean they knew who had three of the horcruxes. His cousins and him. Oh.

“He didn’t give me one.” Regulus said suddenly, looking up and realising the Headmaster’s thought process.

“Ah.” Dumbledore said, leaning back and with greater respect in his eyes. “Forgive me for asking, but how did you come to find one of, (hm, shall we say Riddle’s to avoid giving you too much of a fright?) horcruxes?”

Regulus reluctantly put the diary down. Tom Marvolo Riddle. A child sired out of wedlock? Adopted out and hence the change in name? Or could one have truly married a lesser halfblood or Merlin forbid, a muggle. Perhaps it was another self-proclaimed title, the Riddle of his heritage.

“Regulus?” Dumbledore prompted, snapping him out of his musings.

“The Dark Lord wanted a House Elf for some important task. I knew it was important because he had only asked from trusted families. I was probably the least trustworthy there because Sirius had run away only a few years beforehand. No one else was so close to a blood traitor by blood and time. I figured I had more to prove and so volunteered Kreacher.” The words seemed strangely ordered in his head as he went through the memory. He felt like that seventeen-year-old boy facing the growing realisation that the man he had dedicated his life to was corrupt and evil. Even worse, that he had destroyed his own being in his belief for this glorious future. The chilling reality of what he was going to do.

Dumbledore said nothing.

“I told Kreacher to obey the Dark Lord and once his mission was done, to come home. Back to me. He did. Half dead, trembling, torn and sick. I tended to him and when he was well enough, asked of what had happened. I surmised the Dark Lord was hiding something of great importance. I wanted to tell everyone of this slight that he had committed against our family. To damage the property of a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! I knew he was no longer worthy of leading our cause. But if he had gone to such lengths to protect this… then it would be blind folly to leap in with accusations. It had tugged at me, on a memory. The Dark Lord always boasted about his immortality, that he had defeated Death. I threw myself into studies and realised the two were connected. It was truly abhorrent, and I knew I had to bring him down. What was more, I wanted him to know that it was I that had destroyed his immortality. But I did not want to face his torture. I’ve seen it, I’ve dealt it. I would not suffer it.”

“So, you died retrieving the Horcrux.” Dumbledore finished kindly.

Regulus nodded.

“I assume you’ve been unable to destroy it?”

Regulus stared at the book. Kreacher had spent fifteen years trying. He had not done as much himself, but as his sanity and sense of self returned, he had studied as best he could.

“I could destroy it, if you would like.” Dumbledore offered.

“No. Me.” Regulus snarled, baring his teeth, eyes flashing. Any attempt to return to himself was lost in the sudden surge of emotion that came about from the threat of someone else completing his life’s work. Dumbledore raised a hand.

“Of course, it is only natural that you should want to see this through. I can arrange for a basilisk fang to be brought with me on my next visit.”

“Others?”

“Pardon?”

Regulus frowned and focused on putting thoughts into his head, rather than instincts. He took a slow breath.

“What about the other Horcruxes?”

“You should focus on recovering.”

“No. I’m going to finish what I set out to do.” Regulus growled, low in his chest.

“Perhaps when you are yourself, Regulus.” Dumbledore said. “You’ve been through a lot and it would be unfair to ask more of you.”

“You’re not asking.” His voice was cold.

“I noticed how focused you became on the diary. You could sense it.”

Regulus stilled.

“May I ask, are you currently looking after the horcrux you retrieved until you can destroy it or are you guarding it?”

“Looking after. Will destroy.”

That was a driving force. He had died to make sure it was destroyed and he would do it in this life. But there was something…. Protective. He had felt it for the book. He felt it for the locket.

“You’ve had dark magic cast on you, Regulus. That takes a while to recover from. There is no shame in it.”

“Will destroy it. And every single Horcrux.” He had to cling to that. It was all that he had left.

“Rest, Regulus.” Dumbledore said, more firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t fighting this war alone.”

“I have to end it. Have to.” He whispered, staring down at the book. It was the only way to survive.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- _-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Merlin knew why he was doing this. He could just as well steal Harry from here – Regulus and Dumbledore be damned. Petunia – she was clearly Lily’s sister – placed her cup carefully down on the saucer, watching him with unashamed judgement. Her husband, Vernon, had more fear in his eyes. Their child was nowhere to be seen. Harry sat awkwardly next to them, staring into his cup of tea to hide the grin on his face.

Sirius took a sip of the tea. It was a decent blend, he could tell that. They’d probably spent more on being the tea than they’d ever spent on Harry, at least in one go. The muggle clothes he wore looked second hand. He didn’t have any accessories that Sirius might have otherwise expected on a young wizard.

“So… will you be taking him?” Petunia asked hesitantly. Sirius pressed his lips together.

“Eventually. Getting custardy is not as easy as I had hoped.”

“But you’re innocent!” Harry protested, his face crumpling although he did his best to hide it.

“I know, but Petunia is your aunt and there are questions about my suitability considering the fact that I did go to prison. Not to mention my brother his going through a rough patch.”

“You have a brother?” Harry asked.

“Uh, he’s called Regulus. I don’t suppose you were really around for that. But remember Dumbledore managed to stop me getting… yeah… and sent off to Saint Mungo’s to examine my head… well turns out I kind of have the information as to where my little brother was. He’d been missing for fifteen years and was kind of in a bad shape for a while. He’d got in with the wrong crowd and now I’m looking after him until he’s more... well, adapted for lack of a better word.” Sirius said, not sure how much he could say. They were trying to keep Regulus story under wraps until they knew more about it and just how safe it was to let it be known.

“We would only be too happy to give you Harry.” Vernon said. “No questions asked. The paperwork can be sorted out later.”

“I don’t mind that you’ve got a brother. I’m sure it’ll be fine. He can’t be worse than Voldemort.” Harry said, enthusiasm in his every being. Merlin, Sirius wanted to bring Harry home. Maybe he could keep Regulus confined to his new room until he was safe.

Sirius took a slow breath. No. Remember his brother’s face. The fear Regulus had of becoming a creature of Voldemort. The look of pure adoration (and surprise) that his brother had whenever Sirius did something just for the pure joy of making Regulus happy.

“He’s not very well. I think it’s best to wait, Harry.” Sirius said, placing a hand on his tiny shoulders. Harry shouldn’t be this skinny. A knife to his heart.

“Perhaps he just needs more company.” Vernon pressed.

“Look, can I talk to Harry about this?” Sirius snapped. “You aren’t making this any easier for either of us.”

“We want him gone.”

“Well, I want to take him with me!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Sirius clenched his fists and threw himself into the back of the overly flowery chair.

“Look, my brother is not well. It’s nothing infectious but he’s not well enough to deal with guests. Not to mention I’ve got Dumbledore insisting that I’m not capable of taking care of Harry which is nonsense but for some unknown reason, he really seems to favour you. Do you know why, considering you’re such awful muggles?”

“I… I was told I owed my sister.” Petunia sniffed, looking as haughty as certain members of Sirius’ family. “That Harry has to continue having a place in my home.”

She cast a nervous glance towards Vernon and Sirius tapped his fingers against his thigh. There was something more going on and he would have to get down to it.

“Look, I can’t move Harry in this summer but I can probably take him for the Christmas holidays – or some of it depending on Reg. Now I’m hopeful that everything will be sorted by next summer. That doesn’t seem too difficult for you, since you only see Harry during the summer holidays.” Sirius said, crossing his arms.

“And remember, Ron said I can stay the last week of the holidays with his family for the Quid- for the gaming event.” Harry said.

Sirius frowned at the amendment.

“Of course, I expect for the duration that Harry has to stay here, you’ll not require him to hide who he is. I hope you know that Harry is quite the Quidditch player – youngest on the team in a century. You should be very proud and embracing him.”

“We will not tolerate-”

“Because I know some quite beautiful spells that are quite untraceable, if I hear that Harry is being ill-treated. And I will certainly be paying more visits if I don’t regularly hear from Harry, so you better make sure he continues to be allowed to let his owl deliver them.”

Sirius was rewarded with a rather spectacular look of fear that went over the Dursleys. Harry was grinning ear to ear.

“Now, I don’t believe for one second that you don’t have enough money to look after Harry, so I expect him to be more well fed. I will, however, be the one to take Harry shopping for clothes. I’m generous like that.” He said. It was not at all an excuse to see more of the muggle world with someone who actually knew something about it…

“Who do you think you are, coming in here and telling me how to run my house?” Vernon asked, whiskers shaking in outrage. Sirius leaned back.

“Well, I’m Sirius Black. Excellent wizard, if I do say so myself, Godfather to Harry and general all round better-than-you guy.”

Sirius knew he’d already won. They had no magic, they didn’t know how illegal it was to use magic on muggles – no matter how deserving. All they could do was bluster in the hope that some form of social contract would restrain his hand.

“You will take him, next summer?” Petunia asked, her voice tight.

“As soon as I can get permission, I’m taking him. And if it comes to it, I’m certain I can steal him without attracting any attention.” Sirius said, giving a wink to Harry who smiled.

The rest of the day went rather well. He got to talk to Harry more and find out about his interests. It was nice to have Harry more as a person rather than a copy of James. He didn’t have any pictures of Harry as a baby but he had memories and that seemed to mean a lot to the kid. It was difficult though, as Sirius could tell that Harry wanted to get out of here and was being so kindly and understanding. It was a sharp contrast to Regulus and his stubborn hatred. He left with the promise of coming back within the week to go shopping with Harry and back to the greyness that was Grimmauld Place.

#Harry Potter fanfic #Fanfic #Regulus Black #Sirius Black #albus dumbledore #Harry Potter #inferius regulus

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no53472 · 6 years

Text

St. Mungo’s

You smiled as the child on the examination bench accepted their sweet reward. Their mother thanked you after you explained a few more details regarding the child's condition. It wasn't anything serious; just a check-up. After grazing themselves with a miscast some time ago, the child's arm rash was fading just as you treated it to. You walked them out of the examination room and waved them goodbye.

It wasn't a second later when you recognized your healer mentor's voice down the corridor, urgent and firm.

You knew the emergency wing of St. Mungo's wasn't at all unfamiliar with shouts like these, especially these days.

You hated the war and what it did to the wizarding world. Whatever side anyone was on, you always believed that magic should never be used to harm other people. That was the reason you became a healer after your time in Hogwarts, after all. Now You-Know-Who was doing precisely what you worked and aspired against.

But you weren't about to openly declare allegiances to either faction. You just wanted people to be safe and well.

Your curiosity for the sudden event down the hall, however, had you subconsciously walking towards your mentor. As you approached, you heard one phrase that quickly piqued your attention: unregistered animagus.

"What... What happened?" you asked your mentor, stifling your genuine curiosity. Small talk, think small talk.

Your mentor sighed, shaking their head. "A muggle family found him, crashing out of the sky. Gave a boy quite the scare. Good thing there was a wizard couple nearby who contacted us right away." Your mentor continued to explain that the route where the incident happened was suspected to be used by either the members of the Order or Voldemort's cronies.

You waited for them to mention anything about what you heard first though. When they didn't, you prompted, "And he's...an animagus?"

"Yeah," they said--and a lump seemed to grow in your throat. "Unregistered, by the looks of it. The Ministry's been contacted, don't worry. They'll be here for him as soon as he wakes up, surely."

Harboring a potential criminal in a neutral zone like St. Mungo's didn't quite sit well with you as you shifted uncomfortably. The Ministry of Magic had grown incredibly strong-handed since the war began. No one was safe, everyone was suspected of something. Voldemort's reign of terror planted so much fear and mistrust all over the wizarding world; it all rested on the infamous boy-wizard Harry Potter to potentially save it.

You yourself should have registered a long time ago. Who knows when the Ministry will catch wind of your own rebellious decision and come for you next?

"Oh, hold on," your mentor spun toward you--you nearly froze. "You were from Hogwarts too, weren't you?"

"Too...?" you asked.

They nodded towards the criminal-patient some healers had already wheeled away. "Apparently, the animagus might have been a schoolmate of yours. Would save everyone a tonne of trouble to identify him before the Ministry gets here, so..."

They waited for you to answer, but you were momentarily speechless. After a second, you just shrugged and nodded. "Um... Yeah, sure. No problem."

You had to wait a while before you could see your 'former schoolmate.' From what you could observe--the table of potions and the spells cast on him--his fall must have caused several broken bones. They left him securely tethered to the gurney when they were done.

Carefully, quietly, you entered the room. You read the chart at the foot of the gurney, all the blank spaces waiting for you to complete them. You weren't expecting to, but--

Merlin.

You suddenly had second thoughts. No. You? Why you? You knew earlier that even asking your mentor about this situation made you uneasy. You shouldn't have said anything. You should never had said anything.

He was indeed a former schoolmate of yours. He looked to have been at it rough after your days at Hogwarts. And, unfortunately, he was still an unregistered animagus. Just like you.

"Talbott," you didn't mean to say then, the name long unsaid on your tongue.

He seemed to have heard you as his eyes slowly opened. They shot awake upon realizing the cuff chained to his wrist. He grimaced painfully when he also recognized his injuries.

It hurt you to see your friend like this and, without thinking, you cast the unlocking charm. He then curled in agony, nursing his bandaged arms. He looked at you, surprised, recognizing you almost instantly. "Y/N--" he tried to say before he seethed in pain.

You felt sorry for him and quickly reached for the solutions on the waiting table next to him. You sat beside him to help apply them. "It's okay, Talbott. Here, let me--"

But you realized it too late when he suddenly jumped off the gurney and scambled for the waiting window on the other side of the small room. You jumped, nearly dropping the mending solution to the floor.

He tried to open the window but to no avail. He turned to you then: Your healer's robes, the hospital bed behind you, the chain you unlocked hanging uselessly on the gurney. Realization of his makeshift prison quickly appeared in his scared eyes. He didn't need an explanation; he knew. He extended his open palm. "Y/N, your wand."

What was he doing? After years you both hadn't seen nor heard from each other, this was how you reunited?

"Talbott, please get down from there. You're not well," you tried to tell him gently.

"There's no time for this, Y/N. Give me your wand."

"I can't do that," you said, taking a few steps toward him. "Please, Talbott, you're going to put yourself in more trouble than you need to be--"

"You don't understand, Y/N--" He looked around the hospital ward, hearing something you couldn't. He shook his head, frustrated. "Just give me your wand. I need to... The war--"

"Talbott, you're safe here, I promise. You don't need to do this."

"Safe? Here? Are you joking, Y/N?" He quickly looked over his shoulder through the window. "We're all about as safe as the Dark Lord makes us. And I am not staying only to be taken to Azkaban. I need your wand. Now."

"You're badly hurt, Talbott; please listen to me--"

"And we'll all be dead if I do, Y/N," he snapped.

"Well, why should I give you my wand then?!" Your voice was shaking. You remember being far braver than this back in Hogwarts. The vaults didn't scare you. The boggarts, the ice knight, your own brother--you challenged them all. And won.

Was it because Talbott was your friend? You thought so anyway. You just weren't used to seeing him like this. He used to be so in-control and far less emotional than he was tonight. And it somewhat frightened you.

But something clearly frightened him. What was so urgent that he couldn't simply convince you he needed to leave St. Mungo's? Surely someone from the Ministry could help him, regardless if he was an unregistered animagus or not.

Talbott grit his teeth, his other hand gripping the window latch tightly. "Because Dumbledore's dead, Y/N." His voice struggled to hold itself together.

His words stunned you. The rise and fall of his shaking shoulders tried to keep the glassiness from his eyes. That was when you realized your own vision fogging.

Dumbledore? Dead? It couldn't be...

"I have a message to deliver and I need your wand. Please, Y/N," Talbott begged through clenched teeth.

The heaviness in your chest instead manifested into your arm reaching out with your wand's handle towards Talbott. With Dumbledore gone, that means...

He took your wand from your fingers and quickly unlocked the window. The wind outside the hospital howled into the room, dark clouds swirling--the faint image of a skull and serpent appearing--in the sky.

The first tear finally fell from your eyes. Just before Talbott prepared to leap out of the opening, he turned to you one last time, his own eyes welling up.

Alternate Endings! Choose one; choose wisely:

[Ending A] or [Ending B]

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #fanfic #mc #jacob's sibling #talbott winger #gryffindor #hufflepuff #slytherin #ravenclaw #animagus #i was inpired by bandersnatch ok #but i'm not as creative or crazy as they are #sorry #my fic

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mbtizone · 7 years

Text

Arthur Weasley (Harry Potter): INTP

Dominant Introverted Thinking [Ti]: Arthur wants to know how things work. He’s fascinated with muggle technology and seeks to understand it. He has a curious mind and likes to ask muggles and those familiar with the muggle world questions about various non-magical items. He wants to know what the function of a rubber duck is. He needs to know how airplanes fly. Arthur enjoys tinkering with things and likes using magic to invent and create. When he finds out that his sons took the car he enchanted out to retrieve Harry all the way from Surrey, his first response was to ask them how the trip went. Arthur is a logical man and doesn’t get caught up in the facts of a situation. Yes, Harry’s wand had had been the one to summon the Dark Mark. And yeah, Winky was found unconscious beside it. The evidence would appear to suggest that Winky was the culprit. But it doesn’t make sense to Arthur, and he believes there’s more to the story. Nobody wants Harry to know about Sirius Black, but Arthur tells him anyway because he thinks that Harry needs to know the truth in order to stay out of trouble, and, even though everyone else has discouraged him, he decides to tell Harry anyway.

Auxiliary Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: New situations excite Arthur. He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department at the Ministry of Magic because of his fascination with muggles. He sees potential in ordinary items and creatively changes them to his liking. Arthur is full of ideas and enjoys speculating about possibilities. Arthur has good instincts and often comes up with theories about things. He believes that Percy is being promoted for the Ministry to have a spy in the Weasley family. Arthur is the one to suggest that he and Harry leave early for their meeting because he suspected that Fudge may try to change the time in an attempt to make Harry look bad. Arthur is a bit eccentric, which sometimes puts him at odds with his more traditional, grounded wife.

Tertiary Introverted Sensing [Si]: Because he is quite happy with the work that he does, Percy accuses Arthur of lacking ambition. Arthur is perfectly happy where he is and doesn’t want to seek a higher position at the Ministry. When Arthur is eventually promoted, he continues to miss his former job. Arthur is a deeply devoted father and husband. He wants to get the details about things – such as all of the gadgets and gizmos that pique his interest. Arthur is described as reliable and trustworthy. He is hardworking and loyal, particularly to his family, Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix.

Inferior Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: When Molly is displeased with Arthur’s reaction to finding out that the kids had taken the flying car, he quickly catches himself and scolds them in order to make her happy. Arthur is extremely good-natured and laid-back about everything. He cares very deeply for other people and stands up to who he thinks is Albert Runcorn after Runcorn exposed muggle-born Dirk Cresswell for forging wizarding heritage. He’s a champion for muggle-borns and makes his position clear to the Ministry. Arthur helped to write the Muggle Protection Act in order to keep those without magic safe from nefarious wizards. Arthur doesn’t care about what a person’s blood status is. All that matters to him is how they treat other people. He has a warm, congenial disposition and seems to get along with most people, frequently engaging others in pleasant conversation.

Enneagram: 9w1 5w6 2w1 So/Sx

Quotes:

Arthur: They run off eckeltricity, do they? Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs. And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I’m mad, but there you are.

Arthur: [after being informed that his sons took the flying car to Surrey] Did you really? Did it go alright? I — I mean … that — that was very wrong, boys, very wrong indeed…

Arthur: Harry said good-bye to you. Didn’t you hear him? Harry: It doesn’t matter. Honestly, I don’t care. Arthur: You aren’t going to see your nephew till next summer. Surely you’re going to say good-bye? Vernon: Good-bye, then.

Arthur: Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?

Arthur: Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.

Lucius:: Busy time at the Ministry, Arthur, all those extra raids? I do hope they’re paying you overtime. Though judging by the state of this, I’d say not. What’s the use in being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it? Arthur: We have a very different idea about what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.

Arthur: …makes no sense not to tell him. Harry’s got a right to know. I’ve tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He’s thirteen years old and – Molly: Arthur, the truth would terrify him! Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven’s sake, he’s happy not knowing! Arthur: I don’t want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard! You know what Harry and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves – they’ve ended up in the Forbidden Forest twice! But Harry mustn’t do that this year! When I think what could have happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn’t picked him up, I’m prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him. Molly: But he’s not dead, so what’s the point -” Arthur: Molly, they say Sirius Black’s mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban. It’s been three weeks, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, and I don’t care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we’re no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands.

Arthur: Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks killing Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that…

Arthur: Harry, there are some within the Ministry who would strongly discourage me from divulging what I’m about to reveal to you, but I think that you need to know the facts. You are in danger. Grave danger. Harry: Has this anything to do with Sirius Black? Arthur: What do you know about Sirius Black, Harry? Harry: Only that he’s escaped from Azkaban. Arthur: Do you know why? Thirteen years ago, when you stopped… Harry: – Voldemort… Arthur: – don’t say his name. Harry: Sorry. Arthur: When you stopped You-Know-Who, Black lost everything. But to this day, he still remains a faithful servant. And his mind you are the only thing that stands in the way of You-Know-Who returning to power. And that is why he has escaped from Azkaban. To find you… Harry: And kill me. Arthur: Harry, I want you to swear to me that whatever you might hear, you won’t go looking for Black. Harry: Mr. Weasley, why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?

Arthur Weasley (Harry Potter): INTP was originally published on MBTI Zone

#Arthur Weasley #Harry Potter #So/Sx #Tritype 952 #INTP #9w1 #Type 9 #enneagram 9 #mbti #mbti types #mbti personality types #fictionalcharactermbti #fictionmbti #enneagram #enneatypes #enneagram type #book mbti #movie mbti

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sigrun23 · 7 years

Text

Light in the Darkness

After being viciously attacked by a mysterious wizard, Albus Potter’s life changes completely. Will he cope with the effects of the curse? Will Harry find the attacker before they commit another crime?

That’s my first Albus/Scorpius story (and the second fanfic I wrote in English). The main theme may be a bit unusual but it interests me a lot and I wanted to explore it while having fun writing about my favourite characters. I want to thank wonderful @torestoreamends for being the most amazing Beta. If you have a bit of time, please comment and/or reblog. I’d be grateful for any feedback.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12429532/1/Light-in-the-Darkness

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10518825/chapters/23217756

Twenty three years had passed since the Second Wizarding War and Harry Potter thought that nothing threatened the safety of his family. Voldemort was dead, his daughter was in Azkaban, and many Death Eaters were kept in prison as well, while those who had been given shorter sentences were now considered safe and rehabilitated members of this new world. As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry no longer heard many rumours about radical witches or wizards who wanted the return of Voldemort's ideology, or wanted a revenge on the man who destroyed their Master.

But no one, not even the boy who twice survived the Killing Curse, is able to predict a future and prevent bad things from happening.

It was a warm summer evening, after Albus's fourth year. Ginny and Harry were relaxing after a long day at work, enjoying their favourite programme on TV. Suddenly, they were startled by their older son's shouts:

“Yeah, just run away! Why not?!”

“I'm not running away!” Albus yelled back. “I'm ending this discussion because you don't listen! You just want me to agree with you, and start shouting at me when I don't!”

Harry made a move to stand up but Ginny stopped him and just turned up the volume of the television.

“You're running away because you lost! You have no more arguments!” James was shouting even louder.

“Merlin, James, you really don't understand! A discussion is not a competition!”

“Sure it is! And I won!”

A moment later Ginny and Harry heard Albus running down the stairs and leaving the house, slamming the front door behind him. James cursed loudly and shut his room's door with a loud bang.

“Maybe I should go after Albus,” said Harry, a little concerned.

“Leave him be. He needs to calm down. He'll be back soon,” Ginny reassured him and they went back to watching TV.

Half an hour later, they were once again interrupted, this time by a silver pig unexpectedly appearing in the living room. Ginny and Harry recognised it as their neighbour's Patronus. It conveyed a simple but grave message before dissolving.

“Come quickly to the park. I found your son, Albus. He's unconscious.”

Harry grabbed his wife by the hand and Apparated them both to the edge of the park, behind thick bushes where no Muggles could see them. They started to run down the path, looking for their son. After two minutes of hectic searching they found Albus and Mr Parker under a tree near one of less commonly walked paths.

“Albus!” cried Ginny and dropped to her knees beside her child.

Albus was still unconscious, and Ginny noticed that his clothes were covered in dirt, vomit and urine. Harry knelt down beside her and cast a basic diagnostic spell, informing him that Albus was alive and not in life-threatening state.

“What happened?” Harry asked Mr Parker.

“I was walking with my dog,” the older man said, indicating his dog which was now licking the boy's hand. “After about twenty minutes I noticed something lying under the tree. When I came closer I saw that it's Albus. I immediately sent you a Patronus.”

“Did you notice something or someone suspicious earlier?”

“No. Just a few people in the park, but I know them all.”

Harry looked around, looking for any traces of attack or fight. The only out-of-ordinary thing he noticed was a patch of crumpled grass beside Albus, as if someone rolled around in it for a long time.

“Harry?” Ginny looked at her husband. “Was Albus attacked?”

“I don't know. He might have been,” Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. “But maybe we're panicking. Maybe there's a more prosaic cause. Like an epilepsy attack.”

“An epilepsy attack?” repeated Ginny doubtfully.

“Yeah, you're right, Mr Potter,” interfered Mr Parker. “My brother has an epilepsy. I saw his attacks many times. He often loses consciousness after them. Or maybe Albus hit his head while falling down.”

“Either way we need to take him to St. Mungo's,” decided Ginny and stood up. She conjured the stretcher and gently moved Albus onto it, while Harry cleaned him with a quick spell.

“Thank you, Mr Parker,” said Harry, looking at the older man.

“No need, Mr Potter, no need. I hope he's okay,” Mr Parker said and grabbed his dog so he wouldn't be accidentally Apparated with the Potter family.

Harry took Ginny's and Albus's hands and Apparated with them to the St. Mungo's Hospital's Apparition zone. They went to the emergency ward and were quickly approached by a Healer.

“Mr and Mrs Potter,” he greeted them. “How can I help you?”

“We found our son unconscious in the park, about five minutes ago,” began Harry.

“Did someone see the exact moment your son lost consciousness?” asked the Healer.

“No, Albus was already unconscious when our neighbour found him. He left the house about half an hour earlier. He was alone,” said Harry.

“We suspect he might have had an epilepsy attack,” added Ginny.

“Does Albus suffer from epilepsy?”

“No,” answered Ginny. “I don't think he's ever even fainted before.”

“Does he have any chronic diseases or take any medications?”

“No,” said Harry impatiently. “Do you know what's wrong with our son?”

“Mr Potter, I'm not omniscient. We need to cast diagnostic spells, run some tests before we can tell what happened to Albus and how to help him. We'll do our best.”

Harry nodded, breathing deeply and trying to calm down.

“I'll take Albus to the examination room. Please, wait here. I'll inform you as soon as we know anything.”

Ginny and Harry sat down in the chairs in the waiting area and the Healer took their son to the room at the end of the corridor.

“He'll be alright,” said Ginny, taking her husband's hand.

“We don't know that,” replied Harry, pulling his hand out of hers and hiding his face in his hands.

“But we can believe in it. Let's stay positive and wait for what the Healers will say.” Ginny stroked Harry's hair. “We need to tell Lily and James where we are. They'll be worried.”

“Right,” agreed Harry, glad to have something to do. “I'll Apparate home and tell them what happened. Should I bring them with me?”

“Not yet. Tell them that we are at the hospital with Albus, and that we don't know anything yet, but we'll come for them when we learn anything. Don't worry them too much, tell them that we are optimistic.”

Harry nodded and went back into the Apparition zone. He returned five minutes later, telling Ginny that Lily and James hadn't even noticed that they were gone.

“Lily wanted to come with me but I persuaded her to stay in the house. I asked James to look after her, but if we have to wait long here, I think we should ask Arthur and Molly to take them to the Burrow. Do you know anything new?”

“No. No one came to me while you were gone,” said Ginny.

Harry started to pace back and forth along the corridor. Ginny brought tea for them, but Harry was too worried to drink it. The tea was cold when finally someone came to them. A young nurse told them that Albus had been moved to the Spell Damage ward, and that a Healer was waiting for them there with detailed information. Ginny and Harry rushed up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. The Healer was already waiting for them when they entered the ward.

“Good evening, Mr and Mrs Potter. My name is Katherine Austen and I'm taking care of your son.”

“Do you know what happened to Albus? Can we see him?” asked Harry frantically.

“Of course. Follow me,” she led them to the small, private room.

Albus was lying on the bed, pale and unmoving. He was still unconscious. Ginny sat in the chair beside the bed and started delicately stroking her child's face. Harry stood next to her and looked sadly at his son for a moment before turning his attention to the Healer.

“What's wrong with Albus? Why is he still unconscious?”

“I'm afraid I don't have good news.” Harry's face fell and tears appeared in Ginny's eyes. “We cast many spells, ran many tests, called the best Healers in the hospital, but the diagnosis was still the same. It seems your son was attacked and- I'm so sorry but he- Albus was tortured. With the Cruciatus Curse.”

Ginny whimpered and broke out into tears. Harry grabbed the chair's back so hard that it creaked in protest. They both knew what it meant to be the victim of that terrible curse, but the thought that their child had suffered it, was much worse than any torture.

“And we estimated that Albus was tortured for about fifteen minutes.”

Ginny was sobbing now, kissing Albus's hand. Harry sat down on the bed, too shocked to say anything, to even cry. He couldn't believe that someone could have done such a horrendous thing to an innocent child. And then an even more terrible thought occurred to him.

“Fifteen minutes?” he asked slowly and Healer Austen nodded. “People lose their minds after shorter time. Is he-?” he couldn't finish the sentence.

“We don't know. We can't tell anything about Albus's mental state until he wakes up. And we don't know if he will wake up at all.”

“Can't you do something?” asked Harry in despair.

“We gave Albus potions to recuperate his nervous system and protect it from further damage. But it's all we can do. The rest is up to your son.”

“Is that all?” asked Ginny. “We want to be left alone with Albus.”

“There are a few other things you need to know, but I'll be quick.” When both Ginny and Harry nodded, the Healer continued: “As a residual effect of the Cruciatus Curse, Albus's limbs are still trembling, and he may have seizures. But we gave him very good potions so these symptoms are under control and should be gone completely very soon.”

Harry looked at Albus's hands and indeed saw that they were constantly twitching.

“There is another residual effect of the curse: the pain. Unfortunately, after such a long exposure to the curse, Albus will feel pain for a long time, even for a few months. We gave him a strong analgesic potion which he should continue taking after he wakes up. I'll tell you more about analgesic potions and their administration later.”

Harry didn't think he could take any more bad information. But Healer Austen hadn't finished yet.

“There's one more thing. And before you ask and raise your hopes, I have to tell you that there's no cure for it, neither in our world, nor in the Muggle world,” the Healer took a deep breath before continuing: “The Cruciatus Curse was mainly focused on Albus's head. It destroyed his optic nerves.”

Harry knew what she was going to say but couldn't believe it even after he heard the news.

“I'm so sorry. Your son is permanently blind.”

Harry and Ginny were sitting on Albus's bed, barely seeing their son through tears streaming down their faces. Ginny put her head on her husband's shoulder, and Harry was running his hand through her thick hair. Healer Austen had left them a few minutes ago, saying that if they had any questions, she would be in her office.

“It's all my fault,” said Harry.

Ginny raised her head and looked at him, appalled.

“Harry! Not again! Not everything in the world is your fault!”

“But this is. I should have gone after him.”

“And you wanted to,” his wife reminded him. “I told you not to. So it's my fault. Or maybe it's Albus's fault because he left the house. Or James's because he argued with him. It's a lot of people's faults, Harry, but there's only one person to blame. The attacker.”

Harry looked at her, gratefulness and love shining in his green eyes.

“And I will find whoever did this to Albus. And make sure that their punishment is severe. Even if it's the last thing I do.”

“I know, Harry, but please don't lose yourself in revenge. Remember that Albus is more important than vengeance. He will need you.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Harry, looking at his sleeping son. He looked so peaceful, not a sign of torment he had endured visible on his face.

“We're going to support him, help him, as we always do. We have to be strong for him. He's going to be in a bad state when he wakes up so we-”

“If he wakes up-” said Harry, recalling the ominous words of the Healer.

“He will! Do you hear me, Harry! He will!” insisted Ginny, trying to convince herself as much as her husband. “And when he does, he'll need us to help him adjust to this new life.”

“But we don't know anything about blind people and how to help them.”

“We'll learn everything. We can ask Healers, read books, meet some people who have experience in this area.”

“I'm terrified,” admitted Harry. “And what scares me the most is the moment we have to tell Albus that he's blind. He'll be devastated.”

“I'm scared too,” said Ginny, stroking Albus's dark hair. “But we can do it. As always.”

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling very tired.

“I'll get James and Lily,” said Ginny, standing up. “They need to know what happened to Albus.”

“Of course,” said Harry. Ginny kissed him and ran from the room to Apparate back home.

She returned after fifteen minutes, holding crying Lily by the hand. The girl sat down on the bed and put her favourite stuffed dog next to Albus's hand.

“Hi, Al,” she said quietly, her voice breaking with sobs. “Please, wake up. Don't be afraid, I'll help you with everything. Just wake up-” she couldn't continue so she took Albus's trembling hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Where's James?” asked Harry, peeking into the corridor and seeing no sign of his older son.

“He didn't want to come,” said Ginny.

“Why?! Doesn't he want to see his brother?”

“I don't know. When I told James and Lily what happened, Lily started crying and pleading to go to the hospital. But James- he just looked at me in shock and then ran upstairs to his room. I came to him but he locked the door and yelled at me to go away.”

“That's strange. I know that he and Albus quarrel a lot but I'd never expect this-”

“I think-” started Ginny, looking at her daughter who had calmed a bit and was now talking quietly to Albus. “I think that maybe James feels guilty. Maybe he thinks that if he hadn't argued with Albus, Albus wouldn't have run from the house and none of this would have happened.”

“We'll need to talk to him. Explain to him that it's not his fault,” said Harry.

“Of course,” agreed Ginny and kissed her husband on the cheek. “Harry, take Lily home and tell the family and Scorpius what happened. They can visit Albus but tomorrow's afternoon. And not everyone at once. He needs some rest and peace.”

“I want to stay too. We both need to be here when he wakes up.”

“Then you can come back. Take Lily home, inform everyone, ask Arthur and Molly to take care of James and Lily, then come back here.”

Harry went over to his daughter. “Lily, you need to go back home.”

“Dad, no,” she said, looking at her father with big, brown eyes. “I want to stay with Albus. Maybe he'll wake up quicker if I talk to him.”

“Lily, sweetheart, you need rest. Go home and get some sleep. You can come back in the morning,” said Ginny.

“We'll tell you and James when anything happens to Albus,” Harry assured her.

Lily sighed and got up. She made sure that Albus's hand was holding her toy dog and kissed him gently on the cheek. Harry's vision blurred at that sight.

“Come on,” he said, clearing his throat and taking her hand. “I'll be back soon.” Harry glanced at his wife. “Send me a Patronus if anything changes.” Then, he and his daughter left the room.

Ginny sat down on the bed and took Albus's hand. She knew that it was going to be a long night. Her only wish was that tomorrow Albus would wake up, and that he would be sane. He might have been blind and traumatised, but if his sanity were intact, they could deal with everything else.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter and the cursed child #the cursed child #harry potter i przeklęte dziecko #Albus Severus Potter #Scorpius Malfoy #Harry Potter #Ginny Potter #cursedchildnetwork #light in the darkness

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all-the-fics-ill-never-publish · 3 years

Text

If Sirius Black Had Never Died

WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD!

In an alternate world, in which JKR didn’t believe in trauma porn, what happened to Sirius Black could have been incredibly different.

Where should one begin to unravel the threads that led a brave man, one with such potential for redemption, to his death?

Does it begin on the night he was meant to die? When he bolted downstairs to discover that his godson, the legacy and the link he cherishes, was in mortal peril and insisted on following the rest of the Order to the Department of Mysteries, he faced his mad cousin in the Death Chamber, dueling her with all his hatred of the Black family…

Harry watches as Bellatrix Lestrange’s curse hits Sirius in the chest and he topples backwards off the amphitheater steps, hitting the stone floor with a horrible crunch. His godfather’s wild, ironic laugh— what a way to die, at the hands of everything he hated most!—is met with an insane shriek of joy from the madwoman who has felled him. Harry yells in fury and grief as he watched this most important person crumple, and he shakes off Lupin’s restraining hands. No one can stop him as he takes off after Bellatrix, determined to exact revenge. A life for a life— how dare she take from him the only adult who had ever cared about his safety and happiness? The last, closest thing he had to a parent, and she had enjoyed killing him. White-hot fury sustains him, keeps the tears at bay.

The fight is winding down, and Remus Lupin dashes down the remaining steps to fall to his knees at his friend’s side. Please not him, he thinks, reaching madly for a pulse, not this last person, my last friend. Don’t let him… He feels a steady heartbeat beneath his frantic fingers and begins to cry unashamedly with relief. Padfoot is still with him, though Prongs has gone and Wormtail has betrayed them. Mooney is not alone so long as at least one Marauder still lives.

When the Aurors arrive to capture the Death Eaters, it is with Albus Dumbledore and an ashen-faced Harry in tow.

“Sirius is not dead, Harry,” Lupin is quick to reassure him. “But, Dumbledore…” Lupin’s eyes say all the things his voice cannot, and fortunately Dumbledore is quick. He strides over to Sirius, kneels down, and examines him closely.

“Lupin is correct, Harry,” he concurs after a moment, his face grave but his smile reassuring. “Sirius in not in immediate danger from his injuries. If you will go back to my office, I will meet you there once I have attended to him and spoken with Mr. Fudge.”

Dumbledore waves his wand at a piece of rubble nearby and mutters, “Portus”. With one last anguished look at his godfather, still unconscious, Harry takes the proferred Portkey and vanishes.

Dumbledore prevents the Aurors from arresting Sirius on the spot. “He was here at my orders, fighting on our side,” he says, eyes flashing so dangerously that no one argues. “Any questions you have can wait until he is more fully recovered. Remus,” he says, “please take Sirius to St. Mungo’s and stay with him until I arrive. I will want to give Harry a full report.”

In Cornelius Fudge’s office, Dumbledore informs the Minister of Magic in no uncertain terms that Sirius is to be allowed to recover peacefully in St. Mungo’s, and then to report for the trial he should have been given fourteen years before. Dumbledore, as the (presumably) soon-to-be instated Head of the Wizengamot, will oversee the proceedings. In the meantime, there is a very frightened boy who is waiting anxiously for word about his godfather. If the Minister has any further questions, he can send an owl; letters addressed to the Headmaster of Hogwarts will always find him.

When Dumbledore returns to his office later, it is to find a shell-shocked Harry staring blankly into space. He tells the boy that Sirius will live, that the curse damage he suffered is not permanent; Sirius should be up and about in a few days. After that, there will be a trial to clear his name. Harry’s self-recriminations are tinged with relief that his foolishness has not killed this most important person, this almost-parent, but Dumbledore still refuses to accept them. “It is my fault,” he says clearly, “that Sirius was injured.” For he should indeed have known better than to lock the man up inside a house of childhood horrors with no glimpse of the independence he had fought so hard for.

As Dumbledore tells Harry everything about the prophecy, Harry is still too numb with shock to process much, still overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Dumbledore hid from him, but the grief that he might have known— that he did feel for fifteen horrible minutes— is mercifully absent. Some weeks later, when Sirius is finally cleared of all crimes by the Wizengamot, the relief is so heady that Harry smiles and hugs Sirius— unusual, for such an undemonstrative boy. “Maybe now,” he tells his surrogate father, “you’ll be able to get out and about. You probably have enough gold for a new house, too.” Sirius’s answering grin makes him look, once again, like the man who had been James Potter’s best man so many years before.

All is not perfect, of course. Kreacher had still betrayed his master, and Sirius, unable to look at him and unwilling to confront his own complicity in Kreacher’s behavior, sends him to the Hogwarts kitchens. Number 12 Grimmauld Place is destroyed, but not before Mundungus Fletcher makes off with all the valuables he can. Sirius buys himself a house— a nice, airy one in the countryside— and the Order sets up their headquarters there instead. Harry still has to return to Privet Drive that summer, but only for a few weeks. When Dumbledore collects Harry from the Dursleys, it isn’t to the Burrow that he escorts him, but rather to Nettleford Place, a three-story Victorian pile outside a small village in Devonshire. Harry lives in terror of having this, too, snatched from him; leaving Sirius to seek Horcruxes is one of the most difficult things he can imagine. Will both of them lived to see the end of the war? Will this home, too, be taken from him like so many had before? Will Sirius, like Harry’s parents and Dumbledore, be forced to sacrifice himself as well?

Ah, but this new narrative, while it removes one injustice wrought by the author’s hand, has not yet solved the greatest injustice of all. Perhaps we can take this tale back even further, to a time when Sirius was still young and arrogantly handsome, to the day after his best friends were murdered. To a time when the law should have been more careful…

The Magical Law Enforcement Squad descends upon a Muggle street in early November, 1981. A crater in the pavement is open to the sewers, the bodies of the dead broken on the rubble. The harsh wind threatens to steal their hats even as it whips the robes around the knees of the presumed murderer standing at the far end of the disaster zone. The handsome, careless man is still laughing with a kind of hysteria as members of the Law Enforcement Squad advance on him, wands raised.

“Come with us, Black,” says Bob Ogden, the head of the squad, waving his wand so that ropes spring out to restrain the man. He prays it won’t come to additional violence; he’s getting close to retirement now, and the paperwork from this blast alone will be nightmare enough without extra jinxes flying around. But Black does not fight the ropes as he works to stifle his laugh.

Ogden picks up the wand Sirius drops on the pavement and puts it tip-to-tip with his own. “Priori Incantatem,” he murmurs. If Black did indeed perform this curse, the wand will tell him. But the last spell the wand performed was not a blasting curse; it was a Hover Charm. He looks at the bound man in confusion and then scans the screaming Muggle crowd for an accomplice.

By this point, Ogden’s deputy returns from his conference with the Muggle policeman and murmurs his report into his boss’s ear. His boss starts, shakes his head, then looks at Black once more.

“Who is Peter Pettigrew?” he asks harshly, and Black, having composed himself, scowls darkly.

“A nasty sneaking traitor!” he roars. “You see this street? That’s his doing, the murdering scum! Accusing me of betraying James and Lily, and then doing this! He’ll wish he’d died in this explosion before I’m done with him! Check the sewers! There’s his wand, you’ll see, you’ll see!” Sirius begins to swear with such caustic fervor that several of his guards wince.

Ogden gives two more squad members the nod to search fthe rubble. Sure enough, another wand is discovered on the edge of a large crack in the pipes, near a pile of grimy robes and one severed finger. This wand, much shorter and less well-polished than Sirius Black’s, proves to be the one that cast the blasting curse. But where could the wielder have gone? Did Black cast the curse with another wizard’s wand and then discard it? But then, where had the finger and the robes come from?

Black is still thrown in Azkaban for a week until the trial commences. When he is permitted to stand before the courtroom— looking rather more pale than usual but no less haughty— he tells the story of the Potters’ Fidelius Charm. He was, indeed, supposed to have been their Secret Keeper, but he had convinced James to switch to Peter at the last minute without telling anyone. It was a perfect ruse, he explains, because everyone who knew Peter knew that he had barely passed his examinations. Everyone knew Sirius was closest to James and Lily, would be sure to come after him first and leave Peter, that sad afterthought of any gathering, alone. When he had checked on Peter that Halloween to see if he was still safe, and found an empty house with no sign of a struggle, he had gone immediately to the Potters’ house and found it destroyed. Peter must have told Voldemort the Potters location willingly— there was no other way for the information to be divulged— but that must mean….

His fury with Peter kept him from resisting Hagrid’s insistence that Harry come with him. “Take my bike, then,” Sirius had told Hagrid, “You’ll get there faster, and I won’t be needing it just now.” There would be time, perhaps, if Sirius were able to exact vengeance on Peter, to find Harry again and fulfill the duties with which James and Lily had entrusted him.

But he had counted without Pettigrew’s cowardice and self-preservation, he tells the Wizengamot. When cornered, he screamed for everyone to hear that Sirius had betrayed his best friends, and then blew the street apart and escaped. Pettigrew, Sirius says to the court, is an unregistered Animagus. He can become a rat. The finger left behind was a pathetic attempt to fake his own death. This testimony tallies with the Priori Incantatem evidence collected at the scene, but Bartemius Crouch, Sr, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, does not believe him. It is not until Dumbledore persuades Crouch to hear Sirius’s testimony under the influence of Veritaserum that Sirius is acquitted. Sirius is released, wand intact, still nursing his vendetta against the friend who betrayed them all but with his fury temporarily abated; there are more important things for him to do now.

When Sirius asks Dumbledore where Harry is, he learns of the ancient magic that protects Harry from Voldemort. As long as Harry lives with his aunt— his mother’s last remaining relative— he will be safe. Sirius cannot take him from that house, or Harry’s protection cannot be guaranteed.

Sirius does not take Harry from the Dursleys, but he shows up on their doorstep in his torn jeans and leather jacket to introduce himself, motorbike parked carelessly on the curb. After they attempt to bar him from the house, Sirius threatens them with his wand and marches in to see the tiny boy with Lily’s eyes in James’s face, crying by himself in a corner of the living room. When Sirius enters, Harry recognizes his Uncle Paddy (as Sirius had styled himself, short for his nickname Padfoot) and stops crying. He reaches up his arms and Sirius picks him up, rocking him and telling him that it’s okay, his parents are gone but he’ll always have Uncle Paddy. He may not be an expert at child care-- Harry is the only baby he’s ever held-- but Sirius is determined to do his best for this little copy of his best friend. For James’s son, he can find the paternal side he’d never known he had.

“Harry has to stay here,” Sirius says to Vernon and Petunia. “For his own protection. But I will come for him every weekend, and if I see the slightest sign of mistreatment,” he adds, pulling out his wand and sticking it in their faces, already mistrusting them because they left Harry to cry alone, “I will take it out of your miserable skins, you got that?” Vernon splutters but hasn’t the nerve to stand up to Sirius Black in a temper; precious few people do.

The Dursleys’ fear of Sirius’s retribution, and Sirius’s own presence, makes Harry’s childhood less uncomfortable than it would have been otherwise. Harry is still forced to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs until the age of ten, but is never locked in there. Dudley still sees to it that he has no friends at school, and that he never has enough to eat during the week. Harry still grows up convinced of his own unimportance and normalizing his abuse. And yet, he knows that at least one person cares about him because, no matter how busy Sirius is working for the Auror office (putting that thirst for vengeance to good use), he always shows up Fridays after work to collect Harry from Privet Drive. He takes Harry back to his house in Devonshire— Harry loves the motorcycle— and lets Harry ride his toy broomstick in the back garden.

On weekends at Sirius’s house, Harry meets his Uncle Mooney, who stays with Sirius in between jobs. Remus Lupin doesn’t have any money— can’t buy presents or Quidditch tickets— but he tells him stories about his parents and shows him pictures of them. He plays board games and listens to the radio, and makes bubbles for the cat to chase. When Harry is ten, Sirius and Remus sit Harry down and explain that Remus is a werewolf, and that that makes it harder for him to be treated equally. Harry scowls and says “It’s not fair for them to think you’re different! You’re a person, you just have a problem!” Remus and Sirius meet each other’s gaze over Harry’s head, both thinking just how much the boy is like James. Sometimes, when Remus needs cheering up, Sirius gets Quidditch tickets for them all. For the last two Marauders, it is both soothing balm and bitter pill to see Harry with eyes alight at the aerial acrobatics; how James would have loved to be there! And so, Harry grows up knowing that he is magic, that his odd flashes when he’s scared or angry are because he has powers, and he knows that there is a wizard school that he can go to when he’s older. But, more importantly, he grows up knowing he is loved by his two adopted uncles, his parents’ best friends, who are more family to him that his blood kin.

The owl with his Hogwarts letter is posted to Sirius instead of the Dursleys, and Sirius takes him to Diagon Alley for the first time. They run into Hagrid in the Leaky Cauldron (he’s the one person Sirius doesn’t try and chase away), and Hagrid tells him how fondly he remembers his parents. Harry still stares and feels funny about Hagrid’s kindness, but relieved that there are other people like Sirius and Remus in the world. Sirius shows Harry the vault full of gold that once belonged to the Potters, but then shuts it and says, “This is your inheritance when you are older, but your education is my responsibility.” In addition to robes and a wand and potions ingredients, he buys Harry an owl that day, so that Harry can write to Uncle Paddy while he’s at school. Harry chooses the large snowy owl that hoots majestically from the top shelf and names her Hedwig. Sirius smiles and tries not to see James’s eleven-year-old face, alive forever in his memory.

Harry has no trouble getting onto Platform 9 3/4 with Sirius escorting him, but is very put-off by the number of kids his own age. Are all of them magic? Sirius seems to know Molly, the short red-haired woman next to them, very well—he asks after her and her husband Arthur, and mentions how long its been seen he’s seen their kids. Molly gives him a hug and then introduces Harry to her children.

“Ron is just starting at Hogwarts this year as well,” she says with a smile, not seeming to notice the scar that had entranced every other wizard he’d met. “It will be good for him to know someone besides his brothers.” So the two boys ride in the same compartment, talking about Quidditch and candy and Harry’s Muggle family. Meanwhile, Sirius tries not to worry too much about sending the boy to school, and resolves not to check the skies every three seconds like an idiot, waiting for an owl.

When Harry makes the House team as a first-year, Sirius rushes to send him the best broom he can get his hands on— a Nimbus Two Thousand!— and writes to Dumbledore for permission to attend Harry’s first match. It’s like stepping back in time, watching the boy who could almost be James’s twin, swoop and dive with so much precision. When Harry’s broom tries to buck him, Sirius has to be restrained by Professor McGonagall (“You cannot interfere with a match, Black!”), but no one laughs harder when Harry almost swallows the Snitch.

When Sirius hears about Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s adventures with the Sorcerer’s Stone, he is horrified to realize that his first instinct is to tell Harry off for breaking rules— after all the things that he and James did in school! When did he become such an adult? He compromises by telling Harry to think about consequences and make plans rather than trust to luck, and then buying him a large ice cream cone on their way from King’s Cross Station to the Dursleys house in Little Whinging. Nonetheless, he’s impressed at the gall— and ability!— of these 11-year-olds. They’ll be something when they’re grown, he thinks with a smile.

In Harry’s second year, when he learns about the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius sends almost weekly owls, worried that Harry’s adventurous, heroic streak will get him into trouble. A monster prowling the castle and attacking people would have been horrible temptation for him and James when they were in school, and it is precisely that knowledge that keeps him up at night, wondering what Harry will do. He’s not sure whether to be proud or furious when he hears about the basilisk and the diary, but can’t help but feel that the joke is on him. He would have done the same thing in Harry’s shoes, and so, he knew, would both Harry’s parents.

When he realizes that Peter is at Hogwarts in Harry’s third year, Sirius goes AWOL from his Auror job and sneaks into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. He hasn’t transformed in many years; no one but Remus, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, would recognize him, and he is careful to stay out of Remus’s sight. Harry tells him about the Marauder’s Map in a letter— “it says ‘Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs’— You and my dad and Uncle Mooney are on here! But who is Wormtail?”— and Sirius puts off answering the letter. He’s not ready to tell him about Wormtail,

Thus, when Sirius drags Ron and “Scabbers” under the Whomping Willow, it is with real terror that Harry and Hermione chase after them, only to be shocked at seeing the enormous dog turn into Harry’s Uncle Padfoot. Harry had never seen his godfather so angry, and felt a little scared of him, but not so scared that, once Remus talked Sirius out of committing immediate murder, he wouldn’t listen to the story of Wormtail. Harry still pleads for Wormtail’s life, and Remus’s transformation into a werewolf still facilitates Pettigrew’s escape. But no crazy heroics are needed on this night, simply a return to the castle and an owl to Sirius’s superiors. Perhaps another man might have been fired for not showing up to work for months, but Sirius manages to spin it as a “deep undercover” operation that he could trust to no one and gets off with a reprimand. Nonetheless, knowing that Wormtail was forever beyond his reach was infuriating and concerning.

Sirius takes Harry and Remus to the Quidditch World Cup the summer Harry turns fourteen, and they meet up with the Weasleys and Hermione there. All of them have seats in the Top Box— Sirius called in a few favors of his own— and have a roaring time watching the match. Harry’s wand is still missing when they get into the forest, the Dark Mark still cast into the sky. Sirius is among the group of Aurors who Apparate onsite immediately, and his fears are only slightly relieved by the fact that no one seems to be present besides Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Who cast it? How much danger is Harry in?

Harry’s shocking entrance into the Triwizard Tournament causes him to send Dumbledore a Howler, venting his frustrations with the selection process. Harry tries to hide under the table, embarrassed that Sirius is yelling at the headmaster. No longer content with letters from Harry, Sirius comes to Hogsmeade for every free weekend the students have. Harry rolls his eyes a little— “No one else’s parents come see them in Hogsmeade, Uncle Paddy!”— but is secretly happy for the support. The Tournament is a lot of pressure and worry, and he can tell that Sirius and Dumbledore are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When Harry arrives back at the edge of the maze after Voldemort’s return, Sirius is in the stands, among the first to reach Harry’s side. The terror and shock in his godson’s eyes, so out of place on a young boy’s face, are more than he can handle. He turns away to talk to Dumbledore about what arrangements need to be made. When he looks back, Mad-Eye Moody— this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and an old friend and colleague of Sirius’s— is helping Harry up to school. He and Dumbledore look at each other with the same amount of horror and suspicion. Mad-Eye would never remove Harry from Dumbledore and Sirius’s sight after what had happened! Dumbledore waves over McGonagall and Snape— Sirius grimaces but makes no comment— and the four of them walk up to school and arrive just in time to keep “Moody” from blasting Harry’s head off. The stories that follow— both Harry’s and the imposter’s— make Sirius sick to his stomach. How he had hoped that Harry and his friends would be spared their parents’ wars!

That summer, Sirius is spending so much time at Order headquarters in his parents old house that he cannot bring Harry for weekends. By leaving Harry in Privet Drive for a few extra weeks, he hopes to keep him safe. When dementors attack Harry and Dudley, Sirius flies to Little Whinging within an hour, straps Harry’s trunk to his broomstick, and takes him back to 12 Grimmauld Place. The Ministry still has it in for Harry, but Harry doesn’t need to ask Sirius if he can live with him if the hearing goes badly; he already knows he has a home with his godfather.

Harry still spends most of his fifth year in a temper, fighting off his demons from the graveyard and trying not to explode at Umbridge. Sirius’s owls are his only source of comfort, and their communications become extra complicated when Umbridge starts searching the post. It’s not that Sirius is a wanted man, but he’s known to be a Dumbledore supporter in the Ministry, and Umbridge would love to catch both him and Harry in wrongdoing. Sirius goes silent for a month just before Harry’s O.W.L.s. It’s often like this when he has a mission— for the Order or for the Ministry? It’s hard to tell, but Harry is worried. What if this is the time when Sirius doesn’t come back?

So it is in this climate of worry that Voldemort sends Harry the false vision of Sirius captured in the Department of Mysteries. Harry still rushes to his rescue with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna; still is persuaded to take the prophecy; still breaks the prophecy on the steps in the fight. But Sirius never pierces the veil, even though he laughs madly as he feels Bellatrix’s curse knock him backwards into unconsciousness. Harry thinks him dead and chases after Bellatrix, only to meet Voldemort and be saved by Dumbledore. Harry takes a Portkey back to school, meets with Dumbledore, learns about the prophecy and about the magic that keeps him safe as long as he lives in Privet Drive. He listens numbly, horrified at how close he came to losing everything— his friends, and his godfather— all because he could not tell fact from fiction and rushed recklessly to save the day. At Sirius’s bedside that afternoon, Harry apologizes up and down for his mistake and Sirius, still muzzy from the potions, pats his hand and says, “Never mind, your father and I would have done the same.” But Harry has seen Snape’s memory in the Pensieve during Occlumency lessons, and isn’t sure that’s the commendation that Sirius intends. Does he want to be reckless and arrogant, too? What if being like his father and godfather is not what he wants to be anymore?

Sirius is more out of touch than ever the following year— between his work for the Auror office and for the Order, Harry isn’t sure when the man sleeps— but he still does his best. With Harry’s school load, he’s hard put to answer letters anyways, and Hogsmeade weekends are cancelled after Katie Bell’s accident. He tells Sirius over Christmas everything he’s concerned about from Malfoy and Snape, and Sirius frowns without saying anything. He hates Snape more than he hates anyone, but cannot bring himself to accuse Snape of endangering Dumbledore; even Snape has limits, surely.

It is to Sirius that Harry confides the whole Horcrux mission after Dumbledore’s death. Dumbledore had said, “don’t tell anyone,” but Harry can’t bear to leave Uncle Padfoot without an explanation. Sirius wants to argue, but sees the same determination in Harry’s eyes that once belonged to both James and Lily, and holds his tongue. He helps his godson pack, gives him as much advice as he can, teaches him how to get food by magic.

When the Ministry falls, Sirius is forced into hiding in a safe house far from his home in Devonshire. Sirius still leaves when he can, but the thought of Harry, still searching the country for Horcruxes, keeps him from attempting heroics. The last time Harry thought Uncle Padfoot was in danger, he almost got himself and five friends killed on a rescue mission. Sirius will give Harry no reason to worry and distract himself. When he gets word of the battle about to be fought at Hogwarts though, he Apparates at once into the Hogs Head. He knows that the end game is nigh, and can’t wait to get a piece of his murderous Death Eater family.

Sirius howls with grief and rage when Hagrid carries Harry’s body up to the castle, and fights like a wild man. Red tinges his vision as he, McGonagall, and Kingsley attack Voldemort. Sirius doesn’t even care that this is the end. If he could not protect the boy who is like a son to him then he will go down fighting the evil thing that killed him. He does not even notice Molly Weasley take down Bellatrix Lestrange. Any other day and he would have fought for the honor of killing that madwoman. Today he has a bigger opponent.

He almost falls over with shock and joy when Harry pulls off his cloak and challenges Voldemort. Sick with nerves and tension as he watches Harry circle and bait Voldemort, Sirius struggles to blink the ghosts out of his own eyes. This might be James, James as Sirius remembers him— young and strong, determined to fight for the right cause— but even James never had the temerity to call Voldemort “Tom Riddle,” nor the compassion to tell him to feel remorse for his actions and save himself. Neither of Harry’s parents would have used a Disarming Charm on Lord Voldemort, reluctant to kill even at the final hurdle, trusting Voldemort’s wand to rebound and do the deed. Only Harry, Sirius realizes as Tom Riddle’s body fell to the ground in silence, would ever be that decent.

The narrative has been unwound and rewound, to reveal a man who could always have been more than he was, had he been allowed. Adults do not cease to grow at the moment they become adults, but grow and change throughout their lives. Children do not grow up the worse for having adults who love them. Indeed, the love of one adult, constant through their lives, can make all the difference.

#hp #au #fanfic #harry potter #sirius black #long post

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